Social Norms in Medieval Scandinavia

Jakub Morawiec
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i

SOCIAL NORMS
IN MEDIEVAL
SCANDINAVIA
ii

BEYOND MEDIEVAL EUROPE

Beyond Medieval Europe publishes monographs and edited volumes that evoke
medieval Europe’s geographic, cultural, and religious diversity, while highlighting the
interconnectivity of the entire region, understood in the broadest sense—​from Dublin
to Constantinople, Novgorod to Toledo. The individuals who inhabited this expansive
territory built cities, cultures, kingdoms, and religions that impacted their locality and
the world around them in manifold ways.

Series Editor
Christian Alexander Raffensperger, Wittenberg University, Ohio

Editorial Board
Kurt Villads Jensen, Stockholms Universitet
Balázs Nagy, Central European University, Budapest
Leonora Neville, University of Wisconsin, Madison
iii

SOCIAL NORMS
IN MEDIEVAL
SCANDINAVIA
Edited by
JAKUB MORAWIEC, ALEKSANDRA JOCHYMEK,
AND GRZEGORZ BARTUSIK
iv

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

© 2019, Arc Humanities Press, Leeds

The authors assert their moral right to be identified as the authors of their part of
this work.

Permission to use brief excerpts from this work in scholarly and educational works is
hereby granted provided that the source is acknowledged. Any use of material in this
work that is an exception or limitation covered by Article 5 of the European Union’s
Copyright Directive (2001/​29/​EC) or would be determined to be “fair use” under
Section 107 of the U.S. Copyright Act September 2010 page 2 or that satisfies the
conditions specified in Section 108 of the U.S. Copyright Act (17 USC §108, as revised
by P.L. 94–​553) does not require the Publisher’s permission.

ISBN: 9781641892407
e-​ISBN: 9781641892414

www.arc-​humanities.org
Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
v

CONTENTS

List of Illustrations. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . viii

Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix
JAKUB MORAWIEC, ALEKSANDRA JOCHYMEK, GRZEGORZ BARTUSIK

Introduction. The goðar and “Cultural Politics” of the Years ca. 1000–​1150. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
​JÓN VIÐAR SIGURÐSSON

PART I:
PRE-​CHRISTIAN RITUAL PRACTICE AND LITERARY DISCOURSE

Chapter 1. The Use of Silver by the Norsemen of Truso and Wolin: The Logic
of the Market or Social Prestige?. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
DARIUSZ ADAMCZYK

Chapter 2. Silk, Settlements, and Society in Íslendingasögur. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35

​ANITA SAUCKEL

Chapter 3. Being Óðinn Bursson: The Creation of Social and Moral Obligation
in Viking Age Warrior-​Bands through the Ritualized, Oral
Performance of Poetry—The Case of Grímnismál. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
SIMON NYGAARD

Chapter 4. Elements of Satire and Social Commentary in Heathen Praise

Poems and Commemorative Odes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
DAVID ASHURST

Chapter 5. Friendship and Man’s Reputation: A Case of Odds þáttr Ófeigssonar. . . 91

MARTA REY-​RADLIŃSKA
vi

vi Contents

PART II:
RECEPTION AND CULTURAL TRANSFER

Chapter 6. Cultural Transfer of Cognitive Structures of Fortune in the Latin

and Old Icelandic Literatures and Languages: The Case of the
Metaphor Fortune is a Wheel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103
GRZEGORZ BARTUSIK

Chapter 7. Dating, Authorship, and Generational Memory in Ljósvetninga

saga: A Late Response to Barði Guðmundsson. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139
YOAV TIROSH

Chapter 8. Quid Sigurthus cum Christo? An Examination of Sigurd’s Christian

Potential in Medieval Scandinavia. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155
ŁUKASZ NEUBAUER

Chapter 9. Jómsborg and the German Reception of Jómsvíkinga

saga: Introducing Masterhood as a Social Norm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173
MICHAEL IRLENBUSCH-​REYNARD

PART III:
OUTSIDERS AND TRANSGRESSORS

Chapter 10. The Unfamiliar Other: Distortions of Social Cognition Through

Disguise in Two Íslendingasögur. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187
ALEXANDER J. WILSON

Chapter 11. A Deviant Word Hoard: A Preliminary Study of

Non-​Normative Terms in Early Medieval Scandinavia. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201
KEITH RUITER

Chapter 12. Enchanting the Land: Monstrous Magic, Social Concerns,

and the Natural World in the Íslendingasögur. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213
REBECCA MERKELBACH

Chapter 13. Social Margins in Karlamagnús saga: The Rejection of Poverty . . . . . 229
ALEKSANDRA JOCHYMEK
vii

Contents vii

Chapter 14. Þótti mǫnnum … hann myndi verða engi jafnaðarmaðr: The Narrator,
the Trouble-​Maker, and Public Opinion. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239
JOANNE SHORTT BUTLER

Chapter 15. Discipline or Punish? Travels and Outlawry as Social Structures

in Medieval Iceland . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 255
MARION POILVEZ
viii

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Map 1. Bishop seats and major churches in medieval Iceland.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7

Map 2. Early dirham finds in Eastern and Northern Europe.������������������������������������ 22

Map 3. Tenth-​century dirham finds from Poland.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26

Figure 3.1. D
 etail of reconstruction of the early seventh-​century Sutton
Hoo helmet-​mask. ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 58

Figure 3.2. Jens Peter Schjødt’s five-​phase initiation sequence.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65

Figure 3.3. The Snoldelev rune stone.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68

ix

PREFACE

THE RICHNESS AND diversity of the preserved literary tradition, together with the spir-
itual and material culture of medieval Scandinavia, have encouraged scholars of various
fields to engage in searching analytical enquiry into the histories of past societies of the
North. At the same time its disparities and fragmentation leave many aspects without
final answers. This is especially relevant in the case of normative behaviour and rea-
soning which are mainly preserved orally, performatively, or ritually, and rarely in a
written or material shape, making their transmission dependent on ongoing cultivation.
Since no state in the North now follows the laws of past societies, they would have been
inaccessible to us if it were not for new research methods that allow us to get a glimpse
of these lost worlds preserved fragmentarily on archaeological sites and in literature.
For centuries studies undertaken in the field of Old Norse–​Icelandic culture have
embraced many issues: developments in material culture, religious change, processes
of power consolidation, to name only a few. While individual and singular historical
events and figures have perhaps for too long been the main subject of historical inqui-
ries, the immense corpora of preserved texts and objects can reveal the regularities and
recurrences of everyday life of both social elites and ordinary people, embodied in a
set of implicit norms that determined behaviour and common understandings of social
coexistence.
History is built on the great battles and wars, but the past consists in large part of the
everyday struggles of ordinary, very often anonymous, people. Values cultivated by them
such as honour, prestige, loyalty, fidelity, manhood, authority, and duty, were even more
important than prescriptive norms superimposed by wishful thinking elites and rulers,
because their meaning, practice, and evaluation exceeded legal provisions and law codes,
expressed instead in rituals, habits, customs, religion, literature, language, and social
cognition, revealing those norms that were actually internalized and performed by the
society. These implicit rules and laws ultimately motivated human actions and were cru-
cial as much for the pursuit of personal ambitions and goals as for everyday survival.
There are numerous instances in which Scandinavian literature of the Middle Ages can
be used to reveal the core meaning of these ideas. It is a rich source of representations
of characters both maintaining and obeying the norms, as well as transgressing and
breaking them.
The Icelandic sagas, the Sagas of Icelanders (Íslendingasögur) in particular, consti-
tute the main source of insight into the normative phenomena of morality, ethics, and
legality. Thus, unsurprisingly, the vast majority of chapters of this volume deal with the
Old Norse–​Icelandic literary corpus and its classical subgenres, Íslendingasögur and
konungasögur. Naturally, analyses of particular narratives of the sagas are undertaken
here with methodological awareness of certain limitations of the sagas, when it comes
to reconstructing the past society in a distant time. The origins of particular stories have
x

x Preface

their beginnings in now lost oral tradition, whereas most of their literary incarnations
are dated to the late twelfth and thirteenth centuries onwards, which were preserved
mainly in the manuscripts from the late Middle Ages, (most of them from the four-
teenth and fifteenth centuries), and the early Modern Ages. Moreover, their stylistic fla-
vour, often triggered by a will to provide entertainment rather than genuine historical
accounts, and additionally motivated by certain needs and expectations of the potential
audience concerning saga characters and their dealings, results in a literary approach to
various behaviours and/​or social norms rather than allowing us to decipher pure and
unaffected insights into the “social reality” of Commonwealth Iceland.
Despite these limitations, the Old Norse–​Icelandic literary corpus, with
Íslendingasögur at its helm, remains both the exclusive and the most coherent source
of our present-​day knowledge of social development in the medieval North. Preserved,
compiled, and finally written down by those with their own ancestors in mind, the
corpus consists of stories that were told to invoke particular values and norms found
to be relevant and reliable, in order to fulfill their main role: the preservation of local
lore and tradition treated as the main instigator of self-​identity of the whole community.
Literary depiction of social developments in the medieval North can be, to some
extent, confronted and corroborated or disproved by the relics of material culture. Such
work also requires methodological awareness, particularly when the work is interdisci-
plinary. Still, this exclusive insight into specific aspects of economy, culture and everyday
habits of medieval Scandinavians allows one to supplement a picture of the society and
its norms with important and intriguing elements.
The desire to explore these issues in greater depth stands behind the present volume.
Articles collected in this book address varied and complex matters to do with the func-
tioning of Scandinavian society, such as lawmaking, pre-​Christian ritual practices, the
symbolic importance of economy and artifacts, the status of the ruler, interpersonal
relations (from enmity and conflict to friendship), social cognition, and literary reflec-
tion on environmental developments. Together they shed light on multifarious aspects
of medieval Scandina via normative values and how they changed over time, with the
Christianization and Europeanization of Scandinavia as important steps in the develop-
ment of northern societies.
Several years ago a fruitful cooperation started between the Institute of History at
the University of Silesia in Katowice and the Andrzej Kaube Museum in Wolin, which
resulted in a cycle of conferences and other scholarly endeavours aimed at popularizing
the history of Wolin, the Baltic zone, and Scandinavia in the Middle Ages. The success of
the original initiatives inspired representatives of both institutions to introduce a series
of cyclical, international, and interdisciplinary conferences known as the Jómsborg
Conference.
The first such gathering took place in Wolin on April 20–​22, 2017, dedicated to the
topic of “Defining and Applying Social Norms in Medieval Scandinavia.” The conference
brought together a group of scholars representing various international institutions
and disciplines (history, archaeology, linguistics, literary studies, legal studies). The
papers presented and the lively discussions that followed resulted in this collection of
chapters, which seek to decipher social norms in medieval Scandinavia from a variety of
xi

Preface xi

angles and their significance to everyday life. The editors and contributors believe that
research on such a multifaceted and potentially elusive phenomenon calls for coopera-
tion between diverse disciplines to conduct a cross-​methodological investigation. The
book therefore offers the audience a variety of methods, approaches, and, expectedly,
results. The structure of the book proposes therefore a division into three thematical
sections, preceded by introductory remarks on political developments on eleventh-​to
twelfth-​century Iceland by Jón Vidar Sigurdsson (University of Oslo).

Part I: Pre-​Christian Ritual Practices and Literary Discourses

The normative structure of a society is often expressed through its material culture.
Certain social practices, trading and fashion among them, are reflected in material
remains such as coins and clothing. Dariusz Adamczyk (German Historical Institute in
Warsaw), in an article entitled “The Use of Silver by the Scandinavians of Truso and
Wolin: The Logic of the Market or Social Prestige?,” uses silver finds from these ports-​of-​
trade as his point of departure for discussing the varied roles of silver and different eco-
nomic, social, and political contexts of its usage. Anita Sauckel (University of Iceland), in
her article entitled “Silk, Settlements and Society in Íslendingasögur,” takes into account
clothing and social norms at the thing-​assemblies as depicted in Íslendingasǫgur, an
occasion on which exclusive fabrics played an important role.
Social norms are implicit in the texture of certain literary works. The conventions
a society follows in its forms of worship, mourning, and commemoration can be iso-
lated from the text itself for close examination. Poetry, performed orally and ritually,
resembles religious practices by mirroring its structures. Simon Nygaard (University of
Aarhus), in an article entitled “Being Óðinn Bursson: The Creation of Social and Moral
Obligation in Viking Age Warrior-​Bands through the Ritualized, Oral Performance of
Poetry: The Case of Grímnismál,” argues that pre-​Christian Scandinavian rituals fea-
tured oral performances of Eddic poetry, that, like ljóðaháttr poems (e.g. Grímnismál)
contained ritualized performatives, crucial to the formation and upholding of pre-​
Christian Scandinavian religions. Mourning practices were captured by a distinctive
subgenre of skaldic poetry, the funerary ode. David Ashurst (University of Durham),
in his article entitled “Elements of Satire and Social Commentary in Heathen Praise
Poems and Commemorative Odes,” discusses the submerged and pervasive strains
of satire and commentary on social norms in tenth-​century funerary odes composed
amid the intellectual turmoil of the late heathen period. The main focus is laid on
Eiríksmál, Eyvindr skáldaspillir’s Hákonarmál and the group of Egill Skalla-​Grímsson’s
utterances (particularly Sonatorrek but reference is also made to Arinbjarnarkviða and
Höfuðlausn).
The ideals embodied in the roles of friend, warrior, and king were among the most
important of Old Norse–​Icelandic society, as reflected in its tales of people succeeding
or failing to live up to them. They are characterized by binary thinking such as the
distinctions good versus bad friend /​warrior /​king; a mode of expression which is
regularly encountered in the Icelandic sagas. In an article entitled “Friendship and
Man’s Reputation: A Case of Odds þáttr Ófeigssonar,” Marta Rey-​Radlińska (Jagiellonian
xii

xii Preface

University) provides a case study based on one of the þættir preserved in the
Morkinskinna, the oldest collection of the kings’ sagas. The analysis focuses both on the
motive of friendship in the story and the stylistic devices used to achieve an emotional
effect—​a deviation from objectivity in the narrative, and deployment of language that
highlights negative emotions.

Part II: Reception and Cultural Transfer

Human behaviour is primarily influenced by cognitive processes, with metaphorical
thinking at the core of human understanding of the world, influencing our experi-
ence of being in the world. Grzegorz Bartusik (University of Silesia in Katowice), in an
article entitled “Cultural Transfer of Cognitive Structures of Fortune in the Latin and
Old Icelandic Literatures and Languages: The Case of the Metaphor Fortune is a Wheel,”
explores questions concerning influences of Latin culture on Old Norse–​Icelandic
language and literature and the potential influence of classical ideas on Old Norse–​
Icelandic ones. He looks for evidence of the transfer of social norms, in the form of cog-
nitive metaphors, from continental Europe in the sagas of antiquity (Antikensagas) and
the vernacular sagas.
With the increasing alphabetization introduced to Scandinavia by the Catholic
Church and the development of written literature, Scandinavians adapted new literary
modes of commemoration and cultivation of social memory through the medium of
written language. The commemorative function of a saga is analyzed by Yoav Tirosh
(University of Iceland), who, in “Dating, Authorship, and Generational Memory in
Ljósvetninga saga: A Late Response to Barði Guðmundsson,” returns to the hypothesis
that Þórðr Þorvarðsson was the author of Ljósvetninga saga, and, interpreting it through
the prism of the thirteenth-​century society that generated the text, emphasizes its func-
tional value as a form of cultural memory.
Łukasz Neubauer (Koszalin University of Technology), in “Quid Sigurthus cum
Christo? An Examination of Sigurd’s Christian Potential in Medieval Scandinavia,”
examines various features of Sigurd Fáfnisbani’s character that might have influenced
the transformation of the legendary Germanic hero into the essentially St. George-​like
figure depicted by the anonymous late twelfth-​or early thirteenth-​century artist respon-
sible for carvings on the portal doors of the Hylestad stave church.
The society depicted in sagas, with its norms, values, and behaviours, has attracted
not only scholars but also people of widely defined culture and politics for centuries. It
resulted, inevitably, with its idealization and rise of certain myths defining the Viking Age
and the Middle Ages in the North as a golden era, free from evil and deceit of the contem-
porary world. Such attitude can be traced in numerous means of art (painting, literature)
and political views that have been produced throughout recent centuries. Even if the pic-
ture it provided was biased, unreliable, and hence rejected by present-​day scholarship, its
popularity serves to inspire research questions aiming to find deeper and more coherent
understanding of the phenomenon. Michael Irlenbusch-​Reynard (University of Bonn),
in his article “Jómsborg and the German Reception of Jómsvíkinga saga: Introducing
Masterhood as a Social Norm,” examines the legend of the famous warrior band in the
xiii

Preface xiii

context of the political and ideological conditions of late nineteenth-​and early twentieth-​
century Germany. Various works of propaganda that used the saga as a crucial point
of reference were responsible for an important transformation in the depiction of
Jómsborg—​from the residence of a romantic warrior community to the symbolic affirma-
tion of a genuine Germanic socio-​cultural institution, culminating in the suggestion of a
normative epicentre for the whole North.

Part III: Outsiders and Transgressors

Sometimes, we are only able to distinguish a normative code when it is being transgressed.
A norm is known by what it is not: a deviance, perversity, monstrosity, or rejection.
Alexander J. Wilson (University of Durham), in his article “The Unfamiliar
Other: Distortions of Social Cognition Through Disguise in Two Íslendingasögur,”
analyzes the way in which two narratives, Droplaugarsona saga and Fóstbrœðra saga,
portray violent conflicts between different communities as expressions of the distortion
of social cognition. This serves as a method of interpreting the way people constructed
and deployed identity at various levels, both individually and within their communities,
to structure perceptions of the world around them.
Keith Ruiter (University of Nottingham), in his article “A Deviant Word Hoard: A
Preliminary Semantic Study of Non-​Normative Terms in Early Medieval Scandinavia,”
considers some of the particular lexical choices in early medieval Scandinavian texts
in order to better understand the contemporary web of associations surrounding devi-
ance and deviants. Utilizing philological, historical, literary, and legal methodologies, the
article sets out to consider some words used to describe non-​normative peoples and
behaviours in three categories: terms relating to law, honour, and morality. Rebecca
Merkelbach (University of Zurich), in an article entitled “Enchanting the Land: Monstrous
Magic, Social Concerns, and the Natural World in the Íslendingasögur,” analyzes the way
magic-​users in Íslendingasögur are depicted as socially monstrous figures operating
within and through the natural world to cause harm to society. The thirteenth and four-
teenth centuries were a time of growing climatic variability, which must have caused
significant anxiety to contemporary Icelanders, an anxiety that found its expression in
the monstrous practitioners of magic. Aleksandra Jochymek (University of Silesia in
Katowice), in “Social Margins in Karlamagnús saga: The Rejection of Poverty,” examines
the two sides of medieval poverty in Scandinavian society, as expressed through the
Historia Caroli Magni et Rotholandi and its northern counterpart, translated into a part
of Karlamagnús saga.
In the Icelandic sagas there are several distinctive figures who put laws to the test
by breaking them. Trouble-​makers and outlaws hold a prominent place among them. In
“Þótti mǫnnum … hann myndi verða engi jafnaðarmaðr: The Narrator, the Trouble-​Maker,
and Public Opinion,” Joanne Shortt Butler (University of Cambridge) explores the ways
in which public opinion is invoked by saga narrators through the frequently occurring
figure of the ójafnaðarmaðr (“inequitable person”), who is described as acting against
the social norms of the society depicted in the sagas. Marion Poilvez (University of
Iceland), in “Discipline or Punish? Travels and Outlawry as Social Structures in Medieval
 xiv
newgenprepdf

xiv Preface

Iceland,” discusses outlawry as a social structure from an inclusive perspective, arguing

that many forms of outlawry did not function as outright exclusion, but were social
structures made to respond in a didactic way to anti-​social behaviours, with the goal of
re-​educating wrongdoers, or at least providing them with a fitting function to suit the
dynamics of a given society.
The present volume could not have been completed without the contributions and
support of particular individuals. We would like to express our deep gratitude towards
Ryszard Banaszkiewicz, the head of the Andrzej Kaube Museum in Wolin; Christian
Raffensperger, Erin T. Dailey, and Anna Henderson from ARC Humanities Press; Miriam
Mayburd from the University of Iceland for her stylistic advice; and all participants of the
First Jómsborg Conference.
Jakub Morawiec
Aleksandra Jochymek
Grzegorz Bartusik
1

Introduction

THE GOÐAR AND “CULTURAL POLITICS”

OF THE YEARS CA. 1000–​11501

Jón Viðar Sigurðsson

AS STATED IN the preface, the chapters in this volume address numerous and intri-
cate questions regarding Old Norse culture; rituals, social ties, social norms, outlaws,
lawmaking, and cognitive structures. The main sources for the discussion are the
Icelandic family sagas, the kings’ sagas, as well as Eddic poetry, laws, and sagas such
as Karlamagnús saga. The diversity of topics is the strength of the volume. This is pos-
sible due to the exceptional source situation that offers us almost endless opportunities
of discussing different aspects of the Old Norse culture. This richness, from a popula-
tion which was probably not larger than 50–60,000 during the High Middle Ages, is the
main reason for the global interest in this culture. The scholarly debate over the last few
decades has to a large extent focused on the High and Late Middle Ages. Little attention
has been paid to the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and the events which triggered the
processes of the time. That will be the focus of this chapter, and particularly the roles
played by the major churches, and Haukdælir and Oddaverjar, the two most important
goðar families in the Free State Society (930–1262/​64). The introduction of Christianity
in the year 999/​1000 will mark the beginning of the period in question, which will last
until the foundation of the archbishopric in Nidaros in 1152/​53.

Skálholt, Haukadalur, Oddi, and Hólar

Christianity became the official religion of Iceland in the year 999/​1000. It was the con-
trol the goðar held over the Old Norse religion which made this possible. During the
following years several foreign bishops arrived in the country,2 but nothing is known
regarding their general impact. In Hungrvaka it is stated that Gizurr Teitsson of the
Haukdælir family, who had supported the introduction of Christianity, took his son Ísleifr
Gizurarson (1006–​1080) to the nunnery Herford (Herfurða) in Westphalia,3 a renowned
centre of learning.4 He returned ordained as a priest before 1030, and immediately, or
soon thereafter, took over the goðorð his father had controlled.5 The þáttr about Ísleifr

1 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, University of Oslo, email: j.v.sigurdsson@iakh.uio.no.

2 Íslendingabók, 18; Jóns saga ins helga, 177.
3 Hungrvaka, 6; Jóns saga ins helga, 176–​77.
4 Turville-​Petre, “Notes on the Intellectual History of Icelanders,” 111.
5 Ísleifs þáttr byskups, 335–​36.
2

2 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson

and Hungrvaka does not mention whether he had been learned in Latin before he trav-
elled to Herford. The fact that he belonged to one of the most important families in the
country, however, makes it likely that one, or several, of the foreign bishops had tutored
him in the language.6 In the process of Christianization the first and most important step
was to convert the goðar, which then in the next stage would result in their friends and
followers following suit.
In 1056, Ísleifr Gizurarson became the first bishop of Iceland.

And when chieftains and good men perceived that Ísleifr was far abler than
other clerics who could then be obtained in this country, many sent him their
sons to be educated and had them ordained priests. Two of them were later
consecrated bishops: Kolr, who was in Vík in Norway, and Jóan at Hólar. Ísleifr
had three sons, who all became able chieftains: Bishop Gizurr and the priest
Teitr, father of Hallr, and Þorvaldr. Teitr was brought up by Hallr in Haukadalur,
a man whom everyone described as the most generous layman in this country
and the most eminent in good qualities. I also came to Hallr when I was seven
years old, one year after Gellir Þorkelsson, my paternal grandfather and my
foster-​father, died; and I stayed there for fourteen years.7

In the quotation above from Ari fróði Þorgilsson’s Íslendingabók (the Book of Icelanders)
written 1122–​1133, it is mentioned that “many” householders sent Ísleifr “their sons to
be educated.” Jóns saga ins helga confirms this and states that many “hǫfðingjar” (goðar)
and respectable (“virðulegir”) men send their sons to Ísleifr to be fostered and educated
(“fóstrs ok til lærlingar”), and were subsequently ordained as priests. Many of them
became “hǫfuðkennimenn” (major clerics), and two of them became bishops, Jón and
Kolr.8 We have little information about the school in Skálholt, but it is likely that it became
an important part of the bishopric’s activity, and it must have been kept on regular basis.
When Ísleifr died, his son Gizurr (1042–​1118), also educated at Herford,9 replaced
him as bishop in 1082. Kristni saga claims that when Gizurr was bishop, most of the

6 One of the missionaries, Þangbrandr, not only baptized members of the Haukdælir family, he
also stayed with Gizurr inn hvíti in Skálholt (Íslendingabók, 21; Kristni saga, 19, 23–​24; Kristniboð
Þangbrands, 137).
7 Íslendingabók, 20: “En es þat sá hǫfðingjar ok góðir menn, at Ísleifr vas miklu nýtri en aðrir
kennimenn, þeir es á þvísa landi næði, þá seldu hónum margir sonu sína til læringar ok létu vígja
til presta. Þeir urðu síðan vígðir tveir til byskupa, Kollr, es vas í Vík austr, ok Jóan at Hólum. Ísleifr
átti þrjá sonu; þeir urðu allir hǫfðingjar nýtir, Gizurr byskup ok Teitr prestr, faðir Halls, ok Þorvaldr.
Teit fœddi Hallr í Haukadali, sá maðr es þat vas almælt, at mildastr væri ok ágæztr at góðu á landi
hér ólærðra manna. Ek kom ok til Halls sjau vetra gamall, vetri eptir þat, es Gellir Þorkelssonr,
fǫðurfaðir minn ok fóstri, andaðisk, ok vask þar fjórtán vetr.” All translations from Íslendingabók
and Kristni saga are from Íslendingabók. Kristni saga. Cf. Jóns saga ins helga, 181–​83.
8 Jóns saga ins helga, 181. Cf. Kristni saga, 39. The term hǫfðingi was frequently used about goðar
(Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Chieftains and Power in the Icelandic Commonwealth, 49).
9 Jóns saga ins helga, 182.
3

Introduction 3

influential men in the country were ordained as priests.10 The saga lists ten men,
and out of them as many as seven were goðar. The high educational level among the
goðar can also been seen in a register from about 1143, probably written by Ari fróði
Þorgilsson,11 which mentions forty of the most significant priests in the country. As
many as thirteen of the men listed were goðar, and at the time there were only about
twenty-​seven goðar in the country.12 In addition it is very likely that the other goðar
also were educated as clerics, without being ordained. In the power game it was usu-
ally the best son who took over the goðar, not the oldest. If the goðar did not have any
sons, their power base evaporated.
Besides the school in Skálholt three other active schools in Iceland are known from
this period and to ca. 1110: Haukadalur, Oddi, and Hólar.13 It is not known when the
school in Haukadalur, which was controlled by the Haukdælir, was established, but it
was probably sometime around 1070.14 It has been argued that goði Hallr Teitsson (ca.
1085–​1150) was the author of The First Grammatical Treatise,15 and goði Gizurr Hallsson
(ca. 1125–​1206) might have been the author of Veraldar saga.16 Gizurr is, as Ari and
Sæmundr from the Oddaverja family, described as “fróðr maðr.”17 He was goði, lawspeaker
and King Sigurðr munnr’s, King Sverrir’s father, stallari. Gizurr was wise (“vitr”) and
eloquent (“málsnjallr”). He travelled often to the continent and was highly esteemed
(“betr metinn”) in Rome for his skill and prowess (“mennt sinni ok framkvæmð”). He
possessed extensive knowledge about “suðrlöndin” (Germany and France) and wrote
a book called Flos peregrinationis (Travel Flowers), in Latin,18 which unfortunately has
been lost. In the prologue to Hungrvaka Gizurr is mentioned as one of the sources.19
The best-​known pupil known to have been educated at the school in Haukadalur is
without a doubt the goði Ari fróði Þorgilsson (1067–​1148), who lived at Staðastaður
at Ölduhryggur. He showed his Íslendingabók, written 1122–​1133, for approval to the

10 Kristni saga, 42–​43: “virðingamenn lærðir ok vígðir og lærðir til presta þó at hǫfðingjar
væri, svá sem Hallr Teitsson í Haukadal ok Sæmundr inn fróði, Magnús Þórðarson í Reykjaholti,
Símon Jǫrundarson í Bœi, Guðmundr sonr Brands í Hjarðarholti, Ari inn fróði, Ingimundr Einarsson
á Hólum, ok Ketill Þorsteinsson á Mǫðruvǫllum [in Eyjafjörður], ok Ketill Guðmundarson, Jón prestr
Þorvarðarson ok margir aðrir þó at eigi sé ritaðir.”
11 Diplomatarium Islandicum I: no. 29.
12 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, “Frá goðorðum til ríkja: Þróun goðavalds á 12. og 13. öld,” 45–​54.
13 Ellehøj, Studier over den ældste norrøne historieskrivning, 15–​84; Bekker-​Nielsen, “Den ældste
tid,” 9–​26; Bekker-​Nielsen, “Frode mænd og tradition,” 35–​41; Jónas Kristjánsson, Eddas and Sagas,
117; Guðrún Nordal, Íslensk bókmenntasaga I, 268; Gunnar Harðarson, “Old Norse Intellectual
Culture,” 40–​41.
14 Hungrvaka, 22.
15 The First Grammatical Treatise, 203.
16 Jónas Kristjánsson, Eddas and Sagas, 132.
17 Kristni saga, 3.
18 Sturlunga saga, I:60.
19 Hungrvaka, 3.
4

4 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson

bishops Þorlákr Runólfsson in Skálholt (1118–​1133), Ketill Þorsteinsson (1122–​1145)

in Hólar, and the goði Sæmundr Sigfússon fróði (the Learned, 1056–​1133).20
Sæmundr, as well as Ari fróði and Kolskeggr vitri, contributed to the first version of
Landnámabók.21 Sæmundr, along with his grandson goði Jón Loftsson (1124–​1197), were
two of the most renowned leaders of the Oddaverjar family. This family controlled the
church at Oddi, which was to become another important centre of education. A school
was established there around 1080 after Sæmundr returned from studying abroad in
either France or Franconia. In addition to being mentioned as one of the authorities
consulted by Ari Þorgilsson when he wrote Íslendingabók, Sæmundr also played an
important role when the tithe was introduced in the years 1096/​97. He himself wrote a
short work about the Norwegian kings in Latin. This is now lost, but was used as a source
by later authors, including Snorri Sturluson.22 Snorri Sturluson, also a goði, is without a
doubt Oddi’s most famous pupil.
For both the Haukdælir and the Oddaverjar the schools were not only impor-
tant symbols showing off their social position, but they were also important pieces
in the power game. By fostering future goðar, the sons of the social elite, the goðar in
Haukadalur and Oddi were able to build up a network they could activate in case of
disputes.
It is striking that schools are not associated with any other goðar families. If we look
at the political situation in Iceland around 1100, five families controlled almost half of
the country: Ásbirningar in Skagafjörður, Austfirðingar and Svínfellingar in the Quarter
of the Austfirðingar, and Oddaverjar and Haukdælir in the south. The reasons why, for
example, the Ásbirningar did not found a school is an open question, which we will not
address here.
Jón Ögmundarson, the first bishop of Hólar (1106–​21) and a pupil of Bishop Ísleifr,
travelled according to his saga widely around Europe, his goal being to observe the ways
of good men and to advance his learning.23 Jón established a school at Hólar, and got Gísli,
a man from Sweden (or Gaut) to teach Latin, and Ríkina, a Frenchman, to teach music
and poetry.24
As only one monastery was established in Iceland before 1150, Þingeyrar in Hólar
bishopric ca. 1130, the possibility of institutions such as this playing major roles in the
process of establishing schools can be ruled out. In the beginning of the twelfth century,

20 Íslendingabók, 3.
21 Landnámabók, 395. Cfr. Sturlunga saga I:59; Ellehøj, Studier over den ældste norrøne
historieskrivning, 15–​84.
22 Turville-​Petre, “Notes on the Intellectual History of Icelanders,” 112. Sæmundr was, accoring
to Hungrvaka (16–​17), “forvitri og lærðr allra manna bezt” (very wise and the most learned of all).
See Anderson, “Kings’ Sagas (Konungasögur),” 197–​238; Ellehøj, Studier over den ældste norrøne
historieskrivning, 16–​25; Foote, Aurvandilstá: Norse Studies, 101–​20.
23 Jóns saga ins helga, 184: “að sjá góðra manna siðu ok nám sitt at auka.”
24 Jóns saga ins helga, 217.
5

Introduction 5

after the foundation of the bishopric at Hólar, there were thus four schools in the country,
at Skálholt, Hólar, Haukadalur and Oddi.

The Major Churches25

Bishop Gizurr shaped the future of the Icelandic Church. In 1096/​97, in cooperation with
the goði Sæmundr fróði Sigfússon and the lawspeaker Markús Skeggjason, he convinced the
Althing to accept the tithe, and that “everyone should reckon up and value all their prop-
erty and swear an oath that it was correctly valued, whether it was in land or in movable
possessions, and pay a tithe on it afterwards.” Gizurr “also laid down as law that the epis-
copal see in Iceland should be at Skálholt, whereas before it had had no fixed location, and
he endowed the see with the estate at Skálholt and many other forms of wealth both in land
and in movable possessions.” Finally, he “gave more than a quarter of his diocese,” that is the
Quarter of the Norðlendinga, to the foundation of the Hólar bishopric, established in 1106.26
When the tithe was introduced in 1096/​97 the number of churches in the country was
significantly higher than the 330 churches which were chosen to become parish churches,27
a decision made by the bishops and the goðar. Churches not becoming parish churches
became half-​ churches (hálfkirkjur), quarter-​churches (fjórðungskirkjur) and chapels
(bænhús). In the parish churches mass was to be sung every Sunday and every day during
Lent, the Christmas season, and on Ember days.28 In a half-​church, as the name suggests,

25 Skálholt bishopric: Staður in Steingrímsfjörður; Vatnsfjörður in Vatnsfjarðarsveit;

Skarð in Skarðsstrandarhreppur; Helgafell in Helgafellssveit; Staður in Staðasveit; Hítardalur
in Hraunhreppur; Stafholt in Stafholtstungur; Gilsbakki in Hvítársíðuhreppur; Garðar in
Akraneshreppur; Bær in Bæjarsveit; Reykholt in Reykholtsdalur; Viðey in Seltjarnarneshreppur;
Haukadalur in Biskupstungnahreppur; Oddi in Rangárvallahreppur; Breiðabólstaður in
Fljótshlíðahreppur; Holt in Eyjafjallasveit; Þykkvabæjarklaustur in Leiðvallahreppur;
Kirkjubæjarklaustur in Kleifahreppur; Svínafell in Hofshreppur; Rauðalækur in Hofshreppur;
Valþjófsstaðir in Fljótsdalur. Hólar bishopric: Grenjaðarstaðir in Reykjadalshreppur; Múli in
Reykjadalshreppur; Háls in Fnjóskadalshreppur; Munkaþverá in Öngulsstaðahreppur; Möðruvellir
in Saurbæjarhreppur; Saurbær in Saurbæjarhreppur; Hrafnagil in Hrafnagilshreppur; Möðruvellir
in Hvammshreppur; Vellir in Svarfaðardalshreppur; Staður in Reynistaðarhreppur; Þingeyrar in
NeðriVatnsdalshreppur; Breiðabólstaður in Vesturhópshreppur
26 Íslendingabók 22–​23: “allir menn tǫlðu ok virðu allt fé sitt ok sóru, at rétt virt væri, hvárt sem
vas í lǫndum eða í lausaaurum, ok gørðu tíund af síðan. […] lét ok lǫg leggja á þat, at stóll byskups
þess, es á Íslandi væri, skyldi í Skálaholti vesa, en áðr vas hvergi, ok lagði hann þar til stólsins
Skálaholtsland ok margra kynja auðœfi ǫnnur bæði í lǫndum ok í lausum aurum. […] gaf hann meir
en fjórðung byskupsdóms síns.” Cf. Kristni saga, 41; Jóns saga ins helga, 193–​94.
27 Sveinn Víkingur, Getið í eyður sögunnar, 134–​36; Orri Vésteinsson, “Íslenska sóknaskipulagið
og samband heimila á miðöldum,” 147–​66; Orri Vésteinsson, The Christianization of Iceland, 58,
288; Orri Vésteinsson, “The Formative Phase of the Icelandic Church ca. 990–​1240 ad,” 71–​81;
Sigríður Sigurðardóttir, Kirkjur og bænhús í Skagafirði; Sigríður Sigurðardóttir, Miðaldakirkjur
1000–​1318: Skagfirska kirkjurannsóknin.
28 Orri Vésteinsson, The Christianization of Iceland, 60.
6

6 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson

only half of the normal number of masses was sung, while in quarter-​churches only every
fourth mass was sung, and in a chapel (bænhús) mass was sung only once every month.29
In Iceland there were two types of parish churches, bændakirkjur and staðir. If a
church owned the entire farm it was established on it was staðr, and if it owned less it
was called a farmer’s church or bændakirkja. The staðir parish churches were therefore
usually wealthier than the bændakirkjur. Those who founded churches dedicated them
to a saint (or several), and God, on the condition that they and their heirs should con-
trol the gift for all eternity. The gift was divided into four parts and given to the bishop,
the priests at the parish churches, the maintenance of the parish church, and the poor.
Those who owned or governed the churches, before the bishops gained control over
the parish churches in 1297, had a great deal of freedom with controlling their incomes
and fortunes. They received half of the tithes, the share belonging to the priest and the
church, and could also control the funeral fees. In addition to this the administrators for
example also kept the profits from the land tax of church-​owned farms.30
For the goðar and the social elite it was important to gain control over the new reli-
gion, and one way to do this was to build churches that were larger than those affordable
to common householders. The thirty-​three wealthiest churches in Iceland, which I have
labelled as major churches, have, beside their wealth, two other important aspects in
common: they employed three or more clerics, among the best educated in the country,31
and many of them, like Haukadalur and Oddi, became centres of learning.
It is difficult to determine exactly when these major churches were founded. There
are no sources that bear evidence to it, but there is reason to assume that most of them
were established in the first half of the eleventh century, after the introduction of the
tithe.32 Out of the thirty-​three major churches, over two-​thirds can be associated with
goðar families, which tells us that almost all goðar families built such churches. In
the power game it became important for the goðar to show their status through their
churches, as well as their education.
Two of the major churches, Kirkjubær and Oddi, are described as hǫfuðstaðr, and in
the case of Oddi, even as the hæsti hǫfuðstaðr.33 This terminology may indicate a supe-
rior status in the Church hierarchy. However, it is difficult to prove that these churches,
or indeed other major churches, has had any special tasks which other churches has not.
On the other hand Kirkjubær and Oddi both had backgrounds which possibly make them

29 Þormóður Sveinsson, “Bæjatalið í Auðunarmáldögum,” 26; Magnús Stefánsson, “Islandsk

egenkirkevesen,” 236; Gunnar F. Guðmundsson, Íslenskt samfélag og Rómakirkja, 185–​86.
30 Magnús Stefánsson, “Kirkjuvald eflist,” 72–​81; Magnús Stefánsson, “Frá goðakirkju til
biskupskirkju,” 210–​26; Magnús Stefánsson, “Islandsk egenkirkevesen,” 234–​54; Magnús
Stefánsson, Staðir og staðamál, 191–​216.
31 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, “Høvdingene, storkirkene og den litterære aktiviteten på Island fram til
ca. 1300,” 190–​94.
32 Magnús Stefánsson, “Kirkjuvald eflist,” 87; Hjalti Hugason, Frumkristni og upphaf kirkju, 199–​
201; Benedikt Eyþórsson, “Í þjónustu Snorra,” 21.
33 Kirkjubær (Þórlaks saga byskups yngri, 149), Oddi (Þórlaks saga byskups in elzta, 49; Þórlaks
saga byskups yngri, 145).
7

Introduction 7

S – Skalhólt
H – Hólar
Major churches

Map 1. Bishop seats and major churches in medieval Iceland

(copyright Jón Viðar Sigurðsson).

deserving of the title hǫfuðstaðr. Oddi was without a doubt the country’s richest church
in the second half of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and it was, as has been discussed
above, one of the most important schools in the country. Kirkjubær was, if we are to believe
Landnámabók, an important Christian religious centre from the time of the settlement.
It is difficult to look to Europe for models of the major churches. The most obvious
parallels can be drawn to the so-​called “minster churches” in England and the main
churches (hovedkirker) in Norway. Minsters were founded by kings and served by sev-
eral priests who were in charge of pastoral care in a large geographical area. They were
also important as literary–​administrative centres.34 However, it is difficult to argue in
favour of these churches being used as models for the major churches in Iceland, since
their heyday was over by the time the goðar started to build their churches. In Norway
the main churches were erected by the kings, and as they held a supreme position in the
church hierarchy, we can rule out the possibility of the main churches there being an
inspiration for the goðar.

34 For an overview of the discussion about minster churches, see: Blair, “Secular Minster Churches
in Domesday Book,” 104–​42; Blair, Minsters and Parish Churches; Blair and Sharpe, Pastoral Care
before the Parish; Blair and Pyrah, Church Archaeology.
8

8 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson

Where do we draw a line between Haukadalur and Oddi, and the other major churches,
after the introduction of the tithe? It is problematic to distinguish one from the other. The
main difference between them was probably that the “schools” in Haukadalur and Oddi
received more “students” from other goðar families than the other major churches, whose
students were recruited more locally. Because the goðar and the social elite in general got
involved with the new religion as heavily as they did, and so many of them received clerical
learning in addition to being trained as lawyers and skalds, the educational level in Iceland
was high. A significant feature in Icelandic medieval society was that only a select few went
abroad in order to receive an education. Sons, and daughters, of the social elite were usually
educated at the major churches, and at the bishoprics.

The Lawspeakers
So far the focus has been on goðar and bishops, but another group of men also played
an important role in this process: the lawspeakers. The lawspeakers belonged to the
social elite, with both strong family and friendship ties to the goðar, and in some cases
(although not in the period we are focusing on) the goðar were also lawspeakers. In the
period ca. 1050–​1150 there were eleven lawspeakers,35 and in these years three impor-
tant legal steps were taken: in 1096/​97 the law of the tithe was accepted; in the winter of
1117/​18 a part of the secular law was written down at Breiðabólstaður; and in the years
1122–​1132 church laws were introduced. Probably all of these law codes were written
in the vernacular, and the two latest ones most definitely. In the following paragraphs we
will have a look at the lawspeakers in office when these three laws were made.
As mentioned above, the law of the tithe was introduced when Gizurr Ísleifsson was
bishop, in cooperation with the goði Sæmundr Sigfússon and the lawspeaker Markús
Skeggjason.36 We know that both Gizurr and Sæmundr were well educated, and it is
probable that Markús, in addition to his in-​depth knowledge of Icelandic law, was edu-
cated as a cleric, though he was not ordained to be a priest. Little is known about the
lawspeakers’ education. They, obviously, must have been thoroughly learned in the laws,
and is likely that most of them also received a clerical education.37 In Kristni saga it is
stated that Markús had been “the wisest of Iceland’s lawspeakers apart from Skapti
[Þóroddsson]”.38 Markús is the only lawspeaker listed in Skáldatal,39 and in Hungrvaka

35 Gellir Bǫlverksson (1054–​1062); Gunnar hinnspaki Þorgrímsson (1063–​1065); Kolbeinn

Flosason (1066–​1071); Gellir Bölverksson (1072–​1074); Gunnar hinnspaki Þorgrímsson (1075);
Sighvatr Surtsson (1076–​1083); Markús Skeggjason (1084–​1107); Úlfhéðinn Gunnarsson
(1108–​1116); Bergþórr Hrafnsson (1117–​1122); Guðmundr Þorgeirsson (1123–​1134); Hrafn
Úlfhéðinsson (1135–​1138); Finnr Hallsson (1139–​1145); Gunnar Úlfhéðinsson (1146–​1155).
36 Íslendingabók, 22.
37 Cfr. Burrows, Literary–​legal Relations in Commonwealth-​period Iceland, 42.
38 Kristni saga, 40, “vitrastr verit lǫgmanna á Íslandi annarr en Skapti [Þóroddsson]” Cfr.
Íslendingabók, 22.
39 Edda Snorra Sturlusonar.
9

Introduction 9

he is described as “a very wise man and skald.”40 That Hungrvaka characterizes him
as skáld underlines that his social position was associated not only with his role as a
lawspeaker. Fyrsta málfræðiritgerðin (The First Grammatical Treatise) claims that: “The
skalds are the authorities in all [matters touching the art of] writing or the distinctions
[made in] discourse, just as craftsmen [are in their craft] or lawmen [lǫgmenn] in the
laws.”41 The distinctions often made between “saga authors,” skalds, legal specialists
(either lögmenn and lawspeakers), clerics, and goði are misleading since most of skalds
and “saga authors” we know of from this period belonged to many of these categories,
Sæmundr fróði being an example of this. This can also clearly been seen in the term
guðspjallaskáld,42 a word used to describe the four evangelists: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and
John. Being a skald meant that one had to travel abroad to meet kings, and in Markús’s
case Ingi Steinkelsson of Sweden (d. 1105), the Danish kings Knútr helgi (d. 1086), and
Eiríkr Sveinsson (d. 1103).43 It is likely that it was on his journeys abroad that Markús
learned about the tithe system. When brought back home it was, as previously stated,
probable that the laws were written in the vernacular, since they would probably not
have been accepted at the Althing otherwise. For the Icelandic Church it was important
to create a secure economic foundation, and the introduction of the tithe was a precon-
dition for that. It was therefore vital that these laws were made in the vernacular, in close
cooperation with the lawspeaker, and the goðar.
In 1117 it was decided at the Althing that the laws should be written down, and Ari
fróði narrates in Íslendingabók that this was done

in a book at the home of Hafliði Másson [Breiðabólstaður, a major church] the

following winter, at the dictation and with the guidance of Hafliði and Bergþórr,
as well as of other wise men appointed for this task. They were to make new
provisions in the law in all cases where these seemed to them better than the old
laws. These were to be proclaimed the next summer in the Law Council, and all
those were to be kept which a majority of people did not oppose. And it happened
as a result that the Treatment of Homicide Law and many other things in the laws
were then written down and proclaimed in the Law Council by clerics the next
summer. And everyone was very pleased with this, and no one opposed it.44

Hafliði Másson was one of the most powerful goði in the country. Lawspeaker Bergþórr
Hrafnsson was the grandson of the lawspeaker Gunnar Þorgrímsson spaki, and nephew to

40 Hungrvaka, 17: “inn mesti spekingr ok skáld.”

41 The First Grammatical Treatise, 224–​27: “Skalld erv hofvndar allrar rynní ęða máálʃ greinar ʃem
smiðir [ʃmíðar] ęða lǫgmenn laga.”
42 Íslensk hómilíubók, 81, 231, 258, 262, 266.
43 Edda Snorra Sturlusonar.
44 Íslendingabók, 23–​24: “Et fyrsta sumar, es Bergþórr sagði lǫg upp, vas nýmæli þat gǫrt, at lǫg
ór skyldi skrifa á bók at Hafliða Mássonar of vetrinn eptir at sǫgu ok umbráði þeira Bergþórs ok
annarra spakra manna, þeira es til þess váru teknir. Skyldu þeir gørva nýmæli þau ǫll í lǫgum, es
þeim litisk þau betri en hin fornu lǫg. Skyldi þau segja upp et næsta sumar eptir í lǫgréttu ok þau
ǫll halda, es enn meiri hlutr manna mælti þá eigi gegn. En þat varð at framfara, at þá vas skrifaðr
10

10 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson

the lawspeaker Úlfhéðinn Gunnarsson. We know nothing about Bergþórr’s education, but
to be able to take on this task he had to be able to read and probably also write.
Kristinnalaga þáttr (Christian Law Section) was made in the period 1122–​1123,45 at
which time Guðmundr Þorgeirsson was lawspeaker. Nothing is known about him, and
even though the country’s two bishops, with the aid of an archbishop, made the laws,46 it is
unlikely that Guðmundr and the goðar had not been involved in the process. The assembly
men at the Althing had to accept the laws in the end, and for this reason it is unthinkable
that Guðmundr Þorgeirsson was not able to read. This would also have been the case with
all of the lawspeakers in the period ca. 1060–​1150.
The situation regarding literary activity in Iceland around 1150 is well known. This is
because of a statement in Fyrsta málfræðiritgerðin that lists up, at the time it was made,
“laws and genealogies, or interpretations of sacred writings, or also that sagacious (histor-
ical) lore that Ari Þorgilsson has recorded in books with such reasonable understanding.”47
This proves that around 1150 Icelanders were writing extensively in the vernacular, and it
was the goðar, under the initative of the Haukdælir and the Oddaverjar, who, together with
the bishops, were the driving forces behind this process.
In his prologue to Heimskringla Snorri Sturluson claims that Ari was the first Icelander
to write in the vernacular (“at norrœnu máli”).48 This statement and the prologue have been
debated extensively, and we will not be engaged in that discussion at this time, and can only
conclude that Snorri is not referring to the laws.49

Vernacular
One central feature of social development in the Middle Ages is the transition from oral
to written communication. It was the Church which provided contact between Iceland
and the literary communities in Western Europe. Writing in the vernacular started
around 1100 in Iceland, and it soon became the dominant writing form, superseding
Latin. It is complicated to explain why the vernacular became so important in Iceland. It
has been argued that this may have been due to Benedictine influence.50 However, as we
have seen, the first and only monastic house was established ca. 1130 at Þingeyrar, years
after Icelanders started to write in the vernacular. As mentioned above, the focus was
strongly on writing down the laws, in the vernacular, and when the problem of adapting

Vígslóði ok margt annat í lǫgum ok sagt upp í lǫgréttu af kennimǫnnum of sumarit eptir. En þat
líkaði ǫllum vel, ok mælti því manngi í gegn.”
45 Hungrvaka, 23–​24.
46 Kulturhistorisk leksikon for nordisk middelalder, 9.304–​6.
47 The First Grammatical Treatise, 209: “bæði lög ok á áttvísi eða þyðingar helgar eða sva þav hín
spaklegv fræðí er ari þorgilsson hefir a bøkr sett af skynsamlgv viti.”
48 Heimskringla, 5.
49 Turville-​Petre, “Notes on the intellectual history of Icelanders,” 113.
50 Borgehammer, “Sunnivalegenden och den benediktinska reformen i England,” 129–​
35;
Johansson, “Philology and Interdisciplinary Research,” 35–​37.
11

Introduction 11

the Latin alphabet to fit dǫnsk tunga had been solved, the next steps were easy. It is likely
that these steps were taken among the learned Icelandic social elite, bishops, goðar,
lawspeakers, lawmen, and the most educated priests. What is also significant is the
Icelandic dominance regarding leading positions in the church: until 1238 all bishops in
Iceland were Icelanders, whereas in Norway, Sweden, and Denmark most of the bishops
were foreigners up to the middle of the twelfth century.51
The cult of saints was an important aspect of the new religion, and there can be little
doubt that this had a significant impact on society.52 A clear testimony to this is found in
Íslendingabók. Here Ari froði claims that Iceland was settled in the year Edmund the Holy
was killed, as is written in the “saga” dedicated to him. It is uncertain whether this saga
was Passio Sancti Eadmundi from around 1000 or De miraculis Sancti Eadmundi from
approximately 1100.53 Either way, the legend about the Holy Edmund was known in
Iceland at the beginning of the twelfth century. Other evidence is clearly found in Fyrsta
málfræðiritgerðin, which lists “þýðingar helgar” (sacred writings) as one of the genres
which existed in Iceland around 1250.54 “Þýðingar helgar” could be used about vitas,
sagas about holy men and women. In the survey The Saints in Iceland. Their Veneration
from the Conversion to 1400 Margaret Cormack mentions approximately seventy-​five
saints used as patron saints of churches in Iceland.55 Of these, only seven do not have a
saga in Old Norse. A number of Icelandic medieval manuscripts have been lost, and it is
therefore not unlikely that all the patron saints had their legends translated. Every single
parish church probably owned a saga about its patron saint,56 maybe in the vernacular.
It is hard to explain why the goðar, in contrast to lords abroad, were so keen on
the new Christian book culture. It could probably be associated with the possibility
of learning, books etc. being used as a means of creating social differences. In other
words, there was a political motif behind the interest. An important difference between
the political game in Iceland and in Europe was that the society in Iceland was more
peaceful. This can easily be seen in the adjectives the sagas use in their descriptions
of the goðar: skills regarding weaponry were only used regarding one or two of them,
and instead their most important personal abilities were generosity and wisdom.57 The
peace in Iceland is clearly demonstrated through the period between ca. 1030 and 1118
has been called friðaröld (the age of peace) by scholars.58 This view stems from the scar-
city of sources from the period and from an account in Kristni saga which states that
when Gizurr Ísleifsson was bishop (1082–​1118), he looked after the country so well that

51 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Kristninga i Norden 750–​1200, 67–​68.

52 Grønlie, The Saint and the Saga Hero.
53 Íslendingabók, xxii–​xxiii.
54 The First Grammatical Treatise, 209.
55 Cormack, The Saints in Iceland.
56 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, “Legender om hellige kvinner på Island i høymiddelalderen,” 116.
57 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Chieftains and Power in the Icelandic Commonwealth, 85–​95.
58 Maurer, Island von seiner ersten Entdeckung bis zum Untergange des Freistaats, 98; Jón
Jóhannesson, Íslendinga saga I. Þjóðveldisöld, 177, 269–​73; Björn Þorsteinsson, Ný Íslandssaga, 207.
12

12 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson

“no major disputes arose among the goðar, and the practice of carrying arms was to a
large degree abandoned.”59 Even though this is an exaggeration,60 no major disputes are
known from this period.
It was the goðar who made the first steps into the new Christian world, a world
they could use in order to advance their own social superiority. The schools at Skálholt,
Haukadalur and Oddi played a significant role in the second half of the eleventh century,
and after the introduction of the tithe other chieftains followed suit. Another crucial
driving force in the literary process was the major churches, which became centres of
learning under the control of the goðar. Learning and “saga writing” became important
aspects of the culture of the social elite, and also gradually developed into a national
popular culture. There is a strong continuity of this culture through to the present time,
the main reason for this being that the literary works were written in the vernacular
language, which hardly changed since the first settlers came to Iceland around 870.

References
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Diplomatarium Islandicum. Íslenzkt fornbréfasafn I–​XVI. Edited by Jón Sigurðsson, Jón
Þorkelsson, Páll Eggert Ólason, and Björn Þorsteinsson Copenhagen: Hið íslenzka
bókmenntafjelag, 1857–​1972.
Edda Snorra Sturlusonar. Nafnaþulur og Skáldatal. Edited by Guðni Jónsson. Reykjavík: I
slendingasagnaútgáfan, 1954.
Heimskringla I. Edited by Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson. Íslenzk fornrit 26. Reykjavík: Hið
íslenska bókmenntafélag, 1941.
Hungrvaka. In Biskupa sögur II. Edited by Ásdís Egilsdóttir. Íslenzk fornrit 16.
Reykjavík: Hið íslenska bókmenntafélag, 2002.
Ísleifs þáttr byskups. In Biskupa sögur II. Edited by Ásdís Egilsdóttir. Íslenzk fornrit 16.
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by Siân Grønlie. London: Viking Society for Northern Research, University College
London, 2006.
Íslendingabók. Edited by Jakob Benediktsson. Íslenzk fornrit 1. Reykjavík: Hið íslenska
bókmenntafélag, 1968.
Íslensk hómilíubók fornar stólræður. Edited by Guðrún Kvaran, Sigurbjörn Einarsson, and
Gunnlaugur Ingólfsson. Reykjavík: Hið íslenska bókmenntafélag, 1993.
Jóns saga ins helga. In Biskupa sögur I. Íslenzk fornrit 15. Edited by Sigurgeir
Steingrímsson and Ólafur Halldórsson. Reykjavík: Hið íslenska bókmenntafélag, 2003.
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Steingrímsson and Ólafur Halldórsson. Reykjavík: Hið íslenska bókmenntafélag, 2003.

59 Kristni saga, 42: “at þá urðu engars með hǫfðingjum, en vápnaburðr lagðisk mjǫk niðr.”
60 Gunnar Karlsson, “Goðar og bændur,” 34–​35; Gunnar Karlsson, “Frá þjóðveldi til konungsríkis,” 38.
13

Introduction 13

Kristni saga. In Biskupa sögur I. Íslenzk fornrit 15. Edited by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson and
Ólafur Halldórsson. Reykjavík: Hið íslenska bókmenntafélag, 2003.
Landnámabók. Edited by Jakob Benediktsson. Íslenzk fornrit 1. Reykjavík: Hið íslenska
bókmenntafélag, 1968.
Sturlunga saga I–​II. Edited by Jón Jóhannesson, Magnús Finnbogason, and Kristján
Eldjárn. Reykjavík: Sturlunguutgafan, 1946.
The First Grammatical Treatise. Introduction, Text, Notes, Translation, Vocabulary, Facsimiles.
Edited by Hreinn Benediktsson. Reykjavik: Institute of Nordic Linguistics, 1972.
Þórlaks saga byskups in elzta. In Biskupa sögur II. Edited by Ásdís Egilsdóttir. Íslenzk
fornrit 16. Reykjavík: Hið íslenska bókmenntafélag, 2002.
Þórlaks saga byskups yngri. In Biskupa sögur II. Edited by Ásdís Egilsdóttir. Íslenzk fornrit
16. Reykjavík: Hið íslenska bókmenntafélag, 2002.

Secondary Literature
Anderson, Theodore M. “Kings’ Sagas (Konungasögur).” In Old Norse–​Icelandic Literature:
A Critical Guide, edited by Carol J. Clover and John Lindow, 197–​238. Ithaca: Cornell
University Press, 1985.
Bekker-​Nielsen, Hans. “Den ældste tid.” In Norrøn fortællekunst: kapitler af den norsk-​
islandske middelalderlitteraturs historie, edited by Hans Bekker-​Nielsen et al., 9–​26.
Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag, 1965.
—​—​. “Frode mænd og tradition.” In Norrøn fortællekunst: kapitler af den norsk-​islandske
middelalderlitteraturs historie, edited by Hans Bekker-​ Nielsen et al., 35–​ 41.
Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag, 1965.
Benedikt Eyþórsson. “Í þjónustu Snorra. Staðurinn í Reykholti og klerkar þar í tíð Snorra
Sturlusonar.” Sagnir. Tímarit um söguleg efni 23 (2003): 20–​26.
Björn Þorsteinsson. Ný Íslandssaga. Reykjavík: Heimskringla, 1966.
Blair, John. “Secular Minster Churches in Domesday Book.” In Domesday Book.
A Reassessment, edited by Peter Sawyer, 104–​42. London: Edward Arnold, 1985.
Blair, John, ed. Minsters and Parish Churches. The Local Church in Transition 950–​1200.
Oxford: Oxford University Committee for Archaeology, 1988.
Blair, John, and Carol Pyrah, eds. Church Archaeology. Research Directions for the Future.
CBA research report 104. York: Council for British Archaeology, 1996.
Blair, John, and Richard Sharpe, eds. Pastoral Care Before the Parish. Leicester: Leicester
University Press, 1992.
Borgehammer, Stephan. “Sunnivalegenden och den benediktinska reformen i England.”
In Selja—​heilag stad i 1000 år, edited by Magnus Rindal, 123–​59. Oslo: Universitets
forlaget, 1997.
Burrows, Hannah. Literary–​ legal Relations in Commonwealth-​ period Iceland. York:
University of York, 2007.
Cormack, Margaret. The Saints in Iceland. Their Veneration from the Conversion to 1400.
Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1994.
Ellehøj, Svend. Studier over den ældste norrøne historieskrivning. Copenhagen:
Munksgaard, 1965.
14

14 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson

Foote, Peter Godfrey. Aurvandilstá: Norse Studies. Odense: Odense University Press, 1984.
Grønlie, Siân E. The Saint and the Saga Hero: Hagiography and Early Icelandic Literature.
Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2017.
Íslensk bókmenntasaga I. Edited by Guðrún Nordal et al. Reykjavík: Mál og menning, 1992.
Gunnar F. Guðmundsson. Íslenskt samfélag og Rómakirkja. Kristni á Íslandi II.
Reykjavík: Alþingi, 2000.
Gunnar Harðarson. “Old Norse Intellectual Culture: Appropriation and Innovation.” In
Intellectual Culture in Medieval Scandinavia, c. 1100–​1350, edited by Stefka Georgieva
Eriksen, 35–​73. Turnhout: Brepols, 2016.
Gunnar Karlsson. “Frá þjóðveldi til konungsríkis.” In Saga Íslands II. Edited by Sigurður
Líndal,1–​54. Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka bókmenntafélag, 1975.
—​—​. “Goðar og bændur.” Saga 10 (1972): 5–​57.
Hjalti Hugason. Frumkristni og upphaf kirkju. Kristni á Íslandi I. Reykjavík: Alþingi, 2000.
Hødnebø, Finn et al, eds. Kulturhistorisk leksikon for nordisk middelalder I–​XXII. Oslo,
1956–​1978 (2. oppl. 1980–​1982).
Johansson, Karl Gunnar. “Philology and Interdisciplinary Research—​ the Sturlungs,
Benedictine Monasteries and Manuscript Tradition.” In Reykholt in Borgarfjörður.
An Interdisciplinary Research Project. Workshop held 20–​21 August 1999, edited by
Guðrún Sveinbjarnardóttir, 35–​41. Reykjavík: Þjóðminjasafn Íslands, 2000.
Jón Jóhannesson. Íslendinga saga I. Þjóðveldisöld. Reykjavík: Almenna bókafélagið,
1956.
Jón Viðar Sigurðsson. Chieftains and Power in the Icelandic Commonwealth. Translated by
Jean Lundskær-​Nielsen. Odense: Odense University Press, 1999.
—​—​. Frá goðorðum til ríkja: Þróun goðavalds á 12. og 13. öld. Reykjavík: Bókaútgáfa
Menningarsjóðs, 1989.
—​—​. “Høvdingene, storkirkene og den litterære aktiviteten på Island fram til ca. 1300.”
In Den kirkehistoriske utfordring, edited by Steinar Imsen, 181–​96. Trondheim: Tapir
Akademisk Forlag, 2005.
—​—​. Kristninga i Norden 750–​1200. Oslo: Samlaget, 2003.
—​—​. “Legender om hellige kvinner på Island i høymiddelalderen.” In Kirkehistorier.
Rapport fra et middelaldersymposium, edited by Nanna Damsholt et al., 115–​33.
Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Forlag, 1996.
Jónas Kristjánsson. Eddas and Sagas. Iceland’s Medieval Literature. Reykjavík: Hið
íslenzka bókmenntafélag, 1992.
Magnús Stefánsson. “Frá goðakirkju til biskupskirkju.” In Saga Íslands III, edited by
Sigurður Líndal, 109–​257. Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka bókmenntafélag, 1978.
—​—​. “Islandsk egenkirkevesen.” In Møtet mellom hedendom og kristendom i Norge, edited
by Hans-​Emil Lidén, 234–​54. Oslo: Universitets forlag, 1995.
—​—​. “Kirkjuvald eflist.” In Saga Íslands II, edited by Sigurður Líndal, 55–​ 144.
Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka bókmenntafélag, 1975.
—​—​. Staðir og staðamál: studier i islandske egenkirkelige og beneficialrettslige forhold i
middelalderen. Bergen: Historisk institutt, Universitetet i Bergen, 2000.
Maurer, Konrad. Island von seiner ersten Entdeckung bis zum Untergange des Freistaats.
Munich: Christian Kaiser, 1874.
15

Introduction 15

Orri Vésteinsson. The Christianization of Iceland: Priests, Power, and Social Change,
1000–​1300. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000.
—​—​. “The Formative Phase of the Icelandic Church ca. 990–​ 1240 ad.” In Church
Centres: Church Centres in Iceland from the 11th to the 13th Century and their Parallels
in Other Countries, edited by Helgi Þorláksson, 71–​81. Reykholt: Snorrastofa, 2005.
—​—​. “Íslenska sóknaskipulagið og samband heimila á miðöldum.” In Íslenska söguþingið
I, edited by Guðmundur J. Guðmundsson and Eiríkur K. Björnsson, 147–​66.
Reykjavík: Sagnfræðistofnun Háskola Íslands, 1998.
Sigríður Sigurðardóttir. Kirkjur og bænhús í Skagafirði. Sauðárkrókur: Byggðasafn
Skagfirðinga, 2008.
—​—​. Miðaldakirkjur 1000–​1318: Skagfirska kirkjurannsóknin. Glaumbær: Byggðasafn
Skagfirðinga 2012.
Sveinn Víkingur. Getið í eyður sögunnar. Reykjavík: Kvöldvökuútgáfan, 1970.
Turville-​Petre, Gabriel. “Notes on the Intellectual History of Icelanders.” History 28
(1942): 111–​23.
Þormóður Sveinsson. “Bæjatalið í Auðunarmáldögum.”Árbók hins íslenzka fornleifafélags
53 (1954): 23–​47.
16
17

PART I

PRE-​CHRISTIAN RITUAL PRACTICE

AND LITERARY DISCOURSE
18
19

Chapter 1

THE USE OF SILVER BY THE NORSEMEN

OF TRUSO AND WOLIN: THE LOGIC OF
THE MARKET OR SOCIAL PRESTIGE?1

Dariusz Adamczyk

IT IS WELL known that Viking expansion included the southern shores of the Baltic Sea.
In the ninth century we can distinguish between the Norsemen, who probably originated
from Uppland and settled in Middle Pomerania near Kolobrzeg, and various trader and
craftsmen’s groups from, among other places, Denmark and Gotland, who were active
in the vicinity of Elblag, establishing a trading outpost at Janów Pomorski/​Truso. By the
tenth century, the next stage of Scandinavian activity had begun, this time on the other
side of the Pomeranian coast, in Wolin, which was inhabited by both Nordic merchants
and warriors from the 970s/​980s onwards. In both areas many silver finds have been
excavated.
It is also well known that precious metals played a significant role in Old Norse
societies. The redistribution of goods was one of the major social principles, and
relations were cemented by the circulation of silver among members of kinship groups
as well as between these groups. Gift-​giving accumulated social prestige and created
bonds between people. The gifts from treasury enabled warlords, chieftains, and kings
to affirm social ties with their retinues, helping to create the symbolic capital nec-
essary for reproduction of power. Rulers, who possessed silver, demonstrated lead-
ership ability and may have strengthened their political situation towards rivals and
competitors for power. The redistribution of precious metals consolidated prestige
and authority.2
The cultural and symbolic significance of displaying luxury goods can be illustrated
by fragments of Old Norse sources that show the ruler as “a lord of rings”—​for instance
in the Laxdoela saga where King Hakon takes from his arm a particularly noteworthy
gold ring and gives it to Höskuld, one of his loyal followers.3 The ruler’s generosity was
scrupulously observed not only by followers, but also by potential petitioners. It was
necessary for kings and jarls to be lavish in order to establish and maintain alliances.
This raises several questions. Was silver primarily a means of payment or marker
of prestige? Can these silver finds be explained via economic or rather socio-​political
contexts? And, last but not least, did the use of silver differ between Truso and Wolin?

1 Dariusz Adamczyk, German Historical Institute in Warsaw, email: adamczyk@dhi.waw.pl.

2 Adamczyk, Silber und Macht.
3 Laxdoela saga, 91.
20

20 Dariusz Adamczyk

The Norse Trading Community of Janów Pomorski/​Truso

In the late eighth or early ninth century, there was established a trading place, located
at the lake of Drużno, found in present-​day Janów Pomorski, just a few kilometres from
Elbląg. The settlement at Janów has been identified as Truso, well known from Wulfstan’s
late ninth-​century account. Archaeological finds from the area include different types of
brooches, Hnefi game stones, gold and silver finger-​rings as well as Walkiria figures, dis-
tinctly illustrative of Norse presence there. Further, crafting activities typical for Viking
societies are attested in the region by finds of small hammers, anvils, files, pins, melting
pots, and unfinished amber products. Consequently, there can be little doubt that Janów
Pomorski (Truso) was inhabited by Scandinavians in the above-​specified time frame,
among others of Danish origin.4
The first Arabic coins (dirhams) began to flow into Warmia, Masuria, and the eastern
parts of Pomerania in the early ninth century. These coins were mostly struck by the
Abbasids in Iraq and Iran, but included some older coins in the mix. The Norsemen’s redis-
tribution of these early dirhams along the southern shores of the Baltic is evidenced by
the finds of single coins or coin fragments at Truso. In addition to 996 dirhams, thirteen
deniers, sceattas, or pennies from Hedeby, Ribe, Frisia, the Frankish and Anglo-​Saxon
realms (Northumbria and Wessex) have been found, all struck before 870.5 Additionally,
a small hoard of sixteen dirhams with terminus post quem 815/​816 has surfaced inside
the trading centre.6 Finds of some 1,110 weights and few scales, possibly used to weigh
silver fragments, emphasize the importance of trade at the emporium.7 However, some
coins were worn as necklaces or melted down and then re-​used as ingots.8
Several dirham hoards dated to the 810s, 820s and 840s have been found in the
vicinity of the emporium at Janów Pomorski (Table 1). It is evident that local Norsemen
created a trading network which linked Staraia Ladoga, the main centre for dirham
redistribution in north-​western Rus’, with the Baltic and Slavic societies populating the
interior of Warmia, Masuria, and eastern Pomerania. Locations of these hoard finds are
all roughly within a 100 km radius of Truso: Gdańsk lies around 70 km north-​west of
Elbląg, Mokajmy-​Sójki and Zalewo between 20–​40 km to the south, Braniewo some 50
km to the east, and the most remote deposit from Ramsowo is around 110 km south-​east
of Truso (Table 1).
The placements of these early dirham hoards, as well as context of archaeological
finds from Janów Pomorski (Truso), lead us to believe that the emporium functioned
mainly to exchange dirhams and dirham fragments for raw materials from the Slavic and

4 Jagodziński, Wczesnośredniowieczna osada rzemieślniczo-​handlowa w Janowie Pomorskim;

Jagodziński, Truso. Między Weonodlandem a Witlandem; Jagodziński, “The Settlement of Truso,” 193.
5 Frühmittelalterliche Münzfunde aus Polen, no. 19A and 19B.
6 Frühmittelalterliche Münzfunde aus Polen, no. 18 and 120.
7 Auch, Bogucki, and Trzeciecki, “Osadnictwo wczesnośredniowieczne na stanowisku Janów
Pomorski 1,” 121.
8 Bogucki, “Coin Finds in the Viking-​Age Emporium at Janów Pomorski (Truso) and the Prussian
Phenomenon,” 80, 92.
21

The Use of Silver 21

Table 1 Hoards with at least ten coins from Janów Pomorski and its hinterland*

Find-​spot Terminus post quem Number of dirhams or

of hoard dirham fragments
Zalewo 811/​812 40
Stegna 811/​812 17
Krasnołąka 813/​814 10
Janów Pomorski I 815/​816 16
Braniewo 816/​817 47
Mokajmy-​Sójki 817/​818 124
Ramsowo 828/​829 336
Gdańsk –​vicinity 849/​850 22
* Based on the inventories Frühmittelalterliche Münzfunde, Inventar II: Pomerania and Inventar V:
Ermland-​Masuria.

Baltic Prussian hinterland (Map 2).9 These, in turn, could either be used by inhabitants of
Truso, or re-​exported to the Arab world via networks of Rus’ and other Norse groupings
living in the lands of northern Rus’.
Raw materials included amber, salt, iron, and beaver furs—​possibly also slaves—​
and later on swords manufactured at Truso.10 These are the sorts of goods the Persian
geographer Ibn Khurradadbih (d. 912) notes in his description of the Rus’ trading
expeditions to the markets in Khazaria, the Caspian Sea and even Baghdad as early as
the 840s (and probably based upon earlier sources).11 Thus, demand for furs, amber,
swords, and slaves in the Abbasid caliphate and Staraia Ladoga was the main reason for
dirhams flowing into the southern Baltic.
The Scandinavians of Truso used silver not only as payment for raw materials from
the hinterland, but also as money in the transit trade between Staraia Ladoga and var-
ious settlements to the west of Janów Pomorski. It is clear from available sources that
Scandinavian and Slavic merchants from the western Baltic visited Truso. Wulfstan him-
self, commonly thought to have been a seafarer of Anglo-​Saxon origin, sailed to Truso via
Hedeby by ca. 880/​890. Moreover, pottery characteristic of Pomerania and Mecklenburg
has been found in Janów Pomorski.12 Concentration of early dirham hoards in the area,
together with a number of single coin finds in Janów Pomorski, suggest this emporium to
have been a key nodal point for the surrounding communities in the first phase of silver
inflow. These communities included settlements such as Kołobrzeg (Kolberg), Menzlin,

9 Adamczyk, “Fernhandelsemporien, Herrschaftszentren, Regional-​und Lokalmärkte,” 117–​19.

10 Biborski et al., “Sword parts from a Viking Age Emporium of Truso in Prussia,” 19–​70.
11 Źródła arabskie do dziejów Słowiańszczyzny, 76–​77.
12 Auch et al., “Osadnictwo wczesnośredniowieczne na stanowisku Janów Pomorski 1,” 96.
 newgenrtpdf
22
Ob

3 16
9 26
12 5
5 27 14 16

Wolga
25
82 24
317 10 22
46

28 8 19
18a
7 17 18

a
lg
8

Wo
1 13? 3
10 5 64 11
9 2 11 23
We
13 29
ichse 9 21
l 7
Don
12

Elb
20

e
Dn
jep
15 r 2

ein
Rh
4

30

Donau

Karte 1
Phase I 786/787 – 839/840
Silver hoards from Eastern Europe 0 500 1000 km Quellen:
featuring at least 10 dirhems Küste und Gewässer nach Diercke,
Bl. 78 Europa von 1904

Map 2. Early dirham finds in Eastern and Northern Europe

(after Adamczyk, Silber und Macht, 67).
23

The Use of Silver 23

Ralswiek, Dierkow-​Rostock, and Reric (Groß Strömkendorf). Many of the dirhams found
in Pomerania and Mecklenburg could have been purchased in Truso.
The unique position of Janów Pomorski/​Truso is even more striking when we con-
sider finds from other early ports of trades along the southern shores of the Baltic and
the North Sea. In Menzlin, in the mouth of the Piana, only sixty-​one coins and nearly the
same number of weights have been excavated. More than eighty coins are known from
Groß Strömkendorf/​Reric, all struck over the course of the seventh and eighth centuries.
From Ribe, 204 sceattas issued between 700 and 850 have been accounted for. Last but
not least, in the most important emporium of the North Sea, Dorestad in the mouth of
the Rhine, archaeologists have excavated at least 375 sceattas and Carolingian deniers.13
The notable absence of dirham hoards in Prussian hinterland after 830 and in
eastern Pomerania after 850, as well as absence of single coin finds inside the emporium
after ca. 870 (but mostly after 850) implies a deep shift in silver redistribution within
the Baltic region.14 However, it does not necessarily mean that coins and coin fragments
stopped circulating in Truso in the second half of the ninth century. 98 per cent of all
dirhams found inside the port of trade appear in the form of fragments. We should also
consider 1,100 weights found in the same area. Among those which have been exam-
ined to date, more than 50 per cent belong to the so-​called cubo-​octahedral weights, and
several to ball-​shaped weights. According to common chronology, such weights were in
use at trading outposts in Birka and Torksey by the 860s/​870s.15 If we assume the same
chronology for Janów Pomorski, we can safely stipulate that dirhams, which flowed to
Truso in the early ninth century, were still in use by Norse traders and craftsmen after
860. This invites the question: why did various ethnic groups in the Truso hinterland
collect Arabic silver? Wulfstan gives us a hint, in his description of the funeral rites of an
Old Prussian chieftain:

Then the same day that they wish to carry him to the funeral pyre, they then
divide up his property [or money], what there is left over after the drinking and
the entertainment, into five or six parts, sometimes into more, according to the
amount of property there is.16

Dirhams and dirham fragments may have been markers of prestige and used for ritu-
alistic purposes; the above description is reminiscent of the potlatch. During this gift-​
giving ceremony, common to many indigenous peoples, members of the elite would
redistribute or destroy their property in order to maintain or strengthen their own

13 Kleingärtner, Die frühe Phase der Urbanisierung, 365–​67; Coupland, “Carolingian Single Finds
and the Economy of the Early Ninth Century,” 287–​319; Feveile, “Series X and Coin Circulation in
Ribe,” 53–​67. For the data from Groß Strömkendorf I would like to thank Ralf Wiechmann from the
Numismatische Abteilung des Hamburger Museums.
14 Adamczyk, “Koniunkturalne cykle czy strukturalne załamania?,” 104–​5.
15 Steuer, “Gewichtsgeldwirtschaft im frühgeschichtlichen Europa,” 405–​527; Kilger, “Mitqal,
Gewichte und Dirhems,” 21.
16 Wulfstan’s Voyage and his Description of Estland, 16 (text), 24–​25 (comm.).
24

24 Dariusz Adamczyk

social status. By redistributing goods, social ties could be particularly reinforced within
a kinship group.17 The collapse of demand for silver in Truso’s hinterland around 830
could be interpreted as a saturation of “the prestige market” after only one generation.
Let us now move to Wolin, almost 400 km west of Truso.

Traders, Warriors, and Warlords in Wolin

According to archaeological data, a settlement on the island of Wolin emerged and grew
in strength from the early tenth century onwards, in tandem with the inflow of Arabic
silver. In contrast to older trade emporia like Truso, Wolin’s merchant elite were not just
traders of amber and slaves: their rise was indicative of an important political factor in
the region.18 Widukind of Corvey reports that Wolinians fought against Mieszko, while
Adam of Bremen calls Wolin “the largest European town.”19 Ibrahim ibn Ya’qub describes
Wolin in the 960s thus:

They [the Wolinians] have a great city on the Surrounding Ocean. It has twelve
gates and a harbour […] They make war on Mieszko and are very courageous.
They have no king […] their judges are their old men.20

The town underwent considerable development in the first quarter of the tenth cen-
tury, when the core settlement and southern suburb were fortified, and a rampart built
to protect “silver hill” to the north (Srebrne Wzgórze). At the same time, a new suburb
to the west of the emporium was fortified and a harbour settlement emerged on the
southern slopes of “gallows hill” (Wzgórze Wisielców) to the south. The scale of these
fortifications is in contrast to other emporia in the mouth of the Oder, such as Menzlin,
and hints at strong power structures forming in Wolin. Archaeological material points to
Slav merchants and chieftains controlling trade there for much of the tenth century, with
Norsemen only becoming more actively involved around 970 and onwards.21
Why did Wolin rise in the first half of the tenth century? Błażej M. Stanisławski
has suggested an “ideological revolution” occurring among the Wolinians, reflective
in the development of the settlement complex, the emergence of new elites and the
appearance of dirham hoards22 —​all phenomena seen in Wielkopolska, too. We should
take into account a fundamental transformation that was taking place to the west of
Wolin in this period. Between 928 and 934 the formidable king of East Francia, Henry
the Fowler (919–​936), imposed tribute on all the Polabian Slavs and Bohemians. A huge
area was brought under Saxon control—​from the Baltic rim in the north to Prague in

17 Mauss, Die Gabe.

18 Adamczyk, “Wollin und sein Hinterland im kontinentalen und transkontinentalen Bezie­
hungsgeflecht um das Jahr 1000,” 299–​317.
19 Widukind, Res Gestae Saxonicae, 172–​73.
20 Ibrāhīm ibn-​Ya’qūb on Northern Europe 965, 166.
21 Stanisławski, Jómswikingowie z Wolina-​Jómsborga, 244–​45.
22 Stanisławski, Jómswikingowie z Wolina-​Jómsborga, 231–​40.
25

The Use of Silver 25

the south, from the Elbe in the west to the Oder to the east—​and in 934 Henry also cap-
tured the important emporium of Hedeby.23 The pressure Henry put on the Polabian
tribes and Danes between 928 and 934 created opportunities for Wolinian expansion
into the Polish interior as well as in the Baltic region. It is probably no coincidence that
Wichmann, a member of the Saxon House of Billung, fled to the Wolinians after banish-
ment by Henry’s son Otto I and led them against Mieszko in the 960s. According to Adam
of Bremen, the trading centre of Birka was plundered by pirates,24 and there is no reason
why some Slavic ships arriving in Birka should not have hailed from Wolin.25
In contrast to Janów Pomorski, the “ideological revolution” in Wolin was created
by Slavs in the first half of the tenth century. However, there can be little doubt that
Norsemen were active in various parts of this settlement complex: in the later 960s
probably as traders and from approximately 980 onwards also as warriors. For the latter,
some evidence can be seen in Ogrody, “Gardens.” We may note, among other local finds,
a sword, an axe, and, last but not least, a spearhead. Alongside some Norse everyday
items, these suggest a presence of warriors and traders.26 Further, several finds from
Pomerania indicate connections to Scandinavia: the hoard from Świnoujscie-​Przytór
(terminus post quem around 975), some 20 km from Wolin, and the hoard of Białogard II
(983) included almost exclusively Danish coins possibly struck in Hedeby.27
We should add evidence from written sources to this discussion. Óláfr Tryggvason,
king of Norway between 995 and 1000, stayed in Wolin for some years and possibly
took part in Viking-​like expeditions in the Baltic Sea area himself.28 The connections
between Wolin and Scandinavia, especially Denmark, are also confirmed by various
Old Norse texts.29 According to the so-​called Jómsvíkinga saga, the Norsemen settled in
Wolin, protecting surrounding land and organizing predation raids.30 They kidnapped
Sveinn I Forkbeard and demanded much gold for ransom.31 Near the island of Rugia,
on the beach of Hiddensee, a hoard dating to the 980s has been discovered. It is one of
the largest gold finds of the Viking Age, weighing almost 600 g and containing jewellery
originating from Hedeby or Denmark at large. It stands to reason that this gold was the
ransom for which Sveinn should have been freed, but was lost on its way to Wolin.32
And last but not least, we have to mention Harald Bluetooth, who fled from Denmark

23 Regesten zur Geschichte der Slaven, Teil II, no. 25, 40; no. 27, 43–​44; no. 30, 47–​48; no. 36, 55;
no. 37, 56; no. 42, 61; no. 43, 62.
24 Adam of Bremen, Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontificum, 230–​31.
25 Regesten, no. 16, 30.
26 Stanisławski and Filipowiak, Wolin wczesnośredniowieczny, 187.
27 Frühmittelalterliche Münzfunde, Pommern, no. 225 and 5.
28 Morawiec, “Kontakty Olafa Tryggvasona z Jomsborgiem,” 19–​42; Słupecki, “Jom, Jomsborg,
Wolin, Wineta w pieśniach skaldów, w islandzkich sagach i w łacińskich kronikach,” 47–​62.
29 Morawiec, Wolin w średniowiecznej tradycji skandynawskiej.
30 Jómsvíkinga saga, 19–​20.
31 Regestenzur Geschichte der Slaven, Teil III, no. 241, 43–​44.
32 Filipowiak, “Der Goldschatz von Hiddensee,” 337–​45.
 newgenrtpdf
26
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Karte 6
Phase III 900 – 989/990
(The Great Poland and neighbouring
ar
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Silver hoards featuring at least
M
10 dirhems 0 100 km

Map 3. Tenth-​century dirham finds from Poland (after Adamczyk, Silber und Macht, 173).
27

The Use of Silver 27

Table 2 Larger hoards from Western Pomerania*

Find-​spot Terminus post quem Number of coins or

of hoard coin fragments
Łabędzie (Drawsko) 929–​932 390
Bielkowo (Stargard Szczeciński) 938/​939 247
Daleszewo/​Piaski Wielkie (Gryfino) 942/​943 at least 880
Dramino (Kamień Pomorski) 949/​950 10.532 g
Trzebianowo (Kamień Pomorski) 955/​956 3.120 g
* Based on the inventories Frühmittelalterliche Münzfunde, Inventar II: Pomerania.

to Wolin.33 Consequently, archaeological evidence appears to correlate well with the

written sources.
It was primarily the long-​distance trade boom of the tenth century that stimulated
the rise of this emporium.
Several hoards have been found in the region between Kamień Pomorski and
Szczecin, about 20 km north and 80 km south of Wolin respectively (Table 2).
In Wolin itself, 18 silver hoards have been discovered to date (Table 3). They contain
coins (mainly dirhams), jewellery, ingots and silver wires (Table 3).
In contrast to Truso, jewellery finds in Wolin suggest the existence of prestige
and gift-​based economy. The hoard Wolin XVII, dated to the tenth/​eleventh centuries,
includes ninety-​nine pieces of jewellery, ingots, and silver wires, mostly fragmented. In
addition, it contains a Thor hammer pendant. The find known as Wolin XXII, found on
the so-​called “silver hill,” consists of 120–​150 coins and five pieces of jewellery. Several
hoards from the hinterland hold jewellery as well: for instance, the find at Dramino
comprises 588 fragmented arm-​rings, neck-​rings, and ear-​rings together with twenty
cut ingots.34
There are obviously other possibilities, beyond market needs, why silver in Pomerania
was cut and fragmented. The fortified settlements at Wolin may have served both as
centres for tribute collection by the elite and as places for various forms of exchange.
This would explain why jewellery and dirhams were fragmented—​for use by weight in
the form of bullion or hack-​silver, rather than holding a monetary value. Furthermore,
some of the hacked coins and rings could have been gifts to express friendship and
ensure political alliances—​particularly since many dirhams flowed into Eastern Europe
as bullion. Precious metals may have been the universal medium of persuasion, and a
significant mechanism for regulating relationships between Wolin’s elites and various

33 Regesten zur Geschichte der Slaven, Teil III, no. 240, 42.
34 Frühmittelalterliche Münzfunde, no. 257, 262 and 37.
28

28 Dariusz Adamczyk

Table 3 Silver finds from Wolin*

Find-​spot Last coin Number of coins or coin

fragments
Wolin I (“silver hill”) ? ?
Wolin II (“silver hill” or “mill hill”) ? ?
Wolin III (“near the town”) 10th century? “many” Arab coins
Wolin IV (“silver hill”) 909 2 dirhams
Wolin V (“silver hill”) 10th century ?
Wolin VI (“near the town”) 10th century 34 Islamic coins
Wolin VII (suburb Wik) 10th century? many fragments; jewellery
and jewellery fragments
Wolin IX (“near the town”) 944 4 dirhams
Wolin X (suburb Wik) 10th century? 34 dirhams
Wolin XI (“gallow hill”) 10th century? ?
Wolin XII (“near the town”) 10th century? fragments of dirhams und
jewellery
Wolin XVI (?) 10th century? 5 dirhams
Wolin XXII (“silver hill”) 982 120–​150 coins and jewellery
Wolin-​Wyspa ? 2 coins
Wolin XXV (?) ca. 975 34 coins
Wolin XIII (“near the town”) 1024 350 coins and 56 arm-​rings
Wolin XV (“mill hill”) 1050 22 coins and 65 g coins
Wolin XVII 10th–​11th 99 pieces of jewellery, ingots
century and wires
* Based on the inventories Frühmittelalterliche Münzfunde, Inventar II: Pomerania and Inventar V:
Funde aus Polen 2011–2013. Addenda et Corrigenda.

local clans. “Baugbroti” (ring-​breaker) is the name in the sagas for these chieftains and
kings who were lavish and gave pieces of arm-​rings to their followers.35
The number of single finds in Wolin is negligible. Only close to seventy coins are
known from the settlement complex, and approximately seven from burial grounds. To
these we can add more than forty weights and balances. They show a certain importance

35 Die Edda. Göttersagen, Heldensagen und Spruchweisheiten der Germanen, hg. von Harri Günther
(in der Übertragung von Karl Simrock), Wiesbaden 1987, 127. Reallexikon der Germannischen
Altertumskunde, 1:180. However, it does not exclude that hack-​silver could have a negative connota-
tion as “less worthy silver.” See, for example, the Bandamanna saga, 336–​37.
29

The Use of Silver 29

of weighing silver for use in both long-​distance and regional trade. Wolinian chieftains
may have paid in precious metal for slaves, furs, and possibly also timber supplied by
inland groups, and it is no coincidence that in the first half of the tenth century high-​
quality pottery from western Pomerania also starts to appear in the Wielkopolska
region.36
Additionally, workshops for glass, amber, metal, and antlers have been excavated.
Intensive contacts with the Arabic world are attested not only by the numerous hoards
containing Islamic coins and jewellery found around Wolin, but by the dirham finds
in the settlement complex itself, as well as cowrie shells from the Indian Ocean,
glass beads from Syria and Egypt, and silk fragments from Central Asia.37 One of the
emporium’s most important exports was amber—​more than 270,000 pieces were
found there.38
The emporium’s wealth lured the Piasts, a dynasty ruling in Wielkopolska, to move
into Pomerania and attempt to impose tribute on the Wolinians.

Comparisons and Conclusions

Let us now compare Truso and Wolin. A different pattern of finds is attested by Table 4.
More than 1,000 stray finds of coins have been discovered in Janów Pomorski, almost
all of them dating between 750 and 850. Nevertheless, they may have remained in cir-
culation until the second half of the ninth century. In contrast to Truso, only close to
seventy single coins appear in Wolin, belonging to a time-​span from 815/​816 to 911/​
912 for dirhams, and 1075 to1090 for cross-​deniers. Consequently, these reflect various
silver inflows into Pomerania which generally encompassed the tenth and eleventh cen-
turies. The number of single finds is a striking difference, even considering the fact that

Table 4 Comparisons between Truso and Wolin

Janów Pomorski/​Truso Wolin

single coins: 1009 (700/​750–​870) single coins: ca. 70 (+ ca. 7 from burial
time of inflow into Truso: 800s–​860s grounds) (900s–​1090s)
time of inflow into Wolin: 900s?–​1090s
hoards: 1 (810s) hoards: 18 (900s?–​1050s)
weights: 1,110 weights: “more than” 40
no jewellery jewellery and fragments of jewellery

36 Kara, Najstarsze państwo Piastów, 255, 257.

37 Filipowiak, “Handel und Handelsplätze an der Ostseeküste Westpommerns,” 690–​719; Bogucki
and Malarczyk, “Wczesnośredniowieczny skarb monet ze Srebrnego Wzgórza w Wolinie z 2. połowy
X w,” 291–​317; Horoszko, “Monety wczesnośredniowieczne z badań archeologicznych w Wolinie,”
277–​90.
38 Wojtasik, “Bursztyniarstwo wczesnośredniowiecznego Wolina,” 235–​49.
Another random document with
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Which on the house reflected grace,
Full of good fare and honest glee,
The steward Hospitality.

Churchill had no doubt a genuine passion for poetry and

independence, but the saeva indignatio of the professed censor of
public morals and manners cannot be conveyed to the reader
through the medium of mechanical abstractions which, compared
with the flesh-and-blood creations of Dryden and Pope, show clearly
that for the time being the great line of English satire has all but
come to an end.
Eighteenth century ethical poetry was represented at this stage by
Johnson and Goldsmith, at whose work it will now be convenient to
glance. The universal truths which Johnson as a stern, unbending
moralist wished to illustrate in “London” (1738) and “The Vanity of
Human Wishes” (1749), might easily have resulted in a swarm of the
abstractions and personifications fashionable at the time.[203] From
this danger Johnson was saved by the depth of feeling with which he
unfolds the individual examples chosen to enforce his moral lessons.
Not that he escapes entirely; “London” has a few faint abstractions
(“Malice,” “Rapine,” “Oppression”); but though occasionally they are
accompanied by epithets suggesting human attributes (“surly Virtue,”
“persecuting Fate,” etc.), as a rule there is no attempt at definite
personification, a remark which also applies to the “Vanity of Human
Wishes.” In his odes to the different seasons he has not given,
however, any elaborate personifications, but has contented himself
with slight human touches, such as

Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow.

Of Johnson’s poetical style, regarded from our present point of

view, it may be said to be well represented in the famous line from
“London”:

Slow rises Worth by Poverty depressed,

where there is probably no intention or desire to personify at all, but
which is a result of that tendency towards Latin condensation which
the great Doctor and his contemporaries had introduced into English
prose.
Goldsmith’s poetry has much in common with that of Johnson, in
that both deal to some extent with what would now be called social
problems. But it is significant of Goldsmith’s historical position in
eighteenth century poetry as representing a sort of “half-way
attitude,” in the matter of poetical style, between the classical
conventional language and the free and unfettered diction advocated
by Wordsworth, that there are few examples of personified
abstractions in his works, and these confined mainly to one passage
in “The Traveller”:

Hence Ostentation here with tawdry Art

Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart, etc.

At this point it is necessary to hark back for the purpose of

considering other works which had been appearing alongside of the
works just discussed. It has already been remarked that in this
matter of the use of abstraction and personification the influence of
Milton early asserted itself, and there can be no doubt that a good
deal of it may be traced to the influence more especially of the early
poems. Indeed, the blank verse poems, which attempted to imitate
or parody the “grand style” of the great epics, furnish few examples
of the personified abstraction. The first of these, the “Splendid
Shilling” and “Cyder” of John Philips (1705-1706) contains but few
instances. In Somerville’s “Chase” there is occasionally a
commonplace example, such as “brazen-fisted Time,” though in his
ode “To Marlborough” he falls into the conventional style quickly
enough. In the rest of the blank verse poems Mallet’s “Excursion”
(1738), and his “Amyntor and Theodora” (1744), comparatively little
use is made of the device, a remark also applicable to Dyer’s “Ruins
of Rome” (1740), and to Grainger’s “Sugar Cane” (1764).
The fashion for all these blank verse poems had been started
largely by the success of “The Seasons,” which appeared in its
original form from 1726 to 1730, to undergo more than one revision
and augmentation until the final edition of 1744. Though Thomson’s
work shows very many traces of the influence of Milton, there is no
direct external evidence that his adoption of blank verse was a result
of that influence. Perhaps, as has been suggested,[204] he was
weary of the monotony of the couplet, or at least considered its
correct and polished form incapable of any further development. At
the same time it is clear that having adopted “rhyme-unfettered
verse,” he chose to regard Milton as a model of diction and style,
though he was by no means a slavish imitator.
With regard to the special problems with which we are here
concerned, it must be noted that when Thomson was first writing
“The Seasons,” the device of personified abstraction had not
become quite so conventional and forced in its use as at a later date.
Nevertheless examples of the typical abstraction are not infrequent;
thus, in an enumeration of the passions which, since the end of the
“first fresh dawn,” have invaded the hearts and minds of men, we are
given “Base Envy,” withering at another’s joy; “Convulsive Anger,”
storming at large; and “Desponding Fear,” full of feeble fancies, etc.
(“Spring,” 280-306). Other examples are somewhat redeemed by the
use of a felicitous compound epithet, “Art imagination-flushed”
(“Autumn,” 140), “the lonesome Muse, low-whispering” (ibid., 955),
etc. In “Summer” (ll. 1605 foll.) the poet presents one of the usual
lists of abstract qualities (“White Peace, Social Love,” etc.), but there
are imaginative touches present that help to vitalize some at least of
the company into living beings:

The tender-looking Charity intent

On gentle deeds, and shedding tears through smiles—

and the passage is thus a curious mixture of mechanical

abstractions with more vivid and inspired conceptions.
Occasionally Thomson employs the figure with ironical or
humorous intention, and sometimes not ineffectively, as in the
couplet,
Then sated Hunger bids his brother Thirst
Produce the mighty bowl.

(“Autumn,” 512)

He is also fond of the apostrophic personification, often feebly, as

when, acting upon a suggestion from Mallet,[205] he writes:

Comes, Inspiration, from thy hermit seat,

By mortal seldom found, etc.

(“Summer,” l. 15)

As for the seasons themselves, we do not find any very successful

attempts at personification. Thomson gives descriptive impressions
rather than abstractions: “gentle Spring, ethereal mildness” (“Spring,”
1), “various-blossomed Spring” (“Autumn,” 5); or borrowing, as often,
an epithet from Milton, “refulgent Summer” (“Summer,” 2); or “surly
Winter” (“Spring,” 11).
But in these, and similar passages, the seasons can hardly be
said to be distinctly pictured or personified. In “Winter,” however,
there is perhaps a more successful attempt at vague but suggestive
personification:[206]

See Winter comes, to rule the varied year,

Sullen and sad, with all his rising train
Vapours, and clouds and storms.

But on the whole Thomson’s personifications of the seasons are not,

poetically, very impressive. There is little or no approach to the
triumphant evocation with which Keats conjures up Autumn for us,
with all its varied sights and sounds, and its human activities vividly
personified in the gleaner and the winnower

sitting careless on a granary floor

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind,
or the couplet in which Coleridge brings before us a subtle
suggestion of the spring beauty, to which the storms and snows are
but a prelude:

And winter, slumbering in the open air

Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring.

(“Work without Hope”)

Yet Thomson, as might be expected in a forerunner of the Romantic

school, is not altogether without a gift for these embryonic
personifications, as they have been called, when by means of a
felicitous term or epithet the whole conception which the poet has in
mind is suddenly galvanized into life and endowed with human
feelings and emotions. Such evocations are of the very stuff of which
poetry is made, and at their highest they possess the supreme
power of stirring or awakening in the mind of the reader other
pictures or visions than those suggested by the mere personification.
[207]

Though some of Thomson’s instances are conventional or

commonplace, as in the description of

the grey grown oaks

That the calm village in their verdant arms
Sheltering, embrace,

(“Summer,” 225-227)

and others merely imitative, as,

the rosy-footed May

Steals blushing on,

(“Spring,” 489-490)

yet there are many which call up by a single word a vivid and
picturesque expression, such as the “hollow-whispering breeze”
(“Summer,” 919) or the poet’s description of the dismal solitude of a
winter landscape

It freezes on
Till Morn, late rising o’er the drooping world
Lifts her pale eyes unjoyous

(“Winter,” 744)

or the beautiful description of a spring dawn:

The meek-eyed Morn appears, mother of dews

At first faint-gleaming in the dappled east.

(“Summer,” 48-49)

Adverting to the question of Milton’s influence on the prevalent

mania for personification, it is undoubted that the early poems may
be held largely responsible. Their influence first began noticeably to
make itself felt in the fifth decade of the century, when their
inspiration is to be traced in a great deal of the poetic output of the
period, including that of Joseph and Thomas Warton, as well as of
Collins and Gray. Neglecting for the moment the greater poets who
drew inspiration from this source, it will be as well briefly to consider
first the influence of Milton’s minor poems on the obscure versifiers,
for it is very often the case that the minor poetry of an age reflects
most distinctly the peculiarities of a passing literary fashion. As early
as 1739 William Hamilton of Bangour[208] imitated Milton in his
octosyllabic poem “Contemplation,” and by his predilection for
abstraction foreshadowed one of the main characteristics of the
Miltonic revival among the lesser lights. A single passage shows this
clearly enough:

Anger with wild disordered pace

And malice pale of famish’d face:
Loud-tongued Clamour get thee far
Hence, to wrangle at the bar:
and so on.
Five or six years later Mason’s Miltonic imitations appeared—“Il
Bellicoso” and “Il Pacifico”—which follow even more slavishly the
style of “L’Allegro” and “Il Penseroso,” so that there is no need for
Mason’s footnote to “Il Bellicoso” describing the poem with its
companion piece as this “very, very juvenile imitation.”[209] “Il
Bellicoso” begins with the usual dismissal:

Hence, dull lethargic Peace

Born in some hoary beadsman’s cell obscure,

and subsequently we are introduced to Pleasure, Courage, Victory,

Fancy, etc. There is a similar exorcism in “Il Pacifico,” followed by a
faint personification of the subject of the ode, attended by a “social
smiling train” of lifeless abstractions.
The pages of Dodsley[210] furnish abundant testimony to the
prevalence of this kind of thing. Thus “Penshurst”[211] by F. Coventry
is another close imitation of Milton’s companion poems, with the
usual crowd of abstractions. The same thing is met with in the
anonymous “Vacation,”[212] and in the “Valetudinarian,” said to be
written by Dr. Marriott.[213]
It is unnecessary to illustrate further the Milton vogue, which thus
produced so large a crop of imitations,[214] except to say that there is
significant testimony to the widespread prevalence of the fashion in
the fact that a parody written “in the Allegoric, Descriptive,
Alliterative, Epithetical, Fantastic, Hyperbolical, and Diabolical Style
of our modern Ode writers and monody-mongers”[215] soon
appeared. This was the anonymous “Ode to Horror,” a humorous
burlesque, especially of the “Pleasures of Melancholy.” The Wartons
stand high above the versifiers at whose productions we have just
looked, but nevertheless there was some justification for the good-
humoured parody called forth by their works.
In 1746 there appeared a small volume entitled “Odes on Various
Subjects,” a collection of fourteen odes by Joseph Warton.[216] The
influence of Milton is especially seen in the odes “To Fancy,” “To
Health,” and to “The Nightingale,” but all betray definitely the source
of their inspiration. Thus in the first named:

Me, Goddess, by the right hand lead

Sometimes thro’ the yellow mead
Where Joy and White-robed Peace resort
And Venus keeps her festive court.

All the odes of Warton betray an abundant use of abstractions, in the

midst of which he rarely displays anything suggestive of
spontaneous inspiration. His few personifications of natural powers
are clearly imitative. “Evening” is “the meek-eyed Maiden clad in
sober gray” and Spring comes

array’d in primrose colour’d robe.

We feel all the time that the poet drags in his stock of personified
abstractions only because he is writing odes, and considers that
such devices add dignity to his subject.
At the same time it is worth noting that almost the same lavish use
of these lay figures occurs in his blank verse poem, “The
Enthusiast,” or “The Lover of Nature” (1740), likewise written in
imitation of Milton, and yet in its prophetic insight so important a
poem in the history of the Romantic revival.[217] Lines such as

Famine, Want and Pain

Sunk to their graves their fainting limbs

are frequent, while there is a regular procession of qualities, more or

less sharply defined, but not poetically suggestive enough to be
effective.
The younger of the two brothers, Thomas Warton, who by his
critical appreciation of Spenser did much in that manner to help
forward the Romantic movement, was perhaps still more influenced
by Milton. His ode on “The Approach of Summer” shows to what
extent he had taken possession of the verse, language, and imagery
of Milton:

Haste thee, nymph, and hand in hand

With thee lead a buxom band
Bring fantastic-footed Joy
With Sport, that yellow-tressed boy;
Leisure, that through the balmy sky,
Chases a crimson butterfly.

But nearly all his poems provide numerous instances of personified

abstraction, especially the lines “Written at Vale Abbey,” which
seems to exhaust, and present as thin abstractions, the whole gamut
of human virtues and vices, emotions and desires.[218]
There is a certain irony in the fact that the two men who, crudely,
perhaps, but nevertheless unmistakably, adumbrated the Romantic
doctrine, should have been among the foremost to indulge in an
excess against which later the avowed champion of Romanticism
was to inveigh with all his power. This defect was perhaps the
inevitable result of the fact that the Wartons had apparently been
content in this respect to follow a contemporary fashion as revealed
in the swarm of merely mechanical imitations of Milton’s early
poems. But their subjects were on the whole distinctly romantic, and
this fact, added to their critical utterances, gives them real historical
importance. Above all, it is to be remembered that they have for
contemporaries the two great poets in whom the Romantic
movement was for the first time adequately exemplified—William
Collins and Thomas Gray.
The first published collection of Collins’s work, “Odes on Several
Descriptive and Allegorical Subjects” (1746), was, as we have seen,
if not neglected or ignored by the public, at least received with
marked indifference, owing largely no doubt to the abstract nature of
his subjects, and the chiselled severity of his treatment.[219] In other
words, Collins was pure classical and not neo-classical; he had gone
direct back to the “gods of Hellas” for his inspiration, and his verse
had a Hellenic austerity and beauty which could make little or no
appeal to his own age. At the same time it was permeated through
and through with new and striking qualities of feeling and emotion
that at once aroused the suspicions of the neo-classicists, with
Johnson as their mentor and spokesman. The “Odes” were then, we
may say, classical in form and romantic in essence, and it is scarcely
a matter for surprise that a lukewarm reception should have been
their lot.[220]
Collins has received merited praise for the charm and precision of
his diction generally, and the fondness for inverting the common
order of his words—Johnson’s chief criticism of his poetical style[221]
—is to the modern mind a venial offence compared with his use of
personified abstractions. On this point Johnson has nothing to say,
an omission which may be regarded as significant of the extent to
which personification had invaded poetry, for the critic, if we may
judge from his silence, seems to have considered it natural and
legitimate for Collins also to have made abundant use of this stock
and conventional device.
It is probable, however, that the extensive use which Collins
makes of the figure is the result in a large measure of his predilection
for the ode—a form of verse very fashionable towards the middle of
the century. As has already been noted, odes were being turned out
in large numbers by the poetasters of the time, in which virtues and
vices, emotions and passions were invoked, apostrophized, and
dismissed with appropriate gestures, and it is probable that the
majority of these turgid and ineffective compositions owed their
appearance to the prevalent mania for personification. Young
remarked with truth[222] that an ode is, or ought to be, “more
spontaneous and more remote from prose” than any other kind of
poetry; and doubtless it was some vague recognition of this fact, and
in the hope of “elevating” their style, that led the mere versifiers to
adopt the trick. But as they worked the mechanical personification to
death, they quickly robbed it of any impressiveness it may ever have
had.
This might quite fairly be described as the state of affairs with
regard to the use of personified abstraction when Collins was writing
his “odes,” but while it is true that he indulges freely in
personification, it is scarcely necessary to add that he does so with a
difference; his Hellenic training and temperament naturally saved
him from the inanities and otiosities of so much contemporary verse.
To begin with, there are but few examples of the lifeless abstraction,
and even in such cases there is usually present a happy epithet, or
brief description that sets them on a higher level than those that
swarm even in the odes of the Wartons. Thus in the “Ode on the
Poetical Character,” “the shadowy tribes of mind,” which had been
sadly overworked by Collins’s predecessors and contemporaries, are
brought before us with a new and fresh beauty that wins instant
acceptance for them:

But near it sat ecstatic Wonder

Listening the deep applauding thunder
And truth in sunny vest arrayed
By whom the tassel’s eyes were made
All the shadowy tribes of mind
In braided dance their murmurs joined.

Instances of the mechanical type so much in favour are, however,

not lacking, as in this stanza from the “Verses” written about bride-
cake:

Ambiguous looks that scorn and yet relent,

Denial mild and firm unaltered truth,
Reluctant pride and amorous faint consent
And melting ardours and exulting youth.[223]

The majority of Collins’s personified abstractions are, however,

vague in outline, that is to say, they suggest, but do not define, and
are therefore the more effective in that the resulting images are
almost evanescent in their delicacy. Thus in the “Ode to Pity” the
subject is presented to us in magic words:

Long pity, let the nations view

Thy sky-worn robes of tender blue
And eyes of dewy light,
whilst still another imaginative conception is that of “Mercy”:

who sitt’st a smiling bride

By Valour’s armed and awful side
Gentlest of sky-born forms and best adorned.

The “Ode to the Passions” is in itself almost an epitome of the

various ways in which Collins makes use of personification. It is first
to be noted that he rarely attempts to clothe his personifications in
long and elaborate descriptions; most often they are given life and
reality by being depicted, so to speak, moving and acting:

Revenge impatient rose,

He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down,
And with a withering look
The war-denouncing trumpet took;
Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien
Whilst his strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head.

Even the figures, seen as it were but for a moment, are flashed
before us in this manner:

With woful measures wan Despair

Low sullen sounds his grief beguiled

and

Dejected Pity at his side

Her soul-subduing voice applied

and the vision of hope with “eyes so fair” who

smiled and waved her golden hair.

In this ode Collins gives us also imaginative cameos, we might call

them, vividly delineated and presented like the figures on the
Grecian urn that inspired Keats. Thus:

While as his flying fingers kissed the strings,

Love framed with mirth a gay fantastic round.

and, with its tinge of probably unconscious humour—

Brown exercise rejoiced to hear,

And Sport leapt up and seized his beechen spear.

From these and similar instances, we receive a definite impression

of that motion, which is at the same time repose, so characteristic of
classical sculptuary.
Most of the odes considered above are addressed to abstractions.
In the few instances where Collins invokes the orders or powers of
nature even greater felicity is shown in the art with which he calls up
and clothes in perfect expression his abstract images. The first of the
seasons is vaguely but subtly suggested to us in the beautiful ode
beginning “How sleep the brave”:

When Spring with dewy fingers cold

Returns to deck their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than fancy’s feet have ever trod.

This is rather a simile than a personification, but yet there is

conveyed to us a definite impression of a shadowy figure that comes
to deck the earth with beauty, like a young girl scattering flowers as
she walks along.
But the workmanship of Collins in this respect is seen in its
perfection in the “Ode to Evening.” There is no attempt to draw a
portrait or chisel a statue; the calm, restful influence of evening, its
sights and sounds that radiate peace and contentment, even the
very soul of the landscape as the shades of night gather around, are
suggested by master touches, whilst the slow infiltration of the
twilight is beautifully suggested:

Thy dewy fingers draw

The gradual dusky veil.
The central figure is still the same evanescent being, the vision of a
maiden, endowed with all the grace of beauty and dignity, into whose
lap “sallow Autumn” is pouring his falling leaves, or who now goes
her way slowly through the tempest, while

Winter, yelling through the troublous air

Affrights thy shrinking train,
And rudely rends thy robe.

If we had no other evidence before us, Collins’s use of personified

abstraction would be sufficient in itself to announce that the new
poetry had begun. He makes use of the device as freely, and even
now and then as mechanically, as the inferior versifiers of his period,
but instead of the bloodless abstractions, his genius enabled him to
present human qualities and states in almost ethereal form. Into
them he has breathed such poetic life and inspiration that in their
suggestive beauty and felicity of expression they stand as supreme
examples of personification used as a legitimate poetical device, as
distinct from a mere rhetorical figure or embellishment.
This cannot be said of Gray, in whose verse mechanical
personifications crowd so thickly that, as Coleridge observed in his
remarks on the lines from “The Bard,”

In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes

Youth at the prow and Pleasure at the helm

it depends “wholly on the compositors putting or not putting a small

Capital, both in this and in many other passages of the same poet,
whether the words should be personifications or mere
abstractions.”[224]
It is difficult to account for this devotion of Gray to the “new
Olympus,” thickly crowded with “moral deities” that his age had
brought into being, except on the assumption that contemporary
usage in this respect was too strong for him to resist. For it cannot
be denied that very many of the beings that swarm in his odes do not
differ in their essential character from the mechanical figures worked
to death by the ode-makers of his days; even his genius was not
able to clothe them all in flesh and blood. In the “Eton College” ode
there is a whole stanza given over to a conventional catalogue of the
“fury passions,” the “vultures of the mind”; and similar thin
abstractions people all the other odes. Nothing is visualized: we see
no real image before us.[225] Even the famous “Elegy” is not without
its examples of stiff personification, though they are not present in
anything like the excess found elsewhere. The best that can be said
for abstractions of this kind is that in their condensation they
represent an economy of expression that is not without dignity and
effectiveness, and they thus sometimes give an added emphasis to
the sentiment, as in the oft-quoted

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys and destiny secure,
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the poor.

Gray rarely attempts to characterize his figures other than by the

occasional use of a conventional epithet, and only here and there
has the personification been to any extent filled in so as to form at
least an outline picture. In the “Hymn to Adversity,” Wisdom is
depicted

in sable garb arrayed

Immersed in rapturous thought profound,

whilst other slight human touches are to be found here and there: as
in “Moody Madness, laughing wild” (“Ode on a Distant Prospect”).
His personifications, however, have seldom the clear-cut outlines we
find in Collins, nor do they possess more than a tinge of the
vividness and vitality the latter could breathe into his abstractions.
Yet now and then we come across instances of the friezes in which
Collins excels, moving figures depicted as in Greek plastic art

Antic sports and blue-eyed Pleasures,

Frisking light in frolic measures

(“Progress of Poesy”)
or the beautiful vision in the “Bard,”

Bright Rapture calls and soaring as she sings,

Waves in the eyes of heaven her many-coloured wings.

And in the “Ode on Vicissitude” Gray has one supreme example of

the embryonic personification, when the powers or orders of nature
are invested with human attributes, and thus brought before us as
living beings, in the form of vague but suggestive impressions that
leave to the imagination the task of filling in the details:

Now the golden Morn aloft

Waves her dew-bespangled wing
With vernal cheek and whisper soft
She woos the tardy spring.

But in the main, and much more than the poet with whom his
name is generally coupled, it is perhaps not too much to say that
Gray was content to handle the device in the same manner as the
uninspired imitators of the “L’Allegro” and “Il Penseroso.” Not that he
was unaware of the danger of such a tendency in himself and others.
“I had rather,” he wrote to Mason[226] when criticizing the latter’s
“Caractacus,” “some of the personages—‘Resignation,’ ‘Peace,’
‘Revenge,’ ‘Slaughter,’ ‘Ambition’—were stripped of their allegorical
garb. A little simplicity here and there in the expression would better
prepare the high and fantastic harpings that follow.” In the light of this
most salutary remark, Gray’s own procedure is only the more
astonishing. His innumerable personifications may not have been
regarded by Johnson as contributory to “the kind of cumbrous
splendour” he wished away from the odes, but the fact that they are
scarce in the “Elegy” is not without significance. The romantic feeling
which asserts itself clearly in the odes, the new imaginative
conceptions which these stock figures were called upon to convey,
the perfection of the workmanship—these qualities were more than
sufficient to counterweigh Gray’s licence of indulgence in a mere
rhetorical device. Yet Coleridge was right in calling attention to this
defect of Gray’s style, especially as his censure is no mere diatribe
against the use of personified abstraction: it is firmly and justly based
on the undeniable fact that Gray’s personifications are for the most
part cold and lifeless, that they are mere verbal abstractions, utterly
devoid of the redeeming vitality, which Collins gives to his figures.
[227] It is for this reason perhaps that his poetry in the mass has
never been really popular, and that the average reader, with his
impatience of abstractions, has been content, with Dr. Johnson, to
pronounce boldly for “The Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard.”
Before proceeding to examine the works of the other great poets
who announce or exemplify the Romantic revival, it will be
convenient at this point to look at some of the Spenserian imitations,
which helped to inspire and vitalize the revival.
Spenser was the poet of mediaeval allegory. In the “Faerie
Queene,” for the first time a real poet, endowed with the highest
powers of imagination and expression, was able to present the old
traditional abstractions wonderfully decked up in a new and
captivating guise. The personages that move like dream figures
through the cantos of the poem are thus no mere personified
abstractions: they are rather pictorial emblems, many of which are
limned for us with such grandeur of conception and beauty of
execution as to secure for the allegorical picture a “willing
suspension of disbelief,” whilst the essentially romantic atmosphere
more than atones for the cumbrous and obsolete machinery adopted
by Spenser to inculcate the lessons of “virtuous and gentle
discipline.”
Though the eighteenth century Spenserians make a plentiful use
of personified abstraction, on the whole their employment of this
device differs widely from its mechanical use by most of their
contemporaries: in the best of the imitations there are few examples
of the lifeless abstraction. Faint traces at least of the music and
melody of the “Faerie Queene” have been caught and utilized to give
a poetic charm even to the personified virtues and vices that
naturally appear in the work of Spenser’s imitators. Thus in William
Thompson’s “Epithalamium” (1736), while many of the old figures
appear before us, they have something of the new charm with which
Collins was soon to invest them. Thus,
Liberty, the fairest nymph on ground
The flowing plenty of her growing hair
Diffusing lavishly ambrosia round
Earth smil’d, and Gladness danc’d along the sky.

The epithets which accompany the abstractions are no longer

conventional (“Chastity meek-ey’d,” “Modesty sweet-blushing”) and
help to give touches of animation to otherwise inanimate figures. In
the “Nativity” (1757) there is a freer use of the mere abstraction that
calls up no distinct picture, but even here there are happy touches
that give relief:

Faith led the van, her mantle dipt in blue,

Steady her ken, and gaining on the skies.

In the “Hymn to May” (1787) Thompson personified the month

whose charms he is singing, the result being a radiant figure, having
much in common with the classical personifications of the orders or
powers of nature:

A silken camus, em’rald green

Gracefully loose, adown her shoulder flow.

In Shenstone’s “Schoolmistress” (1737-1742) instances of

personification are rare, and, where they do occur, are merely faint
abstractions like “Learning near her little dome.” It is noteworthy that
one of the most successful of the Spenserian imitations should have
dispensed with the cumbrous machinery of abstract beings that, on
the model of the “Faerie Queene,” might naturally have been drawn
upon. The homely atmosphere of the “Schoolmistress,” with its idyllic
pictures and its gentle pathos, would, indeed, have been fatally
marred by their introduction.
The same sparing use of personification is evident in the greatest
of the imitations, James Thomson’s “Castle of Indolence” (1748). A
theme of this nature afforded plenty of opportunity to indulge in the
device, and Thomson, judging from its use of the figure in some of
his blank verse poems, might have been expected to take full
advantage. But there are less than a score of examples in the whole
of the poem. Only vague references are made to the eponymous
hero: he is simply “Indolence” or “tender Indolence” or “the demon
Indolence.” For the rest Thomson’s few abstractions are of the stock
type, though occasionally more realistic touches result, we may
suppose, from the poet’s sense of humour as

The sleepless Gout here counts the crowing cock.

Only here and there has Thomson attempted full-length portraits in

the Spenserian manner, as when Lethargy, Hydropsy, and
Hypochondria are described with drastic realism.[228]
The works of the minor Spenserians show a greater use of
personified abstraction, but even with them there is no great excess.
Moreover, where instances do occur, they show imaginative touches
foreign to the prevalent types. Thus in the “Vision of Patience” by
Samuel Boyce (d. 1778),

Silence sits on her untroubled throne

As if she left the world to live and reign alone,

while Patience stands

In robes of morning grey.

Occasionally the personified abstractions, though occurring in

avowedly Spenserian imitations, obviously owe more to the influence
of “L’Allegro”; as in William Whitehead’s “Vision of Solomon” (1730),
where the embroidered personifications are much more frequent
than the detailed images given by Spenser.[229]
The work of Chatterton represents another aspect of this revival of
the past, but it is curious to find that, in his acknowledged “original”
verse there are not many instances of the personified abstraction,
whilst they are freely used in the Rowley poems. Where they do
occur in his avowedly original work they are of the usual type, though
more imaginative power is revealed in his personification of Winter:
Pale rugged Winter bending o’er his tread,
His grizzled hair bedropt with icy dew:
His eyes a dusky light congealed and dead,
His robe a tinge of bright ethereal blue.

From our special point of view the “antiquarianism” of the Rowley

poems might almost be disproved by the prevalence of abstractions
and personifications, which in most instances are either
unmistakably of the eighteenth century or which testify to the new
Romantic atmosphere now manifesting itself. The stock types of
frigid abstraction are all brought on the stage in the manner of the
old Moralities, and each is given an ample speaking part in order to
describe his own characteristics.
But in addition to these lifeless abstractions, there are to be found
in the Rowley poems a large number of detailed and elaborate
personifications. Some of these are full length portraits in the
Spenserian manner, and now and then the resulting personification
is striking and beautiful, as when, in “Ælla” (59), Celmond
apostrophizes Hope, or the evocation of Truth in “The Storie of
William Canynge.”
Chatterton has also in these poems a few personifications of
natural powers, but these are mainly imitative as in the lines (“Ælla,”
94) reminiscent of Milton and Pope[230]:

Bright sun had in his ruddy robes been dight

From the red east he flitted with his train,
The hours drew away the robe of night,
Her subtle tapestry was rent in twain.

But the evocation of the seasons themselves, as in “Ælla” (32),

When Autumn sere and sunburnt doth appear

With his gold hand gilding the falling leaf
Bringing up Winter to fulfil the year
Bearing upon his back the ripened sheaf,