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Table of contents :
Front Matter
Ragnhild M. Bø and Jón Viðar Sigurðsson. Introduction
Natalie M. Van Deusen and Kirsten Wolf. Epitomes of Saints’ Lives in Two Old Norse-Icelandic Manuscripts AM 764 4to and AM 672 4to
Åslaug Ommundsen. The Mass of St Óláfr and a Recovered Sequence for a missa votiva
Caitlin Ellis. The Development of the Cult of Magnús: The Interplay between Saints, Bishops, and Earls in Orkney
Jón Viðar Sigurðsson. Bergr Sokkason and God’s Dearest Friend St Nicholas
Cornelia Spjelkavik Sparre. The Miracles of Medieval Norway
Ásdís Egilsdóttir. Telling and Writing Miracles in Medieval Iceland
Siân Grønlie. ‘Ok er hann sannheilagr’: The Role of Saints in Remembering and Representing Iceland’s Conversion
Ragnhild M. Bø. Saints across Borders: The Cults of St Gertrude of Nivelles and St Clare of Assisi in Late Medieval Norway
Noëlle L. W. Streeton. An Afterlife for Cult Sculpture from Norwegian Churches: Tradition, Continuity, and Partial Mutilation after the Reformation
Elise Kleivane. Saints in Everyday Life Epigraphy as a Source for the Medieval Cult of Saints
Back Matter
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The Cult of Saints in Nidaros Archbishopric

MEDIEVAL TEXTS AND CULTURES OF NORTHERN EUROPE

General Editor Rory Naismith, University of Cambridge Editorial Board Elizabeth Boyle, Maynooth University Aisling Byrne, University of Reading Sharon Kinoshita, University of California, Santa Cruz Carolyne Larrington, University of Oxford Erik Niblaeus, University of Cambridge Emily V. Thornbury, Yale University

Previously published volumes in this series are listed at the back of the book.

Volume 33

The Cult of Saints in Nidaros Archbishopric Manuscripts, Miracles, Objects Edited by

Ragnhild M. Bø and Jón Viðar Sigurðsson

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

© 2022, Brepols Publishers n.v., Turnhout, Belgium All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

ISBN: 978-2-503-59114-8 e-ISBN: 978-2-503-59115-5 DOI: 10.1484/M.TCNE-EB.5.121305 ISSN: 1784-2859 e-ISSN: 2294-8414 Printed in the EU on acid-free paper D/2022/0095/179

In memory of

Kimberley-Joy Knight (1984–2021)

Contents

List of Illustrations Introduction RAGNHILD M. BØ and JÓN VIÐAR SIGURÐSSON

Epitomes of Saints’ Lives in Two Old Norse-Icelandic Manuscripts AM 764 4to and AM 672 4to NATALIE M. VAN DEUSEN and KIRSTEN WOLF

María, drótning himins ok iarðar: The Doctrine of Mary’s Queenship in Maríu saga CHRISTELLE FAIRISE

The Mass of St Óláfr and a Recovered Sequence for a missa votiva ÅSLAUG OMMUNDSEN

The Development of the Cult of Magnús: The Interplay between Saints, Bishops, and Earls in Orkney CAITLIN ELLIS

Bergr Sokkason and God’s Dearest Friend St Nicholas JÓN VIÐAR SIGURÐSSON

The Miracles of Medieval Norway CORNELIA SPJELKAVIK SPARRE

ix 1

17

53

81

111 143 161

Contents

viii

Telling and Writing Miracles in Medieval Iceland ÁSDÍS EGILSDÓTTIR

‘Ok er hann sannheilagr’: The Role of Saints in Remembering and Representing Iceland’s Conversion SIÂN GRØNLIE

Saints across Borders: The Cults of St Gertrude of Nivelles and St Clare of Assisi in Late Medieval Norway RAGNHILD M. BØ

An Afterlife for Cult Sculpture from Norwegian Churches: Tradition, Continuity, and Partial Mutilation after the Reformation NOËLLE L. W. STREETON

Saints in Everyday Life: Epigraphy as a Source for the Medieval Cult of Saints ELISE KLEIVANE

Index

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213

249

273

309 335

List of Illustrations

Figures Figure 4.1, p. 86. St Óláfr, polychrome sculpture, c. 1250. From Fresvik church (Sogn og Fjordane), now in the Museum of Cultural History C35142. Figure 4.2, p. 87. Detail from an altar frontal from c.  1300 showing the declaration of Óláfr as a holy man in 1031 after the opening of the casket. Altar frontal. Archbishop Palace Museum, Trondheim. Figure 4.3, p. 89. The Red Book of Darley, with the collect prayer ‘Deus regum corona’ for St Óláfr, a prayer used for 500 years. Figure 4.4, p. 100. The digital reconstruction of the sequentiary referred to as Seqv 13 led to the discovery of the first strophe of the sequence formerly known as Predicasti dei care (top of the verso), namely Salutamus te rex, ave. Figure 4.5, p. 103. Manuscript fragment. Lux illuxit with a decor­ated initial. Figure 10.1, p. 250. Rissa altarpiece, open. Unknown artist, Northern Nether­ lands, 1520s. Trondheim, NTNU University Museum T 898. Figure 10.2, p. 250. Rissa altarpiece, closed. Unknown artist, Northern Nether­ lands, 1520s. Figure 10.3, p. 252. Gertrude of Nivelles, Ringsaker altarpiece. Antwerp workshop, 1527–1537. Figure 10.4, p. 252. St Clara of Assisi, chalice, Nidaros cathedral. Trondheim, 1520s.

x

list of Illustrations

Figure 11.1, p. 276. Røldal crucifix, c. 1250. Røldal stave church. Figure 11.2, p. 279. Throne of Mercy, c. 1490. Altarpiece from Skjervøy church (Troms), Museum of Cultural History, UiO C3000. Figure 11.3, p. 284. Punishing ‘witches’. Woodcut from Laienspiegel [Tengler, Ulrich, Matthias Hupfuff (printmakers) and Sebastian Brant (preface)]. Figure 11.4, p. 298. Details showing burn marks. Throne of Mercy/detail, altar­ piece from Skjervøy (Troms), c. 1490. Figure 11.5, p. 298. St Anne, the Virgin and Child (unknown provenance). Figure 11.6, p. 299. Systematic attacks. Left. Altarpiece, Lurøy church (Nord­ land), c. 1470. Figure 12.1, p. 310. Rune stick from Bryggen, Bergen, N B13. Figure 12.2, p. 323. Crucifix with runic inscriptions, S1616/N 248. Figure 12.3, p. 327. Pilgrim badge from Vadstena, C1830. Tables Table 4.1, p. 95. Table of the Mass Celebration of St Óláfr for 29 July. Table 11.1, p. 277. Damaged sculpture. In this tally, only damages to the nose that could be classified as targeted/deliberate are accounted for. Table 11.2, p. 282. Key words cited in the Norwegian laws introduced in the 1270s, which were maintained until Christian  IV’s laws replaced them in 1604. Table 11.3, p. 285. Timeline 1521–1665.

Introduction Ragnhild M. Bø and Jón Viðar Sigurðsson

C

hristianity became the official religion in Norway, Iceland, Orkney, Greenland, and the Faroe Islands around the year 1000. The process of Christian consolidation in the north took around 150 years. Until 1104, Scandinavia and the islands in the North Atlantic belonged to the archdiocese of Hamburg-Bremen, and from 1104 to 1152/1153 to that of Lund. In 1152/1153 the archbishopric of Nidaros (Trondheim) with its eleven bishoprics was established: it comprised Norway and the Norse settlements on the islands in the west, including the bishoprics of the Isle of Man, Orkney, the Faroes, Iceland, and Greenland. The foundation of the archbishopric of Nidaros in 1152/1153 came to have major consequences, both religious and political, for the development of a Norse community. The archbishop’s most important task was to implement the Church’s reform laws. In connection to the events of 1152/1153, there are many indications that the Norwegian kings accepted the Church’s demands for reform in order to proceed with the establishment of the archbishopric. One such reform concerned the Church’s right to appoint to all ecclesiastical offices and to control their own property. Hence, the archbishops were able to concentrate on restructuring the dioceses in the North Atlantic and during the thirRagnhild M. Bø ([email protected]) holds a PhD in Art History from the University of Oslo. Her research interests centre on the making of meaning of religious works c. 1200–1600, in particular in relation to devotional practices, the cult of saints, and non-consecrated spaces. Jón Viðar Sigurðsson ([email protected]) is a Professor of Medieval History at the Department of Archaeology, Conservation and History, University of Oslo. He has published a number of books and articles on Icelandic and Scandinavian history in the period c. 800–1500. The Cult of Saints in Nidaros Archbishopric. Manuscripts, Miracles, Objects, ed. by Ragnhild M. Bø and Jon Viðar Sigurðsson, tcne 33 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2022), pp. 1–16 BREPOLS PUBLISHERS 10.1484/M.TCNE-EB.5.124876

2 Ragnhild M. Bø and Jón Viðar Sigurðsson

teenth century they successfully achieved this.1 As the archbishop of Nidaros did not gain the same control over the bishopric of Man as the other bishoprics in his province, it will be excluded from further discussion. As a consequence of the limited sources (or the concentration of sources), this publication will focus on Norway, Iceland, and Orkney; the chapters cover these three areas from c. 1000 until the Reformation in 1537. The construction of churches started soon after Christianity became the official religion, and most of the churches were probably built in the second half of the eleventh century and the first decades of the twelfth. Our knowledge of the first churches is somewhat limited, but it seems safe to assume that by 1200, there were around thirty-five parish churches in Orkney, c. 330 in Iceland and about 2000 in Norway,2 along with an uncertain number of annex churches and chapels.

Saints and Society The cult of saints played a central role in the dissemination of the new faith and the development of Christianity. All churches were dedicated to one or more saints as well as to God. These saints were thus the official owners of the property belonging to the Church, although the donor and his family, and later the Church itself, administered the gift on behalf of the saint. Through these and other gifts to the saints, friendships were established and maintained. As it was, the Church organization in the Nidaros province prospered somewhat more from this dynamic of gift-giving than the neighbouring dioceses in Scandinavia. At the beginning of the sixteenth century the Church owned c. 45–50 per cent of all property in the Norwegian realm, 35–40 per cent in Denmark, and 20 per cent in the Swedish kingdom.3 Saints were important as role models (exempla) for the common people.4 The first Christian martyr, St Stephen (d. c. 35), who met his end while preaching about Christ is a good example. The homily about Stephen, found both in the Old Norwegian Homily 1 

For an overview of this development see e.g. Narikawa, ‘Innovations and Conservatism’, pp. 22–108; Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Det norrøne samfunnet, pp. 147–76; Perron, ‘Metropolitan Might and Papal Power on the Latin-Christian Frontier’. 2  Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Det norrøne samfunnet, p. 149 (n. 9); Sollund and Brendalsmo, ‘Middelalderske kirker i hedenske gravfelt’, pp. 203–04. 3  These figures need to be considered with caution but are nonetheless informative. See Orrman, ‘The Condition of the Rural Population’, pp. 582–83. 4  Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Viking Friendship, pp. 90–102.

Introduction

3

Book and the Icelandic Homily Book, emphasizes that he loved and prayed for his enemies, making him appeal to those who wanted to follow the example set by Jesus.5 Over 100 saints are known in the western Norse tradition through hagiographical texts, church art, liturgical works, relics, church devotions, personal names, charters, and feast days.6 Most of these saints are non-native. St Óláfr is without a doubt the most important saint in the Norse community. He died at the Battle of Stiklestad in 1030 and was venerated the year after. Two other important saints were St Hallvarðr, patron saint of Oslo (killed in 1043), and St Sunniva, supposedly a pious Irish princess who fled to Selja in the midtenth century. Moreover, St Þorfinnr, bishop of Hamar from 1278, was canonized in 1345, but traces of him and his cult are very sparse.7 In Orkney Jarl Magnús Erlendsson ruled jointly with his cousin Hákon until they fell out. He was killed in 1117 and sanctified in 1136.8 In Iceland, the veneration of local saints started around the year 1200. In 1198 the Alþingi, after permission from the bishop of Skálholt, Páll Jónsson (1195–1211), allowed vows to be made to Bishop Þorlákr Þórhallsson (1178–1193). His feast was adopted as a Holy Day of Obligation in the following year. In December 1198 Jón Ögmundarson, bishop of Hólar (1106–1112), was exhumed, washed, and transferred to a new coffin. Two years later the Alþingi adopted his feast as a Holy Day of Obligation. The cult of the third bishop, Guðmundr Arason, who was also bishop of Hólar (d. 1237), may have started shortly after his death. However, the translatio of his bones did not occur until 1315.9 As discussed in Ásdís Egilsdóttir’s chapter in this volume there was a tendency to venerate other local saints, whose cults never became widespread. Saints, and God, could, in contrast to the Old Norse gods, work miracles. We know of about 300 miracles associated with local saints in the Nidaros archbishopric. Almost all of these are associated with St Óláfr, St Magnús, and the three Icelandic bishops.10 What is striking is that most of them, as mentioned 5 

Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Kristninga i Norden, pp. 84–92; Haki Antonsson, ‘Saints and Relics in Early Christian Scandinavia’, p. 58; Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Viking Friendship, pp. 86–102; Gamal norsk homiliebok, ed. by Indrebø, pp. 43–47; Íslensk hómilíubók fornar stólræður, ed. by Guðrún Kvaran, Sigurbjörn Einarsson, and Gunnlaugur Ingólfsson, pp. 253–57. 6  Kratz, ‘Saints’ Lives (Iceland and Norway)’, p. 563; Skórzewska, Constructing a Cult. 7  We know of few other Norwegian saints, but their veneration only lasted for a few years. 8  We do not know of any other local saints in Orkney. 9  Skórzewska, Constructing a Cult, pp. 26–27 and pp. 236–37. 10  Whaley, ‘Miracles in the Sagas of Bishops’; Sparre, ‘Mirakler i middelalderens Norge’.

4 Ragnhild M. Bø and Jón Viðar Sigurðsson

in Cornelia Spjelkavik Sparre’s chapter in this volume, take place before the year 1300. We know that saints in Europe did perform miracles in this period, though not to the same extent as earlier. The changes we can see in the Nidaros archbishopric is probably best explained by a stronger focus on saints as exempla for people to follow. Relics were important aspects of medieval Christianity.11 One striking feature of the process of Christianization in Iceland, which has the most comprehensive sources for this issue, is the small number of proper relics. Only seven of the 108 churches in the bishopric of Hólar had authenticated relics and there are similar figures for Skálholt bishopric.12 Most of the Icelandic altars were made of wood and to convert them into ‘proper’ altars, altar stones had to be fitted.13

Saints and Sagas The strong focus on saints is most evident in the Vitae about their lives. In Íslendingabók from c. 1125 Ari fróði Þorgilsson states that Iceland was settled in the year Edmund the Holy was killed, as is written in the ‘saga’ dedicated to him. It is uncertain whether this saga was Passio Sancti Eadmundi or De miraculis Sancti Eadmundi, respectively from around 1000 and approximately 1100.14 Either way, the legend about Edmund the Holy was known in Iceland at the beginning of the twelfth century. Other evidence is clearly found in an often-quoted paragraph in Fyrsta málfræðiritgerðin, from around 1150, stressing þýðingar helgar (the translation of devotional writings, sermons and legends) as one of the genres existent in Iceland.15 In Margaret Cormack’s survey, The Saints in Iceland: Their Veneration from the Conversion to 1400, approximately seventy-five patron saints of churches in Iceland were recorded.16 Of these, only seven do not have a saga written about them in Old Norse. Most of the Icelandic medieval manuscripts have been lost, and it is therefore not unlikely that all the patron saints of Iceland had their legends translated. Many 11 

Geary, Phantoms of Remembrance, p. 194 and p. 202. See Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, ‘Distribution of Reliquaries and Relics in the Bishopric of Hólar’. 13  Guðbrandur Jónsson, ‘Dómkirkjan á Hólum í Hjaltadal’, pp. 289–90. 14  Íslendingabók, Landnámabók, ed. by Jakob Benediktsson, pp. xxii–xxiii; Grønlie, The Saint and the Saga. 15  The First Grammatical Treatise, ed. by Hreinn Benediktsson, p. 209. 16  Cormack, The Saints in Iceland. 12 

Introduction

5

parish churches probably owned a saga about their patron saint,17 maybe in the vernacular. In Norway, two surviving church inventories from the parish churches of Hålandsdalen (1306) and Ylmheim (1321/1323) both list vitae among the posessions of their church.18 This might be an indication that vitae were also common in smaller parish churches. We do not know, however, if the contents of the vitae correspond to the respective patron saints of the churches. A substantial corpus of religious prose has survived in the western Norse tradition, and some of the earliest surviving manuscripts are fragments of the lives of saints from the middle of the twelfth century. As the chapters by Natalie M. Van Deusen and Kirsten Wolf, Christelle Fairise, and Jón Viðar Sigurðsson show, hagiographical texts, both ‘indigenous’ and translations of continental originals, were produced steadily throughout the medieval period in the archdiocese of Nidaros. Scores of vitae were translated into Old Norse from Latin and later from other vernacular languages such as Low German. Many manuscripts survive in the western Norse tradition; the largest proportion are from Iceland. The survival of these sources for the cult of saints in the western Norse tradition is curious; while a number of manuscript remains have survived in Iceland, church art was more likely to be destroyed. The reverse is true for Norway; where the manuscript tradition is scant, we have a higher number of surviving devotional objects and art.

Saints and Scholarship During the 1980s, a number of seminal studies were published on the cult of saints in western Christendom. This began with André Vauchez’s La Sainteté en Occident aux Derniers Siècles du Moyen Age in 1981,19 swiftly followed by Weinstein and Bell’s empirical study Saints and Society and Benedicta Ward’s Miracles and the Medieval Mind: Theory, Record and Event, 1000–1215 in 1982.20 These otherwise systematic studies are notable for their neglect of Scandinavia. Much more recently, Robert Bartlett’s Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things? from 2013 maintains this inattention;21 this is a reflection of the author’s inability to access the primary source material, rather than a desire to disregard the northern cult of saints. However, these studies 17 

Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, ‘Legender om hellige kvinner på Island i høymiddelalderen’, p. 116. Bø, ‘Sculptures and Accessories’. 19  English translation Vauchez, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages. 20  Weinstein and Bell, Saints and Society; Ward, Miracles and the Medieval Mind. 21  Bartlett, Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things?. 18 

6 Ragnhild M. Bø and Jón Viðar Sigurðsson

perpetuate the idea of the cult of the saints in the north as something different, separate, and not part of an integrated study of sanctity. Across studies of ‘European’ or Western sainthood, Scandinavia is often a footnote or reduced to the unimaginative, and now representative, example of Bridget of Sweden (d. 1373, canonized 1391). Recent edited volumes including Saints and Lives on the Periphery (2010) and Historical Narratives and Christian Identity on a European Periphery (2011) redress this imbalance, but their titles imply that the fringes of Europe have no part of the centre.22 We know that ‘[i]n every sense, the hagiographic lore of Scandinavia was intimately connected with and fully integrated into the traditions of the rest of Europe’,23 but the way that scholarship is presented does not always reflect this. The iteration of the cult of saints in Norway and Iceland is one that deserves more attention as a part of, and not separated from, continental Europe. This notion also holds true for studies of the material culture of saints. The most significant and lasting contribution to the study of Old Norse hagiography began in the late nineteenth century when C. R. Unger (d. 1897) produced several invaluable edited collections of Old Norse saints’ sagas, including Mariu saga (1868, 1871), Postola Sögur (1874), and Heilagra Manna Sögur (1877).24 These editions still represent the core of the printed source material, but have been steadily ameliorated and expanded on by the valuable editorial work that has been done by Peter Foote, Christine Fell, Marianne Kalinke, and Kirsten Wolf.25 These editions are supported by a number of secondary studies, beginning in the 1960s with the work of Hans Bekker-Nielsen and Ole Widding,26 followed by the work of, for example, Birte Carlé,27 Margaret Cormack,28 Ásdís 22 

Garipzanov and Haki Antonsson, eds, Saints and their Lives on the Periphery; Garipzanov, ed., Historical Narratives and Christian Identity on a European Periphery. 23  DuBois, ed., Sanctity in the North, p. 22. 24  Mariu saga: Legende om Jomfru Maria og hendes Jertegner: efter gamle Haandskrifter, ed. by Unger; Postola Sögur, ed. by Unger; Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger. 25  For an overview see Wolf, The Legends of the Saints in Old Norse-Icelandic Prose. Cf. Wolf and Van Deusen, The Saints in Old Norse and Early Modern Icelandic Poetry. 26  For an overview see Wolf, The Legends of the Saints in Old Norse-Icelandic Prose, and e.g. Widding, Bekker-Nielsen, and Shook, ‘The Lives of the Saints in Old Norse Prose’; Widding, ‘AM 655,4°, fragment III: Et brudstykke af Nicolaus saga’. 27  Carlé, Jomfru-fortællingen; Carlé, Skøger og jomfruer i den kristne fortællekunst. 28  Cormack, The Saints in Iceland; Cormack, ‘Saints of Medieval Hólar’; Cormack, ‘The Cult of St Blaise in Iceland’.

Introduction

7

Egilsdóttir,29 Siân Grønlie,30 and Haki Antonsson.31 For an overview of the debate about different Old Norse sagas, see Kirsten Wolf, The Legends of the Saints in Old Norse-Icelandic Prose.32 The visual presence of saints was predominantly found inside medieval churches; representations of saints abound on baptismal fonts, textiles, altar frontals, and other paintings as well as polychrome sculptures. Some churches also had mural paintings on their walls and ceilings, and saints appeared as part of these iconographic programmes too. The oldest preserved sculptures date from the mid-twelfth century, as does the oldest altar frontal. The production of these artefacts would have taken place in the larger cities of Bergen, Oslo, and Nidaros and possibly also in the cathedral towns of Hamar and Stavanger.33 When the Black Death hit Norway in 1349, and Iceland in 1402, much of the local production ceased. Although there was never a complete stop in local production, imported artworks — in particular, carved altarpieces from artistic centres in Northern Germany and the Northern Netherlands — were important suppliers of religious art. At times the religious content of these imported altarpieces moved beyond their formulaic and conventional content and introduced new saints and new religious concepts to Nidaros. Ragnhild M. Bø discusses such examples in her chapter in this volume. On the material manifestations of the cult of saints in the Nidaros archbishopric, the two saints with the most church dedications and preserved sculptures — St Óláfr and the Virgin — are also the two who have generated more research interest. St Óláfr in particular has been the subject of monographs such as Harry Fett’s Hellig Olav: Norges evige konge (1938) and St Olav i kunsten, edited by Øystein Ekroll (2016), as well as numerous articles.34 The art historian Martin Blindheim even named him the ‘Scandinavian SupraSaint’.35 Research concerning images of the Virgin is also abundant; in particular, analysis of polychrome sculpture of the Virgin.36 The exceptional collection 29 

Ásdís Egilsdóttir, Fræðinæmi. Grønlie, The Saint and the Saga Hero. 31  Haki Antonsson, St Magnus of Orkney; Haki Antonsson, Damnation and Salvation in Old Norse Literature. 32  Wolf, The Legends of the Saints in Old Norse-Icelandic Prose. 33  See the historiography and summaries of techniques in Blindheim, Gothic Painted Wooden Sculpture in Norway, pp. 15–22. 34  See e.g. Fett, Hellig Olav; Ekroll, ed., Helgenkongen St Olav i kunsten. 35  Blindheim, ‘St Olav, en skandinavisk overhelgen’. 36  Andersen, ‘Madonna Tabernacles in Scandinavia’ 30 

8 Ragnhild M. Bø and Jón Viðar Sigurðsson

of medieval altar frontals from Norway — many of which have depictions of saints — offer a unique insight into the visual culture of the Middle Ages, as does the painted canopy with scenes from the life of St Margaret in Torpo stave church.37 Material culture in the form of relics, as well as textiles and seals with representations of saints, and runic sticks which mention saints, however, have received less attention, but are emerging themes in present-day scholarship.38 The discussion on runes in Elise Kleivane’s chapter in this volume adds to this discussion. For Iceland, medieval religious material culture is covered by the book Hlutavelta tímans: menningararfur á Þjóðminjasafni. 39 On specific saints, Selma Jónsdóttir has written about St Nicholas and his presence in manuscript culture, and Margaret Cormack has provided us with a useful list of sculptures and paintings owned by individual churches.40 Because the regions within the Nidaros archbishopric were not hit by any iconoclastic riots similar to those which occurred in for example England, Switzerland, and the Northern Netherlands, the material culture of saints thus offer a comparable variety of objects. Rather, the many losses which have inevitably also taken place in Nidaros are more often the result of aesthetic and practical changes in the church interiors in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and not concerned either with the cult of saints or images more in general.41 For more on this subject, see Noëlle L. W. Streeton’s chapter in this volume.

Saints as Subjects In addition to the various aspects of the cult of saints that emerge in the discussions provided in the chapters included here, we would like to draw the reader’s attention to some questions and thoughts of a more rhetorical nature. By examining the typology of saints in the archdiocese of Nidaros, we can explore what 37 

Plahter and others, Painted Altar Frontals of Norway 1250–1350. Liepe, ‘The Presence of the Sacred’; Imer, Peasants and Prayers. 39  Árni Björnsson and Hrefna Róbertsdóttir, eds, Hlutavelta tímans: menningararfur á Þjóðminjasafni, in which especially: Guðbjörg Kristjánsdóttir, ‘Messuföng og kirkjulist’, pp. 246–59; Guðjónsson, ‘Listræn textiliðja fyrr á öldum’, pp. 272–89; Lilja Árnadóttir, ‘Útskurður’, pp. 290–301. 40  Selma Jónsdóttir, ‘Heilagur Nikulás í Árnasafni = St Nicholas in Iceland’; Cormack, The Saints in Iceland; Cormack, ‘Saints of Medieval Hólar’. 41  Jürgensen, Ritual and Art across the Danish Reformation; Bø, ‘From Material to Immaterial Presence’. 38 

Introduction

9

type of saints suited the needs of the people of the Archdiocese of Nidaros.We know that of the 100 or so saints in the western Norse tradition, most are drawn from the Latin tradition. They include apostles (whose lives were taken from sources such as Acta Apostolorum and New Testament Apocrypha), martyr saints (including Sts Sebastian, Thomas Becket as well as several early virgin martyrs) and confessor saints (such as Nicholas and Anthony who became known for miracles and exemplary lives rather than martyrdom).42 Indigenous saints who met local needs and conditions emerged (e.g. St Hallvarðr, St Sunniva). All these saints were influential; they shaped religious consciousness by offering a piety that was capable of imitation and gave figurative life to theological abstractions. But why did certain lives become more popular than others? In contrast to the development of the cult of saints on the continent, religious houses appear to have a played a limited role in the promotion of cults.43 While certain places were connected with certain saints (Nidaros and St Óláfr; Oslo and St Hallvarðr; Bergen St Sunniva; Stavanger St Swithun; Orkney St  Magnús; Skálholt St  Þorlákr; Hólar Jón Ögmundarson, and Guðmundr Arason), this may have originated in popular devotion and then been championed by bishops with the dual purpose of strengthening local identity and reinforcing episcopal authority.44 In other cases, the exemplary lives of saints were devised with certain people in mind. For example, the promotion of certain female saints including the Virgin Mary appears to have been more relevant for women in Iceland where vita activa rather than vita contemplativa may have been more practical.45 However, it is not known in many cases why particular saints’ cults flourished in the north. Furthermore, it is also relevant to explore how and why the typology and popularity of saints changed with the development of the cult of saints. Secondly, the translations of vitae into the vernacular provide an unparalleled insight into the development of Christianity in the North. Old Norse saints’ lives were rewritten and revitalized to suit the audiences to which they were directed. These holy lives were adaptable in ways that the Bible or key doctrinal texts were not. Their ability to metamorphose yet maintain authority was powerful, and therefore, the impact of these texts was wide-reaching. Indeed, the textual plasticity of vitae ensured their enduring popularity throughout the 42 

Kratz, ‘Saints’ Lives (Iceland and Norway)’, p. 563. Haki Antonsson, ‘Saints and Relics in Early Christian Scandinavia’, p. 68. 44  Haki Antonsson, ‘Saints and Relics in Early Christian Scandinavia’, p. 69. See also Brown, The Cult of the Saints. 45  Van Deusen, ‘The Dominican Connection’, p. 19. 43 

10 Ragnhild M. Bø and Jón Viðar Sigurðsson

Middle Ages and into the early modern period, when texts such as Mariu saga continued to be copied despite the Reformation. The translators who produced Old Norse versions of European vitae were no different from the vernacular translators on the continent; they chose to include or exclude particular elements in order to produce a version that suited their needs and pastoral objectives. The earliest hagiographical sources are close translations of the Latin passio material on Peter, Paul, and the other apostles, as well as Pope Clement and Bishop Martin. However, later translated hagiographies display increasing fluidity and a movement towards a more individualized style. Consequently, there are different degrees of fidelity in religious texts translated from Latin to Old Norse. Thus, the earliest texts show little influence of Latin syntax and loan words. In the second phase, from around the mid-thirteenth to the fifteenth century, however, the style became more ‘florid’, with a more deliberate attempt to imitate the Latin.46 For example, some compilers ‘harmonized’ several Latin texts, as Natalie Van Deusen has shown in her examination of the authorship of Marthe saga ok Marie Magdalene.47 This form of textual bricolage was particularly common in the so-called ‘florid’ style of texts. Although it is often difficult to identify the exact Latin source text for a vita, it is often possible to piece together elements that inform the hagiographic writing. For example, in some cases it is evident that sources for the translated vitae include legendaria such as Jacobus de Voragine’s Legenda Aurea, Gregory the Great’s Dialogues or apocryphal books of the New Testament. In addition, rewritings did not only stem from Latin texts. The Icelandic legendary Reykjahólabók (c. 1525), which contains twenty-five saints’ lives and is believed to have been written by the scribe Björn Þorleifsson (b. after 1467, d. before 1554) at Reykhólar in Iceland c. 1525, is thought to have been modelled on primarily Low German sources.48 These multi-layered texts provide a challenging yet fascinating insight into the development of the cult of saints. By breathing new life into the saintly vanguard of the Christian faith, each derivation became a unique extension of the Christian past. The Old Norse translators of the thirteenth to the sixteenth centuries thus had a defining role in the development of Christian spirituality and society in the North; their adaptations of saints’ vitae provided spiritual guidance that moulded both lay and monastic life. The ways in which the trans46 

The so-called ‘florid style’ was used by Icelandic writers including the priest Grímr Hólmsteinsson (d. 1298) in Jóns saga baptista (Kratz, ‘Saints’ Lives (Iceland and Norway)’, p. 563). 47  Van Deusen, ‘The Dominican Connection’, p. 209. 48  Kratz, ‘Saints’ Lives (Iceland and Norway)’, p. 563; Wolf, ‘Reykjahólabók’, pp. 527–28.

Introduction

11

lators reconfigured and transformed the vitae of European saints provides an incomparable insight into medieval societies, the intercultural translation of ideas, and conversion across cultural borders. When analysing these texts, we might ask: what was changed, abbreviated, suppressed, or interpolated? Why might some narrative structures have been modified while other parts of the text remained unchanged? What can this adaptation tell us about the audience? What does the choice, adaptation, and skill in harmonizing texts tells us about the competence of these redactors? What does this textual ‘bricolage’ tell us about the types of Latin text that were circulating in the diocese? Thirdly, the analysis of the veneration of saints in the archdiocese of Nidaros can provide a deeper understanding of interaction with the Church and the development of lay piety in the north. Jón Viðar Sigurdsson has shown that saints were understood to be guðs vinir (god’s friends) and that the Church used the notion of friendship to encourage people to follow biblical teachings. What then was the relationship that people could have with God’s friends? And how did people relate to saints? Did the veneration of saints change if they were perceived in terms of friendship? We might also examine local veneration practices or the private and personal veneration of saints in order to gain an insight into the social and cultural practices surrounding the cult of saints. Beyond the hagiographical texts from the western Norse tradition, religious material culture, including the cult of relics, is intimately connected with the veneration of saints. During the course of the twelfth century, local churches began to acquire relics, or relic collections, of foreign saints.49 As Haki Antonsson has shown, the importation of the cult of relics played a part in drawing Scandinavia further into the fold of European Christianity.50 Often, little is known about the acquisition and dissemination of relics. However, the Miracula of St Óláfr composed in the late twelfth century describe how ‘precious things [i.e. relics] … were sent from Constantinople’.51 In 1316, the Dominicans in Bruges sent a letter to King Hákon of Norway. Having erected an altar dedicated to St Óláfr and embellished with an ymago of him (possibly a sculpture of the saint) in their church, the monks asked for information about the saint’s miracles, life, and relics as they were eager to properly venerate the saint. These and other examples of gift-giving and ownership patterns prove 49 

Haki Antonsson, ‘Saints and Relics in Early Christian Scandinavia’, p. 65. Haki Antonsson, ‘Saints and Relics in Early Christian Scandinavia’, p. 55. 51  A History of Norway and The Passion and Miracles of the Blessed Óláfr, ed. by Phelpstead, trans. by Kunin, p. 35; Haki Antonsson, ‘Saints and Relics in Early Christian Scandinavia’, p. 67. 50 

12 Ragnhild M. Bø and Jón Viðar Sigurðsson

valuable in assessing the development of the cult of relics on behalf of both lay and ordained. They are also valuable in assessing the material endowment of churches. In examining church art and sculptures, we might ask how the ‘codes of viewing’ saints develop and what types of devotional activities were associated with images of saints. Images could be invested with indulgence letters and activated in different ways through pilgrimage on feast days,52 donations, and prayers. Moreover, addressing the tactile nature of piety we may inform ourselves more about the physical interaction with saints. As written hagiography was enclosed in books, we may want to address what the disfigurement of sculpture tells us about the disempowerment or survival of particular cults as we move towards the Reformation. Much more remains to be done, yet despite the many outdated editions and uneven source distribution, the field is privileged to have a base of excellent scholarship. It is our hope that this volume will contribute to the advancement of the field by uniting both textual and material studies of the cult of saints in the archdiocese of Nidaros. Moreover, we hope this book will inspire established and early career scholars alike to continue the inquiries commenced by the present authors.

52 

Rumar, ed., Helgonet i Nidaros.

Introduction

13

Works Cited Primary Sources The First Grammatical Treatise: Introduction, Text, Notes, Translation, Vocabulary, Facsimiles, ed.  by Hreinn Benediktsson, Publications in Linguistics, University of Iceland, 1 (Reykjavík: Institute of Nordic Linguistics, 1972)Gamal norsk homiliebok. Cod. AM 619 4o, ed. by Gustav Indrebø (Oslo: I hovudkommisjon hjaa Dybwad, 1931) Heilagra manna sögur. Fortællinger og Legender om hellige Mænd og Kvinder efter gamle Haands[k]rifter I–II, ed. by Carl Richard Unger (Christiania [Oslo]: Bentzen, 1877) A History of Norway and The Passion and Miracles of the Blessed Óláfr, ed. by Carl Phelpstead, trans. by Devra Kunin (London: Viking Society for Northern Research, 2001) Íslendingabók, Landnámabók, ed.  by Jakob Benediktsson, Íslenzk fornrit, I  (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1968) Íslensk hómilíubók fornar stólræður, ed.  by Guðrún Kvaran, Sigurbjörn Einarsson, and Gunnlaugur Ingólfsson (Reykjavík: Hið íslenska bókmenntafélag, 1993) Mariu saga: Legende om Jomfru Maria og hendes Jertegner: efter gamle Haandskrifter, ed. by Carl Richard Unger, Det norske Oldskriftselskabs Samlinger (Christiania [Oslo]: Det norske Oldskriftselskab, 1868) Mariu saga: Legende om Jomfru Maria og hendes Jertegner: efter gamle Haandskrifter, ed. by Carl Richard Unger, Det norske Oldskriftselskabs Samlinger (Christiania [Oslo]: Det norske Oldskriftselskab, 1871) Postola Sögur: legendariske Fortællinger om Apostlernes Liv, deres Kamp for Kristendommens Udbredelse samt deres Martyrdød: efter gamle Haandskrifter, ed. by Carl Richard Unger (Christiania [Oslo]: Bentzen, 1874)

Secondary Studies Andersen, Elisabeth, ‘Madonna Tabernacles in Scandinavia c. 1150–c. 1350’, Journal of the British Archaeological Association, 168 (2015), 165–85 Árni Björnsson and Hrefna Róbertsdóttir, eds, Hlutavelta tímans: menningararfur á Þjóðminjasafni (Reykjavík: Þjóðminjasafn Íslands, 2004) Ásdís Egilsdóttir, Fræðinæmi: greinar gefnar út í tilefni 70 ára afmælis Ásdísar Egilsdóttur (Reykjavík: Hið íslenska bókmenntafélag, 2016) Bartlett, Robert, Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things? Saints and Worshippers from the Martyrs to the Reformation (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2013) Blindheim, Martin, Gothic Painted Wooden Sculpture in Norway 1220–1350, Medieval Art in Norway (Oslo: Messel, 2004) —— , ‘St Olav, en skandinavisk overhelgen’, in Olav: konge og helgen, myte og symbol, ed. by Johs Bruce and Martin Blindheim (Oslo: St Olav forlag, 1981), pp. 105–35 Bø, Ragnhild M., ‘From Material to Immaterial Presence: Engagements with Saints before and after the Reformation in Denmark-Norway’, Mirator, 19 (2018), 84–107

14 Ragnhild M. Bø and Jón Viðar Sigurðsson

——  , ‘Sculptures and Accessories: Domestic Piety and the Norwegian Parish around 1300’, in Domestic Devotions in Medieval and Early Modern Europe, ed. by Salvador Ryan (Basel: Multidisciplinary Digital Publishing Institute, 2020), pp. 13–37 Brown, Peter, The Cult of the Saints: Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity, Haskell Lectures on History of Religions, new series (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981) The Cambridge Histoy of Scandinavia I: Prehistory to 1520, ed. by Knut Helle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003) Carlé, Birte, Jomfru-fortællingen: et bidrag til genrehistorien, Odense University Studies in Scandinavian Languages and Literatures (Odense: Odense Universitetsforlag, 1985) —— , Skøger og jomfruer i den kristne fortællekunst. Den skandinaviske tradition og den rødder i middelhavslandene, Odense University Studies in Scandinavian Languages and Literatures (Odense: Odense Universitetsforlag, 1991) Cormack, Margaret, ‘The Cult of St  Blaise in Iceland’, Saga-Book of the Viking Society (2014), 43–61 —— , The Saints in Iceland: Their Veneration from the Conversion to 1400, Subsidia hagiographica, 78 (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1994) —— , ‘Saints of Medieval Hólar: A Statistical Survey of the Veneration of Saints in the Diocese’, Peregrinations: Journal of Medieval Art and Architecture, 3 (2011), 7–37 DuBois, Thomas A., ed., Sanctity in the North: Saints, Lives, and Cults in Medieval Scandinavia (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008) Ekroll, Øystein, ed., Helgenkongen St  Olav i kunsten (Trondheim: Museumsforlaget, Nidaros domkirkes restaureringsarbeider, 2016) Fett, Harry, Hellig Olav: Norges evige konge, Kunst og kulturs serie (Oslo: Gyldendal, 1938) Garipzanov, Ildar H., and Haki Antonsson, eds, Saints and their Lives on the Periphery: Veneration of Saints in Scandinavia and Eastern Europe (c.  1000–1200), Cursor Mundi, 9 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010) Garipzanov, Ildar H., ed., Historical Narratives and Christian Identity on a European Periphery: Early History Writing in Northern, East-Central, and Eastern Europe (c.  1070–1200), Medieval Texts and Cultures of Northern Europe, 26 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011) Geary, Patrick J., Phantoms of Remembrance: Memory and Oblivion at the End of the First Millennium (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994) Grønlie, Siân E., The Saint and the Saga Hero: Hagiography and Early Icelandic Literature (Cambridge: Brewer, 2017) Guðbrandur Jónsson, ‘Dómkirkjan á Hólum í Hjaltadal. Lýsing íslenzkra miðaldakirkna’, in Safn til sögu Íslands og íslenzkra bókmenta að fornu og nýju 5/6, ed. Jón Sigurðsson and others (Kaupmannahöfn: Hið íslenzka bókmenntafjelag, 1919), pp. 1–418 Guðbjörg Kristjánsdóttir, ‘Messuföng og kirkjulist: Búnaður kirkna í kaþólskum sið’, in Hlutavelta tímans: menningararfur á Þjóðminjasafni, ed.  by Árni Björnsson and Hrefna Róbertsdóttir (Reykjavík: Þjóðminjasafn Íslands, 2004), pp. 246–59 Guðjónsson, Elsa E., ‘Listræn textiliðja fyrr á öldum. Útsaumur, listavefnaður, skinnsaumumur, knipl og útprjón’, in Hlutavelta tímans: menningararfur á Þjóðminjasafni, ed. by Árni Björnsson and Hrefna Róbertsdóttir (Reykjavík: Þjóðminjasafn Íslands, 2004), pp. 272–89

Introduction

15

Haki Antonsson, Damnation and Salvation in Old Norse Literature, Studies in Old Norse Literature (Cambridge: Brewer, 2018) ——  , ‘Saints and Relics in Early Christian Scandianvia’, Mediaeval Scandinavia, 15 (2005), 51–80 ——  , St  Magnus of Orkney: A  Scandinavian Martyr-Cult in Context, The Northern World, 29 (Leiden: Brill, 2007) Imer, Lisbeth M., Peasants and Prayers: The Inscriptions of Norse Greenland, Publications from the National Museum, Studies in Archaeology & History, 25 (Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark, 2017) Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, ‘Distribution of Reliquaries and Relics in the Bishopric of Hólar, c.  1320’, in Paint and Piety: Collected Essays on Medieval Painting and Polychrome Sculpture, ed.  by Noëlle Lynn Wenger Streeton and Kaja Kollandsrud (London: Archetype, 2014), pp. 67–74 —— , Kristninga i Norden 750–1200, Utsyn & innsikt (Oslo: Samlaget, 2003) ——  , ‘Legender om hellige kvinner på Island i høymiddelalderen’, in Kirkehistorier. Rapport fra et middelaldersymposium, ed. by Nanna Damsholt, Grethe Jacobsen, and Niels Holmqvist-Larsen (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 1996), pp. 115–33 —— , Det norrøne samfunnet. Vikingen, kongen, erkebiskopen og bonden (Oslo: Pax, 2008) ——  , Viking Friendship: The Social Bond in Iceland and Norway, c.  900–1300 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2017) Jürgensen, Martin Wangsgaard, Ritual and Art across the Danish Reformation: Changing Interiors of Village Churches, 1450–1600, Ritus et Artes, 6 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2018) Kratz, Henry, ‘Saints’ Lives (Iceland and Norway)’, in Medieval Scandinavia: An Encyclopedia, ed. by Philip Pulsiano and Kirsten Wolf, Garland Encyclopedias of the Middle Ages, 1 (New York: Garland, 1993), pp. 562–64 Liepe, Lena, ‘The Presence of the Sacred: Relics in Medieval Wooden Sculptures in Scandinavia’, in Paint and Piety: Collected Essays on Medieval Painting and Polychrome Sculpture, ed.  by Noëlle Lynn Wenger Streeton and Kaja Kollandsrud (London: Archetype, 2014), pp. 39–50 Lilja Árnadóttir, ‘Útskurður. Skorið í tré, horn og bein’, in Hlutavelta tímans: menningararfur á Þjóðminjasafni, ed. by Árni Björnsson and Hrefna Róbertsdóttir (Reykjavík: Þjóðminjasafn Íslands, 2004), pp. 290–301 Medieval Scandinavia: An Encyclopedia, ed. by Phillip Pulsiano and Kirsten Wolf, Garland Encyclopedias of the Middle Ages, 1 (New York: Garland, 1993) Narikawa, Takahiro, ‘Innovations and Conservatism: Foundation of the Metropolitan Authority and the Effective Control within the Church Province of Nidaros in the Thirteenth Century’ (unpublished MA thesis, Universitetet i Oslo, 2008) Orrman, Eljas, ‘The Condition of the Rural Population’, in The Cambridge History of Scandinavia  I: Prehistory to 1520, ed.  by Knut Helle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), pp. 581–610 Perron, Anthony, ‘Metropolitan Might and Papal Power on the Latin–Christian Frontier: Transforming the Danish Church around the Time of the Fourth Lateran Council’, Catholic Historical Review, 89 (2003), 182–212

16 Ragnhild M. Bø and Jón Viðar Sigurðsson

Plahter, Unn, Erla Bergendahl Hohler, Nigel J. Morgan, and Anne Wichstrøm, Painted Altar Frontals of Norway 1250–1350, 3 vols (London: Archetype, 2004) Rumar, Lars, ed., Helgonet i Nidaros: Olavskult och kristnande i Norden, Skrifter utgivna av Riksarkivet, 3 (Stockholm: Riksarkivet, 1997) Selma Jónsdóttir, ‘Heilagur Nikulás í Árnasafni  = St  Nicholas in Iceland: A  Fragment of an English Psalter’, in Afmælisrit Jóns Helgasonar: 30. júní 1969, ed.  by Jakob Benediktsson, Jón Samsonarson, and Jónas Kristjánsson (Reykjavík: Heimskringla, 1969), pp. 260–69 Skórzewska, Joanna A., Constructing a Cult: The Life and Veneration of Guðmundr Arason (1161–1237) in the Icelandic Written Sources, The Northern World, 51 (Leiden: Brill, 2011) Sollund, May-Liss Bøe, and Jan Brendalsmo, ‘Middelalderske kirker i hedenske gravfelt’, Viking, 76 (2013), 203–18 Sparre, Cornelia Spjelkavik, ‘Mirakler i middelalderens Norge: En analyse av norske mirakler’ (unpublished MA thesis, Universitetet i Oslo, 2014) Van Deusen, Natalie M., ‘The Dominican Connection: Some Comments on the Sources, Authorship, and Provenance of Mǫrtu saga ok Maríu Magðalenu’, Journal of English and Germanic Philology, 113 (2014), 206–21 Vauchez, André, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997) Ward, Benedicta, Miracles and the Medieval Mind: Theory, Record and Event, 1000–1215, rev. edn (Aldershot: Scolar, 1987) Weinstein, Donald, and Rudolph M. Bell, Saints and Society: The Two Worlds of Western Christendom, 1000–1700 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982) Whaley, Diana, ‘Miracles in the Sagas of Bishops: Icelandic Variations on an International Theme’, Collegium Medievale, 7 (1994), 155–85 Widding, Ole, Hans Bekker-Nielsen, and L. K. Shook, ‘The Lives of the Saints in Old Norse Prose: A Handlist’, Mediaeval Studies, 25 (1963), 294–337 Widding, Ole, ‘AM 655,4°, fragment III: Et brudstykke af Nicolaus saga’, Opuscula, 2 (1961), 27–33 Wolf, Kirsten, The Legends of the Saints in Old Norse-Icelandic Prose (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2013) —— , ‘Reykjahólabók’, in Medieval Scandinavia: An Encyclopedia, ed. by Philip Pulsiano and Kirsten Wolf, Garland Encyclopedias of the Middle Ages, 1 (New York: Garland, 1993), pp. 527–28 Wolf, Kirsten, and Natalie M. Van Deusen, The Saints in Old Norse and Early Modern Icelandic Poetry, Toronto Old Norse and Icelandic Studies, 10 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2017)

Epitomes of Saints’ Lives in Two Old Norse-Icelandic Manuscripts AM 764 4to and AM 672 4to Natalie M. Van Deusen and Kirsten Wolf

T

he lives, passions, or miracles, in part or in full, of about 150 saints have been preserved in prose in Old Norse-Icelandic literature. There are several versions of some legends including those of Sts Agatha, Agnes, Ambrose, Eustace, Gregory the Great, Guðmundr the Good, Jón of Hólar, Margaret of Antioch, Nicholas, Óláfr of Norway, Stephen the Deacon, Thomas Becket, Þorlákr of Skálholt, the Apostles (notably Andrew, Bartholomew, James the Greater, John, Paul, Peter, Philip, and Thomas), and John the Baptist. Some of these saints’ lives reappear heavily abridged in two manuscripts: AM 764 4to (Reynistaðarbók) which has been dated to c. 1376–1386 and AM 672 4to which has been dated to c.  1450–1500. The former contains epitomes of the lives of Sts Bede the Venerable, Cuthbert, Edward the Confessor, Elizabeth of Schönau, Gregory the Great, Malchus, Martha, Nicholas, Remigius, Sunniva, Ursula, and Walburga. The latter contains epitomes of the lives of Sts Agatha, Barbara, Bartholomew, Blase, and Nicholas. While some of the lives of the saints in these two manuscripts are well represented in Old Norse-Icelandic, others are not. Except for the tale of St Bede incorporated into the miracles of the Virgin Mary, AM 764 4to is the only manuscript containing a life of St Bede. Similarly,

Natalie M. Van Deusen ([email protected]) is the Henry Cabot and Linnea Lodge Scan­dinavian Professor at the University of Alberta. She specializes in Old Norse-Icelandic philology, manuscript culture, and hagiography. Kirsten Wolf ([email protected]) is the Birgit Baldwin Professor in the Department of German, Nordic, and Slavic at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where she teaches Old Norse and Scandinavian linguistics. The Cult of Saints in Nidaros Archbishopric. Manuscripts, Miracles, Objects, ed. by Ragnhild M. Bø and Jon Viðar Sigurðsson, tcne 33 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2022), pp. 17–51 BREPOLS PUBLISHERS 10.1484/M.TCNE-EB.5.124877

18 Natalie M. Van Deusen and Kirsten Wolf

there is no legend about St Cuthbert except for two short passages in AM 655 4to XXI (c. 1200–1250) and AM 686b 4to (c. 1200–1225) to be read on his feast-day. St  Martha is incorporated into the composite legend of Sts Martha and Mary Magdalen extant in AM 233a fol. (c.  1350–1375), AM 235  fol. (c. 1400), NRA 79 (c. 1350), and Stock. Perg. fol. no. 2 (c. 1425–1445), but she has her own legend only in AM 764 4to. Other than AM 764 4to, the legend of St Ursula is known only from an epitome that forms part of Breta sǫgur, and from references to the martyrdom of the saint and her companions in Kirjalax saga and Ambrósíuss saga.1 And St Walburga is known only from AM 764 4to. This chapter is concerned with some of the epitomes of saints’ lives in AM 764 4to and AM 672 4to.2 In addition to investigating the sources of the epitomes and the particular aspects of the individual lives that were chosen or emphasized in the epitomes, it reflects on why these particular saints and their legends were selected, and what their function is within the wider context of the two manuscripts.

AM 764 4to The codex is from Skagafjörður and appears to have been compiled over a period of time by a number of scribes. It may be divided into two parts.3 Part I (1–23v) is a description of the world’s history organized by Augustine’s six ages of the world and the two ages yet to come. The historical periods covered are as follows: the first age from Adam to Noah, the second from Noah to Abraham, the third from Abraham to David, the fourth from David to the Babylonian Exile, the fifth from the Exile to the birth of Christ, the sixth from the birth of Christ (and the present age) until the Apocalypse, the seventh the period of rest between the Apocalypse and Judgement Day, and the eighth age eternal life in heaven.4 The description of the sixth age includes lists of popes and emper1 

Parsons, ‘Radiant Maidens and Butchered Brides’, pp. 227–43, esp. pp. 230–38. Since this chapter deals with the epitomes of saints’ legends, the section on AM 764 4to treats only epitomes of the vitae or sections which are included in Wolf, The Legends of the Saints in Old Norse-Icelandic Prose. However, for reasons of space, Inventio crucis, Gregory the Great’s Dialogi, and Vitae patrum are not discussed here, nor are the miracles of the Virgin Mary and St Peter. 3  The following description of the manuscript’s contents relies on the detailed list presented by Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir, ‘Universal History in Fourteenth-Century Iceland’, pp. 239–41; and Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir, ‘What Icelandic Nuns Read’, pp. 229–48, esp. pp. 240–41. 4  Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir, ‘Universal History in Fourteenth-Century Iceland’, pp. 239–41. 2 

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ors, canonical and apocryphal scripture, theological works, and also draws on several saints’ lives; these comprise the legends of Sts Martha of Bethany (15v11–16r5), Elisabeth of Schönau (16r14–16v17), Gregory the Great (18bis), Inventio crucis (20r7–12 and 20v8–12), and Vitae patrum (21r20–21v3). Part II is a miscellany and includes exempla, extracts from the Dialogues of Gregory the Great, an account of Cyrus the Great, an Icelandic version of the dream manual Somniale Danielis, writings of the Church Fathers, lists of English rulers based on Breta sǫgur, a biography of Bishop Jón Halldórsson, chapters from Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar en mesta, a text of Upphaf allra frásagna, a description of the world, genealogies, and annals. The epitomes of the lives of the following saints are included in part II: Remigius (23v5–25r14); Malchus (27r1–30r4); Ursula (31v14–24); Nicholas (31v30–37); Walburga (34r1–34v; defective); Sunniva (35r1–16; defective); Cuthbert (36r1–5); Bede (36r6–19); and Edward the Confessor (37v; defective). Miracles of Sts Peter and Mary and some extracts from Vitae patrum are also included. Árni Magnússon’s notes regarding AM 764 4to are attached to the front of the codex on two folios and four slips and reveal that he obtained most of the manuscript from Skálholt. After the list of the manuscript’s contents, he writes: ‘Mig minner eg hafe feinged þetta frä Bæ [= Gaulverjabær in Flói, Árnessýsla], mun, öefad, hafa tilheyrt Skalholltz kirkiu, og slædst frä Skalhollte til Bæjar, epter andlat Mag. Bryniolfs’(I recall that I received this from Bær [=Gaulverjabær in Flói, Árnessýsla] and must without a doubt have belonged to Skálholt church, and drifted from Skálholt to Bær, after the death of Mag. Brynjólfur).5 Árni also acquired other parts of the manuscript from Gaulverjabær. It is clear, however, that Árni did not receive all forty-three leaves at the same time. On an endnote to his list of contents, he writes that he obtained fol. 38 (labelled α) separately: ‘bladed sem þad æfintir er á hefi eg feingid sier i lage. Synest ad þad mune ei heyra inn þar þad liggur’ (I received the leaf containing the exemplum separately. It seems as if it does not belong to where it is). On another slip, he writes that he believes that fol. 38 came from Skálholt: on the recto side, ‘fra Skalhollte mun þetta vera i fyrstu. (α)’ (Must be at first from Skálholt) and on the verso side, ‘α] ecki stendr þad annars i neinu afhendingar registre, so þad kynne’ (It does not appear otherwise in any delivery register, so it could be). Árni’s notes show that several other leaves (39–43) came to him from Skálholt, where they were kept in a codex containing annals. In his notes, this codex is referred to as ‘Skallholt [or Skallholtz or Skallholts] annal hinu forna’ (The 5 

Quoted from Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir, ‘Universal History in Fourteenth-Century Iceland’, p. 13.

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old Skálholt annal), a name given to the annal by ‘Mag. Bryniolfur’. Two additional leaves, which Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir argues are fols 27–28, came to Árni from Daði Halldórsson of Steinsholt, whose daughter had received the leaves from Gaulverjabær: þess[e] 2. blỏd eru komin til dottur Sira Dada i Steins holltu fra Gaulveria bæ i Flöa, en eg feck þau hiä Sira Dada. J Bæ er eckert meira þar af. inqvisivi. Sira Halldor Torfason seiger mier, ad þessa blỏd hafi flækst þar (i Bæ) i rugle, og veit eckert vidara þar af, hverki hvadan þau sieu, nie hvernig hattad hafi vered. hafe og eckert vïdara þar af, eda veit sig nockurn tima haft hafa.6

The codex belongs to a group of late fourteenth-century manuscripts linked to the family at Akrar in Blönduhlíð, and was most likely the product of a scribal school at the Benedictine convent of Reynistaður in northern Iceland, to which the family had connections.7 Because of its likely origins at the convent, AM 764 4to is also referred to as Reynistaðarbók.

AM 672 4to8 The manuscript is an Icelandic miscellany of religious literature. The first text is the Parva pars oculi dextri sacerdotis, which is based primarily on the theological manual Oculus Sacerdotis compiled by the English writer William Pagula in the fourteenth century. Though, as Ian McDougall has noted, the Compendium Theologicae Veritatis also served as a source for the Icelandic translation.9 The Parva pars is followed by epitomes of the legends of St Bartholomew (55r23–55v) and Barbara (56r1–19).10 Then there is a section on the Lenten fast, a translation of Luke 8. 5–15 (the parable of the sower,11 and

6 

Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir, ‘Universal History in Fourteenth-Century Iceland’, pp. 13–14. The transcription of Árni Magnússon’s notes is quoted on p. 13 n. 6. 7  Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir, ‘Arctic Garden of Delights’, esp. p. 297. 8  An edition of AM 672 4to by Kirsten Wolf is forthcoming under the title The Priest’s Eye: AM 672 4to in The Arnamagnaean Collection, Copenhagen in Manuscripta Nordica: Early Nordic Manuscripts in Digital Facsimile. The discussion of this manuscript below is extracted from the introduction to the edition. 9  McDougall, ‘Latin Sources of the Old Icelandic Speculum Penitentis’, pp. 136–85. 10  Wolf, ed., The Old Norse-Icelandic Legend of Saint Barbara, p. 114. 11  Þorvaldur Bjarnarson, ed., Leifar fornra kristinna frœða íslenzkra, p. 188, ll. 12–32.

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an explication of the Mass,12 followed by epitomes of the legends of Sts Agatha (61r4–61v9),13 Blase (61v9–62r8), and Nicholas (62r8–62v20),14 and a translation of John 20.  24–31.15 A theological treatise concludes the manuscript. The immediate source of the treatise is unknown, but many of the Latin quotes and references point to the Decretum magistri Gratiani, also known as the Concordia discordantium canonum, which is a collection of canon law compiled and written in the mid-twelfth century as a legal textbook by Gratian, who was probably a canon lawyer from Bologna. AM 672 4to was acquired by Árni Magnússon. In his catalogue of manuscripts in AM 345a-b 4to, he provides a list of its contents and the information that ‘Bokin hefur fyrrum verid eign Skalholltskirkiu, þo alldri stadid i neinu registre þar’ (The book was previously in the possession of the church of Skálholt but was never mentioned in a catalogue there).16 On the basis of her identification of the Hallfríður mentioned in a scribal note on fol. 55v — ‘les betur enn skrifat er kiærí fadir ok seg halfridi goda notth’ (Read better than what is written, dear father, and say goodnight to Hallfriður) — with Hallfríður Þórðardóttir, próventukona at Hagi and daughter of Þórður Sigurðarson, who in 1473 sold half of Hagi to Gísli Filipusson (d. 1504), Jonna Louis-Jensen argues that the manuscript has its provenance in the western part of Iceland.17 She points out that this Hallfríður is mentioned in one diploma, AM Dipl. Isl. Fasc. XXIV, 22,18 which is written in a hand virtually identical to hand II in AM 672 4to. According to the diploma, which was written at Hagi in Barðaströnd on 16 October 1479, Hallfríður Þórðardóttir and her husband Jón Ólafsson agree to turn over the farm Botn in Patreksfjörður to Gísli Filippusson in return for ‘æfinligt framfæri ok profentv hia … gisla filipvssyne ok ingibiorgv eyolfs dottvr konv hans ok þeira ǫrfvm’ (eternal maintenance and prebent with Gísli Fílippusson and Ingibjörg Eyjólfsdóttir, his wife, and their heirs). Hallfríður was Gísli Filippusson’s cousin and the daughter of Þórður Sigurðarson, who in 1473 sold half of Hagi to his nephew Gísli Filippusson in return for Botn. 12 

Kolsrud, ed., Messuskýringar, pp. 57–64. Wolf, ‘Agǫtu saga IV and V’, pp. 1–24, esp. pp. 19–20. 14  Wolf, ‘A Little Tale about Santa Claus from Medieval Iceland’, pp. 127–33, esp. pp. 129–30. 15  Kirby, Bible Translation in Old Norse, p. 152, ll. 19–33. 16  Arne Magnussons i AM. 435A-B, p. 17. 17  Louis-Jensen, ‘Seg Hallfríði góða nótt’, pp. 149–53, esp. p. 150. The following is a summary of her article and arguments. 18  Diplomatarium Islandicum [henceforth DI], vi, no. 225. 13 

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Louis-Jensen believes that the ‘kiærí faðir’ in the scribal note is Gísli Filippusson and she hypothesizes that the note and, by extension, fols 55r23–62v were written for Gísli Filippusson by one of his sons after Hallfríður had moved to Hagi as a próventukona. She points out that since there was a church at Hagi, Gísli Filippusson may have been interested in acquiring books for the priest and notes that one of Gísli Filippusson’s sons became a priest and later a rural dean at Holt undir Eyjafjöllum.19

The Epitomes in AM 764 4to St  Martha of Bethany: Her legend forms part of the composite legend of Martha and her ‘sister’, St Mary Magdalen. It tells of the two women from Bethany who welcomed Jesus into their home and whose brother, Lazarus, was raised from the dead by Jesus. Mary of Bethany was conflated with two other biblical women in the Middle Ages. Accordingly, the so-called Mǫrtu saga ok Maríu Magðalenu also tells the story of Mary Magdalen, the faithful follower of Jesus out of whom he cast seven demons, and of the unnamed sinner in Luke who anointed Jesus’s feet and dried them with her hair. The saga summarizes the various biblical stories involving the two sisters of Bethany, including the feast at the home of Simon the Pharisee, Jesus’s visit, the raising of Lazarus, Martha’s recognition of Jesus, and the Crucifixion and Resurrection. After the Resurrection, Mary, Martha, and many of Christ’s other disciples were persecuted and ultimately exiled. Mary and Martha, along with Bishop Maximinus 19 

Louis-Jensen, ‘Seg Hallfríði góða nótt’, draws attention to another diploma, AM Dipl. Isl. Fasc. XXXIV, 13 (DI vii 440), written in Saurbær á Rauðasandi in 1500, which supports but also complicates her hypothesis. According to this diploma, Björn Þorleifsson (the younger), turned over the farm Deildará at Skálmarnes to one of Gísli Filippusson’s sons, Helgi Gíslason. In terms of palaeography, AM Dipl. Isl. Fasc. XXIV and AM Dipl. Isl. Fasc. XXXIV, 13 are so similar that they might well be by the same hand, but in terms of orthography, they are quite dissimilar. Her conclusion is that ‘[b]åde lighederne og forskellen mellem de to diplomer kunne imidlertid forklares ved at de var skrevet af to hinanden nærtstående personer, f.eks. af to brødre, eller af lærer og elev. Skriveren af XXXIV, 13 måtte i så tilfælde snarest være Helgi Gíslason selv; og hvis XXIV 22 er med samme hånd som 672(2) måtte disse to skriftstykker være skrevet af en af hans brødre. Muligvis skal man dog regne med tre hænder: tre brødre eller en lærer og hans to elever?’ (Both the similarities and differences between the two diplomas could, however, be explained if they had been written by two closely related people, e.g., by two brothers or by a teacher and his pupil. The writer of XXXIV,13 would in that case probably be Helgi Gíslason himself; and if XXIV,22 is in the same hand as 672(2) these two writings would have been written by one of his brothers. Possibly, one should, however, consider three hands: three brothers or a teacher and his two pupils) (p. 153).

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and other followers of Christ, were put on a ship that drifted to Marseilles, where Mary Magdalen converted the citizens. The saga also details Martha’s time in Tarascon, where she defeated a dragon, resurrected a boy who had drowned, and, after establishing a church, remained for the rest of her life. Mary Magdalen is said to have spent the last thirty years of her life as a hermit in the wilderness, where she was fed only heavenly food and carried up into heaven by angels seven times a day until her death. Martha died shortly afterwards and was visited by the spirit of her sister before her death. After relating the translation of Mary Magdalen’s body, the composite legend gives an account of her post-mortem miracles. The epitome is an extract of chapters 15 and 26 of the saga. They recount miraculous deeds performed by Martha during her years in Tarascon, where she came after the ascension and the dispersion of Christ’s disciples. The first part describes Martha’s defeat of the dragon in Tarascon. The second relates the miraculous out-of-body transportation of Bishop Fronto to Tarascon for Martha’s funeral preparations. There are two redactions of Mǫrtu saga ok Maríu Magðalenu. The first (Mǫrtu saga ok Maríu Magðalenu I) is represented by AM 235 fol. and Stock. Perg. 2 fol., and the second (Mǫrtu saga ok Maríu Magðalenu II) by AM 233a fol. The text is also extant in NRA 79 fragm., which consistently has the closest readings to the Latin sources, and as such may be a direct descendant of the archetype. AM 233a fol. is likely to be a copy of NRA 79 fragm. or of another copy of the archetype, and is the sibling of the exemplar for Stock. Perg. fol. no. 2 and AM 235 fol.20 The saga is based on a wide variety of Latin sources, but it relies most heavily on Vincent de Beauvais’s Speculum historiale, which is the sole Latin source for the section of the saga covered in AM 764 4to. The epitome relates the same legend in both redactions of Mǫrtu saga ok Maríu Magðalenu, but the material is condensed. Specifically, in its resumé of chapter 26, AM 764 4to omits the scene found in both redactions, where Bishop Fronto sends men to retrieve the gilded mass gloves (messuglófa gullbúna21), which he left in Tarascon during the funeral services he performed for Martha as proof that the Lord transported him there. Also not included is the explanatory half of a miracle, in which Fronto recalls how in Tarascon a learned man from the area showed him a book, on which every page had a Latin verse testifying to Martha’s sanctity. Although abbreviated, the text is clearly related to that found in the main witnesses of both redactions of 20  21 

Van Deusen, ed., The Saga of the Sister Saints, pp. 65–66. Van Deusen, ed., The Saga of the Sister Saints, pp. 180–81.

24 Natalie M. Van Deusen and Kirsten Wolf

Mǫrtu saga ok Maríu Magðalenu. The following example shows that the text of AM 764 4to is virtually identical with that of both redactions: 764: tenn hans uoru huassar sem suerdz oddar. fax hafdi hann mikid sem hestr huass kambr geck a baki honum sem breídauxar egg. (15v14–15) Stock 2: Tenn hans vorv hvassar sem sverds oddar fax hafdi hann mikít sem hestr hvass kambr geck eptir baaki hans. sem breid o᾽xar egg. (70va2–5) 235: tenn hans voru huassar sem suerðzodðar. fax hafdi hann mikit sem hestr. huarss kambr gek eptir baki hans. sem breið o᾽xar egg. (25ra9–11) 233a: Ten hans voru huassar sem suerdz oddar Fax hafdi hann mikit sem hestr. huass kampr gekk eptir baki hans sem breid o᾽xar eg. (22vb33–35)22

At times, AM 764 4to shows a closer affinity to Mǫ rtu saga ok Maríu Magðalenu II. One of the most striking examples — especially when compared to the Latin source text, Speculum historiale — is where AM 764 4to and AM 233a fol. only have ‘e(ða) huadan hann uærí’ (corresponding to the Latin ‘vel vnde’): Latin: Postquam, inquit, eam sepulchro tradidimus; ab ecclesia iam exeuntes; nos insecutus est, quidam frater eiusdem loci litteratus, & interrogauit Dominum quis esset? vel vnde, vel quo nomine censeretur? (p. 360) 764: hann sagdi ok at þa er þeir geingu brott or kirkiunní spurdi eínn brodir þess stadar sialfan drottínn huerr hann uæri e(da) hu`a´dan hann uæri e(da) huert nafn hann ætti. (15v39–16r1) 233a: Hinn sæli fronto sagði bræðrum. þa er hann giorði minning þessarar sælu konu marthe. at þa er þeir ho᾽fdu hana j gro᾽f lagit. ok þeir gengu or kirkiunni. spurdi einn bok lærðr brodir þess stadar. sa er okkr fylgdi af kirkiunni. sialfan drottin huerr hann værí e(ða) huadan hann uærí e(ða) huert nafn hann ætti. (24vb2–6) Stock 2: hín sæli fronto sagdi ok brædrvm þa er hann giordi mínníng þessarar sælo konv marthe. ath þa er þeir ho᾽fdu hana j grauf lagit ok þeir gengu wr kirkíunní. spurdi eínn boklærdr brodir þess stadar sa er ockr fylgdi. af kirkíunní sialfan drottínn hverr hann wæri eda hvert nafn hans ættí. (71vb41–72ra4) 22 

764: Its teeth were sharp, like the points of a sword. It had a great mane, like a horse. A sharp ridge ran down the back on it, like the broad edge of an axe. Stock 2: Its teeth were sharp, like the points of a sword. It had a great mane, like a horse. A sharp ridge ran down its back, like the broad edge of an axe. 235: Its teeth were sharp, like the points of a sword. It had a great mane, like a horse. A sharp ridge ran down its back, like the broad edge of an axe. 233a: Its teeth were sharp, like the points of a sword. It had a great mane, like a horse. A sharp ridge ran down its back, like the broad edge of an axe.

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235: hinn sęla fronto sagdi ok bredrum þa er hann gerdi minning. hinar sęlu marthe þa er þeir hofdu hana i gro᾽f lagit ok þeir gengu vr kirkiunni. spurdi einn boklęrdr brodir. þess stadar sa er okr fylgdi af kirkiu. siolfan drotin huerr hann væri. eda huert nafn hann e᾽tti. (27vb6–10)23

Often, however, AM 764 4to shows an equal, if not slightly closer, affinity to the Latin and Mǫrtu saga ok Maríu Magðalenu I: Latin: apparuit Dominus dicens ei: Dilecte mi Fronto si vis implere, quæ hospitæ nostræ Marthæ pollicitus es, veni festinanter ad eius exequias complendas, & sequere me. (p. 360) 764: i þeim suefní uítradiz honum sialfr gud ok m(ællti) mín elskuligr uín fronto ef þu uilt ennda þítt firir heít þat sem þu hez ´hus`fru uarrí marthe far nu skíotliga at ueíta henni grauptr ok fylg mer (15v31–33) Stock 2: J þeim sefní vítradiz honvm sialfr drottínn ihesvs kristr. svo mælandi. Mínn elsku

  • gi vín fronto. Ef þv uillt enda þítt fyrir heít þat sem þu hetz husfru vorrí marthe. þa far nv skyndiliga at veíta henne graptlíga þionostv ok fylg mer. (71vb1–6) 235: J þeim svefní vitraðizt honum siolfr drottinn Jesus christus suo męlanði. Minn elskuligi vinn fronto. ef þu villt enda þítt fyrir héit. þat sem hetz husfru vars marthe. þa far nv skyndiliga ath veita henne graptliga þionustu. ok fylg mer. (27va5–9) 233a: J þeim suefni vitradiz honum sialfr grædarinn jhesus kristus suo mælandi. Minn elskulighi vín fronto Ef þu uill enda þítt fyrir heít. þat sem þu hezt minni

    23 

    Latin: He said: ‘After we put her in the tomb, we were leaving the church, and a certain brother of that place who was versed in letters followed us and asked the Lord who he was, and from where, and by what name he was known’ (Translation from Peters, ‘The Early Latin Sources of the Legend of St Martha’, p. 169). 764: He also said that when they left the church, a brother from this place asked the Lord himself who he was or where he came from or what his name was. 233a: The blessed Fronto told the brothers, when he recalled the memory of this blessed woman, Martha, that when they had placed her in the tomb and left the church, a brother from this place, who was well versed in letters and followed us from the church, asked the Lord himself who he was or where he came from or what his name was. Stock 2: The blessed Fronto also told the brothers when he recalled the memory of this blessed woman, Martha, that when they had placed her in the tomb and left the church, a brother from this place, who was well versed in letters and followed us from the church, asked the Lord himself who he was or what his name was. 235: The blessed Fronto also told the brothers when he recalled the memory of the blessed Martha when they had placed her in the tomb and left the church, a brother from this place, who was well versed in letters and followed us from the church, asked the Lord himself who he was or what his name was.

    26 Natalie M. Van Deusen and Kirsten Wolf

    husfru marthe þa far nu skyndiliga. at veíta henní graptliga þionosto. ok fylg mer. (24va15–18)24 Latin: Bonachum enim animal Galatiæ gignit regio, quod stercore feruente, & vrente, suos insectatores submouet, quod per spacium iugeris velut spiculum dirigit, & quicquid tetigerit velut incendium perurit. (p. 358) 764: þetta olma dyr bonakum er sua illrar natturu at uerpr uellheítu drití um xxx fadma þann ueg sem skeyti flygr a þa er þat sekia ok brennr af huat er firir uerdr. (15v24–25) Stock 2: þetta olm`a´ dyr bonachvm er svo illrar nattvrv at þat verpr vell heítv dríti. þvi er brennr af hvat sem fyrir verdr. aa þat er þat sækia svo sem vm þriatigí fadma þann veg sem skeyti flíugí. (70va20–24) 235: þat olma dyr bonakvm er suo illar natturu at þat verpr vellheitv driti þui er brenr af huat er fyrir verdr aa þessa er þat sekia suo sam wm þriatigi fadma þannig sem skeyti flivghi (25ra26–29) 233a: Þetta olma dyr bónacham er suo illrar natturu. at þat verpr af ser uell heítu dríti. þui er bren af huat sem fyrir uerðr aa þa er þat sækia. suo sem vm.xxx. faðma þannig sem skeyti flygi. (25ra26–29)25 24  Latin: The Lord appeared to him, saying : ‘My beloved Fronto, if you wish to fulfill what you promised to our hostess Martha, come quickly to her funeral service, and follow me’ (Translation from Peters, ‘The Early Latin Sources of the Legend of St Martha’, p. 167). 764: In his sleep, God himself appeared and spoke: ‘My beloved friend, Fronto, if you wish to fulfil the promise you made to our hostess Martha, go quickly to perform her burial service and follow me’. Stock 2: In his sleep, the Lord himself, Jesus Christ, appeared to him, saying, ‘My beloved friend, Fronto, if you wish to fulfil the promise you made to our hostess Martha, go quickly to perform her burial service and follow me’. 235: In his sleep, the Lord himself, Jesus Christ, appeared to him, saying, ‘My beloved friend, Fronto, if you wish to fulfil the promise you made to our hostess Martha, go quickly to perform her burial service and follow me’. 233a: In his sleep, the Saviour himself, Jesus Christ, appeared to him, saying: ‘My beloved friend, Fronto, if you wish to fulfill the promise that you made to our hostess Martha, then go quickly to perform her burial service and follow me’. 25  Latin: The Bonachus was an animal which originated in the region of Galatia, and which drove away its attackers with burning dung which it shot out like an arrow over the range of almost an acre, and everything which it touched was burned as if by fire. (Translation from Peters, ‘The Early Latin Sources of the Legend of St Martha’, p. 159). 764: This savage beast Bonachus was of such an evil nature that it shoots boiling hot dung over a shooting range of thirty fathoms and burns whatever it touches. Stock 2: This savage beast Bonachus is of such an evil nature that it shoots boiling hot dung, which burns up whatever it touches, on pursuers within thirty fathoms of shooting range. 235: This savage beast Bonachus is of such an evil nature that it shoots boiling hot dung, which burns up whatever it touches, on pursuers within thirty fathoms of shooting range. 233a: This savage beast Bonachus is of such an evil nature that it shoots boiling hot dung,

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    27

    It appears that AM 764 4to is not derived from either redaction, but a version closely related to them. Considering its close affinity to the Latin, it was probably derived independently from a copy of the original compilation, in which case it would be a sibling of AM 233a fol. and of the exemplar of Stock. Perg. 2 fol. and AM 235 fol. St Gregory the Great: According to his legend as recorded in Jacobus de Voragine’s Legenda aurea, Pope Gregory I (c. 540–604) was born to a wealthy and well-connected family, and was an obedient child who became learned at a young age. After the death of his father, he inherited his wealth, constructed six monasteries in Sicily, and converted his own house in Rome into a seventh. Gregory became a monk and eventually an abbot. He also initiated a mission to convert the English to Christianity, after which he was appointed the pope’s cardinal deacon. Shortly afterwards, the Tiber overflowed and brought a plague to Rome, which claimed the life of the pope. Gregory became his successor and led a procession through the city, which ended the plague. He was a humble leader who was generous with almsgiving and the reception of pilgrims. He died after having served as pope for over thirteen years. The country subsequently experienced famine, during which the next pope, Sabinian, refused to assist the poor and hungry. Gregory appeared to him in nightly visions, chastising him for his frugality and lack of compassion, and in the final vision dealt Sabinian his deathblow. The legend concludes with accounts of miracles performed by Gregory after his death.26 The epitome, which appears in the universal chronicle of Part I, focuses on the plague in Rome and also mentions Sabinian’s nightly visions and early death.27 Several full legends of St Gregory the Great have been preserved in Old Norse-Icelandic which date from the mid-thirteenth century and are derived from Latin and Low German sources.28 The epitome of Gregory’s vita in AM 764 4to is not based on any of these; rather, the ultimate source seems to be the vita of Gregory the Great by Paul the Deacon (Vita Gregorii auct. Paulo diacono). However, the episode concerning Pope Sabinian seems closer to Jacobus de Voragine’s Legenda aurea.29 which burns up whatever it touches, on pursuers within thirty fathoms of shooting range. 26  Jacobus de Voragine, Legenda aurea, ed. by Graesse, pp. 188–203. 27  Wolf, ‘Gregory’s Influence on Old Norse-Icelandic Religious Literature’, pp. 255–74, esp. pp. 270–73; and Wolf, The Legends of the Saints, pp. 117–21. 28  See Wolf, ‘Gregory’s Influence on Old Norse-Icelandic Religious Literature’, pp. 270–73. 29  Wolf, ‘An Excerpt on Saint Gregory the Great in AM 764,  4to’, pp.  287–94, esp.

    28 Natalie M. Van Deusen and Kirsten Wolf

    St Elisabeth of Schönau: The visions of Elisabeth were compiled and published in three separate books (Visiones) by her brother Ekbert; these, along with her second work, Liber viarum Dei, describe the experiences and revelations of the Benedictine nun who entered the convent at the age of twelve and who, at the age of twenty-three, began to experience visions that continued until the time of her death. These visions prompted Elisabeth to admonish the laity and the clergy alike, targeting vice and heresy. They also resulted in the composition of an expanded legend of St Ursula and the Eleven Thousand Virgins of Cologne, which was wildly popular during the Middle Ages.30 The epitome is a condensed version of the story of Elisabeth’s vision of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary. The vision is preserved in two other Old Norse-Icelandic works. One is Guðmundar saga D, which tells how the visions of a nun confirmed the bishop’s own views on the Assumption. The source of this version has not been established. The other is incorporated into Máríu saga and may be based on the Speculum historiale. While the immediate source of the extract has not been established, it appears to be based ultimately on the source of the longer account of the same vision in Guðmundar saga D.31 St Remigius: According to the legend related in AM 764 4to, the monk Montanus had a vision of Remigius’s birth and future great deeds. In line with the vision, Remigius was born to Cilinia and her husband Emilius. When of age, he entered the priesthood and became well known for his knowledge and holiness. At the age of twenty-two, he was elected bishop of Reims, during which time he converted Clovis, the pagan king of the Franks. Miracles performed by Remigius during his life include his extinguishing a fire in Reims and the cure of a possessed girl. Also included is the legend in which sacred Chrism was miraculously supplied for the baptism of a dying man, as well as how prayers to Remigius supplied abundant drink for the king himself and countless others. Another section details Remigius’s visit to the home of his cousin and tells of a miracle, in which he filled the empty wine casks so that she might serve her guests. The legend concludes with an account of Remigius’s death and a brief mention of the cures that occurred at his burial site.32

    pp.  291–92; Wolf, ‘Gregory’s Influence on Old Norse-Icelandic Religious Literature’, pp. 271–73. 30  Laughlin, ‘Elizabeth of Schonau, St’, p. 166. 31  Wolf, The Legends of the Saints, pp. 100 and 102; Widding and Bekker-Nielsen, ‘Elisabeth of Schönau’s Visions in an Old Icelandic Manuscript, AM 764, 4o’, pp. 93–96, esp. pp. 93–94. 32  The epitome has been edited by Unger, ed., Heilagra manna søgur, ii, pp. 222–27.

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    29

    AM 764 4to is the only witness to the legend in Old Norse-Icelandic. The text is based ultimately on Archbishop Hincmar of Reims’ vita (BHL 7152–63), and is supplemented with material from BHL 7150.33 St Malchus: The legend according to Jerome tells that despite Malchus’s parents’ plans for him to marry, he chose to live as a monk in the desert. When after his father’s death Malchus returned home to deal with his inheritance, he and his company of pilgrims were attacked by Saracens, who sold them as slaves. Malchus was ordered by his master to marry a female slave. However, Malchus and his wife refused to consummate their union and fled with the help of God. Malchus subsequently sent his wife to a convent and returned to the monastic life.34 St Malchus’s legend is preserved in no other Old Norse-Icelandic manuscript.35 It is based on a version of BHL 5190, which is Jerome’s biography of the saint: ‘[Þ]essa sogu segir heilagr Jeronímus af munk eínum er Malcus het’ [27r1]’ (St Jerome tells this saga of a certain monk named Malchus).36 St Ursula: As mentioned above, the legend was influenced by Elisabeth of Schönau’s visions of her. The extract provides a complete account of the legend telling how a heathen king threatened to destroy the kingdom of Deonotus of Britain, unless he gave him in marriage his daughter Ursula. The British king was distraught, but while she slept an angel appeared to Ursula and gave her instructions. Accordingly, she asked her father not to reject the proposal and requested that her betrothed choose ten virgins, each with a retinue of an additional 1000 virgins, who should accompany her on eleven ships for a pilgrimage to Rome. Upon their return, they came to Cologne, where they were besieged by Huns, who murdered both the maidens and Ursula. The epitome may be derived ultimately from the account in Vincent de Beauvais’s Speculum historiale.37 St Nicholas: According to one of the Old Norse-Icelandic translations of his legend, Nikuláss saga erkibiskups I, Nicholas was born of prosperous and pious parents, and showed extraordinary qualities from infancy. He was generous and distributed his wealth in a way that would be pleasing to God. After the death of the bishop of Myra, Nicholas was chosen by the hand of God as 33 

    Wolf, The Legends of the Saints, p. 323. Gray, ed., Jerome, Vita Malchi, pp. 3–4. 35  The epitome has been edited by Unger, Heilagra manna søgur, i, pp. 437–46. 36  Wolf, The Legends of the Saints, p. 215. 37  Wolf, The Legends of the Saints, p. 391. The text is edited alongside an English translation in Parsons, ‘Radiant Maidens and Butchered Brides’, p. 229. 34 

    30 Natalie M. Van Deusen and Kirsten Wolf

    successor. During his episcopacy, Nicholas performed a number of miracles: he rescued sailors caught in a violent sea-storm; quelled pagan rites associated with a tree possessed by an unclean spirit; cleansed a well polluted by the devil; cured a mentally disturbed man; made a blind man see; healed a crippled man; multiplied wine for his guests; moved a heavy stone necessary for the building of a church; healed a paralysed young maiden; exorcized the devil from one of his servants; made an elderly couple conceive; cured a man from ague; multiplied bread for the workmen of a church; calmed a storm at sea and brought a sailor back to life; multiplied grain from cargo ships during a famine; thwarted a trick by the devil, who had seamen bring unnatural oil to Myra in retaliation for Nicholas’s dismantling of a Diana (called Gefjon in the saga) cult; prevented the execution of three innocent men and later freed three other men from prison while quelling a rebellion against the Roman empire; and cured a woman suffering from epilepsy. The legend then describes his illness, death, and burial in a marble tomb as well as the fact that after his death a fountain of oil began to flow from his head and a fountain of water from his feet. It concludes with accounts of miracles performed through the intercession of Nicholas after his death.38 There are several Old Norse-Icelandic translations of the legend of St Nicholas, all of whose direct sources have not been established.39 One is represented by AM 642a 4to II (c. 1400), AM 655 4to III (c. 1200), and AM 921 4to V (c. 1400).40 Another is extant in Stock. Perg. fol. no. 2.41 A third is represented by NRA 69 (c. 1330).42 A fourth is the compilation by Abbot Bergr Sokkason (d. c. 1370).43 Finally, as mentioned above, there are the extracts in AM 764 4to (c. 1376–1386) and AM 672 4to (c. 1450–1500). 38 

    Unger, ed., Heilagra manna søgur, ii, pp. 21–41.13. Wolf, The Legends of the Saints, pp. 262–72. 40  The text of AM 655 4to III has been edited by Unger, ed., Heilagra manna søgur, ii, pp. 41.17–46.9, and Morgenstern, ed., Arnamagnæanische Fragmente, pp. 1–7. The text of AM 921 4to V has been edited by Agnete Loth, ‘Roted fragmentum membraneum, um Sanctam Luciam og Agatham’, pp. 221–35, esp. pp. 224–26.7. 41  Unger, ed., Heilagra manna søgur, ii, pp. 21–41.13. The quotes in the comparison of this redaction with 672 are from Unger’s edition. 42  Unger, ed., Heilagra manna søgur, ii, pp. 46.12–49.8. 43  The compilation is preserved in AM 638 4to (c. 1700–1725), AM 640 4to (c. 1450–1500), AM 641 4to (c. 1430–1500, defective), AM 642a 4to I α (c. 1350–1400), AM 642a 4to I β (c. 1375–1425), AM 642a 4to I γ (c. 1340–1390), AM 642a 4to I δ (c. 1330–1370), AM 642a 4to II (c. 1400), AM 642b 4to (c. 1375–1425, defective), AM 643 4to (c. 1400–1500, defective), 39 

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    31

    The direct source of the epitome in AM 764 4to, which comprises a short exemplum conveying the dangers of greed and attachments to worldly treasures as opposed to heavenly ones, has not been established. However, as Svanhidur Óskarsdóttir has noted, a description of Asia in the first part of AM 764 4to is almost exactly the same as the one found in Bergr Sokkason’s (d. c. 1370) Nikuláss saga erkibiskups II, and may rely on the saga, both in this section and in the exemplum on fol. 31v:44 638: Hvat er gud virdiz verolldinni kunnigt gera eptir andlat eins riks mannz, er miok hafdi gradugr verit i fiar agirni; þviat einum vitrum manni nær stoddum hans andlati var forvitni a fyrir vizku sakir, hvern veg sa madr væri hattadr innan i bukinum (p. 83.13–16) 764: Eftir annlat eín`s´ rik`s´ mannz er míog hafdi uerid gradugr ífíar agirni þuiat eínum uitu[m] manni nær stoddu hans annlati uar foruítní aa fyrir uizku sakir huernueg sa madr uærí ínnan ibukínum. (31v30–31)45 638: Undra þetta allir men, er nær voru, en sa enn vitri madr bydr, at þeiri gullkistu se upplokit, sem hann hafdi mesta atta og framazt elskat (p. 83.19–21) 764: undraz þetta allir men er nærir uoru e`n´ sa uitri madr bydr gullkistu se upp lokid sem hann framaz elskat (31v34–35)46 AM 644 4to (c. 1700–1800), NKS 1222 fol. (c. 1700–1800), NKS 1789 4to 1 (c. 1700–1800), and Stock. Perg. 4to no. 16 (Helgastaðabók) (c. 1375–1400). The legend has been edited by Unger, ed., Heilagra manna søgur, ii, pp. 49.14–158, who based the text primarily on AM 638 4to; the text in the comparison with AM 764 4to is therefore labelled ‘638’. There is also a facsimile edition of Stock. Perg. 4to no. 16: Helgastaðabók. Nikulás saga. Perg. 4to nr 16 Konungsbókhlöðu í Stokkhólmi, introduction by Selma Jónsdóttir, Stefán Karlsson, and Sverrir Tómasson. The quotes below in the comparison between this redaction and 764 are from Unger’s edition. 44  Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir, ‘Universal History in Fourteenth-Century Iceland’, pp. 69–70; Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir, ‘The World and Its Ages’, pp. 1–11, esp. pp. 8–10; Wolf, The Legends of the Saints, p. 266. 45  638: What did God deign to make known to the world after the death of a wealthy man, who had been very greedy for money? Because a wise man present at his death wished to know for the sake of curiosity how the man was arranged inside his body. 764: After the death of a wealthy man, who had been very greedy for money, because a wise man present at his death was wished to know for the sake of curiosity how the man was arranged inside his body. 46  638: All people close by wondered about this, and the wise man requests that the golden chest that he had owned and treasured the most be opened. 764: All people close by wondered about this, and the wise man requests that the golden chest that he had treasured the most be opened.

    32 Natalie M. Van Deusen and Kirsten Wolf

    Nikuláss saga erkibiskups II and the epitome in AM 764 4to have nearly identical wording and word order, which suggests that the compilers of AM 764 4to used a copy of Bergr’s redaction of Nikuláss saga as their source for the epitome. St Walburga: After her education at Wimborne in Dorsetshire, Walburga purportedly travelled with her brothers and St Leoba to Germany to assist St Boniface in his missionary work. She entered the Benedictine double monastery of Heidenheim and eventually became its abbess, where she promoted the education of women in Germany. In the late ninth century, her relics were transferred to Eichstätt, and sacramental and healing oil reportedly flowed from the slab by her relics.47 AM 764 4to relates six miracles performed by Walburga. The first tells of a man who murdered a pilgrim and was subsequently forced to carry the body. The second is about a man who was healed after being possessed by the devil. The third is another healing miracle about a man who experienced tremors. The fourth relates how Walburga, along with St Ulrik of Augsburg, helped break the chains of a criminal. The fifth is about a woman who insisted on farming on the feast of St Bartholomew and was punished. Only the beginning of the sixth miracle survives; it is about a man and his ill wife, who lived near Walburga’s church.48 The miracles are translations of BHL 8766 (miracle 1), 8767 (miracles 2–5), and 8768 (miracle 6),49 which Hans Bekker-Nielsen suggests were brought to Iceland by a student or pilgrim returning from Tiel. It is, however, also possible that her legend was included in a legendary like the Legenda aurea, which perhaps also contained the legends of some of the other Anglo-Saxon saints who appear in close proximity to Walburga in AM 764 4to, namely Cuthbert and Bede; however, as Margaret Cormack points out, the brevity of the excerpts in AM 764 4to would make identifying such a source ‘extremely difficult’.50 St Sunniva: The legend tells of the Irish princess Sunniva, who was pure and pious in her Christian faith, and who was heir to her father’s kingdom. After 47 

    Redlich, ‘Walburga of Heidenheim, St’. Wolf, ‘A Fragmentary Excerpt on Saint Walburga in AM 764 4to’, pp. 209–20, esp. pp. 214–20. 49  The comparison is established in Fell, ‘Anglo-Saxon Saints in Old Norse Sources and Vice Versa’, pp. 95–106, esp. p. 99 and Wolf, ‘A Fragmentary Excerpt on Saint Walburga’, esp. pp. 214–19; the sources are also discussed in Wolf, The Legends of the Saints, p. 397. 50  Bekker-Nielsen, ‘Et brudstykke af en legende i et islandsk haandskrift’, pp.  102–05, esp. p. 104; Wolf, ‘A Fragmentary Excerpt on Saint Walburga’, p. 219; Cormack, The Saints in Iceland, p. 35. 48 

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    his death, a scorned suitor king exacted vengeance for her refusal of his proposal by invading her kingdom. Sunniva fled the land in three ships, which carried a large group of men and women. Through the guiding hand of God, the ships arrived on the islands of Selja and Kinn in western Norway, which were uninhabited except for grazing livestock. The Christians settled on the islands but came into conflict with the pagan farmers, who believed that Sunniva and her followers were stealing their livestock. In response, Earl Hákon of Norway and his troops travelled to Selja to eliminate the group. Sunniva and her followers (including her brother, St Alban, who was identified with a third-century British saint by the same name) fled to a cave and prayed to God, who sent a landslide to protect them. The relics of Sunniva and the inhabitants of Selja were, according to the legend, discovered, when two merchants found a glowing head on Selja and presented it to Óláfr Tryggvason. Óláfr and his bishop then travelled to the island and found the sweet-smelling bones of Sunniva’s body. Óláfr had a church constructed at the opening of the cave and had Sunniva’s body enshrined at Selja. Her relics were translated to Bergen, but those of her brother St Alban remained at the Benedictine monastery at Selja.51 St Sunniva’s legend is preserved in several medieval Icelandic and Norwegian sources. The most detailed Latin account is the twelfth-century Acta Sanctorum in Selia (AM 670 4to); a shorter Latin account is found in the Breviarium Nidrosiense. In the vernacular, details of Sunniva’s story are found in the kings’ sagas related to Óláfr Tryggvason. The earliest of these is a tale about Sunniva and her brother Alban in the so-called Seljumanna þáttr section of Oddr Snorrason’s Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar. The legend is also found in Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar en mesta (based on the Acta Sanctorum in Selia) and in Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar in Flateyjarbók.52 AM 764 4to preserves only the final lines about a miracle involving St Sunniva’s healing of an old woman on fol. 35r1–16; the first few lines of the text are obscured. The text is not based on Oddr’s version of Seljumanna þáttr,53 nor does it appear to derive from any of the other extant legends of the saint. Moreover, it is unrelated to the miracles summarized in the office for St Sunniva and the Selja saints in the Breviarium Nidrosiense, which presents 51 

    DuBois, ‘Sts Sunniva and Henrik’, pp. 65–102, esp. pp. 89–92. DuBois, ‘Sts Sunniva and Henrik’, pp. 68–69; Wolf, The Legends of the Saints, pp. 342, 345, and 347. 53  Wolf, The Legends of the Saints, p. 349. 52 

    34 Natalie M. Van Deusen and Kirsten Wolf

    the legend and six otherwise unknown miracles in metrical form.54 Instead, the text in AM 764 4to represents a different posthumous miracle account altogether, which is not related to any other extant text, and which is the most detailed and only prose account of a miracle performed by Sunniva and her companions on Selja.55 St Cuthbert: According to his legend, St Cuthbert of Lindisfarne demonstrated holiness from a young age. He experienced a vision during the night of the death of St Aidan in 651, which prompted him to enter the nearby monastery at Melrose Abbey. The prior of the abbey taught Cuthbert, and he soon revealed himself to be pious and diligent. He was sent by the monastery’s abbot to be guest master of the nearby monastery of Ripon, and became its prior when the plague struck and claimed the life of the prior he had served. During his time as prior he engaged in missionary work and performed miracles locally. When later he became prior at Lindisfarne, he was a strict leader, but he soon retired to live a contemplative life on a nearby island, until he was elected Bishop of Lindisfarne less than two years before his own death. His remains were kept at Lindisfarne, and eleven years later they were found to be uncorrupted. His life was composed by St Bede the Venerable; another legend from around 720 is by an unknown monk of Lindisfarne.56 As mentioned above, Cuthbert’s legend is not found in any other Icelandic manuscripts, and, as Christine Fell notes, any indication of his cult is restricted to references to him in Guðmundar saga Arasonar D, Veraldar saga, and Árna saga byskups.57 AM 764 4to includes a short (five-line) passage about St Cuthbert, relating his last act (the curing of the monk Wahlstod) and his final words and death. Fell has identified this excerpt as a paraphrase of chapters 38 and 39 of Bede’s Vita Cuthberti.58 St Bede: St Bede was born in Northumbria and came at a young age to the monastery of Sts Peter and Paul, where he spent the remainder of his life and wrote some very influential works of Christianity. At the age of nineteen, he was made a deacon to John, Bishop of York. Eleven years later, he became a priest. His legends report that he travelled to Rome; however, these conflict 54 

    See Borgehammar, ‘Sunnivalegenden och den benediktinska reformen i England’, pp. 123–59, esp. pp. 138–39. 55  See Van Deusen, ‘A Miracle of St Sunniva in AM 764 4to’. 56  Colgrave, ‘Cuthbert of Lindisfarne’, p. 449. 57  Fell, ‘Anglo-Saxon Saints in Old Norse Sources and Vice Versa’, p. 100. 58  Fell, ‘Anglo-Saxon Saints in Old Norse Sources and Vice Versa’, p. 98.

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    with his own autobiographical accounts, which make no mention of such travel. By all accounts, his life was spent primarily in prayer, in observance of the Benedictine Rule, and in study and writing.59 The epitome is a short, two-paragraph life of St Bede (written in two separate hands).60 The first paragraph details an inscription that should be placed on Bede’s grave, and, as Christine Fell notes, ‘the whole anecdote is intended as an explanation of why Bede was venerabilis rather than beatus or sanctus’.61 The second paragraph tells how Bede, when blind, was convinced to give a sermon to a valley filled with stones; when he was finished, they miraculously replied: ‘Amen, venerabilis pater’.62 Both episodes were highly popular and exist in many retellings; the direct source(s) for the two extracts in AM 764 4to for this reason are not known (indeed, as Fell notes, ‘given the frequency with which these incidents are told and re-told it would probably not be a sensible exercise to track down a source for their occurrence’), but likely it was an encyclopedic work similar to Vincent de Beauvais’s Speculum historiale.63 St Edward the Confessor: The legend exists in Old Norse-Icelandic tradition in the so-called Játvarðar saga, a fourteenth-century compilation based on a variety of Latin and Old Norse-Icelandic sources ranging from service books to a king’s saga. For the purpose of our analysis, it may be divided into four sections.64 The first comprises an account of Edward’s origins and his holiness, charity, and purity, and his marriage to Mathilda. The second details important visions experienced by Edward, including visions of the wrath of God upon the Danish king if he were to invade England, of Edward’s coronation ring, of John the Evangelist, and of the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus. This section also tells of miracles performed by Edward during his life. The third gives an account of Edward’s death and successors and relates also the Battles of Stamford Bridge and Hastings. The final section describes how those English nobles, who did 59 

    Donahue, ‘Bede, St.’, esp. pp. 195–96. Wolf, The Legends of the Saints, p. 58. The text was most recently edited by Turville-Petre, ‘Legends of England in Icelandic Manuscripts’, pp. 104–21, esp. p. 107; rpt. in Turville-Petre, Nine Norse Studies, pp. 59–78, esp. p. 62. 61  Fell, ‘Anglo-Saxon Saints in Old Norse Sources and Vice Versa’, p. 99. 62  Fell, ‘Anglo-Saxon Saints in Old Norse Sources and Vice Versa’, p. 99. 63  Fell, ‘Anglo-Saxon Saints in Old Norse Sources and Vice Versa’, p. 99; Wolf, The Legends of the Saints, p. 58. 64  For the manuscripts and sources of Játvarðar saga, see Wolf, The Legends of the Saints, p. 96. 60 

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    not wish to live under the rule of William the Conqueror, fled to Byzantium, where they established a ‘New England’.65 The epitome is defective; the passage that survives begins on the second half of fol. 37v (the space above is empty) and comprises fifteen lines of text followed by a lacuna in the manuscript. What remains are two short anecdotes paraphrasing parts of sections two and three of the saga. The first tells how Edward, while at high mass at Westminster on Whitsunday, had a vision of the drowning of a Danish king who wished to conquer England. The second is a brief and fragmentary account of Edward’s successors (first Harold Godwinson and then William) and alludes to the Battle of Stamford Bridge (and the fall of Haraldr Sigurðsson) and the Battle of Hastings. It includes the speculation that Harold Godwinsson survived the battle. The passage in AM 764 4to is a paraphrase of a vision of St Edward, which is described in Játvarðar saga.66 Lines 1–11 corresponds to the second chapter of the longer compilation, which describes the vision of the drowning of the Danish king. While the introduction to the vision has different narrative elements and focuses on Edward’s predecessors, the episode shows only minor variation in word choice and order, and it seems likely that the epitome was based on a witness of the longer saga:67 Stock 5: Þat bar til á einn hvítasunnodag, at Pètrs kirkju í Vestmyst, er hinn helgi Játvarðr hlýddi þar hátíðligri messo, skrýddr öllum krúnuklæþum (‘Saga Játvarðar’, p. 14, ll. 12–14) 764: Sua bar til aeínum huitsunudegí sem hinn heilagi eduarþr var staddr at petrs kirkíu íuestrmostr skryddr ollum krunusklæda ok hlyddi hátidligri messo (37v2–4)68 Stock 5: Þá voru gerver sendiboðar sem skjótaz til Danmerkr, ok prófvaðiz þetta allt satt, efter þvi sem konúngr hafði sagt (‘Saga Játvarðar’, p. 16, ll. 2–4)

    65  Carron, ‘Játvarðar saga’, p. 340; Maraflioti, ‘Hagiography and History in the Icelandic Saga of Edward the Confessor’, pp. 93–114, esp. pp. 93–94 and 102. 66  Wolf, The Legends of the Saints, p. 96. 67  The text of Játvarðar saga is based on Rafn and Jón Sigurðsson, eds, ‘Saga Játvarðar kónungs hins helga’, pp. 3–43, esp. pp. 14–16. The edition is based on Stock. Perg. fol. no. 5 (c. 1350–1365) with variants from GKS 1005 fol. (Flateyjarbók) (c. 1387–1395). 68  Stock. 5: That happened on one Whitsunday at the Church of St Peter in Westminster, when St Edward was hearing high mass there, adorned in full coronation robes. 764: That happened on one Whitsunday that St Edward was present at the Church of St Peter in Westminster, adorned in full coronation robes and hearing high mass.

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    764: Þa voru gervir senndibodar sem skiotaz til danmerkr oc profadiz þetta allt satt sem konungr hafdi sagt (37v8–9)69

    Lines 11–15 briefly paraphrases events described in chapters 7–9 in Játvarðar saga, but the events are so drastically condensed that a line-by-line comparison is not possible.70

    The Epitomes in AM 672 4to St Bartholomew: The legend tells that Bartholomew went to India, where he entered a temple dedicated to the idol Astaroth, who purportedly healed sick people. Since the sick received no response from Astaroth, they asked the idol Berith why Astaroth provided no answers. Berith informed them that Astaroth had been bound in chains and was afraid to speak since Bartholomew’s arrival and gave them a description of him. The people were unable to find the apostle until one day he cured a man possessed by the devil. This came to the attention of King Polemius, who sent for him in order to cure his mentally ill daughter but was unable to find him. However, early one morning Bartholomew appeared through locked doors before the king and explained to him the mysteries of the Christian faith. He also told the king that if he chose to be baptized, he would show him his god bound in chains. When the next day the pagan priests offered sacrifice to the king’s idol, the demon in the idol cried out and confessed all his evil tricks. After men had in vain tried to pull down the idol, Bartholomew ordered the demon to come out, and all the idols in the temple were destroyed. An angel appeared and inscribed the sign of the cross in the four corners of the building. Sick people were cured, and the devil was banished to the desert. Polemius and his people consequently converted to Christianity, but the pagan priests went to Polemius’s brother, King Astyages, charging Bartholomew with the loss of their gods and temple. The apostle was taken prisoner and brought before Astyages, but during the interrogation Astyages received word that his god Baldach had fallen. Hearing this, the king ordered the apostle to be tortured to death. Christians took his body and gave it honourable burial. Astyages and the temple priests were seized by demons and died, but Polemius was ordained bishop. The legend concludes with an 69 

    Stock. 5: Then messengers were sent as quickly as possible to Denmark, and everything proved to be true, according to what that the king had said. 764: Then the messengers were sent as quickly as possible to Denmark and everything proved to be true, as the king had said. 70  The chapters of this section of text are in Rafn and Jón Sigurðsson, ed., ‘Saga Játvarðar kónungs hins helga’, pp. 30–36.

    38 Natalie M. Van Deusen and Kirsten Wolf

    account of the fate of Bartholomew’s remains and a number of posthumous miracles worked through the intercession of the apostle. The epitome contains all the details about Bartholomew’s mission to India, but it omits his lengthy religious instructions and prayers. Similarly, it makes no mention of the fate of Astyages and the temple priests and Polemius’s election as bishop. Finally, it does not include the account of the fate of the apostle’s remains and his posthumous miracles. There are three Old Norse-Icelandic versions of the legend of St Bartholomew.71 The two first are based on a version of BHL 1002 and possibly 1004; the source of the third has not been identified. Barthólómeuss saga postola II and III can be excluded as sources for the epitome in AM 672 4to. Verbal similarities between the epitome and Barthólómeuss saga postola I suggest a connection between the two texts.72 Examples include: 630: fyrir hvi Astaroth goð þeira svaraði þeim eigi. En Berith svaraði (p. 744.33–34; cf. 645: firir hvi Astaroþ goþ þeira svaraþe þeim eigi [p. 757.24–25]) 672: fyrir huí astarod god þeira suaradí þeim æigi. berit svaradí (55r26) 630: ok leituðu postolans.ii. daga ok fundu hann eigi (p. 745.23–24; cf. 645: oc leitoþo postolans.ii. daga oc fundo eigi [p. 758.19]) 672: ok leitudu postulans ok fundu hann æigi (55v2–3)73 630: Þa let Polimius konungr klyfia ulvallda ok hesta gulli ok silfri (p. 746.6–7; cf. 645: Þa lét Polimius konongr clyfia hesta oc ulvalda golle oc silfre [p. 758.36–37]) 672: þa let konungr klyfía gullí ok silfre. hesta sína (55v6)74 71 

    See Wolf, The Legends of the Saints, pp. 51–56. The saga has been edited by Unger, ed., Postola sögur, pp. 762.24–766. The text is based on AM 630 4to (pp. 743.25–754.9), AM 652 4to (pp. 754.11–757.2), and AM 645 4to (pp. 757.4–762.22) with variants from AM 628 4to (pp. 744.13–752.16). The text of AM 645 4to is found in Larsson, ed., Isländska handskriften No 645 4o i Den Arnamagnæanske Samlingen, 99.25.108.4. The quotes in the following are from Unger’s edition. 73  630: why Astaroth their god did not answer them. But Berith answered (p. 744.33–34; cf. 645; why Astaroð their god did not answer them [p. 757.24–25]) 672: why Astarod their god did not answer them. Berith answered (55r26)   630: and searched for the apostle ii. days and did not find him (p. 745.23–24; cf. 645: and searched for the apostle ii. days and did not find him [p. 758.19]) 672: and searched for the apostle and did not find him (55v2–3). 74  630: Then King Polimius had camels and horses loaded with gold and silver (p. 746.6–7; cf. 645: Then King Polimius had horses and camels loaded with gold and silver [p. 758.36–37]) 72 

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    630: En engill guðs fló upp til himna [til himins 628] (p. 751.7; cf. 652: En engill guðs flo upp til himna] [p. 756.17], 645: En engill goþs flo til himens [p. 761.16]) 672: enn eíngil gudz flo til hímennµ (55v20)75 630: ok let postola guðs beria stongum ok fla kvikan (p. 752.1–2; cf. 645: oc lét postolann beria, oc siþan flogo þeir scin af honon kycom [p. 762.8–9]) 672: ok let beria postulann. staungum. enn sidan fla hud af honum kikum (55v25–26)76

    There is one error in the epitome. According to the Latin and Barthólómeuss saga postola I, all the people carried ropes and cords to the idol at the request of the king (‘[t]unc iussu regis omnes populi miserunt funes et rocleas in collo eius’ [p. 143.28–29]; ‘bar allr lyðr reip ok festar a skurðgoðit at raði konungs’ [p. 749.28–29]), whereas in the epitome, all the people carried ropes to the idol at the advice of the apostle (‘þa baru menn festar à´ skurgodit. ath radí postulans’ (55v12–13).77 St Barbara: The standard version of the legend relates that Barbara, who was sought after by princes, was shut up in a tower by her father Dioscorus, so that no man would be able to see her. While her father was away, she became a Christian and resolved to live as a hermit in a bath-house built by her father. Here she made workmen add a third window in honour of the Holy Trinity. When her father returned, he became furious and almost killed her. She was handed over to a judge and, refusing to sacrifice to idols, she endured severe tortures, after which she was put to death by her father, who was subsequently struck by lightning and died. The epitome does not mention that princes sought her hand in marriage, that she was shut up in a tower, lived in a bath-house, and had a third window installed. It states instead that in the well, in which Barbara was baptized, many miracles took place. The focus of the epitome is on the torments inflicted on her by her father and the judge. The source of the epitome has not been established. Verbal similarities between the full-fledged Barbǫru saga indicate a connection between the two 672: then the king had his horses loaded with gold and silver (55v6). 75  630: But God’s angel flew up to the heavens [to heaven 628] (p. 751.7; cf. 652: But God’s angel flew up to the heavens [p. 756.17], 645: But God’s angel flew til heaven [p. 761.16]) 672: but God’s angel flew to the heaven (55v20). 76  630: and had God’s apostle beaten with poles and flayed while alive (p. 752.1–2; cf. 645: and had the apostle beaten, and later they flayed his skin while alive [p. 762.8–9]) 672: and had the apostle beaten with poles and later flay his skin while alive (55v25–26). 77  The Latin is quoted from Mombritius, ed., Sanctuarium seu Vitae Sanctorum, i.

    40 Natalie M. Van Deusen and Kirsten Wolf

    texts, but the evidence is only slight.78 On a few points, the epitome differs from Barbǫru saga, and it is possible that the epitome is derived from an existing or lost manuscript of Barbǫru saga, but it is too abridged for it to be placed in any kind of stemma. St Agatha: The legend relates that Agatha was a wealthy girl, who had vowed her virginity to Christ. The consul Quintinian invoked imperial edicts against Christianity in an attempt to seduce her, but she refused his advances. He had her handed over to Aphrodisia, who kept a brothel, but she was unable to break her resolve. Quintinian summoned her again, and when she ridiculed his gods, she was tortured by rods, rack, and fire. Lastly, her breasts were cut off, but she was miraculously healed by an aged man. She died in prison as a result of her tortures. Quintinian himself was kicked into a river by his two horses. Christians came and placed Agatha’s body in a sarcophagus. A young man accompanied by over a hundred youths wearing white vestments approached the body and placed at her head an inscribed marble tablet. When one year later, Mount Etna erupted, pagans fled from the mountain to the tomb, took up the pall that covered it, and hung it up in the path of the fire. The steam of lava halted and did not advance farther. The ultimate source of the epitome is the common version, BHL 133, which was translated into Old Norse-Icelandic at an early date. The manuscripts comprise AM 233a fol. (c. 1375), AM 238 fol. II (c. 1300–1350), AM 429 12mo, NRA 70 (c. 1300–1350), and Stock. Perg. fol. no. 2. As demonstrated by Kirsten Wolf, AM 233a fol., AM 238 fol. II, AM 429 12mo, and Stock. Perg. fol. no. 2 all go back to a common original (*x). AM 429 12mo and Stock. Perg. fol. no. 2 are derived from a copy (*y) of *x, and AM 233a fol. and AM 238 fol. II are derived from another copy (*z) of *x.79 The epitome captures the essentials of the story of St Agatha’s passion.80 The opening resembles that of the legend in AM 238 fol. II in that it mentions that St Agatha was born in Sicily. This is in contrast to Stock. Perg. fol. no. 2, AM 429 12mo, and AM 233a fol., which do not include details about her place of birth, and does not agree with the Latin, according to which she was martyred in Catania in Sicily. Unlike AM 238 fol. II, AM 672 4to specifies that St Agatha was born in the town of Catania. On one point, the epitome shows an affinity with AM 429 12mo in that it identifies the old man, who appears to St Agatha 78 

    See Wolf, The Legends of the Saints, pp. 43–44, and Wolf, ed., The Old Norse-Icelandic Legend of Saint Barbara, pp. 134–43. 79  Wolf, ‘Agǫtu saga IV and V’, p. 17. 80  Wolf, ‘Agǫtu saga IV and V’, pp. 20–21.

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    in prison, with the Apostle Peter. The Latin, Stock. Perg. fol. no. 2, and AM 233a fol. do not mention the name of the apostle, and only AM 429 12mo gives the name: ‘ek er petur postoli guds’ (I am Peter, God’s Apostle) (73r12). AM 672 4to has one error in common with AM 233a fol. and AM 238 fol. II in that it renders ‘matronê’(matron) (615a25) as ‘blotkonum’ (heathen woman) (61r7–8; AM 233a: ‘blot konu’ (heathen woman); AM 238: ‘blot gydiu’ (heathen goddess)), but this may be accidental, and the evidence seems too slim to suggest that the epitome is derived from *z, the common exemplar of AM 233a fol. and AM 238 fol. II. The epitome is too abridged for it to be placed with any kind of certainty in the stemma, though it would seem to derive from a manuscript placed on a higher node in the stemma than *y and *z. St Blase: The ultimate source of the epitome is a form of the passion, BHL 1377, which tells that during the Diocletian persecutions, the young Bishop Blase retired to a cave and led the life of a hermit. Birds brought him food, and wild animals flocked to him. When soldiers of the prefect of the region were on a hunt, they came by chance to Blase’s cave. The prefect dispatched more soldiers, who brought Blase with them. On the journey, Blase performed miracles. He healed a boy who had a fish bone stuck in his throat, and had a wolf, who had taken a poor widow’s only pig, return the pig to her. By the prefect’s order, Blase was beaten and imprisoned, but the widow brought him food and candles. Since the prefect could not induce Blase to bow to the gods, he subjected Blase to further tortures. Seven women, who collected the drops of his blood, were arrested and ordered to revere the gods. They asked the prefect to place the idols at the edge of the lake and then threw them into the lake. The prefect became furious and ordered the women to be tortured, but they were miraculously healed. Eventually, he had them beheaded and requested that Blase be thrown into the lake, but Blase made the sign of the cross over the water, and it became like dry, firm land under him. The prefect then had him beheaded. The widow, who by then had become prosperous, buried his body. The epitome includes all of the main details of the legend except for the episode about the seven women, who collected Blase’s blood. As noted by Peter Foote, the epitome in AM 672 4to is clearly derived from the translation represented by AM 623 4to [c. 1325] and Stock. Perg. fol. no. 2 (as opposed to the Norwegian translation represented by AM 655 IX 4to [c. 1150–1200], Lbs. 428 4to [c. 1800–1900], and Steph 23 [c. 1700–1800]).81 He further points 81 

    Foote, ed., Lives of Saints, p. 23. In addition, there is a fragment of a Norwegian translation of the legend of Saint Blase in AM 655 IX 4to (c. 1150–1200), Lbs. 438 4to (c. 1800–1900), and Steph 23 (c. 1700–1800).

    42 Natalie M. Van Deusen and Kirsten Wolf

    out that it is ‘based on a version closer to that in Stock. 2 than that in AM 623 4to’. In Stock. Perg. fol. no. 2 (41rb29, 30, 36, 38–39) and AM 672 4to (61v19, 20), the wolf makes off with a ‘gǫltr’(boar), whereas in AM 623 4to (259.27, 28, 32 and 260.2) it makes off with a ‘gríss’ (pig). In Stock. Perg. fol. no. 2 (41va8) and AM 672 4to (61v23), St Blase is beaten with ‘stangar’(poles), whereas in AM 623 4to (260.16), he is beaten with ‘svigar’ (switches). In Stock. Perg. fol. no. 2 (41vb16) and AM 672 4to (61v25), the earl orders St Blase’s torturers to tear his flesh with ‘jarnkrókar’ (iron crooks) and ‘jarngreipar’ (iron gloves), respectively, whereas in AM 623 4to (262.2) ‘ullkambar’ (wool combs) are used. And both Stock. Perg. fol. no 2 (43rb14) and AM 672 4to (62r7) add ‘þar’ (there) to explain that the miracles took place where St Blase was buried. On two occasions, however, AM 672 4to shows a closer affinity with AM 623 4to than with Stock. Perg. fol. no. 2: 623: stoþ fiscbein i halsi (258.26–27) 672: beín stod j halse (61v17) Stock. 2: stod fiskbeín j kverkvm (41ra36–37)82 623: diupt vatn (266.27) 672: diupt vattn (61v25) Stock. 2: díup (42vb19)83

    St Nicholas: The direct source of the epitome has not been established. Despite its brevity, however, it covers the basics of the legend. No information is provided about his heritage, but mention is made of his unusual qualities as a baby and youth and also his secret gift-giving, which eventually led to his everlasting fame as Santa Claus. While the circumstances surrounding his election as bishop are omitted, most of the miracles are alluded to: his rescue of seamen; his suppression of pagan rites associated with a tree; his cleansing of a polluted well; his ability to make an elderly couple conceive; his strength to move a heavy stone; his multiplication of bread and wine (two miracles combined); his multiplication of grain during a famine; his outwitting the devil with regard to the unnatural oil; his prevention of the execution of the three men; his release 82  623: a fish bone was stuck in the neck (258.26–27) 672: a bone was stuck in the neck (61v17) Stock. 2: a fish bone was stuck in the throat (41ra36–37). 83  623: deep water (266.27) 672: deep water (61v25) Stock. 2: the deep (42vb19).

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    of the three imprisoned men; and the healing of an epileptic woman while on his deathbed. Furthermore, the epitome includes mention of the fact that his body was placed in a marble tomb, and that oil and water flowed at that site. Aside from noting that many sick people were cured at his tomb, only one posthumous miracle is included. This is the miracle about the heathen man, who placed a statue of Nicholas to guard his house and belongings, but returned to find his house robbed. When he threatened to burn the statue unless the stolen goods were returned, Nicholas appeared in a vision to the thieves giving them an ultimatum: to die or return the stolen goods. The thieves returned the goods, and the heathens converted to Christianity. As noted above, there are several Old Norse-Icelandic translations of the legend of St Nicholas. As pointed out by Foote, the epitome is ‘based on a text like Stock. 2’,84 and there are a number of verbal similarities between the two manuscripts. However, he notes that AM 672 4to contains the sentence ‘Eicki leck hann ne greth ne hlo µem ònur vngmenne’ (He did not cry or play like other young boys) (62r11–12), which is lacking in Stock. Perg. fol. no. 2 but is found in the Latin.85 In contrast to both Stock. Perg. fol. no. 2 and the Latin, in which the angel showed Bishop Nicholas, St Nicholas’ maternal uncle, the fair hall given to St Nicholas in heaven, the epitome states that the angel showed the hall to St Nicholas’ (unnamed) maternal uncles: ‘gudz eíngil syndí *modur brædrum hanz’ (God’s angel revealed himself to his maternal uncles) (62r13). It seems that the epitome must be based not on Stock. Perg. fol. no. 2, but on a common ancestor.

    The Epitomes within the Context of AM 764 4to and AM 672 4to Due to its contents and its apparent origins at Reynistaður, Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir argues that AM 764 4to was probably intended as an educational manual for the Benedictine nuns at the convent, and perhaps also as a work of reference.86 She compares the work to the Speculum virginum and Herrad of Hohenberg’s Hortus deliciarum, both of which were clearly designed for the education of women in religious orders, and notes that the compilers of the manuscript selected the epitomes of female saints detailed above ‘presum84 

    Foote, ed., Lives of Saints, p. 21. Foote, ed., Lives of Saints, p. 21. 86  Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir, ‘What Icelandic Nuns Read’, p. 248. 85 

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    ably […] because they were women, representing the tradition of the female religious to which the Benedictine nuns at Reynistaður belonged’.87 She has also analysed the inclusion of the epitomes of the lives of Sts Remigius and Malchus in relation to the book’s presumed function as a formative work for the nuns at Reynistaður, specifically with regard to their relevance to monastic life. The material extracted from the life of Remigius maintains a focus on women, and the experiences and feelings of Remigius’ mother during the conception and birth of her son are given particular attention. Moreover, a detailed miracle involving the saint focuses on how he cured a girl who was plagued by evil spirits. Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir also notes that the story of Malchus has to do with the temptations of the world (especially those of the flesh), and that stories of hermits and exempla elsewhere in AM 764 4to are similar in nature and highlight the importance of the vows of obedience and chastity, which may reflect that the codex was used by monks as well.88 Both Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir and Fell have noted the focus on Anglo-Saxon saints and England in AM 764 4to, which reflect a general interest in fourteenth-century Iceland on materials related to the British Isles.89 However, the inclusion of AngloSaxon saints has not been analysed in relation to the purpose of book as a work intended for the nuns of Reynistaður. There may be another explanation for the saints whose lives were selected for inclusion in Reynistaðarbók: the Order of St Benedict. Sts Bede, Gregory the Great, Elisabeth of Schönau, and Walburga were all of the Benedictine Order; moreover, it has been speculated that St Cuthbert followed the Benedictine Rule, particular due to Bede’s comparison of St  Cuthbert to St  Benedict in Gregory the Great’s Dialogues, though it is likely that Cuthbert followed more than one Rule during his time, including that of Benedict.90 Other saints’ shrines were owned by Benedictine monasteries during the late fourteenth century, when AM 764 4to was compiled. The Abbey of Saint-Remi in Reims, where St Remigius’s relics were transferred in 1049, was a Benedictine monastery, and Benedictine monks were installed in the tenth century at Westminster 87 

    Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir, ‘Arctic Garden of Delights’, p. 293. Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir, ‘What Icelandic Nuns Read’, p. 245; Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir, ‘Arctic Garden of Delights’, pp. 293–95. 89  Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir, ‘What Icelandic Nuns Read’, p. 244; Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir, ‘Arctic Garden of Delights’, p. 292 n. 24; Fell, ‘Anglo-Saxon Saints in Old Norse Sources and Vice Versa’, pp. 98–100. 90  Power, ‘St Cuthbert and St Wilfrid’, pp. 52–69, esp. pp. 58–59. 88 

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    Abbey, where Edward the Confessor’s major shrine was located (he had an integral role in its endowment, rebuilding, and establishment under the protection of the papacy).91 As mentioned above, Selja Abbey — the original shrine of St Sunniva — was a Benedictine monastery dedicated to her brother, St Alban. St Ursula’s major shrine was located at the Church of Saint Ursula in Cologne, which was under the care of Benedictine nuns; moreover, her legend was closely linked to the life and visions of the Benedictine nun Elisabeth of Schönau.92 While obviously Sts Martha of Bethany, Malchus, and Nicholas were not Benedictine (their lives predate the Order’s existence), the epitomes illustrate important tenets of the Benedictine Rule. The extract pertaining to Martha (and the figure of Martha of Bethany more broadly), who was representative of the vita activa (as opposed to the vita contemplativa, represented by Mary Magdalen), fits well within the fundamentals of Benedict’s Rule, which specified a combination of ‘ora et labora’.93 Indeed, the epitome of the life of Martha in Reynistaðarbók shows Martha serving the community of Tarascon by subduing the dragon. Moreover, the Benedictine Rule stressed the importance of hospitality, which Martha — according to the extract in Reynistaðarbók, in which the Lord refers to her as his hostess (‘´hus`fru uarrí marthe’ [15v32]) — embodied.94 This focus on hospitality is also reflected in the miracle involving Celsa in Remigius saga, in which Remigius fills the wine casks, so that she may serve her guests (‘suo at hon mættí nogliga ueíta gestum sínum’ [25r3]). In addition, the epitome of Nikuláss saga is an exemplum warning against the uncertainty of worldly treasures and the dangers of greed and placing things of the world about the treasures of heaven, reflecting Benedict’s instructions regarding the vice of individual possessions. These instructions are included in the vow sworn 91 

    Korfmacher, ‘Remigius of Reims, St.’, esp. p. 108; Cousin, ‘Saint-Remi, Abbey of ’; Farmer, ‘Edward the Confessor, King of England, St.’; Wood, ‘Westminster Abbey’. 92  DuBois, ‘Sts Sunniva and Henrik’, p. 80; Montgomery, St Ursula and the Eleven Thousand Virgins of Cologne, p. 28. 93  Constable, Three Studies in Medieval Religious and Social Thought, p. 28; the Rule states that ‘Otiositas inimica est animae, et ideo certis temporibus occupari debent fratres in labore manuum, certis iterum horis in lectione divina’ (Idleness is the soul’s enemy, so therefore at determined times the brothers ought to be occupied with manual labour, and again at determined hours in lectio divina), Kardong, Benedict’s Rule, pp. 381–82. 94  1 ‘ Omnes supervenientes hospites tamquam Christus suscipiantur, quia ipse dicturus est: Hospes fui et suscepistis me; 2et omnibus congruus honor exhibeatur, maxime domesticis fidei et peregrinis’ (1. All guests who arrive should be received as Christ, for he himself will say, I was a stranger and you took me in. 2. Proper respect should be shown to all, especially fellow monks and pilgrims). Kardong, Benedict’s Rule (1996), pp. 419–20.

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    by the novices at Reynistaður in 1431, which specify that private ownership without the knowledge and consent of the other sisters was not allowed.95 As noted above, Svanhildur commented on the relevance of St Malchus’s legend to those who had dedicated themselves to a monastic life, and, indeed, the love of chastity and the rejection of vice are mentioned in chapter 4 of the Benedictine Rule, which lists a total of seventy-eight instruments of good works (instrumenta bonorum operum).96 The Benedictine thread connecting the epitomes of saints’ lives in AM 764 4to works well with what Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir’s proposed was the broader purpose of the codex, since education pertaining to the Benedictine Rule and saints of importance to and within it would have been an important part of the nuns’ education. The epitomes of Sts Bartholomew, Barbara, Agatha, Blase, and Nicholas in AM 672 4to cannot be said to have any thematic relation to the translation of the Parva pars, the section on the Lenten fast, the parable of the sower, the explication of the Mass, or the theological treatise. The five epitomes appear to serve as appendices to the other texts either as examples of exemplary Christian conduct particularly for monastics or as suggestions for passages to be read on the saints’ feast-days (Bartholomew 24 August, Barbara 4 December, Agatha 5 February, Blase 3 February, Nicholas 6 December). It is difficult to determine the reason for the selection of these particular saints, although together they represent a range of ways for both men and women to achieve sainthood. Also, three of the saints, Barbara, Blase, and Nicholas, were among the Fourteen Holy Helpers. As with AM 764 4to, it obviously cannot be excluded that the scribe’s choice of the five saints was determined by what legends were accessible to him. That may well be the case in terms of the legend of St Barbara, which, based on manuscript evidence, appears not to have enjoyed widespread appeal in Iceland. In contrast, the legends of Sts Bartholomew, Agatha, Blase, and Nicholas all exist in a number of redactions and several manuscripts, and their legends seem to have been popular. It is quite possible that the choice of the five saints have to do with their patronage. St Agatha is a patron of fire, earthquakes, and volcanic eruptions; St Nicholas is a patron of sailors and, to a lesser extent, children and clerics; St Blase is a patron of wool-combers; St Bartholomew is 95 

    Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir, ‘What Icelandic Nuns Read’, pp. 234–35. Dei factis cotidie adimplere, 64castitatem amare, 65nullum odire, 66zelum non habere, 67invidiam non exercere, 68contentionem non amare, 69elationem fugere’ (63. You must put the commands of God into action every day. 64. Love chastity. 65. Hate no one. 66. Do not be jealous. 67. Do not act out of envy. 68. Do not be habitually quarrelsome. 69. Flee pride) quoted from Kardong, Benedict’s Rule, pp. 80–81. 96  63 ‘ Praecepta

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    a patron of tanners and those who work with skins; and St Barbara is among other things a patron of those in danger of sudden death. Certainly, St Agatha’s and St Nicholas’s specialties with regard to patronage must have appealed to Icelanders in the Middle Age. Indeed, St Nicholas is listed as a patron of the church at Hagi in Barðaströnd in two inventories,97 and the Vilkinsbók mentions an image of the saint in the church.98 However, his patronage of Hagi has been disputed, since the earliest inventory states that St Michael as the patron of the church.99 What is clear from both AM 764 4to and AM 672 4to is that epitomes of saints’ lives played an important role in religious education and instruction, and could be tailored for specific religious audiences and purposes. AM 764 4to was likely for the edification of the Benedictine nuns at Reynistaður, and the saints whose lives were probably chosen not only as models for female sanctity, but also as important figures within the rule the nuns at the northern Icelandic convent followed. AM 672 4to does not appear to have been compiled for the instruction of nuns or monks but rather for priests, either for their own education or for use in their instruction of their congregations. As with AM 764 4to, the epitomes of saints’ lives chosen for AM 672 4to lends insight into ideals of sanctity and exemplary living, and perhaps also what appealed to a broader Icelandic audience at the time considering the saints’ patronage. Seen within the broader context of the contents of both codices, they provide important insight into what medieval Icelandic men and women of the cloth and the cloister respectively learned, and the knowledge they may have conveyed to others within their respective roles and contexts.

    97 

    DI ii 160 (p. 193) and DI iii (p. 775). DI iii 300 (p. 150). 99  DI i 128 (p. 259). The inventory refers to the church as ‘Michaelskirkja’ and mentions that it is dedicated to the Virgin Mary and John the Baptist. Cormack, The Saints in Iceland, argues that ‘[d]ue to the similarity between the two names, confusion between “Michael” and “Nicholas” could easily arise as mss, were copied’ and believes that ‘the evidence of the two younger máldagar suggests that he was the church’s patron’ (p. 133). 98 

    48 Natalie M. Van Deusen and Kirsten Wolf

    Works Cited Manuscripts and Archival Sources Copenhagen, Den Arnamagnæanske Samling, AM 233a fol. —— , AM 238 fol. II —— , AM 235 fol. —— , AM 623 4to —— , AM 642a 4to II —— , AM 655 4to II —— , AM 655 4to XXI —— , AM 672 4to —— , AM 686b 4to —— , AM 764 4to —— , AM 921 4to V —— , AM 429 12mo Oslo, Riksarkivet, NRA 79 fragm. Reykjavík, Stofnun Árna Magnússonar, AM Dipl. Isl. Fasc. XXIV —— , AM Dipl. Isl. Fasc. XXXIV

    Primary Sources Arne Magnussons i AM. 435A-B, 4TO indeholdte håndskriftfortegnelser med to tillæg, ed. by Kristian Kålund (Copenhagen: Jørgensen, 1909) BHL = Bibliotheca Hagiographica Latina Atiquae et Mediae Aetatis. Subsidia hagiographica 6. Société des Bollandistes, 1898–1899; rpt. 1992. Supplementum. Subsidia hagiographica 12. Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1911. Novum Supplementum. Subsidia hagiographica 70. Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1986 DI  = Diplomatarium Islandicum: Íslenzk fornbréfasafn, 16  vols (Copenhagen and Reykjavík: Möller and Hið íslenzka bókmentafélag, 1857–1952) Foote, Peter, ed., Lives of Saints: Perg. fol. nr. 2 in the Royal Library, Stockholm, Early Icelandic Manuscripts in Facsimile, 4 (Copenhagen: Rosenkilde and Bagger, 1962) Gray, Christa, ed., Jerome, Vita Malchi: Introduction, Text, Translation, and Commentary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015) Helgastaðabók. Nikulás saga. Perg. 4to nr 16 Konungsbókhlöðu í Stokkhólmi, Introduction by Selma Jónsdóttir, Stefán Karlsson, and Sverrir Tómasson, Íslenzk miðaldahandrit: Manuscripta Isalndica medii aevei, 2 (Reykjavík: Lögberg, 1982) Jacobus de Voragine, Legenda aurea: vulgo historia Lombardica dicta ad optimorium librorum fidem ed. by Th. Graesse, 2nd edn (Leipzig: Librariae Arnoldianae, 1850) Kardong, Terrence G., Benedict’s Rule: A Translation and Commentary (Collegeville: The Order of St Benedict, 1996) Kolsrud, Oluf, ed., Messuskýringar: Liturgisk symbolik frå den norsk-islandske kyrkja i Millomalderen (Oslo: Dybwad, 1952)

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    Larsson, Ludvig, ed., Isländska handskriften No 645 4o i Den Arnamagnæanske Samlingen på Universitetsbiblioteket i København: I. Handskriftens äldre del (Lund: Gleerup, 1885) Mombritius, Boninus, ed., Sanctuarium seu Vitae Sanctorum, 2  vols (Paris: apud Fontemoing et socios, 1910; reprinted 1978) Montgomery, Scott B., St  Ursula and the Eleven Thousand Virgins of Cologne: Relics, Reliquaries and the Visual Culture of Group Sanctity in Late Medieval Europe (Oxford: Peter Lang, 2010) Morgenstern, Gustav, ed., Arnamagnæanische Fragmente (Cod. AM. 655 4to III–VIII, 238 fol. II, 921 4to IV 1.2): Ein Supplement zu den Heilagra manna sögur (Leipzig: Møller, 1893) Þorvaldur Bjarnarson, ed., Leifar fornra kristinna frœða íslenzkra: Codex Arna-Magnæanus 677 4to auk annara enna elztu brota af ízlenzkum guðfrœðisritum (Copenhagen: Thiele, 1878) Unger, C. R., ed., Heilagra manna søgur: Fortællinger og legender om hellige mænd og kvinder, 2 vols (Christiania [Oslo]: Bentzen, 1877) —— , Postola sögur: Legendariske fortællinger om apostlernes liv deres kamp for kristendommens udbredelse samt deres martyrdød (Christiania [Oslo]: Bentzen, 1874) Vincent de Beauvais, Speculum historiale. Speculum maius, vol. 4. Graz, Akademische Druck- u. Verlaganstalt, 1964– Van Deusen, Natalie M., ed., The Saga of the Sister Saints: The Legend of Martha and Mary Magdalen in Old Norse-Icelandic Translation, Studies and Texts, 214 (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2019) Wolf, Kirsten, ed., The Old Norse-Icelandic Legend of Saint Barbara, Studies and Texts, 134 (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2000)

    Secondary Studies Bekker-Nielsen, Hans, ‘Et brudstykke af en legende i et islandsk haandskrift. Hvem er W I AM 764, 4o?’, Maal og minne (1963), 102–05 Borgehammar, Stephan, ‘Sunnivalegenden och den benediktinska reformen i England’, in Selja – heilag stad i 1000 år, ed. by Magnus Rindal (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, 1997), pp. 123–59 Carron, Helen, ‘Játvarðar saga’, in Medieval Scandinavia: An Encyclopedia, ed. by Phillip Pulsiano and Kirsten Wolf, Garland Encyclopedias of the Middle Ages, 1 (New York: Garland, 1993), p. 340 Colgrave, B., ‘Cuthbert of Lindisfarne’, in New Catholic Encyclopedia, 2nd  edn, vol.  4 (Detroit: Gale, 2003), p. 449 Constable, Giles, Three Studies in Medieval Religious and Social Thought: The Interpretation of Mary and Martha, The Ideal of the Imitation of Christ, The Orders of Society (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995) Cormack, Margaret, The Saints in Iceland: Their Veneration from the Conversion to 1400, Subsidia hagiographica, 78 (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1994) Cousin, P., ‘Saint-Remi, Abbey of ’, in New Catholic Encyclopedia, 2nd edn, vol. 12 (Detroit: Gale, 2003), p. 583.

    50 Natalie M. Van Deusen and Kirsten Wolf

    Donahue, C. J., ‘Bede, St.’, in New Catholic Encyclopedia, 2nd edn, vol. 2 (Detroit: Gale, 2003), pp. 195–97 DuBois, Thomas A., ‘Sts Sunniva and Henrik: Scandinavian Martyr Saints’, in Sanctity in the North: Saints, Lives, and Cults in Medieval Scandinavia, ed. by Thomas A. DuBois (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008), pp. 65–102 Farmer, H., ‘Edward the Confessor, King of England, St.’, in New Catholic Encyclopedia, 2nd edn, vol. 12 (Detroit: Gale, 2003), p. 96 Fell, Christine E., ‘Anglo-Saxon Saints in Old Norse Sources and Vice Versa’, in Proceedings of the Eighth Viking Congress: Århus 24–31 August 1977, ed. by Hans Bekker-Nielsen, Peter Foote, and Olaf Olsen (Odense: Odense University Press, 1981), pp. 95–106 Kirby, Ian J., Bible Translation in Old Norse, Université de Lausanne Publications de la faculté des lettres, 27 (Geneva: Librairie Droz, 1986) Korfmacher, W.  C., ‘Remigius of Reims, St.’, in New Catholic Encyclopedia, 2nd  edn, vol. 12 (Detroit: Gale, 2003), pp. 107–08 Laughlin, M. F., ‘Elizabeth of Schonau, St.’, in New Catholic Encyclopedia, 2nd edn, vol. 5 (Detroit: Gale, 2003), pp. 166–67 Loth, Agnete, ‘“Roted fragmentum membraneum, um Sanctam Luciam og Agatham”: AM 921, V. 4o’, in Festskrift til Ludvig Holm-Olsen på hans 70-årsdag den 9. juni 1984 (Øvre Ervik: Alvheim & Eide, 1984), pp. 221–35 Louis-Jensen, Jonna, ‘Seg Hallfríði góða nótt’, Opuscula, 2 (1977), 149–53 Maraflioti, Nicole, ‘Hagiography and History in the Icelandic Saga of Edward the Con­ fessor’, Viator, 46 (2015), 93–114 McDougall, Ian, ‘Latin Sources of the Old Icelandic Speculum Penitentis’, Opuscula, 10 (1996), 136–38 Parsons, Katelin, ‘Radiant Maidens and Butchered Brides: Finding St Ursula in Icelandic Literature’, in The Cult of St  Ursula and the 11,000 Virgins, ed.  by Jane Cartwright (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2016), pp. 227–43 Peters, Diane, ‘The Early Latin Sources of the Legend of St Martha: A Study and Translation with Critical Notes’ (unpublished Master’s Thesis, Wilfrid Laurier University, 1990) Power, Edmund, ‘St Cuthbert and St Wilfrid’, in Benedict’s Disciples, ed. by David Hugh Farmer (Leominster: Gracewing, 1980; reprinted 2002), pp. 52–69 Rafn, C. C., and Jón Sigurðsson, eds, ‘Saga Játvarðar kónungs hins helga’, Annaler for nordisk Oldkyndighed og Historie (1852), 3–43 Redlich, H.  V., ‘Walburga of Heidenheim, St.’, in New Catholic Encyclopedia, 2nd  edn, vol. 14 (Detroit: Gale, 2003), pp. 606–07 Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir, ‘Arctic Garden of Delights: The Purpose of the Book of Reynis­taður’, in Romance and Love in Late Medieval and Early Modern Iceland, ed. by Kirsten Wolf and Johanna Denzin, Islandica, 54 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2008), pp. 279–301 —— , ‘Universal History in Fourteenth-Century Iceland: Studies in AM 764 4to’ (unpublished PhD Dissertation, University of London, 2000) —— , ‘What Icelandic Nuns Read: The Convent of Reynistaður and the Literary Milieu in Fourteenth-Century Iceland’, in Nuns’ Literacies in Medieval Europe: The Kansas City Dialogue, ed. by Virginia Blanton, Veronica O’Mara, and Patricia Stoop (Turnhout: Brepols, 2015), pp. 229–48

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    ——  , ‘The World and its Ages: The Organisation of an “Encyclopaedic” Narrative in MS AM 764 4to’, in Sagas, Saints and Settlements, ed. by Gareth Williams and Paul Bibire (Brill: Leiden, 2004), pp. 1–11 Thiébaux, Marcelle, The Writings of Medieval Women (New York: Garland, 1987) Turville-Petre, Gabriel, ‘Legends of England in Icelandic Manuscripts’, in The AngloSaxons: Studies in Some Aspects of Their History and Culture Presented to Bruce Dickens, ed. by Peter Clemoes (London: Bowes & Bowes, 1959), pp. 104–21. Rpt. in Gabriel Turville-Petre, Nine Norse Studies (London: Viking Society for Northern Research, 1972), pp. 59–78 Van Deusen, Natalie M., ‘A Miracle of St Sunniva in AM 764 4to’, Journal of English and Germanic Philology, 117.2 (April 2018), 235–43 Widding, Ole, and Hans Bekker-Nielsen, ‘Elisabeth of Schönau’s Visions in an Old Icelandic Manuscript, AM 764, 4o’, Opuscula, 2 (1961), 93–96 Wolf, Kirsten, ‘Agǫtu saga IV and V’, Opuscula, 14 (2016), 1–24 —— , ‘An Excerpt on Saint Gregory the Great in AM 764, 4to’, in Sagnaheimur: Studies in Honour of Hermann Pálsson on his 80th Birthday, 26th May 2001, ed. by Ásdís Egilsdóttir and Rudolf Simek, Studia Medievalia Septentrionalia, 6 (Vienna: Fassbaender, 2001), pp. 287–94 ——  , ‘A Fragmentary Excerpt on Saint Walburga in AM 764 4to’ Gripla, 11 (2000), 209–20 —— , ‘Gregory’s Influence on Old Norse-Icelandic Religious Literature’, in Rome and the North: The Early Reception of Gregory the Great in Germanic Europe, ed. by Rolf H. Bremmer Jr., Kees Dekker, and David F. Johnson (Leuven: Peeters, 2001), pp. 255–74 ——  , The Legends of the Saints in Old Norse-Icelandic Prose (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2013) ——  , ‘A Little Tale about Santa Claus from Medieval Iceland’, in Deutsch-isländische Beziehungen: Festschrift für Hubert Seelow zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. by Lena Rohrbach and Sebastian Kürschner, Berliner Beiträge zur Skandinavistik, 24 (Berlin: Nordeuropa Institut, 2018), pp. 127–33 Wood, S., ‘Westminster Abbey’, in New Catholic Encyclopedia, 2nd edn, vol. 5 (Detroit: Gale, 2003), p. 694

    María, drótning himins ok iarðar: The Doctrine of Mary’s Queenship in Maríu saga Christelle Fairise

    I

    n Iceland, the cult of the Virgin Mary was preeminent and flourished during the twelfth century1 as attested by church dedications,2 art,3 and liturgy4 for the feasts of the Assumption, the Purification, the Nativity, and

    1 

    On the development of the cult of the Virgin Mary in Iceland, see Cormack, ‘Saints of Medieval Hólar’, p. 7. On Marian cult in the Middle Ages, Iogna-Prat, Palazzo, and Russo, eds, Marie. Le culte de la Vierge dans la société médiévale. On the cult of the Virgin, see Warner, Alone of All Her Sex. 2  The Virgin was the patron saint of the cathedral of Hólar and ‘[as] a church patron, she appears twice as often as the next most common saint; she is named in the dedication or is represented by an image at eighty percent of the churches with extant máldagar’, Cormack, The Saints in Iceland, p. 128. Máldagar are ‘church contracts […], which usually include details inventories of church contents, including statues and lives of saints (in Latin or in the vernacular), as well as other evidences of veneration’, Cormack, ‘Saints of Medieval Hólar’, p. 7. 3  On this, see Kjesrud, ‘Marian Representations’; Kjesrud, ‘Conceptions of the Virgin Mary in Medieval Western Scandinavia’. 4  The homiletic corpus in vernacular is preserved in a manuscript known as the Old Icelandic Homily Book (c. 1200) which despite its title contains no homily but sermons and other liturgical texts, some of them dating back to the mid-twelfth century, see Hall, ‘Old Norse-Icelandic Sermons’. The Old Icelandic Homily Book has been edited twice: Homiliu-bók, ed. by Wisén; The Icelandic Homily Book, ed. by de Leeuw van Weenen. Though the facsimile edition of Andrea de Christelle Fairise ([email protected]) is an Associate Member at the Laboratoire d’études sur les monothéismes (LEM), a CNRS mixed teaching and research centre (UMR 8584). Her research focuses on Christian apocryphal literature in Medieval Iceland. The Cult of Saints in Nidaros Archbishopric. Manuscripts, Miracles, Objects, ed. by Ragnhild M. Bø and Jon Viðar Sigurðsson, tcne 33 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2022), pp. 53–79 BREPOLS PUBLISHERS 10.1484/M.TCNE-EB.5.124878

    54 Christelle Fairise

    the Annunciation.5 The veneration of Mary, the Mother of God, the Queen of Heaven, the Intercessor for the salvation of mankind, reached its peak during the next two centuries6 as evidenced by collections of Marian miracles7 and Maríu saga, a Life of Mary which relates the story of the birth, the early life, and the ultimate fate of the Virgin. The testimony of the manuscripts suggests that Maríu saga enjoyed great popularity in Iceland as the saga is preserved in its entirety in five manuscripts and in fragments in fourteen others8 and as its manuscript tradition attests that this Icelandic Life of Mary was a resource for preaching.9 In the introduction to his defective but nonetheless standard edition of 1871, Carl Richard Unger identified three versions of Maríu saga10: the redaction A or I11 (AM 234 fol., c. 1340)12; the redaction St or II (based primarily on Stock. Perg. 4to no. 11, c. 1325–1375)13; and the redaction E or III (Stock. Perg. 4to no. 1, c. 1450–1500). Laura Tomassini has discussed the style of the three versions and has concluded that ‘[n]one of the three texts seems to originate from the others, and they are to be treated as parallel redactions of the same saga, probably derived from a common archetype’.14 Leeuw van Weenen is far better, it is unfortunately not easily available, I will therefore refer to Wisén’s edition. 5  These feasts were respectively celebrated on 15 August, 2 February, 8 September, and 25 March. 6  Fourteenth-Century Icelandic Verse on the Virgin Mary, ed. by Wrightson, pp. ix–x. 7  These collections of Marian miracles are found in no fewer than forty-three manuscripts written between the thirteenth and eighteenth centuries. For a detailed list of manuscripts containing the Marian miracles, see Wolf, The Legends of the Saints in Old Norse-Icelandic Prose, p. 236. 8  For the full list of manuscripts, see Wolf, The Legends of the Saints in Old Norse-Icelandic Prose, p. 231. 9  Several parts of Maríu saga were adapted as sermons. On this, see Hallgrímur  J. Ámundason, ‘AM 655 XXVII 4to. Útgáfa, stafagerð, stafsetning’, pp. 3–16; Alfræði íslenzk. Islandsk encyclopædisk literatur i–iii, ed. by Kålund, i, pp. 32, 56; iii, pp. 8–9; for a synthesis in English, see Pelle, ‘Twelfth-Century Sources for Old Norse Homilies’, p. 50. 10  Maríu saga, ed. by Unger, pp. xi–xxxxii. 11  This modern labelling is due to Wilhelm Heizmann, Das altisländische Marienleben, ed. by Heizmann. Though his edition is far superior, it is not easily available, I will therefore refer to the edition of Carl R. Unger. 12  Maríu saga, ed. by Unger, pp. 332–401. For clarity’s sake, from now on: Maríu saga i. 13  Maríu saga, ed. by Unger, pp. 1–62. For clarity’s sake, from now on: Maríu saga ii. This redaction has also been edited in modern Icelandic: Maríukver, ed. by Ásdis Egilsdóttir, Gunnar Harðarson, and Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir, pp. 3–66. 14  Tomassini, ‘An Analysis of the Three Redactions of Maríu saga’, pp. 17–18. We unfortu-

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    55

    This ‘common archetype’ could be the now-lost Maríu saga whose authorship has been attributed to Kygri-Björn Hjaltason (d. 1237 or 1238) due to a statement found in Arngrímr Brandsson’s Guðmundar saga Arasonar. 15 Nevertheless, he cannot be credited with the authorship of any of the versions of the surviving saga as one passage evidences that the terminus post quem cannot be earlier than 1267, the year in which the Legenda Aurea was completed, since there is in Maríu saga (i, ii, and iii) the same biblical distinctio16 on the effusio sanguinis Christi which is similar to the one found in the Dominican hagiographic compilation and it turns out that three of the five effusions of Christ’s blood listed in this very distinctio are an innovation of Jacobus da Voragine in his Legenda Aurea.17 As for its terminus ante quem, the doctrinal discussion on the problem both of the dating and the content of the Feast of the Conception, which draws on Alexander Neckam’s Expositio super cantica canticorum in laudem gloriose ac perpetue uirginis Marie, undoubtedly attests that Maríu saga (i, ii, and iii) was composed in a context of debate and theological controversy and that it cannot have been written after 1364, the year the Festum Conceptionis was established as a Holy Day of Obligation in Iceland. The Icelandic Life of Mary is a complex text that stands between tradition — that of the Lives of the Virgin18 — and innovation — that of the Icelandic saint’s lives composed towards the end of the thirteenth century and in the fourteenth century.19 Like its Byzantine predecessors,20 Maríu saga is: a compilation that draws on canonical gospels (the Gospels of Matthew and of Luke) and Marian apocrypha (the Evangelium de Nativitate Mariae and the Gospel of PseudoMatthew — the Latin versions of the Protevangelium of James — a Trinubium nately cannot know how much the three versions of the surviving saga resembles this ‘common archetype’. 15  ‘Guðmundar saga Arasonar, Hólabiskups, eptir Arngrím ábóta’, ed.  by Guðbrandur Vigfússon and others, p. 186: ‘Var Kygri-Björn mikilsháttar klerkr, sem auðsýnask má í því, at hann hefir samsett Maríu sögu’ (Kygri-Björn was an outstanding cleric, as may be clearly seen in the fact that he composed the saga of Mary). All translations are my own unless otherwise indicated. 16  A distinctio is an exegetical technique consisting of considering a word according to its various senses and supporting them with biblical quotations. 17  On this, see Collomb, ‘Les éléments liturgiques de la Légende dorée’. 18  On this, see Fairise, ‘Relating Mary’s Life in Medieval Iceland’. 19  On this, see Cormack, ‘Saints’ Lives and Icelandic Literature in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries’; Cormack, ‘Christian Biography’, esp. pp.  32–36; Þórir Óskarsson, ‘Rhetoric and Style’, esp. pp. 368–70. 20  On this, see Mimouni, ‘Les Vies de la Vierge’; Gambero, ‘Biographies of Mary in Byzantine Literature’.

    56 Christelle Fairise

    Annae and an Icelandic sermon for the Assumption which draws on the Cogitis me), as well as on patristic writings (Ambrose, Augustine, Gregory the Great and John Chrysostom) and contemporary texts on the Virgin and on Christ ( Jacobus da Voragine and Alexander Neckam);21 it belongs to both the hagiographic and the homiletic genres; the biographic narrative follows the same fixed pattern — the Nativity and the Infancy of Mary, the life of Jesus, from his Nativity to the Resurrection, and an account of Mary’s death and Assumption — the ascent to Heaven (Transitus) of her soul and body; and its author discusses Mariological issues. Like its continental counterparts,22 Maríu saga possesses the literary features of its geographic area and time: its author ornaments the saga ‘with rhetorical devices derived from both Latin and native tradition’,23 and supplements the narration with historical background information, comments on Scripture, and explanations of Marian doctrine, by resorting to the patterns of homiletic exegesis. In this chapter, I will examine the selection of the materials regarding the doctrine of Mary’s Queenship and the way they are linked together in the prologue, the account of the Assumption, and the epilogue of Maríu saga ii. As a comparison of the structure of redactions I24 and II shows that the latter is strikingly different from the former in that its author, on the one hand, restructured his text as a means of emphasizing Mary’s role as Queen and, on the other, made significant interpolations in his newly created prologue in order to emphasize the foundations of Mary’s regal status, I will therefore focus on Maríu saga ii (Stock. Perg. 4to no. 11).25 21 

    On the sources, see also Heizmann, ‘Maríu saga’, p. 408. During the Middle Ages, canons and monks went on composing Lives of Mary, both in Latin and in the vernacular. On this, see Boulton, Sacred Fictions of Medieval France. 23  Cormack, ‘Christian Biography’, p. 34. 24  This version ‘is probably to be regarded as the earliest one’, Tomassini, ‘An Analysis of the Three Redactions of Maríu saga’, p. 20. As for redaction III, it is an abridged version that omits ‘several descriptive and explicatory passages of theological and historical nature’ and ‘tends to privilege the earthly episodes in [Mary’s] life over the theological speculations concerning their supernatural significance’, Tomassini, ‘An Analysis of the Three Redactions of Maríu saga’, p. 242. Unfortunately, C. R. Unger has only edited its variants in the critical apparatus of Maríu saga i so that his edition of Maríu saga iii is unreliable. I will therefore leave this redaction aside in the following discussion. 25  This manuscript consists of ninety-nine folios divided into two columns and it contains Maríu saga (fols 1va–26vb) and a collection of miracle stories of the Virgin Mary (fols 27va–99rb). The medium is a parchment and it is a composite manuscript, heterogeneous, since it is composed of two codicological units, each of which is of a different hand and period: a first unit 22 

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    The Structure of Maríu saga ii While Maríu saga i is divided into twenty-six sections, without a prologue26 and an epilogue, and contains very similar material to Maríu saga ii,27 the latter differs from the former in that its redactor28 restructured his text around the theme of Mary’s queenship according to a tripartite framework which witnesses the influence of the thematic sermon style. The Prologue The redactor of Maríu saga ii retitled the opening section of Maríu saga i originally titled ‘Her byriar upp sogu guðs moður Marie’ (Here begins the story of Mary Mother of God) as ‘Prologus’ (Prologue) and detached it from the narrative. In addition to this structural revision, another consists of the selection of new material in order to exalt Mary as Queen. In Maríu saga i and ii, the sources of the introductory section are the following: the Evangelium de Nativitate Mariae,29 an was written in 1325–1375 and consists of Maríu saga and Marian miracles (fols 1va–85ra), and a second one, a collection of Marian miracles (fols 85ra–99rb) dating from 1400–1450. None of the scribes wrote colophons: we unfortunately know nothing of the origin of this codex. The manuscript is of a small format, its dimensions are 220 × 150 mm, it is richly illuminated with colours and initials are painted and very elaborate. Its particularity is that it contains a full-page miniature in fol. 27r, in other words between the very end of the saga and the first miracle story. This miniature shows in the foreground Anne with Jesus and Mary both sitting on her knee, in the background Joachim dressed as a high priest of the Temple of Jerusalem with a cross in his hands: see . 26  Redaction III also contains a prologue, but it is an addition to Mary’s life narrative: on this, see Tomassini, ‘An Analysis of the Three Redactions of Maríu saga’, pp. 223–28. This prologue has been edited in its entirety by Unger, Maríu saga, pp. 332–39. 27  Maríu saga ii adds a translation of the Trinubium Annae and exegetical arguments. 28  As Laura Tomassini has pointed out, since ‘it is impossible for us to establish how much in the structure and style of the three saga redactions is directly derived from their exemplars, and how much is the original contribution of their redactors’. As she did, I will credit the redactor of Maríu saga ii ‘with all innovations in relation to the sources and other redactions’; ‘An Analysis of the Three Redactions of Maríu saga’, p. 50. Therefore, I will use the terms ‘redactor’ to refer to the person who seems to be responsible for the composition of Maríu saga i and ii, and ‘author’ to refer to the person who seems to be responsible for the composition of Maríu saga indicated ‘Maríu saga (i–ii)’, when the content of both versions is similar. 29  This latest Latin version of the Protevangelium of James, the earliest Infancy Gospel (second century) was composed between the end of the eighth century and the beginning of the eleventh century and has traditionally been attributed to Jerome. Hereafter De Nativitate Mariae.

    58 Christelle Fairise

    apocryphal narrative which relates the story of Mary’s life from her conception to her marriage with Joseph, is literally translated with very few exceptions — this is also the basis for the account of the Nativity and the Infancy of Mary in Maríu saga (sections 1–12); the Gospel of Matthew, the Glossa ordinaria, and a sermon in vernacular, the Nativitas sancte Marie30 which draws on a Latin compilation of excerpts from the first thirteen chapters of Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew31 expanded with passages of De Nativitate Mariae. In Maríu saga ii, the redactor has selected two additional sources from the earliest preserved textual proofs of devotion to Mary as queen of the universe. The first is the Bœn til Maríu:32 this prayer, which is in the vernacular, begins with a series of Marian tropes praising her role in the Incarnation, and then addresses Mary in these terms þu en sę́la domina celi et terre33 (You the blessed mistress of heaven and earth) and ends with the praise of her intercessory role. The second source is the Assumptio sancte Marie:34 this sermon in vernacular is also both the main source for the account of the Assumption in Maríu saga (i–ii), and the basis for the structured framework of Maríu saga (i–ii). This sermon, which probably derives from a now-lost vernacular sermon,35 borrows much of its material from the Letter to Paula and Eustochium, also called Pseudo-Jerome, as its author Paschasius Radbertus (c. 790–c. 868) wrote it under the pseudonym of Jerome, or Cogitis me from its first words. In this letter, which consists of a homily composed for the feast of the Assumption, the author ‘does not accept the bodily assumption, but he stresses that Mary is glorified by all the angels and saints because of her exceptional dignity as the Mother of God’.36 The Cogitis me was hugely influential in promoting the image of Mary as Regina Mundi (Queen of the world). This text is itself also a source of the narrative of the ultimate fate of Mary in Maríu saga (i–ii). 30 

    Homiliu-bók, ed. by Wisén, pp. 127–34. For clarity’s sake, I standardize the spelling ‘Nativitas sancte Maʀie’. 31  The Pseudo-Matthew is the oldest Latin version of the Protevangelium of James. It was composed between the mid-sixth and mid-seventh centuries. 32  Homiliu-bók, ed. by Wisén, p. 195. I standardize the spelling: ‘Bǿn til Maríu’. 33  Homiliu-bók, ed. by Wisén, p. 195, l. 9. 34  Homiliu-bók, ed. by Wisén, pp. 4–10. I standardize the spelling: ‘assvmptio sancte maʀie’. 35  On this, see Turville-Petre, ‘The Old-Norse Homily on the Assumption and Maríu saga’; Tomassini, ‘An Analysis of the Three Redactions of Maríu saga’, pp. 37–42; Hall, ‘Old NorseIcelandic Sermons’, p. 678; Najork, ‘Translating Marian Doctrine into the Vernacular’, pp. 125–34. 36  Beyers, ‘De Nativitate Mariae’, p.  175: ‘n’accepte pas l’assomption corporelle, mais souligne que Marie est glorifiée par tous les anges et saints à cause de son exceptionnelle dignité comme mère de Dieu’.

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    If we compare the introductory sections in Maríu saga i and ii, we can see that in the latter, its author alters the first clause of the very first sentence of Maríu saga i by emphasizing Mary’s position as Queen of heaven and earth. It seems likely that he was aiming at stimulating the devotion to Mary as Queen, as the prayer and the sermon undoubtedly evidence that Icelanders were familiar with the theme of Mary’s universal queenship. In the beginning of the prologue, the two interpolations indicate the redactor’s ability to draw materials from these two newly selected sources and to modify and adapt them to his goal. In the Table below, the correspondences between the sermon and Maríu saga ii are underlined and those between the prayer and the saga are written in bold characters, in order to stress how these two interpolations are tied together and placed within the translation of the first clause of the very first verse of its apocryphal source: De Nativitate Mariae, 1. 1:

    Maríu saga i, ‘Her byriar upp sogu guðs moður Marie’

    Maríu saga ii, ‘Prologus’

    Igitur beata et gloriossima semper uirgo Maria ex regia stirpe et familia Dauid oriunda, in ciuitate Nazareth nata, Hierosolimis in templo domini nutrita fuit.37

    Sva seger Jeronimus prestr, at sæl ok dýrðlig mær María væri komin at kynferði af konungligri ætt, […].38

    Drótning himins ok iarðar, sæl ok dýrleg mær María, móðir dróttins Jesu Kristz, blómi hreinlífis, herbergi heilags anda, öllum helgum mönnum œðri, helgari ok háleitari, er komin at kynferði af konungligri ætt, […].39

    (The blessed and ever glorious Virgin Mary, descended from the royal race and family of David, was born in the city of Nazareth and educated at Jerusalem in the temple of the Lord.)

    (As the priest Jerome says, the blessed and glorious Virgin Mary descended from a royal lineage, […].)

    (The Queen of heaven and earth, the blessed and glorious Virgin Mary, Mother of the Lord Jesus Christ, flower of purity, room of Holy Spirit, the higher in dignity, holier and more sublime than all holy men, descended from a royal lineage, […].)

    37 

    Libri de Nativitate Mariae II, ed. by Beyers, p. 276. Maríu saga i, ed. by Unger, p. 339. From now on, I standardize ‘v’ as ‘u’ for readability. 39  Maríu saga ii, ed. by Unger, pp. 1–2. 38 

    60 Christelle Fairise

    The insertion of Mary’s royal title ‘drotning himins oc iarþar’40 (Queen of heaven and earth), which refers to the Assumption when Mary becomes Queen of the universe, at the opening of the prologue while the adjective dýrleg (glorious) refers to her sublime dignity once assumed allows us to see in this interpolation the thematic heading of Maríu saga ii. The material of the ‘Prologue’ is divided into two sections on the basis of the subdivision of the first verse of the De Nativitate Mariae: the first section contains a statement of the foundations of Mary’s queenship, the divine and virginal maternity, then states or develops the reasons upon which Mary’s regal status rests: her excellence and her royal descent as well as her sacerdotal descent; the second focuses on Mary’s role as queen of virgins. However, as in many thematic sermons in the vernacular, the theme of Mary’s queenship is not really expanded on in the body of the text, but it delineates both the scope of the ‘Prologue’ and the framework of Maríu saga ii.41 The ‘Saga of Mary the Queen’ As the redactor had done with the introductory section of Maríu saga i, he retitled the second section, originally titled ‘Af Joachim’ (On Joachim), as ‘Hér hefr upp sögu Marío drótningar’ (Here begins the Saga of Mary the Queen), thus clearly unveiling his goal. Thus, the lífssaga (story of the life) of the Queen Mary (sections 1 to 27) can be assimilated to the body of a thematic sermon, such as a sermo de sanctis (sermon on saints), since the redactor Maríu saga ii consistently refers to Mary as Queen throughout the narrative. Maríu saga i and ii contain similar material regarding Mary’s queenship in three sections. In the section 8, titled ‘Frá ráðagerð byskups’ (About the bishop’s plan), Maríu saga gives the allegorical sense of the name Mary and explains that: Hin helga María merkir ok helga kristni almenniliga, því at hon er sannliga bæði festarmær ok konungs kona42 (Holy Mary means the Holy Christianity, for she is truly both the bride and the wife of the king). In the sections devoted to Mary’s Assumption, the lexicon of royalty demonstrates the author’s desire not only to exalt the splendour of the heavenly Queen, but also to provide infor40 

    Homiliu-bók, ed. by Wisén, p. 10, ll. 4–6. On the pattern of medieval sermons in vernacular, see Zink, La Prédication en langue romane avant 1300, more particularly pp. 221–301. 42  Maríu saga i, ed. by Unger, p. 357; Maríu saga ii, ed. by Unger, p. 18. I underline in bold letters the original contribution of the redactor of Maríu saga ii. 41 

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    mation on the power she exercises over all creatures. Thus, noun complements are added to the title drótning (queen) to refer to the application to particular subjects or spheres of her queenly power: drótning er allra heilagra (Queen of all saints) — section 25 titled ‘Um framför Marie’ (On Mary’s Death); drótning allra hluta (Queen of all things) — section 27 titled ‘Um uppnumning Marie’ (On the Assumption of Mary); drótning himins ok iarþar (Queen of heaven and earth) — sections 25 and 27. Nevertheless, Maríu saga ii is significantly different in its emphasis on Mary’s queenship as its redactor not only presents Mary as the universal queen in the account of the Virgin’s ultimate fate as in Maríu saga i, but he also refers to her as a Queen throughout the narration of the various stages of her life. Thus, the allusions to Mary’s queenship are much more numerous in Maríu saga ii. It contains fifteen more occurrences of the title drótning (queen) than in Maríu saga i.43 Sometimes, the royal title is ornamented with epithets highlighting her holiness or glory, so that after the Incarnation Mary is in turn called en dyra drótning María (the glorious Queen Mary) and drótning sæl María (blessed Queen Mary) in the chapter describing her Purification, and en helgazta drótning María (the most holy Queen Mary) at the time of her arrival in Egypt. Besides the noun drótning (queen), Mary is called frú (Lady) — ‘Lady’ is equivalent to ‘Queen’ — or frú sancta María (Lady holy Mary) — ten times throughout the body of Maríu saga ii. The Epilogue Thirdly, the redactor divided the last section of Maríu saga i, originally titled ‘Af uppnumming Marie’ (On the Assumption of Mary), into a shorter chapter bearing the same title and a conclusio which he also detached from the narrative to create another section and gave it a most explicit title without leaving a shadow of a doubt as to his intent: ‘Um kenning’ (On the teaching). As for the content of this newly created concluding section, apart small changes indicated in bold letters, it is similar in Maríu saga i and ii, but as in the beginning of the prologue, the opening words of the epilogue witness the redactor’s ability to modify his source to suit his purpose:

    43 

    This redaction only contains three of them.

    62 Christelle Fairise Assumptio sancte Marie

    Maríu saga ii, ‘Um kenning’

    Nu reóddom ver nacqvat of heilagleíc mario. at Nú er sagt nackvat frá lífi eða uppruna sællar yþr mǽtte skiliasc huesso miklo hon er helgare en frú Marie guðs móður, til þess at þeir, er lesa eða aþrer helger meɴ.44 heyra, mætti skilia, henni til lofs ok dýrþar, en sér til hiálpar ok miskunnar, ok trúa, at hon er langt umfram aþra helga menn í sinni dýrð ok verðleikum fyrir guði.45 (Now we speak of something about the holiness (Now it is said something about the life and of Mary so that we may understand how much the origins of the Blessed Lady Mary, Mother holier she is than other saints.) of God, so that those who read or listen could understand, to her praise and glorification, and for their own assistance and mercy, believe that she is far superior to other saints in her glory and merit before God.)

    As we can see, the author of Maríu saga (i–ii) has altered its source. First, in order to insert this sentence of the sermon in a saga intended to be read or listened to, he omits the word ‘reóddom’ which is a topical element of Icelandic sermons. Thomas Hall has highlighted that the ‘vernacular term, ræða (pl. ræður), [is] a word related etymologically to the verb ræða (“to speak or discuss”), thus “a talk or a discussion” another close approximation of sermo’.46 Whereas the sermon author simply speaks of the heilagleíc mario (holiness of Mary), the redactor successively stresses Mary’s role in the Incarnation, sællar (blessed), her queenship frú (Lady) and her divine motherhood guðs móður (Mother of God). Then, he addresses his audience — the words þeir, er lesa eða heyra (those who read or listen) inform us that the saga was also meant to be read aloud47 — in order to explain that he intended his work to highlight Mary’s outstanding position and privileged role among the saints. After these opening words, the epilogue of Maríu saga (i–ii) depends almost entirely on the Assumptio sancte Marie:48 it includes a teaching on Mary’s intercession, and concludes with the doxology — a hymn of praise to God.

    44 

    Homiliu-bók, ed. by Wisén, p. 8, ll. 32–34. Maríu saga ii, ed. by Unger, p. 61; Maríu saga i, ed. by Unger, p. 400. 46  Hall, ‘Old Norse-Icelandic Sermons’, p. 667. 47  However, it remains difficult to determine what kind of audience they were intended for: it could be for a monastic congregation, a lay audience, or both. 48  Homiliu-bók, ed. by Wisén, p. 8, l. 32–p. 9, l. 10. 45 

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    The Doctrine of Mary’s Queenship Mary, the ‘Queen of Heaven and Earth’ The prologue is devoted almost exclusively to Mary’s queenship and it aims both at reminding the audience of the foundations of her queenly status and explaining the exact significance of the Virgin’s royal title. Where the apocryphal De Nativitate Mariae simply states that she is the beata et gloriossima semper uirgo (blessed and ever glorious Virgin), the first part of the prologue of Maríu saga ii stresses her queenship and focuses on its main foundation, the divine maternity. It takes as its starting point the royal title drótning himins ok iarðar (Queen of heaven and earth), borrowed from the sermon Assumptio sancte Marie, and moves on with another borrowing from the prayer Bœn til Maríu: Assumptio sancte Marie

    Bœn til Maríu

    Maríu saga ii, ‘Prologus’

    Hon bar drótten i þena heim. oc er nu drotning himins oc iarþar oc ꜵllom helgom monnom helgare.49

    Heilog Maʀia móþer drottens míns. blóme hreinlífess. herbirge heilags anda þu ert ꜵllo m helgom helgare oc hǽre at verþleicom.50

    Drótning himins ok iarðar, sæl ok dýrleg mær María, móðir dróttins Jesu Kristz, blómi hreinlífis, herbergi heilags anda, öllum helgum mönnum œðri, helgari ok háleitari, er komin at kynferði af konungligri ætt, […].51

    (She bore the Lord into this world, and is now the Queen of heaven and earth, and [is] holier than all holy men.)

    (Holy Mary mother of my Lord. Flower of Purity. Room of Holy Spirit, you are holier and in greater merit than all the saints.)

    (The Queen of heaven and earth, the blessed and glorious Virgin Mary, Mother of the Lord Jesus Christ, flower of purity, room of Holy Spirit, the higher in dignity, holier and more sublime than all holy men, descended from a royal lineage, […].)

    49 

    Homiliu-bók, ed. by Wisén, p. 10, ll. 4–6. Homiliu-bók, ed. by Wisén, p. 195, ll. 1–2. 51  Maríu saga i, ed. by Unger, pp. 1–2. 50 

    64 Christelle Fairise

    In the last part of the Assumptio sancte Marie, the sermon’s author focuses on Mary’s consent and active role in the Incarnation, reminds his audience of the words of Gabriel in the Annunciation scene, and then explains that the divine maternity is the foundation of Mary’s queenly status and of her ‘holiness higher than the holiness of all saints’ (ꜵllom helgom monnom helgare). The words ‘oc er nu’ (and is now) explicitly link the divine maternity to Mary’s Assumption and her universal regal status as the adverb nu (now) must be understood here not as a mere deixis, but as a logical connector introducing a consequence. In Maríu saga ii, the relationship between her divine maternity and her queenship is unsurprisingly implicitly expressed as both the sermon and the prayer attest that Icelanders already looked upon Mary as queen of the universe and both the nature and the extension of her royal status were clearly perceived. In its ‘Prologue’, the redactor moves on from the statement of Mary’s universal sovereignty to Mary’s glory to a series of Marian tropes stating the basic principles upon which Mary’s royal dignity is founded. Right after introducing Mary as the queen of heaven and earth, the apposition dýrleg mær María (the blessed and glorious Virgin Mary) expresses the same concept as the adjective ‘glorious’, referring at the same time to the royalty of Mary crowned by her divine Son after her Assumption and to her universal powers as she now reigns in heaven. Then, the saga refers to Mary as móðir dróttins Jesu Kristz (Mother of the Lord Jesus Christ), i.e. the Mother of God, whereas the prayer clearly states the words of Elizabeth at the Visitation who hails the Virgin as the ‘Mother of my Lord’ (Luke 1. 43). This revision is due to the fact that in the prayer, the words uttered by Elizabeth are not linked to Mary’s queenship,52 but since the redactor of Maríu saga ii aims at stressing Mary as Queen, he then refers to the divine maternity which, from the fifth century, ‘becomes the centre of the whole of Mariology. All the other qualities, including her Queenship, are considered as consequences of Mary’s being the Mother of God’.53 Afterwards, the redactor of Maríu saga ii reflects upon the foundations of Mary’s royal dignity in more symbolic ways. He accumulates a series of epithets 52  During the Patristic era, no one, except Origen, considers the Visitation scene, nor the Annunciation scene, as the scriptural basis for the queenship of Mary. On this, see Donnelly, ‘The Queenship of Mary During the Patristic Period’, pp. 86–87; Kirwin, ‘Queenship of Mary – Queen Mother’, p. 77. On Mary’s Queenship in the Middle Ages, see also Barré, ‘La royauté de Marie au XIIe siècle en Occident’. The scriptural foundations of Mary’s queenship were not, until recently, officially established. This doctrine became official when in 1954, Pius XII proclaimed Mary as Queen of the Universe in his encyclical letter: on this, see Kirwin, ‘Queenship of Mary – Queen Mother’, pp. 47–69. 53  Donnelly, ‘The Queenship of Mary During the Patristic Period’, p. 85.

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    as a means of stressing that Mary was crowned Queen because of her role in the Incarnation and a series of comparatives as a means of exalting her ‘queenship of excellence, i.e. of her queenly dignity, her superiority’, 54 in other words, it is ‘a metaphorical queenship’.55 The epithets focus on the virginal conception; the metaphor blómi hreinlífis (flower of purity) is a very common Marian figure associated with Mary’s virginity while the metaphor herbergi heilags anda (room of Holy Spirit)56 is unequivocally Mary’s womb. As for the comparative structure, which is similar in the sermon and the prayer, the redactor replaces the comparative hǽre (greater merit) of the latter with œðri (higher, i.e. in dignity) and adds a third one háleitari (more sublime). If this alteration indicates an exalted view of Mary’s excellence, it could perhaps also suggest that the redactor refers to the Annunciation scene, as in the sermon, when Gabriel came to Mary to announce the Incarnation (Luke 1. 28), when she freely consented to be the Mother of the King (Luke 1. 32–33). Then, the redactor returns to the apocryphon, thus coming to Mary’s royal descent. Mary, the Royal Descendant In the Middle Ages, the question relating to Mary’s royal descent is controversial, and is still debated among exegetes, since it has no scriptural background as ‘the evangelists do not say she was. They present the genealogy of Christ through Joseph who was Jesus’s legal Father (Matthew 1. 1–18; Luke 3. 23–28)’.57 Information about the Davidic descent of Mary comes from apocryphal sources: the Protevangelium of James mentions for the first time that Mary herself belongs to the royal tribe; then, its oldest Latin reworking, the Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew, elaborates Mary’s genealogy so that Anne, her mother, descends from the line of David; and, finally, its latest Latin version, De Nativitate Mariae, simply but explicitly states that the Virgin is ex regia stirpe and Dauid oriunda familia (descended from the royal race and family of David). In medieval Iceland, as on the continent, Mary’s royal lineage has been accepted by Church as attested by the homiletic corpus for the feasts of the Nativity and the Assumption, and by Maríu saga (i–ii): 54 

    Kirwin, ‘Queenship of Mary – Queen Mother’, p. 116. Kirwin, ‘Queenship of Mary – Queen Mother’, p. 118. 56  As far as I know, these epithets are found only in the prayer and in Maríu saga ii for the period that is ours. 57  Kirwin, ‘Queenship of Mary – Queen Mother’, p. 54. 55 

    66 Christelle Fairise

    Assumptio sancte Marie

    Nativitas sancte Marie

    Maríu saga ii, ‘Prologus’

    En helga męr Maria moþer drottens vars var ens betzta kyns komen fra abraham oc ỏr kyne davids konungs.58

    Sva seger ieʀonimus presbyter eɴ helge i bóc þeiri er hann gerþi of uppruna sęllar. oc ennar dýrlegsto drotningar a vallt meyiar. guþs moþor Marie. at hon var konunga ættar. oc komen fra enom vegsamasta dauíd conunge.59

    Drótning himins ok iarðar, […], er komin at kynferði af konungligri ætt, eptir því sem segir enn göfgi kennimaðr ok enn dýrligi prestr Jeronimus, ok tók hann þat af frásögn Matheus guðspiallamannz, fyrir því at hann tók í upphafi síns guðspiallz at telia ætt dróttins Jesu Kristz frá David konungi ok Abraham höfutfeðr.

    (As the priest saint Jerome says in his book in which he recounts the childhood of the blessed and most glorious queen of all virgins, Mary (The Blessed Virgin Mary Mother of our Lord was of the Mother of God, who was of royal lineage and [who] best lineage, [she] descends from Abraham and from the descended from the most glorious David King.) tribe of King David.)

    (The Queen of heaven and earth, […], descended from a royal lineage, according to what the noble theologian and glorious priest Jerome said, and he took it from the account60 of the evangelist Matthew, because he counts in the beginning of his Gospel the lineage of the Lord Jesus Christ from King David and patriarch Abraham.)

    In Maríu saga ii, the redactor follows its apocryphal source in that Mary is of royal descent and then carefully mentions the auctoritas of Jerome to whom was attributed De Nativitate Mariae. While Maríu saga i simply states Jeronimvs prestr (priest Jerome), Maríu saga ii highlights the authority of the Church Father who is here introduced in particularly laudatory terms, enn göfgi kennimaðr ok dýrligi prestr Jeronimus (the noble theologian and glori58 

    Homiliu-bók, ed. by Wisén, p. 4, ll. 23–25. Homiliu-bók, ed. by Wisén, p. 127, ll. 12–15. It should be noted that there is a fragment of a Marian sermon in which Mary’s royal and sacerdotal descent is stated, the latter being connected to the first high priest of the Old Covenant, Aaron, Homiliu-bók, ed. by Wisén, pp. 2–4, p. 2. 60  It seems likely that the frásaga (‘account’) is the Gospel of the Pseudo-Matthew as the author refers afterwards to the Gospel of Matthew: guðspiallz (‘Gospel’). 59 

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    ous priest Jerome), in order to emphasize his erudition in sacred doctrine and his glory. Afterwards, the text refers to the New Testament: ok tók hann þat af frásögn Matheus guðspiallamannz (and he took it in the account of the evangelist Matthew). Whereas both the Nativitas sancte Marie and the Assumptio sancte Marie simply assert that Mary descends from King David, the author61 of Maríu saga explicitly grounds her royal descent in Scripture. In the sermon, the short genealogy is descending according to the nature: first Abraham then David (Matthew 1. 2–6), in Maríu saga (i–ii), on the contrary, the author lists the names in the reverse order of Matthew’s genealogy (1. 1), which is ascending according to the Law: Jesu Christi filii David filii Abraham ( Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham). His translation of the pericope departs from Matthew in two details: he adds the status of David, as in the sermon, and of Abraham. It seems likely that this clarification of Abraham’s role aims at referring straightaway to the promise of offspring which will be expounded on shortly after. Immediately afterwards the paraphrase of Matthew 1. 1, the author develops a very rigorous explanation of it as his purpose is not to give Mary’s lineage nor to insist upon her royal descent from the line of David, but rather to explain that Mary’s queenship is founded upon the nature of Jesus’s kingship. Mary, the Mother of the King The aim of the author is to explain that Mary’s queenship stems from the royal status of her Son whose kingship is by natural right. In order to clarify the meaning and sense of Christ’s kingship, he comments on Matthew 1. 1: Ok nefnir Matheus því fyrr Davíð konung, at konungdómrinn merkir eilíft ríki ok eilífan guðdóm allzvalldanda guðs, ok því Abraham síðarr, þó at hann væri fyrr í heimi, at guð hét honum at taka á sik manndóm ok láta beraz or hans ætt í þenna heim. Ok var því María drótning bæði konunga kyns ok kennimanna kyns, at hon fœddi þann son, er bæði er konungr ok kennimaðr, konungr í guðdóms velldi ok kennimaðr í písl sinni, þá er hann fœrði sik siálfan í fórn guði feðr á krossinum helga.62 (Matthew mentions king David first because the kingdom means the eternal reign and the eternal divinity of the Almighty God, and therefore Abraham later, though 61  From now on, I will use the terms ‘author’ and ‘Maríu saga (i–ii)’ since the following passages are identical in Maríu saga i and ii. I will therefore quote Maríu saga ii and emphasize in bold letters the original contribution of the redactor of Maríu saga ii. 62  Maríu saga ii, ed. by Unger, p. 1.

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    he had lived in this world earlier, because God promised him to come as a human and to descend from him in this world. And this is why the Queen Mary descends both from the royal kin and the sacerdotal kin because she gave birth to a son who was both king and high priest, king by his divine power and high priest by his Passion, when he sacrificed himself to God his father on the holy cross.)

    He comments on the pericope by first explaining why the evangelist named David first, starting with the spiritual exegesis of the word konungdómrinn (the kingdom). He introduces his comment with the verb merkir (means) indicating the beginning of the interpretation. According to this interpretation, konungdómrinn (the kingdom) must not be understood in the literal sense, David King of the Jews, but in the allegorical sense, i.e. in the sense that this word contains a theological truth, namely that konungdómrinn merkir eilíft ríki ok eilífan guðdóm allzvalldanda guðs (the kingdom means the eternal reign and the eternal divinity of the Almighty God). Then, he explains why Matthew listed Abraham after David, basing his interpretation on the gloss, i.e. the word by word explanation, of Matthew 1. 1 in the Glossa ordinaria. The interlinear gloss explains that Abraham is the one cui promissum est: In semine tuo benedicentur omnes gentes, et Christus est semen illud, in hoc gentes querunt benedici63 (to whom was promised: In thy seed shall be blessed all the nations, and Christ is the offspring, in him peoples need to be blessed), and the marginal gloss adds: Ordo preposterus ne premisso Abraham generationis contextio interrumpetur. Horum duorum specialiter dicitur filius quia unus primus inter patriarchas, alter inter reges, ad quos facta est de Christo promissio […] Abraham: in semine tuo benedicentur omnes gentes, cui consonat David: Benedicentur in ipso omnes tribus terre.64 (The countdown sequence in order for the succession of the seed of Abraham [is] not to be interrupted. From these two in particular is said the son because the first among the patriarchs, the second among the kings, for whom was made the promise about Christ  […] Abraham: in thy seed shall be blessed all the nations, with what David agrees: and be blessed in him all peoples of the earth.)

    After that, the author develops the idea of Mary’s queenship as stemming from Christ’s kingship. The logical connector Ok var því (And this is why) introduces the result of his reasoning process which is simply deductive. Mary descends from konunga kyns (royal kin), i.e. that she descends from the line of David, because she is ‘the Mother of Him who was King from the first moment of his conception, [i.e. she] conceived him not only as God, but also as 63  64 

    ‘Glossa ordinaria super Matthei evangelium’. ‘Glossa ordinaria super Matthei evangelium’.

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    King’.65 By means of the same syllogistic deduction, he goes on explaining why Mary also descends from the sacerdotal kin, relying again on the marginal gloss of Matthew 1.1 where the idea that Christ is both king and priest at once is present from the very beginning. After looking to the kingship of Christ for an understanding of the nature of Mary’s queenship, the author returns to its apocryphal source and focuses on Mary as queen of virgins. Mary, the Queen of Virgins The second section of the prologue entirely relies on apocryphal sources as it relates Mary’s education in the temple of Jerusalem. This extra-biblical part of Mary’s life comes from the Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew whose author inserted into his reworking of the Protevangelium of James a passage describing the Virgin’s life in the temple of Jerusalem, influenced by monastic rules. This episode is significantly abridged in De Nativitate Mariae as its author purged it of ‘the romantic details of the apocryphal tradition’66 and harmonized canonical and apocryphal materials.67 In Maríu saga (i–ii), the author draws on the second clause of the very first verse of De Nativitate Mariae, underlined, followed by the interpolation of an appropriate passage from the Assumptio sancte Marie, in italics: María var borin í borg þeiri, er Nazareth heitir, ok fœdd upp í Jórsalaborg ok lærð í guðs musteri. Ok þegar er hon kunni grein góðs ok illz, þá lagði hon alla ást á guð, svá at hon var ávallt í guðs musteri ok á hans þiónustu, annathvárt at hon var á bœnum, eða hon hugði at spámanna bókum eða var í nökkuru góðu verki.68 (Mary was born in a city called Nazareth and was raised in Jerusalem and educated in the temple of God. And as soon as she knew the distinction between good and bad, she directed all her love towards God so that she was always in the temple of God and in His service, or she was either praying or reading the books of the prophets, or she was doing a good deed.) 65 

    Roschini, ‘Royauté de Marie’, p. 616: ‘la Mère de Celui qui fut Roi dès le premier instant de sa conception. Elle le conçut non seulement comme Dieu, mais aussi comme Roi’. The italics were inserted by the author of Maríu saga. 66  Beyers, ‘Livre de la Nativité de Marie’, p. 146: ‘dépouillé des détails romantiques de la tradition apocryphe’. 67  On this, see Norelli, Marie des apocryphes, pp. 96–102. 68  Maríu saga ii, ed. by Unger, pp. 1–2.

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    This passage of the Assumptio sancte Mariae draws on the Cogitis me where Mary is portrayed as the model of the nuns, who are urged in the end to imitate Mary’s perfect way of life. In this passage, Paschasius Radbertus, who wrote it under the pseudonym of Jerome, does not draw on an apocryphal narrative but on the writings of Ambrose Ambrose of Milan († 397) for whom Mary is the model of virgins. It is particularly obvious in De virginibus ad Marcellinam in which he expounds his doctrine, as summed up in these words by Georges Jouassard: Not only is Mary presented as the Virgin who remained forever Virgin; she is proposed to Christian virgins as a model from which they will always remain far away […]. All the virtues of virgins of [her] time, Mary, according to Ambrose, practised them, and in perfection.69

    Thus, as early as the middle of the fourth century, as Sylvie Barnay observes: Mary is offered as an example to ascetic monks and women wishing to consecrate themselves to God. Her childhood as a little girl dedicated to the Temple and her life as a virtuous recluse recounted in the apocryphal narratives wonderfully suits the bishops’ preaching in this sense.70

    In the prologue of the saga, we can see that the account of the life that Mary leads within the sanctuary is similar in all respects to the ideal of life of nuns in a monastery or abbey. The purpose of this passage is to praise the spiritual perfection of the Virgin from her earliest childhood, when she was three years old, in order to explain why Mary is called drótning (queen) by the other virgins who sojourn in the temple with her: Ok þær meyiar er at námi vóro með henni, þá kölluðu þær hana drótning sína, fyrir þá sök at hon laut iafnan þat at göra, er öllum þótti virðuligaz ok allar þær villdu gert hafa.71 69  Jouassard, ‘Marie à travers la patristique’, p. 104: ‘Non seulement Marie y est présentée comme la Vierge demeurée à jamais Vierge; elle y est proposée aux vierges chrétiennes comme un modèle dont elles demeureront toujours très loin, […]. Toutes les vertus des vierges [de son] temps, Marie, selon Ambroise, les a pratiquées, et en perfection’. We also find the doctrine of Ambrose of Milan in the long description of the life of the young Mary in the Temple in the sixth section of Maríu saga, where her precocity and spiritual perfection is praised, but without any mention of her queenship. 70  Barnay, La Vierge. Femme au visage divin, p. 36: ‘Marie est proposée en exemple aux moines ascètes et aux femmes désireuses de se consacrer à Dieu. Son enfance de petite fille dédiée au Temple et sa vie de recluse vertueuse racontée par les récits apocryphes sert à merveille la prédication des évêques en ce sens’. 71  Maríu saga ii, ed. by Unger, p. 2.

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    (And the virgins who were studying there with her called her their queen for the reason that her lot was to do what seemed the most noble to all and what they would all like to have done.)

    The title reginae uirginum (queen of virgins) comes from the fictitious epistolary prologue attributed to Jerome of Pseudo-Matthew (Forma textus A).72 This specific version of this apocryphon was undoubtedly known in Iceland as attested by the very first words of the Nativitas sancte Marie, the Icelandic homiletic rewriting of Pseudo-Matthew: Ennar dýrlegsto drotningar has vallt meyjar (the most glorious queen of all virgins).73 In the last sentence of the prologue, the author explains the significance of the royal title by means of a spiritual exegesis which takes the form of a tropological gloss, i.e. by what has been accomplished is shown what must be done: the virgins look to Mary as their model as she surpasses them and they shall follow her example and imitate her behaviour. This passage is meant to demonstrate Mary’s exceptional dignity and superiority over other virgins as evidenced by the superlative form virðuligaz (the most noble). An interesting point is the use of the word laut (lot) which refers to the idea of something intended from the beginning, an attribute, and, indeed, since Origen: ‘already before the Annunciation Mary was holy; she knew the law and the prophets, meditated daily Scripture’.74 Mary, the ‘Glorious Queen of Heaven and Earth’ From the eighth century onwards, as Luigi Gambero observes, ‘it was the feast of the Dormition75 and Assumption of Mary into heaven that inspired the most enthusiastic homilies about the Virgin’.76 One of the best-known and most influential of these liturgical texts is the Cogitis me. In his homily, Paschasius Radbertus ‘proclaimed her Queen of the Universe because she is the Mother of the King of the Universe’77 and described how ‘her Son personally welcomed 72 

    Libri de Nativitate Mariae I, ed. by Gijsel, p. 278. Homiliu-bók, ed. by Wisén, p. 127, l. 13. 74  Origen, Homiliae in Lucam, fragm. 68, trans. by Laurentin, ‘Marie (Vierge)’, col. 426. 75  The Dormition (the falling asleep or death) implies the end of Mary’s earthly life and the ascent of her soul to Heaven whereas the Assumption signifies the ascent to Heaven of her sould and body reunited. By the eighth century, the name of the feast was changed from Dormition to Assumption in the Western Church. 76  Gambero, Mary in the Middle Ages, p. 18. 77  Patrologia Latina), ed. by Migne, xxx, col. 126b; Kirwin, ‘Queenship of Mary – Queen Mother’, p. 75. 73 

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    his Mother into paradise and placed her next to himself on his throne, amid the exultation of the whole court of heaven’.78 In Maríu saga (i–ii), the two sections devoted to the Assumption of Mary draw both on the Assumptio sancta Marie, which is based on the Cogitis me , and on the Cogitis me itself. Therefore, the saga unsurprisingly shows the same enthusiasm as evidenced, for instance, in the opening of the section titled ‘Um framför Marie’ (On Mary’s Death), where the author does not hesitate to refer to Mary’s glory and universal queenship even though she has not yet been Assumed: Á þeim degi er en dýra drótning himins ok iarðar en sæla mær María andaðiz, þá voro þar við staddir allir postolar guðs79 (On that day, when the glorious queen of heaven and earth, the blessed Virgin Mary died, all the apostles of God were present). Then, he concludes the narration of her death with the description of her glorious spiritual Assumption: En önd hennar var upphafin yfir öll engla fylki, ok lúta allir englar henni, ok allir helgir menn á himni80 (And her soul was assumed above all cohorts of angels, and all the angels and all the saints in heaven bow down before her). Quite traditionally, in the saga, as ‘in the apocryphal writings,81 the tributes paid to the Virgin, on this occasion’, by the saints ‘and by the Angels are described as the apotheosis of a queen’.82 In section 27, ‘Um uppnumning Marie’ (On the Assumption of Mary), once assumed, Mary becomes queen of universe and sits on the heavenly throne alongside her son: En sæla guðs getara, drótning himins ok iarþar, sitiande í hásæti hiá sínum enga syni yfir öllum engla fylkium sólu biartari, ok lýsir alla guðs kristni með heilagleik ok prýði lífs síns ok þeirra launa, er hon hefir tekit öllum æðri af almátkum guði, ok valin ok kosin af guði sér til brúþar, sínum syni til móþur, […].83 (And the blessed genetrix of God, queen of heaven and earth, sitting on the throne next to her only son over all the cohorts of angels, brighter than the sun, illumi78 

    Patrologia Latina, ed. by Migne, xxx, col. 134d; Gambero, ‘Biographies of Mary in Byzantine Literature’, p. 78. 79  Maríu saga ii, ed. by Unger, p. 49. 80  Maríu saga ii, ed. by Unger, p. 51. 81  That is to say, the apocryphal Transitus Mariae which convey ancient traditions about the ultimate fate of the Virgin. They were written between the fifth and the seventh centuries. 82  Frénaud, ‘La royauté de Marie dans la liturgie’, pp. 70–71: ‘les hommages que les écrits apocryphes rendent à la Vierge, à cette occasion, […] et par les Anges, sont décrits comme l’apothéose d’une reine’. 83  Maríu saga i, ed. by Unger, p. 60.

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    nates all of God’s Christendom with the holiness and splendour of her life, and the rewards which she has taken all higher from Almighty God, and whom God has elected and chosen as his bride, as the mother of his son, […].)

    In his depiction of Mary’s glorification in heaven, the Virgin is exalted yfir öllum engla fylkium (above all the cohorts of angels) and the author portrays her as being co-ruler in heaven with sínum enga syni (her only son) — the adjective refers to her perpetual virginity. Then, the author focuses on the reasons for Mary’s glorious spiritual assumption: her impeccable nature — in the theological sense of the term — after the Incarnation by means of a commonplace Marian trope sólu biartari84 (brighter than the sun), her excellence and the fact that she has been chosen by God to be both the Bride of Christ, a symbol of the Church, and the Mother of God. Then, in a traditional way, he links ‘Mary’s intercession with her role in the Redemption and her presence in heaven’:85 öllum til hiálpar, þeim er þar vilia til stunda, hon flóar ok heitir af sínu árnaþarorði við guð kólnut hiörtu af ástleysi við guð ok iöcli harðari, frosin af langri heipt eða rangri ágirni ok margfölldum illvilia, svá at hverr sá, er sinna synda iðraz ok krýpr til hennar, þá gefz sú miskunn.86 (for the help of all those who wish to strive for it, she floods and heats through her intercession with God hearts that became cold by lack of love for God, harder than glaciers, frozen by long feud or evil greed and manifold ill-wills, so that whoever repents of his sins and bends before her, she gives mercy.)

    The author first stresses that there is a condition to ask for Mary’s intercession in that those who turn to the Virgin to seek her aid must desire to be saved, then he describes how she intercedes for mankind and, after that, he resorts to powerful images to explain that even the most desperate sinners can obtain forgiveness for their sins: the analogy between the sinners and the geology, kólnut hiörtu af ástleysi við guð ok iöcli harðari, frosin af langri heipt (hearts cooled by the lack of love for God, harder than glaciers, frozen by long feud or evil greed and manifold malevolence), intermingles theological concepts and the lexicon of ice, thus resorting to striking images as the author refers to the natural environment of his audience. Finally, he moves on to the efficacy of Mary’s intercession: 84 

    This image has been previously discussed just before this passage as the author comments on Song 6. 9, see Maríu saga ii, ed. by Unger, pp. 57–60. 85  Reynolds, Gateway to Heaven, p. 192. 86  Maríu saga ii, ed. by Unger, p. 60.

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    Svá ok sem sólin þurcar ok herþir tiglit, svá styrkir ok en sæla drótning frú sancta Maria þá menn til iðrunar ok vánar, er guði vilia þióna hér í heimi með sannri iðran ok hræzlu.87 (As the sun dries and hardens the bricks, the Blessed Queen Lady Holy Mary strengthens in repentance and hope those men who wish to serve God in this world with true repentance and fear.)

    The analogy with the sun88 emphasizes, as well as her glorification as sæla drótning frú sancta Maria (the Blessed Queen Lady Holy Mary), the reasons why Mary’s intercessory powers were particularly efficacious. Shortly afterwards, in the epilogue, the author turns again to the efficacy of Mary’s intercessory power, but this time, it is in order to urge his audience to seek her intercession. Mary, the ‘Blessed Lady, Mother of God’ As Nicole Bériou observes, medieval sermons for the feast of the Assumption contain ‘a teaching on intercession’ since this ‘day is perfect for […] exalting Mary, mediator who intercedes for mankind to God’.89 In Maríu saga (i–ii), as already mentioned, the concluding section borrows much of its material from the Assumptio sancte Marie. As the prologue, the epilogue is entirely catechetical. It is exclusively devoted to Mary’s intercessory role and consists of ‘an argued speech on the intercession’.90 Its starting point is that Mary is langt umfram aþra helga menn í sinni dýrð ok verðleikum fyrir guði91 (far superior to other saints in her glory and merit before God), then the author explains the reasons why Mary is the most merciful intercessor: En svá sem vér trúm, at hon er öllum helgari, svá skulom vér ok því trúa, at hon er öllum várkunnlátari ok betri bœna, því at allt huggœði er af guði, ok ero þeir allir 87 

    Maríu saga ii, ed. by Unger, p. 60. The nature of the sun has been rigorously analysed in the section 26 ‘Um dal Josaphat’ (On the valley of Jehosaphat), Unger, Maríu saga ii, pp. 54–56. On this, see Najork, ‘The Virgin Mary and the Last Judgement in the Old-Norse Icelandic Maríu saga’, pp. 15–27. 89  Bériou, ‘L’intercession dans les sermons de la Toussaint’, p. 264: ‘un enseignement sur l’intercession. Le jour de l’Assomption se prête par exemple à l’exaltation de Marie, médiatrice qui intercède pour les hommes auprès de Dieu’. 90  Bériou, ‘L’intercession dans les sermons de la Toussaint’, p. 263: ‘un enseignement argumenté sur l’intercession’. 91  Maríu saga ii, ed. by Unger, p. 61. 88 

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    huggóðaztir, er henni ero líkaztir. Af því skulom vér á hana kalla til árnaðarorðz fyrst allra heilagra manna, ok óhræddir um þat vera, at hon mun oss því betri bœna, sem vér þurfom hennar meirr, ef vér biðium með réttri trú ok réttu hugskoti ok með iðran afgerða.92 (And as we believe that she is holier than all others, we should also believe that she is more merciful and more worthy of prayers than all others, because all the goodness of heart comes from God, and that all those who have the best goodness of heart look the most like her. Therefore, we should invoke her intercession before that of all saints and not be afraid that she is more worthy of prayers as we have the greatest need of it, if we pray with a right faith, a right mind, and with repentance of sins.)

    By means of several logical connectors — en svá (and as), svá (as), því at (because), af því (therefore), the author moves on to the reasons why Mary’s intercession is the most powerful and ends with the necessity of seeking her mercy. He goes on reminding that Mary can intercede for us only on the following conditions: ef vér biðium með réttri trú ok réttu hugskoti ok með iðran afgerða (if we pray with a right faith, a right mind, and with repentance of sins). He goes on to explain that we must never despair of her mercy even though the circumstances seem hopeless: En ef eigi þickir við áheit [batna93], þá er á hana er heitit í sóttum eða öðrum líkamligum meinum, en þá er svá berr í móti, þá er þó vís ván, at hon mun oss þat veita, er miklu mun meiri var nauðsyn til at þiggia, en þat sem vér biðium.94 (And if it seems that we cannot recover when we invoke her, when we appeal to her in sickness or for other physical ailments or face opposition, then nevertheless we know with certitude that she will give us what was much more necessary to receive than what we ask for.)

    The author logically concludes that we shall know what we should pray for and learn how to do so, this passage echoing to Luke 11. 1–4, and ends with the doxology: Af því skal þat upphaf bœna várra vera, at guð almáttigr gefi oss þat vit, at vér megim skilia hvers oss er mest þörf at biðia, ok vér lifðim svá hér í verölldinni, at guðs móðir María telði oss í sveit vina sinna. Þat veiti oss allzvaldandi dróttinn, sá er lifir ok ríkir um allar alldir. Amen.95 92 

    Maríu saga ii, ed. by Unger, p. 61. Maríu saga i, ed. by Unger, p. 400: vakna. 94  Maríu saga ii, ed. by Unger, p. 61. 95  Maríu saga ii, ed. by Unger, p. 62. 93 

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    (Therefore, we shall begin our prayers by asking Almighty God to give us the intelligence to understand what we most need and pray for it, so we live here in the world so that Mary, mother of God, includes us in the community of her friends. May the Almighty Lord grant us with it, he who lives and reigns for ever and ever. Amen!)

    The most striking feature of Maríu saga ii is the emphasis on Mary’s queenship. The redactor restructured his text according to a tripartite pattern: a ‘Prologus’ (Prologue) with an innovative thematic heading — drótning himins ok iarðar (Queen of heaven and earth) — and a selection of additional passages in order to highlight in a symbolic way the foundations upon which Mary’s regal status rests; a lífssaga (story of the life) of the Queen Mary (sections 1 to 27) where the redactor consistently refers to Mary as Queen; and an epilogue titled ‘Um kenning’ (On the teaching). Apart from these revisions, Maríu saga i and ii contain similar material regarding the doctrine of Mary’s queenship. The sections devoted to the account of the Virgin’s Assumption exalt Mary, the queen of the universe, above all the ranks of saints and cohorts of angels, whereas both the introductory and concluding sections are dedicated to a pedagogy of faith, though in different ways: the first one contains a reflection upon the foundations and the nature of Mary’s queenship, the second includes a teaching on Mary’s intercession. Thus, to sum up, in Maríu saga ii, every facet of Mary’s royalty is in turn explained, praised, and taught.

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    Works Cited Primary Sources Alfræði íslenzk. Islandsk encyclopædisk literatur i–iii, ed. by Kristian Kålund (Copenhagen: Møllers, 1908–1918) Das altisländische Marienleben. 2. Edition der drei Redaktionen nach den Handschriften AM 234 fol., Holm 11 4to und Holm 1 4to, ed. by Wilhelm Heizmann (unpublished thesis, Georg-August-Universität Göttingen, 1993) Fourteenth-Century Icelandic Verse on the Virgin Mary: ‘Drápa af Maríugrát’, ‘Vitnisvísur af Maríu’, ‘Maríuvísur I-III’, ed. by Kellinde Wrightson (London: Viking Society for Northern Research, 2001) ‘Glossa ordinaria super Matthei evangelium’, Biblia cum glossa ordinaria Walafridi Strabonis aliorumque et interlineari Anselmi Laudunensis, available online at ‘Guðmundar saga Arasonar, Hólabiskups, eptir Arngrím ábóta’, in Biskupa sögur, ed. by Guð­brandur Vigfússon and Jón Sigurðsson, ‘Hinu Íslenzka bókmentafèlagi’, ii (Copen­ hagen: Möllers, 1878), pp. 1–220 Homiliu-bók. Isländska homilier efter en Håndskrift från tolfte århundradet, ed. by Theodor Wisén (Lund: Gleerup, 1872) The Icelandic Homily Book. Perg 15 4to in the Royal Library, Stockholm, ed.  by Andrea de Leeuw van Weenen, Íslensk handrit  / Icelandic manuscripts, Series in quarto, 3 (Reykjavík: Árna Magnússonar, 1993) Libri de Nativitate Mariae I. ‘Pseudo-Matthaei evangelium’. Textus et commentarius, ed. by Jan Gijsel, Corpus Christianorum Series Apocryphorum, 9 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1997) Libri de Nativitate Mariae II. ‘Libellus de nativitate sanctae Mariae’. Textus et commentarius, ed. by Rita Beyers, Corpus Christianorum Series Apocryphorum, 10 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1997) Maríu saga: Legender om jomfru Maria og hendes jertegn, efter gamle haandskrifter, ed. by Carl R. Unger (Kristianstad: Brögger & Christie, 1871) Maríukver. Sögur og kvaeði af Heilagri Guðsmóður frá fyrri tíð, ed. by Ásdis Egilsdóttir, Gunnar Harðarson, and Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir (Reykjavík, Hið íslenzka bókmenntafélag, 1996), pp. 3–66 Patrologiae cursus completus. Series latina (Patrologia Latina), ed.  by Jean-Paul Migne (Paris: Garnier, 1844–1864)

    Secondary Studies Barnay, Sylvie, La Vierge. Femme au visage divin, Découvertes, 401 (Paris: Gallimard, 2000) Barré, Henri, ‘La royauté de Marie au XIIe siècle en Occident’, in Maria et ecclesia. Acta congressus mariologici-mariani in civitate Lourdes anno 1958 celebrati, v: Mariae pote­ stas regalis in ecclesiam (Rome: Pontificia Academia Mariana Internationalis, 1959), pp. 93–119

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    Bériou, Nicole, ‘L’intercession dans les sermons de la Toussaint’, in Nicole Bériou, Religion et communication. Un autre regard sur la prédication au Moyen Âge (Genève: Droz, 2018), pp. 263–91 Beyers, Rita, ‘Livre de la Nativité de Marie: Introduction’, in Écrits apocryphes chrétiens, i, ed.  by François Bovon and Pierre  Geoltrain, Bibliothèque de la Pléiade (Paris: Gallimard, 1997), pp. 141–61 —— , ‘De Nativitate Mariae: problèmes d’origine’, Revue de théologie et de philosophie, 122 (1990), 171–88 Boulton, Maureen Barry McCann, Sacred Fictions of Medieval France: Narrative Theology in the Lives of Christ and the Virgin, 1150–1500 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2015) Collomb, Pascal, ‘Les éléments liturgiques de la Légende dorée. Tradition et innovations’, in De la sainteté à l’hagiographie. Genèse et usage de la ‘Légende dorée’, ed. by Barbara Fleith and Franco Morenzoni, Publications romanes et françaises, CCXXIX (Genève: Droz, 2001), pp. 97–122 Cormack, Margaret, ‘Christian Biography’, in A Companion to Old Norse-Icelandic Literature and Culture, ed. by Rory McTurk (Oxford: Blackwell, 2005), pp. 27–42 —— , The Saints in Iceland: Their Veneration from the Conversion to 1400, Subsidia hagiographica, 78 (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1994) —— , ‘Saints’ Lives and Icelandic Literature in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries’, in Saints and Sagas: A  Symposium, ed.  by Hans Bekker-Nielsen and Birte Carlé (Odense: Odense University Press, 1994), pp. 27–47 —— , ‘Saints of Medieval Hólar: A Statistical Survey of the Veneration of Saints in the Diocese’, Peregrinations: Journal of Medieval Art and Architecture, 3 (2011), 7–37 Donnelly, Malachi J., ‘The Queenship of Mary During the Patristic Period’, Marian Library Studies, 4 (1953), 82–108 Fairise, Christelle, ‘Relating Mary’s Life in Medieval Iceland: Maríu saga. Similarities and Differences with the Continental Lives of the Virgin’, Arkiv för nordisk filologi, 129 (2014), 165–96 Frénaud, Georges, ‘La royauté de Marie dans la liturgie’, in Maria et ecclesia. Acta congressus mariologici-mariani in civitate Lourdes anno 1958 celebrati, v: Mariae potestas regalis in ecclesiam (Rome: Academia Mariana, 1959), pp. 57–92 Gambero, Luigi, ‘Biographies of Mary in Byzantine Literature’, Marian Studies, 60 (2009), 31–50 —— , Mary in the Middle Ages (San Francisco: Ignatius, 2005) Hall, Thomas N., ‘Old Norse-Icelandic Sermons’, in The Sermon, ed.  by Beverly  M. Kienzle, Typologie des Sources du Moyen Âge Occidental, fasc. 81–83 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2000), pp. 661–709 Hallgrímur J. Ámundason, ‘AM 655 XXVII 4to. Útgáfa, stafagerð, stafsetning’ (unpublished BA thesis, Háskóli Íslands, 1994) Heizmann, Wilhelm, ‘Maríu saga’, in Medieval Scandinavia: An Encyclopedia, ed.  by Philip Pulsiano and Kirsten Wolf, Garland Encyclopedias of the Middle Ages, 1 (New York: Garland, 1993), pp. 407–08 Iogna-Prat, Dominique, Éric Palazzo, and Daniel Russo, eds, Marie. Le culte de la Vierge dans la société médiévale (Paris: Beauchesne, 1993)

    maría, drótning himins ok iarðar

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    Jouassard, G., ‘Marie à travers la patristique. Maternité divine, virginité, sainteté’, in Maria. Études sur la Sainte Vierge, ed. by Hubert du Manoir, Tome premier, Livre iii (Paris: Beauchesne, 1949), pp. 69–157 Kirwin, George F., ‘Queenship of Mary — Queen Mother’, Marian Library Studies, 28 (2007), 37–320 Kjesrud, Karoline, ‘Conceptions of the Virgin Mary in Medieval Western Scandinavia’, in Words and Matter: The Virgin Mary in Late Medieval and Early Modern Parish Life, ed. by Jonas Carlquist and Virginia Langum (Stockholm: Sällskapet Runica et Mediaevalia, 2015), pp. 87–103 ——  , ‘Marian Representations’, in Handbook of Pre-Modern Nordic Memory Studies: Interdisciplinary Approaches, ed.  by Jürg Glauser, Pernille Hermann, and Stephen Mitchell (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2018), pp. 477–85 Laurentin, René, ‘Marie (Vierge)’, in Dictionnaire de spiritualité ascétique et mystique: doctrine et histoire, ed.  by André Derville and others, 45  vols (Paris: Beauchesne, 1932–1995), 10 (1933), cols 410–82 Mimouni, Simon C., ‘Les Vies de la Vierge: État de la question’, Apocrypha, 5 (1994), 211–48 Najork, Daniel, ‘Translating Marian Doctrine into the Vernacular: The Bodily Assumption in Middle English and Old-Norse Icelandic Literature’ (unpublished doctoral dissertation, Arizona State University, 2014) —— , ‘The Virgin Mary and the Last Judgement in the Old-Norse Icelandic Maríu saga’, in Catastrophes and the Apocalyptic in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, ed.  by R. Bjork (Turnhout: Brepols, 2019), pp. 15–27 Norelli, Enrico, Marie des apocryphes: Enquête sur la mère de Jésus dans le christianisme antique (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2009) Pelle, Stephen, ‘Twelfth-Century Sources for Old Norse Homilies’, Gripla, 24 (2013), 45–75 Þórir Óskarsson, ‘Rhetoric and Style’, in A Companion to Old Norse-Icelandic Literature and Culture, ed. by Rory McTurk (Oxford: Blackwell, 2005), pp. 354–71 Reynolds, Brian K., Gateway to Heaven: Marian Doctrine and Devotion. Image and Typology in the Patristic and Medieval Periods (New York: New City Press, 2012) Roschini, Gabriele M., ‘Royauté de Marie’, in Maria. Études sur la Sainte Vierge, ed. by Hubert du Manoir, Tome premier, Livre iii (Paris: Beauchesne, 1949), pp. 601–18 Tomassini, Laura, ‘An Analysis of the Three Redactions of Maríu saga, with Particular Reference to their Style and Relation to their Latin Sources’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, Københavns Universitet, 1997) Turville-Petre, Gabriel, ‘The Old-Norse Homily on the Assumption and Maríu saga’, Mediaeval Studies, 9 (1947), 131–40 Warner, Marina, Alone of All Her Sex: The Myth and the Cult of the Virgin Mary (New York: Vintage Books, 1983, 1st edn 1976) Wolf, Kirsten, The Legends of the Saints in Old Norse-Icelandic Prose (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2013) Zink, Michel, La Prédication en langue romane avant 1300, 2nd  edn (Paris: Honoré Cham­­pion, 1982)

    The Mass of St Óláfr and a Recovered Sequence for a missa votiva Åslaug Ommundsen

    S

    t Óláfr of Nidaros, patron saint of Norway, was medieval Norway’s most important religious figure. As a royal saint, he became not only the cornerstone of the Norwegian Church, but he was also the divine provider of Norwegian royal authority and closely linked to a Norwegian sense of identity. His cult permeated all levels of society, from high to low, and quickly spread beyond the boundaries of the Norwegian realm into the rest of the Nordic region and Western Europe. For centuries, St  Óláfr was the most widely celebrated saint of Scandinavia.1 Several aspects of Óláfr’s life and saintly afterlife have been studied from various angles, and scholars with an interest in St Óláfr can revel in an abundance of source material which is quite unusual in a Norwegian context. Former divides created by the character of the source material, such as Latin vs vernacular, historiography vs liturgy, history of politics vs religious cult, have been bridged by several studies over the last decades. Scholars have looked at, for example, early royal saints and their role in the emergence of local litera1 

    See for instance Øystein Ekroll, ‘The Cult of St Olav in the Norse Cultural Sphere’. See also contributions in Svahnström, ed., St Olaf. Seine Zeit und sein Kult and Rumar, ed., Helgonet i Nidaros. For specific regions, see for instance Cormack, The Saints in Iceland, pp. 138–44; Dickins, ‘The Cult of Saint Olave in the British Isles’; or Jackson, ‘The Cult of St Olaf and Early Novgorod’, pp. 147–67. I would like to thank Gisela Attinger (University of Oslo) for invaluable help with this chapter. Åslaug Ommundsen ([email protected]) is Professor of Medieval Latin philology at the Department of Linguistic, Literary and Aesthetic Studies, University of Bergen. Her main fields of research are Latin manuscripts and manuscript fragments, monastic history and saints’ cults.  The Cult of Saints in Nidaros Archbishopric. Manuscripts, Miracles, Objects, ed. by Ragnhild M. Bø and Jon Viðar Sigurðsson, tcne 33 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2022), pp. 81–110 BREPOLS PUBLISHERS 10.1484/M.TCNE-EB.5.124879

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    ture; the interface and dynamics between languages and genres, or the effects of a local saint upon secular powers or ‘new’ ecclesiastical institutions, often from a wider or comparative perspective.2 With regard to the liturgical material, the complexity and the amount of the transmitted material for St Óláfr stands in contrast to the situation for the other local saints of Norway, where the sources are scarce and often incomplete.3 The transmitted elements for the ecclesiastical celebrations of Óláfr consist of the liturgy for Mass celebrations, including a proper Alleluia-verse and four sequences for Óláfr.4 There is also evidence of an eleventh-century Office (based on the commons of saints) and a full Office or historia for Óláfr from the late twelfth century, comprising thirty-three chants.5 The legend of St Óláfr, the Passio Olavi, probably written in the 1170s, has been transmitted in two main recensions, one long and one short.6 The Passio is often found 2 

    Iversen, ‘Transforming a Viking into a Saint’; Mortensen and Mundal, ‘Erkebispesetet i Nidaros’; See also contributions in Ekrem, Mortensen, and Skovgaard-Petersen, eds, Olavslegenden og den latinske historieskrivning i 1100-tallets Norge; Mortensen, ‘Sanctified Beginnings and Mythopoietic Moments’; Mortensen, ‘Writing and Speaking of St  Olaf ’; Hankeln, ‘Music and Its Significance’; Hope, ‘Constructing Institutional Identity through the Cult of Royal Saints’. 3  In contrast, see the case of Saint Sunniva, for example, where the Office text is transmitted, but not the music; a Passio is transmitted, but not the Miracula. For St Hallvarðr a sequence is transmitted, but not the Office, see Jiroušková, Ommundsen and Haki Antonsson, ‘Latin Hagiography in Medieval Norway’, pp. 757–874 (part I for Óláfr, pp. 773–845, part II for Sunniva, pp. 846–54 and III for Hallvarðr, pp. 855–62). See also Mortensen and Ommundsen, ‘Sancta Sunniva’ and Ommundsen, ‘Sanctus Hallvardus’. 4  For an overview of the liturgical material for Óláfr, see for example Mortensen, Østrem and Ommundsen, ‘Sanctus Olavus’. For the sequences of Nidaros, see Eggen, The Sequences of the Archbishopric of Nidaros. For sequences in general, see Hiley, Western Plainchant, pp. 172–95. 5  A historia, first mentioned in the ninth century, was ‘a coherent series of responsories (antiphons were also added on occasion) to be sung at the liturgical Hours on a particular feast day’ ( Jakobsson and Haug, ‘Versified Office’. The liturgy of Óláfr was the focus of attention in large parts of the twentieth century: Reiss, Musiken ved den middelalderlige Olavsdyrkelsen i Norden. See also Gjerløw, ‘Olaf den Hellige. Liturgi’; Gjerløw, Ordo Nidrosiensis Ecclesiae (for Óláfr, see pp. 124–28 and 371–73), and Gjerløw, Antiphonarium Ecclesiae Nidrosiensis (for Óláfr, pp. 182–86). A modern edition of Óláfr’s Office came in 2001: Østrem, The Office of Saint Olaf. 6  A major milestone in research on St Óláfr was a thorough edition of Passio et miracula Olavi: Lenka Jiroušková, Der heilige Wikingerkönig Olav Haraldsson. Jiroušková’s main conclusions are presented in English in Jiroušková, Ommundsen, and Haki Antonsson, ‘Latin Hagiography’ (part I, pp. 773–845). For the extensive literature on Passio Olavi, see Jiroušková, Der heilige Wikingerkönig Olav Haraldsson, and Jiroušková, Ommundsen, and Haki Antonsson, ‘Latin Hagiography’.

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    together with miracula in varying numbers and selections, altogether fifty different miracle accounts in Latin.7 The complex Office or historia of Óláfr from the late twelfth century (In regali fastigio) has received more attention than the Mass. If Mass is seen as the backbone of the Church’s rituals, the Divine Office may be said to be its flesh and blood. The proper historiae of the twelfth century provided ample opportunity for the embellishment of a saint’s virtues, deeds, and miracles, with psalm recitations ‘wrapped’ in antiphons and complemented by prayers and other liturgical elements.8 The celebration of a local saint would represent a merging of local events with the universal framework for liturgy and hagiography, the structure and style copied from models abroad. There would be ample opportunity to shape an image according to the wishes of the ecclesiastical community. In the case of Óláfr, his early life as a Viking was ignored, and the emphasis put on his humility in the midst of his kingship. While a righteous man, humble and wise (vir iustus, humilis, sapiens), Óláfr’s liturgical ‘image’ may be said to be that of the apostle, the just king, the martyr, and the adult convert.9 The constant borrowings and reworkings of material for other saints, set in comparable liturgical and institutional settings, lend Offices particularly well to comparative studies of different types.10 In comparison, the Mass was relatively ‘sober’ and had limited potential for direct references to the saint. In addition to the central elements, that is the lessons from Scripture and celebration of the Holy Communion, the celebration of Mass was constituted by a combination of chant and prayers — some elements proper and changing on a daily basis (proprium), others part of the more stable ordinarium (like the Kyrie and Gloria). The Mass would mainly be ‘tailored’ for a specific saint on a basic level through the selection of suitable chants and readings from the common of saints (from the suitable category, in Óláfr’s case the feast day for a martyr), often with the specific saint’s name inserted in the chant text. In addition, one could have a proper Alleluia verse, and, finally, 7 

    See Jiroušková, Ommundsen, and Haki Antonsson, ‘Latin Hagiography’, pp. 787–91. See for instance Fassler and Baltzer, eds, The Divine Office in the Latin Middle Ages. 9  See Hope, ‘Constructing Institutional Identity through the Cult of Royal Saints’, p. 174, as well as Hankeln, ‘Music and Its Significance’, pp. 151–58, Iversen, ‘Transforming a Viking into a Saint’, p. 421. 10  In the case of Óláfr, scholars have identified specific models for texts and melodies, such as St Vincent, St Victor, and St Augustine, and compared the liturgy to that of Knud Lavard, King Knud IV and King Edmund, see Østrem, The Office of Saint Olaf, p. 60; Hankeln, ‘Music and Its Significance’, and Hope, ‘Constructing Institutional Identity through the Cult of Royal Saints’. 8 

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    a proper sequence. In this way, the main virtues of the saint could come across also during the Mass celebration. The Mass for Óláfr has hardly been left unstudied: the different elements of the celebration have been identified, the manuscript sources studied, Óláfr’s proper sequence Lux illuxit has been edited, analysed and compared to the Office and the Passio Olavi, and the interplay between Lux illuxit and the other liturgical elements of Mass has been investigated.11 The main perception of Óláfr’s Mass is that it remained relatively unchanged for 500 years, albeit with some additional material introduced in the late twelfth century.12 While this may be true on a general level, we should probably take into account to a higher degree the following two aspects of the medieval celebration of the Mass of St Óláfr: first of all, there was presumably a certain variation with regard to the proper elements for the liturgy of the early Mass celebration. The options provided in later instructions for the liturgical celebrations of Óláfr serve as useful reminders that there seems to have been no need for absolute unity.13 Secondly, it is also highly relevant in this context to consider the celebration of votive Masses. The Mass on Óláfr’s feast day, 29 July, and to some extent the translation on 3 August, have to such a degree been the focus of attention, that it has been too easy to forget both the early and late sources that indicate the celebration of votive Masses for St Óláfr. Votive Masses were celebrated for occasional purposes outside of the fixed annual cycles of feasts for the Church year, and independently of the Office of the day. 11 

    Gjerløw, Ordo Nidrosiensis Ecclesiae, pp. 125–28 and 372–73; Reiss, Musiken ved den middelalderlige Olavsdyrkelsen i Norden, pp. 12–44, and Eggen, The Sequences of the Archbishopric of Nidaros, i, pp. 213–21; Kraggerud, ‘Olavssekvenser – den kjente og de glemte’; Kraggerud, ‘Middelaldernøtter. “plus” – en nux i lux illuxit’; Ommundsen, ‘Books, Scribes and Sequences in Medieval Norway’; Ommundsen, ‘A Saint and his Sequence’; Ommundsen, ‘The Word of God and the Stories of Saints’, and Eirik Steenhoff, En ny sang for Olav. 12  Gjerløw’s statement that the Mass in The Red Book of Darley is ‘that of the ON and MN, semper eadem through five hundred years’ (Gjerløw, Ordo Nidrosiensis Ecclesiae, p. 124), ought to be seen as based on the prayers, not the other liturgical elements of Óláfr’s mass, for which there are no eleventh-century sources. 13  In the edited Ordo Nidrosiensis the proper Alleluia verse can be replaced with a common one (see Table 4.1), and in Missale Nidrosiense there are two options for the oratio ad complendum. The Missale Nidrosiense gives the option of saying either the Vitalis hostiae ubi caro facti or Agni celestis dulcedine satiati as the postcommunio prayer, Missale Nidrosiense p. 450. The instructions for the nocturnal lessons of the Office even states that instead of lessons from Óláfr’s proper Passio one can read a sermon on a martyr, Gjerløw, Ordo Nidrosiensis Ecclesiae, p. 372. In fact, even the Ordo Nidrosiensis itself may not represent the intended unified practice of the archdiocese of Nidaros, see Marner, ‘Liturgical Change and Liturgical Plurality in the Province of Nidaros’.

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    The expansion of the use of votive Masses may be connected to a certain ‘inflation’ in Mass celebrations in general, which is also discernible in the source material for Óláfr.14 The development of the cult of St Óláfr can roughly be described as depending on two major campaigns driven by two strong individuals: First, the establishment of the cult itself, when Óláfr was declared a saint shortly after his death in 1030, by his bishop Grimkel (see Fig. 4.2). Secondly, there was a major campaign in Nidaros (Trondheim) under Archbishop Eystein Erlendsson (1157–1188), probably with the highest activity in the 1170s. Most of the transmitted texts and manuscript material fit in neatly with either one or the other event. Exceptions are three late sequences (Postquam calix, Salutamus te rex, ave — formerly known as Predicasti dei care — and Veneremur), which do not fit into a known context of clear political and ecclesiastical purpose.15 The use of these sequences is not as straightforward as Lux illuxit, which clearly had the highest rank for the use on the Mass on Óláfr’s feast day 29 July. Yet, the recent identification of the missing first half-strophe of the sequence Predicasti dei care, namely Salutamus te rex, ave, in Swedish fragments in the autumn of 2017, demands a new look at this sequence and its liturgical context.16 The first two parts of this chapter will focus on the first two phases of Mass celebrations for St Óláfr. These provide a backdrop for the third part, the first presentation of the recovered sequence Salutamus dei, ave, as well as a discussion about its possible role in the liturgy of St Óláfr.17

    The Beginning: Downfall and Victory Although Óláfr Haraldsson upon his return to Norway failed in his battle for earthly kingship, he won — through his violent death at the Battle of Stiklestad on 29 July 1030 — what could be regarded as the ultimate victory: he became a highly venerated and loved royal saint and martyr, as well as the eternal 14 

    Such as the daily Mass celebrations within Óláfr’s octave (the week following the 29 July) as described in the Missale Nidrosiense, pp. 449–50. 15  For a discussion concerning these sequences, see Kraggerud, ‘Olavsseksvenser – den kjente og de glemte’. 16  For a ‘virtual reconstruction’ see . 17  For the Mass celebration of Óláfr, see Gjerløw, Ordo Nidrosiensis Ecclesiae, pp. 124–26; Iversen, ‘Transforming a Viking into a Saint’, p.  405, and Ommundsen, ‘A Saint and his Sequence’, pp. 151–76.

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    king of Norway (rex perpetuus Norwegiae).18 After his death, kings would point to his royal authority as proof of their own, and the Church would regard him as their fervent protector and consider his earthly remains their prime asset (Fig. 4.1). The paradox that stares one in the eye is that Óláfr Haraldsson (b.  c.  995) was the most unlikely of saints: he joined Viking raids from the age of twelve, and served as a mercenary, first for the Danes against the English, then for the English against the Danes. In 1015 Figure 4.1. St Óláfr, polychrome sculpture, he claimed, successfully at first, c. 1250. From Fresvik church (Sogn og Fjordane), now in the Museum of Cultural History C35142. the Norwegian throne, and kept it until he had to flee the country Photo: Ove Holst © 2018 Museum of Cultural History, UiO / CC BY-SA 4.0. in 1028. While alive, Óláfr was a highly controversial and to some extent unpopular figure, labelled with the very worldly epithet Digre (the fat). Still, a remarkably swift consensus appears to have formed after his death, that he was indeed a holy man and a martyr for his faith.19 The prime architect behind this achievement seems to have been Óláfr’s English bishop Grimkel, who came with him to Norway in 1015.20 A year after Óláfr’s death, 3 August 1031, Grimkel had Óláfr’s body transferred to the church of St Clement in Nidaros. The opening of Óláfr’s casket is described with dramatic effect in both literature and art.21 The verdict is well known: the bishop 18  First referred to as such in Historia Norvegiae from the late twelfth century, see Ekrem and Mortensen, eds, Historia Norvegiae. 19  From a liturgical viewpoint, this is discussed most directly in Iversen, ‘Transforming a Viking into a Saint’. 20  See Johnsen, ‘Om misjonsbiskopen Grimkellus’; Birkeli, ‘Biskop Grimkell og HelligOlav’, pp. 109–30, 207–23; Østrem, The Office of Saint Olaf, pp. 29–33; Haki Antonsson, St  Magnús of Orkney, pp.  106–09; Jiroušková, Ommundsen, and Haki Antonsson, ‘Latin Hagiography’, pp. 775–76. 21  Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla  ii, ed.  by Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, p.  405. See also Townend, ‘Knútr and the Cult of St Óláfr’, p. 265.

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    Figure 4.2. Detail from an altar frontal from c. 1300 showing the declaration of Óláfr as a holy man in 1031 after the opening of the casket. Altar frontal. Archbishop Palace Museum, Trondheim. Photo: Eirik Irgens Johnsen © 2018 Museum of Cultural History, UiO / CC BY-SA 4.0.

    declared, with the consent of the king, that Óláfr was a holy man. All the key saintly elements were now in place: a well-preserved body (with a delightful scent), a translation, a shrine, and a growing portfolio of miracles. An image of the good king bringing the light of the Gospel to the dark North was created, although his adversaries in all likelihood were no less Christian than himself. Only decades after his death, prayers and liturgy for the celebration of St Óláfr, king and martyr, occur in English service books. One explanation seems to lie in Grimkel’s active role not only as the king’s bishop in Norway, but also later, as bishop of Selsey in southern England 1038–1047.22 The manu22 

    Johnsen, ‘Om misjonsbiskopen Grimkellus’; Gjerløw, Antiphonarium Ecclesiae Nidrosiensis, p. 182; Iversen, ‘Transforming a Viking into a Saint’, p. 411. Another element could be King Knútr’s strategy to deal with Óláfr’s sainthood, See Townend, ‘Knútr and the Cult of St Óláfr’.

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    scripts are mainly geographically located in Wessex, in the area between Selsey and Exeter, an area with strong links to Norway. The oldest English source is a pontifical made for Exeter or Ramsey in the first half of the eleventh century; it contains a litany in which Óláfr’s name is the last in the list of saints.23 The two manuscripts often mentioned in this context, one for Mass the other for Office use, are certainly fortunate survivors of the mid-eleventh century. The Red Book of Darley (see Fig. 4.3) was possibly written in New Minster, Winchester, around 1060. However, since its calendar contains some feasts particular to Sherborne, a Sherborne origin has also been suggested.24 For the Mass of Óláfr three prayers are given (the collecta, the secreta, and the postcommunio, see Table 4.1 below), but not the sung or read elements. These three prayers were used for the next 500 years, including in the first printed Norwegian missal, the Missale Nidrosiense from 1519.25 Deus, regum corona et martirum victoria, annue nos beati olavi ac martiris apud te pia experiri patrocinia; ut per tuam quam in eius glorificamus passione magnificentiam coronam vite diligentibus te percipiamus repromissam. Per. (Here as in CCC 422, pp. 162–63) (God, Crown of kings and Victory of martyrs, grant that we may earn the pious intercession of saint Óláfr, [king] and martyr, so that through your greatness, which we praise at his passion, we may receive the crown of life promised in return to those who love you.)

    At an early stage, there was not really a need for other material or compositions proper to the saint: they could, as mentioned above, be collected from the commune sanctorum for the particular saint’s category, in the case of Óláfr a martyr, In natalicio unius martiris, and these would constitute a worthy celebration.26 23 

    British Library, Cotton Vitellius A VII, fol. 18, edited in Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Litanies of the Saints, pp. 73–74. Iversen, ‘Transforming a Viking into a Saint’, p. 406. 24  Cambridge CCC 422. For description and facsimiles, see Parker Library on the Web, [accessed 28 February 2018] See also Pfaff, The Liturgy in Medieval England, pp. 94–95. The manuscript contains the collecta, the secreta and the postcommunio prayers for Mass, all prayers used in the commune sanctorum for martyrs, see Iversen, ‘Transforming a Viking into a Saint’, p. 405. 25  Gjerløw, Ordo Nidrosiensis Ecclesiae, p. 124, Iversen, ‘Transforming a Viking into a Saint’, p. 407. 26  At an early stage there was not really a need for compositions proper to the saint; the commune sanctorum provided the essential liturgical elements for a new saint, and these would constitute a worthy celebration. Østrem, The Office of Saint Olaf, p. 36 (in defence of commune sanctorum), Iversen, ‘Transforming a Viking into a Saint’, p. 421. Another Norwegian example is St Sunniva and the Selja saints. Their liturgy was most likely collected from the commune sanc-

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    Figure 4.3. The Red Book of Darley, with the collect prayer ‘Deus regum corona’ for St Óláfr, a prayer used for 500 years. Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 422, fols 162–63. Reproduction with permission of The Parker Library, Corpus Christi College, Cambridge.

    There is no reason to assume that the elements of Óláfr’s Mass celebration were fixed already from the eleventh century. The two ‘masses for a martyr’ given in The Red Book of Darley contain some of the same elements as the Mass for St Óláfr of the late twelfth century, but in different combinations.27 torum until the early thirteenth century. And when Sunniva does get a proper hymn, it has the same incipit and probably the same melody as the hymn from commune sanctorum which had been used for the celebration for well over a century at that point. This indicates the need for a balance between established tradition and new efforts. 27  Mass I for a martyr: Intr. Iustus ut palma, Oratio coll. Quesumus omnipotens deus, ut nostra devotio que natalicia beati N. martiris antecedit … Ep. Beatus vir qui in sapientia sua morabitur. Gr. Iustus ut palma. All. V. Ad nuntiandum. Ev. Si quis vult post me venire. Offert. Gloria et honore. Secr. Magnifica domine beati N martiris sollemnia. Com. Magna est gloria. Mass II for a martyr: Intr. Letabitur iustus. Oratio coll. Presta quesumus omnipotens deus ut qui beati N martiris tui natalicia colimus. Ep. Iustus cor suus tradidit. Gr. Domine preven-

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    What is also indicated by the position of St Óláfr’s Mass in The Red Book of Darley, after the common of saints and the votive Masses of Mary, is that it was first written up as a votive Mass, not necessarily introduced into the annual cycle of saints’ feast (the sanctorale).28 However, it did seem to get a corresponding Office celebration from an early date, which would indicate a more established cult. This early Office for St Óláfr, based on elements in the commune sanctorum, is found in The Leofric Collectar (c. 1050–1060), and also contains the collect prayer above, here used for first vespers.29 The collects for the other hours in The Leofric Collectar were retained and used as part of the new Office from the late twelfth century onwards.30 Unfortunately, the Norwegian manuscript material from the eleventh century is scant, to say the least. We have no Norwegian sources for the ecclesiastical celebration of St Óláfr for the first century after his death. No Norwegian missal has survived before the printed Missale Nidrosiense (1519), and no missal fragments from before 1200 contains the liturgy for 29 July, so we are unable to check what they contained for St Óláfr’s feast day.31 Although there are no sources linking Norwegian practice of the eleventh century to the English service books mentioned above, there is, equally, no evidence that the English manuscripts represents a separate English tradition. It is likely that the transmitted eleventh-century prayers were used both in Nidaros, and possibly other parts of Norway, and some areas in southern England.32 isti eum. All. V. Beatus vir. Ev. Amen amen dico vobis. Nisi granum frumenti. Offert. Posuisti domine. Secreta. Muneribus nostris quesumus domine precibus. Com. Qui vult venire post me. (Cambridge CCC 422, fols 99–104). 28  Hughes, Medieval Manuscripts for Mass and Office, p. 157. 29  The manuscript was linked to Leofric, bishop of Exeter 1050–1072, see for example Østrem, The Office of Saint Olaf, p. 32. 30  Iversen, ‘Transforming a Viking into a Saint’, p. 407. 31  In Norway, fragments from roughly one hundred missals older than about 1150 survive, about twenty-five of these from the eleventh century. These fragments, now in the National Archives of Norway, can be consulted in two databases — one at the National Archives, and one established as part of the project From Manuscript Fragments to Book History; see fragment.uib. no, linking to the MeLOD database at the University library of Bergen. The point of departure for the Bergen database is a handlist drawn up by the English palaeographer Michael Gullick, and also includes the system of ‘reconstructed codices’ established by the liturgist Lilli Gjerløw). 32  Østrem, The Office of Saint Olaf, pp. 36–37; Ommundsen, ‘A Saint and his Sequence’, pp. 155–56. Prayers for St Óláfr has been found in the area between Exeter and Selsey (including Sherborne, Salisbury, and Winchester). The same prayers may also have been used in other parts of Norway, but not necessarily widely spread beyond Nidaros.

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    That Óláfr’s cult was firmly established in Nidaros at an early date is confirmed by Adam of Bremen, in his History of the Archbishops of HamburgBremen (Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontificum) from the 1070s. There Adam mentions miracles in Nidaros at St Óláfr’s shrine, and also claims that Óláfr’s feast day on 29 July was commemorated by all the peoples of the North Sea (Norwegians, Swedes, Goths, Danes, and Slavs).33 It is noteworthy that the papacy was so open to the veneration of local saints. The importance of local saints is confirmed in among other things a letter from Pope Leo to Archbishop Adalbert of Hamburg-Bremen in 1053: the celebration of feast days of saints resting within the archbishopric would warrant the wearing of the archbishop’s pallium, an honour reserved for the high-ranking feasts.34 With Óláfr’s feast becoming increasingly important, the way to both amend existing service books and correct later imported books which did not contain the feast, was touchingly simple: on the date in question, 29 July, already a feast day for Felix, Simplicius, Faustinus, and Beatrix, one could simply add ‘atque Olavi’ (and Óláfr).35 This is primarily seen in Swedish sources, but there is also one surviving Norwegian example.36 The technique was not only used in calendars, but also in prayers. This was, however, in the long run seen as inadequate for the primary Norwegian saint. In Nidaros the celebration of Felix, Simplicius, Faustinus, and Beatrix, was moved to the day before, the 28 July, so that Óláfr could stand alone on the 29 July.37 While the importance of 29 July is undisputed, the day of Óláfr’s translation on 3 August received more diverse treatment, from highest rank to a simple commemoratio.38 33 

    Ommundsen, ‘The Cult of Saints in Norway before 1200’, p. 76. Diplomatarium Norvegicum 17, no. 849. Also in the Old Norwegian laws, the local saints, Óláfr and the saints of Selja, are listed alongside the very highest of the saintly figures: Mary, Michael, John the Baptist, and the apostles, see also Ommundsen, ‘The Cult of Saints’, p. 76. 35  Brunius, Atque Olavi, p. 99. See also Østrem, The Office of Saint Olav, p. 39. 36  Which is rather puzzling, because it is from about 1150, a bit late in what is assumed to be a Norwegian manuscript, see Ommundsen, ‘A Saint and his Sequence’, p. 155, with reference to Gjerløw, ‘Missaler brukt i Bjørgvin bispedømme’, pp. 104–07. 37  ‘Natalicium beatorum martyrum felicis simplicii faustini et beatricis in vigilia beati olavi celebrando preveniatur et simul cum festo beati pantaleonis celebretur’ (Gjerløw, Ordo Nidrosiensis Ecclesiae, p.  371) (Let the feast-day for the blessed martyrs Felix, Simplicius, Faustinus and Beatrix come before, with a celebration on the vigil of the blessed Olaf, and be celebrated together with the feast of the blessed Pantaleon). 38  The law of Frostathing (for the Trondheim area) describes a high-ranking feast, while the Nidaros ordinal only has a commemoration: see Ommundsen, ‘The Cult of Saints’, p. 78. 34 

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    The Twelfth-Century Missa Olavi Óláfr’s relics in the Christ Church of Nidaros and his established cult no doubt played a significant role in Nidaros being granted status as the metropolitan see of the Norwegian province in 1152/1153.39 The Latin literary productions of the years immediately before and after 1152/1153 were most likely absorbed into later material. An early collection of nine or ten miracles may be among them.40 While the cult of St Óláfr may have been instrumental in raising the level of Nidaros to an archiepiscopal see, it also provided a focal point upon which the metropolitan see could construct their new institutional identity.41 This can explain the creation of new texts connected to St Óláfr in what may be referred to as a ‘new’ campaign to promote St Óláfr in the 1170s. This activity is assumed to have been initiated by the second archbishop, Eystein Erlendsson (1157–1188), who received the pallium in 1161. 42 Archbishop Eystein is considered to have been one of the most influential men for Norway’s archiepiscopal see. He personally deliberated questions regarding the liturgy and canon law, and worked for the independence of the Church. He oversaw building works on the cathedral of Nidaros, founded monasteries, and probably oversaw the foundation of others.43 Last, but not least, he seems to have organized the composition of literature and liturgy and actively promoted St Óláfr as protector and eternal king of Norway. From this period, presumably the 1170s, stem the Passio Olavi, Óláfr’s proper Office In regali fastigio, Óláfr’s sequence Lux illuxit, and Theodericus’s historiographical work Historia de antiquitate regum Norwagiensium.44 These 39  By Cardinal Nicholas Breakspear (later to become Pope Adrian IV), see documents Diplomatarium Norvegicum 8, no. 1 (1154) and the confirmation in Diplomatarium Norvegicum 7, no. 7 (1206). 40  Miracles no. 1–10, see Mortensen, ‘Eystein and Passio Olavi’, p. 84. Miracles no. 1–9, Jiroušková, Ommundsen, and Haki Antonsson, ‘Latin Hagiography’, p. 802. 41  See Hope, ‘Constructing Institutional Identity through the Cult of Royal Saints’, p. 241. 42  On Archbishop Eystein, see Gunnes, Erkebiskop Øystein. 43  In Nidaros he founded Helgeseter, an Augustinian house for regular canons — probably twelve in number — some time between 1160 and 1183. He was also involved in the foundation of Kastelle in Bohuslän and possibly — in an advisory capacity — at the All Saints monastery at Halsnøy, see for example Lunde, ‘Klosteranleggene’. 44  Note that the work Historia Norvegie was written about the same time, but is not connected to the milieu in Nidaros, see Ekrem and Mortensen, eds, Historia Norvegiae. Egil

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    works, along with Eystein’s other activities, may be said to constitute a campaign in their own right, and reflect ambitions on the parts of both Eystein and the institution he represented.45 These texts sprang out of what was probably a highly educated, and international, environment at the cathedral.46 The Mass presented from the late twelfth century onwards appear to have been relatively stable, although the scarcity of Norwegian source material hardly allows for definitive statements on this issue.47 It is difficult to exclude the possibility that some areas may have wanted to retain a celebration based on the commune sanctorum in their old missals. The basic structure of any Mass was relatively fixed (see Table 4.1 below). The first part of Mass (the ‘Missa catechumenorum’) was dedicated to Scripture, with the reading of the Gospel text of the day as the climax, while the Holy Communion was the focus of the second part of Mass (the ‘Missa fidelium’). In keeping with the medieval love of allegory, the different liturgical elements, the clergy, and the movements involved in Mass celebration were given allegorical interpretations. According to the popular Gemma anime by Honorius Augustodinensis (c. 1080–1154), the Mass signified a legatio, a mission or a transmission lasting from the time when Christ entered this world until the time when Church shall enter heaven: that is, ‘when the bride of Christ is led from this Babylon to the heavenly Jerusalem’.48 Honorius also describes how Mass can be seen as symbolizing the spiritual battle and triumph of Christians, Kraggerud suggests a less firm link between Theodericus’ work and the Trondheim milieu in his edition of De antiquitate regum Norwagiensium, see Kraggerud, Theodoricus. 45  See Hope, ‘Constructing Institutional Identity through the Cult of Royal Saints’. 46  Fragments from the second half of the twelfth century, presumably from books produced in Nidaros at this time, include hands which are not Norwegian. Also, it was at this time not uncommon to travel abroad for education, especially to Paris; see Myking, The French Connection, pp. 90–110, with further references. 47  The Mass presented in the edited ordinal of Nidaros from the late twelfth century corresponds well with the printed missal from 1519, see Gjerløw, Ordo Nidrosiensis Ecclesiae, pp. 124–28, 372–73. Iversen, ‘Transforming a Viking into a Saint’, p. 405. In Sweden the sources display more variation, Ommundsen, ‘The Word of God and the Stories of Saints’, p. 38. 48  ‘…cum sponsa Christi ab ista Babylonia, in supernam Hierusalem ducetur’, Honorius Augustodinensis, Gemma Animae sive De divinis officiis et antiquo ritu missarum, deque horis canonicis et totius annis solemnitatibus, PL 172, cols 541–738 (Liber 1, chap. 84, col. 570c). Gemma animae is quoted extensively in the temporale part of the edited Ordo Nidrosiensis: see Gjerløw, Ordo Nidrosiensis Ecclesiae, p. 96. It was also translated into Old Norse: four leaves with an Old Norse translation of Gemma animae were transmitted as insertions in the Old Norwegian Homily Book, see Haugen and Ommundsen, Vår eldste bok.

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    with the cantor as the horn blower giving the first signal and the precentors as the officers leading the forces into battle.49 The Mass would start with a chant, the introitus, the opening antiphon. In correspondence with the allegorical interpretation of Mass above, the introit signified the coming of Christ into this world, with the chant symbolizing the joy of both angels and humans at his birth.50 The visible and symbolic manifestation of the entry of Christ, would be the priest entering the Church and walking to the altar.51 In Óláfr’s case the introit was Gaudeamus omnes (Let us all rejoice) which was popular and used for a number of saints, including St Mary.52 The text is a simple encouragement to rejoice and celebrate the saint’s feast day. Melodically it opens with a ‘building block’ that it shares with the Office’s first responsory, In regali fastigio (which was regarded as the key element of the Office). One may wonder whether or not this melodic connection between the Mass and the Office deliberately links the two. After the introit, the Kyrie and the Gloria, came the collect prayer (oratio collecta), the first of the three proper prayers of Mass. The other two prayers came before and after the Communion, namely the secreta (oratio super oblata), and postcommunio (oratio ad complendum). As mentioned above, these prayers are used for the Mass of Óláfr throughout the Middle Ages. Other chants collected from the commune sanctorum, such as the gradual (Posuisti domine), the offertory (Posuisti domine), and the communion (Magna est gloria eius) were all taken from Psalm 20, describing the ideal king who is chosen by God and true to him.53 The epistle reading was taken from Liber sapientiae (10. 10–14: Justum deduxit), with a similar message, describing Wisdom leading the just man, bringing him ‘the sceptre of the kingdom, and power against those that oppressed him’.54 The Gospel reading for St Óláfr corresponds with the Gospel reading for a martyr from the commune sanctorum, and is from Matthew (16. 24–28): Si quis vult post me venire: ‘If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me’.55 49 

    Honorius Augustodinensis, Gemma Animae, Lib. 1, chaps 72–77 (cols 566–68). Honorius Augustodinensis, Gemma Animae, Lib. 1, chap. 84 (col. 570). 51  Honorius Augustodinensis, Gemma Animae, Lib. 1, chap. 91 (col. 574a). 52  See for instance Gjerløw, Ordo Nidrosiensis Ecclesiae, p. 497, or Graduale Triplex, pp. 893–94. 53  See Gjerløw, Ordo Nidrosiensis Ecclesiae, pp. 372–73. 54  Liber sapientiae 10. 14. Douay-Rheims Bible translation: . 55  Matthew 16. 24. Douay-Rheims Bible translation: . 50 

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    Table 4.1. Table of the Mass Celebration of St Óláfr for 29 July. Mass Elements

    The Red Book of Darley, c. 1060

    The Ordo Nidrosiensis, c. 1200

    I. Missa catechumenorum, ‘mass for of the catechumens’, Liturgy of the Word Introitus (chant)

     

    Gaudeamus omnes. Ps. Misericordias

    Kyrie eleison

     

     

    Gloria in excelsis

     

     

    Oratio collecta

    Deus [qui es] regum corona

     

    Epistola (first lesson)

     

    Justum deduxit (Liber sap. 10. 10–14)

    Graduale (chant)

     

    Posuisti domine. V. Desiderium

    Alleluia with verse

     

    Alleluia V. Sancte Olave qui in celis, vel Alleluia V. Letabitur iustus

    Sequence (chant)

     

    Lux illuxit

    Evangelium (second lesson)

     

    Si quis vult post me (Matt. 16. 24–28)

    Credo

     

     

     

     

     

    II. Missa fidelium, ‘mass for the faithful’, Liturgy of the Eucharist Offertorium

     

    Posuisti domine

    Oratio super oblata (= secreta)

    Inscrutabilem secreti tui virtutem

     

    Praefatio (Vere dignum)

     

     

    Sanctus – Benedictus

     

     

    Canon (Te igitur)

     

     

    Pater noster

     

     

    Agnus Dei

     

     

    Communio (bread and wine)

     

      Magna est gloria eius

    Communio (chant)

     

    Oratio ad compl. (= postcommunio)

    Vitalis hostiae verbi caro facti  

    Ite missa est/ Benedicamus

     

     

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    In the Gemma anime we can read that the Epistle, read by the subdeacon, symbolized the preaching of John, and the Gospel, read by the deacon, the teachings of Christ: ‘And, like John is known as the precursor of Christ, the Epistle is read before the Gospel, who is Christ’.56 The images of St  Óláfr evoked by the Mass elements correspond with the message from the Office mentioned above: Óláfr is the king of Psalm 20, the just man from Liber Sapientiae, and taking up the cross of Christ as described in the Gospel of Matthew. An even better opportunity to describe the saint’s virtues and miracles during Mass was the sequence. The sequence was performed after the Alleluia and before the reading of the Gospel, and put the saint centre stage, also in Mass. The composition of a proper sequence was therefore an important stage in a saint’s ecclesiastical afterlife. Honorius refers to the sequence as the cantum victoriae, the song of victory, used by the righteous to celebrate their liberation, like the sons of Israel at the Exodus.57 Regarding the performance and interpretation of the singing of the different chants, Honorius writes: The cantors conducting the choir are the apostles who taught the Church to praise God. Those who sing the Gradual symbolize those who serve Christ in their everyday lives. They sing standing on the steps, because the righteous ones walk from virtue to virtue on the stairs of love. Those who sing the Alleluia represent those who praise Christ in their contemplative lives. The choir sings the sequence in an alternating fashion, because the crowds of both angels and men praise the Lord in the house of God forever and ever.58

    The sequence genre was part of a development that started north of the Alps in the ninth century, and its origin and development has been extensively studied and discussed.59 Typically, a sequence consists of several pairs of verses or versi-

    56  ‘Et, sicut Joannes praecursor Christi memoratur, ita Epistola ante Evangelium, quod est Christi’, Honorius Augustodinensis, Gemma animae, chap. 18 (col. 550a). 57  Honorius Augustodinensis, Gemma animae, Lib. 1, chap. 20 (cols 550–51). 58  Honorius Augustodinensis, Gemma animae, Lib. 1, chap. 16 (col. 549): ‘Cantores qui choros regunt, sunt apostoli qui Ecclesias laudes Dei instruxerunt. Hi qui Graduale cantant, significant eos qui in activa vita Christo serviunt. In gradibus cantantes stabunt, quia justi de virtute in virtutem in scala charitatis ibunt. Qui Alleluia cantant, designant eos qui in contemplativa vita Christum laudant. Hi cantantes altius consistunt; quia tales in celsitudine virtutum coelestia contemplando scandunt. Sequentiam chori alternatim jubilabunt, quia frequentiae angelorum et hominum in domo Dei Dominum in saeculum saeculi laudabunt’. . 59  For an overview, see for example Hiley, Western Plainchant, pp. 172–95.

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    cles, where the text is set to the music with one syllable per note. Over the course of the eleventh and twelfth centuries the sequence gradually developed from a high degree of variation in the size and rhythmical pattern of the verse pairs to a more hymn-like structure with regular rhythm and rhyme. The sequence genre became highly popular, and grew in number from a few hundred in the late ninth century to several thousand by the end of the fifteenth century.60 In the twelfth century, when Nidaros was at its most active in establishing its own liturgical practice, the sequence was at the height of its popularity.61 Only one of the sequences for St Óláfr was part of the twelfth-century repertory, and presumably part of the campaign of the 1170, namely Lux illuxit laetabunda. Lux illuxit has been edited, translated, analysed, and compared to other sequences.62 The sequence follows up on the concept of Óláfr as the Light that shines in darkness, as introduced in the Old Norse poem Geisli performed in connection with the establishment of the archbishopric of Nidaros in 1152/1153.63 In general the text of the sequence took its subject matter from hagiographical material, describing a saint’s virtues and good deeds. In Óláfr’s case, Lux illuxit does not directly echo words from the readings before and after (the epistle and gospel readings) as one might expect. Óláfr’s sequence is more about ideas and ideals than about deeds, events, and miracles. So again, Óláfr is the king, the just, and Christ’s follower, as well as the light shining in the darkness.64 The only miracle mentioned specifically is the vision at the night before the battle at Stiklestad on 29 July 1030. In this context it is worth mentioning that the sequence was performed immediately before an elaborate ceremony regarding the reading of the Gospel. Two acolytes with candles should precede the Gospel book; the light should shine before the Gospel in the same way as the evangelical doctrine would light up the Church and the word of God offer the light of life. When the Gospel 60 

    Ommundsen, ‘A Saint and his Sequence’, p. 160. Nidaros had an unusually large sequence repertory, representing a large variety in date, style and origin, and encompassing 111 titles in the edited Nidaros ordinal, see Gjerløw, Ordo Nidrosiensis Ecclesiae, and Kruckenberg and Haug, The Sequences of Nidaros. 62  For editions of Lux illuxit, see Reiss, Musiken ved den middelalderlige Olavsdyrkelsen i Norden, pp. 12–44, Eggen, The Sequences of the Archbishopric of Nidaros, i, pp. 213–21 and Steenhoff, En ny sang for Olav, pp. 33–38. Both Reiss and Eggen discussed possible parallels between Lux illuxit and sequences from St Victor. See also Vandvik, ‘Lux illuxit letabunda’, and Ommundsen, ‘A Saint and his Sequence’, pp. 164–66. 63  For the poem Geisli, see Chase, Einarr Skùlason’s Geisli. 64  See Ommundsen, ‘A Saint and his Sequence’, p. 171. 61 

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    reading was finished, the candles would be put out.65 The deacon would then return to the bishop, offer the book to be kissed, and return it to its place.66 Then, says, Honorius, it would be time for the bishop to give his sermon, followed by Kyrie and the Credo.67 With this significance given to the physical candles and the allegorical light of the Gospel, the emphasis on the light in Lux illuxit, where the word light, lux, is repeated four times in the first strophe, gets new significance, and certainly introduced the song of joy and celebration of victory described by Honorius: 1a. Lux illuxit letabunda, lux illustris, lux iocunda, lux digna preconio. 1b. In sollemne gaudium prorumpat fidelium sincera devotio. (1a. A joyous light has begun to shine, a bright and cheerful light, a light worthy of praise 1b. In solemn joy let the sincere devotion of faithful people break forth.)

    Lux illuxit consists of eight strophes or verse-pairs, with different patterns of rhythm and rhyme. As is common for sequences, the same melodic line is repeated in each verse-pair, with the melody changing from one verse-pair to the next, or from strophe to strophe. (The only exception is the first strophe, which has two different melodies for each versicle). While the rhythm of strophes 1, 2, 4, 5, 7, and 8 are predominantly trochaic (Lúx illúxit), strophes 3 and 6 are dactylic (dúlcis est gáudii). It is this variation in the formal characteristics that gives Lux illuxit the label ‘transitional’ sequence, rather than a ‘Victorine sequence’, in spite of it being composed after the Victorine movement. It also refers to several ‘true’ Victorine sequences, some through their incipit, such as Lux iocunda, lux insignis and Lux illuxit dominica (two sequences which are not prescribed in the Nidaros ordinal). The sequence provided a relatively standardized framework: opening with the double strophe(s) encouraging celebration and song on the saint’s feast day, and ending with the final strophes beseeching the saint to come to our aid. Just as the text of Lux illuxit may be said to point forward to the illumination of the Gospel reading, the melody may be said to point to the reference 65 

    Honorius Augustodinensis, Gemma animae, Lib. 1, chap. 21 and 22 (col. 551). Honorius Augustodinensis, Gemma animae, Lib. 1, chap. 24 (col. 552). 67  Honorius Augustodinensis, Gemma animae, Lib. 1, chap. 25 (col. 552). 66 

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    to the cross. Melodically it has similarities to Laudes crucis, a much-loved Victorine sequence for the finding of the cross (Inventio crucis 3. Mai).68 Both Laudes crucis and Lux illuxit occur in the Norwegian sequentiary presented in the next chapter (see Fig. 4.4), along with Salutamus te.

    A ‘New’ Sequence: Salutamus te rex, ave With the next sequence, Salutamus te rex, ave (formerly known as Predicasti dei care), we are entering unknown territory — it was clearly composed for a Mass celebration, but not 29 July.69 Neither was it written as part of a known and dateable campaign to promote St Óláfr, or in an intertextual relationship with a contemporary liturgical historia. In fact, until recently the first half-strophe was considered to be irrevocably lost, as its only manuscript source (Seqv 13) was fragmentary, leaving the sequence without its opening line.70 In her presentation of the Norwegian fragments in the Swedish National Archives, Gunilla Björkvall identified two manuscripts fragments as belonging to the sequentiary Seqv 13, which was an important discovery.71 During the digital ‘reconstruction’ of Seqv 13 for the website fragment.uib.no in the autumn of 2017, it became clear that one of the Swedish fragments came from the same leaf as the sequence formerly known as Predicasti dei care, in fact completing it and revealing that the original incipit was Salutamus te rex, ave. The two ‘Swedish’ fragments from Seqv 13 were along with a number of others transferred to Sweden, still attached to their accounts, as part of an agreement with the Norwegian and Swedish governments in the year 1900, primarily concerning the administrative region of Nidaros.72 68  Eggen, The Sequences of the Archbishopric of Nidaros, 1, p. 219; Reiss, Musiken ved den middelalderlige Olavsdyrkelsen i Norden, p. 53; Ommundsen, ‘A Saint and his Sequence’, p. 167. 69  For an online survey of the sequence and how it relates to the other late sequences, see Mortensen, Østrem, and Ommundsen, ‘Sanctus Olavus’; See also Kraggerud, ‘Olavssekvenser – den kjente og de glemte’. 70  The source was by Lilli Gjerløw registered as Seqv 13, consisting of 7 fragments from 6 leaves (Oslo, Riksarkivet, Lat. fragm. 986, 1–7), see Ommundsen, Books, Scribes and Sequences in Medieval Norway, ii, pp. 65–68. We can now count fourteen fragments: Oslo, Riksarkivet, Lat. fragm. 986,1–12 and Stockholm, Riksarkivet, NoFr 11, 1–2, see Gullick, ‘Reflections on Nordic Latin Fragment Studies’, p. 31. 71  The two Swedish fragments were NoFr 11, 1–2, Björkvall, ‘The Norwegian Collection of Medieval Latin Fragments in the SRA in Stockholm’, pp. 307–36. 72  Björkvall, ‘The Norwegian Collection of Medieval Latin Fragments in the SRA in Stockholm’, p. 307.

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    Figure 4.4. The digital reconstruction of the sequentiary referred to as Seqv 13 led to the discovery of the first strophe of the sequence formerly known as Predicasti dei care (top of the verso), namely Salutamus te rex, ave. Illustration from . The two upper fragments are in the National Archives of Norway (Lat. fragm. 986, 11–12), while the lower one is kept in the Swedish National Archives (NoFr 11, 2).

    The complete text goes like this: 1a. Salutamus te, rex, ave qui solvisti nos, Olave, a vinclis perfidie. 1b. Predicasti, dei care, nobis tempus salutare tempus quod est gracie. (1a. We salute you, king, hail to you Óláfr, who has set us free from the chains of idolatry. 1b. You, God’s beloved, announced the age of salvation, that which is the age of mercy.)

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    2a. Te rogamus, nos exaudi, assistentes tue laudi omni quarta feria. 2b. Quia tui tunc agonis et felicis passionis colitur memoria. (2a. We beseech you, hear our prayers, we who praise you every Wednesday 2b. Because then we worship the memory of your agony and blessed passion) 3a. Delictorum nos a fece tua purga sancta prece cunctis et a sordibus 3b. Christi martir, hanc cohortem pro qua subiisti mortem iunge celi civibus. Amen. (3a. Cleanse us from the stains of sin with your holy prayer, and from all impurities. 3b. Martyr of Christ, join with the society of heaven this flock, for whom you suffered death.)

    The sequence Salutamus is short, with only three double strophes. Secondly, although the verses are organized as half-strophes through repetition of melody, the strophes are hymn-like, with regular rhythm and rhyme. The metre is trochaic and the rhyme is following the pattern aabccb. While the trochaic metre connects it to the sequence Lux illuxit (see the first strophe above), the regularity of the strophes also distinguishes it from it, since Lux illuxit display considerable variation in the length and rhythm of the strophes. While the regularity of the strophes in Salutamus indicates that it should be dated later than Lux illuxit, it is uncertain exactly how much later, the only source being dated to the fifteenth century.73 The melody was, as was commonly done in the case of sequence, taken over from another sequence Hodierne lux diei from the late eleventh century.74

    73  Reiss suggested that Predicasti dei care and its two last verses were from the late twelfth or the thirteenth century, see Reiss, ‘Musiken ved den middeladerlige Olavsdyrkelsen i Norden’, p. 64. A later date is perhaps more likely. 74  See Reiss, ‘Musiken ved den middeladerlige Olavsdyrkelsen i Norden’, p. 64.

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    The first strophe follows the pattern of the sequence with its encouragement to praise the saint, although while Lux illuxit referred to the preaching of the Gospel allegorically, Salutamus mentions the preaching in literal terms (‘predicasti’, you announced, or preached). The second strophe (2a) refers to ‘omni quarta feria’, every Wednesday, the weekday on which Óláfr is said to have suffered his martyrdom at the Battle of Stiklestad. It also shares one of its rhymes with Lux illuxit, namely ‘agonis — passionis’ (2b), where Lux illuxit has ‘passionis — agonis — visionis’ (str. 7a), referring to Óláfr’s struggle and passio, suffering his violent death. The formulation ‘assistentes tue laudi’ may depend on a similar wording in the Office of the Holy Blood (Susceptio sanguinis).75 The third strophe also follows the ‘sequence recipe’ by asking the saint to come to our aid. The sequentiary (Seqv 13) where Salutamus is transmitted, is, as mentioned above, very fragmentary, with only fourteen fragments containing eleven sequences. Among these eleven are Óláfr’s primary sequence, Lux illuxit, in what is its most extensive Norwegian transmission.76 What is immediately clear upon comparing the two in their manuscript context, is that Lux illuxit has a higher status, as illustrated by a decorated, red initial ‘L’ (see Fig. 4.5). The initial ‘S’ of Salutamus is plain red. The fragments containing Lux illuxit and Salutamus are parts of a group consisting of about seventy single fragments, divided into five ‘reconstructed’ manuscripts dated to the fifteenth century.77 The manuscripts in this group were probably produced at Nidaros cathedral; the content points in the direction of a Norwegian origin and the post-medieval provenance links them specifically to the town of Nidaros. Finally, the large size and high quality of the manuscripts suggest that they can be connected to a major and significant institution, such as the cathedral.78 If Lux illuxit was the ‘queen’ of the St Óláfr sequences, what, then, was the role of Salutamus? According to its own text, it was to be said every Wednesday in memory of Óláfr’s martyrdom. Eggen assumes that it was to be sung on Wednesdays throughout the year.79 Gjerløw suggests that the Wednesday ser75 

    Where the responsory at Matins read ‘assistentes ergo tue laudi’ (who minister to your praise), Attinger and Haug, The Nidaros Office of the Holy Blood, p. 36. 76  The leaf containing Lux illuxit (Oslo, Riksarkivet, Lat. fragm. 986,  8) was in 2016 included in Norges dokumentarv, the Norwegian part of Unesco’s memory of the world register: See . 77  See Gullick, ‘Reflections on Nordic Latin Fragment Studies’, pp. 31–36. 78  See Gullick, ‘Reflections on Nordic Latin Fragment Studies’, p. 36. 79  Eggen, The Sequences of the Archbishopric of Nidaros, i, p. 222.

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    Figure 4.5. Manuscript fragment. Lux illuxit (to the right) with a decorated initial. Oslo, National Archives of Norway, Lat. fragm. 986. From .

    vice referred to in the sequence may be restricted to Lent, connecting it to prayers to Óláfr included in Missale Nidrosiense for Wednesdays during Lent.80 The likely context, as indicated by the sequence itself, is that it was to be performed on Wednesdays, but it should probably not be seen in connection with Lent, since that was the time of the Church year when sequences should not be performed. The occasion for the performance of this sequence would most likely be the missa votiva, the votive Mass. These were celebrated on particular occasions, such as a Mass for the king, for the sick, for a journey, for rain, for good weather, etc. There are a number of these votive Masses in the Norwegian composite manuscripts edited in the Manuale Norvegicum.81 One of the most com80  Gjerløw, Ordo Nidrosiensis Ecclesiae, p. 127. See also Missale Nidrosiense, p. 554 for the Lenten prayers for Óláfr. 81  Fæhn, Manuale Norvegicum (Presta handbók) (for the votive masses, see pp. 31–85 and 126–47).

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    mon votive Masses, also in the Norwegian sources, is the Mass for St Mary. Although votive Masses were common from an early date (and Óláfr’s Mass in The Red Book of Darley may be categorized as a votive Mass), their significance grew and their use became more regular. A custom, first described in the thirteenth century, was to assign a votive Mass to each day of the week. Some days would lend themselves well to certain votive Masses relating to the events of the day: Thursday for the Corpus Christi, Friday for the Holy Cross, Saturday for St Mary, Sunday for the Holy Trinity.82 Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, however, were more variable in terms of what the votive Mass commemorated. In the case of Óláfr, it would be natural that a weekly votive Mass in his honour would be assigned to a Wednesday, the weekday of his death.83 When this custom of daily votive Masses came to Norway, and how widely adopted it was, is unknown. Since none of the manuscript sources contain evidence of such a votive Mass for Óláfr, that could at least indicate that the celebration of a votive mass for Óláfr was not widely practised before 1300.84 A synodal statute from the late thirteenth century states that Mass and Office for St Óláfr should also be celebrated on the Sunday within the Octave (the seven days following the main feast day), unless it collided with the feast for Peter’s chains (1 August). The text specifies that the mass should be celebrated with the introit Gaudeamus, the collect prayer Deus qui es regum omnium and the sequence Lux illuxit, as on the main feast day.85 And just as we assume that Gaudeamus is properly established as the introit for 29 July, Missale Nidrosiense provides two optional introits for Óláfr’s feast day: ‘Gaudeamus’ (Ps.  Misericordias domini) vel ‘Domine in virtute’. Also, the printed missal instructs that a Mass for St Óláfr should be celebrated every day during the octave (unless it collides with Peter’s chains). For the daily Masses it gives the introit ‘Iustus ut palma’ and a wider range of options for the other Mass ele82  See ‘missa votiva’, Catholic encyclopedia . See also Hughes, Medieval Manuscripts for Mass and Office, p. 157. 83  This may also be the simple explanation for the link to the Lenten prayers. They also seem to apply a similar logic, seeing that one set of prayers for Friday was for the holy cross, one set of prayers for Saturdays was for St Mary, etc., see Missale Nidrosiense, p. 558. 84  The codicological units transmitting the variae missae are dated between 1200 and 1300, see Fæhn, Manuale Norvegicum (Presta handbook), pp. xi–xvi. That said, to draw conclusions based on negative evidence is highly flawed, from a methodological perspective, in a Norwegian context. 85  Gjerløw, Ordo Nidrosiensis Ecclesiae, p. 37. The earliest source to contain this instruction is a Swedish missal from c. 1200, with an Óláfr Mass added in the thirteenth century.

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    ments, also found in other sources.86 Missale Nidrosiense also provides a Mass on the date of the translation, the 3 August.87 Regarding votive Masses, Missale Nidrosiense contains a selection of them following the masses for the virgin, such as the Mass for the dead (pro defunctis), the Holy Ghost (de sancto spiritu), heathens and ‘Turks’ (pro paganis et turcis), pestilence (pro pestilentia), all saints (omnium sanctorum), angels (de angelis) and the three magi before travel (de tribus magis pro peregrinantibus), but Óláfr is in this context not mentioned.88 Still, institutions could introduce their own system of masses. In 1450 a daily Mass of St Óláfr was established at Bergen Cathedral ‘at the altar which is north by the choir door’. The Mass should have three collects (for the Trinity, St Mary and St Anne), and would be followed by praise to St Mary. In return, King Christian would transfer the rights to Hardanger len to the cathedral chapter. However, the land would be lost, were the Masses not celebrated according to the agreement.89 Another clue to the practice of weekly Masses is the second Óláfr sequence provided in Missale Nidrosiense, namely Postquam calix Babylonis, which also refer to ‘every Wednesday’.90 Since Postquam calix and Predicasti (or Salutamus) share the last two double strophes, there is a relationship between them: Reiss saw them as two versions of the same sequence,91 while Eggen saw Postquam calix as a later rewriting.92 It is reasonable to suggest that the origin of both sequences may lie in a practice of weekly cycles of daily votive masses at some institution in Nidaros, presumably by the canons in the cathedral chapter, since both Seqv 13 and Missale Nidrosiense spring out of the late medieval environment of Nidaros. Regarding the Mass of St Óláfr we have in some ways gone full circle: the Mass as we know it may have started as a votive mass in the eleventh century, before being shaped into the relatively stable Mass we know from later sources. The ‘new’ sequence Salutamus may be the evidence of the growth of a new custom of daily votive masses in weekly cycles, possibly restricted to single institutions, such as the canons at Nidaros Cathedral, but perhaps also other cathedral chapters. 86 

    Gjerløw, Ordo Nidrosiensis Ecclesiae, p. 127. Missale Nidrosiense, p. 450. 88  Missale Nidrosiense, pp. 562–81. 89  Gjerløw, ‘Olav den hellige. Liturgi’, pp. 561–67 (in paritcular p. 565). See Diplomatarium Norvegicum 1, no. 813 (Bergen, 9 September 1450). See . 90  Missale Nidrosiense, p. 601. 91  Reiss, Musiken ved den middelalderlige Olavsdyrkelsen i Norden, pp. 57–66. 92  Eggen, The Sequences of the Archbishopric of Nidaros, pp. 222–27. 87 

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    The stability of the Mass of St Óláfr is a truth with modifications. A certain ‘inflation’ in mass celebrations, changing customs, and the expectations of the clergy seems to be reflected in the liturgical sources for the Mass of St Óláfr, as it should for a period stretching from the eleventh to the sixteenth century. One key to the understanding of the medieval sources with their variable content is to not underestimate the Church’s tolerance for variation, also within the liturgy of central figures such as that of St Óláfr. Liturgy was not rigid, but pragmatic. Options could be provided, and small amendments made to the liturgy over time, yet with enough stability to secure a sense of tradition and continuity. Even in our modern times, St Óláfr continues to play an important part in people’s sense of identity. There is still a conviction that pilgrim routes, art, literature, and music created in his honour are an important part of Norwegian cultural heritage. After a thousand years, Óláfr may still be referred to as Rex perpetuus Norvegiae.

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    Works Cited Manuscripts and Archival Sources British Library, Cotton Vitellius A VII, fol.  18, ed. in Michael Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Litanies of the Saints (Rochester: Boydell for Henry Bradshaw Society, 1991 (reprinted 2009)) Cambridge, Corpus Christi College (CCC), MS 422: The Red Book of Darley. Parker Library [accessed 28 February 2018] Diplomatarium Norvegicum, Oslo (National Archives of Norway), Lat. fragm. 986, 1–12 Missale Nidrosiense, vel Missale pro usu totius regni Norvegie: secundum ritum sancte Metropolitane Nidrosiensis ecclesie: correctum atque cum diligentia visum castigatum et revisum. Facsimile by Børsum forlag Oslo 1959, consulted via the National Library:

    Stockholm (Swedish National Archives), NoFr 11, 1–2 Vulgata, Douay-Rheims Bible translation.

    Primary Sources Ekrem, Inger, and Lars Boje Mortensen, eds, Historia Norvegiae, trans. by Peter Fisher (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2003) Fæhn, Helge, Manuale Norvegicum (Presta handbók), Libri liturgici provinciae Nidrosi­ ensis medii aevi, 1 (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, 1967) Gjerløw, Lilli, Antiphonarium Ecclesiae Nidrosiensis (Oslo: Norsk historisk kjeldeskriftinstitutt, 1979) Graduale Triplex (Solesmes: Abbaye saint-pierre de solesmes, 1979) Jiroušková, Lenka, Der heilige Wikingerkönig Olav Haraldsson und sein hagiographisches Dossier: Text und Kontext der Passio Olavi (mit kritischer Edition), 2  vols (Leiden: Brill, 2014) Patrologiae cursus completes: series latina, ed. by Jean-Paul Migne, 221 vols (Paris, 1844–1864), 172 (1854), cols 541–738 Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla  ii, ed. by Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, Íslenzk fornrit, 27 (Reykjavík: Hið Íslenzka fornritafélag, 1945)

    Secondary Studies Attinger, Gisela, and Andreas Haug, The Nidaros Office of the Holy Blood (Trondheim: Tapir, 2004) Birkeli, Fridtjof, ‘Biskop Grimkell og Hellig-Olav’, ‘Biskop Grimkell og Hellig-Olav 2’ Tidsskrift for teologi og kirke, 51 (1980), 109–39, 207–23

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    Björkvall, Gunilla, ‘The Norwegian Collection of Medieval Latin Fragments in the SRA in Stockholm (the Swedish National Archives)’, in Latin Manuscripts of Medieval Norway, ed. by Espen Karlsen (Oslo: Novus, 2013), pp. 307–36 Brunius, Jan, Atque Olavi. Nordiska helgon i medeltida mässböcker (Stockholm: Runica et Mediævalia, 2008) Chase, Martin, Einarr Skùlason’s Geisli: A Critical Edition (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2005) Cormack, Margaret, The Saints in Iceland: Their Veneration from the Conversion to 1400 (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1994) Dickins, Bruce, ‘The Cult of Saint Olave in the British Isles’, Saga-Book of the Viking Society for Northern Research, 12.2 (1940), 53–80 Eggen, Erik, The Sequences of the Archbishopric of Nidaros, 2 vols (Copenhagen: Munks­ gaard, 1968) Ekrem, Inger, Lars Boje Mortensen, and Karen Skovgaard-Petersen, eds, Olavslegenden og den latinske historieskrivning i 1100-tallets Norge (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2003) Ekroll, Øystein, ‘The Cult of St  Olav in the Norse Cultural Sphere – and Outside It’, in ‘Ecclesia Nidrosiensis’ and ‘Noregs veldi’: The Role of the Church in the Making of Norwegian Domination in the Norse World, ed.  by Steinar Imsen (Trondheim: Akademika, 2012), pp. 45–66 Fassler, Margot and Rebecca Baltzer, eds, The Divine Office in the Latin Middle Ages: Meth­­ od­ology and Source Studies, Regional Developments, Hagiography (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000) Gjerløw, Lilli, ‘Missaler brukt i Bjørgvin bispedømme’, in Bjørgvin bispestol 2: Byen og bispedømmet, ed. by P. Juvkam (Bergen: Universitetsforlaget, 1970), pp. 73–115 ——  , ‘Olaf den Hellige. Liturgi’, Kulturhistorisk Lexicon for Nordisk Middelalder (KLNM), 12 (1967), 561–67 —— , Ordo Nidrosiensis Ecclesiae (Oslo: Norsk historisk kjeldeskrift-institutt, 1968) Gullick, Michael, ‘Reflections on Nordic Latin Fragment Studies – Past and Present – Together with Three Case Studies’, in Nordic Latin Manuscript Fragments: The Destruction and Reconstruction of Medieval Books, ed.  by Åslaug Ommundsen and Tuomas Heikkilä (London: Routledge, 2017), pp. 24–65 Gunnes, Erik, Erkebiskop Øystein. Statsmann og Kirkebygger (Oslo: Aschehoug, 1996) Haki Antonsson, St  Magnús of Orkney: A  Scandinavian Martyr-Cult in Context, The Northern World, 29 (Leiden: Brill, 2007) Hankeln, Roman, ‘Music and Its Significance for the Articulation of History in TwelfthCentury Scandinavian Historiae for Sainted Rulers’, in Historical and Intellectual Culture in the Long Twelfth Century: The Scandinavian Connection, ed. by Mia MünsterSwendsen, Thomas K. Heebøll-Holm, and Sigbjørn Olsen Sønnesyn (Toronto: Ponti­ fical Institute of Medieval Studies, 2016), pp. 148–65 Haugen, Odd Einar, and Åslaug Ommundsen, Vår eldste bok (Oslo: Novus, 2010) Hiley, David, Western Plainchant: A Handbook (Oxford: Oxford University Press 1993)

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    Hope, Steffen, ‘Constructing Institutional Identity through the Cult of Royal Saints, c. 1050–c. 1200’ (unpublished PhD thesis, Syddansk Universitet, 2018) Hughes, Andrew, Medieval Manuscripts for Mass and Office: A Guide to their Organization and Terminology (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2004) Iversen, Gunilla, ‘Transforming a Viking into a Saint: The Divine Office of St Olaf ’, in The Divine Office in the Latin Middle Ages: Methodology and Source Studies, Regional Developments, Hagiography, ed. by M. E. Fassler and R. A. Baltzer (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), pp. 401–29 Jackson, Tatjana N., ‘The Cult of St Olaf and Early Novgorod’, in Saints and their Lives on the Periphery: Veneration of Saints in Scandinavia and Eastern Europe (c. 1000–1200), ed. by Haki Antonsson and Ildar H. Garipzanov (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010), pp. 147–70 Jakobsson, Ritva, and Andreas Haug, ‘Versified Office’, in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians (2001). Online edition: Jiroušková, Lenka, Åslaug Ommundsen, and Haki Antonsson, ‘Latin Hagiography in Medieval Norway c.  1050–1500’, in Hagiographies, 7, ed.  by M.  Goullet, Corpus Christianorum Texts and Studies (Turnhout: Brepols, 2017), pp. 757–874 Johnsen, Arne Odd, ‘Om misjonsbiskopen Grimkellus’, [norsk] Historisk Tidskrift, 54 (1975), 22–34 Kraggerud, Egil, ‘Middelaldernøtter. “plus” – en nux i lux illuxit’, Klassisk forum, 1 (1995), 72–80 —— , ‘Olavssekvenser – den kjente og de glemte’, Middelalderforum, 2 (2002), 103–18 ——  , Theodoricus. De antiquitate regum Norwagiensium. On the Old Norwegian Kings (Oslo: Novus, 2018) Kruckenberg, Lori, and Andreas Haug, The Sequences of Nidaros (Trondheim: Tapir, 2005) Lunde, Øyvind, ‘Klosteranleggene’, Foreningen til norske fortidsminnesmerkers bevaring, Årbok (1987), 85–119 Marner, Astrid, ‘Liturgical Change and Liturgical Plurality in the Province of Nidaros: New Light on the Ordo Nidrosiensis ecclesiae’, in Bishop Jón Halldórsson of Skálholt and his Influence on Icelandic Literature, ed. by Gunnar Harðarson, forthcoming Mortensen, Lars Boje, ‘Eystein and Passio Olavi: Author, Editor or Project Leader?’ in Eystein Erlendsson – Erkebiskop, politiker og kirkebygger, ed. by Kristin Bjørlykke and others (Trondheim: Nidaros Domkirkes Restaureringsarbeiders, 2012), pp. 77–85 —— , ‘Sanctified Beginnings and Mythopoietic Moments: The First Wave of Writing on the Past in Norway, Denmark and Hungary, c. 1000–1230’, in The Making of Christian Myths in the Periphery of Latin Christendom (c. 1000–1300), ed. by L. B. Mortensen (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2006), pp. 247–73 —— , ‘Writing and Speaking of St Olaf: National and Social Integration’, in Saints and their Lives on the Periphery: Veneration of Saints in Scandinavia and Eastern Europe (c. 1000–1200), ed. by Haki Antonsson and Ildar H. Garipzanov (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010), pp. 207–18

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    Mortensen, Lars Boje, and Else Mundal, ‘Erkebispesetet i Nidaros – arnestad og verkstad for Olavslitteraturen’, in Ecclesia Nidrosiensis 1153–1537: Søkelys på Nidaroskirkens og Nidarosprovinsens historie, ed. by Steinar Imsen (Trondheim: Tapir, 2003), pp. 353–84 Mortensen, Lars Boje, Eyolf Østrem, and Åslaug Ommundsen, ‘Sanctus Olavus’, in Medieval Nordic Literature in Latin: A Website of Authors and Anonymous Works c. 1100–1530, ed. by Stephan Borgehammar, Karsten Friis-Jensen, Lars Boje Mortensen, and Åslaug Ommundsen [accessed 28 February 2018] Mortensen, Lars Boje, and Åslaug Ommundsen, ‘Sancta Sunniva’ and Åslaug Ommundsen, ‘Sanctus Hallvardus’, in Medieval Nordic Literature in Latin: A Website of Authors and Anonymous Works c. 1100–1530, ed. by Stephan Borgehammar, Karsten Friis-Jensen, Lars Boje Mortensen, and Åslaug Ommundsen [accessed 28 February 2018] Myking, Synnøve Midtbø, ‘The French Connection: Norwegian Manuscript Fragments of French Origin and their Historical Context’ (unpublished PhD thesis, Universitetet i Bergen, 2017) Ommundsen, Åslaug, ‘Books, Scribes and Sequences in Medieval Norway’, 2 vols (unpublished PhD thesis, Universitetet i Bergen, 2007) —— , ‘The Cult of Saints in Norway before 1200’, in Saints and their Lives on the Periphery: Veneration of Saints in Scandinavia and Eastern Europe (c. 1000–1200), ed. by Haki Antonsson and Ildar H. Garipzanov (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010), pp. 67–94 ——  , ‘A Saint and his Sequence: Singing the Legend of St  Olaf ’, Viking and Medieval Scandinavia, 5 (2009), 151–76 —— , ‘The Word of God and the Stories of Saints; Medieval Liturgy and Its Reception in Norway’, in The Performance of Christian and Pagan Storyworlds, ed. by Lars Boje Mortensen and Tuomas  M.  S. Lehtonen, with Alexandra Bergholm (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), pp. 45–66 Pfaff, Richard, The Liturgy in Medieval England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009) Reiss, Gustav, Musiken ved den middelalderlige Olavsdyrkelsen i Norden, Videnskapsselskapets Skrifter  II. Hist.-Filos. Klasse. 1911. No.  5 (Christiania [Oslo]: i kommission hos Jacob Dybwad, 1912) Rumar, Lars, ed., Helgonet i Nidaros. Olavskult och kristnande i Norden (Stockholm: Riks­ arkivet, 1997) Steenhoff, Eirik, ‘En ny sang for Olav, Lux illuxit letabunda, en teologisk og historisk tolkning (med kritisk utgave)’ (unpublished Masters thesis, Universitetet i Oslo, 2018) Svahnström, Gunnar, ed., St Olaf. Seine Zeit und sein Kult, Acta Visbyensia, VI (Visby: Museum Gotlands Fornsal, 1981) Townend, Matthew, ‘Knútr and the Cult of St Óláfr: Poetry and Patronage in EleventhCentury Norway and England’, Viking and Medieval Scandinavia, 1 (2005), 251–79 Vandvik, Eivind, ‘Lux illuxit letabunda’, Symbolae Osloenses, 21 (1941), 117–22 Østrem, Eyolf, The Office of Saint Olaf: A Study in Chant Transmission (Uppsala: Uppsala University Library, 2001)

    The Development of the Cult of Magnús: The Interplay between Saints, Bishops, and Earls in Orkney Caitlin Ellis

    T

    he martyrdom of Earl Magnús Erlendsson (d. 1116/1117) and the subsequent development of his cult was a significant turning point for the earldom of Orkney, providing a home-grown Norse saint. Given the variable political relationship between the earls of Orkney and the kings of Norway who claimed overlordship over them, there would have been some benefit to the earls in promoting a native saint from their own family, rather than a royal Norwegian saint, Óláfr Haraldsson (d. 1030). Although Magnús is not strictly a ‘royal’ saint, but rather a ‘comital’ one, he did still derive from, and was popularized by, the ruling dynasty of a polity. Indeed, there was semantic overlap or even equivalency between the Old Norse words jarl (earl) and konungr (king) in the early medieval period, with the titular hierarchy only solidifying in the eleventh to thirteenth centuries.1 Given the earldom’s somewhat independent governance it seems justifiable to view the sainthood of Magnús — and of another sanctified earl of Orkney Rǫgnvaldr Kali Kolsson (d. 1158) from the same dynasty — as related to the trend for royal saints. Since Magnús and Rǫgnvaldr are perhaps the only comital saints, there is a greater body of scholarship on royal saints. Gábor Klaniczay notes that royal sainthood ‘became a distinct and popular medieval 1 

    See Crawford, The Northern Earldoms, pp. 82–83, 165 and for the changing meaning of jarl see Bagge and Nordeide, ‘The Kingdom of Norway’, p. 128. Caitlin Ellis ([email protected]) is an O’Donovan Scholar at the School of Celtic Studies, Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies. She was previously awarded a Bernadotte scholarship by Sweden’s Royal Gustavus Adolphus Academy. The Cult of Saints in Nidaros Archbishopric. Manuscripts, Miracles, Objects, ed. by Ragnhild M. Bø and Jon Viðar Sigurðsson, tcne 33 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2022), pp. 111–141 BREPOLS PUBLISHERS 10.1484/M.TCNE-EB.5.124880

    112 Caitlin Ellis

    type of sanctity’, despite the fact that rulers becoming saints did not correspond with the original model of sanctity.2 Royal saints particularly emerged ‘on the peripheries of medieval Christendom, among recently converted peoples’, and the number of new canonizations reached their height in the twelfth century but diminished in the thirteenth century.3 There are four main sources for the life of Magnús Erlendsson: a Latin vita and three interrelated Norse saga accounts. The Latin Vita sancti Magni survives in excerpts in Magnúss saga lengri (The Longer Saga of Magnús) translated into Old Norse and in two abbreviated Latin liturgical versions: the Legenda de sancto Magno in an early eighteenth-century Icelandic manuscript, and a slighter different, shorter version for the saint’s feast day in the Aberdeen Breviary printed in 1509/1510.4 Magnúss saga lengri explicitly acknowledges its debt to the Latin Vita which it relates was composed by a certain Master Robert twenty years after Magnús’s martyrdom.5 This would date the text to 1136 or 1137, which would suggest that it had been written for the occasion of the building of Kirkwall Cathedral and the translation of Magnús’s relics.6 Haki Antonsson argues that Master Robert’s version elaborated on the text produced for this occasion and was actually produced in the 1170s because it has commonalities with early hagiography on St Thomas Becket (d. 1170).7 Ultimately the three interrelated Norse saga sources rely on the Vita sancti Magni account. The main source for Magnús, and indeed for the history of the earldom, is Orkneyinga saga (The Saga of the Earls of Orkney).8 No general scholarly consensus has been achieved about whether its first version was compiled by an Orcadian or an Icelander and whether the compiling took place in Orkney or in Iceland.9 The compilation of this first version possibly occurred 2 

    Klaniczay, ‘The Power of the Saints and the Authority of the Popes’, p. 121. Klaniczay, ‘The Power of the Saints and the Authority of the Popes’, pp. 121–24. 4  For more see: Phelpstead, Holy Vikings, pp. 11–12; Haki Antonsson, St Magnús of Orkney, pp. 5–23. 5  Magnúss saga lengri, in Orkneyinga saga ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, chaps 1 and 28, pp. 336 and 372. Hereafter Magnúss saga lengri, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson 6  See Tomany, ‘Sacred Non-Violence, Cowardice Profaned’, p. 132. 7  Haki Antonsson, St Magnús of Orkney, pp. 5, 14, 222. See also Haki Antonsson, ‘Two Twelfth-Century Martyrs’, pp. 44–47 and 61–63. 8  Tomany suggests that the life and miracles of Magnús formed the core of Orkneyinga saga, in the same way as has been suggested for St Óláfr and the sagas about Norwegian kings (‘Sacred Non-Violence, Cowardice Profaned’, p. 133). 9  Beuermann, ‘Jarla Sögur Orkneyja’, p. 110. 3 

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    in the 1190s in association with the canonization of Orkney’s second saint, Earl Rǫgnvaldr Kali Kolsson.10 If the compiler were Icelandic he was at least very well-informed about Orkney.11 The most complete extant version of the text was copied into the fourteenth-century Icelandic manuscript Flateyjarbók. There are also two separate Icelandic biographies of Magnús: Magnúss saga skemmri (The Shorter Saga of Magnús) and Magnúss saga lengri, dating to the mid to late thirteenth century and fourteenth century respectively.12 Magnúss saga skemmri derives closely from Orkneyinga saga (a version to close to that of Flateyjarbók), but possibly based on a different redaction from that in Flateyjarbók, perhaps closer to the sixteenth-century Danish translation.13 Magnúss saga lengri also draws directly on Orkneyinga saga and, as already noted, on the *Vita sancti Magni. The ‘longer’ nature of this text derives from its more verbose style and from theological or homiletic material which is not included in Magnúss saga skemmri. These sources must be used with caution due to their remove from Magnús’s own lifetime and their complex transmission; as Carl Phelpstead notes, ‘many, possibly all, medieval readers will have read a different Orkneyinga saga from the text we read today’.14 Nevertheless, these textual accounts will be analysed below, given the paucity of available alternatives. Some information about the Orcadian Church can also be derived from sources associated with the archbishopric of York, which claimed jurisdiction over the sees of northern Britain, and those associated with the archbishopric of Canterbury, which claimed primacy over York.15 These sources therefore have their own agendas and the perspective they offer on Orcadian affairs is an external one.16 10 

    Bonté, ‘Conversion and Coercion’, p. 80. Berman, ‘The Political Sagas’, pp. 118–19; Jesch, ‘Literature in Medieval Orkney’, p. 14. 12  Phelpstead, ‘A Viking Pacifist?’ p. 121. 13  Phelpstead, Holy Vikings, p. 15, Tomany, ‘Sacred Non-Violence, Cowardice Profaned’, p. 132. 14  Phelpstead, Holy Vikings, p. 113. 15  The primacy of Canterbury received papal and regal recognition at the Councils of Winchester and Windsor in 1072, although the dispute was not permanently settled (See Cowdrey, Lanfranc, pp. 88, 94–95, 97–98, 102). York’s claim to be the metropolitan for northern England and Scotland had been significantly strengthened in 1072. At a council held in Windsor, which reinforced Canterbury’s superiority, as established the previous month in Winchester, York was given authority over the Scottish bishops as a consolation prize. This also meant that York would have enough suffragans to be able to consecrate its archbishops without recourse to Canterbury. As a result of this resolution, York–Canterbury relations in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries were comparatively calmer, although some tension remained. 16  For the reliability of Hugh the Chanter’s Historia ecclesiae Eboracensis (History of the 11 

    114 Caitlin Ellis

    The other possible source of available evidence is archaeology, but precise dating is often difficult. The additional problems of coastal erosion and the acidity of the soil have decreased the preservation of material remains in Orkney. For current purposes it is also relevant that it cannot always be established if an excavated building is ecclesiastical rather than secular in function, particularly in the early period. Even if it is agreed that a given building is a church, its dedication to a particular saint is unlikely to be revealed by archaeological evidence, and we instead rely on later traditions or place-names with questionable reliability. These issues do not apply to the impressive St Magnús Cathedral at Kirkwall, the centre of the cult. This chapter will start with an overview of the cult’s emergence, noting the strong political and dynastic dimension, and consider the importance of the translation of relics to Kirkwall. Background will be provided for the appointment of Vilhjálmr (d. 1168) as bishop of Orkney to help ascertain his motivation in actively promoting the cult of Magnús. In the mid-twelfth century he would also become the first bishop of Orkney who owed obedience to Nidaros, the new Norwegian archdiocese.17 The varying geographical distribution of the cult in the earldom and beyond will be outlined, followed by a discussion of subsequent saints of Orkney, as their development was inextricable from that of the cult of Magnús. Finally, the cult will be contextualized within the British and Irish Isles, to assess if there was any influence from these areas on the cult and to create illuminating comparisons, in particular with the kingdom of Man and the Isles.

    The Emergence of the Cult of Magnús The cult of Magnús was part of a wider trend in which the first native Scandinavian saints emerged in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. The prime example of this trend is the cult of Óláfr Haraldsson, king of Norway (r. 1015–1028) who was killed trying to regain the throne in 1030. The cult of St Óláfr seems to have been widespread in the medieval earldom of Orkney: for example, there are records of eight churches or chapels in Shetland dedicated to him, but just five dedicated to St Magnús.18 There were a number of royal Church of York) see Southern, St Anselm and his Biographer, pp. 143, 303–09; Johnson, ed. and trans. Hugh the Chanter: The History of the Church of York, pp. xxi–xxvi, xxviii–xix. 17  Imsen, ‘The Nidaros Church and its Province’, p. 30. 18  Cant, The Medieval Churches and Chapels of Shetland, pp. 29, 47–50.

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    martyr cults in Scandinavia and in areas of Scandinavian settlement, such as the Kievan Rus’.19 The earldom of Orkney gained its own saint, and a comital or dynastic martyr one at that, when the remains of the Earl Magnús Erlendsson were elevated by Bishop Vilhjálmr in December 1135. Dynastic saints lent extra legitimacy, authority, and reputation to their dynasties. Assessing royal cults in early England and in later Scandinavia and eastern Europe, Klaniczay suggested that they ‘constituted an intermediary phase’ between a period of instability where rulership was linked to a dynasty’s innate qualities and an established hereditary system dominated by a single line of descent, which created stability.20 Thus, these cults were an important stage for polities with a less advanced government on the so-called peripheries of European Christendom towards a more institutionalized rulership inextricably tied to Christianity.21 Hoffman asserted that an aspiration of those promoting the royal cults of Scandinavia was to limit the succession to one family branch of a wider royal dynasty.22 All of the Danish royal martyr cults, the cult of St Eiríkr of Sweden and that of Magnús of Orkney were particularly notable in contributing to the exclusion of dynastic rivals.23 This limiting of the succession was particularly useful in Orkney given the history of joint or shared rule and the more recent conflict between rival branches. There was no fixed procedure of succession for the position of earl and any male from the comital family could try to claim the position. Sometimes the territory of the earldom was divided amongst rival claimants to try to reduce conflict, as, for instance, in the division between the four sons of Earl Sigurðr Hlöðvisson upon his death in 1014.24 Another tactic was used on the death Earl Þorfinnr Sigurðarson, usually dated to c. 1065, when his sons Páll and Erlendr ruled jointly rather splitting the territory. This proved to be only temporary, in large part due to the ambition of their sons, which may even have 19 

    Óláfr in Norway; Knud IV of Odense (d. 1086) and Knud Lavard (d. 1131) in Denmark; Erik Jedvardson (d. 1161) in Sweden, although not formally canonized by the papacy; Boris and Gleb (d. 1015) in Kievan Rus’. The absence of an equivalent for Man and the Isles is discussed below. The Rus’ examples can also be viewed alongside other central and eastern European examples, namely Stephen (d. 1038) in Hungary and Wenclas (d. 929 or 935) in Bohemia. 20  Klaniczay, ‘From Sacral Kingship to Self-Representation’, p. 86. 21  See Haki Antonsson, St Magnús of Orkney, p. 83. 22  Hoffmann, Die heiligen Könige bei den Angelsachsen und den skandinavischen Völkern, p. 210. 23  Beuermann, ‘No Soil for Saints’, p. 86. 24  Orkneyinga saga, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, chap. 13, p. 28.

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    contributed to Magnús berfœttr, king of Norway, ousting both earls and taking direct control of the earldom and appointing his son Sigurðr to rule in 1098. Although this arrangement was brought to an end by the death of Magnús in 1103 and Sigurðr’s return to Norway, it was an important watershed in the earldom’s history. After this, the descendants of the ousted earls became two rival branches of the comital dynasty, known as the Páll line and the Erlendr line, who vied for power throughout the twelfth century. It was one of Erlendr’s sons who would become the earldom’s first native saint. Magnus Erlendsson had been killed at a meeting on Egilsay in 1116 or 1117 at the instigation of his co-ruler and cousin Hákon Pálsson, from the rival line of the earls’ dynasty. Orkneyinga saga portrays Magnús as willingly accepting his fate; this presentation may have been intended to make him appear more saintly and a true martyr, rather than merely another victim of a dynastic squabble.25 Before Magnús’s official elevation, a popular cult was emerging around his burial place, evidenced by the miracles experienced by visitors there. Hákon Pálsson had died in his bed c. 1122, so was not able to oppose the cult himself, but his son Páll would presumably not have been favourably disposed towards it. Indeed, the saga relates that talk of these miracles ‘was not freely aired because of the power of earl Páll’.26 The cult of Magnús was useful to his nephew Rǫgnvaldr in his own campaign for the earldom against Páll and the rival branch of the family. Having been absent from the earldom for most of his life, spending it instead in Norway, Rǫgnvaldr needed to shore up his position. When he returned to the earldom in the early 1130s, he seems likely to have exploited his relationship to the martyred Magnús.27 Rǫgnvaldr was the only male heir to the Erlendr line, through his mother Gunnhild, Magnús’s sister. A comparison can be drawn with the Norwegian king Haraldr harðráði (Harsh-ruler, r. 1046/1047–1066), whose claim was also through the maternal line, as uterine half-brother of St Óláfr Haraldsson, and who exploited his connection to the saint and patronized the cult, just as Rǫgnvaldr did. While the cult of St Óláfr did spread to Orkney, Rǫgnvaldr and his father Kolr, a Norwegian chieftain, would have experienced it first-hand in Norway, including at the royal court. 25 

    Phelpstead discusses the martyrdom episode in the saga accounts, noting the influence of the presentation of Christ’s Passion in Biblical accounts (Holy Vikings, pp. 85–88). 26  Orkneyinga saga, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, chap. 56, p. 122: lítt var þat á lopt borit fyrir ríki Páls jarls. All translations are my own unless otherwise stated. 27  Haki Antonsson, ‘St Magnús of Orkney: Aspects of his Cult’, p. 147.

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    Ultimately, the cult of Magnús did not successfully restrict the earls’ succession to the Erlendr line. This does not detract from that being an aim at the time of its cultivation. As Haki Antonsson notes, it is necessary to ‘to distinguish between Rögnvaldr’s intentions … and the subsequent development of the cult’.28 Rǫgnvaldr had little choice in 1138 but to divide the earldom with a great-grandson of Páll, Haraldr Maddaðarson (d. 1206). There is no evidence of Haraldr being opposed to the cult of Magnús. When Haraldr ruled alone after Rǫgnvaldr’s death the building of St Magnús Cathedral continued and even intensified.29 It is not an uncommon way of dealing with a saint from among your enemies is to ‘take over’ the cult yourself. For example, despite Henry II’s suspected connection to the death of Thomas Becket, the king supported the cult; Thomas was soon a patron saint of the royal dynasty.30 In the eleventh century Cnut or Knútr, king of England and Denmark, and his dynasty patronized the cult of Óláfr, with whom they had vied for control of Norway.31 Meanwhile in Kievan Rus’, Jaroslav promoted the cult of his murdered half-brothers Boris and Gleb. Over time these two and Óláfr lost their factional specificity, becoming patron saints of their polities at large — just like Magnús. In addition to the cult’s shorter-term political benefit for Rǫgnvaldr’s line of earls, it had a longer-term benefit for the whole earldom of Orkney’s status relative to Norway and to other neighbouring powers. Despite the earldom’s apparent ambivalence to Óláfr Haraldsson’s political authority during his reign, his cult certainly provided an available archetype for that of Magnús to be modelled on.32 Óláfr and Magnús were both martyred and, specifically, were killed by people from the polity over which they claimed control in a dispute about rulership. In life, they had both had military careers and raided abroad. In death, they were both used by their dynasties to help shore up their own positions and to lend authority to their rule. Their cult centres, Nidaros (Trondheim) and Kirkwall respectively, became the primary ecclesiastical and episcopal centres within their polities. This modelling or imitation was likely intended to establish Magnús as parallel and equivalent to Óláfr, to make Magnús an equal rather than a kind of follower or secondary figure. A similar 28 

    Haki Antonsson, St Magnús of Orkney, p. 84. Haki Antonsson, St Magnús of Orkney, p. 84. 30  See Webster and Gelin, eds, The Cult of St Thomas Becket in the Plantagenet World. 31  See Townend, ‘Knútr and the Cult of St Óláfr’, pp. 251–79. 32  Haki Antonsson, St Magnús of Orkney, p. 79. 29 

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    desire to have a locally revered saint as an alternative to St Óláfr is displayed in another Scandinavian settlement in the North Atlantic: Iceland. Óláfr Tryggvason, rather than Óláfr Haraldsson, was credited with prompting the conversion of Iceland. Indeed, it is possible that he ‘was already being viewed as a saint in the circle for which Íslendingabók was written’.33 But in the end Óláfr Tryggvason was never treated as a saint in the Icelandic church, whereas two native Icelandic bishops were.34 In Orkney, there was the additional factor of the benefit to the ruling dynasty of having their own saint. The earls were significant enough that saints were drawn from their number rather than from the episcopacy, as occurred in Iceland; instead, bishops of Orkney were heavily involved in the Orcadian dynastic cults, as will be discussed below. This provides another similarity to the cult of Óláfr, given the key role in the promotion of the king’s sanctity played by Grimkell, an English missionary bishop in Norway.35 The account of Orcadian history in Orkneyinga saga puts great emphasis on Magnús’s life and martyrdom as well as, posthumously, the miracles associated with him and the development of his cult. This is particularly apparent when compared to the almost perfunctory account of the earldom’s conversion. The conversion of Norse Orkney is usually traced back to the forced conversion of Earl Sigurðr Hlöðvisson by the Norwegian king Óláfr Tryggvason (r. 995–1000), in c. 995. Theodoricus monachus, in his synoptic Historia de Antiquitate Regum Norwagiensium from roughly 1180, is the first to claim that Óláfr Tryggvason coerced the unwilling Sigurðr into accepting the Christian faith and being baptized; Óláfr is able to do this because Orkney is subject to the Norwegian king and by abducting Sigurðr’s son.36 This claim of forced conversion is repeated in both Heimskringla and Orkneyinga saga, including Sigurðr’s son being taken hostage, but with the further element of Óláfr Tryggvason threatening to kill Sigurðr himself if he did not submit to baptism.37 Orkneyinga saga adds that as a result of this episode ‘all the Orkney 33 

    Cormack, The Saints in Iceland, p. 143. Þorlákr’s remains were translated to a place of honour in the cathedral of Skálholt in July 1198 and likewise those of Jón Ögmundarson at Hólar in 1200 (Cormack, The Saints in Iceland, p. 11). 35  See Lindow, ‘St Olaf and the Skalds’, p. 106. 36  Storm, ed., Monumenta Historica Norwegiae, pp. 16–17; McDougall and McDougall, trans., Theodoricus Monachus, pp. 12–13. This episode, including its different versions, is discussed in more detail in Ellis, ‘Reassessing the Career’, pp. 73–77. 37  Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar, in Heimskringla i, ed.  by Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, chap. 47, 34 

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    islands became Christian’.38 The saga accounts of this conversion should not be taken at face value, though; indeed Orkney is likely to have been already partially Christianized.39 Furthermore, Rosalind Bonté contends that the Icelandic redactor of Orkneyinga saga drew a deliberate contrast between Iceland’s own free and willing conversion — which was a vital part of its cultural memory and made in accordance with its legal system — and that of Orkney.40 Orkney’s conversion narrative was therefore less than flattering: instead the account of Magnús fulfilled the role in the Orkneyinga saga narrative which would conventionally be occupied by the conversion episode, by demonstrating the earldom’s commitment to Christianity.41 The same demonstration was perhaps true of the cult in reality, not just in the saga narratives. Ideas of how an individual could be made a saint evolved in this period and some of these concerns are apparent in the surviving corpus on Magnús. In the early medieval period, the local bishop’s approval was needed for a cult and, once the bishop declared the individual’s sainthood, he would include them in the diocese’s liturgical calendar. This official declaration would usually feature the translation or installation of relics. The account of Orkneyinga saga emphasizes the episcopal backing from Vilhjálmr and the translation of Magnús’s remains, as discussed below. The twelfth-century canonization of the two Danish royal saints, Knud IV of Odense and Knud Lavard, likely occurred with the help of the papacy.42 Papal canonization increased in importance by the second half of the twelfth century and, while not legally necessary until 1234, would strengthen a saint’s cult.43 Even at its most developed in the later medieval period, the process of canonization did not ban the cult of a potential saint pp. 292–93; Orkneyinga saga, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, chap. 12, p. 26. 38  Orkneyinga saga, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, chap. 12, p. 26: urðu … kristnar allar Orkneyjar. 39  It is possible that the Christianity of the previous Pictish population survived the Norse takeover of the Northern Isles and there would also have been Christian influences from neighbouring kingdoms, as alluded to below in ‘The British and Irish Context’ section (see also Crawford, The Northern Earldoms, p. 127, Marwick, Orkney, pp. 111–12. 40  Bonté, ‘Conversion and Coercion’, pp. 107–08. 41  Phelpstead, Holy Vikings, p. 114; Foote, ‘Observations on Orkneyinga saga’, p. 195. 42  Klaniczay, ‘The Power of the Saints and the Authority of the Popes’, p. 124. 43  For more on this issue see Bartlett, Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things?, pp. 57–59; Haki Antonsson, ‘St Magnús of Orkney: Aspects of his Cult’, pp. 154–56; Kemp, Canonization and Authority in the Western Church; Klaniczay, ‘The Power of the Saints and the Authority of the Popes’, pp. 125–27; Vauchez, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages.

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    until the inquest had issued a verdict: an existing cult was not only permissible but a prerequisite.44 Evidence was required and collected to demonstrate sanctity. The set of posthumous miracles attributed to St Magnús found in chapter 57 of Orkneyinga saga may well derive from a Latin or Norse ‘Miracle Book’, which would have been useful to Rǫgnvaldr when fostering the cult.45 If papal approval could not be obtained, a cult’s backers might have to settle for claims that that official canonization had taken place.46 A passage in Magnúss saga lengri claims that a piece of Magnús’s bone successfully underwent a trial by fire ‘in front of the lord Pope himself in Rome’ and that as a result the Pope added Magnús ‘into the catalogue of saints’.47 While this assertion could derive from an earlier source, it was more likely associated with the fourteenth-century compilation of Magnúss saga lengri.48 The churchmen cultivating the native saints of Orkney were evidently aware of the mounting pressure to have saints recognized by the papacy, leading to these fictitious assertions.49 The Orkney earldom’s fairly remote location did not exclude it from participation in wider European trends.

    44 

    Bartlett, Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things?, p. 61. Phelpstead, ‘Skaldic Saints and Stories of Miracles’, p. 87. 46  See Haki Antonsson, ‘False Claims to Papal Canonisations of Saints’, pp. 171–203. 47  Magnúss saga lengri, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, chap. 32, p. 375: fyrir sjálfum herra páfanum í Róma … í catalogum heilagra. 48  Haki Antonsson, ‘False Claims to Papal Canonisations of Saints’, p. 196 (contrary to his earlier interpretation Haki Antonsson, ‘St Magnús of Orkney: Aspects of his Cult’, pp. 157–58). There is an earlier hymn to Magnús, based on the twelfth-century *Vita or perhaps an account of the translation of Magnús’s relics, which also claims that his bones endured the fire, but it does not mention the presence of the pope. 49  Haki Antonsson, ‘St Magnús of Orkney: Aspects of his Cult’, p. 156. A further example is Orkneyinga saga’s claim that Bishop Bjarni’s canonization of Rǫgnvaldr’s in 1192 was done ‘with the Pope’s permission’ (at leyfi páfans: Orkneyinga saga, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, chap. 104, p. 204). Since the Icelanders in the early thirteenth century showed no interest in involving the papacy in their saints’ cults, Haki Antonsson argues that this was not the invention of the ‘(presumably) Icelandic author’ but that instead it was the Orcadian bishops who ‘made it known that the pope had been consulted’, since it would have been difficult for anyone to deny their claim (‘False Claims to Papal Canonisations of Saints’, pp. 194–95). By the fourteenth century, the Icelanders were paying heed to papal matters which, alongside the growing popularity of Magnús’s cult in Iceland, provides context for the canonization episode in Magnúss saga lengri (‘False Claims to Papal Canonisations of Saints’, p. 199). 45 

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    The Move to Kirkwall The cult’s prime site was the location of Magnús’s relics on Orkney. He was initially buried at the church at Birsay but his remains were transferred to a church at Kirkwall, which was apparently dedicated to St Óláfr, 50 before they were housed in the new cathedral there, for which purpose it had been built. Since the saga account emphasizes Páll’s hostility to the cult, and given his power centre in Birsay, transferring the cult from Birsay must have been a shrewd move. Relocating the cult somewhere further away from the earl may have made it less objectionable to him. The seat of the bishops also appears to have moved along with the relics of Magnús. Earl Þorfinnr Sigurðarson is usually credited with establishing the bishopric of Orkney. He went on pilgrimage to Rome after 1047 and on his return, he resided at Birsay and ‘had built there Christchurch, a glorious minster, that was the first episcopal seat in Orkney’.51 This passage has traditionally been interpreted as demonstrating that the bishops were ensconced there at that very time.52 Raymond Lamb, on the other hand, contends that Christchurch only became a cathedral when Vilhjálmr the Old became bishop early in the twelfth century.53 However it was during Vilhjálmr’s incumbency that the bishop’s seat was transferred to Kirkwall. It therefore seems likely that prior to this move the bishops of Orkney had for a period, presumably from the construction of the cathedral, had their seat at Birsay.54 Rather than the bishop’s seat of Christchurch, Lamb has argued that Þorfinnr founded a monastery on the Brough of Birsay near his own power centre and that instead Christchurch was set up at the site of the parish kirk

    50 

    Since the first mention of Kirkwall in Orkneyinga saga is of Earl Rǫgnvaldr Brúsason taking up residence there, Crawford contends that Rǫgnvaldr founded the church, noting that he was a companion of Óláfr Haraldsson and fought for the king at his last stand at the Battle of Stiklestad in 1030 (Crawford, Northern Earldoms, p. 141). If this were the case, the dedication would have to predate Rǫgnvaldr’s death in 1046. Earl Þorfinnr might have been less well disposed towards the cult since the sagas portray him as less willing to submit to Óláfr Haraldsson due to his Scottish connections. 51  Orkneyinga saga, ed.  by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, chap. 31, pp.  80–81: sat jafnan í Byrgisheraði ok lét þar gera Kristskirkju, dýrligt musteri; þat var fyrst byskupsstóll i Orkneyium. 52  Crawford, Scandinavian Scotland, pp. 80–81. 53  Lamb, ‘The Historical Background’, p. 12. 54  Crawford, ‘Thorfinn, Christianity and Birsay’, p. 107.

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    of St  Magnús.55 The documentary evidence does not allow for a differentiation between a church with associated domestic buildings and a monastic complex.56 Crawford postulates that following the move of the bishopric to Kirkwall the church at Birsay was converted into a monastic community.57 Comparisons have been drawn with a similar twelfth-century episcopal relocation from Selja, an island off the coast of Norway where St Sunniva was said to have been martyred.58 St Sunniva’s shrine was transferred to Bergen in 1170 and a community of Benedictine monks was established attached to the church of St Alban on Selja; similarly, the bones of the martyred Magnús Erlendsson were transferred to the new cathedral at Kirkwall. The dedication of the Selja church changed to St Alban, while the dedication of the church on the Brough of Birsay changed from Christchurch to St Peter.59 Radford, however, suggests that this secondary dedication to Peter was already extant, accompanying the Christchurch name.60 The sites vacated by the bishops were still too significant to be abandoned altogether. In both instances the monks would have perpetuated the cult of the saint with whom the site was associated, as it would feature in pilgrimage circuits.61 Sunniva’s translation to Bergen conformed to custom that bishops ought to be based in central and urban locations. This provides another comparison to the Orcadian translation, as, unlike Birsay, Kirkwall was developing urban characteristics. Kirkwall is also situated more centrally within the Orkney archipelago than Birsay. It is also possible that instead of the translation of relics causing the creation of a new episcopal centre, the primary concern was not the cult itself but the decision to move the location of the episcopal centre. This seems likely to have been the case with St Sunniva, which resulted in building a new cathedral and installing relics in it.62 The fact that a new centre for the diocese was being established would demand a resident saint. If they did not exist already, a liturgy and a vita for the saint might be needed. This might support the existence of a lost vita of Magnús or suggest that the dating of Master Robert’s vita given 55 

    See Lamb, ‘The Cathedral of Christchurch and the Monastery of Birsay’; Lamb, ‘The Cathedral and the Monastery’. 56  Graham-Campbell and Batey, Vikings in Scotland, p. 254. 57  Crawford, ‘Thorfinn, Christianity and Birsay’, p. 106. 58  Crawford, ‘Thorfinn, Christianity and Birsay’, p. 112. 59  Crawford, ‘Thorfinn, Christianity and Birsay’, pp. 99–101. 60  Radford, The Early Christian and Norse Settlements at Birsay, Orkney p. 11. 61  Crawford, ‘Thorfinn, Christianity and Birsay’, p. 104. 62  Johnsen, ‘Når slo Sunniva-kulten igjennom?’.

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    in Magnúss saga lengri has some validity. The relocation of Sunniva’s cult centre to Bergen effectively made her protector of the city and certainly boosted her worship in Norway, popularizing ‘Sunniva’ as a personal name.63 Likewise, Magnús’s translation increased his popularity and positioned him as patron saint of the earldom. The reasons for the translation of the relics and the movement of the bishops’ seat are not specified in the saga but the move away from Birsay, an earldom power centre, must have given the bishop greater freedom and influence. Previously the bishops of Orkney must have been quite reliant on the earls, functioning as court-chaplains more than bishops. Fostering the cult of Magnús and meeting the needs of a secular ruler in fact served to enhance ecclesiastical authority in this instance.64 Indeed, the move to Kirkwall seems to be behind the fact that Bishop Vilhjálmr, the first bishop based at Kirkwall, is referred to as the ‘First’ bishop in Orkney, despite earlier bishops associated with Hamburg-Bremen and York.65 This demonstrates the significance of the new location and of the turning point provided by a native saint.

    Bishop Vilhjálmr It has already been noted that Bishop Vilhjálmr of Orkney sanctified Magnús’s remains in 1135. Since he was instrumental in promoting the cult, it is worth fully considering the figure of Vilhjálmr. His origins and background are obscure but he is described as a ‘clerk of Paris’.66 At this stage in the ecclesiastical history of Scandinavia, it therefore seems improbable that he was originally Norwegian.67 An indirect and vague reference in Orkneyinga saga implies that he was related to the twelfth-century chieftain of Caithness and Orkney 63 

    Johnsen, ‘Når slo Sunniva-kulten igjennom?’, pp. 55, 62. See Haki Antonsson, St Magnús of Orkney, p. 102. 65  Three bishops were appointed by Adalbert, archbishop of Hamburg-Bremen, to the see of Orkney from the 1050s: Thorolf, Johannes, and Adalbert (Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta, ed. by Schmeidler, iii, chap. 127, p. 224). This was followed by three bishops from York: Radulf, 1073 (on the nomination of Jarl Páll), Roger 1100 × 1108, and Radulf Novell 1109 × 1114 (Watt, ed., Fasti Ecclesiae Scoticanae, p. 248). 66  Orkneyinga saga, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, chap. 85, p. 204: Parísklerkr. He is also said to have accompanied Rǫgnvaldr on crusade as an ‘interpreter’ (túlkr: Orkneyinga saga, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, p. 204) so presumably spoke French or Occitan (Phelpstead, ‘Skaldic Saints and Stories of Miracles’, p. 84). 67  Thomson, The New History of Orkney, p. 94. 64 

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    Sveinn Ásleifsson, which would have given Vilhjálmr a personal Orcadian connection.68 According to the saga tradition, Bishop Vilhjálmr of Orkney was in office for sixty-six years, until his death in 1168.69 The date of his consecration would thus be calculated as 1102, although an episcopate of sixty-six years seems unlikely. There is no information about Vilhjálmr’s consecration, but it is likely that he was appointed by Magnús berfœttr, king of Norway 1093–1103, during his expedition to the Irish Sea in 1102,70 or during his son Sigurðr’s rule over Orkney between 1098 and 1103. After the death of Magnús berfœttr and Sigurðr’s return to Norway, Hákon Pálsson arrived in Norway and ‘the kings gave him [Hákon] the title of earl’.71 Hákon had been loyal to King Magnús berfœttr, accompanying him on expeditions and even urging the launching of the 1098 foray, according to Orkneyinga saga.72 It seems likely, then, that Hákon would have recognized Vilhjálmr’s episcopacy.73 Due to a vacancy in York between May 1108 and April 1109, Archbishop Anselm of Canterbury involved himself in Orcadian affairs.74 In a letter from 1108/1109, Anselm urged Earl Hákon to strengthen Christianity within his realm and to subject himself to a certain bishop whose name is not given. 75 Anselm presumably refers here to a certain Roger who, according to Hugh the Chanter, was consecrated by Archbishop Gerard of York, which must have been sometime between June 1100 and February 1108.76 It therefore seems that Hákon was backing Vilhjálmr’s position and not allowing his replacement by a bishop selected by York.77 Around the time of Anselm’s letter or shortly thereafter Roger must have died or given up his claim to the Orkney bishopric. Archbishop Thomas II of 68 

    Orkneyinga saga, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, chap. 38, p. 156. Magnúss saga skemmri, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, chap. 18, p. 326. 70  Imsen, ‘The Nidaros Church and its Province’, p. 30. 71  Orkneyinga saga, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, chap. 43, p. 102: gáfu konungar honum jarlsnafn. 72  Orkneyinga saga, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, chap. 38, p. 93. 73  Haki Antonsson, St Magnús of Orkney, p. 92. 74  Watt, ed., Fasti Ecclesiae Scoticanae, p. 248. 75  Ad Haconem comitem Orcadensium (Schmitt, ed., S. Anselmi Cantuariensis Archiepiscopi Opera Omnia, v, p. 396, at line 5). 76  See Hugh, The History of the Church of York, in Johnson, ed. and trans, Hugh the Chanter: The History of the Church of York, p. 52 77  Haki Antonsson, St Magnús of Orkney, p. 93. 69 

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    York consecrated Radulfus Nowell as a rival bishop to Vilhjálmr.78 Interestingly Hugh the Chanter’s account of Radulfus states that Orcadians were involved in his selection: ‘Thomas also in St Peter’s church, consecrated as bishop Ralph [Radulfus] … who had been elected by the men of the Orkneys’.79 It is unclear who these Orcadians were or their precise role in events. Haki Antonsson suspects that they might have been Earl Magnús Erlendsson’s party who hoped to replace Bishop Vilhjálmr, associated with the rival branch of the dynasty.80 This situation would suggest that the archbishopric of York’s claims to add Orkney to its suffragans were not purely aspirational, but had some basis, as it even ‘exploited divisions within the earldom to further its agenda’.81 Another possibility, though, is that Hugh’s statement was simply meant as shorthand for ‘legitimate bishop’, since bishops are supposed to be elected clero et populo (by the clergy and the people), it may have been intended to signal popular assent, rather than referring to specific Orcadians. This seems likely given the distinction between the election by the people of Orkney and the consecration by the archbishop of York. Pope Honorius  II wrote a letter to King Sigurðr in 1125, stating that Archbishop Thomas had consecrated Radulfus to the see of Orkney but that another had inserted himself to that position.82 If Vilhjálmr was intended, it seems strange that it took so long for York and the papacy to challenge his status. Furthermore, if Vilhjálmr had been consecrated in 1102 ‘it is difficult to envisage how he could have intruded on Radulfus Nowell’s position’, since Radulfus was consecrated several years later.83 An alternative explanation is possible if Orkneyinga saga’s dating is disregarded: it was Peter A. Munch who 78 

    The ‘Nowell’ perhaps serves to distinguish this Radulfus from the earlier Radulfus, who was the first bishop of Orkney who was consecrated by York in 1073. 79  Hugh, The History of the Church of York, in Johnson, ed. and trans, Hugh the Chanter: The History of the Church of York, pp. 52–53. 80  Haki Antonsson, St Magnús of Orkney, p. 93 (mistakenly referring to Magnús Erlingsson). 81  Haki Antonsson, St Magnús of Orkney, p. 93. 82  Raine, ed., The Historians of the Church of York and its Archbishops, iii, p. 51: ‘Auribus nostris intimatum est, quod venerabilis frater noster, Thomas Eboracensis archiepiscopus, Radulfum Orcheneia episcopum consecravit. Postmodum vero, sicut accepimus, alius est ibidem intrusus’ (We have heard that our venerable brother, Thomas, archbishop of York, consecrated Radulfus as bishop of Orkney. Afterwards, as we understand, another was thrust into his place). The implication of the passive intrusus est is perhaps a degree of blame on the part of the addressee, that he ‘was thrust into his place by you’. 83  Haki Antonsson, St Magnús of Orkney, p. 94.

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    first contended that Vilhjálmr had been bishop for fifty-six winters, rather than the sixty-six of Orkneyinga saga, and actually took up office in 1112.84 He thereby would have been consecrated as an intruder during Radulfus’s episcopacy. Ronald G. Cant agrees, suggesting that Sigurðr was the ‘founder of the bishopric of Orkney as a regular and permanent institution … either when he was ruling the islands for his father around 1102 or, more probably, after his return from his crusade in 1112’.85 If Earl Magnús had backed a rival to Vilhjálmr in the Orkney bishopric, this might contextualize Vilhjálmr’s initial reluctance to personally acknowledge the cult in Orkneyinga saga, where he proclaims popular tales of Magnús’s sanctity as ‘sheer superstition’.86 He is only persuaded of its veracity because he himself experienced a couple of miracles. Admittedly his reticence may also be intended to add to the hagiographic nature of the account, but a more likely explanation for any change of heart is a realization of a change in the political circumstances. The saga tells us that Vilhjálmr’s altered attitude to the cult came after a journey to Norway, where he may have learnt that Rǫgnvaldr Kali had secured the backing of the Norwegian king, or even met the earl and his father. The precise timing of Vilhjálmr’s translation of the relics and of Rǫgnvaldr’s rise to power is difficult to reconstruct from the saga narrative, but the former seems to have shortly preceded the latter. We have seen that initially Vilhjálmr’s position was apparently quite insecure, for despite the backing of the Páll-line of the earls’ dynasty and of the Norwegian crown, he had not been accepted by York or the papacy. Association with the cult of an Erlendr-line earl helped the bishop to distance himself from his traditional reliance on one scion of the comital family, allowing him to enhance his position from what previously had amounted to being essentially the Páll-line court-chaplain.87 The insecurity of Vilhjálmr’s appointment created special conditions, particularly if he was facing a rival intruder. This may have made him — belatedly, if the saga is to be 84 

    Munch, Det norske folks historie, i, p. 622. Cant, ‘The Church in Orkney and Shetland and its Relations with Norway and Scotland’, p. 4. See Watt, ed., Fasti Ecclesiae Scoticanae, p. 249. This might be in keeping with Sigurðr’s other episcopal appointments in Norway and Greenland at this time (Haki Antonsson, St Magnús of Orkney, p. 94). His establishment of a bishopric in Greenland was even done seemingly on his own initiative without the involvement of higher ecclesiastical authorities ( Joys, Biskop og konge, p. 143). While the archbishopric of Lund, set up in 1104, technically had jurisdiction over the Norwegian Church, Norwegian kings still seem to have nominated their own bishops, although they sometimes had them officially approved by Lund. 86  Orkneyinga saga, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, chap. 56, p. 122: aftrú mikla. 87  Haki Antonsson, St Magnús of Orkney, pp. 144, 222. 85 

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    believed — particularly partial to the benefits of the cult of a native saint and of a cathedral as a pilgrimage centre. Vilhjálmr’s episcopacy thus marked a new stage in the development of the Orkney bishopric, facilitated by the development of Magnús’s cult.

    The Geographical Distribution of the Cult Once the cult was established the variation in its geographical distribution can offer potential clues to its support within the earldom and to the extent of connections between different parts of the Norse world. Within the earldom there was regional variation in the cult’s distribution. The cult of Magnús was particularly associated with Shetland. There were more dedications to Magnús in Shetland than in Orkney.88 Shetlanders are prevalent in the miracle accounts of the sagas (in Orkneyinga saga, Magnúss saga skemmri, and Magnúss saga lengri): they are cured in much greater numbers than people from Orkney and from Caithness.89 One farmer from Shetland, Bergfinnr Skatason is involved in five miracles, from before and after Magnús’s remains were moved to Kirkwall. Shetland had been part of Magnús’s half of the earldom. It was also the main support base for Rǫgnvaldr during his struggle with Páll. It was therefore natural that the cult received greater endorsement from this part of the earldom, given its connections to both the saint and his promoter. The cult of Magnús does not seem to have found favour in other parts of Britain and Ireland which had undergone Scandinavian settlement. There is negligible evidence for the presence of the cult in medieval England. The original church of St Magnus near the Old London Bridge predated the birth of the patron saint of Orkney, so must have been initially dedicated to a different St Magnus; its later rededication to St Magnus the Martyr might been prompted by the presence of a church dedicated to another Scandinavian saint, Óláfr Haraldsson, on the other side of the bridge.90 There is also no suggestion that the Norse in the Western Isles and Scotland’s western seaboard became devotees of Magnús. Instead, as Rosemary Power suggests, the religious affairs of the Norse 88 

    Five in Shetland and three or four in Orkney (Haki Antonsson, St Magnús of Orkney, p. 73). Haki Antonsson, ‘St Magnús of Orkney: Aspects of his Cult’, p. 153; Haki Antonsson, St Magnús of Orkney, p. 73. 90  See Søiland, ‘Orkney Pilgrimage’, p. 178 and references therein. For churches of St Óláfr in London generally, see Townend, ‘Knútr and the Cult of St Óláfr’, pp. 266–68. 89 

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    in the Hebrides, who seem to have adopted existing local saints through integration with their native neighbours rather than joining the Orcadians in their reverence of Magnús, presents a contrast with the development of Magnús’s cult in the Northern Isles.91 The history of the earls’ attempts to dominate the Western Isles might be relevant here, in creating local resentment, although it is likely that the extent and success of this domination has been overstated in the saga tradition.92 There were strong influences from the Irish Sea region on the Hebrides, while Orkney was more removed geographically; partly as a result of this, its cultural profile was more Norse and less hybrid.93 St Magnús did have more success in the North Atlantic; in particular he is co-patron of a number of churches in Iceland.94 A miracle for a man in northern Iceland is related in Magnúss saga skemmri. The cathedral of the Faroe Islands, which began to be constructed from around 1300, was dedicated to Magnús and possessed relics.95 The spread of the cult in this way is perhaps not surprising given the connections between Iceland and Orkney, especially in terms of sea routes and trade. The cult’s prominence in Iceland was somewhat delayed. The composition of Magnúss saga skemmri in the latter half of the thirteenth century has been connected to the early stages of Magnús’s cult in Iceland. 96 Margaret Cormack suggests that it was not until the fourteenth century and later that the cult flourished in Iceland, spurred on by a relic of Magnús reaching Skálholt in 1298.97 This delayed spread may also have contributed to the lack of the cult of Magnús in the Hebrides and elsewhere, as their Norse connections were much decreased by the fourteenth century. While Magnús achieved some popularity in Iceland and the Faeroe Islands, the same could not be said of mainland Scandinavia. In Norway, there are no church dedications to Magnús other than a single altar dedication at the cathedral in Nidaros, known from the 1430s.98 Ten legal documents from Norway, 91 

    Power, ‘Scotland in the Norse Sagas’, p. 20. See Oram, ‘Ouncelands, Quarterlands and Pennylands in the Western Isles, Man and Galloway’, p. 68. 93  The involvement of Orkney and the Hebrides in the wider Norse world, particularly in Icelandic literature, is explored further in Ellis, ‘Degrees of Separation’. 94  Cormack, The Saints in Iceland, p. 119. 95  Blindheim, ‘St Magnus in Scandinavian Art’, p. 165. 96  Magnús Már Lárusson, ‘Sct. Magnus Orcadensis Comes’, pp. 487–88. 97  Cormack, The Saints in Iceland, p. 121; she also notes that the ‘adoption of his feast as a Holy Day of Obligation in 1326 reflects and undoubtedly contributed to enthusiasm for him’. 98  Søiland, ‘Orkney Pilgrimage’, p. 177. 92 

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    from between c. 1331 and 1550, make reference to the feasts of St Magnús.99 Since these references are used to provide dates in the documents it is unclear to what extent these feasts were actually celebrated in late medieval Norway. The local appeal and dynastic benefit which the cult of Magnús had in the earldom was not relevant in Norway, where St Óláfr’s status remained unchallenged. There were altars dedicated to a number of saints at the cathedral in Nidaros, so the inclusion of Magnús likely reflected a desire to represent the various cults which were followed within the archdiocese.

    Other Cults and Responses to Magnús It has been noted that there was a clear dynastic element to the cult of Magnús, and it is therefore not surprising that this prompted a response from the rival dynasty. Hákon Pálsson’s branch of the dynasty of the earls seem to have cultivated the cult of St Nicholas, presumably in an attempt to counter the expanding cult of his cousin Magnús.100 Although the site had been Christian since the Pictish period, the dedication to Nicholas of a church at Papa Stronsay, significantly where Earl Rǫgnvaldr Brúsason had been murdered, may date to the twelfth century when the church building was overhauled.101 Earl Hákon Pálsson may also have had the unusual Round Church of St Nicholas, recalling the Sepulchre at Jerusalem, built at the power centre of Orphir (replacing Birsay as the seat of the earls).102 Hákon would have visited the original church while on pilgrimage to the Holy Land in c. 1120, perhaps to atone for his involvement in his cousin’s assassination.103 There are no known churches 99 

    Søiland, ‘Orkney Pilgrimage’, p. 184. Crawford, The Northern Earldoms, p. 233. 101  Crawford, The Northern Earldoms, pp. 232–33. 102  Crawford, The Northern Earldoms, pp. 68, 212. 103  According to Orkneyinga saga, Hákon’s journey to Jerusalem went via Rome and the sixteenth-century Danish version adds the claim that while there Hákon actually ‘got absolution for his deed from the Pope’ (Taylor, trans., The Orkneyinga Saga, chap. 52, p. 213). Thomson notes that Orkneyinga saga’s ‘verdict on the murderer of Orkney’s patron saint is surprisingly favourable, and no doubt reflects the fact that at the time the saga was written (c. 1200) Harald Maddadsson, a grandson of Hakon, was Earl of Orkney’ (The New History of Orkney, p. 102). Einar Ólafur Sveinsson argues that the saga’s favourable presentation of Hákon results from an Orcadian relative of Hákon’s being used as a source of information; indeed Þorkell rostungr, who was connected to Hákon’s descendants, visited Iceland from Orkney and stayed with the Oddaverjar — the family with whom Einar Ólafur connects the composition of the saga 100 

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    of this design from Scotland at this time, but there are a few examples from Denmark and Norway. St Nicholas’ cult was spreading in northern and western Europe, after his relics had been transferred from Asia Minor to Bari in Italy in the late eleventh century. Crawford suggests that Hákon’s connections to the Norwegian aristocracy and his visits to Norway would have made him aware of the cult’s status there since Sigurðr Jórsalafari, who had also gone on pilgrimage to Byzantium, and his co-ruler Eystein founded churches dedicated to Nicholas in Nidaros and Bergen.104 The distribution of Nicholas’s cult in the earldom was the inverse of that of Magnús. As previously noted, Magnús’ cult was popular and well attested in Shetland, but Nicholas lacks any full church dedications in Shetland, other than a chapel in the Out Skerries.105 Meanwhile, the Nicholas dedications are in Orkney, where Magnús dedications are less widespread. There are also no surviving dedications to Nicholas in Caithness, perhaps due to Magnús’s association with the region and to Hákon’s limited involvement there.106 At the end of the twelfth century, Orkney gained a second saint in Rǫgnvaldr Kali Kolsson. More famous as a skaldic poet, Rǫgnvaldr was killed in 1158 or 1159. According to the Icelandic annals, his sainthood was not proclaimed until 1192 by Bjarni Kolbeinsson, bishop of Orkney (1188–1223).107 Rǫgnvaldr’s cult never reached great heights, and since Haraldr Maddaðarson’s rule had already been secure for decades before the death of his co-earl, his need for (another) family saint was not as great as Rǫgnvaldr’s had been when he promoted Magnús’s cult.108 William Thomson claims that Haraldr and Bjarni ‘were powerless to stand in the way of a cult which commanded popular enthusiasm’.109 Like Magnús, Rǫgnvaldr is prominent in Orkneyinga saga: most of the text’s latter half concerns his life. However, in this saga account there is no evidence of the popular enthusiasm for a cult of Rǫgnvaldr assumed by Thomson. Rather than Bjarni being a reluctant bystander, it is likely that the cult was his own initiative, as suggested by Haki Antonsson, and intended to increase Kirkwall’s status as a pilgrimage (see Einar Ólafur Sveinsson, Sagnaritun Oddaverja, pp. 35, 38, 50; Sturlunga saga, ed. by Jón Jóhannesson, Magnús Finnbogason, and Kristján Eldjárn, i, 240). 104  Crawford, The Northern Earldoms, p. 213. 105  See Cant, The Medieval Churches and Chapels of Shetland, p. 33. 106  Crawford, The Northern Earldoms, p. 213 n. 44. 107  Islandske Annaler indtil 1578, ed. by Storm, pp. 120, 180, 324. 108  Crawford, The Northern Earldoms, p. 214. 109  Thomson, The New History of Orkney, p. 125.

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    site by revering its founder.110 The position of the bishops of Orkney must have been strengthened during the twelfth century since Bjarni was able to canonize an Erlendr-line saint during the supremacy of the Páll line.111 This strengthening had gone hand-in-hand with the development of the cult of Magnús. Rǫgnvaldr had agreed to rule the earldom jointly with Haraldr Maddaðarson, who therefore may not have deemed his cult especially objectionable, despite them being from rival branches. Additionally, as already noted, it was quite common for rulers to patronize the cult of someone they had been opposed to in life, perhaps to neutralize any threat it might pose. Rǫgnvaldr’s pilgrimage to the Holy Land in 1151–1153, accompanied by Bishop Vilhjálmr, also helped the case for his sainthood. The main motivation, though, was probably his involvement in fostering the cult of Magnús and his building of the cathedral along with his generous gifts.112 Bishop Bjarni directly benefitted from all this, while Kirkwall’s significance increased his status within the archdiocese of Nidaros. It seems that Rǫgnvaldr’s grandson, Haraldr ungi (the Younger) Eiríksson, was almost Orkney’s third saint.113 During his lifetime Haraldr ungi made a bid for political power, presumably hoping to capitalize on the recent sainthood of Rǫgnvaldr, in the same way that Rǫgnvaldr himself had capitalized on that of Magnús. In 1198 he was killed in a battle against Haraldr Maddaðarson, who did not want to share his sole rule of the earldom, near Wick, Caithness. According to Orkneyinga saga, ‘a great light could be seen where his blood had fallen’ and he was called ‘a true saint’ by the Caithness men.114 Haraldr Maddaðarson would presumably have hindered any attempts at Haraldr ungi being officially canonized, given their specific rivalry and the over-arching rivalry between the Páll and Erlendr lines, with Haraldr ungi representing the latter. Thomson notes that Bishop Bjarni too would have been indisposed towards such a cult, since his own family had fought against Haraldr ungi and his forces in the fatal battle.115 Orkneyinga saga relates that a church (which has 110 

    Haki Antonsson, St Magnús of Orkney, p. 101. See also Crawford, ‘St Magnus and St Rognvald’, pp. 33–37. Given the episcopal cultivation of his cult, the Bishop’s Palace is an appropriate location for the statue of Rǫgnvaldr (see Crawford, ‘An Unrecognised Statue of Earl Rognvald?’). 111  Haki Antonsson, St Magnús of Orkney, p. 101. 112  Crawford, ‘St Magnus and St Rognvald’, pp. 33, 35. 113  Thomson, The New History of Orkney, p. 125. 114  Orkneyinga saga, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, chap. 109, p. 292: sét ljós mikit, þar er blóðit hafði niðr komit … sannhelgan. 115  Thomson, The New History of Orkney, p. 125.

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    not been identified) was built where Haraldr ungi was killed, and that miracles occurred there. This section of the saga has been argued to reflect a Caithness viewpoint and to derive from that context.116 Most of Haraldr ungi’s support had come from Caithness, where he had presumably inherited his father’s lands; his connection to the area would likely have stimulated local veneration after his death. Haki Antonsson suggests that the cult could have been encouraged by churchmen in Caithness who were hostile to Haraldr Maddaðarson, in the context of his dispute with the Scottish Church which culminated in 1201 when one of his followers mutilated Bishop John, whom the Scottish king William the Lion had appointed as bishop of Caithness.117 The geographical remove from Kirkwall perhaps meant that, unlike the cult of Rǫgnvaldr, that of Haraldr ungi was less able to connect itself to that of Magnús. Orkney’s cults apparently remained very much tied up in dynastic politics. This is underlined by the saga comment on Haraldr ungi that he ‘wished to go over to Orkney and join Earl Magnús and Earl Rǫgnvaldr, his kinsmen’.118 Thomson argues that while members of the Erlendr line ‘still posed a threat’ it seems likely that ‘talk of Harald the Younger’s sainthood was discouraged and aspects of Rǫgnvaldr’s cult was quietly suppressed’.119 If Haraldr Maddaðarson had similar feelings about the cult of Magnús, who was murdered by Haraldr Maddaðarson’s grandfather Hákon Pálsson, they were apparently to no avail. Magnús’s cult was perhaps too entrenched by this time or its cathedral dedication made it untouchable. Counterintuitively, suppression of — or lack of support for — subsequent Erlendr-line cults may have meant that the more distant, less threatening original was able to retain prime position. It might have prevented more Magnús dedications appearing in Orkney itself, though, which, as previously noted, do not compare to his profile in Shetland. It may also be that Haraldr Maddaðarson saw the benefit to his dynasty and the earldom of sanctified relatives and was able to set aside factional grudges. Bishop Vilhjálmr, who benefitted from his association with the cult, had actively supported Haraldr Maddaðarson’s claim for his share of the earldom.120 Ultimately, the fact that Haraldr ungi did not actually manage to become an earl of Orkney may explain the failure of his cult: he was merely an eliminated pretender and not a mar116 

    Michael Chesnutt, ‘Haralds saga Maddaðarsonar’, p. 55. Haki Antonsson, St Magnús of Orkney, pp. 159–60. 118  Orkneyinga saga, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, chap. 109, pp. 292–93): vildi yfir til Orkneyja til Magnúss jarls ok Rǫgnvaldrs jarls, frænda sinna. 119  Thomson, The New History of Orkney, p. 125. 120  Thomson, The New History of Orkney, p. 109. 117 

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    tyred earl, who, even if he had been a rival to the current holder of that title, would have added to the prestige of the earls’ dynasty as a whole.

    The British and Irish Context The influence of the Norwegian saint Óláfr on the cult of Magnús has already been traced; the British and Irish Isles were the main cultural alternative to Norway available in the earldom, so comparisons will be drawn with saints in other parts of those islands. In addition to pre-existing Pictish Christianity, Ireland may have encouraged the conversion of Norse Orkney. For instance, Earl Sigurðr’s mother was said to be Irish and would therefore have been from a Christian background.121 Royal saints are virtually unknown in Ireland, and in particular there is a lack of dynastic martyrs in the Scandinavian style of Óláfr and Magnús.122 It therefore seems unlikely that there was an Irish contribution to the development of the cult of Magnús, a dynastic saint. In contrast to Orkney, the diocese of Sodor, which also fell under Nidaros, lacked a saint from the ruling dynasty of Man and the Isles. Indeed, Ian Beuermann notes that the kingdom of Man and the Isles is the ‘one Scandinavian polity curiously absent in this list’ of saints associated with Scandinavian monarchies, ‘the one that did not produce a royal martyr in the eleventh and twelfth centuries’.123 Irish influence on the kingdom of Man and the Isles, and particularly its saints, might have contributed to this lack. While there was a suitable candidate for a royal martyr in the form of Óláfr Guðröðarson, whose sainthood could have benefitted the rule of his descendants, these descendants were at odds with the bishops of the diocese; the lack of their support may have been the crucial missing factor.124 A bishop was needed to declare someone a saint. This Manx comparison, albeit speculative, highlights the importance of episcopal support for the cult of Magnús and of cooperation between the bishops and rulers. 121 

    Orkneyinga saga, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, chap. 11, p. 24. Indeed, martyrdom is uncommon for Irish saints generally. For further discussion of the issue of Irish royal saints, including the few royal figures who arguably had saintly characteristics, and for some thoughts on why such figures were not cultivated further, see Zumbuhl, ‘The Practice of Irish Kingship in the Central Middle Ages’, pp. 184–89. 123  Beuermann, ‘No Soil for Saints’, p. 83. 124  Beuermann, ‘No Soil for Saints’, pp. 87, 92–93, 95. The descendants of the other potentially suitable candidate, Echmarcach mac Ragnaill, did not continue to rule the kingdom, leaving no dynastic benefit for his sainthood (p. 86). 122 

    134 Caitlin Ellis

    Like Ireland, Scotland had contributed a Christian woman to the family of earls: Orkneyinga saga claims that Þorfinnr’s mother (Sigurðr’s wife) was the daughter of the Scottish king Máel Coluim II (r. 1005–1034).125 Unlike Ireland, the kingdom of Scots did produce a national royal saint, albeit not a martyr in the manner of Óláfr and Magnús. Queen Margaret, English wife of Máel Coluim III (r. 1058–1093), died in 1093. The existence of Turgot’s Vita, written at the start of the twelfth century, arguably gives her cult a misleading prominence to historians. Her cult was localized around her shrine at Dunfermline with a strong monastic profile.126 There are a few dedications to Margaret in the earldom but it is not clear which specific saint Margaret is intended; instead of Queen Margaret, Cant suggests that the dedications of Lunna and Sandness in the Shetland islands relate to Margaret of Antioch.127 Indeed the cult of Margaret of Antioch is attested in Iceland, and with a similar distribution to that of St Magnús.128 The cult of Queen Margaret was associated with the central and lowland ‘core’ of the Scottish kingdom, where Margaret and her sons’ activities were focused, rather than the areas the earldom would have been in more regular contact with, namely Caithness and Sutherland. While there are some virgin queens, most saintly queens were matriarchs.129 The dynastic element to Margaret’s cult was not relevant in the earldom and might even have been a hindrance to any potential spread there. Despite Scotland’s geographical proximity, it seems unlikely that the cult of St Margaret had any great impact on that of Magnús or influenced its development. Turgot’s Vita, produced for Margaret’s daughter Matilda, emphasizes saintly queenship: Margaret had a rather different profile from Magnús. It is likely, moreover, that the Church in central Scotland was too preoccupied with its own position relative to England, seeking to assert its independence from the jurisdiction of York, to be overly concerned with the Church in the earldom and with implanting the cults of Scottish saints there. This example of a Scottish royal saint cannot be classified as Gaelic (and therefore an exception to the Irish dearth of such saints), given Margaret’s own English origins and the increasingly Anglo-Norman character of her dynasty. There was a tradition of English royal saints before the Norman Conquest,130 125 

    Orkneyinga saga, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, chap. 12, p. 27, chap. 13, p. 28, chap. 20, p. 43. 126  See Keene, Saint Margaret, pp. 128–30. 127  Cant, The Medieval Churches and Chapels of Shetland, p. 33. 128  Cormack, The Saints in Iceland, pp. 121–22. 129  Bartlett, Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things?, p. 220. 130  See Rollason, ‘The Cults of Murdered Royal Saints in Anglo-Saxon England’, pp. 1–22.

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    but in this later period England contributed to the development of Magnús’s cult in more specific ways: literary and architectural. Firstly, the Vita sancti Magni was influenced by the corpus on St Thomas Becket and its stated author ‘Master Robert’ is likely one and the same as Robert of Crickdale who was a biographer of Thomas.131 If the dating ascribed to the Vita sancti Magni in Magnúss saga lengri is retained, then the possibility of influence in the other direction would have to be considered. Secondly, St  Magnús Cathedral at Kirkwall in the high Romanesque style seems to have been modelled on that of Durham, which it resembles in several respects, and perhaps employed some of the same English masons.132 The fact that the cathedral at Durham combined an episcopal seat with an important cult centre (of Cuthbert) perhaps made it the natural choice as a prototype for the building at Kirkwall, which had the same dual function.133 English influence acted on both Orkney and Scotland but it is unclear if this occurred in Orkney as a distinct phenomenon, or if it reached Orkney via Scotland.134 Either way, the very building and style of St Magnús Cathedral, recalling other prominent churches in northern Britain, demonstrates the cult’s engagement with wider European trends. While Scotland, Ireland, and the Irish Sea region may well have been sources of influence for the conversion of the earldom of Orkney, they are unlikely to have impacted on the development of the cult of Magnús; at any rate, they show no cults with similar profiles. Instead, it was England which had a demonstrable literary and architectural effect on the cult of Magnús. It seems that English influence had increased in Orkney, relative to Gaelic influence which was presumably more prevalent earlier in the earldom’s history. 131 

    Haki Antonsson ‘Two Twelfth-Century Martyrs’. Cambridge, ‘The Architectural Context’, pp. 111–12, 123: Cathedrals from mainland Scandinavia in the high Romanesque style apparently post-date that at Kirkwall. 133  Cambridge, ‘The Architectural Context’, pp. 114, 124. 134  Dunfermline Abbey, which was founded by Máel Coluim III and Margaret (whose shrine it would later house), also betrays strong architectural similarities to Durham Cathedral. It may be relevant that Margaret’s confessor and biographer Turgot had previously been prior of Durham. St Magnús Cathedral is only a little smaller than Dunfermline Abbey. Cruden argued that the Durham influence did not reach Kirkwall directly, but via Dunfermline (‘The Cathedral and Relics of St Magnus’, p. 88). Cambridge too notes the strong influence of Dunfermline, suggesting that it may have been a conscious choice to echo another ‘great dynastic mausoleum’ (‘The Architectural Context’, p. 124). However, he also contends that the Kirkwall designer ‘was not content to derive everything at second hand from Dunfermline’ and made direct reference to Durham Cathedral for some features (Cambridge, ‘The Architectural Context’, p. 119). 132 

    136 Caitlin Ellis

    Concluding Remarks The cult of Magnús had external inspirations in that of Óláfr, yet its development was prompted by the internal needs of the earls’ dynasty, in terms of relations with their notional Norwegian overlords and of internecine strife. Earl Rǫgnvaldr and Bishop Vilhjálmr were crucial in the development of the cult. They were both prompted by the insecurity of their personal positions and the outcomes of their cooperation were mutually beneficial. This collaboration between rulers and the Church seems especially important when contrasted with the lack of a dynastic saint in the neighbouring diocese of Sodor. Admittedly, this pattern of collaboration was not quite repeated for the earldom’s second cult, which might partly explain why Rǫgnvaldr was a less successful and popular saint. This cult benefitted the contemporary earls less than that of Magnús had, and instead it was a project of Bishop Bjarni, suggesting the increased status of the bishop within the earldom. Rǫgnvaldr’s cult was in many ways a corollary of that of Magnús, given his role as benefactor of the cathedral. The success of the cult of Magnús might therefore be attributed to the fact that all the right conditions were in place; an opportunity was provided and was seized upon by an earl and by a bishop. Although the sagas about Magnús cannot be treated as accurate historical accounts they do reflect genuine concerns in the cultivation of the cult, such as miracle-collecting and papal canonization, and the desire to proclaim the earldom’s Christian credentials. In combination with the literary corpus, St Magnús Cathedral stands as a proud monument to the cult and to the status of both Orkney’s bishops and earls.

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    Works Cited Primary Sources Heimskringla i–iii, ed. by Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, 3 vols, Íslenzk fornrit, 26–28 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1941–1951) Islandske Annaler indtil 1578. Udgivne for det Norske historiske Kildeskriftfond, ed.  by Gustav Storm (Oslo: Norsk historisk kjeldeskrift-institutt, 1977) Johnson, Charles, ed. and trans., Hugh the Chanter: The History of the Church of York 1066–1127, revised Martin Brett, Christopher N. L. Brooke, and Michael Winter­ bottom (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990) Magistri Adam Bremensis Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontificum, ed.  by Bernhard Schmeidler, in Monumenta Germaniae Historica: Scriptores rerum Germanicarum, 78 vols (Hannover: Hahn, 1871–), 2 (1917) McDougall, David, and Ian McDougall, trans., Theodoricus Monachus, Historia de antiquitate regum Norwagiensum: An Account of the Ancient History of the Norwegian Kings, with Introduction by Peter Foote (London: Viking Society for Northern Research, 1998) Orkneyinga saga; Legenda de Sancto Magno; Magnúss saga skemmri; Magnúss saga lengri; Helga þáttr ok Úlfs, ed.  by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, Íslenzk fornrit, 34 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1987) Raine, James, ed., The Historians of the Church of York and its Archbishops, iii (London: Longman, 1894) Schmitt, Franciscus Salesius, ed., S. Anselmi Cantuariensis Archiepiscopi Opera Omnia, v: Epistolarum Libri Secundi. Alteram Partem (Edinburgh: Thomas Nelson, 1951) Storm, Gustav, ed., Monumenta Historica Norvegiæ. Latinske kildeskrifter til Norges historie i middelalderen (Oslo: Norsk historisk kjeldeskrift-institutt, 1973) Sturlunga saga, ed. by Jón Jóhannesson, Magnús Finnbogason, and Kristján Eldjárn, 2 vols (Rejkjavík: Sturlunguútgáfan, 1946) Taylor, Alexander Burt, trans., The Orkneyinga Saga: A New Translation with Introduction and Notes (London: Oliver & Boyd, 1938) Watt, D.  E.  R., ed., Fasti Ecclesiae Scoticanae Medii Aevi ad annum 1638 (Edinburgh: Scottish Record Society, 1969)

    Secondary Studies Bagge, Sverre, and Sæbjörg Walaker Nordeide, ‘The Kingdom of Norway’, in Christiani­ zation and the Rise of Christian Monarchy: Scandinavia, Central Europe and Rus’ c. 900–1200, ed. by Nora Berend (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), pp. 121–66 Bartlett, Robert, Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things? Saints and Worshippers from the Martyrs to the Reformation (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2013)

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    Berman, Melissa, ‘The Political Sagas’, Scandinavian Studies, 57 (1985), 113–29 Beuermann, Ian, ‘Jarla Sögur Orkneyja: Status and Power and of the Earls of Orkney According to Their Sagas’, in Ideology and Power in the Viking and Middle Ages: Scandi­ navia, Iceland, Ireland, Orkney and the Faeroes, ed.  by Gro Steinsland, Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Jan Erik Rekdal, and Ian Beuermann (Leiden: Brill, 2011), pp. 109–62 — ‘No Soil for Saints: Why Was There No Native Royal Martyr in Man and the Isles?’, in Celtic-Norse Relationships in the Irish Sea in the Middle Ages 800–1200, ed. by Jón Viðar Sigurðsson and Timothy Bolton (Leiden: Brill, 2014), pp. 81–96 Blindheim, Martin, ‘St Magnus in Scandinavian Art’, in St Magnus Cathedral and Orkney’s Twelfth-Century Renaissance, ed.  by Barbara  E. Crawford  (Aberdeen: Aberdeen University Press, 1988), pp. 165–82 Bonté, Rosalind, ‘Conversion and Coercion: Cultural Memory and Narratives of Conver­ sion in the Norse North Atlantic’ (unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Cambridge, 2015) Cambridge, Eric, ‘The Architectural Context of the Romanesque Cathedral at Kirkwall’, in St Magnus Cathedral and Orkney’s Twelfth-Century Renaissance, ed. by Barbara E. Crawford (Aberdeen: Aberdeen University Press, 1988), pp. 111–27 Cant, Ronald G., ‘The Church in Orkney and Shetland and its Relations with Norway and Scotland in the Middle Ages’, Northern Scotland, 1 (1972), 1–18 —— , The Medieval Churches and Chapels of Shetland (Lerwick: Shetland Archaeological and Historical Society, 1975) Chesnutt, Michael, ‘Haralds saga Maddaðarson’, in Speculum Norrœnum: Norse Studies in Memory of Gabriel Turville-Petre, ed.  by Ursula Dronke, Guðrún  P. Helgadóttir, Gerd Wolfgang Weber, and Hans Bekker-Nielsen (Odense: Odense University Press, 1981), pp. 33–55 Cormack, Margaret J., The Saints in Iceland: Their Veneration from the Conversion to 1400 (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1994) Cowdrey, H. E. J., Lanfranc: Scholar, Monk and Archbishop (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003) Crawford, Barbara E., The Northern Earldoms: Orkney and Caithness from ad 870 to 1470 (Edinburgh: John Donald, 2013) —— , Scandinavian Scotland (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1987) —— , ‘St Magnus and St Rognvald: The Two Orkney Saints’, Records of the Scottish Church Society, 28 (1998), 22–38 —— , ‘An Unrecognised Statue of Earl Rognvald?’, in Northern Isles Connections: Essays Presented from Orkney and Shetland to Per Sveas Andersen, ed. by Barbara E. Crawford (Kirkwall: The Orkney Press Ltd 1995), pp. 29–47 ——  , ‘Thorfinn, Christianity and Birsay’, in The World of Orkneyinga saga: The BroadCloth Viking Trip, ed. by Olwyn A. Owen (Kirkwall: The Orcadian Limited, 2005), pp. 88–110 Cruden, Stewart, ‘The Cathedral and Relics of St Magnus, Kirkwall’, in Ancient Monu­ ments and their Interpretation: Essays Presented to A. J. Taylor, ed. by M. R. Apted, R. Gilyard-Beer, and A. D. Saunders (London: Phillimore 1977), pp. 85–97

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    Einar Ólafur Sveinsson, Sagnaritun Oddaverja: nokkrar athuganir, Studia Islandica, 1 (Reykjavík: Sigurður Nordal, 1937) Ellis, Caitlin, ‘Degrees of Separation: Icelandic Perceptions of other Scandinavian Settle­ ments in the Faroes, Orkney, Ireland and the Hebrides’, Viking and Medieval Scan­­di­­ navia, 16 (2020), 1–26 (https://doi.org/10.1484/J.VMS.5.121517) —— , ‘Reassessing the Career of Óláfr Tryggvason in the Insular World’, Saga-Book of the Viking Society for Northern Research, 43 (2019), 59–82 Foote, Peter, ‘Observations on Orkneyinga saga’, in St  Magnus Cathedral and Orkney’s Twelfth-Century Renaissance, ed. by Barbara E. Crawford (Aberdeen: Aberdeen Uni­ ver­sity Press, 1988), pp. 192–207 Graham-Campbell, James, and Colleen E. Batey, Vikings in Scotland: An Archaeological Survey (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1998) Haki Antonsson, ‘False Claims to Papal Canonisations of Saints: Scandinavia and Else­ where’, Medieval Scandinavia, 19 (2009), 171–203 ——  , St  Magnús of Orkney: A  Scandinavian Martyr-Cult in Context, The Northern World, 29 (Leiden: Brill, 2007) ——  , ‘St  Magnús of Orkney: Aspects of his Cult from a European Perspective’, in The World of Orkneyinga Saga: The Broad-Cloth Viking Trip, ed.  by Olwyn  A. Owen (Kirkwall: The Orcadian Limited, 2005), pp. 145–59 —— , ‘Two Twelfth-Century Martyrs: St Magnus of Orkney and St Thomas of Canter­ bury’, in Sagas, Saints and Settlements, ed. by Paul Bibire and Gareth Williams (Leiden: Brill, 2004), pp. 41–64 Hoffmann, Erich, Die heiligen Könige bei den Angelsachsen und den skandinavischen Völ­kern. Königsheiliger und Königshaus, Quellen und Forschungen zur Geschichte SchleswigHolsteins, Band 69 (Neumünster: Wachholtz, 1975) Imsen, Steinar, ‘The Nidaros Church and its Province’, in ‘Ecclesia Nidrosiensis’ and ‘Noregs veldi’: The Role of the Church in the Making of Norwegian Domination in the Norse World, ed. by Steinar Imsen (Trondheim: Akademika, 2012), pp. 15–44 Jesch, Judith, ‘Literature in Medieval Orkney’, in The World of Orkneyinga Saga: The Broad-Cloth Viking Trip, ed.  by Olwyn  A. Owen (Kirkwall: The Orcadian, 2005), pp. 11–24 Johnsen, Arne Odd, ‘Når slo Sunniva-kulten igjennom?’, in Bjørgvin Bispestol. Frå Selja til Bjørgvin, ed. Per Juvkam (Bergen: Universitetsforlaget, 1968), pp. 40–62 Joys, Charles, Biskop og konge. Bispevalg i Norge 1000–1350 (Oslo: Aschehoug, 1948) Keene, Catherine, Saint Margaret, Queen of the Scots: A Life in Perspective (New York: Pal­­grave Macmillan, 2013) Kemp, Eric Waldram, Canonization and Authority in the Western Church (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1948) Klaniczay, Gábor, ‘From Sacral Kingship to Self-Representation: Hungarian and European Royal Saints’, in Gábor Klaniczay, The Uses of Supernatural Power: The Transformation of Popular Religion in Medieval and Early Modern Europe, trans. by S. Singermann, ed. by K. Margolis (Cambridge: Polity, 1990), pp. 79–94

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    —— , ‘The Power of the Saints and the Authority of the Popes: The History of Sainthood and Late Medieval Canonization Processes’, in Church and Belief in the Middle Ages: Popes, Saints, and Crusades, ed. by Kirsi Salonen and Sari Katajala-Peltomaa (Amster­­ dam: Amsterdam University Press, 2016), pp. 117–40 Lamb, Raymond G., ‘The Cathedral and the Monastery’, Orkney Heritage, 2 (1983), 36–46 ——  , ‘The Cathedral of Christchurch and the Monastery of Birsay’, Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, 105 (1974), 200–05 —— , ‘The Historical Background’, in The Birsay Bay Project: Sites in Birsay Village and on the Brough of Birsay, Orkney, ed. by Christopher D. Morris (Durham: University of Durham, 1996), pp. 12–13 Lindow, John, ‘St Olaf and the Skalds’, in Sanctity in the North: Saints, Lives, and Cults in Medieval Scandinavia, ed. by Thomas A. DuBois (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008), pp. 103–27 Magnús Már Lárusson, ‘Sct. Magnus Orcadensis Comes’, Saga, 3 (1963), 470–503 Marwick, Hugh, Orkney (London: Hale, 1951) Munch, Peter A., Det norske folks historie, i (Christiania [Oslo]: Tønsberg, 1855) Oram, Richard, ‘Ouncelands, Quarterlands and Pennylands in the Western Isles, Man and Galloway: Tribute Payments and Military Levies in the Norse West’, in Taxes, Tributes and Tributary Lands in the Making of the Scandinavian Kingdoms in the Middle Ages, ed. by Steinar Imsen (Trondheim: Tapir, 2011), pp. 57–75 Phelpstead, Carl L., Holy Vikings: Saints’ Lives in the Old Icelandic Kings’ Sagas (Tempe: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2007) —— , ‘Skaldic Saints and Stories of Miracles: Christianity and Vernacular Literary Culture in Trondheim and Kirkwall’, Northern Studies, 44 (2013), 80–97 —— , ‘A Viking Pacifist? The Life of St Magnus in Saga, Novel, and Opera’, in Old Norse Made New: Essays on the Post-Medieval Reception of Old Norse Literature and Culture, ed.  by David Clark and Carl  L. Phelpstead (London: Viking Society for Northern Research, 2007), pp. 119–32 Power, Rosemary, ‘Scotland in the Norse Sagas’, in Scotland and Scandinavia 800–1800, ed. by Grant G. Simpson (Edinburgh: John Donald, 1990), pp. 13–24 Radford, Ralegh C. A., The Early Christian and Norse Settlements at Birsay, Orkney (Edin­ burgh: H.M. Stationery Office, 1959) Rollason, David W., ‘The Cults of Murdered Royal Saints in Anglo-Saxon England’, Anglo-Saxon England, 11 (1983), 1–22 Søiland, Margareth Buer, ‘Orkney Pilgrimage: Perspectives of the Cult of St  Magnus’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Glasgow, 2004) Southern, R. W., St Anselm and his Biographer (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963) Thomson, William P. L., The New History of Orkney (Edinburgh: Birlinn, 2008) Tomany, Maria-Claudia, ‘Sacred Non-Violence, Cowardice Profaned: St Magnus of Orkney in Nordic Hagiography and Historiography’, in Sanctity in the North: Saints, Lives, and Cults in Medieval Scandinavia, ed. by Thomas A. DuBois (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008), pp. 128–53

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    Townend, Matthew, ‘Knútr and the Cult of St Óláfr: Poetry and Patronage in EleventhCentury Norway and England’, Viking and Medieval Scandinavia, 1 (2005), 251–79 Vauchez, André, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages, trans. by Jean Birrell (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997) Webster, Paul, and Marie-Pierre Gelin, eds, The Cult of St Thomas Becket in the Plantagenet World, c. 1170–c. 1220 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2016) Zumbuhl, Mark Joseph, ‘The Practice of Irish Kingship in the Central Middle Ages’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Glasgow, 2005)

    Bergr Sokkason and God’s Dearest Friend St Nicholas Jón Viðar Sigurðsson

    S

    t Nicholas was one of the most venerated saints of the Middle Ages. His cult was well established in the East from the sixth century and in the West from the tenth.1 Thus it is also clearly seen in Iceland. Christianity became the official religion of Iceland in the year 999/1000. During the following decades, hundreds of churches were built, all dedicated to one or more saints, and to God. Among the seventy-five saints that came to be patron and co-patron saints in Iceland, St Nicholas was one of the most popular. Of nearly 330 parish churches, he was a patron saint to about thirty and a co-patron to twelve. His popularity can also be seen in his vita which was translated from Latin into Old Norse in the twelfth century. Furthermore, Leiðarvísir, a guide for pilgrims going to Rome and the Holy Land from c. 1150, mentions his relics in Bari, and the Icelandic annals remark the transfer of them in 1087. The continual interest in St  Nicholas throughout the Middle Ages can clearly be seen in the saga Bergr Sokkason (d. c. 1350) wrote about him in the vernacular in the second quarter of the fourteenth century.2 Copies of Nicholas’ saga are 1 

    Farmer, The Oxford Dictionary of Saints, pp.  354–55; Sigfús Blöndal, ‘St  Nikulás og dýrkun hans, sérstaklega á Íslandi’, p. 86; Garipzanov, ‘The Cult of St Nicholas in the Early Christian North’. 2  Magnús Stefánsson, ‘Frá goðakirkju til biskupskirkju’, pp. 224–25; Magnús Stefánsson, Staðir og staðamál, p.  29; Cormack, The Saints in Iceland, pp.  74–165, 134–38; Sigfús Jón Viðar Sigurðsson ([email protected]) is a Professor of Medieval History at the Department of Archaeology, Conservation and History, University of Oslo. He has published a number of books and articles on Icelandic and Scandinavian history in the period c. 800–1500. The Cult of Saints in Nidaros Archbishopric. Manuscripts, Miracles, Objects, ed. by Ragnhild M. Bø and Jon Viðar Sigurðsson, tcne 33 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2022), pp. 143–160 BREPOLS PUBLISHERS 10.1484/M.TCNE-EB.5.124881

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    mentioned in the máldagar (cartularies/charters) of at least thirteen churches, which is according to Margaret Cormack, ‘the highest number for any saint’s saga. Most of these texts were acquired after 1318. This sudden proliferation of manuscripts may have been inspired by the appearance of Bergr Sokkason’s new version’.3 Bergr Sokkason became a monk of the Benedictine house at Þingeyrar in the Hólar bishopric in 1316 or 1317. Five or six years later he moved to another Benedictine monastery, Munkaþverá, in the same bishopric, where he became prior and then abbot first from 1325–1334 and again in 1345. Bergr Sokkason belonged to the so-called Northern Icelandic Benedictine School of writing. Like other members of this ‘school’, he was particularly interested in hagiographical writing. In addition to Nikulás saga, Bergr also wrote Michaels saga (the life of the Archangel Michael), and probably a redaction of Jóns saga helga (the first bishop of Hólar 1106–1121), the B-version of Þorláks saga helga (bishop of Skálholt 1178–1193, and a saint), the so-called Guðmundar saga C (a redaction of the saga about Guðmundr Arason, a bishop of Hólar (1203–1237) and a saint), and Jóns þáttr Halldórssonar (bishop of Skálholt 1322–1339).4 Friendship in the Middle Ages has gained considerable attention in the scholarly discussion over the last two to three decades. There has been a shift in the focus from the philosophical or the spiritual context, which dominated the debate in the first half of the last century, to the study of friendship as a social phenomenon.5 Even though friendship has become an important topic in the scholarly debate there are still several aspects which have not yet been

    Blöndal, ‘St Nikulás og dýrkun hans, sérstaklega á Íslandi’, pp. 80–81; Widding, ‘Kilderne til den norrøne Nicolaus saga’, pp. 17–26; Sverrir Tómasson, ‘Icelandic Lives of St Nicholas. Helgastaðabók’, pp. 156–62; Islandske Annaler indtil 1578, ed. by Storm, pp. 18, 59, 110, 319; Nikulásdrápa (accessed 20 July 2020). Cf. Nikolásdrápa Halls prests, ed. by Carpenter. Finally, the poem Nikulásdrápa from c. 1525 can be mentioned. 3  Cormack, The Saints in Iceland, p. 137. 4  Turville-Petre, Nine Norse Studies, p. 75; Sverrir Tómasson, ‘Icelandic Lives of St Nicholas’, pp.  161–63, 174; Cormack, The Saints in Iceland, pp.  84–85; Gunnar  F. Guðmundsson, Íslenskt samfélag og Rómakirkja, pp. 244–45; Biskupa sögur I, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. ccxx–ccxxxiii; Böðvar Guðmundsson and others, Íslensk bókmenntasaga II, pp. 249–63; Fahn and Gottskálk Jensson, ‘The Forgotten Poem: A Latin Panegyric for Saint Þorlákr in AM 382 4to’, pp. 52–54; Sigurdson, The Church in Fourteenth Century Iceland, pp. 38, 42–46. 5  Ysebaert, ‘Friendship and Networks’.

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    properly addressed, such as the notion of friendship between saints and God.6 That will be the focus of this chapter, more specifically the friendship between St Nicholas and God as Bergr Sokkason describes it in Nikulás saga.

    St Nicholas: God’s haleitazti Friend Prefacing Nikulás saga there is a letter from ‘brother’ Bergr.7 It opens with a greeting to the friends of God and Bergr who will see and hear the booklet (Ollum guds vinum ok sinum, þeim sem þenna bækling sia eda heyra).8 Bergr then addresses the audience of the saga, and excuses his lack of knowledge (fafrædi). He then lists four wishes. The first is that his lack of knowledge will be excused. The second that the person reading the saga always will mention the chapter’s number before reading it. The third is that the individuals who in the future will copy the saga (skrifar soguna) will keep his letter in front of it. Bergr requests that the men and women who are in the room when the saga is being read will pray for his soul. Finally, he desires wishes that the person who is ordered to read the saga recite the Ave Maria for the benefit of his soul.9 The greeting Bergr starts his letter with is the Old Norse translation of the Latin phrase Christi fidelibus (Christ’s faithful).10 Almost all charters and letters written in Iceland and Norway during the Middle Ages opened with this phrase. When Christianity was introduced in the North and Christi fidelibus translated, it was done in such a way that it would resonate with the Old Norse society, and therefore translated as God’s friends (Guðs vinir). Yet, who were these friends of God? The saints, as will be discussed below, were frequently called God’s friends in the Old Norse sources. Bergr Sokkason was obviously not referring to them, but to all those men and women who attempted to follow God’s commands, for instance, by giving gifts to the poor.11 Bergr is also sending greetings to his own friends. However, it is unclear who these individuals are. They were probably the same men and women who were trying to 6  See Vauchez, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages; Bartlett, Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things?. 7  To place a new introduction in front of an older one was a well-known practice in Iceland (Sverrir Tómasson, Formálar íslenskra sagnaritara á miðöldum, p. 234). 8  Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, p. 49. 9  Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, p. 49. 10  Johan Agerholt, Gamal brevskipnad, pp. 451–52. 11  Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Viking Friendship, pp. 101, 128–29.

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    become God’s friends, and it was thus the friendship with God that all these men and women had in common and that united them. After Bergr’s letter, a short prologue follows, and then a translation of the letter which John of Bari ( Johannes Barensis) had at the front of his Vita beati Nicolai episcopi written c. 880, is included.12 Bergr’s Nikulás saga opens with the words: ‘Her hefr upp sogu hins blezada Nicholai byskups eptir þvi sem Bergr aboti hefir saman sett’ (Here starts the saga about the blessed Nicholas bishop, which abbot Bergr has put together). Bergr then considers the circumstances in which Phocas became emperor in Byzantium and decided that the Church of St Peter in Rome should be the head of all churches.13 A few years later Pope Bonifacius IV asked the emperor to give the Pantheon in Rome to the Church. Phocas agreed to the pope’s request, and the Pantheon was then converted into a church dedicated to the Holy Trinity, Mary, and all saints.14 In the following nine chapters, Bergr discusses who replaced Phocas as emperor, the holy cross, the division of the world into three parts (Asia, Europe, and Africa), and how God sometimes frightens people into behaving according to his laws.15 After this lengthy introduction, Bergr Sokkason begins his story about the life of St Nicholas: in the city of Patera, there were many good men of noble birth and wealth. Among them was Epiphanius, a good Christian who obeyed his maker. He was unlike other men, and now Bergr jumps in time, and addresses his contemporaries in Iceland who chase honour and titles and do not want to do good deeds as Epiphanius did. God had given Epiphanius a handsome wife of noble birth with high morals, and she — her name is never mentioned — was the niece of the bishop Paterensis.16 Even though young, they respected the church’s teachings about marriage. Epiphanius and his wife asked God to give them a child who could inherit both their morals and their wealth. They then had sexual intercourse, as God and the Bible demanded from those who wanted to honour God and his holy men, because they who increased the number of holy men gained honour among the angels.17 The wife of Epiphanius then became pregnant. Soon after, the city in which the couple lived was punished for its sins by being attacked by a terrible dragon. When the 12 

    Sverrir Tómasson, ‘Íslenskar Nikulás sögur’, pp. 19–20. According to Bergr that was in 603. Phocas, however, became an emperor in 602. 14  Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, p. 53. 15  Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, p. 57. Simek, ‘Enzyklopädisches Schriftum als Quelle von Bergr Sokkasons Nikulás saga’, pp. 219–30. 16  Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, pp. 59–60. 17  Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, p. 60. 13 

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    wife of Epiphanius heard about the attack, she decided to assist the people and meet the dragon with only her faith in God as a weapon. When she encountered the dragon, the Holy Spirit inspired her to show him her belly, a display which killed the dragon,18 thus indirectly stressing the miraculous power of her unborn child. In this episode, Bergr refers to Isidore of Seville regarding the dragon’s name — in Greek it is called basiliskus and in Latin the name is regulus. Then Bergr explains to his countrymen that in Old Norse the dragon is called konungr hoggorma (king of the serpents), because of its evilness and poisoned nature.19 Nicholas had been cleansed of the original sin (hinni gomlu synd) in his mother’s womb — the only person to whom this happened not to be mentioned in the Bible — and that gave him exceptional power.20 Bergr explains that individuals God cleanses of sin before birth are his friends. God gives them the gift of mercy (miskunnargiof), and they will never commit a cardinal sin (hofudsynd gera) in their lifetime. However, they might commit some minor sins. Nonetheless, those cannot be compared with the sins of ordinary people. Bergr then mentions Mary, who was blessed in her mother’s womb and did not commit a sin in her life. Then he underlines that both Jeremiah and John the Baptist, who likewise were cleansed of sin in their mothers’ wombs,21 did commit some minor sins, but he again stresses that those sins cannot in any way be compared with the sins committed by ordinary people. Nicholas’ habits, however, were more like the life of angels than of men here on earth, and he respected the honour, which was given to God’s friends who were purified of the original sin in the womb.22 Nicholas, because of his sinless life, was thus more like Mary, and therefore better, than both Jeremiah and John the Baptist. I have not come across any other reference in European literature claiming that St Nicholas was born without sin. By stating this and that Nicholas lived a sinless life, Bergr is lifting him up above all other saints, apart from Mary. In due time, the wife of Epiphanius gave birth to a son, and he was given the name Nicholas. In Greek, it means the same as victoria populi in Latin, which in Old Norse translates as the victory of the people (sigr lydsins). Then Bergr adds 18 

    Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, pp. 60–61. Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, p. 60. 20  Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, p. 62. 21  Bergr is here stressing the same perspective as Thomas Aquinas does in Summa Theologica (iii, q. 27, a. 6. (), that Jeremiah and John the Baptist were ‘sanctified’ in the womb. 22  Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, p. 62. 19 

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    that Nicholas is renowned all over the world for the support he gives to all men asking for his help on sea or on land. Because he is God’s confessor and quickly gives mercy, he is ‘sendandi ut af sinni birti geisla kraptanna sva sem gladr lampi skinandi hreint ok fagrliga’ (sending out of his brightness beams of power like a joyful lamp shining purely and beautifully).23 According to the saga, Nicholas was exceptional from the day he was born. When bathed for the first time on the first day of his life he, against human nature, stood upright in a bath without the help of men.24 Bergr adds that after Nicholas had been swaddled and laid in a cradle, he started a new way of fasting and asceticism. He always followed his own practice (reglu) and drank einmælt, having only a single meal from his mother’s breast on Wednesdays and Fridays:25 that is, Nicholas lived a life of abstinence from the day he was born. A key motive in Nikulás saga is the strong friendship between God and Nicholas. This friendship, as mentioned above, was established when Nicholas was in his mother’s womb.26 In Nikulás saga St Nicholas is not only called God’s cleansed friend (hreinsadr guds vinr), but God’s friend (guds vinr), God’s one good friend (einn godr guds vinr), blessed God’s friend (signadr guds vinr and blezadr guds vinr), God’s holy friend (heilagr guds vinr), the dearest friend of the King of Heaven (astvinr himnakonungs), God’s closest friend (guds virktavinr), God’s dearest friend (guds astvinr), holiest dear friend (helgazti astvinr), God’s good friend (godr guds vinr), God’s noble friend (gofugligr guds vinr), God’s most dear friend (kærasti vinr), the most elevated friend (haleitazti vinr), the best friend (bezti vinr), God’s glorious friend (dyrligr guds vinr), and a dear friend (kær vinr).27 That Nicholas is described as God’s astvinr, virktavinr, kærasti vinr, and bezti vinr emphasizes that God has many friends, but Nicholas is the dearest. God, just as a worldly king, had many friends but valued them differently. Even though Bergr is full of admiration for St Nicholas and the friendship between him and God, on several occasions he also underlines that 23 

    Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, p. 63. Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, p. 62. This anecdote is found in most versions of St Nicholas’ life (Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, p. 21; Legenda aurea vulgo historia Lombardica dicta, ed. by Grasse, p. 22; The Golden Legend: Readings on the Saints 1–2, ed. by Ryan, 1, p. 21). 25  Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, pp. 63–64. 26  Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, p. 62. 27  Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, pp. 62, 63, 66, 69, 70, 75, 77, 80, 86, 87, 90, 92, 93, 95, 96, 99, 107, 108, 111, 113, 114, 115, 120, 122, 125, 126, 126, 127, 129, 130, 131, 132, 137, 138, 139, 141, 143, 146, 151, 153, 155, 157, 158. 24 

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    Nicholas is God’s servant (þionostumadr).28 That is the reason why God gave him a palace in Heaven, as they are only open to God’s ástvinir.29 In many of the Old Norse sagas about holy men and women, the friendship between the saints and God is emphasized. However, in none of those is the friendship between the saints and God so strongly underlined as in Nikulás saga — not even in the older Norse versions of the saga about Nicholas, or in the sagas or poems about Mary. In Maríugrátr it is written that she is ‘a valuable friend of the keeper of angels [Christ]’ (Mætr vinr ertu engla gætis).30 Bergr, by stressing the strong friendship between God and St Nicholas, is emphasizing their very special relationship; it is impossible to come closer to the Almighty than Nicholas has done. Nicholas’s special position in Nikulás saga is clearly shown in that God does not work miracles through him, but for him. Bergr underlines this on at least seven occasions. The first time is in the translation of the letter of John of Bari. Bergr tells the reader that John wrote about Nicholas’ birth, life, and the miracles God worked for his closest friend (virktavin).31 Nicholas’s superior position in the hierarchy of saints can also, according to Bergr, be seen in that Nicholas not only worked miracles where his body laid, but everywhere where people asked for his help.32 Here the resemblance to Mary is striking.33 By arguing this Bergr is lifting Nicholas up to be the second most important saint in the hierarchy of saints. It can be added to this that no miracles of Nicholas are known in Iceland. Local saints represent almost all the miracles we know about. 34 The main reason for this strong focus on friendship in Nikulás saga is that friendship was such a fundamental aspect of Icelandic culture from the time of the settlement c. 870 to the end of the Free State in the years 1262–1264. I have argued in a number of publications that friendship was the most important social bond in Iceland during the Free State period. Reciprocity is a key word in these types of friendships. The householders supported their chieftains, and in return the chieftains protected them. Friendships could, however, also be 28 

    Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, pp. 68, 71, 73, 117, 118. Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, p. 68. 30  Fourteenth-Century Icelandic Verse on the Virgin Mary, ed. by Wrightson, pp. 5, 40. 31  Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, p. 51. Cf. Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, pp. 118, 120, 122, 129, 141, 151. 32  Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, p. 157. Cf. Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, p. 75. 33  Ward, Miracles and the Medieval Mind, pp. 131–32. 34  Whaley, ‘Miracles in the Sagas of Bishops’, pp. 155–85. 29 

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    formed between two chieftains or two householders. The society itself was tied together and based on a network of friendships.35 In the years 1262, 1263, and 1264 Iceland became a tributary land under the Norwegian crown. In 1271 and 1281, with the law books Járnsíða and Jónsbók, the Norwegian administrative system was brought to Iceland. Friendship then lost much of its significance. The new administrative system turned the chieftain role upside down. Chieftains now got their power from the king, who, in turn, got his power from God. This meant that the chieftains no longer needed to build their power bases from below by offering protection, feasts, and gifts to householders. Now, as the king’s officials, the chieftains were to prosecute the householders and, possibly, punish them, instead of helping them with their conflicts. In Norway, the situation was similar. The Norwegian kings used friendship to secure support for themselves from local chieftains and householders. However, it eventually became clear that friendship was an unsuitable political foundation for the kings’ power. In accordance with a new ideology which developed at the end of the twelfth century and in the first half of the thirteenth, friendship was replaced with obedience (hlýðni) and service (þjónusta).36 In the first paragraph of Gulaþingslög from c. 1160 the loyalty between the householders and the king is ensured through friendship.37 Because of endless overlaps of friendship ties, it was problematic for the kings to claim full loyalty from the householder. From the 1250s the friendship ties were replaced with an oath. This can clearly be seen in Landslög, a law for Norway from 1274, and Hirðskrá, the law codes for the hirð from 1276, which states that the householders in the country and the hirð-men should take an oath of loyalty to the king. Nu af þui at lanzfollket allt.a. mickla lyð|skyllðu konongðomenom at væi|ta. oc veer allra hælzt sem honom ero hanðgengnir oc af ollu land[z]folkeno vælðer kononge[no]m til hirðar oc hæimilegrar þionosto […] hænðær til vbrigðilegs trunaðar oc fullkomennar hollostu. (Now, whereas all the people of the country owe a great deal of allegiance to the crown, this applies to an even greater extent to those of us who are his liegemen and who are thus chosen from among all the people to guard the king and serve him personally […] serve him with complete and unbroken loyalty.)38

    35 

    Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Viking Friendship. Orning, Unpredictability and Presence, pp. 51–56, 311–43. 37  Den eldre Gulatingslova, ed. by Ulset, Eithun, and Rindal, p. 1. 38  Hirdloven til Norges konge og hans håndgangne menn, ed. by Imsen, p. 64. 36 

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    Friendship, however, continued to play a significant role in the relationship between the king and his closest advisers. This is supported by an amendment of King Eiríkr Magnússon (1280–1299) and Duke Hákon Magnússon (king from 1299–1319), which mentions the sýslumenn and the handgengnir menn as their friends. There is much to suggest, therefore, that the king established friendships with the most central men in his administration. It can thus be asserted that the most central actors in the king’s government had a double duty of loyalty to the king — duty through friendship and duty through the oath of allegiance — and that relations of friendship were used to tie the aristocracy even more tightly to the crown.39 They were both the king’s friends and his þjónustumenn in a similar way to St Nicholas, and other saints, being both God’s friend and his servants.40 In many ways this is an echo from Icelandic Homily Book, which stresses that: ‘God’s friends (and those who wish to be his friends) should þjóna (serve) him with prayers and good deeds’.41

    The Reciprocity between God and St Nicholas Reciprocity is a key element in all friendships. Mary Douglas writes, in her foreword to the translation of Marcel Mauss’s The Gift, that ‘system of reciprocity’ engaged the honour of giver and recipient. ‘It is a total system in that every item of status or of spiritual or material possession is implicated for everyone in the whole community’.42 Friendship is not a ‘subjective bond of affection and emotional warmth, but the entirely objective bond of reciprocal obligation; one’s philos is the man one is obliged to help, and on whom one can (or ought to be able to) rely for help when oneself is in need’.43 Nicholas received endless gifts from the Almighty; he was cleansed in his mother’s womb, God made him his dearest friend, worked miracles for him, and gave him the title of bishop,44 but what did Nicholas give in return in order to keep the reciprocity in balance? 39 

    Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Viking Friendship, p. 62. See Weinstein and Bell, Saints and Society, p. 141; Íslensk hómilíubók fornar stólræður, ed. by Guðrún Kvaran, Sigurbjörn Einarsson, and Gunnlaugur Ingólfsson, pp. 5, 35, 36, 59, 111, 133, 136, 139, 172, 187, 288, 290. 41  Íslensk hómilíubók fornar stólræður, ed. by Guðrún Kvaran, Sigurbjörn Einarsson, and Gunnlaugur Ingólfsson, pp. 5, 35, 36, 59, 111, 133, 136, 139, 172, 187, 288, 290. 42  Mauss, The Gift, p. xi. Mann, The Sources of Social Power, p. 60; Konstan, Friendship in the Classical World, p. 2. 43  Heath, The Poetics of Greek Tragedy, pp. 73–74. 44  Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, pp. 79, 157. 40 

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    God tested his friends. In the Icelandic Homily Book, God gave the Devil permission to test his best friend Job and allowed the Devil to take from him both his wealth and his children.45 God knew how Job would react, but nonetheless chose to test him, as he does with all his friends in order to see why they perform their good deeds. After the Devil took from Job all his children and the entirety of his wealth, Job threw ashes over his head, fell to the ground, and thanked God for the trial, saying that he came into this world naked and naked he would leave it, and that God gave him his wealth and it was he that took it from him. Job did not end his friendship with God, even when he lost everything.46 Shortly after this, God again gave the Devil permission to test Job, and this time he took his health from him. Job was afflicted with terrible leprosy, and no one wanted to come near him. His wife and neighbours came to visit from time to time, not to give him consolation, but to reproach him and criticize his faith. Job answered their criticism by saying that God loved him as much as he had before and that this was merely the punishment he had merited for his sins. If he accepted his situation and showed God the same love and loyalty as before, God would comfort him in the end. God saw Job’s reaction, healed him, and gave him even greater riches, renown, and happiness than he had had before the Devil tested him.47 Nicholas is never tested in Nikulás saga, so Bergr Sokkason is once again, in this case indirectly, stressing the uniqueness of Nicholas. However, he is constantly fighting the Devil, with the aid of God.48 In the conclusion to Nikulás saga Bergr underlines that Nicholas gave God his entire wealth and inheritance, and that he, because of his humbleness, did not want the honour of this world that is becoming a bishop, a task God bestowed upon him.49 Thus, his servitude is the counter gift to the Almighty. In the secular power game it was usually those at the higher levels of the social hierarchy who took the initiative to establish a friendship. This was not the case when it came to friendships with God. Although anyone, as seen in the initial greetings from Bergr, could attempt to establish such a friendship, 45 

    Íslensk hómilíubók fornar stólræður, ed. by Guðrún Kvaran, Sigurbjörn Einarsson, and Gunnlaugur Ingólfsson, pp. 140–41. 46  Íslensk hómilíubók fornar stólræður, ed. by Guðrún Kvaran, Sigurbjörn Einarsson, and Gunnlaugur Ingólfsson, pp. 143–44. 47  Íslensk hómilíubók fornar stólræður, ed. by Guðrún Kvaran, Sigurbjörn Einarsson, and Gunnlaugur Ingólfsson, pp. 144–46. 48  Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, pp. 90–93. 49  Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, p. 157.

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    there were rigid conditions one needed to follow. As God was the one who decided where you went after death — whether to Heaven or to Hell — one needed to follow all of his demands or suffer the consequences.50 The friendship between God and Nicholas looks more like a ‘political friendship’. It was God, not Nicholas, who took the initiative, and God supported him in almost all issues. Nicholas had to prove himself worthy of God’s friendship by showing him unconditional friendship; that is, loyalty and humility.

    The Theology of Friendship Friendship played a crucial role in what I have labelled the theology of friendship.51 This is most evident in the Icelandic Homily Book from the second half of the twelfth century, and in Nikulás saga. The Icelandic Homily Book emphasizes both how one should interact with one’s friends and one’s enemies by loving them in the image of Jesus, who did not wish revenge on his perpetrators, but rather showed his magnanimity. Jesus allowed himself to be crucified and prayed for the men who harmed him, and as such he displayed how one should treat one’s enemies — through forgiveness and good deeds as opposed to vengeance.52 Also our thoughts can count as good deeds, as it will please God to see that we are predisposed to reconciliation with enemies both present and future. Even if our enemies are not similarly disposed, we should still pray for and forgive them. By loving our enemies we honour the commandments of God.53 Just the same as we should love our enemies, we should also love our friends. No matter if they do us wrong or give bad advice, we should always seek to do right by them by speaking sincerely to them and helping them. By treating our friends well and taking care of them we will gain their friendship also in Heaven, which is of great importance there where worldly wealth is inconsequential. Nothing, however, should come in the way of what is right and just, neither revenge nor friendly help — to avoid such scenarios as much as possible we should not enter into friendships with wicked people.54 50 

    Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Viking Friendship. Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Viking Friendship. 52  Íslensk hómilíubók fornar stólræður, ed. by Guðrún Kvaran, Sigurbjörn Einarsson, and Gunnlaugur Ingólfsson, pp. 96–97, 171, 176. 53  Íslensk hómilíubók fornar stólræður, ed. by Guðrún Kvaran, Sigurbjörn Einarsson, and Gunnlaugur Ingólfsson, pp. 140, 170, 178–79, 202, 206, 240. 54  Íslensk hómilíubók fornar stólræður, ed. by Guðrún Kvaran, Sigurbjörn Einarsson, and Gunnlaugur Ingólfsson, pp. 154, 178–79, 202, 206, 240. 51 

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    The Icelandic Homily Book deals with the two different concepts of friendship in Christianity. Despite God teaching Moses that we should hate our enemies and love our friends, the new Gospels bring with them a revised position, that we should love them both. However, the words of Moses are still to be honoured, and we should be loyal in our love to our friends.55 Christian friendship therefore encompass the notion of loving and praying for all people, whether friend or foe. The sermon Kirkjuhelgi in the Icelandic Homily Book explains that friends of God fall into three categories: first, there are those whose love and loyalty towards God springs from their desire for eternal salvation; second, those who wish to secure worldly possessions, renown, and good health; and, finally, those who want both success in this life and eternal salvation in the next. The difference between these three groups is that those who belong to the first, like Job, will keep their loyalty to and love for God regardless of their fate, whereas those who focus on worldly goods will betray God when he tests them and they lose the possessions he has given them.56 If we now use these categories to analyse the friendship between Nicholas and God, Nicholas falls into the first category. This theology of friendship is unique in a European context. Obviously, the topic of friendship between God and people had been discussed among medieval scholars. Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274) for example argued that it was possible for people to establish a friendship with an angel or with God, and that friendship was a model that sensible individuals should cultivate.57 Even though there was some discussion on the friendship between those who had dedicated their lives to serving God within the cloister (monks and nuns),58 friendship never became a crucial aspect in the scholarly debate, or in the hagiographic literature, about the relationship between God and the saints. This can clearly be seen in that neither Jacobus de Voragine’s Legenda Aurea (The Golden Legend),59 or William Caxton in his translation of it, give any weight to the friendship between Nicholas and God.60 55 

    Íslensk hómilíubók fornar stólræður, ed. by Guðrún Kvaran, Sigurbjörn Einarsson, and Gunnlaugur Ingólfsson, pp. 233–34. 56  Íslensk hómilíubók fornar stólræður, ed. by Guðrún Kvaran, Sigurbjörn Einarsson, and Gunnlaugur Ingólfsson, pp. 138–46. 57  Svare, Vennskap, p. 54; Schwartz, Aquinas on Friendship, p. 1; Spiritual Friendship, ed. by Laker, pp. 15–39. 58  McGuire, Friendship and Community. 59  Legenda aurea vulgo historia Lombardica dicta, ed. by Grasse; The Golden Legend: Lives of the Saints, ed. by Caxton; Readings on the Saints 1–2, ed. by Ryan. 60  The Golden Legend: Lives of the Saints, ed. by Caxton.

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    Bergr Sokkason and Nikulás saga The transmission of the vita about Nicholas is multifaceted, and a topic we will not address here.61 The first vita of St Nicholas was composed in Greek in the early sixth/ninth century. In the second half of the ninth century John the Deacon of Naples made a Latin translation, and later other vitae were made, for example in Speculum Historiale compiled by Vincent of Beauvais (d. 1264), and Legenda Aurea of Jacobus of Voragine (d. 1298). Both of these were known in Iceland. In the first half of the fourteenth century there were at least two ‘Old Norse versions of the life of St Nicholas’ in existence when Bergr started on his redaction.62 Bergr Sokkason, as mentioned, was a monk both at Þingeyrar and Munkaþverá, where he also became prior. In the saga about Bishop Laurentius of Hólar (1324–1331) Bergr is prized, both for his learning and the books he wrote. He is described as ‘Varð hann hinn fremsti klerkr, söngari harðla sæmiligr, ok mælskumaðr mikill svá at hann setti saman margar sögubækr heilagra manna í norrænu máli með mikilli snilld’ (an outstanding scholar, a very good cantor and fine orator so that he compiled a number of books of the lives of the saints in Norse with great rhetorical skill).63 Later in the saga, when chosen as abbot of Munkaþverá, the saga says that he was: Var hann formenntr maðr umfram flesta menn þá á Íslandi [með] klerkdóm, letr, söng ok málsnilld; saman setti hann margrar heilagra manna sögur í norrænu sem birtaz mun ok auðsýnaz meðan þetta land er byggt. […] Vóru þeir Bergr ábóti ok Laurentius byskup í kærligri vináttu, því at Laurentius byskup var lærifaðir hans.64 (better educated than most of his contemporaries in Iceland then: in clerical learning, composition, music, and rhetoric. He compiled in Norse language many sagas of holy men which will be known as long as this country is inhabited. […] Bergr and Laurentius were close friends because Bishop Laurentius was his tutor.)

    Gabriel Turville-Petre has argued that Bergr Sokkason wrote his Nikulás saga sometime during the years 1317–1322. His main arguments are that in the preface to his saga Bergr describes himself as ‘klerklauss madr’ which may 61  See for example Sverrir Tómasson, ‘Icelandic Lives of St Nicholas’, pp. 152–61; The Old English Life of St Nicholas with the Old English Life of St Giles, ed. by Treharne, pp. 28–45. 62  Sverrir Tómasson, ‘Icelandic Lives of St Nicholas’, pp. 156, 161; The Old English Life of St Nicholas with the Old English Life of St Giles, ed. by Treharne, pp. 29–31. 63  Biskupa sögur III, ed. by Guðrún Ása Grímsdóttir, p. 333. 64  Biskupa sögur III, ed. by Guðrún Ása Grímsdóttir, p. 382.

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    indicate that he had not become a prior when he wrote it, and therefore it is likely that he wrote the saga while he was at Þingeyrar. The monastery had a great library and it is ‘plain that when he wrote his Nikulás saga, Bergr consulted several books other than the life by John of Bari, which was his main source’.65 Sverrir Tómasson, however, argues that Bergr wrote most of his work after 1334, that is after he abdicated as an abbot — ‘after he became a monk, because he uses the word bróðir (brother) in the preface’.66 For the purpose of this chapter, the dating of the saga is not crucial. However, it is beneficial that we know the name of its author, some information about his background, and how he used the vitae known to him about the life of the saint in a way that suited his purpose,67 resulting in the longest saga we know of about St Nicholas in Europe, counting c. 43,500 words. In the first half of the fourteenth century there existed ‘at least two Old Norse versions’ about the life of St Nicholas,68 and what they, and the Latin versions of his life, focused on were his miracles. Bergr’s version is thus different mainly in two ways. First, he provides more historical background about popes, emperors, and Nicholas’ parents, as we saw earlier in this chapter. Second, he focuses on what we have been studying, the strong friendship between the Almighty and Nicholas. Another important difference between these versions is that Bergr writes in the florid style, characterized by ‘frequent use of emotive adjectives and adverbs’ and ‘picturesque compounds’.69 St Nicholas, as underlined in the introduction of this chapter, was one of the most popular saints in Iceland, only surpassed by Mary, St Peter, St Óláfr, and St Thorlak.70 It was thus a welcome task for Bergr Sokkason to write a saga about him. How do we explain St Nicholas’s popularity in Iceland? Part of 65 

    Turville-Petre, Nine Norse studies, 5, p. 75. Sverrir Tómasson, ‘Icelandic Lives of St Nicholas’, p. 163. 67  Widding, ‘Kilderne til den norrøne Nicolaus saga’, pp. 17–26; Widding, ‘AM 655,4°, fragment III’; Sverrir Tómasson, ‘Icelandic Lives of St Nicholas’, p. 150. However, the works Bergr used as his main sources were Vita beati Nicolai episcopi of John of Bari, Mombritii Sanctuarium, Dialogues of Pope Saint Gregory, and Speculum historiale of Vincentius Bellovacensis (Heilagra manna sögur i, ed. by Unger, p. xvi; Sigfús Blöndal, ‘St Nikulás og dýrkun hans, sérstaklega á Íslandi’, p. 81; Turville-Petre, Nine Norse Studies, 5, pp. 71–74; Jakob Benediktsson, ‘Stjórn og Nikulás saga’, pp. 7–11). 68  Sverrir Tómasson, ‘Icelandic Lives of St Nicholas’, p. 161. 69  Widding, ‘Jærtegn og Maríu saga’; Sverrir Tómasson, ‘Icelandic Lives of St Nicholas’, pp. 171–72. 70  Cormack, The Saints in Iceland, pp. 71–165. 66 

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    the explanation lies in that he was not only a patron for children and unmarried girls, but also for sailors and merchants. That was significant in Iceland. It is also of importance that St Nicholas could work miracles everywhere, even though we do not know of any miracles he worked in Iceland; there was thus no need to go to shrines where his relics were kept. It was first around the year 1200, and through the cult of two local saints, that the Icelandic focus on relics increased.71 Relics were not common in the Icelandic parish churches. Only seven of the 108 parish churches in the bishopric of Hólar contained relics in the beginning of the fourteenth century, and it is likely that the situation in Skálholt bishopric was similar. In Iceland most of the altars were made of timber, and they were without relics. To ‘convert’ these wooden altars into proper altars altar stones (altarsteinar) were placed on them.72 Bergr Sokkason’s Nikulás saga stands out in European hagiography; it is the longest surviving vita about St Nicholas counting c. 43,500 words. Bergr had a clear goal with his saga; to make Nicholas the most important saint in the hierarchy of saints after the Virgin Mary. Nicholas was not only born without sin, associating him with Mary, Jeremiah, and John the Baptist, but he, in opposition to the latter two mentioned, did not commit any sin. In this way he was like Mary. Another feature in Nikulás saga is the strong friendship between Nicholas and God. By emphasizing this Bergr is lifting him up above all other saints except Mary. The others were also God’s friends, but the friendship he had with Nicholas was stronger.

    71  Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, p. 157. Cf. Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, ii, p. 75. 72  Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, ‘Distribution of Reliquaries and Relics in the Bishopric of Hólar’.

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    Works Cited Primary Sources Biskupa sögur  i, ed.  by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Peter Foote, Íslenzk fornrit, 15 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 2003) Biskupa sögur iii: Árna saga biskups. Lárentíus saga. Söguþáttur Jóns Halldórssonar biskups. Biskupa ættir, ed.  by Guðrún Ása Grímsdóttir, Íslenzk fornrit, 17 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1998) Den eldre Gulatingslova, ed.  by Tor Ulset, Bjørn Eithun, and Magnus Rindal, Norrøne tekster, 6 (Oslo: Riksarkivet, 1994) Fourteenth-Century Icelandic Verse on the Virgin Mary: Drápa of Maríugrát, Vitnisvísur af Maríu, Maríuvísur i–iii, ed. by Kellinde Wrightson, 3 vols (London: Viking Society for Northern Research, 2001) Heilagra manna sögur. Fortællinger og Legender om hellige Mænd og Kvinder efter gamle Haands[k]rifter i–ii, ed. by Carl Richard Unger, 2 vols (Christiania [Oslo]: Bentzen, 1877) Hirdloven til Norges konge og hans håndgangne menn. Etter AM 322 fol., ed. by Steinar Imsen (Oslo: Riksarkivet, 2000) Islandske Annaler indtil 1578, ed. by Gustav Storm, Det Norske historiske Kildeskriftfonds skrifter, 21 (Christiania [Oslo]: Grøndahl, 1888) Íslensk hómilíubók fornar stólræður, ed.  by Guðrún Kvaran, Sigurbjörn Einarsson, and Gunnlaugur Ingólfsson (Reykjavík: Hið íslenska bókmenntafélag, 1993) Legenda aurea vulgo historia Lombardica dicta, ed.  by Johann Georg Theodor Grasse (Lipsiae [Leipzig]: Impensis Librariae Arnoldiane, 1850) Nikolásdrápa Halls prests: An Icelandic Poem from circa a.d. 1400, ed.  by William  H. Carpenter (Halle: Karras, 1881) Spiritual Friendship, ed. by Mary Eugenia Laker, Cistercian Fathers series (Washington, DC: Consortium, 1974) The Golden Legend: Lives of the Saints, ed. by William Caxton (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1914) The Golden Legend: Readings on the Saints 1–2, ed. by William Granger Ryan (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993) The Old English Life of St  Nicholas with the Old English Life of St  Giles, ed.  by Elaine Treharne, Leeds Texts and Monographs, New Series (Leeds: School of English, University of Leeds, 1997)

    Secondary Studies Agerholt, Johan, Gamal brevskipnad: etterrøkjingar og utgreidingar i norsk diplomatikk. I. Formelverket i kongebrev på norsk 1280–1387 (Oslo: n. pub., 1929) Bartlett, Robert, Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things? Saints and Worshippers from the Martyrs to the Reformation (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2013)

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    Böðvar Guðmundsson, Sverrir Tómasson, Torfi H. Tulinius, and Vésteinn Ólason, Íslensk bókmenntasaga II (Reykjavík: Mál og menning, 2006) Cormack, Margaret, The Saints in Iceland: Their Veneration from the Conversion to 1400, Subsidia hagiographica, 78 (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1994) Fahn, Susanne Miriam, and Gottskálk Jensson, ‘The Forgotten Poem: A Latin Panegyric for Saint Þorlákr in AM 382 4to’, Gripla, 21 (2010), 19–60 Farmer, David Hugh, The Oxford Dictionary of Saints (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992) Garipzanov, Ildar H., ‘The Cult of St Nicholas in the Early Christian North (c. 1000–1150)’, Scandinavian Journal of History, 35 (2010), 229–46 Gunnar  F. Guðmundsson, Íslenskt samfélag og Rómakirkja, Kristni á Íslandi  ii, ed.  by Hjalti Hugason (Reykjavík: Alþingi, 2000) Heath, Malcolm, The Poetics of Greek Tragedy (London: Duckworth, 1987) Jakob Benediktsson, ‘Stjórn og Nikulás saga’, Gripla, 6 (1984), 7–11 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, ‘Distribution of Reliquaries and Relics in the Bishopric of Hólar, c.  1320’, in Paint and Piety: Collected Essays on Medieval Painting and Polychrome Sculpture, ed. by Noëlle Lynn Wenger Streeton and Kaja Kollandsrud (London: Arche­­ type, 2014), pp. 67–74 ——  , Viking Friendship: The Social Bond in Iceland and Norway, c.  900–1300 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2017) Konstan, David, Friendship in the Classical World, Key Themes in Ancient History (Cam­ bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997) Magnús Stefánsson, ‘Frá goðakirkju til biskupskirkju’, in Saga Íslands iii, ed. by Sigurður Líndal (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka bókmenntafélag, 1978), pp. 109–257 —— , Staðir og staðamál: studier i islandske egenkirkelige og beneficialrettslige forhold i middelalderen (Bergen: Historisk institutt, Universitetet i Bergen, 2000) Mann, Michael, The Sources of Social Power, i: A History of Power from the Beginning to a.d. 1760 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986) Mauss, Marcel, The Gift: The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies (London: Routledge, 1990, 1st edn 1925) McGuire, Brian Patrick, Friendship and Community: The Monastic Experience 350–1250, Cistercian Studies Series, 95 (Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications, 1988) Orning, Hans Jacob, Unpredictability and Presence: Norwegian Kingship in the High Mid­ dle Ages, The Northern World, 38 (Leiden: Brill, 2008) Schwartz, Daniel, Aquinas on Friendship, Oxford Philosophical Monographs (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2007) Sigfús Blöndal, ‘St  Nikulás og dýrkun hans, sérstaklega á Íslandi’, Skírnir, 123 (1949), 69–97 Sigurdson, Erika Ruth, The Church in Fourteenth Century Iceland: The Formation of an Elite Clerical Identity, The Northern World, 72 (Leiden: Brill, 2015) Simek, Rudolf, ‘Enzyklopädisches Schriftum als Quelle von Bergr Sokkasons Nikulás saga’, Gripla, 8 (1993), 219–30 Svare, Helge, Vennskap (Oslo: Pax, 2004)

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    Sverrir Tómasson, Formálar íslenskra sagnaritara á miðöldum: rannsókn bókmenntahefðar, Stofnun Árna Magnússonar á Íslandi, Rit 33 (Reykjavík: Stofnun Árna Magnússonar á Íslandi, 1988) —— , ‘Icelandic Lives of St Nicholas: Helgastaðabók’, in Helgastaðabók: Nikulás saga: Perg. 4to nr. 16 Konungsbókhlöðu í Stokkhólmi, ed. by Selma Jónsdóttir, Stefán Karlsson, and Sverrir Tómasson (Lögberg: Lögberg, 1982), pp. 147–76 —— , ‘Íslenskar Nikulás sögur’, in Helgastaðabók: Nikulás saga: Perg. 4to nr. 16 Konungs­ bókhlöðu í Stokkhólmi, ed. by Selma Jónsdóttir, Stefán Karlsson, and Sverrir Tómasson (Lögberg: Lögberg, 1982), pp. 11–41 Turville-Petre, Gabriel, Nine Norse Studies, Viking Society for Northern Research, 5 (London: Viking Society, 1972) Vauchez, André, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997) Ward, Benedicta, Miracles and the Medieval Mind: Theory, Record and Event, 1000–1215, rev. edn (Aldershot: Scolar, 1987 (1982)) Weinstein, Donald, and Rudolph M. Bell, Saints and Society: The Two Worlds of Western Christendom, 1000–1700 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982) Whaley, Diana, ‘Miracles in the Sagas of Bishops: Icelandic Variations on an International Theme’, Collegium Medievale, 7 (1994), 155–85 Widding, Ole, ‘AM 655,4°, fragment III: Et brudstykke af Nicolaus saga’, Opuscula, 2 (1961), 27–33 —— , ‘Jærtegn og Maríu saga’, in Norrøn fortællekunst: kapitler af den norsk-islandske middelalderlitteraturs historie, ed.  by Hans Bekker-Nielsen, Ole Widding, and Thorkil Damsgaard Olsen (Copenhagen: Akademisk, 1965), pp. 132–36 —— , ‘Kilderne til den norrøne Nicolaus saga’, Opuscula, 2 (1961), 17–26 Ysebaert, Walter, ‘Friendship and Networks’, in Handbook of Medieval Studies: Terms – Methods – Trends, ed. by Albrecht Classen (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010), pp. 580–93

    The Miracles of Medieval Norway Cornelia Spjelkavik Sparre

    S

    t Óláfr’s shrine in Nidaros cathedral was visited by people from all sectors of society and both pilgrims and locals would light candles, pray, and at times even sleep on the floor in order to be close to St Óláfr, believing he would listen to their prayers and take notice of their gifts and their thanks. For the ones who had left hard work and humble homes behind, the golden shrine of St Óláfr must have been enormously impressive. The eleventh-century skald Þórarinn loftunga described the scenes as: Þar kømr herr, es heilagr es konungr sjálfr, 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

    Cornelia Spjelkavik Sparre ([email protected]) holds an MA in medieval history from the University of Oslo. She has worked with in art and history museums. Now she teaches religion and history at Oslo Cathedral School. The Cult of Saints in Nidaros Archbishopric. Manuscripts, Miracles, Objects, ed. by Ragnhild M. Bø and Jon Viðar Sigurðsson, tcne 33 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2022), pp. 161–194 BREPOLS PUBLISHERS 10.1484/M.TCNE-EB.5.124882

    162 Cornelia Spjelkavik Sparre

    [and] the blind, make their way [there], and [go] from there whole.)1

    Whereas some may have visited the shrine to pay tribute to Norway’s most important saint, others may have hoped for the miraculous. One of the narratives in the Passio Olavi tells of a farmer falsely accused of theft by powerful men in his village. He was dragged to the gallows without a chance to defend himself from the claims, and noose was tied to a tree at the edge of a cliff where he was hanged. He prayed to Óláfr for deliverance and the miracle recounts how the man saw the saint place a beam underneath his feet, thus the farmer hung in his noose for nine hours but did not die. When his family came to cut him down for burial, they lost his body over the cliff edge and he hit sharp rocks on his way down to the bottom. Yet, he got up on his feet and later walked to the shrine in Nidaros to thank the saint.2 He was not the only one to embark on that journey to give thanks, nor the only one to receive help from the saint. In this chapter, the miracles of medieval Norway are analysed in both quantitative and qualitative terms. The miracles in question are the 123 miracles performed in Nidaros archdiocese mainly by the five Norwegian saints: St Óláfr, St Sunniva, St Hallvarðr, and St Magnús. Norway is in this case defined as including most of the distant parts of the Nidaros archdiocese, such as the islands of Orkney, Shetland, and the Hebrides. Iceland is not included as Icelandic miracles and saints are already well covered by Diana Whaley.3 The first miracles were performed in the time of King Óláfr Tryggvason (c. 963–1000), and they end with the Reformation in 1536/1537. This chapter will focus on the saints performing the miracles and the people reported to have experienced them as well as the types of miracles — from miracles concerning life and death, to miracles of more trivial concerns. Miracle stories are not isolated religious phenomena, but entangled in society, thus offering important insights into life in medieval Norway.

    A Note on the Sources The miracles analysed in this chapter occur in a rich variety of sources. The main source for miracles of St Óláfr — the saint who performs more than half 1 

    Skaldic Poetry of the Scandinavian Middle Ages, ed. by Whaley, i, Part 1–2, p. 873. Passio Olavi, ed. by Skard, pp. 34–35. For the Latin version of Passio Olavi see, Jiroušková, Der heilige Wikingerkönig Olav Haraldsson. 3  Whaley, ‘Miracles in the Sagas of Bishops’. 2 

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    of the 123 recorded miracles — is the Passio et miracula Beati Olavi. Written by an unknown author, commonly assumed to be Archbishop Eysteinn himself or a close associate of his, the Passio Olavi is dated to the second half of the twelfth century. The Passio Olavi builds on previous miracles and legendary material and details both earlier and contemporary miracles. Initially, Passio Olavi was published by Gustav Storm in 1880. But the following year, Frederick Metcalfe found a more detailed manuscript in England leading to a longer version with forty-nine miracles. Passio Olavi has most likely been used in church and all shrines consecrated to St Óláfr had to have the Passio Olavi, therefore the text is also found outside of Norway. The Passio Olavi fits in well with the European hagiographic tradition. The Old Norwegian Homily Book is a collection of approved texts and sermons to be used by priests in church to preach and educate the population. The Norwegian collection was written sometime between 1100 and 1220 and is based on Latin sources and written in the Old Norse language. The story of St Óláfr found in the Homily Book is a translation of the Latin Acta et Vita Sancti Olavi.4 Another major source is the sagas. The first Christian king of Norway was Óláfr Tryggvason and there are several miracle stories to be found in his sagas. Saga Óláfs Tryggvasonar by Oddr Snorrason is believed to have been written around 1180–1200. There is a possible connection between this saga and Theodoricus’s Historia de Antiquitate Regum Norwagaiensium (1180). But historians do not agree on which of the authors used the other’s work as a source or if, in fact, there is any connection at all and the parallels between the works occur because both draw on the lost Konunga Ævi. Versions of his saga can also be found in Heimskringla and in the Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar en Mesta (the Greatest Saga of Óláfr Tryggvason) from around 1300 that builds on the earlier versions but also include some bits of text only found here.5 The story of St Óláfr Haraldsson and his miracles are not only found in ecclesiastical sources but also in the sagas. The Norse poem Geisli by skald Einarr Skúlason (1153) is the oldest poem honouring St Óláfr and was performed for the first time in Nidaros before the archbishop and the king. The 4  Passio Olavi, ed.  by Skard, pp.  11–12; Gammelnorsk homiliebok, ed.  by Gunnes and Salvesen, pp.  11, 14; Snorre Sturluson Norges konge sagaer, ed.  by Hodnebø and Magerøy, p.  684; Blom, Helgenkonge og helgenskrin, p.  20; McDougall, ‘Homilies’, p.  290; Guðrún Nordal, Vésteinn Ólason, and Sverrir Tómasson, Íslensk bókmenntasaga I; Jiroušková, Der heilige Wikingerkönig Olav Haraldsson. 5  Knirk, ‘Konungasögur’; Whaley, ‘Heimskringla’; Guðrún Nordal, Vésteinn Ólason, and Sverrir Tómasson, Íslensk bókmenntasaga i, pp. 390–401; Morkinskinna i, ed. by Ármann Jakobsson and Þórður Ingi Guðjónsson.

    164 Cornelia Spjelkavik Sparre

    first saga, called the Oldest Saga of St Óláfr, was written around 1160–1180 and all the other sagas are in some way or another based on this work. The original saga has only survived in fragments. The Helgisaga Óláfs konungs Haraldssonar (Legendary Saga of St Óláfr) was given its name in the 1800s as a contrast to what was read as the more historical saga found in Snorri’s work. The Legendary Saga is most likely based on an earlier middle saga that is mostly lost. The saga was written down around 1250 but the stories found in this text are from the last half of the twelfth century. The most well-known saga is Snorri Sturluson’s Heimskringla (c. 1230). Snorri wrote two sagas of St Óláfr; first a separate work most likely timed around his first trip to Norway in 1218–1220, and then his Heimskringla version. There is another earlier St Óláfr saga, based on the lost middle saga, written by Styrmir fróði Kárason. Styrmir lived with and worked for Snorri for a period and Snorri was therefore familiar with Styrmir’s version when he wrote his Óláfr sagas. Snorri based his king saga Heimskringla on many earlier sources, the main ones are the oldest Norwegian king sagas; the Ágrip af Nóregs konunga sögum (1190), the lost Hrygg jarstykki (1160), and Morkinskinna (1220).6 Sverris saga, partly written by Karl Jónsson from 1185 and partly by an unknown author sometime after Sverrir’s death in 1202, is therefore older than Heimskringla, but it describes more contemporary events rather than the distant past. Hákonar saga Hákonarsonar was written by Sturla Þórðarson, Snorri’s nephew, in 1265. This saga is the last of the Norwegian royal sagas and was written two years after King Hákon’s death. While no history is truly neutral, this is especially true of the king sagas as they were written in close association with the kings whose reign and kin were the subjects of these works. But Snorri especially approached his work as a historian and excluded sources and legends he found dubious in search of a trustworthy version of the past.7 The saga of St Sunniva is found in Flateyjarbók as a part of Oddr Munks Saga of Óláfr Tryggvason. There is also a Latin Officium from around the 1170s for St Sunniva found in ‘Acta sanctorum in Selio’.8 The sources for the miracles of St Magnús is Orkneyinga saga and the short and long version of Magnús 6 

    For an overview over the debate about these sources see articles in Medieval Scandinavia, and introduction to Ágrip af Nóregskonunga sǫgum, ed. by Bjarni Einarsson; Einarr Skúlason’s Geisli, ed. by Martin Chase; Morkinskinna i, ed. by Andersson and Gade; Guðrún Nordal, Vésteinn Ólason, and Sverrir Tómasson, Íslensk bókmenntasaga i. 7  Guðrún Nordal, Vésteinn Ólason, and Sverrir Tómasson, Íslensk bókmenntasaga i; Sverris saga, ed. by Þorleifur Hauksson; Hákonar saga Hákonarsonar i: Bǫglunga saga, ed. by Þorleifur Hauksson, Sverrir Jakobsson, and Ulset. 8  DuBois, ‘Sts Sunniva and Henrik’, p. 68.

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    saga: Magnúss saga skemmri and Magnúss saga lengri. Orkneyinga saga dates to the late twelfth century and is the oldest. Magnúss saga skemmri is partly based on Orkneyinga saga and includes some new material. Magnúss saga lengri is the most recent and also describes some newer miracle stories. It is believed that all three texts are based on an earlier lost Latin vita.9 As it is, Norwegian miracles are found both in ecclesiastical sources and the secular literature of Scandinavia, the sagas and poems. Some miracles only appear in the secular sources and others only in the ecclesiastical sources; sometimes the same miracle is related in different versions or translations, most times there are similar versions of miracles in sagas and vitae. The differences between the miracles are usually minor but the writer may have wanted to emphasize certain details. There is, however, at least one specific miracle where the sources differ in ways that betray their biased position. A priest named Richard was tortured by two brothers looking to protect their sister’s honour after rumours about Richard’s romantic interest in her were spread. He was then healed of his wounds by Óláfr. In Geisli it is said that the rumours were born out of jealousy among the lay people, and in the Homily Book it is indicated that the sister should have guarded her reputation better.10 In The Oldest Saga of St Óláfr, however, the perpetrators are named as Einar and Andri Guttormssons, uncles of King Sigurðr munnr (1133–1155). This has by some been interpreted as a potential slandering of King Sverrir (c. 1151–1202), who at the time was in conflict with the Church, seeing as the two men were his kin.11 As this chapter aims to demonstrate, miracles were not isolated from the political situation at the time, but were rather a reflection of the society in which they were recorded.

    The Miracle Stories and their Criteria What exactly was deemed a miracle, and who was seen as a saint, varied greatly throughout the medieval period and depended, to some extent, on where you were in Europe. While there were variations when it came to the specifics, the basic concept was clear: a miracle was an event where God intervened. Most commonly, a person who was sick would be healed, the hair on a saint’s body continued to grow, or a person would be visited in their dreams by a saint. The 9 

    Orkneyinga saga, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson; Haki Antonsson, St Magnus of Orkney. Gammelnorsk homiliebok, ed. by Gunnes and Salvesen, p. 148; Gamal norsk homiliebok. Cod. AM 619 4o, ed. by Indrebø, pp. 117–18. 11  Lunde, ‘Katalog over Sankt Olavs mirakler’, p. 24. 10 

    166 Cornelia Spjelkavik Sparre

    saints also worked to protect justice and purity by expelling demons and freeing prisoners, as in the aforementioned miracle of the hanged man.12 These supernatural events were performed by saints on behalf of God.13 Naturally, not all supernatural or unusual events were viewed as miracles. During the twelfth century the distinction between the unusual and the miraculous became more defined and the terms miracula (miracle) and mirabilia were used. Strange events that were just marvels but not an actual bona fide miracle was defined as mirabilia.14 Miracle collections have in modern times been criticized as dubious sources. There are several reasons for this — among them is the fact that many of these stories are written down long after the fact, but also because of the schematics of the genre.15 The miracle stories deal with religious beliefs, their value therefore lies not in whether they present the facts of the events accurate and true to life, but rather in what they can reveal about the author and their society’s attitudes and understandings of their world. While the concept of miracles was accepted as completely real during the Middle Ages, there were also some contemporary reservations that led to the establishment of the canonization process.16 In the first centuries of Christianity, establishing someone as a saint was done locally and in relation to martyrdoms. Gradually, the number of martyrs and new types of saints became a concern for the Church, and bishops became involved to guarantee the quality of the cults.17 In the early thirteenth century the Fourth Lateran Council established that new venerations had to be sanctioned by the pope.18 Miracles of a potential saint were then to be investigated by a papal committee that examined the theology, witnesses, and proof.19 The criteria for what constituted a real and documented miracle changed and narrowed as a result of this work through the Middle Ages.20 During the thirteenth century Scandinavia was seen as being on the edge of Christianity’s reach and Rome was especially sceptical of whether all the saints from these areas deserved 12 

    Klaniczay, ‘The Power of the Saints and the Authority of the Popes’, p. 118. Kulturhistorisk leksikon for nordisk middelalder, ed. by Finn Hødnebø and others, p. 11, col. 637. 14  Rüth, ‘Representing Wonder in Medieval Miracle Narratives’, pp. 92–93. 15  Koopmans, Wonderful to Relate, pp. 28–29. 16  Klaniczay, ‘The Power of the Saints and the Authority of the Popes’, p. 120. 17  Vauchez, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages, p. 13. 18  Klaniczay, ‘The Power of the Saints and the Authority of the Popes’, p. 126. 19  Vauchez, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages, p. 486. 20  Klaniczay, ‘The Power of the Saints and the Authority of the Popes’, p. 127. 13 

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    their status.21 This scepticism was possibly especially concerned with the royal saints; these saints did not fit the original ideals of humble sainthood.22 For the Church, taking control of the canonization process was important even when dealing with remote places like Scandinavia. In 1171 Pope Alexander III wrote to the Swedish king to stop him from venerating a man who was killed while drunk.23 But as we know, the papacy went through its own power struggles, and communications across Europe were neither fast nor easy. Rome could not be involved in every aspect of every cult and it was of course very difficult to stop people from believing in a saint if that belief had taken hold, even if that saint had never been officially canonized. And so you still see cults all over Europe that were never officially approved by the pope. St Óláfr was one of them, he was never canonized by the papal committee during the Middle Ages; his sainthood was already well established without that process. European miracle stories are usually found in documents produced by the Church; hagiographies and vitae that document the miracles performed by a specific saint. These documents were mostly written in the monasteries.24 When a saint had been canonized and established the local cult took care of further gathering of miracles at the shrine.25 Some shrines recorded large amounts of miracles, some only a few, other were more sporadic in their records. A lack of later miracles does not necessarily mean there were no miracles happening at the shrine, just that the documentation of them had stopped. These stories were very important in attracting pilgrims and donations to the shrine.26 Passio Olavi has a distinct first half relating miracle stories from the past, while the second half can be read as a contemporary effort where several of the miracles include the narrator reassuring the reader that he or other clergy at the shrine have personally spoken with those involved.27 This makes it clear that the effort to make a comprehensive miracle collection did not immediately begin following Óláfr’s death and that some of these stories probably started out as oral tales just as they did in England.28 In one of the miracles Archbishop Eysteinn 21 

    Vauchez, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages, pp. 70–71. Klaniczay, ‘The Power of the Saints and the Authority of the Popes’, p. 124. 23  Klaniczay, ‘The Power of the Saints and the Authority of the Popes’, p. 119. 24  Koopmans, Wonderful to Relate, p. 79. 25  Ward, Miracles and the Medieval Mind, pp. 13–36. 26  Ward, Miracles and the Medieval Mind, p. 34. 27  Passio Olavi, ed. by Skard, p. 52. 28  Koopmans, Wonderful to Relate, pp. 95–98. 22 

    168 Cornelia Spjelkavik Sparre

    himself explains how he was healed after falling from the scaffolding during the construction of Nidaros cathedral.29 In Europe pilgrims who came to a shrine to report something miraculous from their home village or town would often bring a witness or some sort of proof of their claims, especially if the person in question were of lower social status. In one case, a Danish pilgrim who reached Nidaros was not believed when he spoke of how his sight had been healed during his pilgrimage. He had stopped to pray in Ringerike during his journey and regained part of his sight there but chose to continue on to Nidaros to give thanks. When he reached the shrine at Nidaros he regained his sight in full. In order for his miracle account to be ratified, he had to assemble a group of people from his hometown of Lund who could testify to him having left home blind.30 Proof of the miraculous event could also be material brought to the shrine and donated, such as the bread Óláfr petrified to stop a Dane from forcing his serving girl to work on a holy day,31 the parts of a harvest rescued from flames,32 or a ship saved from wreckage.33 This was of course not only proof, but also a donation of gratitude to the saint themself. Standard European medieval miracle stories usually fit into a literary pattern. First a challenge of some sort will be presented; a child is injured, a ship is about to sink and so on. Then the person or people experiencing this will pray and call on God and one or more specific saints for help. The saints intervene, the situation is amended, and the people will praise God and the saints for their mercy and generosity.34 You will not read one of these stories and wonder what saints intervened or if this should be read as a miracle or not. As mentioned above, miracle stories in Norway were also recorded by skalds and in the sagas. The miracles of the sagas often do not follow the conventions of the miracle genre, but rather that of the saga tradition, thus the miraculous aspects can at times be more equivocal. Instead of being the very point of the story, the miracle is often part of a larger narrative and a different storytelling style. Sometimes miracles were not even referred to explicitly as such, whereas in other instances events of a more ordinary character were. For example, in the saga of King Hákon Hákonarson (1204–1263) the writer explains how the king was not hit by a 29 

    Passio Olavi, ed. by Skard, pp. 64–66. Passio Olavi, ed. by Skard, p. 71. 31  Passio Olavi, ed. by Skard, p. 24. 32  Passio Olavi, ed. by Skard, p. 55. 33  Passio Olavi, ed. by Skard, p. 56. 34  Whaley, ‘Miracles in the Sagas of Bishops’, p. 7. 30 

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    falling mast on board his ship, as one of his men reacted swiftly and managed to push him out of the way, thus saving him. This was a pretty ordinary event but it was referred to as God performing a great miracle.35 There are also miracles, especially among those performed by St Óláfr when he was alive (and therefore written down long after), that are more legendary in nature. Some will be explicitly described as a miracle, others are not. For instance, once St Óláfr was fighting abroad during his youth when he got separated from his men on their way back to their ships. Suddenly their heathen enemies came running out of the woods, chased by Óláfr alone. When the prisoners explained how they were overpowered by one man, they said that Óláfr was actually not alone at all but had many horsemen with him. They had turned around and disappeared before they reached the rest of the party. After this Óláfr’s men stated that the horsemen had not been men of this earth but rather God’s men.36 When reading miracle sources from Norway, especially from the twelfth century onwards, one is struck by how matter-of-factly some of these extraordinary stories are portrayed. A miracle is something unusual, and it must come from the power of God, most often through the intercession of his saints. Miracles were seen as proof of God’s existence and omnipotence — as something astounding. However as mentioned, in many miracle stories involving lay people they follow a set of straightforward rules: they will pray, receive help, and give thanks. In addition, they will also do what they can to help through practical measures. For example, when the city of Bergen was hit by fire during a battle, the shrine of St Sunniva and a cross were brought out of the church so that God and the saints could intervene. The people of Bergen also used water and sails to try and extinguish the fire, but it was St Sunniva who was credited with stopping the flames not the people.37 In some Norwegian miracle stories different kinds of medicines or even magic was used to help with problems. Such measures were viewed as problematic by the Church, and during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries laws prohibiting the use of magic cures, runes, magic formulas (líf, rúnir and galdra) as well as trial by fire (járnburðr) were introduced in Norway.38 This attitude 35 

    Hákonar saga Hákonarsonar  i: Bǫglunga saga 1, ed.  by Þorleifur Hauksson, Sverrir Jakobsson, and Ulset, pp. 309–10. 36  Den Legendariske Olavssaga, ed. by Flokenes, pp. 18–19; Olafs saga hins helga, ed. by Johnsen, pp. 13–14. This story did not happen in Norway so it is not included in the statistics presented in this chapter. 37  Sverris saga, ed. by Þorleifur Hauksson, pp. 228–29. 38  Nedkvitne, Lay Belief in Norse Society 1000–1350, pp. 254, 280.

    170 Cornelia Spjelkavik Sparre

    is at times reflected in the miracula, where miracles will only partially work or when people are warned or even punished for not committing exclusively to their faith.39 In one case, a woman in Nidaros (Trondheim) visited a priest to ask for advice on how to cure her epilepsy. She had tried both medicine and magic, but nothing had helped so she turned to the priest for advice. The priest was very clear in explaining to her (and the reader) that the only cure which would ever work was confession, fasting, pilgrimage, and prayers. The woman was then, of course, rewarded for following his advice and was healed at the shrine of St Óláfr.40 In contrast, the sagas do not pass judgement when alternative methods are used. For example, one miracle occurred at the council in Bergen in 1218 when it was to be decided if Hákon Hákonarson was the true heir to the throne. His mother performed járnburðr; she held a hot iron when testifying that Hákon’s father truly was the king. Her hand was not only spared but healed to the point that it was smoother and even more beautiful than ever before.41 This happened after trial by fire had been declared illegal for forcing God’s hand. It shows how long it can take to change tradition and how even the most educated in Norwegian society could fall back on old methods.

    The Dating of Miracles If we go by the legends the first miracle that happened on Norwegian soil was the discovery of Sunniva and the relics of the Seljumenn. These miracles were documented at a later point and the stories themselves are probably not as old as the sagas suggests. The stories show clear signs of having been written down long after the events and have a more legendary flair. In these sources, King Óláfr Tryggvason and later St Óláfr and their allies battle for the new religion against sorcerers and the old gods. Once Christianity and the Church system was fully established in Norway more ‘European style’ miracle are recorded. During the twelfth century Nidaros cathedral was built and the Passio Olavi, Geisli, and several sagas including miracles were produced. These were all important in the promotion and spread of the cult of St Óláfr. At this time most of the miracles were recorded, perhaps a natural consequence of the Óláfr cult’s dominance. This was not just an active period in Norway, but a prolific time for miracles in 39 

    Vauchez, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages, p. 491. Gammelnorsk homiliebok, ed. by Gunnes and Salvesen, p. 153; Gamal norsk homiliebok. Cod. AM 619 4o, ed. by Indrebø, pp. 123–24; Passio Olavi, ed. by Skard, pp. 41–42. 41  Hákonar saga Hákonarsonar  i: Bǫglunga saga 1, ed.  by Þorleifur Hauksson, Sverrir Jakobsson, and Ulset, pp. 216–20. 40 

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    all of north-western Europe with Iceland’s beatification of Þorlákr Þórhallsson and a larger miracle collection project at Canterbury in England.42 During the late Middle Ages, Norwegian saints were no longer as active; fewer miracles were recorded and those that took place were more often performed by foreign saints, such as St Birgitta of Sweden (d. 1373). Furthermore, after the Black Death (1349–1350), many farms and villages were abandoned and left to ruin. There were no new Norwegian miracle collecting projects in the later Middle Ages — it is possible that the Church was not in a strong enough position to spend time and resources on these kinds of activities. It seems like the Norwegian cult landscape was more local and fragmented during the later periods as a consequence of these serious events. The timing of miracles during the year was also important. As in other parts of Europe, feast days were particularly important in the occurrence of miracles. Fourteen of the miracles in the corpus of medieval miracles in Norway happened on a feast day. These were mostly healing miracles and miracles involving pilgrims who specifically timed their journey to coincide with a holy day.

    The Saints Saints St Óláfr

    Number of miracles performed

    Percentage of miracles performed

    67

    53%

    St Magnús

    23

    18%

    St Sunniva

    10

    8%

    St Hallvarðr

    5

    4%

    The Holy Cross

    3

    2%

    Other saints

    4

    3%

    Unspecified/God

    14

    11%

    We know from the number of church dedications, the reports of the massive riches belonging to Nidaros Cathedral, and the number of archaeological traces of Nidaros as a pilgrimage destination that St Óláfr was very popular in his home country and among Nordic people in general.43 The miracles also testify to this. While there were several active saints in Norway from the elev42  43 

    Koopmans, Wonderful to Relate, p. 125; Whaley, ‘Miracles in the Sagas of Bishops’, p. 159. Krötzl, ‘Den nordiska pilgrimskulturen under medeltiden’, p. 146.

    172 Cornelia Spjelkavik Sparre

    enth century and up until the 1400s, St Óláfr was by far the most frequent intercessor. Through his cult, St Óláfr continued to influence his kingdom long after his death. The cult had solid support from the Church, the kings, and lay people, and each of these groups had their own version of Óláfr the saint, which again differed from Óláfr the historical figure. For the Church it was important to emphasize Óláfr’s devotion to the faith, his Christ-like qualities and his role in the Christianization process. Óláfr’s transformation from Norse warrior to a martyr saint was orchestrated, in part, through the Passio Olavi. He was fashioned to be the perfect saint for Norway, fusing the Norse standards of the warrior and smart capable leader with the martyr ideal of the Church.44 To the kings, Óláfr’s royal blood and skills as ruler were crucial, and this conflation of the role of king and the holy raised the standards for the kings something the Church encouraged. As the years passed, Óláfr became the ideal king, the saint, the just ruler, and the lawmaker, and in 1163 he was declared Rex Perpetuus Norvegiae: the eternal king of Norway.45 The individual Norwegian kings had to show that they fit Óláfr’s image. Up until 1260 any man of royal blood could become king, he could even be the son of a frille (mistress) or a common woman; it did not matter as long as he had the right blood, personality, and skills.46 If you are not guaranteed a place on the throne but must prove that you are the best candidate among several, you need to show that you are a worthy successor. The king’s connection and relationships with God, Óláfr, and the saints were of utmost importance. Therefore, the sagas work hard to show the king’s relationship with Óláfr, and this effort become stronger the more uncertain the king’s claim to the throne was. One of the most evident examples of this is when Sverrir Sigurðsson, who at the time was waging war to dethrone the king and later solidify his position as rightful king, had a dream described in his saga. In this dream he visited St Óláfr, was gifted with his seal, was chosen to wash in the same water Óláfr had used to wash himself and was appointed by Óláfr’s as his rightful successor.47 Sverris saga was an important piece of propaganda used to establish Sverrir’s bloodline as the line of kings and this is one of many references and stories meant to draw a parallel between Sverrir and St Óláfr. While the Church emphasized St Óláfr’s Christ-like qualities, the popular cult focused on other aspects of his sanctity including helping the commu44 

    Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Kristninga i Norden, pp. 46, 47. Steinsland, Den hellige kongen om religion og herskermakt, p. 158. 46  Blom, Helgenkonge og helgenskrin, p. 74. 47  Sverris saga, ed. by Þorleifur Hauksson, pp. 8–9. 45 

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    nity, slaying trolls, building churches, and the healing qualities of the St Óláfr’s springs. All over Norway there are local stories of St Óláfr. These local legends are impossible to date or verify and may very well be more recent folklore rather than medieval in origin. St Óláfr’s work as a church builder is documented in one miracle found in Passio Olavi, The Old Norwegian Homily Book, The legendary saga, and Heilagra manna sögur as well as in local legends. The miracle tells of a congregation in Telemark that wished to build a stone church but lacked the stone. They prayed to Óláfr who then collapsed a mountain which provided the congregation with the material they needed.48 There are three stone churches in Telemark dedicated to Óláfr that predate the death of the Passio Olavi’s likely author Archbishop Eysteinn and could be possible candidates for the church described in this miracle. Of these churches Seljord Church (dated to about 1150–1180) has its own local legend: St Óláfr personally forced a troll to build the church. This church is architecturally simple and has only a single decoration, a bearded man’s face carved into the stone wall of the nave.49 How these two stories relate to each other is difficult to say. Are these two separate stories? If they are different versions of the same story, is the troll a later development or something that was lost on its way to Nidaros? There are similar folk legends of Óláfr building other churches, among them Lund and Nidaros Cathedral itself.50 Óláfr’s ability to break down stone and clear roads was a popular topic. According to The Legendary Saga Óláfr spent a night in prayer and then stones blocking a road became so light that twenty men could move stones not even 120 could the previous night.51 The cartographer and archbishop of Uppsala, Olaus Magnus, mentions another of these stories in his book Historia de Gentibus Septentrionalibus (A Description of the Northern Peoples) from 1555. He describes the road frequented by pilgrims over the Dovre Mountains. Here large stones have been placed to shield the road from snow, and he explains that there are people that believe these stones used to be giants or evil spirits turned to stone by St Óláfr himself.52 Holy wells associated with saints are not uniquely Norwegian, and there were and are healing wells across Europe.53 In Norway these wells have a par48 

    Passio Olavi, ed. by Skard, p. 40. Ekroll, Med kleber og kalk, pp. 231–39. 50  Henriksen, Hellig Olav, p. 223. 51  Olafs saga hins helga, ed. by Johnsen, p. 69. 52  Henriksen, Hellig Olav, p. 223. 53  Ray, Sacred Waters. 49 

    174 Cornelia Spjelkavik Sparre

    ticularly important place in the cult of St Óláfr and his miracles. Although, it must be noted that they were not exclusively connected to Óláfr, there is a holy well on Selja and a Hallvarðr well in Drammen.54 St Óláfr is described as making one of these wells in The Legendary Olav’s Saga. He was travelling with his army in the western part of Norway, converting people, and cleansing the land of its heathen past. He performed several miracles during this journey: at one stop they had only two cattle carcasses and 600 mouths to feed. Óláfr asked the cook to put a little beef in every pot, he then made the mark of the cross over the pots and by dinner time all the pots were full of food, mirroring and translating a biblical motif for a Norse audience. Óláfr also washed himself in a spring which the locals thereafter claimed healed their livestock whenever there was any illness.55 On the same farm Óláfr’s evening prayers banished a vættr, who screamed in agony because the sound of his prayers burned it.56 The vættr was a remaining feature from the heathen tradition, and the Church worked to redefine them as demons. The removal of heathen creatures and the creation of holy wells and water can in a way be seen as a pretty literal cleansing of the heathen past — it is as if the land itself, not just the people, needs to be converted and baptized. Another spring appeared where Óláfr’s body had been buried before he was translated to his final resting place.57 These two springs are recorded in the written sources, but there are local legends about Óláfr’s springs all over the country. Many of these springs do not have any actual historical connection to the man himself, and they appear in places that Óláfr never visited. Pilgrims would leave little crosses or coins at these sites.58 Curiously, there are no documented miracles in relation to these sites. This may suggest that the Church was not interested in actively promoting this aspect of the cult. Natural cults with pagan roots were of course frowned upon, and they were seen as competition to the Church during the conversion period.59 It is likely that this is where the Church’s scepticism came from. There is, however, some evidence that they tried to gain some control over these phenomena, as an Óláfr well was built into the cathedral ambulatory at Nidaros, and the one created by Óláfr’s ini54 

    Steinsland, ‘Hulehelligdommen på Selja’, p. 13. Olafs saga hins helga, ed. by Johnsen, p. 69. 56  On Iceland, St Guðmundur Arason (1160–1237) made sanctified wells and actively used blessings and holy water in his work, see Skórzewska, Constructing a Cult. 57  Heimskringla ii, ed. by Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, p. 405. 58  Henriksen, Hellig Olav, p. 236. 59  Klaniczay, ‘The Power of the Saints and the Authority of the Popes’, p. 118. 55 

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    tial burial was right below the Archbishop’s palace. The popularity of the Óláfr wells is a good example of how there are blind spots in the written accounts of miracles in Norway. There are later descriptions of holy well cult activity from after the Reformation when this activity became especially problematic and even later when it was viewed more as exotic folk culture. People are described leaving bread by an Óláfr spring on Olsok (Óláfr’s mass) in Skåne in 1777 and in 1820.60 But there are no medieval descriptions of miracles connected to these springs in Norway. As noted above, this is perhaps due to how miracles were recorded and filtered. Alternatively, it is possible that these wells were so commonplace that describing specific cases of healing were deemed unnecessary. Another popular saint was Magnús Earl of Orkney (c. 1076–1115) who performed twenty-three miracles on the Orkney Islands, Shetland, and the Hebrides, but none in mainland Norway. Magnús, the ruler of the Orkneys and a relation of Óláfr and King Harald Sigurdsson Harðráði (1015–1066), was another royal martyr. His cult was at first controversial because of political conflicts relating to his successors and the fight for the earldom.61 His miracles are often characterized by the close-knit island communities that venerated him. Some specific types of miracles, like healing the insane, are repeated and members of one particular household show up in several stories, as seen in the miracle of Bergfinnr Skatason. Bergfinnr was blind, and he prayed all night by the shrine of Magnús hoping to be healed, but two cripples, Þorbjörn and Sigurðr, were healed instead.62 After donating a large sum of money to the shrine he brought his leprous son to pray with him overnight. On the third night of their stay they felt the touch of St Magnús and they were both healed.63 Later, one of his tenant farmers and his nephew experienced miracles of their own. His tenant threshed his crops the day before St Magnús’s mass, and Bergfinnr tried to warn him against working on a holy day. The tenant ignored his advice and was struck by madness. This madness was later healed at Magnús’s shrine. Bergfinnr’s nephew had a head injury after being struck by a falling beam, and this was also healed.64 It is possible that it was important to highlight how this family was repeatedly rewarded for their loy60 

    Henriksen, Hellig Olav, p. 237. See Caitlin Ellis in this volume. 62  Orkneyinga saga: The History, ed. by Hermann Pálsson and Edwards, p. 94; Orkeneyinga saga, ed. by Sigurður Nordal, pp. 131–32. 63  Orkneyinga saga: The History, ed. by Hermann Pálsson and Edwards, p. 96; Orkeneyinga saga, ed. by Sigurður Nordal, p. 135. 64  Orkneyinga saga: The History, ed. by Hermann Pálsson and Edwards, p. 97; Orkeneyinga saga, ed. by Sigurður Nordal, pp. 136–37. 61 

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    alty to the saint as an example for others who were more on the fence regarding Magnús. Madness also struck a woman called Gróa, as well as a thief who stole from the shrine. In mainland Norway there were no stories matching these madness miracles, but there were several healings of cut tongues by Óláfr. This could possibly highlight both the psychological contagion aspect of the miracles and how some shrines would choose to include and register different types of miracles leading to different local ‘trends’. The only female saint of Norway is St Sunniva. The legend says she was the daughter of an Irish king, and after his death she ruled his land. Sunniva was deeply committed to her faith and virginity, and when she received a marriage proposal from a pagan suitor she chose to escape as he had launched attacks against her and her people in the hope of forcing her to marry him. In a move mirroring the more famous legend of St Ursula, Sunniva gathered her people and embarked on a journey across the sea, and guided by God, they eventually reached the islands of Selja and Kinn.65 On these islands, she and her followers lived peacefully until sheep belonging to the local Norse pagans who lived on the mainland went missing and confrontation brewed. St Sunniva prayed to God for protection and she and her entourage were buried by a collapsing cave. According to the sagas, their bodies were found during the reign of Óláfr Tryggvason by a group of men who saw a mysterious light when sailing nearby the island. On closer inspection, human remains which glowed and smelled wonderfully were found, and when reported to the king, he recognized the signs as marking the bodies as holy. He declared them to be saints and had a church built on Selja.66 The relics of St Sunniva were moved to Bergen in 1170, whereas the relics of the Seljumenn, her followers, remained on the island.67 The cult on Selja was the first Christian cult in Norway, but there is a lot of uncertainty in relation to the Sunniva legend and when it first emerged. It is a possibility that the figure of Sunniva is not as old as the saga claimed. The Selja cult is evidently old and first mentioned in the Gulathing law, but Sunniva herself is not named in early sources at all, the focus is always on the anonymous group of holy men.68 There are no sources mentioning Sunniva or a central figure in this group that dates earlier than mid-twelfth century indicating that more identifiable personalities in the group were constructed at a later date.69 There was most likely a push to 65 

    Daae, Norges helgener, pp. 142–45. Legender frå mellomalderen, ed. by Else Mundal, p. 196. 67  O’Hara, ‘Constructing a Saint’, p. 108. 68  Johnsen, ‘Når slo Sunniva-kulten igjennom?’, p. 41. 69  Johnsen, ‘Når slo Sunniva-kulten igjennom?’, p. 50. 66 

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    establish Sunniva as the leader of the group in 1170 with the production of her Officium and the establishment of her shrine in Bergen. There are several potential explanations for why this Irish princess emerges as an important part of the Seljumenn group at that specific point in time. There might have been a political motive behind the effort. Following a violent struggle for the throne Magnús Erlingsson, who at the time was a small child, was crowned in Bergen in 1163/1164. His claim to the throne was through his mother, the daughter of a king. St Sunniva, as both a woman and the rightful heir to a kingdom, could possibly serve as a model and create precedence for rule through the female line. The coronation of Magnús Erlingsson did not end the brutal civil war period. In the troubled years that followed, Bergen needed a patron saint. 70 Sunniva served her purpose as protector of Bergen and the properties of the see. Perhaps she was simply what the city needed at the time. Sunniva’s miracles are found in a Latin Officium (most likely written in the period around her translation to Bergen in 1170) and in Sverris saga. None of these miracles relate to conversion, rather they focus on healing and rescue miracles, as well as how she acts as a patron saint of Bergen. When the Baglar faction set fire to the city, Sunniva’s relics as well as a cross were carried out towards the fires and this stopped the flames.71 The miracles recorded in the Officium are concise with not much detail, as is to be expected of the genre. For example, a virgin who was born blind slept in Sunniva’s church and left healed.72 In another verse a man who worked on a window in a tower tripped and fell towards the ground. Sunniva and the saints sent a whirlwind that lifted him back up. This miracle differs from similar accidents in the sources as he was saved halfway through the fall, rather than healed after hitting the ground. Sunniva was a saint with a connection to the sea and the coast both through her legend and by her shrine being in Bergen. It is therefore natural that she had a miracle in relation to rescue at sea. She saved the crew of a sinking ship damaged by Carybdis.73 Carybdis was a mythological sea monster, but was also used to refer to maelstroms, which is the most likely reading of the word in this story.74 70 

    O’Hara, ‘Constructing a Saint’, p. 117. Sverris saga, ed. by Þorleifur Hauksson, p. 229. 72  Monumenta historica Norvegiæ, ed. by Storm, p. 153: ‘Sunnivæ basilica / pernoctans cæca nata, / gaudens luce mirifica / virgo redit sanata’. 73  Monumenta historica Norvegiæ, ed. by Storm, p. 152. 74  Lockert, ‘De Charybdi Septentrionali: kontinuitet og endring i forestillinger om Moskstraumen’, pp. 15–16. 71 

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    The last of the four Norwegian saints is St Hallvarðr (c. 1020–1043), who was also kin with St Óláfr.75 He was the patron saint of Oslo and died as a martyr protecting a pregnant woman. She had been accused of stealing and fled for her life; Hallvarðr believed her when she told him she was innocent and let her aboard his boat. Her accusers reached them and killed them both. After they dumped their bodies in the fjord, Hallvarðr’s body floated despite being weighed down by a millstone.76 Icelandic annals note that Hallvarðr died in 1042/1043.77 His cult is also mentioned by Adam of Bremen — it is assumed Adam heard of it during his stay in Denmark in 1067, and so it is likely to already have been an established cult at this point.78 Unfortunately, the sources related to St Hallvarðr are sparse and his legend is pieced together from several sources. The Norse story of his martyrdom only survives in two fragments; these encompass the beginning and the end, while the majority of the legend is lost. It can possibly be dated to the first half of the fourteenth century.79 This Norse legend tells of Hallvarðr’s ancestry and his body being found and enshrined in Oslo. It also relates how the rope used to tow Hallvarðr’s body to land flowered. Dead barren material giving life to lush foliage or flowers is a resurrection and fertility motif also found in other hagiographies such as Archbishop Ælfheah (c. 953–1012), where an oar dipped in his blood flowered.8081 St Ælfheah of Canterbury had a connection to Scandinavia; he was murdered by heathen Danish forces and had possibly met and confirmed Óláfr Tryggvason.82 Ælfheah and Hallvarðr were both compassionate Christians killed by Norsemen. It is possible that his story could have been known and influenced Hallvarðr’s hagiography. The missing part of Hallvarðr’s legend is found in two Latin sources, one from Utrecht (c. 1300) and another in Brevarium Nidrosiensis (1519). A third Swedish fragment from around 1500 details two miracles that happened after Hallvarðr’s death. A light signalled where his body could be found, and a holy spring flowed up from where he was buried. Gjerløw argues that it is likely that this text was used as 75 

    They were related through Óláfr’s mother Ásta. Heilagra manna sögur, ed. by Unger, i, pp. 396–98. 77  Islandske Annaler indtil 1578, ed. by Storm, p. 108. 78  Tveito, ‘“Kristendommens germanisering” – antikvert eller anvendelig konsept?’, p. 136. 79  Ordo Nidrosiensis ecclesiae, ed. by Gjerløw, p. 422. 80  Anglia Sacra Sive Collectio Historiarum, ed. by Wharton, p. 141; Osbern’s life of Alfege, ed. by Shawn. 81  Koopmans, Wonderful to Relate, p. 13. 82  Koopmans, Wonderful to Relate, p. 82. 76 

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    liturgy in Oslo.83 It is difficult to know if this was a late addition to his legend or something that was passed down from earlier stories because the sources are so sparse. There is only one miracle performed by Hallvarðr in the sagas. In The Saga of the Haraldssons it is described how locals anticipated a hostile attack on Oslo from Magnús the Blind (1115–1139) and the Danish king Erik (c. 1090–1137) and tried to evacuate and bring Hallvarðr’s shrine with them. The day before the attack, it was impossible to lift it because it was too heavy. But as the warships sailed down the Oslo fjord, the shrine suddenly became light enough to be lifted by only four men, and it was brought to safety.84 This was not a particularly spectacular miracle, as both Sunniva and Óláfr saved their churches from flames while Hallvarðr’s church was burned in the ensuing battle. Hallvarðr’s other miracles are referred to in vague terms in Heimskringla; there are references to people praying at his shrine, and he is said to have healed many people, but there are no specific stories other than the shrine incident. Hallvarðr’s feast day was marked on runic calendars across the country, while Sunniva only shows up in Bergen diocese. There were also more churches dedicated to him than to Sunniva, yet he had fewer miracles and no stories placed outside of Oslo diocese. In Sverris saga, Bishop Nikulás Árnason (c. 1150–1225) of the Baglar faction invokes Hallvarðr, the saint of his diocese. Bishop Nikulás asked Sverrir to meet him in single combat and declared that he would have St Peter and St Hallvarðr on his side, while Sverrir could call on someone else. Sverrir declined and no miracle happened.85 It may be that Hallvarðr was perceived to be closely associated with the losing Baglar faction and this then could explain his limited reach.86 Non-indigenous saints rarely performed miracles in Norway and are only recorded to have performed one miracle each. The Holy Cross, however, was the agent of three miracles. One of the miracles was performed by a very prestigious relic, the splinter of the True Cross that King Sigurðr Jórsalafari (1090–1130) brought to Norway from the Holy Land following the Norwegian participating in the Crusades. The others were performed by crosses that were not actually relics in the regular sense of the word. They were not contact relics but rather crosses/crucifixes decorating a church which locals believed could act on behalf of God. There are other stories of miracle-working crucifixes from 83 

    Ordo Nidrosiensis ecclesiae, pp. 422–24. Heimskringla iii, ed. by Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, p. 307. 85  Sverris saga, ed. by Þorleifur Hauksson, p. 197. 86  Daae, Norges helgener, p. 169. 84 

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    other European areas, especially Italy.87 One of these was a crucifix in a church in Bergen. Áskell týza, a Birkibeinar, was surprised and killed by another civil war faction, the Kulvungs, while attending mass at church. The attackers were breaking a very serious law and taboo by ignoring the church as a sanctuary and committing murder on sacred ground. The cross began to sweat profusely, and a rock fell from the roof and killed one of the attackers.88 The last cross, which could very possibly be the same crucifix already mentioned, assisted Sunniva’s relics during the attack on Bergen.89 Eleven per cent of the miracles from the Norwegian corpus are not attributed to specific saints; they were rather the result of God’s direct intervention. In the sagas, the only people who experienced these kinds of miracles were kings, probably because the sagas did not have anything to gain by attributing miracles to specific saints in the same way as the Church. The saints who performed miracles for the kings usually reflect the situation or the needs of the king, such as St Maurice visiting Óláfr Tryggvason in a dream before a Thing meeting where he would convert local power players. St Maurice — a Roman soldier who converted and tried to convert others during the earliest era of Christianity — would be a fitting supporter of Óláfr Tryggvason at the Thing, and during the meeting the men who intended to argue against Christianity were prevented from doing so by a coughing attack or stammering, and one man lost his voice.90 Moreover, in the sagas it was of lesser importance to glorify a certain saint than it was to promote the fact that miraculous events happened around a king; the saga writer was writing a history and not a saint’s saga.

    The People of Miracles ‘Guð ok hinn helgi Ólafr konungr hjalpi þeim manni, er þessar rúnar reist með sínu heilagu árnaðarorði’ (May God and the holy King Óláfr help the man who carved these runes with their holy payer). These words were carved in runes into the grey soapstone of Nidaros cathedral sometime between 1180 and 1210. The man who carved them was one of countless people who prayed to the saints and hoped for relief. In the corpus analysed here, 69 per cent of the 87 

    Jansen, ‘Miraculous Crucifixes in Late Medieval Italy’, p. 208. Sverris saga, ed. by Þorleifur Hauksson, p. 157. 89  Sverris saga, ed. by Þorleifur Hauksson, pp. 228–29. 90  Oddr Snorrason, ed. by Andersson, p. 75; Oddr Snorrason. Saga Óláfs Tryggvasonar, ed. by Finnur Jónsson, pp. 94–96. 88 

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    Norwegian miracles were experienced by men, whereas only 15 per cent were experienced by women and 16 per cent were experienced by groups. One of the groups in question was a village that found a lost child after collecting alms; there were also cases of groups of pilgrims who experienced mass healings, but these groups are in general mostly male-dominated and consisting of farmers, fishermen, and soldiers. If we separate children into a separate category the results are: 61 per cent men, 11 per cent women, 16 per cent groups, and 12 per cent children. Of course, the medieval society and especially the religious hierarchy were in many ways male-dominated and a miracle gender gap was the norm across Europe. However, you would usually see a somewhat stronger female presence in the miracle stories than you see in Norway. According to Finucane, 39 per cent of the people who reported miraculous experiences to a representative selection of shrines in both France and England were women, while 61 per cent were men.91 There is still a gender gap, but a less extreme one. The Icelandic miracles have an even smaller imbalance, as the miracles are experienced by 23 per cent women and 51 per cent men.92 If one separates the miracles mentioning a pilgrimage to the shrine to receive help or a journey to give thanks for a performed miracle, the class and gender balance looks drastically different, as there is a stronger presence of women and the poor in these miracles. Nevertheless, this is a somewhat artificial separation as the miracles in the religious sources must involve some form of journey to the church for them to be noticed, also when this is not directly mentioned in the texts. There are several possible explanations for the gender gap. One factor may be the dominance of male saints (Óláfr and Magnús). Seventy-five per cent of the miracles were performed by male saints alone, while female saints carried out only 8 per cent. While all the saints helped both men and women, they did not do so on an equal footing, and a woman seems to have had a greater chance of receiving help if she prayed to a female saint. It is possible that medieval women preferred to pray to female saints or assumed a female saint would be more understanding. In the epilepsy miracle mentioned above, the sick women initially prayed to the Virgin Mary, but after her husband and priest got involved in her cure, they went to Nidaros Cathedral and received help from St Óláfr. Of relevance here is that the couple were from Nidaros. One would assume that the locals would turn to St Óláfr first, but this woman did not. This could indicate that she felt a female saint like the Virgin was a more 91 

    Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims, p. 143. Whaley, ‘Miracles in the Sagas of Bishops’, p. 175. The other miracles are experienced by children or groups. 92 

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    natural choice. It is difficult to know if this is representative of the feelings of most Norwegian women of the time, but it could be. If that is the case, then the lack of female representation in Norwegian miracles is just another side of the question of why St Sunniva, as Norway’s only female saint, is recorded as performing such a small number of miracles. Another possible explanation is linked to the timing of the miracles. The largest concentration of Norwegian miracles happened during the eleventh and twelfth centuries. In one of Norway’s neighbouring countries, England, there is a rise in female-centric miracles in the late twelfth century. Around Europe miracles about more taboo and female-specific experiences and issues like childbirth and menstruation were rare in early Middle Ages but became more of a theme in stories during the later periods.93 It could be that Norway’s bulk of miracles happened too early for women to fully make their mark. If this means women just did not report their experiences as miraculous, or if it means that they were not taken seriously by the ones recording the reports, we do not know. Norwegian society was organized with men considered the head of the household. With Thing meetings, leiðangr (levy), and comparatively more contact between the king and his subjects than in many other more feudal-oriented societies, many of these men had a high standing and were at least to some degree involved with what was happening in their communities.94 This could perhaps lead to individual men more easily asking help from God and his saints, and on the flip side it could possibly mean that women did not. On the other hand, Iceland was a society with an even flatter social structure than Norway and yet the amount of female involvement in miracles was higher, so this explanation is not univocal. Moreover, there were a very high number of miracles involving kings in Norway; so many in fact, that this focus on kings increases the gender imbalance. It could also be that women were scrutinized more when they reported miracles. Miracles could in a way be seen as commercials for the shrines; people would be more likely to pilgrimage to and donate to a shrine that could document a high success rate. It would be probable that the shrines wanted miracle stories, and unlikely that they would have impossibly high standards and reject the majority of stories reported. But, as mentioned above, they were not completely indiscriminating in what they accepted. Most of the Norwegian miracles, however, do not note the social standing of the person experiencing them. Using the details which are given, it seems like the majority of people who experienced miracles were poor. People with spe93  94 

    Koopmans, Wonderful to Relate, pp. 117–18. Bagge, From Viking Stronghold to Christian Kingdom, p. 114.

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    cific professions like merchants, soldiers and fishermen, and nobles and other upper-class people were not graced with many miracles, while kings on the other hand could experience many miracles. The group who experienced the least amount were the clergy; the few miracles they did experience were mainly of the less dignified types, namely the healing miracles. A priest was tortured and abused, then he was cared for by a woman and healed, for example; Bishop William of Orkney experienced a chastisement miracle because of his lack of support for St Magnús whilst Bishop Eysteinn fell during the building of the Nidaros cathedral and was healed.95 If one compares these numbers with land ownership, you can see that the church is estimated to have owned about 40 per cent of Norwegian land and experienced only 8 per cent of the miracles. The king on the other hand owned 7 per cent of the land and experienced 21 per cent of the miracles.96 It might be that the Church already was in possession of divine and holy sheen and sought more worldly influence, while the kings had the worldly power but were in need of the divine.

    The Miracles of the Kings In twenty-six of the Norwegian miracles, the person receiving the miracle was a king. Some of these miracles are explicitly political with saints taking sides in worldly conflicts. During the Civil War period (1130–1240), the saints took King Sverrir and his allies’ side in the conflict against the church. In these stories members of the clergy were the villains, while Sverrir, the excommunicated bastard, was the hero championed by the heavens. This is obviously a deliberate propaganda effort from Sverrir and the Birkibeinars to first gain support, win the crown and the war, and then secure his and his family’s position as legitimate royalty after his victory. The original line of kings descending from Harald Fairhair attracted miracles, wonders, and holiness. Sverrir and his kin were presented as just as good and their connection to the divine proved he was truthful in his claim that he shared their blood. Sverrir’s clan and the Birkibeinars experienced eight miracles which favoured them. Sverrir also regularly thanked God, Virgin Mary, and King Óláfr for his victories. On one occasion his nemesis bishop Nikulás Arnesson argued that the best day to attack Bergen would be on St Lawrence’s feast day, so the Baglar followed his advice. Just as St Lawrence was roasted to death, so did the attackers start a fire. This 95  96 

    Passio Olavi, ed. by Skard, pp. 31–32, 64–66. Bagge, From Viking Stronghold to Christian Kingdom, p. 111.

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    was described as a vicious attack where the assailants shot civilians who tried to escape the flames. But, as previously mentioned, St Sunniva and the Holy Cross intervened on behalf of the people of Bergen and the Birkibeinars.97 During a journey to Sogn, Sverrir’s forces ended up trapped for days in terrible weather conditions with no food on a mountain. His men considered suicide as anything would be better than the situation they were in. But Sverrir delivered a rousing speech where he asked his men to all call on God, the Virgin Mary, and St Óláfr, and by a miracle the weather cleared during this speech so everyone could hear and they could all make their way to safety.98 The medieval ideal of the king as someone who rules justly by God’s grace is not something unique to Norway, and neither are royal saints.99 Nothing in the medieval world was truly separate from religion and that was also true for the worldly ruler. Norway’s most popular saint was without doubt King Óláfr. The historical figure of King Óláfr Haraldsson is unclear. He was a man who was raised according to normal standards of the Norse elite as a warrior, and he was introduced to Christianity and baptized (when in his life this happened is a bit unclear). In the end he was killed because of his claim to the throne and the worldly conflicts of war and politics that followed. Both the church and the crown were in some way depended on St Óláfr as they were also dependent on each other in the power balance between the worldly and the godly. A popular local saint helped the Church in their quest of first establishing Christianity in Norway and then attracting pilgrims and true devotion beyond the first shallow conversions. The crown needed Óláfr to shroud the institution and the concept of one kingdom under one king in the divine. It was God’s will that this specific man was elevated over all others in the country, while small kings and local rulers belonged to the past. There has been much discussion with regard to whether or not the pagan ruler ideology included a concept of a divine king, a sacral kingship, so there is the possibility that this idea was not a foreign concept for the Norwegians but rather something that worked well with their understanding of a good leader.100 All of the four Norwegian saints with significant followings had some sort of connection to the crown: St Óláfr was of course king himself, St Sunniva was the daughter of a king, St Hallvarðr was related to Óláfr, and Harald Harðráði through his mother and St Magnús held office as earl. There were also rumours 97 

    Sverris saga, ed. by Þorleifur Hauksson, pp. 228–29. Sverris saga, ed. by Þorleifur Hauksson, pp. 32–36. 99  Vauchez, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages, p. 158. 100  Sundqvist, An Arena for Higher Powers. 98 

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    in relation to other members of the royal family. Odd Monk (Oddr Snorrason) wrote that there was talk regarding King Óláfr Tryggvason’s alleged holiness, but as he never performed any miracles, men should not speculate and wonder about God’s choice in not making him a saint.101 The infrastructure needed to promote him as saint was most likely lacking at the time. Also, as he went missing in action, his body was never found and the making of a shrine thus became more complicated. There were also rumours regarding King Harald Gille, as well as a failed local cult for his son Eysteinn Haraldsson. Another strange story is that of the false Margareta. In 1301 a woman in Bergen claimed to be the deceased princess Margareta and was burned at the stake for being a fraud. But after her death a controversial popular cult grew around her by people who believed she had told the truth.102 A 1424 diploma mentions the holy kings Magnús and Hákon, and King Christian II even tried to get Hákon canonized in 1521.103 We cannot be certain who this Hákon was, but Gustav Storm believed it to be King Hákon Magnússon, which seems likely as he was credited with a miracle where he hit Danish forces with hail and rain during a battle in Denmark. Which one of the many kings with the name Magnús the diploma refers to is also uncertain, yet there seems to have been a tendency among Norwegians to project divinity and supernatural powers on kings and their relatives. In Europe in general, royal saints were rather standard as there were royal saints in England, France, Portugal, Denmark, and Sweden as well as in the Eastern Europe and the Holy Roman Empire. 104 As St  Óláfr’s bishop, Grimkjell, came to Norway from England, it is assumed his experience with this tradition was important in the early establishment of the cult of St Óláfr in Norway.

    Different Types of Miracles The stereotypic miracle to this day is the idea of the lame rising and of the blind opening their eyes to see for the first time. When Þórarinn loftunga (Praisetongue) describes the shrine of St Óláfr in Heimskringla, his focus is on such healing miracles. Healing miracles were the bread and butter of miracle col101  Oddr Snorrason, ed. by Andersson, p. 35; Oddr Snorrason. Saga Óláfs Tryggvasonar, ed. by Finnur Jónsson, p. 1. 102  Daae, Norges helgener, pp. 193–95. 103  Daae, Norges helgener, p. 182. 104  Weinstein and Bell, Saints and Society, pp. 197, 188–90.

    186 Cornelia Spjelkavik Sparre

    lections around Europe, where nine out of ten miracles between the twelfth to fifteenth centuries were healing miracles.105 But there are also other types of miracles and in Norway these types were actually more usual. Miracle types

    Number of miracles

    Healing miracles

    51

    41%

    Non-healing miracles

    72

    59%

    Subject of miracle

    Number of miracles

    Cripples

    13

    Blindness

    11

    Mute/Deaf

    9

    Insanity/Psychological problems

    7

    Leprosy

    3

    Resurrection

    3

    Other

    10

    Many miracles combine different miracle types in one story, like a torture victim regaining his tongue, mobility, and sight. This is counted as one single miracle story, but the different components are all noted separately, which is why the numbers do not add up. The healing miracles often follow a classical pattern seen across Europe. They are more numerous among pilgrims and the lower classes. There is also a stronger presence of women among these. The most common ‘disease’ to have been healed was deformity or crippling, mostly of legs leading to the healed being able to walk again. The category ‘other’ includes various conditions, such as cases where the specific illness is not defined, or persons suffering from swelling, head injury, and infections. The healing miracles were important as part of the cult and a way to see the glory of the saints, but to be one of the people sleeping in the cathedral with a crippled leg, one of the blind walking along the pilgrimage roads, was most likely not sought after, as sickness was to a degree stigmatized in the medieval society. This is highlighted by the fourteenth century ‘trend’ among high society, one of them Queen Margaret (1353–1412), of sending people as surrogate pilgrims in their place. The person travelling was often a nun or monk and would donate at the shrine on behalf of their master or mistress. In this 105 

    Krötzl, Pilger, Mirakel und Alltag, p. 189.

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    way, those who could pay could avoid the struggle and hassle of pilgrimage.106 The only healing miracle involving a king was anonymized, possibly because the situation was not dignified enough for royalty. This was a king who suffered from a swollen knee, a very painful condition. He was rowed down the river to Stiklestad Church, the site of St Óláfr’s martyrdom, and had to be carried inside by his men. There he attended mass and touched his knee to the relic, the stone St Óláfr leaned on as he was stabbed one last time and died. The stone still had the saint’s blood on it. This action healed the king.107 While the horrors of the medieval period tend to be overstated by the general public, there are also some healing miracles that do involve the dark side of the time period. There is the wrongly accused farmer, and there is also the story of the English priest who was attacked and grossly tortured. This story is repeated in several sources and the exact nature of his torture varies; he had his back broken, his eyes poked out, and his tongue severed. He was then found by an old woman who took care of him for days, praying to St Óláfr.108 Two pilgrims were also attacked while on their way to Nidaros on two separate occasions and one of them was stoned to death. Many of these low status healing miracles are not given much attention in the sources. Some are only recorded in one sentence mentioning for example that a woman came to the holy saint’s grave and was healed of her affliction. Other stories detail the process more closely, especially if it is a more dramatic story. The epilepsy miracle provides enough details to leave a sort of portrait of a marriage. Even though only the woman suffered from epilepsy, she and her husband travelled together to Nidaros cathedral and they participated in the church service, lit candles, fasted, and prayed through the night before Olsok, St Óláfr’s feast day. On that day she was cured. In memory of the miracle, the couple continued to have a jointly annual fasting day to show their gratitude.109

    106 

    Luthen, I pilegrimenes fotspor til Nidaros, p. 23. Passio Olavi, ed. by Skard, p. 50. 108  Gammelnorsk homiliebok, ed. by Gunnes and Salvesen, p. 148; Gamal norsk homiliebok. Cod. AM 619 4o, ed. Indrebø, pp. 117–18. 109  Den Legendariske Olavssaga, ed.  by Flokenes, p.  117; Olafs saga hins helga, ed.  by Johnsen, pp. 102–03. 107 

    188 Cornelia Spjelkavik Sparre

    Other miracle types

    Number of miracles

    Signs of holiness

    10

    Material miracles

    22

    Visions/dream visions

    29

    Chastisement

    13

    Rescue from accidents

    20

    Of the non-healing miracles, the visions and dream visions were the most common. These visions were sometimes combined with other miracles, such as the pilgrims who were visited by a saint as they slept or prayed by their shrine. One ‘classic’ miracle is the story of a boy named Karl who slept in a hospital in Nidaros. Karl’s legs were crippled and deformed, and his joints inflamed. During the night he saw three men walking around the beds of the sick and the whole room was filled with light as if it was midday. One of the men came over to Karl and made the sign of the cross over his legs and put his hand on his forehead. Karl then woke up and realized that the light and the men were gone; he was scared and woke everyone up. The day after his legs were healed and he could walk again.110 Other people could be rescued, like the miracle where two boys were stuck on a rock in the middle of a wild river. Their father was visited by St Óláfr in a dream and promised help. A mysterious man then showed up and constructed a throwing bridge that saved the boys.111 Visions, however, were also type of miracle that could stand on its own as people received messages from the saints and obtained advice, reprimands, or endorsement. Demonic possession and visions were unusual in Norway and there is only one reported case. A farmer out to chop wood was tricked by beautiful seductive women into a cave, the women then turned out to be demons who trapped him there (this echoes the traditional folktales of the hulder, but this was a well-known demon trick). St Óláfr appeared and saved him. The man then went home and forgot all about the event until days later when it all came back to him.112 The people who experienced visions were all, except one, men: kings, warriors, farmers, and regular men. In other European kingdoms like England, visions were something you would see in stories about mystics and clergy; it was something lay people rarely experienced.113 There are also 110 

    Passio Olavi, ed. by Skard, pp. 80–81. Passio Olavi, ed. by Skard, pp. 59–60. 112  Passio Olavi, ed. by Skard, pp. 69–71. 113  Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims, p. 150. 111 

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    189

    many examples of female saints and mystics that experienced visions, such as St Birgitta and Hildegard von Bingen.114 This, then, breaks drastically with the European pattern of visions mainly being the domain of women and the clergy. Visions and dream visions were a regular occurrence in the sagas also before Christianization and it was often something experienced by men. This tradition seems to have continued with the new religion. This also strengthens the case for the Norwegian miracles as male dominated. The visions and dream visions often have a description of the saint’s appearance. Óláfr was the saint who most regularly showed up, but the descriptions of his looks changed throughout the Middle Ages. In the Passio Olavi he was described as beautiful, while in a vision from the saga about Hákon Hákonarson he was described as ruddy and grim. This is a typical feature of visions in general as they are often drawn from the symbols and imagery one would use and see in churches. Therefore, the way Óláfr looked could change with artistic depictions. The visions could occur at any place, any time, something that was very practical in a thinly populated country like Norway. You did not necessarily have to travel all the way to one of the three big cities to participate in the cult of saints; you could experience miracles and the presence of the saints locally. The material miracles involve objects and properties like ships, livestock, homes, catch, and harvest. Among the Norwegian miracles, help related to fires and life at sea is particularly frequent, such as the one about a farmer who needed help putting out a fire to save the harvest; the one about the Christian fishermen who caught huge amounts of fish while a boat of heathens next to them got nothing; the cow that after prayers suddenly produces valuable calves while previously only giving birth to stillborn calves; and ships that barely avoid shipwreck through storms, reefs, and maelstroms. These stories paint a picture of a society where a simple loss of an animal or crops could be catastrophic, and a shipwreck could wipe out nearly an entire village.115 Signs of holiness mostly occur in the early days of a cult and must be considered as the signs that point out that the deceased were in fact an extraordinary and holy person. These signs include the sounds of bells ringing, light shining, fragrant smells, flowers blooming, and the appearance of holy springs. The saint’s body is often not decomposed. For example, St Óláfr’s nails and hair continued to grow after his death. The royal relatives of St Óláfr, the kings Magnus Óláfsson the Good (1024–1047) and Harald Sigurðarson harðráði tended his corpse.116 114 

    Wellendorf, Kristelig visionslitteratur i norrøn tradition, p. 27. Heimskringla ii, ed. by Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, pp. 157, 288–96. 116  Heimskringla iii, ed. by Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, p. 178. 115 

    190 Cornelia Spjelkavik Sparre

    Here are also some miracles where these signs show up long after the establishment of the saint’s holiness, like when the poem Geisli was performed for the first time in Nidaros cathedral and the hall was filled with good smells. The distinguished guests attending the reading of the beautiful poem celebrating St Óláfr.117 The Norwegian miracles analysed in this chapter have certain distinctive features that stand out from other European collections, and as such reflect Norwegian medieval society. It has been demonstrated that the miracle scene was dominated by one indigenous saint, St Óláfr, and that compared to larger corpuses of European miracles there were lower levels of female involvement, a larger amount of non-healing miracles, and a higher number of miracles relating to kings. Even visions were dominated by lay men in Norway, rather than experienced by clergy and women. These characteristics are most likely interrelated. More than half of the 123 miracles analysed were performed by St Óláfr, a fact that permeates the results. For example, there were more male recipients of St Óláfr’s miraculous interventions and some of these were kings and some of these miracles again were explicitly political. The miracle accounts of medieval Norway can provide us with small glimpses into the lives of medieval people, yet more often they give us further insights into the political nature of the cult of saints. The miracle stories have religious, social, and ideological characteristics; they are not just one simple ‘happening’, but may have complicated layers. In Norway, the balance between the Church, the people, and the kings was rather unstable and this shines through the miracle stories. Where and by whom the miracles were recorded is also crucial. Norwegian miracles were not only reported in church documents as testaments to a saint’s efficiency, they were also written into the sagas, the history of the kingdom. They occur alongside battles, meetings, shifting relationships between families and alliances and other worldly events, written by the historians working closely by the kings. In this way, these miracles are inextricably linked with the politics of the period.

    117 

    Morkinskinna: The Earliest Icelandic Chronicle, ed. by Andersson and Gade, p. 393; Morkinskinna i, ed. by Ármann Jakobsson and Þórður Ingi Guðjónsson, p. 222.

    The Miracles of Medieval Norway

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    Works Cited Primary Sources Ágrip af Nóregskonunga sǫgum. Fagrskinna. Nóregs konunga tal, ed. by Bjarni Einarsson, Íslenzk fornrit, 29 (Reykjavík: Hið Íslenzka fornritafélag, 1985) Anglia Sacra Sive Collectio Historiarum, Partim antiquitus, partim recenter scriptarum, De Archiepiscopis & Episcopis Angliae: De Archiepiscopis & Episcopis Ecclesiarum Cathedralium, quas Monachi possederunt A prima Fidei Christianae susceptione ad Annum MDXL, ed. by Henry Wharton (London: Chiswel, 1691) Den Legendariske Olavssaga, ed. by Kåre Flokenes (Hafrsfjord: Erling Skjalgssonselskapet, 2000) Einarr Skúlason’s Geisli: A Critical Edition, ed. by Martin Chase, Toronto Old Norse and Icelandic Studies (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2005) Gamal norsk homiliebok. Cod. AM 619 4o, ed. by Gustav Indrebø (Oslo: I hovudkommisjon hjaa Dybwad, 1931) Gammelnorsk homiliebok, ed.  by Erik Gunnes and Astrid Salvesen (Oslo: Universitets­ forlaget, 1971) Hákonar saga Hákonarsonar i:. Bǫglunga saga, ed. by Þorleifur Hauksson, Sverrir Jakobsson, and Tor Ulset, Íslenzk fornrit, 31 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 2013) Heilagra manna sögur. Fortællinger og Legender om hellige Mænd og Kvinder efter gamle Haands[k]rifter i–ii, ed. by Carl Richard Unger (Christiania [Oslo]: Bentzen, 1877) Heimskringla ii, ed. by Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, Íslenzk fornrit, 27 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1945) Heimskringla iii, ed. by Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, Íslenzk fornrit, 28 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1951) Islandske Annaler indtil 1578, ed. by Gustav Storm, Det Norske historiske Kildeskriftfonds skrifter, 21 (Christiania [Oslo]: Grøndahl, 1888) Legender frå mellomalderen: soger om heilage kvinner og menn, ed. by Else Mundal (Oslo: Samlaget, 1995) Monumenta historica Norvegiæ: Latinske kildeskrifter til Norges Historie i middelalderen ed. by Gustav Storm (Christiania [Oslo]: Brøgger, 1880) Morkinskinna i, ed. by Ármann Jakobsson and Þórður Ingi Guðjónsson, Íslenzk fornrit, 23 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenska fornritafélag, 2011) Morkinskinna: The Earliest Icelandic Chronicle of the Norwegian Kings (1030–1157), ed. by Theodore M. Andersson and Kari Ellen Gade, Islandica, 51 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2000) Oddr Snorrason. Saga Óláfs Tryggvasonar, ed. by Finnur Jónsson (Copenhagen: Gad, 1932) Oddr Snorrason. The Saga of Olaf Tryggvason, ed.  by Theodore  M. Andersson (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2003) Olafs saga hins helga: efter pergamenthaandskrift i Uppsala Universitetsbibliotek, Delagardieske samling nr. 8:2, ed. by Oscar Albert Johnsen (Christiania [Oslo]: I hovedkommission hos Dybwad, 1922)

    192 Cornelia Spjelkavik Sparre

    Ordo Nidrosiensis ecclesiae (orðubók). Libri liturgici provinciae Nidrosiensis medii aevi: 2, ed. by Lilli Gjerløw (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, Norsk historisk kjeldeskrift-institutt, Den rettshistoriske kommisjon, 1968) Orkeneyinga saga, ed. by Sigurður Nordal (Copenhagen: Møllers, 1913) Orkneyinga saga. Legenda de sancto Magno. Magnúss saga skemmri. Magnúss saga lengri. Helga þáttr ok Úlfs, ed.  by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, Íslenzk fornrit, 34 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1965) Orkneyinga saga: The History of the Earls of Orkney, ed.  by Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards (London: Hogarth, 1978) Osbern’s Life of Alfege, ed. by Francis Shawn (London: St Paul’s, 1999) Passio Olavi: lidingssoga og underg jerningane åt den heilage Olav, ed.  by Eiliv Skard, Norrøne bokverk (Oslo: Samlaget, 1970) Skaldic Poetry of the Scandinavian Middle Ages, i: Part 1–2. Poetry from the Kings’ sagas 1, ed. by Diana Whaley (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012) Snorre Sturluson Norges konge sagaer, ed. by Finn Hodnebø and Hallvard Magerøy (Oslo: Gyldendal, 1979) Sverris saga, ed. by Þorleifur Hauksson, Íslenzk fornrit, 30 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenska fornritafélag, 2007)

    Secondary Studies Bagge, Sverre, From Viking Stronghold to Christian Kingdom: State Formation in Norway, c. 900–1350 (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2010) Blom, Grethe Authén, Helgenkonge og helgenskrin: en kongeskikkelse i forvandling fra sagatid til reformasjonstid, Småskriftserien (Trondheim: Nidaros domkirkes restaureringsarbeiders, 1994) Daae, Ludvig, Norges helgener (Christiania [Oslo]: Cammermeyer, 1879) DuBois, Thomas A., ‘Sts Sunniva and Henrik: Scandinavian Martyr Saints in Their Hagiographic and National Contexts’, in Sanctity in the North: Saints, Lives, and Cults in Medieval Scandinavia, ed.  by Thomas  A. DuBois, Toronto Old Norse-Icelandic Series (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008), pp. 65–99 Ekroll, Øystein, Med kleber og kalk: norsk steinbygging i mellomalderen, Samlagets bøker for høgare utdanning (Oslo: Samlaget, 1997) Finucane, Ronald C., Miracles and Pilgrims: Popular Beliefs in Medieval England (London: Dent, 1977) Guðrún Nordal, Vésteinn Ólason, and Sverrir Tómasson, Íslensk bókmenntasaga i (Reyk­ javík: Mál og menning, 1992) Haki Antonsson, St  Magnus of Orkney: A  Scandinavian Martyr-Cult in Context, The Northern World, 29 (Leiden: Brill, 2007) Henriksen, Vera, Hellig Olav: historien om vår nasjonalhelgen, kongen som ble en myte og et symbol – og et speilbilde av menneskers tro og følelser, kultur og tradisjon g jennom et årtusen (Oslo: Aschehoug, 1985)

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    Jansen, Katherine L., ‘Miraculous Crucifixes in Late Medieval Italy’, Studies in Church History, 41 (2005), 203–27 Jiroušková, Lenka, Der heilige Wikingerkönig Olav Haraldsson und sein hagiographisches Dossier: Text und Kontext der Passio Olavi (mit kritischer Edition) 1–2, Mittellateinische Studien und Texte (Leiden: Brill, 2014) Johnsen, Arne Odd, ‘Når slo Sunniva-kulten igjennom?’, in Bjørgvin bispestol. Fra Selja til Bjørgvin, ed. by Per Juvkam (Bergen: Universitetsforlaget, 1968), pp. 40–62 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Kristninga i Norden 750–1200, Utsyn & innsikt (Oslo: Samlaget, 2003) Klaniczay, Gábor, ‘The Power of the Saints and the Authority of the Popes: The History of Sainthood and Late Medieval Canonization Processes’, in Church and Belief in the Middle Ages, ed. by Gábor Klaniczay, Kirsi Salonen, and Sari Katajala-Peltomaa (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2016), pp. 117–40 Knirk, James E., ‘Konungasögur’, in Medieval Scandinavia: An Encyclopedia, ed. by Philip Pulsiano and Kirsten Wolf, Garland Encyclopedias of the Middle Ages, 1 (New York: Garland, 1993), pp. 362–66 Koopmans, Rachel, Wonderful to Relate: Miracle Stories and Miracle Collecting in High Medieval England, The Middle Ages Series (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011) Krötzl, Christian, ‘Den nordiska pilgrimskulturen under medeltiden’, in Helgonet i Nidaros: olavskult och kristnande i Norden, ed. by Lars Rumar (Stockholm: Riksarkivet, 1997), pp. 141–61 ——  , Pilger, Mirakel und Alltag: Formen des Verhaltens im skandinavischen Mittelalter (12.-15. Jahrhundert), Studia historica, 46 (Helsinki: SHS, 1994) Kulturhistorisk leksikon for nordisk middelalder i–xxii, ed. by Finn Hødnebø and others (Oslo: Gyldendal, 1956–1978, 2nd edn 1980–1982) Lockert, Sigri Skjegstad, ‘De Charybdi Septentrionali: kontinuitet og endring i forestillinger om Moskstraumen fra 1539 til omkring 1900’ (unpublished masters thesis, Universitetet i Tromsø, 2010) Lunde, Knut, ‘Katalog over Sankt Olavs mirakler’ (unpublished MA thesis, Universitetet i Oslo, 1994) Luthen, Eivind, I pilegrimenes fotspor til Nidaros (Oslo: Cappelen, 1992) McDougall, David, ‘Homilies (West Norse)’, in Medieval Scandinavia: An Encyclopedia, ed. by Philip Pulsiano and Kirsten Wolf, Garland Encyclopedias of the Middle Ages, 1 (New York: Garland, 1993), pp. 290–92 Medieval Scandinavian: An Encyclopedia, ed.  by Phillip Pulsiano and Kirsten Wolf, Garland Encyclopedias of the Middle Ages, 1 (New York: Garland, 1993) Nedkvitne, Arnved, Lay Belief in Norse Society 1000–1350 (Copenhagen: Museum Tus­ culanum, 2009) O’Hara, Alexander, ‘Constructing a Saint: The Legend of St Sunniva in Twelfth-Century Norway’, Viking and Medieval Scandinavia, 5 (2009), 105–21 Ray, Celeste, Sacred Waters: A Cross-Cultural Compendium of Hallowed Springs and Holy Wells (New York: Routledge, 2020)

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    Rüth, Axel, ‘Representing Wonder in Medieval Miracle Narratives’, Modern Language Notes, 126 (2011), 89–114 Skórzewska, Joanna A., Constructing a Cult: The Life and Veneration of Guðmundr Arason (1161–1237) in the Icelandic Written Sources, The Northern World, 51 (Leiden: Brill, 2011) Steinsland, Gro, Den hellige kongen om religion og herskermakt fra vikingtid til middelalder, En Pax-bok (Oslo: Pax, 2000) ——  , ‘Hulehelligdommen på Selja, På leting etter førkristene spor – vandring i myter, makt og tegn’, in Selja – Heilag stad i 1000 år, ed.  by Magnus Rindal (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, 1997), pp. 11–33 Sundqvist, Olof, An Arena for Higher Powers: Ceremonial Buildings and Religious Strategies for Rulership in Late Iron Age Scandinavia, Studies in the History of Religions, 150 (Leiden: Brill, 2016) Tveito, Olav, ‘“Kristendommens germanisering” – antikvert eller anvendelig konsept?’, in Transformasjoner i vikingtid og norrøn middelalder, ed. by Gro Steinsland (Oslo: Unipub, 2006), pp. 131–53 Vauchez, André, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997) Ward, Benedicta, Miracles and the Medieval Mind: Theory, Record and Event, 1000–1215, rev. edn (Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1987 (1982)) Weinstein, Donald, and Rudolph M. Bell, Saints and Society: The Two Worlds of Western Christendom, 1000–1700 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982) Wellendorf, Jonas, Kristelig visionslitteratur i norrøn tradition, Bibliotheca Nordica (Oslo: Novus, 2009) Whaley, Diana, ‘Heimskringla’, in Medieval Scandinavia: An Encyclopedia, ed. by Philip Pulsiano and Kirsten Wolf, Garland Encyclopedias of the Middle Ages, 1 (New York: Garland, 1993), pp. 276–79 —— , ‘Miracles in the Sagas of Bishops: Icelandic Variations on an International Theme’, Collegium Medievale, 7 (1994), 155–85

    Telling and Writing Miracles in Medieval Iceland Ásdís Egilsdóttir

    A

    saint’s life doesn’t end with their earthly death, the translation of their relics, or the first signs of sanctity. It continues in their miracles post mortem, that indicate that they are reborn to a new life where they acts as an intercessor, an intermediary between God and man. Miracles were meant to be a sign of the eternal presence and participation of the divine.1 The Old Norse term jartein (miracle), which originally means sign, is employed to designate both the event itself and the narrative. Icelandic miracles are an example of an interaction between orality and literacy. They are originally oral stories told with a human voice, gestures, and facial expressions translated into written words according to clerical tradition. It can be expected that written records of miracles have become lost, but that there also was a continuous flow of both orally transmitted and written texts. In medieval Iceland, as elsewhere, miracles were part of people’s daily life. The belief in miracles is part of the power of the church. Miracles were a tool to strengthen people’s morals and piety. That is probably the main reason why they were written down, other than to establish a cult. Few texts give better insight into people’s life and mentality than miracles. The local, mundane features of the narrative are more prominent in the mira1 

    Ward, Miracles and the Medieval Mind. On Icelandic miracles, see esp. Whaley, ‘Miracles in the Sagas of Bishops’, pp. 155–84. Ásdís Egilsdóttir ([email protected]) is Professor Emerita at the University of Iceland, where she taught Old Norse and Medieval Icelandic literature. In her research, she has focused on saints’ lives and miracles. The Cult of Saints in Nidaros Archbishopric. Manuscripts, Miracles, Objects, ed. by Ragnhild M. Bø and Jon Viðar Sigurðsson, tcne 33 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2022), pp. 195–212 195– BREPOLS PUBLISHERS 10.1484/M.TCNE-EB.5.124883

    196 Ásdís Egilsdóttir

    cles than in the lives of the saints, where the pious saint and their exemplary life is usually the central figure. In miracles, common people with everyday problems come forward as central characters.2 The local features of the narrative are more prominent in the miracles than in the lives of the saints. The Icelandic saints’ lives and miracle-books record miracles from around 1200 until 1343. A few miracles and vows to saints are mentioned in other narratives and medieval annals, up to 1403.3 After that, there is a gap of about 150 years until the Reformation, when invoking saints was no longer allowed. Did people gradually stop believing in miracles, or were they simply not written down? Did no new miracles occur during those 150 years? In this chapter, I intend to examine the transmission of miracles of the recognized Icelandic saints, and evidence for vows in other sources. Then, we shall look at some unsuccessful attempts at establishing sanctity. The narratives have in these cases been preserved as part of other textual units, but since there was no cult, no miracles were recorded. Finally, we shall examine two late medieval cases, evidence for miracles attributed to a certain Þórðr Jónsson, executed for an unknown reason in 1385, and the last Catholic bishop of Iceland, Jón Arason, executed in 1550.

    Icelandic Saints — Icelandic Miracles Three Icelandic saints, all bishops and confessors, were venerated from 1200 until the Reformation in the middle of the sixteenth century. Þorlákr Þórhallsson, bishop of Skálholt, was born in 1133. For several years he was the abbot of the first Icelandic Augustinian monastery until he was consecrated bishop in 1178. He died on 23 December 1193. His relics were translated on 20 July 1198. At the Alþingi in the same year, in June, Bishop Páll Jónsson, the illegitimate son of Þorlákr‘s sister and one of the county’s most powerful chieftains had permitted vows in Þorlákr‘s name. The following year, the date of his feast was proclaimed to be a holy day of obligation. The second Icelandic saint, Bishop Jón Ögmundsson of Hólar, was born in 1052. He was consecrated as the first bishop of Hólar in 1106 and died in 1121. His bones were disinterred and washed in 1198. In the year 1200, they were enshrined at Hólar and his cult was officially recognized. Guðmundr Arason (1161–1237), the fifth bishop of Hólar, was also regarded as a saint. His cult is mainly a product of the fourteenth century. His relics were exhumed 2  3 

    Ásdís Egilsdóttir, ‘Formáli’. Cormack, The Saints in Iceland, pp. 65–68.

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    in 1315.4 Bishops Þorlákr and Guðmundr were consecrated in Nidaros. The Missale Nidrosiense, printed in Copenhagen 1519, contains an officium to be sung on St Þorlákr’s feast day, 23 December. Breviarium Nidrosiense, printed in Paris 1519, contains six lectiones for St Þorlákr. Both books were commissioned by Archbishop Erik Valkendorf. A catalogue of feast days in the Breviarium records Torlaci episcopi confessoris simplex.5 The lives of St Þorlákr (Þorláks saga) and St Jón (Jóns saga) were originally composed in Latin. Remnants of the Latin Þorláks saga texts are related to the vernacular version, but also show some discrepancies. The fragments contain a few miracles.6 Sources indicate that a Latin life of St Jón did exist, but it is now lost.7 No Latin life of Guðmundur Arason has been preserved. The oldest vernacular version of Þorláks saga was written shortly after 1200 and rewritten in the thirteenth century. Jóns saga exists in three versions, one early thirteenth century version and two from the fourteenth century. Four surviving biographies (versions A–D) of Guðmundur Arason were written in the fourteenth century. The most recent of the four (version D), by Abbot Arngrímr Brandsson, is dated to around 1340–1350.8 All Icelandic saints’ lives contain miracles. In vita miracles are placed within the epic discourse of the narrative. Post mortem miracles are recorded as an epilogue. Miracles post mortem are results of prayers, vows, and the help of relics. Þorláks saga relates several in vita miracles, but the audience is reminded that their true value was not understood until after the bishop’s death. Guðmundar saga is different in this respect with a relatively high number of in vita miracles. While there are no more than about fifteen in vita miracles in Þorláks saga and Jóns saga, the youngest version of Guðmundar saga (version D) contains eighty-three.9 The largest separate collection of Icelandic miracles is attributed to Bishop Þorlákr Þórhallsson. The oldest extant collection, a miracle book originally 4 

    Biskupasögur i–ii, ed. by Guðbrandur Vigfússon and Jón Sigurðsson; Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote; Biskupa sögur ii, ed. by Ásdís Egilsdóttir. An English translation of Jóns saga by Margaret Cormack is forthcoming. 5  Bjarni Einarsson, ‘Breviarium Nidrosiense og Þorlákur helgi’. 6  Biskupa sögur ii, ed. by Ásdís Egilsdóttir, pp. cix–cxxiv, 339–64; Gottskálk Þór Jensson, ‘Nokkrar athugasemdir um latínubrotin úr Vita sancti Thorlaci episcopi et confessoris’. Gottskálk Þór Jensson, ‘Latin Hagiography in Medieval Iceland’. 7  Foote, ‘Formáli’, p. ccxv. 8  Stefán Karlsson, ‘Guðmundar sögur biskups’. 9  Hunt, A Study of Authorial Perspective in Guðmundar Saga A and Guðmundar Saga D, pp. 213–14.

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    from 1199, containing forty-six miracles, is preserved in the manuscript AM 645 4to, dated to about 1220.10 The beginning, the end, and several miracles from the middle of the manuscript have been lost. An older version of the collection was read aloud at the Alþingi in 1199. The preserved manuscript contains miracles that occurred shortly after the bishop’s relics were exhumed on 20 July 1198, until March 1200. Two chapters, added to the original manuscript, contain miracles that happened while the miracle book was read aloud. A deaf man was cured, and then he could hear the miracles read as clearly as all the other people present. A poor, blind man, who was unable to support himself because of his poor eyesight, was emotionally moved when he heard the miracles. He entered the church, knelt, and prayed to St Þorlákr in tears. He was cured of his blindness.11 Healing the blind and deaf reflect the prophecies of the coming of the Messiah in Isaiah (6. 10 and 35. 5–6) and Jesus Christ’s first healings in the Gospels. They are therefore of special significance when confirming and establishing a cult. The miracle book contains four more miracles that happened after the Alþingi in 1199. The miracles of St Þorlákr are the best preserved of all Icelandic miracles. They are preserved in more than one version and new miracles were added in later versions of the sagas. The miracles that happened from 1198/1199 until 1325 portray 180 events told in 400 narratives. Two other separate collections of St  Þorlákr’s miracles have been preserved. 12 It seems likely that miracles were written down soon after they occurred. St Þorlákr’s oldest miracle book contains several examples of people who went to Bishop Páll to tell their stories.13 An oral account was not always found sufficient. The beneficiary was examined to check if there could be found any signs of illness or injury. Examples of such verifications are already found in the oldest Miracle Book. A man with an injured leg showed Bishop Páll his leg when he had been cured of his injuries on his way to Skálholt.14 A story is told of a seriously ill woman named Halldóra in the Westman Islands. People invoked St Þorlákr in hope of her being cured. The saint appeared in a dream to another woman in the islands and asked her to tell Halldóra that she would be cured if she went to Skálholt. She was carried there and felt better as soon as she saw the cathedral. Prayers for her were said in the church and the saintly 10 

    Biskupa sögur ii, ed. by Ásdís Egilsdóttir, pp. 100–40. Biskupa sögur ii, ed. by Ásdís Egilsdóttir, p. 135. 12  Biskupa sögur ii, ed. by Ásdís Egilsdóttir, pp. c–ci, 225–50, 261–85. 13  Biskupa sögur ii, ed. by Ásdís Egilsdóttir, pp. 104, 108, 109, 112, 127. 14  Biskupa sögur ii, ed. by Ásdís Egilsdóttir, pp. 121–22. 11 

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    bishop asked for help. The following day, Halldóra was able to walk to the altar and a few nights later she rode to the Alþingi, ‘ok var þar sýnd öllum þingheimi alheil’ (she was shown to everybody present, completely cured).15 Halldóra had been bedridden for years and unable to walk. The biblical parallels (Matthew 15. 29–31, John 5. 1–12) add to the importance of this miracle. Most miracles performed were cures from diseases or healings after accidents. Icelandic miracles take place in Icelandic surroundings, where people get burned in hot springs and babies are born when their mothers are travelling on icy waters. Three of St Þorlákr’s miracles take place outside Iceland and lend an urban, foreign flair to the narratives. Varangians in Mikligarðr invoke St Þorlákr and win a battle against their heathen enemies. It is told that they built a church in honour of Bishop Þorlákr, but this church is not mentioned in any other source.16 In King’s Lynn in England a man made a statue of St Þorlákr and had it put into a church. An English priest laughed at the statue and mocked Bishop Þorlákr by offering a fat sausage to it, saying: ‘viltu, mörlandi, þú ert mörbyskup’ (Do you want this, grease-eating man, you are the bishop of grease-eating people).17 His arm stiffened and he was unable to move it until he repented. A short narrative tells of a woman in Nidaros who fell and broke her hand and foot. She invoked St Þorlákr and had a hand and foot made of wax, probably to be donated to a church, in gratitude for her healing.18 The youngest collection of miracles of St Þorlákr contains stories of miracles that occurred during the period 1300–1325. An entry in Lögmanns-annáll for the year 1388 relates: ‘lyst fogrum jarteinum hins heilaga Thorlaks byskups hueriar nyliga hofdu giorst’ (It was told of beautiful miracles of Bishop Þorlákr, that had recently occurred).19 Gottskálks-annáll also tells a story of a misshapen whale that people ate in 1393, causing illness and death for some of them while others went unharmed. A piece of fat was removed from the whale and boiled for six hours. Thereafter, ‘var sidan heitid aa Torlak byskup ok vitradis hann þeim og sagdi at ætr var halfr hualurinn og letti þaðan fra mannfallinu’ (St Þorlákr was then invoked and he appeared and said that half the whale was edible and the mortality ceased after that).20 15 

    Biskupa sögur ii, ed. by Ásdís Egilsdóttir, pp. 133–34. Biskupa sögur ii, ed. by Ásdís Egilsdóttir, pp. 236–37. 17  Biskupa sögur ii, ed. by Ásdís Egilsdóttir, pp. 227–28. 18  Biskupa sögur ii , ed. by Ásdís Egilsdóttir, p. 277. 19  Islandske annaler, ed. by Storm, p. 283. 20  Islandske annaler, ed. by Storm, p. 368. 16 

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    Putting miracles into writing is one aspect of establishing sanctity. Priests and other book-learned men who believed they had experienced a miracle may have written down their stories themselves and brought them to the bishop. Jóns saga writes of a certain deacon named Brandr, who invoked Bishop Jón when his horse fell ill. When Bishop Brandr of Hólar proclaimed the miracles of Jón, the deacon was in doubt and said that he was not sure if the cure had been miraculous or not. Then the horse’s condition grew even worse than it had been the first time it fell ill and it was unable to stand on its own legs and to eat. The deacon invoked Bishop Jón again, promising to write the miracle story down if his prayers were heard — and they were.21 The narrative brings forward the importance of recording miracles in writing. A collection of the miracles of St Jón Ögmundarson, corresponding the St Þorlákr’s miracle book, has not been preserved, but a collection of this kind is referred to in the yet unpublished Guðmundar saga C.22 The miracles attributed to St Jón are considerably fewer than those of St Þorlákr. The hagiographer is aware of the rivalry between the two saints. When St Þorlákr appears in a dream he affirms Jón’s saintly qualities.23 The two dioceses were different in size and population.24 This might explain why there were fewer miracles attributed to St Jón than St Þorlákr. Most miracles of St Jón happened around 1200. A few exceptions reveal that people continued to call on him also after this period. Laurentius saga mentions a fulfilment of a vow made to Jón in 1286. The same saga also mentions that during the hard winter of 1319–1320, Bishop Auðun of Hólar encouraged people to call on St Jón for improvement of the weather.25 The vow was made on Easter Sunday and the weather changed for the better when the saintly bishop’s shrine was carried outside. When Evensong had been sung, the snow had completely melted. As noted by Peter Foote, the feast days of St Jón fall on the transition period between the winter and the summer season.26 There are no late miracles attributed to St Jón in Icelandic annals. Guðmundr Arason was known to have worked miracles in his lifetime. A substantial number of his miracles took place thanks to the use of consecrated 21 

    Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 288–89. Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, p. 288 n. 3. 23  Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 260, 303–04. 24  Hjalti Hugason, Frumkristni og upphaf kirkju, p. 268. 25  Biskupa sögur iii, ed. by Guðrún Ása Grímsdóttir, pp. 339–40. 26  Foote, ‘Formáli’, p. cccx. 22 

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    water. Guðmundar saga, version B, the first hagiographical version, was written shortly after 1320, or five years after his relics had been exhumed. A miracle book follows this version. The book falls into three parts. The first writes of several miracles that occurred during Guðmundr’s lifetime, the second of miracles after his death until his relics were exhumed, and finally miracles documented after vows had been formally permitted.27 The last part of Guðmundr’s miracle book is an indication of an effective collection of his post mortem miracles.28 A few of these miracles end by stating that they had been sworn ‘á honum sjálfum’, that is to say by his relics. A chapter containing sixteen post mortem miracles follows the latest Guðmundar saga, written by Arngrímr Brandsson. The last recorded miracle in his version took place in 1343.29 It is not unlikely that people continued to call on Bishop Guðmundr. Gottskálks-annáll records for the year 1403 ‘heitid morgum fostum og songum og Mariu gongum og gefa til Guðmundar skrins’ (a vow was made, promising fasting and singing (of prayers) and pilgrimages in honour of Mary and donations to the shrine of Guðmundr).30 Judging by the number and variety of miracles, St Þorlákr seems to have been the most popular of Icelandic saints. One of the reasons might be the difference in the size of the previously mentioned Icelandic bishoprics. The miracles of St Jón of Hólar have a more local character. The cult of Guðmundr Arason is mainly a fourteenth-century phenomenon, but with a relatively high number of in vita miracles. The miracles of St Þorlákr are the best preserved of all Icelandic miracles. They are preserved in more than one version and new miracles were added in later versions of the sagas. The miracles of St Þorlákr that happened from 1198/1199 until 1325 encompass 180 events found in 400 narratives. The variety in the way that miracles are organized in different manuscripts of Þorláks saga and Jóns saga may indicate that the collections were a continuous work-in-progress and that they were kept on loose leaves before the miracle books were compiled.31 It also accounts for lost or discarded narratives. The miracle book following Guðmundar saga B, compiled around 1320, and the additional material in Guðmundar saga D show how his miracles were collected and recorded in order to establish his cult.

    27 

    Gunnvör S. Karlsdóttir, Guðmundar sögur biskups. Stefán Karlsson, ‘Guðmundar sögur biskups’, p. 157. 29  Biskupa sögur ii, ed. by Ásdís Egilsdóttir, p. 173. 30  Islandske annaler, ed. by Storm, p. 369. 31  Foote, ‘Formáli’, p. cclxxiii; Ward, Miracles and the Medieval Mind, pp. 40, 81, 116. 28 

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    Potential Cults Several Icelandic narratives portray potential saints and possibly temporary cults. Of special interest are the tale of the missionary Þorvaldr inn víðförli, the tale of the hermit Ásólfr alskik, the tale of the anchoress Hildr and the separate saga of the chieftain Hrafns Sveinbjarnarson. The longer and fuller version of Þorvalds þáttr víðförla (Þorvalds þáttr víðförla i) relates Þorvaldr’s life after he had to part with his fellow missionary bishop Friðrekr.32 Þorvaldr is said to have founded a monastery near a church dedicated to John the Baptist, where he died and was subsequently buried. Þorvalds þátt víðförla i emphasizes Þorvaldr’s piety and good qualities by calling him a dýrðarfullr játari (glorious confessor) and draws attention to his burial place.33 There are, however, no miracles attributed to him and no evidence for a cult. The tale of the Christian, pre-conversion settler Ásólfr is preserved in two redactions of Landnámabók, Sturlubók (S), from the latter half of the thirteenth century, and the slightly younger Hauksbók (H), dated to 1302–1310.34 In addition, a shorter version of the Ásólfr narrative is included in Ólafs saga Tryggvasonar en mesta.35 Ásólfr is portrayed as a Christian, possibly Celtic, hermit, who lived in Iceland before the country became Christian. Ásólfr is portrayed as a good Christian who did not want to communicate with pagans or accept any food from them. When his neighbours wanted to know how he nourished himself they discovered that a stream near his dwelling place was miraculously filled with fish. In their envy, they drove him away. All the fish disappeared from the stream when the neighbours wanted to enjoy Ásólfr’s former food supply. The Hauksbók version writes of a dream, the discovery, and the translation of Ásólfr’s relics. The Sturlubók version states that a church was built where his grave stood. There are no mentions of miracles post mortem. The story of Hildr (d. 1159) of Hólar is told in Jóns saga helga.36 The Hildr narrative has a complex textual history.37 It is preserved in the two existing 32 

    Biskupa sögur  i, ed.  by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 50–100. 33  Biskupa sögur  i, ed.  by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 87–88. 34  Landnámabók, ed. by Jakob Benediktsson, pp. 61–65; Ásdís Egilsdóttir, ‘The Hermit and the Milkmaid’. 35  Ólafs saga Tryggvasonar i, ed. by Ólafur Halldórsson, pp. 277–79. 36  Ásdís Egilsdóttir, ‘Skjaldmær drottins’. 37  Foote, ‘Formáli’, pp. ccxiv–ccxxxvii.

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    longer versions of the saga, dated to the fourteenth century. Besides these, there is a short summary in the shorter, thirteenth-century version. Because of the references to hagiographer Gunnlaugr Leifsson (d. 1218 or 1219) in the longer versions it seems plausible that the entire Hildr episode was his original Latin version, now lost. The original Hildr narrative could therefore be dated to the early thirteenth century. The narrative displays familiarities with the portrayal of saintly women in hagiography. The Hildr narrative is placed between two significant events in the vita of a saintly bishop, the chapters relaying the bishop’s burial and the exhumation of his relics. In Jóns saga, Hildr becomes a feminine reflection of the saintly bishop. It is emphasized that St Jón’s grave was opposite Hildr’s hut and that she died on the same day that the bishop’s relics were exhumed. There is no evidence for a cult of Hildr, no miracles are attributed to her, but stories of her were considered important enough to be told and transmitted. It is the only preserved narrative of a saintly Icelandic woman, which gives it a unique position in medieval Icelandic literature. Hrafn Sveinbjarnarson was a wealthy chieftain who lived at Eyri by Arnarfjörður. Besides being a chieftain, he was renowned for his medical skills and was a widely travelled pilgrim. His saga describes the feud between the protagonist Hrafn and his adversary Þorvaldr Snorrason, which ended in Hrafn’s death in 1213. The saga was probably written about two decades after Hrafn’s death. Hrafns saga is a contemporary saga of thirteenth-century feuds, which was incorporated in the Sturlunga saga compilation from around the year 1300. As well as the Sturlunga saga version, a separate version of the saga has been preserved.38 It exists in two versions. The Sturlunga saga compiler omits or shortens hagiographic, religious, or supernatural material. The compiler is less interested in the pious life of Hrafn than in the feud between him and Þorvaldr.39 There are numerous biblical or hagiographic motives and allusions to other saints in Hrafns saga.40 The hagiographic motives are, not surprisingly, mainly to be found in connection with Hrafn’s death. Hrafn is described as a good Christian; he is peaceful, righteous, generous, shows mercy and rejects worldly wealth and glory. 38 

    Biskupa sögur ii, ed. by Ásdís Egilsdóttir, p. 254. Úlfar Bragason, ‘The Structure and meaning of Hrafns saga Sveinbjarnarsonar’, p. 287. 40  Guðrún P. Helgadóttir, ‘Introduction’, pp. xxi–xxxi, lxi–lxxxi; Cormack, ‘Saints and Sinners’; Ásdís Egilsdóttir, ‘Hrafn Sveinbjarnarson, Pilgrim and Martyr’; Haki Antonsson, Damnation and Salvation in Old Norse Literature, pp. 110–14. Guðrún P. Helgadóttir, Cormack and Haki Antonsson draw attention to hagiographic motifs but emphasize piety and salvation rather than sanctity. 39 

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    Þorvaldr and his family are depicted as the opposite, ambitious and avaricious. Þorvaldr and his men attack Hrafn three times. After Þorvaldr has attacked him for the second time, a number of men encourage Hrafn to kill Þorvaldr. Hrafn refuses, because of his respect for St James. On this occasion they were expecting Þorvaldr’s arrival the night before St James’s Mass. Hrafn and Þorvaldr’s agreement is arranged on the feast day itself. Hrafn invites Þorvaldr and his men to join him for a meal and takes care of his men’s feet by giving them new shoes. When they depart, Þorvaldr, the man who had once lived with Hrafn like a son or brother, embraces him. The scene is reminiscent of the Last Supper; the washing of the feet and the kiss of Judas expressing betrayal under the guise of friendship. The third attack, which takes place during Lent, is preceded by a sequence of saga-style omens, such as blood-rain and supernatural riders in the sky, and several hagiographic prophesies. People see a mysterious light over the fortress near Hrafn’s farm and a pillar of light appears, reaching from the heaven to the earth. St Þorlákr intervenes and frees people whom Hrafn’s enemies had bound, in order to prevent them from informing Hrafn of their whereabouts. A lost Andreas drápa, a poem on St Andrew, is recited to Hrafn on the sleepless night before his death, and it is said that he meditated on his passio after every verse. A priest and close friend of Hrafn dreams about the apostle’s martyrdom the whole night. The reading and meditation on the poem indicate that Hrafn is about to die a martyr’s death and so going to follow in the apostle’s footsteps.41 Hrafn is well prepared to meet his death. When Þorvaldr declares that Hrafn shall be executed, Hrafn prays, receives Holy Communion, and sheds tears of repentance. Guðrún P. Helgadóttir has drawn attention to similarities between Hrafns saga, Magnúss saga, and Thómas saga. The death of Hrafn seems to be modelled on that of Thomas Becket, archbishop of Canterbury; the latter meets his death on his knees, Hrafn on his knees and elbows. Both are in a position of devotion and both bodies lie as if in prayer.42 The rough and barren field where Hrafn is slain becomes green and fertile the following summer. The place where St Magnús of Orkney was executed was stony and mossy, but after the martyr’s death it became green, fair, and smooth.43 Hrafn’s healing power lent him saintly traits. The saga writes that since the days of his great-grandfather there had been healers in the family. Their power 41 

    Guðrún P. Helgadóttir, ‘Introduction’, p. lxxxi. Guðrún P. Helgadóttir, ‘Introduction’, p. lxiv; Cormack, ‘Saints and Sinners’, p. 191. 43  Orkneyinga saga, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson, pp. 364–69, 319–22, 106–11. 42 

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    of healing was originally acquired from St Ólafr of Norway. Hrafn’s greatgrandfather fought with King Magnús of Norway, son of St Ólafr, against the Wends.44 St Ólafr appeared to his son, King Magnús, and told him to choose twelve men from the best families to take care of the wounded. As a reward, they and their families would be granted the power of healing from God through St Ólafr’s intercession.45 It is probable that people would have appealed to Hrafn in sickness and injury if he had been recognized as a saint. The saga has an account of some of his cures, but the saga writer reminds his audience that ‘all true healing comes from God’, quoting St Paul: ‘Alii gratia sanitarum in eodem spiritu’ (Some people have received the gift of healing from the mercy of the holy spirit).46 In the same way, miracle tales constantly remind people that the saint is an intercessor, God works the miracles through him and both God and the saint should be thanked. It is evident from miracle tales that people tried to get help from local healers and home remedies before they invoked a saint and there was also a very fine line between folk remedies and ecclesiastically approved methods.47 Miracle collections emphasize divine healing, but it is clear that in practice most sick and injured people called on both the power of saints and on people with some medical knowledge. Medicus was a term used also for God and saints, and saints appear frequently in dreams as physicians.48 The saga also emphasizes Hrafn’s navigating skills. As a saint, he could have been invoked in perils at sea. Hrafn is portrayed as a model of generosity, charity, and hospitality, providing free meals for guests at his home and a free ferry service over the fjord near his farm. Bridge building was considered a good Christian deed equal to making donations to the church. It has been compared to the requiem Mass, whose aim is to help the souls of the dead find the right way to God.49 Hrafn’s ferry may carry the same symbolic meaning. In spite of the saintly qualities described in the longer Hrafns saga, a cult never emerged and no miracles post mortem are known. The recognized Icelandic saints are all confessors and bishops. They are male, authoritative figures who had a prominent position within the Church. It may therefore have been difficult for other 44 

    The Wends (Vindur) were Slav tribes who lived on the South Baltic coastlands. Heimskringla iii, ed. by Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, p. 45; Guðrún P. Helgadóttir, ‘Intro­ duction’, p. xci. 46  Hrafns saga Sveinbjarnarsonar, ed. by Guðrún P. Helgadóttir, p. 6. 47  Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims, pp. 62–63. 48  Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims, pp. 67–68. 49  Lund, ‘Thresholds and Passages’, pp. 109–35. 45 

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    types of saints to gain recognition and the potential saints do not seem to have had the social background needed to promote their sanctity. Apart from the longer version of Hrafns saga, the narratives about the potential saints are not preserved as separate texts. If their cult had been recognized, there would have been lives or passions written, and miracles collected and recorded.

    New Late Medieval Martyrs? We have seen that although there is not a continuous recording of miracles performed by the recognized Icelandic saints, there is occasional evidence of miracles and vows in annals and other secular sources. These incidents are an indication that people still believed that the saintly bishops could help them in their need. In an epilogue following the ‘Second Miracle Book’ of St Þorlákr, the hagiographer expresses some worry about decreased interest in miracles but at the same time reminds his audience that miracles continue to occur. He explains that many of Þorlákr’s miracles have not been written down, due to ignorance and forgetfulness (‘fyrir fáfræðis sakir ok óminnis’). He reminds the reader that miracles were written down and read out loud from the beginning of Þorlákr’s cult, and that new ones were added. But, because the number of the miracles was so great, it was impossible to keep them in memory. He admits that the miracles resembled each other, implies that people grew tired of telling them and that there was less to write about, but God then showed that his love for the saint remained unchanged and made people happy with more miracles performed through St Þorlákr’s intervention.50 It cannot be discounted that people continued to invoke the Icelandic saints in their need, although the miracles they resulted in have not been recorded. 50 

    ‘Þær eru margar, jarteinir ins sæla Þorláks byskups, fagrligar ok stórar er fyrir fáfræðis sakir ok óminnis eru eigi ritaðar. Hefir allt í skilit sem líkligt er at almáttigum Guði hefir glöggligar enzk mildi ok miskunnsemi til at gefa oss ótallig tákn ok gjörðir fyrir verðleik ok dýrð ins sæla Þorláks byskups, en oss geð ok geyming at gjöra eptir ok varðveita, svá sem oss hæfði. Var fyrst er upp kom sú in háleita nýjung dýrðar verðleiks ins sæla Þorláks byskups, tekin í minni með ást við almáttigan Guð ok inn sæla Þorlák byskup, svá sem menn kunnu framast, ritaðar þá fyrst hans jarteinir ok upplesnar ok teknar þær allar frásagnir með frekligum fagnaði er frá hans jarteinum váru optliga sagðar. Ok er þat var at svá mikill fjölði gjörðisk at um jarteinir ins sæla Þorláks byskups at mönnum varð um afl í minni at hafa, en þær váru margar at hver var annarri lík, þá dofnaði hugr manna ok mæddusk málgögnin til uppburðarins, en eyddisk málit eptir at rita, þá sýndi Guð svá sína jafnlyndi til ins sæla Þorláks byskups at því víðara urðu menn gladdir með hans jarteinum’. Biskupa sögur ii, ed. by Guðrún Ása Grímsdóttir, p. 247.

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    If stories were brought to a priest or a bishop to be written down, they could also be among the many documents lost from the Middle Ages. Even though there may have been less interest in miracles towards the end of the Catholic era, miracles and their importance were not forgotten. The cult of the ‘classic’ saints was long established and there were no new versions composed. This may explain the lack of recorded miracles. New cults, however, needed recorded miracles. We have already seen examples of potential sanctity that may have resulted in a temporary cult, if any. In those cases, no miracles post mortem were recorded. Two more potential saints can be added, the late fourteenth-century Þórðr Jónsson and last but not least Bishop Jón Arason, the last Catholic bishop of Iceland. A few annals and Samantektir um skilning á Eddu by Jón Guðmundsson the Learned (1574–1658), tell the story of the execution of a certain Þórður Jónsson which took place in 1385. Jón writes that Þórðr was a martyr: ‘pislarvottr Goði maðrin Þorðr’.51 According to Flateyjarannáll, Þórður’s earthly remains were moved to the cemetery at the church of Stafholt, ‘ok hyggja menn hann helgann mann’ (and people consider him a holy man). Flateyjarannáll also relay that Þórður was invoked during natural catastrophes in 1390: ‘tok ok bæ i Budarnesi ok onduduzst.xij. menn enn einn lifði ok hafdi heitid a Þorð Jonsson’ (A farm in Budarnes collapsed and twelve men died, but one survived who had invoked Þórðr Jónsson). Jón Guðmundsson implies that there were numerous miracles after Þórðr’s death: ‘urðu morg teikn eptir’ (many signs appeared thereafter). Einar G. Pétursson has pointed out that according to a manuscript catalogue written by Jón Ólafsson in 1703, the manuscript AM 670 4to contained some material on Þórðr Jónsson. A note in the catalogue in AM 384 says: ‘Um godu mennina Biarna og Þorð Santos occidentalis Islandiæ’ (On the good men Bjarni and Þorð, saints of west-Iceland). Góðr (good) in this context is apparently equivalent of Latin beatus. Einar G. Pétursson has argued that the source of the entries on Þórðr in various manuscripts was a now lost written narrative of Þórðr. According to the preserved sources there was a temporary cult of Þórðr. There is no coherent narrative about him, but some post mortem miracles were related. Jón Arason was appointed bishop of Hólar in 1520. He struggled against the advance of Lutheranism in Iceland, ending in his execution on 7 November 1550. Two of his sons were executed with him. Jón’s execution marks the end of an era. Several contemporary prose narratives and a few poems tell of Jón 51 

    Einar G. Pétursson, ‘Góði maðurinn Þórður’, pp. 27–33; Einar G. Pétursson, Eddurit Jóns Guðmundssonar lærða, pp. 374–75.

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    Arason’s capture and death. The farmer Magnús Björnsson, who was nine years old in 1550, wrote a biography of the bishop. He writes: Síðast var biskupinn útleiddur í þriðja stað, var honum þá sagt líflát hans sona, gekk hann með glöðum yfirlit út, og hafði kross í hendi, sem kvæði Ólafs útvísar.52 Er það sögn sumra manna, honum hafi þá líf verið boðið, en hann hefði þá sagt, fyrst synir sínir hefði verið með sér, og farið, þá vildi hann fara með þeim; og er hann gekk fram hjá Daða þá upphóf hann sína hægri hönd og rétti hana að honum með signingarmarki þegjandi. Og í þriðja axarslagi sagði hann: In manus tuas domine, og heyrðu menn það síðast hann tala; en í sjöunda höggi tók af. Hefir mælt verið að danskur maður einn hefði sagt að hvít dúfa hefði upp á kirkjuna flogið þá Ari var látinn, og önnur þá Björn fór, og þriðja þá biskup lést, og flugu allar upp í loft, svo lengi sem hann sá til, og hann grét beisklega.53 (Finally, the bishop was the third to be led out, he was told about the execution of his sons, he looked happy when he walked out and carried a cross in his hand, as shown in Ólafr’s poem. Some people said that he had been offered life, but then he said that since his sons had been with him, and they were gone, he wanted to join them; and when he passed Daði, he lifted up his right hand and silently gave a sign of the cross while pointing towards him. When the third blow of the axe fell, he said: ‘In manus tuas domine’, and those were the last words people heard him speak; but by the seventh blow of the axe [the head] fell off. It is said that a Danish man had said that a white dove had flown on the top of the church when Ari was dead, a second when Björn was gone, and a third when the bishop died. Then they all flew up in the air, as long as he could see, and he wept bitterly.)

    Martyrs are often described as happy and joyful when they meet their death, to show their courage and righteousness. Doves are also a hagiographic commonplace. Their appearance confirms the martyr’s innocence. The bitterly crying Dane is an equivalent of the penitent executioner, a stock figure in martyr passions. In the Saga um Jón biskup Arason eftir fyrirsögn Odds biskups (Biography of Bishop Jón Arason as told by Bishop Oddur) a similar story is told about Bishop Jón.54 He meets his executioner in a happy mood. As in the passage cited above, the bishop’s last words echo Jesus Christ’s last words on the cross, according to Luke 23. 46: In manus tuas domine commendo spiritum meum (Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit), and the three doves appear in both narratives. 52 

    A poem by Ólafur Tómasson (1532–1595). Biskupasögur ii, ed. by Guðbrandur Vigfússon and Jón Sigurðsson, p. 324. 54  A biography by Oddur Einarsson (1559–1630), bishop of Skálholt from 1589. 53 

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    The anonymous Ævisaga og ættbálkur Jóns biskups og barna hans (The biography and genealogy of Bishop Jón and his children) is the only narrative that contains miracles. var sín klukka hengd við hverja kistu og hringdu sér svo sjálfar á öllum veginum, tókst sú ferð öllu vel, svo ekkert settist fyrir. Héraðsvötnin voru þá í leysingu, og jafnsnart sem þeir voru yfir þau komnir, þá ruddu vötnin sig og ísbrúin hljóp af þeim, sem mennirnir höfðu á farið. Nokkrar manneskjur, sem áður voru sjónlitlar, segir að fengu sinn bata, þá þær snertu þessar líkkistur á leiðinni, því kepptist margur að koma sem næst þeim, því þeim þótti verða linun á sinni veiki, og héldu þá feðga sannheilaga menn og guðs píslarvotta; og er það vonandi, að guð hafi gjört þá hluttakandi sinnar náðar og sáluhjálparinnar, þó að þeir hafi misgjört í mörgu.55 (A bell was hung on each coffin and they rung by themselves all the way, the journey went well, with no hindrance. The ice on the river Héraðsvötn was about to melt, and when they had crossed it, the ice disappeared and the bridge of ice, where they had passed, fell down. Some people with poor eyesight said that their eyesight had improved when they touched the coffins on the way, therefore many others were eager to get close to them, because they felt that their health got better, and believed that the bishop and his sons were truly holy and God’s martyrs, it is to be hoped that God has made them partake in his grace and receive salvation, even though they had done wrong in many ways.)

    In the Middle Ages, when people experienced much less man-made noise than in our modern world, the sound of bells must have been impressive. Bells that ring by themselves are an indication of sanctity. The poem Glælognskviða, attributed to Þórarinn loftunga, is believed to have been composed shortly after King Óláfr Haraldsson’s death, in 1030. The poem states that bells tolled and candles above the altar were lit by heavenly fire.56 The bells of Canterbury Cathedral tolled by themselves when Thomas Becket was murdered in 1170. The biographer may have wanted to draw parallels between Thomas Becket and Jón Arason, both murdered after a struggle with secular power. Weather conditions improve in many Icelandic miracles. Similar miracles take place when Bishop Brandr of Hólar, Guðmundr Arason, then a priest, and several chieftains, are travelling south to take part in the exhumation of St Þorlákr’s relics.57 People are cured of blindness when they touch the coffins. As previously mentioned, healing the blind is a fundamental miracle. Nothing is known about the mar55 

    Biskupasögur ii, ed. by Guðbrandur Vigfússon and Jón Sigurðsson, pp. 354–55. Heimskringla ii, ed. by Bjarni Aðabjarnarson, pp. 406–08. 57  Biskupa sögur ii, ed. by Ásdís Egilsdóttir, pp. 97, 203, 253–54. 56 

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    tyred Þórðr and why he was executed. We know nothing about his followers and why his cult was not established. Bishop Jón Arason struggled against the imposition of the Lutheran Reformation in Iceland. The Reformation took over and Bishop Jón became a saint only in the eyes of his supporters. Significantly, miracles were attributed to both of them. To establish the cult of a saint and keep it alive, miracles post mortem were needed and they had to be written down. Numerous Icelandic miracles are preserved as part of the lives of the recognized Icelandic saints, or as separate miracle books. Most of the miracles were recorded at the outset of a cult, but new ones could be added when new versions of the saints’ lives were composed. Given the nature and transmission of miracles, stories of new occurrences might have been told, although not preserved in writing. That miracles were not recorded cannot exclude the belief in and need for them. Although scarce, the mention of miracles and vows in annals is an indication of such a prolongation of the value of miracles. In the case of some potential saints that did not gain recognition, there is no mention of miracles. Significantly, a biography of the last Catholic bishop of Iceland, Jón Arason, contains important, fundamental miracles. People with poor eyesight believed they were cured when they touched his coffin. The miracle reflects Jesus healing a blind man in John 9. 1–12, and the prophesies about the Messiah in Isaiah 35. 5. It seems that the belief of miracles and knowledge of their significance was active until the end of the Catholic era. The post mortem miracles connected with Þórðr Jónsson may indicate the possibility of a cult. It is unclear why Þórðr Jónsson was executed and consequently the nature of his martyrdom. Jón Arason was a controversial person, during his lifetime and thereafter. His followers might have hoped for his sanctity and told stories about and written down his miracles, which even found their way into a biography written by a Lutheran writer. The cases of Þórðr Jónsson and especially Jón Arason shows us that there was an awareness of the significance of miracles until the end of the Catholic era, and even beyond the Reformation.

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    Works Cited Primary Sources Biskupa sögur  i, ed.  by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Peter Foote, Íslenzk fornrit, 15 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 2003) Biskupasögur i–ii, ed. by Guðbrandur Vigfússon and Jón Sigurðsson (Kaupmannahöfn: Hið íslenzka bókmenntafélag, 1858–1878) Biskupa sögur ii, ed. by Ásdís Egilsdóttir, Íslenzk fornrit, 16 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 2002) Biskupa sögur  iii, ed.  by Guðrún Ása Grímsdóttir, Íslenzk fornrit, 17 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1998) Heimskringla  ii, ed.  by Bjarni Aðabjarnarson (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1945) Heimskringla iii, ed.  by Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson (Reykjavík: Hið Íslenzka fornritafélag, 1951) Hrafns saga Sveinbjarnarsonar, ed. by Guðrún P. Helgadóttir (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987) Islandske annaler indtil 1578, ed. by Gustav Storm (Christiania [Oslo]: Grøndahl, 1888) Landnámabók, ed. by Jakob Benediktsson (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1968) Ólafs saga Tryggvasonar I, ed. by Ólafur Halldórsson, Editiones Arnamagnæanæ series A, 1–3 (Copenhagen: Reitzel, 1958) Orkneyinga saga, ed. by Finnbogi Guðmundsson (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1965)

    Secondary Studies Ásdís Egilsdóttir, ‘Formáli’, in Biskupa sögur ii, ed. by Ásdís Egilsdóttir, Íslenzk fornrit, 16 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 2002), pp. lxxx–cviii —— , Fræðinæmi: Greinar gefnar út í tilefni 70 ára afmælis Ásdísar Egilsdóttur (Reykjavík: Hið íslenska bókmenntafélag, 2016) —— , ‘The Hermit and the Milkmaid. The Tale of Ásólfr in Landnámabók and Ólafs saga Tryggvasonar en mesta’, in Conversions: Looking for Ideological Change in the Early Middle Ages, ed. by Leszek Slupecki and Rudolf Simek (Vienna: Fassbaender, 2013), pp. 23–32 [repr. in Ásdís Egilsdóttir, Fræðinæmi, pp. 22–29] —— , ‘Hrafn Sveinbjarnarson, Pilgrim and Martyr’, in Sagas, Saints and Settlements, ed. by Gareth Williams and Paul Bibire, The Northern World, 11 (Leiden: Brill, 2004), pp. 29–39 [repr. in Ásdís Egilsdóttir, Fræðinæmi, pp. 76–89] –, ‘Skjaldmær drottins: Frásögnin af Hildi einsetukonu í Jóns sögu helga’, Studia Theologica Islandica, 31.2 (2010), 29–42 [repr. in Ásdís Egilsdóttir, Fræðinæmi, pp. 131–45] Bjarni Einarsson, ‘Breviarium Nidrosiense og Þorlákur helgi’, Gripla, 8 (1993), 280–81 Cormack, Margaret, ‘Saints and Sinners: Reflections on Death in Some Icelandic Sagas’, Gripla, 8 (1993), 187–218

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    —— , The Saints in Iceland: Their Veneration from the Conversion to 1400 (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1994) Einar G. Pétursson, Eddurit Jóns Guðmundssonar lærða: Samantektir um skilning á Eddu og Að fornu í þeirri gömu norrænu kölluðust rúnir bæði ristingar og skrifelsi: þættir út fræðasögu 17. aldar (Reykjavík: Stofnun Árna Magnússonar á Íslandi, 1998) —— , ‘Góði maðurinn Þórður’, in Véfréttir, sagðar Vésteini Ólasyni fimmtugum, 14. febrúar 1989 (Reykjavík: Stofnun Árna Magnússonar á Íslandi, 1989) Finucane, Ronald C., Miracles and Pilgrims: Popular Beliefs in Medieval England (Lon­ don: Palgrave Macmillan, 1995) Foote, Peter, ‘Formáli’, in Biskupa sögur  i, ed.  by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Hall­ dórsson, and Peter Foote, Íslenzk fornrit, 15 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 2003), pp. ccxiii–cccxxi Gottskálk Þór Jensson, ‘Latin Hagiography in Medieval Iceland’, in Hagiographies, 7, ed.  by M.  Goullet, Corpus Christianorum Texts and Studies (Brepols: Turnhout, 2017), pp. 875–949 —— , ‘Nokkrar athugasemdir um latínubrotin úr Vita sancti Thorlaci episcopi et confessoris’, in Pulvis Olympicus: Afmælisrit tileinkað Sigurði Péturssyni (Reykjavík: Hás­ kólaútgáfan, 2009), pp. 97–109 Guðrún P. Helgadóttir, ‘Introduction’, in Hrafns saga Sveinbjarnarsonar, ed. by Guðrún P. Helgadóttir (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987), pp. v–cxvi Gunnvör S. Karlsdóttir, Guðmundar sögur biskups: Þróun og ritunarsamhengi (Reykjavík: Háskólaútgáfan, 2017) Haki Antonsson, Damnation and Salvation in Old Norse Literature (Cambridge: Brewer, 2018) Hjalti Hugason, Frumkristni og upphaf kirkju. Kristni á Íslandi i (Reykjavík: Alþingi, 2000) Hunt, Margaret C., A Study of Authorial Perspective in Guðmundar saga A and Guðmundar saga D. Hagiography and the Icelandic Bishop’s Saga (Ann Arbor: University Microfilms, 1986) Lund, Julie, ‘Thresholds and Passages: The Meanings of Bridges and Crossings in the Viking Age and Early Middle Ages’, Viking and Medieval Scandinavia, 1 (2005), 109–35 Simek, Rudolf, and Leszek Slupecki, eds, Conversions: Looking for Ideological Change in the Early Middle Ages (Vienna: Fassbaender, 2013) Stefán Karlsson, ‘Guðmundar sögur biskups: Authorial Viewpoints and Methods’, in Staf­ krókar. Ritgerðir eftir Stefán Karlsson gefnar út í tilefni af sjötugsafmæli hans, 2. desember 1998 (Reykjavík: Stofnun Árna Magnússonar á Íslandi, 2000), pp. 153–71 Úlfar Bragason, ‘The Structure and Meaning of Hrafns saga Sveinbjarnarsonar’, Scandi​ navian Studies, 60 (1988), 267–92 Ward, Benedicta, Miracles and the Medieval Mind: Theory, Record and Event 1000–1215 (London: Scholar, 1982) Whaley, Diana, ‘Miracles in the Sagas of Bishops: Icelandic Variations of an International Theme’, Collegium Medievale, 7 (1994), 155–84

    ‘Ok er hann sannheilagr’: The Role of Saints in Remembering and Representing Iceland’s Conversion Siân Grønlie

    I

    celand — unlike Norway — produced no conversion-age saints, and this was felt as a shortcoming before 1200, when the first two native saints gained official recognition.1 Most countries in the West and North had their own ‘apostle’, after the model of St  Paul to the Gentiles: Patrick for Ireland, Gregory the Great for England, Boniface for Germany, Anskar, and later Sigfrid, for Sweden. Such apostles were signs of God’s grace to these newly converted peoples and eased their entry into the ‘communion of saints’, a community that crossed national boundaries but also, paradoxically, gave birth to national or regional saints.2 So conversion in the Middle Ages was often narrated through the lives of saints (Lebuin, Willibrord, Boniface, Anskar) or, as in Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People, as a succession of saintly biographies.3 The cult of saints dominated the medieval Church: it shaped 1 

    Clunies Ross, ‘“Saint” Ásólfr’, p. 46; Wolf, ‘Pride and Politics in Late Twelfth-Century Iceland’, p. 243. 2  On the tension between local and international identity, see Tugène, ‘L’histoire “ecclésiastique” du peuple anglais’. 3  Pizarro, ‘Conversion Narratives’; Wood, The Missionary Life, pp. 25–45.

    Siân Grønlie ([email protected]) is Associate Professor in Old Norse at St Anne’s College, Oxford. She is the author of The Saint and The Saga Hero: Hagiography and Early Icelandic Literature. The Cult of Saints in Nidaros Archbishopric. Manuscripts, Miracles, Objects, ed. by Ragnhild M. Bø and Jon Viðar Sigurðsson, tcne 33 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2022), pp. 213–247 BREPOLS PUBLISHERS 10.1484/M.TCNE-EB.5.124884

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    time through the liturgical cycle of saints’ days, and transformed physical space through the creation of holy sites and the distribution of relics.4 One manuscript of Grágás includes in the Christian law that all Icelanders must ‘trua a guð einn. oc a helga menn til arnaðar orðz ser’ (believe in one God and in the saints for their intercession).5 Recent studies have emphasized the particular importance of the saints to countries on the periphery of Western Europe: sanctity can transform the periphery into a new spiritual centre through displays of miraculous power that affirm God’s especial favour towards the inhabitants of the edges of the world.6 At the same time, the periphery was a place where saints could be somewhat out of the ordinary, where the traditional criteria for sainthood were not so deeply engrained.7 So it is surprising to find so few historically attested saints in Iceland’s conversion to Christianity. In this chapter, I  will focus on the literary representation of the conversion, which may not always correspond to historical reality: in other words, the role of saints in how Iceland’s conversion was remembered, and the extent to which saints shape the literary narratives about it. I  will also discuss why missionary figures like Þorvaldr Koðránsson and King Óláfr Tryggvason never made it to fully-fledged sainthood.

    St Edmund of East Anglia, King and Martyr The earliest account of Iceland’s conversion is in Ari Þorgilsson’s Íslendingabók, written in c.  1122–1133 at the request of the two bishops of Iceland. Ari was closely related to those involved in the historical process of conversion: he was fostered by Hallr of Haukadalur, who remembered being baptized by Þangbrandr when he was three years old, and one of his main sources for events was his tutor Teitr, son of Bishop Ísleifr and grandson of Gizurr the White, one of the leaders of the Christian party.8 Ari’s account is remarkable for his lack of interest in the miraculous: the conversion takes place through 4 

    The best account of this ‘hominization’ of the landscape is in Brown, The Cult of the Saint, especially pp. 124–26. 5  Grágas, ed. by Vilhjálmur Finsen, p. 27. 6  Geary, ‘Reflections on Historiography and the Holy’, pp. 323–30; Klaniczay, ‘Conclusion: North and East European Cults of Saints’. 7  Klaniczay, Holy Rulers and Blessed Princesses, pp. 396–98. 8  Íslendingabók, ed. by Jakob Benediktsson, pp. 4, 17, 20–21. On these family relationships, see Grønlie, ‘Introduction’, pp. xiv–xviii.

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    a process of legal arbitration between the pagan and the Christian parties. Ari mentions saints only when dating significant deaths: Ísleifr dies six nights after the feast of St Peter and St Paul, and Hallr of Haukadalur dies on the feastday of St Martin.9 Even when Ari mentions the fall of St Óláfr Haraldsson, he calls him simply ‘Ólafr enn digri’ (Óláfr the Fat).10 The one exception to this is Ari’s reference to a passio of St Edmund of East Anglia: Ari tells us that Iceland was settled from Norway at the time ‘es Ívarr Ragnarssonr loðbrókar lét drepa Eadmund enn helga, Engla konung; en þat vas sjau tegum vetra ens níunda hundraðs eptir burð Krists, at því es ritit í sǫgu hans’ (that Ívarr, son of Ragnarr Hairy-Breeches, put to death St Edmund, King of the English; and that was 870 years after the birth of Christ, according to what is written in his saga).11 He comes back to this event at the moment of conversion, and again at the death of Bishop Gizurr, dated respectively to 130 years ‘eptir dráp Eadmundar’ (after the killing of Edmund), and 248 years ‘eptir dráp Eadmundar Englakonungs’ (after the killing of Edmund, king of the English).12 It is unlikely that Ari is thinking of a translated saga at this date; the earliest surviving manuscripts of translated saints’ lives are from the second half of the twelfth century.13 More probably, the saga he refers to is Abbo of Fleury’s Latin Passio Sancti Eadmundi, perhaps bound together with Herman the Archdeacon’s Miraculi Sancti Eadmundi, which provides the date Ari lays claim to here.14 Clearly one reason why Ari dates Iceland’s settlement from the martyrdom of St Edmund has to do with chronology: the date is a sort of lynchpin that ties the settlement of Iceland to the history of Christian Europe. However, there were other possibilities out there: Landnámabók does not mention Edmund’s martyrdom, referring instead to the reigns of Pope Adrian II and John VIII, Byzantine Emperors Leo and Alexander (who was born in 870), and King Alfred and Edward of England.15 Some have suggested that St Edmund owes his prominence in Íslendingabók to the family at Haukadalur, who were Ari’s patrons: according to Landnámabók, Ketilbjǫrn the Old, father of Gizurr 9 

    Íslendingabók, ed. by Jakob Benediktsson, p. 21. Íslendingabók, ed. by Jakob Benediktsson, p. 19. 11  Íslendingabók, ed. by Jakob Benediktsson, p. 4. 12  Íslendingabók, ed. by Jakob Benediktsson, pp. 18, 25–26. 13  On the early translations of saints’ lives in Iceland, see Grønlie, The Saint and the Saga Hero, pp. 10–16 and references there. 14  They are bound together in, for example, Pierpoint Morgan Library MS M. 736, from around the time Ari was writing (c. 1130). 15  Landnámabók, ed. by Jakob Benediktsson, p. 32. 10 

    216 Siân Grønlie

    the White and grandfather to Ísleifr, the first bishop of Iceland, was married to the granddaughter of St Edmund.16 This seems unlikely to be historically true given the emphasis on Edmund’s chastity in his passio, but may explain his significance for Ari. On the other hand, Ari himself claims descent from the father of the pagan Ívarr the Boneless: in the genealogy with which Íslendingabók ends, he lists among his ancestors Ingjaldr Helgason ‘dóttursonr Sigurðar Ragnarssonar loðbrókar’ (son of the daughter of Sigurðr, son of Ragnarr Hairy-Breeches).17 This places the Icelanders in an ambiguous position vis-à-vis the saint, in that they are related to both Edmund and his pagan persecutors. This awkwardness is only magnified in Edmund’s posthumous miracles, which include a scene in which Edmund appears in a vision to the Danish King Sveinn Forkbeard and pierces him through with a lance.18 Edmund was an enormously popular saint in England before and after the Conquest, and his cult may well have come to Iceland via England. Archbishop Eysteinn of Norway spent time in exile at Bury St Edmunds from 1180 to 1183 and may have brought back to Nidaros the ancestor to the ‘St Edmund Antiphoner’, which contains an early office of St Edmund.19 Yet, beyond his importance as a chronological lynchpin, Ari himself shows little interest in Edmund as saint.

    St Michael, Archangel of the Apocalypse In later accounts of the conversion, however, one saint emerges into the foreground: St Michael the Archangel, who is mentioned in Kristni saga in Hauksbók, the kristni þættir in Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar en mesta, and in manuscripts of Njáls saga. The earliest of these is probably Kristni saga, dating to the mid-thirteenth century, and included as a continuation to Landnámabók in Hauksbók.20 In Kristni saga, the missionary Þangbrandr arrives in Iceland in 16 

    Landnámabók, ed. by Jakob Benediktsson, pp. 49, 312. Íslendingabók, ed.  by Jakob Benediktsson, p.  28; Landnámabók, ed.  by Jakob Benediktsson, pp. 214, 239–41. 18  Herman the Archdeacon and Goscelin of St Bertin, Miracles of St Edmund, ed. and trans. by License, pp. 24–25; illustrated in Pierpoint Morgan Library MS M. 736, fol. 21r. 19  Gjerløw, Antiphonarium Nidrosiensis ecclesiae, pp. 221–22, 242–50 and pls 55–72. 20  On the date of Kristni saga, see Duke [Grønlie], ‘Kristni saga and its Sources’, pp. 245–66; Sveinbjörn Rafnsson, Sögugerð Landnámabókar, p.  154; Biskupa sögur  i, ed.  by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. cliv–clv. 17 

    ‘Ok er hann sannheilagr’

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    late summer and is welcomed by Hallr of Síða. On the eve of Michaelmas, he and his men stop work to observe the holy day, and Hallr inquires as to why. A brief conversation ensues:21 Hann spurði: ‘Hví létti þér nú verki?’ Þangbrandr segir: ‘Á morgin er hátíð Mikjáls hǫfuðengils’. Hallr spurði: ‘Hversu er hann háttaðr?’ Þangbrandr svarar: ‘Hann er settr til þess at fara mót sálum kristinna manna’. Síðan sagði Þangbrandr mart frá dýrð Guðs engla. Hallr mælti: ‘Voldugr mun sá er þessir englar þjóna’. Þangbrandr segir: ‘Guð gefr þér þessa skilning’. (He asked: ‘Why have you stopped work?’ Þangbrandr says: ‘Tomorrow is the feast-day of the Archangel Michael’. Hallr asked: ‘What is he like?’ Þangbrandr says: ‘He is appointed to receive the souls of Christians’. Then Þangbrandr said many things about the glory of God’s angels. Hallr said: ‘Powerful indeed is the one whom these angels serve’. Þangbrandr says: ‘God has given you this insight’.)

    In Þangbrands þáttr, Þangbrandr’s sermon on the angels is given more fully: he describes Michael as appointed by God ‘at stríða í móti djǫflinum’ (to fight against the devil) and ‘at hlífa ǫllu kristnu fólki’ (to protect all Christian people). He goes on to categorize the nine orders of angels and to extol the wonders of Heaven. As in Kristni saga, Michael is described as ‘einkanliga gefit af Guði vald yfir kristinna manna sálum, fram farandi af þessum heimi, at taka við þeim ok leiða þær í háleita hvíld Paradísar’ (especially given power by God over the souls of Christians departing this world, to receive them and lead them into the sublime repose of Paradise).22 In Njáls saga, however, the focus has changed: Þangbrandr tells Hallr that Michael ‘skal meta allt þat, sem þú gerir, bæði gott ok illt, ok er svá miskunnsamr, at hann metr allt þat meira, sem vel er gǫrt’ (shall weigh everything that you do, both good and evil, and is so merciful that he weighs more heavily everything that is well done).23 Hallr requests Michael as ‘fylgjuengill minn’ (my attendant angel) and receives baptism at Michaelmas. The popularity of St Michael in conversion-age Scandinavia is often cited as an explanation for the prominence of Michael in this scene.24 Michael is 21 

    Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, p. 18. Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 130–31. 23  Brennu-Njáls saga, ed. by Einar Ólafur Sveinsson, p. 257. 24  Foote, ‘Conversion’, p. 107; Gad, ‘Mikael’, pp. 616–20. 22 

    218 Siân Grønlie

    the only saint (alongside the Virgin Mary) mentioned on conversion-age rune stones, where his role, as in Kristni saga, is as psychopomp, receiving the souls of the dead.25 This function was well known from the mass of the Dead, which includes the prayer that he save the departed: ‘Libera eas de ore leonis, ne absorbeat eas tartarus, ne cadant in obscurum, sed signifer Michael repraesentet eas in lucum sanctam’ (Deliver them from the mouth of the lion, that Hell may not swallow them up, and they may not fall into darkness, but may the standard-bearer Michael introduce them to the holy light).26 Michael was patron of some of the earliest sanctuaries in the North: the monastery in Slesvig (1015–1030), the first church in Slagelse, Zeeland (1079–1088), and the monastery of Munkeliv in Bergen (1103–1122).27 In Norway, fragments of the Office for St Michael survive from the end of the eleventh century and are based on English offices. They describe Michael as ‘prepositus Paradisi’ (lord of Paradise) and ‘princeps militiae angelorum’ (leader of the angelic army), with power ‘super animas iustorum atque peccatorum’ (over the souls of the just and of sinners).28 Gregory’s thirty-fourth homily on the Gospels (first preached on the feast-day of St Michael) was translated into Old Norse by the mid-twelfth century, and is the main source for Þangbrandr’s sermon in Þangbrands þáttr, as well as for the homilies for Michaelmas in the Norwegian and Icelandic Homily Books, both dating to c. 1200.29 The Norwegian Homily Book also incorporates Apparitione S. Michaelis in Gargano, and the same text was used by the abbot Bergr Sokkason in c. 1350 as part of his Life of St Michael. Here too, Michael is styled as psychopomp:30

    25 

    McKinnell, Simek, and Düwell, Runes, Magic and Religion, pp. 177–78. Johnson, Saint Michael the Archangel in Medieval English Legend, p. 72. On the Office of the Dead in Norway and Iceland, see Ottosen, The Responsories and Versicles of the Latin Office of the Dead, pp. 263, 289, 352; Liturgica Islandica, ed. by Lilli Gjerløw, i, pp. 213–14, ii, pp. 81–86 (plates); Gjerløw, Antiphonarium Nidrosiensis ecclesiae, pp. 152–53. 27  Musset, ‘Saint Michel au Danemark’, pp. 505–06; Coviaux, ‘Saint Michel en Scandinavie au Moyen Âge’, pp. 71–73. 28  Gjerløw, ‘Le culte de Saint Michel en Norvège’, pp. 490–91; Gjerløw, Antiphonarium Nidrosiensis ecclesiae, pp. 30–31, 39–42, 200–17 (pls 66–67). 29  Homiliu-bók, ed.  by Wisén, pp.  88–92; Gamal norsk Homiliebok, ed.  by Indrebø, pp. 136–43. 30  Heilagra manna søgur, ed. by Unger, i, p. 689. On Bergr Sokkason’s sources, see Fell, ‘Bergr Sokkason’s Michaels saga and its Sources’; Widding, ‘St Michele at Gargano, as seen from Iceland’. 26 

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    Þat er hans eighinlig sæmd, at hann kallaz valldzherra heilagrar paradisi, þat er sva at skilia, at Mikhael hǫfuðengill þaa sva mikit valld af guði, at allar rettlatar saalur skolu honum offraz i ǫðru lifi, at hann leiði þær ok laði til þess fagnaðar ok gleði.

    (It is his especial honour that he is called lord of holy Paradise, which is to say that the Archangel Michael has received so much power from God, that all righteous souls must be presented to him in the next life, so that he may lead and guide them to joy and happiness.)

    Michael also plays a part in Niðrstigninga saga, Maríu saga, and the Old Norse Bible translation Stjórn  I, which lists four different roles for him: to fight against the dragon or devil, to come to the help of God’s people, to transfer the souls of the just to Heaven, and to be ‘prepositus paradísar forstjóri’ (chief lord of Paradise).31 More recently, however, it has been argued that Michael’s popularity in Scandinavia may be overstated. Stéphane Coviaux has pointed out that the diffusion of runic inscriptions naming Michael is local and modest: the two inscriptions in Sweden, for example, should be balanced against 350 other inscriptions that mention only God, Christ, or the Virgin Mary.32 Likewise, the five runic inscriptions in Denmark are all on Bornholm and Lolland, and may well reflect ‘personal missionary initiative’ rather than widespread knowledge of the cult of St Michael.33 Church dedications are also concentrated in particular areas, rather than widely dispersed: the large number of churches dedicated to Michael in Vík in Norway is probably due to the close connections between King Óláfr Haraldsson and Normandy. According to William of Jumièges, Óláfr was baptized in Rouen and his baptismal cape is among the relics at Mont-Saint-Michel in France. One of Óláfr’s missionary bishops, Rudolf (Hróðólfr), was an Anglo-Norman, a kinsman of Edward the Confessor.34 In Iceland, churches dedicated to Michael are concentrated in the North, around Eyjafjörður and Skagafjörður. This does not align with the written sources on 31 

    Heilagra manna søgur, ed. by Unger, ii, 7, 13, 18; Maríu saga, ed. by Unger, pp. 541–48, 975; Stjórn, ed. by Unger, p. 10. 32  Coviaux, ‘Saint Michel en Scandinavie’, p. 69. 33  Coviaux, ‘Saint Michel en Scandinavie’, p. 70. 34  Coviaux, ‘St Michel en Scandinavie’, pp. 70–71. On Óláfr’s baptism, see Theodoricus monachus, Historia de antiquitate regum Norwagiensium, trans. by Mcdougall and Mcdougall, pp. 16–17 and 72 (n. 102). On Hróðólfr, see Jón Stefánsson, ‘Ruðolf of Bœ and Rudolf of Rouen’. Likewise, the missionary bishop Sigfrid was a monk at Glastonbury, where there was a sanctuary on a hill dedicated to St Michael; see Schmid, Den helige Sigfrid, p. 19.

    220 Siân Grønlie

    Þangbrandr’s devotion to St Michael, since these are areas that he allegedly failed to reach: Kristni saga mentions that he got no further than Skjálfandafljót ‘fyrir ríki Eyfirðinga’ (because of the power of the people of Eyjafjörður).35 Of the other scattered churches associated with Michael in various ways, only one is close to the site of Hallr of Síða’s conversion (Geithellur in Álftafjörður, which owned Michael’s image), but it is conceivable that the churches at Holt in Síða (near Kirkjubær, where we are told Þangbrandr spent time), Borg in Mýrar (close to where he landed), and Hagi on Barðarströnd (where he visited Gestr Oddleifsson) may have lain on Þangbrandr’s missionary route.36 Still, the fifteen or so churches associated with Michael in various ways look meagre when compared with more than 300 churches associated with the Virgin Mary, more than 100 with St Peter, and more than 90 with St Óláfr and St Þorlákr.37 Without relics or a life story, Michael was not a conventional saint; his importance lay in his role at the moment of death and his defeat of the devil at the end of time.38 This, rather than widespread popularity, may explain his significance for literary accounts of Þangbrandr’s mission, which took place in the last years of the first millennium at a time when the cult of St Michael was expanding rapidly under the influence of millennial fears.39 In the West, Michael was always the angel of the Apocalypse, but interest in his cult increased powerfully between 950 and 1050. New cult sites were established: Skellig in Ireland became Skellig Michael sometime between 950 and 1044, while in England Edward the Confessor granted the priory at St Michael’s Mount in Cornwall to the Benedictines of Mont-Saint-Michel.40 In Germany, two new centres of devotion were established: Hildesheim in 996 (near Bremen, from where Þangbrandr supposedly came) and Bamburg in eastern Germany, where the principal altar was dedicated in 1012 to the Virgin Mary, St Michael, and St George.41 Two German Emperors went on pilgrimage to Gargano in Italy: 35  Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 20, 134; Cormack, The Saints in Iceland, pp. 132–33. 36  Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 19, 22, 25, 133, 137, 139. The dedications for Holt in Síða and Hagi on Barðarstrǫnd are not certain; see Cormack, The Saints in Iceland, pp. 132–33. 37  Cormack, The Saints in Iceland, p. 29; Coviaux, ‘St Michel en Scandinavie’, p. 74. 38  Johnson, Saint Michael the Archangel in Medieval English Legend, p.  4; Fournée, ‘L’Archange de la mort et du jugement’. 39  Callahan, ‘The Cult of St Michael the Archangel’, p. 182. 40  Callahan, ‘The Cult of St Michael the Archangel’, p. 185. 41  Callahan, ‘The Cult of St Michael the Archangel’, pp. 187–88.

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    Otto III in 999 (the emperor under whom Þangbrandr is said to have served) and Henry II in 1022.42 It was also during this period that the iconography of Michael’s defeat of the devil became fixed, as can be seen from the AngloSaxon processional cross in the National Museum of Denmark, or the tympanum at the University of Lund, where Michael stands opposite Abraham, or the wooden case from Vatnsfjörður church in Iceland.43 Michael stands over the devil with lance or sword, which can be thrust vertically down or diagonally across. He appears in this guise in Insular psalters of the tenth and eleventh centuries: in the illuminated Q of Psalm 50 (51) in the Crowland Psalter, for example, and in the Tiberius Psalter from c. 1050.44 Michaels saga describes him ‘leggiandi þann dioful digru spioti sva mattugri hendi’ (piercing the devil with a broad spear and a mighty hand).45 Michael’s apocalyptic role is strongly marked in Old English literature: the Blickling homily for Michaelmas (c. 1000) exhorts its congregation to ‘biddan þone heahengel Sanctus Michahel ond ða nigen endebyrdnessa ðara haligra engla þæt hie us sýn on fultume wið helsceaðum’ (to pray to the archangel St Michael and the nine orders of holy angels to help us against hellish ravagers).46 It ends with the prayer that ‘he ure saule gelæde on gefean, þær hie motan blissian abuton ende on ecnesse’ (he lead our souls into joy, where they may rejoice without end in eternity). This has a similar focus to Þangbrandr’s sermon, which also describes how the angels fight against the devil’s ‘fjándligum erendrekum’ (fiendish messengers) and protect Christians ‘við skaðsamligum skeytum óhreinna anda’ (against the harmful shots of unclean spirits); it describes heaven as a place of ‘óumrœðiligr fagnaðr ok gleði’ (indescribable joy and happiness), where the angels ‘lofa óaflátliga allsvaldanda Guð’ (praise without ceasing almighty God).47 The Blickling homily for Easter Day describes Michael’s arrival on Judgement Day: ‘Swa þonne þy dæge cymeþ Sanctus Michahel mid heofonlicum þreate haligra gasta, ond þa þonne onsleaþ ealle þa awergdan, ond on helle grund bedrifaþ for heora unhyrsumnesse 42 

    115. 43 

    Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 15,

    For these images, see Millénaire monastique du Mont S. Michel, ed. by Baudot, pl. I (Copenhagen), pl. III (Lund), pl. XII, fig.11 (Southwell, England), pl. XLVI, fig. 2 (Trondheim); Lilja Árnadóttir and Kiran, eds, Church and Art, pp. 57, 121 (no. 47). 44  Openshaw, ‘Weapons in the Daily Battle’. 45  Heilagra manna søgur, ed. by Unger, i, 712. 46  The Blickling Homilies, ed. by Kelly, pp. 208–09. 47  Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 130–31.

    222 Siân Grønlie

    Godas beboda (So on this day St Michael will come with the heavenly host of holy spirits, and then they will kill all the cursed and drive them to the bottom of hell for their disobedience to God’s commands).48 It is Michael who, at the end of time, commands the four trumpets to sound and the dead to rise from their graves. In the Irish Saltair na Rann, dating to c. 988, St Michael summons the dead to judgement.49 The image of St Michael with his scales (the psychostasis) on the other hand, has a different origin: Selma Jónsdóttir has shown that the Last Judgement scene from Hólar in the North of Iceland, which features Michael in this way, is copied from Byzantine models.50 She suggests that it was brought to Iceland by the ‘ermskir’ bishops mentioned disapprovingly in Hungrvaka; these were most likely missionaries from Armenia, or perhaps Basilican monks from Southern Italy.51 Alternatively, it has been suggested that the carved panels may have been commissioned abroad by Bishop Jón Ǫgmundarson, who went twice on pilgrimage to Rome, and may have come across the scene in a church or monastery there.52 One of the miracle stories in Jóns saga helga may allude to the presence of this Last Judgement in the cathedral at Hólar: one night, the anchoress Hildr sees, through the window of her cell, the dead rise from their biers in the cathedral and attack the church watcher Guðrún.53 However, the earliest surviving representation of the psychostasis is actually Irish: the Last Judgement on the East side of the great cross at Monasterboice, from the first

    48 

    The Blickling Homilies, ed. by Kelly, pp. 64–67. Canto 160, lines 8229–32. An edition and translation of Saltair na Rann by David Greene is available online at . Some statues depict Michael with a trumpet, see for example the one from Södermanland in Millénaire monastique du Mont S. Michel, ed. by Baudot, pl. XLVIII, fig. 2. 50  Selma Jónsdóttir, An 11th Century Byzantine Last Judgement in Iceland, pp.  15–26; Hörður Ágústsson, Dómsdagur og helgir menn á Hólum. There is a reconstruction of the Hólar Last Judgement in Lilja Árnadóttir and Kiran, eds, Church and Art, pp. 58–59; only Michael’s bare feet, floating in the air, are visible. 51  Íslendingabók, ed.  by Jakob Benediktsson, p.  18; Biskupa sögur  ii, ed.  by Ásdís Egilsdóttir, p. 9; on the meaning of ‘ermskir’, see Selma Jónsdóttir, An 11th Century Byzantine Last Judgement in Iceland, pp.  77–83; Cormack, ‘Irish and Armenian Ecclesiastics in Medieval Iceland’; Garipzanov, ‘Wandering Clerics and Mixed Rituals in the Early Christian North’. 52  Guðrún Harðardóttir, ‘A View on the Preservation History of The Last Judgement Panels’. 53  Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 249–52; Þóra Kristjánsdóttir, ‘A Nocturnal Wake at Hólar’. 49 

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    quarter of the tenth century.54 It is tempting to conjecture that the Icelandic poet Arnórr jarlaskáld (poet of earls), who composed the only surviving helming of poetry about St Michael came across this representation of the Archangel in the British Isles:55 Mikjáll vegr þat’s misgǫrt þykkir, mannvitsfróðr, ok allt et góða. (Michael weighs what seems wrongly done, ripe with wisdom, and all the good.)

    Arnórr, who died in c. 1073, had travelled widely in Scotland and the Hebrides, where many place-names attest to the significance of St Michael, whose cult was spread there by Irish missionaries. There was a strong cult of Michael on Barra, for example, where Michaelmas was celebrated with a cavalcade and baking of cakes.56 The description of Michael as ‘mannvitsfróðr’ (ripe or wise in wit) puns on this association between Michaelmas and the ripening harvest; in the Old English Hexateuch, Michael is depicted instructing Adam in agriculture.57 By the end of the thirteenth century, the image of Michael with his scales had become common in church wall-paintings: it can be found on the walls of the church of Kinsarvik near Bergen, at Enebak in Oslo, and engraved on the tomb at Husaby church in Västergötland, Sweden, where the first Christian king was baptized.58 In Njáls saga, Þangbrandr comments that Michael ‘er svá miskunnsamr, at hann metr allt þat meira, sem vel er gǫrt’ (is so merciful, that he weighs more heavily everything that is well done).59 Michael is some54 

    Roe, ‘Ireland and the Archangel Michael’ (pls XLIV–LXV); Picard, ‘La diffusion du culte de Saint Michel en Irlande Médiévale’ (image on p. 146). 55  Whaley, The Poetry of Arnórr jarlaskáld, pp. 35, 43, 134. 56  McRoberts, ‘The Cult of St Michael in Scotland’, pp. 471–78. Whaley, The Poetry of Arnórr jarlaskáld (p. 35) suggests that the stanza may come from Arnórr’s memorial poem for Gellir Þorkelsson (d. 1073); but if he came across this image abroad, then it most likely dates to his years in the service of King Knútr the Great (who went on pilgrimage to Rome and Gargano in 1030) or in the Orkneys (before 1045). 57  Johnson, Saint Michael the Archangel in Medieval English Legend, p. 146. 58  For the tomb at Husaby, see Schmid and Odensius, ‘The Cult of the Archangel Michael’, pp. 449–500 and pl. XLVII, fig. 3; for an example of murals, see pl. XLVIII, fig. 4. There are also many images of the psychostasis on the walls of English churches, such as Chaldon in Surrey (c. 1200) and South Leigh and Swalcliffe in Oxfordshire. A catalogue of English medieval wall paintings can be found at . 59  Brennu-Njáls saga, ed. by Einar Ólafur Sveinsson, p. 257.

    224 Siân Grønlie

    times depicted tipping the scales in favour of the penitent soul, as at Høyby on Zealand in Denmark, or Oesmo in Södermanland and Täby in Sweden.60 Some apocryphal sources describe how St Michael, together with the Virgin Mary and John the Baptist, saves a third of the damned on Judgement Day — a tradition referred to in the tenth-century Vercelli Homilies and in Jón Árnason’s sixteenth-century Ljómur, although he mentions only Mary.61 According to Kristni saga and the kristni þættir, Þangbrandr came to Norway from Bremen after a visit to Canterbury, so it is possible to conjecture that a historical Þangbrandr may have brought the cult of Michael with him to Iceland, given its increased importance around the time of the millennium in England and on the continent.62 It is certainly the case that Michael’s apocalyptical associations have shaped the written stories about Þangbrandr’s mission. When Þangbrandr visits Canterbury, we are told that a certain Archbishop Hugbertus gives him a shield emblazoned with the sign of the cross because he is ‘lýðskaðr sem riddarar’ (mannered like knights).63 Later, Þangbrandr defeats a hostile berserkr in Iceland by making the sign of the cross over his sword. Michael, as God’s signifer (standard-bearer), is associated with the sign of the cross: he can appear with a shield marked with the sign of the cross, or with a cruciform lance.64 When Þangbrandr rides out from the Christian sanctuary in Kirkjubœr, from the home of Hallr of Síða in the East, the earth opens beneath him and swallows up (‘svalg’) his horse; this seems to echo the prayer to St Michael in the Office of the Dead that ‘hell may not swallow (“absorbeat”) them up’.65 In Njáls saga, these apocalyptic overtones are heightened still further: Þangbrandr twice defends himself in battle using a portable crucifix, as well as with spear and sword. Although he is sometimes labelled a ‘thug’, untrue to the Christian spirit of the saga, he may in fact embody the Christian warrior 60 

    Schmid and Odenius, ‘The Cult of the Archangel Michael’, p. 500. The Vercelli Homilies, ed. by Scragg, p. 259 (Homily XV); Íslenzk miðaldakvæði, ed. by Jón Helgason, i, pp. 133–36; Hill, ‘Delivering the Damned in Old English Anonymous Homilies and Jón Arason’s Ljómur’, pp. 75–82. 62  Biskupa sögur  i, ed.  by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 13–14, 113. 63  Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 14, 113. 64  Lamy-Lassalle, ‘Les réprésentations du combat de l’archange en France au début du Moyen Age’, pp. 56–57 (and see pl. XLV for an Irish representation of Michael holding a shield with a cross on it). 65  Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 19, 133; Brennu-Njáls saga, ed. by Einar Ólafur Sveinsson, p. 249. 61 

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    ideal associated with Michael, leader of the armies of Heaven.66 The visionary signs intensify during the Battle of Clontarf in Ireland: blood rains from the sky, hell is glimpsed in the depths of a river, and an abyss opens up next to the altar at Þváttá, where Hallr of Síða was baptized.67 This recalls a scene in the Life of St Nicholas in which he too sees a dark pool open up beside an altar. Michael then appears ‘sva sem gofugr madr sitiandi fridan hest allr herklæddr sva sem dubbadr riddari, hafandi blomberandligan sprota i hendi ser grafinn ok fagrt formeradan med heilogu krossmarki’ (as a noble man sitting on a beautiful horse, fully armed like a dubbed knight, having a flowering rod in his hand engraved and beautifully shaped with the holy sign of the cross).68 He explains that: ‘Stoduvatn fyrir utan portit svart ok illa daunat merkir stodugan helvitis ofagnad’ (The stagnant pool outside the gate, dark and evil-smelling, signifies the constant sorrow of hell). Þangbrandr, with his cross as weapon, matches the image of Michael here, while the dark rider from the West who heralds the burning of Njáll and his family is the inverse, a pagan reflection of St Michael as avenger, who is sometimes depicted with a blazing sword.69 Interestingly, two of the historiated initials in the manuscript Kálfalœkjarbók draw out this level of meaning.70 The first is the initial H that opens the conversion episode at Chapter 100: it depicts a rider on a horse, who may be a visual allusion to Þangbrandr being mannered like ‘riddarar’ (knights). The second is the initial N that introduces Njáll, which depicts a beardless knight piercing a dragon. It has been suggested that this is a depiction of St Michael in his role of dragonslayer, although if so, it has also been influenced by the iconography of Sigurðr Fáfnisbani, for the knight does not stand above the dragon, his spear slanting down, but thrusts up from beneath.71 Michael’s apocalyptic associations have profoundly influenced the representation of conversion in this saga. 66 

    Fox, ‘Njáls saga and the Western Literary Tradition’, p. 302. Grønlie, The Saint and the Saga Hero, pp. 138–39. 67  Brennu-Njáls saga, ed. by Einar Ólafur Sveinsson, pp. 452, 459. 68  Heilagra manna søgur, ed. by Unger, II, pp. 88–89. 69  Brennu-Njáls saga, ed. by Einar Ólafur Sveinsson, pp. 320–33; Schmid and Odensius, ‘The Cult of the Archangel Michael’, p. 500 (the frescoes in the church at Båstad, Skåne). Michael also carried a fiery sword in The Old English Martyrology, ed. by Rauer, pp. 194–95. 70  Lönnroth, ‘Structural Divisions in the Njála Manuscripts’; Hamer, Njáls saga and its Christian Background, pp. 245–52; Liepe, ‘The Knight and the Dragon Slayer’. 71  Michael is not always depicted with wings, and is sometimes fully armed; see Millénaire monastique du Mont S. Michel, ed. by Baudot, pl. XII, fig. 11 (Southwell, England), pl. XLVIII, fig. 1 (Rogslösa, Œstergötland).

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    Michael has influenced other þættir about the conversion as well: Þiðranda þáttr, which is set just before Þangbrandr’s mission, and Þórhalls þáttr knapps, which is set just before the year 1000. The events in Þiðranda þáttr take place at Hof, close to Þváttá, and concern Hallr of Síða’s son Þiðrandi, who is killed by the dísir at an autumn feast to avenge his father’s approaching conversion to Christianity.72 The þáttr describes how Þiðrandi goes outside during the night to see two troops of dísir riding towards him: Hann gekk þá undir viðkǫstinn ok heyrði at riðit var norðan á vǫllinn. Hann sá at at þat váru konur níu ok váru allar í svǫrtum klæðum ok hǫfðu brugðin sverð í hǫndum. Hann heyrði ok at riðit var sunnan á vǫllinn; þar váru ok níu konur, allar í ljósum klæðum ok á hvítum hestum. (He went out to the woodpile and heard riding on the plain to the north. He saw that there were nine women and they were all in dark clothes and had drawn swords in their hands. He also heard riding on the plain to the south; there were also nine women, all in light clothes and on white horses.)73

    Although Michael is not mentioned by name, this story is based on one in the vitae patrum, which is retold in Bergr Sokkason’s Michaels saga: the hermit Isidore looks out of two windows, to the east and to the north (or to the east and to the west, in the vitae patrum), where he sees good and evil spirits approaching.74 The abbot Moses explains to him that what he can see is a battle over his soul. In another version of this same scene, in the Norwegian Draumkvæde, the good spirits are headed by the Archangel Michael riding, in one version, on a white horse.75 The woodpile (which plays no role in the story) by which Þiðrandi is killed is perhaps an allusion to the Old Testament sacrifice of Isaac, which is often depicted opposite St Michael’s defeat of the devil.76 The þáttr ends with a prediction of the arrival of Christianity: the prophet Þórhallr 72 

    Strömback, Tidrande och diserna; Kaplan, ‘Prefiguration and the Writing of History in Þáttr Þiðranda ok Þórhalls’, pp. 379–94; Bek-Pedersen, ‘St Michael and the Sons of SíðuHallur’. 73  Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 123–24. 74  Heilagra manna søgur, ed. by Unger, i, pp. 679–80, ii, pp. 499–500. 75  Draumkvæde, ed. by Barnes, pp. 117, 187, 170; Carlsen, Visions of the Afterlife in Old Norse Literature, pp. 28–20. There is a translation in Barnes, ‘Draumkvæde – How Old Is It?’, pp. 104–05. 76  Stjórn, ed. by Unger, p. 131 (Genesis 22). For the juxtaposition of Michael’s combat with the dragon and Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac, see Du Bourguet, ‘Origines lointaines d’images de Saint Michel’, p. 44 (and pls II and III).

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    promises that ‘munu þér frændr þeira njóta er þann munuð hafa er þær boða fyrir ok fylgja’ (you and your kinsmen will benefit from them, if you will accept the one they announce and attend).77 Þórhalls þáttr knapps also frames conversion in the context of spiritual combat. Þórhallr lives in Knappstaðir in the North and sacrifices at a temple not far from his farm. One night he has a vision: ‘Hann sá ríða mann bjartan at bœ sínum á hvítum hesti, skrýddan konungligum búnaði ok hafði gullrekit spjót í hendi’ (He saw a bright man riding to his farm on a white horse, dressed in royal vestments and with a gold inlaid spear in his hand).78 The name of this man is not given, but his radiance, his white horse, and the spear in his hand all point towards St Michael. He tells Þórhallr to destroy his temple and build a church instead, promising him healing from leprosy in this world and eternal life in the next: ‘Nú ef þú dýrkar með hreinu hjarta þann guð er þér mun þar boðaðr vera, þá muntu verða heill ok með heilleik líkamans muntu gleðjask í friði ok farsælð þessar veraldar, en í ókominni verǫld njóta eilífrar sœmðar ok sælu’ (Now if you worship with a pure heart the God who will be preached to you there, then you will be healed and with bodily health you will rejoice in peace and prosperity in this world, and in the world to come enjoy eternal honour and happiness). The wording here echoes Þangbrandr’s sermon on the angels: he too promises those who serve God in purity ‘sœmð ok sæla’ (honour and happiness) and ‘óendilig heilsa ok eilíft líf ’ (unending health and eternal life).79 The promise of healing upon baptism recalls another miracle in Þangbrands þáttr, when two elderly women regain their health and strength as soon as they have been baptized. They describe how ‘vit hǫfum fengit fagnað ok gleði ok sanna ván eilífrar gleði ok ókominnar sælu’ (we have received rejoicing and gladness, and true hope of eternal joy and happiness to come).80 The association of Michael with baptism and healing is less familiar in the West than it is in the East, but it is nevertheless well established: churches dedicated to St Michael in the British Isles are often situated in the lowlands by wells or other bodies of water, as well as high up on cliffs and hills.81 Michael’s combat with the dragon is sometimes engraved on 77 

    Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, p. 124. Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, p. 156. Michael is sometimes depicted on a white horse; see Picard, ‘La diffusion du culte de Saint Michel en Irlande Médiévale’, p. 139 and Millénaire monastique du Mont S. Michel, ed. by Baudot, pl. IV, fig. 17 (Saint-Savin-sur-Gartempe, Vienna). 79  Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, p. 130. 80  Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, p. 133. 81  Jones, ‘The Cult of Michael the Archangel in Britain’, pp. 168–74. 78 

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    baptismal fonts, such as the font in the church of Tingstad in Sweden.82 As a figure of baptism, this combat represents Christ’s victory over sin and defeat of the devil: ‘Tu contrivisti capita draconum super aquas’ (Thou didst break the heads of the dragons above the waters, Psalm 73. 13).83 The current church at Knappstaðir is both high up (at an elevation of 288 metres) and close to a body of water (Stífluvatn). But, although it is in the vicinity of two churches associated with St Michael (Tjörn in Svarfaðarsveit and Höfði in Höfðaströnd), its earliest recorded dedication is to St Peter.84 One final story about Michael is recorded from this area at the beginning of Valla-Ljóts saga. In the early years after the legal conversion, Halli Sigurðarson threatens to prosecute Valla-Ljótr for working on the eve of Michaelmas, a reminder of the defining moment of Þangbrandr’s mission: his abstention from work on the eve of this feast. Ljótr agrees to pay a fine to ward off ‘reiði engilsins’ (the angel’s anger), but later he attacks and kills Halli on his way home to Klaufabrekka, accusing him of greed and aggression: ‘Nú ef þú hefir gott til gengit og vili engillinn gefa þér sigr þá muntu þess at njóta. En ef þat var með fégirnd og ágang þá hafðu minna hlut og sjái hann mál okkart’ (Now if you have acted in good faith and the angel wishes to grant you victory, then you will benefit from this. But if it was out of greed and aggression, then take the lesser share, and may he watch over our struggle).85 Many of the places mentioned in this saga are associated with St Michael, such as Tjörn in Svarfarðardalr, Gnúpufell, and Munka-Þverá, which had an image and a side-altar dedicated to Michael.86 His active engagement in the battle between the two men shows a familiarity on the part of the author with his military role as leader of the armies of Heaven, while the phrase ‘minni hlutr’ (lesser share) may allude to the relative weighting of souls in his scales.

    Missionary Saints: Bishop Friðrekr and Þorvaldr Koðránsson The cult of St Michael had a profound impact on written accounts of Iceland’s conversion, although it is difficult to tell whether this reflects a historical reality or rather the imagined conditions of Christian mission at the turn of the 82 

    Du Bourguet, ‘Origines lointaines d’images de Saint Michel’, pp. 49–52 (and pl. VI). All biblical quotations come from the Douay-Rheims translation. 84  Cormack, The Saints in Iceland, p. 204. 85  Valla-Ljóts saga, in Eyfirðinga sǫgur, ed. by Jónas Kristjánsson, p. 245. 86  Cormack, ‘Saints of Medieval Hólar’, pp. 27–29. 83 

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    millennium. Either way, the themes of the apocalypse and spiritual combat have shaped the stories about Þangbrandr found in both þættir and sagas, opening up new eschatological perspectives. In contrast, the þættir about earlier missions to Iceland are different in character and style. Accounts of the mission of Bishop Friðrekr and Þorvaldr víðfǫrli to the North of Iceland in c. 981–85 make no allusions to St Michael, nor indeed to any other well-established saints, saving the reference to a church or monastery of John (the Baptist) in Rus’, where Þorvaldr is eventually buried.87 Likewise, the abortive mission of Stefnir Þorgilsson to Kjalarnes in c. 995/96 is conspicuously unsaintly in the written accounts, unless one assumes that Stefnir’s name (which corresponds to the English Stephen), has been chosen to sanctify his violent (and ultimately politically motivated) death.88 Instead, these þættir make unsubstantiated claims to sanctity on the part of the principal couple: the German Bishop Friðrekr and Þorvaldr Koðránsson. Of these two, Bishop Friðrekr is by far the more straightforward: Kristni saga describes him as ‘sannheilagr’ (a true saint), a word used elsewhere of Óláfr Haraldsson, Þorlákr Rúnólfsson, Jón Ǫgmundarson, and Magnús of Orkney, all of whom were venerated as saints in the Middle Ages, alongside Guðmundr Arason, who was never officially recognized.89 This claim to sanctity on Bishop Friðrekr’s behalf is backed up by properly witnessed miracles, including the exorcism of a nature spirit (the spámaðr or ármaðr at Lœkjarmót) and the defeat of two berserkir at Haukagil.90 We are told that three churches were built as a result of his mission, all of which are connected with miracles: at Haukagil, where the two berserkir are killed, at Áss in Hjaltadalr (Neðri-Ás), where three ambushes are miraculously repelled, and at Holt in Kólgumýrar, where a miraculous catch of fish is made by a local holy man known only as Máni.91 The name twice mentioned in connection with these miracles is that of Gunnlaugr Leifsson (died 1218/1219), a Benedictine monk at the monas87 

    Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 37, 89. Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 38, 108–10. 89  Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, p. 13; see ‘sannheilagr’, Dictionary of Old Norse Prose, [accessed 11 January 2018]. 90  Grønlie, ‘Reading and Understanding’. The defeat of the two berserkir is also found in Vatnsdœla saga, Hallfreðar saga, Kormáks saga, ed. by Einar Ólafur Sveinsson, pp. 124–26, although the miraculous elements there have been curtailed. 91  Biskupa sögur  i, ed.  by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 10–11, 72, 84. 88 

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    tery of Þingeyrar.92 Gunnlaugr was a prolific writer of hagiography: he has been credited with a rhymed office of St Ambrose, a collection of Þorlákr’s miracles, an early life of Jón of Hólar, all in Latin, and a verse translation of the prophecies of Merlin (Merlínuspá) from Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia regum Britanniae (Breta sǫgur). It seems likely that the collected miracles of Bishop Friðrekr were part of this same hagiographic output taking place around the year 1200. For whatever reason, though, Friðrekr never made it beyond literary sainthood, perhaps because nothing was known about his subsequent life, or perhaps because he did not attract enough attention. Þorvaldr represents rather the opposite case: while his life does possess certain saintly qualities (a virtuous childhood, for example, and a prophecy that his future glory will surpass that of his family), it is complicated by the Viking raids of his youth and his killing of three Icelanders who spread slander about the nature of his relationship with Friðrekr. After this, Friðrekr leaves him, giving as his reason that ‘þú vill seint láta af manndrápum’ (you are not willing to give up killings).93 In an early scene found only in Þorvalds þáttr víðfǫrla, Þorvaldr earns the praise of King Sveinn Forkbeard by rescuing him from prison in the British Isles. Yet this is the same pagan king who was pierced by St Edmund’s lance in a vision according to Herman’s Miraculi Sancti Eadmundi.94 None of this is a promising start. Þorvaldr’s subsequent life, on the other hand, is of much more interest from a hagiographic point of view: we are told that he travels to Jerusalem, Greece, and Constantinople, where he is honoured by the emperor of Constantinople as ‘einn stólpi ok upphaldsmaðr réttrar trúar’ (a pillar and upholder of the true faith) and ‘dýrðarfullr játari várs herra Jesú Kristi’ (a glorious confessor of our Lord Jesus Christ). According to Þorvalds þáttr víðfǫrla, the emperor then sends him to the East as ‘foringi eða valdsmaðr’ (leader or magnate) over all the kings in Russia and Garðaríki, where he founds a monastery next to a church dedicated to John the Baptist, ends his life and is buried.95

    92 

    On literary activity at Þingeyrar, see Haki Antonsson, ‘Salvation and Early Saga Writing in Iceland’, pp. 71–140; on Gunnlaugr’s interest in saintly bishops, see Grønlie, The Saint and the Saga Hero, pp. 40–50. 93  Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 4, 12, 52–53, 55, 80, 87. 94  Biskupa sögur  i, ed.  by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 57–59. 95  Biskupa sögur  i, ed.  by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 88–89.

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    Kristni saga specifies that he travels along the Dnieper to Kœnugarðr (Kiev) then Pallteskja (Polotsk) in modern-day Belarus, where he is buried ‘í fjalli einu at kirkju Johannis baptiste’ (on a mountain at the church of John the Baptist).96 It then quotes Brandr’s verse: Hefi ek þar komit er Þorvaldi Koðránssyni Kristr hvíldar lér Þar er hann grafinn í háfjalli upp í Drafni At Johannis kirkju.

    I have come where to Þorvaldr Koðránsson Christ lends rest He is buried on a high mountain up at Drafn At John’s church.

    Þorvalds þáttr víðfǫrla also mentions the place-name Drafn/Drǫfn or (in one manuscript) Dripa/Drífa, but does not specify where in Russia this might be.97 If there is any truth in this at all, Þorvaldr may have been among the missionaries who travelled to Russia following the baptism of Vladimir I in 988, his marriage to the sister of the Emperor of Constantinople, and the subsequent christianization of the Kievan Rus’.98 Some of the earliest churches in the Rus’ were dedicated to John the Baptist, who was a patronal figure of the princely clan and one of only a small number of saints to appear on imperial seals (Michael was another).99 The church of John the Baptist in Kiev was founded in c. 1073 in the monastery of the Dormition, the famous Caves monastery which produced many local saints and bishops. There was also a cathedral and monastery dedicated to John the Baptist in Pskov from 1130–1140 and a monastery dedicated to John the Baptist on the island in Polotsk, opposite the Upper Castle, although the earliest reference to it seems to be in a gramota of Andrei Algirdaitis in 1399.100 Although it is not possible to identify 96 

    Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, p. 37. In skaldic poetry, ‘drǫfn’ is used in kennings as a heiti for sea and might possibly be the name of a river (as in Norwegian Drammen); ‘drífa’, which means ‘snowstorm, hailstorm, driving snow’, could be a name for a point or a small cape (as in the case of Drífa in the Westfjords of Iceland). Neither has been identified. 98  On the christianization of Rus, see Shepard, ‘Rus’’ and Poppe, ‘The Christianization and Ecclesiastical Structure of Kyivan Rus’ to 1300’. 99  White, Military Saints, pp. 115, 159–62. 100  White, Military Saints, pp. 214–15. 97 

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    with any certainty which church of John the Baptist is meant, the author of Kristni saga clearly has access to some local information, since it is the only source to mention Kiev and Polotsk and to quote Brandr’s verse. The detail that ‘kalla þeir hann helgan’ (they call him a saint) may suggest knowledge of a local cult, if it is not just wishful thinking.101 There were close links between Scandinavia and the Rus’: both Óláfr Tryggvason and Óláfr Haraldsson were in exile in Russia, under the rule of Vladimir the Great and Yaroslav the Wise. Yaroslav the Wise was married to a Swedish princess, Ingigerðr Óláfsdóttir, who became St Anna of Novgorod and Kiev, and one of their daughters married King Haraldr harðráði (Hard-Ruler) of Norway.102 Dynastic connections between the ruling families in Scandinavia and the Rus’ continued well into the twelfth century: King Sigurðr Jórsalafari (the Crusader) was married to a daughter of Msitslav the Great and Princess Christina of Sweden.103 The cults of saints like Clement and Nicholas spread at the same time in Scandinavia and in the Rus’, suggesting mutual influence and interaction: the first church built by Óláfr Tryggvason in Norway was dedicated to Clement, a saint whom Óláfr may well have encountered in Kiev, since his relics were housed at the Church of the Tithes during the reign of Vladimir the Great.104 The emperor of Constantinople from 975–1025, Basil II, was particularly devoted to the warrior saints: the frontispiece of his Psalter shows him fully armed alongside medallion portraits of saints with swords and shields. This cult of holy warriors, linked to death in political skirmishes, spread fast among the Rus’ through missionary activity.105 It is tempting to link Þorvaldr’s warrior exploits, and his afterlife in Russia as leader of kings and magnates, with the cult of warrior saints in the Byzantine world.

    101 

    Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, p. 37. Shepard, ‘Rus’’, p. 386. Ingigerðr is depicted in an eleventh-century fresco in St Sophia Cathedral in Kiev together with her daughters. 103  Sigfús Blöndal, ‘St Nikulás og dýrkun hans, sérstaklega á Íslandi’, pp. 69–97; Garipzanov, ‘The Cult of St Nicholas’, pp. 237–38; Shepard, ‘Rus’’, p. 286. 104  Hofmann, Die Legende von Sankt Clemens in den skandinavischen Ländern, pp. 157–91; Crawford, ‘The Churches Dedicated to St Clement in Norway’; Garipzanov, ‘The Cult of St Nicholas’; Shepard, ‘Rus’’, p. 389. 105  White, Military Saints, pp. 89–93. 102 

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    Celtic Saints: Columba and Ásólfr So far, these literary representations of Iceland´s conversion have led us to saints venerated in England, on the Continent, and among the Rus’. But it is also possible that there was influence from Ireland and the Hebrides, through the Christian settlers who came from or via these countries. Landnámabók tells the story of a settler named Ørlygr who came from the Hebrides, where he was fostered by St (or Bishop) Patrick.106 Ørlygr names the fjord where he lands after this bishop or saint and follows Patrick’s instructions to build a church dedicated to St Columba on Esja. A church on Esja is mentioned in a register dating to 1195–1211, and Columba’s feast day is listed in Grágás as a holy day of obligation.107 It looks as if an unidentified Bishop Patrick has been merged here with the Irish patron saint, unless the meaning is that Ørlygr was fostered in a monastery dedicated to St Patrick, like Ceann A’ Mhara on Tiree. Another story that mentions St Columba is that of Ásólfr alskikk, a Christian settler of Hiberno-Norse descent who settles first at Ásólfsskáli under Eyjafjöll on the south coast, then at Innri-Hólmur on Akranes.108 He is driven away from his first settlement because others envy his miraculous catches of fish, which provide him with food wherever he goes. This is a characteristic miracle of Irish saints, and Sturlubók identifies him as ‘enn helgasti maðr’ (the holiest man). Hauksbók adds to this an inventio: it tells us that Ásólfr appears after his death to a number of people. First he appeared to a servant woman who has been wiping her feet on his grave, then to one of the monks at Bær left by the AngloNorman missionary bishop Hróðólfr, then finally to Halldórr Illugason. 109 Halldórr goes abroad to get wood for his church and, when he throws it overboard, it drifts to the site of Ásólfr’s cell. The church eventually built there is 106 

    Landnámabók, ed. by Jakob Benediktsson, pp. 52–55; Kjalnesinga saga, ed. by Jóhannes Halldórsson, pp. 3–4. Sturlubók and Hauksbók say that Ørlygr came from the Hebrides and was fostered by St Patrick, but Kjalnesinga saga says that he was Irish and related to Bishop Patrick. Only Hauksbók and Kjalnesinga saga mention that the church was dedicated to Columba (Kolumkille). On Irish and Norse settlers in the saga, see Cook, ‘The Historical Pattern of Kjalnesinga saga’. 107  Cormack, The Saints in Iceland, pp. 91–92, 182. 108  Landnámabók, ed. by Jakob Benediktsson, pp. 61–65. Hauksbók specifies that he is Irish; Sturlubók mentions only that he is a Christian. See further Jesch, ‘Some Early Christian Settlers in Icelandic History’; Clunies Ross, ‘“Saint” Ásólfr’, pp. 29–37. 109  Landnámabók, ed. by Jakob Benediktsson, pp. 63–65; for the Irish parallels, see Wellendorf, ‘The Interplay of Pagan and Christian Traditions in Icelandic Settlement Myths’, pp. 1–21.

    234 Siân Grønlie

    dedicated to Kolumkille (Columba). It looks like there was, at some point, an attempt either to instigate or revive a local cult of Ásólfr, which was subsequently forgotten or suppressed. He forms a small island of sanctity in the local landscape, isolated from the mainstream missionary accounts.110

    Óláfr Tryggvason, Apostle of the North These foundation legends, linked to local place-names and features of the landscape, preserve or construct alternative traditions about the process of conversion. But there is one figure universally associated with Iceland’s conversion, though not quite venerated as a saint: King Óláfr Tryggvason, during whose reign (995–99/1000) Iceland was officially converted. Óláfr is credited with the conversion of Iceland in numerous sources: Ari describes how he brought Christianity to Norway and Iceland, and the Benedictine monk Oddr Snorrason credits him with the conversion of five or even six countries (Norway, Iceland, Shetland, Orkney, the Faeroes, and Greenland), as do the contemporary Norwegian histories Historia Norwegie and Ágrip af Nóregskonungasǫgum.111 The conversion of Iceland is also attributed to Óláfr Tryggvason in two skaldic poems dating to c. 1200, Hallar-Steinn’s Rekstefja and the anonymous Óláfs drápa Tryggvasonar.112 In the fourteenth century, the þættir about Þangbrandr, Þorvaldr, and Stefnir (and even about the Christian settlers Ørlygr and Ásólfr) were incorporated into the long version of Óláfr’s life in Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar en mesta. Óláfr is also involved in the sagas with the baptism of some individual Icelanders: Kjartan Óláfsson in Laxdœla saga, Hallfreðr Óttarsson in Hallfreðar saga vandræðaskálds, Þorsteinn in Þorsteins þáttr uxafóts.113 In Flateyjarbók and AM 62 fol., a scene is added to link him more closely to Þorvaldr víðfǫrli, despite the ten-year gap between their separate missions: we are told that Óláfr meets Þorvaldr in Russia after Þorvaldr’s 110 

    Grønlie, ‘Conversion Narrative and Christian Identity’, pp. 123–46. Íslendingabók, ed. by Jakob Benediktsson, p. 14; Oddr Snorrason, Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar, ed. by Ólafur Halldórsson, p. 271 (hereafter Óláfs saga Odds); Ágrip af Nóregskonungasǫgum, ed. by Driscoll, pp. 30–31; Historia Norwegie, ed. by Ekrem and Mortensen, trans. by Fisher, p. 95. 112  Hallar-Steinn, ‘Rekstefja’, ed. by Stavnem, p. 908, and ‘Óláfs drápa Tryggvasonar’, ed. by Heslop, p. 1032. 113  Laxdœla saga, ed. by Einar Ólafur Sveinsson, pp. 119–23; Hallfreðar saga, ed. by Einar Ólafur Sveinsson, pp. 38–40; Þorsteins þáttr uxafóts, ed. by Þórhallur Vilmundarson and Bjarni Vilhjálmsson, pp. 341–70. On the relationship of Kjartan and Hallfreðr to Óláfr Tryggvason, see Grønlie, The Saint and the Saga Hero, pp. 216–34. 111 

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    departure from Iceland and expresses his personal interest in the conversion of this unruly people.114 Óláfr lacked the essential prerequisites for a saint: his disappearance at the Battle of Svǫlðr in 999 left the manner of his death uncertain and provided no relics to ground his veneration in any particular place. Unlike the case of St Óláfr, there is little evidence of a cult immediately after his death. Yet, towards the end of the twelfth century, the Benedictine monk Oddr Snorrason from the monastery of Þingeyrar in the North of Iceland embarked on a literary project to make a limited case for his sanctity.115 In his saga of Óláfr Tryggvason, written first in Latin and then translated into Old Icelandic, Oddr reconstructs Óláfr’s life using biblical and hagiographic models. He models Óláfr’s birth on the nativity of Christ, his childhood exile in Russia on Joseph in Egypt, his conversion on those of St Paul and St Eustace (or Plácidus), and his calling on that of Charlemagne.116 St Martin appears to Óláfr in a vision in Norway to promise that he will strengthen him in his missionary endeavours, and Óláfr’s youthful raids and violent destruction of temples and shrines are very much along Martinian lines.117 Like St Martin, Óláfr encounters the devil in the form of heathen gods and converses with invisible angels. In the manner of a hagiographer, Oddr adapts various scenes from Gregory’s Dialogues and from the lives of St Clement and St Nicholas, which were among the earliest saints’ lives to be translated into Old Icelandic.118 He includes an ‘Íslendinga þáttr’ (short story/ strand about Icelanders) that narrates the conversion of Kjartan and Hallfreðr in Niðaróss, a story also told in Heimskringla, Hallfreðar saga, Kristni saga, and Laxdœla saga.119 Despite this, Oddr struggles with Óláfr’s increasing violence 114 

    Biskupa sögur  i, ed.  by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 98–100. 115  On Oddr’s life of Óláfr Tryggvason, see Grønlie, The Saint and the Saga Hero, pp. 33–97; Andersson, trans., The Saga of Óláfr Tryggvason, pp. 1–26; Bagge, ‘The Making of a Missionary King’, pp. 473–513. Haki Antonsson, ‘Salvation and Early Saga Writing’, suggests that Oddr and Gunnlaugr are primarily interested in the problem of lay salvation. 116  Fagrskinna, ed. by Indrebø, pp. 159–61; Óláfs saga Odds, ed. by Ólafur Halldórsson, pp. lxxxi, lxxxv–lxxxvi; Grønlie, The Saint and the Saga Hero, pp. 39, 48–51. 117  Grønlie, The Saint and the Saga Hero, pp. 51–52; Lönnroth, ‘Studier i Olaf Tryggvasons saga’, pp. 69–72. 118  Grønlie, The Saint and the Saga Hero, pp. 57–62, 65–67. On Gregory’s Dialogues, see Boyer, ‘The Influence of Gregory’s Dialogues on Old Icelandic Literature’; Wolf, ‘Gregory’s Influence on Old Norse-Icelandic Religious Literature’. 119  Óláfs saga Odds, ed. by Ólafur Halldórsson, pp. 240–48; Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla i, ed. by Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, pp. 328–30; Biskupa sögur i, ed. by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson,

    236 Siân Grønlie

    and the absence of any posthumous miracles. In this last respect, Oddr compares Óláfr Tryggvason to John the Baptist: he is a precursor to St Óláfr, as John the Baptist was to Christ, and his glory is diminished in deference to the later saint.120 Oddr names Óláfr ‘postoli Norðmanna’ (apostle of the Northerners), but his vita ends on a less certain note, expressing the hope that Óláfr did penance for his sins and was rewarded with eternal life.121 It looks as if some of Oddr’s contemporaries at Þingeyrar were less than happy with this compromise with regard to the problem of Óláfr’s sanctity. In an appendix to the saga in the A-text, Óláfr’s afterlife is readdressed, and this time we are provided with evidence of his ‘conversion’ to the penitential life following the battle of Svǫlðr. This is corroborated by no less a person than St Edward the Confessor, who supposedly reads Óláfr’s vita to his men every Easter from a book that Óláfr sent to his father Áðalráðr (Ethelred the Unready).122 One Easter, he announces Óláfr’s death to his men, affirming his entry into Heaven. Another chapter tells the story of Harold Godwineson’s escape from the Battle of Hastings, also known from the anonymous vita Haroldi. According to this version of his escape, Harold was inspired in his conversion to the monastic life by hearing the story of Óláfr Tryggvason.123 The third chapter gives an account of Óláfr Tryggvason’s missionary bishop Jón or Sigurðr, who travels to Sweden after Óláfr’s disappearance to carry out missionary work there.124 Sigurðr is dismissive of rumours that Óláfr has drowned, claiming that his armour hangs over the doors of a church in Jerusalem, and that his helmet has been sighted in Antioch. This appendix is usually attributed to Gunnlaugr Leifsson, and it tallies with two further stories in Flateyjarbók, which may also be Gunnlaugr’s work. The first, Gauts þáttr, tells the story of a Norwegian traveller to the Holy Land, who stumbles across the desert monastery where Óláfr Tryggvason

    Ólafur Halldórsson, and Foote, pp. 27–28; Hallfreðar saga, ed. by Einar Ólafur Sveinsson, pp. 151–53; Laxdœla saga, ed. by Einar Ólafur Sveinsson, pp. 115–23. 120  Óláfs saga Odds, ed. by Ólafur Halldórsson, p. 125; Zernach, ‘Vorläufer und Vollendr’, pp. 77–95. 121  Óláfr saga Odds, ed. by Ólafur Halldórsson, p. 385. 122  Óláfs saga Odds, ed. by Ólafur Halldórsson, pp. 359–60. 123  Óláfs saga Odds, ed. by Ólafur Halldórsson, pp. 360–61. For Vita Haroldi, see Three Lives of the Last Englishmen, trans. by Swanton. 124  Óláfs saga Odds, ed. by Ólafur Halldórsson, pp. 361–62. On Jón-Sigurðr and his identification with St Sigfrid of Sweden, see Schmid, Den helige Sigfrid, pp. 17–53.

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    is hiding and witnesses the holiness of his life.125 The second is an extended account of Bishop Jón or Sigurðr in Sweden, which ends with his saintly death. It includes an allegorical reading of his episcopal vestments that shifts the focus of the narrative from worldly to spiritual warfare.126 Oddr and Gunnlaugr had different ideas about what sanctity might look like: for Oddr, Óláfr was a warrior saint of the mission field, relentless in his battle against paganism, while for Gunnlaugr, he was an ascetic saint of the Egyptian desert, rejecting worldly power. The two skaldic poems that are contemporary with Oddr’s and Gunnlaugr’s work come down squarely on the side of the former. Neither mentions Óláfr’s afterlife in the East, and they gloss over his disappearance on the battlefield, although this is well attested in the contemporary poetry of Hallfreðr Óttarsson.127 Instead, these poems focus on the heroic feats Óláfr performed in his youth and his violent exploits on the mission field. According to Hallar-Steinn, Óláfr’s success in Christian mission is the fruit of power fuelled by violence:128 Þjóðlǫnd þremja skyndir þrenn kristnaði ok tvenni; hildings hǫppum valda hans ríki frák slíkum (The hastener of swords christianised three and two countries; I have heard that it was his power that caused such ruler’s luck.)

    It is the warrior (‘the hastener of the storms of the thawing wind of Gǫndul’), who converts Iceland, Greenland and the Isles (Orkney). Likewise, in Óláfs drápa, it is the fear of Óláfr as conqueror that brings about the country’s conversion:129 Vítt stóð ógn af ýti (íslenzkum her vísi) orms vallar (bauð allan aldr goðs lǫgum halda). 125 

    Flateyjarbók, ed. by Guðbrandur Vigfússon and Unger, pp. 502–06. Flateyjarbók, ed. by Guðbrandur Vigfússon and Unger, pp. 511–16. 127  Hallfreðr Óttarsson, ‘Erfidrápa Óláfs Tryggvasonar’, ed.  by Heslop, pp.  425–36; Stavnem, ‘Creating Tradition’; Grønlie, The Saint and the Saga Hero, pp. 67–76. 128  Hallar-Steinn, ‘Rekstefja’, ed. by Stavnem, p. 908 (stanza 10). 129  ‘Óláfs drápa Tryggvasonar’, ed. by Heslop, p. 1045 (stanza 13). 126 

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    Svá lét rœtr, hinns rítar rjóðendr of vann, góðar, reyrs, und ráði vôru réttdœmr konungr settar. (Dread emanated far and wide from the impeller of the plain of the serpent[GOLD> GENEROUS MAN]; the leader ordered the Icelandic people to keep the laws of God for all time. Thus the righteous king, the one who conquered reddeners of the reed of the shield [SWORD> WARRIORS], let good roots be set under our condition.)

    There is an unbroken continuity between the warrior king who raids in the British Isles in his youth and the saint who becomes ‘þarfastr hingat Norðum’ (most useful up here in the North). Hallar-Steinn describes Óláfr as ‘siðvandr’ (devout), but also as ‘varghollr’ (wolf-gracious), ‘stórráðr’ (ambitious) and ‘móðþrútinn’ (courage-swollen), a typically heroic flaw. There is no sense of contradiction between these descriptive terms. Likewise, in Óláfs drápa, the poet juxtaposes in a single helming (half stanza) the feeder of the raven and the preacher of the faith:130 ǫll vas hrædd við hollan

    hrafni elgbjóð stafna

    (vítt bauð ǫðlingr ýtum) óþjóð (siðu góða). (The whole wicked tribe was afraid of the offerer of the elk of stems [lit. elk-offerer of stems SHIP> SEAFARER], gracious to the raven; the ruler proclaimed a good faith to people widely.)

    For the poet of Óláfs drápa, Óláfr’s story ends with his fall in battle, and he concludes with the prayer that Christ grant him ‘stað bjartan’ (a bright place) and ‘hæsta hlíf ’ (the highest protection). Hallar-Steinn, however, uses the final section of his poem — the section where one would expect, following the pattern of the vita, posthumous miracles — to narrate Óláfr’s other ‘geysitíðar’ (talkedabout deeds): his ability to juggle swords and walk across oars, his mountain rescue of two retainers, his restoration of Þorkell’s water-logged cloak, and his transfiguration. Thus he moves imperceptibly from the heroic towards the transcendent. When describing the restoration of the sodden cloak, HallarSteinn describes it as ‘in fjorðu dáðstyrk merki dýrðar’ (the fourth deed-strong sign of glory). Of Óláfr’s transfiguration, he says:131 130  131 

    ‘Óláfs drápa Tryggvasonar’, ed. by Heslop, p. 1047 (stanza 15). Hallar-Steinn, ‘Rekstefja’, ed. by Stavnem, pp. 930, 933 (stanza 29 and 31).

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    Ǫrrjóðr allra dáða

    jartegnir vann bjartar – dvergregn dýrðar megnum dimmt – í sinn it fimta.

    (The arrow-reddener [WARRIOR = Óláfr] performed bright proofs of all [his] deeds for the fifth time; we strengthen the dark dwarf-rain [POETRY] of glory.)

    He draws on Christian numerology — the five wounds of Christ — and the vocabulary of miracle and wonder: Óláfr’s heroic deeds becomes ‘signs’ (merki, jartegnir) of his spiritual grandeur. The cloak has many hagiographic associations, but perhaps the closest is to St Martin’s vision of Christ in glory, wearing the cloak Martin had cut in two to share with a beggar.132 It recalls the cloak that Óláfr Tryggvason gives to Kjartan after their swimming competition when, in a foreshadowing of Kjartan’s baptism, he pulls him underwater three times. The cloak here is not just restored to its former beauty, but actually made more beautiful — ‘síðan jafn eða fríðri’ (the same or even finer). In this respect, it prefigures the radiant garments of Óláfr’s transfiguration: Sigrgjarn sólu fegri sénn vas skrýddr með prýddum dǫglingr dróttins englum dyggðar fúss í húsi. (The victory-willing prince, eager for virtue, was seen arrayed more beautifully than the sun with the adorned angels of the Lord in a house.)

    The cloak Óláfr touches so that it is ‘sjónfagr’ (beautiful to see) becomes his garments ‘sólu fegri’ (fairer than the sun). In this context, the ‘sigr’ (victory) of ‘sigrgjarn’ (victory-willing) signifies the victory over sin and death that is reenacted in the life of every saint and in the baptism of every believer, a victory which Óláfr is invited to share ‘ítrbóls með gram sólar’ (with the lord of the splendid abode of the sun).133 But this victory is not fundamentally different from the victories of his military raids. By placing the transfiguration at the end of the poem, rather than at the centre, Hallar-Steinn vindicates Óláfr’s physical strength as a vehicle of the divine. It justifies and depends on his earthly power; it does not deny or diminish it. 132  Heilagra manna søgur, ed. by Unger, i, 55. This is a staple of Martin’s iconography as, for example, in the antependium from Möðruvellir in Hörgárdalr displayed in the National Museum of Iceland in Reykjavík. 133  Hallar-Steinn, ‘Rekstefja’, ed. by Stavnem, p. 933 (stanza 33).

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    The failure (or non-starter) of Óláfr’s cult eventually paved the way for the local acceptance as saints of first Þorlákr Þórhallsson, bishop of Skálholt (in 1198) and then Jón Ǫgmundarson, bishop of Hólar (in 1200); and it is worth noting that, when native Icelandic saints did emerge and, in the case of Þorlákr, win widespread popularity, they were neither warriors nor wielders of secular power, but bishops and (in the case of Þorlákr) an Augustinian canon, who belonged firmly within the hierarchy of the Church. By contrast, the motley crew of laymen and clerics involved in the conversion of Iceland never attained sainthood. This may, as Haki Antonsson has argued, have had something to do with the historical role of royal coercion in Iceland’s conversion, which overshadowed the work of local missionaries. Or perhaps the lively oral traditions circulating around flawed but interesting characters like Þorvaldr and Þangbrandr, with their enormous narrative potential for any saga author, won over the hagiographic impulse to turn them into saints.134 Yet, it is surely fitting that, of all the saints whose cults did eventually reach the shores of Iceland from overseas, it should be St Michael who presided over the Christian missions to this volcanic island at the ‘ends of the earth’ (Isaiah 41. 5). As the liturgy for Michaelmas warns: Concussum est mare et contremuit terra, ubi archangelus Michael descendebat de caelo. (The sea is disturbed and the earth trembles, when the Archangel Michael shall descend from the sky.)

    In the shadow of the millennium, the newly converted Icelanders could do no better than turn to St Michael, Archangel of the Apocalypse and herald of the end of time.

    134 

    Haki Antonsson, ‘The Early Cult of Saints in Scandinavia and the Conversion’, pp. 17–37; Grønlie, ‘The Missionary Saint and the Saga Hero’, pp. 457–82.

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    Works Cited Manuscripts and Archival Sources Pierpoint Morgan Library MS M. 736

    Primary Sources Ágrip af Nóregskonungasǫgum, ed. by Matthew J. Driscoll (London: Viking Society for Northern Research, 1995) Andersson, Theodore, trans., The Saga of Óláfr Tryggvason, Islandica, 52 (Ithaca: Uni­ versity of Cornell Press, 2003), 1–26 Biskupa sögur  i, ed.  by Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Ólafur Halldórsson, and Peter Foote, Íslensk fornrit, 15 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 2003) Biskupa sögur ii, ed. by Ásdís Egilsdóttir, Íslensk fornrit, 16 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1993) The Blickling Homilies: Edition and Translation, ed. by Richard J. Kelly (London: Blooms­ bury, 2003) Brennu-Njáls saga, ed.  by Einar Ólafur Sveinsson, Íslensk fornrit, 12 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1954) Draumkvæde, ed. by Michael Barnes (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, 1974) Fagrskinna, ed. by Gustav Indrebø (Oslo: Grøndahl, 1917) Flateyjarbók: En samling af Norske Konge-sagaer, 3 vols, ed. by Guðbrandur Vigfússon and Carl R. Unger (Cristiania [Oslo]: Mallings, 1860) Gamal norsk Homiliebok, ed. by Gustav Indrebø (Christiania [Oslo]: Dybwad, 1931) Gjerløw, Lilli, Antiphonarium Nidrosiensis ecclesiae (Oslo: Norsk Historisk KjeldeskriftInstitutt, 1979) Grágas efter det Arnamagnæanske haandskrift nr. 334 fol., Staðarhólsbók, ed. by Vilhjálmur Finsen (Copenhagen: Gyldendal, 1879) Hallar-Steinn, ‘Rekstefja’, ed.  by Rolf Stavnem, in Poetry from the Kings’ Sagas i: From Mythical Times to c. 1035, ed. by Diana Whaley, Skaldic Poetry of the Scandinavian Middle Ages, 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012), pp. 893–939 Hallfreðr Óttarsson, ‘Erfidrápa Óláfs Tryggvasonar’, ed. by Kate Heslop, in Poetry from the Kings’ Sagas i: From Mythical Times to c.  1035, ed.  by Diana Whaley, Skaldic Poetry of the Scandinavian Middle Ages, 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012), pp. 400–41 Heilagra manna søgur: Fortællinger og legender om hellige mænd og kvinder, 2 vols, ed. by Carl R. Unger (Christiania [Oslo]: Bentzen, 1877) Herman the Archdeacon and Goscelin of St Bertin, Miracles of St Edmund, ed. and trans. by Tom License (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2014) Historia Norwegie, ed. by Inger Ekrem and Lars Boje Mortensen, trans. by Peter Fisher (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2003)

    242 Siân Grønlie

    Homiliu-bók: Ísländska homilier efter en handskrift från tolfte århundradet, ed. by Theodor Wisén (Lund: Gleerup, 1872) Íslendingabók, ed. by Jakob Benediktsson, Íslensk fornrit, 1 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1968) Íslenzk miðaldakvæði, ed. by Jón Helgason, 2 vols (Copenhagen: Gyldendal, 1936–1938) Kjalnesinga saga, ed. by Jóhannes Halldórsson, Íslensk fornrit, 14 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1959) Landnámabók, ed.  by Jakob Benediktsson, Íslensk fornrit, 1 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1968) Liturgica Islandica, ed. by Lilli Gjerløw, Bibliotheca Arnamagnæana, 35 (Copenhagen: Reitzel, 1980) Laxdœla saga, ed. by Einar Ólafur Sveinsson, Íslenzk fornrit, 5 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1934) Maríu saga: Legender om Jomfru Maria og hendes jertegn efter gamle haandskrifter, ed. by Carl R. Unger (Christiania [Oslo]: Brögger & Christie, 1871) Oddr Snorrason, Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar, in Færeyinga saga, Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar eptir Odd munk Snorrason, ed. by Ólafur Halldórsson, Íslensk fornrit, 25 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 2006), pp. 123–362 ‘Óláfs drápa Tryggvasonar’, ed. by Kate Heslop, in Poetry from the Kings’ Sagas 1: From Mythical Times to c. 1035, ed. by Diana Whaley, Skaldic Poetry of the Scandinavian Middle Ages, 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012), pp. 1031–60 The Old English Martyrology: Edition, Translation and Commentary, ed.  by Christine Rauer (Cambridge: Brewer, 2013) Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla i–iii, ed. by Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, 3 vols, Íslenzk fornrit, 26–28 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1941–1951) Stjórn: Gammelnorsk bibelhistorie fra verdens skabelse til det babyloniske fangenskab, ed. by C. R. Unger (Christiania [Oslo]: Feilberg & Landmark, 1862) Theodoricus monachus, Historia de antiquitate regum Norwagiensium: An Account of the Ancient History of the Norwegian Kings, trans. by David Mcdougall and Ian Mcdougall, with an introduction by Peter Foote, Viking Society for Northern Research, Text Series, 11 (London: Viking Society for Northern Research, 1998) The Vercelli Homilies and Related Texts, ed.  by Donald  G. Scragg (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992) Three Lives of the Last Englishmen, trans. by Michael Swanton (New York: Garland, 1984) Þorsteins þáttr uxafóts, in Harðar saga, ed.  by Þórhallur Vilmundarson and Bjarni Vilhjálmsson, Íslensk fornrit, 13 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1991), pp. 341–70 Valla-Ljóts saga, in Eyfirðinga sǫgur, ed. by Jónas Kristjánsson, Íslensk fornrit, 9 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1956), pp. 231–60 Vatnsdœla saga, Hallfreðar saga, Kormáks saga, ed. by Einar Ólafur Sveinsson, Íslensk fornrit, 8 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1939) Whaley, Diana, The Poetry of Arnórr jarlaskáld: An Edition and Study (Turnhout: Brepols, 1998)

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    Secondary Studies Bagge, Sverre, ‘The Making of a Missionary King: The Medieval Accounts of Óláfr Tryggvason and the Conversion of Norway’, Journal of English and Germanic Philology, 105 (2006), 473–513 Barnes, Michael, ‘Draumkvæde – How Old Is It?’, Scandinavica, 11 (1972), 85–105 Baudot, Marcel, ed., Millénaire monastique du Mont  S. Michel, Bd. 3: Culte de Saint Michel et pèlerinages au mont (Paris: Lethielleux, 1971) Bek-Pedersen, Karen, ‘St Michael and the Sons of Síðu-Hallur’, Gripla, 23 (2012), 177–99 Boyer, Régis, ‘The Influence of Gregory’s Dialogues on Old Icelandic Literature’, in Pro­ ceedings of the First International Saga Conference, University of Edinburgh, 1971, ed. by Desmond Slay, Hermann Pálsson, and Peter Foote (London: Viking Society for Northern Research, 1973), pp. 1–27 Brown, Peter, The Cult of the Saint: Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981) Callahan, Daniel F., ‘The Cult of St  Michael the Archangel and the “Terrors of the Year 1000”’, in The Apocalyptic Year 1000: Religious Expectation and Social Change 950–1050, ed. by Richard Landes, Andrew Gow, and David C. van Meter (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), pp. 181–93 Carlsen, Christian, Visions of the Afterlife in Old Norse Literature (Oslo: Novus, 2015) Clunies Ross, Margaret, ‘“Saint” Ásólfr’, in Germanisches Altertum und Christliches Mittelalter, ed.  by Bela Brogyanyi, Schriften zur Mediävistik, 1 (Hamburg: Kovac, 2002), pp. 29–49 Cook, Robert, ‘The Historical Pattern of Kjalnesinga saga’, in Sagnaþing helgað Jónasi Kristjánssyni sjötugum 10. apríl 1994, ii, ed. by Gísli Sigurðsson, Guðrún Kvaran, and Sigurgeir Steingrímsson (Reykjavík: Hið íslenska bókmenntafélag, 1994), pp. 119–29 Cormack, Margaret, ‘Irish and Armenian Ecclesiastics in Medieval Iceland’, in West over Sea: Studies in Scandinavian Sea-Borne Expansion and Development before 1300, ed.  by Beverley Ballin Smith, Simon Taylor, and Gareth Williams, The Northern World, 31 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), pp. 227–34 The Saints in Iceland: Their Veneration from the Conversion to 1400 (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1994) —— , ‘Saints of Medieval Hólar: A Statistical Survey of the Veneration of Saints in the Diocese’, Peregrinations, 3.2 (2011), 7–37 Coviaux, Stéphane, ‘Saint Michel en Scandinavie au Moyen Âge’, in Culto e santuari di san Michele neli’Europa medievale, ed. by Pierre Bouet, Giorgio Otranto, and André Vauchez (Bari: Edpiglia, 2007), pp. 63–80 Crawford, Barbara E., ‘The Churches Dedicated to St  Clement in Norway’, Collegium Medievale, 17 (2004), 100–31 Du Bourguet, Pierre, ‘Origines lointaines d’images de Saint Michel’, in Millénaire monastique du Mont S. Michel, Bd. 3: Culte de Saint Michel et pèlerinages au Mont, ed. by Marcel Baudot (Paris: Lethielleux, 1971), pp. 37–38 Fell, Christine, ‘Bergr Sokkason’s Michaels saga and its Sources’, Saga-Book, 16 (1962–1965), 354–71

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    Foote, Peter, ‘Conversion’, in Medieval Scandinavia: An Encyclopedia, ed.  by Philip Pulsiano and Kirsten Wolf, Garland Encyclopedias of the Middle Ages, 1 (New York: Garland, 1993), pp. 106–08 Fournée, Jean, ‘L’Archange de la mort et du jugement’, in Millénaire monastique du Mont S. Michel, Bd. 3: Culte de Saint Michel et pèlerinages au Mont, ed. by Marcel Baudot (Paris: Lethielleux, 1971), pp. 65–96 Fox, Denton, ‘Njáls saga and the Western Literary Tradition’, Comparative Literature, 15 (1963), 289–310 Gad, Tue, ‘Mikael’, in Kulturhistorisk leksikon for nordisk middelalder fra vikingetid til reformationstid, ed. by Johannes Brøndsted, John Danstrup, and Lis Jacobsen (Copen­ hagen: Roskilde og Bagger, 1882–1961), vol. 11 (1966), pp. 616–20 Garipzanov, Ildar, ‘The Cult of St Nicholas in the Early Christian North (c. 1000–1150)’, Scandinavian Journal of History, 35 (2010), 229–46 —— , ‘Wandering Clerics and Mixed Rituals in the Early Christian North, c. 1000–1150’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 63.1 (2012), 1–16 Geary, Patrick, ‘Reflections on Historiography and the Holy: Center and Periphery’, in The Making of Christian Myths in the Periphery of Latin Europe (c. 1000–1300), ed. by Lars Boye Mortenssen (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2006), pp. 323–30 Gjerløw, Lilli, ‘Le culte de saint Michel en Norvège’, in Millénaire monastique du Mont Saint Michel, Bd. 3: Culte de Saint Michel et pèlerinages au mont, ed. by Marcel Baudot (Paris: Lethielleux, 1971), pp. 489–93 Grønlie, Siân, ‘Conversion Narrative and Christian Identity: “How Christianity Came to Iceland”’, Medium Ævum, 86.1 (2017), 123–46 —— , ‘Introduction’, in Íslendingabók, Kristni saga. The Book of the Icelanders, The Story of the Conversion, trans. by Siân Grønlie (London: Viking Society for Northern Research, 2006), pp. vii–xlvi. ——  , ‘Kristni saga and its Sources: Some Revaluations’, Saga-Book, 25 (1998–2001), 345–66 —— , ‘The Missionary Saint and the Saga Hero: Viking Hagiography’, in The Introduction of Christianity into the Early Medieval Insular World: Converting the Isles i, ed. by Roy Flechner and Máire Ní Mhaonaigh (Turnhout: Brepols, 2016), pp. 475–82 —— , ‘“Reading and Understanding”: The Miracles in Þorvalds þáttr ens víðfǫrla’, Journal of English and Germanic Philology, 112 (2013), 475–94 —— , The Saint and the Saga Hero: Hagiography and Early Icelandic Literature (Cambridge: Brewer, 2017) Guðrún Harðardóttir, ‘A View on the Preservation History of The Last Judgement Panels from Bjarnastaðahlíð, and some Speculation on the Medieval Cathedrals at Hólar’, in The Nordic Apocalypse: Approaches to Vǫluspá and Nordic Days of Judgement, ed. by Terry Gunnell (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), pp. 205–19 Haki Antonsson, ‘The Early Cult of Saints in Scandinavia and the Conversion: A Com­ parative Perspective’ in Saints and their Lives on the Periphery: Veneration of Saints in Scandinavia and Eastern Europe (c. 1000–1200), ed. by Haki Antonsson and Ildar H. Garipzanov (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010), pp. 17–37

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    —— , ‘Salvation and Early Saga Writing in Iceland: Aspects of the work of the Þingeyrar Monks and their Associates’, Viking and Medieval Scandinavia, 8 (2012), 71–140 Hamer, Andrew, Njáls saga and its Christian Background: A Study in Narrative Method, Medieavalia Groningana New Series 20, Germania Latina, 8 (Leuven: Peeters, 2015) Hill, Thomas D., ‘Delivering the Damned in Old English Anonymous Homilies and Jón Arason’s Ljómur’, Medium Ævum, 61.1 (1992), 75–82 Hofmann, Dietrich, Die Legende von Sankt Clemens in den skandinavischen Ländern im Mittelalter (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1997) Hörður Ágústsson Dómsdagur og helgir menn á Hólum (Reykjavík: Hið íslenska bókmenntafélag, 1989) Jesch, Judith, ‘Some Early Christian Settlers in Icelandic History – A Case Study’, Nottingham Medieval Studies, 31 (1987), 17–36 Johnson, Richard F., Saint Michael the Archangel in Medieval English Legend (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2005) Jones, Graham, ‘The Cult of Michael the Archangel in Britain’, in Culto e santuari de san Michele, neli’Europa medievale, ed. by Pierre Bouet, Giorgio Otranto, and André Vauchez (Bari: Edpiglia, 2007), pp. 147–82 Jón Stefánsson, ‘Ruðolf of Bœ and Rudolf of Rouen’, Saga-Book, 13 (1946–1953), 174–82 Kaplan, Merrill, ‘Prefiguration and the Writing of History in Þáttr Þiðranda ok Þórhalls’, Journal of English and Germanic Philology, 99 (2000), 379–94 Klaniczay, Gabor, ‘Conclusion: North and East European Cults of Saints in Comparison with East-Central Europe’, in Saints and their Lives on the Periphery: Veneration of Saints in Scandinavia and Eastern Europe (c. 1000–1200), ed. by Haki Antonsson and Ildar H. Garipzanov (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010), pp. 283–304 —— , Holy Rulers and Blessed Princesses: Dynastic Cults in Medieval Central Europe (Cam­ bridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002) Lamy-Lassalle, Colette, ‘Les réprésentation du combat de l’archange en France au début du Moyen Âge’, in Millénaire monastique du Mont S. Michel, Bd. 3: Culte de Saint Michel et pèlerinages au mont, ed. by Marcel Baudot (Paris: Lethielleux, 1971), pp. 53–64 Liepe, Lena, ‘The Knight and the Dragon Slayer: Illuminations in the Fourteenth Century Manuscript’, in Ornament and Order: Essays on Medieval and Viking Art for Signe Horn Fuglesang, ed. by Margarethe E. Stang and Kristin B. Aavitsland (Trondheim: Tapir, 2008), pp. 179–99 Lilja Árnadóttir, and Ketil Kiran, eds, Church and Art: The Medieval Church in Norway and Iceland (Reykjavík: Oddi, 1997) Lönnroth, Lars, ‘Structural Divisions in the Njála Manuscripts’, Arkiv för nordisk filologi, 90 (1975), 49–79 —— , ‘Studier i Olaf Tryggvasons saga’, Samlaren, 84 (1963), 69–72 McKinnell, John, Rudolf Simek, and Klaus Düwell, Runes, Magic and Religion: A Sourcebook (Vienna: Fassbaender, 2004) McRoberts, David, ‘The Cult of St  Michael in Scotland’, in Millénaire monastique du Mont  S. Michel, Bd. 3: Culte de Saint Michel et pèlerinages au mont, ed.  by Marcel Baudot (Paris: Lethielleux, 1971), pp. 471–80

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    Musset, Lucien, ‘Saint Michel au Danemark’, in Millénaire monastique du Mont Saint Michel, Bd. 3: Culte de Saint Michel et pèlerinages au mont, ed.  by Marcel Baudot (Paris: Lethielleux, 1971), pp. 505–10 Openshaw, Kathleen M., ‘Weapons in the Daily Battle: Images of the Conquest of Evil in the Early Medieval Psalter’, The Art Bulletin, 75.1 (1993), 17–38 Ottosen, Knud, The Responsories and Versicles of the Latin Office of the Dead (Copenhagen: Aarhus University Press, 2008) Picard, Jean-Michel, ‘La diffusion du culte de Saint Michel en Irlande Médiévale’, in Culto e santuari di san Michele neli’Europa medievale, ed. by Pierre Bouet, Giorgio Otranto, and André Vauchez (Bari: Edpiglia, 2007), pp. 133–46 Pizarro, Joaquín Martínez, ‘Conversion Narratives: Form and Utility’, in The Sixth International Saga Conference: 28.7–2.8.1985. Workshop Papers II, ed. by Jonna LouisJensen, Christopher Sanders, and Peter Springborg (Copenhagen: Arnamagnæanske Institutt, 1985), pp. 813–32 Poppe, Anarzej, ‘The Christianization and Ecclesiastical Structure of Kyivan Rus’ to 1300’, Harvard Ukrainian Studies, 21.3/4 (1997), 311–92 Roe, Helen M., ‘Ireland and the Archangel Michael’, in Millénaire monastique du Mont S. Michel, Bd. 3: Culte de Saint Michel et pèlerinages au mont, ed.  by Marcel Baudot (Paris: Lethielleux, 1971), pp. 481–86 Schmid, Toni, Den helige Sigfrid (Lund: Gleerup, 1931) Schmid, Toni, and Oloph Odensius, ‘The Cult of the Archangel Michael in Sweden’, in Millénaire monastique du Mont S. Michel, Bd. 3: Culte de Saint Michel et pèlerinages au mont, ed. by Marcel Baudot (Paris: Lethielleux, 1971), pp. 495–503 Selma Jónsdóttir, An 11th Century Byzantine Last Judgement in Iceland (Reykjavík: Almenna Bókmenntafélag, 1959) Shepard, Jonathan, ‘Rus’’, in Christianization and the Rise of Christian Monarchy: Scandi­ navia, Central Europe and the Rus’, c.  900–1200, ed.  by Nora Berend (Cam­bridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), pp. 369–416 Sigfús Blöndal, ‘St Nikulás og dýrkun hans, sérstaklega á Íslandi’, Skírnir, 123 (1949), 69–97 Stavnem, Rolf, ‘Creating Tradition: The Use of Skaldic Verse in Old Norse Historiography’, in Eddic, Skaldic and Beyond: Poetic Variety in Medieval Norway and Iceland, ed. by Martin Chase (New York: Fordham University Press, 2014), pp. 87–101 Strömback, Dag, Tidrande och diserna: Ett filologisk-folkloristisk utkast (Lund: Blom, 1949) Sveinbjörn Rafnsson, Sögugerð Landnámabókar: Um íslenska sagnaritun á 12. og 13. öld (Reykjavík: Sagnafræðistofnun Háskóla Íslands, 2001) Tugène, George, ‘L’histoire “ecclésiastique” du peuple anglais: Réflections sur le particularisme et l’universalisme chez Bède’, Recherches augustiniennes, 17 (1982), 129–72 Wellendorf, Jonas, ‘The Interplay of Pagan and Christian Traditions in Icelandic Settlement Myths’, Journal of English and Germanic Philology, 109 (2010), 1–21 White, Monica, Military Saints in Byzantium and Rus, 900–1200 (Cambridge: Cam­ bridge University Press, 2013) Widding, Ole, ‘St Michele at Gargano, as seen from Iceland’, Analecta Romana Instituti Danici, 13 (1984), 77–83

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    Wolf, Kirsten, ‘Gregory’s Influence on Old Norse-Icelandic Religious Literature’, in Rome and the North: The Early Reception of Gregory the Great in Germanic Europe, ed. by Rolf  H. Bremmer Jr, Kees Dekker, and David  F. Johnson (Leuven: Peeters, 2001), pp. 255–74 —— , ‘Pride and Politics in Late Twelfth-Century Iceland: The Sanctity of Bishop Þorlákr Þórhallsson’, in Sanctity in the North: Saints, Lives and Cults in Medieval Scandinavia, ed. by Thomas A. Dubois, Toronto Old Norse-Icelandic Series, 3 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008), pp. 241–70 Wood, Ian N., The Missionary Life: Saints and the Evangelisation of Europe, 400–1050 (Harlow: Longman, 2001) Zernach, Julia, ‘Vorläufer und Vollendr: Olaf Tryggvason und Olaf der Heilige im Geschichtsdenken des Oddr Snorrason Munkr’, Arkiv för nordisk filologi, 113 (1998), 77–95 Þóra Kristjánsdóttir, ‘A Nocturnal Wake at Hólar: The Judgement Day Panels as a Possible Explanation for a Miracle Legend’, in The Nordic Apocalypse: Approaches to Vǫluspá and Nordic Days of Judgement, ed.  by Terry Gunnell (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), pp. 221–29

    Saints across Borders: The Cults of St Gertrude of Nivelles and St Clare of Assisi in Late Medieval Norway Ragnhild M. Bø

    O

    ne of the many intriguing items in the collection of religious objects in the University Museum in Trondheim, is an altarpiece produced in the Netherlands in the 1520s — the so-called Rissa altarpiece.1 The altarpiece has a sculpture of the Virgin and Child in its central compartment, and movable wings with painted representations of female saints. When in the open position, St Barbara and St Clare are on display, while St Margaret and St Gertrude are visible when the altarpiece is closed (Fig. 10.1, Fig. 10.2). This is the only representation of St Clare in a preserved altarpiece supposed to have been in Norway in late medieval times, while it is one of two with an image of St Gertrude. There are around sixty late medieval altarpieces still extant in Norway. Made between c. 1430–1530, they were imported from Northern Germany or the Netherlands, or are the results of shared enterprise of foreign and local craftsmen.2 The late medieval altarpieces vary in size, form, and content in the 1 

    Trondheim, Vitenskapsmuseet (NTNU), Inv. T. 898. In this chapter, ‘altarpiece’ designates objects with a central corpus (caisse) with sculpture and painted/sculpted movable wings. Some altarpieces are known only through the central corpus, others only through their wings. In addition to altarpieces, the body of late medi2 

    Ragnhild M. Bø ([email protected]) holds a PhD in Art History from the University of Oslo. Her research interests centre on the making of meaning of religious works c. 1200–1600, in particular in relation to devotional practices, the cult of saints, and non-consecrated spaces. The Cult of Saints in Nidaros Archbishopric. Manuscripts, Miracles, Objects, ed. by Ragnhild M. Bø and Jon Viðar Sigurðsson, tcne 33 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2022), pp. 249–271 BREPOLS PUBLISHERS 10.1484/M.TCNE-EB.5.124885

    250 Ragnhild M. Bø

    Figure 10.1. Rissa altarpiece, open. Unknown artist, Northern Netherlands, 1520s. Trondheim, NTNU University Museum T 898. Photo: Åge Hojem © NTNU / CC BY-SA 4.0.

    Figure 10.2. Rissa altarpiece, closed. Unknown artist, Northern Netherlands, 1520s. Trondheim, NTNU University Museum T 898. Photo: Åge Hojem © NTNU / CC BY-SA 4.0.

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    same way as altar frontals and sculptures from the preceding three centuries — and the saints depicted vary, too. As all medieval artworks in Norway are but remnants of a larger corpus, the fluctuating popularity of saints is difficult to discern.3 Nevertheless, the preserved artefacts allow us to notice that universal saints such as St Nicholas and St Margaret are found in sculpture and painting throughout the Middle Ages, as is St Óláfr, the rex perpetuus Norvegiae. Representations of saints canonized after the papal monopolization of the process in the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries, however, are comparatively rare in the Norwegian corpus of medieval art, and this is particularly true for saints from the religious orders — with the usual exception of St Birgitta.4 The reason the so-called universal saints prevailed to such an extent in Norway may partly be explained by the fact that shrines had become more intimately attached to the places where the saints lived and died, that relics of ‘new’ saints were less likely to be traded, and that the religious orders had relatively few houses in Norway.5 In this chapter, however, two of these ‘rare saints’, St Gertrude of Nivelles (d. 689) and St Clare of Assisi (d. 1253), are the subject of discussion. In analysing their presence in three significant religious artefacts, the Rissa altarpiece, the Ringsaker altarpiece (Fig. 10.3), and a chalice in the Nidaros cathedral (Fig. 10.4) — as well as references to them and to their feast days in medieval documents — my aim is to offer a broader understanding of how the cults of St Gertrude and St Clare were promoted and how they were subject to veneration and devotional interaction in medieval Norway.6 eval polychrome sculpture also includes crucifixes and free-standing sculptures. Engelstad, Senmiddelalderens kunst i Norge remains the most comprehensive published overview of this material, although some altarpieces are missing or wrongly dated. He lists 174 items. 3  On the changing popularity and audiences for saints, see e.g. Abou-el-Haj, ‘The Audiences for the Medieval Cult of Saints’ and Belghaus, ‘Everbody’s Darling’. 4  St Birgitta (d. 1373) was canonized in 1391. There is a vast body of literature on St Birgitta. For her connections to Norway, see Adams, The Revelations of St Birgitta, pp. 31–41. St Birgitta is included in eight of the preserved late medieval altarpieces in Norway. 5  These assumptions merit more attention than what can be offered in this chapter. Suffice here to point to the fact that already in the late seventh century the compiler of St Gertrude’s vita noticed ‘But who among the inhabitants of Europe is ignorant of the name and location of her most high-placed family’, see Sainted Women of the Dark Ages, ed. by McNamara and Halborg, with Whatley, p. 223. On the papacy taking control over the canonization process, see Vauchez, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages, pp. 61–84. For Norway as a ‘conservative’ region regarding veneration of modern saints, see Vauchez, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages, p. 135. 6  There are a number of saints who for various reasons only appear in one altar frontal or

    252 Ragnhild M. Bø

    Figure 10.3. St Gertrude of Nivelles, Ringsaker altarpiece. Antwerp workshop, 1527–1537. Photo: Birger Lindstad © NIKU.

    Figure 10.4. St Clara of Assisi, chalice, Nidaros cathedral. Trondheim, 1520s. Photo: Thina Andresen © Thina Andresen.

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    St Gertrude of Nivelles and St Clare of Assisi St  Gertrude was born around 626 in Landen in the kingdom of Austrasia, daughter to the noble couple Pepin of Landen and Itta of Metz. When Pepin died in 640, Itta founded the abbey of Nivelles and took the veil, settling there as a Benedictine nun together with her daughters, Begga of Andenne and Gertrude. Gertrude served as abbess and cultivated contacts with Rome and with the Anglo-Saxon and Irish religious leaders. According to her vita, written towards the end of the seventh century and attributed to a monk at the double abbey of Nivelles and Fosses, she led a most pious and humble life and died, exhausted from exaggerated abstinence, at the age of thirty-three.7 She was buried in the monastery, dressed in an old veil left behind by a pilgrim and her own hair shirt.8 St Gertrude’s bed was moved from the abbey to the abbey church of St Paul the Apostle by Gertrude’s follower, her niece Wulfetrude (Abbess Dominica), and the other sisters. In its new place, the Lord ‘deigned to display many signs and miracles’.9 These items — the veil, the hair shirt, and the bed — were given the value of relics almost immediately, and St Gertrude was eventually venerated as patron saint of travellers and as a protector from mice, rats, and mental illness. In the thirteenth century, a shrine was made and put on display in the abbey church.10 one late medieval altarpiece, among others St Apollonia, St Elizabeth of Thuringa, St Marciana, St Bernhard, St Botulph, St Edmund, St Lucius, St Martin, St Marinus and St Zosimus. One of the reasons for choosing to study St Gertrude and St Clare in particular is that they were widely venerated in many places in Europe, whereas many of the ones listed above were also of lesser significance elsewhere. 7  McNamara and others hold the vita to have been written after Begga’s death in 693, whereas Wade is more general in dating it to the decades following St Gertrude’s death in 659, see Sainted Women of the Dark Ages, p. 220 and Wade, ‘Gertrude’s Tonsure’, pp. 133–34. The popular vita is preserved in two nearly contemporary texts, A and B, identified and edited by Bruno Krusch in 1888. A third manuscript, C, is the Vitæ S. Gertrvdis, Abbatissæ Nivellensis, ed.  by Josephus Geldolphus Ryckel  A. The most detailed discussion on dating, texts and author is found in Pretraschka, Fränkishcer Adel undirische Peregrinin im 7. Jahrhundert, pp. 49–61. 8  Sainted Women of the Dark Ages, ed. by McNamara and Halborg, with Whatley, p. 227. 9  Sainted Women of the Dark Ages, ed. by McNamara and Halborg, with Whatley, p. 231. For this translatio in relation to early medieval practices, see Petraschka, Fränkischer Adel undirische Peregrinin im 7. Jahrhundert, pp. 146–47. 10  The abbey and the reliquary were severely damaged by the German Luftwaffe in 1940. A new reliquary incorporating the still extant thirteenth century pieces is on display in the

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    The vita also describes an illuminating event where Gertrude receives a tonsure from Itta. As Susan Wade has argued, the tonsure made Gertrude unattractive for marriage and empowered her in the model of a male spiritual leader: the tonsure drew attention to the authority exercised by her contemporary Frankish rulers who were forced to receive a tonsure, as well as the authority ascribed to the voluntary tonsured monks in monastic communities.11 The tonsure, however telling for her position as mater familias at Nivelles, is not a feature of St Gertrude in religious material culture. In earlier representations, she is depicted as a nun, dressed in tunic and veil, holding a crozier, a book, or a church model. In some regions, the image of a nun evolves into one of a nobly dressed young woman with a church model in her hand. In either case, St Gertrude is often carrying, or otherwise being accompanied by, mice or rats.12 Clare of Assisi was born into a noble family from Assisi in 1194. Unlike St Gertrude, who was given a tonsure by her mother, St Clare was shorn by the friars in St Mary of the Portiuncula at the same time as she laid aside all her festive garments, taking up the veil in the convent of Benedictine nuns in nearby Bastia at the age of eighteen. Not able to rest her mind either in Bastia or in Panzo, she soon settled in a small dwelling next to the church at San Damiano.13 The dwelling developed into a community of women living their lives in accordance with the rules set for them by St Francis as a Second Order, known as the ‘Poor Ladies of San Damiano’. St Clare served as the abbess from 1216 until her death in 1253, constantly defending the nuns’ observance of poverty. Clare was canonized on 15 August 1255 by Pope Alexander IV.14 In her cloistered environment, Clare was both subject to and an active performer of miracles. In 1240, Saracen soldiers of the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II were raiding Umbria and other areas in northern Italy, partly as revenge for Pope Gregory IX’s excommunication of the emperor. When outside the gates of her convent in San Damiano, St Clare scared the soldiers off and made their actions freeze by displaying a monstrance with the Blessed Sacrament and kneeling in prayer.15 In Italy, the iconography of St Clare changes Collegiate Church of St Gertrude in Nivelles, while a replica of the original reliquary is in the Pushkin State Museum of Fine Arts in Moscow. On the shrine, see Un trésor gothique. 11  Wade, ‘Gertrude’s Tonsure’, p. 144. 12  See the thorough outline in Madou, De hellige Gertrudis van Nijvel. 13  Stace, St Clare of Assisi, pp. 14–19. 14  On the canonization process, see Stace, St Clare of Assisi, pp. 76–78. 15  Stace, Saint Clare of Assisi. For the Saracens, see pp. 33–35, for posthumous miracles, see pp. 65–75. Also see Ben-Aryeh Debby, The Cult of St Clare of Assisi, pp. 111–20.

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    over the centuries from representations of the humble virgin and civic saint who protected the people of Assisi from the Saracens, to a miracle working saint and then again to a crusader heroine whose earlier miracle concerning the Saracens served as a model of for the Venetian Republic’s struggle with the Ottomans. When represented in religious art in Northern Europe, narrative scenes are rare and St Clare is dressed in the habit of the Poor Clares, carrying a monstrance, pyx, or a lamp — this is also the case in Franciscan/Clarissan contexts.16

    St Gertrude, St Clare, and Religious Art in Norway In the choir of the parish church of Ringsaker (c. 150 km north of Oslo), there is a large, winged Antwerp altarpiece. The altarpiece was commissioned by or on behalf of the priest Ansten Jonsson Skonk (d. 1547); in fact, Skonk served as the last Catholic priest and first Protestant vicar of this rural, yet prosperous agricultural parish.17 The altarpiece is shaped as an inverted T, a conventional form for late medieval Netherlandish altarpieces. The central compartment centres on the Eucharist, visualized from top to bottom by the Crucifixion, the Throne of Mercy, and Christ as the Man of Sorrows, sitting on the grave while blood from his wounds drip into a chalice. On either side of the Crucifixion and Throne of Mercy, there is the Apocalyptic Madonna and the Arbor Annae (the female-centred version of the Tree of Jesse), while the Adoration of the Shepherds and the Adoration of the Magi are placed on either side of the Man of Sorrows. When in the open position, the right wing displays sculptures of six male saints and the left wing six female counterparts; when closed, the parishioners would be met by painted representations of the beheading of St John the Baptist and the boiling of St John the Evangelist (left), juxtaposed with the legend of St Acacius and the ten thousand martyrs at Mount Ararat and the death of St Ursula and the eleven thousand virgins (right). They are all painted in the style of Antwerp Mannerism.18 16 

    For an overview of the iconography of St  Clare, see Ben-Aryeh Debby, The Cult of St Clare, pp. 23–51. 17  Grieg, Ringsaker kirkes gamle herlighet, pp. 78 ff. Skonk was probably only one among many to carry on with his parish duties in this way, as the replacement of priests with vicars could not have been anything but a long-winded operation. Also see Bø, ‘Making and MeaningMaking’, pp. 9–11. 18  First used by Max Friedländer, the term Antwerp Mannerism designates the superficial manner with which (mostly) anonymous sixteenth-century artists treated their religious motifs, see Friedländer, ‘Die Antwerpener Manieristen von 1520’.

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    Below the main corpus, the predella of the altarpiece is filled with a sculpted version of the Last Judgement, while the doors have painted representations of St George and St Martin (inside) and the four church fathers St Gregory, St Augustine, St Jerome and St Ambrosius, and two saints particularly called upon as protectors from plague, namely Sts Sebastian and Rochus (outside). These representations are also important for a more thorough understanding of the iconographical programme, but have been left out here as the focus is on St Gertrude (and St Nicholas). Although conventional in form, the mise-en-scene of its sculptural parts moves well beyond the conventional and formulaic due to the employment of the Arbor Annae instead of the Tree of Jesse and the fact that the wings contain single sculptures of saints rather than sculpted narratives.19 The sculpted saints include St  Óláfr, John the Baptist, St  Hallvarðr, St  Lawrence, St  Christopher, and St  Nicholas (on the left wing ), St  Mary Magdalene, St Catherine, St Dorothy, St Gertrude, St Margaret, and St Barbara (on the right wing). We notice that the indigenous St Óláfr and St Hallvarðr are included, but also that St Sunniva is absent. As patron saint of Bergen and western Norway, she may not have been ‘needed’ for an altarpiece in the east. If her absence is a sign of the commissioner selecting the saints of their liking, the presence of St Gertrude is all the more intriguing. Within the group, she appears as an ‘associate’ of St Óláfr and St Hallvarðr, the three being the only saints in this altarpiece who were not contemporaries of Christ or universal saints. She is one of two female saints in the entourage not to have suffered a martyr’s death (the other is St Mary Magdalene), in the same way as St Nicholas is the only non-martyr among the male saints. In the assembly of saints, St Gertrude is unique in visual terms as she is the only one not wearing gilded garments, but the black habit of a Benedictine nun. A rat climbs up her tunic and she holds an open book in her right hand. According to the iconographic tradition in representations of her in Antwerp, she was most likely to hold a crozier in her left hand, which would mirror the crozier held by St Nicholas on the opposite side. The left hand, however, has been cut off. Because the damaged area has a smooth surface, the cut comes across as a deliberate action, possibly done in order to remove the crozier from a female figure. Apart from sharing the attribute of the crozier, the juxtaposition of St Nicholas and St Gertrude may also have been caused by conflating associations of miracles and virtues attributed to the two. St Nicholas and 19 

    For a thorough theological and socio-political interpretation of the iconographical programme of the altarpiece, see Bø, ‘Making and Meaning-Making’, pp. 25–36.

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    St Gertrude both performed a miracle saving seafarers in danger as well as supporting travellers in general — the miracle present in the altarpiece is the one showing how St Nicholas reanimated three children murdered by an innkeeper and his wife.20 Moreover, St Nicholas saved three sisters from ending up as prostitutes due to their poverty, offering them money for proper marriages, while Gertrude indefatigably helped travellers, pilgrims, and people suffering from illness throughout her lifetime. Ansten Jonsson Skonk may have requested the presence of St Óláfr and St John the Baptist: St Óláfr as he is thought to be the patron saint of Ringsaker church and St John the Baptist as he was the patron saint of Skonk himself. In addition to serving as parish priest in Ringsaker, Skonk was also a canon in Hamar cathedral, where he held the prebendary at the Corpus Christi altar; the inclusion of St Hallvarðr may be linked to the Corpus Christi altar, as there was also one in St Hallvard’s cathedral in Oslo.21 Whereas the remaining male and female saints were all widely venerated in Norway, the reason for including St Gertrude may have been Skonk’s acquaintance with the saint during his sojourn as a student in Rostock. A hospital and adjacent chapel had been founded in Rostock in 1468 from where St Gertrude was invoked for protection against plague.22 Skonk was enrolled as a student in Rostock in 1513.23 In the Nidaros Cathedral, there is a silver chalice with — in the corpus of Norwegian liturgical objects — unusual iconography. The chalice was made in Norway between 1510 and 1530. The foot is shaped as a six-foil and each petal contains an image. The Crucifixion with the Virgin and St John the Evangelist fills one, the others display miniature sculptures of St Óláfr and St Michael and three other saints, one nun and two monks. The nun seems to carry a church model and may therefore be interpreted as St Gertrude. However, it has also been suggested that she is St Clare and that one of the monks is St Francis.24 20 

    Jacobus de Voragine, The Golden Legend, trans. by Ryan, pp. 21 ff. In fact, there are three variants of this miracle and the children are also said to have been murdered by a butcher. On St Nicholas, also see the chapter by Sigurdsson in this volume. 21  Grieg, Ringsaker kirkes gamle herlighet, p. 87. 22  Vincennes, Gertrude. Dame de Nivelles, p. 151. There were also St Gertrude’s chapels in Lübeck and Hamburg. All three are now lost. St Gertrude became a popular saint for protection against plague in fifteenth-century north-western Europe as she crossed into the cult of Colum Cille/Kakukilla, see Dooley, ‘The Plague and its Consequences in Ireland’, p. 227. 23  Grieg, Ringsaker kirkes gamle herlighet, p. 84. 24  Kielland, Norsk gullsmedkunst, p. 249 suggests St Gertrude, while Dybdahl, Helgener i tiden, p. 89 identifies her as St Clare.

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    In any event, having six figurative scenes, the chalice differs from most other medieval chalices made in Norway, as most of the others only have depictions of the Crucifixion.25 Not only is the nun’s attribute comparable to the church model held by St Gertrude in altarpieces and murals, Gertrude’s inclusion in late medieval runic calendars and, more importantly, in the almost contemporary printed edition of Breviarium Nidrosiensis (1519) strengthens the identification.26 None of the miracles associated with St Gertrude concern actual chalices, but as patroness of travellers, she was invoked in toasts people made before commencing their journey.27 In a time when parishioners themselves would not touch the chalice during the ritual of the Eucharist, toasts honouring saints may have served as a proxy sensorial experience of the chalice and the wine even if toasting for one’s safety during travels would never be equated with consuming Christ’s blood. In tandem with St Nicholas, St Gertrude elegantly demonstrates the devout parishioner’s ability to partake in empathic devotions, encouraged to travel (to go on pilgrimage) and to involve oneself in the performance of the partly precluded ritual of the Eucharist.28 On the other hand, St Clare is no less suitable to be present on a chalice. She was a particular fervent devotee of the Eucharist and also actively engaged herself in the making of corporals, linen cloths which at the service of the Mass are placed on the altar under the chalice and paten. As stated by Pope Alexander IV in the papal bull concerning her canonization in 1255: ‘Unde de panno lieno huius sui studii et laboris plura pro altaris sacrificio corporalia fieri fecit, et per plana et montana Assisii diversis ecclesiis exhiberi’ (Whence from linen cloth of this her own study and labor, she caused very many corporals for the Sacrifice of the Altar to be made, and to be employed throughout the plains and mountains of Assisi in diverse churches).29 St Clare also shed copious tears 25 

    See the examples in Kielland, Norsk gullsmedkunst, figs 302–06, 320, 332–36. Somewhat earlier (c. 1485), the feast day of St Gertrude is added into a late thirteenthcentury copy of the Breviarium (AM 680a 4º), demonstrating that the cult may have been gradually established before its inclusion in print: see Ordo Nidrosiensis ecclesiae, ed. by Gjerløw, p. 61 and p. 78. 27  Hopkins, Shakespeare on the Edge, pp. 44–45. 28  For an exemplary outline of similar connections between celebrants and images in an Italian context, see Ausdall, ‘Communicating with the Host’, pp. 447–86. 29  Papal Bull of 26 September 1255, see Fontes Franciscani, ed. by Menestò, Brufani and others, pp. 2331–37. Online [accessed 2 February 2019]. 26 

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    and numerous sections in her vita are devoted to these tears, yet there is no reference to her tears being collected in a chalice.30 As the condition of the chalice does not allow for a definite identification and there are a number of symbolic reasons to include either of the two saints in its iconography, it might be that the inclusion of St Gertrude in the Breviarium Nidrosiensis puts a little more weight on her candidature.31 According to iconographical as well as technical analyses, it seems very likely the Rissa altarpiece was produced in Utrecht.32 No known documents record the commission, but it was probably made for an altar in the Rein convent, founded in 1226 by Duke Skule Baardson (d. 1240). 33 The order of the convent is not known, but it is most commonly believed to have been Augustinian.34 It may, however, as suggested above, have been a house belonging to the Poor Clares. If it was, the inclusion of St Clare would have been very much appropriate; if Augustinian (or belonging to any other female monastic community), there would be a less direct relationship with the two historical women represented on the wings of the altarpiece. Nevertheless, they would still offer female role models for cloistered women and an appropriate subject for devotion. In the inner corpus, the Virgin is seen standing, holding the Infant in both her hands with the child lying across her breast. She wears a crown and is standing on a crescent moon, there are golden rays all around her as she embodies the Virgin of the Apocalypse. This representation — like the representation in Ringsaker — takes its iconography from a description in Revelation 12. 1: ‘a 30 

    One example is found in section XIII of her vita, which narrates how she spends her nights prostrate, inundating the ground with her tears (terram infundit lachrymis). 31  Inevitably, there are also chalices with female saints not known for fervent devotion to the Eucharist, but otherwise symbolically representing Christ’s sacrifice and resurrection, such as the Kalajoki chalice (Finland, Kalajoki church, c. 1500) which has St Agnes, St Catherine, and St Dorothy positioned between a flower bud, a blossoming flower, and a withered flower, see Immonen, ‘Artifacts, Iconology, and the Visual Process’. 32  The iconography of St Gertrude, which will be further discussed below, belongs to a type only found in representations of her in Catalonia, Brabant, Utrecht, and Alsace (Madou, De hellige Gertrudis, p. 118). The size, form, style, and mise-en-scene exclude all but Utrecht. Technological analyses of the altarpiece support this, see  unpublished report Pawel and Bronken, ‘Rissa Altarpiece’. 33  The assumption the altarpiece was originally situated in the Rein convent seems to originate from Gerhard Schøning’s travel accounts written during his voyages to the Norwegian countryside in the 1770s: see Schøning, Reise giennom en Deel af Norge, ii, p. 280. 34  KLNM, viii (1981), pp. 543–44.

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    woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars’. Unfortunately, the sculptures on either side are lost. On the left wing, on blue background, St Barbara is depicted standing, turned towards the Virgin. She is dressed in a red, rather elaborate and contemporary dress, carrying a tower. On the right wing, with a similar yet inverted pose, St Clare is depicted holding a monstrance and dressed in the habit of the Poor Clares, a grey tunic and a black veil with white ridges. When closed, the wings have a red background with golden stencilled flowers. To the left, St Margaret, dressed in contemporary brocade, faces towards the centre of the altarpiece while gazing outwards, holding a cross. The lower part of the wing is filled with a large, black dragon. To the right, St Gertrude is seen holding an open book, supporting a crozier in the crook of her right arm. She is dressed in the habit of a Benedictine nun, a black tunic and a black veil.35 She also wears a white underskirt, onto which cling two mice. The ensemble of these four saints would offer protection from evil and hell (Margaret) and protection during travels and from illnesses (Gertrude) appearing on the exterior, underlining the dangers in the world of both evil and hell, displacement and disease. The reception in heaven (Barbara) and the veneration of the wafer (Clare), however, are on the inside, emphasizing the heavenly reward of consuming bread as a real presence body in the Holy Communion.36 This future heavenly reward is also emphasized by the fact that all the saints look attentively to their respective attributes, the tower, the monstrance, the dragon, and the book, rather than meeting the eyes of their audience. St Clare looking towards the monstrance demonstrates what is known as an ‘ocular communion’, a way of absorbing the host not only by touch and taste, but also by sight. Such a practice is not applicable to the three others. Nevertheless, they demonstrate how the devout — in this case the nuns in the convent — would relate to their objects of veneration and adoration with a firm gaze.37 35 

    The white ridge evident here is not part of the Benedictine habit. It may have been painted this way by influence from the Poor Clare habit. 36  The four would further offer protection from lightning and fire, during pregnancy and childbirth, eye disease and when travelling and allegedly also on the first night after one’s death. Also, as two of the three females among the Fourteen Holy Helpers, St Barbara would be evoked against fever and sudden death and St Margaret for help during childbirth and escaping the Devil. The Fourteen Holy Helpers are George, Blase, Erasmus, Pantaleon, Vitus, Christophorus, Dionysius, Cyriacus, Eustache, Acacius, Giles, Margaret, Catherine, and Barbara. 37  See Biernoff, Sight and Embodiment in the Middle Ages, pp. 133–64. On multi-sensorial engagement with images in the later Middle Ages, see for example Baert, ‘Late Medieval Devotion and the Pictorial Gaze’.

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    Interestingly, St Gertrude is shown with a crozier and an open book, both in this altarpiece and in Ringsaker. Although this was a common iconography in contemporary representations of her in present-day Belgium (Brabant) and the Netherlands (Utrecht), all other representations of her in Scandinavia — that is in Nidaros’s two neighbouring archdioceses Roskilde and Lund, roughly covering modern Denmark and Sweden — are of a female saint carrying a model of a church or a hospital. In these altarpieces, she is also more commonly represented as a young noble woman (‘virgin’), not as a Benedictine nun.38 One could imagine the crozier and book and nun’s habit would be more suitable for a convent, whereas one would expect the ‘church or hospital’ models in locations connected with the churches or hospitals for which St Gertrude was patron saint. In her thorough iconographical study, however, Mireille Madou found the two different representations of St Gertrude to belong to the pictorial tradition of different geographical areas. The Rissa altarpiece was displayed in a convent and the Ringsaker altarpiece adorned the altar in a parish church, meaning that in Norway, both nuns and laity would be exposed to the same image of her, incorporating ‘the nun with an open book’.

    St Gertrude, St Clare, Pilgrimages, and Indulgences Even if visual evidence for the cults of St Gertrude and St Clare in Norway are few, there is every reason to believe that practices similar to the ones described by Nirit Ben-Aryeh Debby whereby ‘visual images inspired preaching and that the images, in turn, reflected prevailing ideas and attitudes that the sermons shared, elaborated upon, or departed from’ may have occurred.39 The cult of St Gertrude spread from Nivelles to the rest of Brabant and subsequently to the Netherlands and German-speaking lands. The earliest evidence of her presence in Scandinavia is the chapel of St Gertrude in Sigtuna (possibly twelfth century) and St Gertrude’s guild in Haderslev, Denmark (1292). Nevertheless, most of the visual and textual evidence of a cult dates from the fifteenth century and coincides with the increasing Hanseatic trade and the subsequent involvement from the Netherlanders.40 St  Gertrude appears in a number of mural paintings, sculptures, and carved altarpieces in Denmark and Sweden; these 38 

    Madou, De hellige Gertrudis, p. 118 and p. 131. See Ben-Aryeh Debby, The Cult of St Clare of Assisi, p. 6. 40  KLNM, v (1981), p. 278. On the conflict between Hansards and Netherlanders (or Hollanders), see for example Wubs-Mrozewicz, Traders, Ties and Tensions. 39 

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    dedications, paintings, and sculptures surely bring the scant source material for her cult in medieval Norway into relief.41 A letter sent by Bishop Eilif of Nidaros to the Rein convent in 1318 grants the convent the right to grant forty days of indulgence on certain Feast days, including the feast day of St Benedict, St Margaret, and St Katherine. There is no mentioning of the feast day of Gertrude, even though she was a Benedictine nun.42 However, four indulgence letters indicate the cult of St Gertrude was promoted as an interregional cult, connecting all the three Scandinavian countries. At the heart of this interregional cult, it seems, is the chapel dedicated to St Gertrude in Køge, Denmark, erected around 1375.43 A little more than three decades after its formation, Pope Gregory XIV intervened on behalf of her cult in the North and offered one year and forty days of indulgence for anyone visiting St Nicholas’ church and the adjacent St Gertrude’s chapel in Køge on the days mentioned in the letter from 1407.44 This letter was written during the Western Schism (1378–1417), when the European kingdoms were divided, supporting either the Roman pope or the Avignon pope. The Danish king sided with the Roman pope, and one of the actions the Roman curia could have taken to keep his allegiance may have been to grant treasure and spiritual power to the kingdom’s own religious fabrics or religious sites. There are no records of Norwegians actually participating in pilgrimage to Køge, but the repeated insistence on pilgrimage to the site in the preserved sources is interesting. The following year, the bishop of Hólar, Pétr Nikulásson (d. 1411), acting on behalf of the bishop of Roskilde, Peder Jensen Lodehat (d. 1416), offered forty days of indulgence for any true penitent who devotedly visited the chapel of St Gertrude in Køge, endowing it with candles and saying 41 

    She is present in repainted representations of her in twelve murals in medieval Denmark and fourteen in medieval Sweden. Moreover, there are seven free-standing sculptures and seventeen altarpieces with a painted or sculpted representation of her in Sweden as well as around thirty altarpieces from Denmark. The numbers are based on searches s.v. Gertrude and limited in time from 1300 to 1600 in the databases [accessed 5 February 2019]. 42  Diplomatarium Norvegicum 1, no. 154. The full record mentions St Thomas the Apostle, the Massacre of the Innocent, St Thomas of Canterbury, Easter Sunday, the day of the Trinity, St Peter and St Paul, St Mary Magdalene, St Bartholomew, St Catherine, the Conversation of St Paul, St Benedict, St Lawrence, St Margaret, and St Andrew. 43  The earliest record of it, however, is from 1394 when a farm was donated to the chapel, see ‘Køge. St Gertruds kapell’, pp. 273–74. 44  Diplomatarium Danicum, no.  14070415001, [accessed 24 February 2019].

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    the Ave Maria three times when the bells were rung for nocturne.45 Later the same year, bishop Peder allowed the caretakers of St Gertrude’s chapel in Køge to collect alms in the neighbouring counties of Stevns,46 Bjæverskov, Ramsø, and Tune as well as in the bailiwick of Dragør. The income was to be spent ‘pro reformacione dicte capelle’ (on improvements of the said chapel).47 The indulgence letters from the pope and the bishop may have had an effect on St Gertrude’s popularity and people’s relationship with her — and resulting in increased pilgrimage to the site.48 In 1466, almost sixty years after the pope had encouraged the cult of St Gertrude in Køge, the saint was also recognized in Norway when Arch­ bishop Óláfr of Nidaros granted forty days of indulgence for every pilgrim who visited the chapel in Køge on certain given days, such as Christmas Day, Epiphany, and Corpus Christi.49 Among the days listed is also the feast of St Gertrude as well as the feast days of the martyr virgins St Catherine, St Barbara, St Dorothy, St Margaret, and St Ursula and the eleven thousand Virgins. Before this date, the cult of St Gertrude does not appear to have been recognized or promoted by church officials in Norway. Her feast day (17 March) is not listed in any of the four provincial law codes or in the national law replacing these in 1274 by King Magnús Hákonarson (Magnus the Lawmender). Moreover, she is absent from the Ordo Nidarosiensis, compiled at the beginning of the thirteenth century and the prime source for ecclesiastical celebrations in Nidaros. Three centuries later, however, she emerges in the Breviarium Nidarosiensis, printed in 1519. 45 

    Diplomatarium Danicum, no.  14080704001 [accessed 24 February 2019]. 46  At this time, a guild of St Gertrude existed in Hellested, Stevns county. Its rules were written down in 1404, cf. Stevns lokalhistoriske arkiv, A 3191, [accessed 24 June 2021]. 47  Diplomatarium Danicum, no.  14081120001 [accessed 24 February 2019]. 48  The grant by Bishop Peder also states that the alms were to be collected in tabulae dicte capella, the alms boxes of the chapel. The alms boxes from the chapel are not preserved, but as evidenced by other medieval boxes, it is likely that they were embellished with images of Christ, the Virgin or other saints. The alms boxes from St Gertrude’s chapel may even have been decorated with a representation of her; we may therefore suggest that seeing St Gertrude being brought around and about by the church wardens as a visual confirmation of the chapel’s existence and as promoter for her own cult. 49  Diplomatarium Norvegicum 2, no. 862.

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    All the evidence for St Gertrude in the diocese of Nidaros is from the end of the Middle Ages. She appears on the so-called picture-calendar from Hegra; this parchment calendar from the mid-1500s combines the Sunday letters, lunar letters, and golden number days with images of the most important saints. The calendar was probably made in Denmark or copied from a Danish prototype, and St Gertrude is represented carrying a church model.50 Because it is based on a foreign model, the portrait in the calendar does not attest to any Norwegian knowledge of St Gertrude, however, the Breviarium — which would have covered the entire archbishopric — provides much stronger evidence. There is no documentary evidence of church dedications to St Clare in Norway. There were, however, Houses of the Poor Clares both in the archbishoprics of Lund (Roskilde) and Uppsala (Stockholm), as well as numerous Franciscan houses.51 In Norway, the Franciscans were present in Tønsberg and Bergen, founded during the reign of Hákon Hákonarson (d. 1263), as well as in Konghelle (1272), Oslo, and Marstrand (founded before 1291), and, from a much later, yet uncertain date, in Nidaros.52 The extent to which these Franciscan houses contributed to the dissemination of the cult of St Clare is uncertain as it has been pointed out in scholarship that her position was often marginalized or omitted in the pictorial decoration of Franciscan houses. Clarissan nuns, however, paid attention to her and commissioned literary works and works of art. If no Clarissan houses were present in medieval Norway, this partly explains the scarcity of visual and textual sources.53 In Italy, however, pilgrimage to Assisi was immensely popular in the following centuries.54 Pilgrims flocked to the basilicas of St Francis and St Clare and 50 

    There is a similar calendar in the National Museum of Denmark in Copenhagen. KLNM, iv (1981), p. 572. It is not known to which order the Rein convent belonged, but it is generally assumed to have been inhabited by Augustinian nuns. Because the convent was founded in 1226, fourteen years after the foundation of the Poor Clares in San Damiano, there is (at least) a hypothetical possibility Rein was in fact founded as a Clarissan house. 52  KLNM, iv (1981), pp. 566–67. 53  Ben-Aryeh Debby, The Cult of St Clare of Assisi, p. 14. 54  There are no records of the cult of St Clare being announced to the archbishop in Nidaros, but many letters on other matters are sent from Pope Alexander IV to the chapter of Nidaros in the mid-1250s. In a letter sent later from Anagni to the archbishop of Lund two months after St Clare’s death, the pope declared Clare had been included among the saints because of her meritorious life and miracles, and that her feast day 12 August was to be observed. As a final salute, the letter also stated there would be a yearly indulgence issued by her grave, see Diplomatarium Norvegicum 19, no.  264. The latter probably implied a pilgrimage to Assisi, and the possibility of an indulgence offered to anyone who visited her grave, preferably on her feast day. 51 

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    to the Portiuncula chapel, the venue in which St Francis received St Clare for the first time and allowed her to dedicate her life to the Lord. The Portiuncula pardon which originated in Assisi is prominent in later papal letters concerning the eventual recognition of St Clare’s cult in Norway. In a letter issued in Rome (the Lateran) in 1399, Pope Boniface IX grants anyone who on the feast day of St Sunniva (8 July) visits Bergen cathedral and Munkeliv monastery (belonging to the Benedictines) and who helps with the maintenance to these two fabrics, the same indulgence as one would get if visiting the S. Maria in Portiuncula on 1 and 2 August.55 Two years later, the Pope gives the church of St Mary in Oslo a similar privilege.56 The transferable nature of the Portiuncula pardon is evident also in its dissemination in England, where several churches gained the right to offer the indulgence in the fourteenth century.57 Conceivably, St Sunniva, who probably enjoyed as widespread veneration in Western Norway as did St Clare in northern and central Italy, could act as a catalyst for having similar benefits directed to some of Bergen’s religious sites. Whereas the letter from Bishop Óláfr of Nidaros encouraged pilgrimage to Gertrude’s chapel in Køge and granted indulgences for helping with the maintenance of the chapel’s fabric, the visual representations of St Gertrude deviate from this ‘message’. The altarpieces in Ringsaker and Rissa do not offer a distinct image of St Gertrude as patron saint of chapels or hospitals or for the displaced (travellers, beggars, or the mentally ill). Rather, the Norwegian St Gertrude is encouraging grace and religious reading.58 A similar display — yet with a different iconography — of St Gertrude and St Clare is found in one extant late medieval altarpiece in Østbirk, Denmark, a pentaptych probably made in Lübeck around 1480, originally made for Ring convent, a Benedictine nunnery situated in Skanderborg in southern Jutland.59 The open position displays a sculptured Throne of Mercy surrounded by the twelve apostles, while eight painted panels depicting the Passion of Christ are seen when the interior wings are folded and the exterior wings are open. In its closed position, the side panels with images of Christ as Salvator Mundi and the Virgin and Child appear on either side of eight saints: St Clare, St Martin 55 

    Diplomatarium Norvegicum 12, no. 130. ‘illam indulgenciam et remissionem peccatorum annuatim auctoritate apostolica concedimus quam uisitantes ecclesiam beate Marie in Portiuncula alias dictam de Angelis extra muros’, Diplomatarium Norvegicum 17, no. 214. 57  Swanson, Indulgences in Late Medieval England, p. 55. 58  Luckhardt, ‘Gender and Connectivity’. 59  It was moved to its present location, the nearby Østbirk church, in 1582. 56 

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    of Tours, St Erasmus of Antioch, and St Gertrude placed above the four virgins Margaret, Catherine, Barbara, and Dorothy.60 St Clare is depicted carrying an open book and a monstrance, while St Gertrude is carrying a crozier and a church model. She is not depicted carrying a book as she does in Rissa and Ringsaker, but as the founder of the Benedictine nunnery of Nivelles, an iconography well suited for the nuns at Ring who also — probably unlike Rissa — belonged to a Benedictine foundation. The image of the Virgin of the Apocalypse, found in sculpture both in Rissa and Ringsaker, became increasingly popular in the late 1400s as Pope Sixtus IV was believed to have granted an indulgence of 11,000 years for anyone praying the Ave Sancta Maria in front of it.61 The Apocalyptic Madonna appears in numerous late medieval altarpieces, but more often in pieces solely with a Marian iconography, like the Antwerp altarpiece now in Sæby church, Denmark.62 The indulgence granted to this motif and others eventually led to the development of indulgence altarpieces (Ablass-tafeln) visually announcing the possible rewards to the congregations acting faithfully.63 The altarpieces in Ringsaker and Rissa may have been perceived as such announcements, both having such a prominently placed Apocalyptic Virgin.64 The two now lost sculptures in the corpus of the Rissa altarpiece would have given the audience further visual clues to the altarpiece’s overall function.65 There is no evidence St  Clare was venerated among the laity in parish churches, but tertiaries may have acted out their devotion to her if visiting the monastic houses. St Gertrude, on the other hand, seems to have had a wider 60 

    Bruun and Plahte, Danmarks middelalderlige altertavler ii, pp. 1237–40. Werli-Johns, ‘The Prayer Booklet of Eternal Wisdom’, p. 141. Also see Ringbom, ‘Maria in Sole and the Virgin of the Rosary’ and Blackburn, ‘The Virgin in the Sun’, pp. 157–95. 62  Bruun and Plahte, Danmarks middelalderlige altertavler ii, pp. 956–61. There are also numerous German examples. 63  Morris, ‘Art and Advertising’. On the relation between images and indulgences in Sweden, see Pegelow, ‘Pictures of Cult and Letters of Indulgence’. 64  There were two more sculptures in the corpus, one on either side of the Virgin. These are both lost, and there are no inscriptions in the haloes which would allow for an identification or indeed a further clarification of the iconographical programme of the corpus as a whole. 65  Presumably through the trickle-down effect, the Apocalyptic Madonna is also found in regionally produced sculpture, demonstrated by the tabernacle in Ore, Sweden. Despite being different in style and material techniques, Ore is otherwise strikingly familiar to the altarpiece in Rissa having a sculpture of the Apocalyptic Madonna in the corpus and St Gertrude — although with a church model — and St Catherine painted on the wings. 61 

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    following. Her inclusion in altarpieces in Denmark and Sweden, even in indigenous altarpieces, tells us she was considered a saint to whom the churchgoer may have had emotional ties.66 In order to make it simpler to identify with her, however, the northern tradition of representing her as a noblewoman carrying a church model was applied, underlining her likeness to other female saints rather than emphasizing her role as abbess or as visionary.

    Concluding Remarks Bishop Óláfr’s call for pilgrimages and sustainable charity to St  Gertrude’s chapel in Køge was a call that addressed the saint in her own right. The toast made in the name of St Gertrude by the members of the German St Catherine and St Dorothy guild in Bergen, a toast mentioned in their rules from 1502, also addresses her directly.67 In terms of imagery, however, she is almost exclusively found as part of an entourage, as one of two or (more often) four or six female saints. The image of St Gertrude in Norway is the same as we find in Catalonia, Brabant, Utrecht, and Alsace: a Benedictine nun carrying an open book and a crozier with mice clinging to her robe. The Ringsaker altarpiece was made in Antwerp and the Rissa altarpiece was most probably made in Utrecht, meaning that the iconography corresponds to the customs of their place of origin. In Denmark and Sweden, however, the representations of her follow a northern scheme, suggesting that the altarpieces were produced in northern Germany or locally. A more thorough investigation into sermons and prayers would reveal whether the actual engagement with St Gertrude differs according to these visual differences. Gradually included in liturgical books, St Gertrude was eventually officially included in the printed edition of the Breviarium Nidarosiensis (1519), indicating that congregations were encouraged to celebrate her feast day. We might assume that devotional practices such as including her in invocations, kneeling in front of her image, watching priests, abbesses, or other ecclesiastics opening 66 

    Apart from the Østbirk altarpiece, visual evidence of the cult of St Clare in Denmark is found in the altarpieces from Engestofte (originally placed in the Brigettine convent in Maribo) and St Canute’s (originally from the Franciscan monastery in Odense). For Sweden, the situation is similar, and her presence is equally scarce; St Clare appears on the altarpieces from the convent of the Poor Clares at Norrmalm (now in the Historical Museum, Stockholm) as well as in the altarpieces in Husby-Sjutolft and Vaksala. 67  Diplomatarium Norvegicum 16, no. 341.

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    and closing the wings of the altarpieces in which she is present, revealing and concealing her image, and honouring her by going on pilgrimage are very likely to have occurred. Even if Pope Alexander IV’s announcement of St Clare’s saintliness, her feast day and the indulgence offered for anyone visiting her grave was issued already in 1255 and allegedly reached Norway shortly thereafter, the Poor Clares did not gain any footing in Norway. Nevertheless, the concept of value by association with St Francis is applicable to her. Pilgrimages to Assisi may have been undertaken by Norwegians, and ‘by proxy’ pilgrimages to Bergen cathedral, nearby Munkeliv and St Mary’s in Oslo in order to obtain indulgences on a par with those obtained if visiting the Portiuncula chapel even more possibly so.68

    68 

    To the best of my knowledge, there are no known pilgrim badges from Assisi found in Norway, whereas there are badges from, e.g., Santiago de Compostela and Vadstena (Trondheim, Vitenskapsmuseet (NTNU), Inv. N4608 and Oslo, KHM, Inv. C32536b). This lacuna of material evidence, however, does not mean there were no pilgrims.

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    Works Cited Primary Sources Diplomatarium Danicum, published by Det Danske Sprog – og Litteraturselskab (Copen­ hagen, 1932–2008 = printed editions and Copenhagen, 2008– dd. = digital editions) Diplomatarium Norvegicum (Oslo: Riksarkivet, 1847–2011) Fontes Franciscani, ed. by E. Menestò, S. Brufani and others (Assisi: Edizioni Porziuncola, 1995) Jacobus de Voragine, The Golden Legend: Readings on the Saints, trans. by William Granger Ryan (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993) Ordo Nidrosiensis ecclesiae, ed. by Lilli Gjerløw (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, 1968) Pawel, Daniela, and Ida Bronken, ‘Rissa Altarpiece’ (unpublished report, Vitenskapsmuseet, NTNU, 2003) ‘Vita Sanctae Geretrudis’ ed.  by Bruno Krusch, in Monumenta Germaniae Historica: Scrip­tores rerum Merovingicarum, 7 vols (Hannover: Hahn, 1884–1920), ii (1888), pp. 453–71 Vitæ S. Geretrvdis, Abbatissæ Nivellensis, ed. by Josephus Geldolphus A. Ryckel (Louvain: n.p., 1637)

    Secondary Studies Abou-el-Haj, Barbara, ‘The Audiences for the Medieval Cult of Saints’, Gesta, 30 (1991), 3–15 Adams, Jonathan, The Revelations of St  Birgitta: A  Study and Edition of the BirgittineNorwegian Texts, Swedish National Archives, E 8902 (Leiden: Brill, 2015) Ausdall, Kirsten van, ‘Communicating with the Host: Imagery and Eucharistic Contact in Late Medieval and Early Renaissance Italy’, in Push Me, Pull You: Imaginative, Emotional, Physical and Spatial Interaction in Late Medieval and Renaissance Art, ed. by Laura Gelfand and Sarah Blick (Leiden: Brill, 2011), pp. 447–86 Baert, Barbara, ‘Late Medieval Devotion and the Pictorial Gaze’, in The Materiality of Devotion in Late Medieval Northern Europe: Images, Objects and Practices, ed.  by Henning Laugerud, Salvador Ryan, and Laura Skinnebach (Dublin: Four Courts, 2016), pp. 121–45 Belghaus, Viola ‘Everbody’s Darling: Transformation of Value and Transformation of Mean­ ing in, the Veneration of St Elizabeth of Thuringa’, in Push Me, Pull You: Imaginative, Emotional, Physical and Spatial Interaction in Late Medieval and Renaissance Art, ed. by Laura Gelfand and Sarah Blick (Leiden: Brill, 2011), pp. 177–230 Ben-Aryeh Debby, Nirit, The Cult of St Clare of Assisi in Early Modern Italy (Abingdon: Routledge, 2014) Biernoff, Suzannah, Sight and Embodiment in the Middle Ages (New York: Palgrave Mac­ millan, 2002)

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    Blackburn, Bonnie, ‘The Virgin in the Sun’, Journal of the Royal Musical Association, 124 (1999), 157–95 Bruun, Jens, and Sidsel Plahte, Danmarks middelalderlige altertavler II (Odense: Syddanske Universitetsforlag, 2010) Bø, Ragnhild M., ‘Making and Meaning-Making: The Antwerp Altarpiece in Ringsaker (c. 1530) across the Reformation’, The Journal of Early Modern Christianity, 7 (2020), 1–42 Dooley, Ann, ‘The Plague and its Consequences in Ireland’, in Plague and the End of Antiquity: The Pandemic of 541–750, ed. by Lester K. Little (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), pp. 215–28 Dybdahl, Audun, Helgener i tiden (Trondheim: Tapir, 1999) Engelstad, Eivind, Senmiddelalderens kunst i Norge (Oslo: Universitetets Oldsakssamling, 1936) Friedländer, Max, ‘Die Antwerpener Manieristen von 1520’, Jahrbuch der königlich preußischen Kunstsammlungen, 36 (1915), 65–91 Grieg, Sigurd, Ringsaker kirkes gamle herlighet. Kulturhistoriske studier over nederlandske og nordtyske alterskap i Norge (Lillehammer: De Sandvigske samlinger, 1955) Hopkins, Lisa, Shakespeare on the Edge: Border-Crossing in the Tragedies and the Henriad (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005) Immonen, Visa, ‘Artifacts, Iconology, and the Visual Process: Liturgical Objects in Fin­ land and Beyond, c. 1350–1550’, Material Religion, 7 (2011), 194–219 Kielland, Thor, Norsk gullsmedkunst i middelalderen (Oslo: Steenske, 1927) ‘Køge. St Gertruds kapell’, Danmarks kirker. København Amt III (Copenhagen: National­ museet, 1944), KLNM  = Kulturhistorisk leksikon for nordisk middelalder, 2nd  edn (Oslo: Gyldendal, 1980–1982 [1956–1978]) Luckhardt, Courtney, ‘Gender and Connectivity: Facilitating Religious Travel in the Sixth and Seventh Century’, Comitatus – A Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 44 (2013), 29–53 Madou, Mireille, De hellige Gertrudis van Nijvel (Brussels: Palais der Academiën, 1975) Morris, Amy S., ‘Art and Advertising: Altarpieces in Late Medieval Germany’, in Push Me, Pull You: Imaginative, Emotional, Physical and Spatial Interaction in Late Medieval and Renaissance Art, ed.  by Laura Gelfand and Sarah Blick (Leiden: Brill, 2011), pp. 325–45 Pegelow, Ingalill, ‘Pictures of Cult and Letters of Indulgence’, in Images of Cult and Devotion: Function and Reception of Christian Images in Medieval and Post-Medieval Europe, ed. by Søren Kaspersen (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2004), pp. 33–46 Pretraschka, Eveline, Fränkischer Adel und irische Peregrinin im 7. Jahrhundert. Die Vita der hl. Geretrude von Nivelles – ein Zeugnis des hagiographischen Kreises um den Iren Foillan (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1999) Ringbom, Sixten, ‘Maria in Sole and the Virgin of the Rosary’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 25 (1962), 326–30 Sainted Women of the Dark Ages, ed. by Jo Ann McNamara and John E. Halborg, with E. Gordon Whatley (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1992)

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    Schøning, Gerhard, Reise giennom en Deel af Norge i de Aar 1773, 1774, 1775 ii (Trond­ heim: n.pub., 1910) Stace, Christopher, St Clare of Assisi: Her Legend and Selected Writings (London: Triangle, 2001) Swanson, Robert N., Indulgences in Late Medieval England: Passports to Paradise? (Cam­ bridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007) Un trésor gothique: la châsse de Nivelles. Exhibition catalogue (Paris: Réunion des musées nationaux, 1996) Vauchez, André, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997) Vincennes, Jean de, Gertrude. Dame de Nivelles (Brussels: Editions Universitaires, 1954) Wade, Susan W., ‘Gertrude’s Tonsure: An Examination of Hair as a Symbol of Gender, Family and Authority in the Seventh-Century Vita of Gertrude of Nivelles’, Journal of Medieval History, 39 (2013), 129–45 Werli-Johns, Marthina, ‘‘‘The Prayer Booklet of Eternal Wisdom” (Der ewigen wiszheit Betbüchlin, 1518): Cathechistic Shaping of Religious Lay Identity’, in Religious Orders and Religious Identity Formation, ca. 1420–1620. Discourses and Strategies of Obser­ vance and Pastoral Engagement, ed. by Bert Roest and Johanneke Ruphoff (Leiden: Brill, 2016), pp. 126–51 Wubs-Mrozewicz, Justyna, Traders, Ties and Tensions: The Interaction of Lübeckers, Over­ ijsslers and Hollanders in Late Medieval Bergen (Hilversum: Verloren, 2008)

    An Afterlife for Cult Sculpture from Norwegian Churches: Tradition, Continuity, and Partial Mutilation after the Reformation* Noëlle L. W. Streeton

    E

    vidence for deliberate damage to late medieval cult sculpture from Norwegian churches has posed a challenge: to create a context for specific losses and particularly the loss of noses in lieu of solid documentary source material. This chapter is an attempt to contextualize damage with attention to cultural continuities. These are related firstly to pre-Reformation perceptions of disfigurement, and secondly to circumstances under which evangelical Lutheranism was implemented after 1536 in Norwegian lands. In this way, this research has aimed to clarify relationships between damages and the continued presence of sculpture in Protestant churches. Given that devotion *  The Research Council of Norway has generously supported this work within the project ‘After the Black Death: Painting and Polychrome Sculpture in Norway’ (project number: 231592). Special thanks to Jón Viðar Sigurðsson (IAKH, UiO) for initiating this study and for guidance along the way; and to Erling Sandmo (1963–2020) for discussions about violence and religion in the early modern period. Thanks also to colleagues in Conservation Studies (UiO), the Museum of Cultural History (UiO), and the Centre for Art Technological Studies and Conservation (CATS), Copenhagen; to Justin Kroesen and Alexandra Bøhme (University of Bergen); Anita Maurstad and Rognald Bergesen (University of Tromsø); and to church wardens, especially at Bygland, Karlsøy, Kvæfjord, Røldal, Skjervøy, Torsken, and Trondenes churches. Noëlle L. W. Streeton ([email protected]) is Professor of Conservation at the Department of Archaeology, Conservation and History, Univeristy of Oslo. Her research centres on the materials and workshop practices of late-medieval painters and sculptors in northern Europe, the history of conservation, iconoclasm and material culture. The Cult of Saints in Nidaros Archbishopric. Manuscripts, Miracles, Objects, ed. by Ragnhild M. Bø and Jon Viðar Sigurðsson, tcne 33 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2022), pp. 273–307 BREPOLS PUBLISHERS 10.1484/M.TCNE-EB.5.124886

    274 Noëlle L. W. Streeton

    to cult sculptures continued in some locations long after the Reformation, it is argued here that one way to halt idolatrous behaviours was to disempower the sculpture — to ‘punish’ it in ways that carried significant social stigma.

    Reformation on the Periphery King Christian III imposed Lutheran doctrine across the whole of DenmarkNorway in 1536/1537, an event that in theory spelled the beginning of the end for the cult of saints in his realm. The implementation of the Danish Church Law (Kirkeordinansen) would go on to change the face of the administration of the Church. The law displaced Roman theological, judicial, and administrative structures that had shaped all areas of life from circa 1020 up to that time. Under the new law, personal affective attachments to sculptures were no longer permissible, but individuals seeking relief or assistance in times of trouble were unlikely to disregard customs that were relevant and practical in their everyday lives. In locations where congregations were left unchecked and ‘unvisited’ by superintendents or provosts after 1537, it is quite understandable that some communities, particularly those in peripheral locations, continued as before. Such was the case at Røldal in western Norway, where in 1835 a dean of the church named Ole Nicolai Løberg witnessed parishioners and pilgrims stroking the face of Røldal’s potent crucifix on the Feast of St John (Fig. 11.1). The Midsummer Eve pilgrimage on 23 June and the feast-day interaction with the image of Christ had been condemned numerous times: by the bishop of Oslo Niels Glostrup (1622); by the bishop of Bergen Ludvig Munthe (1644); and the bishop of Kristiansand Jakob Kærup (1735) who wanted the crucifix to be burned.1 Løberg also ordered the local clergyman, who presumably had Roman Catholic sympathies, to put an end to pilgrimages and adoration of this image, which led to its temporary removal from the church. This colourful example makes clear that the Røldal congregation did not reject traditional religion. Instead, their long-established ‘folk’ beliefs had become merged with new Protestant routines over a long period. This was also the case in other rural locations2 both before and after 1720, when Frederik IV of Denmark allowed 1 

    Dalen and Dalen, Røldal Bygdebok, pp. 80–81; Blindheim, ‘The Cult of Medieval Wooden Sculptures in Post-Reformation Norway’, p. 49; Elstad, ‘Jacob Kærup, Biskop’. 2  Camstrup, Trifolium Metricum, pp. 34–35; Daae, Norske Bygdesagn, p. 1; Kolsrud, Noregs kyrkjesoga, pp. 289‒90; Amundsen and Laugerud, Religiøs tro og praksis i den dansk-norske helstat fra reforamsjonen til opplysningstid; Laugerud, ‘Visualitet og synskultur i det etter-reformatoriske

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    church buildings to be sold to private buyers.3 Thereafter, some private owners did away with objects that were old and contentious, while others such as at Røldal held on to cherished traditions that evolved over time. In the course of this research, it has become ever clearer that the slow and unmonitored implementation of Christian III’s church law left a path open for congregations to retain cult images and the traditions associated with them. This chapter considers first the primary source material of surviving sculptures, and specifically damages inflicted deliberately, which support the idea that in certain instances, beloved cult images remained potent. This discussion is followed by a brief review of medieval sources, which emphasize (among other issues) the importance of physical ‘wholeness’ and the legal status of disfigurement.4 Thereafter the chapter turns to questions that have been raised by cult sculpture from which noses have been deliberately removed: what does this kind of damage convey about continued beliefs in the cult of saints? And how might the mutilation of a nose have been an effective signal to enforce changes in behaviour? It is argued here that partial mutilation of Catholic objects that survived in Protestant churches was a form of iconoclasm that at once communicated breaches in official and social norms (as criminal punishment did) with the aim to shift behaviour and put an end to personal devotion directed at sculptures of saints. This particular kind of damage seems to speak volumes — in lieu of directly relevant documentation — about the continued belief in the potency of images, especially in peripheral parts of Norway. Like judicial punishments, deliberate mutilation would have been immediately associated with social stigma in relation to treason, adultery, syphilis, or leprosy. Deliberate breakages were arguably also a way to declare a saint persona non grata within a congregation, while at the same time retaining it in the church to act as a reminder of the dangers of heresy and non-conformity to official religious norms.

    Danmark-Norge’, p. 99; Berg, ‘The Influence of the Reformation on Religious Practice in the North’, p. 32; Streeton, ‘Decoding Damages to Late-Medieval Cult Sculpture from Norwegian Churches’. 3  Bagge and Mykland, Norge i dansketiden, pp. 182–212. 4  These were points of departure for work presented, then published in 2016 and 2017. Articles focused on issues bound to physical transformations of polychrome wooden sculpture within a disciplinary framework for cultural heritage conservation. See Streeton, ‘Writing Histories for Late-Medieval Objects’; and Streeton, ‘Decoding Damages to Late-Medieval Cult Sculpture from Norwegian Churches’.

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    Figure 11.1. Røldal crucifix, c. 1250. Røldal stave church. Photo: Noëlle Streeton.

    Methods This study took as its point of departure 127 polychrome wooden sculptures. The majority of these date from the late medieval period, although a limited number of crucifixes predate 1350. The objects themselves are located in Norwegian museum collections, as well as in German museums and in the Swedish History Museum in Stockholm. One of the key findings was that the characteristics of damages to noses and hands indicate strongly that these damages were neither incidental nor accidental.5 Of sculptures examined: • 30 of 127 (24 per cent) were missing noses • 51 of 127 (40 per cent) were missing hands (39 with saw/chisel marks) • 12 of 127 (9 per cent) had localized losses from repetitive touching (primarily figures of Christ).6 5 

    Streeton, ‘Decoding Damages to Late-Medieval Cult Sculpture from Norwegian Churches’. Of the 127 sculptures, 34 of these (27 per cent) could not be categorized within the framework for this study. 6 

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    This chapter is restricted to sculptures with damaged noses, of which the majority represent the Virgin and Child, where the figure of Christ was most often damaged (Fig. 11.2 and Table 11.1). Sculptures representing the Virgin and Child with St Anne (Anna selvtredje), John the Baptist, male and female saints, and bishops also had losses with visible chisel or saw marks, which were characterized as deliberate, rather than accidental or connected with some form of neglect. Table 11.1. Damaged sculpture. In this tally, only damages to the nose that could be classified as targeted/deliberate are accounted for. Damages that were potentially caused by accidents such as a fall, or because of inherent weakness in the material itself are not included here. Nose removed

    Face removed

    Virgin and Child (esp. Christ) Anne selv tredje Óláfr Sunniva John the Baptist Pope Gregory; and bishops

    Christ John the Baptist Michael (reattached)

    30 examples

    3 examples

    Creating a context for damages has required a material-culture approach that considers presence as much as absence, as well as changing physical form and shifting socio-political circumstances over time. 7 Thus, while the physical state of these objects is a central concern for their preservation, an issue of critical importance for understanding their current appearance is the historical and social context of the loss.8 Without directly relevant documentation to illuminate discussions of precisely how the damages were incurred, this work draws on a wide range of sources — theological, legal, and historical — to rationalize and enhance an understanding of attacks on cult sculptures in the post-Reformation period, by people whose ideas were shaped by preReformation ideas.

    7 

    Streeton, ‘Writing Histories for Late-Medieval Objects’. The author (in Streeton, ‘Writing Histories for Late-Medieval Objects’) set out a twopronged approach for conservation research (scientific and historical) that is closely aligned to ‘post-processual’ archaeologies inspired by Ian Hodder, Christopher Tilley, and others. 8 

    278 Noëlle L. W. Streeton

    It must be stated, however, the objects addressed here are only a fraction of the representations of saints that were originally present in Norwegian churches, particularly in the century prior to the Reformation, and those examined for this study are only a selection of those that have survived.9 Furthermore, there are questions of provenance. For example, it is not certain whether high altars, side altars, and individual sculptures, among many other object types, were retained in the church in which they were originally installed, or moved to other churches after the Reformation before being transferred to museums.10 Assessing forms of iconoclasm from this fragmented historical record is therefore a challenge. Nevertheless, iconoclasm should be defined and for the purpose of this work, Lee Wandel’s definition is perhaps most appropriate. Wandel described iconoclasm as an attack against the material culture of Christianity, whereby attacks could be physical and combined with violent words.11 To this might be added what David Freedberg has emphasized: that the ways in which an image was broken or mutilated reveals important details about the powers the breakers believed that it had.12 It is argued here that the removal of a nose would effectively disable the saint and disrupt the relationship between the image and its viewers. This chapter draws on numerous earlier studies that have been instrumental for clarifying beliefs attached to cult sculpture in religious experience,13 as well as their inclusion/exclusion within the Protestant church space.14 Significantly, this chapter also probes surviving documentary sources that shed light on the ‘Protracted Reformation’. Arne Bugge Amundsen, Henning Laugerud, and the authors in two volumes devoted to the Protracted Reformation15 have identified issues that shaped how evangelical Lutheranism was implemented in 9 

    Note that altarpieces and their painted wings also bear gouges, burns, and breaks, and many objects were lost for very many reasons through the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, but these will not be discussed here. 10  Achen, ‘Reformasjonen og kirkekunsten i Bergen’, pp. 61–66, esp. p. 65. 11  Wandel, Voracious Idols and Violent Hands, p. 26. 12  Freedberg, The Power of Images. 13  e.g., Bynum, Christian Materiality; Dyas, ‘To be a Pilgrim’; Streeton, ‘Decoding Damages to Late-Medieval Cult Sculpture from Norwegian Churches’. 14  Camille, The Gothic Idol; Koerner, The Reformation of the Image; Graves, ‘From an Archaeology of Iconoclasm to an Anthropology of the Body’; Amundsen, ‘Dynamikk og dynasti’; Amundsen, ‘Reformed Church Interiors in Southern Norway’. 15  Hansen, Bergesen, and Hage, eds, The Protracted Reformation in Northern Norway, i; Berg, Bergesen, and Kristiansen, eds, The Protracted Reformation in Northern Norway, ii.

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    Figure 11.2. Throne of Mercy, c. 1490. Altarpiece from Skjervøy church (Troms), Museum of Cultural History, UiO C3000. Photos: Kirsten Helgeland and Noëlle Streeton. Christ’s nose was probably removed with a chisel or a pane hammer by striking the object at an angle to the surface. The sculpture is small and thus not much force would have been required to create a clean break.

    Denmark-Norway. Their work not only represents a substantial contribution to understandings of religious, political, and social changes, but also the impact of each on the changing church space and church ‘cleansing’. Following on from this important work, the discussion below addresses three main points. The first highlights the significance of wholeness in medieval doctrine. The second (and most substantial) point examines the ways in which Kirkeordinansen was implemented in Norway — to argue the case that there is no reason to assume a break with traditional religion.16 On the contrary, there is every reason to consider that cult sculptures continued to be object of vener16 

    As numerous authors have argued, the construction of traditional or ‘folk’ religion in post-Reformation theology and discourse has been a means to contrast traditional piety with actions and ideas that were perceived as new or ‘unintelligible’ (Laugerud, ‘Visualitet og synskultur i det etter-reformatoriske Danmark-Norge’, p. 99; Berg, ‘The Influence of the Reformation on Religious Practice in the North’, p. 32. See also Kolsrud, Noregs kyrkjesoga, p. 289). In this, traditional categories were merged with the new ‘until these categories were gradually displaced by new ones’ (Kristiansen, ‘Black Book Ministers in Northern Norway’, p. 102).

    280 Noëlle L. W. Streeton

    ation and devotion in rural and isolated congregations. This leads to the third point, which considers the issue of partial mutilation of sculptures. Here it is argued that nasal mutilation ultimately aimed to suppress undesirable behaviours among those who continued to value relationships with cult sculptures, not least because damage transformed relationships between people and their intercessors. A noseless image could no longer act as a mediator or role model. Medieval Sources Numerous researchers who consider post-Reformation iconoclasm in medieval churches have concluded, via a range of historical sources for iconoclastic acts in France, Switzerland, and Germany, that destruction in these locations was far from random.17 Rather, iconoclasts most often aimed at defined targets with specific meanings. In this context, areas of the body were targeted and forms of destruction were meaningful under canon law and within a repertory of traditional judicial punishments that are described in medieval sources.18 This is important because medieval perceptions surrounding physical integrity (or ‘wholeness’) have been crucial for decoding what it meant for a person — or a representation of Christ, the Virgin, a saint or bishop — to lose a nose. Canon Law Valentin Groebner considered the implications under canon law of a physical disability,19 such as substantial damage to one’s hands or a missing or disfigured nose. Both were physical imperfections that were grounds to preclude a man from an official liturgical position or ordination to the priesthood.20 This is primarily because noses were associated with personhood, and ‘wholeness’ with beauty, goodness, and Godliness. Without the nose, neither a person nor their intercessor could function in society (a missing nose = stigma = social exclusion). Groebner pointed specifically to Albertus Magnus’ De sacrifice missae where Magnus connected facial disfigurement, and especially denasatio, with signs of 17 

    Davis, ‘The Rites of Violence’; Wandel, Voracious Idols and Violent Hands; Koerner, The Reformation of the Image; Simon, ‘Neddergetreten, erslagen, geplundert, spolyrt’. 18  Groebner, ‘Losing Face, Saving Face’; Groebner, Defaced; Skinner, ‘The Gendered Nose and its Lack’; Streeton, ‘Decoding Damages to Late-Medieval Cult Sculpture from Norwegian Churches’. 19  Groebner, ‘Losing Face, Saving Face’. 20  Corpus juris canonici, 1, dist. 49, c. 1, in Groebner, Defaced, p. 75 n. 26.

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    sin: ‘sicut dicimus maculosum esse denasatum’ (as it is said, he who has had his nose cut off is sullied).21 Magnus reiterated later (also in De sacrifice missae) that once the form of a thing is destroyed, only deformity and ‘turpitudo’ remained. Similar exclusions for persons with disfigured noses are echoed in the writings of Thomas Aquinas and Berthold of Freiburg (Rechts summe)22 as well as by the author of the fourteenth century saga of St Thomas Becket, who wrote that without a nose one is not able to behave properly; that the body is corrupt, like a leper.23 The nose was therefore associated with acceptable behaviour and indeed personhood, which was negated by the state of noselessness. Furthermore, the removal of the nose left the person or a representation thereof with a permanent sign of shame and disgrace that, like leprosy, meant exclusion from active participation in the communal life of a congregation. The removal of a nose from a cult sculpture would arguably have the same effect. It was a mark of impotence and shame that would prevent its participation in the life of the church thereafter. Civil Law Perhaps more obvious is the significance of physical mutilation in a legal context, associated with visible signs of punishment of criminals under Norwegian law. Norges gamle Love (Norway’s Old Laws)24 contain transcriptions of legal documents that form a rich resource for understanding punishments for crimes that resulted in permanent marks for wrongdoing, rather than death.25 In the 1274 law codes for Norway (enforceable to the seventeenth century) there are numerous clauses which contain words that point directly to dismemberment as punishment (e.g., höggva, lemja, limalát, and meiða). Even more specific is the term lemstrarsár, which can be defined as a wound to the face that could not be covered with cloths or hair (see Table 11.2). 21  Albertus Magnus, i (1890), p. 292 and xxxviii (1899), p. 161b, in Groebner, ‘Losing Face, Saving Face’, p. 6 n. 25; Groebner, Defaced, p. 75. 22  Groebner, Defaced, p. 75 n. 26. 23  Thomas saga erkibyskups, ed. by Unger, p. 355. 24  Parkinson, ‘Dead to the World, but Alive unto God’; Norges gamle Love (Norway’s Old Laws), ed. by Keyser and others. 25  Jón Viðar Sigurðsson has been instrumental in translating and reflecting on these sources, which are the focus of further work on the relationship between crime, punishment, and disfigurement before and after the Reformation.

    282 Noëlle L. W. Streeton

    Table 11.2. Key words cited in the Norwegian laws introduced in the 1270s, which were maintained until Christian IV’s laws replaced them in 1604. These words refer to specific terms for violence, punishments, mutilation of body parts, and lasting, visible scars. They reflect opinions about violence and post-Viking societies in the high Middle Ages.26 Although enforceable during the first half of the confessional period (1550–1650) related attitudes and cultural relevance arguably continued beyond the enforcement period. Key word

    Translation

    Sources L & H = Norges gamle Love: Kong Magnus Håkonssøns Landslov (L) and Hirdskrå (H). 1848. Norges gamle Love indtil 1378, ii. R = Norges gamle Love: Retterbod. 1849. Norges gamle Love indtil 1378, iii.

    höggva

    hand hewing; dismemberment

    L. VII 63; L. IV 19; L. jfr. X 2(2)

    lemja lemstrarhögg

    mutilation as punishment; dismemberment; limb removal

    L. III 18 (lemja); L X, 10 (lemstrarhögg)

    lemstrarsár

    lasting injury (scar) to the face that could not be covered with cloths or hair

    L. I 5; L. III 10 (n. 34, lemstr = lemstrarsár); L. IV 19; R. c 9(28)

    limalát lemlæstelse

    mutilation as punishment; dismemberment; limb removal

    L. IV 16 jfr; L. IV 17 jfr. IX 16(n); L. IX, 16 (ft 23); H 36, b. 432; R b. 473 jfr. 482; R c. 83, 169; R 00. 20; R b. amendment 473; R. jfr. amendment 482

    meiða/ meiðing/ örkumla

    for treachery against the king: maiming/desecration; cutting off limbs and nose; castration. A fate worse than death.

    L. IV 3 jfr; L. IV 3a (örkumla); L. X 2(n)

    nefahögg

    blow to the nose with a fist

    L IV 21; L X 2(2)

    26 

    Sandvik and Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, ‘Laws’.

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    Law and Disfigurement Taking care not to draw a simple line between language and action,27 it is nevertheless possible to support an argument via these sources that disfigurement was symbolically significant throughout the period between the thirteenth and the seventeenth centuries, and likely beyond this too. For example, the removal of a hand marked a person as a thief or perjurer throughout this period,28 while nasal amputation (rhinotomy) was recognized across cultures and centuries as an even more potent signifier of disempowerment.29 For men, there was a strong connection between nasal mutilation and sinful, heretical behaviours,30 but for women the ‘blemish’ was nearly always related to sexual misconduct.31 A woman without a nose was unchaste, to the extent that the disfigured nose became emblematic, like a ‘scarlet letter’, of the constant vulnerability of female integrity.32 The sixteenth-century illustration of judicial punishment for ‘witches’ (which incidentally features no women) emphasizes the point that the removal of a nose, as well as hands, entire limbs, eyes, the head, skin, and genitals had legal implications (Fig. 11.3). It communicated the message that justice had been served because those receiving the punishment were indelibly marked. The medieval sources amply register the significance of stigma and disqualification, which was akin to iconoclasm in that it entailed a reduction in status for the afflicted. As stated above, David Freedberg has pointed out that the ways in which an image was broken or mutilated reveals important details about the powers the breakers believed that it had.33

    27 

    Sean Lawing’s work on disfigurement in medieval Iceland highlights the complexities of interpreting these archival sources and warns that a monolithic interpretation is neither possible nor desirable (Lawing, ‘Perspectives on Disfigurement in Medieval Iceland’, p. 9). 28  Lawing, ‘Perspectives on Disfigurement in Medieval Iceland’; Sandmo, Voldssamfunnets undergang. 29  Zhengyuan, Autocratic Tradition and Chinese Politics, p. 109; Shostakovich, The Nose; Skinner, ‘The Gendered Nose and its Lack’, pp. 53–54. 30  Skinner, ‘The Gendered Nose and its Lack’, pp. 53–54. 31  Groebner, Defaced, pp. 70–82; Skinner, ‘The Gendered Nose and its Lack’, p. 55. 32  Groebner, Defaced, p. 79; Streeton, ‘Decoding Damages to Late-Medieval Cult Sculpture from Norwegian Churches’. 33  Freedberg, The Power of Images.

    284 Noëlle L. W. Streeton Figure 11.3. Punishing ‘witches’. Woodcut from Laienspiegel [Tengler, Ulrich, Matthias Hupfuff (printmakers) and Sebastian Brant (preface). Laienspiegel, woodcut Laijen Spiegel: Von rechtmässigen ordnungen in Burgerlichen vnd peinlichen regimenten, page LXXXIIIb] Straßburg, 1510. © Universitätsbiblothek Freiburg/ Public Domain. Nose removal is within the yellow box.

    The Reformation in Denmark-Norway Christian (later King Christian III) introduced Lutheran reform on 6 August 1528. However, it was not until October 1536 that the newly crowned king terminated the authority of Catholic bishops in Denmark-Norway (see Table 11.3) and soon after he issued the Danish Kirkeordinans by royal decree from Copenhagen.34 The new law, which was thereafter implemented under the guidance of Johannes Bugenhagen, replaced the administration and courts of the Roman Catholic Church with structures that were inseparable from state bureaucracy.35 As in other newly Protestant regions, the consequences for representatives of the Church and objects in individual churches were wide-ranging, from perilous to fairly consistent with changes enacted in the years after the excommunication of Martin Luther. 34 

    Danske Kirkelove, ed. by Rørdam, i, pp. 2–7. Bagge and Mykland, Norge i dansketiden, pp.  78–79; Ingesman, ‘Reformation and Confessionalisation in Early Modern Denmark’, pp. 32–35. 35 

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    Table 11.3. Timeline 1521–1665. Date

    Event

    1521

    January 3, Pope Leo X issued the papal bull Decet Romanum Pontificem, excommunicating Martin Luther from the Catholic Church

    1522

    Andreas Karlstadt published On the Removal of Images to explain/support the failure of image-based piety

    1525/1527

    Reformation declared in S. Jutland

    1526

    Frederik I of Denmark broke ties with Rome

    1528

    Christian introduced Lutheran reform (6 August 1528)

    1529/1530

    Guided by Johannes Bugenhagen, Reformation declared in Lübeck

    1530

    Iconoclasm/riot, St Mary’s, Copenhagen

    1530

    German Confessio Augustana adopted in Denmark36

    1536

    30 October, Christian III abolished powers (secular and spiritual) of local bishops; assumed functions as head of the church

    1537

    Kirkeordinansen and installation of superintendents (later bishops) of Denmark

    1546

    18 February, death of Martin Luther

    1555

    Augsburg religious peace (ushering in Confessionalization until 1648)

    1624

    Christian IV prohibited sects and religious practice in variance with Confessio Augustana37

    1665

    Frederik III, King’s Law’ (Kongeloven)

    Implementation in Bergen By the time the archbishop of Norway, Olav Engelbrektsson, fled to the Hapsburg Netherlands (April 1537) there had already been substantial changes in clerical institutions and churches in Bergen.38 At the time, Bergen was Norway’s most important urban centre, with concentrations of monastic communities and churches full of sacred objects, which were targeted soon after the introduction of Lutheran reform (August 1528). Timing dictated 36 

    Ingesman, ‘Reformation and Confessionalisation in Early Modern Denmark’, p. 37. Ingesman, ‘Reformation and Confessionalisation in Early Modern Denmark’, p. 42. 38  Grell, ‘The Reformation in Norway’, p.  122; Ingesman, ‘Reformation and Confes­ sionalisation in Early Modern Denmark’, pp. 37–41; Berg, ‘The Influence of the Refor­mation on Religious Practice in the North’, p. 20. 37 

    286 Noëlle L. W. Streeton

    that after the Dominican monastery at Holmen was damaged by fire in early 1528 that valuables were inventoried and registered, but the monastery was not rebuilt.39 Around the same time (also 1528) Vincens Lunge, a representative of Christian III in Norway, obtained by royal grant the nunnery of Nonneseter to the south-east of Bryggen, where he converted the buildings and site into a private fortified residence, called Lungegården.40 In churches, the celebration of mass was displaced with reformed services in a number of key locations. At St Mary’s (Mariakirken) German evangelical preachers were in place by 1529, as they were in the churches of St Martin41 and St Hallvard, which itself was the German resident church (destroyed 1560).42 Evangelical services were also held by Jens Viborg at the Cross church (Korskirken) by 1531. Perhaps the most significant event, though, was the disappearance of the relics of St Sunniva, which had been housed in Kristkirken, Bergen’s main church at Holmen since 1170. The Sunniva relics disappeared in 1531, when the church was demolished.43 They never resurfaced. Over the next fifty years, accounts from Bergen trace confiscations of valuables and the stripping of images from monasteries and churches. According to Grell, the Dominican monastery at Holmen (mentioned above) was plundered at the behest of Lunge, whose residence at Nonneseter evidently offered protection and a site to administer valuables that were removed from Bergen institutions.44 Furthermore, according to the 1537 letter to Eske Bille, who was royal administrator of Bergen castle, all goods in Bergen churches — from silver and gold plate, to vestments, chandeliers, altarpieces, individual sculpture, and decorations — were to be registered.45 Thereafter, treasures such as those from the pilgrimage church at Fana were sent to the Danish mint,46 but Henrik von 39 

    Achen, ‘Reformasjonen og kirkekunsten i Bergen’, pp. 57–58. Grell, ‘The Reformation in Norway’, p. 129. 41  Grell, ‘The Reformation in Norway’, p. 131. 42  Achen, ‘Reformasjonen og kirkekunsten i Bergen’, p. 48. 43  Dybdahl, ‘Sunniva den hellige’; Achen, ‘Reformasjonen og kirkekunsten i Bergen’, p. 56. 44  Grell, ‘The Reformation in Norway’, p. 129; Achen, ‘Reformasjonen og kirkekunsten i Bergen’, p. 51. 45  Diplomatarium Norvegicum 22, pp.  481–82, no.  396; Achen, ‘Reformasjonen og kirkekunsten i Bergen’, p. 60. 46  Blindheim, ‘The Cult of Medieval Wooden Sculptures in Post-Reformation Norway’, p. 48; Grell, ‘The Reformation in Norway’, p. 142. Confiscations changed the balance of ownership (and power) considerably. Before 1537, 44 per cent of land was owned by the Catholic Church, as opposed to 4 per cent controlled by the crown. Afterward, and in addition to treas40 

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    Achen has hypothesized that many others were sent to a kind of warehouse, from whence they were redistributed.47 There was also propaganda to discourage engagement with ‘images’ (in all their variants) that remained in situ. In 1571, the bishop of Bergen, Jens Skjelderup, wrote a play entitled ‘A Tragedy about Pictures’ (En Tragødie om Billeder).48 The bishop also produced Een Christelig Undervisning aff den hellige Skrifft om hvad en Christen skal holde om affgudiske Billeder oc Stytter udi Kirkene. This was a booklet that featured a discussion between a peasant and clergyman, with admonitions against idolatrous images.49 The peasant was against the destruction of pictures: he liked them. He considered them valuable (monetarily — and spiritually) and thought that they were not harmful to anyone. The clergyman responded that the pictures represented an inherited evil tradition, although crucifixes were allowed, referring specifically to the Røldal crucifix. Taken in isolation, the events centred on Bergen could give the impression that upheaval and destruction of medieval liturgical instruments was nearly as widespread in Norway as in certain locations in England, the Netherlands, Germany, and Switzerland. One might also assume that in the aftermath, these efforts were effective in shifting hearts and minds from traditional religion to the new and unfamiliar, and that the general population came to accept the Lutheran Church and word-based faith after three generations, as is commonly repeated. However, there are a number of complications to the explanatory model that new clergy were trained within three generations and with this, the old faith simply ‘died out’.50 Even by 1750, there were many churches without a parish priest, especially in the far north where ecclesiastical visitations were ures, relics, silver and gold that were confiscated and sent to royal coffers in Copenhagen, 15 per cent of property that belonged to local parish churches remained intact, while 26 per cent was transferred to the crown. See Grell, ‘The Reformation in Norway’, p. 142; Fladby, Samfunn i vekst. 47  Achen, ‘Reformasjonen og kirkekunsten i Bergen’. 48  Bugge, ‘Ikonoklasmen i Norge og de norske katekisme altertavlene’, pp.  85–86; Blindheim, ‘The Cult of Medieval Wooden Sculptures in Post-Reformation Norway’, p. 47. 49  Blindheim, ‘The Cult of Medieval Wooden Sculptures in Post-Reformation Norway’, pp. 47–48. 50  Grell, ‘The Reformation in Norway’, pp. 125–26; Amundsen, ‘Dynamikk og dynasti’, pp. 51–52; Berg, ‘The Influence of the Reformation on Religious Practice in the North’, p. 20. By contrast, Christian III’s strategy for ecclesiastical administration in Denmark itself was more stringent. In the wake of the civil war (1533–1536) Christian III was in a powerful position at home and demanded adherence to practical matters in (Berg, ‘The Influence of the Reformation on Religious Practice in the North’).

    288 Noëlle L. W. Streeton

    too infrequent to wipe out remnants of ‘papistic idolatry’, ‘popular magic’, and sensory experience.51 Challenges to those tasked with implementing reformed doctrine outside of Bergen had implications for the survival of and continued reliance on images. Implementation across Norway Of course, reformers who were engaged in theological debates had strong opinions about the place of images in the church interior and about the behaviours associated with them.52 At the opposite end of the spectrum, however, was the greater part of the population who wished to preserve the sacred space and its traditions, and who feared that worship would be stripped of meaning — in a spiritual and tactile sense. Images of saints and crucifixes, whether individual or part of an altar or shrine superstructure, were invested with meaning and thus preserving their status would have been a pressing concern for all who cherished their local church interiors and their relationships with saints and figures of Christ. Had the Church Law been stringently implemented, the authorities (clergy) and their congregations could have removed potent images (like the one at Røldal) that encouraged sensory engagement. After all, the Church Law stated that ‘the images [that] uninformed people believe in [are] heathendom…and should be taken away’.53 In theory, this requirement meant that congregations would have to rely far more heavily or exclusively on scripture. However, the law did not specify that all altars and images were to be completely removed,54 and although it did threaten relationships with familiar images and familiar things, provisions for implementing the law were lenient, even in Bergen. Orders were issued from Copenhagen on 17 June 1537 in a letter to Eske Bille (d. 1552). The letter specifically instructed him not to interfere in theology or personnel. Rather, he was to allow: 51 

    Amundsen, ‘Reformed Church Interiors in Southern Norway’; Ingesman, ‘Visitations as an Instrument of Discipline in Early Modern Denmark’, p. 205. 52  Grell, ‘The Reformation in Norway’, p. 135. 53  The full passage reads: ‘Item de Billeder den wanuittige almoe luffuer seg heden til oc giør dyrckelse/til huilck oc er stoer tillob aff languerendis steder med stoer affguderi skulle plat tagis bort. Di huer mand wed io skiønt at saadant er intet andet end affguderi’ (Faks. Utg. 1988, bl. Xxviij; Bugge, ‘Ikonoklasmen i Norge og de norske katekisme altertavlene’, p. 85). 54  Grell, ‘The Reformation in Norway’, p. 122; Berg, ‘The Influence of the Reformation on Religious Practice in the North’, p. 20.

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    Dog wille vij Etther befallit haffue atJ lade alle kyrckens perszoner och sogne prester ther offuer alt stygttett bliffue widt theris gammele skicke och ingenn ny predicker indsette thennem paa thet att ther jcke schall voxe nogen forskreck eller v?nighedt eblannt then fattige simmple och vforstandige almoe ther vdj landit førre end vij kunde finde ther andre raadt tiill och saa mett lempe och føge komme thennem tiill nogenn bekendelsze och bedre forstandt vdj Guds ordt. ([C]hurch officials and parish priests to continue in accordance with their traditions and not to instate new preachers in order that the poor, simple and common people should not fall out with each other and become frightened. In due course, the King would find means whereby they could be brought to a better understanding of the word of God.)55

    A gradual reformation was thus set in motion ‘in accordance with their traditions’, designed for the uneducated and under the guidance of trusted and reliable clergy from the old Church.56 Enforcement of changes and practical applications of the Kirkeordinans was thus in Bergen not so stringent as in Denmark, and even less stringent in rural locations especially in the far north. Ole Petter Grell, Arne Bugge Amundsen, Nils Gilje, Per Ingesman, and Sigrun Høgetveit Berg57 have each stressed that the implementation of the Church Law in Norway was neither decisive nor even. Nor was it clearly controlled, largely because enforcement and oversight would have required more resources than the Danish king was prepared to (or able to) devote to this cause.58 For these reasons, there appears to have been no evangelical movement outside of Bergen before the 1660s, even if some of the earliest non-Catholic altarpieces are in fact found in rural churches.59 Even so, few embraced the new theology, much less deprived themselves of the sensory experiences that were so central to the late medieval Church.60 This failure likely had its roots in the geo55  Diplomatarium Norvegicum xxii, pp.  481–82, no.  396; ; translation in Andrén Reformationen i Norden, p. 114. 56  Grell, ‘The Reformation in Norway’, pp. 125–26. 57  Grell, ‘The Reformation in Norway’; Amundsen, ‘Dynamikk og dynasti’; Amundsen, ‘Reformed Church Interiors in Southern Norway’; Gilje, ‘Saa ere nu saadanne Billedstytter døde træ oc stene’; Ingesman, ‘Reformation and Confessionalisation in Early Modern Denmark’; Ingesman, ‘Visitations as an Instrument of Discipline in Early Modern Denmark’ and Berg, ‘The Influence of the Reformation on Religious Practice in the North’. 58  Ingesman, ‘Visitations as an Instrument of Discipline in Early Modern Denmark’. 59  Bø, ‘From Material and to Immaterial Presences’. 60  Amundsen, ‘Dynamikk og dynasti’, p. 51; Amundsen, ‘Reformed Church Interiors in Southern Norway’, p. 75.

    290 Noëlle L. W. Streeton

    graphic, demographic, and linguistic variations between Denmark and Norway that could not be foreseen in Copenhagen.61 Landscape Whereas Danish churches were situated in a flat agricultural landscape, where congregations and church inventories could be monitored for deviancy and idolatry,62 similar oversight was impossible in Norway. The same law could therefore not be simultaneously relevant to, or enforceable in coastal communities and/or remote valleys, which of course characterize the dramatically different and highly varied Norwegian conditions. The authors of the law, however, recognized their gaps in understanding. One paragraph refers specifically to the law’s implementation in locations far removed from Copenhagen: We shall immediately proceed to appoint Superintendents to all the sees in Norway, whom we shall instruct to do their utmost to make sure that every parish has good preachers […] And they shall deal with other matters in accordance with this Order until we ourselves come to Norway, which we, with God’s assistance, expect to do soon. Then we shall on the advice of the Superintendents deal with matters which are not covered by this Order and introduce a new Order which will deal with this.63

    The aim was therefore to appoint superintendents who would oversee the implementation of regulations that were appropriate to local conditions, but at a later date. However, as Grell and Ingesman point out, the promised visit never occurred.64 With no official challenge to continuity with tradition, for many congregations there was no choice to be made. They continued as before. The situation would likely have been similar in other locations across northern Europe where church inventories had not been confiscated or destroyed.65

    61 

    Berg, ‘The Influence of the Reformation on Religious Practice in the North’, pp. 19–46. Berg, ‘The Influence of the Reformation on Religious Practice in the North’, p. 20; Grell, ‘The Reformation in Norway’, p. 122. 63  Grell, ‘The Reformation in Norway’, p. 122 and n. 3 [Grell’s translation]. 64  Grell, ‘The Reformation in Norway’, p. 122; Ingesman, ‘Reformation and Confessionali­ sation in Early Modern Denmark’. 65  Tarlow, ‘Reformation and Transformation’; Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars. 62 

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    The Norwegian ‘Adjustment’ Entwined with practical matters related to Norwegian geography were issues of language and access. The ordinance was issued first in Latin (1537) and then in Danish (1539) but not in Norwegian until 1607, a delay of more than seventy years after reform was first introduced.66 However, even providing text in a familiar language would only take administrators so far. Access to new ideas to bring about ‘a better understanding of the word of God’ also relied in some measure on the ability to read. Thus, even if an itinerant preacher managed to sail around rocky coasts, or travel across mountains to communities in secluded valleys, the act of distributing imported evangelical pamphlets would not ensure that their message would be received.67 Furthermore, with no printing press, no university, and low levels of education among the general population beyond Bergen, Nidaros, and Oslo, such efforts (as stated above) required resources. It is therefore not surprising that Latin texts (and Catholic habits) remained in use in some regions, and after a time entwined with Lutheran ones, as was the case at Trondenes where Catholic and Lutheran texts were preserved together in their armarium (medieval book collection) that was used until the nineteenth century.68 Despite attempts to gain insight into Norwegian traditions, such as those of the second Lutheran bishop, Hans Gaas (1548–1578), who commissioned the translation into Danish of the Old Norse Catholic Christian law69 — elements for early success were largely absent. Challenging the Cult of Saints? The majority of surviving accounts from the first forty years after the introduction of evangelical Lutheranism point, unsurprisingly, to a lack of support for the new religion. For example, in the 1550s, two farmers in the roles of St Óláfr (Norway’s patron saint and first Christian king) and St Nicholas (patron of sailors and merchants, among others) ‘entreated’ communities in Vestfold not 66  Grell, ‘The Reformation in Norway’, pp. 132–40; Ingesman, ‘Visitations as an Instrument of Discipline in Early Modern Denmark’, pp. 209–12. 67  Amundsen, ‘Dynamikk og dynasti’. 68  Bergesen, ‘Middelalderens bibliotek på Trondenes’; Schmidt, ‘Das Trondenes Armarium’; Berg, ‘The Influence of the Reformation on Religious Practice in the North’, p. 23 n. 17. 69  Kolsrud, Noregs kyrkjesoga, p. 196; Berg, ‘Trondenes kannikgjeld’, pp. 262–63.

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    to give up their faith in these potent saints.70 The farmers were tried and executed, a punishment that was far more severe than that meted out to an Østfold woman in the 1570s. She was punished for her visions of the Virgin, but sent home. Beyond this, pilgrims continued to travel to Nidaros to the shrine of St Óláfr, until his earthly remains were buried in 1568.71 These examples point to challenges that faced followers of Philip Melanchthon, Johannes Bugenhagen, and Peder Palladius.72 Long-cherished relationships with images of Christ, the Virgin, and saints (such as Óláfr and Sunniva, to name but two) were both visual and verbal, and tied to daily comforts. Therefore, how would an intellectual approach to the written word espoused by Melanchthon, Bugenhagen, and Palladius displace the everyday relationships that ordinary rural and coastal people had with potent, revered, and treasured objects? Luther Martin Luther himself declared in Against the Heavenly Prophets (1525) that an image-less faith was impossible. He asked: ‘If it is not a sin, but a good thing, that I have Christ’s image in my heart, why then should it be sinful to have it before my eyes?’.73 Luther also denounced the cleansing of churches, asserting that image-breakers had misread Scripture, that they violated freedom, scandalized the weak, undermined authority, and practised a false righteousness of works.74 Nevertheless, church interiors across Germany and elsewhere were subject to selective cleansing, depending on local sympathies. Considering the survival of a full range of objects from medieval churches,75 one way to interpret cleansing in this context is the removal of temptation to consider cult sculptures in the same way as before. Joseph Koerner described how Anabaptists left behind blows to faces and hands during their cleansing of churches in Münster (1534–1535), erasing eyes, mouths, and hands to make the saint blind, mute, and anonymous.76 Martin Warnke wrote about such assaults that disciplined 70 

    Amundsen and Laugerud, eds, Religiøs tro og praksis i den dansk-norske helstat fra reforamsjonen til opplysningstid. 71  Ekroll, ‘St Olavs skrin i Nidaros’. 72  Grell, ‘The Reformation in Norway’, pp. 135–37. 73  Koerner, The Reformation of the Image, p. 160 n. 32. 74  Koerner, The Reformation of the Image, pp. 153–68. 75  Kroesen, ‘The longue durée of “Romanesque” Altar Decorations’. 76  Koerner, The Reformation of the Image, p. 107, fig. 44.

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    the material as one would a person, and with this the material took on a different meaning.77 This point is taken further below. Palladius Bishop Peder Palladius (1503‒1560) was also, like Luther, not without respect for church treasures and time-honoured traditions. He stated in his visitation book from the mid-1550s that churches were old, and that it was essential (presumably both for clergy and congregations) to show respect for the work of the ancestors, and to show consideration for the needs of posterity.78 He also wanted for people to attend church, perhaps appealing to conservative elements in communities but, nevertheless, Palladius saw two major problems that threatened and even prevented the adoption of the new theology.79 One was the continued importance of the cult of St Óláfr (noted above) and the other was the Saturday Mass Office devoted to the adoration of Our Lady. Palladius wrote that: The false and horrible idolatry, which the blessed mother, the Virgin Mary, of Jesus Christ is disgraced with, against the first and the second commandment, and in the kingdom of Norway has constituted a proper chapel of Satan with these Saturday celebrations, created around the true church of God, which knows the value of keeping Sunday holy, and values lawful work, both on Saturdays, as on other weekdays, according to God’s commandment, wherein He says, in the sweat of your brow you shall eat your bread.80

    Palladius recognized that the cult of the Virgin, which gained particular importance in the late medieval period, would prove difficult to eradicate. This is not least because cult sculptures of the Virgin, Christ, and potent saints like Óláfr and Sunniva could (and evidently did) retain functions as devotional instruments for those seeking comfort and assistance during hardship or worry, for example related to pregnancy and childbirth, toothache, intestinal worms, or ensuring safe passage of fishermen at sea.81 77 

    Warnke, Bildersturm, pp. 65‒98. Palladius, Danske Skrifter V, p. 27 n. 39, in Amundsen, ‘Reformed Church Interiors in Southern Norway’, p. 75. 79  Grell, ‘The Reformation in Norway’, p.  137 n. 38; Amundsen, ‘Reformed Church Interiors in Southern Norway’, p. 75. 80  Palladius, Danske Skrifter V; Grell, ‘The Reformation in Norway’, nn. 32, 36 and 37. 81  Freedberg, The Power of Images, p. 274; Bynum, Christian Materiality; Ohrvik, ‘“Sjælens 78 

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    If a reformed church was going to disturb traditional ways of dealing with problems, and wipe out practices that delivered comfort in times of need, it would take far more than a proclamation from Copenhagen, and occasional visits from church officials to achieve this aim. Even if side altars were dismantled and shrines shifted to another location, it is clear that images were not ‘treated like the lowliest of things’.82 Particularly outside of Bergen, congregations had the option to take advantage of continued access to ‘old friends’ for protection and inspiration during the long period of transition.83 Visitations Eradicating remnants of idolatry, popular magic, and sensory experience evidently required enforcement,84 and while superintendents and provosts were due to visit annually, regular visits were impractical if not impossible. An initial aim of regular visits was to instruct parish priests in the implementation of doctrine, particularly that derived from Philipp Melanchthon’s tract published in Wittenberg in 1528, Unterricht der visitatoren an die pfarr­ herrn im kurfürstenthum zu Sachsen.85 Another role of superintendents was to ensure that parish priests espoused the Holy Gospel, the word of Jesus Christ ‘clean and clear’, so that ‘even a maid […] can judge whether he [the priest] advocates any invocation of saints or other forms of “papism” either openly in his preaching or secretly during confession’.86 This attempt at control was hardly new, but infrequent visits during a time of dramatic change did not encourage obedience.87 Infrequent visits were also reported in some locations in Denmark, as revealed by the visitatsbog of Jacob Madsen (1588–1604). During his sixteen years in office, the superintendent in most instances visited a country/rural parish (where the bulk of people lived) two or three times — and for some Læger” og “de Syge selv”’, pp. 177–79, 182; Kristiansen, ‘Black Book Ministers in Northern Norway’, p. 124. 82  Koerner, The Reformation of the Image, p. 105. 83  Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Den vennlige vikingen. 84  Amundsen, ‘Dynamikk og dynasti’, p. 51; Ingesman, ‘Visitations as an Instrument of Discipline in Early Modern Denmark’, p. 205. 85  Ingesman, ‘Visitations as an Instrument of Discipline in Early Modern Denmark’, p. 206 n. 5. 86  Ingesman, ‘Visitations as an Instrument of Discipline in Early Modern Denmark’, p. 214. 87  Amundsen, ‘Dynamikk og dynasti’; Ingesman, ‘Visitations as an Instrument of Discipline in Early Modern Denmark’, p. 205.

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    parishes there were no episcopal visits in forty or fifty years.88 Furthermore, by circa 1600 there was still no enforceable plan outside of Bergen, and during Bishop Frederik Nannestad’s visit to the far north in 1750, he not only reported that local boys were poorly educated, but also that nearly half of churches had no priest.89 Naturally it took time to train new clergy, but even in 1750 there were many congregations without consistent guidance. This, coupled with infrequent visits and active resistance, meant that reformed spiritual requirements were fit into traditional categories until these categories were gradually displaced by new ones.90 Røldal Pockets of resistance ensured that in some locations, potent objects and valued traditions not only continued, but merged with Lutheran orthodoxy. According to Ole Nicolai Løberg’s eye-witness account,91 this was the case at Røldal, which in the previous era had been the most important pilgrimage site south of Nidaros (c. 450 km to the north). Løberg arrived in the secluded mountain valley north-east of Stavanger on 6 July 1835.92 His visit was expected by a local clergyman. However, because the community in this valley had not shifted from the Julian to Gregorian calendar,93 Løberg arrived two weeks earlier than anticipated by his host. The confusion meant that Løberg had the opportunity to witness first-hand the activities of the Feast of St John (23 June) when locals and pilgrims gathered in the stave church as they had done for centuries.94 According to Løberg, the 88 

    Ingesman, ‘Visitations as an Instrument of Discipline in Early Modern Denmark’, p. 221 and n. 49. 89  Wolff, ed., Biskop i Trondhjem dr. Fr. Nannestads, p. 23. The education of clerics had also been poor, and not until 1707 was the requirement for clergy to take theological education from the University of Copenhagen enforced (Kristiansen, ‘Black Book Ministers in Northern Norway’, pp. 102–03 n. 15). 90  Kristiansen, ‘Black Book Ministers in Northern Norway’, p. 102. 91  The dean was Ole Nicolai Løberg, not ‘Lødrup’ as reported by Blindheim, ‘The Cult of Medieval Wooden Sculptures in Post-Reformation Norway’. Thanks to Svein Bråten for tracking down the correct name. 92  Dalen and Dalen, Røldal Bygdebok, p. 96. 93  The Gregorian calendar is said to have been adopted (finally) in the rest of DenmarkNorway by 1700. 94  Blindheim, ‘The Cult of Medieval Wooden Sculptures in Post-Reformation Norway’,

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    service began as one would expect: with the reading of psalms followed by warnings against the pope from a Lutheran sermon book. But thereafter two local farmers lowered the thirteenth-century crucifix from the chancel arch and situated it at the altar with candles on either side.95 Then, one by one, parishioners and pilgrims took turns to stroke the face of the Christ figure with a piece of linen, wiping ‘sweat’ from Christ’s brow with the hope to secure its healing powers and protection — an act of tactile piety that was also related in an eighteenth-century poem about ongoing ardent belief in the potency of this crucifix.96 Afterward the faithful processed again around the altar to give money and gifts to the image while others sang another psalm. According to Dalen and Dalen,97 during the final (fourth) psalm the congregation ‘took their walking sticks’ and, as if to ensure the benefits from their actions, hurried from the church and left the valley before sunrise. Løberg’s account is clearly a censure, which only incidentally gives rare insight into behaviours that ran counter to official Lutheran teachings. This example makes clear that physical contact with the crucifix during veneration was linked to devotional traditions that were intact if hybridized over the nearly 300 years since the physical interaction with cult sculptures had been officially banned. Yet, the infrequency of visits meant that pilgrims continued unhindered to make their way to Røldal to seek relief from crippling illnesses, and give gifts to the crucifix on Midsummer Eve, even in the (temporary) absence of the crucifix. The infrequency of visits was undoubtedly of some importance to the continuation of these traditions.

    Attacks on Material: Partial Mutilation and Meaning The example in Røldal suggests that similar events occurred (but were not recorded) in other peripheral locations in Norway, where individuals seeking relief, or at the very least a response to their prayers continued to engage directly with images. Such sensory customs lay at the heart of the cult of saints, and while location and frequency of access would have been quite uneven, the p.  51; Streeton, ‘Decoding Damages to Late-Medieval Cult Sculpture from Norwegian Churches’, p. 1. 95  Dalen and Dalen, Røldal Bygdebok, p. 98. 96  Camstrup, Trifolium Metricum, pp. 34–35; Daae, Norske Bygdesagn, p. 1. Jón Viðar Sigurðsson made the connection between the poems and insight into late medieval conceptions of the cult of saints. 97  Dalen and Dalen, Røldal Bygdebok.

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    Throne of Mercy from Skjervøy church (Troms) has wear marks that attest to its continued use, perhaps for a considerable period after the Reformation.98 This also appears to be the case for twenty-nine other sculptures accounted for in Table 11.1, each of which seems to indicate that papist practices and folk beliefs were absorbed into new Protestant routines. As Laugerud has quite rightly pointed out, ideas about ‘folk’ religion as a category or construction were largely built by post-Reformation theology and discourse in an effort to support official policy, even if it did not reflect local behaviours.99 Breaking the cycle was apparently attempted in some instances by removing or obliterating the potent object, as was the case in Nesland where the Virgin was drawn and quartered.100 Other objects were retained, nearly whole, in the church interior as was the case with the Skjervøy altar, which was recorded by Bishop Nannestad in his visitation book.101 Why? In all cases, specifics about local churches, local clergy, and lay leaders (among other factors) must be explored to reach more substantial conclusions, but in the meantime, it is reasonable to propose here that congregations considered minor yet specific damages as a way to transform relationships with sculptures that were retained in the churches. In instances where noses were mutilated, this seems to have been one strategy to suppress undesirable behaviours among those who continued to value relationships with cult sculptures. As Groebner has emphasized in instances of mutilations in regions of Switzerland and southern Germany, these were aimed at an audience: representations of violence functioned to close the gap between the immaterial and material images.102 Furthermore, it is important here to acknowledge that ‘seeing’ and interpreting an act of desecration would have changed over time, something that Margaret Aston considered in her 2003 article ‘Public Worship and Iconoclasm’. Aston stated that ‘What started with proscription of the touchability of the holy, climaxed with censorship of the seeability of the divine’.103 In this, she addressed a critical point: that touching images, and engaging with them in a physical way, was something that Luther objected to, but opinions on how to cope with that were localized and in flux, which consequently led to different forms of censorship. 98 

    Streeton, ‘Decoding Damages to Late-Medieval Cult Sculpture from Norwegian Churches’, pp. 3–4. 99  Laugerud, ‘Visualitet og synskultur i det etter-reformatoriske Danmark-Norge’, p. 99. 100  Blindheim, ‘The Cult of Medieval Wooden Sculptures in Post-Reformation Norway’, p. 52. 101  Wolff, Biskop i Trondhjem dr. Fr. Nannestads, p. 23. 102  Groebner, Defaced, pp. 34–35. 103  Aston, ‘Public Worship and Iconoclasm’, p. 9.

    298 Noëlle L. W. Streeton Figure 11.4. Details showing burn marks. Throne of Mercy/detail, altarpiece from Skjervøy (Troms), c. 1490. Museum of Cultural History, UiO C3000; St Anne, the Virgin and Child/detail, University Museum Tromsø. Photo: Noëlle Streeton.

    Figure 11.5. St Anne, the Virgin and Child (unknown provenance). Museum of Cultural History, UiO, C 23312 Photos: Kirsten Helgeland and Noëlle Streeton. Note that multiple hands and noses were removed.

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    Figure 11.6. Systematic attacks. Sculptures from the altarpiece from Nesna church (Nordland), c. 1470, University Museum of Bergen. Photos: Noëlle Streeton.

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    One form of censorship seems to have been ‘execution’, to punish an object for perceived crimes for which defacement was not considered to be sufficient to create distance between the potent object and devotees. Michael Camille noted in his 1989 book The Gothic Idol that sculptures were sometimes imprisoned, tried, and condemned as heretics, before being executed by burning, which was also the same punishment meted out to a witch, a traitor, or a heretic.104 However, the ‘execution’ of potent objects was evidently not always successful, as was the case for the polychromed Holy Virgin of Nesland (Telemark), which retained some sort of function long after the sculpture was, as noted above, apparently drawn and quartered. The four pieces were stored in the loft of the stave church, where pilgrims continued to visit every Midsummer Eve until circa 1800, after which the pieces disappeared — probably destroyed — before the church itself was demolished in 1847.105 It is possible that a congregation wished to circumvent prohibitions but also retain a valued object, for which a strategy could have been to destroy it partially in ways that discouraged devotion to the image, but yet allowed the object to retain some of its representational features. This could foreseeably have been the case for the Madonna from Hove church (Sogn og Fjordane) (c. 1230).106 The base of the Virgin was cut off unevenly, and the noses and hands of the Virgin and Child were also damaged at some point. Such losses would at the very least have removed the possibility that the image could be viewed and venerated as before, but yet this valuable remnant of past traditions could remain with the congregation. Equally, however, it might also be argued that the same disfiguring acts were intended to confirm the sculpture’s impotency. The Virgin and Child were not real, and they did not bleed when cut. Another way to test an object for a response seems to have been to hold a candle to the surface, visible now as burn marks to faces, among other locations on the body (Fig. 11.4). As argued above, a sculpture without a nose was, however, different. While a representation of a holy personage with worn and flaking paint, or without hands or feet might still be appreciated as that which is represented, holy personages without a nose were more likely to cease to be viewed as a human 104 

    Camille, The Gothic Idol, p. 224. Daae, Norske Bygdesagn, p.  18; Nilsen, Magnus Brostrups Landstad, pp.  57–65; Blindheim, ‘The Cult of Medieval Wooden Sculptures in Post-Reformation Norway’, p. 52. See also Nilsen, Magnus Brostrups Landstad, pp. 57–65 for discussion of a poem by dean Magnus Brostrup Landstad about the church in 1852, where Landstad described Nesland’s medieval wall paintings and the four pieces of a polychromed Holy Virgin of Nesland. 106  Now in the University Museum of Bergen. 105 

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    representation. Thus, to target the nose of a cult sculpture was arguably very specific, in that the damage transformed utterly the relationship between the parishioner and the sculpture. Like a human victim, a sculpture without a nose could not function in society, and neither could it act as a mediator between earthly and heavenly realms. Thus, nasal mutilation achieved what visitations could not: compliance with Church Law with respect to cult sculpture. The removal of noses and hands from a sculpture representing St Anne, the Virgin and Child (Fig. 11.5) seems to have aimed even beyond this though, because the figure of Anne was designed to cry.107 Effective damage to this particular sculptural group, which was repaired probably in the nineteenth century, disabled the figures and, crucially, also impaired Anne’s function to elicit empathy through tears. Like other sculptures that were defaced and disfigured, the damages to this object undoubtedly stood as an aggressive reminder of sinful practices that were prohibited within a highly controlled Protestant space. In this way, partial damage likely was inflicted with the aim of imposing order, within traditions of shaming that would have been understood by any congregation. It might be argued too that in some instances, the damage was categorized or perceived in similar ways to the physical symptoms of leprosy or syphilis (Fig. 11.6). Both ailments meant that patients frequently sought to hide their damaged faces and, in the case of syphilis, also the way in which the disease was contracted.108 If the aim was to humiliate the object, to mark it with shame and effectively ostracize it from a local community, this form of damage would have been recognized as such. Furthermore, missing noses and hands from each figure in Fig. 11.6 indicates that these were damaged by a codified attack, particularly in a community like Nesna (Fig. 11.6), where reactions to cryptoCatholicism were likely to have been particularly strong in the period after the Black Book minister, Peter Dass, was the priest there.109 Another lingering question revolves around damage to the face of the crucified Christ. This remains difficult to rationalize, not least because, as Koerner 107 

    Streeton, ‘Decoding Damages to Late-Medieval Cult Sculpture from Norwegian Churches’, p. 6. 108  Siena, Sins of the Flesh. 109  Amundsen discussed a trial of two notable members of the community at Gjerpen prestegård (south-east of Oslo) who were convicted in 1613 of ‘crypto-Catholicism’ (Amundsen, ‘Dynamikk og dynasti’, pp. 51, 57). He observes that in this region priests not only continued much as before well into the seventeenth century, but also had strong Roman Catholic sympathies that were reinforced through strong elite family circles. Similar trials of Catholic sympathizers followed.

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    noted, the ambivalence of iconoclasm is never more evident than when it struck the image of Christ on the cross.110 Even though the unadorned cross as a symbol of Christ’s sacrifice became central for the evangelical movement, the crucifix depicting Christ suffering on the cross was something else. As an image, the crucifix is closely tied to Catholic liturgy and its invocation of the Passion,111 so therefore was arguably the object of idolatry in its most primary form, according to the Second Commandment. It encouraged the worship of the image instead of God and with this in mind, mutilating the nose of Christ would effectively shift devotion elsewhere. Furthermore, unlike the death that was the inevitable result of crucifixion, nose-cutting often did not lead to death but instead became a sign of enduring humiliation for the afflicted. That the noses of Christ sculptures were particular targets will for so many reasons remain a theme that is problematic. However, it might be argued that a direct link between the removal of the nose of Christ and local traditions could also in some way be related to concepts of beauty and power. Jón Viðar Sigurðsson has described in great detail that Scandinavian royalty was described as beautiful112 — a beauty that is concealed in the Passion, where ‘God’s true likeness was turned into the ugliest of things: with no beauty in him nor comeliness […] the man of sorrows’ (Isaiah 53).113 But even the Man of Sorrows required a nose. Without one, meditating on Christ’s death by imaginative recollecting of its minute particulars was a corruption too far — the noseless Man of Sorrows was less than human. It was powerless. This chapter has focused on the mutilation of noses, rather than the removal of hands or feet, because rhinotomy was perhaps the most severe form of reinterpretation, with specific references to sin and humiliation in relation to physical flaws, canon law, and judicial punishment. The removal of a nose meant that a once valued member of the community was disqualified from participating in the life of the church thereafter. However, it is not clear whether the aim was to warn the congregation of the consequences of making oneself unrecognizable, or to make the presence of the sculpture acceptable in a Protestant church. That stigma would have been recognized in any congregation seems to point to the former, although it is entirely possible that broken bodies point to multiple 110 

    Koerner, The Reformation of the Image, pp. 129–34. Wandel, Voracious Idols and Violent Hands, p. 78. 112  Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Skandinavia i vikingtiden, pp. 105–09. 113  Koerner, The Reformation of the Image, pp. 124–26. 111 

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    meanings for their contemporary audiences, and discussions of these meanings are also dependent on disciplinary approach. Within the discipline of conservation, surviving cult sculptures (as well as winged altarpieces, shrines, and other liturgical furniture) are primary sources in their own right, in that they offer new ways to think about the longevity of traditional piety in the post-Reformation period, and practices that were not sanctioned by the Church. With specific objects in mind, it is clear that churches were far from fully emptied of accoutrements of Roman Catholic worship. The reality in many locations, particularly outside of Bergen, was that the image-laden past was overlaid with new requirements for a word-based faith. As such, religiously motivated image-breaking will remain difficult to distinguish from vandalism, random damage, or damages associated with environment and age. Finally, this work has sought to highlight, within still-emerging research on the Protracted Reformation, that cult sculptures were not left to age gracefully within Protestant churches. On the periphery of lands controlled by the Danish crown, traditional piety supplemented official teachings in ways that were rarely recorded and thus must be examined locally, rather than generally, and with specific objects in mind. Those included in this study have been crucial as a foundation for examining the circumstances under which cult sculptures remained active in the space of the church and the ways in which they were vulnerable to reinterpretation. Ultimately their damages prevented them from continuing as mediators and role models within communities that had previously invested them with great spiritual value.

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    Works Cited Primary Sources Diplomatarium Norvegicum i–xxiii, ed. by C.C.A. Lange and others (Christiania [Oslo]: Mallings, 1847–2011) Norges gamle Love i–v, ed. by Rudolf Keyser and others (Christiania [Oslo]: Grøndahl, 1846–1895) Thomas saga erkibyskups: Fortælling om Thomas Becket erkebiskop af Canterbury: to bearbeidelser samt fragmenter af en tredie, ed. by C. R. Unger (Christiania [Oslo]: Bentzen, 1869)

    Secondary Studies Achen, Henrik Von, ‘Reformasjonen og kirkekunsten i Bergen’, in Fra avlatshandel til folkekirke. Reformasjonen g jennom 500 år, ed.  by E.  Haug (Oslo: Scandinavian Academic Press, 2017), pp. 43–74 Amundsen, Arne Bugge, ‘Dynamikk og dynasti. Norsk luthersk reformasjon og geistlige strategier’,  in Religiøs tro og praksis i den dansk-norske helstat fra reforamsjonen til opplysningstid ca. 1500‒1814, ed. by Arne Bugge Amundsen and Henning Laugerud (Bergen: Universitetet i Bergen, 2010), pp. 49–72 Amundsen, Arne Bugge, and Henning Laugerud, eds, Religiøs tro og praksis i den dansknorske helstat fra reforamsjonen til opplysningstid ca. 1500–1814 (Bergen: Universitetet i Bergen, 2010) Amundsen, Arne Bugge, ‘Reformed Church Interiors in Southern Norway, 1537‒1700’, in The Protracted Reformation in Northern Norway: Introductory Studies, ed. by Lars Ivar Hansen, Rognald Heisedal Bergesen, and Ingebjørg Hage (Stamsund: Orkana Akademisk, 2014), pp. 73–92 Andrén, Carl-Gustav, Reformationen i Norden: Kontinuitet och förnyelse (Lund: Nordiskt Institut för kyrkohistorisk forskning, 1973) Aston, Margaret, ‘Public Worship and Iconoclasm’, in The Archaeology of the Reformation 1480–1580, ed. by David Gaimster and Roberta Gilchrist, Society for Post-Medieval Archaeology Monograph, 1 (Leeds: Maney, 2003), pp. 9–28 Bagge, Sverre, and Mykland, Knut, Norge i dansketiden: 1380–1814 (Oslo: Cappelens, 1998) Berg, Sigrun Høgetveit, ‘The Influence of the Reformation on Religious Practice in the North’, in The Protracted Reformation in Northern Norway, ii: Towards a Protestant North, ed.  by Sigrun Høgetveit Berg, Rognald Heisedal Bergesen, and Roald  E. Kristiansen (Hannover: Wehrhahn, 2016), pp. 19–46 —— , ‘Trondenes kannikgjeld – makt og rikdom gjennom seinmellomalder og reformasjon’ (unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Tromsø, 2014) Berg, Sigrun Høgetveit, Rognald Heisedal Bergesen, and Roald  E. Kristiansen, eds, The Protracted Reformation in Northern Norway, ii: Towards a Protestant North (Hannover: Wehrhahn, 2016)

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    Bergesen, Rognald Heisedal, ‘Middelalderens bibliotek på Trondenes’, Collegium Medi­ evale, 26 (2013), 60–88 Blindheim, Martin, ‘The Cult of Medieval Wooden Sculptures in Post-Reformation Norway’, in Images of Cult and Devotion: Function and Reception of Christian Images in Medieval and Post-Medieval Europe, ed.  by S.  Kaspersen (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2004), pp. 47–59 Bugge, Ragne, ‘Ikonoklasmen i Norge og de norske katekisme altertavlene’, in Tro og bilde i Norden i Reformasjonens århundre, ed. by Martin Blindheim, Erla Hohler, and Louise Lillie (Oslo: Universitetets Oldsaksamling, 1991), pp. 85–91 Bynum, Caroline Walker, Christian Materiality: An Essay on Religion in Late Medieval Europe (New York: Zone, 2011) Bø, Ragnhild M., ‘From Material and to Immaterial Presences: Engagements with Saints before and after the Reformation in Denmark-Norway’, Mirator, 19 (2018), 84–107 Camille, Michael, The Gothic Idol: Ideology and Image-Making in Medieval Art (Cam­ bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989) Camstrup, Ole, Trifolium Metricum. Eller den Samling af adskillige poetiske Sager (Copen­ hagen: Trykt hos Kongl. Univ. Bogtrykker Owe Lynow, boende paa Vand­konsten, 1739) Daae, Ludvig, ed., Norske Bygdesagn: Første Samling (Christiania [Oslo]: Cappelens, 1881) Dalen, Knut, and Alma Dalen, Røldal Bygdebok (Røldal: Røldal municipality, 1960) Danske Kirkelove, ed.  by Holger Frederik Rørdam, vol.  1 (Copenhagen: Selskabet for Dan­marks Kirkehistorie, 1883) Davis, Natalie  Zemon, ‘The Rites of Violence: Religious Riot in Sixteenth Century France’, Past and Present, 59 (1973), 51–91 Duffy, Eamon, The Stripping of the Altars: Traditional Religion in England 1400–1580, 2nd edn (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2005) Dyas, Dee, ‘To be a Pilgrim: Tactile Piety, Virtual Pilgrimage and the Experience of Place in Christian Pilgrimage’, in Matter of Faith: An Interdisciplinary Study of Relics and Relic Veneration in the Medieval Period, ed.  by James Robinson and Lloyd de Beer, British Museum Research Publication, 195 (London: British Museum Press, 2014), pp. 1–7 Dybdahl, Audun, ‘Sunniva den hellige’, Norsk biograpfisk leksikon, [accessed 3 September 2018] Ekroll, Øystein, ‘St Olavs skrin i Nidaros – myter og fakta omkring Nordens største helgenskrin’, SPOR 15, 30/2 (2000), [accessed Septem­ ber 2018] Elstad, Hallgeir, ‘Jacob Kærup, Biskop’, in Norsk biograpfisk leksikon [accessed 25 August 2018] Fladby, Rolf, Samfunn i vekst – under fremmed styre 1536‒1660, Handbok i Norges Historie, 5 (Bergen: Universitetsforlaget, 1986), pp. 58–63 Freedberg, David, The Power of Images: Studies in the History and Theory of Response (Chi­ cago: University of Chicago Press, 1989) Gilje, Nils, ‘“Saa ere nu saadanne Billedstytter døde træ oc stene”. Billedstriden i Bergen 1568–1572’, Tidsskrift for kulturforskning, 10.2‒3 (2011), pp. 73–83

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    Graves, C. Pamela, ‘From an Archaeology of Iconoclasm to an Anthropology of the Body: Images, Punishment, and Personhood in England, 1500–1600’, Current Anthropology, 49.1 (2008), 35–57 Grell, Ole Petter, 2005 ‘The Reformation in Norway: A Political and Religious Takeover’, in Aspekte der Reformation im Ostseeraum, ed.  by Ralph  Tuchtenhagen (Lüneburg: Nordost-Archiv, 2005), pp. 121–44 Groebner, Valentin, Defaced: The Visual Culture of Violence in the Late Middle Ages, trans. by Pamela Selwyn (New York: Zone, 2004) —— , ‘Losing Face, Saving Face: Noses and Honour in the Late Medieval Town’, trans. by P. Selwyn, History Workshop Journal, 40 (1995), 1–15 Hansen, Lars Ivar, Rognald Heisedal Bergesen, and Ingebjørg Hage, eds, The Protracted Reformation in Northern Norway: Introductory Studies (Stamsund: Orkana Akademisk 2014) Ingesman, Per, ‘Reformation and Confessionalisation in Early Modern Denmark’, in The Protracted Reformation in Northern Norway: Introductory Studies, ed.  by Lars Ivar Hansen, Rognald Heisedal Bergesen, and Ingebjørg Hage (Stamsund: Orkana Akademisk 2014), pp. 29–48 ——  , ‘Visitations as an Instrument of Discipline in Early Modern Denmark’, in The Protracted Reformation in Northern Norway, ii: Towards a Protestant North, ed.  by Sigrun Høgetveit Berg, Rognald Heisedal Bergesen, and Roald  E. Kristiansen (Hannover: Wehrhahn, 2016), pp. 205–36 Jón Viðar Sigurdsson, Skandinavia i vikingtiden (Oslo: Pax, 2017) —— , Den vennlige vikingen. Vennskapets makt i Norge og på Island ca. 900–1300 (Oslo: Pax, 2010) Koerner, Joseph Leo, The Reformation of the Image (London: Reaktion, 2004) Kolsrud, Oluf, Noregs kyrkjesoga, ii: 1500–ca. 1740 (Oslo: Svein Helge Birkeflet, 2007) Kristiansen, Roald  E., ‘Black Book Ministers in Northern Norway’, in The Protracted Refor­mation in Northern Norway, ii: Towards a Protestant North, ed.  by Sigrun Høget­veit Berg, Rognald Heisedal Bergesen, and Roald  E. Kristiansen (Hannover: Wehrhahn, 2016), pp. 99–128 Kroesen, Justin, ‘The longue durée of “Romanesque” Altar Decorations: Frontals, Canopies and Altar Sculptures’, in Paint and Piety: Collected Essays on Medieval Painting and Polychrome Sculpture, ed. by Noelle L. W. Streeton and Kaja Kollandsrud (London: Archetype, 2014), pp. 15–38 Laugerud, Henning, ‘Visualitet og synskultur i det etter-reformatoriske Danmark-Norge. Bilder, skrift og erindring’,  in Religiøs tro og praksis i den dansk-norske helstat fra reforamsjonen til opplysningstid ca. 1500–1814, ed. by Henning Laugerud and Arne Bugge Amundsen (Bergen: Universitetet i Bergen, 2010), pp. 97–119 Lawing, Sean B., ‘Perspectives on Disfigurement in Medieval Iceland: A Cultural Study Based on Old Norse Laws and Icelandic Sagas’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, Háskóli Íslands, 2016) Nilsen, Halkild, Magnus Brostrups Landstad – Hans liv og diktning (Christiania [Oslo]: Mallingske, 1921)

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    Ohrvik, Ane, ‘“Sjælens Læger” og “de Syge selv”: Sykdomsbehandling i norske svartebøker mellom 1600–1800 med vekt på religiøs tro og praksis’, in Religiøs tro og praksis i den dansk-norske helstat fra reformasjonen til opplysningstid ca. 1500–1814, ed. by Arne Bugge Amundsen and Henning Laugerud (Bergen: Universitetet i Bergen, 2010), pp. 169–87 Palladius, Peder, Danske Skrifter v, ed. by L. Jacobsen (Copenhagen: Thiels, 1925–1926) Parkinson, Eóin W., ‘“Dead to the World, but Alive unto God”: Bodily Corruption, Visual Culture and Social Perceptions of Leprosy in Medieval Europe’, Archaeological Review from Cambridge, 32 (2017), 72–90 Sandmo, Erling, Voldssamfunnets undergang: Om disiplineringen av Norge på 1600-tallet (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, 1999) Sandvik, Gudmund, and Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, ‘Laws’, in A Companion to Old NorseIcelandic Literature and Culture, ed.  by Rory McTurk (Oxford: Blackwell, 2005), pp. 223–44 Schmidt, M., ‘Das Trondenes Armarium ‒ Versuch einer Rekontextualisierung’, in The Protracted Reformation in Northern Norway: Introductory Studies, ed.  by Lars  Ivar Hansen, Rognald Heisedal Bergesen, and Ingebjørg Hage (Stamsund: Orkana Aka­ demisk 2014), pp. 93–106 Shostakovich, Dmitri, The Nose, Satirical opera in three acts (n.p.: 1927–1928) Siena, Kevin, Sins of the Flesh: Responding to Sexual Disease in Early Modern Europe (Toronto: Centre for Reformation and Renaissance Studies, 2006) Simon, Tino, ‘Neddergetreten, erslagen, geplundert, spolyrt. Kuturvandalismus: mutwillige Beschädigung von polychrome gefassten Kunstwerken im Kircheninnenraum’, Zeitschrift für Kunsttechnologie und Konservierung, 28 (2014), 239–62 Skinner, Patricia, ‘The Gendered Nose and its Lack: “Medieval” Nose-Cutting and its Modern Manifestations’, Journal of Women’s History, 26.1 (2014), 45–67 Streeton, Noelle  L.  W., ‘Decoding Damages to Late-Medieval Cult Sculpture from Norwegian Churches’, in ICOM-CC 18th Triennial Conference Preprints, Copenhagen 4–8 September 2017, Linking Past and Future, ed. by J. Bridgland (Paris: International Council of Museums, 2017) (no pagination) ——  , ‘Writing Histories for Late-Medieval Objects: The Engagement of Conservation with Theoretical Perspectives on Material Culture’, Studies in Conservation, 62 (2016/2017), 419–31 DOI: 10.1080/00393630.2016.1210752 Tarlow, Sarah, ‘Reformation and Transformation: What Happened to Catholic Things in a Protestant World?’, in The Archaeology of the Reformation 1480–1580, ed. by David Gaimster and Roberta Gilchrist, Society for Post-Medieval Archaeology Monograph, 1 (Leeds: Maney, 2003), pp. 9–28 Wandel, Lee Palmer, Voracious Idols and Violent Hands: Iconoclasm in Reformation Zurich, Strasbourg and Basel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995) Warnke, Martin, Bildersturm: die Zerstörung des Kunstwerks (Munich: Carl Hanser, 1973) Wolff, J. U., ed., Biskop i Trondhjem dr. Fr. Nannestads optegnelser i hans almanakk av 1750 om kirker i Nord-Norge med noter og anmerkninger (Tromsø: Karlsens, 1942) Zhengyuan, Fu, Autocratic Tradition and Chinese Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni­ versity Press, 1993)

    Saints in Everyday Life Epigraphy as a Source for the Medieval Cult of Saints Elise Kleivane

    I

    n medieval Bergen, c.  1250, someone lost a wooden stick with a prayer carved into it: ‘Guð gefi oss byr ok gæfu María. Hjalpi mér Klemetr, hjalpi mér allir Guðs helgir […], Mikjáll, Pétr, Jóhannes, Andrés, Lafranz, Tómas, Óláfr, Klemetr, Nikolás. Allir helgir menn, gæti mín nótt ok dag, lífs míns ok sálu. Guð sé mik ok signi (May God give us fair wind and Mary good luck. Help me Clement, help me all God’s holy […], Michael, Peter, John, Andrew, Laurence, Thomas, Óláfr, Clement and Nicholas. May all holy men look after me, night and day, my life and my soul. May God see to me and bless me).1 This is perhaps the most prominent example of the use of writing in order to address saints in everyday life. God, Mary, and nine different saints are named and asked for help 1  What follows after allir Guðs helgir is not possible to read, but menn ‘men, people’ is expected from the context. This and all following normalizations of Old Norse and translations are my own unless otherwise specified. The signum for this runic inscription is N B13. The N means Norway, and the B means the inscription is found on Bryggen in Bergen and is registered, but not yet published, in the catalogue Norges innskrifter med de yngre runer, vols 1–6, ed. by Liestøl, Olsen, Knirk, and Johnsen (= NIyR). Published inscriptions have the signum N + number. Unpublished inscriptions from Norway, except from Bergen, have an A + number instead of B. Hereafter, KLNM = Kulturhistorisk leksikon for nordisk middelalder. Fra vikingtid til reformasjonstid, 22 vols, ed. by Dahlstrup; NGL = Norges gamle love indtil 1387, vols 1–5, ed. by Keyser, Munch, Storm, and Hertzberg.

    Elise Kleivane ([email protected]) is associate professor at the Department of Linguistics and Scandinavian Studies, University of Oslo. Her research includes Old Norse philology, epigraphy, and literacy. The Cult of Saints in Nidaros Archbishopric. Manuscripts, Miracles, Objects, ed. by Ragnhild M. Bø and Jon Viðar Sigurðsson, tcne 33 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2022), pp. 309–333 BREPOLS PUBLISHERS 10.1484/M.TCNE-EB.5.124887

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    Figure 12.1 Rune stick from Bryggen, Bergen, N B13. Photo: Kristel Zilmer (used with kind permission from the photographer).

    and protection, and Clement is even mentioned twice. That the person writing this also asks for fair wind hints at sailing, and the fact that it was found at the wharf (‘Bryggen’) in Bergen and six marks for counting are cut into one side further suggests trading as a professional context.2 In other words, this seems to be an inscription made to be used to secure someone’s safety mainly in his earthly life. The textual content suggests that the stick was made as an amulet, although the size makes this assumption less certain. The wooden stick is c. 29 cm long, and each side less than 2 cm wide. The fact that there is a hole drilled in one end, and traces of wear in the hole, strengthens the suggestion that it functioned as an amulet (Fig 12.1). Saints were part of everyone’s everyday life in medieval Norway, as well as in the rest of the Christian world. Glimpses into the cult of saints and the relationships between saints and humans are given in texts such as saints’ vitae, liturgical texts, and accounts of miracles. These are ‘reports after the fact’ and describe important features of individual saints and how those saints have helped people. Other glimpses of the cult of saints are provided by the dedications of churches and inscriptions on liturgical artefacts such as church bells. Figurative representations of saints are also evidence of cult. This chapter, however, deals with another (more direct) source for the cult of saints, namely epigraphic texts that are witnesses of individuals’ relationships with saints. 2 

    Since the inscription partly consists of cipher runes, the six counting marks could also be an aid in the writing or decoding of the cipher runes, since this system is based on the fuþark with 16 runes being divided into three families ‘ættir’, of 6-5-5. On cipher runes see most recently Nordby, ‘Lønnruner. Kryptografi i runeinnskrifter fra vikingtid og middelalder’.

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    A pragmatic definition of epigraphic text is: text that is not written on parchment or paper, but rather inscribed on stone, metal, bone, or wood, sewn into fabric or leather, imprinted in metal or clay, painted on walls, ceilings, or wooden plates, etc. The definition is not dependent on writing system or language, nor on text type or genre. Nevertheless, we typically see different kinds of texts in epigraphy than we do in manuscripts. More often than not epigraphic texts are made to be on display. Epigraphy in medieval Norway is written either in runes or in Roman-alphabet script, and the texts are written in either Old Norse or Latin. In addition some examples of Middle Low German are found, and well as some isolated words in Greek and Hebrew. Epigraphic texts are generally made for a specific occasion. Some are written with a long-lasting perspective such as dedication inscriptions and inscriptions on gravestones; others answer to an immediate and ephemeral need to express something of a practical or emotional nature. Examples of the first category are two inscriptions from Nesland church: one is a runic inscription and the other a Roman-alphabet inscription, and both state that the church is dedicated to St Óláfr.3 Inscriptions on gravestones rarely mention saints, except by noting the day someone died according to the ecclesiastical calendar.4 Dedication inscriptions will mention patron saints and provide insight into which saints were considered relevant and important for a specific church or chapel. A decision to dedicate a church to a specific saint may reflect the general popularity of the saint in the region at the time of dedication, or it may come from a more institutional decision, which then later may generate a widespread popularity. Inscriptions of the category of more immediate and ephemeral utterances are found in large numbers, e.g. in excavations in medieval towns, such as Bryggen in Bergen, or as graffiti on church walls. These inscriptions reflect to a much larger extent popular interest in specific saints, and the various functions they have been used for. In addition, they give a particular insight into every3 

    The runic inscription N 172 (NIyR 2, pp. 324–28) is incised on the left flank of the portal and reads ‘This church is dedicated to St Óláfr the king’. The Roman-alphabet inscription is written on wall boards (now museum number C 1543 in KHM, Oslo) and says ‘In the year of the Lord 1242, on the third of August, this church was dedicated by Lord Paul, bishop of Hamar, in honour of the Holy Cross and blessed Óláfr’. 4  The day of someone’s death, their ártíð, was important to note, as praying for someone’s soul on their ártíðardagr would benefit their souls in their present state separated from the body. This became even more acute as the concept of the purgatorium was consolidated and spread in the high and late Middle Ages. See Schumacher, Kirkehistorisk latinleksikon, pp. 169–70; Ekroll, ‘Døden i norsk mellomalder’, p. 172.

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    day uses of writing, and demonstrate a wide range of text types, some of which include references to saints. Between these two categories of inscriptions is a third one, which includes inscriptions that are made as part of personal objects such as jewellery, drinking horns, and amulets. These inscriptions have elements of having been written for display or decoration, but not for a large audience. Their address is also less ephemeral than the bragging, spelling practice, and nametags found on pieces of wood in medieval towns. They do, however, often mention saints, and attest to the personal interest in wearing and using objects that are linked to specific saints. The two script systems available in the Scandinavian Middle Ages, runes and Roman-alphabet script, are both used in all of the categories sketched above, but the runic inscriptions outnumber the Roman-alphabet inscriptions in the immediate and ephemeral category. The functions of the objects and the inscriptions vary, and in many cases it is not easy to determine what the intended function for the inscription might have been, since most inscriptions are short and rarely explain why they have been written. Despite these difficulties, by employing a multidisciplinary focus on what the inscriptions say, what kind of objects carry the inscriptions, and the contexts in which they are found, we may come close to understanding the intended function, and possibly be able to see patterns which reveal areas where certain saints have had specific importance. The main focus in this chapter will be on the ephemeral and ‘in-between’ categories, because the aim here is to analyse which saints appear in the epigraphic material outside of institutions. I will treat runic inscriptions first, followed by Roman-alphabet inscriptions, because another aim is to determine if there is any correlation between the choice of script and the choice of saints. This may give some indication of to what extent the choice of script was dependent on cultural and social contexts. The epigraphic material consists of a wide range of texts. The runic material in particular displays a great variety that ranges from boasting and declarations of love, to writing practice, insults, and practical information. Within the range of specifically religious texts, it comes as no surprise that God, Christ, and the Virgin are the figures who occur most frequently in the epigraphic material when the inscriptions address the holy, both in runic and Roman-alphabet inscriptions. In addition, inscriptions with a reference to the prayer Ave Maria as well as inscriptions with shorter or longer sections of the prayer are very common, and found on a wide range of objects.5 In this chapter, however, the 5 

    Elise Kleivane discusses Ave Maria inscriptions in ‘Epigraphic Ave Maria as Evidence of

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    focus will be on saints only — both major and minor according to how they were venerated throughout the year. The veneration of saints was linked to the ecclesiastical calendar, and the feast days of the saints high up in the saintly hierarchy were celebrated as Sundays. In medieval Norway the feasts Christians were required to observe were stated in the law-books, with fines for non-observance. Saints’ feast days, ordinary Sundays, and regular days alternated through the year and regulated people’s lives. The ecclesiastical laws specify which saints’ days should be observed as if they were Sundays and whether or not one should fast prior to these holy days.6 The regulations of fasting as well as the prohibition to work on feast days gave these most prominent saints a marked impact on everyone’s life. The less prominent saints would also play a part in ordinary people’s lives, e.g. as their feast days are used as calendar references, even though these saints’ feast days did not affect the daily life of people to the same extent as the more prominent saints did.7 There is some regional and chronological variation regarding the major and minor feasts between the law texts, and there is some small variation regarding the fines for non-observance. The Older Gulaþing law has fourteen days which are as holy as Sundays, whereas the Older Frostuþing law has sixteen. There are also differences in the saints listed as the ones celebrated as major feasts, that is as ‘6 aurar days’.8 The day for Bréttiva is an example of both chronological and regional variation. In King Magnús Hákonsson’s ‘bylov’ it is stated that the þing Medieval Literacy’, pp. 101–22. 6  According to tradition, St Óláfr and his bishop Grímkell set the ecclesiastical laws at the Mostrarþing in the 1020s. These were accepted by the different regional þing (assemblies). It is difficult to assess the validity of this tradition, which nevertheless has been accepted as part of the Norwegian historiography. After the archdiocese in Nidaros had been established, the ecclesiastical laws were adjusted to the canonical laws which by then also had become more stable (see e.g. Bøe in KLNM, 9, cols 297–304 (‘Kristenrettar’), and Gallén in KLNM 10, cols 1–2 (‘Kyrkorätt’)). 7  Inscriptions that mention saints only as part of a calendar reference are not included in this chapter. The focus will be on inscriptions that explicitly mention saints in some form of address. 8  Gjerløw in KLNM 8, cols 98–106 (‘Kalendarium II. Norge’) gives an overview of the days listed in different law texts as well as in the Nidaros ordinary and Missale Nidrosiense. See also Dybdahl, Helgener i tiden, pp. 15–20. Aurar (pl., eyrir sg.) are coins. The weight and the metal value varies in the medieval period. A ‘6 aurar day’ is a holy day where the fine for nonobservance is 6 aurar – or something of equal value. For most holy days the fines were either 3 or 6 aurar for non-observance

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    should assemble at the first Sunday after Epiphany, but in a manuscript connected to Tønsberg (MS Holm perg C 15 4to, c. 1300–1325) containing this law, it is said that the þing should assemble at Bréttifu messudag.9 Bréttifumessa (11 January) is also an example of changes in the calendar. This day is listed as a ‘3 aurar day’ in the Gulaþing Law, which is considered to be among the oldest layers of the Norwegian laws.10 In some manuscripts of the Frostuþing Law, it is said that Margrétumessa (20 July) has replaced Bréttifumessa.11 It has been suggested that it was Archbishop Øystein (c. 1120–1188) who had Bréttifumessa replaced, as it is not included in the Nidaros ordinary.12 The Nidaros ordinary is dated to the early thirteenth century, but from the later references, in e.g. MS Holm perg C 15 4to, we see that Bréttifumessa was not completely forgotten, but lived on locally at least as a chronological reference point.

    Calling for Help The address in the inscriptions that mention saints are of various kinds. Some inscriptions render a wish or a prayer, directed at God, Christ, Mary, or a saint. These are often expressed with phrases such as X gæti mín (may X protect me) or X hjalpi mér (may X help me). In cases where, for example, only a saint’s name is written with no other textual context, it is often assumed that a prayer or a request for a blessing may be intended, but it can be difficult to decide what was the intended function of the inscribed text. The difficulties become even more acute in cases where one cannot be sure if a name is a reference to a saint or if it is a person’s name. Closely related are inscriptions were content is directed to someone and a wish is expressed that, for example, God bless this person, often a person in need of help or healing. A somewhat different category of texts consists of those that may be labelled as adjurations. Here the address is often the illness, the infliction, or problem, and God, Christ, biblical persons, or saints are invoked or mentioned in order to affect and improve on

    9 

    NGL 2, Bl. i 1, n. 13. The number following NGL is the volume number. The following letter refers to the specific law text, the Roman number to the section (bǫlkr) and the following number to the part (þáttr) of the law, and not to the page number in the edition. 10  NGL 1, G 18. Also Eitun, Rindal, and Ulset, eds, Den eldre Gulatingslova, p. 9. 11  See NGL 1, F ii 25, n. 9. On Bréttifa, see KLNM 2, col. 241; Rekdal, ‘Vikings and Saints. Encounters Vestan um Haf ’. 12  Gjerløw in KLNM 8, cols 100–01, ‘Kalendarium II, Norge’.

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    a problematic situation. The text and the powerful words and names are means to force the evil to disappear, or in some cases to inflict evil on others.13 When it comes to the examples of texts that can be labelled adjurations, the question of defining the border between magic and religion arises. The prayers and requests for blessing are not in themselves magical expressions, and in the epigraphic material they often appear on their own; however, in manuscript texts such as handbooks of medical cures and other useful instructions, texts which on their own would not be labelled magical are presented as one part of procedures with specific instructions which may involve e.g. herbs, amulets, and rituals. The instructions may include the writing down of specific texts, and many inscriptions may well be results of such instructions, but without the instructions themselves. So prayers and blessings can be used as elements of magic, even if they are not considered magical but rather part of religion.14 Here I will discuss inscriptions that mention saints, considering which saints are mentioned in which kinds of texts. Since the inscriptions do not include possible instructions for the charms, I will take the textual and material context into consideration in order to discuss possible functions the inscriptions may have had, but the question of magic is less important than to whom the inscription is addressed.

    Saints in Runic Inscriptions The runic inscription N B13 mentioned in the beginning of the chapter contains a clear invocation of a number of saints, in addition to God and Mary. The phrases Guð gefi oss byr ok gæfu María, hjalpi mér, gæti mín, and Guð sé mik ok signi express this verbally as well as by the use of subjunctive. It is dated to after the fire in 1248 and was found in Nordre Bugården at Bryggen in Bergen.15 All of the saints mentioned are saints whose feast days are celebrated with the same level of observance as Sundays: Michael the archangel (29 September), Peter the Apostle (29 June), Andrew the Apostle (30 November), Laurence (10 August), Óláfr (29 July and translatio 3 August), Clement (23 November) 13  This grouping of the texts in Norwegian inscriptions is close to the grouping of charms by Kieckhefer, Magic in the Middle Ages, pp. 69–75. 14  Kieckhefer, Magic in the Middle Ages, pp.  69–75. See also Olsan, ‘Latin Charms of Medieval England’ for examples from instructions in English manuscripts. Scandinavian examples are MS AM 343 a 12mo (Copenhagen) and MS Thott 710 4to (Copenhagen). 15  Runebasen [last accessed 16 January 2018].

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    and Nicholas (6 December). It is unclear to whom the names John and Thomas refer, as they could indicate either John the Baptist (24 June) or John the Apostle (27 December),16 and Thomas the Apostle (21 December) or Thomas Becket (29 December), respectively. This is a problem in many cases where saints are named in epigraphy, and there is more than one saint who has the same name. Often, the context does not give enough information to distinguish between them. In the case of John and Thomas on N B13, arguments in favour of John the Baptist are that his day is a ‘6 aurar day’, and it marks Midsummer, whereas John the Apostle’s day is mostly referred to in the laws not as Jónsmessa but as one of the four days of Christmas. The Gulaþing’s law includes 27 December in jólahelgi fyrst fjóra daga (first four days of Christmas), as does, for example, the Borgarþing’s law fjórir fyrstir í jólum (the first four of Christmas).17 Further, John the Baptist dies a martyr, something which is common for all the other saints mentioned, with the exceptions of St Michael and St Nicholas. On the other hand, arguments for this being John the Apostle are that his name occurs between those of two other apostles (Peter and Andrew), and that this John was also well known for his prominent place at the Crucifixion. When it comes to Thomas the laws vary as to whether they list these days among the 3 or 6 aurar days. An argument against Thomas the Apostle is that he is not grouped with the other apostles in the inscription, but this argument depends on whether John is the John the Apostle or John the Baptist. Thomas Becket’s day is the fifth day of Christmas in the laws that mention five days of Christmas, and it is only mentioned explicitly in the Eiðsifaþing’s law.18 Also Thomas Becket was a ‘new’ saint, since he died in 1170 and was canonized in 1173. Still, he quickly became popular and well known in Norway. Objects with depictions of him and his martyrdom are known from several places in Norway by the early thirteenth century, such as the reliquary from Hedalen stave church and a pilgrim ampoule dated to around 1200, which was lost at Bryggen in Bergen between 16 

    The early church fathers considered the Apostle John, son of Zebedee, as the author of the gospel of John (as well as the three epistles of John and the Apocalypse), and no distinction was made in the medieval period between John the Apostle and John the Evangelist. In the following I will not differentiate between the apostle and the evangelist John, but label them according to the context they appear in. Now most scholars see these as two separate individuals. 17  NGL 1, G 18 and NGL 1, B I 14. The Roman numeral following B here does not refer to belkir (pl. of bǫlkr), but to recensions. Recension III has five days of Christmas, and the fifth is the 29 December which is St Thomas Becket’s day. 18  NGL 1, E I 9 and E II 8.

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    the fires of 1248 and 1335.19 What all four of these saints, the two Thomases and the two Johns, have in common with the other saints mentioned in the N B13 inscription is that their feast days were celebrated as a Sunday. The material does not allow us to draw firm conclusions, but at least for John I will suggest that it more likely to be John the Baptist because of his status as an ‘independent’ figure, and because of the importance his feast day had as marker of seasons. The inscription N B13 is a good example of a prayer directed at the saints, asking for help and protection for oneself (and others). An inscription which illustrates a blessing for someone else is the N 554 (Hedal church II). It is written with runes on the inside of the northern wall of the exterior gallery (‘svalgang’): [Jón.] Gæti þín Klemetr ok allir helgir menn. Þat sé satt ([ John.] May Clement and all holy men protect you. May that be true).20 The first three runes are not entirely legible. Magnus Olsen discusses the traces of runes and suggests the name Jón.21 He also discusses whether this suggestion, if it is correct, is the name of a saint to be co-ordinated with the ‘all holy men’, or if it is the name of the person for whom the prayer is made. Sometimes it is difficult, or even impossible, to decide if a name is the name of a saint or a personal name. For N 554 Olsen prefers the latter alternative, proposing that it is Clement and all holy men who are invoked on someone’s ( Jón’s?) behalf. Olsen also points to the larger space between the 3rd and the 4th rune, and suggests that only the name was written first, and the rest added by someone else later. He compares it to N 494 (Nidaros cathedral XXVI), where it seems to be quite clear that the name Erlingr has been written first, before ‘God protect you’ has been added to the left of the name, and ‘Sigmundarson, now and forever’ has been added after Erlingr.22 More than exemplifying prayers on someone’s behalf as N 554 and N 494 do, N 554 also illustrates the ambiguity of names, because if the first name is indeed Jón, it could as well be St John and all holy men that are invoked on a Clement’s behalf, even though that would make the syntax more complicated. Clement is known as a personal name in Norway at least as early as the first half of the twelfth century.23 Jón was a widely used name, attested as early as the eleventh century.24 Considering the high frequency of the name Jón and the syntactical structure of the inscription, reading Clement as the subject for the 19 

    Larsen, ‘Blod og vann fra Canterbury’, pp. 33 and 36. NIyR 5, pp. 164–69. 21  NIyR 5, pp. 168–69. 22  NIyR 5, pp. 56–57. 23  Lind, Norsk-isländska dopnamn och fingerande namn från medeltiden, p. 694. 24  Lind, Norsk-isländska dopnamn och fingerande namn från medeltiden, p. 649. 20 

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    verb geta is the least complicated solution. So here is a prayer to Clement again, as well as allir helgir, just like in N B13. Allir helgir, ‘all saints’, in fact also had a feast day, allra heilagramessa (1 November) listed as a ‘6 aurar day’ in all the ecclesiastical laws. There are a couple of other inscriptions that mention St John, but where the inscriptions and/or other context do not supply enough information for us to decide whether it is John the Baptist or John the Apostle. Indeed, as seen above, it is not even always possible to decide whether it is a reference to either saint or if it is a personal name. The inscription N 336 (Urnes church XIX) is written on a round wooden plate (c. 27 cm in diameter) found under the floorboards of the nave in Urnes stave church.25 It has the name ion written twice.26 But it seems it has been written as a sort of play with script, perhaps as writing practice, where one ion is written upside down compared to the other, but overlapping. From the inscription alone it cannot be decided what is meant, but the object and the playful writing could indicate a personal name. Still, why bring it to church and how and why was it deposited under the church floor? Leaving someone’s name in or on the church could be an expression of a wish to be prayed for, or it could be marking an empty — or symbolic — grave, a ‘monument’ for someone who has died but whose body is not there to be buried. However, in the case of N 336, the playfulness of the carving speaks against this — at least to a modern mind. As the find context hints at a possible reference to a saint, the inscription could be a request to St John for intercession, and what seems to be playfulness could also be considered as insisting, underlining, or even persuasion — close to magic. Another example where Jón is mentioned, but without further information to disambiguate who is meant, is N 456 (Ålen church) where a bind-rune of the three runes ion has been incised on the door. Again it is not possible to decide if the reference is to a person or a saint, however the prominent place and the size — the runes are c. 10 cm tall — gives the impression of it being official. Magnus Olsen takes it as a personal name, but as he describes its placement c. 75 cm above the base of the door, it is placed approximately at eye level for a person kneeling down, and I would not rule this out as a mention of a St John.27 25 

    NIyR 4, p. 112. Here and in what follows, runes are transliterated in bold types, according to runological practice. 27  NIyR 5, p. 17. It is not known who was the patron saint of the Ålen stave church. The church, as it stands today at the outdoor museum Trøndelag Folkemuseum — Sverresborg in Trondheim, is a combination of parts of two stave churches: one from Ålen and another from 26 

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    Because of the limited context, this question must however remain undecided. Another type of problem is seen in N 647, which was found in the foundation of a building built after the fire on Bryggen in Bergen in 1198, underneath Nordre Søstergården.28 The runes are written on a wooden stick, and the problem here is that the inscription as a whole does not make sense. A sequence of the inscription reads ioigannisab (runes 22–32) and could be interpreted as Johannes ap(ostolus),29 but this is far from certain, and the find context and the object on which the runes are written do not provide much help. Inscriptions that mention St Óláfr are also found, as is to be expected considering his importance as a local saint for the Nidaros archbishopric and as Rex perpetuum Norvagiensium. In addition, two of his feast days are celebrated as Sunday. On Nidaros cathedral (N 478) Óláfr is mentioned together with God in a prayer for protection and intercession.30 On a piece of wood found on Bryggen in Bergen (N B49), St Óláfr is mentioned: Heilagr Óláfr á (St Óláfr owns). What the intended function of this inscription was is not clear. The end of the wooden stick is broken off, so the inscription may have been longer, specifying what Óláfr owns, but from what is preserved, there is no trace of any missing runes. Another possible mention of Óláfr from Bryggen in Bergen is N 614, which is found on a flat piece of wood with inscriptions on both sides: one side says Ari á (Ari owns) and on the other side the runes santi:ulab are written before the rest is lost where the object is broken off.31 These runes are interpreted as either ‘Óláfr has sent’ or ‘saint Óláfr’, but the spelling of the name Óláfr is a bit odd.32 Inscriptions with only names, or with too little context to decide if the inscription refers to a saint or a person, are many, and they complicate the use of epigraphy as a source for cults of saints. Examples are Nicolaus (N A92, Kaupang church), Gregor (N A146 Trondheim), and Óláfr (N B93 Bryggen in Bergen). All three names are attested as personal names early on.33 Also petronile (N 389 Kaupang church) may be a reference to St Petronilla. Petronilla Haltdalen, both deconstructed in 1881 and later reconstructed in Trondheim. 28  NIyR 6, pp. 95–96 and 244. 29  As is suggested in NIyR 6, p. 96. 30  NIyR 5, pp. 46–48. 31  NIyR 6, pp. 24–25. 32  The use of u for o is not expected in an inscription younger than the eleventh century. Writing b for v is also unexpected. This, in addition to the name Ari, may indicate that the person writing was from one of the islands in the west, according to Liestøl (NIyR 5, 25). 33  Lind, Norsk-isländska dopnamn och fingerande namn från medeltiden, pp.  352–53, 789–95, and 810–14.

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    as a personal name is not known in Norway in the medieval period, but was used in Denmark from the twelfth century. The inscription shows some traits that may be Danish, and if it is not a reference to St Petronilla, the person in the inscription may well have been Danish.34 If this is indeed a reference to the saint, it stands out first as one of the very few female saints mentioned, and secondly because her feast day (31 May) is not celebrated as a Sunday. Another inscription from Bryggen in Bergen mentions Botolph (N B219). The rest of the inscription does not exclude that it is a reference to the saint, but does not give a clear indication if the reference is to the saint or a person either. The name Botolph is attested earlier than the runic inscription.35 The inscription reads botofar:seh:mer. In Rundata this is interpreted as Bótolfr sé mér (Botolph sees (to) me) and Runebasen gives Bótolfr sér mér (Botolph see (to) me), but this latter interpretation I find unreasonable since it requires the interpretation of the h as an r to mark the present tense, or alternatively to regard the h as a misspelling. A more reasonable interpretation, in my opinion, is to interpret it as Bótolf, seg mér (Botolph, tell me) with the fricative pronunciation of g marked by h.36 To identify saints whose names are also commonly used as personal names in inscriptions is challenging. Even as in this last example, when there is more than just the name, the interpretation of the inscription may point in several directions. Both the phrases ‘Botolph see(s) (to) me’ and ‘tell me’ may have been directed either at the saint or at someone else named Botolph. One will have to accept the fact that several inscriptions are inconclusive. However, a popular name may reflect the saint’s popularity, just as church dedications may reflect the popularity of specific saints. One of the inscriptions from Bryggen in Bergen, where the identification of John the Baptist is quite certain, is N 631. It was found in Søre Engelgården, in the foundation of a house that burned in 1393, and in this inscription John the Baptist is identified by his mother, Elizabeth.37 The text of the inscription supplies enough information for us to see this as an invocation, however not so 34  NIyR 4, p. 200. The possible Danish features in the inscription are the dotted b-rune with only one dot and the ending -e. 35  Lind, Norsk-isländska dopnamn och fingerande namn från medeltiden, pp. 159–61 gives examples from the first half of the thirteenth century and onwards; Runebasen dates the inscription to shorty before the fire in 1413. 36  h, a spelling convention which is often seen in both manuscripts and runic inscriptions. Another inscription worth mention is N B203 (before 1332, Runebasen), has bothafþu:uillkomm and then the rest is broken off. The question is if it is the name Bótolfr that meant, or as Rundata suggests, bót haf þú (You have/take compensation/penance). 37  NIyR 6, pp. 50–55 and 237–38.

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    much in the form of a prayer as in N B13, but rather as an adjuration. The text is in Latin, and reads in transliterated form: ‘maria:peperit:christum:elisabet: peperit:iohannem:baptistam:in:illarum:ueneracione:sis:absoluta:æcsi / :inkalue:dominuste:uacat:ad:lu’(Mary gave birth to Christ, Elizabeth gave birth to John the Baptist. In their honour, be delivered. Come out, ‘incalve’ [i.e. a reference to the child]). The Lord calls you to the [light]). The inscription is written on a wooden stick, c. 18 cm long and 1.2 cm wide, and judging from the text it was probably used to ease childbirth. This charm, in very similar form, is known from several manuscript sources, where sometimes instructions on how to use the charm are also included. The instruction is often to write the words onto an object which is placed close to or around the woman in labour. On the stick only the charm is written, not instructions on how to use it, so what we have is an example of such instructions being executed.38 Even though John is mentioned — in company of his mother as well as Christ and his mother Mary — it is not the saints who are addressed as much as the woman giving birth (‘be delivered’, absoluta is the feminine nominative) and the child to be born (‘come out’, ‘the Lord calls you’). I do not see the N 631 as an inscription that aims to force the saints mentioned to act. The saints are mentioned, and by being invoked as models they are also venerated, but they are not addressed and therefore not asked to do anything. The address is to the woman giving birth and to the child, and the means used to make the delivery happen is the comparison to the comparable situations of Mary giving birth to Christ and Elizabeth to John.39 In addition there is the encouraging or demanding statement that the Lord calls the child into the light. In all the examples above, the inscribed texts are legible and lexically meaningful — or at least they were before being damaged and/or removed from their original context, thereby making our understanding of their intended functions more difficult. These are runic inscriptions that ask for help, protection, or intercession more or less explicitly, and where the writing of the inscriptions and their use have been considered to belong to the private sphere, outside of institutions. In the epigraphic material under consideration here, some saints are mentioned only in specific textual and material contexts, contexts that place these inscriptions and the saints mentioned in them more clearly within a genre of charms or magical inscriptions than the inscriptions discussed so far. These 38  Cf. some examples in NIyR 6, pp. 50–55; On birthing charms, see e.g. Skemer, Binding Words, pp. 236–51. 39  Such use of example ‘narratives’ are common, see e.g. Kieckhefer, Magic in the Middle Ages, p. 71; Olsan, ‘Latin Charms of Medieval England’, pp. 129–33.

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    are groups of saints, and the Evangelists, the seven sleepers, and the young men in the fiery furnace will be discussed next. They appear in textual contexts which are often lexically confused (or seemingly confused) and often display various sacred words and sacred names and a mix of languages: Old Norse, Latin, and sometimes even words that are originally Greek and Hebrew. The material contexts of these inscriptions are often lead sheets, and when written on wood they are mostly written on what seem to have been amulets.40

    The Evangelists The four evangelists are often mentioned together in the runic material, and almost always in inscriptions on lead. This is the case with N 53 (Ulstad), N 248 (Madla), N B583 (Bergen), and N 638 (Bryggen). On N A5 (Borgund) only three of the four evangelists’ names can be read today, but there are several unreadable and uninterpretable parts of this inscription. N 53 is a small lead sheet with the entire Pater Noster written on it, followed by the names of the four evangelists, with Matthew written twice. The text in itself is not what what leads us to the interpretation that this might be intended as magic, but seen together with other inscriptions on lead, the material context itself hints at a magical function. The find context adds to this interpretation. It was found buried in a field lying on top of an iron cross that was fitted into a cross carved into a piece of soapstone. There were no hints of graves or other finds in the vicinity.41 The N 248 inscription (see Fig. 12.2) is written on a lead sheet shaped like a cross and was found in a Christian churchyard. It has runes on one side, and an incised image of Christ on the cross on the other side.42 The inscription is long and complex, and is comprised of different Latin phrases and quotes which are more or less accurately rendered, in addition to the mention of the four evangelists, Aaron, Christ, tetragrammaton (a reference to one of the names for God), and alfa et o(mega). There are textual parallels in other lead inscriptions, especially N 262 (Bru I), N 263 (Bru II), and N 348 (Borgund, on wood), but in these the four evangelists are not named. The inscription N B583 is written on wood. It has the evangelists’ names together

    40 

    For a new and highly interesting analysis of a corresponding group of inscriptions from Denmark, see Imer and Olesen, ‘In the Beginning Was the Word... New Finds of Lead Amulets in Denmark’. 41  NIyR 1, pp. 101–06. 42  NIyR 3, pp. 227–37.

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    with some Latin text, as well as the sator arepo-formula and agla.43 These last two phrases are both also seen in other inscriptions with a similar character. In the inscription N 638 the four evangelists are named together with Jesus Christ and Ave Maria mentioned twice. Two other lines of this inscription have not been interpreted, but one of them has a strong resemblance to other Figure 12.2. Crucifix with uninterpretable inscriptions (see runic inscriptions, below). This inscription is written S1616/N 248. on a lead sheet which was folded Photo: Unknown when found, and there are runes on photographer both sides. © 2020 Arkeologisk museum, UiS / CC The now-lost wooden board BY-NC-ND 3.0. (‘fiell’, described in 1639) with the inscription *N 216 (Tonstad) should also be mentioned. The four evangelists were mentioned here as well, and in a similar textual context as the inscriptions discussed above.44 The material context for this inscription was however different from the amulets with inscriptions that mention the evangelists, as the *N 216 was written on what appeared to originally have been a constructional part of the old, now deconstructed, church, a part which in 1639 was kept in the bell tower. The four evangelists are mentioned also in other textual and material contexts within the runic corpus, but then they are part of figural representations such as N 173 on the crucifix from Nesland church. Only three of the four evangelists, John (27 December), Matthew (21 September), and Mark (25 April) have feast days which the ecclesiastical laws list as equal to Sundays. Luke’s feast day (18 October) was not listed in the ecclesiastical laws as equal to a Sunday, John’s day was often listed as one of the unspecified days of Christmas, and Mark’s day was mostly called gangdagr. 43 

    The sator arepo tenet opera rotas-formula is a palindrome with no known meaning, and agla is a reference to God and is an acronym made from the sentence Atah Gibor Le-olam Adonai (You are mighty forever, O Lord). 44  NIyR 3, pp. 127–32, see also Knirk, ‘Runic Inscriptions Containing Latin in Norway’, p. 481 for an updated reading and interpretation.

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    This may have had the effect that people’s awareness of them individually was not as high as for other saints. It seems from the Norwegian epigraphic material that they are mostly thought of as a group, as the four evangelists, rather than as individual saints, and they occur primarily in certain learned or semi-learned textual contexts on amulets, or as elements of figural representations.

    The Seven Sleepers Another group of saints that are mentioned in contexts similar to the four evangelists are the seven sleepers. They are mentioned on a wooden object which looks like an amulet, N 637, found on Bryggen in Bergen45 as well as on N B596; in this last instance at least one of the evangelists, Mark, is also mentioned, and probably also John and Luke.46 In N 637 the names of five of the sleepers can be discerned, and a sixth name may also be there. The seven sleepers are known from, for example, the Legenda aurea, but this inscription is older than the Legenda aurea.47 What the seven sleepers are used for is most likely to give rest and be a cure against sleeplessness. There is also a suggestion that they were used against fever, but this comes from more recent sources.48 The names are followed by a line which does not make any lexical sense, sussbissusbirumæþanole, but utterances similar to this are found in other inscriptions, such as two more from Bryggen (N 638 mentioned above and N 639) as well as one found in Lom church (N A71).49 The seven sleepers are mentioned also in an inscription from Sweden, there on lead (Ög 248, Alvastra) and on the Norwegian N 54; however, with N 54 the textual and material contexts are different. This inscription is not written on an amulet, but on the west wall on the northern portal board of the church in Vågå.50 The reading of the names of the seven sleepers is done by Knirk, who reads Serafion, Konstantinus, and most of the names Maximianus and Martinianus, and possibly also 45 

    NIyR 6, pp. 73–77. Knirk, ‘Runic Inscriptions Containing Latin in Norway’, p. 502. 47  See NIyR 6, pp.  74–75. The story of the seven sleepers was transmitted in Western Christendom earlier by e.g. Gregory of Tours (c. 538–94) and in Historia Langobardum by Paul the Deacon (c. 720–99). 48  NIyR 6, pp. 76–77. 49  On this utterance in the various forms, see NIyR 6, pp. 75–77; Knirk, ‘Runic Inscriptions Containing Latin in Norway’, p. 488. 50  NIyR 1, pp. 106–09. 46 

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    Malcus.51 N 54 is not unusual only because the seven sleepers are here found in a different material context, compared to the other instances: the textual context is also different in this example, since the inscription includes a phrase where the seven sleepers are asked for help (hjalpi mér). In the other inscriptions that mention the seven sleepers, the textual context is less straightforward. So in N 54 the seven sleepers are addressed in much the same way as Óláfr is asked for help in N 478 and Clement and all holy people are asked for protection in N 554. This underlines the fact that what I am discussing here are tendencies seen in the runic material, and not rules.

    The Young Men in the Fiery Furnace A third group of saints mentioned in the runic material in similar contexts to the seven sleepers and to the four evangelists are the three young men in the fiery furnace: Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. The account of their miraculous rescue from the flames of Nebuccadnezzar’s furnace is told in chapter 3 of the Book of Daniel. In addition, the hymn they were believed to have sung after being rescued made its way into medieval liturgy. The three young men are mentioned by name in N 633 (Bergen), on a flat wooden stick with inscriptions on both broad sides. This inscription is very interesting in that the charms are given with a ‘heading’ as in manuscripts containing charms and medical advice, such as MS AM 655 XXX 4to (Copenhagen). The headings are in Old Norse, and the charms in Latin. One side is interpreted as ‘Við augum. Tobias sanat oculos istius hominis, f--, fau, fao, ---’ (For eyes. Tobias heals the eyes of this (wo)man).52 The reference to Tobias from the apocryphal Book of Tobit is often found in connection to the healing of eyes. The names of the three young men, Shadrach, Meshach et ok Abednego, are found on the other side of the stick, followed by a section that is not interpreted: myl ogum:eomos, and 51 

    Knirk, ‘Arbeidet ved Runearkivet, Oslo’, p. 19. The f-syllables have no apparent linguistic meaning, but this and similar syllable repetitions (with variations) are found in other inscriptions (e.g. N A71 from Lom church) and in manuscripts (see e.g. MS AM 343 a 12mo, fol. 1vb (Copenhagen) and Olsan, ‘Latin Charms of Medieval England’, pp. 124–26 for references to some non-Scandinavian examples). The inscription on N 633 in addition begins with a symbol similar to a y-rune with a crossbar on the stave, and the syllables f--, fau, fao, --- are marked by another symbol looking like a m and a y-rune on the same stave, with the bow from a þ to either side of the middle of the stave. Of the f-syllables only the f is identifiable on the first, and the fourth syllable is illegible and seems to have been carved off. 52 

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    then with what appears to be another heading, Við blóð, the inscription ends. The three young men were mostly invoked for help against fire, burning pains, and hopeless situations.53 In N A292 (Tønsberg) they are also named, but on this wooden stick no textual context has been preserved for the names.54

    ‘Sunday Status’ and Magic Having analysed the runic material mentioning saints, we see that the saints who are mentioned and asked for help or protection are mainly the saints whose feast days are revered as Sunday. In addition, there are some saints — or rather groups of saints — that mainly occur in inscriptions where the material and/or textual context hint towards possible magical functions. The distinction between ‘regular Sunday saints’ and ‘magical groups’ is not without exceptions, though, and N 642 (Bergen) serves as an example. This inscription is written on a wooden cross, and the names benedit and marhret, possibly Benedict and Margaret, are found in a textual context similar to the ‘magical’ ones mentioned above. It is possible that the names are personal names, and that the reference is to those for whom the protection is meant.55 If the names are in fact saints’ names, it is interesting that St Benedict and St Margaret are not among the ‘magical groups’, but on the other hand they are saints whose feast days are celebrated as Sunday. One could ask whether the tendency seen in the runic material of the ‘nonmagical’ kind, as discussed here, reflects the individual saints’ importance, in that the higher the rank of the saint whom you address, the more help you may get, or if it is rather a reflection of the fact that one should not labour on their feast days, and therefore these are the most well-known saints among the laity. Admittedly, there is of course a parallel between the saints’ hierarchical status and the reverence with which their days should be observed, but my argument is that it is especially the link to the calendar and the regulations of peoples’ everyday lives that has caused these saints to stand out in the runic material. 53 

    It is possible that the two sides of the stick are not to be read together, and that the names of the three young men are not to help against problems with eyes, but cf. the discussion in NIyR 6, pp. 63–66. 54  Gosling, ‘The Runic Material from Tønsberg’, pp. 178–79; Johannessen, ‘Runematerialet fra Tønsberg’, pp. 56–58. 55  Cf. Imer and Steenholt Olesen, ‘In the Beginning Was the Word … New Finds of Lead Amulets in Denmark’, on protective spells on lead sheets, some with mention of names of those the spell is written for.

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    Saints in Roman-Alphabet Script Some of the saints who were canonized in the thirteenth century or later, such as St  Francis and St  Birgitta, are not mentioned in the ecclesiastical laws. They were still very popular and well known because of the monastic houses they established, and they also generated pilgrimage — St Birgitta especially within Scandinavia. Despite their popularity, in the preserved runic material from Norway there is no mention of either St Birgitta or St Francis. We meet them only in Roman alphabet inscriptions, for example St  Birgitta is mentioned on pilgrim badges, like C 1830 found in Oslo (see Fig. 12.3) and C 1545 from Nesland. It is possible that Birgitta, Figure 12.3. Pilgrim badge from who died in 1373 and was canonized in Vadstena, C1830. Photo: Lill-Ann 1391, is not found in the preserved runic Chepstow-Lusty © 2020 Museum of Cultural History, UiO / material because her popularity gained CC BY-SA 4.0. ground in the same period as the use of runes decreased. Still, it is interesting that she is not mentioned in the runic material considering the influence she had, and it should be noted that even though the use of runes decreased in the fifteenth century, it did not end abruptly. There are several runic inscriptions dated to the late fourteenth and beginning of the fifteenth century found in excavations of medieval towns.56 St Francis died in 1226 and was canonized in 1228. The first Franciscan houses were established in the middle of the thirteenth century.57 There would have been more than enough time for St  Francis’s name to occur in runic inscriptions, but as far as we know he is not mentioned in runes. He is, however, mentioned on the late medieval church bell in Ullensvang church, in Roman-alphabet letters. Admittedly these two examples of St Birgitta on pilgrim badges and St Francis on a church bell strictly speaking fall outside of the scope of this investigation, as the first one is perhaps best considered an inscrip56  57 

    Terje Ellefsen presents these in ‘Runeskriftens opphør i seinmiddelalderen i Norge 1325–1500’. Gallén in KLNM 4, col. 567.

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    tion meant to ensure the identification of St Birgitta from other saints, and the second one is a dedication inscription.58 Nonetheless, I find these examples worth mentioning since these saints are attested in the Roman-alphabet epigraphy, but not in the runic epigraphy, and this distribution is suggestive of wider tendencies in the epigraphic representation of saints in Norway. A group of saints that is also found only in Roman-alphabet inscriptions is the three wise men: Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar. The three wise men, or the three Magi, as a collective had been important since early in Christianity. In Norway the image of the adoration of the Magi occurs as early as the Dynna stone (N 68, but the inscription does not mention the wise men) from the first half of the eleventh century, and Epiphany (6 January) was an important feast day mentioned in all the ecclesiastical laws. They gained popularity in the crusader period, and especially after their relics were translated to Cologne in 1164. But the three Magi are not referred to in runic inscriptions, neither as a collective nor by name.59 In contrast, we do encounter the three kings, mentioned by their names, in Roman-alphabet inscriptions. Examples are found on finger rings from the fourteenth to sixteenth centuries (e.g. C 857, C 10502, C 1795) and on drinking horns (e.g. C 83 and T 134).60 There is also an example of them being named on a silver brooch (Museum number BRM 0/95078) found in Bergen.61 The three kings were thought to have an apotropaic effect, especially against epilepsy and all things bad, and to give good luck.62 The names Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar do not occur as personal names in Norway in the medieval period. There is a question as to whether the lack of mention of the three wise men in the runic material, either by name or as a collective, is a result of them not being preserved. But it could also be the case that this is an indication of some saints 58 

    However, church bells sounded several times a day, and even though their inscriptions were not seen after the bell was hung in the bell tower, its sound might have had, as one of its functions, the capacity to remind people of what was written on the bell. Cf.  Ström, ‘Varaktighetens retorik’, pp. 50–67; Kleivane, ‘Epigraphic Ave Maria as Evidence of Medieval Literacy’. 59  It has been suggested that Balthazar may be mentioned in a runic inscription in Borgund church N 363. But the inscription is not interpretable, and in the discussion in NIyR it is concluded that Balthazar is not likely (NIyR 4, pp. 171–73). 60  See Kolsrud, ‘Gullringen fraa Træna’, p. 176, on finger rings; and Etting, The Story of the Drinking Horns on drinking horns. 61  Busengdal, ‘Smykke i to urbane miljø – ein komparativ analyse av smykke frå mellomalderbyane Bergen og London’, p. 44. 62  Etting, The Story of the Drinking Horns, pp. 64–65; Piø in KLNM 6, cols 390–95.

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    being more relevant within specific cultural spheres, which could say something about script cultures and different preferences connected to them. More investigation and registration, especially of the Roman-alphabet inscriptions, are needed before one can draw conclusions in this matter. But there are other indications that support a preliminary hypothesis that the epigraphic material can reveal how saints are used in different ways, and that this is to some extent connected to the choice of script and material, and to what kind of object one will put an inscription on. This, in turn, may lead to new insights into saints’ cults in different social groups across chronological and regional parameters. There is not a totally clear-cut division between what is mentioned in and what people have tried to do with runic inscriptions and Roman-alphabet inscriptions. But the example of the three Magi mentioned on finger rings, drinking horns, and a brooch in Roman-alphabet script, but not in runes, suggests an interesting tendency that there are some features that are scriptspecific. Not that it would be impossible to mention Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar in runes — the apotropaic function the three Magi were thought to have would on the contrary go very well with the function of similar inscriptions carved with runes. The tendency is probably rather that the three Magi were deemed more relevant in some groups than other groups, and that the choice of script is secondary to this. In addition, the names Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar are found on portable metal objects, several of which may well have been imported. The function the Magi came to have may well have been introduced to Norway with these object types. By investigating the epigraphic material, we are able to come closer to the veneration of saints in everyday life. Manuscripts, on the other hand, were usually owned by an institution or by members of the elites, and are more likely to reflect the cult of saints. The epigraphy discussed here differs from manuscript texts by being immediate, easily written on a variety of objects, and it may represent a specific saint by merely a mention of the name. An epigraphic text is also not dependent on a craftsman such as a painter or sculptor, nor on specialized writing material such as parchment, ink, and pen. However, in more elaborate metalwork where inscriptions are written as part of the production of the object, and on the more elaborate stone inscriptions on gravestones and church walls where inscriptions are not simply scratched into the surface, then there is a question of specialized craftsmanship. This may be what we see reflected in the inscriptions with Roman-alphabet letters on drinking horns and jewellery which mention the three wise men. This investigation has revealed some trends in the epigraphic material. Comparing the regulations in the ecclesiastical laws and the runic material,

    330 Elise Kleivane

    there seems to be a tendency within the runic inscriptions towards a preference for mentioning saints whose feast days are celebrated as Sundays. This is probably due to the fact that people in medieval Norway favoured the ones considered to be the most important saints when asking for help and intercession. Another reason for this pattern could be that the runic material reflects the general tendency of ‘universal saints’ replacing local saints, a tendency which spread across Western Europe from the twelfth century onwards.63 These two explanations are of course not mutually exclusive. This analysis has also shown that saints who are otherwise not commonly mentioned in the epigraphic material do appear regularly in ‘magical’ inscriptions. Moreover, some saints are found only in Roman-alphabet inscriptions, and the three wise men are among these. In these trends we see an outline of how the cult of saints varies not only through time and between regions, but also between social groups.

    63 

    Bartlett, The Making of Europe, p. 274.

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    Works Cited Manuscripts and Archival Sources The Arnamagnæan Manuscript Collection, Copenhagen, MS AM 655 XXX 4to —— , MS AM 343 a 12mo The Royal Library, Copenhagen, MS Thott 710 4to The Royal Library, Stockholm, MS Holm perg C 15 4to

    Runic Inscriptions N 53 (Ulstad), now in the Museum of Cultural History, Oslo (KHM) (C 5330) N 54 (Vågå church), in situ N 68 (Dynna), KHM (C 9909) N 172 (Nesland church I), KHM (C 1542) N 173 (Nesland church II), in the new church in Nesland *N 216 (Tonstad church), lost N 248 (Madla church), Museum of Archaeology, Stavanger (S 1616) N 262 (Bru I), Museum of Archaeology, Stavanger (S 3550) N 263 (Bru II), Museum of Archaeology, Stavanger (S 3550) N 336 (Urnes church XIX), Heiberg Collections – Sogn Folk Museum, Kaupanger N 348 (Borgund church I), KHM (C 5317) N 363 (Borgund church XVI), in situ N 389 (Kaupang church III), in situ N 456 (Ålen church), in situ (church now on Sverresborg – Trøndelag Folk Museum, Trondheim) N 478 (Nidaros cathedral X), NTNU University Museum, Trondheim (T 17093) N 494 (Nidaros cathedral XXVI), in situ N 554 (Hedal church II), in situ N 614 (Bryggen in Bergen), Bryggens Museum, Bergen (BrM) (BRM 0/35508) N 631 (Bryggen in Bergen), BrM (BRM 0/13894) N 633 (Bryggen in Bergen), BrM (BRM 0/28202) N 637 (Bryggen in Bergen), BrM (BRM 0/31413) N 638 (Bryggen in Bergen), BrM (BRM 0/65550) N 639 (Bryggen in Bergen), BrM (BRM 0/61702) N 642 (Bryggen in Bergen), BrM (BRM 0/7529) N 647 (Bryggen in Bergen), BrM (BRM 0/29706) N A5 (Borgund), BrM (BRM 1/1448) N A71 (Lom church), KHM N A92 (Kaupang church), in situ N A146 (Trondheim), NTNU University Museum, Trondheim (N-26118) N A292 (Tønsberg), KHM

    332 Elise Kleivane

    N B13 (Bryggen in Bergen), BrM (BRM 0/8760) N B49 (Bryggen in Bergen), BrM (BRM 0/46440) N B93 (Bryggen in Bergen), BrM (BRM 0/16037) N B203 (Bryggen in Bergen), BrM (BRM 0/32006) N B219 (Bryggen in Bergen), BrM (BRM 0/24842) N B583 (Bryggen in Bergen), BrM (BRM 83/4490) N B596 (Bryggen in Bergen), BrM (BRM 76/7660) Ög 248 (Alvastra, Sweden), The Swedish History Museum, Stockholm (SHM 16027:1)

    Roman Alphabet Inscriptions BRM 0/95078 (brooch, Bryggen in Bergen), BrM C 83 (drinking horn, Gransherad) KHM C 857 (finger ring, Oslo), KHM C 1830 (pilgrim badge, Oslo), KHM C 1543 (wall boards, Nesland church), KHM C 1545 (pilgrim badge, Nesland), KHM C 1795 (finger ring, Bjarkøy), KHM C 10502 (finger ring, Sandherred), KHM T 134 (drinking horn, unknown place), NTNU University museum, Trondheim Ullensvang church bell, in situ

    Primary Sources NGL  = Norges gamle love indtil 1387, vols  1–5, ed.  by Rudolf Keyser, Peter Andreas Munch, Gustav Storm, and Ebbe Hertzberg (Christiania [Oslo]: [s.n.], 1846–1895) NlyR  = Norges innskrifter med de yngre runer, vols  1–6, ed.  by Aslak Liestøl, Magnus Olsen, James E. Knirk, and Ingrid Sanness Johnsen (Oslo: Norsk historisk kjeldeskriftinstitutt, 1941–1990) Runebasen: [last accessed 19 March 2018, website currently inactive] Rundata: Samnordisk runtextdatabas, downloadable database [last accessed 19 March 2018]

    Secondary Studies Bartlett, Robert, The Making of Europe: Conquest, Colonization and Cultural Change 950–1350 (London: Penguin, 1994) Busengdal, Susanne Iren, ‘Smykke i to urbane miljø – ein komparativ analyse av smykke frå mellomalderbyane Bergen og London’ (unpublished MA thesis, Universitetet i Bergen, 2012) Dybdahl, Audun, Helgener i tiden, Senter for middelalderstudier, Skrifter nr. 10 (Trond­ heim: Tapir, 1999)

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    Eitun, Bjørn, Magnus Rindal, and Tor Ulset, eds, Den eldre Gulatingslova, Norrøne tekster nr. 6 (Oslo: Riksarkivet, 1994) Ekroll, Øystein, ‘Døden i norsk mellomalder’, Fortidsminnesforeningens årbok 2014 (2014), 165–78 Ellefsen, Terje, ‘Runeskriftens opphør i seinmiddelalderen. Runer og runeinnskrifter i Norge 1325–1500’ (unpublished MA thesis, Universitetet i Oslo, 2009) Etting, Vivian, The Story of the Drinking Horns: Drinking Culture in Scandinavia during the Middle Ages (Copenhagen: University Press of Southern Denmark, 2013) Gosling, Kevin, ‘The Runic Material from Tønsberg’, Universitetets Oldsakssamling Årbok 1986–88 (1989), 175–87 Imer, Lisbeth M., and Rikke Steenholt Olesen, ‘In the Beginning Was the Word … New Finds of Lead Amulets in Denmark’, in Epigraphics in an Intermedial Context ed. by Alessia Bauer, Elise Kleivane, and Terje Spurkland (Dublin: Four Courts, 2018), pp. 123–55 Johannessen, Charlotte, ‘Runematerialet fra Tønsberg’ (unpublished MA thesis, Universi­ tetet i Oslo, 2011) Kieckhefer, Richard, Magic in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000) Kleivane, Elise, ‘Epigraphic Ave Maria as Evidence of Medieval Literacy’, in Epigraphics in an Intermedial Context (Dublin: Four Courts, 2018), pp. 101–22 Knirk, James E., ‘Arbeidet ved Runearkivet, Oslo’, Nytt om runer, 13 (1998), 18–19 —— , ‘Runic Inscriptions Containing Latin in Norway’, in Runeninschriften als Quellen interdisziplinärer Forschung ed. by Klaus Düwel and Sean Novak (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1998), pp. 476–507 Kolsrud, Oluf, ‘Gullringen fraa Træna’, in Træn-funnene ed. by Gutorm Gjessing. Instituttet for sammenlignende kulturforskning, Serie B Skrifter (Oslo: Aschehoug, 1943), pp. 167–96 KLNM = Kulturhistorisk leksikon for nordisk middelalder: fra vikingtid til reformasjonstid, 22 vols, ed. by J. Dahlstrup (Copenhagen: Rosenkilde og Bagger, 1981) Larsen, Arne J., ‘Blod og vann fra Canterbury’, Universitetsmuseet i Bergens årbok 2012 (2012), 28–37 Lind, Erik Henrik, Norsk-isländska dopnamn och fingerande namn från medeltiden (Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksells, 1905–1915) Nordby, Jonas, ‘Lønnruner. Kryptografi i runeinnskrifter fra vikingtid og middelalder’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, Universitetet i Oslo, 2018) Olsan, Lea, ‘Latin Charms of Medieval England: Verbal Healing in a Christian Oral Tradition’, Oral Tradition, 7.1 (1992), 116–42 Rekdal, Jan Erik, ‘Vikings and Saints: Encounters Vestan um Haf ’, Peritia. Journal of The Medieval Academy of Ireland, 17–18 (2003), 256–75 Schumacher, Jan Henrik, Kirkehistorisk latinleksikon. Begreper fra middelalderens kirke – og klosterliv (Oslo: Spartacus, 2002) Skemer, Don C., Binding Words: Textual Amulets in the Middle Ages (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2006) Ström, Annika, ‘Varaktighetens retorik. Om att förstå function hos inskrifter på monumentet kyrkklockor’, Rhetorica Scandinavica, 60 (2012), 50–67

    Index

    Aaron: 322 Abbey of Nivelles: 249, 251–54, 261, 266 Abbey of Saint-Remi: 44 Abbo of Fleury: 215 Abednego. See Young Men Aberdeen Breviary, the: 112 Abraham: 18, 66–68, 221 Acta Apostolorum: 9 Acta et Vita Sancti Olavi: 163 Acta Sanctorum in Selia: 33 Adam: 18, 223 Adam of Bremen: 91, 178 Adrian II, Pope: 215 Against the Heavenly Prophets: 292 agla: 323 Ágrip af Nóregs konunga sögum: 164, 234 Akrar in Blönduhlíð: 20 Alexander III, pope: 167 Alexander IV, pope: 254, 258, 268 Alexander Neckam, poet: 55, 56 Alexander, emperor: 215 alfa et omega: 322 allir Guðs helgir/allir helgir menn: 72, 309, 317 Allir helgir: 309, 318 allra heilagramessa: 318 Alsace: 267 Alþingi, the: 3, 196, 198–99 Ambrósíuss saga: 18 amulet: 310, 312, 315, 322–24 Amundsen, Arne Bugge: 278, 289 Andrés. See St Andrew

    Anglo-Norman: 134, 219, 233 Anglo-Saxon: 32, 44, 221, 253 Anselm of Canterbury, archbishop: 124 Ansten Jonsson Skonk: 255, 257 Antwerp: 252, 255–56, 266–67 Aphrodisia: 40 apocryphal source: 9–10, 19, 55, 58–59, 66, 69–70, 72, 224, 325 Apparitione S. Michaelis in Gargano: 218 Ari Þorgilsson: 4, 214–16 Armenia: 222 armies of Heaven: 225, 228 Árna saga byskups: 34 Arngrímr Brandsson, abbot: 55, 197, 201 Árni Magnússon, scholar: 19–21 Arnórr jarlaskáld: 223 Ásdís Egilsdóttir: 3, 7, 195 Ásólfr alskik, hermit: 202, 233–34 Ásólfsskáli: 233 Áss: 229 Assisi: 249, 251–55, 258, 264–65, 268 Aston, Margaret: 297 Astyages, king: 37–38 Augustinian Order: 196, 240, 259 Ave Maria: 145, 263, 312, 323 Avignon: 262 Babylon: 93 Baglar: 177, 179, 183 Balthazar. See Magi baptism: 28, 118, 217, 227–28, 231, 234, 239

    336

    Barra: 223 Bartlett, Robert: 5 Basil II, Emperor: 232 Bastia: 254 Battle of Stiklestad, the: 3, 85, 102 Begga of Andenne: 253 Bekker-Nielsen, Hans: 6, 32 Benedictine Order: 20, 28, 32–33, 35, 43–47, 122, 144, 220, 230, 234–35, 253–54, 256, 260–61, 265–67 Berg, Sigrun Høgetveit: 289 Bergen: 7, 9, 33, 122, 123, 130, 169–70, 176–77, 179, 183–85, 218, 223, 256, 264–65, 267 Bergen Cathedral: 268 Bergr Sokkason, abbot: 30–32, 143–49, 152, 155–57, 218, 226 berserkir: 224, 229 Birkibeinars: 180, 183–84 Birsay: 121–23, 129 Bjarni Kolbeinsson, bishop: 130–31 Bjæverskov: 263 Black Death, the: 7, 171 Blickling homily, the: 221 Blindheim, Martin: 7 Bologna: 21 Boniface IX, pope: 265 Borgarþing’s law: 316 Bornholm: 219 Botn: 21 Botolph: 320 Brabant: 261, 267 Brandr of Hólar, bishop: 200, 209 Brandr, deacon: 200 Bremen: 220, 224 Breta sǫgur: 18–19, 230 Bréttifumessa: 314 Breviarium Nidrosiensis: 33, 178, 197, 258, 259, 263–64, 267 British Isles: 44, 81, 223, 227, 230, 238 Bruges: 11 Bryggen in Bergen: 311, 315–16, 319–20 Byzantium: 36, 130, 146 Bær: 19, 233 Bø, Ragnhild M.: 7 Caithness: 123, 127, 130–32, 134 Cant, Roger G.: 126, 134 Canterbury: 113, 124, 171, 178, 204, 209, 224

    Index Carlé, Birte: 6 Caspar. See Magi Catalonia: 267 Catania: 40 Cathedral of Bergen: 105, 265 Cathedral of Canterbury: 209 Cathedral of Hamar: 7, 257 Cathedral of Hólar: 222 Cathedral of Kirkwall: 112 Cathedral of Nidaros: 92, 102, 129, 161, 168, 170–71, 173, 180–81, 183, 187, 190, 251, 257, 319 Cathedral of Oslo: 257 Cathedral of St Magnús: 114, 117, 128, 135, 136 Charlemagne: 235 Christ: 2, 18, 23, 26, 40, 56, 59, 63, 65–69, 92–96, 101, 215, 219, 231, 235–36, 238–39, 255–56, 265, 274, 277, 280, 288, 292–94, 296, 301–02, 312, 314, 321–23 Christchurch: 121–22 Christian II, king: 185 Christian III, king: 274–75, 284–86 Cilinia: 28 civil war: 177, 180, 183 Clarissan Order. See Poor Clares, the Clontarf, battle of: 225 Clovis, king: 28 Cologne: 28–29, 45, 328 Compendium Theologicae Veritatis: 20 Concordia discordantium canonum: 21 Constantinople: 11, 230–32 Copenhagen: 197, 284–85, 288, 290, 294, 325 Cormack, Margaret: 4, 6, 8, 32, 128, 144 Cornwall: 220 Crucifixion, the: 22, 255, 257–58, 316 cult of saints: 2, 5–12, 189–90, 213, 249, 274–75, 296, 310, 329, 330 Cyrus the Great: 19 Daði Halldórsson of Steinsholt: 20 Daniel, Book of: 325 Danish Church law, the, See Kirkeordinansen De miraculis Sancti Eadmundi: 4, 215, 230 Decretum magistri Gratiani: 21 demon: 22, 37, 166, 174, 188 Dialogues, 10, 19, 44, 235

    Index Diana: 30 Dnieper, the: 230 Dominican Order: 11, 55, 286 Dormition, the monastery of: 231 Douglas, Mary: 151 Dragør: 263 Drammen: 174 Draumkvæde: 226 Durham: 135 Eastern Europe: 115, 185 Ecclesiastical History of the English People: 213 Edward the Confessor, king. See St Edward the Confessor Egilsay: 116 Eichstätt: 32 Eiðsifaþing’s law: 316 Eilif of Nidaros, bishop: 262 Einar G. Pétursson: 207 Einarr Skúlason, skald: 163 Eiríkr Magnússon, king: 151 Ekbert, brother of Elisabeth of Schönau: 28 Elisabeth of Schönau: 17, 19, 28, 29, 44–45 Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist: 320–21 Emilius: 28 England: 8, 35–36, 44, 87, 90, 115, 127, 134–35, 163, 167, 171, 181–82, 185, 188, 199, 213, 216, 220, 224, 233, 265, 287 Erik Valkendorf, archbishop: 197 Esja: 233 Eske Bille, royal administrator: 286, 288 Evangelists, the four: 322–25 Evangelium de Nativitate Mariae: 55, 57 execution: 30, 42, 196, 204, 207–08, 210, 300, 321 Expositio super cantica canticorum in laudem gloriose ac perpetue uirginis Marie: 55 Eyjafjörður: 219–20 Eysteinn Haraldsson, king: 185 Eysteinn of Norway, archbishop: 163, 167, 173, 183, 216 Fairise, Christelle: 5, 53 famine: 27, 30, 42 Fana: 286 Faroe Islands, the: 1, 128

    337

    Fell, Christine, 6: 34–35 Fett, Harry: 7 Flateyjarannáll: 207 Flateyjarbók: 33, 113, 164, 234, 236 Foote, Peter: 6, 41, 43, 200 France: 181, 185, 219, 280 Franciscan Order: 255, 264 Frederick II, Emperor: 254 Frederik IV, king: 274 Frederik Nannestad, bishop: 295 Freedberg, David: 278, 283 Friðrekr, bishop: 229, 230 friends of God: 11, 145–47, 151, 154, 157 friendship: 11, 144–46, 148–54, 156–57, 204 Fronto, bishop: 23, 25–26 Frostuþing Law, the: 313–14 Fyrsta málfræðiritgerðin: 4 gangdagr: 323 Garðaríki: 230 Gargano: 218, 220 Gaulverjabær: 19–20 Gefjon. See Diana Geisli: 97, 163, 165, 170, 190 Gemma anime: 93–94 Geoffrey of Monmouth: 230 Gerard of York, archbishop: 124 Germany: 7, 32, 213, 220, 249, 267, 280, 287, 292, 297 Gestr Oddleifssson: 220 gift-giving: 2, 11, 42 Gilje, Nils: 289 Gísli Filippusson: 21–22 Gizurr the White: 214–15 Glælognskviða: 209 Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew: 55, 65, 69 Gottskálks-annáll: 199, 201 Grágás: 214, 233 Gratian: 21 gravestones: 311, 329 Greece: 230 greed: 31, 45, 73, 228 Greek: 147, 155, 311, 322 Greenland: 1, 234, 237 Gregory I, pope: 27 Gregory IX, pope: 254 Gregory XIV: 262 Grell, Ole petter: 286, 289–90

    338

    Grimkjell, bishop: 185 Grønlie, Siân:, 7 Guðmundar saga: 28, 34, 55, 144, 197, 200–01 Guðmundur Arason. See St Guðmundr Guðrún P. Helgadóttir: 204 guðs vinir: 11, 145, 149 Gulaþingslög: 150, 313–14, 316 Gunnlaugr Leifsson, hagiographer: 203, 230, 236–37 Haderslev: 261 Hagi: 21–22, 47, 220 Hagi in Barðaströnd: 21 hagiographical texts: 3, 5, 11 Haki Antonsson: 7, 11, 112, 117, 125, 130, 132, 240 Hákon Hákonarson, king: 164, 168, 170, 189, 264 Hákon of Norway, earl: 33 Hákon Pálsson: 116, 124, 129–30, 132 Hákon V Magnússon: 11, 151, 185 Hákonar saga Hákonarsonar: 164 Halldórr Illugason: 233 Hallfreðar saga: 234, 235 Hallfríður Þórðardóttir: 21 Hallr of Haukadalr: 214–15 Hallr of Síða: 217, 220, 224–26 Hamar: 3, 257 Hamburg-Bremen, archdiocese of: 1, 91, 123 Hans Gaas, bishop: 291 Harald Gille, king: 185 Haraldr harðráði. See Haraldr Sigurðsson, king Haraldr Maddaðarson: 117, 130–32 Haraldr Sigurðsson, king: 36, 116, 232 Haraldr ungi: 131–32 Harold Godwinsson: 36 Hastings, battle of: 35–36, 236 Haukagil: 229 Haukdælir: 215 Hauksbók: 202, 216, 233 healing: 32–33, 43, 171, 173, 175–77, 181, 183, 185–88, 190, 198–99, 204–05, 209–10, 227, 296, 314, 325 Hebrew: 311, 322 Hebrides, the: 128, 162, 175, 223, 233 Hegra: 264 Heidenheim: 32

    Index Heilagra Manna Sögur: 6 Heimskringla: 118, 163, 164, 179, 185, 235 Helgisaga Óláfs konungs Haraldssonar: 164 Henry II, Emperor: 117, 221 Herrad of Hohenberg: 43 Hiberno-Norse: 233 Hildegard von Bingen: 189 Hildesheim: 220 Hildr of Hólar: 202–03, 222 Hincmar of Reims, archbishop: 29 Historia de Antiquitate Regum Norwagiensium: 118, 163 Historia de Gentibus Septentrionalibus: 173 Historia Norwegie: 234 Historia regum Britanniae: 230 Historical Narratives and Christian Identity on a European Periphery: 6 History of the Archbishops of HamburgBremen: 91 Hlutavelta tímans: menningararfur á Þjóðminjasafni: 8 Hólar: 3, 4, 9, 17, 144, 155, 157, 196, 200–02, 207, 209, 222, 230, 240, 262 Holy Cross, the, 68, 104, 146, 171, 179, 184 Holy Day of Obligation: 3, 55 Holy Land: 129, 131, 143, 179, 236 Holy Roman Empire, the: 185 Holy well/spring: 173–75, 178, 189 Honorius Augustodinensis: 93, 96 Honorius II, pope: 125 Hortus deliciarum: 43 Hrafn Sveinbjarnarson, chieftain: 202–05 Hrafns saga: 203–06 Hróðólfr, missionary bishop: 219, 233 Hrygg jarstykki: 164 Hugh the Chanter: 124–25 Hungrvaka: 222 Hålandsdalen: 5 Iceland: 1–10, 20–21, 32, 44, 46, 53–55, 65, 71, 81, 112, 118–19, 128, 134, 143, 145–46, 149, 150, 155–57, 162, 171, 182, 195–96, 199, 202, 207, 210, 213–16, 219, 221–22, 224, 228–29, 233–35, 237, 240 Icelandic Homily Book: 3, 151–54, 218 iconoclasm: 8, 275, 278, 280, 283, 285, 302 India: 37, 38 indulgence: 262–63, 265–66, 268

    Index indulgence letters: 12, 262–63 Ingesman, Per: 289–90 Ingibjörg Eyjólfsdóttir: 21 Ireland: 127, 133–35, 213, 220, 225, 233 Irish Isles: 114, 133 Irish Sea: 124, 128, 135 Ísleifr Gissurarson, bishop: 214–16 Íslendingabók: 4, 118, 214–16 Italy: 130, 180, 220, 222, 254, 264–65 Jacob Madsen, superintendant: 294 Jacobus de Voragine, chronicler: 10, 27, 55–56, 154–55 Jakob Kærup, bishop: 274 járnburðr: 169, 170 Játvarðar saga: 35–37 Jens Skjelderup, bishop: 287 Jerusalem: 59, 69, 93, 129, 230, 236 Johannes Bugenhagen: 284–85, 292 John of Bari: 146, 149, 156 John of York, bishop: 34 John the Apostle: 316, 318 John the Baptist: 17, 95, 147, 157, 202, 224, 229–32, 236, 255, 256, 257, 274, 277, 295, 316, 317, 318, 320, 321 John the Evangelist: 35 John VIII, pope: 215 Jón Arason, bishop: 196, 207–10 Jón Guðmundsson: 207 Jón Halldórsson, bishop: 19 Jón of Hólar. See St Jón Ögmundarson Jón Ólafsson, manuscript author: 21, 207 Jón Viðar Sigurðsson: 1, 5, 11, 143, 302 Jóns saga helga: 144, 197, 200–03, 222 Jónsmessa: 316 Judgement Day: 18, 221, 224 Jutland: 265, 285 Kalinke, Marianne: 6 Karl Jónsson, saga author: 164 Kiev: 231–32 Kievan Rus: 115, 117, 231 King’s Lynn: 199 Kinn: 33, 176 Kinsarvik: 223 Kirjalax saga: 18 Kirkeordinansen: 274–75, 279, 284–85, 288–90, 301 Kirkjubær: 220, 224

    339

    Kirkwall: 114, 117, 121–23, 127, 130, 132, 135 Klaniczay, Gábor: 111, 115 Kleivane, Elise: 8 Knappstaðir: 227–28 Kœnugarðr: 230 Koerner, Joseph: 292, 301 Kolumkille. See St Columba Konghelle: 264 Konstantinus. See seven sleepers Kristni saga: 216–18, 220, 224, 229, 230, 232, 235 Køge: 262–63, 265, 267 La Sainteté en Occident aux Derniers Siècles du Moyen Âge: 5 Lamb, Raymond: 121 Landen: 253 Landnámabók: 202, 215–16, 233 Last Judgement: 222, 256 Laurentius of Hólar, bishop: 155, 200 law of Christian IV: 282 law of God: 238 law, canon: 280, 302 law, ecclesiastical: 318, 323, 327–29 law, Fredrik III King’s (Kongeloven): 285 law, national: 263, 281–82 Laxdœla saga: 234–35 Lazarus: 22 Legenda Aurea: 10, 27, 32, 55, 154–55, 324 Legenda de sancto Magno: 112 Leo, emperor: 215 Liber viarum Dei: 28 Life of St Michael: 218 Lindisfarne: 34 Lœkjarmót: 229 Lolland: 219 Louis-Jensen, Joanna: 21, 22 Ludvig Munthe, bishop: 274 Lund: 168, 221 Lund, archdiocese of: 1, 173 Lunna: 134 Lübeck: 265, 285 Lögmanns-annáll: 199 Máel Coluim II, king: 134 Máel Coluim III, king: 134 Magi: 105, 255, 328–29 Magnús berfœttr, king: 116, 124

    340

    Magnús Björnsson, farmer: 208 Magnús Erlendsson, Jarl: 3, 111–12, 115, 122, 125 Magnús Erlingsson, king: 177 Magnús Hákonarson ‘bylov’: 313 Magnús Hákonarson, king: 263, 313 Magnús the Blind, king: 179 Magnus the Lawmender. See Magnús Hákonarson, king Magnúss saga: 112–13, 120, 123, 127–28, 135, 165, 204 Magnúss saga lengri: 112–13, 120, 123, 127, 135, 165 Malcus. See seven sleepers Man and the Isles, kingdom of: 114, 133 Man, bishopric of: 2 Manuale Norvegicum: 103 Margaret, queen: 134 Margareta, the false: 185 Margrétumessa: 314 Maríu saga: 6, 10, 53–67, 69, 72, 74, 76, 219 Marseilles: 23 Marstrand: 264 Marthe saga ok Marie Magdalene: 10 Martin Luther: 284–85, 292–93, 297 Martinianus. See seven sleepers martyrdom: 2, 9, 18, 40, 83, 85–89, 94, 102, 111–12, 114–18, 122, 133–34, 172, 175, 178, 187, 204, 207–08, 210, 215, 255–56, 263, 316 Mathilda, queen: 35 Maximianus. See seven sleepers Maximinus, bishop: 22 Melchior. See Magi Melrose Abbey: 34 Merlínuspá: 230 Metz: 253 Michaelmas: 217–18, 221, 223, 228, 240 Mikligarðr: 199 Missale Nidrosiense: 88, 90, 103–05, 197 Monasterboice: 222 Mont-Saint-Michel: 219–20 Morkinskinna: 164 Mǫrtu saga ok Maríu Magðalenu: 22–25 Mount Ararat: 255 Msitslav the Great: 232 Munch, Peter A.: 125 Munkaþverá: 144, 155 Munkeliv monastery: 218, 265, 268

    Index murder: 29, 32, 129, 132, 178, 180, 209, 257 Münster: 292 Myra: 29–30 Nesna: 299, 301 Netherlands, the: 7–8, 249–50, 261, 285, 287 New England: 36 New Testament: 9–10, 67 Nidaros ordinary, the: 314 Nidaros, archbishopric of: 1–9, 11–12, 81, 85–86, 90–92, 97–99, 102, 105, 114, 117, 128, 130–33, 161–63, 168, 170–71, 173–74, 180–81, 183, 187–88, 190, 197, 199, 216, 251–52, 257, 261, 263–64, 291–92, 295, 309, 314, 317, 319 Niðrstigninga saga: 219 Nikulás Árnason, bishop: 179, 183 Nikulás saga: 29, 31–32, 45, 144–46, 148–49, 152–53, 155–57 nine orders of angels, the: 217, 221 Njáls saga: 216–17, 223–24 Noah: 18 Nonneseter: 286 Norges gamle Love: 281 Normandy: 219 Northumbria: 34 Norway: 1–2, 5–8, 11, 17, 33, 81–82, 85–88, 90, 92, 103–04, 111, 114, 116–18, 122–24, 126, 128–30, 133, 145, 150, 161–64, 168–76, 179, 181–82, 184–86, 188–90, 205, 213, 215–16, 218–19, 224, 232, 234–35, 249, 251, 255, 256–58, 261–68, 274–75, 279, 281, 284–91, 293, 296, 310–11, 313, 316–17, 320, 327, 328–30 Oculus Sacerdotis: 20 Oddr Snorrason, monk: 33, 163–64, 185, 234, 235–37 Oddur Einarsson, bishop: 208 Óláfr Haraldsson. See St Óláfr Óláfr of Nidaros, bishop: 265, 267 Óláfr Tryggvason, king: 33, 118, 162–64, 170, 176, 178, 180, 185, 214, 232, 234–36, 239 Óláfs drápa: 234, 237–38

    Index Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar: 19, 33, 163, 216, 234 Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar en mesta: 19, 33, 216, 234 Olaus Magnus, archbishop: 173 Olav Engelbrektsson, archbishop: 285 Old Norse, 145, 147, 155–56, 163, 195, 218–19, 311 Old Norwegian Homily Book: 2, 163, 173, 218 Ole Nicolai Løberg, dean: 274, 295–96 Ordo Nidarosiensis: 263 Orkney: 1–3, 9, 111–28, 130–33, 135–36, 162, 175, 183, 204, 229, 234, 237 Orkneyinga saga: 112–13, 116, 118–20, 123–27, 130–31, 134, 164–65 Orphir: 129 Oslo: 3, 7, 9, 81, 103, 143, 161, 178–79, 223, 249, 255, 257, 264–65, 268, 274, 291, 309, 327 Otto III, Emperor: 221 Páll Jónsson, bishop: 3, 196 Panzo: 254 Papa Stronsay: 129 Paris: 123, 197 parish churches: 2, 5, 143, 157, 266 Parva pars oculi dextri sacerdotis: 20 Paschasius Radbertus: 58, 70–71 Passio et miracula Beati Olavi: 82, 84, 92, 162, 163, 167, 170, 172–73, 189 Passio Sancti Eadmundi: 4, 215 Pater Noster: 95, 322 Patreksfjörður: 21 Paul the Deacon: 27 Peder Jensen Lodehat: 262 Peder Palladius, bishop: 292–93 Peter Dass, priest: 301 Pétr Nikulásson, bishop: 262 Philip Melanchthon: 292, 294 Pictish: 129, 133 pilgrimage: 12, 27, 29, 121–22, 127, 129, 130–31, 143, 161, 167–68, 170–71, 173, 181–82, 184, 186–88, 201, 220, 222, 257–58, 262–65, 267–68, 274, 286, 292, 295–96, 300, 327 Polemius, king: 37–38 Polotsk: 231–32 Poor Clares, the: 255, 259, 260, 264, 268

    341

    Portiuncula: 254, 265, 268 Portugal: 185 Postola Sögur: 6 Power, Rosemary: 127 psalter: 221, 232 Pseudo-Jerome: 58 Pskov: 231 Public Worship and Iconoclasm: 297 Quintinian, consul: 40 Radulfus Nowell, bishop: 125–26 Ragnarr Hairy-Breeches: 215–16 Ramsø: 263 Reformation, the: 2, 10, 12, 162, 175, 196, 210, 273–74, 277–78, 280, 284–85, 297, 303 Reims: 28–29, 44 Rein convent, the: 259, 262 relics, cult of: 11, 12 relics, translation/installation of: 105, 112, 114, 119, 122–23, 126, 195, 202 Remigius saga: 45 Resurrection, the: 22, 56, 186 Reykhólar: 10 Reykjahólabók: 10 Reynistaðarbók: 17, 20, 44–45 Reynistaður: 20, 43–44, 46–47 riddarar/knights: 224–25 Ringerike: 168 Ringsaker: 251–52, 255, 257, 259, 261, 265–67 Ripon: 34 Rissa: 249–51, 259, 261, 265–67 Robert of Crickdale: 135 Rǫgnvaldr Brúsason: 129 role models: 2, 259, 303 Roman alphabet: 311–12, 327–30 Rome: 27, 29, 34, 120–21, 143, 146, 166–67, 222, 253, 265, 285 Roskilde: 261–62, 264 Rostock: 257 Rouen: 219 Round Church of St Nicholas: 129 runes/runic inscriptions: 8, 169, 180, 311–12, 315, 317–20, 322–23, 327, 329 Russia: 230–32, 234–35 Røldal: 274–76, 287–88, 295–96

    342

    Sabinian, pope: 27 Saints and Lives on the Periphery: 6 Saints and Society: 2, 5 Saltair na Rann: 222 San Damiano: 254 Sandness: 134 Saracens: 29, 255 sator arepo: 323 Scandinavia: 1–2, 5–6, 11, 81, 115, 123, 128, 165–67, 178, 217, 219, 232, 261, 327 Scotland: 127, 130, 134–35, 223 Selja: 3, 33–34, 45, 122, 174, 176 Seljord: 173 Seljumanna þáttr: 33 Seljumenn, the: 170, 176–77 Selma Jónsdóttir: 8, 222 Serafion. See seven sleepers seven sleepers, the: 35, 322, 324–25 Shetland: 114, 127, 130, 132, 134, 162, 175, 234 Sicily: 27, 40 Sigurðr Fáfnisbani: 225 Sigurðr Hlöðvisson, earl: 115, 118 Sigurðr Jórsalafari: 116, 125–26, 130, 179, 232 Sigurðr munnr, king: 165 Sigurðr, bishop: 236–37 Simon the Pharisee: 22 Sixtus IV, pope: 266 Skagafjörður: 18, 219 Skálholt: 3–4, 9, 17, 19–21, 128, 144, 157, 196, 198, 240 Skanderborg: 265 Skellig: 220 Skule Baardson, duke: 259 Skåne: 175 Slagelse: 218 Slesvig: 218 Snorri Sturluson: 164 Sodor, diocese of: 133, 136 Sparre, Cornelia Spjelkavik: 4 Speculum historiale: 23–24, 28–29, 35 Speculum virginum: 43 St Acacius: 255 St Agatha: 17, 21, 40, 46–47 St Agnes: 17 St Aidan: 34 St Alban: 33, 45, 122

    Index St Ambrose: 17, 56, 70, 230, 256 St Andrew: 17, 204, 309, 315–16 St Anna of Novgorod and Kiev: 232 St Anne: 105, 213, 277, 298, 301 St Augustine: 56, 256 St Barbara: 17, 20, 39, 46–47, 249, 256, 260, 263, 266 St Bartholomew: 17, 20, 32, 37–38, 46 St Bede the Venerable: 17, 19, 32, 34–35, 44, 213 St Benedict: 44, 262, 326 St Birgitta: 6, 171, 189, 251, 327 St Blase: 17, 21, 41, 42, 46 St Boniface: 32 St Catherine: 256, 263, 266–67 St Clare: 249, 251, 253–55, 257–61, 264–66, 268 St Clement: 10, 86, 232, 235, 309–10, 315, 317–18, 325 St Columba: 233–34 St Cuthbert: 17–19, 32, 34, 44, 135 St Dorothy: 256, 263, 266–67 St Edmund: 214–16, 230 St Edward the Confessor: 19, 35, 36, 45, 215, 219–20, 236 St Eiríkr: 115 St Erasmus: 266 St Eustace: 17, 235 St Francis: 254, 257, 264–65, 268, 327 St Friðrekr: 202, 228–30 St George: 220, 256 St Gertrude: 249, 251–67 St Gregory the Great: 10, 17, 19, 27, 44, 56, 213, 218, 235, 256, 277 St Guðmundr: 3, 9, 17, 144, 196–97, 200–01, 209, 229 St Hallvarðr: 3, 9, 162, 171, 178–79, 184, 256–57 St James the Greater: 17 St Jerome: 29, 256 St John. See John the Baptist St John the Evangelist: 255, 257 St Jón Ögmundarson: 3, 9, 17, 196–97, 200–01, 203, 222, 229–30, 240 St Katherine: 262 St Lawrence: 183, 256, 309, 315 St Leoba: 32 St Magnús: 3, 9, 114, 119–23, 126–36, 162, 164, 171, 175, 183–84, 204, 229

    Index St Malchus: 17, 19, 29, 44–46 St Margaret: 8, 134, 249, 251, 256, 260, 262, 263, 266, 326 St Margaret of Antioch: 17 St Martha of Bethany: 17–19, 22, 45 St Martin: 215, 235, 239, 256, 265, 286 St Mary Magdalene: 18–19, 22–23, 45, 105, 149, 201, 256, 265 St Mary of the Portiuncula: 254 St Michael: 47, 216–29, 240, 257, 309, 316 St Nicholas: 8–9, 19, 21, 29–30, 42–43, 46–47, 129–30, 143, 145–49, 151, 155–57, 225, 235, 251, 256–58, 262, 291, 316 St Óláfr: 3, 7, 9, 11, 81–82, 84–87, 89–92, 94–97, 99, 102, 104–06, 111, 114, 116–18, 121, 127, 129, 133, 156, 161–65, 167, 169–74, 178, 181, 184–85, 187–90, 209, 215, 219–20, 229, 232, 235–36, 251, 256–57, 291–93, 311, 319 St Olav i kunsten: 7 St Patrick: 213, 233 St Paul: 10, 17, 34, 205 St Peter: 10, 17, 34, 41, 122, 125, 146, 156, 179, 215, 220, 228, 309, 315–16 St Petronilla: 320 St Philip: 17 St Remigius: 17, 19, 28, 44–45 St Rochus: 256 St Rǫgnvaldr: 111, 113, 116–17, 120, 126–27, 130–32, 136 St Sebastian: 9, 256, 284 St Stephen: 2, 17 St Sunniva: 3, 9, 17, 19, 32–33, 45, 122, 162, 164, 169, 170–71, 176–77, 182, 184, 256, 265, 286, 292 St Thomas Becket: 9, 17, 112, 117, 135, 204, 209, 281, 316 St Þorfinnr: 3 St Þorlákr: 3, 9, 171, 196–201, 204, 206, 209, 220, 240 St Ulrik: 32 St Ursula and the eleven thousand Virgins: 17–19, 28–29, 45, 176, 255, 263 St Walburga: 17–19, 32, 44 Stafholt: 207 Stamford Bridge, battle of: 35–36 Stavanger: 7, 9, 295

    343

    stave church: 8, 276, 295, 300, 316, 318 Stevns: 263 Stiklestad, battle of: 97, 187 Stjórn: 219 Stockholm: 264, 276 Storm, Gustav: 185 Streeton, Noëlle L. W.: 8, 273, 276, 279, 298–99 Sturlubók: 202, 233 Sturlunga saga: 203 Styrmir fróði Kárason: 164 Sutherland: 134 Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir: 20, 43–44, 46 Sveinn Forkbeard, king: 216, 230 Sverrir Sigurðsson, king: 172, 179, 183–84 Sverrir Tómasson: 156 Sverris saga: 164, 172, 177, 179 Svǫlðr, battle of: 235–36 Switzerland: 8, 280, 287, 297 Sæby: 266 Tarascon: 23, 45 tetragrammaton: 322 The Legendary Saga: 164, 173 The Legends of the Saints in Old NorseIcelandic Prose: 7 Theodoricus monachus: 118 Þiðranda þáttr: 226 Þingeyrar: 144, 155–56, 230, 235–36 Thomas II of York, archbishop: 124 Thómas saga: 204 Thomas the Apostle: 316 Three Wise Men. See Magi Tiel: 32 Tingstad: 228 Tobit, Book of: 325 Tomassini, Laura: 54 Torlaci episcopi confessoris simplex: 197 Torpo: 8 torture: 37, 39–42, 165, 183, 186–87 Trondenes: 291 Turville-Petre, Gabriel: 155 Tønsberg: 264, 314, 326 Ullensvang: 327 Unger, Carl Richard: 6, 54 Unterricht der visitatoren an die pfarrherrn im kurfürstenthum zu Sachsen: 294 Uppsala: 173, 264

    Index

    344

    Urnes: 318 Utrecht: 178, 259, 261, 267 Valla-Ljótr: 228 Valla-Ljóts saga: 228 Van Deusen, Natalie M.: 5, 10, 17 Vauchez, André: 5 Veraldar saga: 34 vernacular languages: 5, 9–10, 33, 58, 60, 62, 81, 143, 197 Vestfold: 291 Vík: 219 Vilhjálmr of Orkney: 114–15, 119, 121, 123–27, 131–32, 136 Vincens Lunge, royal representative: 286 Vincent de Beauvais: 23, 29, 35, 155 Virgin Mary, the: 7, 9, 17, 28, 53–54, 56, 58–61, 63–66, 68–76, 157, 181, 183–84, 218–20, 224, 249, 257, 259–60, 265–66, 277, 280, 292–93, 297–98, 300–01, 312, 321 virginity: 40, 65, 73, 176 visions: 27–29, 34–36, 43, 45, 97, 188–90, 216, 227, 235, 239, 292 Vita Cuthberti: 34 Vita sancti Magni: 112–13, 135 Vladimir I: 231 Vladimir the Great: 232 Västergötland: 223 Vågå: 324 Wahlstod, monk: 34 Wandel, Lee: 278 Ward, Benedicta: 5 Warnke, Martin: 292 Western Isles, the: 127–28

    Westman Islands: 198 Westminster: 36, 44 Whaley, Diana: 162 Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things?: 5 Widding, Ole: 6 William of Jumièges: 219 William Pagula, writer: 20 William the Conqueror: 36 William the Lion, king: 132 Wimborne: 32 Wittenberg: 294 Wolf, Kirsten: 5–7, 17, 40 Yaroslav the Wise: 232 Ylmheim: 5 York: 34, 113, 123–26, 134 Young Men: 322, 325–26 Zeeland: 218 Østbirk: 265 Þangbrandr, missionary: 214, 216–18, 220–21, 223–29, 234, 240 Þangbrands þáttr: 217–18, 227 Þórarinn loftunga: 161, 185, 209 Þórðr Jónsson: 196, 207, 210 Þórður Sigurðarson: 21 Þórhallr, prophet: 226–27 Þórhalls þáttr knapps: 226–27 Þorláks saga: 144, 197, 201 Þorsteins þáttr uxafóts: 234 Þorvaldr inn víðförli: 202, 214, 229–32, 234, 240 Þorvaldr Snorrason: 203–04 Þorvalds þáttr víðfǫrla: 202, 230–31

    Medieval Texts and Cultures of Northern Europe All volumes in this series are evaluated by an Editorial Board, strictly on academic grounds, based on reports prepared by referees who have been commissioned by virtue of their specialism in the appropriate field. The Board ensures that the screening is done independently and without conflicts of interest. The definitive texts supplied by authors are also subject to review by the Board before being approved for publication. Further, the volumes are copyedited to conform to the publisher’s stylebook and to the best international academic standards in the field. Titles in Series Drama and Community: People and Plays in Medieval Europe, ed. by Alan Hindley (1999) Showing Status: Representations of Social Positions in the Late Middle Ages, ed. by Wim Blockmans and Antheun Janse (1999) Sandra Billington, Midsummer: A Cultural Sub-Text from Chrétien de Troyes to Jean Michel (2000) History and Images: Towards a New Iconology, ed. by Axel Bolvig and Phillip Lindley (2003) Scandinavia and Europe 800–1350: Contact, Conflict, and Coexistence, ed. by Jonathan Adams and Katherine Holman (2004) Anu Mänd, Urban Carnival: Festive Culture in the Hanseatic Cities of the Eastern Baltic, 1350–1550 (2005) Bjørn Bandlien, Strategies of Passion: Love and Marriage in Old Norse Society (2005) Imagining the Book, ed. by Stephen Kelly and John J. Thompson (2005) Forms of Servitude in Northern and Central Europe: Decline, Resistance, and Expansion, ed. by Paul Freedman and Monique Bourin (2005)

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