Adam of Bremen's "Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontificum": Origins, Reception and Significance 2022002662, 2022002663, 9781032121031, 9781032121055, 9781003223030

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Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontifcum

Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontifcum is one of the most important accounts documenting the history, geography and ethnology of Northern and Central-Eastern Europe in the period between the ninth and eleventh centuries. Its author, a canon of the archdiocese of Hamburg-Bremen, remains an almost anonymous fgure but his text is an essential source for the study of the early medieval Baltic. However, despite its undisputed status, past scholarship has tended to treat Adam of Bremen’s account as, on the one hand, an historically accurate document, but on the other, a literary artefact containing few, if any, reliable historical facts. The studies collected in this volume investigate the origins and context of the Gesta and will enable researchers to better understand and evaluate the historical veracity of the text. Grzegorz Bartusik is assistant professor in the Institute of History at the University of Silesia in Katowice. His research focuses on cultural developments in medieval Iceland, especially infuences of Latin culture on Old Norse/Icelandic literature. Radosław Biskup is associate professor in the Institute of History and Archival Studies at the Nicolaos Copernicus University of Torun. His research focuses on history of the Baltic zone in the Middle Ages, especially ecclesiastical developments in the Teutonic Order in Prussia. Jakub Morawiec is associate professor in the Institute of History at the University of Silesia in Katowice and head of the Centre for Nordic and Old English Studies. His research focuses on the history of Scandinavia in the Middle Ages, the development of royal ideology and Icelandic skalds.

Studies in Medieval History and Culture

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Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontificum Origins, Reception and Significance Edited by Grzegorz Bartusik, Radosław Biskup and Jakub Morawiec

First published 2022 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2022 selection and editorial matter, Grzegorz Bartusik, Radosław Biskup and Jakub Morawiec; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Grzegorz Bartusik, Radosław Biskup and Jakub Morawiec to be identifed as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identifcation and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Bartusik, Grzegorz, editor. | Biskup, Radosław, 1976– editor. | Morawiec, Jakub, editor. Title: Adam of Bremen's Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontifcum : origins, reception and signifcance / edited by Grzegorz Bartusik, Radosław Biskup, Jakub Morawiec. Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2022. | Series: Studies in medieval history and culture | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Identifers: LCCN 2022002662 (print) | LCCN 2022002663 (ebook) | ISBN 9781032121031 (hardback) | ISBN 9781032121055 (paperback) | ISBN 9781003223030 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Adam, von Bremen, active 11th century. Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontifcum. | Catholic Church. Archdiocese of Hamburg-Bremen—History—To 1500. | Hamburg Region (Germany)— Church history. | Bremen Region (Germany)—Church history. Classifcation: LCC BR854.A33 A33 2022 (print) | LCC BR854.A33 (ebook) | DDC 274.3/515—dc23/eng/20220324 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022002662 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022002663 ISBN: 978-1-032-12103-1 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-12105-5 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-22303-0 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030 Typeset in Times New Roman by codeMantra

Contents

List of abbreviations Introduction

ix 1

G R Z E G OR Z BA RT USI K , R A D O S Ł AW BI SKU P A N D JA KU B MOR AW I E C

1 Imperial politics and visions of the North

13

H E N R I K JA N S ON

2 Proselytus et advena: reading the opening lines of Adam’s prologue in the light of biblical viewpoints on foreigners and converts

50

ŁU K A SZ N E U BAU E R

3 Sven Estridsen as Adam’s informant

61

JA KU B MOR AW I E C

4 St. Olaf and Adam of Bremen’s narrative pragmatics

81

M AC I E J LU BI K

5 Ad insulas Baltici. Role and reception of scholia in Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontificum

96

CA R I NA DA M M

6 Adam of Bremen and the early (­­pre-​­995) history of Norway

108

L AU R A GA Z Z OL I

7 The ­eleventh-​­century Normans of Normandy in the view of Adam of Bremen M A RC I N B ÖH M

121

vi Contents 8 Religious conversions in Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontificum and in Saxo Grammaticus’ Gesta Danorum: a comparative approach

130

J U L E S PI E T

9 On the influence of Adam’s Gesta on Yngvars saga víðfǫrla

146

A N N E T T K R A KOW

10 Adam of Bremen and visions of the state in Early Medieval ­Scandinavia – ​­a comparative approach to chiefdom, leadership, kingship, segmental tribes

158

PIO T R PR A N K E

11 Ars moriendi and figures of power in Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontificum

178

M A RTA ­R E Y-​­R A DL I Ń SK A

12 Female characters and the meaning of history in Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis

189

LU K A S GA BR I E L G R Z Y B OWSK I

13 Of Gunnhildrs and Gyðas

201

K E N DR A W I L L S ON

14 At the edge of time: Adam of Bremen’s imaginary North and Horror Vacui

217

M I R I A M M AY BU R D

15 Scythia and the Scythian Sea on the mental map of Adam of Bremen

234

TATJA NA N. JAC K S ON

16 Harald Bluetooth and the Western Slavs: cultural interactions in light of textual and archaeological sources

246

L E SZ E K GA R DE Ł A

17 The description of the Oder (­Odra) estuary in Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontificum. The oldest accounts of the river until the end of the twelfth century PIO T R PI Ę T KOWSK I

268

Contents 18 Est sane maxima omnium, quas Europa claudit, civitatum. Adam of Bremen and the estimation of size and population of early medieval Wolin

vii

279

WOJC I E C H F I L I P OW I A K

19 Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis pontifcum as an inspiration for Polish politics of history in Wolin after WW2

288

PAW E Ł M IGDA L SK I

Geographical Index Name Index

301 305

Abbreviations

Gesta

Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontificum, ed. Bernhard Schmeidler, 3rd edition, Hannoverae and Lipsiae, Hahn, 1917. MGH SRG Monumenta Germaniae Historica Scriptores Rerum Germanicarum MGH SS Monumenta Germaniae Historica Scriptores PL Patrologia Latina Saxo, Gesta Danorum Saxo Grammaticus, Gesta Danorum, The History of the Danes, ed. Karsten ­Friis-​­Jensen, trans. Peter Fisher, vol. 1, 2 vols., Oxford Medieval Texts (­Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015) Tschan Adam of Bremen, History of the Archbishops of ­Hamburg-​­Bremen, trans. Francis J. Tschan, Records of Civilisation. Sources and Studies, New York: Columbia University Press, 1959; 2002.

Introduction Grzegorz Bartusik, Radosław Biskup and Jakub Morawiec

There is no doubt that Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontifcum, written by Adam of Bremen in the mid-1070s, belongs to the most important historical accounts medievalists have at hand. With a history of the Archdiocese of Hamburg-Bremen at its centre, Gesta provides an exclusive, colourful and multi-faceted account of political, religious, cultural and economic encounters and developments, not only in the see itself but also in areas Ecclesia Hammaburgensis was strictly interested in: the Empire, Scandinavia, Slavia and the whole Baltic zone. Arranged in four books, Gesta encompasses not only a history of the region but also its nature and the peoples living there. For decades, and even centuries, scholars have included what Adam provides in his text in their studies, fnding him a crucial, although not always trustworthy, witness of the past. Such an approach has meant focusing on what Adam wrote rather than on how and why he wrote it. With time however, the situation has changed. A number of studies have appeared that substantially enhance our understanding of many aspects of Adam’s selfperception, world view, literary strategies and ways of communicating, especially with regard to the North. The present volume aims to continue in this tradition and deliver more insight into Adam’s work and its various meanings and functions. As Gesta narrates a history of the Christianization of the North and political developments in the region, it is hardly surprising that it is hard to fnd a study on these topics that does not refer to Adam’s account. Obviously it is a truism to state that the depiction of the religious breakdown in Scandinavia and the process of the gradual rejection of paganism and promotion of the new faith, as well as other crucial phenomena, are infuenced by the interests of Adam’s patrons, the see of Hamburg-Bremen and its archbishops. Consequently, it is a depiction that raises suspicions among modern scholars, who are sceptical of its possible bias, its tendentiousness and, at least in part, its credibility.1 Still, the lavishness of Adam’s account, the scope of its detail about fgures and events, makes it impossible to ignore Gesta in any kind of historical study of Scandinavia and the Baltic zone in the early middle ages.2

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-1

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It is hardly possible to recall and examine all the scholarship based on Adam’s Gesta here. Let us limit ourselves to some selected but representative topics, that on their own show the impact of the account in question. In his Gesta, Adam provides an extensive account of Harald Bluetooth, King of Denmark. His story features information that is confrmed by other sources (royal baptism, the encounter with Otto II) and also not to found elsewhere (the King’s death in Wolin). The way Adam presents Harald made Niels Lund claim that the canon of Bremen’s intention was to depict the Danish King as a royal saint and martyr, whose uncompromising loyalty to Christianity resulted frst in his tragic fall, and second in the rightful punishment God inficted on Sven Forkbeard. Even if Lund went too far in rejecting Adam’s account of political breakdown in Denmark that resulted with Harald’s fall and Sven’s advancement, his study rightly reminds us how much the chronicler’s depiction of even the quite recent past and, consequently, the construction of his narrative, could have been affected by his own preconditions, prejudices and aims. That seems even more important when considering the amount of information on the history of Scandinavia that the Gesta provides. Adam’s text is also an important source of information about paganism in the North and among the Slavs. One might recall the canon’s account of sorcerers driven from Norway by Olaf Tryggvason or, even more important, his depiction of the golden pagan temple in Gamla Uppsala. The latter especially captured scholarly interest but despite its proposed credibility, there are elements that have puzzled experts. For example, it has proved impossible to provide archaeological confrmation of Adam’s account. Namely, no trace of such a building has been found so far. Moreover, the postulated supremacy of Thor has also raised suspicions when compared with other historical evidence concerning Norse gods. The description of the temple could have been the consequence of misinterpretation of the reports Adam was able to gather from either tradesmen and priests travelling to Sweden and eyewitnesses of the place.3 Anders Hultgård has pointed out, that Adam, basing his work on these reports, was able not only to rework them in a proper rhetorical fashion abut also to use his own imagination to make the narrative vivid and clear.4 In a quite similar vein, Stefan Brink claimed that what inspired the author of the Gesta were in fact reports about a hall being a part of a royal estate. Archaeologists were able to excavate traces of a 60 metre long house, that could have been a ‘king’s hall’ similar to other objects of this kind found in different parts of Scandinavia. Brink notes, that Adam, describing gods venerated in Uppsala, used the term triclinium instead of templum. The former can be translated as ‘dining-room’ and used to refer to banqueting halls, where various cultic rituals were conducted under royal patronage.5 Similar conclusions have been reached by Olof Sundqvist, who suggests that Adam’s description is at least partly credible, especially when compared with Old Norse accounts and archaeological excavations of the banqueting hall in Gamla Uppsala.6 Some time ago, Henrik

Introduction

3

Janson proposed treating Adam’s description as a kind of satire on the curia of Gregory VII. The three Norse Gods, Woden, Thor and Fricco, were supposed to represent fury, pride and lust respectively. According to Janson, there was no heathen temple in Uppsala in the 1070s. Adam’s depiction was a product of his engagement in the papal-imperial confict in general and of controversies between Archbishop Liemar and Gregory VII in particular.7 Although Janson’s proposals were met with some scepticism and criticism,8 he returns to his theory in this volume making so that the discussion on the problem is still open. Of similar importance is the Gesta’s contribution to research on Slavic pagan beliefs. In book II Adam provides a description of the pagan temple of Redigast in Rethra, identifed with the account of Radogošč referenced by Thietmar in his chronicle. Comparisons of both accounts suggest Adam was not borrowing from the Bishop of Merseburg but rather providing his own report. Both accounts about Rethra, the supposed ‘capital’ of the Liutici, constitute important elements in studies on the West Slavic religion.9 Although some elements of Adam’s report raised suspicions, e.g. a reference to a golden statue of Redigast that could have been inspired by the description of the Uppsala temple, but Stanisław Rosik rightly indicates that the account in the Gesta is confrmed by earlier works (Thietmar, Widukind of Corvey) in that respect.10 Nevertheless, there is scholarly agreement, that the prominence of Rethra in Gesta and other texts, resulted with its cultic, rather than political signifcance among the West Slavs. Moreover, it seems that Adam found the pagan temple in Rethra a useful element of his narrative, juxtaposing the Slavic ‘capital of idolatry’ to Hamburg with its aspirations to the patriarchy of the North.11 One of the research questions centred around Adam’s Gesta is its impact on Scandinavian medieval and early modern historiography. Snorri Sturlusson’s Heimskringla serves as a good example in this respect. Scholars rightly assume that Snorri, as well as other saga authors, had access to Gesta, but it is hardly possible to determine whether Adam’s text had reached Iceland or rather mainland Scandinavia.12 Such assumptions seem to be confrmed by very recent studies of Andrej Scheglov who analysed traces of the Gesta in The Chronica regni gothorum, a ffteenth century chronicle written by the Swedish historian Ericus Olai. Scheglov claims that the Chronica features direct borrowings from Adam’s account, e.g. the description of the pagan temple in Uppsala and the story of a pagan priest who suffered blindness only to regain his vision after converting to Christianity. Despite the fact that, as Scheglov shows, some of these borrowings came via a ffteenth century intermediary, the so-called Prosaic Chronicle, Ericus had direct access to book IV of the Gesta and used it to construct his description of the pagan Uppsala temple.13 Despite decades of research on the various historical aspects concerning which Adam’s account plays a pivotal role and on the text itself, the author of the Gesta remains a rather mysterious fgure. Despite this, based mainly

4 Grzegorz Bartusik et al. on his writing, scholars have made numerous attempts to ascertain his background, his aims and the circumstances that contributed to the origins of the Gesta. His name and intellectual credentials were for the very frst time revealed by Helmold, who referred to magister Adam in his own chronicle. Bernhard Schmeidler suspected Adam came from eastern Franconia but other, alternative regions in Germany were also put forward by scholars. The same applies to Adam’s schooling for which schools in Würzburg, Bamberg and Magdeburg have been suggested. In 1066–1067 Adam came to Bremen where he was appointed by Archbishop Adalbert a head of the cathedral school.14 Adam dedicated his work to Liemar, Archbishop of Hamburg-Bremen and referred to him in his text. Moreover, there are a few instances when he recalls the canons of the cathedral chapter. Consequently, his belonging to the ecclesiastical circle in Bremen, most likely with a status of a canon, and representing the archdiocese of Hamburg-Bremen, its interests and views, in his literary activity form a reasonably reliable, if very limited basis for our present-day knowledge of the author of Gesta. Still, the precise stimuli that motivated him to write the Gesta are not clear and scholars have differed in their opinions. Some claimed that Adam prepared his text in order to convince Archbishop Liemar to withdraw from supporting Henry IV and focus on missionary works in the North. Alternatively, Gesta reveals Adam’s respect for royal power and the Empire. Henrik Jansson seems to be right to underline that Adam held both regnum and sacerdotium to be integrated parts of the indivisible body of the Empire.15 The author of the Gesta reveals himself as an accurate and careful observer and commentator on current politics in Germany and beyond. He especially refers to Henry IV’s confict with the pope Gregory VII. His admiration for Archbishop Liemar seems to go hand in hand with a rather unquestioning support for the king in his struggles with both secular opposition and the Papacy. It is assumed, that Adam’s original text was in fact a working copy that was read before Liemar and the cathedral chapter at some point, but never really reached a fnal state. It continued to be supplemented by margin comments – the so-called scholia, and from this working copy, with Adam’s scholia, all subsequent copies originate.16 Consequently, there is good ground to assume that Adam was working on his main text in the period 1075–1076. All additions and margin comments were inserted during the next few years up to the early 1080s. Gesta consist of four main parts, accompanied by both a versatile prologue and an epilogue. Book I is a history of the Carolingian mission to Northern Europe and also the Hamburg Bishopric up to the year 936. Its central fgures are the Emperors Charlemagne and Louis the Pious as well as the clergy and the Apostles of the North, Anskar and Unni. Among the events described in this part, the establishment of the Archbishopric in Hamburg and its later fall and merger into one metropolis with Bremen are of key signifcance. The subject of Book II is a history of the Hamburg and

Introduction

5

Bremen archbishops from 937 to 1043. In his description of their missionary attempts, Adam does not ignore the affairs of the Ottonian Empire and the formation of monarchies in the North. He is also interested in Saxony, the Slavic lands (especially Elbeslavs) and Viking expeditions. The third Book is more biographical in style and devoted to the times and achievements of Archbishop Adalbert (1043–1072). Book IV, Descriptio insularum aquilonis, is an excellent geographical and ethnographic description of the regions Adam was interested in. Gesta reveals, at least partly, the quite wide scope of sources Adam had at his disposal. His literary erudition included frst-hand knowledge of the Bible and the writings of Church Fathers and ancient Romans. He cites the Roman historiographers, among them Sallustius, and the Golden and Silver Latin poets Horatius, Vergilius, Lucanus, Persius and Juvenalis. He references the late Latin encyclopaedists Solinus, Martianus Capella, Macrobius and Orosius. He uses the works of medieval historiographers and hagiographers such as Gregory of Tours, Jordanes, the Venerable Bede, Paul the Deacon and Einhard. He also had access to monastic chronicles, among others the Annales Fuldenses and the Annales Corbienses. He draws on information from biographies of Christian missionaries, Vita Anskari, Vita Rimberti, Vita Willebrordi, Vita Willehadi, and Miracula s. Willehadi by Rimbert. He refers to papal and imperial letters and documents such as the decretals of the Pseudo-Isidore, Burchard of Worms and Benedict Levita. He mentions diplomas issued by bishops of Hamburg-Bremen, the Liber fraternitatis Bremensis ecclesiae, the Liber donationum Bremensis ecclesiae, and charters of the archdiocese of Hamburg-Bremen. Adam draws also on oral sources. He is said to interview his contemporaries, Sweyn Estridsson, King of Denmark, Adalbert and Adalvard, Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen, and most probably also other clergymen, especially missionaries sent to Slavs and Scandinavians, and local noblemen as well as merchants and sailors visiting the ports and trading centres of Bremen and Hamburg.17 Detailed studies by Bernhard Schmeidler, published in his edition of the Gesta in the Monumenta Germaniae Historica series, give us an idea of the manuscripts of the Gesta and its stemma. Both the supposed original of Adam’s work and the earliest reworkings of the text are now lost. Potential differences between these versions were the result of corrections and additions made by Adam and other scribes working both under his supervision and after his death. These lost versions gave birth to 25 preserved manuscripts produced both in medieval and early modern period and divided by Schmeidler into three groups,. The oldest preserved manuscript of the Gesta, Codex Vossianus Latinus, dates from about 1100 and is today kept in the University Library in Leiden, but it consists only of a part of Book II and the whole of Book IV. Another manuscript, produced at the turn of twelfth and thirteenth centuries, is kept today in the Library of the Imperial Court in Vienna and features the whole of Adam’s text without the scholia and other additional material; this was the basis of Schmeidler’s edition.18

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The wide thematic scope of the Gesta makes it an important account not only for German based audiences but also for those in adjacent territories. A proper insight into the status and signifcance of the Gesta is provided by a printed edition by Anders Sørensen Vedel, historian and canon from Ribe, published in 1579 in Copenhagen. Vedel (Velleus) ‒ as he called himself in the title of his edition ‒ published „ecclesiastical history of spreading of Christianity” fve centuries after its completion. The Søre manuscript Vedel used as the basis for his edition perished during the 1728 fre in Copenhagen. It makes his work even more important for any further studies on Gesta redactions and editions. The frst German editions are dated to the late sixteenth century; the one issued by Hamburg-based historian Erpold Lindenborg was released in 1595. It was followed by the ones edited by Joachim Johann Mader (1670) and Johann Albert Fabricius (1706). These editions were based on Lindenborg but were supplemented by additional commentaries. These editorial efforts resulted in the frst German translation of Gesta by Carsten Miesegaes from Bremen in 1825 r. He not only translated Adam’s text but also provided extensive commentaries referring to the current state of research. The “Gesellschaft für ältere deutsche Geschichtskunde” was founded in Munich in 1819. Under its auspices a series “Monumenta Germaniae Historica” was initiated. In 1846, as part of a sub-series “Scriptores”, Hamburgbased historian and bibliophile Johann Martin Lappenberg released the frst critical edition of Adam’s Gesta. He defned both ancient and medieval sources for the chronicle, listed faws in Adam’s Latin and provided information on ffteen manuscripts that were the basis for his edition. Lappenberg’s work had its impact on recognition of Adam’s text. His preface featured in the German translation of Gesta published by Johann Christian Moritz Laurent in 1850. In 1862 it was used by Peter Wilhelm Christensen in his translation into Danish. Lappenberg’s edition was included in volume 146 of the “Patrologia Latina” series. Its circulation came at a time of the rapid growth of modern historiography using new methods in the editing of historical sources. As a result, the Lappenberg edition was revised by Georg Waitz and Ludwig Weiland in 1876. Growing interest in the Gesta resulted in a new approach to the text that had its impact on Schmeidler’s 1917 edition. The latter is the basis of numerous modern translations into German, English, Danish, Norwegian, Swedish, Italian and Czech.19 The present volume aims at delivery of a new, fresh insight into Gesta. Texts gathered here attempt to look at the various roles of Adam’s text. It is an important historical source, both useful and necessary in the study of the history of various parts of Europe in the 10th-11th centuries. Henrik Janson elaborates on Archbishop Liemar’s political struggles as the key element affecting Adam’s writing, including depiction of the North and political/ religious developments in the region. Laura Gazzoli, on her part, discusses the political status of Haccon princeps, commonly identifed with Hakon, jarl of Hladir. She proposes this as a very good example of Adam’s unfair

Introduction

7

treatment. According to her, Adam’s depiction of Haccon as an uncrowned royal fgure should be juxtaposed with the saga tradition. She asserts that the credibility of Gesta has too harshly judged by historiography. Marcin Böhm’s chapter analyses how Gesta depicts Normans. According to Böhm, Adam’s focus on William the Conqueror and his career point to the great attention given in Hamburg-Bremen to the Norman conquest of England as well as to political contacts between Normandy and Denmark in the second half of the eleventh century. Special signifcance is accorded to the means of narrative construction used by Adam in his work. Maciej Lubik studies the way Adam referred to the sanctity of St. Olaf in his Gesta. Adam devotes particular attention to Olaf as a king and a saint and seems to use the growing popularity of St. Olaf’s cult as one of the means to achieve the main purpose of his Gesta, which is to emphasise the missionary jurisdiction of the Archbishopric of Hamburg-Bremen over the Northern parts of Europe. In Adam’s narrative Olaf is presented as a glorious king who converted many northern regions and then was widely venerated there as a saint. The crucial information on St. Olaf that serves this purpose in Adam’s work is contained in the episode of the messengers sent by Olaf to the Archbishop of Hamburg-Bremen. According to Lubik, use of this episode enabled Adam to suggest that the most important missionary-king of the North acknowledged the supremacy of the Archbishopric over these regions. Jakub Morawiec’s chapter discusses the status of the Danish king Sven Estridsen as Adam’s informant. The author of the Gesta praises Sven for his veracity and knowledge and the king’s status as Adam’s source has gone largely undisputed. Morawiec refers to recent doubts about this and claims that Sven’s role as the chronicler’s supposed informant served to support the image of the Danish king as a perfect example of the Archdiocese’s effective political and missionary efforts, which had changed a cruel pagan ruler to a good and acknowledged Christian one. The volume also features some studies on intertextual connections between Gesta and other, mainly Scandinavian, sources. Annett Krakow discusses the infuence of Adam’s Gesta on the Old Icelandic Yngvars saga víðfǫrla, credited to a certain learned monk, Oddr, who was often identifed with Oddr Snorrason, a twelfth century monk at the Benedictine monastery of Þingeyrar in northern Iceland and author of the separate saga of King Olaf Tryggvason. According to Krakow, connections between these two texts are both strong and explicit and refer to speculations on Yngvar’s ancestry, the dating of King Olaf Skötkonung’s death and the story of the Swedish King Harald. Jules Piet discusses and compares the conversion narratives of Adam of Bremen and Saxo Grammaticus in his chapter. Piet demonstrates how Saxo Grammaticus consistently used and modifed Adam’s narrative, adapting it to his own agenda. He concludes that both authors used conversion narratives as ideologically loaded foundation myths, justifying the independence of his own church as well as its domination over the Wendish people of the Baltic region.

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Some of the chapters in the volume analyse various political and social constructs visible in Gesta. Piotr Pranke focuses on the elements showing Adam’s awareness of geographical and historical traditions, confrmed by the number of narrative references to the ways in which power was organized, the history of specifc peoples – and the rulers of the area under the authority of Hamburg-Bremen. According to Pranke, the organization of the narrative of Adam’s text largely refects the pattern of subordinating the narrative to issues of the socio-political organization of Northern Europe. This allows him to apply a scheme of descriptions of Scandinavian rulers in the text of the chronicle and to show the subordination of narrative to the missionary goals of the archbishopric and their unifcation policy. In her study, Marta Rey-Radlińska presents how death and dying was depicted by Adam, with special emphasis on the death scenes of people associated with various aspects of power. According to Rey-Radlińska it is possible to show various conceptual and stylistic differences in the ways Adam depicts the dying of archbishops whom he respects for their accomplishments and attitude and those who, in his opinion, do not deserve the honour of serving the Church. Lukas Gabriel Grzybowski deals with the female representation in Gesta. Adam does mention many women in his narrative and this seems to be connected with his historical conceptions relating to the legatio gentium. Grzybowski investigates some of these women, looking at the conceptions and perceptions of the author regarding the female characters he presents in his work. According to Grzybowski, women are treated in the Gesta Hammaburgensis according to their relation to the missionary work carried out by the Archdiocese and are thus comparable to the missionaries themselves. Kendra Willson analyses Adam’s references to several queens named Gunhild and Guda (Gyða) in Gesta. Here his account is generally thought to be confusing. It refers to their historicity, profles and names but Willson points to Icelandic saga, where such women, similarly named, also appear. Mostly these are women of non-Scandinavian background whose strong will is regarded with ambivalence. This similarity seems to point to a literary trope linking persons from different generations and contexts and it provides additional, intriguing context for Adam’s work. Gesta also has a geographical favour and this aspect of Adam’s text is covered in several chapters. In her study, Miriam Mayburd explores the cultural ramifcations framing the composition of Adam’s Gesta, contextualizing both his work and the circum-Baltic missionary efforts amid the theological and philosophical concerns that were at the forefront of eleventh-century intellectual discourse. Taking the concept of horror vacui as a central point, Mayburd traces the early medieval development of this idea across multiple cultural strata, placing it in a dialogue with the unease and urgency regarding the North which colours Adam’s account. The ultimate northern periphery emerges as a startlingly central stage for the unfolding of world history, exuding a gravitational pull of apocalyptic proportion, the cosmological ramifcations of which were not lost on Gesta’s contemporaries. Mayburd

Introduction

9

underlines that Adam’s account draws together these medieval clerical attitudes towards the Scandinavian North in some of their earliest iterations. Tatjana N. Jackson discusses the ‘Scythian names’ in Adam of Bremen’s Gesta. An ethnic name is followed by choronyms, hydronyms and placenames that refer to Scythia. Jackson shows that in order to better understand their role in Gesta, it is both possible and necessary to contextualize these cases with contemporaneous historical and geographical images. Leszek Gardeła, in his text, deals with interactions between Scandinavians and Western Slavs during the reign of King Harald Bluetooth. Taking Adam’s account and other written sources as a starting point, Gardeła includes archaeological and toponymic data in his analysis, providing a wider perspective of the problem. According to Gardeła, a multidisciplinary methodology permits capturing the refections of these contacts not only within the sphere of the elite but also within other and more mundane contexts. Piotr Piętkowski puts Adam’s fairly rich and colourful description of Jumne (Wolin) and the Oder estuary area into both historical and archaeological contexts. Among other things, he focuses on the metaphor of the trident of Neptune as a literary depiction of three extensions of the Oder in the form of straits connecting the Szczecin Lagoon with the sea, Pianoujście (Ger. Peenemünde), Świna and Dziwna. Piętkowski concludes that Adam’s ascription of the role of the Vistula in ancient works to the Oder coincides with an increase in information about the latter watercourse as it was in the 10th–12th centuries. The volume also features chapters on other topics. A text by Filipowiak takes Adam’s assessment of Wolin as the biggest town of the Slavs as a starting point for analysis of present-day archaeological knowledge on the arrangement and scope of the early medieval urban complex of Wolin. Migdalski refects on the signifcance of Adam’s account, again with special emphasis on Wolin, in relation to historical policy in post-1945 Poland in general and Western Pomerania in particular. All the chapters were originally presented during the second Jomsborg Conference in November 2020, entitled “Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontifcum. Origins, Reception and Signifcance of Adam of Bremen’s Account”. Due to pandemic restrictions, this event had to be held online. One of the aims of the conference was to provide a fresh scholarly look at Gesta, which was a necessary part of the volume editors’ project to produce a Polish translation and edition of Adam’s work. Despite its undisputed prominence as a historical source and its importance to Polish scholarship, Gesta has not so far been translated into Polish. Gerard Labuda, one of the most prominent Polish medievalists, in a note on Professor Leon Koczy (1900–1981), referred to the importance of this project for medieval studies in the country: The only way to estimate properly Scandinavian impact on history of Poland is (…) to provide a proper critical approach to both sources and state of research (…). There were four tenth – twelfth century German

10  Grzegorz Bartusik et al. chronicles who dealt with history of Polabian Slavs: Widukind of Corbey, Thietmar of Merseburg, Adam of Bremen and Helmold of Bosau. (…) As Thietmar followed the footsteps of Widukind, Helmold followed Adam. The latter’s chronicle is waiting for complete Polish edition.20 It was also Labuda who explained the lack of a Polish translation of Gesta: Adam gave insufficient coverage of the Slavs and their history in his chronicle, and this was a topic Polish historians at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, were especially interested in.21 Both Thietmar and Helmold were much more interested in the political affairs of Sclavinia and that is why their accounts had already been translated by the second half of the nineteenth century.22 The editors would like to express their gratitude to the following: all contributors and participants in the second Jomsborg Conference, Karolina Kokora and the Andrzej Kaube Museum in Wolin, Wojciech Celiński and the ­Jomsborg-­​­­Wolin-​­Vineta Society, Michael Greenwood and Louis ­Nicholson-​­Pallett from Routledge for very fruitful, professional and friendly cooperation and Greg Leighton from the Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń for enthusiastic linguistic (­and other) assistance.

Notes 1 See Stanisław Rosik, The Slavic Religion in the Light of 1­ 1th-​­and 1­ 2th-​­Century T hietmar of Merseburg, Adam of Bremen, Helmold of German Chronicles (­ Bosau). Studies on the Christian Interpretation of ­Pre-​­Christian Cults and Beliefs in the Middle Ages, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2020, 200. 2 See Peter H. Sawyer, När Sverige blev Sverige, Alingsås, Viktoria Bokförlag, 1991, ­16–​­19. 3 See Leszek P. Słupecki, Mitologia skandynawska epoki wikingów, Kraków, Nomos, 2003, 136; Olof Sundqvist, An Arena for Higher Powers. Ceremonial Buildings and Religious Strategies for Rulership in Late Iron Age Scandinavia, ­Leiden-​­Boston, Brill, 2015, 114. 4 Anders Hultgård, ‘­Från ögonvittnesskildring till retorik. Adam av Bremens notiser om Uppsalakulten i religionshistorisk belysning.’ Uppsalakulten och Adam av Bremen, ed. Anders Hultgård Nora, Nya Doxa, 1997, 9­ –​­50. 5 Stefan Brink, ‘­Political and Social Structures in Early Scandinavia. A ­Settlement-​ ­Historical ­Pre-​­study of the Central Place.’ Tor 28 (­1996), ­245–​­247. 6 Sundqvist, Arena, ­115–​­127; idem, ‘­Gamla Uppsala som förkristen kultplats. En översikt och en hypotes.’ Gamla Uppsala i ny belysning, eds. Olof Sunqvist, Per Vikstrand, Gävle, Gävle University Press, 2013, ­69–​­112. 7 Henrik Janson, Templum nobillisimum. Adam av Bremen, Uppsalatemplet och konfliktlinjerna i Europa kring år 1075, Göteborg, Historiska institutionen i Göteborg, 1998. 8 Eric Christiansen, ‘­Shorter Notice. Templum Nobilissimum: Adam av Bremen, Uppsalatemplet och konfliktinjrna i Europa krig ar 1705. Henrik Janson.’ The English Historical Review 115/­460 (­2000), ­173–​­174; Sundqvist, Arena, 93 with further references there. 9 See Leszek. P. Słupecki, Slavonic Pagan Sanctuaries, Warsaw, Institute of Archeology and Ethnology, Polish Academy of Sciences Press, 1994; Rosik, The Slavic Religion, 213.

Introduction  11 10 Rosik, The Slavic Religion, 214. 11 Ibidem 225. 12 See Jakub Morawiec, ‘­Haraldr harðráði and an Opening of St. Óláfr’s Grave. On Certain motif in Snorri Sturluson’s Heimskringla.’ Res, Artes et Religio. Essays in Honour of Rudolf Simek, eds. Sabine Walther, Regina Jucknies, Judith ­Meurer-​­Bongardt, Jens Eicke Schnall, Leeds, Kismet Press, 2021, 4­ 31–​­444. On the contrary, see recent analysis by Tatjana N. Jackson (‘­T he Far North in the Eyes of Adam of Bremen and the Anonymous Author of the Historia Nor­wegie.’ The Medieval Globe 7/­1 (­2021), ­77–​­89, who claims that in the case of a unique geographical description of the North, an anonymous Norwegian, the author of the t­ welfth-​­century Historia Norwegie did not have to rely on Adam since he had his own experience in that matter as well as access to a local oral tradition. 13 Andrej Scheglov, ‘­ Ericus Olai och Adam av Bremen.’ (­Svensk) Historisk Tidskrift 134/­2 (­2014), ­145–​­169. 14 Rosik, The Slavic Religion, 198. See also Łukasz Neubauer’s text in this volume. 15 See Henrik Jansson’s article in this volume. 16 For more details concerning scholia see Carina Damm’s text in this volume. 17 For an exhaustive overview of Adam of Bremen’s sources, see: Werner Trillmich, Rudolf Buchner, Quellen des 9. und 11. Jahrhunderts zur Geschichte der hamburgischen Kirche und des Reiches. Darmstadt, Wissenchaftiche Buchgesellschaft, 2000, ­147–​­150. 18 For more on Gesta manuscripts see Bernhard Schmeidler, ‘­Einleitung.’ Gesta, ­v ii–​­x xxiv; Francis Tschan, ‘­Introduction.’ Tschan, ­x xvi–​­x xx; Rosik, The Slavic Religion, ­202–​­203. 19 Zob W. Trillmich, R. Buchner, Quellen des 9. und 11. Jahrhunderts zur Geschichte der hamburgischen Kirche und des Reiches, Darmstadt, Wissenchaftiche Buchgesellschaft, 2000, ­155–​­158, ­758–​­764. See also https://­w iki.uib.no/­medieval/­i ndex. php/­Adam_Bremensis#Sources [access: 2022.01.10]. 20 Gerard Labuda, ‘­ Leon Bogusław Koczy ­1900–​­1981’, Wybitni historycy wielkopolscy, ed. Jerzy Strzelczyk, Poznań, Wydawnictwo Naukowe UAM, 1989, 374. 21 Leon Koczy’s aforementioned research was somehow an exception here, although he, in analyzing Gesta, focused exclusively on Adam’s references to the Slavs which play a rather marginal role in the narrative. Nevertheless, he had a chance to base his studies on Bernhard Schmeidler’s edition. 22 Kronika Dytmara biskupa merseburskiego jako jedno z najdawniejszych świadectw historycznych o Polsce według wydania w zbiorze pomników niemieckich Pertza, ed. Zygmunt Komarnicki, Żytomierz, Księgarnia Jana Hussarowskiego,1861; Helmolda Kronika Sławiańska z XII wieku, ed. Jan Papłoński, Warszawa, Drukarnia K. Kowalewskiego, 1862.

Bibliography Primary sources [Helmold of Bossau], Helmolda Kronika Sławiańska z XII wieku, ed. Jan Papłoński, Warszawa, Drukarnia K. Kowalewskiego, 1862. [Thietmar of Merseburg], Kronika Dytmara biskupa merseburskiego jako jedno z najdawniejszych świadectw historycznych o Polsce według wydania w zbiorze pomników niemieckich Pertza, ed. Zygmunt Komarnicki, Żytomierz, Księgarnia Jana Hussarowskiego, 1861.

12

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Secondary literature Brink S., ‘Political and Social Structures in Early Scandinavia. A SettlementHistorical Pre-Study of the Central Place.’ Tor 28 (1996), 235–281. Christiansen E., ‘Shorter Notice. Templum Nobilissimum: Adam av Bremen, Uppsalatemplet och konfiktinjrna i Europa krig ar 1705. Henrik Janson.’ The English Historical Review 115/460 (2000), 173–174. Hultgård A., ‘Från ögonvittnesskildring till retorik. Adam av Bremens notiser om Uppsalakulten i religionshistorisk belysning.’ Uppsalakulten och Adam av Bremen, ed. Anders Hultgård Nora, Nya Doxa, 1997, 9–50. Jackson T. N. ‘The Far North in the Eyes of Adam of Bremen and the Anonymous Author of the Historia Norwegie.’ The Medieval Globe 7/1 (2021), 77–89. Janson H., Templum nobilissimum. Adam av Bremen, Uppsalatemplet och konfiktlinjerna i Europa kring år 1075, Göteborg, Historiska institutionen i Göteborg, 1998. Labuda G. ‘Leon Bogusław Koczy 1900–1981’, Wybitni historycy wielkopolscy, ed. Jerzy Strzelczyk, Poznań, Wydawnictwo Naukowe UAM, 1989. Morawiec J., ‘Haraldr harðráði and an Opening of St. Óláfr’s Grave. On Certain motif in Snorri Sturluson’s Heimskringla.’ Res, Artes et Religio. Essays in Honour of Rudolf Simek, eds. Sabine Walther, Regina Jucknies, Judith Meurer-Bongardt, Jens Eicke Schnall, Leeds, Kismet Press, 2021, 431–444. Rosik S., The Slavic Religion in the Light of 11th- and 12th-Century German Chronicles (Thietmar of Merseburg, Adam of Bremen, Helmold of Bosau). Studies on the Christian Interpretation of Pre-Christian Cults and Beliefs in the Middle Ages, London-Boston, Brill, 2020. Sawyer P. H., När Sverige blev Sverige, Alingsås, Viktoria Bokförlag, 1991. Scheglov A., ‘Ericus Olai och Adam av Bremen.’ (Svensk) Historisk Tidskrift 134/2 (2014), 145–169. Słupecki L. P., Slavonic Pagan Sanctuaries, Warsaw, Institute of Archeology and Ethnology, Polish Academy of Sciences Press, 1994. Słupecki L. P., Mitologia skandynawska epoki wikingów, Kraków, Nomos, 2003. Sundqvist O., ‘Gamla Uppsala som förkristen kultplats. En översikt och en hypotes.’ Gamla Uppsala i ny belysning, eds. Olof Sunqvist, Per Vikstrand, Gävle, Gävle University Press, 2013, 69–112. Sundqvist O., An Arena for Higher Powers. Ceremonial Buildings and Religious Strategies for Rulership in Late Iron Age Scandinavia, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2015. Trillmich W., Buchner R., Quellen des 9. und 11. Jahrhunderts zur Geschichte der hamburgischen Kirche und des Reiches. Darmstadt, Wissenchaftiche Buchgesellschaft, 2000.

1

Imperial politics and visions of the North Henrik Janson

Adam of Bremen’s Gesta hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontifcum has been described as a raw and undigested pile of material, and his eagerness to collect all this material is said to have made its author completely neglect narrative form and beauty.1 Today there are many who are thankful for precisely that, and some may also be very interested in understanding why Adam’s work looks as it does. In this chapter I will try to outline the background for Adam’s authorship, which may help interpret how this work, the single most important written source on the late Viking Age, presented the North.

Who was Adam of Bremen? Until well into the second half of the twentieth century, the man behind Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontifcum remained a shadowy character and ideas about the purpose of his work were remarkably vague.2 However, around 1960, frst Aage Trommer and then Rudolf Buchner began to examine Adam’s political world view and, at least in the case of Trommer, also his intentions. They came to quite disparate conclusions. According to Trommer, Adam had a reserved attitude towards secular princes, such as the Saxon dukes and German kings. He claimed that Adam was bothered by Archbishop Liemar’s involvement on behalf of Henry IV in the Saxon wars and in the confict with the papacy. According to Trommer, Adam actually wrote his work to convince Liemar to withdrawfrom defence of the King and put his efforts instead into missionary work in Scandinavia and beyond the Elbe.3 Rudolf Buchner, on the other hand, showed that Adam felt strongly in favour of royal power and the Empire. Adam held regnum and sacerdotium to be integrated parts of the indivisible body of the Empire. To Buchner, that meant that Adam was still unaffected by the ideological tensions of the Investiture confict and the split between regnum and sacerdotium. Of course, his fndings could also mean that Adam had more conservative or pro-royal views than the Gregorian reformers,4 but Buchner did not consider that option. He had shown though, that Trommer’s conclusions about Adam’s relation to royal power were somewhat misleading but they both accepted the general understanding of Adam of Bremen as a rather

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-2

14  Henrik Janson old fashioned, pious cleric who thought of nothing but missionary work and saving souls, and who did not engage with the momentous political storms of his t­ ime – ​­a view that is well summarized in Bernhard Schmeidler’s characterization of Adam as ‘­g utgläubig’.5 A brief glimpse of a more sensitive and aware author could be sensed in Wolfgang Seegrün’s 1976 analysis of the papal privileges concerning ­Hamburg-​­Bremen’s rights. Seegrün was able to show that Adam’s work reflected an early stage in the work of creating forged versions of some of these documents, but the Gesta still showed only “Gedanken- und Formule­ie­ rungssplitter” of the fabricated documents. In the completed versions, which Liemar later brought to Rome, these documents had an obvious address: Pope Gregory VII,6 and it seemed very probable from Seegrun’s reasoning that Adam’s work had also been written with Rome and Gregory VII in mind.7 A decade later, in 1988, Gerd Althoff posed the question of the causa scribendi for, among others, Adam’s Gesta – ​­seemingly unaware of Seegrün’s considerations.8 The answer he proposed in his short sketch largely followed Trommer,9 but Althoff also treated Adam as a politically sophisticated writer and he unequivocally put his finger on the still unresolved but crucial question: Why did Adam of Bremen write his Gesta? In 1998, I tried to contribute to answering this question by relating Adam to the major issues around him. By close reading, and after a detailed reconstruction of the position of Archbishop Liemar, I examined where Adam stood in relation to different aspects of that position in relation to other political actors, primarily the King, the Papacy, the Saxon rebels; to overarching political networks and conflicts in Europe in the ­m id-​­eleventh century; and to the situation across the Elbe and in Scandinavia. Some of these aspects were seldom directly addressed by Adam, but there are small indicators all over his ­work – ​­often accompanied by a characteristic sprinkle of chilly irony and a ‘­neigung zu Superlativen’10 that reveal a passionate heart11 – ​­he did, actually, clearly position himself in all those examined areas, as for instance when, in passing, he mentions Archbishop Anno of Cologne. Anno, who died in December 1075, had been a leading figure in the politics of the Empire since the 1050s. He was the supportive brother and uncle of two of the leading figures in the Saxon ­party – Archbishop ​­ Werner of Magdeburg and Bishop Burchard of ­Halberstadt – ​­and he was a great hero to another chronicler of the time, the ­a nti-​­Royal and p ­ ro-​­papal Benedictine monk Lampert of Hersfeld. Adam’s verdict, however, was that Anno had been a ‘­horrible man’ who had figured as a focal point for all the conspiracies against the King that occurred in his time.12 Particularly r­ evealing – not ​­ only for his political position but also for our understanding of how he was struggling with contemporary ­events – ​­is Adam’s comment about the disastrous developments prompted by the princes of the kingdom after the death of Henry III in 1056, during the regency of Empress Agnes, after Anno’s kidnapping of the King in Kaiserswerth in 1062 and through the Saxon rebellion.

Imperial politics, visions of the North 15 ‘Finally’, he indignantly notes, ‘they rashly took up arms and attempted to depose their lord and king. But all this can better be seen with the eyes then described with the pen.’13 The inference is clear: even if slightly reserved in relation to Archbishop Adalbert’s spectacular superbia, Adam stood frmly by Adalbert against all his foes, not least against the Saxon princes, and he sided completely with Archbishop Liemar, who during these years became the most loyal defender of Henry IV and the most outspoken opponent of Pope Gregory VII. Adam even aligned himself socially with Archbishop Liemar, who was of humble, ministerial, origins, lacking personal wealth. Shortly after having addressed Liemar directly at the beginning of the third book, Adam characterizes the highborn Adalbert as very promising in all respects when he came to offce, but with one fault that spoiled it all, vainglory [cenodoxia], which he then laconically notes is ‘wealthy people’s usual companion’ [ familiaris divitum vernacula]’.14 Consequently, a close reading of Adam in relation to the lines of conficts in Saxony, in The Holy Roman Empire, and indeed in Europe, led to the conclusion that he was not only a loyal follower of Liemar’s policies, but actually also seemed to side with him on more profound questions. These questions in their turn pointed towards Bamberg and to the infuential head of the cathedral school there, Meinhardt, who referred to Liemar as his only true friend (mihi amicum unice).15 But they also pointed further afeld, in line with Seegrün’s observations, over the Alps to Rome and the Lateran palace where Hildebrand-Gregory VII, in precisely these years, pushed the confict with Henry IV (and Liemar) to the point where the ‘whole Roman world quaked’,16 so that Gregory came to have the same effect on the political map of Europe ‘as a magnet on iron flings’.17

Why did Adam write the Gesta and to whom? The conclusion that Adam’s text was written in support of Liemar’s policies quickly won broad recognition. Timothy Reuter declared ‘that Adam and Liemar were fghting on a number of fronts in the 1070s’18 and Nils Blomqvist referred to Adam’s work as ‘a pamphlet in the investiture struggle, written on behalf of his two consecutive chiefs, the notorious Archbishop Adalbert and his successor, the more serene Liemar, who was the very worthy spokesman of the imperial church policy.’19 Volker Scior concluded that Adam’s position accorded completely with Liemar’s: the work was written in defence of the asserted rights of Hamburg-Bremen, as a response to adversaries of Liemar and his church, such as Gregory VII.20 Florian Hartmann stated that it was ‘Liemar’s (1072–1101) confrontation with Gregory VII (1073–1085) … that gave Adam the reason to write his church history’21 and Stéphane Coviaux called Adam’s Gesta ‘une œuvre de combat’ written in defence of the rights of Hamburg-Bremen against the politics of Gregory VII.22 Accordingly, Adam no longer appeared as an out of touch, parochial cleric. At the beginning of the new millennium, he was broadly recognized

16 Henrik Janson as an mindful observer of the politics of his time, who wrote his work as a part of the policies of Liemar, in defence of the church of Hamburg-Bremen against the challenges created by the enemies of the King, primarily the Saxon party and the papacy under Hildebrand-Gregory VII. In the years that followed, a number of studies appeared that substantially enhanced our understanding of many aspects of Adam’s self-perception, world view, literary strategies and ways of communicating, especially with regard to the North.23 At the same time new ways to approach political history gained ground. One aspect of this development was the somewhat new approach to the function of literature, not least the extremely partisan ‘Streitschriften’ of the Investiture contest. A particularly important contribution in our context is Monika Suchan’s conclusion that these works were not really ‘propaganda’ aimed for a ‘public’ sphere or debate, but primarily addressed to members of the authors’ own parties, to prepare representatives with arguments for negotiations.24 The limited literary imprint and the small numbers of copies in which these works have been preserved – and were probably also distributed – do seem to indicate that they reached out only to a very limited circle of close recipients. Adam of Bremen dedicated his work to Archbishop Liemar, who is also addressed occasionally in the text. In a few instances, however, he also alludes to the presence of the ‘brothers’, i.e., the canons of the cathedral chapter,25 and he claims to speak on their behalf to the archbishop.26 We may therefore be quite confdent that Adam intended his work to be read before the cathedral chapter in Bremen, headed by Archbishop Liemar. That is a context that tallies well with Anne K.G. Kristensen’s conclusion that there was never any ‘original’ manuscript, which was handed over to Liemar.27 What existed was Adam’s working copy. This was read before Liemar and the cathedral chapter at some point in time, but it never really reached a fnal state. It continued to be complemented with marginal comments – the so-called scholia – and from this working copy, with Adam’s scholia, all subsequent copies originate.28 Accordingly, Adam, as he also says himself,29 compiled his work to collect material and arguments in defence of his church and his archbishop. His material was then used to produce a dossier of six forged papal privileges, which Liemar was to utilize in his defence against and in negotiations with, Rome.30

When did Adam write? Dating Adam’s Gesta has become more complicated after Anne K.G. Kristensen’s 1975 study as we can no longer base our conjectures on an original ‘Widmungsexemplar’ or dedication copy, which Schmeidler postulated Adam had handed to Liemar. Still, there appears to be a fxed point in time when Adam fnished working on the main text. This cannot have been before 4 December 107531 since Archbishop Anno II of Cologne is referred to as dead.32 That also makes sense given that, in his epilogue, Adam mentions,

Imperial politics, visions of the North

17

as a fairly recent event, Liemar’s successful role in negotiating peace in the settlement between Henry IV and the Saxons, which almost certainly refers to what happened at Christmas 1075 in Goslar when the reconciliation between Henry IV and Otto of Northeim – and perhaps also Burchard of Halberstadt – took place.33 There are consequently good reasons to assume that Adam worked on the main text well into 1076 and that he thereafter continued to add marginal comments, scholia, until the early 1080s.34 The earlier phases of Adam’s working process are more uncertain. At the beginning of the third book he proclaims that he had ‘promised’ Liemar to write his history all the way up to his pontifcate and similar statements elsewhere indicate that he began sometime after Liemar’s appointment in May 1072.35 Bernhard Schmeidler’s rough estimate that he fnished the frst two books in 1074 and then books three and four in 1075 and 1076, still seems to hold good.36 Wolfgang Seegrün also dated the time of writing the main text of the work approximately to the years 1074–1076.37 Altogether it seems beyond doubt that Adam was working on his third and fourth books during 1075 and the frst half of 1076. He was preparing to present the completed work and his epilogue to Liemar – in front of the cathedral canons – while the reconciliation between Henry IV and Otto of Northeim at Christmas 1075 was still a fairly recent event.38 The writing process appears to have been rather hasty, with many uncorrected mistakes39 and, as a rule, Adam seems not to have revised later what he frst wrote in the main text, other than in the form of the marginal scholia.

Adam, Liemar and the state of the imperial church in Germany Consequently, Adam was writing during one of the most extreme ideological confict escalations in world history and indeed, he wrote to one of the most important fgures in that escalation, Liemar. From the beginning of his pontifcate, Liemar had been a tool for Henry IV to use against the Saxons. By late summer 1073, when the Saxon revolt broke out, Henry IV’s situation quickly became exceedingly precarious as it began to look as if the leading princes of the realm would join the Saxons in aiming to depose him. The new pope, Gregory VII, at the same time proclaimed that Henry had brought excommunication upon himself through his involvement with counsellors who had been excommunicated by Pope Alexander II earlier that year.40 Liemar stood solidly by the King’s side. He may well have been behind the King’s actions that autumn when, increasingly desperate, Henry sent two submissive letters to Gregory VII, obviously in an effort to halt further papal support for the Saxon cause. In any case, Liemar was one of the very few leading princes who, in December 1073, continued to follow Henry IV when the city of Worms opened its gates to receive the forsaken and sick King in his rapidly deteriorating situation.41 In Rome, however, Gregory VII had become overly enthusiastic on receiving the submissive royal letters and he envisioned a possibility that the

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papacy could get the chance to act as judge between the head of the Empire and his subjects. To him it was immaterial who was king, as long as he was submissive, and subduing the son of Emperor Henry III would actually be more prestigious than appointing any alternative candidate. On 20 December 1073, he therefore relaxed the pressure on Henry IV by writing a rather reluctant letter to the Saxons, which withheld the full papal support they had wished for and expected in the deposition of the King. Instead, the Pope now asked them to suspend their hostilities until papal envoys could arrive to examine the causes of the confict and arbitrate between the Saxons and their King.42 The Saxons became confused enough to hesitate and they began to negotiate. With Liemar and a few other prelates at his side, Henry IV was persuaded to agree to the harsh conditions he had blatantly rejected half a year earlier. The conditions were actually so hard that the King soon changed his mind again and wanted to reject the agreement but, supported by the other prelates, Liemar convinced him to stick to what had been agreed in what was named the treaty of Gerstungen of 2 February 1074. This was a crucial treaty for Henry IV. It created a deep rift of distrust between the Saxons and the many other princes of the realm who, until then, had been ready to join their cause. Perhaps even more importantly though, the critical question of papal intervention in the confict was averted.43 That meant that when the papal legates crossed the Alps at the beginning of April 1074, they had already missed the best opportunity to manifest apostolic power – but their disappointment did not stop at that. As it turned out, they ended up in a complex prelude to the Investiture contest, featuring Liemar of Bremen in the main role as Gregory VII’s ‘schärfsten Gegner’.44 At frst things seemed to go well.45 To enhance the status of the delegation and exercise her maternal infuence over the King, his mother, Empress Agnes, accompanied the legates from Italy, where she had resided for many years. A compliant Henry IV received his mother and the legates in Pforzen, at the foot of the Alps and a settlement was made that would enable the King to be received back into the communion of the church. As Easter Sunday (20 April) approached, it would have been natural for the large entourage to join the royal court in the festivities. The court, however, had pointedly decided46 to celebrate Easter in Bamberg in spite of, or, more likely, because of the fact that the bishop of Bamberg had been accused in Rome of the grave sin of simony – for having bought his episcopal offce. This case had been taken by Gregory VII as a perfect opportunity for him to publicly manifest papal authority through an intervention to correct the allegedly lax moral standards within the imperial church in Germany. The plan was that the papal legates should take the leading role in judging the case at a German church synod. The legates were disturbed to discover that they would have Bishop Herman on whom they were about to pass judgement as their host. They refused to follow the King to Bamberg. While the royal court proceeded to Bamberg

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to celebrate Easter, the legatine retinue, accompanied by Queen Agnes, was sent to wait in Nürnberg, where the planned synod was to take place. It was at this point, in this complex situation, that Archbishop Liemar spoke out publicly. He had been invited to lead the solemn Easter Mass in Bamberg, in front of the royal court, the German episcopate and prominent secular princes, in what was apparently nothing less than an imperial diet. Suddenly, in the middle of a baptism, Liemar made a spectacular symbolic statement. In front of the King and all the prominent ecclesiastical and secular princes, he refused to use the holy chrism, the sacred oil, which Herman of Bamberg had consecrated on Holy Thursday. His argument was that Herman, as a suspected but not yet convicted simonist, might, if guilty, be responsible for damagingly invalid, diabolical and destructive sacraments.47 Obviously, this was not a scene that occurred by chance and the statement received support from almost all other archbishops and bishops. The imperial church in Germany had hereby taken a strong public stand against simony,48 showing that the imperial German episcopate was perfectly capable of handling such moral perils as simony by itself.49 Contrary to the grave and detrimental accusations from Gregory VII concerning the poor moral state of the German church and the need for reform, Liemar had symbolically demonstrated that the German church was careful to protect itself from moral threats like simony. Liemar and the imperial church were not against Church reform. It was the methods of Gregory VII they opposed.50 At the same time Adam of Bremen declared, at the very begin of his Gesta, that it was indeed among the German peoples – for whom St. Boniface of Mainz had been appointed papal legate in the eighth century – that ‘now the highest reverence for both the Roman Empire and the worship of God thrives and blossoms’.51

Adam, Liemar and the monastic reform movement There were however other important aspects to Liemar’s spectacular manifesto. There were immediate implications for a question of burning importance for the canons in Bamberg, not least to the master of the prestigious and infuential cathedral school, Meinhard, who held Liemar to be his ‘only true friend’. The background was that Bishop Herman had been in Rome in 1070, together with Archbishop Anno of Cologne, and there he had obviously been attracted by the monastic reform movement.52 In 1071, he brought to Bamberg the famous Eckbert, Abbot of Münsterschwarzach (1047–1077). Eckbert was a disciple of the reform-monastery Gorze and had for decades been a prominent promotor of the Lotharingian monastic reform movement connected to that monastery. Bishop Herman ordained Eckbert to lead the Benedictine monastery of St Michael in Bamberg, but the decisive moment came somewhat later, when he also decided to drive out the 25 canons in his recently founded convent of St. Jakob and hand that too over to Eckbert and to the monastic reform movement.53

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The canons of the city saw this as a tremendous affront and as a terrible attack against the status of their order. They carried the proud inheritance of a ‘Kanonikerrefom’ from the Karolingian-Ottonian era and especially from Emperor Henry II who had founded Bamberg ‘as an ideal for German cathedral chapters’.54 With the foundation of Bamberg Henry II had given this movement much new self-esteem, and new energy, to the point that modern scholarship has actually spoken of a ‘Bamberger Reform’.55 The canons of Bamberg, therefore, led by those from the cathedral, protested strongly and urged Bishop Herman not to proceed with his plans if, as they said, he wanted to avoid causing an eternal feud and starting a confict between them that no one thereafter could make right.56 Something fundamental was obviously at stake here. The status of their ordo canonicus was threatened by the ordo monasticus.57 But Bishop Herman did not change his plans and soon the dramatic confict became public. Meinhard and the cathedral provost Poppo distributed letters throughout the imperial church, addressed to their ‘brothers’, i.e. other secular canons claiming that this matter concerned them all. They also addressed their complaints to the weakened King and when no help came from him, they turned to Rome. In doing that, however, they did not emphasize that their order was threatened by monks, but instead that Bishop Herman was accused of being a simonist who had bought his episcopal offce. This was how Gregory VII had managed to become involved in Bishop Herman’s alleged simoniac crime, which he then, in Lent 1074, instructed his legates to judge in the reforming synod they were about to lead when they were in Germany for Easter. But here, as we have seen, Pope Gregory’s grand plans ran into Archbishop Liemar of Bremen. Herman’s simony was taken care of by the imperial church before the synod and it was done in a way that opened up the possibility of reversing Bishop Herman’s violation of the status of the ordo canonicus. It should be noted that the way Liemar treated the chrism Herman had consecrated, was not conventional. The common approach to such a matter was that consecrations by unworthy priests were valid under all circumstances, even those made by a heretic (such as a simonist), due to the divine power [divina virtus] of the Holy Spirit and that was the interpretation of the leading Gregorian theologian Petrus Damiani. There was, however, also another interpretation that had won ground in the 1060s, especially among the Patarene movement of Northern Italy (Milan), the most devoted supporters of anti-imperial ‘reform’ and of Hildebrand-Gregory VII. According to this interpretation, the sacraments of an unworthy priest, like a simonist, became malicious and brought devastation on their recipients. A recent study has in fact revealed that this radical interpretation was probably more of a novelty in the 1060s than hitherto assumed.58 It spread rapidly, not least among lay people, after it was propagated in the late 1050s by another infuential reform-theologian in Rome, Humbert of Silva Candida, and it was used aggressively against priests and bishops whose disgrace was

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desirable for different reasons, obviously with at least the silent approval of archdeacon Hildebrand.59 As Pope Gregory VII, the same Hildebrand, at the Lenten synod 9–15 March 1074, introduced what has come to be known as his ‘Aufruhrkanon’, in which he encouraged lay people to disregard and violently oppose not only simoniac and unchaste priests but also those who did not respect the commands of the church fathers and, most importantly, his own commands.60 In a widely disseminated and crucially important letter of 11 January 1075, he made obedientia to himself the key to the ‘Aufruhrkanon’. He urged three of his most trusted secular lords in Germany, Duke Berthold of Carinthia, Duke Welf of Bavaria and Duke Rudoph of Schwaben, ‘and all those from who we expect fdelity and devotion’, under the requirement for obedience, to spread his command in Germany. That command was to use violence, if necessary, to prohibit simoniac and unchaste clerics, even bishops and even at the royal court, from administering the holy sacraments. This revolutionary message was reinforced by the sharp command in the same letter that to be disobedient to apostolic decrees should be judged as idolatry.61 Against this background we would expect to fnd the Pope rejoice in Liemar’s stout actions against the suspected simonist Herman at Easter 1074. The Archbishop of Bremen had led the imperial episcopate, and the whole royal diet, almost unanimously to do what the Pope had demanded at the Lenten synod the month before, but the Pope did not rejoice. Those who rejoiced were the canons of Bamberg. They saw the whole pontifcate of Bishop Herman evaporating before their eyes. All transactions by him in his offce as bishop became invalid and, consequently, the ordo canonicus was relieved of the grave humiliation which Herman had afficted upon it on behalf of the monastic reform movement.62 This was also how the papal curia, in July 1075, fnally judged the case – in the face of the King’s ascendance after his great victory over the Saxons on 9 June 1075.63 It was a great victory and it must be remembered that the canons of Bamberg had spread their despair among their brother canons all over Germany. Their case was ‘on everyone’s lips’.64 Their whole ordo had been attacked and they had struck back – hard. Liemar had devised the strategy and had played a key role in the process. He was at least to some extent the hero of the story, a hero of canonical reform in Germany. When we look at how Adam of Bremen used his pen to describe the church political landscape of the North in those years, there are two cases in the period immediately preceding his writing where his own preferences become particularly evident. One of these concerns Bishop Osmund, who, around 1060, convinced King Emund to reject a bishop, Adalvard senior, who was sent out by Archbishop Adalbert to lead the Swedish church. Another case concerned Bishop Egino of Lund, who was appointed bishop in Dalby by Adalbert of Bremen around 1060 and later, before his death in 1072, became Bishop in Lund over the united bishoprics of Dalby and Lund. Adam is very hostile to Osmund, but Egino is his great hero among contemporary bishops

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in Scandinavia and he calls him vir magnanimus 65and sanctissimus,66 sapiens in litteris et castitate insignis.67 One reason for this distinction between the two bishops is of course their different approaches to the archbishopric of Hamburg-Bremen. Osmund rejected Adalbert’s claims to ecclesiastical supremacy, while Egino, at least initially, was a central part of exercizing that supremacy. However, this cannot be the whole explanation. Egino was actually one of the Danish bishops who, in the second half of the 1060s, obstructed Adalbert’s call for a provincial synod, but this obstructive disobedience against the archbishop of Bremen did not defect Adam’s wholeheartedly positive judgement. Adam also enthusiastically describes how Egino planned to destroy the temple in Uppsala together with a cathedral canon from Bremen, Adalvard iunior, whom Archbishop Adalbert had appointed Bishop of Sigtuna, not far from Uppsala. When they were hindered in that mission by the Swedish King Stenkil, these radical activists turned south and travelled through the cities of the Götar, where they, in Adam’s colourful and supportive description, destroyed idols and converted thousands of pagans, and where Adalvard fnally, on his own initiative, established himself as bishop in Skara. Adam’s enthusiastic rhetoric about this allegedly successful missionary enterprise, is in sharp contrast to a letter from Archbishop Adalbert in which these actions are described as an invasion of the church of Skara and a violation of canon law.68 Egino is a great hero for Adam and it is evident that his affection for the Bishop of Dalby/Lund originates in something much deeper than the sheer supremacy-claim of his previous archbishop and the church of Hamburg-Bremen. There was something more important at play here and it may be connected to the information Adam gives that Egino founded a preposituram fratrum regulariter viventium, i.e. a house of ‘secular’ canons, following, like the canons of Bamberg, the traditional rules of Chrodegang of Metz and the synod of Aachen of 816, which were updated by Henry II in Bamberg in 1007 – ‘the Bamberg reform’.69 If we now turn to Bishop Osmund, he was, according to Adam, pessimus, girovagus and acephalus.70 Osmund had been active as bishop in the region around Sigtuna and Uppsala from the 1050s and, as already stated, around 1060 he had successfully urged the Swedes to reject Bishop Adalvard senior, who Archbishop Adalbert had sent out to head the Swedish church. Bishop Osmund had convinced the Swedes with the valid argument that Hamburg-Bremen lacked papal confrmation, sigillum apostilici, for their claims. Around 1065, however, Osmund left Sweden and turned up at the royal court of Edward the Confessor in England. He fnally settled in as the resident bishop at the huge English monastery of Ely. Most probably it was no coincidence that his exit from Sweden coincided precisely with the fact that Archbishop Adalbert of Bremen for a short period had come to rule the Empire and in 1064 appointed Bishop Adalvard iunior for Sigtuna, where he arrived, together with Bishop Egino of Dalby, unsuccessfully trying to convince King Stenkil to allow them to destroy Uppsala.

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Osmund actually came from an Anglo-Scandinavian ecclesiastical context, which had taken on reform from Cluny in the tenth century, but parts of his education were from Bremen, so he knew that archbishopric well from the inside. Tracing Osmund’s contacts is a fascinating journey in the politics of eleventh-century Europe.71 He was consecrated bishop, probably in the early 1050s, by bishop Aron of Krakow, previously a monk and abbot who sprang from the Lotharingian monastic reform movement. Bishop Aron’s contacts lead us to the prominent Ezzonid family in Lotharingia – who had brought Aron to Poland  – and to the Archbishopric of Cologne, because Aron had been consecrated by Archbishop Herman II of Cologne, grandson of Emperor Otto I and brother of Richeza of Lotharingia, Queen of Poland.72 Aron was consequently a factor in the ecclesiastical policy of the Ezzonid family73 and he connects Osmund to a vast network both inside and outside the Empire, containing names such as Bolesław II of Poland and Géza of Hungary and even Archbishop Anno of Cologne, who from the mid-1060s actually tried to expropriate the Ezzonid heritage.74 It was an aristocratic web of alliances, which both surrounded and permeated the Holy Roman Empire, comprising several of the most dangerous enemies of King Henry IV, and with close ties to the Lotharingian monastic reform movement, as well as to Hildebrand-Gregory VII.75 In a decisive moment, in October 1080, when all hope was over for winning back Henry IV and Liemar of Bremen, Gregory VII wrote a letter to King Inge of Sweden – the son of King Stenkil – in which he hastened to proclaim that the gallicana ecclesia had not instructed the Swedes with alien testimonies (or documents) [non vos alienis documentis instruxit]. This was obviously a reference to the fabrications and unfounded claims that came out of Bremen and he underlined that what gallicana ecclesia ‘has received from the treasuries of her mother, the holy Roman church, she has delivered intact to you with salubrious teaching’ to the Swedes.76 The meaning of gallicana ecclesia in this context is not quite clear, but there is no doubt that the church organization that Gregory VII referred to stood in direct opposition to Hamburg-Bremen and had defended its position with papal authority. Gregory VII now confrmed that the gallicana ecclesia had acted on the basis of sigillum apostolici, to use Osmund’s alleged words. What we can infer here is in fact nothing less than a juridical body, a church organization with papal approval, which outranked Hamburg-Bremen’s fabricated claims of ecclesiastical supremacy over Sweden. Consequently, the institution which Gregory found reason to infuse with renewed authority in 1080 was most certainly the very church organization in Sweden that Osmund had belonged to and headed. That institution had rejected Adalvard senior and the imperial church around 1060 and it must have been the same juridical body that Egino and Adalvard iunior were set to overcome in the mid-1060s, when Archbishop Adalbert of Bremen was, for a short period, the most powerful man in Europe and Bishop Osmund chose to leave Sweden for the English court. The concept of gallicana ecclesia may

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in this context refer to Gallia as Lotharingia, or the French church or, most likely, to the monastic reform movement (Cluniac and/or Gorzian) including in England – or something inbetween that.77 Gregory VII must in any case have been convinced fnd that the reciepient of the letter, King Stenkil's son Inge, understood what he referred to. Accordingly, in Bishops Egino and Osmund we fnd two very different sides of the religious and political landscape of Europe in the eleventh century represented in Adam’s text. It is impossible to pinpoint exactly what they represent in Adam’s eyes, but Egino seems to have attracted his sympathies because he stood up for the cause of the spirit of the secular canons of the ‘Kanonikerreform’ or ‘the Bamberg reform’. Osmund represented a reformed monastic and clearly aristocratic context. Adam’s positioning between them is clear enough and it is likely, therefore, that when he praises Liemar on behalf of the cathedral canons in Bremen, his words resonate with admiration for their archbishop’s recent deeds to protect their ordo  – at the apex of imperial politics – to the detriment of the monastic reform movement.

Liemar, Adam and Gregory VII But indeed, there was yet another aspect to Liemar’s rejection of Bishop Herman’s chrism at Easter mass on 20 April 1074 and it was of even more wide-reaching consequences. When the celebration was over in Bamberg, the court and the ecclesiastical princes took off for Nürnberg, where the papal legates were awaiting. The compliant King was now ceremonially received back into the church by the legates and he promised to lend a helping hand in the deposition of simoniacs. Everything seemed to follow papal intentions very smoothly. Then, however, when the legates turned to the episcopate to fulfl the next goal of their mission, leading the German church synod, they suddenly met an impenetrable wall of resistance and the man who stood before them to deny them their claim was Archbishop Liemar of Bremen. He was fanked by the weak but juridically important Archbishop Siegfried of Mainz, who had inherited from St. Boniface the position as papal legatus perpetuus in Germania. Liemar also had a good claim to the position as papal legate, but in his case, for the nations in the North of Germania, it was a position inherited from St Ansgar,78 Both Siegfried and Liemar were also imperial archbishops in the sense that their metropolitan jurisdictions extended outside what Gregory VII would later in the year coin ‘regnum Teutonicorum’, ‘the kingdom of the Germans’.79 Siegfried of Mainz held archiepiscopal rights over Bohemia and Moravia, which were territories that Gregory had already begun to separate from the Roman empire of Henry IV in 1073.80 Siegfried had protested against papal intervention into his jurisdiction, but received a furious answer from the Pope, dated 18 March 1074. This brutal letter to the most distinguished prelate in Germany, must have landed in Siegfried’s hands

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shortly before Easter 1074. Here could be read, in very plain words, the Pope’s direction that the archbishop of Mainz should not dare to even think he could say anything whatsoever against the Roman church.81 In a letter from March 1074 Gregory had also put in writing his opinion that Jesus had made the pope ‘the prince over all kingdoms on earth’ [principem super regna mundi constituit].82 How far his radical intentions were known at this time is uncertain, but in the year that followed they became fully evident in Gregory’s policy against not only Moravia and Bohemia, but also many other rulers in Europe, in Hungary, Poland, Denmark, Russia and many others, not least against Henry IV.83 However, as early as March 1074, when Gregory proclaimed that St. Peter (i.e. himself) could give victory against enemies [ipse te victorem de adversariis tuis effciet],84 the process was already well on its way. The new Pope was by then intensely involved in Moravia and Bohemia and fnally, in the summer of 1074, he succeeded in forcing one of the most loyal princes of Henry IV, Duke Wratislav of Bohemia, to submit to St. Peter by paying a tribute, a census, to the Lateran.85 This census flled the same symbolic role as the so-called Peter’s pence that the papacy sometimes managed to press out of England and, from the eleventh century, from time to time also from Poland, Denmark and perhaps Sweden, to mark these kingdoms’ special ties to the Lateran, but there were also other tributes, in other parts of Europe.86 In March 1074 Gregory also provided moral support to Duke Géza of Hungary, against Géza’s brother, King Salomon, and since Henry IV was not able to help Salomon, whom Geza had driven out of his kingdom, Salomon had to send a delegation and submit to Rome. In October 1074 Gregory wrote a very sharp reply to Salomon. He explained that he had heard that Salomon had received Hungary as a fef from rex Teutonicorum. If that was true, he should understand for himself what help he could expect from St. Peter if he did not rectify his mistake by recognizing that the sceptre (i.e. the kingdom) that he held was a benefcium from papal and not from royal sovereignty.87 This was remarkable, as Eckhardt Müller-Mertens showed in 1970, for being the very frst known reference to a kingdom of the Germans in an offcial context and for the revelation that the regnum Teutonicum  – Das deutsche Reich – was originally an Italian idea launched publicly by the very pope who received Henry IV in Canossa.88 Müller-Mertens did indeed put his fnger precisely on the core of the confict between Gregory VII and Henry IV. There was as yet no German kingdom. The royal title of Henry IV was, if anything, ‘King of the Romans’, rex romanorum and he ruled over the same territory he would rule after his formal elevation to Emperor. The so-called kingdom of Italy was, from this perspective, a territory on the same level as the other regions of the Empire, such as Saxony, Bavaria, Swabia, Franconia, Lotharingia, Bohemia, the kingdom of Burgund and the kingdoms of Hungary and Poland for that matter, who all were subjected in their own particular way to the head of the Ottonian-Salian Empire, who at this time was the King of the Romans, the futurus imperator Henry IV. But

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in 1074 Gregory VII began to put Henry on a par with any other king and his realm, i.e. the regnum Teutonicorum, on a par with any other kingdom. In a second supportive letter to Duke Géza of Hungary, from March 1075, Gregory explained how the kingdom of Hungary had unlawfully been acquired by Salomon through the hands of rex Teutonicus (Henry IV) and not, as it ought to have been, from the hands of the Roman pontiff. Géza should, Gregory stated, be aware that the kingdom of Hungary, no less than other famous kingdoms (nobilissima regna), should not be subjected to any king of another kingdom, only to ‘the holy and universal mother, the Roman church’.89 At the same time he also sent legates to Poland, to organize the church there and a year later the new Polish church crowned Duke Bolesław II as King of Poland, something that was felt as a tremendous humiliation by the Ottonian-Salian empire.90 So, Gregory was about to degrade Henry IV, who according to the Ottonian-Salian order of things was not only the head of the Roman empire, but indeed also caput ecclesiae, the head of the church. Just after the Lenten synod of 24–28 February 1075, only a few weeks before this second letter to Géza was written, Gregory had arranged for the so-called Dictatus papae to be written into his register and this is still today rather breath-taking reading. Here he claimed, among many other things, that the pope had the right to the imperial insignia; that all princes [in the world] should kiss his feet alone; that he, the pope, had the right to depose emperors; that the pope may be judged by no one; that a pope is indubitably made holy when lawfully elevated to his offce; that the pope can absolve subjects from fealty and indeed depose bishops without trial; etc. etc.91 These dictates have been much discussed, but there is no doubt that they give voice to a programme that aimed to make the pope the political head of the world and the primary goal was undoubtedly to subdue the heir of the Holy Roman Empire, Henry IV, and make him submit to the universal power of the papacy.92 John Cowdrey may very well be right in that these are the demands that Henry IV would have to accept, and swear to uphold, in order to be crowned emperor by Gregory VII.93 ‘Nicht mehr der Palatin des Kaisers, sondern der Lateran der Päpste soll künftig Gravitationszentrum der politischen Ordnung des Abenlandes sein.’94 This was the prospect that Liemar and the recently severely reprimanded archbishop of Mainz had to confront in Nürnberg on 26 April 1074. Liemar himself described what happened: when the legates understood that he and Siegfried was not prepared to approve the holding of a synod, they demanded, on their own authority and with much severity: ‘Approve the synod!’ Liemar and Siegfried answered, on behalf of the council of their bishopsbrothers who were there, that they could not comply with this ‘edict’ without consulting their brothers and fellow-bishops, and getting their advice on the matter. The legates were incensed and ordered Liemar and Siegfried, under their obedience to the apostolic see, either to agree to approve the synod, or to answer for their conduct in Rome. It was obviously primarily Liemar who was the focus of their wrath and he had to point out that his coadjutors and

Imperial politics, visions of the North  27 suffragans resided among the Danes and the transmarine peoples and they would not come ‘­to this Teutonic synod’ [ad hanc synodum teutonicam], nor was it his responsibility to approve such a Teutonic synod’.95 In the words hanc synodum Teutonicam we may sense the contempt with which Liemar viewed this intrusion in the rights of the imperial church. At the bottom of the confrontation lay two fundamentally different perspectives on episcopal office. Liemar stood for a communion of the collegiate brotherhood of bishops, in which the bishop of Rome no doubt had a prominent position as primus inter pares, but the apostolic heritage of St. Peter was distributed across all the bishops, who were therefore fundamentally equal and autonomous. To Gregory however, the Roman church had absolute primacy and a monarchical position over all other churches, and the bishop of Rome, as the incarnation of St. Peter, could therefore rule all the others from Rome and the Lateran, where St. Peter’s head was, significantly, contained within the high altar.96 So, while Gregory tried to withdraw imperial status from Henry IV and downgraded regnum Teutoricorum to a nobilissimum regnum among many other nobilissima regna, he also at the same time strove to single out the Roman church and the Lateran as an imperial superstructure over both the kingdoms and all the other churches, over which the successor of St. Peter, the pope, would have unrestrained power. This was what Liemar opposed. No synod was held. Liemar had made it impossible,97 but he did so with the united imperial church behind him. In Bamberg it had opted for reform, but in Nürnberg it also decided to stand against the methods of Gregory VII and his attack on the Roman empire under Henry IV. What Liemar had done was much the same as what Bishop Osmund had done when he rejected the delegation from Bremen, claiming that they lacked sigillum apostolici. There seems consequently to be yet another important aspect to Liemar’s action against the chrism in Bamberg. Gregory VII had become pope under dubious circumstances. North of the Alps it was, and it still is, very difficult to be sure about what actually happened in the turmoil in Rome that day and by what means Hildebrand had come to power.98 Simony could not be excluded. However, it was crystal clear that he had not reached that office in accordance with the papal election decree of 1059 and the approval of Henry IV, indisputably, in ­Ottonian-​­Salian understanding, required by that decree, had not been acquired. From that perspective Liemar’s action against the chrism in Bamberg carried a deeper meaning. There is an evident analogy between chrism consecrated by a suspected, but not convicted, simonist (­Herman) and the legates appointed by a pope whose canonical status was far from clear (­Gregory). In a juridically impeccable way Liemar had sent a strong signal to Rome: there was a good chance that Gregory could be deemed an intruder on the papal thrown by the imperial church, if he continued his offensive policy against its bishops and its head, Henry IV.99 Gregory, however, was not one for subtleties. In Liemar and Gregory two very different characters confronted each other. Liemar was a most loyal

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aide [adiutor] of his lord the king,100 and both friends and political foes showed the same respect for this man of unusual erudition, seriousness and profound knowledge of canon law.101 In a fctitious poetic dialogue from 1091 between pope and anti-pope on the subject of putting together a council to solve the confict within the church, the Gregorian pope, Urban II, sensationally chose Liemar to participate in the proceedings on his side, because, he says, in spite of the fact that Liemar belonged ‘to your side’ – i.e. to the opposite, royal party of the anti-pope – ‘he is not easily moved, and will always stick to the law’.102 Gregory VII on the other hand can, as Ian S. Robinson has argued, be characterized as ‘a charismatic leader’ in Max Weber’s terms (as opposed to a ‘legal’ a ‘traditional’ leader). He was used to making a deep impact on his surroundings and getting his way.103 Unlike his close collaborators, Petrus Damiani and Humbert of Silva Candida, Gregory was not a learned theologian but rather a man of action. Werner Goez has underlined the fact that the most commonly used words in his register are obedientia, ‘obedience’ and inobedientia, ‘disobedience’, which occur over 300 times.104 God demanded obedience and that obedience had to be shown to the Lord’s highest representative on Earth, Gregory VII himself. At the beginning of 1075, as already described, he began openly to proclaim that disobedience to himself was idolatry, something he repeated no less than 17 times in the following years.105 On one occasion he explicitly stated that ‘anyone falls into the sin of heathenism [paganitas] who, while claiming that he is a Christian, disdains to obey the apostolic see’.106 So, Liemar’s subtle signal landed like an atomic bomb in Rome and the reaction was all but subtle. Gregory got the full report from the legates in the autumn 1074 and, according to Liemar, became extremely irate [multum iratus] in response to the fury [ furor] of the legates.107 Compared to how he was about to treat Liemar, Gregory’s communication with Herman of Bamberg was strikingly mild.108 We have here a good indication of which part of ‘church reform’ was uppermost in Gregory’s mind and it was not simony but obedientia. When the deadline the legates had given Liemar expired on 30 November, Gregory harshly suspended the Archbishop of Bremen and summoned him to the next synod in Rome during Lent at the end of February 1075. ‘Against a German archbishop, such actions were yet unheard of’, wrote Carl Erdmann in 1938, ‘but Liemar had wanted to restrain the papal primacy rights – so no means were too hard in Gregory’s view, and no punishment too severe.’109 ‘I could not imagine’, wrote Liemar when he had received the papal letter which brought him the apostolic verdict, ‘that this was allowed to happen to any bishop, except through a verdict by his bishop brothers in a full synod’.110 In the same moment Gregory tried to pull Henry IV over onto his side, but he did so in the most remarkable way. In a letter to Henry from 7 December 1074 he announced the proposal that he himself, as combined dux and pontifex, would lead an enormous expedition – consisting of 50,000 men – ‘with arms in hand’ [armata manu], to the Lord’s sepulchre ‘with himself [i.e. the

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Lord] in the lead’ and he declared to the King that he was to be left behind to guard the Roman church while Gregory was away.111 In a parallel letter of the same date he declared to the King that his plans depended on the counsel of a group of noble women.112 In a separate letter to one of these women, Countess Mathilda of Tuscany, he made it clear that Empress Agnes desired to follow him on this expedition and wanted to bring Countess Mathilda on the trip, while Mathilda’s mother, Countess Beatrice, should stay home to safeguard their common interests in Italy. Gregory would gladly embark on this enterprise if ‘furnished with such sisterly aid’.113 ‘If we did not know all this’, Carl Erdmann commented, ‘from Gregory’s own letters, we would perhaps think that this was some kind of bad joke from a malicious enemy.’114 While the papal letters were on their way to Liemar and Henry IV, the sentiment within the imperial episcopate against Gregory VII reached a new low point, as the Pope had harshly commanded a prosecution against Bishop Pibo of Toul. At the beginning of 1075, gathered at the royal diet, the episcopate unanimously and in deep indignation, condemned Gregory’s sending of such unaccustomed and harsh commands (tam insolita et dura mandata).115 ‘Selten ist die deutsche Kirche in sich so einig gewesen.’116 Liemar did not take part in these events. He had gone home to Bremen in the summer of 1074 and stayed there for a long time. We may actually approximate that this was vital period for the early stages of Adam’s writing of the Gesta. The late summer of 1074 might well have been the frst time Adam actually met Liemar, and was able to promise the new archbishop to write the history of Hamburg-Bremen from the beginning to his own pontifcacy. When the papal letter reached Liemar in Bremen, in the last days of January 1075, he had been sick for a while and could not travel. The Pope proclaimed Liemar’s suspension and summoned him to the Lenten synod in Rome on 24–28 February. Attendance was impossible and Liemar had no intention of going. His sickness prevented it and he did not agree to the legality of what had happened to him. The papal letter provocatively lacked the traditional greeting and blessing117 but Liemar, on the other hand, did not actually take it as a letter from the Pope. He referred to it as a letter ‘sealed with the papal seal’ [litterę bullatę bulla apostolica], indicating that the papal seal might not be in the right hands.118 He called Gregory ‘the dangerous man’ [periculosus homo] and complained that he wanted to order bishops about like his bailiffs and suspend them without sentence if they did not comply with all his demands.119 At the Lenten synod, less than four weeks later, the suspended Liemar became the frst among the ecclesiastical and secular princes to be unconditionally excommunicated and his felony was his ‘haughty disobedience’, pro inobedientia superbię suę.120 This was a tremendous event. No one in the imperial church, especially not in Bremen, could have been ignorant of what happened to Liemar at Gregory VII’s hands, but while the Pope condemned the disobedience of Liemar’s superbia, Adam in his Gesta singled out humilitas as the most conspicuous of Liemar’s virtues. The haughty superbia

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was commonly viewed as the origin of all other vices because it had made Lucifer oppose God before his fall. Its direct opposite was humilitas. By choosing to extract humilitas as the most evident of Liemar’s virtues – which had actually inspired him to write his work – Adam positioned not only his work, but also himself in relation to one of the most spectacular confrontations within Christianity during those years.121 Liemar did not go to Rome.122 By 17 April 1075, when Gregory wrote a very friendly letter to King Sven Estridsson of Denmark, Liemar had still not been in contact.123 In early April he must have become aware of his excommunication and also of an earlier letter of 25 January 1075 from Gregory to Sven Estridsson, in which the Pope eagerly tried to persuade King Sven to get in contact with him in order to set up a new archbishop’s see in Denmark.124 The new letter from 17 April pushed the same question, but another element was added: Christ’s rule extended further than Augustus’ rule, but now the political and religious situation on Earth was catastrophic, since kings and heads of the world had started to show contempt for ecclesiastical law and fallen into disobedience, which is idolatry [idolatria].125 In a letter to the Danish king in the spring of 1075, this comment was an evident reference to Archbishop Liemar’s famous inobedientia superbiae and the threat of a new archbishop’s see in Denmark seemed to have forced Liemar to contact Rome.126 Sometime in the following months he had a delegation in Rome.127 They were not very successful and seem not to have been believed at all, but in the meantime, Sven Estridsson had other interests. Strengthened by an alliance with Henry IV and the Archbishop of Bremen, he prepared for an attack to take back England from Gregory’s protégé William the Conqueror.128 In the months that followed King Henry IV got the upper hand in the Saxon confict after a decisive battle on 9 June. He immediately took the excommunicates back into his household and communion.129 Gregory’s tone became softer for a while. Towards the end of 1075, however, the tension between King and Pope began to increase. On 8 December Gregory sent a letter to Henry which began with a conditional greeting: ‘to King Henry with greeting and apostolic blessing, if he obeys the apostolic see, as it befts a Christian king’, thereby insinuating that Henry was close to crossing the critical border between Christian obedienta and pagan inobedientia.130 On 24 January 1076, the long-restrained confict exploded into open hostility. What Liemar had signalled was now realized. The King and the episcopate publicly announced that Gregory VII was an invader [invasor] on the papal throne. It was declared that he had made his way to papal offce through money and weapons and that, from the throne of peace, he destroyed peace.131 With his ‘haughty cruelty and his cruel haughtiness’ [superba crudelitate crudelique superbia] he had become the standard bearer of schism and with ‘raging madness’ [ furali dementia] he had spread the fame of discord in the whole Roman church, through the churches of Italia, Germania, Gallia and Hispania.132 He had furthermore taken almost all power away

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from the bishops and had handed the administration of the church over to the fury of the mob [plebeio furali].133 He had attacked the most venerable bishops with haughty insults [superbissimis iniuris] and had even raised himself directly against the head itself [in ipsum caput], i.e. Henry IV.134 He had cloaked violence with religion,135 and he had shamelessly threatened to take royal power away from Henry, ‘as if royal and imperial power were in your hands, and not in God’s’.136 He had furthermore flled the church with the stench of the gravest scandal through his unchaste relation with Countess Mathilda of Tuscany. Indeed, all verdicts and all decrees of the apostolic see were now enacted by the women that Gregory had gathered around him and the whole church was now actually governed by this new [Roman] senate of women around Gregory.137 It was obvious that according to the royal party in the winter and spring of 1076, Gregory ruled through three major vices: superbia ‘haughtiness’, ira ( furor) ‘wrath’ and luxuria ‘lust’/‘fornication’, all brought to power by money, through avaritia ‘greed’. At the time this news spread, Adam of Bremen was working on his fourth book. It was now that he began to describe the templum nobilissimum Uppsala, which Adalbert iunior and Egino of Dalby had aimed to destroy, as Osmund – the head of the gallicana ecclesia in central Sweden138  – was driven out of the country. Uppland, the province where Uppsala is situated, is extremely rich in Christian rune stones from exactly this period. These stones show that those who had the capacity to raise them were Christians. There are well over 1,000 such stones in Uppland from approximately this time, representing familiae and, presumably, tens of thousands of individuals who were attached to this economic elite.139 Some scholars have even argued that Bishop Osmund may have been one of the masters behind these inscriptions and even if this interpretation is much debated, such a context for the production of runestones is defnitely not impossible.140 Uppsala may even have been a centre for such a runestone-producing ecclesiastical milieu.141 Uppsala may have been the centre of the gallicana ecclesia in Sweden. Anyway, in the centre of this Upplandic society, Adam places a temple made completely of gold (totum ex auro paratum) called Uppsala. In this temple, the people (populus), according to Adam, venerate three statues (idols), two of which have German names, Fricco and Wodan, and the third, placed in the middle, named Thor. Wodan, says Adam, id est furor, (that is fury), by which he indicates how to understand these sculptures: they represent mortal sins. Thor, in the middle, according to Adam, seems with his sceptre to resemble Jupiter. Wodan they picture armed (armatum), just as our people use to do with Mars [sicut nostri Martem solent]. Fricco, however, has an immense, erect male organ.142 The interpretation must be that three mortal sins are worshiped: superbia with the sceptre in the middle and on each side furor (ira) with arms and luxuria with the phallus. They are all contained in a temple totally made of gold, a very probable reference to avaritia. It could of course be a coincidence that the religion of the Uppsala temple is strikingly similar to the object of worship of those who followed Gregory

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VII, as depicted by the royal court in the winter and spring of 1076. A coincidence, however, seems less likely when it is found in a text dedicated passionately to Archbishop Liemar of Bremen, which was intended to be read to the Archbishop himself and to the cathedral canons of Bremen at precisely the same time when the religion of the Gregorians, as depicted by Henry IV and the German episcopate, was on everybody’s lips and the border between pagan idolatry and Christianity had become blurred. Even Archbishop Liemar was accused by the Pope of idolatry. This was consequently also the religion of those who decided to stay loyal to Liemar (and the King), but that did notstop Adam and his fellow canons to give him their full support: ‘O Liemar, father, may the grace of Christ back you up, we, your fock back you up with heart and voice!’143 These are the last words of Adam’s Gesta. In the Uppsala description Adam,144 by saying that the temple is totally made of gold, totum ex auro paratus, straight away signals that this passage is not to be read and interpreted literally, verbum ex verbo, but rather in the mystical sense, sensus mysticus, or spriritualis and with its allegorical meaning, signifcatio allegorica.145 Whether the expression nobilissimum templum is a conscious reference to Gregory’s provocative use of nobilissimum regnum for the realm of Henry IV and to the monarchical perception of the papal offce in relation to the rest of the episcopal brotherhood, is of course impossible to say for sure. These issues were undeniably the core of the confict between Liemar and Gregory and the words nobilissimum templum might therefore be another signal to the audience about where the story was going. At least one person in the audience would most certainly not have missed the point, namely Liemar himself. I will not go into further details of the Uppsala description here. There are many and much is open for discussion when it comes to interpretation, but for those who know the historical circumstances around Liemar and Gregory VII during these years, there are some good opportunities for amusement here, as there also were for Liemar and the cathedral canons of Bremen.

Concluding remarks From what has been discussed above, we may conclude that Adam’s Gesta could be seen as a pile of raw and unsifted material, because he gathered the material for his main text in great haste, perhaps from the autumn of 1074 to the spring of 1076, and did not revise it. His working copy was prepared with the goal of defending the church of Hamburg-Bremen against the increasingly severe attacks of Gregory VII and Adam’s researches contributed material to the fabricated papal documents which Archbishop Liemar later used to defend his case against Gregory. However, the work was also prepared to be read before Liemar and the cathedral canons of Bremen sometime in the frst half of 1076, to judge from the epilogue. Adam seems not to

Imperial politics, visions of the North 33 have made any major changes in the main text after that, but for fve years or so, he continued to write scholia in the margin of his working copy. The purpose behind these scholia is not quite clear, but they might suggest that Adam’s work had become an appreciated lecture for his archbishop and fellow canons in the late 1070s and early 1080s. The scholia could in part have been aimed at providing more full and correct information, but they may also, not least in the description of the Uppsala temple, have been inserted to enhance the amusement of the audience. In the margin of the Uppsala-description he clarifes that the temple was located on a fat plain surrounded by montes, ‘mountains’ or ‘Alps’, ‘making it look like a theatre’ [ad instar theatri], a description that fts Old Uppsala particularly badly as it is situated on a small ridge stretching into the Uppsala plain, a part of the wide Uppland plain, with no mountains whatsoever in sight, anywhere. If, consequently, Adam had gained new and deeper knowledge that he wanted to convey to his audience, it was not about Uppsala.146 Be that as it may, at Easter 1074 Archbishop Liemar of Bremen entered into confrontation with the papacy. The actions he performed had positive implications for secular canons in Bamberg, but they also made Liemar the most critical opponent of Pope Gregory VII. As Liemar was suspended, excommunicated and accused of idolatry by the Pope, Adam continued to support his archbishop. When, fnally, the King was excommunicated by Gregory VII at the Lenten synod in February 1076, Adam obviously sided fully with Liemar and consequently also with the King and the imperial episcopate, who had declared Gregory VII to be an illegitimate intruder on the papal throne, and even Antichrist. These conficts within the Empire, in which Liemar was involved, can be followed into Scandinavia in Adam’s work. Two examples are Egino of Dalby/Lund and Bishop Osmund of Sweden. Adam adores the frst of these two and it seems as if Egino stood for something very important in Adam’s eyes. Exactly what that was needs further analysis, but there is no doubt that it had something to do with the fact that Egino founded a house of (secular) canons in Dalby in the 1060s. Osmund, however, is deeply despised by Adam and that seems to depend not only on the fact that he rejected Hamburg-Bremen’s claims around 1060, but also that he appears to be connected to the monastic reform movement and to a wide European network of enemies to Henry IV. In fact, it turns out that Osmund was bishop of a church organization in Sweden that Gregory VII in 1080 characterized as gallicana ecclesia. The Pope assured the Swedish King, Inge Stenkilsson, that this church organization stood on legitimate apostolic ground, in spite of what Hamburg-Bremen had claimed when Archbishop Adalbert around 1065, in the reign of Inge’s father, had managed to drive Osmund out of the country. For a short while Hamburg-Bremen, through Bishop Egino of Dalby, managed to establish Adalvard iunior as bishop in Sigtuna and these two prelates planned to destroy Uppsala, by demolition and fre, because if

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this ‘house’ [domus], which was the caput supersticionis barbaricae, fell, the conversion of the whole people would follow.147 Gallicana ecclesia lost its episcopal head when Osmund departed, but it was not without power. Very soon Adalvard iunior was forced to leave Sigtuna, together with Egino and it seems that gallicana ecclesia continued to play a leading role in central Sweden up to the composition of the papal letter to Inge in 1080, so it was still in power as Adam fnished his Gesta in 1076. In Adam’s description of the civitas vulgatissima, the temple Rethra somewhere east of the Elbe, he fnishes by pointing out that his depiction referred to the lost souls of the worshippers.148 Consequently, the depiction of the cult made visible the desires of the worshippers.149 The cult was a mirror of their souls. To Adam it was however not the 'pagan' religion that was the problem, but the forces that threatened to tear the world of the secular canons to pieces, and to dispose Hamburg-Bremen of the ecclesiastical control of the North, and ultimately strove to fundamentally destroy the The Holy Roman Empire. The religion Adam described in the name of Uppsala, seems indeed to have been the religion of the gallicana ecclesia and as such it was also the religion of the Gregorian church, because they were driven by the same demons. That was why Adam’s visualization of the Uppsala cult could so intimately refect the picture of Gregory VII that was to be found in the rejection letters from Henry IV and the German episcopate from the beginning of 1076.150 Such a way of thinking was not unusual. For example, when Lampert of Hersfeld fulminates about the bad moral conditions of the time, he declares that ‘in our time Mammon sits publicly in the temple of God, and exalts himself above everything called God and divine worship!’ In Adam’s vision of the North, other demons held sway, as the Swedes were led astray, away from God and from what was, in Adam’s eyes, divinely stipulated subjugation obedientia, to the church of Hamburg-Bremen.

Notes 1 Bernhard Schmeidler, Hamburg-Bremen und Nordost-Europa vom 9. bis 11. Jahrhundert: Kritische Untersuchungen zur Hamburgischen Kirchengeschichte des Adam von Bremen, zu Hamburger Urkunden und zur nordischen und wendischen Geschichte, Leipzig, Dieterich’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1918, 118. 2 Gerd Alhoff, ‘Causa scribendi und Darstellungsabsicht: Die Lebensbeschreibungen der Königin Mathilde und andere Beispiele.’ Litterae Medii aevi. Festschrift für Johanne Autenrieth zu ihrem 65. Geburtstag, ed. Michael Borgolte och Herrad Spilling, Sigmaringen, 1988, 117–133, 128. 3 Aage Trommer, ‘Komposition und Tendenz in der Hamburgischen Kirchengeschichte Adams von Bremen.’ Classica et Mediaevalia 18 (1957), 207–257. 4 Rudolf Buchner, ‘Die politische Vorstellungswelt Adams von Bremen.’ Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 45 (1963), 15–59; cf. Volker Scior, Das Eigene und das Fremde: Identität und Fremdheit in den Chroniken Adams von Bremen, Helmolds von Bosau und Arnolds von Lübeck, Berlin, Akademie Verlag, 2002, 73–78. 5 Schmeidler, Hamburg-Bremen und Nordost-Europa, 202.

Imperial politics, visions of the North 35 6 Wolfgang Seegrün, Das Erzbistum Hamburg in seinen älteren Papsturkunden, Studien und Vorarbeiten zur Germania Pontifcia 5, Köln-Wien, Böhlau, 1976, 94; cf. Schmeidler, Hamburg-Bremen und Nordost-Europa, 202. 7 Cf. Seegrün, Das Erzbistum Hamburg, 91; cf. John Cowdrey, ‘The Gregorian reform in the Anglo-Norman lands and in Scandinavia.’ Studi Gregoriani 13 (1989), 321–352. 8 Althoff, ’Causa scribendi’, 128–130. 9 Henrik Janson, Templum nobilissimum: Adam av Bremen, Uppsalatemplet och konfiktlinjerna i Europa kring år 1075, Avhandlingar från Historiska institutionen i Göteborg, 21, Göteborg, Göteborgs Universitet, 1998, 43 note 127. 10 Schmeidler, Hamburg-Bremen und Nordost-Europa, 283 cf. 90–91. 11 Cf. Schmeidler, Hamburg-Bremen und Nordost-Europa, 109: ‘Er verliert die Ruhe und Besonnenheit überall, wo von Leistungen und Erfolgen der Hamburg-Bremer Mission die Rede ist, und sieht solche in größtem Maßstabe, wo die Quellen nichts oder sehr wenig davon wissen.’ 12 Gesta, l. III, c. 34, 177: Coloniensis, vir atrocis ingenii, etiam violatae fdei arguebatur in regem; preterea per omnes, quae suo tempore factae sunt, conspirationes semper erat medioximus. 13 Gesta, l. III, c. 34, 176: postremo armis audacter sumptis dominum et regem suum deponere moliti sunt. Et haec omnia oculis pocius videri possunt, quam calamo scribi. 14 Gesta, l. III, c. 2, 144. 15 Erich von Guttenberg, Die Regesten der Bischöfe und des Domkapitels von Bamberg, Veröffentlichungen der Gesellschaft für Fränkische Geschichte VI, Würzburg, C. J. Becker, 1963, Nr. 411, 207. 16 Bonizo of Sutri, ‘oonis episcopi Sutrini Liber ad amicum’, Libelli de Lite Imperatorum et Pontifcum 1, ed. Ernst Dümmler, MGH, Hannover: Hahn, 1891, 568–620, 609/12–13: postquam de banno regis ad aures personuit vulgi, universus noster Romanus orbis contremuit. 17 Cf. Albert Hauck, Kirchengeschichte Deutschlands III, Leipzig, J.C. Hinrichs’she Buchhandlung 1906, 736. 18 Timothy Reuter, ‘Introduction to the 2002 Edition’, Tschan, xii–xxi, xv. 19 Nils Blomkvist, The Discovery of the Baltic: The Reception of a Catholic WorldSystem in the European North (AD 1075–1225), Leiden-Brill, 2005, 572–573. 20 Scior, Das Eigene und das Fremde, 36 with note 40 and 60–64. 21 Florian Hartmann, ‘Konstruirte Konfikte. Die sächsischen Hezöge in der Kirchengeschichte Adams von Bremen.’ Geschichtsbilder: KonstruktionRefexion-Transformation, eds. Christian Klein, Peter F. Saeverin and Holger Südkamp, Europäische Geschichtsdarstellungen 7, Köln, Böhlau 2005, 109– 129, 112–113. 22 Stéphane Coviaux, Christianisation et naissance d’un épiscopat: L’exemple de la Norvège du Xe au XIIe siècle, Thèse d’Histoire, université Paris I PanthéonSorbonne, 2003, 27–28. 23 e.g. Scior, Das Eigene Und Das Fremde; Linda Kaljundi, Waiting for the Barbarians: The Imagery, Dynamics and Functions of the Other in Northern-German Missionary Chronicles, 11th  –Early 13th Centuries. The Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontifcum of Adam of Bremen, Chronica Slavorum of Helmold of Bosau, Chronica Slavorum of Arnold of Lübeck and Chronicon Livoniae of Henry of Livonia, unpublished MA-thesis published electronically by the University of Tartu Library, 2005: http://hdl.handle.net/10062/576; David Fraesdorff, Der barbarische Norden: Vorstellungen und Fremdheitskategorien bei Rimbert, Thietmar von Merseburg, Adam von Bremen und Helmold von Bosau, Berlin, Akademie Verlag, 2005; Thomas Foerster, Vergleich und Identität. Selbst- und Fremddeutung im Norden des hochmittelalterlichen Europa. Berlin, Akademie

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25 26 27 28 29

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Henrik Janson Verlag, 2009; Ildar Garipzanov, ‘Christianity and Paganism in Adam of Bremen’s Narrative.’ Historical Narratives and Christian Identity on a European Periphery: Early History Writing in Northern, East-Central, and Eastern Europe (c. 1070–1200) ed. Ildar Garipzanov, Turnhout, Brepols, 2011, 13–29; Linda Kaljundi, The Baltic Crusades and the Culture of Memory: Studies on Historical Representation, Rituals and Recollection of the Past, unpublished doctoral thesis published electronically by the University of Helsinki 2016; http://urn. f/URN:ISBN:978-951-51-1874-5; Wojtek Jezierski, ‘Fears, Sights and Slaughter. Expressions of Fright and Disgust in the Baltic Missionary Historiography (11th–13th centuries).’ Tears, Sighs and Laughter. Expressions of Emotions in the Middle Ages, eds. Per Förnegård, Erika Kihlman, Mia Åkestam, Gunnel Engwall, Stockholm, Kungl. Vitterhets historie och antikvitets akademien, 2017, 109–137. Monika Suchan, Königsherrschaft im Streit: Konfiktaustragung in der Regierungszeit Heinrichs IV. zwischen Gewalt, Gespräch und Schriftlichkeit, Stuttgart, Hiersemann, 1997, 253–254; cf. Steffen Patzold, ’Die Lust des Herrschers. Zur Bedeutung und Verbreitung eines politischen Vorwurfs zur Zeit Heinrichs IV.’ Heinrich IV., ed. Gerd Althoff, Vorträge und Forschungen 69, Ostfldern, Thorbecke, 2009, 219–253, 247–248. See also Leidulf Melve, Inventing the Public Sphere: The Public Debate During the Investiture Contest (c. 1030–1122), vol. 1–2, Brill, Leiden, 2007. Gesta, l. III, c.3, 146: pace fratrum dicam; l. III, c.57, 203: pacem omnium dici fratrum; cf. l. I, c.57, 57: Haec omnia … sic fdeliter ecclesiae nostrae tradimus. Gesta, Epilogus, 283: Nosque tuae pecudes tibi corde et voce favemus. Anne K.G. Kristensen, Studien zur Adam von Bremen Überlieferung, Skrifter udgivet af det historiske institut ved Københavns universitet 5, København, 1975, 11–56. See Carina Damm’s chapter in this volume. Cf. for ex. Gesta, Praefatio, 2: Hac ego necessitate persuasus appuli me ad scribendum de Bremensium sive Hammaburgensium serie presulum, non alienum credens meae devotionis offcio seu negotio vestrae legationis, si, cum sim flius ecclesiae, sanctissimorum patrum, per quos ecclesia exaltata et christianitas in gentibus dilatata est, gesta revolve. … Nobis propositum est non omnibus placere, sed tibi, pater, et ecclesiae tuae. Diffcillimum est enim invidis placere. Also note these words to Liemar in Gesta, Epilogus, 281 : Iste liber tuus est totusque revolvitur in te, according to which the whole work relates to Liemar. Seegrün, Das Erzbistum Hamburg, 83–100. Janson, Templum nobilissimum, 38 with note 103. Gesta, l. III, c. 34, 177: At vero Coloniensis … per omnes, quae suo tempore factae sunt, conspirationes semper erat medioximus. Schmeidler neglected this dating indication due to the slight misjudgment of the manuscript stemma which Anne K.G. Kristensen later corrected, but he might perhaps be right (Schmeidler, Hamburg-Bremen und Nordost-Europa, 82) in that this passage could be a later amendment. Shortly before in the same chapter, Adam had written: postremo armis audacter sumptis dominum et regem suum deponere moliti sunt. Et haec omnia oculis pocius videri possunt, quam calamo scribi. This is a reference to the Saxon rebellion, which seems somewhat to bely the peace agreement at the end of 1075 referred to in the epilogue. Consequently, this chapter seems frst to have been written during (late) spring 1075  – before the decisive battle by Homburg an der Unstrut on 9 June 1075 – and amended later when Adam was working on later parts of the work, e.g. book IV, because there are otherwise few signs of re-editing from Adam’s side, other than the scholia, after the main text was fnished. The hostile characterization of Anno seems to be such a rare

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occasion. It might have evolved from the rearrangement Adam made in the transition from the third to the fourth book. The internal incoherence in l.III, c.34 may in that case give some idea of when Adam began working on the fourth book, or at least, when he got the idea to separate Adalbert’s appointments of bishops to a separate geographic description, see Kristensen, Studien zur Adam von Bremen Überlieferung, 41–44, because that obviously necessitated some reorganization in the third book. Gesta, Epilogus, 282: iam tercia prelia surgunt; Et discordantes tu iungis ad oscula mentes. Concerning the tertia prelia cf. Gerold Meyer von Knonau, Jahrbücher des Deutschen Reiches unter Heinrich IV. und Heinrich V., vol. I-VII, Leipzig, Duncker & Humblot, 1890–1909, II, 536. I have previously taken for granted the established view that what Adam refers to here is what happened in late October 1075, but the oscula mentes does not correspond with the humiliating subjection, deditio, of the Saxons in October. It fts perfectly, however, with the reconciliation between Otto of Northeim and Henry IV at Christmas 1075 – which, as Sabine Borchert’s work has rendered likely, might even somehow have included Burchard of Halberstadt  – see Meyer von Knonau, Jahrbücher, 583–586 and Sabine Borchert, Herzog Otto von Northeim (um 1025– 1083): Reichspolitik und personelles Umfeld. Hannover, Hahn, 2005, 125–136. Cf. Schmeidler, ‘Einleitung’, Gesta, vii–lxvii, lxvi. More questionable is Schmeidler’s claim (Hamburg-Bremen und Nordost-Europa, 288–303), that the references to King Sven Estridsson of Denmark as diu memorandus (Gesta, l. II, c. 43, 103.) and sepe recolendus (Gesta, l. IV, c.25, 257), showed that Adam, when writing this, must have known about Sven’s death (28 April 1076). Several scholars have disputed that conclusion, arguing that both expressions may well refer also to a still living person, see Gottfrid Carlsson, ‘Bernhard Schmeidlers Adamsforskningar.’ Kyrkohistorisk årsskrift 23 (1923), 407–417, 409–410; Sophus Larsen, ’Jomsborg, dens Beliggenhed og Historie’, Aarbøger for Nor-disk Oldkyndighed og Historie 3/17 (1927), 1–138, 137–138; Sture Bolin, ’När avslutade mäster Adam Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae ponti-fcum?’ Vetenskapssocieteten i Lund Årsbok 1931, 3–15, 5–6; cf. Janson, Templum nobilissimum, 37. Sture Bolin (’När avslutade mäster Adam Gesta’, 6) even turned the argument around and claimed that Adam could not have been working on the main text after the King’s death, because it is unlikely that he would then have left uncorrected the two passages in book II, where he mentions King Sven as still living. Consequently, Bolin set 28 April 1076 as terminus ante quem for Adam’s main text. Schmeidler’s redating of Sven Estridsson’s death to 1074, has been refuted with overwhelming arguments by Bolin, ’När avslutade mäster Adam Gesta’, 124–133; cf. Wolfgang Seegrün, Das Papsttum und Skandinavien bis zur Vollendung der nordischen Kirchenorganisation (1164), Quellen und Forschungen zur Geschichte Schleswig-Holsteins bd 51, Neumünster, Karl Wachholtz, 1967, 85; cf. Janson, Templum nobilissimum, 36–37. Gesta, l. III, c. 1, 142: quoniam promisus libri huius tenorem, o venerabilis presul Liemare, usque ad diem tui pontifcates extendere. Cf. Gesta, Praefatio, 3: in tuo salutari ingressu pono metam libelluli; and Epilogus: Iste liber tuus est totusque revolvitur in te, Tempus ad usque tuum perducens acta priorum. Schmeidler, ‘Einleitung’, lxvi. This is in spite of the fact that the dating of Prince Buthue’s death can’t be used as a criterion for closer dating, see Bolin, ’När avslutade’, 7; cf. Borchert, Herzog Otto von Northeim, 113–114. It should be kept in mind that Schmeidler’s dating of when Adam began to work on the frst two books depended on his erroneous dating of Sven Estridsson’s death to 1074, Schmeidler, Hamburg-Bremen und Nordost-Europa, 288–303. Seegrün, Das Erzbistum Hamburg, 94.

38  Henrik Janson 38 The impression that it is recent is strengthened by the continuation in Adam’s Gesta, Epilogus, 283: Si quid adhuc supersest, quod gaudia publica turbet. 39 Schmeidler, ­Hamburg-​­B remen und ­Nordost-​­E uropa, 109: ‘­Endlich ergibt der Vergleich mit den Quellen eine Fülle einzelner Mißverständnisse bei ihm, die nicht einen einheitlichen Gesichtspunkt seiner Anschauungsweise ergeben, aber für eine ziemlich weitgehende Flüchtigkeit und Oberflächlichkeit seiner Arbeitsweise bezeichnendes Material liefern.’ Cf. Trommer, ’Komposition und Tendenz’, 238 and 256. 40 Cf. Das Register Gregors VII. ­1–​­2, ed. E. Caspar, MGH, Epistolae selectae 2/­­I-​ I­ I, Berlin, Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, ­1920–​­1923, I:21. 41 Ian S. Robinson, Henry IV of Germany ­1056–​­1106, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1999, ­90–​­95; Janson, Templum nobilissimum, ­205–​­214. 42 Das Register Gregors VII., I:39. 43 Robinson, Henry IV of Germany, ­95–​­100; Janson, Templum nobilissimum, ­214–​­218. 44 Carl Erdmann, Studien zur Briefliteratur Deutschlands im elften Jahrhundert, Schriften des Reichsinstituts für ältere deutsche Geschichtskunde 1, MGH, Leipzig, Hiersemann, 1938, 252. 45 For the following, ‘­der Konzilversuch’, see Erdmann, Studien zur Briefliteratur, ­227–​­244 and Christian Schneider, Prophetisches sacerdotium und heilsgeschichtliches regnum im Dialog 1­ 073–​­1077. Zur Geschichte Gregors VII. und Heinrich IV., Münstersche ­Mittelalter-​­Schriften 9, München, Fink, 1972, ­78–​­85. 46 The decision to go to Bamberg came l­ ate – ​­cf. Erdmann, Studien zur Briefliteratur, 235 with note ­3 – ​­and was obviously motivated by the whole programme of events with which the court planned to receive the papal legates. 47 Erdmann, Studien zur Briefliteratur, ­237–​­238; Schneider, Prophetisches sacerdotium, ­83–​­84; Werner Goez, ‘­Das Erzbistum ­Hamburg-​­Bremen im Investiturstreit.’ Jahrbuch der Wittheit zu Bremen 27 (­1983), ­29–​­47, ­32–​­34; idem, ’Riforma Ecclesiastica.’ La Riforma Gregoriana e l’Europa, ed. Alphons Maria Stickler, Bd. 1. Congresso Internazionale, Salerno, ­20–​­25 maggio 1985, Studi gregoriani 13, Roma, Libreria Ateneo Salesiano, 1989, ­167–​­178. 48 Erdmann, Studien zur Briefliteratur, ­237–​­238. 49 Erdmann, Studien zur Briefliteratur, 238; Goez, ‘­ Das Erzbistum­ Hamburg-​­Bremen’, idem, ’Riforma Ecclesiastica.’ 50 So already Erdmann, Studien zur Briefliteratur, 240: ‘­Nicht dem Inhalt, wohl aber den Methoden der päpstlichen Reform mochte Liemar sich widersetzen.’ 51 Gesta, l. I, c. 10, 11: Ipse enim … apostolicae sedis auctoritate fultus legationem ad gentes suscepit Teutonumque populos, apud quos nunc et summa imperii Romani et divini cultus reverential viget ac floret, ecclesiis, doctrina, virtutibusque illustravit. 52 Rudolf Schieffer, ‘­Die Romreise deutscher Bischöfe im Frühjahr 1070. Anno von Köln, Siegfried von Mainz und Hermann von Bamberg bei Alexander II.’ Rheinische Vierteljahrsblätter 35 (­1971), ­152–​­174, 174. 53 Rudolf Schieffer,’Spirituales Latrones.’ Historiches Jahrbuch 92 (­1972), ­19–​­60; idem, ‘­Hermann I. Bischof von Bamberg’, Fränkische Lebensbilder, Veröffentlichungen der Gesellschaft für fränkische Geschichte 6, ed. G. Pfeiffer and A. Wendehorst, Würzburg, 1975, ­55–​­76. 54 Josef Siegwart, Die ­ Chorherren-​­und Chorfrauengemeinschaften in der deutschsprachigen Scweiz vom 6. Jarh. bis 1160: mit einem Überblick über die deutsche Kanonikerreform des 10. und 11. Jh.s, Freiburg, Schweiz, Univ.-​­Vlg, 1962, quote from 151. 55 Siegwart, Die ­Chorherren-​­ und Chorfrauengemeinschaften, ­151–​­156. 56 Schieffer,’ Spirituales Latrones’, 36. 57 Lampert ad a. 1075, 203: Clerici qui expulsi fuerant graviter ferebant sine causa destitutos se esse stipe ecclesiastica, qua alebantur. Clerici quoque maioris

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58 59 60 61

62

63

64 65 66 67 68 69

70 71

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aecclesiae Babenbergensis tam illorum quam suam vicem dolebant, quod scilicet non sine magna sui ordinis iniuria tantum episcopus deferret ordini monastico. Lampert erroneously assigns the events to 1075. Charles West, ‘The simony crisis of the eleventh century and the ‘Letter of Guido.’’ The Journal of Ecclesiastical History (2021), 1–25. For literature on the subject see Janson, Templum nobilissimum, 67 note 224. Schneider, Prophetisches sacerdotium, 79–80. Das Register Gregors VII., II:45, cf. II:55; Schneider, Prophetisches sacerdotium,105–109. Cf. Gerd Tellenbach, Die westliche Kirche vom 10. bis zum frühen 12. Jahrhundert, Göttingen, Vandenhoeck  & Ruprecht, 1988, 168: ‘er  … versuche also nach patarenischem Vorbild Laien gegen Kleriker mobilzumachen. Meinhard summarized – Briefsammlungen der Zeit Heinrichs IV. Ed. C. Erdmann och N. Fickermann, Die Briefe der deutschen Kaiserzeit 5, MGH, Weimar, 1950, M41, 243  – what had happened in Bamberg at Easter 1974 in the following way: Cum pro persona, qua de agitur [Bishop Herman], diram infamiam diram infamiam symoniacę heresos  … ab omnia ecclesia sustineremus et omnes  … episcopi scilicet et archiepiscopi, publices ipso rege audiente omnia Christi sacramenta profanari deplorarent et chrisma corpusque Domini, quod ipse confecerat, velut inmundicias menstruate exhorrerent, gradus etiam ecclesiasticos, quos ille instituisset, detestabili illusione deumbratos assererent. Das Register Gregors VII., III:1–3. Cf. Briefsammlungen, H58, 104, from the Bamberg provost Poppo to the royal chancellor Adalbero, shows how intimately the court was involved in driving this case: Provide iniunctum mihi negotium summa executus sum diligentia. Quid vero actum sit, iste noster praesens viva voce expediet, ut penitus etiam sciatis, qualiter divina misericordia nostrę causę, quę in manibus est et in ore omnium versatur, aspiretur. Briefsammlungen, H58, 104: in ore omnium. Gesta, l. IV c. 9, 236. Gesta, l. IV c.30, 262. Gesta, l. IV c.8, 236. Gesta, l. IV c.30, 261–263; l. III c. 76, 222; cf. l. IV c. 8, schol. 136, 235–236, 255. See Josef Siegwart, Die Consuetudines des Augustiner-Chorherrenstiftes Marbach im Elsass (12. Jahrhundert), Freiburg Schweiz, Universitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz, 1965, 11: ‘Das Wort „regularis“ bedeutet dabei [still in the twelfth century] einerseits „klösterlich“ wie bei den Mönchen, andererseits verweist es nicht nur auf die Augustinusregel, wo wenig über Strafen zu fnden ist, sondern auf die „regula canonicorum”, die 816 in Aachen festgelegt wurde und deren Strafcodex noch im 12. Jh. zum größten Teil gültig war.’ Stephan Borgehammar (’Kanikerna i Dalby. Tre studier.’ Locus Celebris. Dalby kyrka, kloster och gård, eds. Stephan Borgehammar, Jes Wienberg, Göteborg, Makadam, 2012, 291–326) has suggested that the term regulariter could indicate that Adam here refers to some kind of precursor of the ‘regular’ Augustinian canons, but there is really no need for such an interpretation, which also would be more than surprising from a chronological perspective. It is true that Adam wrote in the middle of the 1070s, but Egino of Dalby had founded this convent ca 1060–1065. The critique against the Aachen regula was kept discreetly within reform circles until it was brought to the fore by Hildebrand at the Lateran synod of 1059 (and again in 1063) and it took decades before it gained any substantial ground outside Rome. What Adam refers to here as ‘regular’ is therefore, without doubt, what a century later started to become known as ‘secular’ canons as opposed to the ‘regular’ Augustinian canons. All in Gesta, l. III c. 15, 155–157. See Janson, Templum nobilissimum, 105–175.

40  Henrik Janson 72 Ursula Lewald, ‘­ Die Ezzonen: Das Schicksal eines reinischen Fürsten­ geschlechtes’, Reinische Vierteljahrsblätter, 43, 1979, ­120–​­168. 73 Lewald, ‘­Die Ezzonen’, 146. 74 Lewald, ‘­Die Ezzonen’, ­148–​­149; Ellen F. Arnold, Negotiating the Landscape: environment and Monastic Identity in the Medieval Ardennes, Philadelphia, Uni­ versity of Pennsylvania Press, 2013, 167. 75 Janson, Templum nobilissimum, ­105–​­175. 76 Das Register Gregors VII., 8:11: gallicana ecclesia non vos alienis documentis instruxit, sed quod de thesauris matris suae sanctae R. ecclesiae accepit, salubri vobis eruditione contradidit. 77 Margret Lugge, ‘­ G allia’ und ‘­ Francia’ im Mittelalter: Untersuchungen über den Zusammenhang zwischen ­geographisch-​­historischer Terminologie und politischem Denke vom 6.-​­15. Jahrhundert, Bonner Historische Forschungen 15, Bonn, 1960, ­183–​­198; Seegrün, Das Papsttum und Skandinavien, ­93–​­94; idem, Das Erzbistum Hamburg, 99; Kjell Kumlien, ‘­Sveriges kristnande i slutskedet: Spörsmål om vittnesbörd och verklighet’, Historisk tidskrift 82 (­1962), ­49–​­297, 280 with note 102; Janson, Templum nobilissimum, 171. 78 See Leo IX’s privilege for Archbishop Adalbert from 1053, Diplomatarium Danicum I:2, ed. Lauritz Weibull, København, Reitzel, 1963, nr 1: Et qia legatione apostolicae sedis et vice nostra in gentibus supradictis decrevimus te fungi, quemadmodum et beatissimus Bonifacius, Mogontinus archiepiscopus  … quondam legatus Germanicus est constitutus … tuosque succsessores… etc. 79 Eckhard ­Müller-​­Mertens, Regnum Teutonicum: Aufkommen und Verbreitung der deutschen ­Reichs-​­und Königsaffassung im früheren Mittelalter, ­Wien-­​­­Köln-​ ­Graz, Böhlau, 1970, 169. 80 Herbert Edward John Cowdrey, Pope Gregory VII ­1073–​­1085, Oxford, Claren­ don Press, 1998, ­111–​­112, ­448–​­451, ­645–​­656. 81 Das Register Gregors VII., I:60. 82 Das Register Gregors VII., I,63; cf, The Epistolae Vagantes of Pope Gregory VII, ed. Herbert Edward John Cowdrey, Oxford, Clarendon, 1972, nr 57. 83 Janson, Templum nobilissimum, ­223–​­297. 84 Das Register Gregors VII., I:63. 85 Das Register Gregors VII., II:7. 86 See for a short overview Cowdrey, Pope Gregory VII, ­645– ​­649. 87 Das Register Gregors VII., II:13. 88 ­Müller-​­Mertens, Regnum Teutonicum; Cowdrey, Pope Gregory VII, 583. It is important to recognize that John Cowdrey’s truly immense contribution to the field was influenced by an overriding ambition to downplay the imperial claims of Gregory VII and the sharpness of the conflict with Henry IV, cf. his com­ ment, Cowdrey, Pope Gregory VII, 629 note 96, on M ­ üller-​­Mertens, Regnum Teutonicum. 89 Das Register Gregors VII., II:63: Notum autem tibi esse credimus regnum. Ungariae, sicut et alia nobilissima regna, in proprie libertatis statu debere esse et nulli regi alterius regni subici nisi sanctae et universali matri Romane ecclesiae. 90 Tomasz Jurek, ‘­The successors of Unger: The fall and reconstruction of the Poznan bishopric.’ Polonia coepit habere episcopum, ed. Józef Dobosz and Tomasz Jurek, Poznań, AMU Press, 2019, ­127–​­137, ­133–​­137. 91 Das Register Gregors VII., II, 52a. 92 Cf. Zachary N. Brooke, ‘­Pope Gregory VII’s demand for fealty from William the Conqueror.’ English Historical Review 26 (­1911), ­225–​­238; Alois Dempf, Sacrum imperium: ­G eschichts-​­und Staatsphilosophie des Mittelalters und der politischen Renaissance, München, 1929, 187; Walter Ullmann, The Growth of Papal Government in the Middle Ages: A Study in the Ideological Relation of Clerical to Lay

Imperial politics, visions of the North  41 Power, 3. ed., London, Methuen, 1970, ­420–​­426; Karl Jordan, ‘­Das Reformpapsttum und die abendländische Staatenwelt.’ Die Welt als Geschichte 18, Stuttgard, 1958, ­ 122–​­ 137, 130; Johannes Fried, Der päpstlische schutz für Laienfürsten, Abhandlungen der Heidelberger Akademi der Wissenschaften, Philos.-​­ hist. Klasse, Jahrg. 1980:1, Heidelberg, Winter, 1980, ­46–​­49, 86; Tellenbach, Die westliche Kirche; Rudolf Schieffer, ‘­Gregor VII. und die Könige Europas.’ Studi Gregoriani 13 (­1989), ­189–​­211; Cowdrey, ‘­The Gregorian reform in the A ­ nglo-​­Norman lands’; Ian S. Robinson, The papacy ­1073–​­1198: continuity and innovation, Cambridge, University Press, 1990, ­295–​­321; Janson, Templum nobilissimum, ­223–​­256. 93 Cowdrey, Pope Gregory VII, 120. 94 Rudolf Schieffer, ‘­Gregor VII. und die Könige Europas’, 202. 95 Briefsammlungen, H15, 34. 96 On the different approaches to the episcopal office see for example Ian S. Robinson, ‘“­periculosus homo”: Pope Gregory VII and Episcopal Authority.’, Viator 9, ­103–​­131 and Ian S. Robinson, Authority and Resistance in the Investiture Contest: The Polemical Literature of the Late Eleventh Century. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1978, 1­ 63–​­175. For the symbolic meaning in this context of the head of St. Peter in the Lateran, see Carl Andresen, ‘­Geschichte der abenländischen Konzile des Mittelalter.’ Die ökumenische Konzile der Christenheit, ed. Hans Jochen Margull, Stuttgart, Evangelisches Verlagsverk, 1961, ­75–​­200, 99. 97 Gregory holds Liemar fully responsible: Das Register Gregors VII., II:28: ad haec, ut et concilium fieret, prohibuisti. 98 Simony came in many forms, a manu (­by money) a lingua (­by oral commendation) and a obseqio (­by subservience) and in the eleventh century it was in short a benefit of any kind that was received in exchange for something else. 99 In the fictive dialogue of the anonymous Altercatio inter Urbanum et Clementem, ed. E. Sackur. Libelli de Lite Imperatorum et Pontificum 1, MGH, Hannover, Hahn, 1891, ­169–​­172, 170, the ­anti-​­pope Clemence ­declares – ​­precisely in line with Liemar’s suggested a­ ctions – ​­that since Gregory VII’s pontificate was illegitimate, there was no pope when Clemence entered office in 1080: Gregorius neque papa fuit neque debuit esse. Causa patet: pretium promisit, ut eligeretur. Preterea firmante manu iuraverat ante, Quod non papa foret, nisi laudem regis haberet. Non habuit laudem … Sic ab Alexandro vacuam decernimus esse Romanam sedem, donec successimus illi. 100 That is Liemar’s own word from January 1075, see Briefsammlungen, H15, 34; cf. the royal charter from 22 June 1083, Die Urkunden Heinrichs IV, eds. Dietrich Gladiss, Alfred Gawlick, Die Urkunden der deutschen Könige und Keisern 6, MGH, Hannover 1­ 941–​­1978, nr. 351 (­22/­6 1083): Quam ob rem Liemarum sancte Hamaburgensis ecclesie venerabilem archiepiscopum nominis nostri precipuum amatorem atque obtime de nobis merentem dignum duximus, ut sua in nos fide pro egregia ac perpetua devotione magno munere donaremus. 101 Lampert of Hersfeld, ‘­A nnales’, Lamperti monachi Hersfeldensis Opera, ed. Oswald H ­ older-​­Egger MGH, Hannover and Leipzig, Hahn, 1894, 1­ –​­304, ad a. 1072, 137: omnium liberalium artium peritia adprime insignem; cf. Wenrici scholastici Trevirensis epistola sub Theodrici episcopi V ­ irdu-​­nensis nomine composita, ed. K. Francke, Libelli de Lite Imperatorum et Pontificum 1, ed. Ernst Dümmler MGH, Hannover, Hahn, 1891, 2­ 80–​­299, 297: gravitas et non mediocris in lege Domini scientia. 102 ‘­A ltercatio’, 171: Eligo Bremensem qui non levitate movetur; Et licet ipse tuus, iuris tamen equa tenebit. 103 Ian S. Robinson, ‘­The Friendship Network of Gregory VII.’ History 63 (­1978), ­1–​­22.

42  Henrik Janson 104 Goez, ’Riforma Ecclesiastica’, ­167–​­178, 177. 105 Goez, ’Riforma Ecclesiastica’, 177. 106 The Epistolae Vagantes, nr 32, transl. by H.E.J. Cowdrey. The Latin goes: Peccatum enim paganitatis incurrit quisquis, dum Christianum se asserit, sedi apostolicae obedire contemptit. 107 Briefsammlungen, H15, 34. 108 Das Register Gregors VII, I:84. Cf. Erdmann, Studien zur Brieflitteratur, 244: ‘­In der Form aber war sein Auftreten jedenfalls auffallend milde und zurückhaltend; man erkennt das etwa beim Vergleich mit den Weisungen, die einige Monate später gegen Liemar von Bremen ergingen.’ 109 Erdmann, Studien zur Briefliteratur, 245: ‘­Gegen einen deutschen Erzbischof war ein solches Vorgehen noch unerhört, aber Liemar hatte die päpstlichen Primatsrechte begrenzen ­wollen – ​­da war für Gregor kein Mittel zu scharf, keine Strafe zu streng.’ 110 Briefsammlungen, H15, 34. 111 Das Register Gregors VII., II:31. 112 Das Register Gregors VII., II:30. 113 The Epistolae Vagantes, nr 5: Ego autem talibus ornatus sororibus libentissime mare transirem. The translation is Cowdrey’s. 114 Carl Erdmann, Die Entstehung des Kreuzzugsgedankens, Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 1935, 151: “­Wüßten wir das alles nicht aus Gregors eigenen Briefen, so würden wir es vielleicht für den schlechten Witz eines boshaften Gegners halten.’ 115 Briefsammlungen, H17, 39. 116 Erdmann, Studien zur Brieflitteratur, 254. 117 Siegfried of Mainz got much more lenient and respectful treatment. He was greeted and blessed and even addressed as “­brother”, see Das Register Gregors VII, 2:39. It is thereby obvious that Gregory saw Liemar as the organizer of the opposition and he probably understood very well where the opposition in Germany came ­from – it ​­ was not from the old monk Siegfried. 118 Briefsammlungen, H15, 33. 119 Briefsammlungen, H15, 34. 120 Das Register Gregors VII., II, 52a: Lemarum Bremensem archiepiscopum pro inobedientia superbię suę ab episcopali officio suspendit et a corpore et sanguine Domini interdixit. 121 Gesta, Praefatio, 2: precipua est in virtutibus tuis humilitas. 122 It is not possible to go into details here, but an extensive argument can be found in Janson, Templum nobilissimum, ­74–​­104. Just to summarize: Immad of Paderborn’s letter cannot prove that Liemar actually went to Rome, only that he prepared for such a measure. There is not space in Liemar’s itinerary for such a journey. The idea that Liemar was sent in the summer of 1075, as a response from Henry IV at the request of Gregory VII for a delegation of pious theologians (­Schneider, Prophetisches sacerdotium, ­126–​­127; cf. Rudolf Schieffer, Die Entstehung des päpstlichen Investiturverbots für den deutschen König, Schriften der Monumenta Germaniae Historica, 28, Stuttgart, Hiersemann, 1981, 1­ 23–​ ­124) does not make sense because the Pope was still waiting for such a delegation in December 1075 (­cf. Erdmann, Studien zur Brieflitteratur, ­266–​­267; Janson, Templum nobilissimum, ­82–​­83). Erdmann’s slightly less unlikely idea, that Liemar led the delegation which worked out Herman of Bamberg’s 20 July deposition, does not fit with the fact that Gregory refers to that delegation by reference to a cleric from Bamberg but not to the subjugated Archbishop of Bremen; he surely would not have missed such an opportunity to celebrate his triumph. It was also through this clericus that the letters were transmitted to

Imperial politics, visions of the North 43

123 124 125 126 127

128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138

139

the royal court, not, strangely enough, through Liemar, who the chronology tells us must have gone directly from Rome to the King. No source of any kind indicates that Liemar travelled to Rome in 1075 and his mindset in late January that year does not make such a journey likely, nor does sentiment within the German church. We have however a good source (Bonizo of Sutri, Liber ad amicum, 616) that shows Liemar going to Rome – ducens secum means that Liemar led this delegation, which also contradicts Schieffer, Die Entstehung, 124 – and taking with him, among others, his friend Meinhard of Bamberg, but that journey was no doubt undertaken on the direct order of the King at the end of 1076 or the beginning of 1077, when many other bishops did the same. Soon thereafter, Liemar stood by the King at Canossa, but, fttingly enough, we do not know how he got there (Otto H. May, Regesten der Erzbischöfe von Bremen I, Veröffetlichungen der historischen Kommission für Hannover, Oldenburg, Braunschweig, Schaumburg-Lippe und Bremen XI, Hannover, Selbstverlag der historischen Kommission, 1928–1971, nr 360). Most likely it was via Rome. The reason for the slightly milder and more suppliant tone from Gregory VII from the middle of July 1075, is therefore instead to be explained by fact that that news about Henry IV’s decisive victory over the Saxons on 9 June 1075, had by then reached Rome. Janson, Templum nobilissimum, 87–94. Das Register Gregors VII, II:51. Das Register Gregors VII, II:75. Carsten Breengaard, Muren om Israels hus, København, Gad, 1982, 101–103. Diplomatarium Danicum I:2, nr 14; cf. Janson, Templum nobilissimum, 91. The delegation directly attacked the plans for a Danish archbishopric by trying to convince the papal curia that the Bishop of Lund, Rikwal, was a fugitive canon from the cathedral chapter in Paderborn, who had been excommunicated by both Bishop Immad of Paderborn and Liemar’s predecessor Archbishop Adalbert. Henrik Janson, ’Sven Estridsson, Hamburg-Bremen och påven.’, Svend Estridsen, eds. Sarah Croix and Lasse Sonne, Odense, Syddansk Universitetsforlag, 2016, 81–107, 105–106. Ep.Vag. nr 14: uota … continuo frangeret, et nichil eorum que nobis promiserat attendens excommunicatos in suam familiaritatem et communionem reciperet. Das Register Gregors VII, I:10. Die Briefe Henrichs IV, ed. Carl Erdmann, Deutsches Mittelalter. Kritische Studientexte des Reichsinstituts für ältere deutsche Geschichtskunde 1, Leipzig, Hiersemann, 1937, nr 12. Briefsammlungen, H20, 48. Briefsammlungen, H20, 48. Die Briefe Henrichs IV, nr 11. Die Briefe Henrichs IV, nr 12. Die Briefe Henrichs IV, nr 12: quasi in tua et non in dei manu sit regnum vel imperium. Briefsammlungen, H20, 48. In English sources Osmund is referred to as Bishop of Swedia, which is to be understood as different to Gothia. This fts well with Adam’s description and the confrontation between Osmund and Adalvard senior, at the court of King Emund, most likely took place in (Old) Uppsala, or possibly, but this is perhaps less likely, in Sigtuna. See Janson, Templum nobilissimum, 113–117. Janson, Templum nobilissimum, 23; Laila Kitzler Åhfeldt, ‘Carving Technique and Runic Literacy’, Epigraphic literacy and Christian identity: modes of written discourse in the newly Christian European North, eds. Kristel Zilmer, Judith

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146

147 148 149

150

Henrik Janson Jesch, Turnhout: Brepols, 2012, 63–97, 91. For the grave material in relation to these questions see Sten Tesch, ‘Skiftet och Sigtuna: Hybriditet och motstånd som en del av Mälarområdets kristnande. Skiftet: Vikingatida sed och kristen tro: Ett mångvetenskapligt perspektiv på kristnandeprocessen i Mälarområdet, ed. Sten Tesch, Stockholm, Artos  & Norma förlag. 2017, 11–57; and Jhonny Therus, Den yngre järnålderns gravskick i Uppland. Framväxten av den arkeologiska bilden och en materialitet i förändring, Aun 50, Uppsala, Uppsala universitet, 2019, 279–280; cf. Bonnie Effros, ’De partibus Saxoniae and the Regulation of Mortuary Custom: A Carolingian Campaign of Christianization or the Suppression of Saxon Identity?’ Revue belge de philologie et d’histoire, 75, fasc. 2 (1997), 267–286, especially 278–279; Ingrid Rembold, Conquest and Christianization: Saxony and the Carolingian World, 772–888, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2018, especially 191–197. Janson, Templum nobilissimum, 114–117, cf. 155–162; cf. Kitzler Åhfeldt, ‘Carving Technique.’ Laila Kitzler Åhfeldt, Work and worship: Laser scanner analysis of Viking Age rune stones. Stockholm, Archaeological Research Laboratory, 2002, 68 and IV:3; cf. Kitzler Åhfeldt, ‘Carving Technique, 89–91. Gesta, l. IV c. 26, 258. Gesta, Epilogus, 283: O Liemare pater, faveat tibi gratia Christi, Nosque tuae pecudes tibi corde et voce favemus. Hans-Werner Goez, Die Wahrnehmung anderer Religionen und christlichabendländisches Selbstverständnis im frühen und hohen Mittelalter (5.–12. Jahrhundert) vol. I, Berlin, Akademie Verlag, 2013, 184. Cf. Lampert ad a. 1075, 206 for a witty but also instructive story about a young and bold cleric who ask the deposed Bishop Herman of Bamberg, who was famous for his lack of erudition, to explain a verse from the Psalter. This was elementary learning. It might however have something to do with the fact that Liemar had been to Rome in 1080, as leader of the last desperate effort from Henry IV to reach out to Gregory VII. The archbishop was severely humiliated and barely escaped with his life. A contemporary observer ('Wenerici scholastici Trevirensis epistola', 297) noted, what might have been Liemar’s own report: Concilium querentes theatrum offenderunt. Cf. how the royal court later (in 1081) described these events to the Romans, Die Briefe Henrichs IV., nr 16: Nam quod nostros ad vos legatos mittere supersedimus: ipsi vos nostis, legati nostri, viri honorati et reverendi, quam infami contumelia ab eo [i.e. Gregory VII], unde minime oportuit, supra omnium barbarorum inmanitatem anno preterito affecti sunt. Gesta, l. IV c. 30, 262. Gesta, l. II c. 21, 78. Janson, Templum nobilissimum, 262–265, 291–294 and 296–297. Cf. Henrik Janson, ’Making Enemies. Aspects on the Formation of Conficting Identities in the Southern Baltics around the Year 1000.’ Medieval History Writing and Crusading Ideology, ed. T. Lehtonen et al., Studia Fennica Historica 9, Helsingfors, Finska Litteratursällskapet, 2006, 141–154; Henrik Janson ’Pagani and Christiani. Cultural Identity and Exclusion Around the Baltic in the Early Middle Ages’, The reception of Medieval Europe in the Baltic Sea Region, ed. J. Staecker, Acta Visbyensia XII, Visby, Gotland University Press, 2009, 171– 191; Henrik Janson, ‘What made the pagans?’ Medieval Christianitas: Different Regions, ‘Faces’, Approaches, eds. T. Stepanov and G. Kazakov, Sofa, Voenno, 2010, 11–30. Lampert, ad a. 1075, 241: Et ó mores, ó tempora! ó abhominationem desolationis stantem in loco, ubi non debet, et mammonam nostris temporibus publice sedentem in templo Dei et extollentem se supra omne quod dicitur Deus aut quod colitur!

Imperial politics, visions of the North  45

Bibliography Primary sources Altercatio inter Urbanum et Clementem, ed. E. Sackur. Libelli de Lite Imperatorum et Pontificum 1, MGH, Hannover, Hahn, 1891. Briefsammlungen der Zeit Heinrichs IV. ed. C. Erdmann, N. Fickermann, Die Briefe der deutschen Kaiserzeit 5, MGH, Weimar, 1950. Das Register Gregors VII. ­1–​­2, ed. E. Caspar, MGH, Epistolae selectae 2/­­I-​­II, Berlin, Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, ­1920–​­1923. Die Briefe Henrichs IV., ed. Carl Erdmann, Deutsches Mittelalter. Kritische Studientexte des Reichsinstituts für ältere deutsche Geschichtskunde 1, Leipzig, Hiersemann, 1937. Die Urkunden Heinrichs IV, eds. D. Gladiss, A. Gawlick, Die Urkunden der deutschen Könige und Keisern 6, MGH, Hannover ­1941–​­1978. Diplomatarium Danicum I:2, ed. Lauritz Weibull, København, Reitzel, 1963. Lampert of Hersfeld, ‘­A nnales’, Lamperti monachi Hersfeldensis Opera, ed. Oswald ­Holder-​­Egger MGH, Hannover and Leipzig, Hahn, 1894. Libelli de Lite Imperatorum et Pontificum 1, ed. Ernst Dümmler, MGH, Hannover: Hahn, 1891. Magistri Adami Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae ponitificum, ed. Bernhard Schmeidler, MGH SRG, 3. Aufl., Hannover, Hahn, 1917 May O. H., Regesten der Erzbischöfe von Bremen I, Veröffetlichungen der histo­ rischen Kommission für Hannover, Oldenburg, Braunschweig, S ­ chaumburg-​ ­Lippe und Bremen XI, Hannover, Selbstverlag der historischen Kommission, ­1928–​­1971. The Epistolae Vagantes of Pope Gregory VII, ed. H. E. J. Cowdrey, Oxford, Clarendon, 1972. von Guttenberg E., Die Regesten der Bischöfe und des Domkapitels von Bamberg, Veröffentlichungen der Gesellschaft für Fränkische Geschichte VI, Würzburg, C. J. Becker, 1963. Wenrici scholastici Trevirensis epistola sub Theodrici episcopi ­Virdu-​­nensis nomine composita, ed. K. Francke, Libelli de Lite Imperatorum et Pontificum 1, ed. Ernst Dümmler MGH, Hannover, Hahn, 1891.

Secondary sources Alhoff G., ‘­Causa scribendi und Darstellungsabsicht: Die Lebensbeschreibungen der Königin Mathilde und andere Beispiele.’ Litterae Medii aevi. Festschrift für Johanne Autenrieth zu ihrem 65. Geburtstag, ed. Michael Borgolte och Herrad Spilling, Sigmaringen, 1988, ­117–​­133. Andresen C., ‘­Geschichte der abenländischen Konzile des Mittelalter.’ Die ökumenische Konzile der Christenheit, ed. H. J. Margull, Stuttgart, Evangelisches Verlagsverk, 1961, ­75–​­200. Arnold E. F., Negotiating the Landscape: Environment and Monastic Identity in the Medieval Ardennes, Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Press, 2013. Blomkvist N., The Discovery of the Baltic: The Reception of a Catholic ­World-​­System in the European North (­AD ­1075–​­1225), Leiden, Brill, 2005.

46  Henrik Janson Bolin S., ’När avslutade mäster Adam Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontificum?’ Vetenskapssocieteten i Lund Årsbok (­1931), ­3 –​­15. Borchert S., Herzog Otto von Northeim (­u m 1­025–​­1083): Reichspolitik und personelles Umfeld. Hannover, Hahn, 2005. Borgehammar S., ’Kanikerna i Dalby. Tre studier.’ Locus Celebris. Dalby kyrka, kloster och gård, eds. S. Borgehammar, J. Wienberg, Göteborg, Makadam, 2012, ­291–​­326. Breengaard C., Muren om Israels hus, København, Gad, 1982. Brooke Z. N., ‘­Pope Gregory VII’s demand for fealty from William the Conqueror.’ English Historical Review 26 (­1911), ­225–​­238. Buchner R., ‘­Die politische Vorstellungswelt Adams von Bremen.’ Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 45 (­1957), ­15–​­59. Carlsson G., ‘­Bernhard Schmeidlers Adamsforskningar.’ Kyrkohistorisk årsskrift 23 (­1923), ­407–​­417. Coviaux S., Christianisation et naissance d’un épiscopat: L’exemple de la Norvège du Xe au XIIe siècle, Thèse d’Histoire, université Paris I ­Panthéon-​­Sorbonne, 2003. Cowdrey H. E. J., Pope Gregory VII ­1073–​­1085, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1998. Cowdrey J., ‘­The Gregorian reform in the ­A nglo-​­Norman lands and in Scandinavia.’ Studi Gregoriani 13 (­1989), ­321–​­352. Dempf A., Sacrum imperium: ­G eschichts-​­und Staatsphilosophie des Mittelalters und der politischen Renaissance, München/­Berlin, Oldenbourg Wissenschaftsverlag, 1929. Effros B., ‘­De partibus Saxoniae and the Regulation of Mortuary Custom: A Carolingian Campaign of Christianization or the Suppression of Saxon Identity?’ Revue belge de philologie et d’histoire, 75, fasc. 2 (­1997), 2­ 67–​­286. Erdmann C., Die Entstehung des Kreuzzugsgedankens, Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 1935. Erdmann C., Studien zur Briefliteratur Deutschlands im elften Jahrhundert, Schriften des Reichsinstituts für ältere deutsche Geschichtskunde 1, MGH, Leipzig, Hiersemann, 1938. Foerster Th., Vergleich und Identität. ­Selbst-​­und Fremddeutung im Norden des hochmittelalterlichen Europa, Berlin, Akademie Verlag, 2009. Fraesdorff D., Der barbarische Norden: Vorstellungen und Fremdheitskategorien bei Rimbert, Thietmar von Merseburg, Adam von Bremen und Helmold von Bosau, Berlin, Akademie Verlag, 2005. Fried J., Der päpstlische schutz für Laienfürsten, Abhandlungen der Heidelberger Akademi der Wissenschaften, Philos.-​­hist. Klasse, Jahrg. 1980:1, Heidelberg, Winter, 1980. Garipzanov I., ‘­Christianity and Paganism in Adam of Bremen’s Narrative.’ Historical Narratives and Christian Identity on a European Periphery: Early History Writing in Northern, ­E ast-​­Central, and Eastern Europe (­c . 1­ 070–​­1200), ed. I. Garipzanov, Turnhout, Brepols, 2011, ­13–​­29. Goez H.-​­W., Die Wahrnehmung anderer Religionen und c­ hristlich-​­abendländisches Selbstverständnis im frühen und hohen Mittelalter (­5.–​­12. Jahrhundert), vol. I, Berlin, Akademie Verlag, 2013. Goez W., ‘­Das Erzbistum ­Hamburg-​­Bremen im Investiturstreit.’ Jahrbuch der Wittheit zu Bremen 27 (­1983), ­29–​­47. Goez W., ‘­Riforma Ecclesiastica.’ La Riforma Gregoriana e l’Europa, ed. Alphons Maria Stickler, Bd. 1. Congresso Internazionale, Salerno, ­20–​­25 maggio 1985, Studi gregoriani 13, Roma, Libreria Ateneo Salesiano, 1989, ­167–​­178.

Imperial politics, visions of the North  47 Hartmann F., ‘­Konstruirte Konflikte. Die sächsischen Hezöge in der Kirchen­ geschichte Adams von Bremen.’ Geschichtsbilder: Konstruktion-­ReflexionTransformation, eds. C. Klein, P. F. Saeverin, H. Südkamp, Europäische Geschichtsdarstellungen 7, Köln, Böhlau, 2005, ­109–​­129. Hauck A., Kirchengeschichte Deutschlands III, Leipzig, J. C. Hinrichs’she Buch­ handlung, 1906. Janson H., Templum nobilissimum: Adam av Bremen, Uppsalatemplet och konfliktlinjerna i Europa kring år 1075, Avhandlingar från Historiska institutionen i Göte­ borg, 21, Göteborg, Göteborgs Universitet, 1998. Janson H., ‘­Sven Estridsson, H ­ amburg-​­Bremen och påven.’ Svend Estridsen, ed. Sarah Croix and Lasse Sonne, Odense, Syddansk Universitetsforlag, 2016, ­81–​­107. Jezierski W., ‘­Fears, Sights and Slaughter. Expressions of Fright and Disgust in the Baltic Missionary Historiography (­­11th–​­13th centuries).’ Tears, Sighs and Laughter. Expressions of Emotions in the Middle Ages, eds. P. Förnegård, E. Kihlman, M. Åkestam, G. Engwall, Stockholm, Kungl. Vitterhets historie och antikvitets akademien, 2017, ­109–​­137. Jordan K., ‘­Das Reformpapsttum und die abendländische Staatenwelt.’ Die Welt als Geschichte 18, Stuttgart, 1958, ­122–​­137. Jurek T., ‘­The Successors of Unger: The Fall and Reconstruction of the Poznań Bishopric.’ Polonia coepit habere episcopum, eds. J. Dobosz, T. Jurek, Poznań, AMU Press, 2019, ­127–​­137. Kaljundi L., Waiting for the Barbarians: The Imagery, Dynamics and Functions of the Other in N ­ orthern-​­German Missionary Chronicles, 1­ 1th  –​­Early 13th Centuries. The Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontificum of Adam of Bremen, Chro­ nica Slavorum of Helmold of Bosau, Chronica Slavorum of Arnold of Lübeck, and Chronicon Livoniae of Henry of Livonia, unpublished ­MA-​­thesis published elec­ tronically by the University of Tartu Library, 2005. Kaljundi L., The Baltic Crusades and the Culture of Memory: Studies on Historical Representation, Rituals and Recollection of the Past, unpublished doctoral thesis published electronically by the University of Helsinki 2016. Kitzler Åhfeldt L., Work and Worship: Laser Scanner Analysis of Viking Age Rune Stones. Stockholm, Archaeological Research Laboratory, 2002. Kitzler Åhfeldt L., ‘­Carving Technique and Runic Literacy.’ Epigraphic literacy and Christian Identity: Modes of Written Discourse in the Newly Christian European North, eds. K. Zilmer, J. Jesch, Turnhout: Brepols, 2012, ­63–​­97. Kristensen A. K. G., Studien zur Adam von Bremen Überlieferung, Skrifter udgivet af det historiske institut ved Københavns universitet 5, København, 1975. Kumlien K., ‘­Sveriges kristnande i slutskedet: Spörsmål om vittnesbörd och ver­ klighet’, Historisk tidskrift 82 (­1962), ­49–​­297. Larsen S., ’Jomsborg, dens Beliggenhed og Historie’, Aarbøger for ­Nor-​­disk Oldkyndighed og Historie 3/­17 (­1927), ­1–​­138. Lewald U., ‘­Die Ezzonen: Das Schicksal eines reinischen Fürstengeschlechtes’, ­Reinische Vierteljahrsblätter 43 (­1979), ­120–​­168. Lugge M., ‘­G allia’ und ‘­Francia’ im Mittelalter: Untersuchungen über den Zusammenhang zwischen ­geographisch-​­historischer Terminologie und politischem Denke vom 6.-​­15. Jahrhundert, Bonner Historische Forschungen 15, Bonn, 1960, ­183–​­198. Melve L., Inventing the Public Sphere: The Public Debate During the Investiture Contest (­c . ­1030–​­1122), vol. ­1–​­2, Brill, Leiden, 2007.

48  Henrik Janson Meyer von Knonau G., Jahrbücher des Deutschen Reiches unter Heinrich IV. und Heinrich V., vol. ­I–​­VII, Leipzig, Duncker & Humblot, ­1890–​­1909. ­Müller-​­Mertens E., Regnum Teutonicum: Aufkommen und Verbreitung der deutschen ­Reichs-​­und Königsaffassung im früheren Mittelalter, ­Wien-­​­­Köln-​­Graz, Böhlau, 1970. Patzold S., ’Die Lust des Herrschers. Zur Bedeutung und Verbreitung eines politischen Vorwurfs zur Zeit Heinrichs IV.’ Heinrich IV., ed. G. Althoff, Vorträge und Forschungen 69, Ostfildern, Thorbecke, 2009. Rembold I., Conquest and Christianization: Saxony and the Carolingian World, ­772–​ ­8 88, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2018. Reuter T., ‘­Introduction to the 2002 Edition’, Tschan, ­x iii–​­xxxiv. Robinson I. S., ‘­The Friendship Network of Gregory VII.’ History 63 (­1978), ­1–​­22. Robinson I. S., The Papacy ­1073–​­1198: Continuity and Innovation, Cambridge, Cambridge, University Press, 1990. Robinson I. S., Henry IV of Germany ­1056–​­1106, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1999. Schieffer R., ‘­Die Romreise deutscher Bischöfe im Frühjahr 1070. Anno von Köln, Siegfried von Mainz und Hermann von Bamberg bei Alexander II.’ Rheinische Vierteljahrsblätter 35 (­1971), ­152–​­174. Schieffer R., ‘­Spirituales Latrones.’ Historiches Jahrbuch 92 (­1972), ­19–​­60. Schieffer R., ‘­Hermann I. Bischof von Bamberg’, Fränkische Lebensbilder, Veröffentlichungen der Gesellschaft für fränkische Geschichte 6, eds. G. Pfeiffer and A. Wendehorst, Würzburg, 1975, ­55–​­76. Schieffer R., Die Entstehung des päpstlichen Investiturverbots für den deutschen König, Schriften der Monumenta Germaniae Historica, 28, Stuttgart, Hiersemann, 1981. Schieffer R., ‘­Gregor VII. und die Könige Europas.’ Studi Gregoriani 13 (­1989), ­189–​­211. Schmeidler B., ­Hamburg-​­Bremen und ­Nordost-​­Europa vom 9. bis 11. Jahrhundert: Kritische Untersuchungen zur Hamburgischen Kirchengeschichte des Adam von Bremen, zu Hamburger Urkunden und zur nordischen und wendischen Geschichte, Leipzig, Dieterich’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1918. Schneider Ch., Prophetisches sacerdotium und heilsgeschichtliches regnum im Dia1073–​­ 1077. Zur Geschichte Gregors VII. und Heinrich IV., Münstersche log ­ ­Mittelalter-​­Schriften 9, München, Fink, 1972. Scior V., Das Eigene und das Fremde: Identität und Fremdheit in den Chroniken Adams von Bremen, Helmolds von Bosau und Arnolds von Lübeck, Berlin, Akademie Verlag, 2002. Seegrün W., Das Papsttum und Skandinavien bis zur Vollendung der nordi­ schen Kirchenorganisation (­ 1164), Quellen und Forschungen zur Geschichte ­Schleswig-​­Holsteins bd 51, Neumünster, Karl Wachholtz, 1967. Seegrün W., Das Erzbistum Hamburg in seinen älteren Papsturkunden, Studien und Vorarbeiten zur Germania Pontificia 5, ­Köln-​­Wien, Böhlau, 1976. Siegwart J., Die C ­ horherren-​­und Chorfrauengemeinschaften in der deutschsprachigen Scweiz vom 6. Jarh. bis 1160: mit einem Überblick über die deutsche Kanonikerreform des 10. und 11. Jh.s, Freiburg, Schweiz, Univ.-​­Vlg, 1962. Siegwart J., Die Consuetudines des ­Augustiner-​­Chorherrenstiftes Marbach im Elsass (­12. Jahrhundert), Freiburg Schweiz, Universitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz, 1965.

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Suchan M., Königsherrschaft im Streit: Konfiktaustragung in der Regierungszeit Heinrichs IV. zwischen Gewalt, Gespräch und Schriftlichkeit, Stuttgart, Hiersemann, 1997. Tellenbach G., Die westliche Kirche vom 10. bis zum frühen 12. Jahrhundert, Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1988. Tesch S., ‘Skiftet och Sigtuna: Hybriditet och motstånd som en del av Mälarområdets kristnande. Skiftet: Vikingatida sed och kristen tro: Ett mångvetenskapligt perspektiv på kristnandeprocessen i Mälarområdet, ed. Sten Tesch, Stockholm, Artos & Norma förlag. 2017, 11–57. Therus J., Den yngre järnålderns gravskick i Uppland. Framväxten av den arkeologiska bilden och en materialitet i förändring, Aun 50, Uppsala, Uppsala universitet, 2019. Trommer A., ’Komposition und Tendenz in der Hamburgischen Kirchengeschichte Adams von Bremen.’ Classica et Mediaevalia 18 (1963), 207–257. Ullmann W., The Growth of Papal Government in the Middle Ages: A Study in the Ideological Relation of Clerical to Lay Power, 3rd ed., London, Methuen, 1970. West Ch., ‘The Simony Crisis of the Eleventh Century and the “Letter of Guido”.’ The Journal of Ecclesiastical History (2021), 1–25.

2

Proselytus et advena Reading the opening lines of Adam’s prologue in the light of biblical viewpoints on foreigners and converts Łukasz Neubauer

The medieval chronicle (or, in fact, almost any pre-modern narrative of a factual and systematising character) is practically by defnition a work of ‘mystery and suspense,’ quite often a peculiar kind of ‘whodunnit’ in which the role of the elusive ‘perpetrator’ is played by the anonymous author. Not infrequently, though, a certain, naturally very limited, amount of information about the author whose name has not come down to us can be inferred from the text itself. A convenient illustration here might be provided by the enigmatic fgure of the so-called Gawain (or Pearl) poet, the alleged author of four alliterative poems in Middle English, all preserved in a single manuscript, BL Cotton Nero A.x. Meticulous studies of the dialect he used have revealed that the anonymous poet fourished in the second half of the fourteenth century and was almost certainly a native of England’s Northwest Midlands. Moreover, judging by the metrical, stylistic and thematic standards of his works, it may be concluded that he had a rather intimate knowledge of courtly life and so was a frequenter of aristocratic circles, possibly even a nobleman himself. Last but not least, though certainly well educated, the Gawain poet should almost certainly not be associated with the academic milieu, his knowledge of the world being for the most part antiquarian. Roughly the same range of general information (with certain variations, of course) could also be deduced from practically any kind of work (historical accounts included) whose author is either completely unknown, or where the only marker(s) of his identity are the name (often disputed) and/or the place of his birth/activity (likewise open to debate). When it comes to medieval historiography, the former group may be smaller, yet both could provide scholars with fertile ground for informed, if still highly speculative, debates, often yielding inconclusive results and provoking further discussions. A classic case in point here may be the dispute over the origins of the author of the early-twelfth-century Gesta principum Polonorum, for at least 300 years believed to have come to Poland from France, a widespread theory which did not come to be challenged until the mid-nineteenth century, when it was suggested that the man hitherto known as the Gallus may have actually been a native of Venice.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-3

Proselytus et advena  51 When it comes to the Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontificum, by tradition attributed to Adam of Bremen, the question of authorship may seem to be far less challenging. However, in this case, there are also almost as many question marks as there are with regard to the ‘­Polish’ Gallus. Indeed, we are not even certain that the historian’s name was actually Adam, since, in the opening sentence of his work, he only introduces himself as A. minimus sanctae Bremensis ecclesiae Canonicus “­A. the least of the canons of the holy church at Bremen,” his modesty perhaps echoing that of St. Paul in 1 Cor 15:9 and Eph 3:8.1 Fortunately, almost a 100 years later, writing his own Chronica Sclavorum (­in some sense a continuation of the Gesta), Helmold of Bosau (I,15) invokes the authority of magister Adam, qui Gesta Hammemburgensis ecclesie pontificum dissertissimo sermone conscripsit (master Adam, who, in a most eloquent way, wrote the Deeds of the Bishops of Hamburg.) Apart from that, though, nothing else is known about Adam from outside his own work and the only other explicit textual c­ lue – ​­save for the assertion in book III that when he came to Bremen, the episcopal see was held by Archbishop ­Adalbert – ​­is the author’s somewhat enigmatic ­self-​ ­identification in the chronicle’s prologue as p[ro]selitus & advena,2 in modern translations, such as that of Francis J. Tschan, usually rendered as “­a proselyte and stranger”.3

The least of the canons However, before we take a comprehensive look at the semantic properties of this puzzling phrase, we shall briefly consider those few biographical scraps that might be inferred from between the lines of Adam’s work (­and beyond). His own claim that he came to Bremen in annum pontificii xxiiii (­the 24th year of the pontificate [of Archbishop Adalbert]),4 that is to say in 1066 or 1067, allows us to deduce that he was born towards the end of the fifth decade of the eleventh century, perhaps not long before 1050. There, he was accepted as a capitular and, within a couple of years, named magister scolarum, director of the cathedral school.5 It is also quite probable that, until 1072, Adam served as a personal adviser to the Archbishop.6 He was, at that time, still a very young man in his ­m id-​­twenties, just beginning to work on his Gesta, a work he is believed to have completed by ­1075–​­1076.7 He did not live a long life, though, having passed away a few years before his fortieth birthday. As recorded in the Diptychon Bremense, Magister Adam, a presbyter, died on 12 October.8 Unfortunately, the scribe does not specify the year of his demise, a common practice in such documents,9 but, since he ceases to be mentioned in any official texts after 1085, it is universally accepted that he must have died between 1081 and 1085, aged about 35. Given the broad scope of his Gesta, it should come as no surprise that Adam is now quite commonly referred to as a chronicler and historian, as well as biographer (­of Archbishop Adalbert). It is also fair to say that, by our modern academic standards, he was an apt geographer and ethnographer, a

52  Łukasz Neubauer man to whom, in fact, we owe much of our knowledge of Northern Europe in the early Middle Ages. It may be arguable whether he really had ­first-​­(­or even s­ econd-​­hand) information about Sweden, Norway and Denmark (­not even considering his fabulous description of the temple at Uppsala, or the location of Vinland and its alleged abundance in vines), but that must not obscure the fact that, for many years, his authority continued to be upheld, with some later chroniclers, like Helmold of Bosau, drawing swathes of crucial information from his Gesta about the missionary activities amongst the Polabian Slavs and beyond. After all, his chief interest as a historian was in the Christianising efforts in what, at that time, were the ­north-​­western and ­north-​­eastern fringes of the world. Also, today, Adam’s chronicle remains one of the most important contributions to our understanding of­ pre-​­Christian Scandinavia outside the narrowly defined Norse tradition,10 and a vital source of information with regard to the early history of the Slavic peoples. That Adam was a ­well-​­educated man does not need to be proved. Still, for many years, scholars have been trying (­so far in vain) to track down his educational pathway. Some, like Bernhard Schmeidler, argue in favour of the renowned schools in Würzburg or Bamberg,11 while others, such as Max Manitius, are more inclined to see him studying in Magdeburg.12 Notwithstanding these efforts, though, it may be assumed that Adam’s instruction was not only thorough, but also invigorated his great creativity as a successful arguer; amongst the numerous sources of his quotations there are, as ought to be expected, the Bible and patristic tradition (­e.g. St. Ambrose of Milan and St. Gregory the Great), but also a number of Classical (­Cicero, Horace, Lucan, Vergil) and ­post-​­Classical (­Orosius, Regino of Prüm, Sulpicius Severus) authors. It is doubtless from the Bible, or, to be more precise, from the Vulgate translation of the Books of Tobit (­1:7) and/­or Ezekiel (­14:7), that Adam appears to have drawn the sole ‘­autobiographical’ expression he put in the prologue of his Gesta, the somewhat ambiguous phrase p[ro]selitus  & advena, which has puzzled successive generations of scholars, without, however, producing any definitive conclusions. Likewise, the following study does not aspire to be any sort of definitive statement concerning Adam’s intent in calling himself, in Tschan’s translation, a­ proselyte and stranger.13 Nonetheless, it is believed that even this preliminary examination of semantic content in the context of scriptural exegesis will, at least in some degree, provide useful food for thought for those who would wish to probe the blank spaces of his biography.

Proselytus and advena We shall now embark on our scriptural investigation with the second of the two words that Adam uses in his prologue, the one which does not generally produce any interpretational difficulties. Advena is an agent noun, both

Proselytus et advena  53 masculine and feminine, derived from the verb venire ‘­to come’ (­to intensify the meaning of the verbal action, it sometimes has the prefix ad-​­ ‘­to, towards’ added to it). The Oxford Latin Dictionary gives the following definition: one “[t]hat comes from a different country, foreign, alien.”14 Likewise, the Thesaurus poeticus linguae latinae renders it as “[é]tranger,”15 adding to the ensuing catalogue of quotations three o ­ ft-​­used, though not always perfectly interchangeable, synonyms: alienigena, externus, and peregrinus.16 Last but not least, Jim M. Harden’s Dictionary of the Vulgate New Testament explains advena as meaning “­stranger, alien.”17 Intrinsically, it therefore has the opposite meaning to words like indigenus and nativus. In this form (­and its various declensional permutations such as advenae, advenam, advenarum etc.), it appears more than a 100 times in the entire text of the Vulgate. There, in the vast majority of instances (­e.g. 1 Pet 2:11), advena evidently has the meaning of ‘­stranger, foreigner.’18 Sometimes, however, it appears to denote a ‘­convert’ (­more specifically, a gentile converting to Judaism, or a Jew accepting Christianity), as in Acts 13:43, where, interestingly, its Greek equivalent is προσήλυτος, which suggests that, in some cases (­and only to a certain degree), St. Jerome might have treated the words proselytus and advena as roughly synonymous. Of these two, proselytus is, of course, a more challenging word, particularly in its English translation, where it is sometimes pregnant with other, not always positive associations unknown to the inhabitants of the ancient and early medieval world.19 Moreover, proselytus does not appear in the works of Classical authors and, in all likelihood, we owe its widespread use in Latin to the work of St. Jerome, who in turn, in his rendition of the Greek Bible in the late fourth century, is known to have been quite extensively dependent upon the ­so-​­called Vetus Latina translations (­some of them perhaps as early as the late second century).20 In any case, the Jeromean proselytus is a masculine agent noun whose roots are in the Greek word προσήλυτος ‘­one who has arrived,’ itself a translation of Hebrew ‫­( גֵּר‬ger). In its primary sense, ‫ גֵּר‬denotes a ‘­foreigner,’ or ‘­stranger,’ ‘­one who has come from abroad.’ Later on, it also came to mean a convert to Judaism. The first meaning is quite clear. As in Ex 2:22, the person who is referred to as a ‫ גֵּר‬is not a native of the country he finds himself in, a fact that could also be reflected in his name, e.g. that of Gershom, the ­first-​­born son of Moses and Zipporah: “­She [i.e. Zipporah] gave birth to a son, whom he named Gershom [‫גֵ ְּרש ֹׁם‬ – ​­emphasis added] ‘­because,’ he said, ‘­I am an alien [‫ ]גֵּר‬in a foreign land.’” (­2:22). Likewise, further in the same book, it is juxtaposed with the word ‫­( ֶאז ְָרח‬esrach) ‘­native’: “­either stranger [‫ ] ַ ּבגֵּר‬or citizen of the country [­‫ּו ְב ֶאז ְַרח‬ – ​­emphasis added]” (­12:19). The sec ond meaning is far more complex a nd ­cultural ly-​­conditioned. Accordi ng to Kengo Akiyama, ‫ גֵּר‬occurs 92 times in the Hebrew Bible, “­always in the sense of someone who lives more or less permanently in Israel as a re sident alien.”21 However, in the Rabbinic Per iod, i.e. from the first century AD until ca. 600, it also began to be used in the sense of a gentile

54  Łukasz Neubauer who chose to embrace the Jewish faith.22 This new way of things is reflected twice on the pages of the New Testament, albeit in the Greek language, as προσήλυτος: Matt 23:15 and Acts 2:10. In the former passage, Christ is heard reprimanding scribes and Pharisees for their hypocrisy and misinterpretation of the Mosaic law. In the words of the Vulgate, Christ admonishes them for taking a lot of effort to make unum proselytum “­a single proselyte,” only to ultimately lead him astray by enforcing a too restrictive (­and thus in some way superficial) observance of his religious duties. In the latter, being in fact a catalogue of the peoples astonished by the fact that, through the power of the Holy Spirit, they can all hear the Gospel in their own languages, the biblical author puts Iudaei quoque et proselyti (Jews and proselytes too) side by side, clearly having in mind two groups of adherents to Judaism: those who are ethnically Jewish (­Iudaei) and those who happen to be converted gentiles ( ­proselyti).

Proselytus et advena So far, we have looked at the two words not only in lexical isolation, but also exclusively within the Scriptural framework. Hence, regardless of the fact that both proselytus and advena might be found a number of times in the Vulgate (­and also in phraseological combination), they can tell us little about what Adam could possibly have meant when he called himself, once again in Tschan’s translation, (a proselyte and stranger).23 To be able to see even an inkling of his intent (­for this, unfortunately, is as much as one can get), we need to consider them as a phrase, one that is used twice in the Vulgate, both times in the Old Testament: in the Books of Tobit (­1:7) and Ezekiel (­14:7). The Book of Tobit is unusual in the Old Testament canon (­i.e. the Catholic and Orthodox canon, but not Jewish and Protestant, where it is considered to be apocryphal) in that, despite its having been originally written in Aramaic or, less likely, in Hebrew, the oldest extant versions of it are in Greek and Latin. St. Jerome, though, is said to have translated it (­through Hebrew) from a now unknown Aramaic source.24 This means that our reliance upon whichever text we consider as ‘­original,’ will always be at considerable risk of some kind of error. Consequently, bearing in mind that, like any learned man in early medieval Europe, Adam was principally (­if not exclusively) versed in the Vulgate, in the case of Tobit, we shall have to depend chiefly upon the work of St. Jerome. Tobit w as a ­God-​­fearing man from the tribe of Naphtali, deported to Nineveh at the time of the Jewish Exile in Babylonia. Following a brief prologue (­1:­1–​­2), he eulogises his righteousness by relating how, as a young man in his homeland Israel, he always acted as a pious man should, fulfilling the Law by regularly making sacrifices and offerings (­­3–​­8). In doing so, Tobit enumerates the tithes he would bring to the house of the Lord. The t­ hird-​ y­ ear t ithe, h e says, he used to give to proselytis et advenis (­1:7). All these

Proselytus et advena  55 requirements stem directly from Deut 14:­22–​­29, in particular that passage which mentions foreigners, orphans and widows living within the community (­29). Here, the Hebrew text once again only has ‫גֵּר‬, but in the Vulgate we find both proselyti and advenae. This means that, in his rendering of 1:7, St. Je rome tr ied either to somehow strengthe n the sen se of Tobit’s words by a pleonasm ic use of two synonyms (­both meaning ‘­foreigner’) or, as is also highly probable, he anachronistically assumed that the people to whom Tobit would lend his helping hand were not only foreigners, but also gentiles converted to Judaism.25 The ot her occ urre nce of the phrase which appears in the prologue to Adam’s Gesta is that of Ezek 14:7. There, amongst Ezekiel’s visions of the fall of Jerusalem is the one in which the prophet hears the words of Yahweh wa rning t he p eople of Israel to turn away from false idols (­14:­3 –​­11). Intere stingly, Go d’s admonition is not directed solely at the chosen people, but also at those who are proselytis quicumque advena fuerit in Israhel (­14:7) ( ­foreigners who are newcomers to the land of Israel.) Here, again, the phrasing used in the Vulgate seems too opulent, with two words ( ­proselyti and advena) in St. Jerome’s text in the place where the Hebrew original has only one (­once again, invariably ‫)גֵּר‬. In a similar manner to Tobit 1:7, in the Vulgate, the phrase proselyti quicumque advena may therefore be an instance of pleonasmic tautology, perhaps trying to lay more emphasis upon the fact that t he peop le i n question are not just foreigners but, in fact, foreigners who have only recently come to settle in the land of Israel. As it stands now, though , with no a dditional commentary upon the part of St. Jerome, the whole issue does not seem to be fully resolvable. All in all, i n the whole text of the Vulgate, there are only two passages in whi ch the two words, proselytus and advena, are used in combination: Tobit 1:7 and Ezek 14:7. Both are to be found in the Old Testament and so, at lea st in t heor y, the context ought to be crystal clear, since, at the time of the books’ original composition (­and even in subsequent centuries), the word π ροσήλυτ ος (­or rather its Hebrew equivalents) was not yet used to mean ‘­convert.’ However, as we have seen, the original Aramaic text of the former (­perhaps the same that was used by St. Jerome) has been lost, which means that in our efforts to figure out what the word/­expression originally used in 1:7 actually meant we will have to remain in the sphere of speculative discourse. The other problem is that, elusive as it is, even if we did have a full understanding of it, that would not mean that our reading would be perfectly consistent with that of St. Jerome, particularly as, in his rendering of ‫גֵּר‬, he m ight sometimes be found using two roughly synonymous Latin words instead of just one in Hebrew.

Some vital issues to consider These scriptural uncertainties bring us back to the core of our investigation, to the person of Adam of Bremen. Given the scarcity of biographical

56  Łukasz Neubauer information that could be inferred from his Gesta and from the few external sources whose authors make cursory remarks about Magister Adam (­Helmold’s Chronica and the Diptychon Bremense), it looks as though we will have to remain largely in the dark with regard to some of the most vital issues concerning his biography, in particular about that period of Adam’s life which precedes his coming to Bremen. However, taking as a point of reference his own identification as proselytus et advena, an expression he seems to have drawn directly from the Vulgate, it may be argued, hinging upon the biblical context, that there are at least three ways in which the said words could be interpreted (­not always with the same degree of likelihood, though). The first possibility, should we embrace the later, New Testament reading of προσήλυτος in the sense of someone who has come to adopt a new religious path, is that Adam may indeed have been a convert. This, however, would be a rather bold theory, not unlike the one put forth by Urban T. Holmes Jr and Sister M. Amelia Klenke,26 arguing that Chrétien de Troyes, the renowned ­twelfth-​­c entury trouvère and author of five Arthurian romances, was actually a Jew who found the Messiah in Christ (­hence his name/­sobriquet). Their notion seems to have rested upon feeble grounds though,27 and over the years has attracted a great deal of criticism. Likewise, there is little to suggest that the author of the Gesta could really have been born outside the Christian community, perhaps the only sensible clue in support of this claim being that, as an early tradition has it, Adam came from Meissen, the area which, in the ­m id-​­eleventh century, was mostly inhabited by the Slavic peoples.28 Indeed, he does seem to be not only well informed about their history and culture but also, unlike for instance Thietmar,29 rather favourably disposed towards them as prospective brothers in faith.30 Still given that, in the Vulgate (­save for Matt 23:15 and Acts 2:10), proselytus never means ‘­a convert’ and, in combination with advena (­Tobit 1:7 and Ezek 14:7), invariably denotes ‘­a foreigner,’ the concept that Adam of Bremen may have been ethnically Slavic ought to be treated with the greatest caution.31 Another possibility, similarly conjectural but not utterly implausible, is that the author of the Gesta saw himself as ‘­a convert’ in a broader sense. He might, for instance, be alluding to some sort of awakening of his personal faith, an otherwise undocumented spiritual event (­or a series of events) that led to his greater devotion to God. Had it been even as spectacular as that of Saul/­Paul on the road to Damascus (­Acts 9:­3 –​­6) though, his purported experience did not necessarily have to be deemed suitable to be recorded in the Gesta, particularly as he describes himself as indignissimus ecclesiae Dei matricularius (an unworthy clerk of the Church of God,)32 and therefore clearly avoids placing himself anywhere near the spotlight.33 Alternatively, his ‘­awakening’ (­provided, again, that there ever was one) might also have had a somewhat less spiritual character. The second half of the eleventh century was a period of increased tensions in the ongoing conflicts of ecclesiastical politics, not only in the north of Germany. At the time of Adam’s tenure in Bremen, one such line of disagreement concerned the monastic reform

Proselytus et advena  57 movements, a dispute in which he evidently sympathised with Archbishop Liemar (­to whom the Gesta is dedicated) and those in opposition to the Gregorian programme of Church discipline. Following his refusal to comply with the papal summons in 1075, Liemar was excommunicated and did not receive absolution until two years later when, accompanying Henry IV, he arrived at the gates of Canossa. Whether this pious act of the Archbishop was ultimately reflected in any kind of ‘­awakening’ in his matricularius is, once again, purely conjectural. Nonetheless, the historical context around the time of Adam’s completion of his Gesta at least hints at the possibility that, in the second half of the 1070s, he may also have been some kind of proselytus (­in the sense of ‘­a convert’) in the area of Church politics. The third and final explanation of Adam’s intent to call himself proselytus et advena might be the most prosaic of them all. However, in the light of what the phrase denotes in the Vulgate (­Tobit 1:7 and Ezek 14:7), it seems also the most probable one. Not being a native of Bremen, Adam is both proselytus and advena, meaning that he is in some sense a ‘­foreigner’ and a ‘(­new)­comer.’ Obviously, his ‘­foreignness’ does not really need to be perfectly synonymous with what a modern inhabitant of the Freie Hansestadt Bremen would understand as ein Ausländer, a person of foreign nationality, an immigrant who often does not speak the local language and whose customs are at some notable variance with those of the Inländer. Given that the inevitably latinised forms of personal and place names appearing in the Gesta preserve much of their original German substratum (­Reuter 2002: ­x xv-​­vi), it seems reasonable to suggest that, at the time of his coming to Bremen, Adam was not so much a ξένος as a peregrinus, an ‘­­intra-​­’ rather ‘­­inter-​­national’ traveller. Logically then, by referring to himself as a proselytus et advena, he may simply mean that he was not, to begin with, an indigenous inhabitant of Bremen (­though he is still what we would today call a ‘­German’) but made it his permanent abode after having been invited there by Archbishop Adalbert. To paraphrase, then, the words of St. Jerome’s Ezekiel (­14:7), Adam could be described as proselytus qui etiam Bremae advena est.

Notes 1 Rosik, The Slavic Religion, 197. Such modesty is not uncommon in medieval historiography. Cf., for instance, the words of the ­so-​­called Gallus in the preamble to his Cronica et gesta ducum sive principum Polonorum: Igitur ne viles personœ videamur vanitatis fimbrias dilatare, codicellum non nostro decrevimus sed vestris nominibus titulare “­So as not to make it seem that some insignificant people are broadening the fringes of vanity, we have made the decision that this codicil will not be inscribed with our names but with yours.” 2 Codex Vindobonensis 521, fol. 1r; http://­data.onb.ac.at/­rec/­AC13957787 (­accessed 13 October 2021). 3 Tschan, 3. 4 Gesta, III, 4. Adalbert held the archbishopric from 1043 until his death in 1072. 5 Schmeidler, Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta, LII; North, ‘­Adam of Bremen,’ 5. 6 Rosik, The Slavic Religion, 198.

58

Łukasz Neubauer

7 Schmeidler, Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta, LXVI, For a few years, though, it continued to be revised in the book’s marginalia (North, ‘Adam of Bremen,’ 5). 8 ‘Diptychon Bremense,’ 304. 9 Reuter, ‘Introduction,’ xxviii. 10 Stanisław Rosik even goes as far (but certainly not too far) as to call Adam the “Tacitus of the people of the North” (Rosik, The Slavic Religion, 198). 11 Schmeidler, Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta, LV. 12 Manitius, Geschichte der lateinischen Literatur, 398. 13 Tschan, 3. 14 The Oxford Latin Dictionary, 55. 15 Thesaurus poeticus linguae latinae, 26. 16 Thesaurus poeticus linguae latinae, 26. 17 Harden, Dictionary of the Vulgate New Testament, 5. 18 In this particular case, it translates the Greek word πάροικος and the meaning is somewhat broader, clearly referring to our ‘exile’ in this world (cf. 1 Pet 1:17). 19 In the increasingly post-Christian West, where Christ’s evangelical command to “[g]o out to the whole world” and “proclaim the gospel to all creation” (Mark 16:15) is sometimes treated with distrust or even hostility, the verb ‘to proselytise’ has come to acquire another, more secular shade of meaning, e.g. political and/or ideological. 20 Vetus Latina is not any single translation of the Bible, but a collective name given to various biblical texts rendered into Latin prior to Saint Jerome’s Vulgate. 21 Akiyama, The Love of Neighbour in Ancient Judaism, 45. Only on four occasions, though (1 Ch r 22:2; 2 Chr 2:17; 2 Chr 30:25; Ezek 14:7), is ‫ גֵּר‬translated in the Vulgate as proselytus. 22 The status of such people was constantly evolving and, even as converts, they were always somehow on the margin of life, religiously, culturally and legally. The reason for this was obviously the exclusivity of the Jewish way to God, a stance which was also upheld in some of the early Christian communities. In effect, the process of an individual’s conversion into Judaism was typically a complex one and, in practice, did not always result in a full acceptance of the ‘new-born son of Abraham’ by the ethnic Jews. 23 Tschan, 3. 24 Pitts, ‘The Anglo-Norman Bible’s Book of Tobit,’ 2. 25 Grzybek, ‘Księga Tobiasza,’ 3. 26 Holmes, Klenke, ‘Chrétien, Troyes, and the Grail,’ 51–61. 27 Their major arguments were that Chrétien’s biography is “somehow rooted in Judaism” (Liss, Creating Fictional Worlds, 30) and that, in the twelfth century, Troyes was “amongst the greatest European centers of Jewish learning and culture” (Farina, Chrétien de Troyes, 205). 28 According to Thietmar of Merseburg, these were the so-called Glomaci (I, 2) “Glomatians.” However, there is not a single mention of them in Adam’s Gesta. 29 Goetz, ‘Die Slawen in der Wahrnehmung Thietmars.’ 30 This does not automatically mean, of course, that Adam was of Slavic ethnicity. After all, had he truly been a native of Meissen, an area so densely populated by the Polabian Slavs, he may have sympathised with them for a whole range of other reasons. 31 Also, whenever Adam refers to a specifc person converted to the Christian faith, people like Eric the Victorious (Gesta, II, 38), or a Jew named Paul (III, 36), he never calls them proselyti, but always uses the participle conversus, another word also frequently appearing in the Vulgate (e.g. Acts 11:21). 32 Gesta, III, 4. 33 Of course, in this, he is not much different from most other early medieval chroniclers.

Proselytus et advena 59

Bibliography Primary sources Adam of Bremen, History of the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen, trans. F. J. Tschan, New York, Columbia University Press, 2002. Adami Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontifcum, ed. G. H. Pertz, Hannoverae, Impensis Bibliopolii Hahniani, 1846. Catholic Bible: Revised Standard Version, San Francisco, CA, Ignatius Press, 2006. Codex Vindobonensis 521, fol. 1r; http://data.onb.ac.at/rec/AC13957787 (accessed 13 October 2021). ‘Diptychon Bremense,’ ed. E. F. Mooyer. Vaterländisches Archiv des Historischen Vereins für Niedersachsen, Lüneburg, Herold und Wahlstab, 1835, 281–309. ‘Galla kronika,’ Monumenta Poloniæ Historica. Pomniki dziejowe Polski. Tom I, ed. A. Bielowski, Lwów, August Bielowski, 1864, 379–484. Hebrew English Interlinear ESV Old Testament, ed. Thom Blair, Wheaton, IL: Crossway Books, 2014. Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontifcum, ed. B. Schmeidler, Hanover and Leipzig, Hahn, 1917. The New Greek-English Interlinear New Testament with a Literal English rendering and the New Revised Standard Version, eds. J. D. Douglas and J. W. Bryant, Carol Stream, IL, Tyndale House Publishers, 2020. The Vulgate Bible. Vol. IV: The Major Prophetical Books. Douay-Rheims Translation, ed. A. M. Kinney, Cambridge, MS, Harvard University Press, 2013. The Vulgate Bible. Vol. V, Part B: Historical Books. Douay-Rheims Translation, ed. E. Swift, Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 2011. The Vulgate Bible. Vol. VI: The New Testament. Douay-Rheims Translation, ed. A. M. Kinney, Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 2013. Thietmari Merseburgensis episcopi Chronicon, eds. J. M. Lappenberg and F. Kurze, Hannoverae, Impensis Bibliopolii Hahniani, 1889.

Secondary literature Akiyama, Kengo, The Love of Neighbour in Ancient Judaism: The Reception of Leviticus 19:18 in the Hebrew Bible, the Septuagint, the Book of Jubilees, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and the New Testament, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2018. Farina, W., Chrétien de Troyes and the Dawn of Arthurian Romance, Jefferson NC, McFarland, 2010. Goetz, H.-W., ‘Die Slawen in der Wahrnehmung Thietmars von Merseburg zu Beginn des 11. Jahrhunderts,’ Lětopis 2 (2015), 103–118. Grzybek, S., ‘Księga Tobiasza. Wstęp, przekład i komentarz,’ Ruch biblijny i liturgiczny XIV 1&2 (1961), 1–22. Harden, J. M., Dictionary of the Vulgate New Testament, London, Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1921. Holmes Jr., Urban T. and M. A. Klenke, O. P., Chrétien, Troyes, and the Grail, Chapel Hill, NC, The University of North Carolina Press, 1959. Liss, H., Creating Fictional Worlds: Peshaṭ-Exegesis and Narrativity in Rashbam’s Commentary on the Torah, Leiden, Brill, 2011.

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Manitius, M., Geschichte der lateinischen Literatur des Mittelalters. Vol. 2, München, Beck, 1923. North, W., ‘Adam of Bremen,’ Key Figures in Medieval Europe. An Encyclopedia, ed. R. K. Emmerson, New York and London, Routledge, 2006, 5–6. Pitts, B. A., ‘The Anglo-Norman Bible’s Book of Tobit: A Critical Edition (London, British Library Royal 1 C Iii, Fols. 312r–315v),’ Mediaeval Studies 82 (2020), 1–77. Reuter, T., ‘Introduction,’ Adam of Bremen, History of the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen, trans. F. J. Tschan, New York, Columbia University Press, 2002, xi–ilvi. Rosik, S., The Slavic Religion in the Light of 11th- and 12th-Century German Chronicles (Thietmar of Merseburg, Adam of Bremen, Helmold of Bosau), Leiden, Brill, 2020. The Oxford Latin Dictionary, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1968. Thesaurus poeticus linguae latinae, ou, Dictionnaire prosodique et poétique de la langue latine: contenant tous les mots employés dans les ouvrages ou les fragments qui nous restent des poétes latins, Paris, Librairie Hachette, 1906.

3

Sven Estridsen as Adam’s informant Jakub Morawiec

In Chapter 54 of book III of his Gesta, Adam states the following: Igitur et ea, quae diximus vel adhuc sumus dicturi de barbaris, omnia relatu illius viri cognovimus (what we have said, therefore, and what we still have to say about the barbarians, all that we have come to know from what this man related). He also adds: Magnam huius libelli materiam ex eius ore collegi ( from his lips I gathered much of the material for this little book).1 These words refer to Sven Estridsen, the King of Denmark. Indeed, Adam not only provides a certain amount of information about him and his reign but also claims several times that a certain portion of his knowledge about political and religious developments in Scandinavia comes directly from Sven. Sometimes, Adam makes space in his narrative allowing the King to speak and, in doing so, he makes Sven his main authority with respect to the history of Scandinavia. In general Sven’s status as Adam’s informant seems undisputed.2 It has resulted in scholarly examinations of the veracity and trustworthiness of what Adam classifed as Sven’s account, of the King’s expertise in the history and geography of the North and, consequently, of the process of its Christianization. However, some doubts concerning Sven’s role have also been raised.3 Taking these doubts into account, this chapter will investigate the issue again, taking as its focus an analysis of what Sven provided to Adam concerning political encounters in the North. As Sven’s account is very often either diffcult or impossible to verify, my analysis will focus mainly on characterization of the data rather than its historical veracity. The same refers to Adam’s account of Sven Estridsen and his political dealings. As a consequence, the aim of this chapter is to investigate not just the extent to which data attributed to the Danish King can be confrmed by other sources. Much more attention will be given to distinguishing the main narrative and ideological features of the data and considering the degree to which it refects Sven’s (or, rather, Adam’s and his archdiocese’s) point of view. Following the voices of doubt noted above, I am going to argue that Sven’s account is, in fact, Adam’s version of the politics in the North. The desire to achieve the underlying aims that prompted Adam to write the Gesta made him assign to Sven Estridsen a role as his informant.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-4

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It was not due to Adam’s limitations concerning knowledge about the events described by the King. The Danish King’s role here is to serve as the perfect example of the effectiveness of the missionary and political efforts of the Archdiocese which had made it possible to change a cruel pagan ruler into a good and acknowledged Christian king. Indeed, Adam’s narrative on political and religious developments in the North features numerous references to both Sven Estridsen as the chronicler’s informant and his life both before and after he became king of Denmark. Readers of Gesta may be puzzled by Adam’s quite ambivalent opinion on Sven. On one hand, there are superlatives like veracissimus (the most veracious), prudentissimus (the most judicious, very prudent) and scientissimus (very well informed) applied to the King of Denmark in his role as Adam’s informant.4 On the other, Adam does not hesitate to call Sven tyrannus and, as will be elaborated below, criticize him for living in the sin of incest.5 At the same time, Adam underlines the King’s wisdom and how he personally experienced his reception and generosity.6 Such a dichotomy in picturing Sven could be deemed contradictory. However, in my opinion it is right to assume that it was not accidental but served, quite well one has to admit, to enable Adam to fulfll his goals. In Adam’s rendition, Sven enters the political scene as a typical Viking war leader. An account of ravages in Handeln is important as part of the whole picture of the future king. Although unsuccessful, captured and taken prisoner by the Archbishop’s men, he was able to recognize Alebrand’s kingly magnifcence (regio pontifcis apparatu). Although one cannot be sure if Sven also respected the Archbishop for the liberality of his soul (liberalitate animi), the latter’s offer of friendship, instead of punishment for the recent acts of piracy, justifed Sven’s heaping of the utmost praise upon the Archbishop (summa laude illum archiepiscopum), which Adam says, was done by the king in person (rex ipse).7 The importance of this incident lies in the consequences of the direct confrontation between Sven and the Archdiocese. Although a pirate and presumably a sinner, Sven is able to accept an alternative path, based on peace and friendship, offered by Alebrand. It is exclusively the Archbishop, who thanks to his distinguished reputation, is able to stop the Viking and show him a better way of life. The sophisticated balance between good and evil is continued by Adam in Chapter 78 of the same book. Here, Sven Estridsen is confronted by the English King, Edward the Confessor. The former is depicted as a tyrant whereas the latter is pictured as a holy man and one fearing God (vir sanctus et timens Deum). Although, as Adam claims, Edward decided to make peace with the son of Ulf and designate him as his heir on the English throne, Sven was not destined to enjoy this arrangement for too long. Not only did he never become king of England, he also very soon after had to confront Magnus the Good, which resulted in numerous defeats.8 Scholars rightly doubt the veracity of Edward’s agreement with Sven.9 It is reasonable to assume that, for Adam, an account of this arrangement

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was useful as it let him employ the same mechanism that characterized the previous example. This time, the Archbishop was replaced by King Edward who, making peace with the tyrant, displayed the same virtues as Alebrand. Another vir sanctus was needed to direct Sven on the right path. Sven was not able to enjoy his reign in England, as wars with Magnus brought him too much trouble. Categorized as sinful, Sven’s lack of success was necessary as a sort of purgatory in which the wars with Magnus served to reconcile him to the Archbishop so that he could become a good Christian king of Denmark.10 Indeed, Adam twice referred to Sven’s confict with Magnus the Good. Intriguingly, the King of Denmark did not serve as the chronicler’s informant in this respect. It could be surprising, especially if one considers Sven’s role as authentic, that Adam decided not to rely on the authority of the rex scientissimus who was personally engaged in the confict. A statement in Chapter  12 of book III, to the effect that Sven drove Magnus from Denmark and even, once the latter died, took control of Norway as well,11 could be treated as the Danish King’s attempt to provide Adam with a favourable but untrue account of the war. This is, however, contradicted by other fragments of Gesta, where Adam makes it clear that it was Sven who was overcome by Magnus and was forced to look for shelter in Sweden.12 Various sources, both contemporary (skaldic poetry, coinage) and later (kings’ sagas) confrm that the war between Sveinn and Magnus was much more complex. The former did try to expel the latter from Denmark but was only partly successful. Sven managed to control Scania and gain some support in other parts of the kingdom.13 However all direct confrontations with Magnus brought Sven defeat and made him seek refuge and help in Sweden.14 Moreover, contrary to what Adam says, Sven had never taken control over Norway.15 Last but not least, the author of the Gesta is totally silent about another important fgure in this confict, namely Harald the Harsh Ruler, who, according to skalds and saga authors, returned to Norway at the time of confict between Sven and Magnus and took advantage of their war to make Magnus share power in the country.16 Adam of Bremen did not refer to the complex situation of this war. For him, Sven’s unsuccessful encounter with Magnus was an essential step in the process of transforming him into a good Christian monarch. Possessing too much power, especially being a king in two kingdoms, he was still too eager to follow the way of sin. The urge to take England and marriage with a blood relative, an act classifed as incest, required the intervention of proper power, namely the Archbishop. Only then would the King of Denmark be able to overcome his sins and act the way he should. Sven’s aspiration to set up a separate archdiocese for his kingdom is another intriguing instance of Adam’s account of the Danish King. For one thing, it is an instance in which Adam paints Sven in a much more favourable light. Although such claims, if successful, would seriously challenge the

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status of the Archdiocese of Hamburg-Bremen, Adam appears to have been quite neutral in his references to them. Moreover, in saying that Christianity had been spread to the ends of the earth (christianitate iam in fnes terrae dilatata), he not only fnds this process complete but also seems to justify Sven’s ambitions. This is, however, only one part of the story. According to Adam, Archbishop Adalbert would, albeit unwillingly, consent to this proposal, provided that patriarchal rank was conceded to him and his Church (patriarchatus honor sibi et ecclesiae suae).17 Adam later notes that this sophisticated plan, one that would please both the King and the Archbishop, could not become reality due to deaths of both Pope Leo IX and Emperor Henry III.18 Gregory VII’s letter to Sven issued in January of 1075 makes it clear that the King of Denmark did indeed start corresponding with the Curia during the pontifcate of Alexander II.19 Adam’s account suggests he knew about both the letter and contacts undertaken by Sven with the Curia. As this was a very delicate matter for the Archdiocese, Adam presumably felt under pressure to present it accurately, taking into account the interests of his patron. Although Adalbert’s permission was obligatory according to canonical rule, the idea of a northern patriarchate, with him at its helm, seemed to offer the best chance to save canonical primacy over the North.20 This relatively troublesome issue was used by Adam once again to underline the Archdiocese’s effciency, readiness, and willingness to complete missionary work there. His account seems to leave no doubt that as both the Papacy and the Empire were facing a period of instability (with the regency of Agnes of Poitou), the Archdiocese remained the only reliable arena where a focus on spreading Christianity among the pagans remained undisturbed. According to Adam, the failure of this project was caused by the deaths of both pope and emperor. The latter resulted in political turbulence caused by the weak regency of Agnes of Poitou (ad gubernacula regni mulier cum puero successit, magno imperii detrimento). However, Adam’s argument seems dubious as Agnes’ regency also meant an increase in Adalbert’s power. It seems right to assume that, if the Archbishop wanted the Curia to establish the patriarchate, circumstances were most propitious at exactly that point.21 Intriguingly, when referring to the failure of this project Adam seems to completely ignore Sven Estridsen and the Church in Denmark. His potential reaction to Adalbert’s initiative and the lack of papal licence to erect a new archdiocese, something that would properly supplement the whole account, are totally absent. Again, a perspective from which Adam was writing his Gesta explains the limits of his concerns. The status and prosperity of Christians in the North were at issue only insofar as they served to show the importance and prominence of the Archdiocese of Hamburg-Bremen. This puzzling dichotomy in Adam’s attitude towards Sven Estridsen seems to be explained by a specifc passage in Chapter 18 of book III. Adam refers there to probably a key moment in relations between the King of

Sven Estridsen as Adam’s informant  65 Denmark and the Archdiocese, namely a meeting of Sven and Archbishop Adalbert that took place in Schleswig in either late 1052 or early 1053. It seems worth providing Adam’s account in extenso: His apud Nortmanniam gestis, magnopere studuit archiepiscopus, ut.regi Danorum conciliaretur, quem prius offensum habuit in repudio consobrinae. Scivit enim, si talem virum ad se colligeret, leviorem sibi ad cetera, quae in animo gessit, introitum fore. Mox igitur, mediante gratia largitatis, quam in omnes habuit, venit in Sliaswig, ubi facile notus et reconciliatus superbo regi, muneribus atque conviviis certavit archiepiscopalem potentiam regalibus anteferre diviciis. Denique, sicut mos est inter barbaros, ad confirmandum pactum federis opulentum convivium habetur vicissim per octo dies. De multis rebus ecclesiasticis ibi disponitur, de pace christianorum, de conversione paganorum ibi consulitur. Ita pontifex cum gaudio domum reversus, persuasit caesari, ut evocatus rex Danorum in Saxoniam, uterque alteri perpetuam iuraret amicitiam. Cuius federis beneficio multum lucri suscepit nostra ecclesia, et legatio borealium nationum, cooperante Suein rege, prosperis semper aucta est incrementis.22 (After these occurrences in Norway the archbishop earnestly endeavoured to conciliate the Danish king, to whom he had previously given offence, by repudiating his cousin. For he realized that if he could attach a man of this kind to himself, the approach to other matters he had in mind would be easier. Relying, therefore, on the goodwill won by the generosity he showed to everyone, he presently went to Schleswig. There he easily became acquainted and reconciled with the proud king and by gifts and banquets endeavoured to put archiepiscopal power above royal wealth. Finally, as is the custom among the barbarians, they feasted each other sumptuously on eight successive days to confirm the treaty of alliance. Disposition was made there of many ecclesiastical questions, decisions were reached about peace for Christians and about conversion of the pagans. And so the prelate returned home full of joy and persuaded Caesar to summon the Danish king to Saxony that each might swear to the other perpetual friendship. By virtue of this alliance our Church gained great advantages and, with the cooperation of King Sven, the mission to the northern nations steadily received prosperous increase.) One can speak about a tradition of such conferences in Schleswig. In either 1025 or 1026, Archbishop Unwan met with knut the Great to discuss their mutual relations.23 A similar meeting took place, as Adam himself relates, on 11 November 1042. Archbishop Alebrand, accompanied by Bishops Thietmar of Hildesheim and Rudolph of Schleswig, met Duke Bernhard of ­Saxony and the new Danish King, Magnus the Good.24 Lasse Sonne is right to assume that it was important for Magnus to meet both the Duke and the Archbishop to secure his new possessions in Denmark. On the other hand, the Archbishop could have counted on the new regime in Denmark, unlike

66  Jakub Morawiec Magnus’ predecessors on the Danish throne, being more open to acknowledging the Archdiocese’s ecclesiastical claims in that country.25 It seems reasonable to assume that an exactly similar mechanism worked in 1052/­1053 and prompted a new conference. I will elaborate on its historical context below. Here it is important to underline that the meeting was a perfect occasion for Adam to reveal the effectiveness of the Archbishop’s willingness to resolve, in Adam’s words, multis rebus ecclesiasticis. Adam directly outlines the situation: Sven’s reconciliation with the Archbishop led to putting archiepiscopal power above royal (­Sven’s) wealth. The main goals of the Archdiocese, namely peace for the Christians and the conversion of the pagans, could finally be completed: cuius federis beneficio multum lucri suscepit nostra ecclesia, et legatio borealium nationum, cooperante Suein rege, prosperis semper aucta est incrementis.26 There was, however, another, perhaps even more important aspect of the meeting. Adalbert could play an intermediary role between Sven and Emperor Henry III. Because of this, Adam could describe affairs on the Saxon/­Danish border and the missionary activities of the Archdiocese as the key element of imperial policy. He did not intend, however, to promote Sven without reason. Rather, this served to provide another argument underlining how the archbishops of ­Hamburg-​­Bremen were supportive of both regnum and imperium. In Adam’s vision, Adalbert was strictly in line with his predecessors. It is enough to recall an account of Otto I’s affair in Italy and close assistance of the Archbishop which was necessary to both keep peace in Germany and gain ­success in Italy.27 To what extent Henry III and in particular his son and namesake, needed Sven support is another matter. In Adam’s narrative, Sven is no longer a sinful Viking pirate but a prominent, friendly and peaceful Christian ruler. Such a transformation, so advantageous not only for the Archdiocese (­nostra ecclesia) but for the whole empire, was possible only due Adalbert’s efforts.28 The Archbishop’s intervention was essential for peaceful resolution of Sven Estridsen’s affairs in England. Adam notes in ­Chapter 54 of book III: Illo tempore clarissimus inter barbaros fuit Suein, rex Danorum, qui reges Nortmannorum. Olaph et Magnum constrinxit magna virtute. Inter Suein et Bastardum perpetua contentio de Anglia fuit, licet noster pontifex, muneribus Willehelmi persuasus, inter reges pacem formare voluerit. (The most illustrious king among the barbarians at that time was Sven of the Danes, who held the kings of the Norwegians, Olaf and Magnus, in the leash of his great valour. Between Sven and the Bastard there was continual contention over England, even though our archbishop, persuaded by William’s gifts, wished to make peace between the kings.) Earlier reconciliation between Sven and Edward made the former focus on matters Adalbert was particularly interested in:

Sven Estridsen as Adam’s informant  67 Christianitas ab illo Suein rege in exteras nationes longe lateque diffusa est […] ipse direxit praedicatores suos clericos in omnem Suediam, Nortmanniam et in insulas quae sunt in illis partibus. Cuius veraci et dulcissima narratione didici, suo tempore multos ex barbaris nationibus ad christianam fidem conversos, aliquos etiam tam in Suedia quam in Norvegia martyrio coronatos. (Christianity was diffused far and wide among the farther peoples by this king Sveinn […] He personally sent his priests out as preachers into all Sweden and Norway and to the islands that are in those parts. From his veracious and most delightful discourse I learned that in his time many among the barbarian nations had been converted to the Christian faith, that some men had also been crowned with martyrdom in Sweden as well as in Norway.) Such achievements were enough for Adam to articulate the utmost praise of the King: Novissimis archiepiscopi temporibus, cum ego Bremam venerim, audita eiusdem regis sapientia, mox ad eum venire disposui; a quo etiam clementissime susceptus, ut omnes, magnam huius libelli materiam ex eius ore collegi. Erat enim scientia litterarum eruditus et liberalissimus in extraneos.29 (In the last days of the archbishop, when I came to Bremen and heard of the king’s wisdom, I at once resolved to go to him. And he also received me most graciously, as he did all, and from his lips I gathered much of the material for this little book. He was well versed in the knowledge of letters and very receptive toward strangers.) Sven became a complete Christian ruler, a guarantor of friendship and peace, a perfect example of the effectiveness of the policy of the archdiocese among pagan barbarians of the North. Such a distinguished man was suitable for an honourable role of Adam’s exclusive informant, an authority on the political and religious developments in the region. Before I focus on that issue, it is necessary to say a few words about the contemporary, geopolitical aspect of Sven Estridsen’s relations with both the archdiocese and the Empire. Adam himself recalls a meeting of the Danish King with Adalbert and King Henry IV in Lüneburg in 1071.30 It is very likely that Sven allied with the German King and promised his support in overcoming the opposition in Saxony.31 This very alliance was part of a bigger political game that had been taking place on the Saxon/­Danish/­Slavonic border since at least the early ninth century. The ideas of establishing first the Bishopric of Hamburg, and later the Archdiocese of ­Hamburg-​­Bremen, were also a part of the very same game and a highly essential one. Adam’s Gesta and its narrative on political and religious developments in the North prove how complex relations in the

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region were. Sven, like his predecessors, had presumably been aware that missionary activities undertaken by the Archdiocese of Hamburg-Bremen formed part of political pressure on Denmark to cease its advance in Polabia, as well as on making it a sphere of imperial infuences. Contrary to his predecessors, once he gained power in Denmark in 1047, Sven faced circumstances that forced him to cooperate with the archbishop and the dukes of Saxony. His reign in Denmark was disturbed by ongoing military encounters with Harald Hard-Ruler. A Norwegian attack on Hedeby and defeat at Nissan in 1062 showed Sven’s military weakness and were a potential threat to his rule.32 Both ecclesiastical and royal support from Germany had their price. Sven was expected to acknowledge Hamburg-Bremen’s claims and its supremacy over the Danish Church. At the same time, he was supporting Bernhard Billung and the Obodrite Duke Gottschalk, his son-in-law, in Saxon attempts to regain control over Polabia. Sven had strong connections with Polabian Slavs, who supported him during his wars against Magnus the Good.33 As in the situation in the tenth century, Denmark and Saxony on the one hand competed when it came to infuence in Polabia and on the other had to temporarily cooperate with the Polabian Slavs. In this way, the Polabians existed in a constant power struggle between their larger neighbours, taking advantage of one or the other’s moments of crisis. It appears that Sven, like knut the Great, was eager to accept the ecclesiastical claims of Hamburg-Bremen and accepted nominations for suffragans in Denmark. There are indications of Danish suffragans attending councils in Germany and having a proper space to act within their own dioceses.34 Still, even Adam of Bremen is not silent about Sven’s ambitions to have his own archdiocese. Even if the Papal Curia, either Alexander II or especially Gregory VII, were ready to fulfll Sven’s wishes,35 Adalbert, especially in the mid-1060s, was powerful enough to sabotage such claims. The Archbishop was effective in using not only the renewal of papal privileges, but also the idea of the northern patriarchate. Even if Sven could count on alliance with Henry IV and a positive reaction from Gregory VII, a direct confict between both higher powers buried his hopes and postponed establishment of the frst Scandinavian archdiocese for a few decades. The geopolitical situation made Sven Estridsen an important partner for other key powers in the region. This is well refected in the attention Adam paid to Sven in his Gesta. Sven’s role as the chronicler’s informant also confrms it. According to what Adam himself declared in Chapter 54 of book III, the King of Denmark is used as a source of information regarding political and religious developments in the North.36 His expertise in this feld made Adam attach all the superlatives recalled above to his account of the King’s character. In short, for Adam, Sven was a trustworthy informant because he was well informed about Scandinavian affairs. Indeed, Sven is recalled as the source and authority when Adam refers to dynastic developments in the region, especially in Denmark and Sweden.37

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These references include a relatively laconic account of Swedish King Olof, who obtained Denmark by force and was followed by numerous sons.38 Adam limits Sven’s account to the names of two of them but one cannot take from this anything more on their dealings. An account of the Swedish King Ring, his predecessors, and his sons who were to follow him on the throne is similarly laconic. This time however, the limited scope of the information provided by Sveinn is justifed, as it leaves space for a much more elaborate account of missionary efforts in Sweden undertaken by Archbishop Unni, athleta Dei et sanctus pater. The list of Swedish rulers constitutes a kind of background that does not need further elaboration, as the author’s attention is focused on the prelate. They are numerous and he is the one. Despite their permission for Unni to act, they remain pagans and seem swiftly to succeed one another, whereas the Archbishop is a consistent presence with his efforts to call Swedes and Goths to faith.39 A similar scheme is to be observed in the accounts of Knut the Great, Olaf Skotkonung, and his son, Anund Jacob. Adam knows quite a lot about their dealings and this information is scattered across various parts of the Gesta. It is, however, Sven Estridsen who confrms the broad spread of Christianity during Anund Jakob’s reign.40 One cannot exclude the possibility that Adam’s intention was to acknowledge other information about these rulers as coming from Sven but that is not explicitly stated though and this runs contrary to accounts on the churches and monasteries erected everywhere in Slavia.41 Sven is said to provide much more intriguing details on those rulers whose lives could better illustrate how attitudes to Christianity and the ecclesiastical overlordship of the Archdiocese of Hamburg-Bremen affected their history which was marked by sick ambitions, internal conficts, and rapid falls. This is especially evident in the case of Harald Gormsson’s fall. For Adam, the King was an example of a great monarch as he from the beginning of his reign placed all his trust in God.42 On the contrary, his son Sven is pictured as wicked man, in alliance with those who entered into conspiracy to renounce Christianity. Adam’s rhetoric was quite simple; referring to biblical controversy between David and Absalom he was able to show the moral advantage of the father over his sinful son. In Adam’s vision the latter, not willing to heed the Archbishop’s warnings, quickly experienced misfortunes: he was captured twice by Slavs and exiled from Denmark by the Swedish King Eric. These are presented as clear signs of divine vengeance and the just judgement of God.43 All this, according to Adam, came from Sven, who does not hesitate to criticize his predecessor and namesake for his misconduct. Moreover, he clearly understands that the wrongdoings of Sven Forkbeard have their effect on his posterity, including him.44 It is evident that, for Adam, the rebellion against Harald and its consequences was a very useful opportunity for underlining the negative consequences of the lack of his archdiocese’s ecclesiastical supremacy over the

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North. Sven Ulfsson is used not only to provide information, but also to bear testimony and give personal example. That’s why Adam not only refers to the Danish King as his informant but also allows him to speak. Sven’s direct speech is even more impressive, as it is the King in person who confesses the dramatic endeavours of his namesake as well as speaking of the paganism of the Swedish King Eric.45 Sven’s words are perfectly in accord with what can be identifed as Adam’s own account. The story of the rebellious Sven Forkbeard is perhaps the best example of this. In effect, even if the Danish King is presented as the source of information, he is actually being used to confrm that Adam was right in the way he depicted Sveinn Forkbeard.46 The above examples show Adam’s willingness to promote Sven Estridsen as an expert in a process of conversion in Scandinavia. This accords well with a general depiction of the King in the Gesta as an example of a ruler who, contrary to his predecessors, understood the importance of baptism and the spread of the new faith, as well as reverence for the Archdiocese of Hamburg-Bremen. Two further instances deserve specifc attention here, seeming to suggest that such an image was too good to be true and to confrm that those historians who voiced their doubts could well be right. Chapter 55 of book II features a story about Knut the Great who, as the King of both England and Denmark, transferred bishops consecrated in England to Denmark. As Adam notes, Archbishop Unwan took offence at this and decided to act. One of these bishops, Gerbrand, consecrated for Zealand, was seized on his way to Denmark. From him, Unwan learned that Gerbrand, and presumably other suffragans, were consecrated by Æthelnoth, Archbishop of Canterbury. Imprisoned by Unwan, Gerbrand, to quote Adam, persuaded by necessity, promised the fdelity and subjection to the see of Hamburg. Having declared this, the prisoner was released. Adam further notes that the Bishop was accompanied by Unwan’s legates whose task was to reprove the King for installing bishops from England. Knut’s reaction was hardly surprising: he not only graciously received both the legates and Unwan’s admonition but also declared that he was ready and gladly willing to do everything to the Archbishop’s satisfaction. The whole account is concluded by Adam with the statement that it was Sven who made these facts known to him and that the King of the Danes openly told him about Gerbrand’s arrest. The motif of Gerbrand’s arrest provokes discussion from at least two points of view. The frst one is how this incident affected Knut the Great’s policy towards the Empire in general and the Archdiocese in particular. The second is the credibility of Adam’s claim, namely that he learned about the incident from Sven Estridsen. This leaves space for the suggestion that he wanted his audience to believe he would not have known about it otherwise. The story of the imprisoned Danish bishop is only to be found in Adam’s Gesta. Still, it looks as if Adam referred to real events. Although the exact dates of Gerbrand’s consecration and imprisonment are unknown, it presumably happened after 23 June 1022. On that day, Gerbrand, as Roscylde

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parochiae Danorum gentis, was still in England attesting a diploma issued by Cnut. His title suggests, that Gerbrand’s diocese was meant to have the highest rank of all the other ecclesiastical sees of Denmark (i.e., Jylland, Fyn, and Scania).47 His distinguished status seems to be confrmed by the fact that he was listed as the frst among the bishops, just after both English Archbishops Wulfstan and Æthelnoth, Queen Emma, and the King.48 That would explain why it was important for Unwan to arrest him, not other suffragans. Adam’s account of Knut’s reaction to both the arrest and the legation is obviously too idyllic to be accepted as fact. At the time when Gerbrand was supposedly captured by Unwan’s men, the King of England and Denmark was mainly engrossed in his confict with Þorkell the Tall.49 Since 1021 the jarl had been one of the most prominent fgures in Knut’s domain. Not only was he the earl of East Anglia, he also regularly attested the King’s diplomas. In November 1021, for unknown reasons, Þorkell was outlawed and moved to Denmark. For the whole of 1022 the King monitored the jarl’s movements. The next year he decided to embark on the expedition to Denmark that ended in reconciliation with Þorkell, although the jarl did not return to England.50 It seems likely that Knut could not intervene properly in the case of Gerbrand. Moreover, if Adam is at least partly right and the King was looking for some agreement with Unwan, it could have been dictated by the fact that Knut’s confict with Þorkell had some impact on Polabian affairs. Threatened by a still powerful jarl, Knut was more eager to accept Unwan’s claims and ally with him, especially as it is very likely that Þorkell did not hesitate to look for the support of the Obodrite dukes in his encounter with the King.51 The prospect of stabilization on the southern border, as well as further cooperation with the new Saxon King, Conrad II, made Knut accept an invitation for a meeting with Unwan, Bernhard Duke of Saxony, and the Obodrite Dukes Uton and Sederik in Hamburg in 1025/1026.52 Although Adam, who informs us about the meeting, does not tell us its outcome, one can assume that Knut had to accept Gerbrand’s and the other Danish bishops’ obedience to the Archdiocese of Hamburg-Bremen. It was probably the price he had to pay for the declaration that neither Unwan nor the dukes would support Þorkell and Knut’s other enemies. It is hard to believe that the Gerbrand case was neither recorded nor remembered in Bremen. Consequently, it is hard to believe that Adam learned about it from Sven Estridsen. Putting the Danish King as a source of information in that case is the element that makes the account most suspect.53 Even if Adam’s narrative does not condemn Knut openly, as it did Sven Forkbeard, for consecrating Danish bishops in England, it appears that he accepts Gerbrand’s arrest as a just consequence of Unwan’s right. Adam underlines the fact that the King was not silent about imprisoning the bishop. That is why Sven’s attitude in both stories is quite similar and both seem to be arranged in a very similar vein by the author of the Gesta.

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The chapter is another instance of putting Sven Estridsen in the role not only of Adam’s informant, but of an exclusive representative of Scandinavian royal stock who agrees with the Archdiocese and its claims. In other words, Sven Estridsen was necessary to the story of Gerbrand in order to make Knut’s reaction both credible and exemplary. Thanks to this, Adam could show that there were also other prominent rulers in the region who respected archbishops, were looking for their friendship, and accepted the status of the Archdiocese. Sveinn, informing Adam about the incident, is shown as the one who is ready to continue this way. However, taking all this together makes one suspect that it was Adam who made Sven an authority about the Gerbrand case. In Chapter 12 of book III, Adam not only refers to the dubious agreement between Edward the Confessor and Sven Estridsen over the inheritance of the English throne, he continues this motif with another in which Sven, possessing three kingdoms, forgot the heavenly King and married a blood relative from Sweden. That enraged the Archbishop who, via his legates, insisted that Sveinn give up this union. Otherwise he would be excommunicated. The King not only did not want to do this, but instead threatened to ravage and destroy the whole of Adalbert’s archdiocese. According to Adam, the Archbishop stood frm and, thanks to papal intervention, Sven eventually divorced his cousin. However, as the author of Gesta stresses, Sven did not give up living in sin. The King willingly gathered other wives and concubines and this resulted in God’s anger, manifested in the multitude of adversaries the Danish King had to confront.54 Sven as a womanizer is also noted in one of scholions. The King is said to have a legitimate wife, Gytha, and numerous concubines. One of them, Thore, poisoned Gytha. God intervened and punished this wicked mother with the death of Magnus, the son she had with Sven, and made her infertile.55 Despite this addition, scholars suspect that Adam, writing Chapter  12, actually had Gunnhild, a daughter of Anund Jakob, in mind.56 One must agree with the opinion that nowadays historians fnd it too diffcult to estimate the number of spouses that Sven had. The King had many children but, in fact, it is impossible to identify their mothers.57 It is even diffcult to verify whether, as some scholars suggest, Sven decided to divorce Gunnhild in the 1050s because he no longer needed Swedish support. All these considerations, although intriguing, seem to be inferior to the general image of lustful Sven, whose attitude had to be countered by God’s vengeance.58 The issue of Sven’s incest has been studied very recently by Niels Lund. I mostly agree with his conclusions, especially those referring to the Gesta as a kind of homily about two kinds of rulers: losers who do not follow God and winners who achieve power with divine support. Lund rightly pointed at eleventh-century instances of similar accusations among German elites that prove consanguinity was the subject of political games and judged differently according to changing political situations.59 Similarly, canon norms

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could have been a threat in complex Danish/Saxon relations, although it looks as if the Archbishop did not want (or was unable) to push the case too far. Even if such threats were real, the account in the Gesta suggests that Sven, gathering various concubines and wives, followed his royal peers in the North rather than Catholic standards.60 That’s why, in raising the case of Sven’s incest, it seems convincing that Adam frst of all wanted to ascribe to the Archbishop a heroic effort for Canon law and morality in the 1070s, the very period in which such matters were receiving increased religious attention.61 It is worth adding that this very case could be added to a catalogue of the archiepiscopal virtues of the Hamburg-Bremen prelates which Adam consequently constructs in his account. Thanks to these virtues, it was possible to spread Christianity in the North and make Sven Estridsen a good Christian monarch. Therefore, it seems justifable to see not only the case of Sven’s consanguinity, but the whole of the Gesta in general, as narratives addressed to audiences in Germany and elsewhere in the Catholic world (e.g., the Papal Curia) rather than to those in Scandinavia.62 The issue of incest was an occasion for Niels Lund to ask rhetorically if Sven’s awareness of the sinful life of his predecessors was in fact a refection of Adam’s own homiletic inventions under the King’s name.63 This line of thinking can be continued with another question: did Adam pass off his own vision of political and religious developments in Scandinavia under Sven’s name? Obviously, in terms of the historical analysis of Scandinavian affairs in the tenth and eleventh centuries, Adam’s Gesta is a diffcult and questionable point of reference. Adam provides us with either unverifable or undoubtedly wrong data. Harald Gormsson’s death in Wolin, the location of the last battle of Olaf Tryggvason, and Eric the Victorious’ marriage with the Piast princess are good examples of the former group. The latter is represented, among others, by references to Sven Estridsen, such as his treaty with Edward the Confessor and his gaining of power in Norway.64 The history of Scandinavian rulers and the Christianization of the whole region is organized by Adam according to a certain scheme. Apart from the expected biblical basis, it features certain elements, especially visible when Sven Estridsen takes an action as the chronicler’s informant. In most cases, the picture of Scandinavian monarchs is far from favourable. They are depicted as pagans, often cruel towards Christians and detesting God and the Church.65 Their moral profle is obviously extremely low. Rejection of the true faith is a reason for their failures. Their achievements are mostly ignored and occasionally mentioned to show them as engines of sin. Their successors, represented by Sven Estridsen, have no reason to praise them. On the contrary, they are expected to remember their sins and make atonement for their evil deeds. Obviously, Sven Forkbeard is without doubt the most visible example of royal misery driven by lack of God’s friendship and patronage.66 Of course, there are exceptions. Harald Gormsson and Olaf

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Haraldsson are praised by Adam for their commitment to Christianity. Intriguingly, the chronicler does not need Sven as informant in his references to these rulers and their deeds.67 In Adam’s perspective, not only religious but also political affairs in Scandinavia are steered by the archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen. Their superior power is visible not only in constant missionary efforts. Their ultimately high moral profle and undisturbed concern about the condition of Christianity in the North motivate them to deal with rulers on different levels. Depending on various circumstances, they offer either friendship or punishment in the name of God. A series of legations and, most importantly, meetings in Schleswig attended by local Saxon and Obodrite dukes, as well as Danish kings, reveal them not only as devoted advocates for the interests of their archdiocese but also as political authorities able to arrange relations in the whole region. Consequently, Adam’s Gesta depicts the archbishops as effective, charismatic, and infuential rulers. In other words, they are the total opposites of their Scandinavian counterparts. Like Thietmar of Merseburg, Adam employs a bigger and nobler perspective for the political and religious efforts of the archbishops in the North. Both their status and activity are depicted as part of imperial policy. Archbishops are close to emperors, one example being Adaldag, who accompanied Otto I in his Italian affairs. They can also guarantee peace in Saxony. Finally, both Henry III’s and Henry IV’s imperial status is recognized in the North due to Adalbert’s political skills. The Archbishop is among ceteris imperii magnatibus who is close to being elected pope in 1046.68 Despite the fact, that Adam puts Sven Estridsen in the role of active constructor of the former’s account and, at the very same time, treats him as an important subject of his narrative, it is hard to see the depiction of the Scandinavian affairs in the Gesta as given and authorized by the Danish King.69 Referring to Niels Lund’s opinion on the Gesta as a kind of homily, Sven’s contribution can be regarded as a confession, necessary to fesh out his own profle in Adam’s narrative. The King of Denmark serves as an example of a ruler who started his career as pagan Viking warrior but, thanks to efforts of the Archdiocese, could turn into a good Christian ruler, fully aware both of the sins of his predecessors and the status of the Hamburg-Bremen Church.70 This very image is, of course, disrupted by his sins of incest and lust. However, Sven’s reign brought the spread of Christianity in the North, authorized by the Archdiocese, and in this way he is connected to the ultimate goals of Adam’s work. Recently voiced doubts concerning the authenticity of Sven’s role as Adam’s informant are, in my opinion, absolutely justifed. A closer look at both information about the Danish King himself and what he is said to have delivered to Adam seem to leave no doubt that it was the author of the Gesta who used the former as a kind of medium necessary to insert specifc information in his own narrative. One cannot exclude the possibility that Adam visited Denmark, met Sven, and even had a chance to learn what the King knew about the past

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of both his own kingdom and the whole region. Nevertheless, the analysis above points at a vision of political and religious developments in the North presented, not according to Danish/Scandinavian standards but rather to those of Hamburg-Bremen, and directed not to Northern but to German recipients.72 Adam of Bremen’s Gesta is a homiletic story of archbishops’ efforts to convert Scandinavian rulers and, consequently, turn them from pagan evildoers into good Christian rulers enjoying the protection of God and the Archbishop of Hamburg-Bremen. Sven Estridsen served as a perfect example of this trend, being a living proof of both its necessity and its effectiveness. By making him an informant about political and religious developments in the North, Adam further strengthened him as an example of this policy. The more superlatives one can fnd in depictions of Sven Estridsen, the more trustworthy a source of information he was meant to be for recipients of Adam’s account.73

Notes 1 Gesta, l. III c. 54, 198–199. All English translation, if not noted otherwise, is based on Tschan. 2 See e.g. Thomas Foerster, ‘Imagining the Baltic. Mental Mapping in the Works of Adam of Bremen and Saxo Grammaticus, Eleventh – Thirteenth Centuries.’ Imagined Communities on the Baltic Rim, from the Eleventh to Fifteenth Centuries, eds. W. Jezierski and L. Hermanson, Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press, 2016, 37–58; Åslaug Ommundsen, ‘A Text in Flux. St. Hallvard’s legend and Its Redactions.’ Along the Oral-Written Continuum. Types of Texts, Relations and Their Implications, eds. S. Rankovic, L. Melve, and E. Mundal, Turnhout, Brepols, 2010, p. 272; Haki Antonsson, ‘The Early Cult of Saints in Scandinavia and the Conversion. A Comparative Perspective.’ Saints and their Lives on the Periphery. Veneration of Saints in Scandinavia and Eastern Europe (c. 1000–1200), eds. Haki Antonsson, and I. H. Garipzanov, Turnhout, Brepols, 2011, 27; Jan Bill, ’The Ship Graves on Kormt – and Beyond.’ Rulership in 1st to 14th Century Scandinavia. Royal graves and sites at Avaldsnes and Beyond, Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde, B. 114, ed. D. Skre, BerlinBoston, De Gruyter, 2020, 379; Alban Gautier, ‘Remembering and Forgetting Pagan Kings of the Danes in the Eleventh Century.’ Scandinavian Journal of History 46/3 (2021), 293. The author thinks it likely that it took Adam several sessions to interview the King. 3 Niels Lund, ‘Adam af Bremen og de mundtlige kilder’, (Dansk) Historisk Tidskrift 30/3 (2018), 1–20; Niels Lund, ‘Svend Estridsens blodskam og skilmisse.’ Svend Estridsen, eds. L. C. A. Soone and S. Croix, Odense, Syddansk Universitetsforlag, 2016, 21; Nils Hybel, The Nature of Kingship c. 800–1300. The Danish Incident, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2018, 82. 4 Gesta, l. I c. 48; l. II c. 38; l. III c. 72; l. IV c. 21, 48, 99, 220, 250. 5 Gesta, l. II c. 78; l. III c. 12, 136, 151–153. 6 Gesta, l. III c. 54, 198. 7 Gesta, l. II c. 75, 135. 8 Gesta, l. II c. 78, 136. 9 Lund, ‘Svend Estridsens blodskam og skilmisse’, 23. 10 Ibidem, 46–48.

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11 Gesta, l. III c. 12, 152: Magnum pepulit a Dania. 12 Gesta, schol. 61, 151–152. 13 Lasse C. A. Sonne, ‘Svend Estridsens politiske liv’, Svend Estridsen, eds. L. C. A. Soone, S. Croix, Odense, Syddansk Universitetsforlag, 2016, 24. 14 Ibidem, 25. See also Jakub Morawiec, Vikings among the Slavs. Jomsborg and the Jomsvikings in Old Norse Tradition, Vienna, Fassbaender, 2009, 301–348. 15 Niels Lund, ‘Sven Estridsen’s incest and divorce’. Viking and Medieval Scandinavia 13 (2017), 127. 16 On Harald’s role in the confict see Jakub Morawiec, Między poezją a polityką. Rozgrywki polityczne w Skandynawii XI wieku w świetle poezji ówczesnych skaldów, Katowice, Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Śląskiego, 2016, 527–535. 17 Gesta, l. III c. 33, 175. 18 Gesta, l. III c. 34, 176. 19 Diplomatarium Danicum, 1 række 2 bind 1053–1169, eds. L. Weibull, N. SkyumNielsen, København, Ejnar Munksgaards Forlag, 1963, 21–24. See also Bertil Nilsson, ‘Svend Estridsen och kyrkans organisering.’ Svend Estridsen, eds. L. C. A. Soone, S. Croix, Odense, Syddansk Universitetsforlag, 2016, 73 (59–80); Henrik Jansson, ‘Sven Estridson, Hamburg-Bremen och påven.’ Svend Estridsen, eds. L. C. A. Soone, S. Croix, Odense, Syddansk Universitetsforlag, 2016, 88–91. 20 Lund, ‘Svend Estridsens blodskam og skilmisse’, 53–54; Jansson, ‘Sven Estridson, Hamburg-Bremen och påven’, 93–97. 21 Jansson, ‘Sven Estridson, Hamburg-Bremen och påven’, 93, 97; Lund, ‘Sven Estridson’s incest and divorce’, 136. 22 Gesta, l. III c. 18, 162. 23 Timothy Bolton, The Empire of Cnut the Great. Conquest and Consolidation of Power in Northern Europe in the Early Eleventh Century, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2009, 181; Jakub Morawiec, Knut Wielki (ok. 995–1035). Król Anglii, Danii i Norwegii, Kraków, Avalon, 2013, 319–320. 24 Gesta, l. II c. 79, 136–137. 25 Sonne, ‘Svend Estridsens politiske liv’, 19–20. 26 See also Jansson, ‘Sven Estridson, Hamburg-Bremen och påven’, 84–85. 27 Gesta l. II c. 11, 68–69. 28 Intriguingly, Adam does not mention Sveinn’s meeting with the Emperor Henry III, that took place in Merseburg during Easter 1053. This silence was perhaps dictated by the fact, that Archbishop Adalbert did not attend the meeting, so Adam could not use it to underline the role of the Archbishop. See Sonne, ‘Svend Estridsens’, 30. 29 Gesta, l. III c. 54, 198. 30 Gesta, l. III c. 60, 206. Lampert of Hersfeld also writes about both the meeting and the Danish military campaign in Saxony. See The Annals of Lampert of Hersfeld, ed. I. S. Robinson, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2015, 172, 194–195. 31 See also Sonne, ‘Svend Estridsens’, 30. 32 Morawiec, Między poezją a polityką, 525–543. 33 Contrary to Lars Kjær (‘Political Confict and Political Ideas in Twelfth-Century Denmark’. Viking and Medieval Scandinavia 13 (2017), 75–76), I fnd it very probable, that the Obodritian attack on Denmark in 1043 was a result of such alliance. See Morawiec, Vikings among the Slavs, 340–347. 34 See Nilsson, ‘Svend Estridsen och kyrkans organisering’, 72–74; Frederik Pedersen, ‘A good and sincere man … even though he looked like a Slav’. Asger of Lund, canon law, and politics in Denmark, ca 1085–1140.’ Mediaeval Scandinavia 20 (2010), 145–146. 35 See Ildar H. Garipzanov, ‘Christianity and Paganism in Adam of Bremen’s Narrative.’ Historical Narratives and Christian Identity on European Periphery. Early

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36 37 38 39 40 41 42

43 44 45 46 47

48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66

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History Writing in Northern, East-Central, and Eastern Europe (c. 1070–1200) ed. I. H. Garipzanov, Turnhout, Brepols, 2011, 15. I omit here instances from book IV, where Sveinn is depicted as an informant on northern peoples and the geography of the region. Lund, ’Adam af Bremen’, 6; Gautier, ’Remembering’, 289. Gesta, l. I c. 48, 48. Gesta, l. I c. 61, 59. See also Gautier, ‘Remembering’, 289, 294. Gesta l. II c. 73, 134. Gesta l. II c. 24, 86. Gesta l. II c. 27, 87. See Niels Lund, ‘Harald Bluetooth – A Saint Very Nearly Made by Adam of Bremen.’ The Scandinavians from the Vendel Period to the Tenth Century. An Ethnographic Perspective, ed. J. Jesch, Woodbridge, Boydell Press, 2002, 303–315. Gesta, l. II c. 30, 34–35, 91–92, 94–96. Gesta, l. II c. 28, 88. Gesta, l. II c. 35, 96. That’s why, contrary to Gautier (‘Remembering’, 296), I am not so convinced that the way Sveinn is said to report on the deeds of his namesake allows us to speculate about his real approach. Michael H. Gelting, ‘The Kingdom of Denmark.’ Christianization and the Rise of Christian Monarchy. Scandinavia, Central Europe and Rus, ed. N. Berend, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2007, 83; Niels Lund, ‘Ville Knud den Store gøre Roskilde til ærkesæde?’ Historisk Årbog for Roskilde Amt 1 (2020), 3–12. See also Stefan Brink, ‘Early Ecclesiastical Organization of Scandinavia, Especially Sweden.’, Medieval Christianity in the North. New Studies, eds. K. Salonen, K. Villads Jensen, T. Jørgensen, Turnhout, Brepols, 2013, 32–33. Bolton, The Empire, 178; Morawiec, Knut Wielki, 317. Bolton, The Empire, 213–215; Herwig Wolfram, Conrad II - 990–1039. Emperor of three kingdoms, University Park, The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2006, 266. Morawiec, Knut Wielki, 212–213. Morawiec, Knut Wielki, 211–212; Wolfram, Conrad II, 267; Gelting, ‘The Kingdom of Denmark’, 83. Gesta, l. II c. 60, 119. See also Lund, ’Adam af Bremen’, 17. Gesta, l. III c. 12, 151. Gesta, school. 72, 164. Sonne, ‘Svend Estridsens’, 25; Lund, ‘Sven Estridson’s incest and divorce’, 119–120. Lund, ‘Sven Estridson’s incest and divorce’, 120. Hybel, The nature of kingship, 84. See also Lund, ‘Svend Estridsens’, 49. See Hybel, The nature of kingship, 108–109. Lund, ‘Sven Estridson’s incest and divorce’, 134. Niels Lund (‘Svend Estridsens’, 54) may be correct. Raising the case of Sveinn’s incest could have been intended as an argument for the Curia to refuse the King a separate archdiocese for Denmark. Lund, ‘Sven Estridson’s incest and divorce’, 135. Paradoxically, Adam seems to be much more correct when it comes to English affairs. Volker Scior, Das Eigene und das Fremde. Identität und Fremdheit in den Chroniken Adams von Bremen, Helmolds von Bosau und Arnolds von Lübeck, Berlin, Akademie Vorlag, 2002, 107. Ibidem, 108.

78  Jakub Morawiec 67 See Lund, ‘­Svend Estridsens blodskam og skilmisse’, 42. 68 Gesta, l. III c. 7, 148. On the papal election in 1046 see Florian Hartmann, ‘­Erzbischof Adalbert von ­Hamburg-​­Bremen und die Papstwahl im Dezember 1046.’ Archivum Historiae Pontificiae 40 (­2002), ­15–​­36. See also Thomas N. Bisson, ‘­Princely Nobility in an Age of Ambition (­c. ­1050–​­1150).’ Nobles and Nobility in Medieval Europe. Concepts, Origins, Transformations, ed. A. J. Duggan, Woodbridge, Boydell Press, 2000, 105. One has to note, that alongside the praise of this kind, Adam was also critical of some of Adalbert’s actions and blamed the Archbishop for the crisis of the see in the 1070s. See Garipzanov, ‘­Christianity and Paganism’, ­19–​­21. 69 Lund, ‘­Adam af Bremen’, 16. 70 See Nils Hybel, ‘­Den såkaldte Svend Estridsens kongemagt.’ Svend Estridsen, eds. L. C. A. Soone, S. Croix, Odense, Syddansk Universitetsforlag, 2016, 176. 71 David Fraesdorff, Der barbarische Norden. Vorstellungen und Fremdheitskatego­ rien bei Rimbert, Thietmar von Merseburg, Adam von Bremen und Helmold von Bosau, Berlin, Akademie Vorlag, 2005, 146. 72 That’s why I am not so convinced as Gautier seems to be (‘­Remembering’, 294), that it was so important for Adam that the information Sveinn is said to give him was ­first-​­hand and authorized by a man (­he was the King) famous for his memory. 73 See Garipzanov, ‘­Christianity and Paganism’, ­14–​­15.

Bibliography Primary sources Adam of Bremen, History of the Archbishops of ­Hamburg-​­Bremen, trans. Francis J. Tschan, Records of Civilisation. Sources and Studies, New York: Columbia University Press, 1959 Diplomatarium Danicum, 1 række 2 bind ­1053–​­1169, eds. L. Weibull, N. ­Skyum-​ ­Nielsen, København, Ejnar Munksgaards Forlag, 1963. Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontificum, ed. B. Schmeidler, 3rd edition, Hannoverae and Lipsiae, Hahn, 1917. The Annals of Lampert of Hersfeld, ed. I. S. Robinson, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2015.

Secondary literature Antonsson H., ‘The Early Cult of Saints in Scandinavia and the Conversion. A Comparative Perspective.’ Saints and their Lives on the Periphery. Veneration of Saints in Scandinavia and Eastern Europe (c. 1000–1200), eds. H. Antonsson, I. H. Garipzanov, Turnhout, Brepols, 2011, 17–38. Bill J., ‘­The Ship Graves on ­Kormt – ​­and Beyond.’ Rulership in 1st to 14th Century Scandinavia. Royal Graves and Sites at Avaldsnes and Beyond, Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde, B. 114, ed. D. Skre, ­Berlin-​ ­Boston, De Gruyter, 2020, ­305–​­394. Bisson Th. N., ‘­Princely Nobility in an Age of Ambition (­c. ­1050–​­1150).’ Nobles and Nobility in Medieval Europe. Concepts, Origins, Transformations, ed. A. J. Duggan, Woodbridge, Boydell Press, 2000, 105 (­­101–​­114). Bolton T., The Empire of Cnut the Great. Conquest and Consolidation of Power in Northern Europe in the Early Eleventh Century, ­Leiden-​­Boston, Brill, 2009.

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Brink S., ‘Early Ecclesiastical Organization of Scandinavia, Especially Sweden.’ Medieval Christianity in the North. New Studies, eds. K. Salonen, K. Villads Jensen, T. Jørgensen, Turnhout, Brepols, 2013, 23–40. Foerster T., ‘Imagining the Baltic. Mental Mapping in the Works of Adam of Bremen and Saxo Grammaticus, Eleventh  – Thirteenth Centuries.’ Imagined Communities on the Baltic Rim, from the Eleventh to Fifteenth Centuries, eds. W. Jezierski, L. Hermanson, Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press, 2016, 37–58. Fraesdorff D., Der barbarische Norden. Vorstellungen und Fremdheitskategorien bei Rimbert, Thietmar von Merseburg, Adam von Bremen und Helmold von Bosau, Berlin, Akademie Vorlag, 2005. Garipzanov I. H., ‘Christianity and Paganism in Adam of Bremen’s Narrative.’ Historical Narratives and Christian Identity on European Periphery. Early History Writing in Northern, East-Central, and Eastern Europe (c. 1070–1200), ed. I. H. Garipzanov, Turnhout, Brepols, 2011, 13–32. Gautier A., ‘Remembering and Forgetting Pagan Kings of the Danes in the Eleventh Century.’ Scandinavian Journal of History 46/3 (2021), 286–303. Gelting M. H., ‘The Kingdom of Denmark.’ Christianization and the Rise of Christian Monarchy. Scandinavia, Central Europe and Rus, ed. N. Berend, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2007, 73–120. Haki Antonsson, ‘The Early Cult of Saints in Scandinavia and the Conversion. A Comparative Perspective.’ Saints and their Lives on the Periphery. Veneration of Saints in Scandinavia and Eastern Europe (c. 1000–1200), eds. Haki Antonsson, I. H. Garipzanov, Turnhout, Brepols, 2011, 17–38. Hartmann F., ‘Erzbischof Adalbert von Hamburg-Bremen und die Papstwahl im Dezember 1046.’ Archivum Historiae Pontifciae 40 (2002), 15–36. Hybel N., ‘Den såkaldte Svend Estridsens kongemagt.’ Svend Estridsen, eds. L. C. A. Soone, S. Croix, Odense, Syddansk Universitetsforlag, 2016, 173–194. Hybel N., The nature of kingship c. 800 – 1300. The Danish Incident, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2018. Jansson H., ‘Sven Estridson, Hamburg-Bremen och påven.’ Svend Estridsen, eds. L. C. A. Soone, S. Croix, Odense, Syddansk Universitetsforlag, 2016, 81–108. Kjær L., ‘Political Confict and Political Ideas in Twelfth-Century Denmark’. Viking and Medieval Scandinavia 13 (2017), 61–100. Lund N., ‘Harald Bluetooth – A Saint Very Nearly Made by Adam of Bremen.’ The Scandinavians from the Vendel Period to the Tenth Century. An Ethnographic Perspective, ed. J. Jesch, Woodbridge, Boydell Press, 2002, 303–315. Lund N., ‘Svend Estridsens blodskam og skilmisse.’ Svend Estridsen, eds. L. C. A. Soone, S. Croix, Odense, Syddansk Universitetsforlag, 2016, 39–56. Lund N., ‘Sven Estridsen’s incest and divorce’. Viking and Medieval Scandinavia 13 (2017), 115–144. Lund N., ‘Adam af Bremen og de mundtlige kilder.’ (Dansk) Historisk Tidskrift 30/3 (2018), 1–20. Lund N., ‘Ville Knud den Store gøre Roskilde til ærkesæde?’ Historisk Årbog for Roskilde Amt 1 (2020), 3–12. Morawiec J., Vikings among the Slavs. Jomsborg and the Jomsvikings in Old Norse Tradition, Vienna, Fassbaender, 2009. Morawiec J., Knut Wielki (ok. 995–1035). Król Anglii, Danii i Norwegii, Kraków, Avalon, 2013.

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Morawiec J., Między poezją a polityką. Rozgrywki polityczne w Skandynawii XI wieku w świetle poezji ówczesnych skaldów, Katowice, Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Śląskiego, 2016. Nilsson B., ‘Svend Estridsen och kyrkans organisering.’ Svend Estridsen, eds. L. C. A. Soone, S. Croix, Odense, Syddansk Universitetsforlag, 2016, 59–80. Ommundsen Å., ‘A Text in Flux. St. Hallvard’s legend and Its Redactions.’ Along the Oral-Written Continuum. Types of Texts, Relations and Their Implications, eds. S. Rankovic, L. Melve, E. Mundal, Turnhout, Brepols, 2010, 260–269. Pedersen F., ‘A Good and Sincere Man... Even Though He Looked Like a Slav’. Asger of Lund, Canon Law, and Politics in Denmark, ca 1085–1140.’ Mediaeval Scandinavia 20 (2010), 141–162. Scior V., Das Eigene und das Fremde. Identität und Fremdheit in den Chroniken Adams von Bremen, Helmolds von Bosau und Arnolds von Lübeck, Berlin, Akademie Vorlag, 2002. Sonne L. A. C., ‘Svend Estridsens politiske liv.’, Svend Estridsen, eds. L. C. A. Soone, S. Croix, Odense, Syddansk Universitetsforlag, 2016, 24 (15–38). Wolfram H., Conrad II -990–1039. Emperor of Three Kingdoms, University Park, The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2006.

4

St. Olaf and Adam of Bremen’s narrative pragmatics Maciej Lubik

Olaf Haraldsson is revered in the collective memory of Norway as one of the most distinguished fgures among its rulers in the Middle Ages. Historical records depict him as a Viking leader raiding English, Frankish, and Spanish territories, a mercenary supporting the English King Æthelred the Unready against Danish invaders, and then as an imperious king introducing the Christian faith in Norway and struggling against Danish infuences, which led to his death in the battle of Stiklestad in 1030. Finally, he is also remembered as a Christian saint, venerated in many places throughout Scandinavia and beyond, a heavenly protector of Norway, who was given the title of its Eternal King (Rex Perpetuus Norwegie). St. Olaf’s cult started to spread shortly after his death. Although the role of this cult in the development of Christianity and the Church in medieval Norway is pivotal, its beginning is diffcult to trace. There are not many sources – historical or archaeological – originating from the decades after the battle of Stiklestad that add to our knowledge of the initial phases of St. Olaf’s veneration. The source material of the highest signifcance seems to be skaldic stanzas composed by Þórarinn loftunga and Sigvatr Þórðarson, who witnessed and infuenced the growth of St. Olaf’s cult almost directly after his death. However, there is also important evidence from beyond the Norse world that is found in the Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontifcum (“History of the Archdiocese of Hamburg”) written by Adam of Bremen, probably around 1075/1076.1 Adam of Bremen’s work and the stanzas of the abovementioned skalds constitute the only contemporary historical sources that signifcantly inform us about the frst decades of St. Olaf’s veneration in Norway.2 Moreover, Adam’s Gesta is the only contemporary written evidence that testifes to the early development of St. Olaf’s cult in the Baltic area. In Adam’s narrative, St. Olaf appears as one of the most revered saints in Scandinavia – and his enshrined body as an emblem of Christianity in the newly converted North. Adam also expresses his positive attitude towards Olaf as a king and builds into his narrative a link between Olaf’s missionary activity and the Archdiocese of Hamburg-Bremen. This link – which cannot be verifed by other sources and which, to some extent, contradicts historiographical references to the involvement of English clergy

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-5

82  Maciej Lubik in the Christianization of ­Norway – ​­and Adam’s attitude towards Olaf, are ­thought-​­provoking. Thus, the aim of this chapter is not only to sketch the relationships between the information the German chronicler and other ­eleventh-​­century sources provide on the early stages of the cult of St. Olaf, but also to examine the way Adam’s portrayal of the Norwegian saint and his rules relates to the context of the Gesta. This analysis will answer the question of why it was important for Adam to pay specific attention to St. Olaf in his narrative. The purpose of Adam’s Gesta is not a question that has been neglected by historians. They seem to have built a general consensus around that issue pointing to the difficult political situation with which the Archbishopric of ­Hamburg-​­Bremen had to cope in the second half of the eleventh century. The reason for this situation lay in its position in the North and its rights to Christianize that region, which had been challenged by a number of individuals and institutions including Nordic political leaders and the papacy.3 The main purpose of Adam’s work, therefore, seems to be to highlight the Archbishopric’s supremacy and missionary jurisdiction over the northern part of the known world. The figure of St. Olaf appears to be one of the tools for pursuing this aim. The cult of St. Olaf was widely developed across Scandinavia in the High and Late Middle Ages. For obvious reasons, Adam of Bremen’s chronicle refers only to the first decades of its existence. However, it clearly suggests that the cult was already ­well-​­established at that time. One of its passages reads as follows: Corpus eius in civitate magna regni sui Trondemnis cum decenti est honore tumulatum. Ubi hodieque pluribus miraculis et sanitatibus, quae per eum fiunt, Dominus ostendere dignatur, quanti meriti sit in celis, qui sic glorificatur in terris. Agitur festivitas [passionis] eius IIIIo kal. Augusti, omnibus septentrionalis occeani populis Nortmannorum, Sueonum, Gothorum, [Semborum,] Danorum atque Sclavorum aeterno cultu memorabilis.4 (His [St Olaf’s] body was entombed with becoming honor in the great city of his realm, Trondhjem. There even today the Lord by the numerous miracles and cures done through him deigns to declare what merits is his in heaven who is thus glorified on earth. The feast of his passion, observed on the fourth Kalends of August, is worthily recalled with eternal veneration on the part of all the peoples of the Northern Ocean [North Sea/­North Atlantic], the Norwegians, Swedes, Goths, Sembi, Danes, and Slavs.) (­English translation by F.J. Tschan) In this passage Adam lists two important elements of a saint’s ­cult – a​­ place of veneration fixed around holy relics and an established feast. According to Adam, St. Olaf’s feast was observed on the fourth Kalends of August, i.e., July 2­ 9 – the ​­ day of the battle of Stiklestad in which Olaf lost his life.

St. Olaf and Adam’s narrative pragmatics  83 St Olaf’s feast has been observed on that day through the succeeding centuries up to the present day. Adam’s evidence with regard to St. Olaf’s cult may be verified to some extent by a number of sources (­including churches devoted to the Norwegian saint) dated to the mid and second half of the eleventh century which prove (­or, at least, imply) the observance of St. Olaf’s feast in the British Isles at that time.5 One of these sources is a missal called the Red Book of Darley (Derby), which provides a calendar commemorating St. Olaf on the date of July 29 and liturgical texts for a votive mass of St. Olaf said, according to this source, on the fourth Kalends of August.6 The earliest source mentioning St. Olaf’s feast is, however, Erfidrápa Óláfs helga, a skaldic poem composed in the 1030s by Olaf’s former court poet Sigvatr Þórðarson. One of its stanzas reads as follows: Oss dugir Ǫ́ leifs messu – ​­jǫfur magnar ­goð – ​­fagna meinalaust í mínu Magnúss fǫður húsi. Skyldr emk skilfings halda skolllaust, þess’s bjó golli, helgi, handar tjǫlgur harmdauða, mér rauðu. (It is proper for us [me] to welcome, sinlessly, the feast day of Óláfr, the father of Magnús, in my house; God strengthens the ruler. I am required to keep, guilelessly, the holy day of the lamented death of the king, who fitted my branches of the arm with red gold.) (­English translation by Judith Jesch)7 This indicates that a decade had not passed after Olaf’s final downfall when his feast began to be celebrated in Norway. Alongside the Red Book of Darley, the poem also suggests that this feast was celebrated as a commemoration of the day of Olaf’s death, which corresponds to the above passage of Adam’s chronicle. There are two other stanzas of Sigvatr’s poem which also refer to the early cult of St. Olaf: Lýgk, nema Ǫ́ leifr eigi ýs sem kykvir tívar (­gœðik helzt í hróðri) hárvǫxt (­konungs ǫ́ru). Enn helzk, þeims sýn seldi, svǫrðr, * es óx, í Gǫrðum, (­hann fekk læs) af ljósum (­lausn) Valdamar, hausi. (I lie unless Óláfr has ­hair-​­growth like living gods of the ­yew-​­bow [WARRIORS]; I benefit especially the servants of the king in [this]

84  Maciej Lubik poem. There is still the hair that grew on the bright skull of the one who granted sight to Vladimir in Russia [Óláfr]; he got relief from disability.) Gǫrts, þeims gótt bar hjarta, gollit skrín at mínum – ​­hrósak helgi ­ræsis –​­ – ​­hann sótti ­goð – ​­dróttni. Ár gengr margr frá mæru meiðr þess konungs leiði hreins með heilar sjónir hrings, es blindr kom þingat. (A golden shrine has been made for my lord, who had a fine heart; I praise the holiness of the leader; he went to God. Many a tree of the sword [MAN] who came thither blind goes soon with healed eyes from the glorious ­resting-​­place of that pure king.) (­English translation by J. Jesch)8 Another poem exists, dated to the 1030s, which points to some aspects of the cult of St. Olaf. This is the Glælognskviða, composed by Þórarinn ­loftunga –​ a­ court poet of Olaf’s successor, Sven Knutsson. In this poem, which is addressed to the new ruler of Norway, the poet says: Nú hefr sér til sess hagat þjóðkonungr í Þrándheimi. Þar vill æ ævi sína bauga brjótr byggðum ráða. (Now the great king [= Sveinn] has arranged himself on the throne in Trøndelag. There the breaker of rings [GENEROUS MAN] will rule the settlements always throughout his life.) Þars Ǫ́ leifr áðan byggði, áðr hann hvarf til himinríkis, ok þar varð, sem vitu allir, kykvasettr ór konungmanni. (Where Óláfr previously dwelt, before he departed to the heavenly ­kingdom, and there, as all know, he became enshrined alive, having been king.) (…) Þar svá hreinn

St. Olaf and Adam’s narrative pragmatics  85 með heilu liggr lofsæll gramr líki sínu, svát þar kná sem á kvikum manni hár ok negl hǫ́num vaxa. (The p­ raise-​­blessed prince lies there so pure, with his body incorrupt, that there hair and nails grow on him, as on a living man.) Þar borðveggs bjǫllur kneigu of sæing hans sjalfar hringjask, ok hvern dag heyra þjóðir klokkna hljóð of konungmanni. (There bells in the wooden structure ring by themselves above his bed, and every day people hear the sound of bells above the king.) En þar upp af altári Kristi þæg kerti brenna. Svá hefr Ǫ́ leifr, áðr andaðisk, synðalauss sǫ́lu borgit. (And there candles burn, acceptable to Christ, up from the altar. So has the sinless Óláfr saved his soul before he died.) Þar kømr herr, es heilagr es konungr sjalfr, krýpr at gangi. En beiðendr blindir sœkja þjóðir máls, en þaðan heilir. (A host comes there, where the holy king himself is, [and] bows down for access. And people, petitioners for speech [and] the blind, make their way [there], and [go] from there whole.) Bið Ǫ́ leif, at unni þér — ​­hanns goðs ­maðr —​­ grundar sinnar — ​­hann of getr

86  Maciej Lubik af goði sjalfum ár ok frið ǫllum ­mǫnnum —​­, þás þú rekr fyr reginnagla bóka máls bœnir þínar. (Pray to Óláfr that he grant you his ground [Norway], — ​­he is God’s man; he obtains from God himself prosperity and peace for all p­ eople —​ ­when you present your prayers before the sacred nail of the language of books [LATIN > SAINT = Óláfr].) (­English translation by J. Jesch)9 Both poems indicate that the resting place of St. Olaf’s relics was the centre of his cult several decades before Adam of Bremen wrote his chronicle. According to the first two quoted stanzas of Þórarinn loftunga’s poem this place was located in the royal seat in the district of Trøndelag, a reference to what Adam calls Trondheim. Sigvatr and Þórarinn’s stanzas are the earliest manifestations of St. Olaf’s hagiography, as they tell of miracles that occurred at the Saint’s tomb. At the same time, they tell us about believers in need who visited St. Olaf’s tomb seeking miraculous help. This corresponds to the passage of Adam’s chronicle already mentioned and to two others, which read as follows: Cuius egregia merita testantur haec miracula, quae cotidie fiunt ad sepulcrum regis in civitate Trondemnis. Videbat haec ille derelictus a Deo, nihilque compunctus oblationes quoque ac tesauros, qui summa fidelium devotione collati sunt ad tumulum fratris, ipse Haroldus unca manu corrodens militibus dispersit.10 (The miracles that take place every day at that king’s tomb in the city of Trondhjem testify to his extraordinary merits. Although this man whom God had forsaken beheld these wonders, he was nothing moved. With clawed hands this Harold grasped at and dispersed to his henchmen the offerings, and in particular the treasure, which the supreme devotion of the faithful had collected at his brother’s tomb.) (­English translation by F.J. Tschan) Metropolis civitas Nortmannorum est Trondemnis, quae nunc decorata ecclesiis magna populorum frequentia celebratur. In qua iacet corpus beatissimi Olaph regis et martyris. Ad cuius tumbam usque in hodiernum diem maxima Dominus operatur sanitatum miracula, ita ut a longinquis illic regionibus confluant hii, qui se meritis sancti non desperant [posse] iuvari.11 (The metropolitan city of the Norwegians is Trondhjem, which, now graced with churches, is frequented by a great multitude of peoples. In that

St. Olaf and Adam’s narrative pragmatics  87 city reposes the body of the most blessed Olaf, king and martyr. At this tomb the Lord to this very day works such very great miraculous cures that those who do not despair of being able to get help through the merits of the saint flock together there from ­far-​­off lands.) (­English translation by F.J. Tschan) ­ dam – ​­like Sigvatr Þórðarson and Þórarinn ­loftunga – ​­speaks about the A believers who gather at St. Olaf’s tomb, attracted (­presumably) by reports of the miracles occurring there. Additionally, he mentions a treasure which the faithful collected at the tomb and which was seized by Harald Hard-Ruler. The chronicler suggests that the believers coming to Trondheim represented various peoples from distant lands. In this way he depicts ­well-​­developed pilgrimage movement, of which he seems to have quite detailed knowledge. This is proved in the consecutive passage, which is the description of a pilgrims’ way leading to Trondheim: Est vero iter eiusmodi, ut ab Alaburg vel Wendila Danorum ingredientibus navim per diem mare transeatur ad Wig, civitatem Nortmannorum. Inde vela torquentur in laevum circa littora Norvegiae, V die pervenitur ad ipsam civitatem, quae Trondemnis dicitur. Potest autem iri et alia via, quae ducit a Sconia Danorum terrestri itinere usque ad Trondempnem; sed haec [est] tardior in montanis, et quoniam plena est periculo, declinatur a viatoribus.12 (But the route is of a kind that, boarding a ship, they may, in a day’s journey, cross the sea from Aalborg or Wendila of the Danes to Viken, a city of the Norwegians. Sailing thence toward the left along the coast of Norway, the city called Trondhjem is reached on the fifth day. But it is possible also to go another way that leads over a land road from Scania of the Danes to Trondhjem. This route, however, is slower in the mountainous country, and travelers avoid it because it is dangerous.) (­English translation by F.J. Tschan) There are also other passages in which Adam contributes to St. Olaf’s hagiography and his legend. He calls Olaf ­the most saintly brother [of Harald Hard-Ruler],13 ­the most blessed king,14 ­the most Christian king,15 ­the most illustrious king of the Norwegians,16 and builds his image as a role ­model – ​­a just, missionary king, who lost his power and then suffered a martyr’s death in the name of the new faith. Therefore, in Adam’s narrative, Olaf appears to be one of the most important saints for Christians living in Scandinavia, on the islands of the North Sea and North Atlantic, and beyond these regions (­the Norwegians, Swedes, Goths, Danes, all the peoples of the Northern Ocean, Sembi, and Slavs). The geographical range of St. Olaf’s cult as stated by Adam coincides, to some extent, with the range of Olaf’s missionary activity outlined in the chronicle.

88  Maciej Lubik Adam states that Olaf used his missionaries to Christianize not only Norway, but: Hii etiam iussu regis [ad] Suediam, Gothiam et omnes insulas, quae trans Nortmanniam sunt, accesserunt, euangelizantes barbaris verbum Dei et regnum Iesu Christi.17 (At the king’s command they also went to Sweden, Gothia, and all the islands beyond Norway, preaching the Word of God and the Kingdom of Jesus Christ to the barbarians.) (­English translation by F.J. Tschan) In this way Adam builds an image of Olaf Haraldsson as one of the most ​­ important ­figures – and the most important one among earthly r­ ulers – ​­for Christianity in the North. He is depicted not only as a saint widely venerated among the northern peoples, but also as a king whose missionary efforts led to development of Christianity on their territories. Furthermore, if one looks at book IV of Adam’s chronicle, Olaf appears to be not only a ­key-​­figure for the Christians and Christianity of the North, in Adam’s view, but also an important figure for Adam’s narrative. This book constitutes a description of the northern part of the known world. At the end of this book Adam adds: Haec sunt, quae de natura septentrionalium regionum comperimus ad honorem Hammaburgensis ecclesiae ponenda. Quam tanto munere divinae pietatis preditam videmus, ut innumerabilem populorum multitudinem, quorum metropolis haec facta est, labore suae predicationis ex magna iam parte conversos habeat ad christianitatem, ibi solummodo ponens euangelizandi silentium, ubi mundus terminum habet. Quae salutifera gentium legatio primo a sancto Ansgario incepta prosperis semper in hodiernum diem aucta est incrementis, usque ad transitum magni Adalberti per annos circiter XL et CCtos .18 (This is what we have learned about the nature of the northern regions in order to set it down to the honor of the Church at Hamburg. We behold the immensity of the blessings bestowed on it by the divine goodness that have enabled it to become metropolitan Church of that innumerable multitude of peoples who in great part have been converted to Christianity by its preaching. There only is its preaching hushed where the world has its end. Undertaken first by the saintly Ansgar, that mission, bringing salvation to the heathen, has by prosperous increase grown continuously down to this very day, to the passing of the great Adalbert, a period of about two hundred and forty years.) (­English translation by F.J. Tschan) This passage clearly defines the intention behind Adam’s writing of the last book of his chronicle, i.e., to delimit the northern territories that

St. Olaf and Adam’s narrative pragmatics  89 should be perceived as the missionary jurisdiction of the Archbishopric of­ Hamburg-​­Bremen. This delimitation is made by the description of regions (­and peoples) of the North which had been influenced, at least partly, by missionary activity arranged by the Archbishopric of ­Hamburg-​­Bremen (­down to the ninth century, i.e., the times of Bishop Ansgar) and which officially belonged to its province or are just seen by Adam (­and possibly by his ecclesiastical community) as a part of the H ­ amburg-​­Bremen sphere of influence. These regions are Denmark, Sweden (­including “­Gothia”), Norway, islands and shores of the Baltic Sea, Orkney, Iceland, Greenland, and other islands beyond Norway, among which Adam mentions Vinland and Electrides (­the latter possibly refers to the Hebrides19). As has already been mentioned, this vindication of the rights of H ­ amburg-​­Bremen to missionary jurisdiction over the North seems to be the underlying idea of Adam’s narrative. In this context, the special status of St. Olaf in the North, as highlighted by Adam, seems to have a particular meaning. The following graph shows the relationship between the territories Adam associates with the province of ­Hamburg-​­Bremen, the peoples who venerated St. Olaf, and the territories Olaf attempted to Christianize:

The territories listed in the left column are the ones claimed by Adam as a sphere of the missionary jurisdiction of the Archbishopric of­ Hamburg-​­Bremen. According to Adam, in most of these territories St. Olaf was venerated (­the middle column) and most of the territories had been influenced by missionary activity arranged by Olaf (­the right column). To what extent all this information reflects historical reality remains uncertain. There are no reliable sources proving Olaf’s engagement in missionary activity beyond Norway, nor are there sources proving so broad a veneration of St. Olaf in the eleventh century. Regardless of the questionable credibility of this information, highlighting it seems to be of no little importance for Adam’s narrative. Not only was book IV of Adam’s work written to strengthen the position of the Archbishopric of ­Hamburg-​­Bremen in the North, but the whole of Adam’s chronicle served this purpose. This includes the figure of St. Olaf, featured in the chronicle

90  Maciej Lubik as the emblem of Northern C ­ hristianity – this ​­ Christianity to which the Archbishopric claimed its rights. And it was in the interests of Adam’s ecclesiastical community to draw a link between this holy figure and the Archbishopric, as further indicated below. However, Olaf’s missionary engagement seems to raise a problematic question that does not fit the underlying idea of Adam’s narrative. There are several sources that tell of English clergy who spread the new religion in Norway under Olaf’s rule. One of these sources is Adam’s chronicle itself: Habuitque secum multos episcopos et presbyteros ab Anglia, quorum monitu et doctrina ipse cor suum Deo preparavit, subiectumque populum illis ad regendum commisit. Quorum clari doctrina et virtutibus erant Sigafrid, Grimkil, Rudolf et Bernard.20 (And he [Olaf] had with him many bishops and priests from England by whose admonitions and teaching he prepared his heart to seek God, and he committed his subjects to their direction. Of their number Siegfried, Grimkil, Rudolf, and Bernhard were noted for their learning and virtues.) (­English translation by F.J. Tschan) These are the missionaries who, according to Adam, at the King’s command spread the Word of God beyond Norway as well. The German chronicler is far from denying English efforts to convert northern regions of the known world in cooperation with Olaf. Moreover, he does not hesitate to mention the role of the English clergy in making Olaf a true Christian. This may indicate Adam’s intention to stay close to information he considered to be facts, even when this information was unfavourable to the Archbishopric of ­Hamburg-​­Bremen. Nonetheless, the chronicler points to an episode that allows him to link the Archbishopric with Olaf’s missionary activity. Right after the passage about English missionaries sent by Olaf to spread the new religion in the North the chronicler adds: Misit etiam nuntios ad archiepiscopum nostrum cum muneribus, petens, ut eos episcopos benigne reciperet suosque ad eum mitteret, qui rudem populum Nortmannorum in christianitate confortarent.21 (He [Olaf] also sent messengers with gifts to our archbishop, entreating him graciously to receive these bishops and to send his bishops to him, that they might strengthen the rude Norwegian people in Christianity.) (­English translation by F.J. Tschan) Later, Adam adds that one of the English bishops who served Olaf, Grimkil, was a legate sent by the Norwegian King to Archbishop Unwan of­ Hamburg-​­Bremen,22 which most probably refers to the above-mentioned information on Olaf’s messengers sent to Germany. Unfortunately, Adam says nothing about the results of this episode, which allows one to assume that

St. Olaf and Adam’s narrative pragmatics  91 no subsequent cooperation between ­Hamburg-​­Bremen and the Norwegian King flourished. However, these two passages concerning Olaf’s messengers to ­Unwan – ​­which, unfortunately, cannot be verified by other s­ ources – appear ​­ to function as a means to relate the Archbishopric to Olaf’s missionary efforts. Although the information conveyed by Adam is minimal, the content of this episode is much more meaningful. According to the chronicler, Olaf sent his bishops to Germany and equipped them with gifts for Unwan, which most probably were intended to secure an amicable relationship with the latter. The Norwegian King humbly solicited a favour from the Archbishop, caring about friendly reception of his messengers and trying to persuade Unwan to send German missionary bishops to Norway. Adam does not provide any information explaining why it was missionary bishops who Olaf decided to send to Hamburg. However, the King’s concern about their reception, his submissive attitude towards Unwan and the context of Olaf’s missionary endeavour imply that the aim with which Olaf sent the bishops themselves to Germany was to obtain the Archbishop’s approval for their mission in Norway and/­or in other northern territories. In this way, Adam suggests that the most w ­ ell-​­known missionary king and saint of the North acknowledged the Archbishop of­ Hamburg-​­Bremen as a kind of supervisor of missionary activities in that region. This is also Adam’s response to the situation in ­eleventh-​­century Scandinavia, which was still a sort of “­construction site” for the new religion of Christianity and which lacked a wider ecclesiastical organization. To this situation he refers directly: Inter Nortmannos tamen et Sueones propter novellam plantationem christianitatis adhuc nulli episcopatus certo limite sunt designati, sed unusquisque episcoporum a rege vel populo assumptus communiter aedificant ecclesiam, et circueuntes regionem, quantos possunt, ad christianitatem trahunt eosque gubernant sine invidia, quandiu vivunt.23 (On account of the newness of the Christian plantation among the Norwegians and Swedes, however, none of the bishoprics has so far been assigned definite limits, but each one of the bishops, accepted by the king or the people, cooperates in building up the Church and, going about the country, draws as many as he can to Christianity and governs them without objection as long as they live.) (­English translation by F.J. Tschan) Since religious conversion of the North had been undertaken by rulers independently accepting clergy of different ecclesiastical communities, it seems important for Adam to make use of certain information to assert the rights of ­Hamburg-​­Bremen to missionary jurisdiction over these regions. That is why it was particularly important for Adam to underline, in a manner of suggestion, that although Olaf used English missionaries, he recognized the missionary supremacy of H ­ amburg-​­Bremen over his dominion and was open to cooperation with Archbishop Unwan.

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This way of argumentation corresponds to some passages of the Gesta where the missionary efforts of the Archbishopric of Hamburg-Bremen are set against efforts made by clergy representing other communities. Part of these passages is included in scholia and their authorship remains uncertain. They could have been noted by Adam himself or  – as they seem to minimize the unfavourable overtones of some information that undermines the position of the Archbishopric in certain regions – by a representative(s) of his ecclesiastical community who adopted a similar stance.24 All these arguments seem to be historical in character – they go back to the times before Archbishop Adalbert of Hamburg-Bremen (whom Adam knew in person) and validate the historical rights of Hamburg-Bremen to missionary jurisdiction over the North. Among these arguments, the one concerning Olaf and his alleged cooperation with Unwan appears to be the most meaningful, considering the importance Adam attaches and gives to Olaf, namely his references to the development of his cult and his accomplishments as a missionary king.25 *** In the second half of the eleventh century the condition of the Archbishopric of Hamburg-Bremen in the North seems to have been far removed from the vision that inspired Adam’s writing. Its claimed position as the northern province of Latin Christendom lacked foundation as there were no frm grounds for legitimizing its supremacy over these territories. In terms of Church territorial organization, the situation in the North seems to have been quite complicated. In many regions there were no fxed dioceses, and their respective rulers autonomously relied on clergy representing distinct ecclesiastical communities in building up Christianity in their dominions. Set against this backdrop was the expansionary Archbishopric of Hamburg-Bremen with its ambition to hold all the North under its sway. This intention was all the more diffcult to realize when reform circles, including the papacy, were undermining the traditional, imperial Church of Germany – a tendency that posed the risk of creating national churches in Scandinavian countries. Adam’s Gesta  – dedicated to Archbishop Liemar, an anti-Gregorian leader in the German episcopate who defended the standing of the imperial Church and of his Archbishopric – forms a kind of response to these unfavourable circumstances. Adam asserts the claims of Hamburg-Bremen to ecclesiastical jurisdiction over the North, accentuating its historical rights to these regions based on its bygone missionary activity. To these historical events is attached an episode whose traces cannot be found in any sources other than Adam’s chronicle, namely Olaf Haraldsson’s attempt to draw Hamburg-Bremen into missionary activity in Norway. At the same time, Adam builds an image of Olaf as an ideal ruler, widely engaged in the Christianization of various regions of the North, and a saint venerated throughout this part of the known world. Thus, he uses the

St. Olaf and Adam’s narrative pragmatics 93 fgure of St Olaf as a means to legitimize the ambitions of Hamburg-Bremen regarding northern Europe. St. Olaf appears to be a symbol in Adam’s Gesta of northern Christendom and a bellwether of its development, who, as Adam suggests, acknowledged Hamburg-Bremen’s jurisdiction as a missionary-king. That created the impression that the Archbishopric might still enjoy the approval and favour of Olaf, who was now a spiritual proponent of northern Christendom in the heavens.

Notes 1 Tschan, xxviii. 2 There is also a short reference in Gesta Normannorum Ducum completed by William of Jumièges in 1050s/1070s at the earliest. William states that after the downfall Olaf “celestem regiam intrauit rex et martyr gloriosus, choruscans nunc apud gentem illam prodigiis et uirtutibus” (“entered the heavenly kingdom as a glorious king and martyr and now shines brightly among his own people with his miracles and virtues”, The Gesta Normannorum Ducum of William of Jumièges, Orderic Vitalis, and Robert of Torigni, 2 vols., ed. Elisabeth M.C. van Houts, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1992–1995, vol. 2, V 12; on the date of completion of William’s Gesta see Introduction in vol. 1, xx–xxi). 3 On the Archbishopric of Hamburg-Bremen during the Investiture Controversy and the purpose of Adam’s Gesta see for example: Werner Goez, ‘Das Erzbistum Hamburg-Bremen im Investiturstreit.’ Jahrbuch der Wittheit zu Bremen 27 (1983), 29–47; Peter Johanek, ‘Die Erzbischöfe von Hamburg-Bremen und ihre Kirche im Reich der Salierzeit.’ Die Salier und das Reich, vol. 2, ed. Stefan Weinfurter, Sigmaringen, Jan Thorbecke Verlag, 1991, 79–112; Henrik Janson, Templum Nobilissimum. Adam av Bremen, Uppsalatemplet och konfiktlinjerna i Europa kring år 1075. Göteborg, Historiska institutionen, Göteborgs universitet, 1998; Hans-Werner Goetz, ‘Geschichtsschreibung und Recht. Zur rechtlichen Legitimierung des Bremer Erzbistums in der Chronik Adams von Bremen.’ Recht und Alltag im Hanseraum. Gerhard Theuerkauf zum 60. Geburtstag, eds. Silke Urbanski, Christian Lamschus, and Jürgen Ellermeyer, Lüneburg, Deutsches Salzmuseum, 1993, 191–205; Gerd Althoff, ‘Causa scribendi und Darstellungsabsicht: Die Lebensbeschreibungen der Königin Mathilde und andere Beispiele.’ Litterae medii aevi. Festschrift für Johanne Autenrieth zu ihrem 65. Geburtstag, eds. Michael Borgolte and Herrad Spilling, Sigmaringen, Thorbecke, 1988, 117–133. 4 Gesta, l. II c. 61, 121–122. 5 See: Bruce Dickins, ‘The Cult of S. Olave in the British Isles.’ Saga-Book of the Viking Society 12 (1945), 53–80; Gunilla Iversen, ‘Transforming a Viking into a Saint: The Divine Offce of St. Olav.’ The Divine Offce in the Latin Middle Ages: Methodology and Source Studies, Regional Developments, Hagiography, eds. Rebecca A. Baltzer and Margot E. Fassler, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2000, 404–411; Robert Higham, ‘The Godwins, Towns and St Olaf Churches: Comital Investment in the Mid-11th Century.’ The Land of the English Kin. Studies in Wessex and Anglo-Saxon England in Honour of Professor Barbara Yorke, eds. Alexander Langlands and Ryan Lavelle, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2020, 467– 513; Michael Hicks, ‘Leavings or Legacies? The Role of Early Medieval Saints in English Church Dedications beyond the Conquest and the Reformation.’ The Land of the English Kin, 583, 587–589. 6 The Leofric Missal, as used in the Cathedral of Exeter during the episcopate of its frst bishop A.D. 1050–1072, together with some account of the Red Book of Derby,

94 Maciej Lubik

7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

the Missal of Robert of Jumièges and a few other early manuscript service books of the English Church, ed. Frederick E. Warren, Oxford, Oxford Clarendon Press, 1883, 272, 274. Sigvatr Þórðarson, ‘Erfdrápa Óláfs helga,’ ed. Judith Jesch. Skaldic Poetry from the Scandinavian Middle Ages. Vol. 1, Poetry from the Kings’ Sagas 1: From Mythical Times to c. 1035, ed. Diana Whaley. Turnhout, Brepols, 2012, 694. Sigvatr Þórðarson, ‘Erfdrápa,’ 692–693. Þórarinn loftunga, ‘Glælognskviða,’ ed. M. Townend. Skaldic Poetry from the Scandinavian Middle Ages. Vol. 1, Poetry from the Kings’ Sagas 1: From Mythical Times to c. 1035, ed. Diana Whaley. Turnhout, Brepols, 2012, 866–868, 870–875. Gesta, l. III c. 17, 159–160. Gesta, l. IV c. 33, 267. Gesta, l. IV c. 33, 267–268. Gesta, l. III c. 17, 159. Gesta, l. II c. 57, 117; l. II c. 61, 120. Gesta, l. II c. 61, 121. Gesta, l. II c. 61, 120. Gesta, l. II c. 57, 118. Gesta, l. IV c. 43, 279–280. Tschan, 216 (note 117). Gesta, l. II c. 57, 117–118. Gesta, l. II c. 57, 118. Gesta, l. IV c. 34, 268. Gesta, l. IV c. 34, 269. Gesta, 1. IV c. 23, 254 (cf. 1. II c. 58, 118-119); 1. IV c. 34, 268; 1. IV c. 35, 271 (cf. 1. III c. 24, 167). See also other arguments used in Adam’s Gesta – the privilege granted to Adalbert by Pope Leo IX (Gesta, l. III c. 78, 225–226) or a list of bishops Adalbert consecrated for Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Orkney, Iceland and Slavia (Gesta, l. III c. 77, 222–224).

Bibliography Primary sources Adam von Bremen, Hamburgische Kirchengeschichte, ed. B. Schmeidler. 3rd edition. Hannover-Leipzig 1917. Adam of Bremen, History of the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen, eds. Francis J. Tschan and Timothy Reuter, New York, Columbia University Press, 2002. Sigvatr Þórðarson, ‘Erfdrápa Óláfs helga,’ ed. Judith Jesch. Skaldic Poetry from the Scandinavian Middle Ages. Vol. 1, Poetry from the Kings’ Sagas 1: From Mythical Times to c. 1035, ed. Diana Whaley. Turnhout, Brepols, 2012, 663–698. The Gesta Normannorum Ducum of William of Jumièges, Orderic Vitalis, and Robert of Torigni, 2 vols., ed. Elisabeth M.C. van Houts, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1992–1995. The Leofric Missal, as used in the Cathedral of Exeter during the episcopate of its frst bishop A.D. 1050–1072, together with some account of the Red Book of Derby, the Missal of Robert of Jumièges and a few other early manuscript service books of the English Church, ed. Frederick E. Warren, Oxford, Oxford Clarendon Press, 1883.

St. Olaf and Adam’s narrative pragmatics 95 Þórarinn loftunga, ‘Glælognskviða,’ ed. M. Townend. Skaldic Poetry from the Scandinavian Middle Ages. Vol. 1, Poetry from the Kings’ Sagas 1: From Mythical Times to c. 1035, ed. Diana Whaley. Turnhout, Brepols, 2012, 863–876. Secondary literature Gerd Althoff, ‘Causa scribendi und Darstellungsabsicht: Die Lebensbeschreibungen der Königin Mathilde und andere Beispiele.’ Litterae medii aevi. Festschrift für Johanne Autenrieth zu ihrem 65. Geburtstag, eds. Michael Borgolte and Herrad Spilling, Sigmaringen, Thorbecke, 1988, 117–133. Bruce Dickins, ‘The Cult of S. Olave in the British Isles.’ Saga-Book of the Viking Society 12 (1945), 53–80. Werner Goez, ‘Das Erzbistum Hamburg-Bremen im Investiturstreit.’ Jahrbuch der Wittheit zu Bremen 27 (1983), 29–47. Michael Hicks, ‘Leavings or Legacies? The Role of Early Medieval Saints in English Church Dedications beyond the Conquest and the Reformation.’ The Land of the English Kin. Studies in Wessex and Anglo-Saxon England in Honour of Professor Barbara Yorke, eds. Alexander Langlands and Ryan Lavelle, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2020, 582–601. Robert Higham, ‘The Godwins, Towns and St Olaf Churches: Comital Investment in the Mid-11th Century.’ The Land of the English Kin. Studies in Wessex and Anglo-Saxon England in Honour of Professor Barbara Yorke, eds. Alexander Langlands and Ryan Lavelle, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2020, 467–513. Gunilla Iversen, ‘Transforming a Viking into a Saint: The Divine Offce of St. Olav.’ The Divine Offce in the Latin Middle Ages: Methodology and Source Studies, Regional Developments, Hagiography, eds. Rebecca A. Baltzer and Margot E. Fassler, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2000, 401–429. Henrik Janson, Templum Nobilissimum. Adam av Bremen, Uppsalatemplet och konfliktlinjerna i Europa kring år 1075. Göteborg, Historiska institutionen, Göteborgs universitet, 1998. Peter Johanek, ‘Die Erzbischöfe von Hamburg-Bremen und ihre Kirche im Reich der Salierzeit.’ Die Salier und das Reich, vol. 2, ed. Stefan Weinfurter, Sigmaringen, Jan Thorbecke Verlag, 1991, 79–112. Elisabeth M.C. van Houts, ‘Introduction.’ The Gesta Normannorum Ducum of William of Jumièges, Orderic Vitalis, and Robert of Torigni, vol. 1, ed. Elisabeth M.C. van Houts, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1992, xix–xciv. Francis J. Tschan, ‘Introduction.’ Adam of Bremen, History of the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen, eds. Francis J. Tschan and Timothy Reuter, New York, Columbia University Press, 2002, xxv–xlvi. Hans-Werner Goetz, ‘Geschichtsschreibung und Recht. Zur rechtlichen Legitimierung des Bremer Erzbistums in der Chronik Adams von Bremen.’ Recht und Alltag im Hanseraum. Gerhard Theuerkauf zum 60. Geburtstag, eds. Silke Urbanski, Christian Lamschus, and Jürgen Ellermeyer, Lüneburg, Deutsches Salzmuseum, 1993, 191–205.

5 Ad insulas Baltici. Role and reception of scholia in Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontificum Carina Damm Introduction A convenient starting point for the analysis and evaluation of the textual transmission of Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Ponti­ ficum is the last full edition of the work, edited by Bernhard Schmeidler and published in the Monumenta Germaniae Historica Scriptores series in 1917.1 As in the case of the rich Old Norse literary corpus, his edited version of the Latin text with commentary is, however, not based on one original medieval codex. Rather, in a quest to reconstruct the unavailable original of the Gesta, the German historian identified no less than 21 extant manuscripts and prints dating from the late eleventh to the eighteenth centuries, varying considerably in length and individual content.2 As a result of Schmeidler’s codicological research, the earliest manuscript (­A) originated from Adam himself, or was produced under his dictation. A second, already corrected specimen of that original (­α) was presumably dedicated as a clean copy to Archbishop Liemar (­d. 1101) in 1075/­76. Adam, however, continued altering the earliest text (­A) until 1081, possibly even until 1085,3 resulting in A reaching a new state: X (­see ­Figure 1).4 The chronicler’s revisionary work consisted predominantly in the incorporation of ­so-​­called scholia, i.e., additional comments or corrections, similar to today’s footnotes or annotations. The scholia are indicated in the margins of the manuscript or among the lines of the main text. Such explanatory excurses were not a novelty introduced by the Bremen cleric but had been a pivotal research and didactic method since classical antiquity.5 Despite their extensive usage, the functions of scholiographic techniques remain, however, on the peripheries of scholarly r­ esearch – ​­and in the case of the Gesta have been almost entirely neglected.6 Studies on literary reception and criticism have traditionally concentrated on the rich scholiastic corpora emanating from Greek and Roman exegetical tradition (­the ­so- ​­called scholia vetera), which are primarily accessible to a limited number of Classical Philologists and Neolatinists. Echoing this research emphasis, it is unsurprising that the latest synopsis on the topic, edited by

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-6

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Mieczysław Mejor, Katarzyna Jażdżewska, and Anna Zajchowska in 2014, devoted only a little attention to medieval commentaries, known as scholia recentiora.7 This can furthermore be explained by the vastness of the scholiastic corpus, its heterogenous nature and often anonymous transmission. These are all factors that impede an exact semantic explanation, as well as an unequivocal reconstruction of the textual history.8 However, the remarkable lack of attention given to the role and perception of the scholia to the Gesta is, as this chapter shows, unjustifed. This is even more the case considering their epistemological signifcance. Frequently, they transmit non-preserved commentaries on a previous text version or facilitate contemporaneous observations, which allow researchers to situate their emergence in the broader context of their time of creation. Moreover, as is the case of the scholia in the Gesta, they provide evidence for textual ambiguities which makes them a valuable complement for establishing so-called stemmata: multi-root trees that resemble heraldic genealogies9 and visualize the relationships of several manuscripts and their temporal as well as textual interrelations.10 Ultimately, the scholia incorporated into the Gesta represent an undervalued literary treasure, elucidating and yet obscuring one of the most important accounts of the early medieval Baltic area and beyond. In the light of their ambiguous authorship and partly contradictory content, this chapter aims to explore how medieval and modern scholarly tradition approached and perceived those valuable meta- and para-texts in a plethora of editions throughout a whole millennium.

The origins of ancient and medieval scholiography The earliest ancestors of scholia can be traced back to ancient Greece in the ffth century BC. At that time, teachers considered it necessary to provide additional explanations of rare and complex expressions to their students, thus facilitating the reading of fundamental texts of literary education, one example being the Homeric poems.11 Hence, the term σχόλῐον (schólion) – a diminutive of σχολή (scholḗ) “leisure” – designated in classical antiquity a “brief explanation” or “short note” to illuminate an obscure text passage.12 The word itself appears initially within Cicero’s epistulae ad Atticum in the frst century BC, where it is used in the sense of a philosophical lecture on a moral question. A marked shift in the semantics of the term can be observed in later sources, such as Marinus of Neapolis’ Vita Procli from the ffth century AD, and in Anastasios Sinaita’s seventh-century Viae Dux. In these contexts, scholia refer to additional notes (in the margin) of the manuscript. Precisely this semantic specifcation continues to be refected in the current defnition as applied by the majority of modern philologists. In accordance with today’s academic consensus, scholia designate systematically organized marginalia, intended as a reading aid that simultaneously

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preserves classical and medieval knowledge.13 As the results of a process of extracting, inserting, and collating texts of a diverse nature, the scholiastic corpora are an amalgamation of scholarly works such as ancient commentaries (hypomnemata) and glossaries, as well as lexica. This heterogeneity is refected in the many subjects addressed, varying from science (astronomy, mathematics, botany, etc.) and medicine to geography and topography, as well as philosophy, politics, and history.14

Adam and the learned tradition of classical antiquity The Gesta’s scholiastic evidence illustrates the learned clerical environment in which the work emerged and was transmitted. Possibly having enjoyed an excellent education at the fourishing cathedral school at Bamberg,15 Adam was doubtless well acquainted with Biblical exegesis and the writings of the Church Fathers, as well as classical poets such as Vergil, Lucan, and Horace. We can deduce this because their work has been perceived and preserved within medieval commentarii. Apart from ancient literary references, particularly in the Gesta’s fourth book, Descriptio insularum aquilonis, the work indicates further infuences of learned geo-ethnographical material such as that provided by Sallust, Martianus Capella, Orosius, and Bede – in terms of both content and stylistics. Additionally, Adam mentions several medieval hagiographical and historiographical sources. These include the Historia Francorum of Gregory of Tours (539–594), Einhard’s (ca. 770–840) Vita Karoli, and the Annales Fuldenses.16 By quoting and recombining partly lost classical and medieval knowledge, magister scholarum Adam decisively continued the ancient tradition of scholia as a philological method of textual criticism. Ultimately, Adam himself encouraged his readers to correct and thus modify the text.17 Such an authorial invitation accelerated the textual dynamics and scope of the Gesta, but simultaneously confounded a clear identifcation of the several strata composing the manuscript corpus, until today.

Scholia in the Gesta and medieval textual transmission Precisely this generic problematic of recensio, i.e., the critical examination of manuscript transmission aimed at reconstructing an ‘original’ text, has preoccupied editors of the Gesta since the late eighteenth century. Moreover, even though Schmeidler claimed in his authoritative edition of 1917 that he had entirely clarifed all contradictions and was able to lead us readers to a ‘true’ textual history of the Gesta,18 he did not really achieve his ambitious objectives. What is undisputed, however, is Schmeidler’s tabulation of all known manuscripts of the Gesta into the three classes A, B, and C, whereby the shortest version, A, differs to a larger extent

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from the longer specimens, B and C. Following his postulation, class A manuscripts are derived from the preliminary text A, handed down via the manuscript α (which was dedicated to Archbishop Liemar in 1075/76). All class B and C works are the product of later scribes, lacking any trace of Adam’s hand. However, both classes descended from Adam’s personal copy, X, that he had retained for further extensions, deletions, and marginal annotations. These are our scholia. Thus, the textual concordance of B and C determined the earlier state of X. The most ramifed class, B, was widely known in Denmark and can almost exclusively be traced back to a lost archetype (according to Schmeidler, manuscript z) from the Cistercian Abbey of Sorø on the island of Zealand that had already reached Denmark in the twelfth century.19 All C-manuscripts, eventually, originated in Northern Germany – a theory that is supported by the numerous Low German terms that are substituted for the Upper German expressions of classes AB.20 As Francis J. Tschan stated in the introduction to his English edition of the Gesta from 1959, Adam himself must have had diffculties identifying the original elements of X considering its textual and stylistic deviations from A, including its interlineations and inter-weavings.21 Presuming that later scribes interpolated the manuscript with additional marginalia, Schmeidler concluded that A1, the shortest of all extant manuscripts, had to be closest to the lost original A. Preserved in the Austrian National Library as Codex 521, A1 dates to the early thirteenth century and was written almost uniformly by one hand. It is the only specimen that provides the Gesta in its entirety, not containing any scholia at all, which Schmeidler considered in the case of the (manuscripts) A2 and A3 to be an indicator of posterior revisions by other hands.22 Although Schmeidler’s results are broadly acknowledged in academia and hence have been determinative for future translations of the Gesta, they have been subject to some criticism, most recently in 1975 by Anne K. G. Kristensen. Comparing A1 to the remaining A-class versions, Kristensen concluded that the brevity of the A-manuscripts could not be attributed to their direct descent from the autograph A, but in fact to the peculiar approach of a later scribe who sought to remove as many scholia as possible. Contrary to Schmeidler’s ascription of a central position to A1, Kristensen suggested a focus on the oldest extant manuscript A2 (VLQ 123) from ca. 1100, in order to reconstruct the content of a hypothetical autograph. The most signifcant result of Kristensen’s analysis was her demonstration, contrary to Schmeidler, that none of the extant specimens of the Gesta refect an exact apograph of the text composed by Adam. Rather, his ‘original’ had already been transmitted in a commented and revised form, wherein several modifcations and annotations are attributable to his own revisionary work.23

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Ms.

Date

A A1

1072–1075 Adam of Bremen 1200 unknown

− −

A1a

1451

−

A2

1100

A3a

1434

A3a’

1610–1616

Annal. Saxo B

1148–1152 1085–1100

B1a

1450

B1b

1557

B2

1579

B3a

1700

B4

1548

C (orig.) 1085–1090 C1 1200–1225 C2

1595

C3

14th cent.

X

1075–1085

z

12th cent.

Authorship and Origin

Location and Shelfmark

(not extant) Austrian National Library (Cod. 521) unknown Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana (Vat. lat. 2010) several Bremen scribes Bibliotheek der Universiteit Leiden (VLQ 123) unknown Det kgl. Bibliotek, Copenhagen (GKS 718 fol.) Heinrich Lindenbrog (1570– Staats- und 1642), Schloss Gottorf Universitätsbibl. Hamburg (Cod. hist. 22) anonymous Saxon chronicler, Bibliothèque Nationale de Nienburg Abbey France (Lat. 11851) Adam’s successor as magister (not extant) scholarum in Bremen? unknown Herzog August Bibl. Wolfenbüttel (Cod. Guelf. 83 Gud. lat.) Hieronymus Cypræus Det kgl. Bibliotek, (1516/17–1573), Schleswig Copenhagen (GKS 1175 fol.) Editio princeps by Anders (not extant) Sørensen Vedel (1542– 1616), Copenhagen unknown Det kgl. Bibliotek, Copenhagen (GKS 1115 fol.) Niels Andersen Svansøe Det kgl. Bibliotek, (d. 1554), Varde / Anders Copenhagen (GKS 719) Sørensen Vedel (1542– 1616), Vejle Bremen canon (not extant) unknown Det kgl. Bibliotek, Copenhagen (GKS 2296 4°) Print by Erpold Lindenbrog (not extant) (1540–1616) unknown, Codex Rantzau? Det kgl. Bibliotek, Copenhagen (NKS 1463 fol.) Adam and other Bremen (not extant) scribes unknown, Sorø Abbey (not extant)

Scholia

+ − + − + + + + + +

+ + + − + +

Overview of the central extant manuscript witnesses of the Gesta and the lost archetypes A, B, C, X, and z.

Scholia: their role and reception  101 In addition to Schmeidler’s groundbreaking edition from 1917, it is vital to include in the following analysis his subsequent and less widely acknowledged study ­Hamburg-​­Bremen und ­Nordost-​­Europa vom 9. bis 11. Jahrhundert, published in 1918. Revealing further insights into the thematic emphasis of scholia, Schmeidler extended his previous terminological framework and hence the number of annotations, which increased from 159 to a total of 186, and included even more comprehensive amendments with substantive content (‘­g rößere Zusätze mit eigenem Sachinhalt’). Following his earlier applied methodology of recensio, Schmeidler further divided the now expanded commentary corpus according to their authorship (­see ­Figure 3). In this account, 141 annotations most certainly stemmed from Adam’s hand, whereas 45 were the product of later scribes.24 Even more than 100 years after the last comprehensive edition of the Gesta, it ­is – ​­in Schmeidler’s ­words – ​­‘­not without interest’ to classify those scholia and additional comments according to their content and occurrence in the text.25 This in turn permits insights into the very concerns and intentions of the authors and copyists who reshaped the Gesta into lively variations instead of a unitary text.26 Of all the 141 annotations that definitely came from Adam’s pen, Schmeidler developed the following distribution: Adam received the least additional information for his earliest accounts, covered in the Gesta’s first book. These include the foundation of the Diocese of Bremen initiated by Charlemagne in 788 (­ch. ­12–​­13) and the momentous receipt of the papal order to christianise Scandinavia (­legatio gentium) awarded to Archbishop Ansgar by Gregory IV (­831/­832).27 The Norman attack on Hamburg in 845 (­ch. 21) and the amalgamation of the Dioceses of Bremen and Hamburg in 848 also deserve a mention here. The relatively small number of scholia added to the first book stands in contrast to the remaining second, third, and fourth books which include 46, 42, and 39 annotations respectively. Looking at this unbalanced distribution, Schmeidler’s statistics show that Adam was, unsurprisingly, most able to expand the literary material on the books dealing with contemporary ­ early-​­contemporary matters (­book II). In order to (­books III and IV) and n obtain such extensive information for the last, he must have consulted older Bremen canons who had knowledge related to the history of the Archdiocese, starting with the period of Archbishop Unwan (­­1013–​­1029). For the ­ rst-​­hand term of Adalbert (­­1043–​­1072), Adam doubtless relied on his own fi insights, dedicating to him the Gesta’s entire book III in the form of a vividly depicted psychogram.28 Eventually, the scholia added to the fourth book served to explain and correct the geographic and ethnographic information obtained from Adam’s most valued oral source, ‘­the most veracious king of the Danes, Svein’.29 Classifying the topical nature of the 141 scholia and annotations, Schmeidler determined that a majority of 40 notes related to local Bremen interests, including the missionary activities of the see, and 34 outlined the history of the Northern lands. Among them, four scholia (­24, 39, 62, 84)

102  Carina Damm provide vital information on the dynamic marital alliances that were predominantly forged to strengthen the political ties between the Scandinavian elite and rulers from the East, such as the Piasts and Rurikids. A further 31 notes focus on geographic and ethnographic topics. Only nine scholia address North German and Saxon affairs, whereas 13 cover miscellaneous topics. There are a remarkable 14 scholia exclusively linked to Archbishop Adalbert.

Scholia and critical editions One of the most intriguing and least considered questions concerning the Gesta is how modern editors have approached the scholia within distinctive critical editions. This is the subject of a comprehensive analysis and comparison of the work’s printings since the late sixteenth century in this section of the chapter. The editio princeps of Adam’s work was published in 1579 by the clergyman and royal Danish historiographer, Anders Sørensen Vedel (­­1542–​ 1­ 616), who primarily based his work on the now lost Sorø manuscript.30 Clearly influenced by his studies in Wittenberg, Vedel assumed responsibility for the printing of works such as a papal chronicle with the expressive title Antichristus romanus (­1571).31 Lutheran fervour against the veneration of saints and relics as well as Danish national interests also influenced his editorial work on the Gesta. In this context, he freely reshaped and eliminated scholia according to his own Protestant agenda.32 Focusing on palaeographic aspects, however, Vedel maintained the features of the original medieval layout by printing his scholia in the margin of the corresponding continuous text.33 The second editor of the Gesta applied a different method. In his print edition published in Leiden in 1595, Erpold Lindenbrog34 listed the Scholia antiqua in M. Adamum (­105 in this case) separately, after the main text, followed by a variant apparatus including the most significant deviations to Vedel’s print from 1579. Lindenbrog’s edition was republished in 1609 and again in 1630, but without scholia and with several typographical errors. Forty years later, in 1670, the pedagogue and historian, Joachim Johann Mader (­­1626–​­1680), ­re-​­issued the most recent version of Lindenbrog’s Scriptores rerum Germanicarum septentrionalium in Helm­stedt near Braunschweig. Mader reincorporated the annotations but also repeated Lindenbrog’s errors and added many new ones. The geographical focus of those first editions set in Northern Germany and Scandinavia was maintained by the German classical scholar and theologian, Johann Albert Fabricius (­­1668–​­1736), who reprinted Mader’s edition in Hamburg in 1706. Furthermore, the Swedish historian Johannes Messinus had already edited the Gesta’s book IV in Stockholm in 1615 and his efforts were repeated by the Danish philologist Stephanus Johannes Stephanius in 1629.

Scholia: their role and reception  103 Johann Martin Lappenberg (­­1794–​­1865) eventually produced the first critical edition of the Gesta in 1846 as part of the Monumenta Germaniae Historica series. Considering all the extant manuscript versions, Lappenberg modelled his work, as Schmeidler did later, on Codex 521, which dates to around 1200 and lacks any annotations. However, as a result of his comparative work, Lappenberg included 152 scholia stemming from the different witnesses. He noted these numerically in the margin of the main text and printed them following the respective paragraphs to which each refers. Within the Scriptores rerum Germanicarum series, the same editorial method was applied for a reprint of Lappenberg’s edition published that same year (­1846), which now excluded the variant apparatus of the former version. That edition, in turn, was reprinted in 1853 by the French priest ­Jacques -​­Paul Migne within his Patrologia Latina, an extensive collection of the Latin Church Fathers from the second to thirteenth centuries, comprising no fewer than 221 volumes. Continuing Lappenberg’s methodological approach, Migne referred numerically to the scholia in the margin of the corresponding text body and printed them together with further variæ lectionis and notæ at the lower end of the page. A renewed, critical edition of Lappenberg’s second publication was adopted in 1876 by Georg Waitz (­­1813–​­1886) following the edition of Ludwig Weiland (­­1841–​­1895). After Waitz’ redaction, it was ultimately Bernhard Schmeidler who devoted vital work to a critical edition of the Gesta in 1917 and his work has been determinative for editors and translators ever since. His work is all the more significant because of his applied method of handling the identified scholia in the Gesta by numbering them serially from book I to IV and incorporating them subsequently into the main text.

Conclusion Literary criticism in the form of scholia constitutes a valuable exegetical treasure which allows insights into both the medieval and early modern minds of its creators and into the sphere of philologists, historians, and publishers. While the former were preoccupied in adding explanatory and didactic information to the main literary corpus, the latter applied varied approaches during their editorial work, contesting questions of both text and layout. The most striking examples of such diverse treatments are the scholia to the Gesta’s editio princeps by the Danish royal chaplain Anders Sørensen Vedel who reshaped and occasional eliminated numerous annotations in accordance to his own religious, ideological, and consequently highly political, agenda. Ultimately, it must be emphasized that the scholia to Adam of Bremen’s Gesta continue to represent an insufficiently researched topic within Medieval Studies that deserves more attention. Future research on this topic could focus on a ­re-​­evaluation of the manuscript transmission and an updated completion of the stemma codicum established by Schmeidler in 1917. In that

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context, it would be useful to investigate the different writing milieux in which the manuscripts were created and by whom and for what purpose they were commissioned. Further questions might explore the manuscripts’ provenance and ownership in order to reconstruct the dynamics of circulating literary material within broader transregional networks from the Middle Ages until today.

Notes 1 For the latest editorial comments, see Reuther’s introduction to the 2002 edition of Adam of Bremen: Tschan, XI–XXI. 2 The total number of 35 known copies of Adam’s Gesta still indicates the limited reception of Adam’s work which was primarily confned to Northern Germany and Denmark. As a comparison, one of the most vital infuences on Gesta, Isidore of Seville’s Etymologiae is transmitted in nearly 1,000 manuscript versions. 3 Scholia 84–86 point to the last datable annotations being from the year 1080, and after 1085 there is no trace of Adam’s hand neither in the Gesta’s main text nor in the marginalia. Suggesting a terminus ante quem for Adam’s death, Schmeidler points to an early text copy that originated without any involvement by Adam sometime between 1085 and 1090 (see Gesta, LVI). The Diptychon Bremense gives 12 October as the date of death of a certain magister Adam but without revealing an exact year (see Gesta, LVII). 4 Even that specimen X was subjected to further modifcations by a Bremen canon who incorporated diverse errors into the manuscript after Adam’s decease. Eventually, all works written by Adam (A and X) or under his dictation (­α) are lost. 5 In a discourse on Homer (Orat. 53), the Greek philosopher and orator Dio Chrysostom (ca. 40–ca. 120 CE) praises Aristotle (384–322 BC) as the father of literary interpretation and criticism based on the latter’s infuential Poetics (c. 335 BC). The importance of Aristotle’s contributions to philosophy, logic, and rhetorics is evident from the fact that he proves to be the most annotated Greek author of Classical Antiquity and the Byzantine Middle Ages. Recent studies on the scholia to the Aristotelian works are provided by Golitsis and Ierodiakonou, Aristotle and His Commentators. 6 A vital exception is the editorial consideration to the Gesta such as provided by Bernd Schmeidler in 1917 and within the English translation by Francis J. Tschan published in 1959. 7 Mejor et al., Glossae – scholia – commentarii. 8 Nünlist, The Ancient Critic at Work, 15. 9 Chiesa, ‘Principles and practice’, 87. 10 Dyck, Glock, ‘Scholia’, 209–214. 11 Wilson, ‘Scholiasts and Commentators’, 39–70. 12 Montana, ‘Anything but a marginal question’, 24–38. 13 Pagani, “Scholia,” Oxford Dictionaries Classics. https://www.oxfordbibliographies.com/view/document/obo-9780195389661/obo-9780195389661-0343.xml (accessed 18 November 2021). 14 Nünlist, The Ancient Critic at Work, 16. 15 Little is known about the origin and life of Adam. Following Schmeidler’s discussion, Francis J. Tschan argues in his edition of Gesta that the proselitus et advena Adam might have received a distinguished education at the cathedral school at Bamberg, established by Emperor Henry II in the course of the foundation of the local archdiocese in 1007. Within the tenth and eleventh centuries,

Scholia: their role and reception  105 the school at Bamberg together with the cathedral schools of Liège, Magdeburg, and Reims constituted a vital network of prestigious European centres of education which attracted scholastic movements and eventually evolved into a lieu de mémoire of a ­pan-​­European acting educational society (­Schneidmüller, ‘­Europäische Erinnerungsorte im Mittelalter,’ 5­ 5–​­56). For a discussion of the autobiographical information Adam himself reveals, see Łukasz Neubauer’s chapter in the present volume. 16 Mühle, Die Slawen im Mittelalter. Zwischen Idee und Wirklichkeit, 73. 17 Gesta, lib. III, c. LXXI, 219: Postremo si qua sunt, quae auditori displiceant in male gestis et fortasse peius descriptis, summopere te moneo et postulo, ut, dum scriptorem vituperas, tu vitiose dicta corrigas […]. 18 Gesta, XXXVI. 19 Nyberg, ‘­Stad, skrift och stift, 304. 20 As Schmeidler argues, they are witnesses of one archetype C which was in turn a copy of X produced by some older canon of the cathedral of Bremen soon after Adam’s death, i.e., sometime between 1085 and 1090. See Gesta, XXIX. 21 Tschan, XXXVIII. 22 As part of the Codices Vossiani Latini, the manuscript A2 is preserved under the shelfmark VLQ 123 in the University Library, Leiden. The paper manuscript GKS 718 2° is held in Den gamle kongelige samling (­The Old Royal Collection) in the Royal Library in Copenhagen. 23 Kristensen, ‘Studien zur Adam von Bremen Überlieferung,’ 36. 24 Schmeidler, ­Hamburg-​­B remen, 115. 25 Ibidem. 26 See Buzzoni, ‘­­Text-​­critical analysis’, 405. Another apt example of a medieval work modified by its own author is Wulfstan’s Sermo Lupi ad Anglos, examined by Buzzoni at ­403–​­404. 27 For a comprehensive discussion on power politics and visions of the North, see Henrik Janson’s chapter in the present volume. The diplomatic sources legitimizing the Christianization of Scandinavia are presented by Fraessdorf, Der Barbarische Norden, ­57–​­68, here 59. 28 For a comparative study of the gradual degradation of Adalbert’s character in the Gesta see Bagge, ‘­Decline and Fall,’ ­530–​­548. 29 See Gesta, lib. I, c. 50: veracissimus rex Danorum Suein. On the role of Sven Estridsen (­ca. ­1020–​­1076) as Adam’s informant, see Jakub Morawiec’s chapter in the present volume. 30 According to Schmeidler’s stemma codicum, Vedel’s print Historia ecclesiastica corresponds to the manuscript B2. 31 For a brief overview of Vedel’s editorial work, see Nielsen, ‘Anders Sørensen Vedels indsats for dansk som kultursprog,’ ­7–​­8. 32 Gesta, ­X XI–​­X XII. 33 For a comprehensive presentation of the layout and palaeographic features of all extant manuscripts including a discussion of scholia within the medieval codices’ transmission, see Gesta, ­VII–​­XXXIII. 34 Erpold Lindenbrog (­­1540–​­1616) was a Hamburg historian and notary. His first print of the Historia ecclesiastica corresponds to ms. C2 within Schmeidler’s stemma and is based on a manuscript he had acquired from the extensive library of Count Henrik (­Heinrich) Rantzau (­­1526–​­1598). Rantzau enjoyed a reputation as humanist scholar, statesman, and patron of art. Rantzau’s interest in history instigated the inclusion of the drawing and transcription of the Jelling runestones in his writings on the “Cimbrian Peninsula” published posthumously in 1739. For a broader contextualization of the scientific network constituted by Lindenbrog and Rantzau, see Dekker, “­The Runes in Bonaventura Vulcanius,” ­429–​­430.

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Bibliography Primary sources Adami Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae Pontifcum, ed. Johann Martin Lappenberg. Hannover: Hahn, 1876. Adam of Bremen. History of the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen, trans. Francis J. Tschan, with a new introduction by Timothy Reuter. New York: Columbia University Press, 2002. Adam von Bremen. Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontifcum, ed. Bernhard Schmeidler (MGH SS rer. Germ. 2). Hannover/Leipzig: Hahn, 1917. Historia ecclesiastica, ed. Anders Sørensen Vedel (Velleius). Hafnia, 1579. Historia ecclesiastica, religionis propagatae gesta, ed. Joachim Johann Mader. Helmstedt: Mullerus, 1670. M. Adami Historia ecclesiastica, ed. Erpold Lindenbrog. Lugduni Batavorum: Plantin, 1588. Mag. Adami Gesta, ed. Jacques-Paul Migne (Patrologia Latina 146). Paris, 1853.

Secondary literature Acerbi, Fabio, ‘Types, function, and organization of the collections of scholia to the Greek mathematical treatises’, Trends in Classics 6, no. 1 (October 2014), 115–169. Akhøj Nielsen, Marita, ‘Anders Sørensen Vedels indsats for dansk som kultursprog’, Renæssanceforum 1 (2005), 1–19. Bagge, Sverre, ‘Decline and Fall. Deterioration of Character as Described by Adam of Bremen and Sturla þórðarson’, Individuum und Individualität im Mittelalter, eds. Jan A. Aertsen and Andreas Speer, 530–548. Berlin, New York: De Gruyter, 2011. Buzzoni, Marina, ‘Text-critical analysis’, Handbook of Stemmatology. History, Methodology, Digital Approach, ed. Philipp Roelli, 380–382. Berlin-Boston: De Gruyter, 2020. Chiesa Paolo, ‘Principles and practice’, Handbook of Stemmatology. History, Methodology, Digital Approach, ed. Philipp Roelli, 74–87. Berlin-Boston: De Gruyter, 2020. Dekker Kees, ‘The Runes in Bonaventura Vulcanius De Literis & Lingua Getarum Sive Gothorum (1597): Provenance and Origins’, Bonaventura Vulcanius, Works and Networks, ed. Hélène Cazes (Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History 194), 411–449. Leiden: Brill, 2010. Dickey Eleanor. Ancient Greek Scholarship: A Guide to Finding, Reading and Understanding Scholia, Commentaries, Lexica, and Grammatical Treatises, from their Beginnings to the Byzantine Period. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Dyck, Andrew and Andreas Glock, ‘Scholia’, Brill´s New Pauly, vol. 11, eds. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider, 209–214. Stuttgart/Weimar: J. B. Metzler, 2001. Fraessdorf, David. Der barbarische Norden. Vorstellungen und Fremdheitskategorien bei Rimbert, Thietmar von Merseburg, Adam von Bremen und Helmold von Bosau (Orbis medievalis. Vorstellungswelten des Mittelalters 5). Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2005. Golitsis, Pantelis and Katerina Ierodiakonou (eds.), Aristotle and His Commentators: Studies in Memory of Paraskevi Kotzia. Berlin-Boston: De Gruyter, 2019.

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Haugen, Odd Einar, ‘Types of Editions’, Handbook of Stemmatology. History, Methodology, Digital Approach, ed. Philipp Roelli, 359–380. Berlin-Boston: De Gruyter, 2020. Janson, Henrik, ‘Adam of Bremen and the Conversion of Scandinavia’, Christianizing Peoples and Converting Individuals, eds. Guyda Armstrong and Ian N. Wood (International Medieval Research 7), 83–88. Turnhout: Brepols, 2000. Kristensen, Anne K.G., ‘Studien zur Adam von Bremen Überlieferung’, Skrifter udgivet af det Historiske Institut ved Københavns Universitet 5 (1975), 11–56. Mejor, Mieczysław, Jażdżewska Katarzyna and Zajchowska Anna (eds.), Glossae-scholia-commentarii Studies on Commenting Texts in Antiquity and Middle Ages. Bern: Peter Lang, 2014. Montana, Fausto, ‘Anything but a marginal question’, Trends in Classics 6, 1 (2014), 24–38. Montanari, Franco and Lara Pagani (eds.), From Scholars to Scholia. Chapters in the History of Ancient Greek Scholarship (Trends in Classics. Supplementary volumes, vol. 9). Berlin-New York: De Gruyter, 2011. Mühle, Eduard, Die Slawen im Mittelalter. Zwischen Idee und Wirklichkeit. Wien/ Köln/Weimar: Böhlau, 2020. Nünlist, René, The Ancient Critic at Work. Terms and Concepts of Literary Criticism in Greek Scholia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Nyberg, Tore, ‘Stad, skrift och stift. Några historiska inledningsfrågar’, Adam av Bremen. Historien om Hamburgstiftet och dess biskopar, transl. Emanuel Svenberg, 295–307. Stockholm: Proprius, 1984. Pagani, Lara, ‘Scholia’, Oxford Bibliographies in Classics, Oxford University Press, see https://www.oxfordbibliographies.com/view/document/obo9780195389661/obo-9780195389661-0343.xml. (accessed 18 November 2021). Rosik, Stanisław, The Slavic Religion in the Light of 11th- and 12th-Century German Chronicles (Thietmar of Merseburg, Adam of Bremen, Helmold of Bosau). Studies on the Christian Interpretation of Pre-Christian Cults and Beliefs in the Middle Ages. Leiden-Boston: Brill, 2020. Schmeidler, Bernhard, Hamburg-Bremen und Nordost-Europa vom 9. bis 11. Jahrhundert. Leipzig: Dieterich, 1918. Schneidmüller, Bernd, ‘Europäische Erinnerungsorte im Mittelalter’, Jahrbuch für Europäische Geschichte 3 (2002), 39–58. Scior, Volker. Das Eigene und das Fremde. Identität und Fremdheit in den Chroniken Adams von Bremen, Helmolds von Bosau und Arnolds von Lübeck (Orbis mediaevalis. Vorstellungswelten des Mittelalters 4). Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2002. Wilson, Nigel. ‘Scholiasts and Commentators’, Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 47 (2007), 39–70.

6

Adam of Bremen and the early (pre-995) history of Norway1 Laura Gazzoli

The information Adam provides on Norway receives relatively little attention: the broadly accepted outline of early Norwegian history is derived ultimately from the Sagas, and as Adam’s account diverges considerably from them, it is seen as garbled, distorted by bias, or both. In my view, there is little justifcation for this attitude: the saga-traditions are not attested until the late twelfth/early thirteenth centuries, whereas Adam wrote in the 1070s – only a 100 years, or less, since the events discussed in this chapter. The charges of bias laid against Adam often seem to go far beyond the normal demands of rigorous historical criticism to a point where practically everything in his text is handled as if it were a conscious deceit; meanwhile, a far more generous stance is generally taken towards the saga-tradition, to the extent that some historians have complained of a slackening of the standards of critical history.2 The result is a reinforcement of nativism, where pride of place is given to Nordic sources, particularly those written in Old Norse (Saxo Grammaticus, for example, is not accorded the same favour). Meanwhile, the historiographic landscape dominated by the saganarratives has reached an impasse: while much of the information provided in the sagas cannot be substantiated, there are few other written sources to draw on  – particularly if one dismisses Adam. Consequently, we often see the saga narrative reproduced in some form for the period pre-1000, or treated briefy before moving on to better-documented periods of history.3 Thus, the serious investigation of Adam’s information on Norway is all the more important: not only can this help break the deadlock in early Norwegian history, but it can help us move away from the current situation which is haunted by the spectre of Nordic nativism to an excessive degree. In a contribution such as this, I do not have the space for any lengthy discussion of these methodological issues, but in essence, my guiding principles are to prefer an early source over a later one, unless there is some convincing reason not to do so; and, as I will argue below, there is little reason not to do so in the case of Adam vs the sagas. Skaldic poetry, as always, complicates the picture: although it may well be a genuine earlier survival, it and its transmission are often diffcult, if not impossible, to separate from the

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-7

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surrounding prose context; and moreover, we must remember that skaldic poems as we read them today are the product of generations of work by textual editors, who have been guided by the dominant historical framework in their linking of the strophes to one another, their identifcation of the fgures mentioned in them with specifc persons, and their association with places and events. We should also not forget that some poems may have been composed centuries after the events they describe, such as HallarSteinn’s Rekstefja, which, although written in the late twelfth century, takes Olaf Tryggvason as its subject.5 In what follows, I will attempt not to make too many assumptions with regards to Skaldic verse.

Adam: biases and sources Adam’s work, and the Hamburg-Bremen sources in general, is deeply connected with the northern mission. All too often, though, this is taken to extremes in criticising Adam as a source: it is widely stated that Adam tried to over-exaggerate the successes of Hamburg-Bremen’s missionaries while denying or downplaying the activity of others. Adam, however, does concede that others, including English missionaries, had positive impact, although he was concerned that they should properly observe Hamburg-Bremen’s authority (as some at least, if not all, seem to have done).6 The later reading of this as a contest between English and German infuence has been overly tainted by modern nationalisms. Scandinavian scholars have been keen to downplay ‘German’ infuence in their countries and have tried to minimise it and emphasise English infuence instead ever since the Schleswig wars of the mid-nineteenth century.7 The concept of what constituted a ‘successful’ mission that is dominant in scholarship also seems somehow to have failed to take into account the now long-established understanding that Christian mission could have several phases prior to offcial conversion by a political ruler.8 Characterising, let us say, the political conversion of a country through violence as a ‘success’ and the activities of the early Hamburg-Bremen missionaries, such as Ansgar and Rimbert – preaching, building of churches, ministry to the (largely enslaved) Christian populations already present in Scandinavia and establishment of friendly relationships with political rulers – as ‘failure’ is far too simplistic, and moreover refects an attitude towards mission that was more appropriate to the period of the Crusades than to what came before. Adam thus had less to ‘conceal’ than is sometimes made out. Nor did he lack sources of information about Norway: in addition to his most famous source, Svend Estridsen, Adam tells us that the English missionaries Sigafrid and Rudolf, who came over with Olav Haraldsson and preached in Norway and Sweden, not only gave an account of their work to Archbishop Libentius II (1029–1032) but the former of them survived into Adam’s own day.9 It is safe to presume, given the wealth of information that Adam presents to us on Norway, that he had numerous other sources: in fact, in what

110  Laura Gazzoli follows, I will argue that Adam’s information reveals a source that had access to a body of skaldic tradition. This tradition was then living, not necessarily in the form it had acquired by the time (­largely) Icelandic scholars codified Nordic history and its Old Norse sources in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Thus, I would argue that Adam is not simply a valuable counterpoint to Old Norse sources, but in fact a window into them at an earlier point, one that was closer to events.

Adam’s Norwegian history: how does it differ? The most marked difference between Adam’s history and that of the ­Norwegian-​­Icelandic tradition is the lack of the kings of the ‘­Fairhair’ dynasty. Named Norwegian rulers begin with one ‘­Haccon’ in the days of Ha­rald Bluetooth of Denmark, who, in the established tradition of Norwegian history, could be identified with Hákon Sigurðarson, Jarl of Hlaðir. It is on this figure, and the period before the arrival of the Olavs, that I will focus in this article. The ‘­Fairhair’ line has been subject to scrutiny over the years, and its members are now generally regarded as rulers whose authority (­at least, direct authority) was limited to western Norway, while Viken remained subject to Danish hegemony and the north of the country remained under the Jarls of Hlaðir.10 Claus Krag has demonstrated that neither Olaf Tryggvason nor Olaf Haraldsson, nor the later dynasty descended from Harald Harsh-Ruler were held to be descendants of the supposed ninth/­­tenth-​­century Harald from the skaldic poems.11 And Sverrir Jakobsson has argued that Harald Fairhair should be regarded as a mythical rather than a historical figure.12 I am largely in agreement, although I note William of Malmesbury’s reference to a Norwegian king called Harald in the period 927‒939, which seems to have been drawn from a lost written source13 and suggests that there was a king of some sort with this name at the time. Beyond William’s reference, nothing is known of this ­Harald  – ​­extending his reign back into the ninth century seems improbable and there is no indication of just how much of the Norici he ruled, or indeed, what precisely this term, or whatever was behind it in William’s source, actually referred to. In fact, if the original lost source referred to Nordmanni or norðmenn, this Harald could just as likely (­or indeed more likely) have been based elsewhere, as these terms were not yet exclusively associated ­Norway – ​­indeed, in the tenth century, they were generic and not linked to any specific place of origin, at least in English and Continental sources. The skaldic poetry associated with Harald Fairhair is far too confused and problematic to have arisen from the deeds of a single figure with the career the sagas record, and the epithet ‘­Fairhair’ itself seems originally to have applied to Harald Harsh-Ruler rather than the ­tenth-​­century Harald.14 Of Harald Fairhair’s successors, Clare Downham has shown that Eric of York is nowhere linked with Norway in the contemporary sources, and

Adam and the history of Norway  111 convincingly argued that he should consequently not be identified with the Eric Bloodaxe of the N ­ orwegian-​­Icelandic tradition.15 If his brother, Hákon the Good, was indeed fostered in England at the court of Athelstan, that left no traces in English sources. Similarly, nothing is attested in sources outside the ­Norwegian-​­Icelandic tradition concerning the sons of Eric B ­ loodaxe –​ ­or indeed, any ruler of Norway before Hákon Sigurðarson, Jarl of Hlaðir, who Adam describes not only as the first person to rule Norway with regal power, but furthermore as, in effect, the founding figure of the later Norwegian dynasty, describing Tryggve (­Thrucco), father of Olaf Tryggvason, as Hákon’s son,16 and Olaf Haraldsson as the son of Olaf Tryggvason.17 It is to this portrayal I would like to turn now.

Haccon princeps In Norveia Haccon princeps erat, quem, dum Nortmanni superbius agentem regno depellerent, Haroldus sua virtute restituit et christicolis placatum effecit. [Haccon iste crudelissimus, ex genere Inguar et giganteo sanguine descendens, primus inter Nordmannos regnum arripuit, cum antea ducibus regerentur. Igitur Haccon triginta quinque annis in regno exactis obiit, Haraldum18 relinquens sceptri heredem, qui simul Daniam possedit atque Nordmaniam].19 (In Norway, Hákon was ruler (­princeps). When the Norwegians expelled him for his arrogant behaviour, Harald restored him by his virtue and reconciled him towards the worshippers of Christ. This Hákon was very cruel, a descendant of the line of Yngvar and the blood of giants, and was the first among the Norwegians to seize the kingship (­regnum), whereas before this they (­the Norwegians) had only been ruled by jarls (­duces). When Hákon died after t­ hirty-​­five years of kingship, he left Harald as the heir to his kingdom, who thus possessed Denmark and Norway at the same time.)20 Adam’s language about Hákon’s power clearly places him on a regal level: although he does not use the title rex but rather princeps, Hákon’s authority is defined as regnum, and moreover explicitly contrasted with previous rule by ­smaller-​­scale duces. In the light of previous discussion, this statement is, in fact, not out of keeping with the current perspective on Norwegian history: if, as now generally accepted, the authority of the Fairhair dynasty never extended his rule beyond the Westland, Hákon ruling the whole country would indeed constitute power that extended beyond that of any previous Norwegian ruler. This view is also confirmed by a verse attributed to Einarr skálaglamm Helgason in Vellekla: Nú liggr allt und jarli (­ímunborðs) fyr norðan

112  Laura Gazzoli (­veðrgœðis stendr víða) Vík (­Hôkunar ríki). (Now everything north of Viken lies under the jarl’s rule; the realm of Hákon, the increaser of the storm of the b­ attle-​­board [(­lit. ‘­­storm-​­increaser of the ­battle-​­board’) SHIELD > BATTLE > WARRIOR], stretches far and wide.)21 This verse is admirably unambiguous about the extent of Hákon’s power and refers to him by name. This seems to be a clear confirmation of Adam’s ­statement – ​­that Hákon’s power was on an unprecedented level in Norway. Another stanza in the same poem further bolsters this view: Hvar viti ǫld und einum jarðbyggvi svá liggja — ​­þat skyli herr of ­hugsa —​­ hjarl sextían jarla? Þess ríðr fúrs með fjórum folkleikr Heðins reikar logskundaðar lindar lofkenndr himins endum. (Where would people know of the territory of sixteen jarls lying in such a way under {one ­land-​­owner} [RULER]? The army ought to consider that. {The renowned ­army-​­game} [BATTLE] {of the fire of the ­hair-​­parting of Heðinn } [SWORD] {of that impeller {of the fire of the spring}} [(­lit. ‘­­fire-​­impeller of the spring’) GOLD > GENEROUS MAN] spreads along the four ends of the sky.)22 Here we see Hákon as a figure with authority to which jarls are s­ ubordinate –​ t­ hus placing him, in effect, on a regal level. Again, this chimes in admirably well with Adam’s statement, namely that Hákon ruled Norway as a regnum, in contrast to the power of the preceding duces. This brings us to the terms used to describe Hákon’s rank itself: Adam refers to him as a princeps, not a rex, in spite of his attribution of regal power ­ orwegian-​­Icelandic tradition, Hákon is remembered as a to him. In the N jarl, although due to the extent of his power, this clearly already required explanation in the minds of scholars in the twelfth century: Ágrip records ­ urial​ a tradition in which an ancestor of Hákon rolled himself down a b m ­ ound, thus symbolically rolling himself down from the kingship, in order to commit suicide, something that no king had done.23 Meanwhile, the Historia Norwegie simply says that Hákon preferred to bear the title jarl (­comes) as it was the traditional one used by his family. Adam’s use of princeps, meanwhile, has parallels in the Slavic world, where it is used to denote rulers of the peoples beyond the Elbe, such as the Abodrites. The precise meaning of how to translate the Abodrite title Knes became an issue in the twelfth century, when Knut Lavard’s appointment

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to the kingship of the Abodrites supposedly caused tension with his uncle, King Niels of Denmark, who felt that Knut was giving himself airs above his station and wrongly placing himself on an equal footing with himself; in the hagiography of Knut Lavard, Knud protests that Knes was a lesser title.24 This serves as an example that the translation of titles was not necessarily a straightforward matter, but the similarity of the Old Norse konungr to West Germanic terms such as the Old English cyning, which had been established as equivalent to the Latin rex for centuries, might have made this equivalence more obvious, certainly at least in Denmark where contact with the Continent and West-Germanic speakers was at its most intense. In Slavic, however, no such immediate equivalent was available. This allowed for a freer interpretation of Slavic authority by Latin authors in this period. I would suggest that a similar state of affairs may have been in play in northern Norway in the late tenth century: viz., that the idea that a jarl was less than a konungr along the lines of Latin dux/comes and rex had not been frmly established, and it was perhaps more of a question of the traditional title used by different families and at different centres of power. At Hlaðir and among the family that ruled it, that term was simply jarl, and the strength and antiquity of their power did not require them to pretend to anything else. Konungar were probably further away for most of the early period ‒ in Denmark, or perhaps briefy in the west of Norway, if we accept the historicity of the Fairhair dynasty. It was a different story, however, with upstarts such as Olaf Tryggvason and Olaf Haraldsson, who fastened on to Christian ideas of power-structures in order to establish their claim on Norway and thus styled themselves konungar.

Of Yngvar and Ynglingar: Adam and the Skaldic tradition Adam’s mention of Hákon’s descent from Yngvar and giants hints at further connections to the skaldic tradition. This has been suggested elsewhere: Jakub Morawiec has argued that Adam’s story of the capture and ransom of Sven Estridsen has its origins in a Nið-verse,25 and Bryan Weston Wyly has argued that the passage I quoted above contains phrases derived from skaldic kennings.26 The skaldic traditions concerning Hákon’s ancestry include a union between Óðinn and the giantess Skaði.27 No connection to Yngvar is to be found, but I would suggest that this refects a lost tradition wherein Hákon’s ancestry was linked to Yngvi(-Freyr), traditionally the progenitor of the ‘Yngling’ kings or Fairhair Dynasty. While Yngvi would not have been a fgure known to Adam, he was familiar with the notorious viking leader Yngvar, whom he knew from Frankish sources and described as the cruellest of all viking leaders,28 and who was thus a suitable ancestor for a ruler known for his hostility towards Christians. Skalds had access to a rich array of mythological fgures for crafting genealogies, and it should be no surprise that, for a fgure such as Hákon, the

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tradition at some point included a link to Yngvi. Even in literate societies, knowledge of one’s ancestry often does not extend beyond grandparents, and studies of pre-literate societies have shown how fexible genealogical traditions could be, particularly in response to the needs of political situations. Given the portrayal of Hákon in later Norwegian and Icelandic historiography, namely his opposition to the Christianising King Olaf Tryggvason (who, in that tradition, was descended from the Yngling line), it would be no surprise if traditions linking Hákon to the Ynglingar did not survive  – they would have seemed out of place in the judgement of those scholars involved in the codifcation of this tradition as written record in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.

Hákon: further possibilities? Adam’s picture of this Haccon princeps as the frst to rule Norway as a kingdom is thus not as out-of-step with the Norwegian-Icelandic tradition as it may seem: skaldic verse likewise attests that Hákon ruled more of Norway than any previous ruler and that his authority placed him on a higher level than a normal jarl, even if he seems to have avoided claiming a royal title. This fts in well with Adam’s use of the title princeps, his description of Hákon’s rule as a regnum and his contrast of that rule with the previous rule by duces. Can we fnd further similarities? Adam’s description of Hákon as a pagan hostile to Christians is again fully in tune with the Norwegian-Icelandic tradition, as is the statement that his association with Harald Bluetooth forced him into a position of tolerance. In the Norse-Icelandic narrative, this tolerance was short-lived after Hákon broke free from Danish overlordship, thus allowing Olaf Tryggvason greater agency in bringing Christianity to Norway, while in Adam’s narrative, Hákon not only remains subject to Harald for the rest of his life, but makes him his heir. This serves to heighten Harald’s power, setting him up for the tragic fall he later experiences at the hands of his son Sven and, positioning him all the better for the elevated status of martyr-king to which Adam sought to raise him. If we allow the collective body of poetry from Hákon’s court to speak, there is little sign of any accommodation of Christianity, rather there is all the more indication of a reinvigorated, oppositional paganism; we should be careful, however, as the surviving corpus is subject to the biased selection of verses that ft within the narrative that came to be accepted in the course of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries – much as traditions of Hákon being an Yngling did not survive in the transmitted skaldic verses. One statement that Adam makes about Hákon that is not echoed in the Norwegian-Icelandic sources is that he was expelled from his kingdom on account of haughty behaviour, and that Harald was instrumental in restoring him. In the saga tradition, exile is a theme that occurs not infrequently with tenth-century rulers, most notably in the case of Eric Bloodaxe, as well as his brother, Hákon the Good.

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I would like briefy to explore the possibilities for the origins of Adam’s account of Hákon’s exile from Norway. The pre-1000 history of Scandinavia has other examples of exiled rulers, some of whom received help from outside powers in attempts to regain their authority. The most famous example is Harald Klak, who sought support from Louis the Pious in his struggle with the sons of Godofrid. Louis offered support throughout the 810s and 820s29 but by 826 appears to have insisted on Harald’s baptism as a condition for anything further when Harald was again ejected from Denmark (Harald seems either to have been unable to return to Denmark, or was thrown out again for good fairly shortly after his attempted return).30 Purely within Scandinavia, the Life of Anskar tells of the Swedish King Anound who attacked Birka with Danish help in hopes of regaining power there.31 And within the Norwegian-Icelandic saga tradition, as we have seen, exile played a role in the lives of Eric Bloodaxe and Hákon the Good. A similar episode in the life of Haccon princeps would thus hardly be out of place, though its particulars, and how it came into Adam’s work, either as a refection of some report or as part of his own speculation or interpretation of a statement, must remain unknown. It does help establish why Hákon became more favourable to Christians when he had previously been hostile to them, perhaps even vaguely foreshadowing Sven Forkbeard’s later hostility to the faith which (according to Adam) changed as a result of exile. There is also the possibility that this might be the result of some crosscontamination with the fgure of Hákon the Good, who was supposedly sent to England to escape the violence of his brother Eric and came back a Christian. I would suggest however that we re-frame our understanding of Norwegian history to escape the primacy of the Saga narratives and ask instead if the fgure recorded by Adam could have given rise to the literary portrayals of both Hákon ‘the Good’ and Hákon jarl (also called ‘the bad’) in Icelandic and Norwegian sources. It would be diffcult to prove such a hypothesis fully, but if we again look to Danish parallels, we can fnd patterns that could allow for it: the Roskilde Chronicle of the early twelfth century duplicates tenth-century Danish kings, namely Gorm, Harald and Sven, with the effect that the Danish list of kings is extended and pushed back further into history.32 Michael Gelting has argued that this duplication arose from the Chronicler(s) encountering diverging accounts of these kings, particularly of their moral characteristics, and separating them out rather than attempting to combine them.33 Given that the tenth-century kings of Norway also present us with two Haralds and two Hákons, and that these two came to be differentiated through their moral attributes – with the earlier Hákon identifed as inn góði from the time of Ágrip onwards in the Old Norse tradition and the later Hákon referred to by Theodoricus as malus in the Historia Norwegie and as nequam (bad, vile worthless) and by Ágrip as illr.34 Although Theodoricus does not call the earlier Hákon bonus, he does recall him in a clearly positive light.35

116  Laura Gazzoli Moreover, early depictions of the first Hákon are far from universally positive: the Historia Norwegie is very negative, describing him as an apostate who died an ignominious death.36 Ágrip is more positive, but still sees him as compromised by his concessions to paganism.37 A mixture of religious sympathies, or indeed an u ­ n-​­Christian figure, match Adam’s Haccon princeps well. Chronologically, there is easily room to shrink the space occupied by the early Norwegian kings which has struck previous scholars as suspicious, with Peter Sawyer r­ e-​­dating Harald Fairhair’s reign to c. 900 rather than from the ninth century;38 I would go further than this and suggest that the only secure dating for Harald Fairhair is 927–939, on the basis of William of Malmesbury’s account mentioned above. On this basis, a single Hákon could easily fit into the m ­ id-​­and/­or late tenth century, especially allowing for other rulers in the meantime and also for the likelihood that William’s Harald and Adam’s Hákon were from different dynasties and/­or ruled in different parts of the country (­but were both later remembered as rulers over all of it). With these adjustments in chronology, a comparative look at Danish material is again helpful: while the chronology of the Norwegian kings and jarls that appears in the Icelandic annals reflects the generally accepted timeline, there are two notable features of their information on the early Danish kings: first, that they are pushed back considerably earlier than they should be, by over a century in the most extreme case. According to the annals, we get the following Danish regnal dates (­modern reckoning of their dates in brackets): Gorm the Old 836/­­840–​­904/­906/­907/­910 (­probably king by at least 948, dead by 963), Harald Gormsson 904/­906/­907/­­910–​­958 (­k ing by 963, died by 988), Sven Forkbeard ­958–​­1005/­1006/­1007/­1008, (­k ing by 988, died 1013).39 Moreover, we hear that Harald Gormsson raided Norway in 982 and died in 985. Harald was thus given an extremely long lifespan and must either have been assumed to have shared power, peacefully or otherwise, with his son for nearly 30 years, or else we see a similar duplication to that of Gorm and Harald, or perhaps the confusion was derived from other sources in which that duplication had already occurred. Whatever the case may be, we should ask ourselves why we have any reason to trust the Icelandic Annals’ reckoning of the reigns of Norwegian kings of this era any more than we do the Danish ones.

Conclusion Adam was not so uninformed about Norway as is often assumed: aside from Sven Estridsen, he had access to information from at least two missionaries,

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Sigafrid and Rudolf, who had come to Norway with Olaf Haraldsson and later made reports of their work at Bremen. His statements concerning Haccon princeps, namely that he was the frst person to rule Norway as a regnum whereas previous rulers were mere duces, matches well with information gleaned from the skaldic corpus, namely that the Fairhair kings – whatever their historicity – do not seem to have ruled outside the west of Norway, and that Harald was the frst to rule the entire area from Vík to the north. But beyond corroborating a picture that could be drawn from the other sources, Adam himself is capable of shedding light on Norwegian history in a new way and opening new angles for critical approaches to material that is overdue for fresh approaches. Rather than being a side-note on Norwegian history, we should be investigating tenth- and eleventh-century Norway with Adam as an absolutely key source.

Notes 1 This chapter was written as part of the EU Horizon 2020-funded Marie Skłodowska-Curie Action GENTES, grant no. 792006. 2 Knut Helle, ‘Hvor star den historiske sagakritikken i dag?’, 78; Sandnes, ‘Claus Krag: Vikingtid’, 223. 3 For example, Sverre Bagge, From Viking Stronghold to Christian Kingdom, devotes only fve pages (at 25–29) to rulers before 1,000. 4 Bagge, ‘Mellom kildekritikk og historisk antropologi’, 207; Sverrir Jakobsson, ‘Erindringen’, 228–229. 5 Haki Antonsson, Damnation and Salvation, 78; Stavnem, ‘Creating tradition’, 95–100. 6 Gesta, l. II, c. 37. 98. 7 Niblaeus, Mission and Empire. 8 Birkeli, Norske steinkors, 14–26. 9 Gesta, l. II. c. 57, 117–118, l. II. c. 64, 123–125, l. IV c. 34, 268–269. 10 Krag, Vikingtid, 78–85. 11 Krag, Vikingtid, 134; Krag, ‘Norge som odel’, 288–301. 12 Sverrir Jakobsson, ‘Erindringen’, 228–229. 13 William of Malmesbury, Gesta regum Anglorum, II.135, vol. I, 216–217. 14 Jesch, ‘Norse Historical Traditions’, 139–144. 15 Downham, Viking Kings of Britain and Ireland, 115–120. 16 Gesta, l. II. c. 50, 97. 17 Gesta, l. II c. 51, 112. 18 The manuscript reading is ‘Hartildum’, amended here to Haraldum (a confusion of a and ti) as suggested by Weibull, Kritiska undersökningar, 37. 19 The text in brackets is only found in the manuscripts of group B and C, thus not in Adam’s original (A) but derived from his notes (X) and incorporated into the main text from an early stage. The text is from Schmeidler’s edition (83–84), with my modifcation (see note above). 20 My translation. 21 Einarr skálaglamm Helgason, Vellekla, 16, trans. Foulks, ibidem. 22 Vellekla 32, trans. Foulks, ibidem. 23 Ágrip, ch. 15, 24–26. 24 Lind, ‘Knes Kanutus’, 108–111, with n. 26; Vita altera sancti Kanuti, 97; Saxo, Gesta Danorum XIII.5.9, vol. II, 926–928. 25 Morawiec, ‘Sveinn Haraldsson’, 40–42.

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26 Weston Wyly, ‘From legend to cult fgure’, 450–478. Weston Wyly’s argument, although extremely well and learnedly argued, focuses on the reading Hartildum, printed in Schmeidler’s edition but which I would argue, following Weibull, should be rejected in favour of the simpler emendation Haraldum, which is the only way to make sense of the passage in the larger context of Adam’s narrative, where the point of the passage is clearly to establish the fact that Harald Bluetooth held authority in Norway. It is not a problem, as Weston Wyly argues, that sceptri is in the genitive here: the phrase heres sceptri is well attested in Latin literature from the classical period onwards. 27 Eyvindr skáldaspillir Finnsson, Háleygjatal, 2. 28 Gesta, l. I c. 37, 39–40. 29 Annales regni Francorum, 814, 815, 817, 819, 823 (141–142, 145, 152, 163–164). 30 Annales regni Francorum, 826, 828, (169–170, 173); Rimbert, Vita Anskarii, 7, 29. 31 Rimbert, Vita Anskarii, 19, 41–43. 32 Chronicon Roskildense, 4–6, 17–20. 33 Gelting, Roskildekrøniken, 47. 34 Theodoricus, Historia, 5, 20–22; Historia Norwegie, 16, 88; Ágrip, 19, 30. 35 Theodoricus, Historia, 2, 4, 14–20. 36 Historia Norwegie, 12–14, 82–84. 37 Ágrip, 5–6, 8–16. 38 Sawyer, ‘Ohthere’s destinations’, 138–139. 39 Annales Resiniani, 6–32.

Bibliography Primary sources Adam of Bremen. History of the archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen, trans. F. J. Tschan, New York, Columbia University Press, 2002. Ágrip af Nóregskonungasǫgum, ed. M. Driscoll, London, The Viking Society for Northern Research, 2008. Annales regni Francorum, ed. F. Kurze, Monumenta Germaniae historica, Scriptores rerum Germanicarum in usum scholarum separatim editi 7, Hanover, Hahnsche Buchhandlung, 1895. Annales Resiniani, in Íslenzkir Annálar sive Annales Islandici ab anno Christi 803 ad annum 1430. ed. E. C. Werlauff, Copenhagen, Schultz, 1847, 6–32. Chronicon Roskildense, ed. M. Cl. Gertz, Scriptores minores historiae Danicae I. Copenhagen, Gad, 1917–1918. Einarr skálaglamm Helgason, Vellekla, ed. Edith Marold, in Poetry from the Kings’ Sagas 1: From Mythical Times to c. 1035, ed. D. Whaley, Skaldic Poetry of the Scandinavian Middle Ages 1, Turnhout, Brepols, 2012. Eyvindr skáldaspillir Finnsson, Háleygjatal, ed. Russell Poole in Poetry from the Kings’ Sagas 1: From Mythical Times to c. 1035, ed. D. Whaley, Skaldic Poetry of the Scandinavian Middle Ages 1, Turnhout, Brepols, 2012. Historia Norwegie, eds. I. Ekrem and L. B. Mortensen, Copenhagen, Museum Tusculanum Press, 2003. Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontifcum, ed. B. Schmeidler, 3rd edition, Hannoverae et Lipsiae, Impensis bibliopoli Hahniani, 1917. Rimbert, Vita Anskarii, ed. G. Waitz, Monumenta Germaniae historica, Scriptores rerum Germanicarum in usum scholarum separatim editi 55, Hanover, Hahn, 1884.

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Saxo, Gesta Danorum, ed. K. Friis Jensen, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2015. Theodoricus, Historia de antiquitate regum Norwagensium, ed. Egil Kraggerud, Oslo, Novus, 2018. Vita altera sancti Kanuti, in The medieval Danish liturgy of St Knud Lavard, ed. Michael Chesnutt, Copenhagen, Arnamagnæan, 2003. William of Malmesbury, Gesta regum Anglorum, eds. and trans. R. A. B. Mynors, R. M. Thomson, and M. Winterbottom, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1999. Secondary literature Antonsson, H., Damnation and Salvation in Old Norse Literature. Cambridge, D. S. Brewer, 2017 Bagge, S., ‘Mellom kildekritikk og historisk antropologi. Olav den Hellige, aristokratiet og riksammlingen’. Historisk Tidsskrift 81 (2002), 173–212. Bagge, S., From Viking Stronghold to Christian Kingdom: State-Formation in Norway, c. 900–1350, Copenhagen, Museum Tusculanum Press, 2010. Birkeli, F., ‘Norske steinkors i tidlig middelalder. Et bidrag til belysning av overgangen fra norrøn religion til kristendom’. Skrifter utg. av det Norske videnskapsakademi i Oslo, II. Hist-flos. Klasse, ny ser., no. 10 (1973), at 14–26. Downham, C., Viking Kings of Britain and Ireland: The Dynasty of Ívarr to A.D. 1014. Edinburgh, Dunedin, 2007. Gelting, M., Roskildekrøniken. Højbjerg, Wormianum, 2002. Helle, K., ‘Hvor star den historiske sagakritikken i dag?’ Collegium Mediaevale 24 (2011), 50–86. Jakobsson, S., ‘“Erindringen om en mægtig personlighed”: den norsk-islandske historiske tradisjon om Harald Hårfagre i et kildekritisk perspektiv’. Historisk Tidsskrift 81 (2002), 213–230. Jesch, J., ‘Norse Historical Traditions and the Historia Gruffud vab Kenan: Magnús Berfœttr and Haraldr Hárfagri’. In Gruffudd ap Cynan: A Collaborative Biography, ed. K. L. Maund, Woodbridge, Boydell, 1996, 117–147. Krag, C., ‘Norge som odel i Harald Hårfagres ætt’. Historisk Tidsskrift 68 (1989), 288–301. Krag, C., Vikingtid og Rikssamling. Aschehougs Norgeshistorie 2. Oslo, Aschehoug, 1995. Lind, J., ‘Knes Kanutus: Knud Lavard’s Political Project’. In Of Chronicles and Kings: National Saints and the Emergence of Nation States in the High Middle Ages, eds. J. D. Bergsagel, D. Hiley, and T. Riis, Copenhagen, Museum Tusculanum Press, 2015, 103–128. Morawiec, J., ‘Sveinn Haraldsson  – The Captured King of Denmark’. Aspects of Royal Power in Medieval Scandinavia, eds. J. Morawiec and R. Borysławski, Katowice, Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Śląskiego, 2018, 27–42. Niblaeus, E., Mission and Empire. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, forthcoming. Sandnes, J., ‘Claus Krag: Vikingtid og rikssamling 800–1130’. Heimen 33 (1996), 221–226. Sawyer, P., ‘Ohthere’s destinations: Norway, Denmark and England’. Ohthere’s Voyages: A Late 9th-Century Account of Voyages Along the Coasts of Norway and Denmark and Its Cultural Context, eds. J. Bately and A. Englert, Roskilde, Viking Ship Museum, 2007, 136–139.

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Stavnem, R., ‘Creating Tradition: The Use of Skaldic Verse in Old Norse Historiography’. Eddic, Skaldic, and Beyond: Poetic Variety in Medieval Iceland and Norway, ed. Martin Chase, New York, Fordham University Press, 87–101. Weibull, L., Kritiska undersökningar i Nordens historia omkring år 1000. Lund, Gleerup, 1911, 37. Weston Wyly, B., ‘From Legend to Cult Figure: Oddr Snorrason’s historicization of Óláfr Tryggvason’. Studi e materiali di storia della religioni 81, no. 2 (2015), 440–479.

7

The eleventh-century Normans of Normandy from the view of Adam of Bremen Marcin Böhm

Adam of Bremen lived in the unusually turbulent eleventh century in the territories of northern Germany and Denmark from 1050 to approximately 1081/1085. Probably born in Meissen and educated in Magdeburg, the cleric is an extremely mysterious fgure about whom we know little, except what he described in his historical work, Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontifcum. This work was written in the 1070s and the author added new information to it until his death. Adam had arrived in Bremen between 1066 and 1067, in support of the missionary campaign conducted by the church of Hamburg-Bremen. He therefore had the opportunity to stay at the court of the Danish kings and was well acquainted with the history of Scandinavia, and with the relations between Vikings and German and Slavic tribes.1 He had access to written sources, but also to eyewitnesses of many contemporaneous events.2 Owing to Adam’s fascination with the world of northern Europe, we have a series of important accounts about the history of the Vikings, including their discovery of America. Because of his broad horizons, Adam is also a source of information about the activities and settlement of the Danes in the British Isles, and their relationship with Normandy. It is Adam’s views on this last territory, and the people associated with it, that will form the subject of this chapter. Adam of Bremen mentions Normandy for the frst time in connection with a description of Knut the Great’s (996–1035) expedition to England in 1016. In section 52 of the second book of his work, he tells us that King Knut married Emma, widow of the late Anglo-Saxon King, Æthelred the Unready (966–1016).3 In the same paragraph, he tells us that she was the daughter of Count Richard of Normandy, to whom Knut offered the hand of his sister, Margaret. Richard, however, rejected this proposal and banished his fancée from Normandy, so Margaret later married Ulf from England, whose sister Gyða Þórkelsdóttir Knut married to Earl Godwine of Wessex.4 Adam explains these matrimonial manoeuvres of the Danish King as coming from his desire to make Anglo-Saxons and Normans faithful to him and to Denmark through the marriages.5 Furthermore, our author suggests that to escape Knut’s wrath, Duke Richard of Normandy went to Jerusalem where he died, leaving his son Robert,

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-8

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who was the father of William (known by the Franks as the Bastard) as his successor.6 Our historian, in schol. 41 to this paragraph, further develops the topic of Richard’s journey, confrming that the Duke of Normandy, through fear of the Danes, escaped to Jerusalem where he died. His 40 companions returned, stopping in Apulia, and from that moment they owned that land.7 Emma appears again in paragraph 72 of the same book, when Adam writes of the death of Knut, the takeover of power in Denmark by Hardeknut (1018–1042) and the marriage of her daughter Gunnhild of Denmark (c. 1020–1038) to the German King Henry III (1016 or 1017–1056).8 Adam of Bremen in the above paragraph 52 provides us with a lot of valuable information about his knowledge of the Normans and their principality in Northern France. He rightly mentions Emma as the daughter of Count Richard but seems not to know that there were three rulers of Normandy with that name.9 We know from other sources that Emma’s father was Richard I (932–996), who can in no way be associated with Knut’s expedition to England in 1016 for the simple reason that he was already dead.10 Consequently, the Richard in Adam’s account must be Emma’s brother, the second of this name, who, however, never went to the Holy Land, and neither did Knut try to secure his allegiance through marriage with his sister, Margaret. Richard II’s only connections to Jerusalem were the fact that he gave the Church of the Holy Sepulchre 100 points of gold, and that he also gave pilgrims to that place lavish gifts. Moreover, each year, monks from Mount Sinai came to Rouen for donations in gold and silver.11 The only ruler of Normandy who made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land was Robert I (1027–1035), father of William I, who died on the way back from Jerusalem on Byzantine territory.12 Perhaps he was the fancé of Knut’s sister, Estrid, who appears under the name of Margaret in the work of Adam of Bremen.13 Unlike our author, other sources claim that they were married, but it should be remembered that Robert apparently had an unhappy relationship with his wife, so much so that he eventually had the marriage annulled.14 Adam in the passage quoted above (schol. 41) also mentions the Count’s 40 companions with whom he went to the Holy Land, and who, after his death, conquered Apulia on the way back home. This information is extremely interesting because our chronicler is looking here for an answer to the source and the beginning of Norman activity in South Italy in the second half of the eleventh century. Probably by deduction, he combined some facts such as the activity of the Normans in pilgrimage both to the Holy land and to Italy (specifcally, Monte Gargano, where the shrine of Saint Michael, Patron of the Normans was located), with their military expansion in this territory, which actually began in the times of Richard II. Another thread related to Normandy and the Normans appears in book III, paragraph 51. Adam in this passage summarizes the course of the war in England in 1066, including the following events:

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the usurpation of Harold Godwinson (1022–1066). the rebellion (1029–25 September 1066) of Tostig Godwinson, Northumbria’s earl, against Harold. Tostig turned to the Norwegian King Harald Harsh-Ruler (1015–1066) for help and was supported by the Scots. the death of Tostig, Harsh-Ruler, and the King of Hibernia (Ireland), in the battle with Harold’s army at Stamford Bridge. how, eight days after this victory, William the Bastard, at the head of his feet, set off from Gaul to England to fght a war with an exhausted opponent. the battle lost by the Anglo-Saxons at Hastings and the death of Harold Godwinson, along with several thousand of his subjects. William, who won, avenged God, who was offended by the English church. He expelled monks and clergy who did not follow the rules of faith and placed the philosopher Lanfranc (1005 or 1010–1089) at the head of the church where he acted as a teacher, using the knowledge and piety he had previously demonstrated in Gaul.15

In schol. 83, in connection with these events, Adam reports that Harsh-Ruler, the King of Norway, had 300 warships under his command, all of which remained in England. All the gold that Harsh-Ruler had won in Greece as a Byzantine mercenary- fell into William the Bastard’s hands, and there was so much of it that 12 young men barely managed to lift it on their shoulders.16 Adam’s war report from the year 1066 in England is extremely laconic, but chronologically consistent. At the very beginning of the account, the author recalls England’s subordination to the Danes, which had lasted for a long time.17 He rightly reports the usurpation of the English throne by Harold Godwinson after the death of Edward the Confessor as the cause of the war. Then he immediately proceeds to Harold’s confict with his brother Tostig, not focusing on the causes but associating the person of the latter with Harald Harsh-Ruler.18 The fragment about Tostig contains information about the support given to him by the Scots. Further on, Adam mentions that the king of Hibernia fell in a clash with Harold Godwinson. This is an interesting puzzle that is easy to solve, because Adam himself mentions later that Hibernia is the homeland of the Scots, now known as Ireland.19 Also, no source of Irish origin mentions any death of one of their many rulers at the Battle of Stamford Bridge. Sources related to the Anglo-Saxons tell us that after he escaped from England, Tostig had an episode in which he found himself in Scotland, where he received the support of a local king.20 Is Adam’s information about participation in the Battle of Stamford Bridge by the king of the Scots credible? In 1066, this fgure would have been Malcolm III (1031–1093), a ruler who did not offcially and personally join the confict on the side of Tostig. Malcolm did not go to war against Normans until 1070. In that year, he waged a war against William the Bastard, giving support to Anglo-Saxon dissidents and the Danes.21 Perhaps our chronicler confused the expedition of Tostig and Harsh-Ruler with the subsequent activities of

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the Danes and Scots. Despite the support of the Norwegians, Tostig’s cause failed. Adam of Bremen emphasized that at the Battle of Stamford bridge (although he did not mention this place by name) the Anglo-Saxons had captured all of the gold that Hardrade had brought with him from Greece, which then fell into the hands of William. Our historian is also exact about the number of ships (300) under the command of Harsh-Ruler. The term used by the chronicler is naves magnas,22 implying that he means drakkars or longships(Viking warships with 60–120 rowers), not smaller vessels. Perhaps this information was gathered by Adam from someone who knew of Harsh-Ruler or personally participated in the Battle of Stamford Bridge. The further course of the Harold Godwinson campaign in the year 1066 does not appear to have interested Adam. He makes no mention of the size of William’s feet, except for the information that he set out eight days after the Battle of Stamford Bridge to England, where he later beat the AngloSaxons and killed many of them, along with their king.23 Adam provides much more information about the confict between the Papacy and the English church, which ended with William’s conquest (the author consistently calls William by his nickname, the Bastard). Equally important is the mention of Lanfranc and his arrival in England. This event took place in 1070, but Adam either did not know this, or he forgot to mention it in his work.24 The way in which Lanfranc is presented by Adam of Bremen shows that he was familiar with the words and works of the former, especially regarding his defence of the doctrine of transubstantiation.25 Hence the terms philosopher (philosophum) and teacher (ecclesia posuit doctorem) appear in this paragraph.26 Unfortunately, we do not know if Lanfranc was used in some way in William I’s policy against the Danes. However, as Archbishop of Canterbury, it is clear that Lanfranc saw the Danes as a threat to the power of his king.27 In the next paragraph of the same book, Adam mentions the relationship of William the Bastard with Sven Estridsen (1019–1076), King of Denmark. According to Adam, these relations were not good, because they both competed for power over England. William sent gifts to the Archbishop, who was Adam’s superior, to help him negotiate peace with the Danes.28 Adam focusses on William's pursuit of peace, not the rivalry already alluded to, and on William's attempts to use Adam's superior, the Archbishop, for this purpose. However, he does not specify which confict he is talking about. We know what happened from other sources. The instigator of the war was Sven Estridsen himself who, in 1069, sent a large feet under the command of his sons to England, carrying Danish troops and units consisting of Anglo-Saxon emigrants.29 The Danish King had additional support from Friesia, Saxony, and Poland (Polonia).30 They failed to land at Dover and Sandwich, but the attempt at Ipswich was more successful; however, they were still driven back. The same happened in Norwich. Only the rebellion in the vicinity of York, triggered by Anglo-Saxons dissatisfed with Norman rule, allowed the Danes to enter the territory of England. The threat was so

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serious that William himself had to intervene. He chased the Danes away and killed many of the people of northern England who had cooperated with them.32 Of that great feet, only a handful of ships returned to Denmark to bring King Sven a message of defeat.33 Why did Adam of Bremen not present an account of the Danish military expedition to England after the conquest of that land by William? Our chronicler certainly must have known the outcome of this war, but he did not mention it in his work. It is likely that King Sven would have been the source of his information.34 Sven had personal reasons not to like either the Anglo-Saxons or William I. That confrms Adam’s testimony about the rebellion of Godwine’s sons against the Danes, during which Bjørn Úlfsson, Sven’s brother, was killed by them.35 This happened despite their kinship. Bjørn Úlfsson and Harold were cousins because of the marriage between Ulf’s sister Gyða, divorcee of Count Richard of Normandy, and Godwine, father of the future King Harold of England. And in Adam’s opinion, it was the sons of Godwine who exercised real power over England, not King Edward, whose royal title meant nothing. Harold Godwinson also defeated the expedition that Sven had sent to England in retaliation and, in Adam's account, did many other bad things for which he was later punished by the Norman invasion (plaga Nordmannorum) and the overthrow of his rule.36 Adam of Bremen’s point of view on Normans and their associates refects the perspective of the Danes. Emma, Richard, Robert, William, and Lanfranc are the only people from Normandy who appear in Adam’s work. While Emma is portrayed in a positive light as the wife of Knut the Great, her male relatives do not have such a good reputation in the work of our author. It is probably the portrayals of William and his father that are least fattering. William is not described as Duke of Normandy but as the Bastard. Only in the context of his attempts to make peace with Sven does Adam present him as king. Labelling William as a Bastard and denying his successes in England refects the hostility of other rulers to him, and among such rulers we must include the King of Denmark, who actively supported the interests of Anglo-Saxon emigrants, not out of sentiment or family ties, but for ordinary political reasons. The work of Adam of Bremen thus fts frmly into the type of anti-Norman policy pursued by the Danes during the lifetime of William I. This attitude towards the Normans resulted from the Danes’ inability to accept their loss of infuence in England. Since the conquest of Sven Forkbeard and Knut, that land had seemed to be part of the natural trajectory of the Danes’ expansion. The whole kingdom had become a part of Danish world, and then was lost to the new conquerors from Normandy. To sum up, we can say that Adam of Bremen selectively chose what he wanted to convey about the Normans of Normandy. His judgment of these people was infuenced by the views of the Danes, and also indirectly of the Norwegians. The infuence of the latter can be seen in references to the loot acquired by Harsh-Ruler, which fell into the hands of William I after the Battle of Hasting. The North of England, with York, was also important

126  Marcin Böhm in the Norwegian enterprise that failed at Stamford Bridge. And the relationship between the Hamburg church and the English church in the reign of William I (­as indicated in the description of Lanfranc) must have had an equally significant impact on the choices Adam made in writing his account.

Notes 1 Helena Chłopocka, ‘­ Adam Bremeński’, Słownik Starożytności Słowiańskich, vol. 1, ed. Władysław Kowalenko, Gerard Labuda, Tadeusz ­Lehr-​­Spławiński, ­Wrocław-­​­­Warszawa-​­K raków, 1961, ­3 –​­4; Gerhard Theuerkauf, ‘­Adam von Bremen’, Hamburgische Biografie, vol. 1, ed. Franklin Kopitzsch, Dirk Brietzke, Hamburg, 2001, 1­ 6; F ­ ranz-​­Josef Schmale, ‘­3. Adam von Bremen’, Lexikon des Mittelalters, vol. 1, Verlag J. B. Metzler, 2000, ­107; Josef Svennung, Belt und Baltisch: Ostseeische Namenstudien mit besonderer Rücksicht auf Adam von Bremen, Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis, Uppsala universitets årsskrift, 1953, 24; David Fraesdorff, Der barbarische Norden: Vorstellungen und Fremdheitskategorien bei Rimbert, Thietmar von Merseburg, Adam von Bremen und Helmold von Bosau, Akademie Verlag, 2005. 2 Josef Svennung, Belt und Baltisch, ­24. 3 Gesta, lib. II, c. 54 (­52), ­114; Encomium Emmae Reginae, ed. and trans. Alistair Campbell, London, 1949, II, 16, ­32; Jakub Morawiec, Knut Wielki, król Anglii, Danii i Norwegii (­ok. ­9 95–​­1035), Kraków, 2013, ­128–​­131. 4 Gesta, lib. II, c. 54 (­52), 114; Ian Walker, Harold. The Last A ­ nglo-​­Saxon King, The History Press, 2010, 2­ 9; Kelly DeVries, The Norwegian Invasion of England in 1066, Boydell Press, 1999, 69, ­76. 5 Gesta, lib. II, c. 54 (­52), ­114. 6 Gesta, lib. II, c. 54 (­52), ­115. 7 Gesta, lib. II, c. 54 (­52), ­114–​­115. 8 Gesta, lib. II, c. 74 (­72), 134. 9 Rodulfi Glabri Historiarum Libri Quinque by Rodulfus Glaber, The Five Books of the Histories, ed. John France, Oxford, 1989, vol. I, 21, ­36. 10 De moribus et actis primorum Normanniæ ducum auctore Dudone Sancti Quintini, ed. Jules Lair, Caen, 1865, vol. 125, 290–291, 299; Rodulfi Glabri I, vol. 21, 36. 11 Rodulfi Glabri, I, vol. 21, ­36. 12 Rodulfi Glabri, IV, vol. 20, 2­ 03–​­205; Inventio et miracula sancti Vulfranni, ed. Jean Laporte, Rouen, 1938, ­41; Elisabeth Maria Cornelia Van Houts, ‘­Normandy and Byzantium in the Eleventh Century’, Byzantion 55 (­1985), ­544–​­548; Krijnie Ciggaar, Western Travelers to Constantinople, the West and Byzantium, 9­ 62–​­1204: Cultural and Political Relations, New York, 1996, ­179; Szymon Wierzbiński, U boku bazyleusa. Frankowie i Waregowie w cesarstwie bizantyńskim w XI w., Łódź, 2019, ­210. 13 Rodulfi Glabri, IV, 20, 205; David Bates, Normandy before 1066, New York, 1982, 73 and 151; Jakub Morawiec, Knut Wielki, ­323. 14 Rodulfi Glabri, IV, 20, ­205. 15 Gesta, lib. III, c. 52 (­51), 196–​­197. 16 Gesta, lib. III, c. 52 (­51), ­196. 17 Gesta, lib. III, c. 52 (­51), ­196. 18 Before he left for Norway, Tostig stayed with his kinsmen in Flanders and then visited William the Bastard, who even provided him with troops and fleets to return to England, but he failed because of the blockade of A ­ nglo-​­Saxon ships and the guarding of the coast of England by Harold Godwinson’s troops. Orderic Vitalis, Historiae ecclesiasticae, ed. Augustus Le Prévost, Leopold Delisle, vol.

The 11th-century Normans of Normandy  127 II, Paris, 1840, b.III, ch, XI, ­120–​­123; The ­Anglo-​­Saxon Chronicle, v. VII MS. E, ed. Susan Irving, Cambridge, 2004, 8­ 6–​­87; The ­Anglo-​­Saxon Chronicle, v. V MS. C, ed. Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe, Cambridge, 2001, ­119–​­121; Ian Walker, Harold, 122–​­137; Kelly DeVries, The Norwegian Invasion, 173–​­188. 19 Gesta, lib. IV, c. 10 (­10), ­239. 20 The ­Anglo-​­Saxon Chronicle, t. VII MS. E, 8­ 6–​­87; The ­Anglo-​­Saxon Chronicle, t. V MS. C, 120–​­121; Orderic Vitalis, Historiae ecclesiasticae, vol. II, b.III, ch, XIV, 143–​­144; Ian Walker, Harold, ­171–​­172. 21 Orderic Vitalis, Historiae ecclesiasticae, vol. II, b.IV, ch, VII, ­209. 22 Gesta, lib. III, c. 52 (­51), ­p. 196; Walker, Harold, 172. 23 Here, other sources related to the Normans come to our aid. Orderic Vitalis, Historiae ecclesiasticae, vol. II, b.III, ch, XIV, 144–​­150; Ian Walker, Harold, 190–​­195; William of Poitiers, Gesta Guillelmi, ed. and trans. R. H. C. Davis and Marjorie Chibnall, Oxford, 1998, II, 26, ­142 and II, 40, 39, 172; Marjorie Chibnall, The Normans, ­Wiley-​­Blackwell, 2006, 4­ 1–​­44; for William’s military skills, see John Gillingham, ‘­William the Bastard at War’, Studies in Medieval History Presented to R. Allen Brown, ed. Christopher ­Harper-​­Bill, Christopher Houldsworth and Janet L. Nelson, Boydell, 1989, ­141–​­158; for the course of the Battle of Hastings and its military analysis, see Edward A. Freeman, The Norman Conquest, in The Battle of Hastings: Sources and Interpretations Warfare in History, ed. S. Morillo, Woodbridge, Boydell Press, 1999, 149–164; John Frederic Charles Fuller, ‘The Battle of Hastings, 1066, in The Battle of Hastings: Sources and Interpretations Warfare in History, ed. S. Morillo,Woodbridge, Boydell Press, 1999, 165–188; Bernard Bachrach, ‘The Feigned Retreat at Hastings’, in The Battle of Hastings: Sources and Interpretations Warfare in History, ed. S. Morillo,Woodbridge, Boydell Press, 1999, 189–193; Reginald Allen Brown, The Battle of Hastings, in The Battle of Hastings: Sources and Interpretations Warfare in History, ed. S. Morillo,Woodbridge, Boydell Press, 1999, 196–219. The Battle of Hastings: Sources and Interpretations Warfare in History, ed. Stephen Morillo, Boydell Press, 1999, 149–​­220. 24 Orderic Vitalis, Historiae ecclesiasticae, vol. II, b.IV, ch, VI, 2­ 09; Year 1070: Her Landfranc se þe wæs abbod an Kadum com to ængla lande, se efter feawum dagum wearð arcebiscop on Kantwareberig. ­A nglo-​­Saxon Chronicle(­­A-​­Prime), The Parker Manuscript (­accessed 20.01.2020: https://­en.wikisource.org/­w iki/­A nglo_ Saxon_Chronicle_(­­A-​­Prime); The ­Anglo-​­Saxon Chronicle, ed. John Allen Giles, London, 1914, ­ 146–​­ 147; Herbert Edward John Cowdrey, Lanfranc: Scholar, Monk and Archbishop, Oxford University Press, 2003, 78–​­79. 25 Richard Southern, Saint Anselm: a Portrait in a Landscape, Cambridge, 1993, 44; Cowdrey, Lanfranc, ­46–​­74. 26 Gesta, lib. III, c. 52 (­51), ­197. 27 The Letters of Lanfranc, Archbishop of Canterbury, ed. Helen Clover, Margaret Gibson, Oxford, 1979, 1­ 26, n. 36. 28 Gesta, lib. III, c. 54 (­53), 198. 29 Orderic Vitalis, Historiae ecclesiasticae, vol. II, b.IV, ch, V, ­190–​­191. 30 Orderic Vitalis, Historiae ecclesiasticae, vol. II, b.IV, ch, V, ­191. 31 Orderic Vitalis, Historiae ecclesiasticae, vol. II, b.IV, ch, V, ­191–​­192. 32 Orderic Vitalis, Historiae ecclesiasticae, vol. II, b.IV, ch, V, 192–​­197; Chronica magistri Rogeri de Houedene, ed. William Stubbs, vol. I, Rolls Series, London, 1868, ­118; Matthæi Parisiensis, monachi Sancti Albani, Historia Anglorum, ed. Frederic Madden, vol. I, London, 1866, 1­ 2; R. Allen Brown, Historia Normanów, tłum. J. Jarniewicz, Gdańsk, 1996, ­73; Paul Dalton, Conquest, Anarchy and Lordship: Yorkshire ­1066–​­1154, Cambridge, 1994, 24; Marcin Böhm, Normański podbój Irlandii w XII wieku. Zielona Wyspa pomiędzy wikingami a przybyszami z Normandii, Oświęcim, 2017, 84; Gillingham, William, ­158; Marjorie Chibnall, ­Anglo-​­Norman England, 1066–​­1166, Basil Blackwell, 1987, ­18–​­19.

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Orderic Vitalis, Historiae ecclesiasticae, vol. II, b.IV, ch, V, 197. David Fraesdorff, Der barbarische Norden, 146. Gesta, lib. III, c. 14 (13), 154–155. Gesta, lib. III, c. 14 (13), schol, 64 (65), pp. 154–155; Ian Walker, Harold, pp. 45– 46; Kelly DeVries, The Norwegian Invasion, pp. 145–154; Eric John, ‘Edward the Confessor and the Norman Succession’, The English Historical Review 94/371 (1979), pp. 261–263; David C. Douglas, ‘Edward the Confessor, Duke William of Normandy, and the English Succession’, The English Historical Review 68/269 (1953), pp. 543–544.

Bibliography Primary sources Adam von Bremen, Hamburgische Kirchengeschichte (Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontifcum), Scriptores rerum Germanicarum in usum scholarum separatim editi 2, ed. B. Schmeidler, Hannover, 1917. Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (A-Prime), The Parker Manuscript, (accessed 20.01.2020: https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Anglo_Saxon_Chronicle_(A-Prime) Chronica magistri Rogeri de Houedene, ed. W. Stubbs, vol. I, Rolls Series, London, Longman, 1868. De moribus et actis primorum Normanniæ ducum auctore Dudone Sancti Quintini, ed. J. Lair, Caen, F. Le Blanc-Hardel, 1865. Encomium Emmae Reginae, ed. and trans. A. Campbell, London, Royal Historical Society, 1949. Inventio et miracula sancti Vulfranni, ed. J. Laporte, Rouen, Lainé, 1938. Matthæi Parisiensis, monachi Sancti Albani, Historia Anglorum, ed. F. Madden, vol. I, London, Longman, 1866. Orderic Vitalis, Historiae ecclesiasticae, ed. Augustus Le Prévost, Leopold Delisle, vol. II, Paris, 1840. Rodulf Glabri Historiarum Libri Quinque by Rodulfus Glaber, The Five Books of the Histories, ed. J. France, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1989. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, ed. J. A. Giles, London, G. Bell and Sons, 1914. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, t. VII MS. E, ed. S. Irving, Cambridge, Brewer, 2004. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, t. V MS. C, ed. K. O’Brien O’Keeffe, Cambridge, Brewer, 2001. The Letters of Lanfranc, Archbishop of Canterbury, ed. H. Clover, M. Gibson, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1979. William of Poitiers, Gesta Guillelmi, ed. and trans. R. H. C. Davis and M. Chibnall, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1998.

Secondary literature Bates D., Normandy before 1066, New York, Longman, 1982. Bachrach B., ‘The Feigned Retreat at Hastings’, in The Battle of Hastings: Sources and Interpretations Warfare in History, ed. S. Morillo,Woodbridge, Boydell Press, 1999. Böhm M., Normański podbój Irlandii w XII wieku. Zielona Wyspa pomiędzy wikingami a przybyszami z Normandii, Oświęcim, Napoleon V, 2017.

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Brown A. R., Historia Normanów, trans. J. Jarniewicz, Gdańsk, Marabut, 1996. Brown A.R., The Battle of Hastings, in The Battle of Hastings: Sources and Interpretations Warfare in History, ed. S. Morillo,Woodbridge, Boydell Press, 1999. Chibnall M., Anglo-Norman England 1066–1166, Oxford, Basil Blackwell, 1987. Chibnall M., The Normans, Wiley-Blackwell, 2006. Chłopocka H., ‘Adam Bremeński’, Słownik Starożytności Słowiańskich, vol. 1, ed. W. Kowalenko, G. Labuda, T. Lehr-Spławiński, Wrocław-Warszawa-Kraków, Wydawnictwo Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 1961. Ciggaar Krijnie Nelly, Western Travelers to Constantinople, the West and Byzantium, 962–1204: Cultural and Political Relations, Leiden, New York, Köln, Brill, 1996. Cowdrey H. E. J., Lanfranc: Scholar, Monk and Archbishop, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2003. Dalton P., Conquest, Anarchy and Lordship: Yorkshire 1066–1154, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1994. DeVries K., The Norwegian Invasion of England in 1066, Woodbridge, Boydell , 1999. Douglas D. C., ‘Edward the Confessor, Duke William of Normandy, and the English Succession’, The English Historical Review 68/269 (1953), 526–545. Fraesdorff D., Der barbarische Norden: Vorstellungen und Fremdheitskategorien bei Rimbert, Thietmar von Merseburg, Adam von Bremen und Helmold von Bosau, Berlin, Akademie Verlag, 2005. Freeman E.A, The Norman Conquest, in The Battle of Hastings: Sources and Interpretations Warfare in History, ed. S. Morillo, Woodbridge, Boydell Press, 1999. Fuller J.F.C., ‘The Battle of Hastings, 1066, in The Battle of Hastings: Sources and Interpretations Warfare in History, ed. S. Morillo,Woodbridge, Boydell Press, 1999. Gillingham J., ‘William the Bastard at War’, Studies in Medieval History Presented to R. Allen Brown, ed. Ch. Harper-Bill, Ch. Houldsworth and J. L. Nelson, Woodbridge Boydell, 1989, 141–158. Houts van E. M. C., ‘Normandy and Byzantium in the Eleventh Century’, Byzantion 55 (1985), 544–559. John E., ‘Edward the Confessor and the Norman Succession’, The English Historical Review 94/371 (1979), 241–267. Morawiec J., Knut Wielki, król Anglii, Danii i Norwegii (ok. 995–1035), Kraków, Wydawnictwo Avalon, 2013. Schmale F.-J., ‘3. Adam von Bremen’, Lexikon des Mittelalters, vol. 1, München, Verlag J. B. Metzler 2000, 107. Southern R., Saint Anselm: A Portrait in a Landscape, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1993. Svennung J., Belt und Baltisch: Ostseeische Namenstudien mit besonderer Rücksicht auf Adam von Bremen, Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis, Uppsala universitets årsskrift, 1953. Theuerkauf G., ‘Adam von Bremen’, Hamburgische Biografe, vol. 1, ed. F. Kopitzsch, D. Brietzke, Hamburg, Christians, 2001. Walker I., Harold. The Last Anglo-Saxon King, Stroud, The History Press, 2010. Wierzbiński S., U boku bazyleusa. Frankowie i Waregowie w cesarstwie bizantyńskim w XI w., Łódź, Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Łódzkiego, 2019.

8

Religious conversions in Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontifcum and in Saxo Grammaticus’ Gesta Danorum:

A comparative approach Jules Piet Introduction

Religious conversion is a common theme of both the Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontifcum by Adam of Bremen, written circa 1075, and the Gesta Danorum written by the Dane Saxo Grammaticus circa 1210. The two works narrate the conversion of Scandinavia and, more specifcally, Denmark, to Christianity. Adam and Saxo’s political aims were nonetheless radically different. Nearly 200 years apart, the two authors worked for rival archbishoprics: Adam endorsed the imperial party in its confict with the Emperor1 and wanted to demonstrate the authority of the Archbishopric of Hamburg over the province of Scandinavia,2 whereas Saxo intended to depict the newly created Archbishopric of Lund, as well as the Kingdom of Denmark, as independent entities, with the founding of the Archbishopric of Lund being one of the pivotal focal points of his work.3 Saxo’s negative attitude toward Hamburg-Bremen is evident from the few instances where the archepiscopal see appears in the Gesta Danorum: in ix.7.3, Saxo describes the Bishop of Lund as the true authority over the King of Denmark.4 In xii.5.1., the Archbishop of Hamburg wrongfully excommunicates King Eric, a decision overruled by the Pope thanks to the efforts of Asser, Bishop of Lund. In the same chapter, the Archbishop of Hamburg is characterized as “hostile to the Danes, owing to their removal, long before, from the jurisdiction of his archiepiscopate.”5 Saxo consistently downplays, or even omits to mention, the role of the Archbishopric of Hamburg in the conversion of Denmark and steadily portrays its later infuence over the kingdom in a negative light. Signifcantly, Saxo mentions Saint Ansgar, the frst missionary of the north, only once in the whole Gesta Danorum, and does not specify his relationship with Hamburg. As noted by Karsten Friis-Jensen, this short, solitary mention of Ansgar reveals Saxo’s efforts to downplay the infuence of Hamburg-Bremen over the conversion of Scandinavia.6 Despite their stark political opposition, Adam’s work is one of the main sources for Saxo, particularly regarding the conversion of Denmark. This

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-9

Religious conversions: Adam and Saxo  131 relation of both affiliation and opposition is a problematic one for Saxo, and the Danish author never mentioned the name of Adam of Bremen. He did, however, refer to other less important medieval sources, such as Bede7 and Dudo of Saint Quentin,8 who respectively produced histories of England and of Normandy. Saxo, however, did not bluntly contradict Adam’s narrative and a parallel reading of the two works shows many similarities in their descriptions of the conversion of Scandinavia. Many of the discrepancies between the two narratives are subtle and may appear as details. As I will show, these modifications, although subtle, may confer a radically different meaning on Saxo’s narrative compared to that of Adam. As Bruce Lincoln wrote regarding myth: But if we are to treat myth as an ideological and not simply a taxonomic discourse, we will need a more dialectic, eminently political theory of narration, one that recognizes the capacity of narrators to modify details of the stories that pass through them, introducing changes in the classificatory orders as they do so, most often in ways that reflect their subject position and advance their interests. […] Rather, the relation between social order and the stories told about it is much looser ­a nd – ​­as a ­result – ​­considerably more dynamic, for this loose fit creates possibilities for rival narrators, who modify aspects of the established order as depicted in prior variants, with consequences that can be ­far-​­reaching if and when audiences come to perceive these innovative representations as reality.9 From this perspective, I will look at Adam’s and Saxo’s work as the products of ‘­r ival narrators,’ which convey validations for two conflicting political orders. In short, I will study them as myths as they are defined by Lincoln: “­ideology in narrative form”,10 or in this case, conflicting ideologies in narrative form.11 A similar approach has been applied by Thomas Foerster to a narrative appearing in both Adam’s and Saxo’s works: Poppo’s ordeal and subsequent conversion of the Danes. Foerster defined Poppo’s ordeal as a myth, as defined by Roland Barthes, according to whom myths are not defined by their object but by the way they are uttered.12 My approach will be narrower in scope as I shall focus on only two sources, Adam’s Gesta and Saxo’s Gesta Danorum. It will, however, be broader in terms of the number of events studied, as I will not limit myself to Poppo’s ordeal, but will cover every conversion narrative in these two texts. As such, I shall look at how Saxo modified Adam’s narrative and how he subverted its original ideological implication to contradict the views defended by Adam himself. For this purpose, I will begin by studying the authors’ descriptions of the events starting from Harald Klak (­died c. 852) to the reign of Sven Forkbeard (­c. ­987–​­c. 1014).13 I will then study two narratives only found in Saxo’s work: the journey of Thorkil to the land of ­Utgartha-​­Loki and the conversion of the Wends to Christianity.

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The conversion of Denmark Both Adam and Saxo consider Harald Klak to be the first Christian Danish king. In Adam’s narrative Harald Klak is a legitimate candidate for the Danish throne in the ongoing civil war between him and Regenfried. Harald converted at the demand of the German Emperor Louis the Pious in order to achieve an alliance with him.14 In Saxo’s narrative, Harald Klak is the leader of a revolt of Jutlanders against Ragnar Lothbrok. As in Adam’s Gesta, Harald asks Louis the Pious to support his cause which the German Emperor only agrees to do on the condition of Harald’s conversion.15 Saxo then goes on to describe how Harald Klak introduced Christianity in Denmark, building churches and converting its inhabitants. His efforts, however, were thwarted by Ragnar Lothbrok, who destroyed the Christian sanctuaries and restored the old religion. Harald Klak’s failure is absolute. Not only was his work as a missionary king wholly unsuccessful, but he himself rejected Christianity and returned to paganism, thus becoming an apostate.16 The next king to be converted to Christianity in both Adam’s and Saxo’s works is Horic, also called Eric by Saxo. According to Adam, Ansgar converted King Horic, who later died in a civil war.17 Another Horic, also called Eric by Saxo, inherited the throne but became a persecutor of Christians, but Ansgar eventually converted him as well.18 Saxo, for his part, never mentions the conversion of the first Eric but only that of the second, who also started his life as a persecutor of Christians but was later converted by Ansgar: Siquidem Ericus ad salutares Ansgarii monitus sacrilege mentis errore deposito, quicquid per eiusdem insolentiam commiserat, expiauit, tantumque in excolenda religione se gessit, quantum egerat in aspernanda.19 (­For Erik, setting aside the profanity of a misguided mind on the wholesome advice of Ansgar, atoned for all the offences of his pride and spent as much energy in fostering Christianity as he had before in spurning it.) In this laudatory passage, Saxo expresses his admiration of the second King Horic who, mirroring the figure of Saint Paul, began his career as a persecutor only to become a Christian himself after a fall from his horse on the road to Damascus. As Saxo puts it: Laudabilior enim est uita, cuius initium turpe speciosus finis abripit, quam cuius probabile exordium in culpas flagitiaque decurrit.20 (­a man’s life is more praiseworthy when a bad opening is effaced by a glorious close than when, after a promising beginning, he descends into mischiefs and crimes.) It is easy to see in this appraisal an indirect criticism of Harald Klak, whose spiritual journey went the other way, from Christian to apostate. The two authors agree that the period following the second King ­Horic’s reign was tarnished by persecutions that culminated under the reign of

Religious conversions: Adam and Saxo  133 King Gorm. Adam, however, insists on the survival of the seeds planted by Ansgar, despite the persecutions: Nobis hoc scire sufficiat omnes adhuc paganos fuisse, ac in tanta regnorum mutatione vel excursione barbarorum christianitatem in Dania, quae a sancto Ansgario plantata est, aliquantulam remansisse, non totam defecisse.21 (­It is enough for us to know that they were still pagans and that, in spite of so many changes in rulers and so many barbarian inroads, there was left in Denmark a little of the Christianity which Ansgar had planted, and which did not entirely disappear.) Saxo, on the contrary, focuses on the destruction suffered by the Christian communities during the persecutions of Ragnar and Gorm.22 Unlike Adam, Saxo never comments on the survival of the Christian community. Adam’s commentary on the persecution of Christians was certainly intended to demonstrate the strength of the seeds planted by Ansgar, but Saxo subtly turns it into a narrative of rupture rather than of continuity. As such, under his quill, the missionary efforts of H ­ amburg-​­Bremen are essentially fruitless. Gorm’s son and successor, Harald Bluetooth is described by both authors as a ­converter-​­king. In Adam’s Gesta two events led to his conversion. The young Harald was first introduced to Christianity by Unni, Archbishop of Hamburg.23 Then, after his ascension to the throne, Harald was formally converted after being militarily and politically subdued by Emperor Otto, who even became godfather to his son, Sven, who then became known as ­Sven- ​­Otto.24 In this manner, Adam depicts the conversion of Harald as a result of the joint efforts of the Hamburg Archbishopric and imperial power. Unni may sow the seeds of faith in a sympathetic king, but only Otto can tame a barbarous and rebellious people into accepting Christianity. In Saxo’s work Unni is only mentioned once with no reference to King Harald.25 In his account, the conversion of Harald happened immediately after the incursion of Otto into Denmark, thus omitting any involvement of the Dioceses of H ­ amburg-​­Bremen in the process. Furthermore, Saxo, in a purposely ambiguous narrative, does not state that Otto’s invasion was the cause of Harald’s conversion. Saxo instead branded Otto’s campaign as ­futile (­uanus apparuit)­26 as, according to him, the Emperor retreated from Denmark after being exhausted by Harald’s army. Ultimately, Harald’s conversion is presented less as an act of political submission than as a deliberate choice: Verum Haraldus rebus cum imperatore compositis consortium catholice religionis amplexus diuinam humanamque pacem regno suo conciliauit,27

134

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Rather than being a vassal, as in Adam’s narrative, Harald appears as an equal to the Emperor. As such, Saxo never refers to Sven Harald’s son as “Sven-Otto.” Another difference between Adam’s and Saxo’s narratives is their respective accounts of Poppo’s28 ordeal and its relation to King Sven Forkbeard’s reign. King Sven, according to the two authors, renounced Christianity,29 betrayed his father and took the kingdom of Denmark from him. Because of his apostasy and patricide, God abandoned the King, who was thus defeated by another Eric, the pagan King of Sweden, who conquered his kingdom. Adam situates the ordeal of Bishop Poppo of Schleswig during Eric’s reign. In his account, Poppo is sent by the Emperor to Denmark, which was then under the rule of the Swedish pagan King Eric, who took the kingdom from King Sven. There the saint undergoes two ordeals and converts thousands of Danes30 as well as King Eric.31 Eric later dies of natural causes and is succeeded by Sven, who seizes the opportunity to take back his kingdom.32 Yet, still unrepentant, Sven is once again defeated by the Swedish King, Olaf, who conquers Denmark. At this point, Sven suddenly reverts to Christianity and, through God’s favour, is given back his kingdom by King Olaf.33 Saxo’s account starts similarly to that of Adam: Sven renounces Christianity, betrays his father, takes the kingdom from him,34 and becomes a persecutor.35 He is later defeated by King Eric of Sweden36 and seeks exile in Norway and then the British Isles.37 During his exile, Sven realizes his misfortunes are a result of patricide and his persecution of Christian faith. He converts back to Christianity and retrieves his kingdom when King Eric dies.38 Yet, despite Sven’s guidance, the Danes prove themselves attached to the old religion and refuse to convert to Christianity. Fortunately, the King is assisted in his project by the missionary, Poppo, who undergoes an ordeal and, as a result, converts the Danes.39 Saxo mostly uses narrative elements found in Adam of Bremen’s text. These include Harald’s conversion, Sven’s betrayal, Eric’s conquest of Denmark, Sven’s conversion, Poppo’s miracle and Sven’s reconquest of his kingdom. We may compare his narrative to that of his contemporary, Sven Aggesen, who mentions neither Sven’s betrayal nor his apostasy. On the contrary, according to Sven, it was Harald who renounced Christianity while his son remained an exemplary Christian king.40 As such, Saxo’s narrative is much closer to Adam’s Gesta than it is to Sven Aggesen’s work.41 Saxo nonetheless altered the sequence of events and rejected two elements from Adam’s narrative: the second defeat of Sven and his subsequent reinstallation as King of Denmark.

Religious conversions: Adam and Saxo  135 Adam

Saxo

Harald’s conversion Sven’s betrayal Eric’s conquest of Denmark Poppo’s ordeal Eric’s death Sven’s retaking of Denmark Olaf’s conquest of Denmark Sven’s conversion Sven is given back his kingdom

Harald’s conversion Sven’s betrayal Eric’s conquest of Denmark Sven’s conversion Eric’s death Sven’s retaking of Denmark Poppo’s ordeal

Saxo changed the date of Poppo’s ordeal in order to have it performed during the reign of King Sven Forkbeard. Indeed, having the miracle take place under the occupation of Denmark by a Swedish king was evidently unsuited to Saxo’s portrayal of Denmark as an independent entity. This change, however, would not be significant if Saxo had not altered the date of Sven’s conversion as well. Should Sven be pagan at the time of Poppo’s ordeal, the conversion would appear as a strictly foreign deed. Saxo, however, had the King converted earlier, hence making the Danish monarchy an initiator as well as an active player in the conversion of the Danes. The last difference between Adam’s and Saxo’s narratives may be explained in the same way: because of Sven’s earlier conversion in the Gesta Danorum, the conquest of his kingdom by King Olaf of Sweden, which happened as a divine punishment, was now out of place. As such, Saxo did not include it in his narrative. Significantly, Saxo not only changed the date of the ordeal but also its place. Adam could not decide whether the ordeal happened at Schleswig or Ribe, two places south of Denmark close to the borders of the Empire and Hamburg. Saxo placed it at Isøre in Sjælland, which was, according to him, the location of the assembly of the Danes at the core of the kingdom. This description of the conversion as happening in a place of national and political significance is similar to Ari Þorgilsson’s representation of the conversion of the Icelanders at the Alþing in Íslendingabók (­c. 1130).42 Sven’s reign may be compared to that of King Eric, who started his life as a persecutor and became a Christian king. His numerous and severe flaws serve to highlight the miraculous character of his conversion and it is he, not Harald, who is portrayed as the ultimate c­ onvert-​­king of Denmark. As Haki Antonsson noted, the association of Sven’s spiritual journey with the Christianization of Denmark makes the conversion of Denmark appear to be the result of the spiritual progress of the Danes themselves.43

Thorkil’s journey Of course, Saxo did not simply modify previously existing narratives. His Gesta Danorum accounts for a wider period than Adam’s Gesta as its

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timespan is greater, regarding both the past and the future. In this respect, Saxo tackled the question of religious conversion on other occasions not discussed by Adam. One of these instances is the narrative of Thorkil’s two journeys in the land of giants. The story is found in the eighth book of the Gesta Danorum and takes place during the reign of the legendary King Gorm, not to be confused with Gorm the Old mentioned earlier. This Gorm, who is unknown in Adam of Bremen’s Gesta, is described by Saxo as driven by a thirst for knowledge: Hic enim nouum audacie genus complexus hereditarium fortitudinis spiritum scrutandis rerum nature uestigiis quam armis excolere maluit, utque alios regum ardor bellicus, ita ipsum cognoscendorum mirabilium, quecumque uel experimento deprehensa uel rumore uulgata fuerant, precordialis stimulabat auiditas.44 (This man was enterprising in a novel way, for he preferred to exercise the spirit of adventurousness he had inherited not with weapons, but by investigating the features of natural phenomena; as other princes were stimulated by a craze for war, he was excited by a deep-seated passion to discover marvels, either hit upon through his own experience or divulged by word of mouth.) Thorkil’s second journey is the most interesting for this discussion and I will thus skim quickly over the frst one: King Gorm hears from Icelanders of the fantastic land of the giant, Geirrøth, supposedly flled with riches although located in the almost unattainable north, beyond the realm of permanent darkness. King Gorm then sends an expedition to this marvellous land with the explorer, Thorkil. Three galleys engage in the expedition and face trials in the northern sea before reaching Bjarmaland where they encounter Guthmund, Geirrøth’s brother, and a golden bridge leading to the supernatural world. The sailors are surprised by a storm during their journey back and, as a last resort, perform sacrifces to their numerous deities while Gorm prays to his favourite god, Utgartha-Loki, and thus successfully sees the return of more clement weather. Later, older and married, King Gorm is convinced by unnamed individuals that his soul is immortal and thus ponders over his eternal fate.45 Thorkil is therefore sent on a second expedition to fnd Utgartha-Loki in order to gather answers regarding the fate of human souls. As in the previous expedition, Thorkil and his companions must face supernatural trials, where their willpower and wits are put to the test. Finally, after a journey through darkness, Thorkil and his companions reach the cave of UtgarthaLoki where they fnd, instead of a powerful god, a putrid giant chained to the foor of the cavern. As proof of their discovery, the sailors pluck a hair from the giant’s beard, and nearly die because of its stench. The crew is then attacked by fying serpents spitting poison on them. As in the preceding expedition, the sailors resort to prayers to their gods. This time, however,

Religious conversions: Adam and Saxo 46

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Thorkil did not pray to a pagan deity but to the “god of the universe.” Only then does Thorkil reach Germany, where he is introduced to Christianity. King Gorm, however, did not survive to hear Thorkil’s report, and dies as soon as he discovers the true nature of Utgartha-Loki.47 Here, Saxo presents a model of a conversion narrative that is different to what can be seen in Adam’s Gesta. The conversion is initiated not by a foreign Christian individual but by the genuine quest for knowledge of a pagan king. Unlike Adam’s conversion patterns in his Gesta, the conversion is not an immediate transformation caused by the intervention of a foreign agent. It is a progressive evolution initiated by the converted themselves. Furthermore, Thorkil does not wait for missionaries to come to him but goes to Germany himself, where his converters do not meet an idolater, but a self-taught monotheist. While the narrative of Thorkil fnds no parallel in Adam’s Gesta, its similarities with Thor’s journey as described in Snorri Sturluson’s Edda have been remarked upon. Mathias Nordvig argues that “the narratives about Thorkil can be identifed as derivatives of some of the Þórr-myths preserved in Snorra Edda”.48 The basic structures of these two tales are similar and it seems likely that one inspired the other, or that the two derive from a common source. Both narratives describe the expedition of travellers beyond the sea and into the realm of giants and Utgartha-Loki. However, the similarities stop there: one of the main differences between the two narratives is certainly their respective descriptions of Utgartha-Loki. In Snorri’s Edda, Utgartha-Loki is a powerful and colourful character entertaining a court in a magnifcent hall.49 In the Gesta Danorum he is a pitiful and powerless giant, chained in a cave. Putting aside the question of the precedence of one of the narratives over the other, what is certain is that one of the authors radically modifed the nature of Utgartha-Loki, turning him either from a powerful king into a weak prisoner or from a weak prisoner into a powerful king. This invites us, as Bruce Lincoln suggests, to “[p]ay particular attention to the way the categories constituting the social order are redefned and recalibrated such that certain groups move up and others move down within the extant hierarchy.”50 In this case, it is the fctitious group of the giants which moves up and down the social hierarchy. Why is that so? As I will argue, most of the differences between the two narratives may be explained by the fact that Saxo’s narrative is designed as a conversion narrative, while Snorri’s is not. Both narratives describe the interaction of two groups of people, one of which I will refer to as “the travellers”, who crossed the ocean and went into the realm of the second group. This group, which I will call the “paranormal hosts”,51 lived beyond the ocean and possessed abnormal features and abilities. The two narratives, however, differ in their descriptions of the two groups. In Snorri’s narrative, the travellers are the gods, represented by Thor and Loki  – as well as one human  – while the paranormal hosts are the giants. The text demonstrates the ineffectiveness of the gods’ power,

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unable to see through Utgartha-Loki’s illusion, and incapable of mastering the forces of nature: fre, ocean, the Miðgarðsormr, that is the giant serpent lying in the bottom of the ocean in Old Norse mythology,52 and the passing of time. In Saxo’s Gesta, the roles are switched. It demonstrates the weakness of the paranormal hosts, not that of the travellers. Indeed, Saxo, as well as Snorri, seems to use this narrative in order to depict the pagan deities as ultimately powerless. Saxo, however, produced a conversion narrative. In this perspective it is only natural to have the role of the travellers played by humans who will encounter their deities in the paranormal realm. The consequence is that it is now the giants, and not the gods, who are portrayed as worshiped deities. Unlike Snorri, who simulated a pagan point of view, Saxo wrote from a strictly Christian perspective. The weakness of the worshiped entities need not be demonstrated by tricks, it is overwhelmingly evident. Thorkil’s conversion is not initiated by vanquishing or tricking the deities, but simply by observing their true nature. These two narratives display similarities with the narrative framework of the Gylfaginning, the frst part of Snorri’s Edda, in which a human king, Gylf, is confronted by the delusions of supernatural entities, the Æsir. As argued by Christopher Abram, this narrative may itself be read as a sort of conversion narrative in which Gylf highlights the inconsistencies of paganism by asking pertinent questions.53 I do not follow Abram’s conclusion, according to which Gylf somehow ‘won’ this confrontation by demonstrating the internal inconsistencies in the Æsir cosmology. As suggested by the end of the Gylfaginning, Gylf was convinced by the Æsir tales, as he reported them as truth, which resulted in the birth of paganism in Scandinavia. Gylf lost the trial, and it is the role of the reader not to repeat his mistake, but rather to recognize the delusions within the words of the Æsir. As such, Thorkil may be seen as a successful counterpart to Gylf’s failure: Gylf initiated the birth of paganism in Scandinavia by letting himself be tricked by the pseudo-gods while Thorkil’s success in unveiling the true nature of pagan deities announces the end of paganism and the coming of Christianity.

Saxo

Travellers Paranormal Function of entities the travellers

Function of the Demonstrably paranormal weak entities entities

Humans

Worshipped deities Tricksters

Snorri Gods

Giants

Worshippers

Giants

Worshipped deities

Giants Gods

As discussed at length by Karsten Friis-Jensen, Saxo’s narrative regarding Thorkil shows similarities with the description of the natural knowledge of God as described in the Book of Wisdom and the writings of the Latin apologetic author, Lactantius.54 These conceptions are also similar to that

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of theologians such as Peter Abelard, William of Saint Thierry, Herveus of Bourg-Déols and Hugh of Saint Victor, who thought the monotheistic God and Trinity could be known through reason alone, while God’s incarnation needed to be revealed through divine illumination.55 The differences in the conversion narratives from Adam and Saxo, however, may be due to more than a different intellectual background. Conversion, and the way to recount it, may differ vastly from one milieu to another.56 Saxo’s and Adam’s narratives display signifcant dissimilarities in the aspects of conversion they choose to emphasize. Adam’s narrative underlines the dependance of the converted, who owe their conversion almost entirely to a benevolent and persistent converter. His narratives stress the relations of domination between an active agent and a passive subject. Saxo, for his part, highlights the active participation of the converted: contrary to Adam who consistently portrays the conversion of Denmark as the result of its political submission, Saxo describes the conversion of the Danes as an expression of Danish independence and greatness. He values personal inquiries into the truth over miraculous revelations, which require the presence of a converter (as in the case of Poppo’s ordeal). As such, Saxo’s narrative may describe conversion as a slower, gradual intellectual process which, as in the case of Thorkil’s conversion, can metaphorically be represented by a sea journey with its many stopovers and detours. It is interesting to compare Saxo’s portrayal of the conversion of Scandinavia, where the Danes were the converted, with his portrayal of the conversion of the Baltic people, where the Danes were the converters. In the fourteenth book of the Gesta Danorum, Saxo recounts the Danish military expeditions against the pagan peoples of the Baltic region.57 The fourteenth book of the Gesta is often considered to be the core of Saxo’s work. It recounts the military exploits of Saxo’s frst patron, Archbishop Absalon, and is considerably longer than any other book within the work.58 In this book Saxo, recounted the expedition of King Erik Ejegod to the island of Rügen. According to Saxo, it was he who undertook the task of converting the island.59 The text also states that the citizens of Arkona, one of the main cities and fortresses of Rügen, agreed to convert to Christianity in exchange for their safety. Their conversion, however, was disastrous and Saxo mockingly describes how the Wends drank the baptismal water instead of bathing in it, only to return to their old ways as soon as the Danes left the island.60 In fact, Saxo describes their local cult as a sort of perversion of Christianity: quod Rugiani quondam a Karolo Cesare expugnati sanctumque Vitum Coruegiensem religiosa nece insignem tributis colere iussi, defuncto uictore libertatem reposcere cupientes seruitem supersitione mutarunt, instituto domi simulacro, quod sancti Viti uocabulo censuerunt. Ad cuius cultum contemptis Coruegiensibus pensionis summam transferre coeperunt, affrmantes domestico Vito contentos externo obsequi non oportere.61

140  Jules Piet (­when Charlemagne had at one time taken Rügen by assault and commanded its inhabitants to pay tribute to St. Vitus of Corvey, who had died an illustrious martyr’s death, the islanders, anxious to claim back freedom after their vanquisher’s decease, exchanged thralldom for superstition and erected within their community an effigy which they proposed to call St Vitus. With contempt for the monks of Corvey, they started to transfer the amount they gave in tribute to this native cult, maintaining that they were quite satisfied with their local Vitus and were not obliged to render homage to a foreign equivalent.) Not only are the inhabitants of Arkona impervious to the Christian faith, they are even able to pervert Christianity into idolatry. As such, the Wends appear as a negative counterpart to the Danes: while the Danes were able to initiate their own conversion, the Wends could not even convert after being taught the principle of the faith. It is not until the Danes capture their city a second time and force them to destroy their idol that the Wends are converted under the guidance of Bishop Absalon.62 In these episodes, like Adam before him, Saxo constructed a conversion narrative underpinning an asymmetrical relationship of domination between a generous converter and a stubborn pagan convert. This narrative is aimed at validating a certain political order: the submission of the Wends to the Danish Church, just as the Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontificum, offered validation for the inclusion of Scandinavia in the church of ­Hamburg-​­Bremen. In this way, the narrative is certainly as much a myth as Adam’s retelling of the conversion of Denmark. Political myths seem to be inseparable from political organization itself, as they are found wherever collective life exists (­including in its modern form).63 Thus, Adam’s and Saxo’s histories are certainly collective products, not because they were anonymously authored by the community as a whole, which they were not, but because they responded to their collective need for stories validating, and actualizing, their own existence.

Notes 1 Henrik Janson, “­Adam of Bremen and the Conversion of Scandinavia,” in Christianizing People and Converting Individuals, ed. Guyda Armstrong and Ian N. Wood, International Medieval Research 7 (­Turnhout: Brepols, 2000), ­83–​­88. 2 On this subject see for instance Birgit Sawyer, “­Scandinavian Conversion Histories,” Harvard Ukrainian Studies 12/­13 (­1988), ­46–​­60. 3 Birgit Sawyer, “Scandinavian Conversion Histories” 46–50 at 50–52. See Inge ­Skovgaard-​­Petersen, “­Saxo, Historian of the Patria,” Mediaeval Scandinavia, no. 2 (­1960): ­54–​­77, at 69; and Saxo Grammaticus, Gesta Danorum, The History of the Danes, ed. Karsten F ­ riis-​­Jensen, trans. Peter Fisher, vol. 1, 2 vols., Oxford Medieval Texts (­Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), x­ xxvi–​­xxxix. See also Haki Antonsson, “­Traditions of Conversion in Medieval Scandinavia: A Synthesis,” Saga Book 34 (­2010): ­25–​­74, at ­66–​­67. 4 Saxo, 2. XI, c. 7.3, 803. 5 Ibidem, 2. XIV, c. 5.6, ­1018–​­1020.

Religious conversions: Adam and Saxo  141 6 Ibidem, l. IX, c. 6.1, ­668–​­669, n. 28. 7 Ibidem, l. I c. 1.2, 21. 8 Ibidem, l. I c. 1.1, ­18–​­20. 9 Bruce Lincoln, Theorizing Myth. Narrative, Ideology, and Scholarship (­Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1999), 1­ 49–​­150. 10 Bruce Lincoln, Theorizing Myth. Narrative, Ideology, and Scholarship, xii. 11 In that I reject, as Lincoln, the distinction drawn between myth and ideology by Bourdieu. See Pierre Bourdieu, “­Symbolic Power,” Critique of Anthropology 4, no. ­13–​­14 (­1979): 7­ 7–​­85, at 79. On the ideological implication of the Old Norse myths see Richard Cole, “­Æsirism: The Impossibility of Ideological Neutrality in Snorra Edda,” in Old Norse Myths as Political Ideologies: Critical Studies in the Appropriation of Medieval Narratives, ed. Nicolas Meylan and Lukas Rösli, Acta Scandinavica: Aberdeen Studies in the Scandinavian World 9 (­Turnhout: Brepols, 2020), ­27–​­46. 12 Thomas Foerster, “­Poppo’s Ordeal and the Conversion of the Danes. The Transition of a Myth in Latin and Old Norse Historiography,” Zeitschrift Für Literaturwissenschaft Und Linguistik 39 (­2009), ­28–​­45. 13 For the sake of harmonization, I will render proper names by their standard English version. 14 Gesta, l. I c. 15, 20. 15 Saxo, l. IX, c. 4.36, ­658–​­660. 16 Ibidem, l. IX, c. 4.37, 660. 17 Gesta, l. I, c. 25, 31. 18 Ibidem, l. I, c. 29, 35. 19 Saxo l. IX, c. 6.1, 668. All translations from the Gesta Danorum are from the same edition. 20 Ibidem, l. IX, c. 6.1, 668. 21 Gesta, l. I, c. 52, 53. 22 Saxo, l. IX, c. 2.1, 628. 23 Gesta, l. I, c. 54, 55. 24 Ibidem, l. II, c. 3, 64. 25 Saxo, l. X, c. 11.6, ­718–​­720. 26 Ibidem, l. X, c. 2.2, ­686–​­688. 27 Ibidem, l. X, c. 4.1, 690. 28 For a discussion on the identity of Poppo see Lene Demidoff, “­The Poppo Legend,” Mediaeval Scandinavia 6 (­1973): ­39–​­67; Michael H. Gelting, “­Poppo’s Ordeal: Courtier Bishops and the Success of Christianization at the Turn of the First Millennium,” Viking and Medieval Scandinavia, no. 6 (­2010), ­101–​­133. 29 It must be stressed that Adam’s various accusations of paganism or apostasy have been the subject of numerous scholarly discussions. While scholars such as Stefan Brink and Judith ­Jesch – ​­among ­others – ​­believe Adam’s account of paganism contains some kernel of truth, others such as Peter Sawyer, Henrik Janson and Anders Winroth are largely distrustful of Adam’s descriptions of the pagan north, which they consider to be ideologically orientated forgeries. For scholarship criticizing Adam’s truthfulness regarding descriptions of paganism see Peter Sawyer, “­Swein Forkbeard and the Historians,” in Church and Chronicle in the Middle Ages, ed. Ian N. Wood and G. A. Loud (­London: The Hambledon Press, 1991): ­27–​­40; Henrik Janson, “­Adam of Bremen and the Conversion of Scandinavia,” in Christianizing People and Converting Individuals, ed. Guyda Armstrong and Ian N. Wood, International Medieval Research 7 (­Turnhout: Brepols, 2000): ­83–​­88; Anders Winroth, The Conversion of Scandinavia, Vikings, Merchants, and Missionaries in the Remaking of Northern Europe (­New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012): 148. For scholarship giving more credence to Adam’s account see Stefan Brink, “­­Uppsala — ​­in Myth and Reality,”

142  Jules Piet in Theorizing Old Norse Myth, ed. Stefan Brink and Lisa Collinson (­Turnhout: Brepols, 2018): ­175–​­194; Niels Lund, “­Harald ­Bluetooth – ​­A Saint Very Nearly Made by Adam of Bremen,” in The Scandinavians from the Vendel Period to the Tenth Century. An Ethnographic Perspective, ed. Judith Jesch (­San Marino: The Boydell Press, 2002), 304. 30 Gesta, l. II, c. 35, ­95–​­96. 31 Ibidem, l. II, c. 38, ­98–​­99. 32 Ibidem, l. II, c. 39, 99. 33 Ibidem, l. II, c. 39, 100. 34 Saxo, l. X, c. 8.2, ­700–​­702. 35 Ibidem, l. X, c. 9.1, ­704–​­706. 36 Ibidem, l. X, c. 10.1, 712. 37 Ibidem, l. X, c. 10.­2 –​­3, ­712–​­714. 38 Ibidem, l. X, c. 2.1, 686. 39 Ibidem, l. X, c. 11.4, 718. 40 Sven Aggesen, The Works of Sven Aggesen, ­Twelfth-​­Century Danish Historian, ed. Eric Christiansen, Viking Society for Northern Research 9 (­Birmingham: University college London, 1992), ­61–​­63. 41 Sven Aggesen’s work is generally viewed as more favourable to the kings than the Gesta Danorum. See Birgit Sawyer, “­Valdemar, Absalon and Saxo: Historiography and Politics in Medieval Denmark,” Revue Belge de Philologie et d’Histoire 63, no. 4 (­1895), ­685–​­705; Peter Sawyer, “­Swein Forkbeard and the Historians,” in Church and Chronicle in the Middle Ages, ed. Ian N. Wood and G. A. Loud (­London: The Hambledon Press, 1991), 28. 42 Ari Þorgilsson, Íslendingabók Landnamabók, ed. Jakob Benediktsson, Íslenzk fornrit 1 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1986), 14–18. 43 Haki Antonsson, “­Traditions of Conversion”, 6­ 4–​­65. 44 Saxo, l. VIII, c. 14.1, 598. 45 Ibidem, l. VIII, c. 15.­1–​­2, 612. 46 Ibidem, l. VIII, c. 15.10, 618. 47 Ibidem, l. VIII, c. 15.­3 –​­13, ­614–​­620. 48 Mathias Nordvig, “­A Method for Analyzing W ­ orld-​­Models in Scandinavian Mythology,” The Retrospective Methods Network Newsletter 4 (­2012), ­196–​­209, at 198. 49 Snorri Sturluson. Edda, prologue and Gylfaginning. Edited by Anthony Faulkes. Viking society for northern research. London: Oxford university press, 1982, 39–43. 50 Lincoln, Theorizing Myth, 151. 51 I follow Ármann Jakobsson in the choice of “­ paranormal” instead of “­supernatural”. See Ármann Jakobsson, The Troll inside You, Paranormal Activity in the Medieval North (­P unctum Books, 2017), ­21–​­22. 52 While the Midgarðsormr is certainly not a “­force of nature” by contemporary standards, it might have been perceived by Scandinavian Christians as a pagan interpretation of the Leviathan. See for instance James W. Marchand, “­Leviathan and the Mousetrap in the Niðirstigningarsaga,” Scandinavian Studies 75, no. 3 (­1975), ­328–​­38 at 3­ 29–​­330. For the influence of other Christian myths on the Old Norse agents of chaos see Kees Samplonius, “­The Background and Scope of Völuspá,” in The Nordic Apocalypse. Approaches to Völuspá and Nordic Days of Judgement, ed. Terry Gunnell and Anette Lassen, Acta Scandinavica: Aberdeen Studies in the Scandinavian World 2 (­Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), 1­ 13–​ ­145 at ­117–​­131. 53 Christopher Abram, “­Gylfaginning and Early Medieval Conversion,” ­Saga-​ ­B ook 33 (­2009), ­5 –​­24.

Religious conversions: Adam and Saxo  143 54 Karsten Friis-Jensen, “Saxo Og Det 12. Århundredes Renæssance.,” in Viking Og Hvidekrist. Et Internationalt Symposium På Nationalmuseet, ed. Niels Lund (Viking og Hvidekrist. Et internationalt symposium på Nationalmuseet, Copenhagen: Hans Reitzels Forlag, 2000), 93–111 at 101–111. 55 See for instance William Vandermarck, “­Natural Knowledge of God in Romans: Patristic and Medieval Interpretation,” Theological Studies 34, no. 1 (­1973), ­36–​ ­52 at ­42–​­44. 56 On the variety of form taken by conversion narratives see M. Self Kathleen, “­Conversion as Speech Act: Medieval Icelandic and Modern Neopagan Conversion Narratives,” History of Religions 52, no. 2 (­2016), 1­ 67–​­197. 57 For a historical overview of the Danish military involvement in the Baltic region at the time of Absalon see the third chapter of Ane L. Bysted et al., Jerusalem in the North, Denmark and the Baltic Crusades, 1­ 100–​­1522, trans. Sarah Pedersen and Frederik Pedersen, Outremer, Studies in the Crusades and the Latin East 1 (­Turnhout: Brepols, 2012), ­45–​­88. For a broader overview on the Balts see Tomas Baranauskas, “Saxo Grammaticus on the Balts,” in Saxo and the Baltic Region. A Symposium, ed. Tore Nyberg (Odense: University press of southern Denmark, 2004), 63–79. 58 It is possible that the fourteenth book was the first to be written, as it recounts the exploits of Saxo’s first Sponsor. On the book division of the Gesta Danorum see André Muceniecks, Saxo Grammaticus, Hierocratical Conceptions and Danish Hegemony in the Thirteenth Century, Carmen Monographs and Studies (­Croydon: Arc humanities press, 2017): 42. And Ivan Boserup and Thomas Riis, “­Saxos Boginddelinger Og Deres Ideologier,” Det kongelige biblioteks samlinger 51 (­2012), ­27–​­47. 59 Saxo, 2. XIV, c. 1.6, 976. 60 Ibidem, 2. XIV, c. 1.7, ­976–​­978. 61 Ibidem, 2. XIV, c. 39.13, ­1282–​­1284. 62 Ibidem, 2. XIV, c. 39.33, 1300. 63 See for instance Vincent Della Salla, “­Political Myth, Mythology and the European Union,” Journal of Common Market Studies 8, no. 1 (­2010), 1­ –​­19.

Bibliography Primary sources Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae Pontificum, ed. B. Schmeidler, 3rd edition, Hannoverae and Lipsiae, Hahn, 1917. Adam of Bremen. History of the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen, trans. F. J. Tschan. New York, Columbia University Press, 1959. Ari Þorgilsson, Íslendigabók Landnamabók, ed. Jakob Benediktsson. Íslenzk fornrit 1. Reykjavík, Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1986. Saxo Grammaticus, Gesta Danorum, The History of the Danes, ed. K. Friis-Jensen, trans P. Fisher. Vol. 1. 2 vols. Oxford Medieval Texts. Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2015. ———. Gesta Danorum, The History of the Danes. Ed. K. Friis-Jensen, trans. P. Fisher. Vol. 2. 2 vols. Oxford Medieval Texts. Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2015. Snorri Sturluson, Edda, prologue and Gylfaginning, ed. A. Faulkes. Viking society for northern research. London, Oxford university press, 1982.

144 Jules Piet Sven Aggesen, The Works of Sven Aggesen, Twelfth-Century Danish Historian, ed. E. Christiansen. Viking Society for Northern Research 9. Birmingham, University college London, 1992.

Secondary Sources Abram, C., ‘Gylfaginning and Early Medieval Conversion.’ Saga-Book 33 (2009), 5–24. Ármann Jakobsson. The Troll inside You, Paranormal Activity in the Medieval North. Punctum books, 2017. Baranauskas T., ‘Saxo Grammaticus on the Balts.’ Saxo and the Baltic Region. A Symposium’, ed. T. Nyberg, Odense, University press of southern Denmark, 2004, 63–79. Boserup, I., and T. Riis, ‘Saxos Boginddelinger Og Deres Ideologier.’ Det Kongelige Biblioteks Samliger, 51 (2012), 27–47. Bourdieu, P., ‘Symbolic Power.’ Critique of Anthropology 4, no. 13–14 (1979), 77–85. Brink, S., ‘Uppsala — in Myth and Reality.’ Theorizing Old Norse Myth, eds. S. Brink and L. Collinson, Turnhout, Brepols, 2018, 175–94. Bysted, A. L., C. S. Jensen, K. V. Jensen, and J. H. Lind, Jerusalem in the North, Denmark and the Baltic Crusades, 1100-1522, trans. S. Pedersen and F. Pedersen, Outremer, Studies in the Crusades and the Latin East 1. Turnhout, Brepols, 2012. Cole, R., ‘Æsirism: The Impossibility of Ideological Neutrality in Snorra Edda.’ Old Norse Myths as Political Ideologies: Critical Studies in the Appropriation of Medieval Narratives, eds. N. Meylan and L. Rösli, Acta Scandinavica: Aberdeen Studies in the Scandinavian World 9. Turnhout, Brepols, 2020, 27–46. Della Salla, V., ‘Political Myth, Mythology and the European Union.’ Journal of Common Market Studies 8, no. 1 (2010), 1–19. Demidoff, L., ‘The Poppo Legend.’ Mediaeval Scandinavia 6 (1973), 39–67. Foerster, T., ‘Poppo’s Ordeal and the Conversion of the Danes. The Transition of a Myth in Latin and Old Norse Historiography.’ Zeitschrift Für Literaturwissenschaft Und Linguistik 39 (2009), 28–45. Friis-Jensen, K., ‘Saxo Og Det 12. Århundredes Renæssance.’ Viking Og Hvidekrist. Et Internationalt Symposium På Nationalmuseet, ed. N. Lund, Copenhagen, Hans Reitzels Forlag, 2000, 93–111. Gelting, M. H., ‘Poppo’s Ordeal: Courtier Bishops and the Success of Christianization at the Turn of the First Millenium.’ Viking and Medieval Scandinavia, no. 6 (2010), 101–33. Haki Antonsson, ‘Traditions of Conversion in Medieval Scandinavia: A Synthesis.’ Saga Book 34 (2010), 25–74. Janson, H., ‘Adam of Bremen and the Conversion of Scandinavia.’ Christianizing People and Converting Individuals, eds. Guyda Armstrong and Ian N. Wood, International Medieval Research 7, Turnhout, Brepols, 2000, 83–88. Lincoln, B., Theorizing Myth. Narrative, Ideology, and Scholarship. Chicago, The University of Chicago Press, 1999. Lund, N., ‘Harald Bluetooth – A Saint Very Nearly Made by Adam of Bremen.’ The Scandinavians from the Vendel Period to the Tenth Century. An Ethnographic Perspective, ed. J. Jesch, San Marino, The Boydell Press, 2002, 303–15.

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Marchand, J. W., ‘Leviathan and the Mousetrap in the Niðirstigningarsaga.’ Scandinavian Studies 75, no. 3 (1975), 328–38. Muceniecks, A., Saxo Grammaticus, Hierocratical Conceptions and Danish Hegemony in the Thirteenth Century. Carmen Monographs and Studies. Croydon, Arc Humanities Press, 2017. Nordvig, M., ‘A Method for Analyzing World-Models in Scandinavian Mythology.’ The Retrospective Methods Network Newsletter 4 (2012), 196–209. Samplonius, K., ‘The Background and Scope of Völuspá.’ The Nordic Apocalypse. Approaches to Völuspá and Nordic Days of Judgement, eds. T. Gunnell and A. Lassen, Acta Scandinavica, Aberdeen Studies in the Scandinavian World 2. Turnhout, Brepols, 2013, 113–45. Sawyer, B., ‘Scandinavian Conversion Histories’ Harvard Ukrainian Studies 12/13 (1988), 46–60. ———. “Valdemar, Absalon and Saxo : Historiography and Politics in Medieval Denmark.” Revue Belge de Philologie et d’Histoire 63, no. 4 (1895), 685–705. Sawyer, P., ‘Swein Forkbeard and the Historians.’ Church and Chronicle in the Middle Ages, eds. I. N. Wood and G. A. Loud, London, The Hambledon Press, 1991, 27–40. Self, K. M., ‘Conversion as Speech Act: Medieval Icelandic and Modern Neopagan Conversion Narratives.’ History of Religions 52, no. 2 (2016), 167–97. Skovgaard-Petersen, I., ‘Saxo, Historian of the Patria.’ Mediaeval Scandinavia, no. 2 (1960), 54–77. Vandermarck, W., ‘Natural Knowledge of God in Romans: Patristic and Medieval Interpretation.’ Theological Studies 34, no. 1 (1973), 36–52. Winroth, A., The Conversion of Scandinavia, Vikings, Merchants, and Missionaries in the Remaking of Northern Europe. New Haven, Yale University Press, 2012.

9 On the influence of Adam’s Gesta on Yngvars saga víðfǫrla Annett Krakow1

Introduction Adam of Bremen’s work on the Archdiocese of ­Hamburg-​­Bremen was​ k ­ nown in the medieval North. Examples include a short Icelandic fragment in the manuscripts AM 415 4to and GKS 1005 fol. (also known as Flateyjarbók), and Historia Norvegiae which, it seems, was influenced by his work.2 The subject of this chapter will be the influence of Adam’s Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontificum (­henceforth Gesta) on the Icelandic Yngvars saga víðfǫrla, i.e., the saga of Yngvarr, the ­w idely-​­travelled (­henceforth Yngvars saga). The reason for choosing this saga is that the intertextual mark left on it by Adam’s Gesta is apparent in several instances. “­It has been long known that a literary text does not exist in a vacuum […],” and this statement by Richard Aczel, in his article on intertextuality and related theories, also holds true for the two medieval works dealt with here.3 Both the Gesta and Yngvars saga are related to a number of other texts, sharing elements typical of either a certain genre or a specific text. In this article, ‘­intertextuality’ will be used as an umbrella term for a descriptive, ­text-​­analytical approach, which examines relations between texts and how sources of inspiration are transformed and integrated into a text.4 This approach also acknowledges the premise formulated by René Wellek in his critical response to the focus on sources in comparative literature studies in 1959: “­Works of art, however, are not simply sums of sources and influences: they are wholes in which raw materials derived from elsewhere cease to be inert matter and are assimilated into a new structure”.5 Therefore, the intention of this chapter is to collect instances of intertextual relations between Adam of Bremen’s work and Yngvars saga, and to examine how elements from the former were assimilated in the latter. To describe these relations, I will resort to Anders Olsson’s classification of different approaches to intertextuality. Of these, the most relevant categories for this chapter are: strong/­weak relations (­degree of similarity), explicit/­ i mplicit relations (­ references to an author or a text), relations within/­over language boundaries, and general/specific relations.6 The opposition between general and specific relations is reflected in the above given definition of intertextuality which favours seeing intertextuality as

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-10

The Gesta and Yngvars saga víðfǫrla  147 something observable in concrete, specific relations between texts and not as a less apparent, universal phenomenon. Before starting the analysis, the content and origin of Yngvars saga should be briefly presented. According to the genealogy provided in the saga, Yngvarr is a ­g reat-​­grandson of the Swedish King Eric the Victorious (“Eiríkr sigrsæli”). His son, King Olaf skötkonung (“Óláfr, Eiríksson) initially rejects Yngvarr’s request to grant him the title of king, which causes Yngvarr to leave and find for himself a kingdom elsewhere. He and his men first travel to Garðaríki and from there, they start exploring a river, which brings them to ­far-​­away realms. There, Yngvarr and most of his men die. When Yngvarr’s son Sven (Sveinn) hears about his father’s death, he gathers a group of men to travel to the realm of Queen Silkisif, where his father’s body is kept. He and Silkisif marry, convert the realm to Christianity, and on the initiative of the queen, a church is dedicated to Yngvarr. Finally, “­Oddur munkur hinn frodi (­the learned monk Oddr)” is credited with the text’s composition.7 He has been identified with Oddr Snorrason, who was a monk at the Benedictine monastery of Þingeyrar in northern Iceland, active in the second half of the twelfth century, and who is also known to have written a vita of the Norwegian King Olaf Tryggvason (Óláfr Tryggvason). The credibility of the information on Yngvars saga’s composition has been questioned because the saga includes, for instance, adventures with giants and creatures such as serpents/­dragons, but ever since Dietrich Hofmann argued that it seems likely that Oddr composed a vita about Yngvarr that soon afterwards was translated into Icelandic, a shift in scholarly opinion has taken place.8 The two oldest preserved manuscripts of Yngvars saga, however, were written much later. These are GKS 2845 4to (­c. 1450) and AM 343a 4to (­c. ­1450–​­1475), which, apart from the saga of Yngvarr, include several texts, mostly fornaldarsögur and riddarasögur.9 Yngvars saga is defective in both manuscripts, with a greater amount of text loss in GKS 2845 4to. The standard edition, produced by Emil Olson in 1912, is based on AM 343a 4to and completes the lacunae using a younger paper manuscript derived from AM 343a 4to.10

The paraphrase in Yngvars saga Towards the end of Yngvars saga, one can find a passage in which people’s confusion concerning Yngvarr’s genealogy is taken up. Yngvarr is, by some, wrongly assumed to be the son of Emund (Eymundr), the son of King Olaf skötkonung, and a possible explanation for this is offered: Eymundur, son Olafs, atti son, er Onundur hiet. Sa uar hinn likazti Ynguari i margri natturu ok allra hellzt j uŷdforli sinni, suo sem til uisar j bôk þeiri, er heiter gesta saxonum ok er suo ritat […] (Emund, son of Olaf, had a son who was called Anund (Ǫnundr). He was very much like Yngvarr in many respects and most of all in his distant travels, as is stated in the book called Gesta Saxonum, and there it is written […].)11

148  Annett Krakow The Latin text that follows in AM 343a 4to is rendered by Olson as “­fertur, quod Emundus rex sueonum misit filium suum Onundum per mâre balzonum, qui post trem..... ad amazones et ab eis interfectus est”, and his suggestion for the part that is difficult to read is “­qui [postremo ad amazones ueniens] ab eis interfectus est”.12 This Latin text gives the impression of being a quotation from Gesta Saxonum; in fact, it is a paraphrase of information that can be found in Adam’s Gesta.13 Here, the saga provides us with an explicit reference to a book called Gesta Saxonum. This offers a strong intertextual relation to Adam’s work because of the content of the paraphrase and, as Adam was from a ­non-​­Nordic background writing in Latin, it serves as an example of the wide range of “­raw material” (­to use Wellek’s wording again) that could be resorted to. A question that cannot be answered is whether the saga’s audience or readers were aware that the information on Anund goes back to Adam of Bremen’s Gesta. Adam makes two references to this journey to the land of the women. The first one can be found in book III, c. 16: Interea Sueones, qui episcopum suum repulerunt, divina ultio secuta est. Et primo quidem filius regis nomine Anund a patre missus ad dilatandum imperium, cum in patriam feminarum pervenisset, quas nos arbitramur Amazonas esse, veneno, quod fontibus inmisquerunt, tam ille quam exercitus eius perierunt. (The Swedes, who had expelled their bishop, were in the meantime pursued by divine vengeance. First, indeed, when one of the king’s sons, named Anund, was sent by his father to extend his dominions, he came into the land of the women, who we think were Amazons, and he as well as his army perished there of poison which the women mingled in the springs.)14 The second reference can be found in scholion 123, where we are additionally told that Anund was sent into Scythia to extend his father’s empire.15 From Adam’s ecclesiastical perspective, Anund’s father Emund cannot be presented as an ardent Christian, because he had rejected missionaries sent from the Archbishop of ­Hamburg-​­Bremen.16 The death of his son can, therefore, be interpreted as God’s punishment for this rejection of Christianity. Several scholars have commented that the localisation of the death in ‘­terra feminarum’ must be due to a misunderstanding, with the most likely explanation being that Kvenland (­land of the kvenir) was confused with Kvennaland (­land of the women).17 From a literary perspective, the existence of ‘­A mazons’ or their correct localisation is of secondary importance. The key point appears to be the high appeal that ‘­A mazons’ had from the perspective of imagination, which may explain their appearance in texts since antiquity.18 Adam’s short note on how Anund was killed by women is not only paraphrased in Yngvars saga. It most likely also inspired one of its crucial scenes, as Emil Olson suggested.19 Olson focuses on the women as the bringers of death, but the interpretation of the death as divine punishment in Adam’s

The Gesta and Yngvars saga víðfǫrla  149 Gesta might also have been an inspiration for placing Yngvarr’s death within a religious context. In Yngvars saga, the ­death-­​­­by-​­women motif has overt sexual connotations, and such an association of sexuality, heathenism, and witchcraft with females is also attested in medieval theology.20 The women, who had come to the camp in order to seduce them, embody ‘­evil’. Yngvarr asks his men to beware of these women as they would of “­h ina uersta eiturorma (­the most venomous serpents)”, and although Yngvarr brutally stabs one of the women, some of his men still succumb to “­þeira blidlæti af diofuligri fiolkyngi (­their seductive charms and devilish witchcraft)”.21 The next morning, 18 men are dead, and the sickness that breaks out eventually kills Yngvarr and most of the others. It seems possible that the Anund episode had the potential to inspire the death episode in Yngvars saga, but the fact that it is reworked with the stereotypical figure of the woman as a seductress in the saga blurs this similarity. On his deathbed, Yngvarr interprets this plague as being sent “­af rettum Guds domi (­by the righteous judgement of God)” and announces that it will subside once he has died.22 Thus, his death will lead to the redemption of at least some of his men. For Haki Antonsson, who has analysed the biblical symbolism and typology in Yngvars saga, three themes are dominant in the saga: […] the search for salvation, the ­ever-​­present fear of damnation, and the problem of recognizing sanctity.23 Yngvarr’s last speech is therefore one of the key scenes because it is linked to the issue of whether secular leaders can hope for salvation. The passage at the end of Yngvars saga, which includes the Anund paraphrase along with its source, Adam’s Gesta, has also been taken up in discussions on the historical Yngvarr, to whom about 25 Viking Age runic inscriptions in central Sweden can be linked.24 Some scholars have assumed that Adam’s account in fact described Yngvarr’s fate.25 One of them was Fëdor Braun who, based on his interpretation of three runic inscriptions (­U 513, U 540, Sö 279), assumed it possible to prove that Yngvarr was one of the sons of King Emund Olafsson (­and thus a grandchild of Olaf skötkonung). From this, he reasoned that Adam must have confused Emund’s sons: actually, it was Yngvarr who had died in the east.26 Otto von Friesen rejected this theory, for example because U 513 and U 540, which mention an Yngvarr, do not mention Emund at all. This led him to conclude that Emund must have been dead by the time the stones were raised.27 Despite this, Braun’s idea of Yngvarr being King Emund Olafsson’s son has continued to attract scholars.28 All in all, Adam’s two references to Anund have left strong intertextual traces in Yngvars saga, most explicitly in the paraphrase and speculations on Yngvarr’s ancestry. They could also have contributed to the choice of the death motif in the saga.

Other intertextual links between Adam’s Gesta and Yngvars saga A further link to Adam’s Gesta manifests in the saga’s chronological framework. It would most certainly have gone unnoticed were it not for the

150  Annett Krakow inclusion of Yngvarr’s year of death in the saga, which is dated with the help of absolute and relative chronology to c. 1041.29 As the death of an Yngvarr víðfǫrli is also mentioned in Icelandic annals for 1041, most scholars, including Emil Olson, assume this to be the correct year of death.30 Combined with information from the saga on how old Yngvarr was when he left Svíþjóð and when he died, it is possible to establish the saga’s chronology. According to the saga, Yngvarr left while Olaf skötkonung was king and, based on the inner chronology, this took place in 1036. Olson has drawn attention to the fact that this conflicts with the traditional dating of the king’s death to the early 1020s, but it complies with Adam’s statement that he died in the sixth year of rule of Archbishop Alebrant (Bezelin/Alebrand). This would make for a date of 1039, according to Bernd Schmeidler’s calculation.31 This is a strong, yet rather covert, intertextual link that deserves mention here, but it requires knowledge of the different traditions concerning the king’s death year. The year of Yngvarr’s death has been used to approximately date the ‘­Yngvarr stones’ to the 1040s. In particular, two scholars have noticed that the ornamentation on them suggests that they should be older: from c. 1020 (­Elias Wessén) or the first quarter of the eleventh century (­Signe Horn Fuglesang).32 These doubts invite a reconsideration of the saga’s chronology and its relation to different traditions about the king’s year of death. Should this dating based on ornamentation be correct, one could argue that Adam’s dating of the king’s death that lies behind the saga’s chronology had ‘­directed’ scholarship to prefer a dating of the stones to the 1040s. Another trace of Adam’s Gesta has also been suspected in the episode which tells of a Swedish king called Harald (Haraldr/currently unidentified), who is said to have drowned in the whirlpool of the Red Sea with all his retinue.33 Lars Lönnroth has suggested that it could be modelled on book IV, ch. 39 of the Gesta, which says that the Norwegian King Harald Harsh-Ruler (Haraldr harðráði Sigurðarson) would almost have died in the abyss at the outer bounds of the world while exploring the Northern Ocean.34 The toponym Red Sea in Yngvars saga merits a closer look. It denotes the inlet between Africa and the Arab peninsula, but originally, it could more generally refer to the Eastern Sea, as for instance Rudolf Meissner explained.35 Moreover, in a figurative sense, it could also denote the large ocean that surrounds all lands and forms the outer boundary of the world.36 This notion is even spelled out in Yngvars saga: Ain fellr skamt, adr hon fellr af biargi j Raudahaf, ok kaullum uer þar enda heims (The river does not flow far before it flows down over a cliff into the Red Sea, and we call that place the end of the world.)37 The large whirlpool in the Red Sea is called “­Gafi” (­or “­Gape”, respectively), which Meissner assumes to be reminiscent of Ginnungagap.38 In Norse mythology, Ginnungagap is the void (­fi lled with creative power) before the

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creation of the world, but an interpretation of the term as a yawning abyss can also be found; in the above-mentioned passage on the Norwegian king, some manuscripts of Adam’s Gesta add that it is called Ghimmendegop.39 Haki Antonsson does not refer to Adam’s account of Harald Harsh-Ruler in his discussion of Yngvars saga but to the biblical story of the drowning of the Pharaoh in the Red Sea. He draws attention to the connotations of the terms ‘abyss’ and ‘whirlpool’: through them, the nether world can be entered and thus, the Swedish king is, in fact, “[…] dragged into damnation and hell”.40 The fate of this Swedish king is related when one of Yngvarr’s men spends a night in a hall on the headland Siggeum, where a devil appears in the form of a human being. He tells him about a king called Siggeus and his three daughters (believed by some to have transformed into dragons), that he is one of the devils the third daughter flls the hall with every night, and that Harald has come to the hall to rule it. Most importantly, the devil predicts that Yngvarr will die on this journey.41 For Haki Antonsson, the whole “[…] scene is a collage of traditional material imbued with Christian typology and symbolism that are familiar from depictions of hell and damnation”, where the Pharaoh stands for the devil and, in addition, dragons and serpents are associated with Satan.42 The episode of the Swedish King Harald illustrates well the wide range of the different possible interpretations. It seems likely that this episode draws on Adam’s account, but it is reworked with allusions to other material in order to create a memorable episode in Yngvars saga where, in the absence of the eponymous hero, a crucial prediction is made. Lars Lönnroth does not explain why he was looking for a possible source for this Swedish king in Adam’s Gesta, but one could speculate that the overt hints (explicit and strong relations in the case of the Anund paraphrase) may have heightened the awareness of further possible intertextual links between the two works. These also include, according to Lönnroth, “[…] cyclopes and other classical monsters that appear in Adam’s description of the northern lands beyond Scandinavia”, a point which he does not elaborate on.43 Apart from cyclopes Adam mentions a variety of creatures. For instance, he describes Wizzi and Ymantopodes and refers to the pagan inhabitants of an island (called “Aestland”) in the Baltic Sea who are said to worship dragons and birds, as well as the Amazons’ male descendants, the Cynocephali.44 For Timothy Barnwell, the purpose of including such creatures in the Gesta was that Adam “[…] needed to integrate his work with authority to make it appear legitimate, in his own eyes as much as those of anyone else”, which is why he resorted to the work of authorities like Solinus, although it could confict with his knowledge and ideas about the North.45 Yngvars saga includes giants who are later identifed as cyclopes, a giant who is probably a maneater, a man with a the beak of a bird, a dragon, and, most notably, the fying serpent jaculus.46 One can argue that the inclusion of such beings was not specifcally motivated by the Gesta, but rather that both works express a general fascination with them and describe far-away lands with the

152 Annett Krakow help of an established inventory known from the European heritage of encyclopaedic literature and vernacular traditions (such as giants and serpents/ dragons).47 In this context, Theodore M. Andersson’s considerations about twelfth-century literature should be mentioned – that they are characterised by an “exotic streak”: texts assumed to be composed then, such as Veraldar saga and Rómverja saga, “[…] typify the Icelander’s fascination with the outside world […]”.48 Based on Hofmann’s assumption concerning the genesis of Yngvars saga, Andersson proposes that this saga, too, gives expression to what he calls “Icelandic exoticism”.49

Concluding remarks Yngvars saga is part of vernacular literature, but also linked to the Latin tradition by its possible origin as a vita by Oddr Snorrason and its relationship to the continental learned literary heritage. Adam of Bremen’s Gesta also belongs to this literary heritage. The intertextual links to the Gesta are explicit in Braun’s speculation about Yngvarr’s ancestry. A strong relationship can also be established in the case of the Anund paraphrase and the saga’s chronology, which obviously relies on Adam’s different dating of King Olaf skötkonung’s death as compared with other sources. As for the death-bywomen motif or the Swedish King Harald, a rather strong infuence can be suspected (because of the above-mentioned intertextual relations to the Gesta). However, it is not unambiguously possible to trace it solely to the Gesta, because in these cases, elements from the Gesta and other sources or traditions were merged together. Of the examples discussed, the weakest, least specifc link between Adam’s work and the saga appears to be inclusion of fabulous beings. Yngvars saga seems, in this instance, to have gained inspiration from a number of other sources.

Notes 1 I would like to thank Svenska institutet for fnancially supporting my research into Yngvars saga with a one-week library stay in Stockholm in August 2021. 2 Paul Lehmann, Skandinaviens Anteil an der lateinischen Literatur und Wissenschaft des Mittelalters. Part 2. München, Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1937, 18–19; Rudolf Simek and Hermann Pálsson, Lexikon der altnordischen Literatur. 2nd edition, Stuttgart, Kröner, 2007, 12–13. 3 The original reads: “Dass ein literar. Text nicht in einem Vakuum existiert, ist seit langem bekannt […]”; Richard Aczel, ‘Intertextualität und Intertextualitätstheorien.’ Metzler Lexikon Literatur- und Kulturtheorie. Ansätze-PersonenGrundbegriffe. 3rd edition, ed. Ansgar Nünning, Stuttgart and Weimar, J. B. Metzler, 2013, 349; my translation. 4 Cf. Anders Olsson, ‘Intertextualitet, komparation och reception.’ Litteraturvetenskap – en inledning, ed. Staffan Bergsten, Lund, Studentlitteratur, 2002, 51–69; Aczel, ‘Intertextualität und Intertextualitätstheorien,’ 349–350. 5 René Wellek, ‘The Crisis of Comparative Literature.’ The Princeton Sourcebook in Comparative Literature. From the European Enlightenment to the Global

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6 7

8

9 10 11

12 13

14 15

16 17 18 19

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Present, eds. David Damrosch, Natalie Melas, and Mbongiseni Buthelezi, Princeton and Oxford, Princeton University Press, 2009, 164. Wellek is also quoted by Olsson ‘Intertextualitet, komparation och reception,’ 55. Olsson ‘Intertextualitet, komparation och reception,’ 59–65, calls these “Starka/svaga”, “Explicita/implicita”, “Inom- och mellanspråkliga”, and “Generella/specifka samband”. All quotations from Yngvars saga víðfǫ rla jämte ett bihang om Ingvarsinskrifterna, ed. Emil Olson, København, Samfund til Udgivelse af gammel nordisk Litteratur, 1912, this quote at 48. Translation from Vikings in Russia: Yngvar’s Saga and Eymund’s Saga, transl. Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards, Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press, 1989, 68, with my substitution of “Oddr” for their “Odd”. Dietrich Hofmann, ‘Die Yngvars saga víðfǫrla und Oddr munkr inn fróði.’ Specvlvm Norroenvm: Norse Studies in Memory of Gabriel Turville-Petre, eds. Ursula Dronke et al., Odense, Odense University Press, 1981, 182–222, at 189, 197–212. The reception of Hofmann’s argument is summarised in Carl Phelpstead, ‘Adventure-time in Yngvars saga víðförla.’ Fornaldarsagaerne: myter og virkelighed. Studier i de oldislandske ” fornaldarsögur Norðurlanda”, eds. Agneta Ney, Ármann Jakobsson and Annette Lassen, København, Museum Tusculanums forlag, 2009, 331–346, at 338. See also Haki Antonsson, ‘Salvation and Early Saga Writing in Iceland: Aspects of the Works of the Þingeyrar Monks and Their Associates.’ Viking and Medieval Scandinavia 8 (2012), 71–140. All manuscripts at Stories for All Time: The Icelandic Fornaldarsögur. Yngvars saga víðfǫ rla, http://fasnl.ku.dk/bibl/bibl.aspx?sid=ysv&view=manuscript (access: 10.03.2022). Yngvars saga, XXIII. Yngvars saga, 47–48; my translation (I have also consulted Vikings in Russia and The Saga of Yngvar the Traveller, transl. Peter Tunstall, 2005, https://web. archive. org/web/20150222114736/http://www.oe.eclipse.co.uk/nom/Yngvar.htm (access: 10.03.2022). Yngvars saga, 48, emendation at XCV n. 2. See Olson’s comment and references to other scholars in Yngvars saga, XCV n. 1. Hofmann, ‘Die Yngvars saga,’ 206, deems it likely that the Latin text is Oddr’s paraphrase of Adam’s Gesta (referred to as Gesta Saxonum). Hofmann further suggests that the translator of Oddr’s vita did not recognise it to be a paraphrase; assuming it was a quotation from Adam, the translator left it in Latin. Galina Glazyrina, Saga ob Ingvare Puteshestvennike: Tekst, perevod, kommentariĭ. Moskva, Vostochnaia literatura RAN, 2002, 142, 374, does not agree with Hofmann. In her opinion, the Latin text would have been translated, had it already been included in Oddr’s vita. Gesta l. III, c. 16, 157; Tschan, 127. Gesta, schol. 123, 246–247; Tschan, 200. In some manuscripts, the son is called Emund/Enund; Gesta, schol. 123, 246. This variation can also be noticed in some manuscripts of the saga; Yngvars saga, 47–48. This Anund is only known from Adam’s Gesta; Adam av Bremen. Historien om Hamburgstiftet och dess biskopar, trans. Emanuel Svenberg, comm. Carl F. Hallencreutz, Kurt Johannesson, Tore Nyberg and Anders Piltz, Stockholm, Proprius, 1984, 275 n. 373. Cf. Gesta, l. III, c. 15, 155–156; Tschan, 274 n. 366. Cf. Yngvars saga, XCV, n. 2. Cf. Rudolf Simek, Monster im Mittelalter. Die phantastische Welt der Wundervölker und Fabelwesen. 2nd edition, Köln, Vandenhoeck  & Ruprecht and V&R unipress, 2019, 33, 203–204. Yngvars saga, XCI, XCVII. Glazyrina, Saga ob Ingvare, 115–128, does not refer to Adam; following a lead in Jonathan Shepard, ‘Yngvarr’s expedition to the

154

20 21 22 23 24

25 26

27 28

29 30 31 32 33 34

35 36 37 38

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east and a Russian inscribed stone cross’ Saga-Book 21 (1982–1985), 245, she mainly concentrates on parallels between the saga and descriptions of the outbreak of a disease among the Rus’ in connection with their attack on Barda’a in the 940s. See, for example, Katherine Morris, Sorceress or Witch? The Image of Gender in Medieval Iceland and Northern Europe. Lanham, University Press of America, 1991, 129–133. Yngvars saga, 26; Vikings in Russia, 58. Yngvars saga, 28; Vikings in Russia, 59. Haki Antonsson, ‘Salvation and early saga writing,’ 93. He does not take up the Anund episode. The exact number varies, e.g. Signe Horn Fuglesang, ‘Swedish runestones of the eleventh century: ornament and dating.’ Runeninschriften als Quellen interdisziplinärer Forschung, Abhandlungen des Vierten Internationalen Symposiums über Runen und Runeninschriften in Göttingen vom 4.-9. August 1995 […], ed. Klaus Düwel, Berlin and New York, DeGruyter, 1998, 200, operates with 21, Mats G. Larsson, Vikingar i österled. En samlingsutgåva av: Ett ödesdigert vikingatåg – Ingvar den vittfarnes resa 1036–1041, Väringar – Nordbor hos keisaren i Miklagård, Rusernas rike – Nordborna och Rysslands födelse. Stockholm, MånPocket, 1999, 123–154 with 26 inscriptions that with high probability refer to the expedition (25 of these are also in the corpus of Elias Wessén, Historiska runinskrifter. Stockholm, Almqvist & Wiksell, 1960, 30; the 26th was found in 1990). Sagan om Ingwar Widtfarne och hans son Swen [...], ed. and transl. Nils Reinhold Brocman, Stockholm, Salvius, 1762, XL–XLII; Larsson, Vikingar, 97f. Fëdor Braun, ‘Hvem var Yngvarr enn víðfǫrli? Ett bidrag till Sveriges historia under XI århundradets första hälft.’ Fornvännen 5 (1910), e.g. 110–112, 116. Of these three inscriptions, none is included in Fuglesang’s corpus. Larsson, Vikingar, 133, 147–148, includes Sö 279; U 513 and U 540 are listed among the “tveksamma stenar (doubtful stones)”. Otto von Friesen, ‘Hvem var Yngvarr enn víðfǫrli?’ Fornvännen 5 (1910), 206–207. Savva Mikheev, “Sviatopolk” sěde v Kievě po ottsi”: Usobitsa 1015–1019 godov v drevnerusskikh i skandinavskikh istochnikakh. Moskva, Institut slavianovedeniia RAN, 2009, 174–194, 287, has adopted Braun’s theory and tried to counter von Friesen’s objections. He assumes among other things that Emund’s name is missing because he was in Rus’ at that time and that the major protagonist of Eymundar þáttr Hringssonar could be Emund Olafsson. Yngvars saga, 30. The two oldest manuscripts differ slightly in dating Yngvarr’s death. Yngvars saga, LXXXVIII–LXXXIV. Yngvars saga, XCIV; Gesta, 134 n. 1. See also Sagan om Ingwar, XII. Fuglesang, ‘Swedish runestones,’ 206. Wessén, Historiska runinskrifter, 40; in the same book, he discards his own dating, preferring the year of death in the saga and the annals. Yngvars saga, 24. Gesta, l. IV, c. 39, 276. Lars Lönnroth, ‘From history to myth: the Ingvar stones and Yngvars saga víðfǫrla.’ Nordic Mythologies. Interpretations, Intersections, and Institutions, ed. Timothy R. Tangherlini, Berkeley and Los Angeles, North Pinehurst Press, 2014, 109–110. Rudolf Meissner, ‘Das rote Meer.’ Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum und deutsche Literatur 73 (1936), 229. Meissner, ‘Das rote Meer,’ 231–233. Yngvars saga, 18; my translation. In AM 343a 4to, the whirlpool is called Gaf (lacuna in GKS 2845 4to), some other manuscripts have Gape; Yngvars saga, 18; Meissner, ‘Das rote Meer,’ 232.

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39 40 41 42 43 44 45

46 47

48

49

155

Glazyrina, Saga ob Ingvare, 344 and Haki Antonsson, ‘Salvation and early saga writing,’ 85, also mention the association with Ginnungagap evoked by Gaf/Gape; none of them refers to Meissner’s article. Rudolf Simek, Lexikon der germanischen Mythologie. 3rd edition, Stuttgart, Kröner, 2018, 136–137. Gesta, l. IV, c. 40, 276. Haki Antonsson, ‘Salvation and early saga writing,’ 85 (and n. 20). Yngvars saga, 24. Haki Antonsson, ‘Salvation and early saga writing,’ 86. Lönnroth, ‘From history to myth,’ 110. All examples from Gesta l. IV, c. 17, 19, 25, 244, 246–248, 257. Timothy Barnwell, ‘Fragmented identities: otherness and authority in Adam of Bremen’s History of the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen.’ The Resources of the Past in Early Medieval Europe, eds. Clemens Gantner, Rosamond McKitterick and Sven Meeder, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2015, 210–212, quote at 211. See also Adam av Bremen, 365. Yngvars saga, 13–14, 20–22, 33–34, 37, 42; moreover, an animal is described (38) that has been interpreted as an elephant. For ‘monstrous’ beings see Simek, Monster im Mittelalter. Examples for the reception of encyclopaedic literature in Iceland include AM 194 8vo (late fourteenth century) which also lists different serpents, among them “Iaculus”; Alfræði Íslenzk: Islandsk encyklopædisk Litteratur vol. 1, ed. Kristian Kålund, København, Samfund til Udgivelse af gammel nordisk Litteratur, 1908, 39. On serpents and dragons in Old Norse literature see, for instance, Anne Holtsmark, ‘Ormer. Litt.’ Kulturhistoriskt lexikon för nordisk medeltid. Från Vikingatid till Reformationstid, vol. 13, 1968, Malmö, Allhem, col. 4–8 and Holger Homann, ‘Drache §1–§3.’ Reallexikon der germanischen Altertumskunde vol. 6. 2nd edition, ed. Heinrich Beck, 1986, Berlin and New York, DeGruyter, 131–136. Theodore M. Andersson, ‘Exoticism in Early Iceland.’ International Scandinavian and Medieval Studies in Memory of Gerd Wolfgang Weber: “Ein runder Knäuel, so rollt’ es uns leicht aus den Händen”, ed. Michael Dallapiazza, Trieste, Edizioni Parnaso, 2000, 26, 28. Rómverja saga, by the way, like AM 194 8vo, includes a list of serpents. Andersson, ‘Exoticism in Early Iceland,’ 27.

Bibliography Primary sources Adam av Bremen. Historien om Hamburgstiftet och dess biskopar, trans. E. Svenberg, comm. C. F. Hallencreutz, K. Johannesson, T. Nyberg and A. Piltz, Stockholm, Proprius, 1984. Adam of Bremen. History of the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen, trans. F. Tschan, New York, Columbia University Press, 2002. Alfræði Íslenzk: Islandsk encyklopædisk Litteratur vol. 1, ed. K. Kålund, København, Samfund til Udgivelse af gammel nordisk Litteratur, 1908. Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontifcum, ed. B. Schmeidler, 3rd edition, Hannoverae and Lipsiae, Hahn, 1917. Saga ob Ingvare Puteshestvennike: Tekst, perevod, kommentariĭ, ed. G. Glazyrina, Moskva, Vostochnaia literatura RAN, 2002. Sagan om Ingwar Widtfarne och hans son Swen [...], ed. and transl. N. R. Brocman, Stockholm, Salvius, 1762.

156 Annett Krakow Stories for all time: the Icelandic Fornaldarsögur. Yngvars saga víðfǫ rla, http://fasnl. ku.dk/bibl/bibl.aspx?sid=ysv&view=manuscript (access: 10.03.2022). The Saga of Yngvar the Traveller, transl. P. Tunstall, 2005, https://web. archive. org/web/20150222114736/http://www.oe.eclipse.co.uk/nom/Yngvar.htm (access: 10.03.2022). Vikings in Russia: Yngvar’s Saga and Eymund’s Saga, transl. Hermann Pálsson and P. Edwards, Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press, 1989. Yngvars saga víðfǫ rla jämte ett bihang om Ingvarsinskrifterna, ed. E. Olson, København, Samfund til Udgivelse af gammel nordisk Litteratur, 1912.

Secondary literature Aczel, R., ‘Intertextualität und Intertextualitätstheorien.’ Metzler Lexikon Literatur- und Kulturtheorie. Ansätze-Personen-Grundbegriffe. 3rd edition, ed. A. Nünning, Stuttgart and Weimar, J. B. Metzler, 2013, 349–351. Andersson, T. M., ‘Exoticism in Early Iceland.’ International Scandinavian and Medieval Studies in Memory of Gerd Wolfgang Weber: “Ein runder Knäuel, so rollt’ es uns leicht aus den Händen”, ed. M. Dallapiazza, Trieste, Edizioni Parnaso, 2000, 19–28. Antonsson, H., ‘Salvation and early saga writing in Iceland: aspects of the works of the Þingeyrar monks and their associates.’ Viking and Medieval Scandinavia 8 (2012), 71–140. Barnwell, T., ‘Fragmented identities: otherness and authority in Adam of Bremen’s History of the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen.’ The Resources of the Past in Early Medieval Europe, eds. C. Gantner, R. McKitterick and S. Meeder, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2015, 206–222. Braun, F., ‘Hvem var Yngvarr enn víðfǫrli? Ett bidrag till Sveriges historia under XI århundradets första hälft.’ Fornvännen 5 (1910), 99–118. Fuglesang, S. Horn, ‘Swedish runestones of the eleventh century: ornament and dating.’ Runeninschriften als Quellen interdisziplinärer Forschung, Abhandlungen des Vierten Internationalen Symposiums über Runen und Runeninschriften in Göttingen vom 4.-9. August 1995 […], ed. K. Düwel, Berlin and New York, DeGruyter, 1998, 197–218. Hofmann, D., ‘Die Yngvars saga víðfǫrla und Oddr munkr inn fróði.’ Specvlvm Norroenvm: Norse Studies in Memory of Gabriel Turville-Petre, eds. U. Dronke et al., Odense, Odense University Press, 1981, 182–222. Holtsmark, A., ‘Ormer. Litt.’ Kulturhistoriskt lexikon för nordisk medeltid. Från Vikingatid till Reformationstid vol. 13, 1968, Malmö, Allhem, col. 4–8. Homann, H., ‘Drache §1–§3.’ Reallexikon der germanischen Altertumskunde vol. 6. 2nd edition, ed. H. Beck, 1986, Berlin and New York, DeGruyter, 131–136. Larsson, M. G., Vikingar i österled. En samlingsutgåva av: Ett ödesdigert vikingatåg – Ingvar den vittfarnes resa 1036–1041, Väringar - Nordbor hos keisaren i Miklagård, Rusernas rike – Nordborna och Rysslands födelse. Stockholm, MånPocket, 1999. Lehmann, P., Skandinaviens Anteil an der lateinischen Literatur und Wissenschaft des Mittelalters. Part 2. München, Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1937. Lönnroth, L., ‘From history to myth: The Ingvar stones and Yngvars saga víðfǫrla.’ Nordic Mythologies. Interpretations, Intersections, and Iinstitutions, ed. T. R. Tangherlini, Berkeley and Los Angeles, North Pinehurst Press, 2014, 100–114.

The Gesta and Yngvars saga víðfǫrla  157 Meissner, R., ‘­Das rote Meer.’ Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum und deutsche Lite­ ratur 73 (­1936), ­229–​­234. Mikheev, S., “­Sviatopolk” sěde v Kievě po ottsi”: Usobitsa ­ 1015–​­ 1019 godov v drevnerusskikh i skandinavskikh istochnikakh. Moskva, Institut slavianovedeniia RAN, 2009. Morris, K., Sorceress or Witch? The Image of Gender in Medieval Iceland and North­ ern Europe. Lanham, University Press of America, 1991. Olsson, A., ‘­Intertextualitet, komparation och reception.’ ­Litteraturvetenskap – ​­en inledning, ed. S. Bergsten, Lund, Studentlitteratur, 2002, ­51–​­69. Phelpstead, C., ‘­­Adventure-​­time in Yngvars saga víðförla.’ Fornaldarsagaerne: myter og virkelighed. Studier i de oldislandske “ ­fornaldarsögur Norðurlanda”, eds. A. Ney, Ármann Jakobsson and A. Lassen, København, Museum Tusculanums forlag, 2009, ­331–​­346. Shepard, J., ‘­Yngvarr’s expedition to the east and a Russian inscribed stone cross.’ ­Saga-​­Book 21 (­­1982–​­1985), ­222–​­292. Simek, R., Lexikon der germanischen Mythologie. 3rd edition, Stuttgart, Kröner, 2018. Simek, R., Monster im Mittelalter. Die phantastische Welt der Wundervölker und Fabelwesen. 2nd edition, Köln, Vandenhoeck  & Ruprecht and V&R unipress, 2019. Simek, R. and Hermann Pálsson, Lexikon der altnordischen Literatur. 2nd edition, Stuttgart, Kröner, 2007. von Friesen, O., ‘­Hvem var Yngvarr enn víðfǫrli?’ Fornvännen 5 (­1910), ­119–​­209. Wellek, R., ‘­The Crisis of Comparative Literature.’ The Princeton Sourcebook in Comparative Literature. From the European Enlightenment to the Global Present, eds. D. Damrosch, N. Melas and M. Buthelezi, Princeton and Oxford, Princeton University Press, 2009, ­161–​­172. Wessén, E., Historiska runinskrifter. Stockholm, Almqvist & Wiksell, 1960.

10 Adam of Bremen and visions of the state in Early Medieval Scandinavia – a comparative approach to chiefdom, leadership, kingship, segmental tribes Piotr Pranke The text of the Chronicle of Adam of Bremen remains one of the most important sources regarding the areas of Central, Eastern and Northern Europe in the Early Middle Ages.1 Written by the canon of Bremen in the second half of the eleventh century (in the mid-1070s), the work is composed in the gesta episcoporum genre, combining narratives that refer to the programme of Christian missions carried out in the territories that came under the Archbishopric of Hamburg-Bremen with the commemorative function of a chronicle and geographical and biblical references.2 The latter, on the one hand may testify to the erudition of Adam himself, and on the other (by indicating the activity of his predecessors) accentuate the scope and signifcance of the missionary work of the Archbishopric from its inception to the culminating point of the narrative which covers the times of Archbishop Adalbert.3 It is worth emphasizing that the canon of Bremen’s argument, which contains a number of references to the organization of power and the origins of the peoples inhabiting the area of the barbarian North, was familiar to the Ottonian and early Salian clerical circles. At the same time it expressed an aspiration to renew the spiritual formation of the Hamburg-Bremen Church at that time through the intensifcation of missionary activity.4 This activity latter was seen through the prism of the main idea of the work, indicating its spiritual dimension and the chronicler’s intentions.5 It seems that a defned ideological and political programme was also consistently expressed through such means, referring to the conviction, formed in the times of Archbishop Adalbert, that the clergy would play a seminal role in the creation of a new patriarchate in the ‘lands of the North’.6 According to Roland Scheel, Adam’s text was also one of the frst works to refer to the idea of translatio imperii,7 as it was simultaneously an expression of the internal political aspirations of the representatives of powerful imperial families, regarded by Adam as ‘venerable families’.8 In this conception, the leading role was to be played by the clergy of the Archbishopric, constituting at the same time the mainstay of the Empire. The importance of the Church of Hamburg-Bremen is evidenced by both the endowments

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-11

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dating from the time of Henry III and the support given to the Archdiocese by the Emperor during the Archbishopric’s opposition to the political and economic position of the Billung dynasty.9 Adam of Bremen’s work was intended not so much to be a historiographical recollection of the Archbishopric’s heyday, expressed through legatio gentium, as much as a recollection of the pastoral activity of Archbishop Adalbert’s predecessors. To demonstrate this point, the work was preceded by a broad dedicatory formula, with a special role assigned to Ansgar.10 The latter was referred to on the pages of the chronicle as the protector and patron of the Christianizing mission. It seems that this kind of construction, according to the principle of ius antiqua, was one of the arguments for constituting the dependence of the church organization in Scandinavia and Sclavia on the Archbishopric of Hamburg-Bremen.11 The entire scheme of the chronicler’s narrative, based on the system of opposites and the relations indicated by Adam of Bremen between what is good and divinely inspired and what is dark, cold and evil, was subordinate to the idea of missionary work.12 The chronicler, following the description of the biblical work of creation, constituted his narrative by producing a description of the world based on the geographical knowledge of the time. He then set the peoples subordinated to the Christianizing mission of the Archbishopric within this, making them the peoples that were, as it were, to fll the space designated the Patriarchate of the North.13 Through the use of this concept of successive opposing values, the pages of Adam’s narrative tell a story of constant struggle between good and evil. It is embodied in the hardships of missionary activity and the introduction of Christianity alongside the presence of pagan beliefs, which were to return to Christianized areas as punishment for sins.14 Coming, as it does, from the time of Gregory VII, who was informed about the conversion of the Swedes, Adam’s chronicle seems to have been a form of programmed response to the attempts to create an independent church organization in Scandinavia.15 In this way, the ideological and political programme advocated and carefully constructed in the Gesta was an important tool for the archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen to legitimize their missionary plans. The latter were, at the same time, set in the geographical reality defned and delineated by the chronicler’s narrative.16 Special attention should be given here to both the problem of the reception of missionary activity in early medieval Scandinavia, and the manner of conducting the argument intended to indicate the spiritual dimension of the programme postulated by the chronicler, who describes himself as ‘Adam minimus sanctae Bremensis ecclesiae canonicus’.17 The canon of Bremen conveyed information on the area of Northern Europe in an orderly, extremely erudite and consistent manner, creating a narrative based on ideological opposition and referring to what was oppositional, Christian and barbaric, good and evil, full of light and dark.18 In this game of opposites there appear fgures and peoples who are both the subject of the chronicler’s own interest, and the expression of

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certain aspirations and ambitions of the Archbishopric. The drive to secure the interests outlined above was present in the story of how power was organized in Scandinavia. It was accompanied by a narrative that referred to historical events and the rulers who took part in them. They represented a category of protagonists who were at the heart of missionary work or, alternatively, led to its downfall as a consequence of the lack of true faith and of the sin present among Christ’s followers.19 Sometimes their actions were quite ambiguous as on the one hand, they strove for the introduction and perpetuation of Christianity (which was praiseworthy), while on the other they led to the distancing of the Archbishopric of Hamburg-Bremen through successive attempts to create an independent church organization.20 Perhaps this is the reason why Adam of Bremen sometimes remained sceptical in his assessments, or allowed himself additional commentary on the events he described, for example in alluding to the way the power of the Northern tribes was organized.21 In the case of the Danes, this last point is evident in the chronicler’s references to the wars fought by the Saxons and the Franks.22 It is also visible in his descriptions of how Christianization was conducted in a given area.23 Occasionally, we also hear about rivalries taking place within the Scandinavian power elite or about the alliances they formed.24 Information on the organizational structure of the Church, mentioning bishops comes into a different category, as does information which served to commemorate rulers.25 Adam of Bremen used a specifc construction for the text itself, which begins with a broad and erudite commentary indicating the subject of the chronicler’s interest. This includes presenting the peoples inhabiting the area of the North on a geographical level, taking into account the manner of territorial organization within individual provinces. In doing so, Adam gives them the character of areas inhabited by separate gentes which, in accordance with the geographical knowledge of the time, he linked to barbarian tribes from the lands of (Goth and Magoth).26 Slavia seems to have been described somewhat differently, i.e., in a more detailed manner27 and this part of his account also frequently contains references to a scheme of geographical description, known since antiquity, which evokes tales of the lands and peoples of the North.28 It also refers to the public-law dimension of pagan beliefs whose organization of power was modelled on the memory of some unnamed, ancient pagan kings and describes the behaviour of people who inhabited the area, which was independent of the Hamburg-Bremen Church.29 This meant that they were opposed to the Christian community and Christianity. Such a narrative can be associated with an attempt to defne the pagan order of the world in opposition to the idea of expanding the infuence of the Imperium Christianum, to which it was legally subordinated.30 It seems that the vision of power and authority, and the manner of its organization presented by the canon of Bremen, is on one hand based entirely on the scheme of the Christian world familiar to him. On the other, it

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is marked by the force of comparisons that dictate the manner of conducting his argument, as outlined above.31 In its construction, it corresponds in principle to a nomenclature and a vision of power drawn from the lines of the relationship between the Christian and the barbarian world while also evoking a number of commemorative themes.32 It also corresponds with the self-identifcation of the author of the Gesta, who not only represents the clergy of the Archbishopric of Hamburg-Bremen but is convinced of the need to restore its mission by imitating the ‘righteous’ deeds of predecessors for the sake of the salvation of souls under the Archbishopric.33 On the pages of the Chronicle, the mission in question was expressed as striving for a confrontation of protagonists who exemplifed collective narratives – Christian missionaries and various gentes inhabiting the areas of the North.34 For the latter, rulers become, in a way, intermediate protagonists – through the implementation of the Divine plan, redemption and the success of the mission of the Archbishopric are possible. The sins of Christian rulers and the evil identifed with the desire to thwart missionary efforts of the Archbishopric by the leaders of the Christianized peoples remains in this case a cycle of beginning and end. This approach determines the apostolic effort and the creation of categories of concepts placed between good and evil, to the presence of which the representatives of the peoples of the North were in a way predisposed.35 The approach Adam used also included repeated references to the constant struggle between good and evil which has already been mentioned. He linked the revival of that struggle, also seen through the prism of pagan reaction, to insuffciencies in the faith of the Saxons, or to sins they committed.36 A group of source references emphasized by Adam is of interest here. These point to Archbishop Adalbert, who is undoubtedly the focal point of the narrative, together with Ansgar. The chronicler emphasized that the Archbishop of Hamburg-Bremen could become the de facto successor of St. Peter. Perhaps for this reason, from the chronicler’s perspective, he is presented as a fgure flled with holiness and devotion to the mission of the Archbishopric of Hamburg-Bremen. The rulers of the North were under his spiritual authority, as were the local gentes who, in the period before the emergence of the early medieval kingdoms, lived in areas of a cultic, judicial and administrative nature overseen by local dynasties and nobles.37 The latter were also viewed through the lens of information on economic activity.38 In these kinds of descriptions, Adam of Bremen also emphasized the presentation of a scheme of church organization in the areas subordinate to the Archbishopric.39 At the same time, this theme seems to exemplify the importance of early medieval bishops’ lives, with an emphasis on the apostolic dimension of Christianization.40 In Adam’s account, the life of Bishop Adalbert remains simultaneously the most extensive and the most signifcant motif of the narrative, which follows the model of vita Episcoporum.41 In this context, Adam’s Descriptio insularum aquilonis is an indirect pointer to the actual

162 Piotr Pranke plan for the Archbishopric’s sovereignty over the described area, with legatio gentium in the vision of spiritual renewal constituted by the missionary work of the past and a specifc vision of Christianitas.42 The last was primarily related to Marius Ščavinskas’ understanding of the mission.43 Also notable is the clear distinction between Adam’s relatively precise geographical knowledge and a body of information that relates directly to the lands under Scandinavian rulership.44 These lands were perceived by the chronicler to be an area with a heterogeneous power structure, home to the pirates who, under the command of their leaders, invaded parts of the Christian world.45 Apart from this kind of content relating to representation of Northern European rulers, Adam’s text also contains references to the formation of individual kingdoms and ‘venerable’ rulers. These are drawn together in the term iustitia and modelled on other rulers of the Christian world.46 Here too, Adam seems to be a reliable source.47 At the same time, a certain imperial titulature was also afforded to these ‘venerable’ rulers, with the mention of ‘kings’ and ‘dukes’ titles that were probably conferred by means of amicitii confoederati.48 Thus we have a picture which links the gentes, mentioned by name, with political practices based on gifting, communal feasting and spontaneous distribution, which were current in Viking-era Scandinavia. An example of this can be found in a reference analysed by Alexandra Sanmark, which describes an alliance concluded by Sven Estridssen, the sealing of which was linked to the organization of a festival that was to last for eight days.49 As with the listing of individual peoples inhabiting Scandinavian lands, Adam proceeds to detailed descriptions of social and political, or rather political and religious, life, most often using a description of the land or of a single civitas. This in turn exceeds geographical information and turns to exemplifcations based on a system of generalizations which constitute a way of perceiving the whole region.50 Occasionally, among the indicated information we fnd references to the administrators of individual centres,51 or information that relates to their interregional signifcance.52 The picture presented by Adam differs vastly from the representation of other Slavic tribes, which he characterized primarily by pointing to tribal structure and by reference to certain pagan practices.53 The canon of Bremen mentions by name, quoting information about their military campaigns, or characterizing them as commanders, kings and ‘dukes’ who were held in high esteem among their fellow tribesmen.54 However, when describing the rulers of Sweden, he indicated a much broader perspective by linking the origins of the rulers to ancient royal families. Additionally, he emphasized that their power depended on the will of the Swedes, characterizing the latter as invincible and skilled warriors. He also pointed to the heterogeneous structure of the Swedes’ tribe which was formed by many different peoples.55 On the other hand, he referred to the anachronistic organization of segmentary lineage societies which, in his opinion, were leading to the downfall

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of the Christianizing mission because of recurring pagan reactions. This kind of approach is also present in William of Malmesbury, who emphasized the importance of cult practices within the communities mentioned above. The role of these practices was to sanction decisions that were an expression of tribal authority sanctioned on the will of pagan deities and the presence of sacrum on the will of pagan deities.57 It is worth noting that the image presented by William of Malmesbury can perhaps be treated as an expression of transformations within the above-mentioned ‘tribal’ structures and a manifestation of monolatry. In the case of northern European communities, Adam of Bremen made considerable use of so-called interpretatio Christiana, attributing to them, above all, the power relations contained in imperial nomenclature.58 It may be noted that the titulature present in the text of Gesta was connected with a group of terms that referred to Saxon aristocracy and imperial titulature.59 At the same time, information on the history of the Scandinavian rulers contained in the scholia seems somehow to undermine this image, additionally providing a number of detailed and precise pieces of information on their rule and political-military and foundation-prayer related activities.60 It is worth noting that, according to Eckhard Freise, these kinds of records should be associated primarily with the commemorative function of a chronicle. Indeed, records related to military actions and wars fought in the name of Christ, along with named or collective commemoration of the fallen, were modelled in this case on the liturgical commemoration of the dead.61 Interestingly, Adam of Bremen’s scholia repeatedly adopt the formula, known from calendar and yearbook records, of extended digressions of an ancillary and chronological character.62 Sometimes, in descriptions of the ‘rulers of the North’, this approach also clarifes references to the extent of their power and the policies they pursued.63 The digressions sometimes constitute an element of the narrative that precedes or supplements the events described later by the canon of Bremen.64 At the same time, it is worth emphasising that the vast majority of them refer to the scheme adopted by Adam of Bremen and the main idea of the work.65 In doing so, he seems to be further accentuating references to the Christian, sacred dimension of the authority of the legitimate Scandinavian rulers, also in its commemorative formula.66 The chronicler did not shy away from expressing some of his ‘preferences’ concerning the processes of legitimation of power in Northern Europe.67 It is worth noting that the convention employed by Adam of Bremen within the Gesta constituted, on the one hand, the main scheme for the entire narrative, while on the other hand it allowed him to capture a number of detailed aspects related to the way power was expressed in Northern Europe. In keeping with the interpretatio Christiana scheme, Adam aimed above all to set out the goals of the missionary work of the Archbishopric of Hamburg-Bremen, thus referring directly to the areas which were to form the main axis of the narrative. From his point of view, the struggle with the

164 Piotr Pranke process of Christianization of Scandinavia and parts of Slavia was related to the eternal struggle between good and evil. The depictions of rulers and peoples that inhabited the territories under the Archbishopric were also characterized in this way. At the same time, the idea of the patriarchate of the North that he advocated was embedded within the constitution of the history and actions of the rulers, which were to sanction the creation of the ecclesiastical organization in the territory in question. For this reason, in the conventions adopted by Adam, northern European rulers who belong to the Christian community represented, to a certain extent, the idea he advocated, and at the same time also posed a threat to the role ascribed to the Archbishopric. The narrative pattern included in the Chronicle makes it possible to discover the text anew each time. Perhaps this is why this work remains such a fascinating source for the history of Northern Europe.

Notes 1 Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontifcum, ed. Bernd Schmeidler, MGH Ss. rer. Germ. in usum scholarum 2 Hannoverae 1917 VII–LXVI (later Adam). Knut Helle, “Descriptions of Nordic Towns and Town-Like Settlements in Early Literature”, in Developments Around the Baltic and the North Sea in the Viking Age. The Twelfth Viking Congress, eds. Bjørn Ambrosiani and Helen Clarke, Stockholm, Riksantikvarieämbetet and Statens Historiska Museer, 1994, 20. Stanisław Rosik, The Slavic Religion in the Light of 11th – and 12th Century German Chronicles (Thietmar of Merseburg, Adam of Bremen, Helmold of Bosau). Studies on the Christian Interpretation of pre-Christian Cults and Beliefs, trans. Anna Tyszkiewicz, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2020), 197–212. 2 Stanisław Lipiec, “Inspirations of Adam of Bremen. Comparative Source Criticism”, CER Comparative European Research, 1 (2017), 142–144. Bengt Löfstedt, “Einige Notitzen zur Sprache des Adam von Bremen”, Acta Classica, 22 (1979), 162–163. Karl Schmid, “Die Sorge der Salier um ihre Memoria. Zeugnisse, Erwägungen und Fragen”, Münstersche Mittelalterschriften, 48 (1984), 668–671. Joachim Wollasch, “Die mittelalterliche Lebensform der Verbrüderung”, Münstersche Mittelalterschriften, 48 (1984), 215. 3 “Tunc imperator cum magnatibus sancto Ansgario de salute gentium congratulatus ingentes Christo gratias persolverunt. Habito igitur generali sacerdotum concilio pis cesar votum parentis implere cupiens Hammaburg civitatem Transalbaniorum metropolem statuit omnibus barbaris nationibus Danorum, Sueonum itemque Sclavorum et aliis in circuitu coniaecentibus populis, eiusque cathedrae primum archiepiscopum ordinari fecit Ansgarium. Hoc factum est anno Domini DCCCXXXII, qui est Ludvici imperatoris XVIII., Willerici Bremensis episcopi XLIII. […] Habentur in ecclesiae Bremensi precepta imperatoris et privilegia papae sancto Ansgario data, in quibus hoc quoque una continentur, quandam illi cellam in Galia Turholzvocatam ad supplementum legationis a cesare concessam”, Gesta, lib. I, c. 16, 22–23. Otto Heinrich May, “Adalbert I”, in Neue Deutsche Biographie, ed. Otto Stolberg – Wernigerode, T. 1, Berlin, Dunker & Humblot, 1953, 42–43. 4 Peter Sawyer, “The Organization of the Church in Scandinavia after the Missionary Phase”, Harvard Ukrainian Studies, 12/13 (1988/1989), 480–487.

Adam and Scandinavia: visions of state  165 5 Ansgar remained the role model for Adam of Bremen. The chronicler, in a way, used him as a point of reference for the actions of Archbishop Adalbert. Interea beatus Ansgarius captivos redimendo, tribulatos refovendo, erudiendo domesticos, barbaris euangelizando, foris apostolus, intus monachus, nunquam legitur ociosus. Nec solum erga suos, verum et alios sollicitus, quomodo viverent; episcopos etiam tam voce litteris, ut vigilarent supra dominicum gregem, hos arguit, illos obsecravit. At vero regibus Romanorum pro sua legatione, regibus Danorum pro christiana fide crebro mandavit. (Gesta, l. I, c. 33, 37) The canon of Bremen emphasized the importance of the Christian mission and the attempts to create a church organization in Scandinavia, the establishment of which would also constitute one of the elements of the early medieval organization of power. Adaldagus igitur archiepiscopus ordinavit in Daniam plures episcopos, quorum nomina quidem repperimus; ad quam [vero] sedem [specialiter] intronizati sint, haud facile potuimus invenire. Aestimo faciente ea causa, quod in rudi christianitate nulli episcoporum adhuc certa sedes designata est, verum studio plantandae christianitatis quisque in ulteriora progressus verbum Dei tam suis quam alienis communiter predicare certabant. Hoc hodieque trans Daniam per Nortmanniam et Suediam facere videntur. Igitur episcopi in Daniam ordinati sunt hii: Hored, Liafdag, Raginbrond, et post eos Harig, Stercolf, Folgbract [Adelbrect], Merkaet alii. Odinkarum seniorem ferunt ab Adaldago in Sueoniam ordinatum strennue in gentibus legationem suam perfecisse. Erat enim, sicut nos fama tetigit, vir sanctissimus et doctus in his, quae ad Deum sunt, preterea quantum ad seculum nobilis et oriundus ex Danis. Unde et facile barbaris quaelibet de nostra potuit religione persuadere. (Gesta, l. II, c. 26, 84–85) On the Christianization of Scandinavia see: Przemysław Kulesza, Normanowie a chrześcijaństwo. Recepcja nowej wiary w Skandynawii w IX i X wieku, Wrocław-Racibórz, Wydawnictwo i Agencja Informacyjna WAW Grzegorz Wawoczny, 2007. 6 Edgar N. Johnson, “Adalbert of Hamburg-Bremen: A Politician of the Eleventh Century”, Speculum, 9 (1934), no. 2, 147–179. 7 Roland Scheel, “Byzantium-Rome-Denmark-Iceland: Dealing with Imperial Concepts in the North”, in Transcultural Approaches to the Concept of Imperial Rule in the Middle Ages, eds. Christian Scholl, Torben R. Gerbhardt and Jan Clauß, Frankfurt am Mein-Bern-Bruxelles-New York-Oxford-Warsaw, Peter Lang, 2017, 262. 8 Historiam Hammaburgensis ecclesiae scripturi, quoniam Hammaburg nobilissima quondam Saxonum civitas errat, non indecens aut vacuum fore putamus, si prius de gente Saxonum et natura eiusdem provintiae ponemus ea, quae doctissimus vir Einhardus aliique non obscura auctores reliquerunt in scriptis suis. […] Saxonia viris armis et frugibus inclita. (Gesta, Praefatio, 4). 9 The economic empowerment of the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen, who received a number of privileges from Henry III, is noteworthy in this case. The ruler, in a document issued on May 13, 1040, granted the Archbishopric the right to hold fairs, along with the emoluments from customs duties and the privilege of minting coinage. Die Urkunden der deutschen Könige und Kaiser. Die Urkunden der deutschen Könige und Kaiser. Die Urkunden Heinrichs III, eds. Harry Bresslau and Paul Kehr, MGH Diplomata 5 (1931), no. 42, 52–53 (hereafter Die Urkunden Heinrichs III).

166  Piotr Pranke 10 Beatissimo patri et electo celitus archiepiscopo Hammaburgensi Liemaro A. minimus sanctae Bremensis ecclesiae canonicus integrae devotionis parvum munus. Cum in numerum gregis vestri, pastor euangelice, nuper a decessore vestro colligerer, sedulo operam dedi, ne proselitus et advena tanti muneris beneficio ingratus existerem. Mox igitur ut oculis atque auribus accepi ecclesiam vestram antiqui honoris privilegio nimis extenuatam multis egere constructorum manibus, cogitabam diu, quo laboris nostri monimento exhaustam viribus matrem potuerim iuvare. Et ecce occurit mihi plurima interdum legenti vel audienti fact ab antecessoribus vestris, quae tum sui magnitudine, tum ecclesiae huius necessitate videantur digna relatu. Sed quoniam rerum memoria latet et pontificum loci hystoria non est tradita litteris, fortasse dixerit aliquis aut nihil eos dignum memoria fecisse in diebus suis, aut, si fecerant quippiam, scriptorum, qui hoc posteris traderent, diligentia caruisse. Hac ego necessitate persuasus appuli me ad scribendum de Bremensium sive Hammaburgensium serie presulum, non alienum credens mae devotionis officio seu negotio vestrae legationis, si, cum sim filius ecclesiae, sanctissimorum patrum, per quos ecclesia exaltata et christianitas in gentibus dilatata est, gesta revolvo. Ad quod nimirum valde arduum et viribus meis impar onus eo majorem flagito veniam, quoniam fere nullius, qui me precesserit, vestigia ignotum iter quasi palpans in tenebris carpere non timui, eligens in vinea Domini pondus diei ferre et aestus quam extra vineam ociosus stare. Tuo igitur, sanctissime presul examini audacter incepta committo, te iudicem simulque defensorem imploro, sciens tibi pro sapientia tua nihil dignum posse deferri, qui decurso mundanae prudentaie stadio ad studium divinae philospohiae maiore gloria nunc ascendisti, terrena descipiens et sola meditans celestia (Gesta, Praefatio, 1–2. Birgit Sawyer, Peter Sawyer, “Scandinavia enters Christian Europe”, in The Cambridge History of Scandinavia, ed. Knut Helle, vol. 1, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2008, 149–156. Stanisław Rosik, “Nie ma barbarzyńcy ani Greka…”. W sprawie narzędzi globalistycznej interpretacji dziejów w myśli wieków średnich na przykładzie recepcji nowotestamentowych idei w historiografii XI i XII w., Kultura-historia-globalizacja, 10 (2011), 175. About Adalbert’s meaning see: Florian Hartmann, “Erzbischof Adalbert von Hamburg-Bremen und die Papstwahl im Dezember 1046”, Archivum Historiae Pontificiae, 40 (2002), 17–26). 11 Adam of Bremen indicated the extent of Slavic settlement delimited within the Limes Saxoniae. Joachim Herrmann, Siedlung, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaftliche Verhältnisse der slawischen Stämme zwischen Oder/Neisse und Elbe. Studien auf der Grundlage archäologischen Materials, Berlin, Akademie-Verlag, 1968, 17. 12 Thies Siebet Jarecki, Die Vorstellungen von Bischofsamt bei Adam von Bremen, Leipzig, Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2014, 14–25. Linda Kaljundi, “Waiting for the Barbarians”, The Medieval Chronicle, 5 (2008), 115–117. Tette Hofstra, Kees Samplonius, “Viking Expansion Northwards: Mediaeval Sources”, Arctic, 48 (1995), no. 3, 238. Birgit Sawyer, “Scandinavian Conversion Histories”, Harvard Ukrainian Studies, 12/13 (1988/1989), 47–58. 13 Stanisław Rosik, “Nie ma barbarzyńcy ani 175–176. See: James Westfall Thompson, “Church and State in Mediaeval Germany”, The American Journal of Theology, 22 (1918), no. 4, 522. John Eldevik, “Saints, Pagans, and the Wonders of the East”, Traditio, 71 (2016), 244. 14 Simili religionis amore alter Olaph in Suedia dicitur floruisse. Is subditos sibi populos ad christianitatem convertere volens magno laboravit studio, ut templum ydolorum, quod in medio Sueoniae situm est, Ubsola destrueretur. Cuius intentionem pagani metuentes placitum cum rege suo tale constituisse dicuntur, ut, si ipse vellet esse christianus, optimam Suediae regionem, quam vellet, suo iuri teneret. In qua ecclesiam et christianitatem constituens nemini de populo vim recendi a cultura deorum inferet, nisi qui sponte cuperet ad Christum converti. Huiusmodi rex placito

Adam and Scandinavia: visions of state  167 gavisus mox in occidentali Gothia, quae Danis proxima est vel Nortmannis, ecclesiam Deo sedemque fundavit episcopalem. (Gesta, l. II, c. 58, 118). 15 Gregorius VII Visigothorum Regibus. Frater noster R. Episcopus vester, ad Apostolorum limina veniens, sugessit nobis de noua gentis vestrae conuersione, scilicet qualiter relicto gentilitatis errore ad Christianae fidei veritatem peruenerit. Vunde plurimum in Domino laetati, miseratori omnium intimo corde gratias agimus, qui mentes vestras lumine suo visitare, et de tenebris ad lucem, de morte ad vitam, dignatus est vos aeterna sua benignitate reducere. Simul etiam ipsius ineffabilem misericordiam deprecati sumus, assidueque postulare optamus, vt vos tam fidei gratia, quam bonorum operum fructibus, et in hac vita vigere, et in futura sanctorum caetibus faciat annumerari. Proinde charissimi filii, autoritate S. R. E. vice beatorum Apostolorum Petri, et Pauli, nobis (licet indignis) concessa, vos admonemus, vt hujus fugitiuae vitae incertitudinem, ac temporalium rerum, et gaudiorum instabilitatem perpendentes, contemnere, et ad illa, quae sine fine mansura sunt, quaeque humani sensus, ac desiderii angustias amplitudine sua excedunt, memineritis aciem mentis semper extendere: concordiam, et dilectionem studeatis ad inuicem indeficienter habere: Ecclesiis honorem: pauperibus, et afflictis compassionem: Sacerdotibus, praecipueque Episcopis, reurentiam, ac obedientiam, quasi patribus procuretis impendere: nec non et decimas, quae ad vsum tam ipsorum, quam Ecclesiarum, et pauperum proficiant dare, totique regno indicare (Diplomatorium Suecanum, ed. J. G. Liljegren, 1 Stockholm, Riksarkivet, 1829, no. 25, 41–42). 16 Kirsten A. Seaver, “‘Pygmies’ of the Far North”, Journal of World History, 19 (2008), no. 1, 67–69. Klaus Zernack, “Im Zentrum Nordosteuropas”, Journal of Baltic Studies, 33 (2002), no. 4, 371. 17 Gesta, Praefatio, 1. 18 This kind of construction that created the protagonists of the chronicle on the basis of opposites and the dichotomy of the ‘friend or foe’, was also known to Adam of Bremen, who used just such a juxtaposition to emphasize the difference between the Christian world and the unknown areas of the Baltic Sea. Edith Feistner, “Vom Kampf gegen das ‘Andere’. Pruzzen, Litauer und Mongolen in lateinischen und deutschen Texten des Mittelalters”, Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum und deutsche Literatur, 132 (2003), no. 3, 282. Alexander O’Hara, “Constructing a Saint: The Legend of St Sunniva in Twelfth-Century Norway”, Viking and Medieval Scandinavia, 5 (2009), 110. Kevin J. Wanner, “God on the Margins: Dislocation and Transience in the Myths of Óðinn”, History of Religions, 46 (2007), no. 4, 323. 19 Norbert Kersken, “Dura enim est conditio historiographorum… Reflexionen mittelalterlicher Chronisten zur Zeitgeschichtsschreibung”, in The Medieval Chronicle. Proceedings of the 3rd International Conference on the Medieval Chronicle Doorn/Utrecht 12–17 July 2002, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2003), vol. 3, 66. Norbert Wagner, Zur Neunzahl von Lejre und Uppsala, Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum und deutsche Literatur, 109 (1980), Q. 3, 202–204. Walther Tuckermann, “Die Entstehung der mittelalterlichen kirchlichen Großorganisation Schweden”, Geographische Zeitschrift, 50 (1944), Q. 3/4, 107–108. 20 C. Stephen Jaeger, “The Courtier Bishop in Vitae from the Tenth to the Twelfth Century”, Speculum, 58 (1983), no. 2, 294–304. See: Matthew Townend, “Knútr and the Cult of St Óláfr: Poetry and Patronage in Eleventh-Century Norway and England”, Viking and Medieval Scandinavia, 1 (2005), 251–273. 21 On how power was organized in the early Middle Ages see: Henri J. M. Classen and Peter Skalnik, “The Early State: Theories and Hypotheses”, in The Early State, eds. Henry J. M. Classen and Peter Skalnik, Hague-Paris-New York, Mouton, 1978, 3–17. David Brégaint, Vox Regis. Royal Communication in High Medieval Norway, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2016, 15–21. Michael H. Gelting, “Legal,

168  Piotr Pranke and Social Change in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries”, in Feudalism. New Landscape of Debate, eds. Sverre Bagge, Michael H. Gelting, Thomas Lindkvist, Turnhout, Brepols, 2011, 159–163. 22 Et quoniam mentionem Danorum semel fecimus, dignum memoria videtur, quod victoriosissimus imperator Karolus, qui omnia regna Europae subiecerat, novissimum cum Danis bellum suscepisse narratur. Nam Dani et ceteri, qui trans Daniam sunt, populi ab istoricis Francorum omnes Nordmanni vocantur. Quorum rex Gotafridus, iam antea Fresis, itemque Nordalbingis, Obodritis et aliis Sclavorum populis tributo subactis, ipsi Karolo bellum minatus est. Haec dissensio voluntatem imperatoris vel maxime de Hammaburg retardavit (Gesta, l. I, c. 16, 19). 23 Anno Willerici XXXIII. Ludewicus imperator Novam in Saxonia Corbeiam exorsus religiosissimos Franciae monachos ad illud congregavit cenobium. Inter quos precipuus legitur sanctissimus pater noster ac philosophus Christi Ansgarius, vitae ac scientiae merito clarus et omni populo Saxonum acceptus. Eodemque tempore rex Danorum Haraldus a filiis Gotafridi regno spoliatus Ludewicum supplex venit. Qui et mox christianae fidei cathecismo imbutus apud Mogontiam cum uxore et fratre acmagna Danorum multitudine baptizatus est (Gesta, l. I, c. 15, 2). 24 Gesta, l. I, c. 37, 39. 25 Ibidem, l. I, c, 38, 40–41. 26 Igitur beatissimus pater noster primus ordinavit episcopos in Daniam, Horitum (Haredum) ad Sliaswig, Liafdagum ad Ripam, Reginbrondum ad Harusam. Quibus etiam commendavit illas ecclesias, quae trans mare sunt, in Fune, Seland, et Scone ac in Sueonia. Anno archiepiscopi factum est hoc XII (Gesta, l. II, c. 4, 64–65). Adam of Bremen, referring to the area of present-day Sweden, referred to the rich geographical tradition and commentaries on the Book of Ezekiel and the Prophecy of Jeremiah, identifying the peoples he described with the land of Gog, which since the times of St. Ambrose had been identified with the land of Goth and Magoth, synonymous with the term Scythia. Quae in Vita sancti Ansgarii latissima gestorum narratione descripta nos brevitate nitentes amputavimus. Et nisi fallit opinio, prophetia Ezechiel de Gog et Magog convenientissime hic impleta videtur. ‘Et mittam’ inquit Dominus, ‘ignem in Magog et in his, qui habitant in insulis confidenter’. Aliqui haec et talia de Gothis, qui Romam ceperant, dicta arbitrantur. Nos vero considerantes Gothorum populos in Sueonia regnantes omnemque hanc regionem passim in insulas dispertiam esse, prophetiam opinamur eis posse commodari, cum presertim multa predicta sint a prophetis, quae nondum videntur impleta. (Gesta, l. I, c. 26, 32) 27 Sclavania igitur, amplissima Germaniae provintia, a Winulis incolitur, qui olim dicti sunt Wandali; decies maior esse fertur quam nostra Saxonia, presertim si Boemiam et eos, qui trans Oddaram sunt, Polanos, quia nec habitu nec lingua discrepant, in partem adieceris Sclavaniae. Haec autem regio cum sit armis, viris et frugibus opulentissima, firmis undique saltuum vel terminis fluminum clauditur. Eius latitudo est a meridie in boream, hoc est ab Albia fluvio usque ad mare Scythicum. Longitudo autem illa videtur, quae initium habet ab nostra Hammaburgensi parrochia et porrigitur in orientem infinitis aucta spatiis usque in Beguariam, Ungriam et Greciam. Populi Sclavorum multi, quorum primi sunt ab occidente confines Transalbianis Waigri, eorum civitas Aldinburg maritima. Deinde secuntur Obodriti, qui nunc Reregi vocantur, et civitas eorum Magnopolis. Item versus nos Polabingi, quorum civitas Razisburg. Ultra illos sunt Lingones et Warnabi. Mox habitant Chizzini et Circipani, quos Tholosantibus et Retheris separat flumen Panis, et civitas Dimine. Ibi est terminus Hammaburgensis parrochiae. Sunt et alii Sclavorum populi, qui inter Albiam et Oddaram degunt, sicut Heveldi, qui iuxta Habolam fluvium sunt, et Doxani, Lebuzzi, Wilini et Soderani cum multis aliis (Gesta, l. II, c. 21, 75–78).

Adam and Scandinavia: visions of state  169 28 These themes refer to the way of perceiving the world defined by the prophecy of Jeremiah and descriptions included in the book of Ezekiel. They also referred to the writings of Saint Jerome. Et factus est sermo Domini ad me, dicens: Fili hominis, pone faciem tuam contra Gog, terram Magog, principem capitis Mosoch et Thubal, et vaticinare de eo. Et dices ad eum: Haec dicit Dominus Deus: Ecce ego ad te, Gog, principem capitis Mosoch et Thubal. Et circumagam te, et ponam frenum in maxillis tuis: et educam te, et omnem exercitum tuum, equos et equites vestitos loricis universos, multitudinem magnam, hastam et clypeum arripientium et gladium. […] Propterea vaticinare, fili hominis, et dices ad Gog: Haec dicit Dominus Deus: Numquid non in die illo, cum habitaverit populus meus Israel confidenter, scies? Et venies de loco tuo a lateribus aquilonis, tu et populi multi tecum, ascensores equorum universi: coetus magnus, et exercitus vehemens. Et ascendes super populum meum Israel quasi nubes, ut operias terram. In novissimus diebus erit, et adducam te super terram meam: ut sciant gentes me cum sanctificatus fuero in te in oculis eorum, o Gog!. (Biblia sacra juxta Vulgatam Clementinam, ed. M. Tvveedale, London, Bibliotheca de Autores Christianos, 2005, Jer. 38: 1–16, 1093–1095) Scio quendam Gog et Magog tam de praesenti loco quam Jezechiel ad Gotthorum nuper in terra nostra bacchantium historiam retulisse: quod utrum sit, proelii sit ipsius fine monstratur. Et certe Gothos omnes retro erudite magis Getas quam Gog et Magog appellare consueverunt. Hae itaque septem gentes… aquillonis partem inhabitant. (Sancti Eusebii Hieronymi Stridonensis presbyteri opera omnia, ed. J. P. Migne, Patrologiae Latinae, Series prima, 23, Paris 1845, Aqud Edition, 318, 950) In the early Middle Ages they constituted an archetypical image of Northern Lands inhabited by the tribes that originated from the land of Goth and Magoth. Ibi sunt Amazones, ibi Cynocephali, ibi Ciclopes, qui unum in fronte habent oculum; ibi sunt hii, quos Solinus dicit Ymantopodes, uno pede salientes, et illi, qui humanis carnibus delectantur pro cibo, ideoque sicut fugiuntur, ita etiam iure tacentur. Narravit mihi rex Danorum sepe recolendus gentem quandam ex montanis in plana descendere solitam, statura modicam, sed viribus et agilitate vix Suedis ferendam. […] Nobilissimum illa gens templum habet, quod Ubsola dicitur, non longe positum ab Sictona civitate illa generis sit, nemo scit. Ibi etiam est fons, ubi sacrificia paganorum solent exerceri et homo vivus inmergi. Qui dum non invenitur, ratum erit votum populi. […] Omnibus itaque diis suis attributos habent sacerdotes, qui sacrificia populi offerant. Si pestis et fames imminet, Thor ydolo lybatur, si bellum Wodani si nuptiae celebrande sunt, Fricconi. Solet quoque post novem annos communis omnium Sueoniae provintiarum sollempnitas in Ubsola celebrari. Ad quam videlicet sollempnitated nulli prestatur immunitas. Reges et populi omnes et singuli sua donna transmittunt ad Ubsolam, et, quod omni pena crudelius est, illi qui iam induerunt christianitatem, ab illis se redimunt cerimoniis. Sacrificium itaque tale est: ex omni animante, quod masculinum est, novem capita offeruntur, quorum sanguine deos [tales] placari mos est. Corpora autem suspenduntur in lucum qui proximus est templo. Is enim lucus tam sacer est gentilibus, ut singulare arbores eius ex morte vel tabo immolatorum divinae credantur. Ibi etiam canes et equi pendent cum hominibus, quorum corpora mixtim suspensa narravit mihi aliquis christianorum LXXII vidisse. (Gesta, l. IV, c. 25–27, 257–260)

170  Piotr Pranke Richard Hennig, “Über die Voraussichtlich völkerkundlichen Grundlagen der Amazonen-Sagen und deren Verbreitung”, Zeitschrift für Ethnologie, 72 (1940), H. 4/6, 362–371. Jere Fleck, “Ódinns self sacrifice. A new interpretation: The ritual inversion”, Scandinavian Studies, 43 (1971), no. 2, 126. Anders Andrén, “The Significance of Places: The Christianization of Scandinavia from a Spatial Point of View”, World Archeology, 45 (2013), no. 1, 34–38. Olof Sundqvist, “Sagas, Religion, and Rulership: The Credibility of the Descriptions of Rituals in ‘Hákonar saga góða’”, Viking and Medieval Scandinavia, 1 (2005), 236. Olof Sundquist, “An Arena for Higher Powers. Cult Buildings and Rulers in the Late Iron Age and the Early Medieval Period in the Mälar Region”, in Ideology and Power in the Viking and Middle Ages. Scandinavia, Iceland, Ireland, Orkney and the Faeroes, eds. G. Steinsland, Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, J. E. Rekdal and I. Beuermann, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2011, 197. 29 Michael Borgolte, “Kulturelle Einheit und Religiöse Differenz: Zur Verbreitung der Polygene im mittlealterlichem Europa”, Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung, 31 (2004), no. 1, 12. Alois Closs, Die Heiligkeit des Herrschers, Anthropos, 56 (1961), Q. 3/4, 474. 30 Vladimir K. Ronin, “Die Slavenpolitik Karls des Großen in der deutschen mittelalterlichen Überlieferung”, Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas, 37 (1989), Q. 4, 487. Cui etiam propter infestacionem barbaricam, ubi interdum posset consistere, cellam Rodnach in Gallia donavit, disponens eandem Hammaburgensem ecclesiam cunctis Sclavorum Danorumque gentibus Metropolem statuere. In qua re ad perfectum ducenda mors Heridagi presbyteri et occupatio regni Karolum imperatorem, ne desiderata compleret, impediit. Legimus in Libro donationum Bremensis ecclesiae Willericum Bremensem episcopum Transalbianos etiam ante Ansgarium predicasse et ecclesiam in Milindorp frequenter visitasse, usque ad tempus, quo Hammaburg metropolis facta est. (Gesta, l. I, c. 14, 19) 31 Ekkehart Vesper, “Der Machtgedanke in den Bekehrungsberichten der isländischen Sagas”, Zeitschrift für Religions – und Geistgeschichte, 7 (1955), no. 2, 130–131. 32 Habentur in ecclesia Bremensi precepta imperatoris et privilegia papae sancto Ansgario data, in quibus hoc quoque una continetur, quadam illi cellam in Gallia Turholz vocatam ad supplementum legationis a cesare concessam. […] Ansgarius autem nunc Danos, nunc Transalbianos visitans innumerabilem utriusque gentis multitudinem traxit ad fidem, Gesta, l. I, c. 16, 23–24. In Adam of Bremen’s text there are references that are a form of recollecting predecessors, which also mention meritorious deeds. Archiepiscopus autem reliquias sanctorum martyrum, quas ab urbe Roma portavit, magna per parrochias diligentia distribuit. Antecessores sui Deo servientium animarum quinque cenobia fundasse dicti sunt. His ille VI. Addidit apus Hesilingun, ubi nobilissima virgo Christi Wendilgart et pater eius Haldo nomine, totum Deo et sancto Vito martyri patrymonium suum offerens, magnam virginum turmam congregavit. (Gesta, l. II, c. 13, 70) Gerd Althoff, “Adels und Königsfamilien im Spiegel ihrer Memorialüberliefierung. Studien zum Totengedenken de Billunger und Ottonen”, Münstersche Mittelalterschriften, 47 (1984), 15. Idem, “Beobachtungen zum ­liudolfingisch – ottonischen Gedenkwesen”, Münstersche Mittelalterschriften, 48 (1984), 651–652.

Adam and Scandinavia: visions of state  171 33 In eo portu confessor Domini egressus insolita populos appelare cepit legatione. Quippe Sueones et Gothi vel, si ita melius dicuntur, Nortmanni propter barbaricae excursionis tempora, qua paucis annis multi reges cruento imperio dominati sunt, christianae religionis penitus obliti, haut facile poterant ad fidem persuaderi. Accepimus a sepe dicto rege Danorum Suein tunc apud Sueones imperitasse quendam Ring cum filiis Herich et Emund, ipsumque Ring ante se habuisse Anund, Bern, Olaph, de quibus in Gestis sancti Ansgarii legitur, et alios, quorum non occurit vocabulum (Gesta, l. I, c. 61, 59). 34 Anno Domini DCCCCLXVI Dani ad fidem sunt per Popponem quendam conversi, qui Ferrum candens et ignitum in modum cyrotecae formatum coram populo sine lesione portavit, quod videns rex Haraldus abiecta ydolatria cum toto populo ad colendum verum Deum se convertit, Poppo autem in episcopum est promotus (Gesta, l. II, schol 20 (21), 83). 35 An example of this kind of perceiving the rulers of the North remains the reference to Jarl Hakon. Haccon iste crudelissimus, ex genere Inguar et giganteo sanguine descendens, primus inter Nordmannos regnum arripuit, cum antea ducibus regerentur. Igitur Haccon triginta quinque annis in regno exactis obiit, Hartildum relinquens sceptri heredem, qui simul Daniam possedit atque Nordmaniam (Gesta, l. II, c. 25, 84). It seems that the references to Harald Harsh-Ruler can also be treated in a similar way. In Nortmannia quoque res magnae gestae sunt illo tempore, quo rex Haraldus crudelitate sua omnes tyrannorum excessit furores. Multae ecclesiae per illum virum dirutae, multi christiani ab illo per supplicia necati. Erat autem vir potens et clarus victoriis, qui prius in Grecia et in Scythiae regionibus multa contra barbaros prelia confecit. Postquam vero in patriam venit, nunquam quietus fuit a bellis, fulmen septentrionis, fatale malum omnibus Danorum insulis. Ille vir omnes Sclavorum maritimas regiones depredavit; […] Serviebat etiam maleficis artibus, non attendens miser, quod sanctissimus germanus eius talia monstra eradicavit a regno, pro amplectenda norma christianitatis certans usque ad sanguinem. Cuius egregia merita testantur haec miracula, quae cotidie fiunt ad sepulcrum regis in civitate Trondemnis. (Gesta, l. III, c. 17, 159) 36 Audivi etiam, cum veracissimus rex Danorum sermocinando eadem replicaret, populos Sclavorum iamdudum procul dubio facile converti posse ad christianitatem, nisi obstitisset avaricia Saxonum: ‘Quibus, inquit, ‘mens pronior est ad pensionem vectigalium quam ad conversionem gentilium’. Nec attendunt miseri, quam magnum periculum suae cupiditatis luant, qui christianitatem in Sclavania primo per avariciam turbabant, deinde per crudelitatem subiectos ad rebellandum coegerunt et nunc salutem eorum, qui vellent credere, pecuniam solam exigendo contempnunt. Ergo iusto Dei iudicio videmus eos prevalere super nos, qui permissu Dei ad hoc indurati sunt, ut per illos nostra flagelletur iniquitas. Nam re vera, sicut peccantes superari videmur ab hostibus, ita conversi victores hostium erimus. A quibus si tantum fidem posceremus, et illi iam salvi essent et nos certe essemus in pace (Gesta, l. III, c. 23, 166). 37 Heinricus rex domitis vel compositis Pannonum sedicionibus ecclesiastica, ut dicitur, necessitate Romam tractus est, comitem habens cum ceteris imperii magnatibus et nostrum archiepiscopum. Ubi depositis, qui pro apostolica sede certaverant, Benedicto, Gratiano et Silvestro scismaticis Adalbertus pontifex in papam eligi debiut, nisi quod pro se collegam posuit Clementem. A quo rex Heinricus coronatus die Natalis Domini imperator augustus vocatus est (Gesta, l. III c. 7, 148). Clemens papa renovavit ecclesiae nostrae Hammaburgensi omnia privilegia, quae dudum a

172  Piotr Pranke Romana sede concessa sunt (Gesta, l. III, schol 60 (61), 148). See: Philip Line, Kingship and State Formation in Sweden 1130–1290, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2007, 57. 38 Attention is drawn here to the functioning of the Slavic-Scandinavian borderland as an area associated with the formation of central places. Søren M. Sindbæk, ‘The Lands of “Denemearce”: Cultural Differences and Social Networks of the Viking Age in South Scandinavia’, Viking and Medieval Scandinavia, 4 (2008), 176–181. Olof Holm, “Trading in Viking-Period Scandinavia — A Business Only for a Few? The Jämtland Case”, Viking and Medieval Scandinavia, 11 (2015), 76–105. 39 Dagfinn Skre, “Centrality, Landholding and Trade in Scandinavia c. AD 700– 900”, in Settlement and Lordship in Viking and Early Medieval Scandinavia, eds. Bjørn Poulsen and Søren Sindbæk, Turnhout, Brepols, 2011, 200. 40 Birca est oppidum Gothorum in medio Suevoniae positum, non longe ab eo templo, quod celeberrimum Sueones habent in cultu deorum, Ubsola dicto. In quo loco sinus quidam eius freti, quod Balticum vel Barbarum dicitur, ad boream vergens portum facit barbaris gentibus, quae hoc mare diffusi habitant, optabilem, sed valde periculosum incautis et ignaris eiusmodi locorum. Bircani enim piratarum excursionibus, quorum ibi est magna copia, sepius impugnati, cum vi et armis nequeunt resistere, callida hostess aggrediuntur arte decipere. […] Ad quam stadionem, quia tutissima est in maritimis Suevoniae regionibus, solent omnes Danorum vel Nortmannorum itemque Sclavorum ac Semborum naves aliique Scithiae populi pro diversis commerciorum necessitatibus sollempniter convenire (Gesta, l. I, c. 60, 58). 41 Interea feralis aderat dies Aegyptiacis cognita tenebris, qua magnus presul Adalbertus amare mortis vicino pulsabatur nuncio. Sensit et ipse solutionem corporis sui tam virium defectu quam rerum presagio dictarum instare. Sed cum medici trepidarent indicare veritatem, solusque promitteret vitam Notebaldus, inter spem vitae metumque mortis vir sapiens iacuit incertus suique oblitus. […] O fallax humanae vitae prosperitas, o furgienda honorum ambitio! Quid tibi nunc, o venerabilis pater Adalberte, prosunt illa, quae semper dilexisti gloria mundi, populorum frequentia, elatio nobilitatis? Nempe solus iaces in alto palatio, derelictus ab omnibus tuis (Gesta, l. III, c. 65–66, 212–213). 42 See: Haki Antonson, “Traditions of Conversion in Medieval Scandinavia”, Saga Book, 34 (2010), 27–66. On the importance of missionary work and how it was perceived within the Empire see: Stanisław Rosik, Chrystianizacja Połabia i Pomorza (X–XII w.). Zarys procesu oraz strategii i praktyki misyjnej. Część I, Historia Slavorum Occidentalis, 14 (2017), no. 3, 71. 43 Marius Ščavinskas, “The Christianisation of the Past (the Example of the Baltic Society in High Middle Ages), Quaestiones Medii Aevi Novae, 22 (2017), 357–364. 44 Nils Hybel, Bjørn Poulsen, The Danish Resources c. 1000 – 1550. Growth and Recession, Leiden-Boston, Brill 2007), xviii. 45 Erant et alii reges Danorum vel Nortmannorum, qui piraticis excursionibus eo tempore Galliam vexabant, quorum precipui erant Horich, Orwig, Gotafrid, Rudolf et Inguar tyranni (Gesta, l. I, c. 37, 39). 46 It seems that we should agree with Haki Antonsson that in the case of the Northern rulers a special significance in the Chronicle of Adam of Bremen was attributed to the figure of Olaf Haraldsson, who was singled out from the saints mentioned by the chronicler. See: Haki Antonsson, “Some Observations on Martyrdom in Post-Conversion Scandinavia”, Saga Book, 28 (2004), 72–76. Åslaug Ommundsen, “Saint and his Sequence: Singing the Legend of St Olaf”, Viking and Medieval Scandinavia, 5 (2009), 151. 47 Haroldus rex Danorum, religione ac fortitudine insignis, christianitatem in regno suo iam dudum benigne suscepit et constanter retinuit usque in finem. Unde et regnum suum sanctitate et iusticia confirmans ultra mare in Nortmannos et Anglos suam dilatavit potentiam. Emund filius Herici tunc in Suedia regnavit. Is Haroldo

Adam and Scandinavia: visions of state  173 confederatus christianis eo venientibus placabilis fuit. In Norveia Haccon princeps errat, quem, dum Nortmanni superibus agentem regno depellerent, Haroldus sua virtute restituit et christicolis placatum effecit (Gesta, l. II, c. 25, 83–84). It seems that in parallel to the worldview presented by Adam of Bremen, the rulers of Denmark who possessed sedes regia Danorum are somehow privileged in this construction. Timothy Bolton, The Empire of Cnut the Great. Conquest and the Consolidation of Power in Northern Europe in the Early Eleventh Century, Leiden-­Boston, Brill, 2009, 169–170. 48 The conviction concerning the sacral significance of the Germanic rulers remained an important element of this creation, and was present in the story of the canon of Bremen. Rory McTurk, ‘Sacral Kingship in Ancient Scandinavia a Review of Some Recent Writings’, Saga Book, 19 (1974–1977), 142–167. 49 Alexandra Sanmark, ‘Dietary Regulations in Early Christian Norway’, Viking and Medieval Scandinavia, 1 (2005), 205–206. 50 Danorum regnum aspiciunt, omnesque iam christianitatis titulo decoratae sunt. Sunt et aliae interius, quae subiacent imperio Sueonum, quarum vel maxima est illa, quae Churland dicitur; iter habet octo dierum; gens crudelissima propter nimium ydolatriae cultum fugitur ab omnibus. Aurum ibi plurimum, equi optimi; divinis, auguribus atque nigromanticis omnes domus plenae sunt [qui etiam vestitu monachico induti sunt]. A toto orbe ibi responsa petuntur, maxime ab Hispanis et Grecis. Hanc insulam credimus in Vita sancti Ansgarii Chori nominatam, quam tunc Sueones tributo subiecerunt. Una ibi nunc facta est ecclesia, cuiusdam studio negotiatoris, quem rex Danorum multis ad hoc illexit muneribus. Ipse rex gaudens in Domino recitavit mihi hanc cantilenam (Gesta, l. IV, c. 16, 244–245). 51 Gesta, l. I, c. 15, 22; l. I, c. 21, 27. 52 In cuius ostio, qua Scyticas alluit paludes, nobilissima civitas Iumne celeberrimam prestat stacionem Barbaris et Grecis, qui sunt in circuitu. De cuius preconio urbis, quia magna quaedam et vix credibilia recitantur, volupe arbitror pauca inserere digna relatu. Est sane maxima omnium, quas Europa claudit, civitatum, quam incolunt Sclavi cum aliis gentibus, Grecis et Barbaris; nam et advenae Saxones parem cohabitandi legem acceperunt, si tamen christianitatis titulum ibi morantes non publicaverint. Omnes enim adhuc paganicis ritibus oberrant, ceterum moribus et hospitalitate nulla gens honestior aut benignior poterit inveniri. Urbs illa mercibus omnium septentrionalium nationum locuples nihil non habet iocundi aut rari. Ibi est Vulcani, quod incolae Grecum ignem vocant, de quo etiam meminit Solinus. Ibi cernitur Neptunus triplicis naturae: tribus enim fretis alluitur illa insula, quorum aiunt unum esse viridissimae speciaei, alterum subalbidae, tertium motu furibundo perpetuis saevit tempestatibus (Gesta, l. II, c. 22, 79–80). 53 Inter quos medii et potentissimi omnium sunt Retharii, civitas eorum vulgatissima Rethre, sedes ydolatriae. Templum ibi magnum constructum est demonibus, quorum princeps est Redigast. Simulacrum eius auro, lectus ostro paratus. Civitas ipsa IX portas habet, undique lacu profundo inclusa; pons ligneus transitum prebet, per quem tantum sacrificantibus aut responsa petentibus via conceditur, credo ea significante causa, quod perditas animas eorum, qui idolis serviunt, congrue novies Stix interfusa cohercet (Gesta, l. II, c. 21, 78). 54 Jerzy Strzleczyk, “Połabszczyzna zapomniana. Część VII: Gotszalk, czyli zmien ­ność fortuny”, Przegląd Zachodniopomorski, 30(59) (2015), Q. 1, 9–16. 55 Populi Sueonum multi sunt, viribus et armis egregii, preterea tam in equis quam navibus iuxta optimi bellatores. Unde etiam sua potentia cetersa aquilonis gentes constringere videntur. Reges habent ex genere antiquo, quorum tamen vis pendet in populi sentencia; quod in commune omnes laudaverint, illum confirmare oportet, nisi eius decretum potius videatur, quod aliquando secuntur inviti. Itaque domi pares esse gaudent, in prelium euntes omnem prebent obedientiam regi vel ei, qui doctior ceteris a rege prefertur (Gesta, l. IV, c. 22, 252–253).

174  Piotr Pranke 56 Michał Witold Pychowski, “‘Reakcja pogańska’ jako forma realizacji polityki zewnętrznej połabskich organizmów politycznych”, Acta Universitatis Lodziensis. Folia Historica, 106 (2020), 9–23. 57 Erat imperator multis et magnis virtutibus praeditus, et omnium pene ante se bellicosissimus, quippe qui etiam Vindelicos et Leuticios subegerit, caeterosque populos Suevis conterminos, qui usque ad hanc diem soli omnium mortalium paganas superstitiones anhelant; nam Saraceni et Turchi Deum Creatorem colunt, Mahumet non Deum, sed ejus prophetam aestimantes. Vindelici vero Fortunam adorant; cujus idolum loco nominatissimo ponentes, cornu dextrae illius componunt plenum potu illo quem Graeco vocabulo, et aqua et melle, Hydromellum vocamus. Idem sanctus Hieronymus Aegyptios et omnes pene Orientales fecisse, in decimo octavo super Isaiam libro confirmat. Unde ultimo die Novembris mensis, in circuitu sedentes, in commune praegustant; et si cornu plenum invenerint, magno strepitu applaudunt, quod eis futuro anno pleno copia cornu responsura sit in omnibus; si contra, gensunt. Hos ergo ita Henricus tributarios efficerat, ut omnibus solemnitatibus quibus coronabatur, reges eorum quatuor, lebetem quo carnes condiebantur, in humeris suis, per annulos quatuor vectibus ad coquinam vectitarent (Gesta Regum Anglorum, in Willelmi Malmesbusiensis Monachi Opera omnia, Patrologia cursus completus: Series Latina, ed. J. P. ­Migne, vol. 179, Paris 1899, lib. II, c. 189, 1170 (later Gesta Regum Anglorum)). On the interpretation of the above see Leszek Paweł Słupecki, Roman Zaroff, “William of Malmesbury on Pagan Slavic Oracles: New Sources for Slavic Paganism and its two Interpretations”, Studia Mythologica Slavica, 2 (1999), 9–17. Michał Łuczyński, ““Fortuna” Williama z Malmesbury (Gesta Rerum Anglorum II, 12) – Próba nowej interpretacji”, Zeszyty Naukowe Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego. Prace Historyczne, 139 (2012), 9–16. 58 According to Stefan Brink, this kind of interpretation is present, for example, in the description of a hall also located in Uppsala. The chronicler characterized the overall picture of the cultic and political centre of power through the term templum. Stefan Brink, “Political and Social Structures in Early Scandinavia”, Tor, 28 (1996), 247–254. Special attention is given here to the presentation of power structures in Scandinavia in the so-called pre-state period as a kind of permanent structure, based primarily on the system of dukes and chieftains, and to the attribution of royal titles to the northern European rulers. Such measures were a frequent feature in chronicles. Having a certain military force at one’s disposal was also an element of power. In general, however, Adam of Bremen almost entirely ignores the importance of military force, perhaps viewing it through the prism of the advisors to rulers that he sometimes mentions. Alexandra Sanmark, “Assembly Organisation in the Longue Durée: The Scandinavian Thing Institution in its European Context”, Questiones Medii Aevi Novae, 23 (2018), 151–173. 59 At the same time, it seems that this situation is analogous to the way of presenting the rulers indicated by Andrzej Pleszczyński in the case of the Piasts. Andrzej Pleszczyński, Niemcy wobec pierwszej monarchii piastowskiej (963–1034). Narodziny stereotypu, Lublin, Wydawnictwo UMCS, 2008, 93. Familiarity with the latter’s elaborate structure is evidenced by the passage devoted to the commemoration of Saint Emma of Gurk, who was described by the canon of Bremen as senatrix inclita. Gesta, l. II, schol 47 (48), 126–127. 60 Otto Gerhard Oexle, “Memoria und Memorialbild”, Münstersche Mittelalterschriften, 48 (1984), 387. 61 Eckhard Freise, “Kalendarische und annalistische Grundformen der Memoria”, Münstersche Mittelalterschriften, 48 (1984), 487–489. Gotafrid et Sigafrid reges ibi sunt occisi, Gesta, lib. I, school. 8 (9), 47.

Adam and Scandinavia: visions of state  175 62 Stephanus papa, qui sedit annos VI, Hermannum Coloniensem archiepiscopus et Adalgarium Hammaburgensem archiepiscopum de Bremensi contendentes ecclesia Wormaciam ad synodum venire precepit, et Remensi archiepiscopo Fulconi vice sua comissa causam eorum examinari mandavit (Gesta, l. I, schol 10 (11), 50). 63 Hericus rex Sueonum cum potentissimo rege Polanorum Bolizlao fedus iniit. Bolizlaus filiam vel sororem Herico dedit. Cuius gratia societas Dani a Sclavis et Sueonibus iuxta impugnati sunt. Bolizlaus, rex christianissimus, cum Ottone tercio confederatus omnem Sclavaniam subiecit et Ruzziam et Pruzzos, a quibus passus est sanctus Adalbertus, cuius reliquias tunc Bolizlaus transtulit in Poloniam (Gesta, l. II, schol. 24 (25), 94–95). 64 Hericus igitur rex Suedorum in Dania conversus ad christianitatem ibidem baptizatus est (Gesta, l. II, c. 38, 98). 65 Olaph Trucci filio Craccaben duo regna possedit. Qui mox destructo ydolatriae ritu christianitatem in Nordmania per edictum suscipi iussit. Tunc eciam Gotebaldum quendam ab Anglia venientem episcopum in Sconia posuit doctorem. Qui aliquando in Suedia et in Norwegia euangelizasse narratur (Gesta, l. II, schol. 26 (27), 101). 66 Chnut filius Suein regis abiecto nomine gentilitatis in baptismo Lambertus nomen accepit. Unde scriptum est in Libro fraternitatis nostrae: ‘Lambrecht rex Danorum et Imma regina et Chnut filius eorum devote se commendeverunt orationibus fratrum Bremensium (Gesta, l. II, schol. 37 (38), 112). 67 Inter Chnud et Olaph regem Nortmannorum fuit bellum, nec cessavit omnibus diebus vitae eorum, Danis pro imperio certantibus, Nortmannis vero pugnatibus pro libertate. In qua re iustior mihi visa est causa Olaph, cui bellum necessarium magis fuit quam voluntarium. Si quando autem tempus a bellorum motibus quietum errat, idem Olaph iudicio et iusticia regnum gubernavit (Gesta, l. II, c. 67, 117).

Bibliography Primary sources: Biblia sacra juxta Vulgatam Clementinam, ed. Michaele Tvveedale, CBCEW, London 2005. Die Urkunden der deutschen Könige und Kaiser. Die Urkunden Heinrichs III., ed. H. Bresslau, P. Kehr, MGH Diplomata 5, Berlin 1931. Diplomatorium Suecanum, ed. J. G. Liljegren, 1, Riksarkivet, Stockholm 1829. Gesta Regum Anglorum. Willelmi Malmesbusiensis Monachi Opera omnia, Patrologia cursus completus: Series Latina, ed. J.-P. Migne, v. 179, Paris 1899. Magistri Adami Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae ponitificum, ed. Bernhard Schmeidler, MGH SRG, 3. Aufl., Hannover, Hahn, 1917. Sancti Eusebii Hieronymi Stridonensis presbyteri opera omnia, ed. J. P. Migne, Patrologiae Latinae, Series prima, 23, Paris 1845. Secondary literature: Althoff G., ‘Adels und Königsfamilien im Spiegel ihrer Memorialüberlieferung Studien zum Totengedenken de Billunger und Ottonen, Münstersche Mittelalterschriften 47 (1984), 1–440. Althoff G., Beobachtungen zum liudolfingisch – ottonischen Gedenkwesen, Münstersche Mittelalterschriften 48 (1984), 649–666.

176  Piotr Pranke Andrén A., ‘The significance of places: the Christianization of Scandinavia from a spatial point of view’ World Archeology 45 (2013), 27–45. Antonson H., ‘Traditions of Conversion in Medieval Scandinavia.’ Saga Book 34 (2010), 25–74. Antonsson H., ‘Some Observations on Martyrdom in Post-Conversion Scandinavia.’ Saga Book” 28 (2004), 70–94. Bolton T., The Empire of Cnut the Great. Conquest and the Consolidation of Power in Northern Europe in the Early Eleventh Century, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2009. Borgolte M., Kulturelle Einheit und Religiöse Differenz: Zur Verbreitung der Polygene im mittlealterlichem Europa, Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung 31.1 (2004), 157–192. Brégaint D., Vox regis. Royal Communication in High Medieval Norway, LeidenBoston, Brill, 2016. Brink S., ‘Political and Social Structures in Early Scandinavia.’ Tor 28 (1996), 235–281. Classen M. J. H, Skalnik P., ‘The Early State: Theories and Hypotheses.’ The Early State, eds. H. J. M. Classen, P. Skalnik, Hague-Paris-New York, De Gruyter, 1978. Closs A., Die Heiligkeit des Herrschers, Anthropos 56.3.4, 469–480. Eldevik J., ‘Saints, Pagans, and the Wonders of the East.’ Traditio 71 (2016), 235–272. Feistner E., ‘Vom Kampf gegen das ‘Andere’. Pruzzen, Litauer und Mongolen in lateinischen und deutschen Texten des Mittelalters.’ Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum und deutsche Literatur.’ 132.3 (2003), 281–294. Fleck J., ‘Ódinns self sacrifice. A new interpretation: The ritual inversion.’ Scandi­ navian Studies 43.2 (1971), 385–413. Freise E., ‘Kalendarische und annalistische Grundformen der Memoria.’ Münster­ sche Mittelalterschriften 48 (1984), 441–577. H. Gelting H. M, ‘Legal, and Social Change in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries.’ Feudalism New Landscape of Debate, eds. S. Bagge, M. H. Gelting, T. Lindkvist, Turnhout, Brepols, 2011. Hartmann F., ‘Erzbischof Adalbert von Hamburg-Bremen und die Papstwahl im Dezember 1046.’ Archivum Historiae Pontificiae, 40 (2002), 15–36. Helle K., ‘Descriptions of Nordic Towns and Town-Like Settlements in Early Literature.’ Developments Around the Baltic and the North Sea in the Viking Age. The Twelfth Viking Congress, eds. B. Ambrosiani, H. Clarke, 20­–31. Birka Studies, 3. Stockholm, Riksantikvarieambetet and Statens Historiska Museer, 1994. Hennig R., ‘Über die Voraussichtlich völkerkundlichen Grundlagen der Amazonen-Sagen und deren Verbreitung.’ Zeitschrift für Ethnologie 72.4.6 (1940), 362–371. Herrmann J., Siedlung, Wirtschft und Gesselschaftliche Verhältnisse der slawischen Stämme zwischen Oder/Neisse und Elbe. Studien auf der Grundlage archäologi­ schen Materials, Berlin, Akademie Verlag, 1968. Hofstra T., Samplonius K., ‘Viking Expansion Northwards: Mediaeval Sources’, Arctic 48.3 (1995), 235–247. Holm O., ‘Trading in Viking-Period Scandinavia – A Business Only for a Few? The Jämtland Case.’ Viking and Medieval Scandinavia 11 (2015), 79–126. Hybel N., Poulsen B., The Danish Resources c. 1000–1550. Growth and Recession, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2007.

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Jaeger C. S., ‘The Courtier Bishop in Vitae from the Tenth to the Twelfth Century.’ Speculum 58.2 (1983), 291–325. Jarecki S. T., Die Vorstellungen von Bischofsamt bei Adam von Bremen, Leipzig, Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2014. Johnson N. E., ‘Adalbert of Hamburg-Bremen: a Politician of the Eleventh Century’, Speculum 9.2 (1934), 147–179. Kaljundi L., ‘Waiting for the Barbarians.’ The Medieval Chronicle 5 (2008), 113–128. Kersken N., ‘Dura enim est conditio historiographorum… Refexionen mittelalterlicher Chronisten zur Zeitgeschichtsschreibung.’ The Medieval Chronicle. Proceedings of the 3rd International Conference on the Medieval Chronicle Doorn/ Utrecht 12-17 July 2002, 3, ed. E. Kooper, 61–75. Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2004. Kulesza P., Normanowie a chrześcijaństwo. Recepcja nowej wiary w Skandynawii w IX i X wieku, Wrocław, WAW, 2007. Line P., Kingship and State Formation in Sweden 1130-1290, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2007.

11 Ars moriendi and fgures of power in Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontifcum Marta Rey-Radlińska Death in medieval Europe In medieval Europe people experienced death and dying as a part of life. This different attitude towards death, which was often much more violent and ruthless than the same event is now, resulted not only from its ordinariness and unavoidable character, but also from a deep faith in life after death. Medieval people experienced the deaths of family and community members, peaceful death, death from old age, death from disease, death at the hands of other people, death treated as divine punishment, death elevated as a gift for God’s favourites (e.g. martyrdom). A deep interest in the subject of death and the afterlife is refected in medieval art and literature. The human being feels a natural, deep fear of death and needs to tame it through image, music, movement, or words. Hence, the numerous representations of death in painting, sculpture, dance, and literature, proving an interest in, or even obsession with, this subject.1 Death is, in the Christian sense, a disintegration of body and a liberation of soul. Depending on whether the soul is clean or tainted, death also takes on different manifestations. The body, and how it is presented, is a symbol of the identity and social status of the actual person. Also, the very representation of the death that a given person has suffered is a way to preserve the image of that person during their lifetime. Death as an inevitable element of life is present in the literature and art of all cultures. Very often, the description and type of death assigned to a given person does not have much to do with actual events, but rather serves as a tool for presenting that person in a favourable or unfavourable light – death in the pages of a manuscript is what it should be, not what it really was. Danielle Westerhof, author of “Death and the Noble Body in Medieval England” states: How society perceives death tends to be shaped by basic values of good and bad; the prospect of reward or damnation in an afterlife (or its absence); and how the dead continue to interact with the living.2 In later centuries, after experiencing the Black Death, this interest resulted in the writing of Ars moriendi  – The Art of Dying  – which was originally a

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-12

Ars moriendi and figures of power  179 collection of medieval moral treatises for the use of priests called to a dying person. However, Ars moriendi was distributed later in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries among lay readers in the shape of illustrated woodcut books, depicting the fight of angels and demons for the human soul. Concerns about death and salvation were overwhelming throughout the Middle Ages and Ars moriendi was the first practical manual on how to prepare for a “­good death”. Death in various forms is present in almost all literary works of the medieval period.

The aim of study. The author and his language This study aims to present how death and dying was depicted by Adam of Bremen3 in his Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontificum. It will present and analyse some death scenes of people associated with various aspects of power, focusing specifically on how the author depicts the deaths of the bishops and archbishops mentioned in the chronicle and the means of poetic expression in those descriptions. The dying hierarchs of the Church can be divided into two main groups: those whom Adam respects and admires for their achievements and attitudes, and those who, in his opinion, do not deserve to serve God and the Church. Adam’s language and style of writing changes depending on the character he describes. In the case of people he admires, the style is almost panegyric, in the case of those whom he criticizes, it is satirical. Adam is inspired by ancient authors, such as Salustius, Virgil, and Lucan, in some places borrowing not only rhetorical tricks or the style of the authors, but even entire fragments. The author of the article “­Adam, bibeln och auctores”, Andres Piltz, gives an example of such borrowing from Salustius’ Bellum Iugurthinum.4 One of the most striking passages that Piltz also draws attention to is the following: Salustius: ­Q uod verbum in pectus Iugurthae altius, quam quisquam ratus erat, descendit. Itaque ex eo tempore ira et metu anxius moliri, parare atque ea modo cum animo habere, quibus Hiempsal per dolum caperetur. (Salustius: ­This remark sank more deeply into Jugurtha’s breast than anyone had imagined. So, from that moment, troubled by anger and fear, he plotted, planned, and thought of nothing except how Hiempsal might be taken by some subterfuge.)5 Adam: Quod verbum in pectus episcopi altius, ac quisquam ratus erat, descendit. Itaque ex eo tempore ira et metu anxius moliri, parare atque ea modo cum animo habere, quae duci et suis profutura non essent. (Adam: This remark sank more deeply into the bishop’s heart than anyone supposed. And so from that moment he was a prey to resemtment and fear, planned and schemed, and cosidered only what would be a disadvantage to the duke and his followers.)6

180  Marta ­Rey-​­Radlińska Adam also uses poetry from the ancient world, especially Rome, which allows him to shape the language of the chronicle in a poetic way. Andres Piltz points to the inspiration of Lucan and his epic Bellum civile describing the civil war between Pompey and Caesar, as well as some elements indicating references to the Virgil’s Aeneid. The author draws attention to the relatively insignificant presence of the Church Fathers in Adam’s Gesta. Apart from a few, often single quotations from Hieronymus, Ambrosius, ­Pseudo-​ A ­ ugustin, and Gregorius the Great, we will not find works by great theologians in the chronicle of Adam.7

A “­good death”. Illness, old age, martyrdom: great men suffer great death What is “­a good death” as understood by medieval people? Death, to put it simply, could take a slow or violent form. One may be tempted to assume that death due to old age or disease belongs to the first category, and martyrdom or death in ­battle – ​­to the second. In the case of a death that does not have signs of martyrdom or a battlefield, one can speak (­to a certain degree) of an organized performance in which each person had an important role to play. It should take place in a peaceful, private location, the dying should have time to make peace with God, showing no fear or impatience.8 Dying from a disease was in bad taste and in the context of a good death it was mentioned mostly to emphasize perseverance, humility, and courage in the face of suffering. There was also another type of death, a violent one but one that grants immediate access to the kingdom of heaven: martyrdom. The desire for martyrdom is shown explicitly in Adam’s chronicle. In the first book the author writes eagerly about Willehad (­d. 789), who was the first bishop of Bremen: Post passionem sancti Bonifacii Willehadus, et ipse Angligena, fervens amore martyrii properavit in Fresiam. Ubi consistens ad sepulcrum beati martyris paganos facti penitentes suscepit et credentium multa milia baptizavit.9 Willehad, also a native Angle, inflamed with a desire for martyrdom hastened into Frisia after the passion of Saint Boniface. While he tarried at the sepulcher of the blessed martyr, he received the pagans who repented the deed and baptized many thousands of believers.)­10 Tunc et gentilium zelo fustibus percussus et gladio legitur ad iugulandum proscriptus; licet gratia Dei maioribus eum predestinaret titulis, suae tamen voluntati et studio nihilominus erat ad martyrium.11 (Because of the rage of the pagans, we read then, he was both beaten with cudgels and condemned to have his throat cut with the sword. Although the grace of God designed him for greater honours, yet his will and desire were none the less bent on martyrdom.)12

Ars moriendi and figures of power  181 Willehad did not fulfil his dream of a tormented death, but his death can certainly be called good, as it occurred peacefully, for natural reasons, and joyful celebrations were organized in memory of his death and consecration: Obiit autem ‘­senex et plenus dierum’ in Fresia, in villa Pleecazze, quae sita est in Rustris. Corpus eius Bremam deportatum in basilica sancti Petri, quam ipse aedificavit, sepultum est. Transitus [eius] celebratur festivis gaudiis VI° idus Novembris, ordinatio III° idus Iulii.13 (He died, ‘old and full of days’ in Frisia at a villa called Blexen, situated in Rustringen. His body was brought to Bremen and placed in a sepulchre in the Basilica of St. Peter, which he himself has built. His passing is celebrated with joyous festivities on the sixth day before the Ides of November, his consecration on the third day before the Ides of July.)14 The first Bishop of the see of ­Hamburg-​­Bremen was Ansgar (­d. 865), who is often referred to as the Apostle of the North. Ansgar, like Willehad, whom he regarded as his predecessor in Bremen,15 made missionary journeys trying to convert pagans, risking his own life, but ultimately succumbing to “­sickness and old age”.16 Ansgar and his successor Rimbert, called the second Apostle of the North, both achieved significant successes in Christianization, but their actions turned out to be impermanent.17 Willehad’s and Ansgar’s deaths are described in a calm and harmonious language, without expressing violent emotions. Adam used Vita Willehadi, which he regarded as the work of Ansgar, and Rimbert’s Vita Anskarii18 as his most important sources of knowledge about the lives and deeds of these holy predecessors. Under Archbishop Unni (­d. 936), the Danish King Gorm began to resist Christianity in his realm. He burnt churches and killed or expelled missionaries. It was only the King of Germany, Henry the Fowler, who saved the Christians in Denmark from extermination. He defeated Gorm and it was agreed that he should allow the preaching of Christianity in Denmark. The Archbishop of ­Hamburg-​­Bremen took up the cause again with great enthusiasm.19 His contribution to the promotion of Christianity could not be overestimated and Adam expressed that in his chronicle. Describing the death of this holy Archbishop who fell ill and died in Sweden during a mission, the author uses a sublime and solemn style to elevate the passing of a great man: Perfecto autem legationis suae ministerio, cum tandem redire disponeret euangelista Dei, apud Bircam aegritudine correptus, ibidem fessi corporis tabernaculum deposuit. Anima vero cum multo animarum triumpho stipata celestis patriae capitolium semper laetatura conscendit.20 (When the evangelist of God had completed the ministry of his mission and at length was arranging for his return, he fell ill at Björkö and there laid down the burden of his wearied body. But his soul, attended by a great triumphal procession of souls, ascended the heights of the heavenly fatherland to rejoice forever.)21

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It is clear from the passage quoted above that death due to illness, though perhaps undesirable, can also be presented in a way that exalts the dying person by emphasizing the straight path to salvation and communion with God. It is therefore “a good death”. Archbishop Unni occupies a special place in Adam’s account. The author describes Unni’s mission to Christianize the Swedes and Goths, comparing him to the saint, Ansgar, in whose footsteps Unni follows. The barbarians he was about to convert had had only rare contacts with Christianity since Ansgar’s time. By praising his merits in exalted words, the chronicler makes this Archbishop an example for his successors to follow. Adam condemns the bishops, who fll their bellies instead of preaching the word of God. He exhorts: “Look back, I say, upon this man, poor and lowly in worldly respect but praiseworthy and a great priest of God.”22 In his case, inconspicuous death from an unknown illness was described in such a way that any reader would wish for the same. Another interesting example is the fgure of Archbishop Adalbert (d. 1043), whose life, virtues, vices, and achievements are told in the third book of Adam’s chronicle. Adalbert was an illustrious although controversial fgure both as a man of the Church and as a politician. He came from a noble family, he was educated, intelligent, handsome, devoted to the liturgy, generous to pilgrims, and sensitive to people in need.23 Analysing Adam’s account, it can be noted that he – in some cases – could look at himself critically and regret the injustices he committed. Unfortunately, these qualities went hand in hand with pride, self-exaltation, emphasizing one’s importance at the expense of others, and the desire for wealth. Adalbert boasted about having a German emperor and a Greek princess among his ancestors.24 He was obsessed with his nobility: This subject of nobility was frequently on his lips, and he did not hesitate in private conversation to rebuke important people for their ignoble origins as well as their stupidity, their greed, and their ingratitude toward a king who had raised them out of the flth.25 Adalbert allowed injustice, hurt people who depended on him and thought mostly about his infuence and prosperity. When he fell ill, he did not acknowledge his own weakness and refused to accept help in everyday matters. He believed in the possibility of a cure until the end, because no one dared tell him that death was imminent. It was diffcult for Adam to combine these two sides of the Archbishop’s personality, especially when describing the death of Adalbert. The Archbishop fell ill, as was the case with Unni. However, Unni’s disease was presented as a straight path to God, while in Adalbert’s case there are many aspects that suggest purgatory rather than paradise. According to Adam’s account, Archbishop Adalbert died alone of sickness, unaware to the very end that the moment of leaving this world was approaching, yet tormented by remorse and regretting his sins and

Ars moriendi and figures of power  183 26

weaknesses: “­he did bitter penance in his last hour for all the vexation he had caused by his deeds.”27 In this way, an inglorious and humiliating death from dysentery, if preceded with reconciliation with God, could still lead to the gates of heaven, and therefore be accounted “­good”.

“­A bad death”. Cardinal sins and how not to fall into oblivion. In the chapter following the description of Archbishop Unni’s life and deeds, Adam thunders in condemnation of the dissoluteness and laziness of bishops: Eia vos episcopi, qui domi sedentes gloriae, lucri, ventris et somni breves delicias in primo episcopalis officii loco ponitis!28 (Lo, ye bishops who, sitting at home, make the shortlived pleasures of honor, the lucre, of the belly, and of sleeping the first considerations of episcopal office!)29 His disapproval is also visible in descriptions of the passing away of “­bad bishops”. For example, in the eighth chapter of Book Four, one can read about Bishop Henry of Lund (­d. 1060): Cuius tesauros in Daniam perferens luxuriose vitam peregit. De quo narrant etiam, quod pestifera consuetudine delectatus inebriandi ventris tandem suffocatus crepuit. Hoc et de Avocone factum esse comperimus, similiterque de aliis.30 (Bringing his treasure over to Denmark, Henry spent his life in voluptuousness. About him it is even stated that, revelling in the pestiferous practise of drinking his belly full, he at last suffocated in burst. We have learned that this was also the fate of Avoco and, likewise that of others.)31 Bishop Henry did not deserve a longer account, in C ­ hapter 9, he is still mentioned as pingui Heinrico “­the gross Henry”, and this unflattering image of the clergyman has been recorded in historiography.32 In the same chapter we read about the death of Bishop Egino, Henry’s successor, who took over both dioceses in Scania, Lund and Dalby. In this case, the choice of words shows the author’s admiration and respect for “­the most saintly bishop of Scania”33: Itaque XII annis in sacerdotio nobiliter exactis clarissimus vir Egino regressus a Romana urbe, mox ut domum pervenit, feliciter migravit ad Christum.34 (After having thus nobly spent twelve years in priesthood, the illustrious man Egino departed happily to Christ soon after he returned home from the city of Rome.)35

184  Marta ­Rey-​­Radlińska In chapter 23 of Book Four, Adam describes two contrasting characters: Bishop Adalward the elder (­d. 1064), the Bishop of Sweden consecrated by the metropolitan of ­Hamburg-​­Bremen and “­a praiseworthy man”, known for his miracles, and Bishop Acilin “­a man in no respect worthy of bearing the episcopal title unless it was for his portly figure.”36 When Adalward died, it was ibidemque post multos agones, quos pro Christo libenter sustinuit, victricem terrae carnem tradidit, spiritus celum petiit laureatus.37 (after many struggles, which he gladly endured for the sake of Christ, he yielded his indomitable flesh to the earth as his spirit, crowned, sought heaven.)38 These few words about the death of Adalward, although they do not occupy much space in the chronicler’s account, resemble in style the description of the death of Archbishop Unni, who passed away “­attended by a great triumphal procession of souls”.39 The figure of Acilin appears grotesque when confronted with Adalward: Et ille quidem diligens carnis requiem, frustra mittentibus legationem Gothis usque ad obitum suum Coloniae mansit in deliciis.40 (He indeed loved carnal ease. In vain did the Goths send a legation, for until his death he stayed with his pleasures at Cologne.)41 In a quite similar manner, Adam describes another bishop, Tadiko42 in chapter 30: “­who out of love for his belly preferred even to starve at home rather than be an apostle abroad.”43 Neither Tadiko nor Acilin ever visited Sweden and their bishoprics, putting the pleasures of the flesh over the duty of spreading Christianity.

The problem of the corpse. Burials Thinking about death, people in the Middle Ages usually had in mind its two aspects: physical and spiritual. The bodily aspect is strongly associated on the one hand with belief in the “­resurrection of the body” on the day of the Last Judgment, and on the other ­hand – ​­with the purely physiological disintegration of the dead human body. Both require a dignified and possibly quick burial. If we look more closely at some of the clergy described above, we will see how their remains were treated. The first bishop of Bremen, Willehad, died of old age in Frisia and was buried in St. Peter’s wooden cathedral church in Bremen. His ashes were transferred to a special chapel when the wooden church was rebuilt into a stone one under Bishop Willeric.44 He was considered a saint by his contemporaries, and miracles were attributed to his remains. Churches and cathedrals were appropriate places for the burials of hierarchs. More surprising is the fact

Ars moriendi and figures of power  185 that, according to the chronicler, the modest saint, Ansgar, Apostle of the North, asked to be buried outside the Basilica of St. Peter on the east side.45 The situation of Archbishop Unni’s funeral was more ­complicated –​­ Tunc discipuli pontificis exequias eius cum fletu et gaudio procurantes cetera quidem membra sepelierunt in eodem oppido Birca, solum caput deportantes Bremam, quod decenti honore condiderunt in ecclesia sancti Petri coram altari.46 (The bishop’s disciples conducted his obsequies in tears and in joy. They buried all his members but the head in that town of Björkö. His head they brought home to Bremen, committing it with due honor before the altar in the Church of Saint Peter.)47 Archbishop Unni was named, along with Saint Ansgar and Saint Rimbert, one of the three Apostles of the North and his reputation, both in the Church and in Adam’s eyes, was very high. Arrogant Adalbert, planning his career, saw himself in this row of eminences as the fourth Apostle. The controversial Archbishop, although he valued Hamburg more, was also buried in Bremen: Igitur corpus archiepiscopi magno stupore totius regni a Goslaria Bremam portatum decimo [demum] die, quod est in annuntiatione sanctae Mariae, condigna populorum frequentatione sepultum est in medio chori novae, quam ipse construxit, basilicae48; (Midst the great bewilderment of the whole realm the archbishop’s body was borne from Goslar to Bremen, and at length of the tenth day, that is, the feast of the Annunciation of the blessed Mary, in a presence of a seemly gathering of people, it was placed in a sepulcher in the middle of the choir of the new basilica that he himself had built.)49 The funeral was an essential element that had to be taken care of in good time. The place of burial mattered and so did the marking of the grave. The place and method of burial played an important role on the one hand, in emphasizing the social status of the deceased, and on the other in securing potential relics of the saint.

Conclusion In Adam’s work, the history of Christianity’s struggle with the pagan tradition of the North, by means of a long list of positive and negative examples, a picture of a good episcopus has been painted using stylistic means typical of historiography and hagiography: these were the idea of a person, who with dedication while keeping God’s commandments, strives to strengthen the position of Christianity in Europe, as well as to Christianize places where the true religion had not yet arrived.

186 Marta Rey-Radlińska In my study, I have focused on selected characters, the scenes of their death and – in some cases – their burial. A “good death”, with all its inclinations, happens to “good bishops”. The virtues shown during one’s lifetime are rewarded. The bad, lazy, and immoderate are punished for their sins at death, and their deaths refect their futility and unworthiness. Death is a common theme in the literature of the eleventh century – we see it in many chansons de geste, such as “The Song of Roland”, as well as in the literature of the North  – skaldic poetry, sagas, and mythological poetry. Death scenes are often a literary technique, an element of character creation. How a given character is portrayed at such a decisive, culminating moment in life very often determines how he or she will be remembered. Heroic death or martyrdom is often presented as something to strive for, but the author of the Gesta can also present a death from disease and death from old age in a positive light depending on the purity of the soul and the achievements of a given clergyman. The historiographic work of Adam of Bremen, referring to the literary motif of death as an element in the depiction of characters, is simultaneously a literary work creating the image of a righteous shepherd of souls while, sometimes directly and sometimes subtly, fulflling didactic and moralizing functions.

Notes 1 The subject of death in medieval literature is discussed, among others, in Death in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Time, ed. Albrecht Classen, Fundamentals of Medieval and Early Modern Culture, Berlin-Boston: De Gruyter, 2016, XVI; Rebecca F. McNamara and Una McIlvenna, ‘Medieval and Early Modern Emotional Responses to Death and Dying.’ Parergon 31/2 (2014), 1–10; Danielle Westerhof, Death and the Noble Body in Medieval England, Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2008. 2 Westerhof, Death and the Noble Body, 16. 3 On Adam, see Henrik Janson’s and Łukasz Neubauer’s contributions in this volume. 4 Anders Piltz, “Adam, Bibeln och auctores”, Historien om Hamburgstiftet och dess biskopar, övers. Emanuel Svenberg, Stockholm: Proprius förlag, 1984, 345. 5 Salustius, Bellum Iughurtinum, 11, 7–8; Sallust. The War with Catiline. The War with Jugurtha. Edited by John T. Ramsey. Translated by J. C. Rolfe. Loeb Classical Library 116, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2013, 187. 6 Gesta, l. III, c. 5, 147; Tschan, 119. 7 Piltz, “Adam, Bibeln och auctores”, 346–347. There is more about Adam’s borrowings in, for example: Stanisław Rosik, The Slavic Religion in the Light of 11thand 12th-Century German Chronicles (Thietmar of Merseburg, Adam of Bremen, Helmold of Bosau), övers. Anna Tyszkiewicz, East Central and Eastern Europe in the Middle Ages, 450–1450, Leiden: Brill, 2020, 199–200. 8 Westerhof, Death and the Noble Body, 20. 9 Gesta, l. I, c. 11, 12. 10 Tschan, 13. 11 Gesta, l. I, c. 11, 12. 12 Tschan, 14.

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13 Gesta, l. I, c. 13, 17. 14 Tschan, 18. 15 Eric Knibbs, Ansgar, Rimbert and the Forged Foundations of Hamburg-Bremen, London: Routledge Taylor and Francis Group, 2016, s. 16. 16 Gesta, l. I, c. 39, 42. 17 Lesley Abrams, “The Anglo-Saxons and the Christianization of Scandinavia.” Anglo-Saxon England, 24 (1995), 213–249, 232. 18 Rimbert, Vita Anskarii auctore Rimberto: Accedit Vita Rimberti, ed. Georg Waitz, Monumenta Germaniae Historica: Scriptores rerum germanicarum, impensis bibliopolii Hahniani, 1884, lv. 19 Philip Schaff, History of the Christian Church, Volume IV: Mediaeval Christianity A. D. 590–1073, History, IV, 102. 20 Gesta, l. I, c. 62, 59–60. 21 Tschan, 53. 22 Gesta, l. I, c. 63, 60; Tschan, 53. 23 Gesta, l. III, c. 2; Tschan, 115–116. Edgar N. Johnson, “Adalbert of Hamburg-Bremen: A Politician of the Eleventh Century”, Speculum, 9.2 (1934), 150. 24 Gesta, l. III, c. 32, 174: “Ideoque nec mirum esse, si Grecos diligeret quos vellet etiam habitu et moribus imitari; quod et fecit.” 25 Johnson, “Adalbert of Hamburg-Bremen”, 151. 26 Gesta, l. III, c. 64–69, 210–216; Tschan, 171–176. 27 Gesta, l. III, c. 65, 212; Tschan, 173. 28 Gesta, l. I, c. 63, 60. 29 Tschan, 53. 30 Gesta, l. IV, c. 8, 236. 31 Tschan, 192. 32 Johnson, “Adalbert of Hamburg-Bremen”. 160. 33 Gesta, l. IV, c. 8, 30, 236, 262; Tschan, 192, 210. 34 Gesta, l. IV, c. 9, 237. 35 Tschan, 193. 36 Gesta, l. IV, c. 23, 254–255; Tschan, 205. 37 Gesta, l. IV, c. 23, 254. 38 Tschan, 205. 39 Gesta, l. I, c.62, 60; Tschan, 53. 40 Gesta, l. IV, c. 23, 255. 41 Tschan, 205. 42 Acilin and Tadiko (Tadico) never visit their bishoprics in Sweden. 43 Gesta, l. IV, c. 30, 263; Tschan, 210. 44 Gesta, l. I, c. 18, 24–25; Tschan, 24. 45 Gesta, l. I, c. 44, 46; Tschan, 42. 46 Gesta, l. I, c. 62, 60. 47 Tschan, 53. 48 Gesta, l. III, c. 69, 214–215. 49 Tschan, 175.

Bibliography Primary sources Adam of Bremen, History of the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen. Translated with an Introduction and Notes by Francis J. Tschan, Records of Civilisation. Sources and Studies, New York: Columbia University Press, 1959.

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Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontifcum, ed. B. Schmeidler, 3rd edition, Hannoverae and Lipsiae, Hahn, 1917. Sallust. The War with Catiline. The War with Jugurtha. Edited by John T. Ramsey. Translated by J. C. Rolfe. Loeb Classical Library 116. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2013.

Secondary sources Abrams, L., ‘The Anglo-Saxons and the Christianization of Scandinavia.’ AngloSaxon England, 24 (1995), 213–249. Classen, A. (ed.), Death in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Time, Fundamentals of Medieval and Early Modern Culture, Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter, 2016. Johnson, E. N., ‘Adalbert of Hamburg-Bremen: A Politician of the Eleventh Century.’ Speculum, 9 (1934), 147–179. Knibbs, E., Ansgar, Rimbert and the Forged Foundations of Hamburg-Bremen, London, Routledge Taylor and Francis Group, 2016. McNamara R. F., and McIlvenna U., ‘Medieval and Early Modern Emotional Responses to Death and Dying.’ Parergon 31/2 (2014), 1–10. Piltz, A., “Adam, Bibeln och auctores”, Historien om Hamburgstiftet och dess biskopar, transl. Emanuel Svenberg, Stockholm, Proprius förlag, 1984, 341–354. Rosik, S., The Slavic Religion in the Light of 11th- and 12th-Century German Chronicles Thietmar of Merseburg, Adam of Bremen, Helmold of Bosau), transl. Anna Tyszkiewicz, East Central and Eastern Europe in the Middle Ages, 450–1450, Leiden, Brill, 2020. Schaff, P., History of the Christian Church, Volume IV: Mediaeval Christianity A. D. 590–1073 http://www.documentacatholicaomnia.eu/03d/1819-1893,_Schaff._ Philip,_History_Of_Christian_Church_[04]_Mediaeval_Christianity_AD_5901073,_EN.pdf (access: 10.03.2022) Thornton, K., and Phillips, C. B. “Performing the Good Death: The Medieval Ars moriendi and Contemporary Doctors”, Medical Humanities, 35 (2009), 94–97. Westerhof, D., Death and the Noble Body in Medieval England, Woodbridge, The Boydell Press, 2008.

12 Female characters and the meaning of history in Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis Lukas Gabriel Grzybowski Introduction By the end of the twentieth century, historiography had begun to incorporate new themes and approaches of investigation, marking an expansion of the historical feld to incorporate perspectives and actors that were until then excluded from most historical narratives. Women’s history became one of the most prominent areas where this phenomenon could be observed. Still, many historians struggled with the challenge of writing about women from sources which centred their information on men’s actions. Medieval History seems to have been particularly affected by this. As Jacques Dalarun puts it, opening his chapter in Duby’s A History of Women in the West, “[o]nce again we must begin with men, with those men who held a monopoly on learning and on the ability to write in the feudal age: the clergy, and especially the most literate, infuential, and prolifc among them.”1 According to Dalarun, this dependence on men’s views when investigating women’s history in the Middle Ages derives from the fact that most information preserved from that period was produced by the clergy and to the clergy, and especially the regular clergy. It is further attached to the fact that, being conceived by and for the religious elites from that period, most writings had a theological, and more specifcally eschatological backdrop, which aimed at the world’s salvation. This included the establishment of the “right order” of the world, a scheme that refected also on their ideals of social order and the position of women therein. “Regular monks and secular prelates felt it incumbent on themselves to think about the nature of humankind, human society, and the Church, to point the way to salvation, and to assign women to their proper place in the divine scheme.”2 Dalarun’s considerations might well function as the starting point for the following contribution. This chapter thus approaches some aspects regarding the female characters Adam of Bremen inserted in his History of the Archbishops of Hamburg Bremen3 and there could be no better defnition of the context of such an enterprise than that given by Daralun’s statement. We are dealing with a man, who is also a member of clergy and believes it is his duty to defend the interests of his diocese ‒ or even save it ‒ through the writing of its history.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-13

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The Gesta Hammaburgensis is a chronicle of the deeds of the archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen. It is interested, therefore, primarily in male characters since archbishops ‒ and religious offcials in general ‒ are (almost)4 exclusively male in the context of Adam of Bremen’s writing. However, despite the central role assumed by men in the narrative, female characters still fnd space in Adam’s chronicle. Indeed, the Gesta seems to dedicate a comparatively large number of passages to the presentation and discussion of the deeds of women related directly to the legatio gentium5, the central theme of the work. Yet, most female characters in Adam’s narrative have earned no more than side notes in the studies dealing with the Gesta. And when discussed, they appear in the light of broader analyses, falling behind the general argument as examples confrming or contradicting it, as in my own recent study.6 In this chapter, I aim to expand the discussion started in my recent book, The Christianization of Scandinavia in the Viking Era: Religious Change in Adam of Bremen’s Historical Work. To achieve this, I believe it is necessary to briefy present the main characteristics of Adam’s historical thinking. They constitute the foundation on which his narrative takes form and therefore infuence his choices and approaches to the various elements appearing in it. Women are also presented in conformity with these conceptual schemes, so that we can only adequately understand their presence and functions in the Gesta from this perspective. As Hans-Werner Goetz presents it, a history of women must take into account the context in which sources were written, their aims, and their (imagined) public. Separating the history of women from general historical experience leads to error in interpretation.7 Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis has been differently defned by modern historians. These range from interpretation of the text as a propagandistic chronicle of the ‒ mostly invented ‒ missionary successes of Hamburg’s archbishops8; to a gesta Episcoporum designed to praise and secure the memory of a diocese under threat after the disastrous rule of Adalbert I9; to a political refection on the disturbances caused by the Gregorian reform and the investiture controversy.10 In The Christianization of Scandinavia, I added yet another perspective. My study was again directed by the question of what Adam of Bremen intended to do when writing his account of the archbishops’ deeds. A particularly unsettling issue was the general assumption that the fourth book of his oeuvre consisted of an attachmentlike section, which should ‒ or at least could ‒ be separately read and interpreted. I steered my analysis in the opposite direction and showed how the descriptio insularum aquilonis constitutes an indissociable part of the Gesta, which can only be correctly interpreted when taken together with the other three books. It is frst through this perspective that Adam’s defence of Hamburg-Bremen’s primacy over the Christianization of Scandinavia can be understood11 and the theme of the legatio gentium12 which characterizes Adam’s historical account develops its fullest meaning. At the same time, it is through a broader understanding of the legatio that the chronicle becomes fully coherent for the reader.

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Through the prism of the legatio gentium, the Gesta Hammaburgensis becomes a philosophical refection on historical experience according to the Augustinian-Orosian theme, transported to the missionary setting at the edge of the then known world.13 It is also through the prism of the legatio gentium that Adam discusses the female characters in his chronicle. Therefore, the legatio gentium must frst be considered in order to arrive at an adequate interpretation of the women in the Gesta, which is my main objective in this chapter. Women in Adam of Bremen’s historiography as a historiographical theme As already pointed out in the introduction, women are not absent from Adam of Bremen’s narrative, despite its focus on the deeds of the diocese’s archbishops. Indeed, we can fnd female characters throughout the work. They present different roles in the narrative but are in close connection with the Gesta’s general theme of the legatio gentium. In The Christianization of Scandinavia I showed how these women functioned in Adam’s narrative, analysing their deeds according to two possible stances regarding the legatio, which were set against each other. There I identifed these women as either supporting the work of Hamburg-Bremen’s archbishops, or acting against it. The chronicler focused, therefore, on their contribution to his general concept of history. Their deeds were narrated only insofar as Adam believed them to relate to his overarching concept of history in a meaningful way.14 They either supported the missionary enterprise of the archbishops or were involved in ecclesiastical organization in the diocese. They also fnanced church activities in Bremen and intervened with the political authorities seeking to establish harmony between ecclesiastical and ducal powers, which Adam believes was advantageous for the legatio gentium. Through all these acts they showed their support for Bremen’s cause ‒ at least as far as Adam believed in it. On the other hand, women also appear promoting paganism and witchcraft, infuencing kings against the archbishops’ plans, causing economic damage to the diocese and, according to the chronicler, affecting moral standards in the diocese through lascivious sexual behaviour. Consequently, their doings are presented as damaging to the legatio, earning them a stern rebuke from Adam. These refections constitute the backdrop of the current investigation. The women Adam of Bremen presents in his Gesta do not fnd their place in the narrative because they are women, but because of their involvement in the legatio gentium. It is not womanhood that the chronicler is interested in. And yet by discussing women in his account, Adam gives his readers invaluable insights into his concepts regarding these female characters and women in general. This aspect of his writing has only recently received increasing scholarly attention, although, to my knowledge, a systematic approach to women in Adam’s work is still lacking ‒ a gap which I am not aiming to fll in this chapter.

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The analysis here must be achieved using some examples, and cannot be an exhaustive treatment of all the possibilities of interpreting women’s roles in the Gesta Hammaburgensis. As the frst example, the Countess Emma ‒ a widow of Count Liudger and supporter of the church of Bremen ‒ seems to be the best choice from Adam’s work. She is the female character who gets most attention from the chronicler, who narrates her deeds in relation to the Archbishopric at least three times in his Gesta. The frst time, Adam is writing about the death of Benno (Bernhard I), Duke of Saxony and of Count Liudger, his brother, during Archbishop Libentius’ I rule over the see in Hamburg-Bremen. According to Adam, “In the archbishop’s twentysecond year Benno, the duke of the Saxons, died; also his brother, Liudger, who with his wife, the venerable Emma, did very much good to the Church at Bremen.”15 While at this point we are not provided with any further information about Emma, she becomes the subject of the chronicler’s narrative in two later passages. In book II, 67 Adam describes Countess Emma’s donation to the church of Bremen and also her efforts to direct her nephews’ favour towards the archbishopric. The chronicler therefore describes her deeds as being the sign of her devotion: In his days Duke Bernhard and his brother Thietmar did our Church much good through the exhortation of the most devout Emma, a who loved the Church at Bremen exceedingly and offered nearly all her fortune to God, to His mother, and to the holy confessor Willehad. Out of love for the bishop she likewise cherished all the sons of the Church as if they were her own.16 In his later revisions and additions to the text, Adam noted at this point the kinds of donations Emma made to the church. In Scholium 47, which Schmeidler considers to be traceable back to Adam’s original revisions, we fnd that: Heeding the admonition of Archbishop Lievizo, the illustrious and senatorial Emma gave the holy Church at Bremen two crosses, an altar table, and a chalice-all made of gold and set with gems worth twenty marks of gold; likewise, she gave sacred vestments and many ornaments and golden stoles and dorsals and books.17 The third time Adam mentions Countess Emma is to write about her passing during the rule of Archbishop Adalbrant (Bezelin Adalbrant) in 1038. According to the Gesta Hammaburgensis, “In those days died the most noble, senatorial lady, Emma”,18 adding here the most information we have about this woman. According to Adam she was the widow of Count Liudger, but also sister to Bishop Meinwerk of Paderborn. Her social status is also refected by the place where her body rests: in the church of Bremen. She earns her praise from Adam clearly because of her charitable work in the

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diocese. The chronicler writes that she donated almost all her fortune to the poor and the clergy. Even her estates were donated to the church, including Stiepel, on the Rhine, and Lesum, which later went to Emperor Conrad. And the chronicler adds that “On this account Queen Gisela came to Bremen, did the brethren, the Church, and all the residents many favors, and then visited Lesum with the archbishop.”19 Adam of Bremen’s depiction of Countess Emma in his Gesta is suggestive. It stands for the chronicler’s ideals and his general representation of women throughout his historical narrative. It also testifes to his (intellectual) position toward women. In his investigation of otherness in Adam’s chronicle, Timothy Barnwell concluded that the magister scholarum employed women as a tool to explore a moralized otherness. To Barnwell: the tone of Adam’s descriptions of named, historical women – whether good or bad – differed signifcantly from his descriptions of anonymous or imagined women. […] It is when evoking the idea of women that Adam begins to directly elicit and exploit a sense of extreme difference; a moralised otherness.20 Looking at Adam’s descriptions of Emma and searching for elements of identity and otherness therein one might be tempted to agree with Barnwell. As I discussed in my book, Emma is presented by Adam of Bremen as an idealized woman especially because he considers her actions toward the archbishops and her support for the legatio gentium to be fundamental for its success.21 According to Adam, she did many good things for the church, donating from her own possessions to maintain and expand the legatio,22 in addition to actively promoting the Archbishopric’s case among the Saxon nobility. Against this positive image the chronicler opposes the misdeeds of Adalbert who, seeking to secure his position at the imperial court, entered into some dealings which earned harsh criticism from Adam. This contrast appears even sharper when we consider that, in Adam’s narrative, it is symbolically marked by the destruction of Emma’s donations. Instead of distributing the Countess’ riches to the poor and needy, as expected ‒ in accordance with the evangelical parables presented in the narrative of Zacchaeus (Luke: 19)23 and, by way of contrast, of the young rich man (Matthew: 19)24 ‒ the Archbishop used them to acquire personal advantages and, what is clearly much worse for the chronicler, to buy the support of (undefned) women with a bad reputation. According to Adam, in book III, 46, the church in Bremen could have been as rich as the much older archbishoprics of Mainz or Cologne. The goods it possessed were many, being the cause of envy by the archbishops of those other sees. For the chronicler, only the bishop of Würzburg couldn’t be matched in fortune, but he was not only the religious but also the secular overlord of his territories, from which he much increased his wealth. This made Adalbert envious and led to his disastrous dealings regarding

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territories and political powers. He too set out to try to become secular lord over the territories of his diocese ‒ according to Adam’s interpretation. “In the neighborhood of our diocese there was in Frisia a third county, called the Emsgau. […] For this territory our archbishop agreed to pay the King a thousand pounds of silver.” In order to accomplish this, the Archbishop needed money to buy the lands of the nobility. Lacking the fnancial means to raise such an amount of money, he then resorted to the church treasure. “[H]e ordered ‒ alas! ‒ the crosses, the altars, the coronary candelabra, and other ornaments of the church to be taken down. By the sale of these objects he hastened the execution of this unhappy agreement.” Adalbert justifes his actions by declaring that all the goods and all the money he took from the church would shortly be recovered and the new acquisitions would confer an even greater wealth on the diocese. Nonetheless, looking back at the dealings of the Archbishop, Adam of Bremen grieves for the loss of the altar goods, as they had a special value to him, having been given by Countess Emma. “Two crosses of gold adorned with gems, a main altar and chalice, both radiant with gold and set with costly stones, were broken up. The weight of the gold in them amounted to twenty marks. The lady Emma had given it to the church at Bremen along with numerous other gifts.” The chronicler’s lament at the end of the chapter expresses his severe criticism of the failed administration of the church. “Then and in such a manner were the treasures of the church at Bremen, collected by the men of old and with the utmost effort for their time and with the great devotion of the faithful, in one miserable hour reduced to nothing.” This is even further stressed, when Adam writes that “We have heard that the gems that had been taken from the holy crosses were presented by certain persons to courtesans.”25 In this sense, according to Adam, instead of fulflling their destiny in helping the church as personifed in the Archdiocese of Hamburg-Bremen, these riches followed the path of damnation represented by worldly advantages, struggle for political power, and the seeking of luxury. A little later, the chronicler sums up his despairing views on the matter when he writes that the episcopal estates and the tithes of the churches, from which the clergy, the widows, and the needy ought to have been supported, all now fell to the use of laymen, so that to this day courtesans and brigands live luxuriously on the goods of the Church, the while holding the bishop and all the ministers of the altar in derision.26 Thus, the chronicler does present women differently in his account, as Barnwell correctly points out. However, to reduce this to his general construction of identities and otherness seems to be a too narrow interpretation of Adam’s objectives with his Gesta. This might become clearer through the analysis of a further example from the chronicler’s work. In his thesis, Timothy Barnwell indicated that Adam of Bremen presents women who are both historical and imagined or anonymous. He sees a

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fundamental difference in Adam’s treatment towards these categories, suggesting that anonymous and imagined women are categories of otherness par excellence in the Gesta. One very interesting case of such imagined women seems to be that of Gunnhild, who is presented as Sven Estridsen’s divorced queen.27 Niels Lund discussed the meaning of Adam’s account of this in the Gesta, contrasting it to other sources, and concluded that the chronicler followed an agenda connected to the defence of Hamburg-Bremen’s interests over the Scandinavian territories. To create this effect, he presents Adalbert as a champion of faith and orthodoxy, who fghts ‒ among others ‒ the immoral behaviour of the Danish King Sven Estridsen, who is presented as lustful and sexually depraved. The narrative of Sven Estridsen’s incest and divorce works to this purpose, acting as an indicator of the Danish kingdom as still lacking proper theological education, which could only be achieved through its continuous submission to the chronicler’s archdiocese.28 Niels Lund proceeds with his analysis centring on passages of the Gesta by discussing the deeds of Sven Estridsen. Gunnhild ‒ or Gythe ‒ appears, therefore, as the woman Adam of Bremen identifes as being the incestuous wife of King Sven. According to Adam King Stenkil was moved with compassion ‒ the emphasis here being the Christian virtue ‒ and helped the envoys sent by the diocese to expand the Christian presence in Sweden. Stenkil directed these envoys to “the most saintly queen Gunnhild.” At this point the chronicler affrms that this Gunnhild was separated from the Danish King and “lived on her estates across from Denmark, devoting her time to hospitality and almsgiving and busying herself with other works of charity.” It is noteworthy to point to Adam’s construction here. The characters that appear helping the prelates from Bremen are described as virtuous Christians. Consequently “she received the legates with great respect, as having been sent by God, and as their host sent valuable gifts to the archbishop by them.”29 At this point, in a later revision present in a Scholium from the ms. classes B1ª, B2 and C, that is, an addition made probably by Adam himself according to Schmeidler and Trillmich,30 the reader can fnd a confusing note on Gunnhild. According to the chronicler “There was another Gunnhild, the widow of Anund, another Gythe whom Thore murdered.”31 Through this maze of information, Lund determines that “It is therefore very diffcult to reach the conclusion that the marriage between Sven Estridsen and Gunnhild was incestuous.”32 As he explains, the reason for that is the number of gaps and absurdities that emerge from a deeper analysis of the chronology and of the political interplay between Danes, Swedes, and Poles by the end of the tenth century. Lund concludes, therefore, that Sven Estridsen and Gunnhild had no incestuous relationship, thus contradicting Adam’s narrative. The question remains open as to the reasons why Adam created such a confusion in his narrative regarding a subject on which one would expect him to be well informed, since Sven Estridsen is regarded as an important source of information by Adam himself. To Niels Lund, this was a political question. The chronicler creates such a fantasy to portray

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Adalbert as a champion of faith and orthodoxy, thus raising the prestige of the diocese. However, considering that the third book of the Gesta is entirely dedicated to Adalbert’s deeds, which are presented very critically by Adam, Lund’s perspective can hardly be sustained.33

Concluding remarks If we look at both the examples selected for this analysis, we can identify a pattern in Adam of Bremen’s treatment of female characters. Whenever they are acting in support of the legatio gentium as expressed in the Gesta, they are presented in a positive light in the narrative. This is the reason why Emma is an exemplary woman throughout the narrative, and why even Gunnhild, after being accused of incest, is depicted as a virtuous woman who exercises charity and hospitality and supports the legates of Hamburg-Bremen after their persecution in Sweden. If we agree with Niels Lund and consider that the Gunnhild’s marriage was not incestuous, and that Adam is aiming at impressing his audience with an image of heterodoxy combined with barbarism by creating this story, then we might consider Gunnhild at least partially as one of those imagined women whom Barnwell says are more harshly condemned by Adam. And although the chronicler has harsh words regarding the incestuous marriage and behaviour of Sven Estridsen, he seems, on the contrary, to fnd no fault with the queen. On the other hand, the characters, including women, who work against the legatio gentium are always presented in a bad light, as we would expect. In the examples I brought into discussion above, these are Archbishop Adalbert when he orders the selling and melting of the altar decorations donated earlier by Emma, and the women who profted from the distribution of these riches. Adam calls them courtesans, as they live luxurious lives on the riches of gems that should sustain the widows and the poor in the diocese. Since the wellbeing of the community in the diocese, especially in Bremen, is presented by Adam as a central element of the legatio gentium, so the diversion of these riches from such a purpose goes against the chronicler’s ideals. This is also the case with Sven Estridsen, who appears in an unfavourable light, at least for the period of time that he seems to have opposed the intervention of Hamburg-Bremen in his territories. As a result, we might consider that Adam does not differentiate the characters of his narrative primarily on gender grounds. Women are virtuous and deserve to have their deeds narrated by Adam when they behave according to his ideals. The same pattern is applied to all characters of the Gesta. As I demonstrated in my recent investigation on Adam of Bremen’s ideas, “drawing on the high medieval appropriation of the Augustinian–Orosian theology of history, [Adam] shows that the legatio gentium is ultimately connected with historical development itself.”34 This being the case, his treatment of the different female characters in his Gesta is intimately connected to his perception of their contribution to or disruption of such a theologically

Female characters in Adam’s Gesta  197 oriented plan. Women are praised if they seem to act in favour of the legatio and rebuked whenever Adam feels their deeds disturb his preferred course of history. Both the discussion of identities and the description of political moves appear through this filter in the Gesta. In the end, we must conclude that the way Adam of Bremen presents female characters in his work reflects his intellectual struggles with his own time.

Notes 1 Jacques Dalarun, ‘­The Clerical Gaze’, Silences of the Middle Ages, ed. Christiane ­K lapisch-​­Zuber and Georges Duby, [3. print.], A History of Women in the West 2 (­Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1995), ­p. 15. 2 Jacques Dalarun, ‘­The Clerical Gaze’, ­p. 15. 3 Adam of Bremen, History of the Archbishops of ­Hamburg-​­Bremen, ed. Francis J. Tschan, Records of Western Civilization Series, New York: Columbia University Press, 2005. In this study I give Tschan’s translation whenever quoting, except where I strongly disagree with his rendering of the Latin text. My analysis is based on Adam of Bremen, Hamburgische Kirchengeschichte, 3rd ed., ed. Bernhard Schmeidler, Scriptores rerum Germanicarum in usum scholarum separatim editi 2, Hannover: Hahnsche Buchhandlung, 1917. 4 Abbess was the only position reserved for women in the medieval ecclesiastical hierarchy. This was no minor role in the context we are exploring and yet it is very circumscribed. Since Adam of Bremen writes about at least one abbess it seemed to me worthwhile to mention this and to partially contradict Dalarun’s schematic picture. 5 The legatio gentium constitutes the privilege of Christianizing the pagan population living at the north and northeast of the former Carolingian borders. It covered the territories of modern Scandinavia and the Slavic territories beyond the Elbe river. It was first conceded to the missionary Ansgar and later confirmed to his successors in the Diocese of H ­ amburg-​­Bremen. The legatio gentium has been mainly equated to a right to evangelize, but, as I argue in Lukas G. Grzybowski, The Christianization of Scandinavia in the Viking Era: Religious Change in Adam of Bremen’s Historical Work, Beyond Medieval Europe, Leeds, Arc Humanities, 2021, I believe this interpretation is too narrow and occludes the real significance of the legatio. 6 E.g., my own treatment of women in Adam of Bremen’s Gesta as functioning in favour or against the legatio gentium. Lukas G. Grzybowski, The Christianization, 98ff. A different position, still following the same rule regarding the discussion of female characters, now applied to the construction of otherness, can be found in Timothy M. Barnwell, ‘­Missionaries and Changing Views of the Other from the Ninth to the Eleventh Centuries’ (­PhD, School of History, University of Leeds, 2014). I’ll discuss Barnwell’s take on women in detail later on as Niels Lund’s discussion of Gunnhild is a more recent example of such an approach. Niels Lund, ‘­Sven Estridsen’s Incest and Divorce,’ Viking and Medieval Scandinavia 13, 2017. doi:10.1484/­j.vms.5.114353. 7 Cf.: Eine angemessene Beurteilung erfordert die geschichtswissenschaftliche Berücksichtigung der historischen Umstände und der damaligen Sichtweisen; die Situation der Frauen im Frankenreich läßt sich von außen beschreiben und bewerten, doch nur von den Zuständen jener Zeit her begreifen. Eine Frauengeschichte, die ihren Gegenstand aus der gesamtgeschichtlichen Entwicklung isoliert und die strukturellen ebenso wie die geistigen Zusammenhänge vernachlässigt, die Situation der Frauen erst bedingten, geht fehl (­Hans-​­Werner Goetz, Frauen Im Frühen

198  Lukas Gabriel Grzybowski Mittelalter: Frauenbild Und Frauenleben Im Frankenreich, Cologne/­Vienna: Böhlau Verlag, 1995, ­p. 397). 8 Cf. Anders Winroth, The Conversion of Scandinavia: Vikings, Merchants, and Missionaries in the Remaking of Northern Europe, New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012; Olof Sundqvist, Freyr’s Offspring: Rulers and Religion in Ancient Svea Society, Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis 21 (­Uppsala: Uppsala University Library, 2002). 9 Cf. Thies Siebet Jarecki, Die Vorstellungen vom Bischofsamt bei Adam von Bremen, 1st ed., Arbeiten zur ­K irchen-​­und Theologiegeschichte 42, Leipzig, Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2014; Eva Schlotheuber, ‘­Persönlichkeitsdarstellung und Mittelalterliche Morallehre. Das Leben Erzbischof Adalberts in der Beschreibung Adams von Bremen,’ Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelalters 59, no. 2 (­2003). A different perspective, still centred on the problematic rule of Adalbert is given by Sverre Bagge, ‘­Decline and Fall: Deterioration of Character as Described by Adam of Bremen and Sturla Þórðarson,’ Individuum und Individualität im Mittelalter, ed. Jan A. Aertsen and Andreas Speer, Miscellanea Mediaevalia 24, Berlin, New York: De Gruyter, 1995. 10 Henrik Janson, Templum Nobilissimum: Adam Av Bremen, Uppsalatemplet Och Konfliktlinjerna I Europa Kring År 1075, Avhandlingar från Historiska institutionen i Göteborg 21 (­Göteborg: [Historiska institutionen i Göteborg], 1998); Henrik Janson, “­Adam of Bremen and the Conversion of Scandinavia,” in Christianizing Peoples and Converting Individuals, ed. Guyda Armstrong and Ian N. Wood, International Medieval Research 7, Turnhout, Brepols, 2000. 11 The only other possible explanation being the increasingly dominant view of Adam as a forger and a deceitful chronicler. 12 The theme of the legatio gentium has been explored before, especially by Aage Trommer, “­Komposition und Tendenz in der Hamburgischen Kirchengeschichte Adam von Bremens,” Classica et Mediaevalia. Revue Danoise de Philologie et d’Histoire XVIII (­1957). Trommer, as with other investigations afterwards, considered the legatio strictly as the right to evangelize the still pagan peoples in Scandinavia, ignoring Adam’s additional employment of the theme to discuss the deeds of the archbishops towards already Christianized populations. 13 Cf. Lukas G. Grzybowski, The Christianization of, 107ff. 14 A good overview on Adam of Bremen’s concept of history is presented by Goetz H.-​­W., ‘­Constructing the Past: Religious Dimensions and Historical Consciousness in Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontificum’, The Making of Christian Myths in the Periphery of Latin Christendom (­C . ­1000–​ ­1300), ed. L. B. Mortensen, Copenhagen, Museum Tusculanum Press, 2006, p­p. ­17–​­51. 15 Tschan, 86; Gesta, lib. II, c. 46, ­p. 106. 16 Tschan, 101; Gesta, lib. II, c. 67, p­p. ­126–​­127. 17 Tschan, 101; cf. Gesta, lib. II, c. 67, Schol. 47 [48], p­p. ­126–​­127. Note that Tschan’s translation of predicante Libentio archiepiscopo opts to interpret the ablative as an ablativus modi, as in “­by means of/­through Libentius’ preaching”. It could also be interpreted as a temporal, that is, “­while the Archbishop Libentius preached”. This might be significant for the interpretation, as I point out in the text. 18 Tschan, 110; cf. Gesta, lib. II, c. 80, p­p. ­138–​­139. 19 Tschan, 110; cf. Gesta, lib. II, c. 80, p­p. ­138–​­139. 20 Timothy M. Barnwell, ‘­Missionaries and Changing,’ ­p. 114. 21 Lukas G. Grzybowski, The Christianization of, 98ff. 22 As I argue in my book, the legatio gentium should not be misunderstood as being a medieval synonym for missionary activity abroad. This was but one aspect of

Female characters in Adam’s Gesta

23

24

25 26 27 28

29 30

31 32 33 34

199

the legatio, that was also concerned with material subsistence and securing orthodoxy, as well as with pastoral care among the already Christianized sectors of the diocese. Cf. Grzybowski, The Christianization of, 107ff. Jesus entered Jericho and was passing through. A man was there by the name of Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was wealthy. […] Zacchaeus stood up and said to the Lord, ‘Look, Lord! Here and now I give half of my possessions to the poor, and if I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Today salvation has come to this house’: Holy Bible: New International Version, [Rev. ed] (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2001), Luke 19: 1–2; 8–9, p. 581. Jesus answered, ‘If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.’ When the young man heard this, he went away sad, because he had great wealth. Then Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Truly I tell you, it is hard for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.’ When the disciples heard this, they were greatly astonished…: Holy Bible, Matthew 19: 21–25, p. 545. All quotations in this paragraph are from Tschan, 152–154; cf. Gesta, lib. III, c. 46, pp. 188–190. Tschan, 156; cf. Gesta, lib. III, c. 49, p. 192. Timothy M. Barnwell, ‘Missionaries and Changing’. The incest served frst and foremost as a basis for Adam’s ingenious denigration of Sven Forkbeard. An associated objective may have been to depict Archbishop Adalbert as an uncompromising champion of canon law and of his church. The latter, says Adam in the prologue to his work, was in such a bad state that ‘the hands of many builders were needed’ to restore its dignity’ (Tschan 2002, 3). Incest was a very hot topic when Adam was writing and therefore well suited to depict the Archbishop as the polished knight of his church and of morality: Niels Lund, ‘Sven Estridsen’s,’ p. 138. Tschan, 126; cf. Gesta, lib. III, c. 15, p. 157. Gesta, p. XLff.; Werner Trillmich, ‘Einleitung,’ Quellen des 9. und 11. Jahrhunderts zur Geschichte der Hamburgischen Kirche und des Reiches, ed. Werner Trillmich and Rudolf Buchner, 7th ed., Ausgewählte Quellen zur deutschen Geschichte des Mittelalters 11, Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2000, p. 155. Tschan, p. 126. Niels Lund, ‘Sven Estridsen’s,’ p. 133. Cf. Sverre Bagge, ‘Decline and Fall’; Schlotheuber, ‘Persönlichkeitsdarstellung’. Lukas G. Grzybowski, The Christianization, p. 109.

Bibliography Primary sources Adam of Bremen, History of the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen, ed. F. J. Tschan. Records of Western Civilization Series, New York: Columbia University Press, 2002. Holy Bible: New International Version [Rev. ed]. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2001. Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontifcum, ed. B. Schmeidler, 3rd edition, Hannoverae and Lipsiae, Hahn, 1917.

200  Lukas Gabriel Grzybowski Secondary sources Bagge S., ‘­Decline and Fall: Deterioration of Character as Described by Adam of Bremen and Sturla Þórðarson’, Individuum und Individualität im Mittelalter, eds. J. A. Aertsen and A. Speer, Miscellanea Mediaevalia 24. Berlin, New York: De Gruyter, 1995, ­530–​­548. Barnwell T. M., ‘­Missionaries and Changing Views of the Other from the Ninth to the Eleventh Centuries’, PhD, School of History, University of Leeds, 2014. Dalarun J., ‘­The Clerical Gaze’, Silences of the Middle Ages, eds. C. ­K lapisch-​­Zuber and G. Duby. [3. print.], A history of women in the West Vol. 2. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1995, ­15–​­42. Goetz H.-​­W., ‘­Constructing the Past: Religious Dimensions and Historical Consciousness in Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontificum’, The Making of Christian Myths in the Periphery of Latin Christendom (­C . ­1000–​ ­1300), ed. L. B. Mortensen, Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 2006, ­17–​­51. Goetz H.-​­W., Frauen im frühen Mittelalter: Frauenbild und Frauenleben im Frankenreich. Cologne-Vienna: Böhlau Verlag, 1995. Grzybowski L. G., The Christianization of Scandinavia in the Viking Era: Religious Change in Adam of Bremen’s Historical Work. 1st ed. Beyond Medieval Europe. Leeds: Arc Humanities, 2021. Janson H., ‘­Templum Nobilissimum: Adam Av Bremen, Uppsalatemplet Och Konfliktlinjerna I Europa Kring År 1075’, Avhandlingar från Historiska institutionen i Göteborg 21. Göteborg: Historiska institutionen i Göteborg, 1998. Janson H., ‘­Adam of Bremen and the Conversion of Scandinavia’, Christianizing Peoples and Converting Individuals, eds. G. Armstrong and I. N. Wood, International Medieval Research 7, Turnhout Brepols, 2000, 8­ 3–​­88. Jarecki T. S., Die Vorstellungen vom Bischofsamt bei Adam von Bremen, Arbeiten zur ­K irchen-​­und Theologiegeschichte 42. Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2014. Lund N., ‘­Sven Estridsen’s Incest and Divorce’, Viking and Medieval Scandinavia 13, 2017, ­115–​­143. Schlotheuber E., ‘­Persönlichkeitsdarstellung und mittelalterliche Morallehre. Das Leben Erzbischof Adalberts in der Beschreibung Adams von Bremen’, Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelalters 59, 2003, ­495–​­548. Sundqvist O., Freyr’s Offspring: Rulers and Religion in Ancient Svea Society, Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis 21. Uppsala: Uppsala University Library, 2002. Trillmich W. ‘­Einleitung’, Quellen des 9. und 11. Jahrhunderts zur Geschichte der Hamburgischen Kirche und des Reiches, eds. W. Trillmich and R. Buchner, 7th ed. Ausgewählte Quellen zur deutschen Geschichte des Mittelalters 11. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2000, 137‒158. Trommer A., ‘­Komposition und Tendenz in der Hamburgischen Kirchengeschichte Adam von Bremens’, Classica et Mediaevalia. Revue Danoise de Philologie et d’Histoire XVIII, 1957, ­207–​­257. Winroth A., The Conversion of Scandinavia: Vikings, Merchants, and Missionaries in the Remaking of Northern Europe, New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012.

13 Of Gunnhildrs and Gyðas Kendra Willson

Introduction In the Middle Ages, royal genealogies were an important tool for, among other purposes, demonstrating the legitimacy of the current leaders, grounding them in space and time, and affirming alliances. Genealogical knowledge is prioritized in early historical writing and presumably in the oral traditions that preceded it. However, when centuries elapse between the events and the time of writing, generations can become conflated in memory. Women and ethnic others are more likely to get confused with each other than men from the dominant culture from the perspective of the report. While women are important for dynasties and alliances, in some cases the sources give incomplete or contradictory information on the identities and lineages of queens and princesses (­not to mention concubines) in royal genealogies. Members of royal families frequently married more than once. An additional problem concerns names: the same given names recur in lineages, while the same person may be referred to by different names, so that it can be hard to determine whether the same individual is referred to in different contexts. Such confusion attends royal alliances in the tenth and eleventh centuries involving queens called by the names Gunnhildr and Gyða. These names are also found elsewhere in kings’ sagas among figures who share enough traits to suggest traditional motifs.

Queens in Adam’s scholia Three scholia to Adam of Bremen’s Gesta (­no. 24, 66, and 72) concern distinctions between different persons called Gunhilda and Guda. The notes are intended to disambiguate, but do so in an ambiguous fashion. The scholia discussed here belong to Schmeidler’s “­g roup I,”1 of which he states that most contain no direct indication of Adam’s authorship, yet it is likely that the majority stem from him.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-14

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Scholion 24: Bolesław’s “daughter or sister” The identity of the daughter or granddaughter of Mieszko I, duke of Poland (regit ca. 960-992, regarded as the founder of the frst independent Polish state) who married into Scandinavian royal dynasties, has long been a point of dispute. The sources − including Adam of Bremen, Thietmar bishop of Merseburg, and Scandinavian kings’ sagas − give ambiguous and confusing information. There have been many attempts to resolve this issue, e.g. by Jasiński and Prinke.2 The historicity of this person is important for understanding the role of Scandinavian-Slavic alliances in early state formation in Poland and Scandinavia. ‘Świętosława’ ‘holy/strong glory’ is a name given retroactively in Polish historiography to an unnamed daughter of Mieszko I, who is hence the sister of Bolesław I the Brave. Her Slavic name is not preserved in sources. The name was reconstructed in the early twentieth century on the basis of the name of her daughter Świętosława duńska (the Danish), daughter of Sven Forkbeard (Sveinn tjúguskegg) and sister of Knut the Great, who is mentioned in the Liber vitæ of the New Minster and Hyde Abbey, Winchester as “Santslaue soror CNVTI regis nostri.”3 Norse sources name only the sister Gyða Sveinsdóttir, who was married to Eric (Eiríkr) Hákonarson, earl of Hladir and of Northumbria.4 According to Rafał Prinke, Johannes Steenstrup suggested that Knut’s sister Świętosława might have been named after her mother.5 Prinke considers it inconsistent with Scandinavian naming practice to name a daughter after a living mother and certainly there is no reason to assume that mother and daughter would have the same name.6 However, I have not managed to fnd such a claim in Steenstrup’s text, only that Santslaue represents a Slavic name in the Danish royal family. Fjodor Uspenskij also considers it a fair inference “that this was a family name carried by the female line” – not necessarily the name of her mother specifcally.7 The name is also known from a daughter of Bolesław III Wrymouth, Ryksa Bolesławówna (1116–1156) (known in English as Richeza and Icelandic as Ríkissa), who married Prince Magnus sterki [the strong] Nielsson (1106–1134) and later King Sverker I (regit ca. 1130–1156). The masculine version of the name, Światosław, is best known from a prince of Rus’ who lived several decades earlier; its origin is debated.8 The elder ‘Świętosława’ was married to King Eric sigursæli the Victorious of Sweden (regit 980–995) and later to King Sven Forkbeard of Denmark (regit 986–1014). Neither Thietmar of Merseburg nor Adam of Bremen gives her name. Adam’s claim regarding her marriage to Eiríkr sigursæli has been questioned by Prinke.9, 10 Thietmar does not mention a marriage to Eric the Victorious, but refers to the queen in connection with Sven Forkbeard: de geninminis viperarum, id est fliis Suenni persecutoris, pauca edissero. Hos peperit ei Miseconis flia ducis, soror Bolizlavi successoris eius et

Of Gunnhildrs and Gyðas  203 nati; quae a viro suimet diu depulsa non minimal cum caeteris perpessa est controversiam.11 (that brood of vipers, the sons of Sven the Persecutor. These sons were born to him by the daughter of Duke Miesco, sister of the latter’s successor and son, Boleslaw. Long exiled by her husband, along with others, this woman suffered no small amount of controversy.)12 The context is an emotionally tinged discussion of the cruelty of the Northmen and their violence against England. Thietmar acknowledges the limits of his knowledge: “Eorum facinora, quae hiis intulere plurima, me quia latent, reteriens illud” “­The many outrages committed against this folk are not familiar to me and so I shall pass them by,”13 although he does relate a few highlights such as the demand for the sons of Aethelred and other hostages14 and Aethelstan’s escape.15 Despite the lack of a name, Thietmar’s identification of this person seems more precise about her position in the lineage than Adam’s. Cnutonis regis gesta mentions that Knut and his brother brought back their mother from the land of the Slavs (­pariter vero Sclavonicum adierunt, et matrem suam, quae illuc morabatur, reduxerunt).16 If Knut’s mother was of Wendish origin, this helps to explain the involvement of Polish troops in his battles in England. Larson points out that “­If Tova [Mistifisdóttir] was Canute’s grandmother (­as she probably was) three of his grandparents were of Slavic blood”17 and that “­There seems also to have been a notable Slavic element in Canute’s retinue”.18 Sagas that refer to Eric’s consort mention a queen Sigrid the Haughty (Sigríđr stórráđa), daughter of a Swedish chieftain ­Skögla (Battle)-​­Tosti. It is unclear whether this is the same person or refers to a different marriage. The historicity of Sigrid has been questioned. Snorri  says that Sven was first married to Gunnhild Burizleifsdóttir and ­after her death to Sigrid the Haughty.19 Potentially, aspects of the two queens could have been conflated. According to Ólafs saga Tryggvasonar, Olaf Tryggvason twice proposed marriage to Sigrid. On the first occasion he sent her a ring, which she had broken and found copper inside.20 She said he would deceive her in more than this. Later Olaf again asked for Sigrid hand, setting the condition that she must convert to Christianity.21 When she refused, he struck her with a glove. She said that this might lead to his death. Sigrid proceeded to assemble a coalition of his enemies, which eventually led to the battle of Svold at which Olaf fell. The stubbornness she exhibits in this story and the nickname “­haughty” are consistent with the G ­ unnhild-​­Gyða trope/­complex outlined below. Andersson suggests that the story of the ring and of the slap represent variant traditions that have been combined in the saga.22 Boer proposed that the historical Sigríðr could have been the model for the legendary Brynhildr.23 The reverse is perhaps more likely. Przemysław Urbańczyk argues that Scandinavian artifacts of an elite character found at Ostrów Lednicki fit the chronology given in historical

204  Kendra Willson sources and corroborate Sveinn’s marriage to a Polish queen, whom he noncommittally calls “­­Świętosława-​­Sigrid/­Gunhild.”24 The historicity of the figure seems to be viewed as important, even if we do not know her name. Scholion 24 contains a reference to an unnamed daughter or sister of Bolesław I (­hence daughter or granddaughter of Mieszko I), who marries Eric sigursaeli the Victorious, King of the Swedes. Hericus rex Sueonum cum potentissimo rege Polanorum Bolizlao fedus iniit. Bolizlaus filiam vel sororem Herico dedit. Cuius gratia societatis Dani a Sclavis et Sueonibus iuxta impugnati sunt. Bolizlaus, rex christianissimus, cum Ottone tercio confederatus, omnem Sclavaniam subiecit et Ruziam et Pruzzos, a quibus passus est sanctus Adalbertus; cuius reliquias tunc Bolizlaus transtulit in Poloniam.25 (Schol. 24 (­25). Eric, the king of the Swedes, entered into an alliance with Boleslav [Chrobry], the most powerful king of the Poles. Boleslav gave his daughter or sister in marriage to Eric. Because of this league the Danes were jointly attacked by the Slavs and the Swedes. In alliance with the third Otto the most Christian king Boleslav subjected all Slavia and Russia together with the Prussians, at whose hands Saint Adalbert had suffered martyrdom. Boleslav at this time translated his remains into Poland.)26 The scholion in question appears only in four of 25 manuscripts, but Prinke notes that these four manuscripts belong to different branches of the stemma and is confident that the comment was written by Adam himself between 1080 and 1085.27 Scholion 24 is missing from the manuscripts in group A, which are generally considered inferior.28 Two of these four manuscripts have only “­fi liam suam” [his daughter].29 Nonetheless Svenberg favor the hypothesis that the bride was Bolesław’s sister on the basis of Thietmar of Merseburg’s account. Erik Segersälls fördrag med Boleslaw Chrobry (­­992–​­1025) måste ha ingåtts under den polske kungens första år, då Erik dog omkring 995. I skoliet kommer en osäkerhet till uttryck angående Eriks polska gemål: var hon Boleslaws syster eller dotter? På basis av Thietmars uppgift i Chronicon, VIII: 39, och isländska källors vittensbörd, som dock skjuter Gunhild åt sidan till förmån för Sigrid Storråda, antas hon vara Boleslaws syster, Mieszko I:s dotter.30 (Erik Segersälls alliance with Boleslaw Chrobry (­­992–​­1025) must have taken place during the first years of the Polish king’s reign, as Erik died around 995. The scholia expresses uncertainty regarding Erik’s Polish consort: was she Boleslaw’s sister or daughter? On the basis of Thietmar’s information in Chronicon VIII: 39 and the testimony of Icelandic sources, which however push Gunhild aside in favor of Sigrid Storråda, she is assumed to be Boleslaw’s sister, Mieszko I’s daughter.)

Of Gunnhildrs and Gyðas  205 There are differing opinions as to whether Gunnhild is the same person as Sigrid the Haughty or whether these are two different wives. According to Svenberg, Adam’s statement that Sven married Eric the Victorious’ widow is based on a misunderstanding. Denna uppgift beror troligen på ett missförstånd hos Adam, eftersom Erik Segersäll synes ha varit gift två gånger: 1) med Sigrid Storråda, som blev mor till den här nämnde Olof (­Skötkonung); 2) med en Gunhild, dotter til Mieszko I av Polen, senare gift med Sven Tveskägg. I detta äktenskap synes den Holmfrid vara född som blev mor till Sven Estridssons drottning Gunhild.31 (This piece of information is probably based on a misunderstanding on Adam’s part, because Erik Segersäll appears to have been married twice: 1) to Sigrid Storråda, who was the mother of the Olof (­Skötkonung) mentioned here; 2) to a Gunhild, daughter of Mieszko I of Poland, who later married Sven Tveskägg. It seems that it was in this marriage that the Holmfrid was born who was the mother of Sven Estridsson’s queen Gunhild.) Rafał T. Prinke likewise finds Adam’s account internally contradictory and unconvincing. However, he views the saga accounts as consistent with Thietmar and with Cnutonis regis gesta.32 According to his proposal, Gunnhild, the daughter of Mieszko I, was the wife of Sven Forkbeard from 995, the mother of his sons and of the daughter Świętosława, who was Knut’s sister. After being rejected by Sven, Gunnhild returns to Poland but dies in Denmark ca 1016/­17. Prinke also affirms the historicity of Sigrid the Haughty, who was the first wife of Eric the Victorious and later (­from 998/­1000) wife of Sven ­Forkbeard after his separation from Gunnhildr.

Norse sources on Gunnhildr Burizleifsdóttir The story of Burizleifr’s daughter and Ólafr Tryggvason appears in slightly different variants in different versions of Ólafs saga Tryggvasonar. According to the account in Snorri Sturluson’s Heimskringla, Burizleifr has three daughters: Geira, Gunnhild, and Ástríðr. Olaf Tryggvason marries Geira, a widow.33 Sveinn marries Gunnhildr; Sigvaldi jarl marries Ástríðr.34 After Gunnhild’s death, Sven marries and Sven’s sister Þyri marries Burizleifr, but being pagan she objects to the marriage and goes on hunger strike. She runs away with Özurr to Norway to seek help from Olaf Tryggvason, whom she marries. In Oddr Snorrason’s version, Þyri rejects Burizleifr.35 Gunnhild resents Þyri retaining Burizleifr’s property. Burizleifr pressures Gunnhild to urge Sven to send Þyri to Burizleifr. Þyri goes on hunger strike and is sent away after 9 days. Þyri seeks aid from Olaf Tryggvason and marries him. As can be seen from the above summaries, the outlines of the story are similar in different versions of the saga but the emphases are

206  Kendra Willson ­ ifferent  – ​­for instance, with respect to who is shown as active; whose d agency is emphasized. ­Bolesław  – ​­B úrizleifr/­B urisláfr is an example of a Slavic name ­ folk-​ e­tymologized in Norse (­B uri could connect to burr/­buri ‘­son’; -​­leifr/­láfr ‘­heir’), cf. Jarisleifr = Jaroslav, Valdemarr = Vladimir etc. The change from l to r could be dissimilation and also be informed by the folk etymology. Alexander Bugge thinks that Burizleifr here cannot refer to Bolesław, but Mieszko; the two are often conflated in sagas.36 According to Jakub Morawiec, Burizleifr is presented as a desirable political partner for Scandinavian rulers; his most important resources are his daughters.37

Scholion 66: a different Gunnhildr/­Gyða Another Gunnhild of confusing identity appears in a later generation: Gunnhild Sveinsdóttir or Haraldsdóttir, the consort of Kings Anund (Önundr) Jakob of Sweden (­regit ­1022–​­1050) and (Sven Estridsen) of Denmark (­regit ­1047–​­1066). She is also referred to as Gyða or Guða. Sources are unclear as to whether these are all the same person, or perhaps mother and daughter. Adam mentions Gyða (­Gude) as Sven’s queen, murdered by Thora. Scholion 66 seems expressly to recognize that there has been a confusion among queens. It refers to a second Gunnhild, but seems ambiguous as to whether Gunhild and Gude are the same person: Alia erat Gunhild, relicta Anundi, alia Gude, quam Thora interfecit.38 (Schol. 66 (­67) There was another Gunnhild, the widow of Anund, another Gythe whom Thore murdered.)39 Gunhild, Anunds änka är inte densamma som Gude, som Thora dödade.40 (Gunhild, Anund’s widow, is not the same as Gude, whom Thora killed.) According to Svenberg, Gunnhildr may have been married to both kings: Gunhild är enligt III: 15 Sven Estridssons första drottning och av svensk härstamning, medan hon här sägs vara änka efter Anund Jacob. Om bägge uppgifterna är riktiga, skulle det kunna betyda, att hon gift sig med Anund Jacob sedan hennes äktenskap med Sven hade blivit upplöst. Gude och Thora omtalas utförligare i skl 72.41 (Gunhild is, according to III: 15, Sven Estridsson’s first queen and of Swedish origin, whereas here she is said to be Anund Jacob’s widow. If both pieces of information are correct, this would mean that she married Anund Jacob after her marriage to Sven had ended. Gude and Thora are discussed further in scholion 72.) According to Sture Bolin, the Swedish and Danish queens Gunnhild are two different people; the latter is the daughter of Sven Hákonarson.42

Of Gunnhildrs and Gyðas  207 Saxo and Icelandic annals say Anund had a daughter called Gyða/­ Guða/­Gunnhild, perhaps by a different woman, married to King Sven II. Sven’s daughter Gunnhild took the Christian name Helena. Gunnhild Sveinsdóttir and Gunnhild Eiríksdóttir could have been mother and daughter.43 It is also possible that one of them was named Gunnhildr and the other Gyða, but they may have become confused in the sources.

Scholion 72: Þóra murders Gyða Scholion 72 elaborates on the story of Gyða and Þóra referred to in scholion 66, as a tale of vengeance by a concubine against the queen. Clarissimus rex Danorum sola mulierum incontinentia laboravit, non tamen sponte, ut arbitror, sed vitio gentis. Nec tamen illi malo defuit ultio, quia una ex concubinis, Thore nomine, legitimam Gude reginam veneno extinxit. Cumque rex Suein filium Thore, Magnum vocabulo, Romam transmitteret, ut ibi consecraretur ad regnum, infelix puer in via defunctus est, post quem mater impia non suscepit alium filium.44 (Schol. 72 (­73). The most illustrious king of the Danes [Sveinn II Astríðarson] was afflicted with incontinence only in respect to women, yet not of his own will, in my opinion, but from racial vice. Nevertheless, he did not escape vengeance for his evil doing, for one of his concubines, Thore, put his legitimate queen, Gythe, to death with poison. And when King Svein sent Thore’s son, named Magnus, to Rome to be consecrated there for the kingship, the unhappy youth died on the way. After him the wicked mother did not have another son.)45 Svenberg considered this account an attempt to “­whitewash” King Sveinn, reflecting Adam’s attitude toward Swedish mores: Skoliets försök att rentvå Sven Estridsson korresponderar med Adams pragmatiska syn på ‘­sveonernas’ socialetik i IV: 21. Också i tolkningen av Svens familjeförhållanden slår hans teologiska historiesyn igenom. Jfr skl 64 med not. -​­Sven Estridssons försök att ordna tronföljdsfrågan genom att sända en minderårig son till Rom för att krönas där noteras också i Knytlingasagan, ka­p. 23, där pojken kallas Knut. Eventuellt kan planen sättas i förbindelse med biskop Eginos resa till Rom, varifrån han återkom 1072. Försöket misslyckades, då pojken dog.46 (The scholia’s attempt to whitewash Sven Estridsson corresponds to Adam’s pragmatic view of the social ethics of the ‘­Svear’ in IV: 21. His theological view of history also emerges in his interpretation of Sven’s family relations. Cf. scholia 64 and note. -​­Sven Estridsson’s attempt to fix the matter of ascension to the throne by sending an underage son to Rome to be coronated there is also noted in Knytlingasaga, chapter 23,

208  Kendra Willson where the boy is called Knut. The plan may be connected with Bishop Egino’s trip to Rome, from which he returned in 1072. The attempt failed, as the boy died.)

The name Gunnhild The name Gunnhild is formed from two roots meaning ‘­battle’. Andersson connects this name type to Valkyrie names.47 Such names are common among Germanic personal names; Solmsen infers that ­battle-​­maidens were seen as an ideal for Germanic women.48 The name was in use in Norway throughout the Middle Ages49 and has been common in Iceland throughout the historical record.50 Hornby says of the name in Denmark: “­Gunhild (­kendt fra sagnh) kommer ind i kongehuset og er i ældre middelalder ret almindeligt, men i yngre tid bliver det sjældnere.” [Gunhild (­known from saga tradition) comes into the royal family and is quite common in the early Middle Ages, but becomes rarer in later times.]51 Hence the name is not restricted to royalty or high nobility, but is frequent there and, particularly in early times, seems to be recognizable as a royal name; Fjodor Uspenskij discusses five different Gunnhilds in his study of dynastic names.52 Grzegorz Pac notes that the name Gunnhildr appears repeatedly in the Danish royal family, and so for a foreign queen to take this name “fits perfectly with the pattern of giving a woman a new name after her marriage in line with the tradition of her husband’s family.”53

Other Gunnhilds Kings’ and family sagas feature several literary Gunnhilds who show common traits. Probably the most familiar or memorable is Gunnhild konungamóðir Gormsdóttir or Özurardóttir, the wife of Eric Bloodaxe (Eiríkr Blóđøxi Haraldsson) (­ca. ­885–​­954), King of Norway and Northumbria. She appears in Egils saga Skallagrímssonar, ­Brennu-​ N ­ jáls saga, Heimskringla, and Fagrskinna. The historicity of the figure is debated.54 Her parentage is unclear: she is variously said to be the daughter of Gorm the Old (Gormr gamli), King of Denmark (­Historia Norwegiae) and of Özurr Toti, hersir of Háleygjaland.55 She is said to have learned magic from the Saami; Eric finds her in Lapland on his return from Bjarmaland. Strömbäck mentions her as one example of the strong association between Saami and witchcraft in Norse sources.56 Larrington finds this part of the account ­tradition-​­influenced and different in tone from the rest of Snorri’s presentation: “­Snorri Sturluson includes in Heimskringla […] a ­folk-­​­­tale-​­inflected account of Gunnhild’s origins among Lappish wizards; his presentation of Gunnhild’s life as queen is rather soberer.”57 Andersson sees her as representing the wicked stepmother type.58 Jenny Jochens describes Gunnhildr as “­the prototype of evil and revenging women in the Old Norse corpus”; “­k nown for power and cruelty, admired for her beauty and generosity, and feared for her magic, cunning, sexual insatiability, and her

Of Gunnhildrs and Gyðas  209 59

goading.” However, according to Jochens, the depiction of Gunnhild as a goader is specific to Snorri (­Heimskringla and Egils saga).60

The name Gyða The etymology of the name Gyða is uncertain. It has been regarded as being of Old English origin and is said to have entered Norse via the Danelaw.61 According to Lind it cannot be Norse because the stem is short.62 If it were an inherited Norse form one would expect a j-​­augment, cf. noun gyðja f. ‘­goddess.’63 Lind notes: Att namnet icke är inhemskt utan lånat från England, är tämligen tydligt. Formellt är det icke nordiskt, för så vitt stamvokalen är kort. Flera av dess äldre bärare äro också av blandad nordisk ock engelsk härkomst. […] Under danaväldets tid i England inkommer namnet i den danska konungaätten. En dotter till Sveinn tiúguskegg heter Gyða.64 (That the name is not native but borrowed from England is fairly clear. Formally it is not Nordic, for the stem vowel is short. Many of its earlier bearers are also of mixed Nordic and English origin. … During the Dane Law in England the name enters the Danish royal family. A daughter of Sven Forkbeard is named Gyða.) Regarding the Old English name, it is disputed whether the underlying root would be gōd ‘­good’ or gŏd ‘­god’ (­which originally referred to pagan gods). It has been claimed that the latter would not be a root in personal names, but Redin sees no reason why it could not appear there, as in other Germanic languages, and hypocoristics could be formed from such names as from other compound names.65 However, the name appears in Scandinavia quite early: there are runic attestations gyþa, kiþa, guþa as well as mentions in thirteenth and fourteenth century documents: Gytha DS I, 393 (­1259), Johannis Gyþuson SD VI, 57 (­1348), Gyda Hungersdotter SRP n. 1651 (­1381), Niclis Gydhuson, SRP (­1386).66 The name seems to be regarded as Scandinavian in England; a Danish Gyða whom Knut marries to Earl Godwin has her name adapted to Edith.67 Gyða looks like a possible hypocoristic, e.g. from names in Guð-​­, or a “­nursery name” -​­ cf. Daði, an Icelandic name which Janzén viewed as an example of “rena barnkammerord” [pure nursery words]68 but which can function as a hypocoristic for Dagr.69 Like Gyða, Daði has a short stem syllable. It has also been suggested that Gyða could be a hypocoristic for Gyrīðr < Guðríðr.70 According to Hornby, the name is either an Old English loan or a hypocoristic form of *Guthwi, cf. Thyrwi.71 On foreign (­Slavic) queens getting h ­ ypocoristic-​­like Norse names, cf. Tófa, daughter of Mstivoj (Mistivir), the wife of the Danish King Harald Bluetooth Gormsson (Haraldr blátönn) (­previously married to his brother

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Knútr). Her name is attested as tufa on the Sønder Vissing I runestone (DR 55), not far from Jelling. Laurence Marcellus Larson suggests that Haraldr may have had three wives, or perhaps Tófa received the name Gunnhildr at baptism.72 There are also examples from Iceland and the British Isles of individuals with one Norse and one Gaelic name. Some name changes are connected with changes in religion: as mentioned above, Sven Estridsen’s daughter Gunnhild took the Christian name Helena, and Knut’s baptismal name was Lambert.73 Could Gyða be short for Gunnhild? The alternation nnr  – ðr is a West Norse sound change (cf. nom. maðr  – acc. mann ‘person’) which is levelled out in many paradigms, producing some variant forms such as fðr - fnnr ‘fnds’ (pres.3sg. of fnna). The existence of this alternation could lead to an identifcation of Gunn- ‘battle’ with guð ‘god’.74 Such a hypocoristic could also be interpreted as a contraction where the ð corresponds to the d in hildr (‘battle’) or vaguely to the many dental/coronal consonants in the name. The coronal/dental place of articulation (such as /t/, /d/, /n/) is considered phonologically to be unmarked and consonants with other places of articulation may be replaced by coronals in early child language and hypocoristic formation. On the other hand, the dental spirant /ð/ is relatively rare in the world’s languages and tends to be acquired relatively late; in Modern Icelandic hypocoristics there is a strong tendency to replace it with /d/.75 Nonetheless, there are names such as the aforementioned Daði, found in Old Norse sources, that contain /ð/ and that have been interpreted as hypocoristics.76

Other Gyðas The best-known Gyða in the Norse tradition appears in Haralds saga hárfagra in Heimskringla,77 in an episode that Harald Bessason78 compared with the myth of Gerðr and Freyr; the historicity of the fgure of Gyða and the value of the sources have been debated since the nineteenth century.79 This is the northern maiden, daughter of King Eric of Hörðaland (an area associated with the Saami), who refuses to grant Harald her favours until he has conquered all of Norway. She is called arrogant and stubborn, her power over him viewed as potential witchcraft. This Gyða shares a number of traits with the aforementioned Gunnhilds: a strong-willed woman from the margins of the Norse world whose determination is portrayed ambivalently and seems nearly akin to black magic. Ólafs saga Tryggvasonar features another Gyða, called Gyða enska (the English), a sister of Olaf kváran, who was King in Dublin.80 Alexander Bugge fnds this story or identifcation unlikely, for Ólafr kváran died as an old man in 981, some years before this episode would have taken place.81 Alvini proposes to her, but she insists on choosing for herself; Olaf defeats Alvini in a duel and marries Gyða. Again, we see a strong-willed princess with foreign connections dictating the conditions of her match.

Of Gunnhildrs and Gyðas  211 Regarding the use of names, nicknames, and pseudonyms, it may be worth noting that in the scene (­in both versions) in which Olaf Tryggvason meets Gyða enska, he identifies himself as Óli and, regarding his origin, he tells Gyða only “­ek em útlendr maðr hér” [I am a foreign man here]82 – ​­using the hypocoristic as a pseudonym. In the previous chapter “­hafði hann eigi meira af nafni sínu en kallaði sik Óla ok kvazk vera gerzkr” [he used no more of his name than to call himself Óli and say he came from Garðaríki (­Russia)].83 If Gyða is a nickname, she may be replying in kind. Olaf use of the short version of his name as a way of going incognito connects to the motif of the king in disguise and is likely to be a literary device.84 It is also possible that Óli was a separate name not yet established as a nickname for Ólafr, or that the name Óli was in use during Olaf stay abroad, e.g. in Estonia.85, 86

Conclusion Gunnhilds and Gyðas in Norse sagas are typically s­trong-​­ willed royal women of ­non-​­Scandinavian origin or with foreign connections (­Slavic, Saami, Celtic), whose influence is viewed negatively or ambivalently and is sometimes described in supernatural terms. Similar motifs may be connected to other women in the same families. As medieval history concentrates on men, women may be conflated with each other or filled in with stereo types. Names such as Gunnhild are connected with literary/­folkloric types, but their pattern also connects to “­dynastic names” and royal names. It is also possible that the same historical individual could have used different ­names – ​­e.g. a full and a short version, Slavic and Norse, pagan and Christian. Medieval and modern historians have struggled to identify individual queens, but in some cases this may not be possible.

Notes 1 Gesta, ­XLI–​­XLII. 2 Adam av Bremen. Historien om Hamburgstiftet, 119. 3 Jasiński, Rodowód pierwszych piastów, ­72–​­78, Prinke, ‘­Świętosława, Sygryda, Gunhilda.’ 4 Liber Vitæ, 58. 5 Knýtlinga saga, 97, ch. 5. 6 Prinke, ‘­Świętosława, Sygryda, Gunhilda,’ 60, Steenstrup, Venderne og de Danske, 65. 7 Prinke, ‘­Świętosława, Sygryda, Gunhilda,’ 60. 8 Uspenskij, ‘­The advent of Christianity,’ 111. 9 Ibidem. 10 Prinke, ‘Świętosława, Sygryda, Gunhilda,’ 95. 11 Pac, Women in the Piast dynasty, 404. 12 Die Chronik des Bischofs Thietmar von Merseburg, 446, The chronicon of Thietmar of Merseburg, ­334–​­335, book 7, ch. 39.

212  Kendra Willson 13 Die Chronik des Bischofs Thietmar von Merseburg, 446; The chronicon of Thietmar of Merseburg, 335, book 7, ch. 39. 14 Die Chronik des Bischofs Thietmar von Merseburg, 447, The chronicon of Thietmar of Merseburg, 335, book 7, ch. 40. 15 Die Chronik des Bischofs Thietmar von Merseburg, 448, The chronicon of Thietmar of Merseburg, 336, book 7, ch. 41. 16 Cnutonis regis gesta, 12, II, 2. 17 Larson, Canute the Great, 15. 18 Ibidem, 262. 19 Ólafs saga Tryggvasonar, 91, Heimskringla, I, 341. 20 Oddr Snorrason. Ólafs saga Tryggvasonar, ch. 33, trans. Andersson, 82; Snorri Sturluson, ch. 60; Heimskringla, I, 309. 21 Oddr Snorrason. Ólafs saga Tryggvasonar, ch. 38, trans. Andersson, 87; Snorri Sturluson, ch. 61; Heimskringla, I, 310. 22 Andersson in Oddr Snorrason, The saga of Olav Tryggvason, 144, note 3. 23 Boer, Untersuchungen über den Ursprung und die Entwicklung der Nibelungensage, III 147–179, cf. Bugge, ‘Sandhed og digt om Olav Tryggvason,’ 22–24. 24 Urbańczyk, ‘­A rcheologiczne świadectwa,’ 130, 142. 25 Gesta, schol. 24, 95–96. 26 Tschan, 78. 27 Prinke, ‘­Świętosława, Sygryda, Gunhilda,’ 85. 28 Adam av Bremen, Historien om Hamburgstiftet, 191. 29 Prinke, ‘­Świętosława, Sygryda, Gunhilda,’ 85, 99. 30 Adam av Bremen. Historien om Hamburgstiftet, 119. 31 Ibidem, 268, note 228. 32 Prinke, ‘­Świętosława, Sygryda, Gunhilda,’ 94–95. 33 Heimskringla, I, 253, Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar en mesta, 111. 34 Heimskringla, I, 273. 35 Oddr Snorrason. Ólafs saga Tryggvasonar, ­70–​­72, ch. 45. 36 Bugge, ‘Sandhed og digt om Olav Tryggvason,’ 27–28, cf. Maurer, Die Bekehrung des norwegischesn Stammes zum Christenthume, I 279. 37 Morawiec, ‘­Obraz Słowian.’ 38 Gesta, schol. 66 (67), 157. 39 Tschan, 126. 40 Book 3, Scholia 66; Adam av Bremen. Historien om Hamburgstiftet, 169. 41 Adam av Bremen. Historien om Hamburgstiftet, 189. 42 Saxo Grammaticus, Gesta Danorum, 309, book 11, chapter 7. 43 Bolin, ‘­K ring Mäster Adams text,’ 238. 44 Uspenskij, Name und Macht, 20. 45 Gesta, schol. 72, 164. 46 Tschan, 133. 47 Adam av Bremen. Historien om Hamburgstiftet, 192. 48 Andersson, ‘­Die zweigliedrigen germanischen Frauennamen,’ 14–16. 49 Solmsen, Indogermanische Eigennamen, 163. 50 Lind, ­Norsk-​­isländska dopnamn, column 410, s.v. Gunnhildr. 51 Guðrún Kvaran and Sigurður Jónsson frá Arnarvatni, Nöfn Íslendinga, 264, s.v. Gunnhildur. 52 Hornby, ‘­Fornavne i Danmark,’ 194. 53 Uspenskij, Name und Macht, index, ­136–​­137. 54 Pac, Women in the Piast dynasty, 406. 55 Downham, Viking kings of Britain and Ireland, ­112–​­120. 56 Heimskringla, I, 135; Haralds saga ins hárfagra, ch. 32, Egils saga, 94, ch. 37. 57 Strömbäck, Sejd, 199. 58 Larrington, ‘­Queens and bodies,’ ­509–​­510.

Of Gunnhildrs and Gyðas  213 59 Andersson in Oddr Snorrason, The saga of Olaf Tryggvason, 138, note 2, cf. Bugge, ‘Sandhed og digt om Olav Tryggvason,’ 5. 60 Jochens, Old Norse images of women, 180. 61 Ibidem, ­180–​­181. 62 Lind, ­Norsk-​­isländska dopnamn, column 429 s.v. Gyða, cf. Searle, Onomasticon ­Anglo-​­Saxonicum, 259 s.v. Githa. 63 Lind, ­Norsk-​­isländska dopnamn, column 429 s.v. Gyða. 64 Lundgren, Spår af hednisk tro, 3. 65 Lind, ­Norsk-​­isländska dopnamn, column 429 s.v. Gyða. 66 Redin, Studies on uncompounded personal names, 14. 67 Lundgren, Spår af hednisk tro, 3. 68 Larson, Canute the Great, 120, note 163. 69 Janzén, ‘­De fornvästnordiska personnamnen,’ 59. 70 Lind, Norsk-isländska dopnamn, column 189 s.v. Daði, Guðrún Kvaran and Sigurður Jónsson frá Arnarvatni, Nöfn Íslendinga, 175 s.v. Daði, cf. Willson, Icelandic nicknames, 285. 71 Janzén, ‘­De fornsvenska personnamnen,’ 242, Janzén, ‘­De fornvästnordiska personnamnen,’ 61. Peterson, Nordiskt runnamnslexikon, 95 s.v. Gyða. 72 Hornby, ‘­Fornavne i Danmark,’ 209. 73 Larson, Canute the Great, 15. 74 Uspenskij, Name und Macht, 20, Uspenskij, ‘­The advent of Christianity,’ 111. 75 Munch, ‘­Om betydningen,’ 86. 76 Willson, Icelandic nicknames, 218. 77 Janzén, ‘De fornvästnordiska personnamnen,’ 58. Willson, Icelandic nicknames, 266, 285. 78 Heimskringla, I, ­96–​­97, 118; ch. 3, 4, 20. 79 Haraldur Bessason, ‘­K ing Haraldur Fairhair’s wooing.’ 80 Rüdiger, Der König und seine Frauen, ­31–​­50. 81 Heimskringla, I, ­267–​­269 (­ch. 32), Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar en mesta, ­165–​­167 (­ch. 80). 82 Bugge, ‘Sandhed og digt om Olav Tryggvason,’ 14. 83 Heimskringla, I, 268 (­ch. 31). 84 Ibidem, 266 (­ch. 32). 85 Harris, ‘­The king in disguise.’ 86 Willson, Icelandic nicknames, ­247–​­249.

Bibliography Primary sources Adam of Bremen. History of the archbishops of ­Hamburg-​­B remen, trans. F. J. Tschan, New York, Columbia University Press, 2002. Adam av Bremen. Historien om Hamburgstiftet och dess biskopar, trans. E. Svenberg, comm. C. F. Hallencreutz, K. Johannesson, T. Nyberg and A. Piltz, Stockholm, Proprius, 1984. Cnutonis regis gesta sive Encomium Emmae reginae auctore monacho S. Bertini, ed. G. H. Pertz, Hannover, Hahn, 1865. Egils saga ­Skalla- ​­G rímssonar, ed. Sigurður Nordal, Íslenzk fornrit 2, Reykjavík, Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1933. Liber Vitæ: Register and Martyrology of New Minster and Hyde Abbey, ed. W. de Gray Birch, London, Simkin, 1892.

214 Kendra Willson Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontifcum, ed. B. Schmeidler, 3rd edition, Hannoverae et Lipsiae: Impensis bibliopoli Hahniani, 1917. ‘Knýtlinga saga,’ ed. Bjarni Guðnason, Danakonunga sögur. Skjöldunga saga. Knýtlinga saga. Ágrip af sögu Danakonunga, Íslenzk fornrit 35, Reykjavík, Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1982, 91–321. Oddr Snorrason. Det Arnamagnæanske Haandskrift 310 qvarto: Saga Olafs Konungs Tryggvasonar er ritaði Oddr muncr: en gammel norsk Bearbeidelse af Odd Snorresøns på latin skrevne Saga om Kong Olaf Tryggvason, Christiania, Grøndahl & søns bogtrykkeri, 1895. Oddr Snorrason. The saga of Olaf Tryggvason, trans. T. M. Andersson, Ithaca, Cornell University Library, 2003. Ottonian Germany. The chronicon of Thietmar of Merseburg, ed. and transl. D. A. Warner. Manchester and New York, Manchester University Press, 2001. Saxo Grammaticus. Gesta Danorum, ed. J. Olrik and H. Ræder, København, Det danske sprog- og literaturselskab, 1931. Saxo Grammaticus. Nine books of the Danish history of Saxo Grammaticus, trans. O. Elton, London, New York, Norroena Society, 1905. Snorri Sturluson. Heimskringla I, ed. Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, Íslenzk fornrit 26, Reykjavík, Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1941. Thietmar von Merseburg. Die Chronik des Bischofs Thietmar von Merseburg, ed. R. Holtzmann. Berlin, Wiedmannsche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1935. Reprint: München, Monumenta Germaniae historica, 1996.

Secondary literature Andersson, T., ‘Die zweigliedrigen germanischen Frauennamen kriegerischen Inhalts.’ Studia Anthroponymica Scandinavica 33 (2015), 13–18. Bessason, H., ‘King Haraldur Fairhair’s wooing of Gyða Eiríksdóttir.’ Sagas and the Norwegian experience/Sagaene og Noreg: 10th International Saga Conference, Trondheim, 3–9 August 1997: Preprints/Fortrykk, ed. J. R. Hagland, Trondheim, Senter for Middelalderstudier, 1997, 223–225. Boer, R.C., Untersuchungen über den Ursprung und die Entwicklung der Nibelungensage, 3 vol., Halle, Verlad der Buchhandlung des Waisenhauses, 1906–1909. Bolin, S., ‘Kring Mäster Adams text.’ Scandia 4 (1932), 230–238. Bugge, A., ‘Sandhed og digt om Olav Tryggvason.’ Aarbøger for nordisk oldkyndighed og historie, 1910, 1–34. Downham, C., Viking kings of Britain and Ireland. The dynasty of Ívarr to A.D. 1014. Edinburgh, Dunedin, 2013. Harris, J., ‘The king in disguise: An international popular tale in two Old Icelandic adaptations.’ Arkiv för nordisk flologi 94 (1979), 57–81. Hornby, R., ‘Fornavne i Danmark i middelalderen.’ Personnamn., ed. A. Janzén, Nordisk kultur VII, Stockholm, Albert Bonniers förlag, 1947, 187–234. Janzén, A., ‘De fornsvenska personnamnen.’ Personnamn., ed. A. Janzén, Nordisk kultur VII, Stockholm, Albert Bonniers förlag, 1947, 235–268. Janzén, A., ‘De fornvästnordiska personnamnen.’ Personnamn., ed. A. Janzén, Nordisk kultur VII, Stockholm, Albert Bonniers förlag, 1947, 22–141. Jasiński, K., Rodowód pierwszych piastów, Wrocław, Uniwersytet Wrocławski, 2004.

Of Gunnhildrs and Gyðas  215 Jochens, J., Old Norse images of women. Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Press, 2016. Kvaran, G. and Jónsson, S., frá Arnarvatni, Nöfn Íslendinga, Reykjavík, Heimskringla, 1991. Larrington, C., ‘­Q ueens and bodies. The Norwegian translated lais and Hakon IV’s kinswomen.’ Journal of English and Germanic Philology 108:4 (­ 2009), ­506–​­527. Larson, L. M., Canute the Great 995 (­circa)-​­1035 and the rise of Danish imperialism during the Viking age. New York/­London, Knickerbocker, 1912. Lind, E. H., N ­ orsk-​­isländska dopnamn ock fingerade namn från medeltiden. Uppsala, A.-​­B. Lundequistska/­Leipzig, Otto Harrassowitz, ­1905–​­1915. Lundgren, M. F., Spår af hednisk tro och kult i fornsvenska personnamn. Upsala, Esaias Edquists boktryckeri, 1880. Maurer, K., Die Bekehrung des norwegischen Stammes zum Christenthume. 2 vol. München, Kaiser, 1855–1856. Morawiec, J., ‘­ Obraz Słowian w średniowiecznej literaturze skandynawskiej.’ Wikingowie w Polsce? Zabytki skandynawskie z ziem polskich, eds. M. Bogacki, A. Janowski and Ł. Kaczmarek, Gniezno-­Szczecin, Wydawnictwo Triglav, 2019, ­113–​­126. Munch, P. A., ‘­Om betydningen af vore nationale Navne tilligemed Vink angaaende deres rette Skrivemaade og Udtale.’ Samlede Afhandlinger, ed. G. Storm, IV. ­1857–​­1863, Christiania, Forlagt af Alb. Cemmermeyer, Trykt hos A.W. Brøgger, 1876, ­27–​­215. Pac, G., Women in the Piast dynasty. A comparative study of Piast wives and daughters (c. 965 – c. 1144). Leiden, Brill, 2022. Peterson, L. Nordiskt runnamnslexikon. 5. utgåva. Uppsala, Institutet för språk och folkminnen, 2007. Prinke, R. T., ‘­Świętosława, Sygryda, Gunhilda. Tożsamość córki Mieszka I i jej skandynawskie związki.’ Roczniki historyczne 70 (­2004), ­81–​­110. Redin, M., Studies on uncompounded personal names in Old English. Uppsala, Akademiska Bokhandeln, 1919. Rüdiger, J., Der König und seine Frauen. Polygynie und politische Kultur in Europa (­9.-​­13. Jahrhundert). Berlin/­Boston, de Gruyter, 2015. Searle, W. G., Onomasticon ­Anglo- ​­Saxonicum. Cambridge, University Press, 1897. Solmsen, F., Indogermanische Eigennamen als Spiegel der Kulturgeschichte. Heidelberg, Carl Winter, 1922. Steenstrup, J. C. H. R., Venderne og de Danske for Valdemar den Stores tid. København, Trykt i Universitetetsbogtrykkeriet (­J.H. Schultz), 1900. Strömbäck, D., Sejd. Textstudier i nordisk religionshistoria. Nordiska texter och undersökningar utgivna i Uppsala av Bengt Hesselman, 5. Stockholm: Hugo Gebers/­Köpenhamn, Levin & Munksgaard, 1935. Urbańczyk, P., ‘­A rcheologiczne świadectwa obecności “­Skandynawów” w ­państwie Bolesława Chrobrego.’ Wikingowie w Polsce? Zabytki skandynawskie z ziem polskich, eds. M. Bogacki, A. Janowski and Ł. Kaczmarek, Gniezno-­Szczecin, Wydawnictwo Triglav, 2019, ­127–​­144. Uspenskij, F., Name und Macht. Die Wahl des Namens als dynastisches Kampfinstrument im mittelalterlichen Skandinavien. Frankfurt am Main, Peter Lang, 2004.

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Uspenskij, F. ‘The advent of Christianity and dynastic name-giving in Scandinavia and Rus.’ Early Christianity on the way from the Varangians to the Greeks, eds. I. Garipzanov and O. Tolochko, Ruthenica, Supplementem 4, Kiev, Національна Академія Наук України, 2011, 108–119. Willson, K., Icelandic nicknames. Ph.D. dissertation. Berkeley, University of California, 2007.

14 At the edge of time Adam of Bremen’s imaginary North and Horror Vacui Miriam Mayburd

Introduction Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontifcum remains mostly impenetrable and obscure beyond the interest of specialists. While its recognition as an important primary source has not wavered,1 Gesta presents diffculties for interdisciplinary engagements outside the strictly focused range of ecclesiastical historians. Its perceived source value, furthermore, continues to be overwhelmingly fxated on the oppositional Christian/pagan dichotomy and power struggles.2 While such perspectives are valid, and indeed justifed, they bear an inherent risk of oversimplifcation, reducing medieval Christianity to a monolithic institution and losing sight of cultural and regional complexities inherent in those dynamics. This chapter expands the boundaries of discourse and interpretative potential of Adam’s Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontifcum by exploring cultural ramifcations framing its composition. Let us remember that Adam’s intended target audiences were ecclesiastical authorities – in other words, a well-informed group of cultural elites who were masters at recognizing subtle intertextual nuances. This strongly suggests there is far more behind his written endeavour than a mere “us versus them” evangelizing agenda. What was driving such a keen interest in the North among this demographic? And further: what was the source of this simultaneous fascination and repulsion? Plenty has been written on the North’s “otherness” in terms of biblical and legendary ramifcations3; much less on the mysterious attraction it held for clerical milieu. Over the following pages, I take this beyond the text and situate it in the cognitive space of the learned clerical audiences for whom this account was primarily intended. Instead of attempting to “colonize” Adam’s account by imposing anachronistic paradigms, I seek rather to contextualize these circum-Baltic missionary efforts – and Adam’s interest in these northern areas as a whole – in light of theological and philosophical concerns that were at the forefront of eleventh-century intellectual discourse. Engaging the concept of horror vacui as a critical apparatus, the present study traces the early medieval development of this idea across multiple

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-15

218 Miriam Mayburd cultural strata, putting it in dialogue with the unease and urgency regarding the North which colours Adam’s account. I contend that the missionary efforts of the Hamburg-Bremen diocese are no mere attempts to tame and colonize, but rather refect deeper eschatological anxieties of living on the very edge of the known. The ultimate northern periphery emerges as a startlingly central stage for the unfolding of world history, exuding a gravitational pull of apocalyptic proportion, the cosmological ramifcations of which were not lost on Gesta’s contemporaries. As will be shown, Adam’s account curates these medieval clerical attitudes towards the Scandinavian North in some of their earliest extant iterations, setting the stage for subsequent literary development of this aesthetic in Old Norse legendary matter.

Theorizing voids We may begin with a brief history of nothing. The ubiquitous term horror vacui has gained a persistent, if ambiguous, foothold in medieval studies and art history, more often surfacing in casual mentions with near-colloquial ease, as if it is already understood, than being subjected to scrutiny on its own merits, and much less problematized as to its provenance.4 Conventionally translated as “fear of empty space,” horror vacui is widely invoked as an explanatory formula accounting for tendencies of medieval cartographers to populate unknown regions with monsters – or, more broadly, tendencies of medieval artists or scribes to compulsively clutter a composition as if uncomfortable with a space left unflled.5 But why is horror vacui thus associated and whence does this notion stem? It comes perhaps as expected that horror vacui is a vague and slippery concept, but what may surprise some medievalists who use it uncritically is that the origin of the phrase horror vacui is not medieval at all. It was coined by Hermann Diels in 1893 in his discussion of pneumatics in ancient Greek natural philosophy, which revolved around the possibility, or implausibility, of matter’s movement into empty spaces. The misleadingly anachronistic Latin terminology of this phrase has led it to being frequently mistaken for an extant scholastic principle or theory that natura abhorret vacuum (‘nature abhors a void’), implying that physical matter had a “quasiintentional aversion to void”.6 Despite its anachronism, horror vacui has gained historiographic legitimacy as an umbrella term for extant early medieval speculative discouses concerning nature’s incompatibility with void and empty space. Thus, for clarity: while no single established theory of horror vacui existed, this general notion was widely subjected to creative articulations from late antiquity and through the Middle Ages, and its postulates were indeed widely known. The continuity of these discourses across the centuries is undisputed – if we are careful not to treat horror vacui as any kind of authoritative dogma. Rather than mistaking it for a rule or a dictum, the “motion into empty spaces” can be more accurately described as “a pre-theoretical effect widely recognized among natural philosophers,

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physicians and engineers”. Instead of setting down epistemic closures, this pre-theoretical effect perpetually prompted more engagement: never meant to explain, but to be further explained. In other words, horror vacui was not a theory but an implication emerging from the earlier-postulated formulations and hypotheses on this subject – something that was continuously derived from already-circulating material. Was the matter of horror vacui a metaphysical or a materialist concern? It very much depended on who was concerned and what methods were used to elucidate it. For ancient Greek atomists, it involved the question of matter’s attraction into a void by kinetic actions of collision, and concerned the speculative void between atomic particles.8 In the materialist view of Aristotle and his school, the possibility of a void existing in nature is denied because no gaps appear in matter.9 In the Neoplatonist view of early medieval natural philosophers and theologians, the implication of matter’s continuity takes on cosmological signifcance: given that nature was understood as the totality of all things physical and metaphysical, the postulation of a void disrupts and contradicts this continuum. It is not amiss to remind ourselves that throughout antiquity and the Middle Ages, intellectual discourse on a scale this vast was very much an interdisciplinary pursuit and disciplinary divisions between the sciences, theology, and philosophy did not yet exist. A modern critic approaching early medieval material from the perspective of industrial disciplinary over-specialization treating text as data and expecting to “defne” or “fnd” horror vacui in the sources will be disappointed (it is not there and that is not how philosophy works). These theoretical strands need not be directly traceable to any single “authoritative” source as the discourse that sprouted them was rhizomatic: an active dynamic of non-linear and distinctly grassroots transmissions, re-appropriations, and re-engagements. It is the reason why Neoplatonic thought often found its expression in the form of platitudes and formulae  – which, simplistic as these may seem to modern readers’ sensibilities, were effectively intended to achieve the reverse. Far from being reductionist quips, such formulae acted as conceptual shortcuts and discussion-prompts calling for more theoretical engagement and further unpacking. Consider that John Scotus Eriugena’s entire magnum opus on the metaphysics of nature, Periphyseon, has essentially grown out of a single compact phrase from Isidore of Seville’s Etymologiae on the limits of nature’s knowability.10 Thus, the complex network of discourses on the possibility of voids under the umbrella term horror vacui is inseparable from the complex network of discourses on the metaphysical continuum and the limits of nature, as both sets were entangled in the same greater implications of theological relevance. It is the Neoplatonic expressions of horror vacui that interest us the most within this study, given the historical context of Adam of Bremen’s activity. Let us remember that he was composing his Gesta on the veritable threshold of the twelfth-century renaissance and the rediscovery of Aristotle, whose works  – while gaining momentum – have not yet eclipsed the Neoplatonic orientation as the

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ontological status quo still dominating intellectual discourse throughout continental Europe. In the Neoplatonic tradition, the pre-theoretical effect of horror vacui surrounding the physics of matter’s motion into empty space takes a sinister turn. Given that nature was broadly understood, per Eriugena’s vastly infuential ninth-century elucidation, as the totality of all things physical and metaphysical,11 the postulation of a void disrupts this continuum. In the Neoplatonic ontological orientation, the idea of collapse in this universal wholeness is indeed disturbing. The very premise of the cosmological plenum implies there can be no voids – or, at the very least, should be no voids, thus leaving it to philosophers-theologians to work out the disquieting implications. In the early medieval period, horror vacui was no longer limited to physics and empty spaces between elements or particles. The matter of an opening void, no matter how speculative, attains a level of cosmological urgency that imbues it with a sense of threatening menace and links it to catastrophism, rendering the phrase horror vacui (anachronistic as it is) evocatively apt indeed. In light of these matters, it becomes possible at this juncture to expand horror vacui’s interpretative scope to include cosmic terror at the premise of the entire wholeness of universal harmony being torn asunder, fracturing and collapsing to pieces. The literal rendering of “horror” is no exaggeration if we take into account the semantic entanglements in medieval Christian imagination of cosmological catastrophism, emptiness (void), and the biggest cosmological threats to universal harmony stemming from diabolic sources. The central tenet of medieval demonology largely stems from St Paul (Ephesians 6:11–18) describing the plurality of satanic appearances as ever-shifting and devoid of substance.12 This conceptualization portrays the devil not as a uniform entity, but rather as a multiform menace. As an agent of evil, he is not a singular character: he is multiple, fragmented, and plural, ever splitting and splintering. This expands the devil’s interpretative scope in medieval imagination by effectively de-anthropomorphizing him: he becomes “a kind, a genre,” forming entire categories of shifting and thronging masses threatening the world with disruption and collapse, such as invading barbarians, enemy rulers, heretics, and demons.13 It must be emphatically noted that St Paul’s concept of the devil did not invoke just any multiplicity, but specifically an ever-morphing, ever-shifting multiplicity. What was diabolic was not a mere plurality of shapes, but the multitudinous formlessness devoid of any singular shape. It was this reduplicated redundancy – devoid of meaning, devoid of symbolic interpretative value – that was profoundly disturbing to early medieval minds steeped in Neoplatonic tenets of plenum and symbolic interpretation. In this cognitive space, where everything was read as a symbol and a sign pointing beyond itself to greater meaning of the divine totality, meaninglessness was most terrifying. What was seen as inherently demonic was not the multiplicity itself, but the meaninglessness and emptiness its redundancy implied. In this ontological orientation, horror vacui was the

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“fear of emptiness behind the symbol,” an ever-hovering “terror of disintegration, or, in psychological terms, of dissociation”.14 Thus, horror vacui in its medieval manifestations was no mere scribal quibble of reluctance to leave empty space on a vellum page. It was the fear of a meaningless void opening up where no void should be – and the idea of this meaninglessness gap on the cosmological scale was infused with diabolic horror. The threat of this void was thus perceived as very real, both on the personal psychological level as affective disturbance and on the collective historicalcosmological level as demonic horror of universal catastrophism. Remembering that the Neoplatonic universal plenum also included the wholeness of time, the notion of horror vacui thus leaks into the temporal dimension as well. The fear of a time-void, the catastrophic disintegration of the fabric of time, and the meaningless emptiness this temporal collapse might reveal, form the basis of medieval eschatological scares and apocalypticism. Just as the scope of modern physics spans the smallest subatomic phenomena in quantum mechanics and the largest theoretical objects in relativistic cosmology, the perplexity about voids and empty spaces in late antiquity spills over into medieval anxieties about the fragile state of the historical timeline and the fabric of reality. Suddenly, horror vacui is no longer a curiosity item in art history footnotes, but frames the biggest and the most urgent concerns at the forefront of eleventh-century ecclesiastical discourse. To understand the scope of these ramifcations, and what was at stake for Adam of Bremen and his episcopal audiences, it is now opportune to give them a closer look through the cultural prism of medieval eschatological thought.

Withstand the fall of time The Neoplatonic approaches to temporality as a wholeness without void, an ever-present infnitude where past, present, and future were simultaneously contained, gave rise in the early middle ages to the concept of eschatological time. The history of the world was considered as belonging to the same cosmological plenum, which opened historical events of any era to interpretations and allegorical readings in relational terms of the great epochs spanning the creation of the world to the threshold of eternity.15 This was refected in the ecclesiastical teaching of the sabbatical millennium, where the six millennial ages of the world corresponded to the six biblical days of creation, with the advent of the End Times on the seventh.16 This belief in ta eschata (‘the Last Things’) occupied a central place in the activities of the church since its earliest times, and apocalypticism formed the core of Christian doctrine with its expectation of Parousia (the second coming). The fear of the world’s end was inseparably entwined with concerned anticipation. It is worth noting for the sake of disambiguation that “eschatology” refers to the general belief in a climactic end of history, whereas “apocalyptic” is more specifcally the belief that this fnal moment of revelation is “imminent, a period ranging from a generation (within one’s lifetime) to any day.” It

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carries the tone of accelerating urgency that cannot be ignored: “the emotions this belief provokes intensify as the waiting period shortens.”17 Transcending social strata, this matter implicated commoners and ecclesiastical authorities alike, leaving the latter with the laborious task of managing and negotiating public apocalyptic anxieties. While the galvanizing potential of eschatological hope “constitutes one of the most attractive and oft-employed forms of popular theology,” it is laden with dangerous potential for horror vacui on a massive scale, threatening enormous disillusionment and despair should the advent of the anticipated date prove uneventful.18 As Augustine warned, the promise of Parousia in the near future risks a loss of faith,19 to counteract which he staunchly advocated eschatological agnosticism stressing the non-linearity of historical timelines. No void-openings must be allowed in millenarian chronologies. The Neoplatonic conceptualization of temporality as nested layers, where the passage of history echoes the ages of the world, did not at all promise that future events may be predicted according to this model. It implied quite the reverse: there were emphatically no assurances of any consistency or regularity in the patterns of the historical stages. Augustine advised against literal interpretation of the sabbatical millennium, suggesting instead that Christians were already living in an “invisible millennium” of peace on earth which had been ongoing since Christ’s ascension.20 Bede proposed abandoning the chronological notation annus mundi (the year of the world, frst adapted in the early third century) in favour of annus Domini (the year of our Lord) which leaves room for more eschatological ambiguity, stressing that none of the great worldly epochs bear strict conformity to millenarian quantifcations. So irritated was Bede by what he saw as idle apocalyptic speculations that he complained of being pestered daily by rustics who kept asking him how many years are left in the fnal millennium of the world.21 As Richard Landes observes, “such a rare and revealing remark indicates that commoners were attuned to the millennial countdown,” and as the progressing years crept closer to the posited eschatological deadline of the sabbatical year 6000, “such concerns could only get worse.”22 Paradoxically, repeated emphases on history’s non-linearity in ecclesiastical sources only served to augment popular apocalyptic urgencies all the more, giving any historical micro-event the possibility of being interpreted as a sign or portent of apocalyptic magnitude. Thus, at the interstices of eschatological chronologies, horror vacui continued to lurk on a vast ontological scale. There was an ongoing revision of chronological systems as ecclesiastical historians had to keep moving the goalposts to postpone the arrival of the End Times by perpetually pushing them forward  – to keep patching the void, as it were. Monastic chroniclers, after all, could not entirely abandon a literal calendric approach to keeping time.23 Each such revision in chronological notation “actually prolonged the life of the sabbatical millennium by reinserting the prevailing chronology in a zone of comfortable delay, thereby placing mankind frmly in the twilight of the fnal

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age.” Chronographic preoccupations notably escalated towards the end of the tenth century in what Bernard Guenée had called a “computational fever” within the monastic milieu.25 The switch to anno Domini inevitably put the year 1000 in everyone’s crosshairs, imbuing it with piercingly portentous signifcation: the target date for the apocalypse was no longer the sabbatical millennium since the world’s creation, but the end of the frst millennium since Christ. The Carolingian dynasty collapsing in 987 and the arrival of Halley’s Comet in 989 heightened the public tensions even further.26 One may imagine a reprieve in eschatological computations as the year 1000 arrived, and passed, quite uneventfully, but the public reaction across continental Europe to the advent of the frst millennium was quite the opposite of anticlimactic. The date was not world-ending, yet it carried a palpable weight of a vast anticipatory magnitude rife with portentous foreshadowing of yet greater wonders and tumults to come. Instead of marking the End Times, the year 1000 was widely interpreted by contemporaries as marking the beginning of the End Times. Immediately, the public attention shifted to the year 1033, the millennium of the Passion, which, according to Thietmar of Einsiedeln (d. ca. 964), was to mark the occasion of the Antichrist breaking loose from his bonds.27 While some saw the advent of the Augustinian “invisible millennium” and the “peace of God” in this newly hatching eleventh century,28 contemporary chronicles were shaking with apocalyptic portents: a “new star” (supernova) was spotted in the skies around the world in 1003–1006, a disastrous famine overtook much of Western Europe in 1005–1006, and rains of blood were reported in 1009–1014.29 The muchbuilt-up crescendo of terror towards the year 1000 only kept escalating in the date’s wake. The reverential awe for this date did not abate in retrospective clerical notations as the succeeding generations continued to fnd it ominous and relevant in equal measure. In the late 1030s, the anonymous chronicler of Annales Hildesheimenses notes the thousandth year passing the number of established reckoning according to that which is written: ‘The thousandth surpasses and transcends all years’30; and in the 1070s Adam of Bremen himself observes of that period that the thousandth year since the Incarnation feliciter impletus est (is favourably completed).31 That the noneventfulness of the year 1000’s passing was deemed a felicitous event in itself speaks volumes for the public mood permeating these decades. The everpresent plenum of historical timelines, now pushed to their limits by the perceived ongoing unravelling of human history, spelled out that something world-shaking and world-ending may erupt at any given moment. To live in the eleventh century was to live in extraordinary times. It is in the midst of these escalating scares that we fnd Adam composing his Gesta. Postponing the apocalypse by means of inventive chronography was no longer an option for ecclesiastical historians. The tone of the public narrative across Christian Europe has by now spun far beyond mere timeline curation. Yet if the End Times could not be postponed, there was still another option – to accelerate their advent by an increased concentration

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on the missionary effort and a proactive focus on crisis management. In the face of imminent and inevitable cosmological catastrophe, readiness and preparation were paramount. In light of these matters, Adam’s chronicle emerges as crucially relevant in engaging and addressing the most pressing ontological concerns of his generation. Nor would it escape the notice of Adam’s episcopal audience that the turbulent pulse of their zeitgeist can be used to instigate reform and political action ahead of the fnal millennium. In medieval Christian communities, and not least the Hamburg-Bremen diocese, “conquest, mission, and expansion would be grounded in eschatology.”32 However, as tempting as it may be to reduce these ecclesiastical motivations to political power moves, to do so is to lose sight of the highly charged cultural climate in which Adam’s episcopal audiences were themselves thoroughly immersed. The eleventh-century eschatological scares ripping through contemporary chronicles were not limited to bookish exegeses or metaphysical speculations: these dangers and these threats were utterly tangible and real. We may appreciate the impact and scope of these terrors by considering the social-environmental context of the Christian missionary communities on the Baltic frontier where Adam was operating.

Battalions of fear If the afore-discussed apocalyptic anxieties were manifestations of horror vacui in relation to time, then the missionary outposts on the northern periphery of Christian Europe are the veritable proliferation zones of horror vacui in relation to space. These fringe communities on the edge of the Baltic were facing the ever-present pagan danger emanating from obscure northern regions beyond their reach, and the missionary expansion effort itself may be regarded as a “motion into empty space” in reaction to the threats the latter posed. Sociologist Ulrich Beck introduced the term “risk society,”33 later developed by Anthony Giddens, for a community living on “a frontier which absolutely no one completely understands and which generates a diversity of possible futures.”34 This description is remarkably apt for the medieval Christian missionary community on the Baltic frontier, living under ceaseless threats of Viking raids and “entangled in a cultural haze of known and unknown.”35 The impacts of these conditions on the affected populations have drawn critical attention underscoring the highly volatile emotional climate in such settings.36 Outbreaks of mass panic were not uncommon, and Adam of Bremen’s account is sprinkled with such mentions. A gathering host of pagan alliances looming over the border in the early tenth century, he writes, made Saxony tremble in great terror.37 His tendency to attribute emotions to entire landscapes and geographic regions may be more than metonymic rhetoric, giving a sense of how acute and imminent these threats were perceived to be. Leaning on eyewitness accounts of the violent pagan incursions from the North in the 990s – activities which were

Adam’s imaginary North and Horror Vacui  225 notably escalating over that decade and inflaming the already spiking apocalyptic ­mood – ​­Adam reports that ­all the Saxon cities were terrified, and the people began to fortify Bremen itself with an exceedingly strong wall, while the Church treasury had to be relocated: so great was the fear in all parts of this diocese.38 As Wojtek Jezierski observes, the emotion of fear within these missionary communities “­had sometimes a tendency to attach itself to spaces, or even entire landscapes, almost like a particularly viscous, adhesive substance.”39 A new kind of landscape comes into focus on the Baltic rim: the emotional space of this terra horroris,40 as it expands from community to community, necessitating their inhabitants to confront this emotion head on. Narrative moments like these shed light on the emotion of fear not as a passive feeling, but as an active agent in itself driving the population and propelling history into motion. “­Contrary to the intuitive, crudely functionalistic conviction that fear is always a particularly aversive emotion,” Jezierski goes on, “­the Baltic material calls for a more sophisticated view of fear’s dissociative and associative potential.”41 Blended with an eschatological climate approaching the proverbial boiling point, the ­geo-​­social tensions for commoners and episcopal authorities alike on these northern fringes were excruciating indeed. It is amid these ­geo-​­social tensions that the curiously contradictory aesthetic of the pagan North in medieval clerical imagination emerges in full resolution: the North’s simultaneous elicitation of revulsion and attraction. As a general world region, the North has been looming over apocalyptic narratives since their very inception, featuring as the x­ -​­factor that heralds the End Times. Biblical mentions predict the arrival of Gog and Magog from the North (­ Ezekiel 37:­ 19–​­ 21, 38:­ 1–​­ 16) and forecast the Antichrist breaking out of his ­m illennium-​­long bondage to unleash the onslaught of Gog and Magog in a countless multitude (­Revelations 20:­8 –​­10; note again the diabolical connotation of formlessness). Biding their time until doomsday, it is in the North where Gog and Magog are contained in the uncer­ lexander  – ​­named tain “­present”, locked and held behind the Gates of A after Alexander the Great who, according to the legend of late antiquity, built massive iron gates to prevent these horrors’ invasions and block their passage across the Caucasus.42 Thus did the ominous North continue to hover over the minds of early medieval cartographers, whose depictions and imaginings of that region conveyed anticipatory tension over its apocalyptic status. Early medieval maps consistently place Gog and Magog in the northern wilderness, behind sinister enclosures like impenetrable mountain ranges and literal depictions of locked ­gates – ​­yet locked for how long?43 Just as these sinister enclosures were meant to keep the horrors contained, so did they signal to viewers and ­would-​­be travellers how fragile and volatile was the world’s ­geography – ​­and the further north it reached, the more unstable grew the t­ime-​­space continuum. Will these portals collapse to let through an unfathomable devastating force that engulfs the Baltic missionary communities in apocalyptic fl ­ ames – ​­or will ­Hamburg-​­Bremen’s mission succeed

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in integrating the North into the fabric of Christendom, thus patching up the threat of an opening void and postponing the End Times yet further? Hence the vast strategic signifcance of the North in an ecclesiastical perspective for Adam of Bremen and his audience. Seen in this light, it now becomes possible to understand the urgency behind the eleventh-century missionary efforts on the Baltic rim. They found themselves on the frontline struggle against terrors of cosmic proportions and the threat of these cosmic terrors was palpably real. Surely, if the North becomes a part of the Christian order, its eschatological threat would be diffused, disarmed, or at the very least delayed. To the episcopal readership of Adam’s chronicle, the Baltic mission was an orchestrated attempt to integrate these unravelling existential fragments back into the plenum of the universal wholeness. The role of the North – not in a doomsday narrative but in salvation history – needed to be cemented and thus “the North needed to appear redeemable.”44 It is this task that Adam was undertaking in his composition, going against the grain of simplistic reductionist dualities (us/them, self/other, inside/outside) and discarding the polarizing polemics in favour of more episodic diversity in his portrayals of the pagan North and its inhabitants. As fuctuating as the Northern periphery was for the Christians and the pagans alike, the goal was integration – not annihilation. Adam’s account reads like a reconnaissance report before an elite council, investigating the pivotal territory which poses an utmost threat to the structured order of universal creation and urging direct engagement and action – before, perhaps, it is too late.

Conclusion: somewhere far beyond Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontifcum invites its readership to gaze over the precipice of human history into the uncharted, the unknown, and the unexplored. Adam of Bremen and his episcopal audience were living at the edge of time. They were facing a historical lacuna left unflled, the last gap on the threshold of apocalypse. An eschatological reading of Gesta was not only probable in potentia but indeed would be encouraged, given the polysemous nature of early medieval textual exegesis able to hold multiple interpretative affordances at no exclusion to any of the same. Modern historians have the privilege of looking back on the medieval past, whereas the medieval minds being scrutinized by the critical lens of modernity were rather looking ahead into what was, to them, an imminent future laden with wonder and terror in equal measure. In Richard Landes’s words, these are the people who lived “not in our Middle Ages but in their Last Age.”45 To miss this key difference in perspective is to do a disservice to the liveliness and dynamism of medieval intellectual discourse, as interpreting it backwards under the pretence of objective impartiality inescapably overwrites the former with the latter’s own tacitly imposed frameworks and structures. As a critical apparatus that was itself a subject of ongoing discourse throughout the medieval period, the concept of horror vacui allows for a

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multimodal engagement of medieval eschatological mentalities, whose subtle nuances would be lost entirely if the present analysis had been fltered instead through the modern monolithic theoretical prism. Horror vacui bridges the gap between natural-philosophical speculations, theological paradigms, and emotional affect. All of these simultaneously intertwine in Gesta’s sustained fxation on the forbidding North as these insular landmasses loom over the text, lurking within the unexplored length of [the] gulf and lying scattered across the dark murky ocean (oceanus, qui dicitur caligans) in their hostile, desolate, and dreadful majesty.46 Medieval geography was more akin to theology and history than its modern counterpart premised on cartographic accuracy and operated not only on a spatial, but on a temporal dimension. Its interest and aim were not only in delineating extant knowledge of particular terrain and territory: medieval geography was also, and crucially, a mapping of time. Both the maps and the verbal depictions of territories were the mappings of epochs, extending into deep past and reaching into anticipated future. History and myth intertwined with the present moment of these textual and visual encounters, to the point where medieval observer-audiences found themselves within / inside this interactive experience. Medieval geography was an immersive activity. There was no “external observer” yet to view these vellum pages from an “outside looking in,” a perspectival vantage point that crystallized only in post-medieval conceptualization of art. The medieval beholders and listeners were caught up in the process of listening and beholding. “To compose their image of the world, they turned to texts,” writes Natalia Lozovsky, “to explain the world, they treated it like a text.”47 Depictions of the unexplored northern regions as terror-inducing and magnetic in equal measure prompted eschatological resonances and inspiration for a decisive push in the fnal effort to achieve integration in the face of the looming apocalypse. And yet the further the Christian population expanded northwards, the further receded and the further expanded the sinister northern horizons, hinting at even more wonders and terrors lurking behind current geographical frames. Once described by Adam of Bremen as the outermost crags north-east of the great northern ocean, Norwegian fells by the thirteenth century proved but a midpoint to the forbidding mysteries of the exponentially remote territories of the Sámi people described in Historia Norwegiae. Once considered a veritable Ultima Thule in the eleventh century, Iceland by the beginning of the fourteenth has produced its own set of vernacular clerical legendry on yet farther Northern peripheries – including the unfathomably distant and virtually unreachable Glæsisvellir in Jötunheimr, whose vivid description features in the Hauksbók codex. Not only are the medieval geographies of the North inconclusive, they are purposefully so. They remind their audiences of the futility of human reckonings and the volatility of geo-historical timelines, indicating that somewhere far beyond the known reality, the march of time has already begun.

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Notes 1 Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology. 2 Janson, ‘­Adam of Bremen and the conversion of Scandinavia,’ 83–88; Zaroff, ‘­Perception of Christianity by the Pagan,’ 81–96; Garipzanov, ‘­Christianity and Paganism.’ 13–29.’ 3 Fraesdorf, ‘­The Power of Imagination,’ 309–332; Hope, ‘­The North in the Latin History Writing.’ 101–122. 4 Mortelmans, ‘­Visualizing Emptiness,’ Garoian and Gaudelius, Spectacle Pedagogy, 71, Karkov, ‘­Postcolonial,’ 151. See, however, Elina Gertsman’s Monograph (­T he Absent Image) for a detailed and refreshingly nuanced treatment of horror vacui in Gothic manuscript culture, contextualizing this concept amid contemporary intellectual discourses in medieval philosophy, mathematics, physics, and popular piety. 5 Brincken, ‘­Weltbild der lateinischen Universalhistoriker,’ 403, Van Duzer, ‘­Hic sunt dracones,’ 393. 6 Berryman, The Mechanical Hypothesis, 166. Interestingly, and confusingly, the Latin formula natura abhorret vacuum (­often uncritically cited in literary studies as synonymous with, or explanatory of, horror vacui in medieval thought) is anachronistic as well. It was first used by François Rabelais in his 1530s pentalogy La vie de Gargantua et de Pantagruel. Anachronistic moments like these illustrate the tenacious hold and the immense interdisciplinary scope of this ­void-​­aversion discourse across two millennia. While Rabelais’ and Diels’ Latin phrases were new, the theoretical effect they invoked is indeed traceable to late antiquity and on through the medieval philosophical prism, adding to the longevity and intellectual diversity of its expressions and manifestations. 7 Berryman, ‘­Horror Vacui in the Third Century BC,’ 156. 8 As, for instance, Philo of Byzantium in Liber de ingeniis spiritualibus, Hero of Alexandria in Pneumatica, and Lucretius in De rerum naturae, though the debates around this matter were far more involved and numerous. For concise overviews of these theoretical strands spanning antiquity to medieval times, see Thorndike, ‘­Adelard of Bath,’ Grant, ‘­Medieval Explanations,’ Stiefel, ‘­­Twelfth-​ ­Century Matter for Metaphor,’ Berryman, ‘­Horror Vacui’; for penetrating analyses of individual sources on the same, see Grant, Much Ado about Nothing, Berryman, The Mechanical Hypothesis. 9 Aristotle, Physics, IV, ­6 –​­9, a more thorough discussion of which may be found in Thorp, ‘­A ristotle’s Horror Vacui.’ 10 For a concise summary of this conceptual evolution of natura in early medieval thought, see Mayburd, ‘­The Paranormal.’ The immersive and participatory aspects that characterized Neoplatonic discourse before the twelfth century renaissance are elegantly explored in M.-​­D. Chenu’s classic collection of essays (­Nature, Man, and Society). 11 On Eriugena’s impact on medieval European intellectual landscape, see Russell, ‘­Some Augustinian influences,’ Steel, ‘­Maximus Confessor.’ 12 Hellemans, ‘­Horror Vacui,’ 231. 13 Ibidem. 14 Ibidem, 238. 15 See Mayburd’s ‘­Worlds Emerge, Worlds Collapse’ for a consideration of these implications for medieval historiographers and their ­post-​­medieval counterparts. 16 The earliest attestation of this belief dates to the second century AD. For a detailed analysis of its sources and origins, see Landes, ‘­Lest the Millennium Be Fulfilled,’ ­141–​­144. 17 Landes, ‘­The Fear of an Apocalyptic Year 1000,’ 101. 18 Ibidem, 103.

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19 Augustine, De fne saeculi (Letter to Hesychius), Ep. 99, which is cited in its entirety by Bede in De temporum ratione, 536). 20 Augustine, De civitate Dei XX, 7–9. 21 Bede, De temporum ratione, 624. 22 Landes, ‘The Fear of an Apocalyptic Year 1000,’ 113. 23 Chronographic revisions were especially prominent in the Latin West as time approached AD 500 whose date coincided with the year 6000 as frst calculated; then again nearing AD 801 which coincided with the second calculation of the year 6000; and again nearing AD 1000 (Landes, ‘The Fear of an Apocalyptic Year 1000,’ 111). 24 Landes, ‘The Fear of an Apocalyptic Year 1000,’ 114. 25 Guenée, Histoire et culture historique, 152. 26 See Moore and Mason, The Return of Halley’s Comet, 46. 27 Thietland’s commentary on 2 Thessalonians has been neglected by medieval historians until fairly recently due to surviving in only two manuscript copies. See Cartwright’s ‘Thietland’s Commentary’ a thorough analysis of this commentary and its nuances. 28 For more on the ‘peace of God’ in the period following the year 1000, see Van Meter, ‘St. Adelard.’ 29 Reference to this eleventh-century supernova appears in Albert of Metz (d. 1024), De diversitate temporum 1.6–7, 2.22–23, and other contemporary chronicles, see Goldstein 1965 for the discussion. The famine is linked to apocalyptic portents in Annales Sangallenses by Hepidannus, 1:81 and Annales Hildesheimenses, ad an. 1006, 3: 91–92. The rain of blood is reported in Annales Quedlinburgenses, 3: 80. 30 Annales Hildesheimenses 3, preface, 3: 91–92. 31 Gesta, l. II, c. 42, 101. 32 Wieser and Eltschinger, ‘Introduction: Approaches to Medieval Cultures of Eschatology,’ 6. 33 Beck, Risk Society. 34 Giddens, ‘Risk and Responsibility,’ 3. 35 Jezierski, ‘Risk Societies,’ 156. 36 Jezierski, ‘Risk Societies,’ Jezierski, ‘Fears, Sights and Slaughter.’ 37 Gesta, l. I, c. 55, 55–56, Tschan, 49. 38 Gesta, l. II, c. 33, 93–94, Tschan, 77. 39 Jezierski, ‘Risk Societies,’ 179. 40 Jezierski, ‘Risk Societies,’ 178, italics sic. 41 Jezierski, ‘Risk Societies,’ 183. 42 On the origins, sources, and transmission of the Gog and Magog matter from biblical antiquity to the Middle Ages, see Bietenholz’s Historia and Fabula, 118– 145 for a broad overview, and see Doufkar-Aerts’s ‘Gog and Magog,’ 390–414 for detailed source analysis. On the identifcation of Gog and Magog with real historical enemies in patristic literature, see Kochanek’s ‘Gog – Eschatological and Real Enemy.’ 43 As, for instance, do the tenth-century Anglo Saxon Mappa Mundi from the Cotton manuscript, the eleventh-century Isidorian Mappa Mundi, and the World Map of Henry of Mainz from the early twelfth century. For the discussion of these and other examples, see Doufkar-Aerts’s ‘Gog and Magog,’ 396. 44 Barnwell, Missionaries and the Changing Views, 101. 45 Landes, ‘The Fear of an Apocalyptic Year 1000,’ 145. 46 Gesta, l. IV, c. 10, 239, Tschan, 194. The later centuries’ proto-romantic fascinations with the raw untamed North may be traced back to all this; see for instance Miller 2016 and Sverrir Jakobsson 2007. Book Four of Adam’s chronicle is devoted in its entirety to the description of the Northern islands – an insular view of Scandinavia was a common assumption in medieval times (Chekin, ‘Mappae Mundi,’ 487). 47 Lozovsky, Mapping Time and Space, 136.

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Bibliography Primary sources Adam of Bremen, History of the Archbishops of H ­ amburg-​­ Bremen, trans. F. J. Tschan, Columbia University Press, New York, 2002. Alperti Mettensis, De diversitate temporum, eds. C. Pijnacker Hordijk and A. Hulshof, Amsterdam, Müller, 1916. Annales Hildesheimenses, ed. G. Waitz, Hannoverae, Impensis Bibliopolii Hahniani, 1878. Aristotle, Aristotle’s Physics, trans. H. G. Apostle, Bloomington, Indiana University Press, 1969. Augustine, The City of God against the Pagans, trans. R. W. Dyson, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1998. Bede, De temporum ratione, ed. C. W. Jones, Turnhout, Brepols, 1977. Bede, Epistola ad Pleguinam, ed. C. W. Jones, Turnhout, Brepols, 1980. Die Quedlinburger Annalen [Annales Quedlinburgenses], in Sachsen und Anhalt. Jahrrbuch der Historischer Kommission für die Provinz Sachsen und für Anhalt, vol. 1, eds. R. Holzmanm and W. Möllenberg, Magdeburg, Selbstverlag der Historischer Kommission, 1925, ­64–​­125. Hauksbók, ed. Finnur Jónsson, København, Thieles bogtr., 1892.Hero of Alexandria, The Pneumatics of Hero of Alexandria, ed. and trans. B. Woodcroft. London, Taylor, Walton and Maberly, 1851. Historia Norvegiae, in Monumenta historica Norwegiæ: Latinske kildeskrifter til Norges historie i middelalderen, ed. G. Strom, Kristiania, Brøgger, 1880, ­69–​­124. John Scotus Eriugena, Iohannis Scotti Erivginae Periphyseon (­De divisione naturae), eds. I. P. S ­ heldon-​­Williams and L. Bieler. Dublin, Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1968. Magistri Adam Bremensis gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontificum, ed. B. Schmeidler, Hannoverae and Lipsiae, Hahn, 1917. Philo of Byzantium, Liber de ingeniis spiritualibus, in Anecdota graeca et Graecolatina: Mitteilungen aus Handschriften zur Geschichte der griechischen Wissenschaft, vol. II, ed. V. Rose, Berlin, Ferd. Duemmler’s Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1870, ­299–​­313. Thietland von Einsiedeln, Second Thessalonians: Two Early Medieval Apocalyptic Commentaries: Haimo of Auxerre, Expositio in Epistolam II ad Thessalonicenses and Thietland of Einsiedeln, In Epistolam II ad Thessalonicenses, eds. and trans. S. R. Cartwright and K. L. Hughes, Kalamazoo, MI, Medieval Institute Publications, 2001. Titus Lucretius Carus 1937, De Rerum Natura. Edited by Ettore Paratore and W. H. D. Rouse. Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press.

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Berryman, S., ‘Horror Vacui in the Third Century BC: When is a Theory not a Theory?’ Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies 41 (1997), 147–157. Berryman, S., The Mechanical Hypothesis in Ancient Greek Natural Philosophy. Cambridge, University Press, 2009. Bietenholz, P., Historia and Fabula. Myths and Legends in Historical Thought from Late Antiquity to the Modern Age. Leiden, Brill, 1994. Cartwright, S. R., ‘Thietland’s Commentary on Second Thessalonians: Digressions on the Antichrist and the End of the Millennium.’ The Apocalyptic Year 1000. Religious Expectation and Social Change, 950–1050, eds. R. Landes, A. Gow, and D. C. van Meter, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2003, 93–108. Chekin, L. S., ‘Mappae Mundi and Scandinavia.’ Scandinavian Studies 65:4 (1993), 487–520. Chenu, M.-D., Nature, Man, and Society in the Twelfth Century, eds. and trans. J. Taylor and L. K. Little, Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 1968. Dales, R. C. Medieval Discussions of the Eternity of the World. Leiden, Brill, 1990. Diels, H., ‘Über das physikalische System des Straton.’ Sitzungsberichte der Königlich Preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin. Berlin, Verl. der Königlichen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1893, 101–127. Doufkar-Aerts, F., ‘Gog and Magog Crossing Borders: Biblical, Christian and Islamic Imaginings.’ Cultures of Eschatology. Volume 1: Empires and Scriptural Authorities in Medieval Christian, Islamic and Buddhist Communities, eds. V.  Wieser, V. Eltschinger, and J. Heiss, Boston and Berlin, De Gruyter, 2020, 390–414. Dronke, P., Fabula: Explorations into the Uses of Myth in Medieval Platonism. Leiden, Brill, 1974. Fraesdorf, D., ‘The Power of Imagination: The Christianitas and the Pagan North during Conversion to Christianity (800–1200).’ The Medieval History Journal 5:2 (2002), 309–332. Garipzanov, I., ‘Christianity and Paganism in Adam of Bremen’s Narrative.’ Historical Narratives and Christian Identity on a European Periphery: Early History Writing in Northern, East-Central, and Eastern Europe (c.1070–1200), ed. I. Garipzanov, Turnhout, Brepols, 2011, 13–29. Garoian, C. R., and Y. M. Gaudelius, Spectacle Pedagogy: Art, Politics, and Visual Culture. Albany, State University of New York Press, 2008. Gertsman, E., The Absent Image: Lacunae in Medieval Books. Pennsylvania, Penn State University Press, 2021. Giddens, A., ‘Risk and Responsibility.’ The Modern Law Review 62:1 (1999), 1–10. Grant, E., ‘Medieval Explanations and Interpretations of the Dictum that Nature Abhors a Vacuum.’ Traditio 29 (1973), 327–55. Grant, E., Much Ado about Nothing: Theories of Space and Vacuum from the Middle Ages to the Scientifc Revolution. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1981. Guenée, B., Histoire et culture historique dans l’Occident medievale. Paris, AubierMontaigne, 1980. Hellemans, B., ‘Horror Vacui: Evil in the Incarnated World of the Bibles Moralisées.’ Demons and the Devil in Ancient and Medieval Christianity, eds. N. Vos and W. Otten, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2011, 231–248. Hope, S., ‘The North in the Latin History Writing of Twelfth-Century Norway.’ Visions of North in Premodern Europe, eds. D. Jørgensen and V. Langum, Turnhout, Brepols, 2018, 101–122.

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Jakobsson, S., ‘Hauksbók and the Construction of an Icelandic World View.’ SagaBook 31 (2007), 22–38 Janson, H., ‘Adam of Bremen and the conversion of Scandinavia.’ Christianizing Peoples and Converting Individuals, eds. G. Armstrong and I. N. Wood, Turnhout, Brepols, 2000, 83–88. Jezierski, W., ‘Risk Societies on the Frontier. Missionary Emotional Communities in Southern Baltic, 11th – 13th c.’ Imagined Communities on the Baltic Rim, Eleventh–Fifteenth Centuries, eds. W. Jezierski and L. Hermanson, Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press, 2016, 155–190. Jezierski, W., ‘Fears, Sights and Slaughter: Expressions of Fright and Disgust in the Baltic Missionary Historiography (11th–13th centuries).’ Tears, Sighs and Laughter: Expressions of Emotions in the Middle Ages, eds. P. Förnegård, E. Kihlman, M. Åkestam, and G. Engwall, Stockholm, The Royal Swedish Academy of Letters, History and Antiquities, 2017, 109–137. Jezierski, W., ‘Feelings during Sieges: Fear, Trust, and Emotional Bonding on the Missionary and Crusader Baltic Rim, 12th–13th Centuries.’ Frühmittelalterische Studien 52:1 (2018), 253–281. Karkov, C., ‘Postcolonial.’ A Handbook of Anglo-Saxon Material Culture, eds. J. Stodnick and R. Trilling, Oxford, Wiley-Blackwell, 2012, 149–163. Kochanek, P., ‘Gog – Eschatological and Real Enemy from the North in Patristic and Medieval Literature.’ Vox Patrum 79 (2021), 145–174. Landes, R., ‘Lest the Millennium Be Fulflled: Apocalyptic Expectations and the Pattern of Western Chronography, 100–800 CE.’ The Use and Abuse of Eschatology in the Middle Ages, eds. W. Verbeke, D. Verhelst, and A. Welkenhuysen, Leuven, Katholieke U., 1988, 137–211. Landes, R., ‘The Fear of an Apocalyptic Year 1000: Augustinian Historiography, Medieval and Modern.’ Speculum 75:1 (2000), 97–145. Lozovsky, N., Mapping Time and Space: How Medieval Mapmakers Viewed Their World. London, British Library, 1997. Mayburd, M., ‘The Paranormal.’ The Routledge Research Companion to the Medieval Icelandic Saga, eds. Sverrir Jakobsson and Ármann Jakobsson, London and New York, Routledge, 2017, 265–278. Mayburd, M., ‘Worlds Emerge, Worlds Collapse. Traumatic Affect in Medieval Historiography and the Reception of Sturlunga Saga in the Twentieth Century.’ Emotions as Engines of History, eds. R. Boryslawski and A. Bemben, London and New York, Routledge, 2021, 132–152. Miller, W. I. ‘Where’s Iceland?’ The Making of Europe: Essays in Honour of Robert Bartlett, eds. J. Hudson and S. Crumplin, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2016, 76–95. Moore, P. and J. Mason, The Return of Halley’s Comet. New York, W. W. Norton, 1984. Mortelmans, D., ‘Visualizing Emptiness.’ Visual Anthropology 18 (2005), 19–45. Russell, R., ‘Some Augustinian infuences in Eriugena’s De divisione naturae.’ The Mind of Eriugena. Papers of a Colloquium, Dublin, 14–18 July, 1970, eds. J. J. O’Meara and L. Bieler, Dublin, Irish University Press, 1973, 10–31. Simek, R., Dictionary of Northern Mythology, transl. A. Hall., Woodbridge, D. S. Brewer, 2007. Steel, C., ‘Maximus Confessor and John Scottus Eriugena on Place and Time.’ In Eriugena and Creation. Proceedings of the Eleventh International Conference on

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Eriugenian Studies, Held in honor of Edouard Jeauneau, Chicago, 9–12 November 2011, eds. W. Otten and M. I. Allen, Turnhout, Brepols, 2014, 291–318. Stiefel, T., ‘Twelfth-Century Matter for Metaphor: The Material View of Plato’s ‘Timaeus.’’ The British Journal for the History of Science 17:2 (1984), 169–185. Thorndike, L., ‘Adelard of Bath and the Continuity of Universal Nature.’ Nature 94 (1915), 616–617. Thorp, J., ‘Aristotle’s Horror Vacui.’ Canadian Journal of Philosophy 20:2 (1990), 149–166. Van Duzer, C., ‘Hic sunt dracones: The Geography and Cartography of Monsters.’ The Ashgate Research Companion to Monsters and the Monstrous, eds. A. S. Mittman and P. J. Dendle, Farnham and Burlington, Ashgate Publishing, 2012, 387–436. Van Meter, D., ‘St. Adelard and the Return of the ‘Saturnia Regna’: A Note on the Transformation of a Hagiographical Tradition.’ Analecta Bollandiana 113 (1995), 297–316. von den Brincken, D., ‘Weltbild der lateinischen Universalhistoriker und  – kartographen.‘ Popoli e paesi nella cultura altomedievale: 23–29 aprile 1981. Spoleto, Presso la Sede del Centro, 1983, 377–408. Wieser, V., and V. Eltschinger, ‘Introduction: Approaches to Medieval Cultures of Eschatology.’ Cultures of Eschatology. Volume 1: Empires and Scriptural Authorities in Medieval Christian, Islamic and Buddhist Communities, eds. by V. Wieser, V. Eltschinger, and J. Heiss, Boston and Berlin, De Gruyter, 2020, 1–24. Zaroff, R., ‘Perception of Christianity by the Pagan Polabian Slavs.’ Studia Mythologica Slavica 4 (2001), 81–96.

15 Scythia and the Scythian Sea on the mental map of Adam of Bremen Tatjana N. Jackson

Adam of Bremen, the author of the well-known chronicle History of the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen (1070s), was a highly educated intellectual. It was already evident to the frst editor of Adam’s work, Johann Martin Lappenberg, that few medieval historians were so well acquainted with the written sources as he was.1 Many of his geographical images and ideas were formed on the basis of ancient tradition, although his geographical horizon was far broader than that of the ancient authors. In this chapter I will try to show how the Scythia of the ancient sources was modifed by Adam and what his reasons for doing that could be. In ancient geography, Scythia was an area in the northeast of the inhabited world, in the modern sense approximately corresponding to the steppe belt of Eurasia. Scythia could be localized as limited to the Northern Black Sea region (Herodotus) or it could extend to Northern Asia (Pliny) or perhaps be located in Asia only (Ptolemy). At its widest, in Europe Scythia adjoined Germany, in the south of Asia it had the “Caucasus” (i.e. the entire mountain system from the Caucasus to the Himalayas) and from the east and north it was washed by the World Ocean.2 Despite the fact that Adam’s acquaintance with the Scythia of ancient sources is obvious, his idea of it is strikingly different. For the convenience of further analysis, I single out four blocks of information in Adam’s text where the ‘Scythian vocabulary’ is used, namely: 1) literary allusions to or direct quotations from ancient authors; 2) the use of the toponym ‘Scythia’ for the designation of the opponents of the Byzantine Empire at the time when the Norwegian Harald the Harsh Ruler, (1046– 1066) was in the Emperor’s service; 3) a story of the missionary activity of the Hamburg-Bremen Archbishop Unni (916–936) among the ‘peoples of Scythia’; 4) naming of the Baltic Sea the ‘Scythian Sea’.

Literary allusions to and direct quotations from Roman writers The frst group of ‘Scythian’ fragments is not large. These are literary allusions and direct quotations of Classical authors. In IV.44, in a lengthy characteristic of northern peoples, Adam quotes a line mentioning Scythian Diana from the Roman poet of the frst century Lucan:

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-16

Scythia and the Scythian Sea 235 Behold, that land of horrors, inaccessible always because of its worship of idols, Whose altar is no more benign Than that of Scythian Diana, everywhere admits eagerly, now that the native fury of its folk has been subdued.3 In II.50 Adam writes that Bishop ‘Unwan was a very noble man’ and ‘followed the example of Saint Ansgar and a certain Scythian bishop, Theotimus, mentioned in the Ecclesiastical History’,4 thus referring to the work of a Roman writer of the sixth century, Cassiodorus. There are no more direct references to ancient authors or their citation in connection with Scythia in Adam’s text. All his other sources on this issue have been reconstructed by scholars.

Harald the Harsh Ruler fghting with the Scythians The second group of ‘Scythian’ fragments relate to the Norwegian King, Haraldr (the Harsh Ruler) Sigurðarson (1046–1066), and these fragments go back to the time of his service in the Byzantine emperor’s retinue (c. 1034– 1043). In III.13 Adam tells us that a certain Harold, the brother of Olaf, king and martyr, left his fatherland while his brother still lived and went an exile to Constantinople. Becoming there the emperor’s knight, he fought many battles with the Saracens by sea and with the Scythians by land, and he was distinguished for his bravery and much exalted for his riches.5 In III.17, claiming that Harald, having returned to his country, ‘never ceased from warfare’, Adam pays homage to his past military service: ‘he was a mighty man and renowned for the victories he had previously won in many wars with barbarians in Greece and in the Scythian regions’.6 Adam’s information might be compared with the stories of other sources talking about Harald to understand what people were designated in his text by the ethnonym Scythians. The eleventh-century Byzantine commander, Kekaumenos, in his Strategikon (c. 1078), despite a number of inaccuracies, gives a noteworthy description of Harald’s stay in Byzantium, to which he, as is evident from his text, was an eyewitness. He points to two military enterprises of Harald (whom he calls Ἀράλτης) in the service of Michael the Paphlagonian. The frst one was a campaign against Sicily where ‘a Roman army was fghting for the island’, while the second one started when ‘Delyan rebelled in Bulgaria’ and Harald ‘went on campaign with the emperor’ and participated in ‘subjecting Bulgaria’.7 Sagas about King Harald, based on skaldic verses and oral tradition, tell of his participation in several military operations during his time in the service of the Byzantine Emperor, namely in the Aegean Sea, in Sicily, and elsewhere. Snorri Sturluson (1178–1241), in his separate Óláfs saga

236  Tatjana N. Jackson and in Heimskringla, quotes the ­eleventh-​­century Icelandic skald Þjóðólfr Arnórsson who calls Harald Bolgara brennir (‘­Burner of Bulgars’), which might indicate that there had existed in Iceland some information on Harald’s participation in hostilities in Bulgaria.8 So, Harald’s participation in two campaigns during his Byzantine service (­in Sicily and in Bulgaria) is known to both Kekaumenos and the saga authors. One version of a miracle of St. Olav in a battle against some pagans (­preserved in Morkinskinna and Hulda) might also reflect the participation of Harald’s detachment in the military campaign against Petar Delyan’s army.9 It has been suggested that the participation of Norwegian mercenaries in suppressing the uprising is reflected in a runic inscription on the Piraeus Lion (­now in Venice) which mentions several names, Harald the High being one of them.10 In light of available evidence, the Bulgarian campaign in the spring and summer of 1041 appears as the most w ­ ell-​­known military enterprise of Harald.11 As Mikhail Bibikov points out, in most Byzantine texts of the late tenth and early eleventh centuries the name Scythians referred to Bulgarians.12 Correspondingly, in accordance with the typical for ancient literature opposition of Scythians (­i.e. northern barbarians) and the Mediterranean civilization, as well as with the consequent ‘­Byzantine archaizing tradition’,13 Adam designated with the term Scythians those enemies of the empire that Harald happened to fight against, namely Bulgarians.

­ amburg-​­Bremen Archbishop Unni, a legate to Scythian H people The third group of ‘­Scythian’ fragments belongs to the story of the missionary activity of the ­Hamburg-​­Bremen Archbishop, Unni (­­916–​­936).14 He is the central figure of the concluding part of Book One (­I.­54–​­I.63) which depicts the prehistory of northern mission in the Carolingian era. Adam writes of the foundation of the northern mission and the first voyage of Ansgar, about the emergence, rise and fall of the Archbishopric of Hamburg, about its unification with Bremen and, finally, about Unni’s mission. This early period is presented as a time of confrontation between the Christians and northern pagans, mainly the Danes. Denmark appears in Book One as a goal of Christian mission and as the main territory where the events take place.15 Adam, of course, writes about this time in retrospect. However, there are a number of sources, close to the events, on the basis of which one can say with confidence that missionary activity in the northern countries began soon after the campaign of Henry the Fowler (­934) and that Archbishop Unni, who had been sent on this mission, died there, according to Annales Corbeienses, in 936.16 Scythia and the Scythians are mentioned here in the following way. In I.60, in the story of how Unni, ‘­following in the footsteps of the great preacher Ansgar’, crossed the Baltic Sea and came to Björkö, ‘­a town of the Goths’, Adam names those who regularly visited that trading place:

Scythia and the Scythian Sea 237 In this haven, the most secure in the maritime regions of Sweden, all the ships of the Danes and Norwegians, as well as those of the Slavs and Sembi and the other Scythian people, are wont to meet at stated times for the diverse necessities of trade.17 It is likely that this passage was written by Adam based on Rimbert’s Vita Anskarii (composed between 869 and 876),18 whose mission to the Svear (Sveones) brought him in the frst place to Birka. A similar list of peoples can be found in the opening of Rimbert’s vita: Here begins a book describing the vita, or gesta, and death of Ansgar, the frst archbishop of Nordalbings and legate of the Holy Apostolic See to the Sveones or Danes, as well as to the Slavs and other peoples of the Nordic countries that still adhere to a pagan custom.19 What allowed Adam to replace Rimbert’s ‘peoples of the Nordic countries’ with the ‘Scythian people’? Without a doubt, Adam inherited his perception of the northern lands as Scythia from works of antiquity and the early Middle Ages that were well-known to him. Scholars emphasize that drawing information from ancient works and poetry corresponded to the practice of Adam’s time and, as a result, he has quotes from Sallust, Horace, Virgil and Lucan.20 A specialist on ancient Scythia, Marina Skrzhinskaya notes that for the majority of ancient writers, Scythia was a symbol of the far north, an icy and snowy country.21 Adam’s literary knowledge could have formed the image of Scythia, among the nations of which, as follows from I.60, he reckons the Swedes, the Danes, the Norwegians, the Slavs, and the Prussians. That is, Adam depicted the entire European North and the area around the Baltic Sea as Scythia. In I.62, Adam tells how Unni fell ill and died in Birka, his body was buried there and his head was brought to St. Peter’s Cathedral in Bremen. Further, once again mentioning the death of the preacher, Adam specifes its place and time: ‘When he had fought the good fght, Unni died in Scitia, as stated above, in the year of our Lord’s Incarnation nine hundred and thirty-six, the ninth Indiction, about the middle of September’.22 It is unlikely that here (within two neighbouring chapters on one and the same topic) Scitia was used by Adam in a different, narrower, meaning, namely, as a designation of Sweden. And it is hardly worth replacing one place-name with another, as happened in the English translation. Moreover, in the next chapter (I.63), Adam, instructing the negligent bishops, once again emphasizes that Archbishop Unni, having overcome the great dangers of the sea and land, ‘went among the ferce peoples of the north and with such zeal discharged the ministry of his mission that he died at the confnes of the earth, laying down his life for Christ’.23 But where did Unni travel, according to Adam? Having decided ‘to go in person through the length and breadth of his diocese’,24 Unni began his missionary feat among the Danes, where he won by his preaching

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Harold, the son of King Gorm, so that the latter ‘permitted the public profession of Christianity that his father always hated’ and so Unni ‘went into all the islands of the Danes, preaching the Word of God to the heathen’.25 Correspondingly, in Adam’s eyes, it was not Sweden that was the goal of the Christian mission of Archbishop Unni. Later, in II.1 Adam will again call Unni ‘a legate to the Scythians’,26 while Francis Tschan translated it so that ‘our Unni was on his mission to the Swedes’.27 I am inclined to think on the basis of this tranche of information that the Scythia of Adam was synonymous not with Svealand, the land of the Svear, but rather, as a result of his being well-read in ancient literature, the northern outskirts of the inhabited world. However, Adam’s ‘northern lands’ lay much farther north than those that locked the horizon of the ancient world.

The Scythian (Baltic) Sea The fourth group of ‘Scythian’ fragments includes the name and description of the Baltic Sea. Adam employs a variety of names for this. Along with Balticum mare (the Baltic Sea),28 Balticus sinus (the Baltic Gulf ), Balticum fretum (the Baltic Strait), Barbarum mare (the Barbarian Sea), Barbarus sinus (the Barbarian Gulf ), and Barbarum fretum (the Barbarian Strait) Adam applies to this sea four names connected with Scythia. These are Scithicum mare/pelagus (the Scythian Sea), Sciticum littus (the Scythian shore), Scythicae paludes (the Scythian swamp), and Meoticae paludes (the Maeotic swamp). Mentioning in II.18 the Scythian Sea (pelagus Scithicum) as a border of Saxony, Adam refers to his source of knowledge about this sea: ‘Of the nature of this body of water Einhard made brief mention in his Gesta of Charles when he wrote of the Slavic war’,29 and in II.19 the former gives a lengthy quote from Einhard’s Vita Karoli Magni: There is a gulf, he says, that stretches from the Western Ocean toward the east, of unknown length, but nowhere more than a hundred miles in breadth, and in many places much narrower. Many nations live along the shores of this sea. The Danes and the Swedes, whom we call Northmen, hold both its northern shore and all the islands off it. The Slavs and various other nations dwell along the eastern shore. Among them the most important are the Wilzi against whom the king at that time waged war.30 It is worth noting that Adam, after mentioning pelagus Scithicum, quotes Einhard. Einhard does not give any name to the sea and does not mention Scythians at all. However, according to him, ‘the Danes and the Swedes … hold both its northern shore and all the islands off it’, but, as we have seen above, Adam has designated Unni’s mission to the northern peoples (the Danes and Swedes) as preaching the Word of God to the Scythians. So, for Adam the inhabitants of this region are not the Northmen, as Einhard calls

Scythia and the Scythian Sea 239 them, but the Scythians and, correspondingly, the sea on whose shores they dwell is the Scythian Sea. In IV.10, Adam engages in this practice of naming bodies of water after the inhabitants of the adjacent territories and his comment refers directly to the Baltic Sea: ‘It is also named the Barbarian Sea or Scythian Lake, from the barbarous peoples whose lands it washes’.31 Accordingly, in II.18 pelagus Scithicum (the Scythian Sea) is a term invented by Adam (and not derived from one of his sources).32 This is confrmed by his comments in the next two chapters (II.19–20) where he once again emphasizes that that was Einhard’s description but that he is going to speak on his own account, and immediately names the Scythian Sea (mare Scythicum) as the northern border of Slavia (Sclavania), ‘a very large province of Germany’.33 Another characteristic of the Baltic Sea in Einhard’s text gave rise, in my opinion, to another of Adam’s mental constructions. I have in mind the words of Einhard, quoted by Adam in II.19, that ‘a gulf … stretches from the Western Ocean toward the east, of unknown length’. In IV.10, writing, as he himself says, ‘in the manner of a commentator’, that is, ‘setting forth … in greater detail’ what Einhard ‘discussed in abridged form’,34 Adam interprets the name of this sea as follows: This Gulf is by the inhabitants called the Baltic because, after the manner of a baldric, it extends a long distance through the Scythian regions even to Greece. It is also named the Barbarian Sea or Scythian Lake, from the barbarous peoples whose lands it washes.35 Indeed, Latin balteus is a ‘belt’ and such folk-etymological interpretation by Adam is quite understandable.36 There is discussion above of why the sea stretches ‘through the Scythian regions’ and is called the Scythian Sea. But why does it extend ‘even to Greece’? This latter assertion is not a slip of the pen and it is not the only case when Greece is mentioned in this context. In IV.1 it is said of Schleswig that ‘from this port ships usually proceed to Slavia or to Sweden or to Samland, even to Greece’37 and in IV.16 Adam points out that an island called Holm (either Gotland or Bornholm) is ‘a safe anchorage for the ships that are usually dispatched to the barbarians and to Greece’.38 The reason for this may be that information present in an established scholarly tradition concerning Scythia was fused in Adam’s work with contemporary knowledge about the possible links between the Baltic Sea and the east, namely that one could sail from the Baltic Sea both to Rus’ and to Greece. As a result, Schleswig, Bornholm, Iumne (Wolin), Ostrogard Ruzziae, and Greece were all stations on the same waterway. Adam states in II.22 that beyond the Leutici, who are also called Wilzi, one comes to the Oder River, the largest stream in the Slavic region. At its mouth, where it feeds the

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Tatjana N. Jackson Scythian swamp, Jumne, a most noble city, affords a very widely known trading center for the barbarians and Greeks who live round about.  … From the latter city it is fourteen days’ sail up to Ostrogard of Russia. The largest city of Russia is Kiev, rival of the scepter of Constantinople, the brightest ornament of Greece.39

This contamination of heterogenous information (coming both from learned tradition and from contemporary travellers), most likely, became the main reason for the identifcation of the Baltic Sea with the Scythian swamp (= Maeotis, the Sea of Azov). This was unique to medieval geographical literature. Indeed, in addition to information received from travellers of his time, Adam had the works of ancient and early medieval authors that contributed to the creation of such an assumption. To use them, Adam had to admit that since none of the learned men, with the exception of Einhard, had written anything of what he wrote about the Baltic Sea, that sea might have had different names and the names might have changed. Place-name changes were not uncommon in antiquity, so ancient and early medieval authors often noted them.40 In listing the different names in IV.20, Adam refers only to Martianus Capella as a source of his information, but several other written sources are believed to be indicated in the following text: No mention, I have learned, has been made by any of the learned men about what I have said concerning this Baltic or Barbarian Sea, save only Einhard of whom we have spoken above. But since the names have been changed, I am of the opinion that this body of water was perhaps called by the ancient Romans the Scythian or Maeotic swamp, or ‘the wilds of the Getae’, or the Scythian shore, which Martian says was ‘ full of a multifarious diversity of barbarians’.41 Marcianus here is the author of the words about the barbarians inhabiting the Scythian shore and of the enumeration of them that follows (De Nuptiis. VI.663). Adam is likely to have borrowed the wilds of the Getae from the Georgics by Virgil (III.462), while the Maeotic swamp could also have come to him via Orosius (I.2, I.5.52) or Jordanes (V.38, V.44). The Scythian swamp is not found in any known source of Adam, but one should pay attention to the following passage in Jordanes’ Getica (V.38): We read that on their frst migration the Goths dwelt in the land of Scythia near Lake Maeotis. On the second migration they went to Moesia, Thrace and Dacia, and after their third they dwelt again in Scythia, above the Sea of Pontus.42 Getica, not mentioned by Adam but disclosed by scholars, could have given Adam grounds for the ‘creation’ of the Scythian swamp identical with

Scythia and the Scythian Sea 241 both his own Scythian Sea (i.e., the Baltic) and with the Maeotis of ancient authors. In my opinion, the extensive inquiries of his contemporaries, and especially his Scandinavian informants, were to open for Adam specifc spatial ideas of the early medieval Scandinavians.43 These ideas, as the source material demonstrates, are as follows. The world consists of four quarters, according to the four cardinal directions. The set of lands in each segment of this ‘mental map’ is invariable. The western quarter includes the Atlantic lands, such as England, the Orkney and Shetland Islands, France, Spain, and even Africa. The southern lands are Denmark and Saxony, Flanders and Rome. The northern quarter is formed by Norway and its northernmost part Finnmark. The eastern are the Baltic lands and the territories far beyond the Baltic Sea which in Old Norse written sources is called the Eastern Sea (Eystrasalt or Austan haf ). In the east, where one can get along the Austrvegr (the Eastern Way), lie Sweden, the lands of the Finns, Estonians, Curonians, Karelians, Baltic Slavs, as well as Poland, Rus’, and Constantinople. Movement from one segment into another, as well as within segments, is defned not according to the compass points but according to the accepted naming of these segments. Any movement within the eastern quarter, for instance, is nearly always claimed to be a movement austr (east) or austan ( from the east). This particular vision of the world, supported by the knowledge of the existence of an actively used waterway along which one could get ‘from the Varangians to the Greeks’, was, I am sure, refected in the work of Adam of Bremen in the form of the Baltic Sea/Scythian Sea/Scythian swamp/Maeotic swamp, going from Scandinavia in the eastern direction as far as Old Rus’ and Greece.

Conclusion My aim in this chapter was to answer the question as to how the Scythia of the ancient sources was changed under the pen of Adam of Bremen and what grounds there were for this transformation. Based on Graeco-Roman models, Adam placed Scythia in the northeast of the inhabited world. However, the ‘north’ of his time was already much farther north than that of the ancient authors. In addition, his Scythia retained ‘otherness’ and ‘barbarity’ as components of its meaning. Taken together, this resulted in the fact that Adam designated the territories of those northern pagans that were the object of the missionary activity of Archbishop Unni in the early tenth century with the choronym Scythia. Correspondingly, Adam depicted the entire European North and the vast circum-Baltic lands, where those pagans/ barbarians lived, as Scythia. The next logical step in the formation of his picture of the world was to term the Baltic Sea – after the inhabitants of its shores – not only the Barbarian, but also the Scythian Sea. But the Scythians, as had been known since the time of Aeschylus, the Greek playwright of the sixth-ffth centuries BC, lived at the outskirts of the inhabited world

242  Tatjana N. Jackson near the Maeotic Lake. All this, together with the (­contemporary to Adam) information that from Scandinavia one could get through the Baltic Sea as far east as to Rus’ and Greece, enabled him to add the Maeotis to his names of the Baltic Sea. As a result, it became not only the Barbarian or Scythian Sea, but also the Maeotic swamp. Thus, having creatively combined book knowledge with oral information, a highly educated intellectual of the eleventh century, Adam of Bremen, created his new Scythia stretching from the European North to the Sea of Azov.

Notes 1 MGH SS, 1846, VII, 267. 2 Chekin, ‘­Скифия’ [‘­Scythia’], 2014. 3 Gesta, 280: ‘­Ecce patria illa horribilis, semper inaccessa propter cultum ydolorum, — ​­et Scythicae non mitior ara Dianae, ­deposito iam naturali furore predicatores veritatis ubique certatim admittit’ (­my italics in quotations here and further on); Tschan, 223. 4 Gesta, 111: ‘­Unwanus igitur cum esset vir nobilissimus’; ‘­secutus exemplum sancti Ansgarii et cuiusdam in Ecclesiastica Hystoria Theotimi, Scytarum episcopi’; Tschan, ­89–​­90. 5 Gesta, ­153–​­154: ‘­Haroldus quidam, frater Olaph regis et martyris, vivente adhuc germano patriam egressus Constantinopolim exul abiit. Ubi miles imperatoris effectus multa prelia contra Sarracenos in mari et Scitas in terra gessit, fortitudine clarus et divitiis auctus vehementer’; Tschan, 124. 6 Gesta, 159: ‘­nunquam quietus fuit a bellis’; ‘­Erat [autem] vir potens et clarus victoriis, qui prius in Grecia et in Scythiae regionibus multa contra barbaros prelia confecit’; Tschan, ­127–​­128. 7 Kekaumenos, tr. North; Greek text: Sovety i rasskazy, ed. Litavrin, 282, 284: ὁ Ρωμαϊκὸς στρατός, πολεμῶν τὴν νῆσον; τεμουλτεῦσαι τὸν Δελιάνον εἰς Βουλγαρίαν; ἐσυνεταξίδευσε καὶ ὁ Ἀράλτης μετὰ τοῦ βασιλέως; ὑποτάξας τὴν Βουλγαρίαν. 8 Þjóðólfr Arnórsson, ­112–​­113. 9 Melnikova, ‘­Культ Св. Олава в Новгороде и Константинополе’ (‘­The Cult of St. Olav in Novgorod and Constantinople’). 10 Litavrin, Болгария и Византия в ­X I–​­XII вв. (Bulgaria and Byzantine in the eleventh and twelfth centuries), 386. 11 Jackson, ‘­Harald, Bolgara brennir, in Byzantine Service.’ 12 Bibikov, ­Византийские источники (Byzantine sources), 187. 13 Bibikov, ­Византийские источники (­Byzantine sources), 80. 14 Unni is also mentioned in II.1. 15 Garipzanov, ‘­Christianity and Paganism in Adam of Bremen’s Narrative.’ 16 Annales Corbeienses, 4. 17 Gesta, 58: ‘­vestigia secutus magni predicatoris Ansgarii’; ‘­oppidum Gothorum’; ‘­Ad quam stationem, quia tutissima est in maritimis Suevoniae regionibus, solent omnes Danorum vel Nortmannorum itemque Sclavorum ac Semborum naves aliique Scithiae populi pro diversis commerciorum necessitatibus sollempniter convenire’; Tschan, 52. 18 Palmer, ‘­Rimbert’s Vita Anskarii and Scandinavian Mission in the Ninth Century.’ 19 Vita Anskarii, 18: ‘­ Incipit libellus continens vitam vel gesta seu obitum domni Anskarii primi Nordalbingorum archiepiscopi et legati Sanctae Sedis

Scythia and the Scythian Sea  243 Apostolicae ad Sueones seu Danos necnon etiam Slavos et reliquas gentes in aquilonis partibus sub pagano adhuc ritu constitutas’ (­my translation). 20 Trillmich, ‘­Einleitung,’ 11. 21 Skrzhinskaya, Скифия глазами эллинов (Scythia through the eyes of the Hellenes), 9. 22 Gesta, 60: ‘­Obiit autem peracto boni certaminis cursu in Scitia, ut scribitur, anno dominicae incarnationis DCCCCXXXVI, indictione IX, circa medium Septembrem’; Tschan, 50 (­w ith my emendation in translation: Scitia instead of Sweden). 23 Gesta, 60: ‘­feroces aquilonis populos ipse pertransiens ministerium legationis suae tanto impleret studio, ut in ultimis terrae finibus exspirans animam suam poneret pro Christo’; Tschan, 53. 24 Gesta, 57 (­I.58): ‘­latitudinem suae diocesis per se ipsum elegit circuire’; Tschan, 50. 25 Gesta, 58 (­I.59): ‘­ut christianitatem, quam pater eius semper odio habuit, ipse haberi publice permitteret’; ‘­omnes Danorum insulas penetravit, euangelizans verbum Dei gentilibus’; Tschan, 51. 26 Gesta, 61: ‘­noster Unni ad Scythas legatus’. 27 Tschan, 54. 28 By the way, Adam was the first to use this name. 29 Gesta, 74: ‘­De cuius freti natura breviter in Gestis Karoli meminit Einhardus, cum de bello diceret Sclavanico’; Tschan, 64. 30 Gesta, 75: ‘­Sinus, ait, quidam ab occidentali occeano orientem versus porrigitur, longitudinis quidem incompertae, latitudinis vero, quae nusquam C milia passuum excedat, cum in multis locis contractior inveniatur. Hunc multae circumsident nationes. Dani siquidem ac Sueones, quos Nortmannos vocamus, et septentrionale litus et omnes in eo insulas tenent. At litus australe Sclavi et aliae diversae incolunt nationes, inter quos vel precipui sunt, quibus tunc a rege bellum inferebatur, Wilzi’; Tschan, 64. 31 Gesta, 238: ‘­idemque mare Barbarum seu pelagus Sciticum vocatur a gentibus, quas alluit, barbaris’; Tschan, 193. 32 The hydronym Scythian Sea occurs in Lucan’s Pharsalia (­I.18: Scythicus Pontus), though not as a designation of the Baltic Sea. After Adam, this term was used to refer to the Baltic Sea by Otto of Freising (­­mid-​­twelfth century) and by Helmold of Bosau (­before 1177) as a result of direct borrowing from Adam. 33 Gesta, ­75–​­76 (­II.21): ‘­amplissima Germaniae provincia’; Tschan, ­64–​­65. 34 Gesta, 238: ‘­explanationis more utor, ea, quae ille per compendium dixit, pleniori calamo nostris scienda proponens’. 35 Gesta, 238: ‘­Sinus ille ab incolis appellatur Balticus, eo quod in modum baltei longo tractu per Scithicas regiones tendatur usque in Greciam, idemque mare Barbarum seu pelagus Sciticum vocatur a gentibus, quas alluit, barbaris’; Tschan, 193. 36 Svennung, Belt und Baltisch. 37 Gesta, 228: ‘­ex eo portu naves emitti solent in Sclavaniam vel in Suediam vel ad Semland usque in Greciam’; Tschan, 187. 38 Gesta, 243: ‘­fida stacio navium, quae ad barbarous et in Greciam dirigi solent’; Tschan, 197. 39 Gesta, ­79–​­80: ‘­u ltra Leuticios, qui alio nomine Wilzi dicuntur, Oddara flumen occurit, ditissimus amnis Sclavaniae regionis. In cuius ostio, qua Scyticas alluit paludes, nobilissima civitas Iumne celeberrimam prestat stacionem barbaris et Graecis, qui sunt in circuitu. … Ab ipsa urbe vela tendens XIIIIcimo die ascendes ad Ostrogard Ruzziae. Cuius metropolis civitas est Chive, aemula sceptri Constantinopolitani, clarissimum decus Greciae’;Tschan, ­66–​­67 (­w ith my emendation in translation: swamp instead of marshes).

244  Tatjana N. Jackson 40 For example, see the discourse of Anonymous of Ravenna (­late seventh century) on how the barbarians, coming to new places, gave those places new names: ‘…a propriis cespitibus transmetatae sunt et, ut barbarus mos est, forsitan ut olim nominatae sunt patriae civitates vel flumina, nuper aliter appellentur…’ (­R avennatis Anonymi Cosmographia, ­3 –​­4). 41 Gesta, ­248–​­249: ‘­Haec habui, quae de sinu illo Baltico [vel Barbaro] dicerem, cuius nullam mentionem audivi quempiam fecisse doctorum nisi solum, de quo supra diximus, Einhardum. Et fortasse mutatis nominibus arbitror illud fretum ab antiquis [Romanis] vocari paludes Scithicas vel Meoticas, sive deserta Getharum, aut litus Scithicum, quod Martianus ait confertum esse multiplici diversitate barbarorum’; Tschan, 201 (­with my emendation in translation: shore instead of swamp). 42 Jordanes, Getica, 136: ‘­Quos tantorum virorum formidavit audacia, quorum mansione prima in Scythiae solo iuxta paludem Meotidem, secundo in Mysiam Thraciamque et Daciam, tertio supra mare Ponticum rursus in Scythia legimus habitasse’; Jordanes, The Origin and Deeds of the Goths, V.38. 43 For more details see my paper: Jackson, ‘­On the Old Norse System of Spatial Orientation.’

Bibliography Sources Adam of Bremen, History of the Archbishops of ­Hamburg-​­Bremen, trans. F. Tschan, New York, Columbia University Press, 2002. Annales Corbeienses, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Scriptores 3, ed. G. H. Pertz, Hannoverae, Impensis Bibliopolii Hahniani, 1838, 1­ –​­18. Jordanes, Getica [Иордан, О происхождении и деяниях гетов, Getica], ed. E. Ch. Skrzhinskaya, Moscow, Izdatel’stvo Vostochnoy literatury, 1960, 136. Jordanes, The Origin and Deeds of the Goths, trans. Charles C. Mierow at URL: people.ucalgary.ca/~vandersp/­Courses/­texts/­jordgeti.html (­accessed on 18.07.21). Kekaumenos, Logos Nouthetetikos, or Oration of Admonition to an Emperor, §§­77–​ ­88 of the Strategikon, trans. W. North, at URL: http://­w ww.acad.carleton.edu/­ curricular/­MARS/­Kekaumenos.pdf (­accessed on 18.07.21). Mag. Adami Gesta Hammenburgensis ecclesiae pontificum, ed. V. Cl. Io. M. Lappenberg, Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Scriptorum, VII, Hannover, Impensis Bibliopolii Hahniani, 1846, ­267–​­389. Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontificum, ed. B. Schmeidler, 3rd ed. Scriptores Rerum Germanicarum in usum scholarum ex Monumentis Germaniae Historicis separatim editi, Hannover & Leipzig, Hahnsche Buchhandlung, 1917. Ravennatis Anonymi Cosmographia et Guidonis Geographica, ed. M. Pinder et G. Parthey, Berlin, Friderici Nicolai, 1860. Sovety i rasskazy Kekavmena: Sochineniye vizantiyskogo polkovodtsa XI veka (Советы и рассказы Кекавмена: Сочинение византийского полководца XI века), ed. G. G. Litavrin, Moscow, Nauka, 1972. Vita Anskarii auctore Rimberto, Accedit Vita Rimberti, ed. G. Waitz, Scriptores Rerum Germanicarum in usum scholarum ex Monumentis Germaniae Historicis recusi, Hannoverae, Impensis Bibliopolii Hahniani, 1884. Þjóðólfr Arnórsson, ed. D. Whaley, Poetry from the Kings’ Sagas 2:1, ed. K. E. Gade, Turnhout, Brepols, 2009, ­57–​­176.

Scythia and the Scythian Sea  245 Secondary literature Bibikov, M. V., ‘­Византийские источники’ (‘­ Byzantine sources’), Древняя Русь в свете зарубежных источников (Drevnyaya Rus’ v svete zarubezhnykh istochnikov), ed. E. A. Melnikova, Moscow, Logos, 1999, ­73–​­159. Bibikov, M. V., Византийские источники (Byzantine sources). Древняя Русь в свете зарубежных источников. Хрестоматия 2 (Drevnyaya Rus’ v svete zarubezhnykh istochnikov. Khrestomatiya 2), eds. T. N. Jackson, I. G. Konovalova, A. V. Podossinov, Moscow, Universitet Dmitriya Pozharskogo, 2010. Chekin, L. S., ‘­Скифия’ (‘­Scythia’), Древняя Русь в средневековом мире: энциклопедия, eds. E. A. Melnikova, V. Y. Petrukhin, Moscow, Ladomir, 2014, 748. Garipzanov, Ildar, ‘­Christianity and Paganism in Adam of Bremen’s Narrative’, Historical Narratives and Christian Identity on a European Periphery: Early History Writing in Northern, ­E ast-​­Central, and Eastern Europe (­c . 1­ 070–​­1200), ed. I. Garipzanov, Turnhout, Brepols, 2011, ­13–​­29. Jackson, T. N., ‘­On the Old Norse System of Spatial Orientation’, ­Saga-​­B ook of the Viking Society 25 (­1998), ­72–​­82. Jackson, T. N., ‘­Harald, Bolgara brennir, in Byzantine Service’, Scandinavia and the Balkans: Cultural Interactions with Byzantium and Eastern Europe in the First Millennium AD, eds. O. Minaeva, L. Holmquist, Cambridge, Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2015, ­72–​­82. Litavrin, G. G., Болгария и Византия в XI–XII bв. (Bulgaria and Byzantine in the eleventh and twelfth centuries), Moscow, AN SSSR, 1960, 386. Melnikova, E. A., ‘­Культ Св. Олава в Новгороде и Константинополе’ (‘­The Cult of St. Olav in Novgorod and Constantinople’), Византийский временник [Vizantiyskiy vremennik] 56 (­1996), ­92–​­106. Palmer, James T., ‘­Rimbert’s Vita Anskarii and Scandinavian Mission in the Ninth Century’, The Journal of Ecclesiastical History 55:2 (­2004), ­235–​­256. Skrzhinskaya, M. V., Скифия глазами эллинов (Scythia through the eyes of the Hellenes), ­Saint-​­Petersburg, Aleteyya, 2001. Svennung, J. G. A., Belt und Baltisch: Ostseeische Namenstudien mit besonderer Rücksicht auf Adam von Bremen, Uppsala Universitets Årsskrift 4 (­1953). Trillmich, W., ‘­Einleitung’, Adam von Bremen, Bischofsgeschichte der Hamburger Kirche, ed. W. Trillmich, Quellen des 9. und 11. Jahrhunderts zur Geschichte der Hamburgischen Kirche und des Reiches, Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1961, ­1–​­18.

16 Harald Bluetooth and the Western Slavs Cultural interactions in light of textual and archaeological sources Leszek Gardeła Introduction Harald Bluetooth (d. ca. 985/986) was one of the most signifcant fgures in the Viking Age political arena. He is remembered in history as a ruler with great ambitions, and his outstanding accomplishments are illuminated by an array of textual and archaeological sources. Harald played a leading role in the process of state formation, spearheaded the construction of impressive ringforts, introduced his own coinage, and established long-distance political alliances.1 This chapter seeks to provide new insights into his reign by re-evaluating existing views on his interactions with Western Slavs and investigating new or previously underappreciated sources of evidence.

The life and reign of Harald Bluetooth: a brief synopsis In the Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontifcum, Adam of Bremen speaks of Harald Bluetooth on several occasions, presenting the opportunity to analyse his ancestry and rich biography. Harald’s father, Gorm, was the frst historically-recognised King of Denmark and  – in Adam’s own words – was a ‘savage worm,’2 always openly expressing his hostility towards Christian people. Adam claims that he would either torture them to death or forcefully drive them away from his land. Harald’s mother was named Thyra. Surviving accounts of her parentage are unclear and contradictory – in his Gesta Danorum, Saxo Grammaticus3 suggests that she was of Anglo-Saxon descent whereas Heimskringla 4 and Jómsvíkinga saga5 say that she was the daughter of Harald Klak who ruled in Jylland in the ninth century, thus connecting her to the Scandinavian elite. Whatever her true origin was, she is consistently remembered as a very proud and prudent woman. Adam of Bremen writes that Danish approaches to Christianity eventually improved due to the efforts of Archbishop Unni, whose preaching won Harald Gormsson’s trust.6 As a result, relatively early in his reign, Harald permitted the public profession of the ‘new’ religion. This is something that

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-17

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his parents would probably never have allowed. According to Adam, regardless of his positive or at least neutral approach to Christianity, Harald remained pagan, and this changed only after he lost a battle against Otto II, Holy Roman Emperor, at the Danish frontier. As part of a truce arrangement, he promised to introduce Christianity into Denmark and before long received baptism together with his wife, Gunnhild, and son, Sveinn. An alternative account of Harald’s conversion is provided by Widukind of Corvey7 and Thietmar of Merseburg8 both of whom claim that it was Bishop Poppo who convinced the Danish king to accept Christianity by successfully undergoing a special ordeal, thus ‘confrming’ God’s miraculous power. Although it is challenging to determine which of these accounts is closest to the truth, one thing is certain: Harald’s conversion, conventionally dated to the year 965, marked the beginning of a new era in Danish history. Surviving textual sources, as well as other evidence, lead to the conclusion that Harald was married at least twice. One of his wives was a woman named Tova/Tófa.9 She was the daughter of Duke Mistivoi, of the Western Slavic Obodrite tribe. He is best-remembered for his siege of Hamburg in 983.10 Relatively little is known about Tova, but her marriage with Harald is commemorated on a runestone discovered in 1836 in a churchyard at Sønder Vissing in Northern Jylland, Denmark (Figure 16.1).11

Figure 16.1. The Sønder Vissing stone raised by Tova, wife of Harald Bluetooth, in memory of her mother. The enlarged detail shows Tova’s name written in runes. Photo by Leszek Gardeła.

248  Leszek Gardeła It is noteworthy that the stone was commissioned by Tova herself and dedicated to the memory of her mother. The inscription reads: tufa ‘ lʀt ‘ kaurua ‘ kubl ¶ mistiuis ‘ tutiʀ ‘ uft ‘ muþur ¶ sina ‘ ¶ kuna ¶ harats ‘ hins ‘ kuþa ‘ kurms ¶ sunaʀ (Tófa, Mistivir’s daughter, wife of Haraldr the good, Gormr’s son, had the monument made in memory of her mother.)12 There are good reasons to believe that Harald’s marriage with a Slavic Princess was part of an intelligent political strategy, as well as a way to seal an agreement with her father. The ­Obodrite-​­Danish alliance was clearly directed against the Ottonians, who posed a threat to Harald’s realm.13 Knowing that members of the highest echelons of society rarely travelled alone, it is highly probable that Tova came to Denmark in the company of Obodrite warriors who then remained in Scandinavia and became part of Harald’s ­troops – ​­we shall return to this theme further below. During his entire life, Harald was engaged in a fierce struggle to subordinate various local entities in the Danish realm to his rule. By means of the sword and skilful diplomacy, he eventually achieved many of these goals and paved the way for the emergence of an early state. His success in uniting Denmark and converting the Danes is commemorated on an impressive runestone which to this day stands in Jelling in Jylland, a major seat of the Jelling Dynasty.14 By some, the stone is regarded as ‘­Denmark’s birth certificate’ (­­Figure 16.2). The final years of Harald’s reign were marked by a fierce conflict with his own son, Sven Forkbeard, who strove to take sole control of ­Denmark.15 The tensions and clashes between father and son are related in a number of medieval written sources which, in some regards, provide contradictory accounts of the events (­e.g., the Jómsvíkinga saga). It is noteworthy that, according to Adam of Bremen, in the final stages of this conflict, Harald Bluetooth was defeated and decided to seek refuge in Jumne (­in the Slavic lands).16 After his death there, his remains were transported back to Denmark and, as Adam says, entombed in Roskilde.17 An alternative and somewhat controversial ­theory  – ​­propagated by Sven Rosborn in his latest ­book – ​­suggests instead that Harald Bluetooth was buried in a stone crypt underneath a church in Wiejkowo, a small village located only several kilometres to the east from the Pomeranian town of Wolin in ­modern-​ d ­ ay Poland.18 Rosborn’s theory is difficult to verify, especially in light of the fact ­that – ​­to this author’s ­k nowledge – ​­there are no written accounts of ­Wiejkowo before the late thirteenth century and, in the standard monograph on historical buildings and artefacts in the W ­ olin-Usedom area published by Hugo Lemcke in 1900, there is no mention of a medieval church in Wiejkowo.19 It is also noteworthy that in the late tenth ­c entury – ​­the time when Harald Bluetooth d ­ ied – Pomerania ​­ was still a land dominated by pagans (­something that Adam of Bremen clearly emphasises),20 so the building

Harald Bluetooth and the Western Slavs  249

­Figure 16.2.  The Jelling stones. Photo by Leszek Gardeła.

of a church there, as well as a special crypt for the Danish king, would have been an unprecedented and thus highly unlikely occurrence.21 A wider debate on these issues exceeds the scope of this chapter, however, and therefore they are only mentioned here in passing. Instead of focusing on the potential presence of Harald and other Viking Age Scandinavians in the area of ­present-​­day Poland,22 in the following we shall explore more tangible and archaeologically verifiable traces of Harald’s interactions with the Slavs within the remit of his own domain.

Foreigners in the Danish realm Harald’s outstanding political success was not his sole achievement, and it would not have been possible without the assistance of trusted advisors and expertly trained warriors. Archaeological and textual evidence are in concert, suggesting that his army included not only native inhabitants of Denmark and Norway but also people drawn from other cultural environments, especially the Slavs. The presence of Slavs in Denmark was probably the result of manifold circumstances. First, we ought to acknowledge the fact that, due to its

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geographical location, Denmark was always very close to the Slavic world. The Baltic Sea in particular served the role of an important channel of cultural interaction, facilitating opportunities for all kinds of encounters (friendly and hostile) as well as the exchange of different commodities and ideas. From the perspective of today’s Stand der Forschung, Slavic presence and settlement in medieval Denmark is uncontested and clearly visible in placename evidence and archaeological fnds dated from the reign of Harald Bluetooth until at least the twelfth century. As Bent Østergaard observes, four locations in southern Denmark carry the name Vindeby23 (which connotes with the Wends, one of the names for the Western Slavs) and there are also places called Vindeboder in Roskilde, and Vindbyholt near Prestø.24 Other toponyms implying Slavic settlement are particularly visible on the islands of Lolland and Falster, where they can be identifed via the suffx itse (e.g., Binnitse, Korselitse, Kuditse, Tillitse) or via their connection to personal names of Slavic origin.25 Strictly archaeological traces of the Slavs or their material culture in Denmark and present-day southern Sweden include distinctive clay pottery (whole or fragmented),26 jewellery (e.g., temple rings, kaptorgas/amulet boxes)27 and various other portable objects. While some Slavic commodities – especially clay pottery – may have come to Denmark as imports or loot (and thus do not necessarily indicate the physical presence of the Slavs), other goods probably belonged to people of Slavic origin who actually set foot on Danish soil. The corpus of portable fnds known to us today, made of a variety of materials including bone, antler, and several types of metals, comprises items of mundane as well as martial and ‘special’ character. This latter category includes weapons and equestrian equipment, as well as amulets (e.g., miniature horse fgurines), and other religious objects. Large vehicles of early medieval Slavic design are also known from the Danish archaeological record. In contrast to the Scandinavians, the Slavs built their ships using wooden pegs instead of clench-nails or rivets. Excavations of an eleventh-century ship handling site along the river Fribrødre Å on the island of Falster in south-east Denmark have revealed clear traces of exactly this kind of technology.28 The same site has also yielded the remains of diagnostically Slavic knife sheath scabbards, which is further proof of Slavic presence there.29 The diverse nature of the fnds that make up the corpus of Slavic artefacts in Denmark attests to the versatility of the roles the Slavs played in the realm governed by Harald and his successors. Based on the surviving archaeological material, we may surmise that some of the Slavic migrants were not only skilled artisans but also had experience in the art of war and therefore could seek a career for themselves in the martial environment of the emerging Danish state. The probable recruitment of foreigners into Harald’s army may have been part of his intelligent political strategy. As Andres Dobat has argued in his

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thought-provoking study, by not being integrated into the internal social structure of their surroundings, and without close bonds and kinship ties to the local communities, non-Scandinavian warriors would have had more independence to act than the warriors who were inherently immersed in Danish society.30 Their status as foreigners would have given them the capacity to oppose existing social structures and would have allowed them to introduce new initiatives favoured by their patron, Harald Bluetooth. In his study, Dobat has rightly highlighted certain challenges associated with the identifcation of ‘strangers’ (an umbrella term he uses to refer to ‘people or individuals from another and clearly distinct social group, whether due to their origin in more or less distant regions or their foreign ethnic or «national» descent’31) in the archaeological record. He demonstrates that when people live their lives in a culturally homogenous environment, one ought to expect a certain degree of acculturation leading to the adaptation of some elements of the indigenous culture. This includes aspects of the culture such as foodstuffs, daily-use commodities and perhaps clothing and weaponry. As a result, this acculturation leads to the situation where foreigners can simply ‘disappear’ from the archaeological radar. Although a series of obstacles arise whenever one attempts to distinguish strangers from locals using archaeological methods, it is sometimes possible to overcome them by isolating specifc elements of material culture that served as markers of (foreign) identity. The form and decoration of these objects was not only distinctively different, but it also carried profound ideas and signalled cultural habitus, group affliation, worldview, religious belief and so on. As noted above, objects serving as material markers of Western Slavic identity dated to the time of Harald Bluetooth and his son, Sveinn Forkbeard, have been found in substantial quantity in the archaeological record in Denmark. In addition to pottery and kaptoras/amulet boxes already mentioned above, these include various other personal possessions. While identifying female-related and diagnostically Slavic material culture in the Danish archaeological record is straightforward, it is a far more onerous task to isolate elements of material culture used by men. Weapons and riding gear, for instance, were typologically standardised across early medieval Europe, meaning that in Scandinavia, Germany, and Poland, the average warriors used roughly the same kind of gear while the elite often equipped themselves with items of eclectic character. This further blurs our understanding of their identity. Until very recently, the identifcation of ‘male’ material culture in the archaeological record was additionally obscured due to the fact that Western Slavic decorative styles (especially those appearing on metalwork) were poorly defned and (mis)understood, meaning that scholars could not properly distinguish them. In Poland, for instance, artefacts carrying ‘unusual’ geometric, anthropomorphic or zoomorphic decoration (e.g., knife scabbard sheaths, swords, spearheads, axeheads, spurs, stirrups, bridles) were commonly regarded as ‘imports’ stemming from Rus’, the Baltic

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countries, or even Scandinavia. In Scandinavia, on the other hand, similar items would be seen as stemming from Eastern Europe or Anglo-Saxon England, or regarded as ‘hybrids.’ As a result of thorough archival and museum-based investigations conducted by the present author, together with Kamil Kajkowski, Zdzisława Ratajczyk, and other scholars,32 many previous misconceptions have now been revised, adding new pieces to the puzzle of reciprocal relations between Viking Age Scandinavians and Western Slavs. These studies show that in the tenth and eleventh centuries, images of real-life animals (especially cattle, horses, snakes, and birds) as well as fantastic/mythological animal hybrids combining the features of reptiles and birds, were among the most characteristic ornamental motifs used by Western Slavs. As will be demonstrated below, these kinds of objects also formed part of the material culture belonging to the Slavs who set foot and lived – probably as warriors – on Danish soil during the reign of Harald Bluetooth.

Ringforts, warriors, and weapons It has long been suggested by scholars that the ringforts raised in strategic locations around Denmark might indicate the presence of Western Slavs in Harald’s realm. This is particularly the case in Fyrkat and Aggersborg in Jylland, Nonnebakken in Fyn and Trelleborg and Borgring in Sjælland.33 Although they possess very unique and unparalleled constructional features, these imposing fortresses bring to mind the strongholds that dot the Western Slavic landscape, especially in the area of present-day Northern Germany and Poland. In the absence of similar structures in Denmark before the rule of Harald Bluetooth, it is not unlikely that the inspiration to build them came from abroad (possibly because of reciprocal cultural contact and exchange of ideas) and that Western Slavs were in some way involved in their creation. The fnds of distinctly Slavic pottery as well as isotopic signatures of the skeletons buried in the cemetery at Trelleborg in Sjælland provide further hints to support this idea, indicating that a number of foreigners – possibly from the Slavic area – were among the fortress’ garrison.34 One of these individuals was buried in grave 128. The contents of this burial have been discussed before by several researchers,35 but its full potential has not been fully exhausted yet. Grave 128 from Trelleborg: Context, content, and analogies Grave 128 was in the central part of the Trelleborg cemetery and held the remains of a single individual (probably a man) who died at the mature age of 35–55. The body was resting in a special chamber, most likely covered by a mound. The deceased was accompanied by an impressive array of goods including, among other things, a copper-alloy bowl and an elaborate T-shaped axe of Western Slavic type.36 The silver-inlay adorning this weapon is now

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Figure 16.3. The Trelleborg axe. The enlarged detail of the blade (b) shows a winged creature. A similar animal is seen on a copper alloy ftting of a zoomorphic spur from Lutomiersk (c). Photo (a) by the National Museum of Denmark; illustration (b) redrawn by Leszek Gardeła after Nørlund 1948; photo (c) courtesy of the Museum of Archaeology and Ethnography in Łódź.

largely deteriorated but not entirely illegible. One detail of the decoration in particular deserves closer attention – a zoomorphic motif in the middle of the axe’s blade (Figure 16.3). The animal resembles a bird of prey or a winged snake, perhaps related to a mythical creature known in Slavic folklore as Żmij. Similar depictions are known from a variety of high-status objects from Poland, including socalled zoomorphic spurs from Lutomiersk and Ciepłe as well as kaptorgas (amulet boxes) and other goods. It has been argued recently that this kind of ‘bird’ or winged serpent served as a distinct material marker of those Western Slavs who were linked to aristocratic circles of the frst Piasts.37

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Figure 16.4. T-shaped axe from Luboń (currently Poznań-Dębiec). Photo courtesy of the Archaeological Museum in Poznań.

T-shaped axes resembling the specimen from grave 128 from Trelleborg are known from several elite burial sites from the area of Wielkopolska/Greater Poland. These include Luboń, near Poznań, and Łubowo, near Gniezno, as well as other localities within the Piast realm (e.g., Ostrów Lednicki) and today’s north-eastern Germany (e.g., Brandenburg an der Havel, Teterow) (Figure 16.4). At least three examples are also known from Sweden (Birka, Lund).38 They can all be seen as emblematic armament of Western Slavic elites and, due to the axe’s role as a status symbol, it is highly unlikely that they would have been objects of trade and exchange  – in other words, the specimens discovered in Scandinavia probably arrived there together with their Slavic owners. It is noteworthy that  – apart from Trelleborg  – T-shaped axes have also been discovered in other opulent graves in Denmark (Over Hornbæk, Rosenlund, and Lindholm Høje), the contents and contexts of which support the idea that the deceased were foreigners. The individual from Rosenlund, for instance, was buried with riding equipment and an S-type sword with an Ulfberht inscription.39 Although swords of this particular kind are broadly distributed in Central, Western, and Northern Europe, it is remarkable that one of their largest concentrations is found in Poland,

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where they occur in some of the richest equestrian graves (e.g., in the elite cemeteries at Ciepłe and Lutomiersk). In this context, the discovery of an S-type sword alongside a T-shaped axe at Rosenlund may suggest that the deceased person originated from the Slavic cultural milieu, perhaps even from the Piast state. Experiments conducted by historical re-enactors show that T-shaped axes were not the most practical weapons in combat. The rich décor of their blades (especially in the case of the fnds from Luboń, Lund, Ostrów Lednicki, Over Hornbæk, and Trelleborg) implies instead that they served as status markers, perhaps even as emblems of a particular ‘offce’ their owners held. Returning to the fnd from Trelleborg, it is noteworthy that it was buried in the richest grave within the entire cemetery and one which was also located in the centre of the site and probably covered by a mound. All this implies that this was an individual of remarkable social stature. The relative old age of this person (by Viking Age standards), together with the opulent goods that accompanied them, suggests that this individual not only had considerable life-experience but also was respected in life as well as in death. Given the fact that, in a formal sense, T-shaped axes closely resemble woodworking tools (see the image on the Bayeux tapestry (Figure 16.5) one may speculate that this individual was involved in the building of the Trelleborg fortress. Could this have been a Slavic ‘supervisor’ or ‘master builder’? We will never know for sure, but this certainly is a tantalising possibility.

Figure 16.5. Detail of the Bayeux tapestry depicting a man using a T-shaped axe as a woodworking tool. Illustration by Leszek Gardeła.

256  Leszek Gardeła Slavic riders in the Danish Realm? Old data in a new light Aside from T ­-​­ shaped axes, other h ­igh-​­ status Western Slavic militaria and elements of equestrian equipment are known from the Danish realm. Although the most spectacular examples were found many decades ago, only recently have scholars begun to recognise them as items of Slavic provenance. A good example is a pair of stirrups from a grave at Velds in Jylland, discovered in the nineteenth century.40 The stirrups’ strap mounts portray an elaborate scene with two intertwined animals combining the features of snakes and birds (­­Figure 16.6). The same motif is seen on silver kaptorga (­a mulet) boxes from Biskupin, Poland, and Klecany, Czech ­Republic – ​­items of irrefutably Western Slavic

­Figure 16.6.  S  tirrup from Velds showing an elaborate scene with two intertwined beasts. Analogous decoration is seen on Western Slavic kaptorgas/­ amulet boxes from Biskupin (­c) and Klecany (­d). Photo (­a) by Leszek Gardeła; drawing (­b) after Pedersen 2014; photo (­c) courtesy of Magdalena Zawol; photo (­d) courtesy of Naďa Profantová.

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provenance  – as well as on other Western Slavic objects linked to the local elite. Until recently it was frmly believed that the Velds stirrups originated from Anglo-Saxon England and represented the Winchester style.41 In light of the occurrence of geographically closer and identical motifs in the Western Slavic area  – as well as the close links between the Slavs and the Scandinavians during the reign of Harald Bluetooth and his son Sveinn Forkbeard – these views ought to be seriously reconsidered. Instead of referring to Anglo-Saxon art and worldviews, the content of the decoration of the Velds stirrups appears to correspond more closely with the meanings attributed to the aforementioned winged-creaturemotif on the Trelleborg axe and other Slavic objects with zoomorphic décor. All of these beasts may be associated with the fying serpent(s) of Slavic mythology and may have served as emblems communicating the cultural affliation of the owners as well as their distinct pre-Christian beliefs. Since these items held religious connotations, it is highly unlikely that they would have been used by anyone other than the people who had a deep understanding of the messages they conveyed  – in other words, there are very good reasons to believe that the deceased from Velds was actually of Slavic and not Anglo-Saxon or Scandinavian origin, as previously assumed. Over the last decade, ongoing metal detecting campaigns in Denmark and Sweden have revealed new examples of Western Slavic high-status equestrian equipment that stems from the time of Harald Bluetooth which is likewise infused with religious meanings. One of these fnds is a copper alloy strap distributor with stylised representations of three animal heads, discovered in Northern Jylland (Figure 16.7). Identical distributors formed part of an elaborate horse bridle that accompanied a high-status individual buried in cremation grave 5 in the cemetery at Lutomiersk in Central Poland. Further parallels from other localities in Poland (e.g., Giecz, Łęczyca), Germany, and Ukraine strongly suggest their Western Slavic origin. The animal heads most likely represent cattle, animals which in the Slavic system of belief were associated with Weles, a chthonic deity sometimes referred to as the ‘cattle god’. Another recent and noteworthy fnd is a copper alloy goad discovered at Skegrie in Skåne, Sweden.42 The goad carries a realistic representation of a horse and was originally part of a lavishly decorated zoomorphic spur of indisputably Western Slavic provenance. The closest parallels stem from elite burials from Ciepłe and Lutomiersk as well as other sites in Poland (Figure 16.8). Recent interdisciplinary investigations of the messages and meanings of such spurs lead to the conclusion that they served as models of the Slavic pre-Christian cosmos; the animal fgures probably represented avatars of gods, mediators between the worlds and incarnations of human souls.43

­Figure 16.7.  C  opper alloy strap distributor discovered in Northern Jylland (­a) and an analogous find from Lutomiersk (­b). Photo (­a) by Leszek Gardeła; photo (­b) courtesy of the Museum of Archaeology and Ethnography in Łódź. Reconstruction of the bridle (­c) by Mirosław Kuźma. Copyright Leszek Gardeła and Mirosław Kuźma.

­Figure 16.8.  C  opper alloy spur goad from Skegrie (­a) and a complete zoomorphic spur from Ciepłe (­b). Photo (­a) courtesy of Bengt Soderberg; photo (­b) courtesy of Zdzisława Ratajczyk.

Harald Bluetooth and the Western Slavs  259 The discovery of the Skegrie goad in the close vicinity of a ringfort in Trelleborg, Skåne not only demonstrates the mobility of Western Slavic riders closely associated with the Piasts. It may also hint at their interactions with Scandinavian elites linked to Harald Bluetooth and/­or his son Sveinn Forkbeard; interactions which are otherwise unknown from extant textual sources. Although such ­h igh-​­status finds are still very rare in Denmark and Sweden, it is highly probable that more will be discovered by future metal detecting endeavours and that they will further improve our understanding of ­cross-​­cultural contacts around the Baltic Sea.

Future research directions Research on ­c ircum-​­Baltic interactions in the Viking Age has so far largely focused on the exploration of textual sources, illuminating the alliances and dynastic links between Scandinavian and Slavic ruling houses, and identifying traces of the physical presence of ‘­strangers’ in Denmark, Sweden, Germany, and Poland. As mentioned above, in his Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontificum Adam of Bremen highlights the multicultural nature of Jumne (Wolin), one of the major ­p orts-­​­­of-​­trade in Western Pomerania, and notes that this was also the place where Harald Bluetooth sought refuge after the final clash with his son. It is impossible to know if Harald really died in J­ umne – as ​­ Adam ­claims – ​­but the very fact that the chronicler ‘­s ends’ Harald to this specific location is meaningful and may be perceived as a literary echo of the Danish king’s strong links with the Slavic world. Although the corpus of textual sources, including Adam of Bremen’s Gesta, provides limited information on the nature of S ­ candinavian-​­Slavic interactions, the picture of these encounters painted by archaeological finds is much more dynamic and prone to new developments. The a­ bove-​ ­mentioned ­re-​­evaluations of Western Slavic zoomorphic art can now help in isolating culturally distinct artefacts from the massive body of ferrous and ­non-​­ferrous finds that are constantly being uncovered through amateur metal detecting in Denmark and other Nordic countries. Careful mapping and interpretation of these items can reveal previously unknown or unrecognised settlement patterns and provide hints as to who the ‘­strangers’ in Scandinavia may have been. Apart from giving a glimpse of their provenance and professions, certain types of small portable objects may also become a window into these peoples’ distinct worldviews and religion(­s). Small figurines resembling ­horses  – ​­such as the one very recently found on the island of Møn (­­Figure 16.9)­44 – or other mythical quadrupeds, as well as the intricately ornamented weapons and riding gear mentioned above, have the capacity to not only illuminate our relatively limited knowledge of Slavic ­pre-​­Christian religion but also demonstrate how the people who followed its

260  Leszek Gardeła

­Figure 16.9.  Copper alloy quadruped discovered by Brian Mortensen on the island of Møn. Photo copyright Museum Southeast Denmark/­Jens Olsen. Used by kind permission.

principles functioned in a foreign environment, perhaps forming what some researchers call a ‘­diaspora’.45 A systematic and multidisciplinary survey and ­re-​­assessment of the entire body of evidence for S ­ candinavian-​­Slavic interactions could provide answers to many burning questions and nuance our understanding of the ­circum-​­Baltic area in the Viking Age. In close collaboration with international colleagues, the present author hopes to conduct such a project in the near future.

Acknowledgements I would like to express my thanks to the Organisers of the Jómsborg Conference for inviting me to contribute to this volume. Special thanks are also due to Magdalena Zawol, Naďa Profantová, Jens Olsen, Jens Ulriksen, and the museums in Gdańsk, Łódź, Poznań and Vordingborg for supplying ­h igh-​ q ­ uality photographs of Slavic finds.

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Notes 1 For overviews of Harald Bluetooth’s life and the socio-political situation in Scandinavia during his reign, see Klavs Randsborg, The Viking Age in Denmark: The Formation of a State, Duckworth, London, 1980; Else Roesdahl, Viking Age Denmark, British Museum Publications, London, 1982; Jakub Morawiec, ‘Harald Sinozęby ‒ król Danii i jego polityka norweska w poematach skaldów’, Średniowiecze Polskie i Powszechne 4, 2007, 51–73. 2 Gesta, lib. I, c. LVIIII, 57; Tschan, 59. 3 Saxo, Gesta Danorum, l. IX c. 11, 672–3. 4 Heimskringla I, ed. Bjarni A.albjarnarson, Íslenzk fornrit 26, Reykjavík, Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1941. 5 The Saga of the Jómsvikings. A Translation with Full Introduction, eds. Alison Finlay and órdís Edda Jóhannesdóttir, The Northern Medieval World: On the Margins of Europe, Kalamazoo, Medieval Institute Publications, Western Michigan University, 2018. 6 Gesta, lib. I, c. LV, 55–6. 7 Bernard Bachrach and David S. Bachrach, eds. Widukind of Corvey. Deeds of the Saxons, Washington, The Catholic University of America Press, 2014. 8 Thietmar of Merseburg (Book II: 14). See David A. Warner, ed. Ottonian Germany: The Chronicon of Thietmar of Merseburg, Manchester Medieval Sources Series, Manchester and New York, Manchester University Press, 2001, 101–2. 9 On Tova, see Jerzy Strzelczyk, Bohaterowie Słowian Połabskich, Poznań, Wydawnictwo Poznańskie, 2017, 172; Jakub Morawiec, Dania, Początki Państw, Poznań, Wydawnictwo Poznańskie, 2019, 59–60. 10 The name of the Slavic chieftain is variously rendered in academic literature, e.g. Mistivoi, Mistivir, Mściwoj. 11 On the Sønder Vissing stone, see Mats Roslund, Guests in the House. Cultural Transmission between Slavs and Scandinavians 900 to 1300 AD, The Northern World. North Europe and the Baltic c. 400–1700 A.D. Peoples, Economies and Cultures, Vol. 33, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2007, 1; Andres Siegfried Dobat, ‘The State and the Strangers: The Role of External Forces in a Process of State Formation in Viking-Age South Scandinavia (c. AD 900–1050)’, Viking and Medieval Scandinavia 5, 2009, 80, 94; Lisbeth M. Imer, Danmarks runesten. En fortælling, Kobenhavn, Gyldendal/Nationalmuseet, 2016, 92–3, 144, 169, 179, 270, 319. 12 Transliteration and translation after the Scandinavian Runic-text Database http://www.nordiska.uu.se/forskn/samnord.htm (accessed 31.08.2021). 13 Bent Østergaard, Indvandrerne i Danmarks historie. Kultur- og religionsmøder, Odense, Syddansk Universitatsforlag, 2007, 53. 14 On the Jelling stone, see Egon Wamers, ‘ok Dani gærði kristna…Der grosse Jellingstein im Spiegel ottonischer Kunst’, Frühmittelalterliche Studien 34/2000, 2001, 132–58; Klavs Randsborg, ‘King’s Jelling. Gorm & Thyra’s Palace. Harald’s Monument  & Grave  – Svend’s Cathedral’, Acta Archaeologica 79, 2008, 1–23; Else Roesdahl ‘King Harald’s Rune-stone in Jelling: Methods and Messages’. Early Medieval Art and Archaeology in the Northern World: Studies in Honour of James Graham-Campbell, The Northern World. North Europe and the Baltic c. 400–1700 A.D. Peoples, Economies and Cultures, Vol. 58. eds. Andrew Reynolds and Leslie E. Webster, Brill, Leiden-Boston, 2013, 859–875; Lisbeth M. Imer, Danmarks runesten. En fortælling, 80–81, 172–9 – with further references. 15 On the life and deeds of Sven Forkbeard, see Jakub Morawiec ‘Sveinn Haraldsson  – The Captured King of Denmark’. Aspects of Royal Power in Medieval Scandinavia. eds. Jakub Morawiec and Rafał Borysławski, Katowice, Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Śląskiego, 2018, 27–42 – with further references.

262  Leszek Gardeła 16 Gesta, lib. II, c. XXVII, 87. By some researchers Jumne is identified with the town of Wolin in Western Pomerania, Poland. Archaeological excavations in Wolin have revealed some S ­ candinavian-​­style artefacts but the legendary Viking ­fortress – ​­k nown from Jómsvíkinga saga and other texts as J­ ómsborg – ​­has never been found. For more details on Jumne, Wolin, and Jómsborg, see Błażej M. Stanisławski and Wojciech Filipowiak, eds. Wolin wczesnośredniowieczny. Część 1, Origines Polonorum VI, Warszawa, Fundacja na rzecz Nauki Polskiej/­Instytut Archeologii i Etnologii Polskiej Akademii Nauk/­Wydawnictwo TRIO, 2013; Błażej M. Stanisławski and Wojciech Filipowiak, eds. Wolin wczesnośredniowieczny. Część 2, Origines Polonorum VII, Warszawa, Fundacja na rzecz Nauki Polskiej/­Instytut Archeologii i Etnologii Polskiej Akademii Nauk/­Wydawnictwo TRIO, 2014. 17 Gesta, lib. II, c. XXVIII, ­87–​­8. 18 Sven Rosborn, The Viking King’s Golden Treasure. About the Discovery of a Lost Manuscript, Harald Bluetooth’s Grave and the Location of the Fortress of Jomsborg, Lund, Curmsun Publishing, 2021. 19 Hugo Lemcke, Die ­B au-​­und Kunstdenkmäler des Regierungsbezirks Stettin. Heft 4: Der Kreis ­Usedom-​­Wollin, Kommissionsverlag von Leon Saunier, Stettin, 1900. I am grateful to Andrzej Janowski (­Institute of Archaeology and Ethnology of the Polish Academy of Sciences) for this reference. 20 Gesta, lib. II, c. XXVII, 87. 21 On pagan beliefs in Pomerania and their material manifestations, see Kamil Kajkowski, Obrzędowość religijna Pomorzan we wczesnym średniowieczu. Studium archeologiczne, Wrocław, Chronicon, 2019. 22 Scandinavian presence in Poland has recently been explored and critically ­re-​ ­assessed in a series of other articles by the present author: Leszek Gardeła ‘­Czy w Polsce są groby wikingów? Skandynawskie praktyki pogrzebowe na ziemiach polskich we wczesnym średniowieczu’. Wikingowie w Polsce? Zabytki skandynawskie z ziem polskich, Collectio Cathalogorum Gnesnensium 1, eds. Michał Bogacki, Andrzej Janowski, and Łukasz Kaczmarek, Gniezno, Muzeum Początków Państwa Polskiego/­Wydawnictwo Triglav, 2019, ­155–​­264; Leszek Gardeła ‘(­Re)­discovering the Vikings in Poland: From ­Nineteenth-​­century Romantics to Contemporary Warriors’. The Vikings Reimagined: Reception, Recovery, Engagement, The Northern Medieval World, eds. Tom Birkett and Roderick Dale, ­Berlin-​ ­Boston, de Gruyter, 2019, ­44–​­68; Leszek Gardeła ‘­Viking Archaeology in Poland: Past, Present, and Future’. Viking Encounters. Proceedings of the 18th Viking Congress, eds. Anne Pedersen and Søren Sindbæk, Aarhus, Aarhus University Press, 2020, ­547–​­64; Leszek Gardeła ‘­Norse Identities in Viking Age Poland. Objects, Actors, and Interactions in Pomerania and the Piast State’. Les transferts culturels dans le mondes normands médiévaux (­­VIIIe–​­XIIe siècle), eds. Pierre Bauduin, Simon Lebouteiller, and Luc Bourgeois, Turnhout, Brepols, 2021, ­207–​­238. 23 According to Østergaard, Indvandrerne i Danmarks historie, 58 these sites include: Vindeby, Borreby near Eckenforde in south Schleswig; Vindeby in Bregninge sogn on Tåsinge; Vindeby in Lindelse sogn on Langeland; Vindeby on Lolland; Vindeby Holt in Roholte sogn at Præstø Fjord; Vindebodene in Roskilde; Vindebode at ­Hvidovre-​­Valby at Kalvebod Strand. It must be emphasised, however, that it remains unclear when some of these places were established. It is likely that they date from the period after Harald’s reign. 24 Østergaard, Indvandrerne i Danmarks historie, 57. 25 Ibidem. 26 Slavic pottery has been found in various locations around Denmark, especially at the Trelleborg fortress built during the reign of Harald Bluetooth. For further

Harald Bluetooth and the Western Slavs  263 details, see the papers in Carsten Selch Jensen and Kurt Villads Jensen, eds. Venderne og Danmark. Et tværfagligt seminar, Odense, Center for Middelalderstudier, Syddansk Universitet, Odense Universitet, 2000. On Slavic pottery in Viking Age Scandinavia, see Roslund, Guests in the House. Cultural Transmission between Slavs and Scandinavians 900 to 1300 AD; Magdalena Naum, ‘­Homelands Lost and Gained. Slavic Migration and Settlement on Bornholm in the Early Middle Ages’, Lund Studies in Historical Archaeology 9, Lunds Universitet, Lund, 2008. 27 For examples of Western Slavic jewellery found in Denmark, see Roar Skovmand, ‘­De danske skattefund fra vikingetiden og den ældste middelalder indtil omkring 1150’, Aarbøger for nordisk oldkyndighed og historie, 1942, ­1–​­275; Ole Thirup Kastholm, Julie Nielsen and Bo Jensen, ‘­Vikingetidsskatten fra Lille Karleby’, Romu: årsskrift fra Roskilde Museum 2017, ­54–­​­­73 – ​­w ith further references. 28 Jan Skamby Madsen and Lutz Klassen, Fribrødre Å. A Late 11th Century ­Ship-​ ­Handling Site on Falster, Jysk Arkæologisk Selskab, Aarhus. 29 Østergaard, Indvandrerne i Danmarks historie, 56. 30 Dobat, ‘­The State and the Strangers’, 68. 31 Ibidem, 69. 32 Leszek Gardeła, ‘­Lutomiersk Unveiled. The Buried Warriors of Poland’, Medieval Warfare 8(­3), 2018, ­42–​­50; Leszek Gardeła, ‘­Czy w Polsce są groby wikingów?’; Leszek Gardeła, Kamil Kajkowski, and Zdzisława Ratajczyk, ‘­Ostrogi zoomorficzne z Ciepłego. Zachodniosłowiański model kosmosu?’, Pomorania Antiqua 28, 2019, 6­ 5–​­152; Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski, ‘­Slavs and Snakes. Material Markers of Elite Identity in Viking Age Poland’, European Journal of Archaeology 24(­1), 2021, ­108–​­30. 33 For some of the latest overviews of these debates, see Dobat, ‘­The State and the Strangers’; Thomas Douglas Price, Karin M. Frei, Andres Siegfried Dobat, Niels Lynnerup, and Pia Bennike, ‘­W ho Was in Harold Bluetooth’s Army? Strontium Isotope Investigations of the Cemetery at the Viking Age Fortress at Trelleborg, Denmark’, Antiquity 85, 2011, ­476–​­89. 34 Price et al., ‘­W ho Was in Harold Bluetooth’s Army?’. 35 Poul Nørlund, Trelleborg, Nordiske Fortidsminder 4.1, Nordisk Forlag, København, 1948; Berit Jansen Sellevold, Ulla Lund Hansen, and Jørgen Balslev Jørgensen, Iron Age Man in Denmark. Prehistoric Man in Denmark. Vol. III, Nordiske Fortidsminder. Serie B: in quarto. Bind 8, Kobenhavn, Det Kongelige Nordiske Oldskriftselskab, 1984, 131; Dobat, ‘­The State and the Strangers’; Anne Pedersen, Dead Warriors in Living Memory. A Study of Weapon and Equestrian Burials in ­Viking-​­Age Denmark, AD 8­ 00–​­1000, Publications from the National Museum. Studies in Archaeology and History Vol. 20, 1, Copenhagen, University Press of Southern Denmark and the National Museum of Denmark, 2014. 36 Copper alloy bowls are some of the characteristic features of Viking Age chamber graves in Poland and at least some of them may be of local origin. For further details, see Andrzej Janowski, Groby komorowe w Europie ś­ rodkowo-​­wschodniej. Problemy wybrane, Szczecin, Instytut Archeologii i Etnologii Polskiej Akademii Nauk, Ośrodek Archeologii Średniowiecza Krajów Nadbałtyckich, 2015. 37 Gardeła and Kajkowski, ‘­Slavs and Snakes’. 38 Gunnar Andersson, Kerstin Näversköld, and Eva Vedin, Arkeologisk efterundersökning av grav Bj 750 och intilliggande ytor, RAA 118, Adelsö sn. Uppland, Statens Historiska Museer. FoU Rapport 12, Statens historiska museer, Stockholm, 2015.

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39 Anne Pedersen ‘Nabo, fjende og forbillede ‒ Danernes forhold til Tyskland i det arkæologiske fundbillede’. Tredivte tværfaglige vikingesymposium. Danmark og Tyskland i det 10. århundrede. eds. Peder Gammeltoft and Niels Lund, Højbjerg, Wormianum, 2012, 64. 40 Johannes Brøndsted, ‘Danish Inhumation Graves of the Viking Age. A Survey’, Acta Archaeologica 7, 1936, 81–228; Pedersen, Dead Warriors in Living Memory. 41 Pedersen, Dead Warriors in Living Memory. 42 Leszek Gardeła, Kamil Kajkowski, and Bengt Söderberg, ‘The Spur Goad from Skegrie in Scania, Sweden: Evidence of Elite Interaction between Viking Age Scandinavians and Western Slavs’, Fornvännen 114(2), 2019, 57–74. 43 Gardeła, Kajkowski, and Ratajczyk, ‘Ostrogi zoomorfczne z Ciepłego’; Gardeła and Kajkowski, ‘Slavs and Snakes’. 44 The copper alloy quadruped from Møn (discovered by metal detectorist Brian Mortensen) will be the subject of a detailed study by the present author. 45 Judith Jesch, The Viking Diaspora, London and New York, Routledge, 2015.

Bibliography Primary sources Adam of Bremen. History of the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen, trans. F. Tschan, New York, Columbia University Press, 2002. Heimskringla I, ed. Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, Íslenzk fornrit 26, Reykjavík, Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1941. Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontifcum, ed. B. Schmeidler, 3rd edition, Hannoverae and Lipsiae, Hahn, 1917. Ottonian Germany: The Chronicon of Thietmar of Merseburg, ed. D. A. Warner, Manchester Medieval Sources Series, Manchester and New York, Manchester University Press, 2001. Saxo Grammaticus. Gesta Danorum. The History of the Danes. Volume I, eds. Karsten Friis-Jensen, Peter Fisher, Oxford Medieval Texts, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 2015. The Saga of the Jómsvikings. A Translation with Full Introduction, eds. A. Finlay, Þórðis Edda Jóhannesdóttir, The Northern Medieval World: On the Margins of Europe, Kalamazoo, Medieval Institute Publications, Western Michigan University, 2018. Widukind of Corvey. Deeds of the Saxons, eds. B. Bachrach, D. S. Barchrach, Washington, The Catholic University of America Press, 2014.

Secondary literature Andersson G., Näversköld K. and Vedin E., Arkeologisk efterundersökning av grav Bj 750 och intilliggande ytor, RAA 118, Adelsö sn. Uppland, Statens Historiska Museer. FoU Rapport 12, Stockholm, Statens historiska museer, 2015. Brøndsted J., ‘Danish Inhumation Graves of the Viking Age. A Survey’, Acta Archaeologica 7, 1936, 81–228.

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Dobat A. S., ‘The State and the Strangers: The Role of External Forces in a Process of State Formation in Viking-Age South Scandinavia (c. AD 900–1050)’, Viking and Medieval Scandinavia 5, 2009, 65–104. Gardeła L., ‘Lutomiersk Unveiled. The Buried Warriors of Poland’, Medieval Warfare 8(3), 2018, 42–50. Gardeła L., ‘Czy w Polsce są groby wikingów? Skandynawskie praktyki pogrzebowe na ziemiach polskich we wczesnym średniowieczu’, Wikingowie w Polsce? Zabytki skandynawskie z ziem polskich. Collectio Cathalogorum Gnesnensium 1, eds. M. Bogacki, A. Janowski and Ł. Kaczmarek, Gniezno, Muzeum Początków Państwa Polskiego/Wydawnictwo Triglav, 2019, 155–264. Gardeła L., ‘(Re)discovering the Vikings in Poland: From Nineteenth-century Romantics to Contemporary Warriors’, The Vikings Reimagined: Reception, Recovery, Engagement. The Northern Medieval World, eds. T. Birkett and R. Dale, Berlin-Boston, de Gruyter, 2019, 44–68. Gardeła L., ‘Viking Archaeology in Poland: Past, Present, and Future’, Viking Encounters. Proceedings of the 18th Viking Congress. eds. A. Pedersen and S. Sindbæk, Aarhus, Aarhus University Press, 2020, 547–64. Gardeła L., ‘Norse Identities in Viking Age Poland. Objects, Actors, and Interactions in Pomerania and the Piast State’, Les transferts culturels dans le mondes normands médiévaux (VIIIe-XIIe siècle). eds. P. Bauduin, S. Lebouteiller and L. Bourgeois, Turnhout, Brepols, 2021, 207–238. Gardeła L. and Kajkowski K. ‘Slavs and Snakes. Material Markers of Elite Identity in Viking Age Poland’, European Journal of Archaeology 24(1), 2021, 108–30. Gardeła L., Kajkowski K. and Ratajczyk Z. ‘Ostrogi zoomorfczne z Ciepłego. Zachodniosłowiański model kosmosu?’, Pomorania Antiqua 28, 2019, 65–152. Gardeła L., Kajkowski K. and Söderberg B., ‘The Spur Goad from Skegrie in Scania, Sweden: Evidence of Elite Interaction Between Viking Age Scandinavians and Western Slavs’, Fornvännen 114(2), 2019, 57–74. Imer L. M., Danmarks runesten. En fortælling, København, Gyldendal/ Nationalmuseet, 2016. Janowski A., Groby komorowe w Europie środkowo-wschodniej. Problemy wybrane, Szczecin, Instytut Archeologii i Etnologii Polskiej Akademii Nauk, Ośrodek Archeologii Średniowiecza Krajów Nadbałtyckich, 2015. Jensen C. S. and Jensen K. V. (eds.), Venderne og Danmark. Et tværfagligt seminar, Odense, Center for Middelalderstudier, Syddansk Universitet, Odense Universitet, 2000. Jesch J., The Viking Diaspora, London and New York, Routledge, 2015. Kajkowski K., Obrzędowość religijna Pomorzan we wczesnym średniowieczu. Studium archeologiczne, Wrocław, Chronicon, 2019. Kastholm O. T., Nielsen J. and Jensen B., ‘Vikingetidsskatten fra Lille Karleby’, Romu: årsskrift fra Roskilde Museum, 2017, 54–73. Lemcke H., Die Bau- und Kunstdenkmäler des Regierungsbezirks Stettin. Heft 4: Der Kreis Usedom-Wollin, Stettin, Kommissionsverlag von Leon Saunier, 1900. Madsen J. S. and Klassen L., Fribrødre Å. A Late 11th Century Ship-Handling Site on Falster, Jysk Arkæologisk Selskab, Aarhus, Aarhus Universitetsforlag 2010. Morawiec J, ‘Harald Sinozęby – król Danii i jego polityka norweska w poematach skaldów’, Średniowiecze Polskie i Powszechne 4, 2007, 51–73.

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Morawiec J., ‘Sveinn Haraldsson  – The Captured King of Denmark’, Aspects of Royal Power in Medieval Scandinavia. eds. J. Morawiec and R. Borysławski, Katowice, Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Śląskiego, 2018, 27–42. Morawiec J., Dania, Początki Państw, Poznań, Wydawnictwo Poznańskie, 2019. Naum M., Homelands Lost and Gained. Slavic Migration and Settlement on Bornholm in the Early Middle Ages, Lund Studies in Historical Archaeology 9, Lund, Lunds Universitet, 2008. Nørlund P., Trelleborg, Nordiske Fortidsminder 4.1, København, Nordisk Forlag, 1948. Østergaard B., Indvandrerne i Danmarks historie. Kultur- og religionsmøder, Odense, Syddansk Universitatsforlag, 2007. Pedersen A., ‘Nabo, fjende og forbillede ‒ Danernes forhold til Tyskland i det arkæologiske fundbillede’, Tredivte tværfaglige vikingesymposium. Danmark og Tyskland i det 10. århundrede. eds. P. Gammeltoft and N. Lund, Højbjerg, Wormianum, 2012, 55–82. Pedersen A., Dead Warriors in Living Memory. A Study of Weapon and Equestrian Burials in Viking-Age Denmark, AD 800–1000, Publications from the National Museum. Studies in Archaeology and History Vol. 20:1, Copenhagen, University Press of Southern Denmark and the National Museum of Denmark, 2014. Price T. D., Frei K. M., Dobat A. S., Lynnerup N. and Bennike P., ‘Who Was in Harold Bluetooth’s Army? Strontium Isotope Investigations of the Cemetery at the Viking Age Fortress at Trelleborg, Denmark’, Antiquity 85, 2011, 476–89. Randsborg K., The Viking Age in Denmark: The Formation of a State, London, Duckworth, 1980. Randsborg K., ‘King’s Jelling. Gorm  & Thyra’s Palace. Harald’s Monument  & Grave – Svend’s Cathedral’, Acta Archaeologica 79, 2008, 1–23. Roesdahl E., Viking Age Denmark, London, British Museum Publications Ltd., 1982. Roesdahl E., ‘King Harald’s Rune-stone in Jelling: Methods and Messages’, Early Medieval Art and Archaeology in the Northern World: Studies in Honour of James Graham-Campbell. The Northern World. North Europe and the Baltic c. 400–1700 A.D. Peoples, Economies and Cultures, Vol. 58, eds. A. Reynolds and L. E. Webster, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2013, 859–75. Rosborn S., The Viking King’s Golden Treasure. About the Discovery of a Lost Manuscript, Harald Bluetooth’s Grave and the Location of the Fortress of Jomsborg, Lund, Curmsun Publishing, 2021. Roslund M., Guests in the House. Cultural Transmission between Slavs and Scandinavians 900 to 1300 AD, The Northern World. North Europe and the Baltic c. 400–1700 A.D. Peoples, Economies and Cultures, Vol. 33, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2007. Sellevold B. J., Hansen U. L. and Jørgensen J. B., Iron Age Man in Denmark. Prehistoric Man in Denmark. Vol. III, Nordiske Fortidsminder. Serie B: in quarto. Bind 8, København, Det Kongelige Nordiske Oldskriftselskab, 1984. Skovmand R., ‘De danske skattefund fra vikingetiden og den ældste middelalder indtil omkring 1150’, Aarbøger for nordisk oldkyndighed og historie, 1942, 1–275. Stanisławski B. M. and Filipowiak W. (eds.), Wolin wczesnośredniowieczny. Część 1, Origines Polonorum VI, Warszawa, Fundacja na rzecz Nauki Polskiej/Instytut Archeologii i Etnologii Polskiej Akademii Nauk/Wydawnictwo TRIO, 2013.

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Stanisławski B. M. and Filipowiak W. (eds.), Wolin wczesnośredniowieczny. Część 2, Origines Polonorum VII, Warszawa, Fundacja na rzecz Nauki Polskiej/Instytut Archeologii i Etnologii Polskiej Akademii Nauk/Wydawnictwo TRIO, 2014. Strzelczyk J., Bohaterowie Słowian Połabskich, Poznań, Wydawnictwo Poznańskie, 2017. Wamers E., ‘ok Dani gærði kristna…Der grosse Jellingstein im Spiegel ottonischer Kunst’, Frühmittelalterliche Studien 34/2000, 2001, 132–58.

17 The description of the Oder (­Odra) estuary in Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis Ecclesiae Pontificum. The oldest accounts of the river until the end of the twelfth century Piotr Piętkowski Among the references to various peoples inhabiting the Baltic coast in the early Middle Ages, recalled by Adam of Bremen in his work, Polish historiography has paid particular attention to Adam’s description of the water fortress Iumne, which is most often identified with the ­present-​­day city of Wolin,1 although some researchers (­mainly German and Scandinavian), have attempted to identify this place with a location near the island of Usedom.2 However, I will leave this very interesting issue aside. In my short chapter, I want to focus more on hydrological issues, since Adam’s Gesta was the first narrative work to emphasize the special role of the Odra River as an important watercourse and reference point for this part of the Slavic lands. To begin with, I would like to present the current morphological shape of the Odra estuary, to which Adam of Bremen devoted so much attention in his chronicle. The term “­estuary” used in the chapter title is somewhat inadequate because the Odra River does not flow directly into the sea or create a delta. Its waters create a shallow pool called the Szczecin Lagoon. This pool has natural water connections with the Baltic Sea, flowing past the islands Wolin and Usedom, through the Pomeranian Bay. These canals, called Pianoujście (­Ger. Peenemünde), Świna (­in free translation we might render this as “­The Pig channel”) and Dziwna (“­The Strange strait”), are also difficult to define clearly because on the one hand there are evident currents which usually drain fresh water towards the sea, but on the other, during strong northern winds seawater goes in the opposite direction. In the Middle Ages, this geographical problem was also an obstacle for contemporary chroniclers, who named Pianoujście (­Ger. Peene), Świna, and Dziwna in various ways.3 The last two canals in particular (­Świna and Dziwna) were seen as the extension of the Odra River and in Adam of Bremen’s Gesta, we observe these Odra waterways being classified by him as “­Scythian swamps”.4 We can interpret these terms as covering the pool of

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-18

The Oder estuary in Adam’s Gesta  269 the Szczecin Lagoon, which connects with those straits at the Pomeranian Bay. In current Polish administrative terminology, the term “­straits” is used to define these watercourses, since they allow the exchange of water in both directions.5 Adam repeatedly devoted considerable space to the Odra River. In the different parts of his work, he juxtaposed the Odra and the Elbe twice and the result was a sketch of the area inhabited by the Polabian Slavs (­including the tribes forming the Lutici Union).6 Elsewhere on the course of this river, Adam says that, on its banks is, first, the home of the Pomeranians, then the Poles who border on Prussia, the Czechs, and in the east Ruthenia, and he assigned all these nations to the great province of Vinules.7 None of these passages, however, is as rich in information as the part devoted to the area of Iumne (Wolin). Undoubtedly, this d ­ escription – as ​­ in many other medieval ­works – ​­is steeped in various motifs and literary constructs, but some of its elements reveal the geographical knowledge of the author of the Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontificum, knowledge he had probably gained thanks to reliable informers who knew the areas he described. Adam of Bremen states that the Odra was the greatest river of the Slaves (­Slavic regions) and adds it ends in the Scythian Swamps, which he situates in accordance with the canons of early medieval geographical knowledge on the border between Germany and Scythia.8 We should note that in this respect the description mentioned above refers to an ancient interpretation which, until the publication of the Adam’s chronicle, had been misattributed to the Vistula.9 In the opinion of scholars of antiquity, the Vistula (­currently Wisla) River was the eastern border of Germany, separating it from Scythia or Sarmatia.10 This view was maintained in the early Middle Ages in Western Europe among the Carolingian elite. For example, Einhard, biographer of Charlemagne, thinking of the early ninth century conquests of his ruler, traditionally extended the eastern borders of Germania ­ remen  – ​­a clergyman educated to the Vistula River.11 So, was Adam of B according to the received wisdom of his ­time – ​­mistaken in attributing the characteristic features of the Vistula to the Odra River? The changes in this part of the southern coast of the Baltic Sea in the early Middle Ages were first observed by the ­A nglo-​­Saxon traveller, Wulfstan, acting on behalf of King Alfred the Great.12 While travelling by sea to the settlement he named Truso (­today’s Janów Pomorski13), he pointed out that the Vistula separates the land of the Slavs (­Weonodland) from the Estes (­Witland). Hence the ancient category of Germany was not used to describe the peoples living west of the Vistula.14 The real border had therefore probably moved earlier to the Elbe River. At the time of Adam’s account, the Odra had become the first of the important rivers of the Slavic lands and, from his perspective, acquired the designation of border river from the Vistula. In the context of the ­Saxon-​­Slavic rivalry of the ­tenth-​ e­ leventh centuries, the Oder was better suited to be the eastern border of Germany at that time.15

270  Piotr Piętkowski Adam showed a good knowledge of the shifts that had taken place in the depths of the Central European interior in the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries. We see in him an understanding of the role and effects of earlier consolidation processes of West Slavic tribal organizations and the formation of Piast rule, which increased the significance of the Oder in the eleventh century.16 To clarify this issue, we should acknowledge that the historiography of the Odra began only in the ninth and tenth centuries. The river was ­never  – ​­at least by ­name  – ​­mentioned by the authors of antiquity.17 Only later did historiography tried to identify the Odra as one of the two rivers located between the Elbe and the Vistula that were mentioned in antiquity, namely: Suevos or Viados. Attempts were sometimes made to identify these waterways with the Peene and the Oder, but such views were influenced by works of historiographers such as Thomas Kantzow and Joachim Cureus early historiographers.18 The views of the Suevos (­aka Suebos) as the main river of the Sweb tribe or the Viados as the waterway for the Lugia tribe are therefore mainly constructs that have sprung up with later visions of history. In addition, ancient knowledge of the interior of today’s Central and Eastern Europe left much to be desired, so it should be assumed that if larger rivers from these areas were already known, they were evaluated according to their sea estuaries. Such an assessment could have been made, for example, by the crew of the ancient sea expedition of Pythias, who was the first to mention the island of Thulein in the first century AD. However, even in this case, we are not sure whether or not after crossing the Danish straits, his ship entered the waters of the Baltic Sea.19 Therefore, as we are unable to resolve this issue unequivocally because of the nature of the sources we rely on, this chapter suggests a slightly different solution. Suevos and Viados are terms used to refer to the straits connecting the Szczecin Lagoon with the Pomeranian Bay. So we are dealing here with Piana/­Peene and Świna, or possibly Dziwna. Alternatively, these names may refer to other smaller rivers flowing directly into the Baltic Sea, including Rega or Parsęta.20 However, due to Adam of Bremen’s interest in the areas around the Odra estuary, priority should go to the straits connecting the Pomeranian Bay with the waters of the Szczecin Lagoon (­in his chronicle: “­Scythian swamps”), rather than to the other smaller rivers flowing directly into the sea. However, the information Adam of Bremen had at his disposal may not have been fully accurate at the time of his writing. As Monika Rusakiewicz has recently noted, when remembering Iumne (Wolin), Adam used the present tense, which would indicate that, in his time, this centre was still thriving in great splendour.21 But we know from Scandinavian sagas that it was destroyed in 1043 by the invasion of the Danish King Magnus the Good and never regained its glory.22 Only in the t­ welfth-​­century narrative of Helmold of Bosau, drawing from Adam’s older work, does the past tense appear, creating a somewhat different impression from the sketch of Iumne in the second half of the eleventh century. By Helmold, it was presented as

The Oder estuary in Adam’s Gesta  271 a place which had undoubtedly been magnificent in the past.23 Slight differences in the text also affect the passage about the mouth of the Oder River, which in the twelfth century was to be connected with the waters of the Baltic Sea through the backwaters, rather than disappearing in the Scythian swamps, which of course would be closer to reality. However, the picture composed in these passages by Adam, combining elements of the classical description of this part of the world with particular oral reports, would justify references to ancient Scythia or the further Russian and Greek lands. The results of archaeological research, i.e. the commercial role of this settlement and the eastern objects found here, speak for the interpenetration of various cultures in Iumne (Wolin).24 Without delving into the extremely interesting and extensive history of Iumne and the archaeological research carried out in Wolin,25 let us move to another important description contained in the work of Adam of Bremen ‒ the description of Neptune’s trident: Ibi cernitur Neptunus triplicis naturae: tribus enim fretis alluitur illa insula, quorum aiunt unum esse viridissimae speciei, alterum subalbidae, tertium motu furibundo perpetuis saevit tempestatibus.26 As a historian from Wrocław, located in the upper course of the Odra River, but expressing an opinion consistent with probably the majority of Polish academics,27 my first reaction is to see the metaphorical trident in the form of the stem, symbolizing the Odra, which then branches out through the Szczecin Lagoon forming three lines in the form of the straits: Peene, Świna, and Dziwna. However, taking into account thoughts concerning the geographical knowledge of the barbaricum areas from the turn of antiquity and the early Middle Ages, this chapter suggests that the sea lord’s trident was oriented in a completely different direction. His weapon instead covered the area from the Pomeranian Bay towards the abovementioned straits. This arrangement of the trident seems a better solution in the context of recognizing that the West Pomeranian Straits were the ancient rivers Suevos and Viados.28 However, the problem of the description of individual waters characterizing Neptune’s trident remains somewhat problematic. In the historic literature we also have a different interpretation of this passage which is said to be symbolic. According to Stanislaw Rosik, Karel J. Erben, Jiři Dynda, Stanisław Sielnicki, and most recently, Kamil Kajkowski, we have information about the colours of different areas of the water.29 Three colours are mentioned: dark green, white, and black and they are said to be characteristic of these separate bodies of water. Nonetheless, I do not fully agree with this interpretation because, in my opinion, we can identify these aspects in the ­real – ​­not ­symbolic – ​­characteristics of these straits. One of them is definitely the mouth of the Peene Strait, because Adam tells us about “­water, which is dark green”, another is described as “­white” and is probably the Świna Strait,30 while the third is the Dziwna Strait, characterized by the changeability of its conditions. Perhaps in this last case, the issue is one of hydrological complexity, since it consists of narrow and shallow sections

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Figure 17.1. River concept of Neptune’s trident theme. Drawing by Paweł Babij.

which pass into the backwaters of the Kamień Lagoon, the waters signifcantly narrowing towards Wolin. In the opinion of Władysław Kowalenko, northerly winds probably hindered sailing in its waters.31 If we reject the most likely identifcation of Iumne with Wolin in favour of an alternative search for it somewhere in the island of Usedom, the Neptune trident could be interpreted as the triangle of waters fowing around these island. The sides of this triangle would be the Peene strait (unum esse viridissimae specie), the waters of the Szczecin Lagoon and the mouth of the Świna (alterum subalbidae) with the coastline of Usedom stretching along the Pomeranian Bay (tertium motu furibundo perpetuis saevit tempestatibus). At the end of his account of the capital of Iumne, Adam of Bremen mentions that the river sources of the Odra and the Elbe are nearby.32 In fact, both rivers originate in the Sudeten Mountains, but their sources are actually separated by a considerable distance of several dozen kilometres. The Elbe springs are located in the Karkonosze (Ger. Riesenberge) Mountains (the highest part of the Sudeten Mountains) on the southern slopes of the Elbe Peak (Łabski Szczyt), while the Odra River originates in the farthest eastern Sudeten range, in the Odra Mountains (a not very high mountain range). However, if we trace the sources of the Odra tributaries, rivers such as: the Bóbr (lat. Castor), the Kwisa

The Oder estuary in Adam’s Gesta

273

Figure 17.2 See concept of Neptune’s trident theme. Drawing by Paweł Babij.

(Ger. Queis) or the Nysa Łużycka (Ger. Lausitzer Neiße), which originate in the Izerskie (Ger. Izera) and Karkonosze Mountains, Adam’s information appears consistent with the facts. From the Karkonosze Mountains, the tributaries of the Odra roll their waters north, connecting to the main river and continuing on together, eventually fowing through the Slavic lands and surrounding Iumne. Perhaps, therefore, he treated the Pomeranian Straits as left-bank tributaries, recognizing all these streams as components of the most signifcant – in Adam’s opinion – river in the Slavic region. Moving on to historiographic assessments of the value of Adam of Bremen’s account of the Odra estuary, it is worth noting that it is followed in the source material by an increase in references to the lower course of the river. Less numerous earlier ninth and tenth century references were mainly to the eastern reach of the Magdeburg Archbishopric (as far as the Odra River), and the Odra was in some places the border between the zones of infuence of Slavic political organisms and the Empire, as evidenced by its role in Dagome iudex.33 The estuary section of the river was probably the location of the residence of Prince Świętopełek, whose title was dux Odrensis and who probably died as a result of the warfare with Bolesław Wrymouth (Krzywousty) in Pomerania.34 The list, compiled in 1133, of bishoprics which

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were to be subject to the Magdeburg Archbishopric separated those located between the Elbe and the Odra (the Lubuskie and Szczecin bishoprics) and those located only beyond the Odra, including the Pomeranian bishopric.35 Along with the basin of the Szczecin Lagoon, the river features in accounts of the life of St. Otto, as a communication artery under the rule of the Pomeranian principality of Warcisław I. A large part of those events take place in the Szczecin stronghold, whose earliest conversion was crucial to the success of Christianization missions.36 The earliest Pomeranian diplomas inform us about customs chambers located along the lower part of Oder (including Widuchowa).37 Diplomatic sources, as well as narrative sources other than Adam, contain other important information about the Odra estuary area.38 In essence, therefore, Adam of Bremen’s statement that Odra is the largest (most magnifcent) river of the Slavic lands underpinned written sources created in the twelfth century, and the author himself – as the frst of the medieval chroniclers – showed good knowledge about the sources of this river, located deep inside the Slavic interior. In conclusion I wish to make the following observations derived from the contents of this chapter: 1. Adam of Bremen had good information about the mouth of the Odra River and the vicinity of the Szczecin Lagoon basin. He also had fairly accurate information about its entire course. This knowledge, combined with motifs taken from ancient works, allowed Adam to defne the Odra as the most magnifcent river of the Slavic region. Perhaps, then, he considered it justifable to equate descriptions of the western borders of Germania with its course. His description of the waters surrounding Jómsborg, comparing them to the motif of Neptune’s trident, is his attempt to describe the water conditions in the area of the Szczecin Lagoon basin. Most likely, the trident links the lagoon to the Baltic See (including the Pomeranian Bay), but other interpretations of this metaphor cannot be fully discounted. Most probably the three tines of the trident are the straits linking the lagoon to the sea, which we identify as Piana/Peene, Świna, and Dziwna. 2. Adam’s ascription to the Odra River of the characteristic role of the Vistula in ancient works coincides with an increasing body of knowledge about this watercourse which has been observable since the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth centuries.

Notes 1 For the major, interesting archaeological researches in Wolin, see: Wolin wczesnośredniowieczny, Part. 1, eds. B. Stanisławski, W. Filipowiak, Warszawa, Trio, 2013 (= Origines polonorum 6); Wolin wczesnośredniowieczny, Part. 2, eds. B. Stanisławski, W. Filipowiak, Warszawa, Trio, 2014 (= Origines polonorum 7).

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2 For a discussion of the historiography of the location of Wolin/Jomsborg in the early middle ages, see B. M. Stanisławski, Jómswikingowie z Wolina-Jómsborga – studium archeologiczne przenikania kultury skandynawskiej na ziemie polskie, Wrocław, Instytut Archeologii i Etnologii Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 2013, 63–79; M. Rusakiewicz, Wineta. Korzenie legendy i jej recepcja w historiografi zachodniopomorskiej do XVI wieku, Wrocław, Chronicon, 2016, 7–20; 109–116. 3 W. Kowalenko, Piana, Świna i Dziwna jako szlaki osadniczo-komunikacyjne słowiańszczyzny bałtyckiej VIII–XIII w., “Przegląd Zachodni”, 1954, 1–2, pp. 20–21; M. Rębkowski, O znaczeniu Świny we wczesnym średniowieczu, “Slavia Antiqua”, 69, 2018, pp. 153–161. 4 Gesta, lib. II, cap. XII, 79. 5 ‘Morze Bałtyckie, Cieśniny,’ Nazewnictwo Geografczne Świata 10, Morza i oceany, ed. K. Furmańczyk, Warszawa, Główny Urząd Geodezji i Kartografi, 2008, 52. See also my book: P. Piętkowski, Rzeki pomorskie w świetle źródeł historycznych i archeologicznych do końca XII wieku, Wrocław, Chronicon, 2017, 10. 6 About these organizations see, for example, P. Babij, Wojskowość Słowian Połabskich, vol. 1, Wrocław, Chronicon, 2017, 86–91. 7 Gesta, lib. IV, c. 13. 8 Gesta, lib. II, c. 18: Sclavania igitur, amplissima Germaniae provintia, a Winulis incolitur, qui olim dicti sunt Wandali. […] Eius latitudo est a meridie usque in boream, hoc est ab Albia fuvio usque ad mare Scythicum and Gesta, lib. II, c. 19: Ultra Leuticios, qui alio nomine Wilzi dicuntur, Oddara fumen occurrit, ditissimus amnis Sclavaniae regionis. In cuius ostio, qua Scyticas alluit paludes, nobilissima civitas Iumne celeberrimam praestat stacionem barbaris et Graecis, qui sunt in circuitu. De cuius praeconio urbis, quia magna quaedam et vix credibilia recitantur, volupe arbitror pauca inserere digna relatu. Est sane maxima omnium quas Europa claudit civitatum, quam incolunt Sclavi cum aliis gentibus, Graecis et barbaris. 9 For the symbolic attributes of these rivers see P. Urbańczyk, ‘Symboliczna funkcja Wisły w starożytności i we wczesnym średniowieczu,’ O rzece i wodzie w życiu codziennym człowieka średniowiecza, red. S. Moździoch, K. Chrzan, Wrocław, Instytut Archeologii i Etnologii Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 2015, 53–60. 10 According to ancient authors, the border between Germany and Scythia was the Vistula River. Adam of Bremen in the eleventh century ascribes this role to the Odra River. For the oldest sources on Polish lands see Vistula amne discreta. Greckie i łacińskie źródła do najdawniejszych dziejów ziem Polski, eds. J. Kolendo, T. Płóciennik, et al., Warszawa, Ośrodek Badań nad Antykiem UW, 2015. 11 Einhardi Vita Karoli Magni, ed. Geogrius Henricus Pertz, Hannoverae 1845, 15–16. 12 ‘Chronografa Orozjusza w anglosaskim przekładzie króla Alfreda’, Źródła skandynawskie i anglosaskie do dziejów słowiańszczyzny, ed. G. Labuda, Warszawa, PWN, 2005, 69. 13 The fndings of archaeological research in Janów Pomorski are presented in M. F. Jagodziński, Truso. Między Weonodlandem a Witlandem, Elbląg, Muzeum Archeologiczno-Historyczne w Elblągu, 2010. 14 For Wulfstan’s mission see P. Urbańczyk, ‘Czy Wulfstan był w Truso?’, Truso. Weonodlandem a Witlandem, 31–36. 15 For these changes in theories about Odra as the most important Slavic river in the eleventh century and early medieval maps of the Slavic Lands, see, for example, M. Dragnea, Mental Geographies and Cultural Identities in the Baltic Region in the Eleven-Century: The Anglo-Saxon “Cotton” World Map, [in] History, Culture and Research, vol. 3, eds. Dumitru-Cătălin Rogojanu, Gherghina Boda, Cetatea de Scaun, Targoviste, 2019, 13–21. 16 M. Kara, Najstarsze państwo Piastów  – rezultat przełomu czy kontynuacji? Studium archeologiczne, Poznań, Instytut Archeologii i Etnologii Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 2009.

276  Piotr Piętkowski 17 Pommersches Urkundenbuch, vol. 1, Part. 1, ed. R. Klempin, Stettin 1868, 11, 5. 18 See T. Kantzow, Pomerania. Kronika pomorska z XVI wieku, vol. 1, ed. K. Gołda, T. Białecki, E. Rymar, Szczecin, Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Szczecińskiego, 2005, ­28–​­29; P. Siekierka, Ex Silesiae Antiquitatibus. Wątki ludów antycznych w traktacie “­G entis Silesiae” annales Ioachima Cureusa, [in:] Radices ­S ilesiae  – ​­S ilesiacae Radices. Śląsk: kraj ludzie, memoria a kształtowanie się społecznych więzi tożsamości (­d o końca XVIII wieku), eds. M. Bláhová, S. Rosik, T. Wünsch, Wrocław, Chronicon, 2011, ­149–​­158. 19 Pomponiusza Meli Chorographia czyli opis kręgu Ziemi, eds. S. Szarypkin, K.T. Witczak, Piotrków Trybunalski, Naukowe Wydawnictwo Piotrkowskie, 2011, 217. 20 More about this problem can be found in P. Piętkowski, Rzeki pomorskie, 34–​­35. 21 M. Rusakiewicz, Wineta, ­21–​­41. 22 J. Morawiec, ‘­Wolin/­Jomsborg w średniowiecznej literaturze skandynaw­skiej’, Wolin wczesnośredniowieczny, Part. 1, eds. B. Stanisławski, W. Filipowiak, Warszawa, Trio, 2013 (= Origines polonorum 6), 3­ 04–​­320; B. M. Stanisławski, Jómswikingowie ­291–​­299. This view is countered by the interesting opinion of Wojciech Filipowiak, expressed in this volume, who cites arguments for rejecting the view that 1043 was the year of Wolin’s fall. 23 M. Rusakiewicz, Wineta, 43–​­58; P. Piętkowski, Rzeki pomorskie, ­48–​­49. 24 S. Rosik, “‘­Nie ma barbarzyńcy ani Greka…” W sprawie narzędzi globalistycznej interpretacji dziejów w myśli wieków średnich na przykładzie recepcji nowotestamentowych idei w historiografii XI i XII w.’, ­Kultura – ­​­­Historia – ​­G lobalizacja 10, 2011, ­175–​­183. 25 See note 1. 26 Gesta, lib. II, cap. XII, 79. 27 At this point, it is worth quoting the older metaphor of Władysław Semkowicz, ‘­­Historyczno-​­geograficzne podstawy Śląska’, Historia Śląska od najdawniejszych czasów do roku 1400, vol. 1., ed. S. Kutrzeba, Kraków, PAU, 1933, 17 who compared the Odra River and its basin to the construction of a human lung. Semkowicz wrote that Odra riverbanks connect all centres of the Silesian land like lungs, whose channels reach the smallest bubbles forming those organs. If we adopt that metaphor, then the lower section of the Odra can be considered a kind of pulmonary aorta for early Piast rulership, binding the two lungs formed by the middle and upper Odra basins and the Warta and Noteć River systems. This observation turns out to be extremely accurate even today, both for historians and archaeologists, as evidenced by, for example, in the chapter by Sławomir Moździoch, ‘­K rajobraz rzeczny jako źródło tożsamości ludności średniowiecznego Śląska’, Radices ­Silesiae – ​­Silesiacae Radices, eds. M. Bláhová, S. Rosik, T. Wünsch, t. 1, Wrocław, Chronicon, 2011, ­47–​­62 about the ­culture-​­forming role of the Odra River in shaping Silesian identity. 28 P. Piętkowski, op. cit., 35. 29 There is a reasonably full account of these interpretations in K. Kajkowski, ‘­Żywioł morski w tradycyjnych wierzeniach Słowian nadbałtyckich’, Bałtyk w dziejach ludów Morza Bałtyckiego, eds. M. Franz, Z. Pilarczyk, Toruń, Marszałek, 2020 (=  Marte integrans. Studia nad dziejami wybrzeży Morza Bałtyckiego, 15), 95–​­99. 30 According to a brand new opinion from Marian Rębkowski, Świna strait constantly gained in importance from the tenth to the twelfth century and was the most important water connection with the Pomeranian Bay and Szczecin Lagoon. See M. Rębkowski, ‘O znaczeniu Świny’, 161–​­162. 31 W. Kowalenko W., ‘Piana, Świna i Dziwna jako szlaki osadniczo-komunikacyjne słowiańszczyzny bałtyckiej VIII–XIII w.’, Przegląd Zachodni, 1954, 1–2, 20–21. 32 Gesta, lib. II, cap. XII, ­80.

The Oder estuary in Adam’s Gesta  277 33 Z. ­Kozłowska-​­Budkowa, Repertorium polskich dokumentów doby piastowskiej, z. 1, Do końca wieku XII, Kraków, PAU, 2006, 51–​­54. On this source see G. Labuda, ‘­Stan dyskusji nad dokumentem Dagome iudex i państwem Schinesghe’, Civitas Schinesghe cum pertinentiis, ed. W. Chudziak, Toruń, Wydawnictwo Naukowe UMK, 2003, ­9 –​­17. 34 S. Rosik, Bolesław Krzywousty, Wrocław, Chronicon, 2013, 188–​­189. 35 Pommersches Urkundenbuch I, 23, ­9. For more on this problem, see S. Rosik, Conversio gentis Pomeranorum. Studium świadectwa o wydarzeniu (­XII wiek), Wrocław, Chronicon, 2010, 104–​­106. 36 P. Piętkowski, Rzeki pomorskie, ­41–​­47. For Otto’s missions see S. Rosik, ‘­The Pomeranian Mission of St. Otto of Bamberg. Remarks on the Doctrine and Practice of Christianisation’, Christianization of the Baltic Region, ed. J. Gąssowski, Pułtusk, Wyższa Szkoła Humanistyczna, 2004, ­167–​­173. 37 For example, Pommersches Urkundenbuch I, 48, ­24. 38 P. Piętkowski, Rzeki pomorskie, ­49–​­55.

Bibliography Primary sources ‘­ Chronografia Orozjusza w anglosaskim przekładzie króla Alfreda’, Źródła skandynawskie i anglosaskie do dziejów słowiańszczyzny, ed. G. Labuda, Warszawa, PWN, 2005. Einhardi Vita Karoli Magni, ed. G. H. Pertz, MGH, Scriptores rerum Germanicarum in usum scholarum, Hannoverae 1845. Kantzow T., Pomerania. Kronika pomorska z XVI wieku, vol. 1, ed. K. Gołda, T. Białecki, E. Rymar, Szczecin, Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Szczecińskiego, 2005. ­Kozłowska-​­Budkowa Z., Repertorjum polskich dokumentów doby piastowskiej, z. 1, Do końca wieku XII, Kraków, PAU, 2006. Magistri Adam Bremensis gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontificum, ed. B.  Schmeidler, MGH, Scriptores rerum Germanicarum in usum scholarum, Hannoverae 1917. Pommersches Urkundenbuch, vol. 1, part. 1, ed. R. Klempin, Stettin 1868. Pomponiusza Meli Chorographia czyli opis kręgu Ziemi, eds. S. Szarypkin, K. T. Witczak, Piotrków Trybunalski, Naukowe Wydawnictwo Piotrkowskie, 2011. Vistula amne discreta. Greckie i łacińskie źródła do najdawniejszych dziejów ziem ­Polski, eds. J. Kolendo, T. Płóciennik et al., Warszawa, Ośrodek Badań nad Antykiem UW, 2015.

Secondary literature Babij P., Wojskowość Słowian Połabskich, vol. 1, Wrocław, Chronicon, 2017. Dragnea M., ‘­Mental Geographies and Cultural Identities in the Baltic Region in the ­Eleven-​­Century: The ­Anglo-​­Saxon “­Cotton” World Map’, History, Culture and Research, vol. 3, eds. D.-​­C. Rogojanu, G. Boda, C. de Scaun, Targoviste, 2019, ­13–​­29. Jagodziński M. F., Truso. Między Weonodlandem a Witlandem, Elbląg, Muzeum ­A rcheologiczno-​­Historyczne w Elblągu, 2010. Kajkowski K., ‘­ Żywioł morski w tradycyjnych wierzeniach Słowian nadbałtyc­ kich’, Bałtyk w dziejach ludów Morza Bałtyckiego, eds. M. Franz, Z. Pilarczyk,

278  Piotr Piętkowski Toruń, Marszałek, 2020 (= Marte integrans. Studia nad dziejami wybrzeży Morza Bałtyckiego, 15), ­93–​­116. Kara M., Najstarsze państwo ­Piastów – ​­rezultat przełomu czy kontynuacji? Studium archeologiczne, Poznań, Instytut Archeologii i Etnologii Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 2009. Kowalenko W., ‘­ Piana, Świna i Dziwna jako szlaki ­ osadniczo-​­ komunikacyjne słowiańszczyzny bałtyckiej ­VIII–​­XIII w.’, Przegląd Zachodni, 1954, ­1–​­2, ­1–​­90. Labuda G., ‘­Stan dyskusji nad dokumentem Dagome iudex i państwem Schinesghe’, Civitas Schinesghe cum pertinentiis, ed. W. Chudziak, Toruń, 2003, Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika, ­9 –​­17. Morawiec J., ‘­ Wolin/­ Jomsborg w średniowiecznej literaturze skandynaw­ skiej’, Wolin wczesnośredniowieczny, Part. 1, eds. B. Stanisławski, W. Filipowiak, Warszawa, Trio, 2013 (= Origines polonorum 6). ‘­Morze Bałtyckie, Cieśniny’, Nazewnictwo Geograficzne Świata 10, Morza i oceany, ed. K. Furmańczyk, Warszawa, Główny Urząd Geodezji i Kartografii, 2008. Moździoch S., ‘­K rajobraz rzeczny jako źródło tożsamości ludności średniowiecz­ nego Śląska’, Radices Silesiae-Silesiacae Radices, eds. M. Bláhová, S. Rosik, T. Wünsch, t. 1, Wrocław, Chronicon, 2011. Piętkowski P., Rzeki pomorskie w świetle źródeł historycznych i archeologicznych do końca XII wieku, Wrocław, Chronicon, 2017. Rębkowski M., ‘­O znaczeniu Świny we wczesnym średniowieczu’, Slavia Antiqua 69, 2018, ­153–​­164. Rosik S., ‘­The Pomeranian Mission of St Otto of Bamberg. Remarks on the Doctrine and Practice of Christianisation’, Christianization of the Baltic region, ed. J. Gąssowski, Pułtusk, WSH, 2004, ­167–​­173. Rosik S., Conversio gentis Pomeranorum. Studium świadectwa o wydarzeniu (­XII wiek), Wrocław, Chronicon, 2010. Rosik S., ‘­Nie ma barbarzyńcy ani Greka…” W sprawie narzędzi globalistycznej interpretacji dziejów w myśli wieków średnich na przykładzie recepcji nowotestamentowych idei w historiografii XI i XII w.’, Kultura-Historia-Globalizacja 10, 2011, ­175–​­183. Rosik S., Bolesław Krzywousty, Wrocław, Chronicon, 2013. Rusakiewicz M., Wineta. Korzenie legendy i jej recepcja w historiografii zachodniopomorskiej do XVI wieku, Wrocław, Chronicon, 2016. Semkowicz W., ‘­­Historyczno-​­geograficzne podstawy Śląska’, Historia Śląska od naj­ dawniejszych czasów do roku 1400, vol. 1., ed. S. Kutrzeba, Kraków, PAU, 1933. Siekierka P., ‘­Ex Silesiae Antiquitatibus. Wątki ludów antycznych w traktacie “­Gentis Silesiae” annales Ioachima Cureusa’, Radices Silesiae-Silesiacae Radices. Śląsk: kraj ludzie, memoria a kształtowanie się społecznych więzi tożsamości (­do końca XVIII wieku), eds. M. Bláhová, S. Rosik, T. Wünsch, Wrocław, Chronicon, 2011, 1­ 49–​­158. Stanisławski B. M., Jómswikingowie z ­Wolina-­​­­Jómsborga – ​­studium archeologiczne przenikania kultury skandynawskiej na ziemie polskie, Wrocław, Wydawnictwo Instytutu Archeologii i Etnologii PAN, 2013. Urbańczyk P., ‘­Czy Wulfstan był w Truso?,’ Truso. Między Weonodlandem a Witlandem, ed. M. F. Jagodziński, Elbląg, Muzeum ­A rcheologiczno-​­Historyczne w Elblągu, 2010, p­p. ­31–​­35. Urbańczyk P., ‘­Symboliczna funkcja Wisły w starożytności i we wczesnym śre­ dniowieczu’, O rzece i wodzie w życiu codziennym człowieka średniowiecza, eds. S. Moź­d zioch, K. Chrzan, Wrocław, Instytut Archeologii i Etnologii Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 2015, ­53–​­60. Wolin wczesnośredniowieczny, Part. 2, eds. B. Stanisławski, W. Filipowiak, Warszawa, Trio, 2014 (= Origines polonorum 7).

18 Est sane maxima omnium, quas Europa claudit, civitatum. Adam of Bremen and the estimation of size and population of early medieval Wolin Wojciech Filipowiak Introduction The Chronicle of Adam of Bremen remains one of the most important sources on early medieval Wolin – a craft and trading centre located on the island of Wolin (Poland). The brief description of the town contained in the Chronicle of Adam of Bremen has given rise to numerous speculations about its importance, internal system, social structure and maritime trade connections. This information has been repeatedly reassessed with archaeological sources, acquired over the course of many years of research in the city area. In this chapter, I will present the results of my own comparison of written and archaeological sources concerning one fragment of the description in Adam’s chronicle: Est sane maxima omnium, quas Europa claudit, civitatum, quam incolunt Sclavi cum aliis gentibus, Grecis et Barbaris1 Most scholars agree that Wolin’s claim to be the largest city in Europe is greatly exaggerated, and the passage must be regarded as a literary trope intended to emphasize its importance, rather than as an actual refection of its size. However, the passage does appear in many works on Wolin, and their authors always refer to the above-average size of this trading centre. Figures are also quoted: the area of the town was supposed to be about 40 hectares in its heyday, while the population was supposed to be about 6, 8, or even 10,000 inhabitants.2 However, no basis for these estimates has ever been provided, nor has any attempt been made to compare these fgures with estimates for other important early urban centres of the period. In this chapter I will compare the results with two important tenth-century Baltic trade centres, Birka and Hedeby. In the course of the work for this chapter, it became apparent that despite many years of archaeological research carried out at Wolin, the information obtained does not allow the precise determination of the many factors determining both the size of the town and the number of inhabitants. The lack of wide-ranging research, which would make it possible to capture both the

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-19

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spatial layout of buildings, streets and public buildings (e.g., temples, warehouses etc.), and to examine residential buildings in their entirety, means that the present results must be treated as a rough sketch of the size of Wolin and the number of its inhabitants.

Method Area This study is based on a comparison of the geographical areas of archaeological sites where remains of settlements have been discovered. Cemeteries were excluded from the analysis, because of the method used, which was based on reconstruction of the inhabited areas. To estimate the size of early medieval Wolin, the area occupied by the centre at the moment of its peak development, i.e., in the tenth century, was examined. The basic components of the town are the centre (site 1), northern districts – “Gardens” and “Silver Hill” (sites 4, 5, 6) and the southern suburb (site 2). These elements are complemented by those located between the city centre and the southern district (site 3), an open suburb (site 17) and a settlement located near the “Silver Hill” (site 7). The southern settlement (site 10) was excluded from this list because it is diffcult to determine at this stage whether it was an integral part of the whole. The area of site 1 was assessed on the basis of the limits of the archaeological site, marked by the remains of the ramparts and city walls. So far it is believed that the late medieval town walls were built on the older ramparts of the crafts and trade centre. However, such a correlation could only be detected in the western part of the fortifcations. Their course from the northern and southern side is still subject to debate. The area of site 4, “Gardens”, was determined on the basis of archaeological research carried out in 1999–2002.3 Topographical markers were also consulted. The site adjoins the Dziwna Strait on the east and it is limited on the south by the city centre moat (site 1). The western boundary is defned as a strip of marshes and the last trench to the west, where the remains of an early-medieval settlement were discovered. The northern boundary is unknown; it is possible that the district formed a single unit with sites 5–6 “Silver Hill”. The area of sites 5–6, “Silver Hill”, has likewise been estimated on the basis of archaeological research and topographical distinctions. A belt of swamps borders the area to the west, and the Dziwna Strait borders it to the east. To the north, “Silver Hill” is enclosed by an early medieval rampart, confrmed by both pre- and post-war research.4 The area of site 2, the southern suburb, was estimated on the basis of the hypothetical course of the fortifcations proposed by E. Cnotliwy.5 The areas of the remaining sites were estimated solely on the basis of topographic features, namely the location of marshes and small sounding

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trenches. They are necessarily the most hypothetical but their area is small in comparison with the other, main parts of the agglomeration. We move on now to the sites that Wolin will be compared to. Birka lies in Lake Mälaren, on the island of Björko in Sweden. It was an early urban centre that existed between the eighth and tenth centuries, with a trade and craft-based economy and contacts with all of Europe at the time. The main settlement was concentrated on a fat depression of land near the water (the so-called Black Earth), while to the south of it was a citadel on a rocky hill.6 I include both these two sites in the overall town for the purposes of this analysis. The site boundaries are based on precise GIS data published on the website of the Birka project conducted in 2011–2015.7 Hedeby is located at the narrowest point of the Cimbrian peninsula, close to the Danevirke fortifcation system. It is considered to be the most important archaeological site of the Viking period, operating from the late eighth to mid-eleventh centuries.8 The main settlement area is an enclosed semicircular rampart. In addition, a citadel on a nearby hill (Hochburg) is included in this analysis, despite continuing problems with its chronology,9 because it was probably inhabited. Also included is the open settlement located south of the main centre (Südsiedlung). The area of all the centres was calculated using available geographical tools (e.g., google maps portals, geoportal.pl, geoportal.de), after superimposing the extent of the archaeological sites onto the maps in those applications. Due to the imperfections of the web portals, the resulting measurements should be treated as approximations. Population Many methods exist for estimating the population of ancient towns.10 Given the state of research on the settlement at Wolin, the best method for determining its population is the dwelling-based method, which depends on calculating the population based on the number of houses that existed within the site. The analysis consisted, frst of all, of locating on a map the horizontal projections of trenches in which the remains of huts were recorded on all analyzed sites. This made it possible to determine, at least in the immediate vicinity of the excavations, the building line and the course of the streets. Unfortunately, compared to the total area of the sites, these are spatially small excavations. Bearing this in mind it is important to remember that the extrapolation of this data to the whole town is very hypothetical. The next step was to fll in the white spaces between the excavations, for which we have no data. To determine the number of houses on the sites, a decision was taken to fll the entire surface of the given segments with houses similar in size to those that had been discovered almost in their entirety. Dimensions of approx. 5 × 5 m were assumed, which is a simplifcation. The choice of the 5 ×  5 size houses, and the omission of probable larger buildings, was dictated by the desire to obtain the maximum possible population

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that could have lived within the confnes of early medieval Wolin. However, the existence of large, pillared buildings in the town is known. These could be up to 15 m long,11 while buildings put up using palisade and braid techniques had dimensions of 5 × 5.5 m or 5 × 6 m.12 The town centre (site 1), the southern suburb (site 2) and the “Gardens” district (site 4) were flled with houses up to the limits of the site. In the case of sites 5–6 “Silver Hill” the density of the buildings was assumed to be lower, as discovered during the archaeological survey, and there was also an empty market square there.13 However, the size of the square and the precise density of buildings is impossible to determine, so this proposal is hypothetical. With the number of houses in each district calculated, it was then necessary to assume the size of the family per building. Unfortunately, such data on the size of early medieval Baltic Slav families appears to be nonexistent. In studies on Near Eastern towns, the numbers per dwelling varied from 3 to 8 persons, and an average of 4.5 persons has often been used.14 Monogamy was probably most common among the Slavs, but polygamy was also allowed, although researchers have surmised that it was rather rare and limited to the wealthiest class.15 In the case of Wolin, we should therefore assume that it was a more common occurrence than in other areas due to the great concentration there of wealth and capital. The oligarchs of Wolin may have had many wives, and this should probably also be considered in analyzing the data. After calculating the maximum population that could have inhabited the districts of early medieval Wolin, the results were checked by dividing that number by the area of the site in question. A very low number of m 2 per person could indicate that the model assumed too many dwellings and too few buildings of other types or empty squares.

Results The calculated area of early medieval Wolin in the tenth century was 28.66 ha. If we exclude additional sites (sites 3, 7 and 17), the extent of which is very hypothetical, we obtain a result of 22.09 ha, covering the town centre (site 1) together with the main districts (sites 2, 4, 5, 6). It is almost certain, however, that these results are underestimated because the closest neighbourhoods to the east and north of the town were only covered by surface surveys, and the extent of the settlement which was located to the south of the town – (i.e., behind the ramparts of the southern suburb) is also unknown. The town centre (site 1) covered 6.9 ha within the ramparts. The southern suburb (site 2) was almost half as large, at 3.63 ha. The districts of “Gardens” and “Silver Hill” to the north of the centre were 4.76 and 6.8 hectares respectively, making a total of 11.5 hectares, but much of “Silver Hill” was underdeveloped. We know, for example, that there was a market there.16

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Figure 18.1. Comparison of the area of early medieval craft and trade centres in the tenth century: Wolin, Hedeby and Birka. Sites with poorly defned ranges are marked with a lighter colour.

For comparison, an area survey of Hedeby showed that the main centre surrounded by ramparts was about 24  ha. However, in its south-western part there is an area where both settlements and burials have been discovered. This area is close to 5 ha and if we exclude it the main settlement at Hedeby would have been about 19 ha, with close to 6 ha loosely built up with half-dugouts. To this can be added the southern settlement – about 8 ha and the citadel – about 3 ha. The main settlement in Hedeby occupied from 13 to 24 ha (the centre surrounded by ramparts) or from 19 to 36 ha (the centre including the southern settlement and the citadel). Scholarly consensus generally appears to agree on a fgure of 24.17 For Birka, the measurements showed that the main centre (the so-called Black Earth) was about 8.7 ha. Published data show about 6 ha.18 If we add to this the Borgen citadel (1.3 ha), we get about 7.3 to 10 ha. As in the case of Wolin, this fgure is an underestimate, because on the island of Björko, on which Birka is situated, remains of a settlement have also been discovered a short distance from the centre of the town. The calculation of the population of Wolin in the tenth century was based on the number of houses which could have been located within the ramparts and in the settlements in the immediate vicinity of the town. Filling all the possible areas inside the ramparts, excluding traffc routes, with objects measuring 5 × 5 m gave the following results. The city centre (site 1) accommodated 734 houses, the southern district (site 2) 536 houses, the northern district had 476 houses (site 4) and “Silver Hill” had 132 houses (site 5–6).

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Figure 18.2. Model of early medieval Wolin in the tenth century with buildings, used for calculations in this analysis. It is not an attempt to reconstruct the actual layout of buildings, which is impossible in the current state of research, but only a construct for the purposes of calculation.

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An additional 216 houses were placed in areas outside the embankments (sites 3, 7, 17). In total, the result was 2,094 houses for the whole area. This number was multiplied by the assumed family size (4.5) to obtain a result of 9,432 persons. To check this, the total area of the houses was divided by the estimated population to see how many square metres of house there were per person. In this case the result was 5.5  m 2/person. That is very low and may indicate that there are too many residential houses in the model used and that warehouses, temples, empty yards etc. have not been taken into account. If we take the value of 8 m2/person we get 6,543.75 people, while at 10 m 2/person, the fgure often used in other studies19 it is 5,235 people.

Discussion The estimated area of Wolin that was occupied in the tenth century (28.66) hectares, and the approximate number of inhabitants (5,000–6,500) make it one of the largest, or perhaps the largest, settlement on the Baltic Sea. Birka in Sweden is almost three times smaller, while Hedeby is of comparable size. These results are, of course, subject to a large degree of inaccuracy, as knowledge about crafts and trade centres on the Baltic differs, according to differences in the areas excavated and surveyed. Nevertheless, future research in Wolin and the extension of this comparison to other early towns in the Baltic region will certainly allow for more precise fndings. The published estimate for Wolin to date (6,000 people)20 seems most likely, with the caveat that this number could vary greatly by season with the arrival of merchants and the gathering of people from the immediate area for fairs and religious ceremonies. The question of how the space in the centre of Wolin was organized is still open. Was there a division into plots, as was the case in Hedeby and Birka, or were the houses placed closely together within the ramparts? The lack of large-scale excavations does not allow us to answer this question unequivocally, but at the moment it seems that very tightly packed buildings, growing rather chaotically, predominated. This is the model adopted in this work. To make a visual analogy, one could think of the Arab medina, a labyrinth of streets and corridors. Perhaps Wolin looked similar (considering all the differences – cultural, material, spatial and climatic). This tight construction is indirectly confrmed by written sources and in accounts of the catastrophic results of the fre caused by a lightning strike, which consumed the whole town so quickly.21 The phrase of Adam of Bremen Est sane maxima omnium, quas Europa claudit, civitatum can of course only be a literary formula. However, if we assume that he meant northern Europe and the Baltic region, as this chapter argues, then archaeology suggests that Wolin may indeed have been the largest civitas in that region.

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Notes 1 Gesta, l. II c. 22, 79. 2 Władysław Filipowiak, Marek Konopka, ‘­The Identity of a Town. Wolin, ­Town–­​ ­­State–­​­­9th–​­12th Centuries’, Quaestiones Medii Aevii Novae 13 (­2008), 257; John Broich, ‘­The Wasting of Wolin: Environmental Factors in the Downfall of a Medieval Baltic Town’, Environment and History 7, no. 2, “­Beyond Local, Natural Ecosystems” special issue (­2001), ­187–​­199. 3 Władysław Filipowiak, Błażej Stanisławski, ‘­Przez most do ­przeszłości – ​­badania wykopaliskowe w dzielnicy Ogrody’. Wolin wczesnośredniowieczny, część 1, ed. W. Filipowiak, B. Stanisławski, Warszawa, Trio, 2013, ­65–​­190. 4 Eugeniusz Cnotliwy, ’Umocnienia obronne wczesnośredniowiecznego Wolina’, Wolin wczesnośredniowieczny, część 2, eds. W. Filipowiak, B. Stanisławski, Warszawa, Trio, 2014, ­248–​­265. 5 Cnotliwy, ‘­Umocnienia obronne wczesnośredniowiecznego Wolina’, ­199–​­241. 6 Björn Ambrosiani, ‘­Birka’. The Viking World, eds. S. Brink, N. Price, ­London and New York, Routledge, 2008, ­94–​­100. 7 http://­g is.historiska.se/­h istoriska/, access 10.10.2021; Sven Kalmring, ‘­The Birka ­Proto-​­Town ­GIS – ​­A Source for Comprehensive Studies of Björkö’, Fornvännen. Journal of Swedish Antiquarian Research 107/­4 (­2012), ­253–​­265. 8 Volker Hilberg, ‘­Hedeby: An Outline of Its Research History’, The Viking World, eds. S. Brink, N. Price, London and New York, Routledge, 2008, ­101–​­111. 9 See: Sven Kalmring, ‘­Hedeby ­Hochburg  – ​­Theories, State of Research and ­Dating’, Offa 71/­72, 2014/­15 (­2018), ­241–​­291. 10 Jeffrey R. Zorn, ‘­Estimating the Population Size of Ancient Settlements: Methods, Problems, Solutions, and a Case Study’, Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 295 (­1994), ­32–​­35. 11 Karl August Wilde. Die Bedeutung der Grabung Wollin 1934. Methodische Grundlagen für die Erforschung der W ­ ikinger-​­und S ­ lawen-​­Siedlung Wollin. Stettin 1939; Błażej Stanisławski, ‘­ Budownictwo wczesnośredniowiecznego ­Wolina – ​­próba reinterpretacji’, Materiały Zachodniopomorskie, Nowa Seria 6/­7 (­2009/­2010), z. 1: Archeologia, 229; Eugeniusz Cnotliwy, ‘­Pozostałości budow­ nictwa drewnianego z ­IX–​­XII w. ze stanowiska 4 w Wolinie’, Materiały Zachodniopomorskie 8 (­1962), ­29–​­84. 12 Stanisławski, ‘­Budownictwo wczesnośredniowiecznego Wolina’, 233; Euge­n iusz Cnotliwy, ‘­ W sprawie budownictwa we wczesnośredniowiecznym Wolinie’, Materiały Zachodniopomorskie, Nowa Seria t. 11: 2014, z. 1: Archeologia (­2015), 95. 13 Jerzy Wojtasik, ‘­Srebrne Wzgórze w ­Wolinie–​­wstępne wyniki badań z lat ­1961–​ ­1969’, Materiały Zachodniopomorskie 45 (1999), ­313–​­384. 14 Zorn, ‘­Estimating the Population Size’, 33. 15 Lech Leciejewicz, Słowianie Zachodni. Z dziejów tworzenia się średniowiecz­ nej Europy, ­Wrocław-­​­­Warszawa-­​­­K raków- ­​­­G dańsk-​­Ł ódź, Ossolineum, 1989, ­9 0–​­91. 16 Filipowiak, Konopka, ‘­The identity of a Town’, 253. 17 Dagfinn Skre, ‘­The Development of Urbanism in Scandinavia’, The Viking World, eds. S. Brink, N. Price, London and New York, Routledge, 2008, 89. 18 Skre, ‘­The Development of Urbanism’, 89. 19 Zorn, ‘­Estimating the Population Size’, 40. 20 Filipowiak, Konopka, ‘­The identity of a Town’, 257. 21 Ryszard Kiersnowski, ‘­Wolin i Szczecin jako główne ośrodki Pomorza Zachodniego we wczesnym średniowieczu’, Szczecin i Wolin we wczesnym średniowieczu, ed. W. Brodzki, Wrocław, Ossolineum, 1954, 22.

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Bibliography Primary sources Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontificum, ed. B. Schmeidler, 3rd edition, Hannoverae and Lipsiae, Hahn, 1917.

Secondary literature Ambrosiani B., ‘­Birka’, The Viking World, eds. S. Brink, N. Price, London and New York, Routledge, 2008, ­94–​­100. Broich J., ‘­ The Wasting of Wolin: Environmental Factors in the Downfall of a Medieval Baltic Town’, Environment and History 7, no. 2, “­Beyond Local, Natural ­Ecosystems” special issue (­2001), ­187–​­199. Cnotliwy E., ’Umocnienia obronne wczesnośredniowiecznego Wolina’, Wolin wczesnośredniowieczny, część 2, eds. W. Filipowiak, B. Stanisławski, Warszawa, Trio, 2014, ­248–​­65. Cnotliwy E., ‘­W sprawie budownictwa we wczesnośredniowiecznym Wolinie’, Materiały Zachodniopomorskie, Nowa Seria t. 11: 2014, z. 1: Archeologia (­2015), ­93–​­106. Filipowiak W., Konopka M., ‘­The identity of a Town. Wolin, ­Town–­​­­State–­​­­9th–​­12th Centuries’, Quaestiones Medii Aevii Novae 13 (­2008), ­243–​­288. Filipowiak W., Stanisławski B., ‘­Przez most do ­przeszłości – ​­badania wykopa­l iskowe w dzielnicy Ogrody’. Wolin wczesnośredniowieczny, część 1, eds. W. Filipowiak, B. Stanisławski, Warszawa, Trio, 2013, ­65–​­190. Hilberg V., ‘­Hedeby: An Outline of its Research History’, The Viking World, eds. S. Brink, N. Price, London and New York, Routledge, 2008, ­101–​­111. Kalmring S., ‘­The Birka P ­ roto-​­Town ­GIS  – ​­A Source for Comprehensive Studies of Björkö’, Fornvännen. Journal of Swedish Antiquarian Research 107/­4 (­2012), ­253–​­265. Kalmring S., ‘­Hedeby ­Hochburg – ​­Theories, State of Research and Dating’, Offa 71/­72, 2014/­15 (­2018), ­241–​­291. Kiersnowski R., ‘­Wolin i Szczecin jako główne ośrodki Pomorza Zachodniego we wczesnym średniowieczu’, Szczecin i Wolin we wczesnym średniowieczu, ed. W. Brodzki, Wrocław, Ossolineum, 1954, ­5 –​­30. Leciejewicz L., Słowianie Zachodni. Z dziejów tworzenia się średniowiecznej Europy, ­Wrocław-­​­­Warszawa-­​­­K raków-­​­­Gdańsk-​­Łódź, Ossolineum, 1989. Skre D., ‘­The Development of Urbanism in Scandinavia’, The Viking World, eds. S. Brink, N. Price, London and New York, Routledge, 2008, 83–93. Stanisławski B., ‘­Budownictwo wczesnośredniowiecznego ­Wolina – ​­próba reinterpretacji’, Materiały Zachodniopomorskie, Nowa Seria 6/­7 (­2009/­2010), z. 1: Archeologia, ­223–​­268. Wilde K. A., Die Bedeutung der Grabung Wollin 1934. Marchäologischen Grundlagen für die Erforschung der ­Wikinger-​­und ­Slawen-​­Siedlung Wollin. Stettin 1939. Wojtasik J., ‘­Srebrne Wzgórze w ­Wolinie–​­wstępne wyniki badań z lat ­1961–​­1969’, Materiały Zachodniopomorskie 45 (­1999), ­313–​­384. Zorn J. R., ‘­Estimating the Population Size of Ancient Settlements: Methods, Problems, Solutions, and a Case Study’, Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 295 (­1994), ­31–​­48.

19 Adam of Bremen’s Gesta Hammaburgensis pontifcum as an inspiration for Polish politics of history in Wolin after WW2 Paweł Migdalski Political decisions taken at the end of World War II drastically changed the map of Central Europe. The former eastern parts of Germany became the western Polish territories. In offcial and grassroots narratives, they were called “the Regained Territories” because attempts were made to show that these areas had once belonged to the Polish state. Reference was made here to the early Middle Ages, specifcally the times of the frst Polish rulers of the Piast dynasty: Mieszko I (†992), Bolesław I the Brave (992–1025), and Bolesław III the Wrymouth (1102–1138). They built Polish statehood, which also encompassed Pomerania, Silesia, and the territory of Lubusz. The defeat of the Third Reich by the Allies in 1945 allowed Poland to recover these lands. This legitimization of territorial acquisitions had political signifcance, but above all a social and cultural importance, because it was supposed to show Polish settlers arriving here after the war traumas that they were still at home. Polish medievalist Gerard Labuda wrote years later that it was an essential element of cultural identity and built a sense of having roots, “being at home (…) to see the legacy of the past behind us.”1 Political forces, including scientifc and cultural elites, as well as the Catholic Church, took part in this process of creating a new Polish historical memory. As Labuda and Edward Rymar wrote,2 however, the leading role here fell to historians and archaeologists (mainly from Poznań), who continued to research the beginnings of the Polish state. Interest in that research had begun after World War I and the rebirth of Poland after 123 years of partitions – indicating that the frst references to Poland were related to these lands. After the historians and archaeologists, writers and tourist guides also played an important role. The Slavic topographical naming was revived, traditions and places were re-invented, and memorial sites were established. One such memorial site was located in Wolin, a small Pomeranian town at the estuary of the Oder River. The history of Wolin was intertwined with different legends for hundreds of years. It included the story of Vineta,3 from the twelfth-century text by Helmold of Bosau, and the Old Norse tales about Jómsborg.4 Furthermore, the myth-making about Wolin’s past was fuelled by its identifcation with

DOI: 10.4324/9781003223030-20

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the tribal centre and port mentioned by the Bavarian Geographer (ninth century), Ibrahim ibn Yaqub (tenth century), Thietmar bishop of Merseburg (eleventh century), and later extensive descriptions by Adam of Bremen (eleventh century) as well as the lives of Otto St. bishop of Bamberg (twelfth century). Another important element was the establishment of the Pomeranian Bishopric here in 1140.5 The frst archaeological research was undertaken in Wolin in the nineteenth century. The research works were intensifed during the Nazi period in 1934, when an extensive settlement complex dated back to the early Middle Ages was discovered. The conviction that the Scandinavians dominated this place culturally and politically played an essential part in the research. During the interwar period, Wolin also became attractive to Polish researchers. Some delegations from abroad visited the archaeological excavations in 1935. According to the contemporary Polish point of view, Wolin was located at the ridges of the Polish state from its beginnings in the second half of the tenth century.6 Such an assumption fuelled the beginning of feld research in Wolin as early as 1952. Unfortunately, due to a new historical policy, it was not free from political infuence. At a scientifc conference devoted to the 1,000th anniversary of the Polish state in March 1948, Kazimierz Tymieniecki, the Nestor of Polish medievalists, said that we must discover what the Germans had consciously concealed from us. He claimed to possess reports which argued that “the [German] research conducted by [Otto] Kunkel and [Karl] Wilde led to results that were controversial for the Germans themselves so that they preferred to discontinue it.”7 In this chapter, I would like to highlight the role Adam of Bremen’s account played in Polish historical policy on Wolin, what elements were exploited and why. I will not discuss references to Wolin in Adam’s Gesta, as that has already been done by Piotr Piętkowski and, before him, by both Leon Koczy and Stanisław Rosik.8 I am not planning to focus either on the history of archaeological research, as that is discussed elsewhere in the volume.9 Instead, I will attempt to present the relationship between the narration of Adam of Bremen and activities in the historical and cultural spaces of the town during the People’s Republic of Poland (1945–1989). One should remember that Adam described the famous city of Jumne, identifed with Wolin, as the largest and most magnifcent city in Europe. It was supposedly inhabited by Slavs and other ethnic groups: Saxons, Greeks, and Barbarians. Paganism dominated there, but Christians were able to profess their religion too (albeit unoffcially). In this trading port, there was most likely a lighthouse called Vulcan’s Cauldron, or Greek fre.10 This vast centre also had connections with Denmark. First, Harald Bluetooth escaped and died here in Jumne in 986, and in 1043, Magnus the Good, King of Denmark and Norway besieged and destroyed the city before battle with the Slavs in the wilderness of Lyrskog (Hlýrskógsheiđr) in southern Jutland.11

290 Paweł Migdalski It should be stated that in the context of the history of Wolin, the work of Adam of Bremen itself is one of the most frequently cited in emphasizing the maritime nature of this city and its importance as a centre of trade on a Slavic coast.12 Many authors have quoted Adam’s account. Besides scientifc studies, historians such as G. Labuda, numerous publicists, and writers including Kazimierz Błahij,13 have either mentioned or quoted the history of Hamburg’s bishops, confrming that the Slavs were engaged not only in robbery but also in the Baltic trade.14 Among the numerous references an important motif is the information about the Pot of Vulcan (Olla Vulcani). Ryszard Kiersnowski was the frst to pay signifcant attention to it after the war, but he could not decide where it would have been. At the Szczecin conference commemorating the millennial anniversary of the Polish state, he indicated that it may have stood on Hangmen’s Hill (Wzgórze Wisielców), and later, in other publications, he put forward the thesis that it was located on Chrząszczewska Island (Wyspa Chrząszczewska).15 Władysław Filipowiak, who led the excavations in Wolin from 1952, did not initially specify where it might have been.16 However, later in the mid-1980s, based on discoveries on Hangman’s Hill from 195917 which revealed the existence of large hearths there, he assumed that the lighthouse was most probably located there.18 In any case, the lighthouse structure is a constant feature of the narratives about Wolin, in both scientifc works and popular tourist guides.19 It is hardly surprising that the lighthouse was also to appear in the town’s public cultural spaces. It featured in the “Art Project for the development of historical elements of the city of Wolin” in the late 1970s. One of the elements in the Art Project was to be a lantern, the location and type of which – as indicated by the heritage protection offce in 1983 – was agreed by the Maritime Offce.20 Although elements of this project appeared in the city in 1986, the lighthouse itself was never built. Another aspect that I would like to draw attention to is the capture of Wolin in 1043 by Magnus the Good, the ruler of Denmark and Norway. This episode, also mentioned in the Old Norse sources,21 is still an essential part of the narrative of Wolin’s past. The only academic debate about it concerns the degree of destruction in the centre and the impact of the cataclysm on the city’s subsequent functioning. Archaeologists researching Wolin today believe that the devastation wrought by Magnus was not as great as was once thought.22 For many years, numerous works, especially tourist guides, had exaggerated the scale of the destruction caused by the invaders from the North. It was allegedly the leading reason for the cessation of further development in this Baltic trading port.23 Such an assertion ftted perfectly with both the anti-Germanic and the anti-Scandinavian tone of the mythology of the Regained Territories. It accorded with the Slavic and/or Polish side’s objection of aggressive German ideology known as

Adam and the post WW2 history of Wolin  291 Drang nach Osten. It should be mentioned that, after the war, the presence of a Nordic population and their artifacts was expunged from Pomerania and from Wolin for many years. This was due to the adoption by Polish scholars of Gerard Labuda’s critical thesis about the tradition of sagas, derived from Lauritz Weibull.24 Therefore, it is not surprising that in 1972 and in the years following, as a part of the celebration of the city ­holiday – ​­Days of W ­ olin – during ​­ the tournament between the two towns of Wolin and Międzyzdroje, the main attraction was the enactment by primary school children of the “­D efence of Wolin against the Invasion of the Vikings” (­­Figure 19.1).25 Needless to say, the Slavs were on the winning side. It seems that these performances refer more to the events of 1043 than to the Danish invasions in the late twelfth century, known from the chronicle of Saxo Grammaticus. These performances continued until the early 1990s. The last issue I would like to draw attention to is the pagan worship and a certain tolerance of Christian rites in Wolin described by Adam. Here one can see some similarities with the Wolin of ­1945–​­1989, although they are more inferential and it is difficult to spot them in conscious references by

­Figure 19.1.  S  taging of the defence of Wolin against the invasion of the Vikings. Photograph by Andrzej Kaube.

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Adam of Bremen. Although offcially tolerant of religion, the state authorities of the Stalinist period in the 1950s attempted to marginalize Catholicism in Wolin by any means. Finally, in 1965, the large ruins of the church of St. George in the old town were demolished. This church was traditionally associated with the Pomeranian Bishopric, founded in 1140, and subordinated, as it was thought, to the Polish Church. The Wolin case was often used as a reference in discussions about Polish roots and connections with Poland of other places of the Regained Territories. Kołobrzeg, where the collegiate church established in the mid-thirteenth century was connected with the celebration of the Bishopric of 1000, which allowed this church to survive the Communist period, can serve as an example. Attempts were also made to demolish the second ruin of the medieval church of St. Nicholas towering over the old town.26 Therefore, it could be said that, just as in Adam of Bremen, the followers of Christianity could live in Wolin, but they could not faunt their faith. The existence of the Bishopric here began to be remembered, albeit hesitantly, only with the changing political situation in the 1980s. On the other hand, the state offcials tried to cultivate (or even create) a memory of the centre of pagan worship. Archaeologists have looked for that since the beginning of Polish research in Wolin. In any case, even offcial government committee documents emphasized that the old town in Wolin was an area linked to pagan culture.27 The pagan temple mentioned in the lives of St. Otto of Bamberg under the Slavic name of kącina was frst located in the so-called Swedish bastion in the seventeenth century.28 Such a location is shown in a mosaic map of the city from 1967 in the museum building (Figure 19.2).29 In some guides, this elevated area was even called the Chramowy Hill (Wzgórze Chramowe  – chram  – in Old Polish, “a pagan temple”).30 Later, researchers looked for the sanctuary in the old town, where they made a sensational discovery in 1973 of a statue of the so-called Svantovit (Światowid).31 The team of archaeologists, led by Władysław Filipowiak, discovered a structure considered to be a pagan temple in the old town. At the end of the 1970s, it was decided that the temple would be reconstructed in the bastion. The project was to be prepared by Filipowiak and the work was to be carried out by the State Enterprise of Monument Conservation Workshops (Państwowe Przedsiębiorstwo Pracownie Konserwacji Zabytków). This initiative was part of a wider project of historical development of the urban space of Wolin. However, the state heritage protection services were unhappy with the design of the temple which was said to be controversial. Not only was its location uncertain, there was also a lack of data on its construction and appearance.32 However, the initiative was not abandoned and, in 1986, when a sculptural Play-air was organized, its theme was the beliefs of the Wolinians. The results of the competition were sculptures, which were to enrich the reconstructed temple.33

Adam and the post WW2 history of Wolin  293

­Figure 19.2.  Mosaic map of the town from 1967 with a marked temple (­kącina). ­Photograph by the author.

Monuments to pagan deities thus appeared in public spaces. In 1967, during the celebrations of the 1,000th anniversary of the incorporation of Pomerania into the Polish state, a monument to Trygłów (­Triglav) was erected on a hill near the city (­­Figure  19.3). Another statue, a wooden sculpture based on archaeological discovery of the figurine of Svantovit (­­Figure 19.4), was erected in 1975, over on the Dziwna river, and in 1983 was moved to the place of discovery.34 The image of Svantovit also became the emblem of the local museum (­­Figure  19.5). Another sculpture of Svantovit was erected in the old town in 1987.35 The pagan sacrum was

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Figure 19.3. Three-headed Monument from 1967. Photograph by the author.

also marked by numerous institutions that adopted Slavic deities’ names, such as Triglav (Trygław), Svantovit, sanctuary of Arkona (Rügen).36 I am aware that my argument regarding the infuence of the writings of Adam of Bremen on the shape of historical policy in Wolin in the years 1945–1989 may be controversial. However, it is diffcult to grasp the importance of the chronicler’s account in building a picture of the past of this town. The interaction between the narrative of the chronicle and actions in the social spaces of Wolin seem striking and are far from coincidental, even if they are not expressed directly in offcial or archival documents. A historian must, sometimes, to quote the nineteenth-century Polish historian Józef Szujski, use his nose and look for ways to reconstruct the thinking of our predecessors.37 I must emphasize that in other places of remembrance in the Regained Territories, creating newly invented traditions and narratives were also based on old traditions, taking into account historical myths accumulated over the centuries. Developed by researchers such as Ryszard Kiersnowski, Władysław Kowalenko, and especially Władysław Filipowiak, museologists such as the long-time director of the Regional Museum in Wolin, Andrzej Kaube, and guides, headed by Czesław Piskorski after

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Figure 19.4. Placing of the statue of Svantovit in 1975. Photograph by Andrzej Kaube.

1945, the mythology of Wolin did not use all of Adam’s information about the most magnifcent city (nobilissima civitas) Iumne. Information about the habitation of this city by foreign newcomers, especially Saxons and Scandinavians, were removed from the city’s narrative, just like the legend of Jómsborg in the 1950s. On the other hand, the accounts concerning the existence of Slavic pagan worship and a large centre of maritime trade in Wolin, whose remnants were sought in the legend of Wineta, which appeared in many different media, were emphasized.38 Adam’s narrative was supplemented with information from other important sources, such as Ibrahim ibn Jakub about the port, or the lives of St. Otto about the temple, and by the results of current archaeological excavations. But it was the inspiring, and unusual information supplied by Adam of Bremen that constituted one of the main inspirations for Wolin’s historical policy in the years 1945–1989.

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Figure 19.5. Svantovit as a symbol of the Regional Museum in Wolin, pennant. Photograph by the author.

Notes 1 Gerard Labuda, Jestem Kaszubą w Poznaniu, in: Gerard Labuda, Zapiski kaszubskie, pomorskie i morskie. Wybór pism, Gdańsk, Czec, 2000, 488. 2 Gerard Labuda, Jestem Kaszubą…, 488; Edward Rymar, ‘Dziedzictwo piśmiennicze księstwa Gryftów ze szczególnym uwzględnieniem obszaru państwa polskiego.’ Bibliotekarz Zachodniopomorski 41/4 (2000), 26. 3 Ryszard Kiersnowski, Legenda Winety. Studium historyczne, Kraków, Wydawnictwo Studium Słowiańskiego Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego, 1950, Monika Rusakiewicz, Wineta. Korzenie legendy i jej recepcja w historiografi zachodniopomorskiej do XVI wieku, Wrocław, Chronicon, 2016. 4 Jakub Morawiec, Vikings among the Slavs. Jomsborg and the Jomsvikings in Old Norse Tradition, Wien, Fassbaender, 2009 (Studia Medievalia Septentrionalia, Bd. 17). 5 Cf. Jan M. Piskorski, Pomorze plemienne. Historia-Archeologia-Językoznawstwo, Poznań, Poznańskie Towarzystwo Przyjaciół Nauk, 2002. 6 Paweł Migdalski, Słowiańszczyzna północno-zachodnia w historiografi polskiej, niemieckiej i duńskiej, Wodzisław Śląski, Templum, 2019; Paweł Migdalski, ‘Wizyta polskich naukowców w Szczecinie i w Wolinie w 1935 roku.’ Roczniki Historyczne 84 (2018), 329–348.

Adam and the post WW2 history of Wolin  297 7 Archiwum Instytutu Archeologii i Etnologii Polskiej Akademii Nauk (­further cited as: AIAiE PAN) w Warszawie, Kierownictwo Badań nad Początkami Państwa Polskiego, sygn. KB/­13, ­p. 23. 8 Leon Koczy, ‘­Sklawanja Adama Bremeńskiego.’ Slavia Occidentalis 12 (­1933), ­181–​­249; Stanisław Rosik, Chrześcijańska interpretacja religii pogańskich Słowian w świetle kronik niemieckich ­X I–​­XII wieku (­T hietmar, Adama z Bremy, Helmold), Wrocław (­Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Wrocławskiego) 2000; idem, The Slavic Religion in the Light of 1­ 1th-​­and 1­ 2th-​­Century German Chronicles (­T hietmar of Merseburg, Adam of Bremen, Helmold of Bosau) Studies on the Christian Interpretation of ­Pre-​­Christian Cults and Beliefs in the Middle Ages, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2020; idem, ‘“­T here Is Neither Barbarian Nor Greek …” On the Tools of the Globalist Interpretation of History in Medieval Thought. An Example of the Reception of ­New-​­Testamental Ideas in the Historiography of the 11th and 12th Centuries’ Interpreting Globalization. Polish Perspectives on Culture in the Globalized World, eds. L. Koczanowicz, P.J. Fereński, J. Panciuchin, ­Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2021, 7­ 2–​­79. See also Piotr Piętkowski’s contribution in this volume. 9 See Wojciech Filipowiak’s article in this volume. 10 Gesta, l. II, c. 22, 79: ‘­U ltra Leuticios, qui alio nomine Wilzi dicuntur, Oddara flumen occurrit, ditissimus amnis Sclavaniae regionis . In cuius ostio, qua Scyticas alluit paludes, nobilissima civitas Iumne celeberrimam praestat stacionem barbaris et Graecis, qui sunt in circuitu. De cuius praeconio urbis, quia magna quaedam et vix credibilia recitantur, volupe arbitror pauca inserere digna relatu. Est sane maxima omnium quas Europa claudit civitatum, quam incolunt Sclavi cum aliis gentibus, Graecis et Barbaris. Nam et advenae Saxones parem cohabitandi legem acceperunt, si tamen christianitatis titulum ibi morantes non publicaverint. Omnes enim adhuc paganicis ritibus oberrant, ceterum moribus et hospitalitate nulla gens honestior aut benignior poterit inveniri. Urbs illa mercibus omnium septentrionalium nationum locuples, nichil non habet iocundi aut rari. Ibi est Olla Vulcani, quod incolae Graecum ignem vocant (…).’ 11 Gesta, l. II, c. 27, 87: ‘­In quo miserabili et plus quam civili bello victa est pars Haroldi. Ipse autem vulneratus ex acie fugiens ascensa navi elapsus est ad civitatem Sclavorum, quae Iumne dicitur. Gesta, schol. 56, 137: Magnus rex classe magna Danorum stipatus, opulentissimam civitatem Sclavorum Iumnem obsedit. Clades par fuit. Magnus terruit omnes Sclavos, iuvenis sanctus et vitae innocentis. Ideoque victoriam dedit illi Deus in omnibus.’ For more on this battle in 1043 between Danes and Slavs and its site as a place of remembrance see: Paweł Migdalski, ‘­Bitwa pod Lyrskov w 1043 r.’ Wojna, pamięć, tożsamość. O bitwach i mitach bitewnych, ed. Jan M. Piskorski, Warszawa, Bellona, 2012, ­212–​­222. 12 Tadeusz Wieczorowski, ‘­Wolin domaga się łopaty prehistoryka polskiego.’ Odra 3/­­25–​­26 (­1947), 5; Władysław Kowalenko, ‘­U podstaw polskiej polityki żeglugowej.’ Szczecin. Tygodnik Pomorza Zachodniego 3/ ­49–​­50 (­1948), 2. 13 Kazimierz Błahij, Spotkania bałtyckie, Warszawa, Czytelnik, 1955, 82. 14 Gerard Labuda, ‘­Słowianie nad Bałtykiem (­dokończenie).’ Szczecin. Tygodnik Pomorza Zachodniego 3/­24 (­1948), 3. 15 Ryszard Kiersnowski, ‘­Kamień i Wolin.’ Przegląd Zachodni 7/­­9 –​­10 (­1951), 220. 16 So even in 1973: Władysław Filipowiak, ‘­Wyspa Wolin w prahistorii i we wczes­ nym średniowieczu.’ Z dziejów ziemi wolińskiej, ed. Tadeusz Białecki, Szczecin, Instytut Zachodniopomorski, 1973, 114. 17 Archiwum Muzeum Archeologicznego w Poznaniu, sygn. ­MAP-­​­­A-­​­­d z-​­90: Władysław Filipowiak, Eeugeniusz Cnotliwy, Jerzy Wojtasik, Sprawozdanie z prac wykopaliskowych w Wolinie przeprowadzonych w r. 1959; Eugeniusz Cnotliwy, ‘­Dlaczego Wzgórze Wisielców.’ Z Otchłani Wieków 29/­3 (­1963), ­233–​­235.

298  Paweł Migdalski 18 Władysław Filipowiak, ‘“­Garnek Wulkana”  – najstarsza ​­ latarnia morska nad Bałtykiem w XI wieku.’ Nummus et historia. Pieniądz Europy średniowiecz­ nej, eds. Stefan K. Kuczyński, and Stanisław Suchodolski, Warszawa, Polskie Towarzystwo Archeologiczne i Numizmatyczne, 1985, ­91–​­102. 19 It also featured in a museum exhibition from 1966 to 1967, with information boards. See also Andrzej Kaube, Wolin-Vineta-Jomsborg, Szczecin, Wolna Strefa 1990 . This book based on earlier publications. 20 Archiwum Zachodniopomorskiego Urzędu Ochrony Zabytków w Szczecinie (­further cited as: AZWUOZ), sygn. 1200: Pismo Krystyny Loose z 1983 r. 21 For more on this topic, see: Morawiec, Vikings among Slavs. 22 Wolin. The Old Town, vol. 1­ –​­2, ed. Marian Rębkowski, Szczecin, Instytut Archeologii i Etnologii Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 2019. 23 For example Czesław Piskorski, Wyspa Wolin, Warszawa, Sport i Turystyka, 1974, 14; Bogdan Kucharski, Woliński Park Narodowy. Przewodnik, Poznań, Wydawnictwo Poznańskie, 1985, 19; Władysław Filipowiak, ‘­Wolin w świetle wykopalisk.’ Szczecin i Wolin we wczesnym średniowieczu, Wrocław, Zakład im. Ossolińskich, 1954, 58. 24 Gerard Labuda, ‘­Słowianie nad Bałtykiem.’ Szczecin. Tygodnik Pomorza Zachodniego 3/­23 (­1948), 5. AIAiE PAN w Warszawie, Kierownictwo Badań nad Początkami Państwa Polskiego, sygn. KB/­14, ­40–​­42. 25 Archiwum Państwowe w Szczecinie (­ further cited as: APSz) Oddział w Międzyzdrojach (­further cited as: O/­Międzyzdroje), Świnoujskie Towarzystwo Kultury w Świnoujściu, sygn. 44: Sprawozdanie z działalności za okres od 1.X.­ 1969–​­31.XII.1969 r. [Activity report 1.X.­1969–​­31.XII.1969]. 26 Archiwum Państwowe w Szczecinie, Oddział w Międzyzdrojach, Prezydium Miejskiej Rady Narodowej w Wolinie (­further cited as: PMRN w Wolinie), sygn. 66, ­4 –​­5; ibidem, Prezydium Powiatowej rady Narodowej w Świnoujściu (­further cited as: PPRN w Świnoujściu), sygn. 1532, 55. 27 Tak m.in. twierdził szczeciński wojewódzki konserwator zabytków Stefan Kwilecki w grudniu 1967 r. – ​­APSz, O/­Międzyzdroje, PPRN w Świnoujściu, sygn. 1532, 55. 28 F.e. Władysław Filipowiak, ‘­Wolin w świetle wykopalisk’, ­46–​­48. 29 APSz, O/­Międzyzdroje, PMRN Wolin, sygn. 44, 106; Jerzy Wojtasik, ‘­Sprawozdanie z działalności Muzeum w Wolinie w 1967 r.’ Materiały Zachodnio­ pomorskie 13 (­1967), 668. 30 Czesław Piskorski, Poznajemy polskie wyspy, Warszawa, Sport i Turystyka, 1965, 1­ 8–​ ­19; Bogdan Kucharski, Woliński Park, 71; Bogdan Kucharski, Ziemia Szczecińska. Szlaki piesze. Przewodnik, Poznań, Wydawnictwo Poznańskie, 1985, 69, 71. 31 AIAiE PAN w Wolinie, skoroszyt ­1975–​­1976: Notatka z rozmowy 1.03.1975 r. 32 AZWUOZ, sygn. 1209: Ustalenia z narady koordynacyjnej odbytej w dniu 13 września 1979 r. [Conclusions of the coordination board September 13 1979]; ibidem, sygn. 1200: Szkicowy projekt oznakowania i zagospodarowania zabytkowych obiektów Miasta Wolina i najbliższej okolicy dla potrzeb turystycznych (The sketch marking historical objects in the town of Wolin and its adaptation for tourism); ibidem, sygn. 1210: Projekt zagospodarowania zabytkowych obiektów starego miasta w Wolinie (The project of adaptation of historical objects in the old town of Wolin); ibidem: Pismo Krystyny Loose z 1983 r. [Krystyna Loose’s note 1983]. 33 AZWUOZ, sygn. 1210: Projekt zagospodarowania zabytkowych obiektów starego miasta w Wolinie (The project of adaptation of historical objects in the old town of Wolin); APSz, O/­Międzyzdroje, Wolińskie Towarzystwo Kultury w Wolinie (­further cited as: WTK), sygn. 3, ­p. 18. 34 APSz, O/­Międzyzdroje, Muzeum Regionalne w Wolinie, sygn. 2, 8, 60. 35 APSz, O/­Międzyzdroje, WTK, sygn. 3, 39.

Adam and the post WW2 history of Wolin

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36 APSz., O/Międzyzdroje, PMRN w Wolinie, sygn. 18, p.  73; APSz, Prezydium Wojewódzkiej Rady Narodowej w Szczecinie, sygn. 13133; APSz, O/ Międzyzdroje, PPRN w Świnoujściu, sygn. 312, 14; sygn. 305, 30; sygn. 1533. 37 Józef Szujski, O fałszywej historii jako mistrzyni fałszywej polityki. Rozprawy i artykuły, ed. Henryk Michalak, Warszawa, Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, 1991, 378. 38 Polska Akademia Nauk Archiwum w Warszawie Oddział w Poznaniu, P. III – 29 Władysław Kowalenko, sygn. 36, 7–8; ibidem, sygn. 37, 2–9; APSz, Muzeum Narodowe w Szczecinie, sygn. 72, 109–113.

Bibliography Archives Archiwum Instytutu ArchEologii i Etnologii Polskiej Akademii Nauk w Warszawie, Kierownictwo Badań nad Początkami Państwa Polskiego. Archiwum Muzeum Archeologicznego w Poznaniu. Archiwum Państwowe w Szczecinie. Oddział w Międzyzdrojach. Archiwum Zachodniopomorskiego Urzędu Ochrony Zabytków w Szczecinie.

Primary sources Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontifcum, ed. B. Schmeidler, 3rd edition, Hannoverae and Lipsiae, Hahn, 1917.

Secondary sources Błahij K., Spotkania bałtyckie, Warszawa, Czytelnik, 1955. Cnotliwy E., ‘Dlaczego Wzgórze Wisielców.’ Z Otchłani Wieków 29/3 (1963), 233–235. Filipowiak W., ‘Wolin w świetle wykopalisk.’ Szczecin i Wolin we wczesnym średniowieczu, Wrocław, Zakład im. Ossolińskich, 1954, 45–64. Filipowiak W., ‘Wyspa Wolin w prahistorii i we wczesnym średniowieczu.’ Z dziejów ziemi wolińskiej, ed. Tadeusz Białecki, Szczecin, Instytut Zachodniopomorski, 1973, 37–137. Filipowiak W., ‘“Garnek Wulkana” – najstarsza latarnia morska nad Bałtykiem w XI wieku.’ Nummus et historia. Pieniądz Europy średniowiecznej, eds. Stefan K. Kuczyński, and Stanisław Suchodolski, Warszawa, Polskie Towarzystwo Archeologiczne i Numizmatyczne, 1985, 91–102. Kaube A., Wolin-Vineta-Jomsborg, Szczecin, Wolna Strefa, 1990. Kiersnowski R., Legenda Winety. Studium historyczne, Kraków, Wydawnictwo Studium Słowiańskiego Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego, 1950. Kiersnowski R., ‘Kamień i Wolin.’ Przegląd Zachodni 7/9–10, 1951, 178–225. Koczy L., ‘Sklawanja Adama Bremeńskiego.’ Slavia Occidentalis 12 (1933), 181–249. Kowalenko W., ‘U podstaw polskiej polityki żeglugowej.’ Szczecin. Tygodnik Pomorza Zachodniego 3/49–50 (1948). Kucharski B., Woliński Park Narodowy. Przewodnik, Poznań, Wydawnictwo Poznańskie, 1985.

300 Paweł Migdalski Kucharski B., Ziemia Szczecińska. Szlaki piesze. Przewodnik, Poznań, Wydawnictwo Poznańskie, 1985. Labuda G., ‘Słowianie nad Bałtykiem (dokończenie).’ Szczecin. Tygodnik Pomorza Zachodniego 3/24 (1948), p. 3. Labuda G., ‘Słowianie nad Bałtykiem. ’Szczecin. Tygodnik Pomorza Zachodniego 3/23 (1948), pp. 4–5. Labuda G., Jestem Kaszubą w Poznaniu, in: Gerard Labuda, Zapiski kaszubskie, pomorskie i morskie. Wybór pism, Gdańsk, Czec, 2000, pp. 484–491. Migdalski P., ‘Bitwa pod Lyrskov w 1043 r.’ Wojna, pamięć, tożsamość. O bitwach i mitach bitewnych, ed. Jan M. Piskorski, Warszawa, Bellona, 2012, 212–222. Migdalski P., ‘Wizyta polskich naukowców w Szczecinie i w Wolinie w 1935 roku.’ Roczniki Historyczne 84 (2018), 329–348. Migdalski P., Słowiańszczyzna północno-zachodnia w historiografi polskiej, niemieckiej i duńskiej, Wodzisław Śląski, Templum, 2019. Morawiec J., Vikings among the Slavs. Jomsborg and the Jomsvikings in Old Norse Tradition, Wien, Fassbaender, 2009. Piskorski Cz., Poznajemy polskie wyspy, Warszawa, Sport i Turystyka, 1965. Piskorski Cz., Wyspa Wolin, Warszawa, Sport i Turystyka, 1974. Piskorski J. M., Pomorze plemienne. Historia-Archeologia-Językoznawstwo, Poznań, Poznańskie Towarzystwo Przyjaciół Nauk, 2002. Rosik S., Chrześcijańska interpretacja religii pogańskich Słowian w świetle kronik niemieckich XI–XII wieku (Thietmar, Adama z Bremy, Helmold), Wrocław (Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Wrocławskiego), 2000. Rosik S., The Slavic Religion in the Light of 11th- and 12th-Century German Chronicles (Thietmar of Merseburg, Adam of Bremen, Helmold of Bosau) Studies on the Christian Interpretation of Pre-Christian Cults and Beliefs in the Middle Ages, Leiden-Boston, Brill, 2020. Rosik S., ‘“There Is Neither Barbarian Nor Greek…” On the Tools of the Globalist Interpretation of History in Medieval Thought. An Example of the Reception of New-Testamental Ideas in the Historiography of the 11th and 12th Centuries’ in Interpreting Globalization. Polish Perspectives on Culture in the Globalized World, eds. L. Koczanowicz, P. J. Fereński, J. Panciuchin, Boston-Leiden, Brill, 2021, pp. 72–79. Rusakiewicz M., Wineta. Korzenie legendy i jej recepcja w historiografi zachodniopomorskiej do XVI wieku, Wrocław, Chronicon, 2016. Rymar E., ‘Dziedzictwo piśmiennicze księstwa Gryftów ze szczególnym uwzględnieniem obszaru państwa polskiego.’ Bibliotekarz Zachodniopomorski 41/4 (2000) pp. 5–32. Szujski J., O fałszywej historii jako mistrzyni fałszywej polityki. Rozprawy i artykuły, ed. Henryk Michalak, Warszawa, Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, 1991. Wieczorowski T., ‘Wolin domaga się łopaty prehistoryka polskiego.’ Odra 3/25–26 (1947), p. 5. Wojtasik J., ‘Sprawozdanie z działalności Muzeum w Wolinie w 1967 r.’ Materiały Zachodniopomorskie 13 (1967), pp. 667–668. Wolin. The Old Town, vol. 1–2, ed. Marian Rębkowski, Szczecin, Instytut Archeologii i Etnologii Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 2019.

Geographical Index

Aachen 22, 39 Aalborg 87 Aegean Sea 235 Africa 150, 241 Aggersborg 252 Alps 15, 18, 27, 33 America 121 Apulia 122 Arab peninsula 150 Arkona 139, 140, 294 Asia 234 Atlantic 82, 87, 241 Austria 99, 100 Azov Sea 240, 242 Babylonia 54 Baltic Sea 89, 97, 139, 143, 151, 167, 224, 234, 236–243, 250, 259, 268, 269, 270, 271, 285 Bamberg 4, 15, 18–22, 24, 27, 33, 38, 39, 42–44, 52, 98, 104, 105, 289 Bavaria 21, 25 Bayeux 255 Binnitse 250 Birka 115, 237, 254, 279, 281, 283, 285 Biskupin 256 Bjarmaland 136, 208 Björko 181, 185, 236, 281, 283 Black Sea 234 Bóbr (Castor) river 272 Bohemia 24, 25 Borgring 252 Bornholm 239 Brandenburg 254 Braunschweig 102 Bregninge Sogn 262 Bremen 1, 4–7, 9, 15, 16, 21, 22–24, 27, 29, 30, 32, 33, 34, 51, 56, 57, 64, 67, 68, 71, 73, 74, 81, 82, 89, 90, 92, 93,

96, 100, 101, 109, 117, 121, 130, 133, 140, 148, 158–163, 165, 173, 174, 180, 181, 184, 185, 191–196, 218, 225, 234, 236, 237 British Isles 83, 121, 134, 210 Bulgaria 235, 236 Burgundy 25 Byzantium 228, 235 Canossa 25, 43, 57 Canterbury 70, 124 Caucasus 225, 234 Chramowy Hill 292 Chrząszczewska Island 290 Ciepłe 253, 255, 257, 258 Cluny 23 Cologne 14, 16, 19, 23, 184, 193 Copenhagen 6, 100, 105 Corvey 140 Czech Republic 256 Dalby 21, 22, 31, 33, 39, 183 Damascus 56, 132 Danelaw 209 Danevirke 281 Denmark 2, 5, 7, 25, 30, 37, 52, 61–65, 68–71, 74, 76, 77, 89, 94, 99, 104, 110, 111, 113, 115, 121, 122, 124, 125, 130, 132–135, 139, 140, 173, 181, 183, 195, 202, 205, 206, 208, 236, 241, 246–254, 257, 259, 260, 262, 263, 289, 290 Derby 83 Dover 124 Dziwna river 9, 268, 270, 271, 274, 280, 293 Eastern Sea 150, 241 Eckenforde 262 Elbe Peak (Łabski Szczyt) 272

302

Geographical Index

Elbe river 13, 14, 34, 112, 197, 269, 270, 272 Ely 22 Emsgau county 194 England 7, 22, 24, 25, 30, 62, 63, 66, 70, 71, 90, 111, 115, 121–126, 131, 178, 203, 209, 241, 252, 257 Eurasia 234 Europe 4, 6, 7, 8, 14, 15, 23–25, 52, 54, 93, 121, 158, 159, 163, 164, 178, 185, 220, 223, 224, 234, 251, 252, 254, 269, 270, 279, 281, 285, 288, 289 Falster isle 250 Finnmark 241 Flandres 126, 241 France 50, 100, 122, 241 Franconia 4, 25 Fribrødre Å river 250 Frisia 180, 181, 184, 194 Fyn isle 71, 252 Fyrkat 252 Gallia 24, 30, 170, 172 Gaul 123 Germany 4, 17, 18, 19–21, 24, 42, 56, 66, 68, 73, 90–92, 99, 102, 104, 121, 137, 181, 234, 239, 251, 252, 254, 257, 259, 269, 275, 288 Gerstungen 18 Giecz 257 Glæsisvellir 227 Gniezno 254 Gorze 19 Goslar 17, 185 Gotland 239 Greater Poland (Wielkopolska) 254 Greece 97, 123, 124, 235, 239, 240–242 Greenland 89 Háleygjaland 208 Hamburg 3, 4–6, 51, 67, 70, 71, 81, 88, 100, 101, 102, 105, 126, 130, 133, 135, 185, 190, 236 Hamburg-Bremen, archdiocese 1, 4, 5, 7, 8, 14–16, 22, 23, 29, 32, 33, 34, 64, 66–71, 73, 74, 75, 81, 82, 89–93, 109, 121, 130, 133, 140, 146, 148, 158–161, 163, 165, 181, 184, 189, 190, 191, 192, 194, 195, 196, 197, 218, 224, 225, 234, 236 Handeln 62 Hastings 123, 127 Havel river 254

Hebrides 89 Hedeby 68, 279, 281, 283, 285 Helmstedt 102 Hibernia (Ireland) 123 Himalayas 234 Hlaðir 110, 111, 113 Holy Land 122 Hungary 23, 25, 26 Hvidovre-Valby 262 Hyde Abbey, Winchester 202 Iceland 3, 7, 89, 94, 147, 155, 208, 210, 227, 236 Ipswich 124 Ireland (Hibernia) 123 Israel 53–55, 169 Italy 18, 20, 25, 29, 66, 122 Izerskie Mountains 273 Janów Pomorski (Truso) 269, 275 Jelling 105, 210, 248, 249, 261 Jericho 199 Jerusalem 55, 121, 122 Jómsborg 9, 10, 260, 262, 274, 275, 288, 295 Jötunheimr 227 Jumne (Iumne) 9, 173, 239, 240, 243, 248, 259, 262, 268–273, 275, 289, 295, 297 Jutland (Cimbrian peninsula) 105, 281, 289 Kalvebod Strand 262 Kamień Lagoon 272 Karkonosze Mountains 272, 273 Klecany 256 Kołobrzeg 292 Korselitse 250 Kuditse 250 Langeland 262 Lapland 208 Lateran 15, 25–27, 39, 41 Łęczyca 257 Leiden 5, 100, 102, 105 Lesum 193 Lindelse Sogn 262 Lindholm Høje 254 Lolland 250, 262 Lotharingia 19, 23–25 Luboń 254, 255 Łubowo 254 Lubusz 288 Lund 2, 21, 22, 33, 43, 130, 183, 254, 255

Geographical Index  303 Lüneburg 67 Lutomiersk 253, 255, 257, 258 Lyrskog (Hlýrskógsheiðr) 289 Magdeburg 4, 14, 52, 105, 121, 273, 274 Mainz 19, 24–26, 42, 193, 229 Mälaren Lake 281 Meissen 56, 58, 121 Merseburg 3, 202, 289 Międzyzdroje 291 Milan 20, 52 Monte Gargano 122 Moravia 24, 25 Mount Sinai 122 Nissan 68 Nonnebakken 252 Normandy 7, 121–123, 125, 127, 129, 131 North Sea 82, 87 Northumbria 123, 202, 208 Norway 2, 52, 63, 65, 67, 73, 81, 82, 83, 84, 86–92, 94, 108, 109, 110–118, 123, 126, 134, 205, 208, 210, 241, 249, 289, 290 Norwich 124 Nürnberg 19, 24, 26, 27 Nysa Łużycka (Lausitzer Neiße) river 273 Oder 9, 239, 268–271, 274, 288 Orkney 89, 94, 241 Ostrów Lednicki 203, 254, 255 Over Hornbæk 254, 255 Parsęta river 270 Peene 268, 270–272, 274 Peenemünde (Pianoujście) 9, 268 Pforzen 18 Polabia 68 Poland 9, 23, 25, 26, 50, 124, 202, 204, 205, 241, 248, 249, 251–254, 256, 257, 259, 262, 263, 279, 288, 289, 292 Pomerania 9, 248, 259, 262, 274, 288, 291, 293 Pomeranian Bay 268–272, 274, 276 Poznań 254, 260, 288 Poznań-Dębiec 254 Praæstø Fjord 262 Prestø 250 Prussia 269 Radogošcˇ 3 Red Sea 150, 151

Rega river 270 Rethra 3 Rhine 193 Ribe 6, 135 Roholte Sogn 262 Rome 14–20, 25–30, 39, 42–44, 180, 183, 207, 208, 241 Rosenlund 254, 255 Roskilde 248, 250, 262 Rouen 122 Rügen 139, 140, 294 Russia (Garðaríki) 25, 84, 204, 211, 240 Samland 239 Sandwich 124 Sarmatia 269 Saxony 5, 15, 25, 65, 67, 68, 71, 74, 76, 124, 192, 224, 238, 241 Scandinavia 1–3, 13, 14, 22, 33, 52, 61, 70, 73, 74, 81, 82, 87, 91, 101, 102, 105, 109, 115, 121, 130, 131, 138–140, 151, 158–160, 162, 164, 165, 174, 190, 197, 198, 202, 209, 229, 241, 242, 248, 251, 252, 254, 259, 261 Scania 63, 71, 87, 183 Schleswig 65, 74, 100, 109, 134, 135, 239, 262 Scotland 123 Scythia 9, 148, 168, 171, 234–242, 244, 269, 271, 275 Shetland Islands 241 Sicily 235, 236 Sigtuna 22, 33, 34, 43 Silesia 288 Skara 22 Skegrie 257–259 Slavia 1, 69, 94, 160, 164, 204, 239 Sønder Vissing 210, 247, 261 Sorø 99, 100, 102 Spain (Hispania) 241 Stamford Bridge 123, 124, 126 Stiepel 193 Stiklestad 81, 82 Sudeten Mountains 272 Suevos river 270, 271 Svold 203 Swabia 25 Sweden (Svíþjóð) 2, 22, 23, 25, 31, 33, 34, 52, 63, 67–69, 72, 88, 89, 94, 109, 134, 135, 149, 162, 168, 181, 184, 187, 195, 196, 202, 206, 237–239, 241, 243, 250, 254, 257, 259, 281, 285 Świna 9, 268, 270–272, 274, 276

304  Geographical Index Szczecin 274, 290 Szczecin Lagoon (Scythian Swamps) 9, 268–272, 274, 276 Tåsinge 262 Teterow 254 Þingeyrar 7, 147 Thulein isle 270 Tillitse 250 Trelleborg 252–255, 257, 259, 262 Trøndelag 84, 86 Trondheim 86, 87 Truso (Janów Pomorski) 269

Venice 50, 236 Viados river 270, 271 Viken 87, 110, 112 Vindbyholt 250 Vindeboder 250 Vindeby 262 Vistula river 9, 269, 270, 274, 275

Ukraine 257 Uppland 31, 33 Uppsala (Gamla Uppsala) 2, 3, 22, 31–34, 43, 52, 174 Usedom 248, 268, 272

Wendila 87 Weonodland 269 Widuchowa 274 Wiejkowo 248 Winchester 202, 257 Witland 269, 277 Wittenberg 102 Wolin 2, 9, 10, 73, 239, 248, 259, 262, 268, 269, 270, 271, 272, 274, 279–285, 288–296 Worms 5, 17 Würzburg 4, 52, 193

Velds 256, 257

Zealand 70, 99

Name Index

Absalom, king of Israel 69 Absalon, archbishop of Lund 139, 140, 142–143, 145 Acilin, bishop 184, 187 Adalbert, I archbishop of HamburgBremen 4, 5, 15, 21–23, 31, 33, 37, 40, 43, 51, 57, 64–68, 72, 74, 76, 78, 79, 88, 92, 94, 101, 102, 105, 158–159, 161, 164–166, 171–172, 175–177, 182, 185, 187–188, 190, 193–196, 198–200, 204 Adalbrant (Alebrand), archbishop of Hamburg-Bremen 192 Adaldag, archbishop of BremenHamburg 74, 165 Adalward, bishop of Sweden 184 Agnes of Poitou, empress 14, 18–19, 29, 64 Alexander the Great 225 Alexander II, pope 17, 38, 48, 64, 68 Alfred the Great, king of Wessex 269, 275, 277 Ambrose 52, 168 Anastasios Sinaita 97 Anno II, archbishop of Cologne 16 Anund (Ǫnundr) Jakob, king of Sweden 69, 72, 147–149, 151–154, 171, 195, 206–207 Ansgar, bishop of Hamburg 24, 88–89, 101, 109, 130, 132–133, 152, 159, 161, 164–165, 168, 170–171, 173, 181–182, 185, 187–188, 197, 235–237, 242 Ari Þorgilsson 135, 142–143 Aristotle 104, 106, 219, 228, 230, 233 Arnold of Lübeck 35, 47–48, 77, 80, 107 Aron, bishop of Krakow 23 Athelstan, king of England 111 Æthelnoth, archbishop of Canterbury 70–71

Æthelred the Unready, king of England 81, 121, 203 Augustine of Hippo 222, 229–230 Bavarian Geographer 289 Bede the Venerable 5, 98, 131, 222, 229–230 Benno (Bernhard I), duke of Saxony 192 Bernhard II, duke of Saxony 65, 71, 90, 192 Bernhard Billung, duke of Saxony 68, 159 Berthold, duke of Carinthia 21 Bjørn Úlfsson, brother of Sven Estridsen king of Denmark 125 Bolesław I the Brave, king of Poland 202, 204, 206, 288 Bolesław II the Generous, king of Poland 23, 26 Bolesław III the Wrymouth, duke of Poland 202, 288 Boniface of Mainz 19, 24, 180 Burchard of Worms 5 Burchard, bishop of Halberstadt 14, 17, 37 Charlemagne 4, 101, 140, 269 Chrétien de Troyes 56, 58–59 Chrodegang, bishop of Metz 22 Cicero 52 Conrad II, emperor 71, 77, 80 David, king of Israel 69 Dio Chrysostom 104 Dudo of Saint Quentin 131 Eckbert, abbot in Münsterschwarzach 19 Edward the Confessor, king of England 22, 62–63, 66, 72–73, 123, 125, 128–129

306

Name Index

Egino, bishop of Lund 21–24, 31, 33–34, 39, 183, 207 Einarr skálaglamm Helgason, an Icelandic poet 111, 117–118 Einhard 5, 238–240, 269 Emma, countess 192–194, 196 Emma (Imme), queen 71, 121–122, 125 Emma of Gurk 174 Emund (Eymundr Óláfsson), king of Swedes 21, 43, 147–149, 153–154, 171–172 Eric Bloodaxe (Eiríkr Blóðøxi Haraldsson), king of Norway 111, 114–115, 208 Eric Ejegod, king of Denmark 139 Eric (Eiríkr) Hákonarson, jarl of Hlaðir 202 Eric the Victorious (Eiríkr Sigrsæli), king of Sweden 58, 73, 147, 202, 204–205 Eric (Eiríkr), king of Hörðaland 210 Erpold Lindenbrog 100, 102, 105, 106 Estrid (Margareta), sister of Knut the Great 122 Gallus Anonymus 50–51, 57 Gerbrand, bishop of Zealand 70–72 Géza, king of Hungary 23, 25–26 Gisela of Swabia, queen of Germany 193 Godwine, earl of Wessex 121, 125 Gorm the Old (Gormr gamli), king of Denmark 115–116, 133, 136–137, 181, 208, 238, 246, 261 Gottschalk, Obodrite duke 68 Gregory the Great 52 Gregory IV, pope 101 Gregory VII, pope 3, 4, 14–21, 23–30, 32–34, 40–46, 48, 64, 68, 159 Gregory of Tours 5, 98 Grimkil, bishop 90 Hallar-Steinn, Icelandic poet 109 Harald Bluetooth Gormsson (Haraldr blátönn), king of Denmark 2, 9, 77, 79, 110, 114, 118, 133, 142, 144, 209, 246–253, 255, 257, 259, 261–263, 265–267, 289 Harald Fairhair (Haraldr hárfagri), king of Norway 110, 116 Harald Hard-Ruler (Haraldr harðráði Sigurðarson), king of Norway 68, 87, 150

Harald Klak, king of Denmark 115, 131–132, 246 Harold Godwinson, king of England 123–126 Hardeknut, king of Denmark and England 122 Hákon Sigurðarson, jarl of Hlaðir 110–111 Hákon the Good, king of Norway 111, 114–115 Helmold of Bosau 4, 10–12, 34–35, 46–48, 51–52, 60, 77–80, 106–107, 129, 164, 186, 188, 243, 270, 288, 297, 300 Herveus of Bourg-Déols 139 Henry the Fowler, king of East Francia 181, 236 Henry II, emperor 20, 22, 104 Henry III, emperor 14, 18, 64, 66, 74, 76, 122, 159, 165 Henry IV, emperor 4, 13, 15, 17–18, 23–34, 37–38, 40, 42–44, 48, 57, 67–68, 74 Herman I, bishop of Bamberg 18–21, 28, 38–39, 42, 44 Herman II, archbishop of Cologne 23 Herodotus 234 Hieronymus (Saint Jerome of Stridon) 174, 180 Homer 97, 104 Horace 52, 98, 237 Hugh of Saint Victor 139 Humbert of Silva Candida 20, 28 Ibrahim ibn Yaqub 289 Inge Stenkilsson, king of Sweden 33 Isidore of Seville 5, 104, 219 Jesus Christ 25, 32, 54–56, 88, 111, 163, 183–184, 199, 223, 237 John Scotus Eriugena 219–220, 228, 230, 232 Jordanes 5, 240, 244 Julius Caesar 180 Kekaumenos, Byzantine commander 235–236, 242, 244 Knut the Great (Knútr inn ríki), king of Denmark and England 65, 68–69, 70, 121, 125, 202 Knut Lavard, prince of Denmark 112–113, 119 Lactantius 138 Lampert of Hersfeld 14, 34, 41, 45, 76, 78

Name Index Lanfranc, archbishop of Canterbury 123–129 Leo IX, pope 40, 64, 94 Libentius II, archbishop of HamburgBremen 109, 192, 198 Liemar, archbishop of HamburgBremen 3, 4, 6, 13–21, 23–24, 26–30, 32–33, 36–38, 41–44, 57, 92, 96, 99 Louis the Pious, emperor 4, 115, 132 Lucan 5, 52, 98, 179, 180, 234, 237, 243 Magnus the Good, king of Norway and Denmark 62–63, 65, 68, 270, 289–290 Magnus the Strong (sterki) Nielsson, Danish duke 202 Malcolm III, king of Scots 123 Marinus of Neapolis 97 Martianus Capella 5, 98, 240 Mathilda, countess of Tuscany 29, 31 Meinhard, master of cathedral school in Bamberg 15, 19, 20, 39, 43 Meinwerk, bishop of Paderborn 192 Michael the Paphlagonian, Byzantine emperor 235 Mieszko I, duke of Poland 202, 204–205, 288 Mstivoj (Mistivir), Obodrite prince 209, 248, 261 Oddr Snorrason 7, 120, 147, 152, 205, 212–214 Olaf Haraldsson, king of Norway 81, 88, 92, 110–111, 113, 117, 172 Olaf Skötkonung, king of Sweden 7, 69, 147, 149–150, 152, 205 Olaf Tryggvason, king of Norway 2, 7, 73, 109–111, 113–114, 147, 203, 205, 211, 213–214 Orosius 5, 52, 98, 240 Osmund, bishop of Sweden 21–24, 27, 31, 33–34, 43 Otto I, emperor 23, 66, 74 Otto II, emperor 2, 247 Otto, bishop of Bamberg 274, 277–278, 289, 292, 295 Otto of Northeim 17, 37, 46 Özurr Toti, hersir of Háleygjaland 205, 208 Paul the Apostle 51, 56, 132, 220 Peter Abelard 139 Peter the Apostle 25, 27, 41, 161, 181, 185 Petar Delyan 236 Petrus Damiani 20, 28

307

Pibo, bishop of Toul 29 Pliny 234 Pompey the Great 180 Poppo, bishop 131, 134–135, 141, 144, 171, 247 Poppo, provost of Bamberg cathedral 20, 39 Ptolemy 234 Pythias 270 Ragnar Lothbrok 132 Regino of Prüm 52 Richard I, count of Rouen 122 Richard II, duke of Normandy 122 Richeza of Lotharingia, queen of Poland 23, 202 Rimbert, bishop of Hamburg 5, 35, 46, 78–79, 106, 109, 118, 126, 129, 181, 185, 187, 188, 237, 242, 244–245 Ring, king of Sweden 69, 171 Robert the Magnifcent, duke of Normandy 122 Rudolf, missionary 90, 109, 117 Ryksa (Ríkissa), daughter of Bolesław III the Wrymouth 202 Salomon, king of Hungary 25–26 Sallust 5, 98, 186, 188, 237 Saxo Grammaticus 7, 75, 79, 108, 130, 140, 143–145, 212, 214, 246, 264, 274, 291 Sederik, duke of Obodrites 71 Siegfried, archbishop of Mainz 24, 26, 38, 42, 48, 90 Sigafrid, missionary 90, 109, 117, 174 Sigrid the Haughty (Sigríðr stórráða) 203–205 Sigvaldi, jarl 205 Sigvatr Þórðarson 81, 83, 87, 94 Sköglar-Tosti, Swedish chieftain 203 Snorri Sturluson 11–12, 137, 142–143, 205, 208, 212, 214, 235 Stenkil, king of Sweden 22–24, 195 Sven Knutsson, king of Norway 84 Sven Aggesen 134, 142, 144 Sven Estridsen (Sveinn Ástríðarson, Sveinn Úlfsson), king of Denmark 7, 61–80, 105, 113, 116, 124, 195–197, 199–200, 206, 210 Sven Forkbeard (Sveinn tjúguskegg Haraldsson, Sven Tveskägg), king of Denmark 2, 69–71, 73, 115–116, 125, 131, 134–135, 199, 202, 205, 209, 248, 261

308 Name Index Sverker I, king of Sweden 202 Świętosława duńska (the Danish) 202, 204–205, 211–212, 215 Tadiko, bishop 184, 187 Theodoricus Monachus 115, 118–119 Theotimus, bishop 235 Thietmar, bishop Hildesheim 65 Thietmar, bishop of Merseburg 3, 10–12, 35, 46, 56, 58–60, 74, 78–79, 106–107, 126, 129, 164, 186, 188, 202–205, 211– 212, 214, 247, 261, 264, 289, 297, 300 Thietmar of Einsiedeln 223 Thietmar, brother of Bernhard II duke of Saxony 192 Thyra, mother of Harald Bluetooth 246, 261, 266 Þjóðólfr Arnórsson, Icelandic poet 236, 242, 244 Tostig Godwinson, earl of Northumbria 123–124 Tófa, daughter of Mstivoj (Mistivir) 209–210, 247–248 Þórarinn loftunga, Icelandic poet 81, 84, 86–87, 94, 95 Þorkell (Thorkil) the Tall 71 Þyri, wife of Olaf Tryggvason 205 Unni, archbishop of Hamburg-Bremen 4, 69, 133, 181–185, 234, 236–238, 241–243, 246

Unwan, archbishop of HamburgBremen 65, 70–71, 90–92, 101, 235, 242 Urban II, pope 28 Uton, duke of Obodrites 71 Virgil 5, 52, 98, 179–180, 237, 240 Vitus of Corvey 140 Vladimir the Great, grand prince of Kiev 84 Warcisław I, Pomeranian duke 274 Welf, duke of Bavaria 21 Werner, archbishop of Magdeburg 14 Widukind of Corvey 3, 10, 247, 261, 264 Willehad, bishop of Bremen 180, 181, 184, 192 Willeric, bishop of Bremen 164, 168, 170, 184 William the Conqueror, king of England 7, 30, 40, 46 William of Malmesbury 110, 116–117, 119, 163, 174 William of Saint Thierry 139 Wratislav, duke of Bohemia 25 Wulfstan, archbishop of York 71, 105, 269, 275, 278 Yngvarr Far-Travelled (víðfǫrli), viking leader 146–157