plik

Journal of English and Germanic Philology—January

The Interplay of Pagan and Christian Traditions

in Icelandic Settlement Myths

Jonas Wellendorf, University of Bergen

Medieval Icelanders took pride in their cultural inheritance and descent.
They knew that being a new nation was something out of the ordinary,
and they cultivated a remarkable literary tradition about their past. They
preserved tales of the distant heroic Scandinavian past as well as of more
recent Icelandic events, but the tradition that concerned the events con-
nected with the landnám or settlement seems to have been cultivated with
a particular interest. This is understandable since the settlement is equated
with the foundation of their nation, and the event that had made them
Icelanders. Tradition has it that many prominent settlers threw their high-
seat pillars overboard when they caught sight of Iceland, and settled at the
place where they landed. In this essay I shall discuss the stories about set-
tlings where this course of events is described and present some parallels
from Latin hagiographic narratives. The Icelandic sources present both
Christian and pagan versions of this ritual and appear to applaud both. I
conclude by tentatively suggesting how a contemporary audience might
have interpreted these myths in light of their Christian faith.
When reading about events that took place in the settlement period
of Iceland, traditionally dated between 870 and 930, but not recorded
in writing until the twelfth century at the very earliest, scholars have of-
ten been compelled to address the question of the historicity of certain
customs, beliefs, or anecdotes mentioned in the texts. One example of
this is a brief article from 1988 by Hermann Pálsson.

He analyzed an

anecdote about an Icelandic settler by the name of Pórir Grímsson who,
as a prophecy foretold, settled at the location where his mare lay down.
Hermann Pálsson adduces two parallels to this story. The first is quite
obvious and concerns the legendary or mythological Greek hero Cadmus
and the founding of the city of Thebes. The second requires a bit more
goodwill on behalf of the reader and involves the prophecy that Aeneas
should found the future Rome at the location where a white sow was seen
suckling thirty newborn piglets. These two stories of Classical antiquity
have been retold numerous times and vernacular Old Norse versions ex-

1. Hermann Pálsson, “A Foundation Myth in Landnámabók,” Mediaeval Scandinavia, 12

(1988), 24–28.

ist as well. Hermann Pálsson goes on to present two instances of what he
calls “striking verbal similarities” between the story of Pórir on the one
hand and Cadmus and Aeneas on the other. Even if he has some reserva-
tions about the precise source of the Old Icelandic anecdote about the
settler—and not all readers would find the verbal parallels as striking as
Hermann Pálsson does—he concludes that the story “owes its origin to
foreign learning rather than to a genuine native tradition” (p. 28).
It has been quite symptomatic of scholarship on Old Norse literature
and culture to make such a sharp distinction between “foreign learning”
and “native tradition.” The foreign element is called “learning” and thus
evokes books and clerics or monasteries and other non-native elements.
This is contrasted with a local innate element described in a more ad-
vantageous way as something handed down from time immemorial, the
undiluted tradition of pagan times before the “Church” began to exert its
influence on the Old Norse people. In outlining this opposition between
learned and native tradition, it becomes too easy to forget that this “na-
tive tradition” in the Old Norse language would have been termed and
thought of as frœdi. This term, which means ‘learning’ and was applied to
all kinds of knowledge, derived from tradition as well as bookish learning.

Hermann Pálsson was of course not a scholar who was generally unsym-
pathetic to elements in Old Norse literature that derived from what he
called “learned tradition”; rather the opposite, which may explain why he
termed the Icelandic anecdote a myth in the title of his article. “Myth” is
after all a term that has positive connotations in scholarship on Old Norse
literature because of the prominence given to myth in the two Eddas, the
Poetic Edda and Snorri Sturluson’s Prose Edda.
The story of Pórir Grímsson was labelled foreign tradition, and then left
behind. What seems to have been forgotten is that in the instant the story
entered local tradition it necessarily became a part of that tradition and
gained meaning in dialogue with it. In fact, the Icelandic anecdote has
only been transmitted to our era by that very same tradition. This shows
that the question is falsely put. It ought not be a question of either/or, but
rather of how: How might we interpret the use and possible amalgamation
of such learned elements in Old Norse literature?
The main source of the Old Norse myths of settlement is the complex of
texts known as Landnámabók, ‘The book of settlements,’ or more literally,
‘The book of land takings.’ This work, which describes how Iceland was
settled in the late ninth and early tenth centuries, thus belongs to the special
branch of tradition that tells myths of origin. Such myths are particularly
powerful and well suited as a societal adherent. Their main value is, how-

2. Preben Meulengracht Sørensen, Fortælling og ære: Studier i islændingesagaerne (Århus:

Aarhus universitetsforlag, 1993), pp. 36–38.

Wellendorf

ever, not to be sought in their outlines of these origins as such, but rather
in the way they are conceptualized by those who tell and retell the myths
or how the tradition of the past is present in the present. They deal with
the past and were thus enshrined in the cultural memory of the Icelanders;
but they deal with the present as well, in the sense that they are responses
to concerns of the present. A traditional myth of origin will tell us how a
particular group wishes to conceptualize its own genesis, and in this sense
the interpretation of the past that is presented forms an important part of
the present identity of that group. It might seek its content from the past,
but the message and the values transmitted are those of the present.

Even if myths of origins are found in medieval historiography, no par-
allels to Landnámabók as such have been found. The work describes the
settlement of Iceland, beginning somewhere on the coast of the southern
part of the island and continuing clockwise along the coast until the settle-
ment of the entire island has been described. In this way Landnámabók
might be compared to the mighty Midgardsormr, or World Serpent, of Old
Norse mythology that encircled the world, kept it together and was one of
the essential elements required to maintain the cosmos. The main prin-
ciple of organization in Landnámabók is the geography of the settlement
rather than its chronology, even if the two most important and complete
versions preserved in our time (S and H, see below), begin with the dis-
covery of Iceland, and take the area of the first successful settler as the
geographical point of departure.

From a textual perspective Landnámabók can be described as an unstable
text, which means that it changed significantly and continually during its
transmission as the result of conscious reworkings. It is preserved in differ-
ing redactions, and many of the differences between the texts are clearly
revisional rather than transmissional, variants where an author/scribe
has deliberately interfered with the text in order to improve, update, or
correct it. There seems to have been a wish to gather as much material
as possible as if to “complete” it. This is evident from the fact that some
versions combine extant redactions, in order to be fuller and more com-
prehensive than their predecessors. Noteworthy in this connection is the
epilogue to Haukr Erlendsson’s version of Landnámabók where he proudly
declares that his rendering is longer than any of the previous ones.

It is fair to say that the main concern of those who have studied Land

3. See Anne Eriksen and Torunn Selberg, Tradisjon og fortelling: En innføring i folkloristikk

(Oslo: Pax Forlag A/S, 2006), pp. 235–55.

4. The oldest reconstructable version seems to have begun with the eastern end of the

southern quarter.

5. Landnámabók, in Íslendingabók. Landnámabók, ed. Jakob Benediktsson, Íslenzk fornrit,

I (Reykjavík: Hid íslenzka bókmenntafélag, 1968), pp. 29–397; here p. 397. Subsequent

references to Landnámabók are to this edition.

Traditions in Icelandic Settlement Myths

námabók has been to work out how the different redactions are interre-
lated. There is no need to enter into the finer details of the argument
here, but the most common opinion holds that the redaction known as
Styrmisbók was written around 1220 on the basis of older material compiled
by Ari fródi and Kollskeggr hinn vitri. Styrmisbók has not been preserved,
but it formed the basis of Melabók (M)

and Sturlubók (S) written by Sturla

Pórdarson (d. 1284). Sturla added much to the text of Styrmisbók, but he
also left out some material. When Haukr Erlendsson (d. 1334) compiled
the redaction known as Hauksbók (H) he had both S and Styrmisbók at
his disposal and he reinserted the material left out by Sturla and added
supplementary material as well. The oldest versions of Landnámabók were
presumably quite terse and perhaps the various entries did not contain
much more than genealogical outlines interspersed with onomastic in-
formation.

A typical example of this is the following excerpt from M:

Pórólfr Mostra<r>skegg nam land frá Stafá til Pórsár [ok] bjó í Hófsvági.

Hans synir váru Hallsteinn godi, fadir Porsteins surts, ok annarr Porsteinn

porskabítr, fadir Porgríms, fodur Snorra goda, fodur Halldórs, fodur Snorra,

fodur Gudrúnar, módur Hreins ábóta, fodur Valdísar, módur Snorra, fodur

Hallber[u, e]r átti Markús á Melum. (Landnámabók, M, pp. 124–25)

(Pórólfr Mostrarskegg took land from Staf River to Pórr’s River and lived in

Hóf Creek. His sons were Hallsteinn godi, the father of Pórsteinn the Black,

and secondly Porsteinn Cod-biter, the father of Pórgrimr, the father of Snorri

godi, the father of Halldórr, the father of Snorri, the father of Gudrún, the

mother of Hreinn the abbot, the father of Valdís, the mother of Snorri, the

father of Hallbera, to whom Markús on Melar was married.)

This might not be the most fascinating chain of events from a narrative
viewpoint; indeed, one would be hard pressed to call the outline of events
a story at all. If we want a story we must devise it ourselves; the M redac-
tion of Landnámabók thus provides a grid that can be fleshed out and in
this respect it follows the lost Styrmisbók. The geographic location of the
potential story is clearly demarcated by the mentioning of the two rivers,
one at the eastern boundary and the other at the western. The central
place of settlement is also named.

It is impossible to ascertain whether

6. Only a single leaf of M is preserved, but scholars believe that some sections can be

restored with the help of the post-medieval compilations Skardsárbók and Pórdarbók.

7. The view presented here agrees with the conclusions reached by Jón Jóhannesson,

Gerdir Landnámabókar (Reykjavík: Félagsprentsmidjan, 1941) and Jakob Benediktsson in the

introduction to his edition of Landnámabók, pp. l–cliv. Differing views of the development of

the various redactions and their interrelations are presented by Sveinbjörn Hrafnsson, Studier

i Landnámabók: Kritiska bidrag till den isländska fristatstidens historia (Lund: CWK Gleerup,

1974

) and Sögugerd Landnámabókar: Um íslenska sagnaritun á 12. og 13. öld (Reykjavík: Sagn-

frædistofnun Háskóla Íslands, 2001); and Jón Hnefill Adalsteinsson, Blót í norrænum sid: Rýnt

í forn trúarbrögd med pjódfrædilegri adferd (Reykjavík: Háskólaútgáfán, 1997), pp. 11–33, but

they have not been generally accepted.

8. In addition we can also note that the genealogy is traced to a certain Hallbera married

Wellendorf

medieval Icelanders knew stories about the first wave of settlers when the
writing of Landnámabók began. If stories were attached to these names,
they are unrealized at this stage. Landnámabók abounds with such poten-
tial stories. However, as time passed the sagas of Icelanders were written.
Most of these sagas initially describe how many settlers came to Iceland,
and thus cover much the same ground as Landnámabók, but now in a
mode where narratives held greater importance. Sturla, the great redac-
tor of Landnámabók, set about to incorporate material from the sagas of
Icelanders into Landnámabók and he also added a narrative about the first
successful settler Ingólfr and his less successful foster brother Hjorleifr.

As mentioned, Haukr continued this process of addition.
The story about the first settler Ingólfr describes how, upon catching
sight of Iceland, he threw his highseat pillars overboard:

Pá er Ingólfr sá Ísland, skaut hann fyrir bord ondugissúlum sínum til heilla;

hann mælti svá fyrir, at hann skyldi par byggja, er súlurnar kœmi á land.

(As soon as Ingolf caught his first glimpse of Iceland he threw his highseat

pillars overboard, hoping for a good omen, and he declared he’d settle wher-

ever the pillars happened to be washed ashore.)

The Old Norse term ondvegissúla (pl. ondvegissúlur)/ondugissúla (pl.
ondugissúlur) is here translated ‘highseat pillar,’ as is customary, and ond
ugi/ondvegi is one of the common terms for a highseat, along with the
more transparent hásæti. The exact design and function of these pillars
is uncertain, but since they are always referred to in the plural, they ap-
pear to have at least come in pairs. The highseat was the seat of the Old
Norse pater familias and chieftain, and thus the most important seat in the
house/hall. Literary sources imply that some of these highseats had room
for more than one person, so they should not be thought of in terms of a
throne. The pillars might have been used as support for the roof, having
been set down into the ground. In this way, they could function as local
representations of the pillar believed to support the universe.

Some

to a Markús living at Melar. It is quite typical for this redaction of Landnámabók to connect

everyone to Melar, so typical that the redaction has been dubbed Melabók, and it is often

assumed that the son of this Markús, Snorri Markússon, compiled this redaction (cf. Land

námabók, p. lxxxiv).

9. Landnámabók, chs. 6–9 in S and H. This story has been masterfully analyzed by Meulen-

gracht Sørensen, “Sagan um Ingólf ok Hjörleif: Athugasemdir um söguskodun íslendinga á

seinni hluta pjódveldisaldar,” At fortælle historien: Studier i den gamle nordiske litteratur (Trieste:

Edizioni Parnaso, 2001), pp. 11–25. First published in Skírnir, 148 (1974), 20–40. I draw

on his analysis in the following.

10. Landnámabók, ch. 8 in S and H. English quotations of Landnámabók are taken from the

translation of S by Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards, The Book of Settlements: Landnámabók

(Winnipeg: The Univ. of Manitoba Press, 1972), here p. 20. Subsequent references are to

this translation.

11. Gabriel Turville-Petre, “Thurstable,” Nine Norse Studies (London: Viking Society for

Traditions in Icelandic Settlement Myths

sagas also imply that the pillars were placed in the pagan temples of the
settlers. But since the actual design and the practical function of the pillars
is less important in the present context, I have retained the traditional
translation ‘highseat pillars’. The main point is that the sources present
them as being of great importance to the settlers.
After having sent out his highseat pillars, Ingólfr goes ashore and settles
at a temporary location, sending his slaves out to look for the pillars. Fi-
nally, in the third winter two of his slaves, Vífill and Karli, find his highseat
pillars at the western side of a large moor. The story continues:

Ingólfr fór um várit ofan um heidi; hann tók sér bústad par sem ondvegissúlur

hans hofdu á land komit; hann bjó í Reykjarvík; par eru enn ondugissúlur

pær í eldhúsi. En Ingólfr nam land milli. . . . (ch. 9, S and H)

(In the spring Ingolf travelled west across the moor. He made his home at the

spot where his highseat pillars had been washed ashore and lived at Reykja-

vik. The highseat pillars can still be seen in the hall there. Ingolf claimed

possession of the whole region. . . .) (p. 21)

The spot where Ingólfr finally settles does not immediately appear to be
the most suitable location for human habitation, and Landnámabók makes
a point of this when one of Ingólfr’s slaves remarks: “Til ills fóru vér um
gód herud, er vér skulum byggja útnes petta” (ch. 9, S and H) (It’s not
much use our travelling across good country, just so that we can live on
this out-of-the-way headland) (p. 20). This protest serves to underscore
the correctness of Ingólfr’s behavior, or his pagan piety. Ingólfr is a pious
pagan, one who follows the conventions of his religion, however unfitting
they might seem to a Christian author of the High Middle Ages. Prior to
setting out on his journey he holds a pagan sacrifice for luck,

and he

settles at the place appointed to him by the superhuman powers, even if
the location initially does not seem to be the optimal one. He settles on
the headland because the omen indicated that this was where he should
settle, not because he thought its geographical features were advanta-
geous. His less pious foster-brother Hjorleifr fares worse. “Hjorleifr vildi
aldri blóta” (ch. 7, S and H) (Hjorleif would never sacrifice) (p. 19),
Landnámabók states, and not long after his arrival in Iceland he is mur-
dered by his slaves. When Ingólfr discovers his dead body he comments

Northern Research), pp. 20–29, at p. 25. [Article first published in English and Medieval

Studies Presented to J. R. R. Tolkien on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday (London, 1962), pp.

241

–49.] For a recent discussion of the highseat pillars, see Klaus Böldl, Eigi einhamr: Beiträge

zum Weltbild der Eyrbyggja und anderer Isländersagas, Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der

Germanischen Altertumskunde, 48 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2005), pp. 163–76.

12. We are not informed about what he sacrificed, but on another occasion Landnámabók

makes reference to the sacrifice of humans at the site of the assembly of Pórsnes (ch. 85

in S).

Wellendorf

laconically: “Lítit lagdisk hér fyrir gódan dreng, er prælar skyldu at bana
verda, ok sé ek svá hverjum verda, ef eigi vill blóta” (ch. 8, S and H) (It’s
a sad end for a warrior, to be killed by slaves; but in my experience, this is
what always happens to people who won’t hold sacrifices) (p. 20). At the
end of the section about Ingólfr the following assessment of his qualities
and significance is made:

Ingólfr var frægastr allra landnámsmanna; pví at hann kom hér at óbyggdu

landi ok byggdi fyrstr landit; gerdu pat adrir landnámsmenn eptir hans dœm-

um. (ch. 9, S; ch. 10, H)

(Ingolf was the most famous of all the settlers, because he came to this country

when it was still uninhabited and he was the first man to settle here perma-

nently. After that, other settlers came and followed his example.) (p. 21)

The difference between the two brothers in arms is clearly drawn. The
irreligious Hjorleifr ends up murdered by his slaves, whereas the pious
Ingólfr becomes the paradigmatic example (dœmi) of correct behavior.
He not only survives his first winter, but he becomes the most famous of
all settlers and the first to do what numerous subsequent settlers did in
his wake.
The story about Ingólfr does not seem to have been a part of the oldest
version of Landnámabók, but was supposedly added by Sturla along with
many other events. In this new and enlarged version of Landnámabók the
very bare bones of a story about the settler Pórólfr mostrarskeggi, which
was quoted earlier, have been turned into a full-fledged story. The audi-
ence now learns much more about him: why he was nicknamed mostrar
skeggi; that he was a great sacrificer and a worshipper of Pórr; why he fled
Norway and most importantly why he settled where he did:

En er hann kom vestr fyrir Breidafjord, pá skaut hann fyrir bord ondvegis-

súlum sínum; par var skorinn á Pórr. Hann mælti svá fyrir, at Pórr skyldi par

á land koma, sem hann vildi, at Pórólfr byggdi. (ch. 85, S; ch. 73, H)

(. . . when he’d come west as far as Breidafjord, he threw his highseat pillars

overboard. They had an image of Thor carved on them. Thorolf declared

that Thor would come ashore where he wanted Thorolf to make his home.)

(p. 45)

In this way Pórólfr follows the example of Ingólfr, and he is not the only
one. Reading through Landnámabók, one sees that the same is the case
with Lodmundr hinn gamli who landed in Lodmundarfjord in the East,
but moved to the South when he learned that his highseat pillars had
drifted ashore there.

Hrollaugr Rognvaldsson’s highseat pillars land in

13. Landnámabók, ch. 85, S; ch. 73, H; The Book of Settlements, p. 45.

14. Landnámabók, ch. 289, S; ch. 250, H. Before leaving his temporary settlement Lod-

mundr even puts a curse on the place.

Traditions in Icelandic Settlement Myths

the East, but a storm drives him to the West where he spends the winter.
Then he makes his way to the East to the place where the pillars drifted
ashore (ch. 310, S; ch. 270, H). Next is Hásteinn Atlason who “skaut set-
stokkum fyrir bord í hafi at fornum sid” (ch. 371, S; ch. 326, H) (threw
[not his highseat pillars but] his bench-boards overboard at sea, according
to ancient custom) (p. 138). They landed near Stokkseyrr where Hásteinn
accordingly settled.

The last example found in Landnámabók concerns

Pórdr skeggi Hrappsson who settled in the East and lived there for as long
as 10–15 years before he learned that his highseat pillars were found in
the western part of Iceland. Of course he sells his land right away and
moves west (ch. 11, H).
These are the examples of this theme in its most current form that are
contained in Landnámabók. However, not all settlers followed the example
of Ingólfr. A certain Crow-Hreidarr Ófeigsson declared that he “wasn’t
going to throw his highseat pillars overboard as he thought it a stupid way
to make one’s decisions” (p. 90) (sagdisk eigi mundu kasta ondvegissúlum
fyrir bord, kvezk pat pykkja ómerkiligt at gera rád sitt eptir pví) (ch. 197,
S; ch. 164, H). He is not completely irreligious like Hjorleifr and does ask
Pórr for guidance. Yet, despite this mitigating circumstance, it must be
seen as a direct consequence of his omission that Crow-Hreidarr wrecks
his ship. He does survive, but in order to obtain land, he decides to battle
a certain Sæmundr in order to take possession of his land. Before it comes
to bloodshed and the obligatory ensuing feud, one of the mighty men of
the region donates a piece of land to him. The story about Crow-Hreidarr
does not end with his premature death as the story about Hjorleifr does,
and the place he finally settled was probably a decent place, but he was
dependent on the benevolence of one of the local magnates, and thus he
might have been better off had he thrown his highseat pillars overboard
like Ingólfr and the others.
Parallels to some of these anecdotes can be found in the Sagas of Ice-
landers. Landnámabók and the Sagas of Icelanders interacted in a com-
plicated process of cross-fertilization that in many cases is difficult if not
impossible to disentangle. Still there is general agreement that Land
námabók is dependent on Eyrbygggja saga for information about Pórólfr
mostrarskeggi.

On the other hand, Flóamanna saga seems to depend

15. Why Hásteinn used bench-boards instead of highseat pillars is unknown, but the bench-

boards seem to have been important as well. This is at least the impression one gets from

the trouble to which Eiríkr raudi goes to regain his bench-boards from Porgestr Steinsson

mjoksiglandi (ch. 89, S; ch. 77, H).

16. Eyrbyggja saga, ed. Einar Ól. Sveinsson and Matthías Pordarson, Íslenzk fornrit, IV

(Reykjavík: Hid íslenzka fornritafélag, 1935), ch. 4; cf. p. xv. Subsequent references are to

this edition.

Wellendorf

on Landnámabók for information about Hásteinn Atlason (called Hall-
steinn), and this saga even refers to Landnámabók in one instance.

problematic are the highseat pillars of Pórdr skeggi. They are mentioned
in Porsteins páttr uxafóts as well, and it is not immediately obvious who is
borrowing from whom.

It has to be added that the motif of the highseat pillars occurs twice in
Laxdæla saga as well. First Bjorn Ketilsson settles in Bjarnarhofn where his
highseat pillars drifted ashore. Later the ship of his sister Unnr djúpúdga
wrecks on the coast; she survives and later, after having travelled around
in the area, she settles at Hvammr where her highseat pillars had drifted
ashore.

These events are told only in the saga, not in Landnámabók. From

this and other differences between Landnámabók and Laxdæla saga it can be
argued that Laxdæla saga was unavailable to Sturla when he made his ver-
sion of Landnámabók (around 1275–80). Finally, in Kormáks saga Ogmundr
Kormáksson also settles where his highseat pillars land.

This makes nine

instances in all.
These myths of settlement have appealed to students of Old Norse
literature and culture. The two most noteworthy studies are by Margaret
Clunies Ross and the folklorist Dag Strömbäck.

Clunies Ross makes refer-

ence to the personification of the earth as a goddess named Jord, ‘Earth’,
in Old Norse mythology,

and notes the “strikingly phallic” character of

this and other rituals of settlement.

She connects these rituals with the

17. Flóamanna saga in Hardar saga. Bárdar saga, Porskfirdinga saga. Flóamanna saga, ed. Pór-

hallur Vilmundarson and Bjarni Vilhjálmsson, Íslenzk fornrit, XIII (Reykjavík: Hid íslenzka

fornritafélag, 1991), chs. 3 and 4.

18. Porsteins páttr uxafóts in Hardar saga, Íslenzk fornrit, XIII, p. 341. The accounts in H

and Porsteins páttr are, factually speaking, similar, but differ at the verbal level. Jón Jóhannes-

son, Gerdir Landnámabókar, pp. 160–62, has argued that both texts derived their information

from Melabók or Styrmisbók. This, however, is called into doubt when one takes the style and

contents of the preserved parts of Melabók into consideration. The fact that Sturlubók makes

no mention of the pillars makes it more likely that they were added by Haukr, but ultimately

this question cannot be answered with the available sources.

19. Laxdæla saga, ed. Einar Ól. Sveinsson, Íslenzk fornrit, V (Reykjavík: Hid íslenzka forn-

ritafélag, 1934), chs. 3 and 5.

20. Kormáks saga, in Vatnsdæla saga. Hallfredar saga. Kormáks saga, ed. Einar Ól. Sveinsson,

Íslenzk fornrit, VIII (Reykjavík: Hid íslenzka fornritafélag, 1939), ch. 2.

21. Margret Clunies Ross, “Myths of Settlement and Colonisation,” Prolonged Echoes: Old

Norse Myths in Medieval Northern Society, vol. 2, The Reception of Norse Myths in Medieval Ice

land (Odense: Odense Univ. Press, 1998), pp. 122–57; Dag Strömbäck, “Att helga land:

Studier i Landnáma och det äldsta rituella besittningstagandet,” Folklore och Filologi (Upp-

sala: Almqvist & Wiksell), pp. 135–65. First published in Festskrift tillägnad Axel Hägerström

(Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1928), pp. 198–220.

22. In Hallfredr Óttarsson vandrædaskáld’s Hákonardrápa, ed. Finnur Jónsson, in Den

norskislandske skjaldedigtning (Copenhagen: Rosenkilde & Bagger, 1908–1914), vol. B I,

pp. 147–48, st. 3–6, the motif of the marital union between Earl Hákon and his country is

repeatedly (and ironically?) spelled out. The goddess Jord was seen as the mother of Pórr.

23. Margaret Clunies Ross, “Myths of Settlement and Colonisation,” p. 126. In addition

Traditions in Icelandic Settlement Myths

predominantly male land takers in Iceland and argues that the rituals of
the few female settlers are described in a different way. This, she thinks,
is caused by a “subconscious awareness of the inappropriateness of the
male paradigm to women settlers.”

Clunies Ross also follows the lead of

Strömbäck in seeing the ritual as a way of transporting the sacred power
from the old land to the new. When the head of the expedition surren-
dered his highseat pillars to the waves, the physical representations of his
authority and his connection with the superhuman powers were put in
danger, but divine help assured that they reached the best possible place.

The highseat pillars could be consecrated to Pórr and it must have been
thought that Pórr guided the pillars to the place where he intended the
settlers to have their future residence.

Finally Emil Birkeli, a Norwegian historian of religion, has connected
the highseat and its pillars with the cult of ancestors.

To support this

he launched an alternative interpretation of the etymology of the word
ondvegi ‘highseat,’ which he sees as ‘the path (veg) of the spirit (ond).’ It is
notoriously difficult to pin down the atavistic elements of the pre-Christian
belief systems in the North, but even if they are somewhat elusive, it is
noteworthy that the account in Egils saga and Landnámabók about Egill’s
father taking land can be seen as a very concrete support for the impor-
tance of the forefathers; furthermore it is a clear parallel to the accounts
discussed hitherto. The grandfather of Egill, Kveldr-Úlfr, is the head of the
expedition, but when they are well on their way to Iceland he feels death
approach and instructs the crew to make a coffin for his body and throw
him overboard if he dies. His son Skalla-Grímr is to build his home where
the coffin drifts ashore if it so happens (ef pess yrdi audit). Not surprisingly,
Kveldr-Úlfr does die and his coffin drifts ashore in Iceland where it is found
shortly afterwards; Skalla-Grímr settles close by. The coffin is carried to
the nearest headland and a mound is erected above it (chs. 29–30, S).
Even though Kveldr-Úlfr dies while on his way to his very own promised
land, he not only retains his position as head of the expedition until the
place of settlement has been selected, but his heir can also, from the very

to the ritual practice discussed here, another ritual consisted of erecting a pole. See, e.g.,

Landnámabók, ch. 184, S; ch. 151, H.

24. “Myths of Settlement and Colonisation,” p. 127.

25. “Myths of Settlement and Colonisation,” p. 143.

26. In Eyrbyggja saga, ch. 4, the consecration even extends to an identification when the

saga states: “eptir pat konnudu peir landit ok fundu á nesi framanverdu, er var fyrir nordan

váginn at Pórr var á land kominn med súlurnar” (Thereafter they explored the land and

saw that Pórr had landed with the pillars on the foreland to the north of the creek).

27. Emil Birkeli, Fedrekult: Fra norsk folkeliv i hedensk og kristen tid (Oslo: Dreyer, 1943).

Wellendorf

beginning of his settlement in the new land, point to an ancestor lying in
the very ground he owns. Skalla-Grímr can thus trace the ownership of
the land back til haugs ok til heidni ‘to the mound and the heathen times,’
as an amendment to the Old Norwegian laws from 1316 would later put
it with alliterative force.

Strömbäck takes it for granted that during the settlement period (c.
870

–930) the settlers actually performed a ritual like the one described

in Landnámabók and in the sagas of Icelanders. Even if the stories about
the particular settlers that we have cited above were to a certain extent
fabricated, the ritual itself is believed to date from the very earliest period
of Icelandic history. It is indicative for this way of reading Old Icelandic
literature that when a similar motif is found in an explicitly Christian
context it is explained as a Christian cast of the old heathen custom.

Two such stories can be found in the Hauksbók redaction of Landnámabók.
One of the Christian settlers who arrived in Iceland was Ásólfr alskik.

was of Hiberno-Norse origin and had the qualities of a saint. In his old age
he lived as a hermit near Akranes in southwestern Iceland. Many years later,
after 1049 according to traditional Icelandic chronology,

some dreams

prompted the local farmer to get hold of Ásólfr’s bones and put them in a
shrine, but first he had to erect a church at the site of Ásólfr’s grave. Up to
this point in the story there are smaller differences between the two main
versions of Landnámabók in the outline of events (ch. 24, S; ch 21, H), but
only H continues to tell how the farmer sends his son Illugi abroad to fetch
timber for the church. When Illugi is on his way back with the timber his
travel plans are impeded by the captains of the ship who refuse to land
near the site of the future church. Illugi throws all the timber overboard
and leaves it to Ásólfr to let it land where he wishes. Three days later the
timber drifts ashore at the right place (except for two logs which land a
bit farther to the north), and the church can be built.
Even if this story is not an exact parallel to the stories about the high-
seat pillars it does contain elements of a similar nature. One difference
is that the timber for the church drifts to a place already known to Illugi,
whereas the pillars drift to a new unknown place. In both cases, however,
supernatural powers are believed to guide the wood. The timber floats
to the place of Ásólfr’s burial, the location at which he wants the church

28. Norges gamle love indtil 1387, ed. Rudolf Keyser et al. (Christiania 1846–1895), vol. 3,

p. 121.

29. Thus Strömbäck, “Att helga land,” p. 138.

30. On the story of Ásólfr, see Margret Clunies Ross, “Saint Ásólfr,” Germanisches Altertum

und christliches Mittelalter: Festschrift für Hans Klingenberg zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Bela Brog-

yanyi (Hamburg: Verlag Dr. Kovac, 2002), pp. 29–49, and Judith Jesch, “Early Christians in

Icelandic History: A Case Study,” Nottingham Medieval Studies, 31 (1987), 17–36.

31. See Sveinbjörn Hrafnsson, Studier i Landnámabók, p. 77.

Traditions in Icelandic Settlement Myths

to be erected. The pillars float to the place where the god Pórr, or some
unnamed superhuman power, wants the settler to erect them. Church
timber and highseat pillars alike drift home.
Scholars have noticed the hagiographic atmosphere in the story about
Ásólfr, and the digging up of his bones can easily be compared with hagio-
graphic texts about the invention of relics that are found in the accounts
of the translation of a saint.

Hagiographic texts are well known for their

use of stock elements as part of the narrative. One might even say that
one of the chief characteristics of hagiographic texts is their echoing of
other hagiographic texts. Within the hagiographic genres similarity equals
confirmation, not only of doctrine but of actions as well. Therefore it
should not come as a surprise that a parallel to the central element in
the story about the church timber can be found in a hagiographic text,
namely in the life of St. Giles, also known under the name Aegidius. The
life of St. Giles presents him as a seventh-century hermit living in the
forest near Nîmes in Provence. His cult seems to have been created in
the tenth century and subsequently spread widely.

The strategic loca-

tion of his shrine on the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostella
might have advanced his cult considerably, and there is even a record of
a visit from Iceland to the shrine in Hrafns saga Sveinbjarnarson. The Ordo
of Nidaróss archdiocese, dated between 1205 and 1224, stipulated that
his feast day (1 Sept.) was to be celebrated with nine lessons,

and one

church in Iceland (Saudafell) is known to have been dedicated to him.

All of this taken together makes it likely that his vita was known quite
early in Norway and Iceland. A single leaf of a vernacular translation is
preserved in an Icelandic manuscript from the fifteenth century,

but

when the translation itself was made is unknown.
The life of St Giles describes his life as a hermit in a cave in the forest.
Later this cave is elevated to the status of a monastery and Giles journeys to
Rome in order to put it under papal tutelage (“ut . . . monasterium suum

32. Judith Jesch, “Early Christians in Icelandic History,” pp. 24–25. The story is recounted

in Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar hin mesta as well. Ólafur Halldórsson, “Landnámutextar í Ólafs

sögu Tryggvasonar hinni mestu,” Gripla, 11 (2000), 7–39, has shown how Óláfs saga hin mesta

used a Sturlubók version of Landnámabók as its source, but in a longer version than the one

preserved.

33. Sources of AngloSaxon Literary Culture, vol. 1, Abbo of Fleury, Abbo of SaintGermaindesPrés,

and Acta Sanctorum, ed. Frederick M. Biggs et al. (Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications,

2001

), p. 44.

34. Lilli Gjerløw, Ordo Nidrosiensis Ecclesiae (Ordubók) (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, 1968),

pp. 30–31 and 389.

35. Margaret Cormack, The Saints in Iceland: Their Veneration from the Conversion to 1400,

Subsidia Hagiographica, 78 (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1994), pp. 96–97.

36. Agnete Loth, “Egidius saga hins helga: Fragmentet AM 238 XVI fol.,” Opuscula, 3

(1967), 62–73.

Wellendorf

apostolico iuri manciparet”).

As proof of his contract with the pope he

asks for a pair of doors on which the images of Peter and Paul are carved.
The pope donates these doors to him, but since Giles is unable to carry
the doors home he has them thrown into the Tiber. Everyone thinks Giles
has lost his mind, but when he returns to his monastery he is told that a
pair of wonderfully carved doors has drifted ashore nearby. He rejoices
and commands that they be placed at the entrance of the church.

  Just like the highseat pillars and the church timber, the doors also float
home. They are tossed into the water, and with the help of a supernatural
power (in this case the Christian God perhaps by proxy of the two apostles)
they reach their destination unaided by human hands. These events paral-
lel those in the accounts from Landnámabók, even if the course of events
differs in some respects. Most striking is the fact that Giles’s doors are not
only analogous to Illugi’s church timber, but also to Pórólfr mostrarskeggi’s
highseat pillars on which the image of the pagan deity Pórr was carved.
  It is likely that the life of St. Giles was known in Iceland—at least in
its Latin form—at the time when Landnámabók was written, but it is un-
necessary to insist on a direct connection between the vita and the Ice-
landic material. Rather it shows how Iceland had a share in a tradition
that was widespread, and that it is necessary to look further afield than
Landnámabók and the Sagas of Icelanders in order to establish likely hy-
potheses on the background and origin of the story about Illugi and the
church timber. In the study of Old Icelandic literature it is imperative to
keep in mind that it is the piecemeal remains that have fallen from the
table of tradition that we have at our disposal today. When assembled
they do not give us the complete picture of what once was. Thus, wanting
to fit all available pieces together is not an optimistic undertaking but a
misguided one. The events from the life of St. Giles show that the story
of Illugi is much more than the Christian reworking of a pagan Icelandic
custom that Strömbäck wanted to see.
  Landnámabók contains yet another story about a Christian settler whose
method of choosing land recalls that of Ingólfr and the other settlers.
This is the story of Ørlygr Hrappsson. Again the Hauksbók version is our
basis, since Haukr has added material that is not found in the other ver-
sions. Haukr had an obvious fascination for all things Irish, and the story
of Ørlygr testifies to this. Landnámabók tells that Ørlygr was a grandson
of Bjorn buna (who was the forefather of many prominent settlers) and

37. The Life of St Giles, BHL 93, is quoted from the edition of a single Latin manuscript

by Elaine M. Treharne, The Old English Life of St Nicholas with the Old English Life of St Giles,

Leeds Texts and Monographs, New series, 15 (Leeds: School of English, Univ. of Leeds,

1997

). The passage is on p. 205.

38. See Treharne, p. 206; Loth, pp. 71–72.

Traditions in Icelandic Settlement Myths

was raised by the otherwise completely unknown holy bishop Patrekr in
the Hebrides. Ørlygr feels like moving to Iceland—fystisk at fara til Íslands
(ch. 15, S and H)—and he asks bishop Patrekr for advice. The bishop
instructs him carefully about where to settle, describing a location where
mountains and valleys are arranged in a particular way. Furthermore,
the bishop gives him timber to build a church and equips him with a ple-
narium (a liturgical book containing texts for the celebration of Mass), an
iron bell (járnklukka), and other necessary items. Ørlygr then sets sail for
Iceland. When Ørlygr and his followers make landfall, a storm threatens
to put an end to their journey, but they are saved by prayers to Patrekr.
They land in the northwest of Iceland where they spend the winter. In the
spring they sail towards the south until Ørlygr recognizes the mountains
the bishop had described for him. At this stage the bell falls into the sea
and sinks. They sail in along the fjord and disembark, and there on the
beach amidst the seaweed lies the bell. Knowing he has found the right
location, Ørlygr erects a church and dedicates it to St. Columba (ch. 15,
H; cf. ch. 15 in S).
Most of these events, but not the detail about the bell falling overboard,
are also described in the saga of that region, Kjalnesinga saga, although in
a slightly different way. Interestingly, the saga adds an antiquarian note,
stating that the bell was still there in the church of Columba in the late
thirteenth century,

even though it had become rusty, and that the bishop

at that time, Árni Porláksson, had brought the Irish book (the plenarium)
with him to Skálholt where he had it repaired.

The bell was one of the

central features of the medieval church, as it still is in the modern church.
Before it could be used it had to be consecrated by a bishop or another
higher church official, and it underwent a ritual somewhat similar to a
baptism by being sprinkled with holy water. It was not unusual that bells
had names.

With the importance of the bell in mind, it is easy to see why

it could function in a way similar to that of the highseat pillars in finding
the predetermined location for the settler. Thus, this example follows the
same narrative pattern as the earlier examples.
Just like Illugi, Ørlygr is a Christian. But the pattern used for describing
pagan settlers is equally suitable for Christians as long as the numinous
object is adjusted to the beliefs of the settler. In this way it should not
necessarily be seen as a pagan ritual that has been adapted to Christian

39. Landnámabók insists that the bell is made of iron. This is noteworthy because bells

in the Nordic area were made of bronze and not of iron. See L. M. Holmbäck, “Klocka,”

Kulturhistorisk leksikon for nordisk middelalder, 8 (Oslo: Gyldendal, 1963), col. 505.

40. Kjalnesinga saga, ed. Jóhannes Halldórsson, Íslenzk fornrit, XIV (Reykjavík: Hid íslenzka

fornritafélag, 1959), chs. 1 and 18.

41. N.-A. Bringéus, “Klockdop,” Kulturhistorisk leksikon for nordisk middelalder, 8 (Oslo:

Gyldendal, 1963), cols. 515–16.

Wellendorf

circumstances, but rather as a basic pattern that can be elaborated in
more than one way. In the aforementioned case it was a bell, but as has
been shown it might as well have been timber for the church or highseat
pillars. The same might be said of the divinatory description of features
of the landscape where one is to settle. In the case of Ørlygr, this predic-
tion is placed in a Christian context, while a similar prediction is placed
in an unequivocal pagan context in the case of the settler Ingimundr inn
gamli which involves a sibyl, Sámi shapeshifters, and a small idol of the
pagan god Freyr.

The story of Ørlygr is particularly interesting because, yet again, it is
possible to find a parallel outside of Iceland. Ørlygr came from the West
and Haukr seems to have been a hibernophile. These two circumstances
make it particularly fascinating that the parallel is an Irish one. Just as was
the case with the doors of St. Giles, the parallel comes from a hagiographic
narrative, the life of St. Declan, a missionary saint and bishop of Ardmore
on the south-eastern coast of Ireland, midway between Waterford and Cork.
According to his vita Declan was an older contemporary of St. Patrick and
preached in Ireland before Patrick arrived. The date of his vita is uncertain,
but one guess is that it might have been written in the period between 1171
and 1210.

It is preserved in only two closely related fourteenth-century

Latin manuscripts of Irish provenance. The life tells that Declan, when
he had finished his bookish training in Ireland, undertook a journey to
Rome where he was ordained as bishop by the pope. On his way back he
stopped at a church in order to celebrate Mass. On this occasion God sent
a little black bell (cymbalum) from heaven and it landed at the altar right
in front of Declan. He rejoices and asks a particularly trusted member of
his following to guard the bell. The bell has magical properties and on
their remaining journey home they are saved by the bell on one occasion.
The hagiographer notes that to this day the bell is still in the possession
of Declan’s city and that God has worked many miracles through it.

The

bell follows Declan on his subsequent journeys. Once, as Declan is on
his way back to Ireland from a trip abroad, he comes to the coast of the
Irish Sea, and while a ship is prepared the bell is entrusted to a monk who
forgets the bell on a rock by the shore. Once at sea they notice that they
have forgotten the bell and lament their loss. But Declan prays to God that
he send them the bell, and shortly thereafter the rock with the bell upon
it comes floating towards them. Then Declan said: “Dirigite nauim recto

42. Landnámabók, ch. 179, S; ch. 145, H.

43. Richard Sharpe, Medieval Irish Saints’ Lives: An Introduction to Vitae Sanctorum Hiberniae

(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), pp. 31–32.

44. Charles Plummer, ed., Vitae sanctorum Hiberniae (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1910), vol.

II, p. 39. The Life of Saint Declan is BHL 2116.

Traditions in Icelandic Settlement Myths

uestigio post petram. In quocumque enim loco ipsa portum apprehen-
derit, ibi prope ciuitas mea erit, in qua sedes mei episcopatus manebit”
(Let the ship follow in the wake of the stone. I will found my city close to
the place where the stone puts into port, and this will be the place of my
Episcopal seat).

They follow the stone with the bell to Ireland, and it sails

from port to port without putting in. Finally it lands at a small island right
off the coast. They embark and Declan thanks God. One of his followers
is, however, a bit sceptical regarding the suitability of the location for an
Episcopal seat, saying:

‘Quomodo poterit ista altitudo parua populum tuum sufferer?’ Ait ei sanctus

Declanus: ‘Nequaquam, fili, altitudo parua uocabitur, set altitudo magna.’ Et

ita semper ciuitas sancta Declani, que in eo loco posita est, uocatur a Scotis

Ard Mor, id est Altitudo magna.

(“How will this small height be able to sustain your people?” But the holy

Declan answers him: “This place, my son, will not be called a small height,

but a great height.” And ever since the holy city of Declan, which is situated

in this location, is called Ard Mor by the Irish, that is ‘Great Height.’)

In the following chapter the discomforts of living on a tiny island become
apparent to Declan and with the use of his staff and the help of God he
makes the water recede, as did Moses, and from then on Ardmore was
connected with the mainland.
The Irish saints seem to have been a particularly forgetful lot and a
number of miracles relate how forgotten items were found at the destina-
tion of the saint,

and in at least two other cases (those of Sts. Lasrian and

Maedoc) the forgotten item was a bell (cymballum).

But Declan’s bell is

the only one that points the way to a specific supernaturally determined
location. One difference between the bells of the Irish saints and that
of Ørlygr is the size. Ørlygr’s bell is a church bell whereas Declan’s is a
much handier and smaller bell; nevertheless the function of the bell is,
practically speaking, the same as in the previous examples. As was the case
with Giles’s doors, Declan’s bell is not only analogous to Ørlygr’s bell, but
also corresponds to the other instances of the motif discussed above as
well. Particularly noteworthy is the parallel between the scepticism voiced
against the decisions of Ingólf and Declan by their subordinates.
The two non-Icelandic examples appear to be roughly contemporane-
ous with the Landnámabók, but all the texts escape attempts at a precise

45. Plummer, ed. Vitae sanctorum Hiberniae, II: 42.

46. Plummer, ed. Vitae sanctorum Hiberniae, II: 42–43.

47. See Dorothy Ann Bray, A List of Motifs in the Lives of the Early Irish Saints, FFC, 252

(Helsinki: Soumalainen tiedeakatemia, 1992), p. 103.

48. The bell of the Irish saint might also ring at the place where one should found a

monastery, as was the case with St. Ciaran Saigir and St. Mochoemog. See Bray, A List of

Motifs, p. 104.

Wellendorf

dating. Proving a direct connection between any of the texts in question is
beside the point. It is much more important to establish that the motif is
more widespread than has hitherto been thought. In this connection it is
noteworthy that in 1611 the Swedish historian Johannes Messenius retold
a legend in his Sveopentaprotopolis about the origin of the name of the Swed-
ish capital Stockholm. This story is strikingly similar to that concerning
the Icelandic pagan settlers, except that in Sweden they used a log filled
with gold and valuables instead of highseat pillars.

Messenius himself

finds this interpretation of the name Stockholm fabulous (fabelachtigh),

and presents an alternative. Böldl refers to Messenius and believes that it
shows “daß der hier in Rede stehende Vorstellungskreis nicht auf Island
beschränkt ist.”

The general argument in this paper points in the same

direction, but in this particular case it seems more likely that Messenius
drew on Icelandic sources, since Messenius is acknowledged as a pioneer
in the use of Old Norse sources and draws on such material elsewhere in
Sveopentaprotopolis.

Medieval Icelanders of the thirteenth century told stories of how their
forefathers chose the location of their settlements by means of a ritual
that was most often described in pagan terms as a ritual related to the
Old Norse pre-Christian gods, but—as we have seen—could be described
within a Christian framework as well. The pagan past was a topic that fas-
cinated the authors of our preserved literature; this is most evident in the
eddic and skaldic poetry and in the legendary sagas telling of the exploits
of the heroes of old, living long before the colonization of Iceland. But
when dealing with the less distant past, the history of the settlement and
the first centuries of Icelandic history, one senses a certain uneasiness or
discomfort with paganism in the literature. Lönnroth notes in an older
article that the paganism of a character is usually emphasized in the case
of villains, and that the major saga characters who have close connections

49. In the Swedish translation of 1612 one can read the following: “Hoos them som någ-

hot weta af gambla Swenska handlingar äre tre förnämlighe meningar om Stockholms Stadz

nampn: Ty en part meena honom hafwa fätt sitt nampn af en Stock / hwilken Sigthunaborgare

/ sedhan the af the Careler och Esther förbrände wordo/hafwa upfylt medh Guld och Pen-

ningar / och skutit honom in j Meleren / på then mening / at tijtt han drijfwa och stadna

skulle / ther wille the byggia en Stadh / som af fienderna kunde säkrare wara: Hwilken Stock

när han efter itt wijdt drijfwande omsijdher fastnadhe widh en liten Holme j Norrströmen

som idagh warder kallat Swaneholmen / mena the at Agnesit ther af skal hafwa begynt kallas

Stockholm. [. . .]. Johannes Messenius, Sveapentaprotopolis: Thet är the fem förnämste och äldste

Sweriges och Götes Hofwdstädher (Stockholm: Andreas Gutterwitz, 1612), p. 133. Translated by

Henricus Hammerus from Sveopentaprotopolis, seu Exegesis de quinque primariis & antiquissimis

Svecorum Gothorumqve emporiis (1611), http://www.kb.se/F1700/Messenius/Mess_1612.htm.

50. Messenius, Sveopentaprotopolis, p. 134.

51. Böldl, Eigi einhamr, p. 160.

52. Sten Lindroth, Svensk lärdomshistoria, vol. 2, Stormaktstiden (Stockholm: P. A. Norstedt

& Söners förlag, 1975), p. 264.

Traditions in Icelandic Settlement Myths

to the pagan gods are usually made to fall because of their devotion, as
in the case of Hrafnkell and Víga-Glúmr.

Many saga protagonists were

described as noble heathens, however, which means that they were like the
Gentiles the Apostle Paul mentions in his epistle to the Romans (2:14–15)
who unknowingly followed the Law because they had it written in their
hearts. These are the great saga heroes living before the advent of Christi-
anity who believed in him “who created the sun,” or are irreligious in that
they believed á mátt sinn ok megin (in their own might and strength), as it
is commonly put. Lönnroth sees this pagan attitude in the descriptions
of some of the great heroes as a way of exculpating the ancestors of the
Icelanders at the time of writing the sagas, since hostility towards pagan
gods would have brought the believer/unbeliever one step closer to the
God of medieval Christianity. In an important article entitled Irreligiosität
und Heldenzeitalter Gerd Wolfgang Weber took this one step further, and
argued that the myth about men believing á mátt sinn ok megin—a colloca-
tion he convincingly showed to be of biblical origin

—were the people

who did not bow down in front of idols and who thus were free, and this
was a central element in the Icelandic perception of Iceland. Weber fur-
ther argued that this laid the foundation for an Icelandic myth of liberty
and national identity.
The myth I have discussed here is in many ways a counter-myth to the
one outlined by Weber. When Ingólfr says about his assassinated foster-
brother: “This is what happens to people who won’t hold sacrifices,” he,
functioning as the mouthpiece of the myth, emphasizes that it is piety and
religiously/cultic correct behavior that will ultimately lead to a successful
colonization. Landnámabók and other texts present us not only with ex-
emplary landings that follow the paradigmatic example of Ingólfr—who
performed a ritual in a context which medieval Icelanders cannot have
seen as anything but pagan—but even give deterring examples of what
happens when the ritual is not followed. Additionally, there are variants
which show that the ritual would work in a Christian as well as in an ata-
vistic setting. The message seems to be obvious: When arriving in a new
land one should not just settle at random, but should rely on superhuman
powers to point out the right spot.
It has been suggested that the myths about settlers moving to their actual

53. Lars Lönnroth, “The Noble Heathen: A Theme in the Sagas,” Scandinavian Studies,

(1969), 1–29, at p. 16. On anti-pagan attitudes in the Sagas of Icelanders in general, see

Paul Schach, “Antipagan Sentiment in the sagas of Icelanders,” Gripla, 1 (1975), 105–34.

54. Gerd Wolfgang Weber, “Irreligiosität und Heldenzeitalter: Zum Mythencharakter der

altisländischen Literatur,” Mythos und Geschichte: Essays zur Geschichtsmythologie Skandinaviens

in Mittelalter und Neuzeit (Trieste: Edizioni Parnaso, 2001), pp. 15–41; here 28–34. First

published in Speculum Norroenum. Norse Studies in memory of Gabriel TurvillePetre, ed. by Ursula

Dronke et al. (Odense: Odense Univ. Press, 1981), pp. 474–505.

Wellendorf

destination when their pillars were found as long as ten to fifteen years
after their arrival, owes something to the actual historical circumstances
of the settlers. When they arrived in the wild uncultivated land, they
might not initially have been able to discern whether a particular piece
of land was the optimal location for a new settlement. But this practical
advice for ensuring superhuman support and guidance when choosing a
location would primarily have been of relevance during the sixty years or
so it took before Iceland, according to the medieval Icelandic historio-
graphic tradition, was fully settled (and in the period when Greenland
was colonized). Thus, advice on choosing a location and perhaps even
phallic conquest of the virgin land might have been the message originally
conveyed by the myth, if indeed it dates from the settlement period. But
myths are like empty forms that can be filled with various types of content.
The myth might remain more or less unchanged through time,

but in

order to retain relevance it has to be interpreted in accordance with the
present in which it is told. One of the characteristics of myth is this ability
to serve the needs of the present while dealing with the past. A particu-
larly good example is the reinterpretation of Pórr’s fishing expedition in
Nidrstigningarsaga where Pórr becomes God, the hook becomes the cross
and the bait Jesus, and the world serpent becomes Leviathan. But this is
a rare case where an interpretation is spelled out; more often Old Norse
literature leaves interpretation in the hands of the reader.

In other cases there is plenty of room for guesswork about how the
audience might have interpreted a particular story or myth. Of course the
audience would have gained pleasure from these stories of settlement that
are all modulations on the same theme and perhaps even involved their
own forbears or a geographical area to which they had some connection.
And perhaps most readers/listeners would have stopped at that. But know-
ing the fondness of medieval readers for interpretative reading, I think
those who sought a deeper meaning in the myths of settlement would
have read them within the general framework of salvation history. Man was
created to live in Paradise, but was exiled and sentenced to life on earth.
Human life on earth is not only conceptualized as a punishment, but also
as a journey towards the happiness of the true existence in heaven, where
humans are reunited with God.

This salvational framework is encapsu-

55. How old these tales are in an Icelandic context is unknown, but Meulengracht Sø-

rensen, “Sagan um Ingólf ok Hjörleif,” has argued that the story of Ingólfr found a form

resembling the one in which it is now preserved at the beginning of the twelfth century.

56. Another well-known example of reinterpretation is the depiction of Sigurdr’s victory

over the dragon on Norwegian stave churches as representation of the victory of Christianity

over paganism.

57. See Undervejs mod Gud: Rummet og rejsen i middelalderlig religiøsitet, ed. Mette Birkedal

Traditions in Icelandic Settlement Myths

lated in the idea of homo viator which is the medieval Christian version of
one of the most famous and durable of the “metaphors we live by,” namely
the metaphor “life is a journey.” That the journey of life took place at sea,
as in the cases I have discussed here, is a particularly favored image. One
of the most famous medieval literary concretizations of this image is the
Navigatio Brendani, a widespread work describing how St. Brendan and
his fellow monks put to sea to seek the Promised Land. After some days
the wind falls and they row until they are completely exhausted. Their
spirits are low but Brendan comforts his crew:

Fratres, nolite formidare. Deus autem adiutor noster est et nautor et gu-

bernator atque gubernat. Mittite intus omnes remiges et gubernaculum.

Tantum dimittite uela extensa et faciat Deus sicut uult de seruis suis et de

sua naui.

(Brothers, have no fear. God is our helper, guide and helmsman and he

steers. Take in the oars and helm. Just let the sails hang wide open and let

God do as he pleases with his servants and his ship.)

The message here is the same as in the texts about land-taking: divine help
is needed to reach the goal of the journey. Brendan’s monks might row
with all their might but sooner or later their strength will be exhausted
and they will need divine help. Homo viator will not make it to the end
of his journey alone; he needs faith and divine assistance. Likewise, the
settlers might believe in their own powers and might, as did Ingólfr’s
foster-brother Hjorleifr, but alone and without supernatural help they
do not succeed.
I think that piety is a central aspect of this myth. To Christians like Sturla
and Haukr, the pious pagans of the colonization age naturally directed their
piety towards the supernatural powers that were available at the time. Many
of the settlers were pagans and had probably not heard about Christian-
ity, but as long as piety was the focal point, where this piety was directed
within this mythic framework was less important. Consequently even the
half-pagan, half-Christian Helgi the Lean receives a favorable description
in Landnámabók, although his faith is described as “very much mixed: he
believed in Christ but invoked Thor when it came to voyages and difficult
times” (p. 97) (hann var blandinn mjok í trú; hann trúdi á Krist, en hét á
Pór til sjófara ok hardræda) (ch. 218, S). When he sights Iceland, he consults
Pórr on where to land. Much to the dissatisfaction of Helgi’s son Hrólfr,
Pórr guides Helgi towards the North, and Hrólfr derisively asks whether

Bruun and Britt Istoft (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanums Forlag, 2004) on this topic and

its varying realizations.

58. Navigatio sancti Brendani abbatis from Early Latin Manuscripts, ed. Carl Selmer (Notre

Dame, IN: Univ. of Notre Dame Press, 1959), p. 12.

Wellendorf

he would spend the winter in the Polar Sea if Pórr told him to go there.
But Helgi, as the pious person he is, insists on following the directions of
Pórr and lands in Eyjafjordr, which turns out to be one of the most fertile
districts in Iceland. The final paragraphs of Landnámabók enumerate the
noblest or foremost settlers of the entire island, and many of the characters
mentioned on the preceding pages are mentioned again here, even the
syncretic Helgi the Lean.
It has been said “myth embeds the past in the present, while history
embeds the present in the past.”

If the tales of the settlers of Iceland

were told in the historiographic mode we would expect that the beliefs
of these pagans would be either condemned outright, or lightly glossed
over, or perhaps that the question of their beliefs would have been evaded
altogether. But Landnámabók takes a different course, and by presenting
the settlement of Iceland in a mythic mode there is no need for exculpa-
tion of pagan or half-Christianized forbears like Helgi; their piety was
what mattered the most.

59. Kirsten Hastrup, “Presenting the Past: Reflections on Myth and History,” Folk, 19

(1987), 57–269, at p. 266.

Traditions in Icelandic Settlement Myths