SOURCE: Bagge, Sverre. “Morality and Human Character.” In Society and Politics in Snorri Sturluson's “Heimskringla,” pp. 146-91. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991.

[In the following essay, Bagge examines Snorri's views regarding morality, chivalry, personality, and character.]

INTRODUCTION

In the present chapter I shall attempt to draw the conclusions from Snorri's treatment of conflicts for his ideas of morality and human character, thereby directly addressing the question of “political man” mentioned in the introduction. I shall treat Snorri's ideal king and aristocrat and the norms they are supposed to adhere to, compared to those of the contemporary European aristocracy. Finally, I shall deal with Snorri's concept of human character. This analysis will, I hope, contribute to the discussion between the adherents of Elias's evolutionary perspective of political man and those who follow Bailey in assuming a fairly universal political game between rational actors.

THE IDEAL MAN

The qualities Snorri expects from his kings and magnates are summarized in his numerous characterizations of various great men. These characterizations correspond to the two types of ancient rhetoric, which were still fairly widespread in the middle ages, the notatio, a general characterization that usually serves as the introduction of the person in question, and the elogium or epilogus, which comes after his death and lays particular emphasis on the deeds he has performed (Kirn, 1955: 41 ff.). The most detailed characterizations, however, are to be found in the competition between the kings Sigurðr and Eysteinn (the mannjafnaðr-comparison of two men, Msyn. [The Saga of Magnńssynir] chap. 21), which seems a fitting starting point for an analysis of Snorri's ideas of royal virtues.¹ The two kings and their men drink together while taking veitslur at Opplandene. The beer is not good and the men are quiet. Then Eysteinn suggests a game to cheer up the party: as is often done in drinking parties, the men would compare themselves to others. Eysteinn challenges his brother, and the kings compare their skills and deeds. They start with their athletic skills, go on to their bodily size, strength, and beauty, then to their eloquence and skill in handling legal and other cases, until the competition reaches its climax in the comparison of their deeds: Sigurðr's expedition to Palestine against Eysteinn's building and peaceful activities at home.

The kings' appearances are often described in great detail. To some extent the descriptions contain characteristic features that have a realistic ring and may ultimately be derived from observation, as when Haraldr harðráði is said to have had one eyebrow that was higher than the other (HHarð. [The Saga of Haraldr harðraði] chap. 99: 220) or Erlingr skakki (crooked-neck) is said to have had a long and narrow face, hair that grew grey early, and of course a crooked neck, which earned him his sobriquet (ME [Saga of Magnús Erlingsson] chap. 37). St. Óláfr's medium height, blond hair, and ruddy complexion also give an impression of authenticity. But the characterizations must primarily be understood against an ideological background, as expressions of an ideal of masculine beauty which ought to be found in a king or a great magnate.²

Size is very important. “A man who is to be the leader of other men should be tall … so that he is easily seen and recognized when many men are together,” says King Sigurðr in the mannjafnaðr. If a king is not tall, this is often compensated for by other qualities, as in St. Óláfr, who is unusually broad and strong, or Eysteinn, who is very handsome and considers this equally important as his brother's size and strength. The crippled King Ingi, who is small and whose body is the very opposite of the ideal of bodily strength and beauty that becomes a king, has an exceptionally beautiful face (Ingi [The Saga of Ingi and His Brothers] chap. 21). Beauty is only vaguely defined. There is evidently some connection between beauty and strength and masculinity, but they are not synonymous. King Sigurðr jórsalafari was masculine, but not beautiful. As might be expected, beauty has to do with harmonious proportions. King Haraldr hárðráði's hands and feet were large—that is, probably too large to be really handsome—but well-shaped (HHárf. [The Saga of Haraldr hárfagi] chap. 99: 220). Sigurðr Haraldsson, nicknamed munnr (mouth), was handsome in other respects, but had an ugly mouth (Ingi chap. 21).³ Apart from these rather vague hints, the criteria of beauty that are most frequently mentioned are beautiful eyes and hair. St. Óláfr had very beautiful eyes, which were so sharp that people became frightened when they looked him in the eyes and he was angry (OH [The Saga of Óláfr hinnhelgi] chap. 3). The earls of Lade were exceptionally beautiful. The young Earl Hákon, who is taken captive by St. Óláfr, is the most beautiful man people have ever seen. He wears his hair long, it is fine as silk, and he has a golden ribbon around his head. The king directly comments on his unusual beauty (chap. 30). The beauty of long, golden hair is frequently mentioned and seems to be the feature that is most admired by Snorri and his readers.⁴ Beautiful hair is normally fair and most kings belonging to the Norwegian dynasty are also fair.

Though Snorri probably finds some rough correspondence between outer and inner qualities, this is not the main reason for his great interest in the kings' looks. Outward appearances are not primarily symbols of inner qualities; they are important qualities in themselves. When King Sigurðr insists that a king should be taller than other men and King Eysteinn that he should be more beautiful, it is not just empty phrases in a drinking party, it is a succinct expression of the idea of charismatic kingship. The same idea is expressed when Hákon góði returns to Norway and people say to one another that he must be King Haraldr hárfagri who has become young once more (HG [The Saga of Hákon góði] chap. 1). Similarly, people are impressed by Óláfr Tryggvason's strength and athletic ability (OT [The Saga of Óláfr Tryggvason] chap. 85; see also 77, 82-83) and by St. Óláfr's worthy and kingly appearances and sharp and strong eyes. The king is above others not because he has a higher office but because he is literally a better man. This must be expressed in appearances, inner qualities, and above all ability to perform great deeds. Hereditary kingship is evidently not always able to produce such kings, but there is a clear connection between noble or royal blood and the corresponding qualities. There are always some good and noble qualities in a king; his noble blood guarantees that. Snorri has therefore always something positive to say about his kings, though in some cases he has to confine himself to the most conventional phrases.⁵

From the physical appearances Snorri normally goes on to athletic ability. The mannjafnaðr devotes a large section to this. Sigurðr emphasizes his strength and Eysteinn his suppleness, and they compare their skill in swimming, skiing, skating, and shooting. As in the characterization of St. Óláfr, athletic abilities often receive attention in the characterizations of kings, especially those that are most important in war. The description of Óláfr Tryggvason's abilities is unusually detailed, as he, together with Hákon góði, was the greatest athlete in Norwegian history (OH chap. 106). Strangely enough, there is no comparison of the two kings as warriors, nor are such abilities very prominent in the other characterizations. The explanation is probably that they were included in the athletic abilities, which largely had a military purpose. Toward the end of the discussion, Sigurðr's battles against the Saracens during his journey to the Holy Land are compared to Eysteinn's peaceful activities at home. Generally, military exploits are prominent in enumerations of kings' or great men's achievements. Next, the two kings turn to a long comparison of their legal knowledge, their eloquence, and their way of treating people who bring their cases before them. There are also numerous other references to the kings' ability in this field. Eloquence, which is of course important in a legal context, is important in other contexts as well and frequently mentioned in the characterizations. Its importance is further enhanced by Snorri's examples of kings or pretenders who are able to gain adherents through their speeches and by his numerous speeches and quotations of famous words (see above; also, Lie, 1937: 83 ff., 100 ff.). The latter was evidently highly admired in Snorri's society, and numerous such words and sentences are quoted by Snorri and other saga writers.

Another important virtue, with which kings and rulers are normally credited, is intelligence or wisdom.⁶ Virtues like legal knowledge and the ability to speak convincingly are often regarded as its practical application. Another application is the ability to find a solution in difficult situations, which is explicitly mentioned as an example of King Haraldr harðráði's great intelligence (HHarð. chaps. 36, 99-100). In general, intelligence is a practical quality, which enables a man to solve the political or military problems he is facing.⁷

A quality that is not directly mentioned in the mannjafnaðr is generosity. In spite of this, there can be no doubt of its importance, which is evident from frequent references in the characterizations, and the political consequences, not least of which is its absence. Snorri's explicit denial that Earl Hákon and St. Óláfr were deposed because of lack of generosity, seems to indicate that he regards this as particularly shameful.⁸ A related quality, pomp and magnificence, seems to be implicit in much of the mannjafnaðr: who is most prominent, most conspicuous, has most royal dignity, and so forth? Eysteinn directly draws attention to his beautiful clothes, in addition to his good looks.

The story of King Sigurðr's jórsalaferð is a particularly good example of the importance of wealth and magnificence. When arriving in Constantinople, the king waits half a month for sidewind before sailing into the city, so that his sails, adorned with velvet, will appear at their best.⁹ Snorri occasionally mentions valuable objects, particularly arms, and kings' or other great men's magnificence and lavish spending,¹⁰ but he rarely gives elaborate descriptions of dress, buildings, ceremonies, and so forth. Mostly, such descriptions occur when they are necessary to make the action intelligible.¹¹ The contrast between Snorri's reticence here and his often vivid descriptions of men and their actions is striking. The only really detailed description of this kind is the one of St. Óláfr's reception by his mother and stepfather when he comes to claim the throne. Here Snorri describes the decoration of the houses, his stepfather Sigurðr sýr's clothes, the number of housecarls and domestic servants, the banquet in Óláfr's honor and the food served him and his men during their sojourn there.¹² Though this scene shows the importance Snorri attaches to outward splendor, its main purpose is to create the right atmosphere around the young pretender's meeting with his stepfather and the decisive discussion whether or not to support his claim. This is achieved both through the description itself and through the technique of retardation.

Another related quality, popularity with people and the ability to attract friends, plays some part in the discussion on legal questions: Sigurðr accuses his brother of promising too easily without keeping his promises very well. Eysteinn replies that he wants to satisfy people as far as possible, whereas Sigurðr is harsh and stern and promises evil to everyone so that no one complains if he does not keep his promises. Such qualities play considerable importance in the characterizations and often serve to distinguish between good and bad kings.

Finally, the two kings compare their deeds. The importance of this is evident from Eysteinn's words when Sigurðr brings forward his journey to the Holy Land: “Now you come to the point. I would not have started this controversy if I did not have an answer to that” (“nú greiptu á kýlinu; eigi mynda ek þessa roeðu vekja, ef ek kynna hér engu svara,” Msyn. chap. 21: 293; Holl.: 703 f.). This emphasis on deeds as opposed to “inner” qualities is in perfect accordance with Snorri's description of the political game, according to which virtues serve as means to success and, as we shall see, with his view of human character. A man is above all valued through his deeds, virtues being of no avail if they are not shown in the corresponding deeds, or rather: they do not exist except as summaries of deeds.

Snorri's picture of the ideal king in the mannjafnaðr and the various characterizations can be described as secular-heroic. There are religious elements in his descriptions of the missionary kings, notably St. Óláfr, and King Eysteinn boasts about the churches he has built in the mannjafnaðr, but apart from that, neither piety nor other aspects of the rex iustus-ideal play a prominent part, in clear contrast to the descriptions of the kings in the clerical chronicles. Snorri's emphasis on the kings' legal abilities shows some connection with the aspects of this ideal that were emphasized by the contemporary monarchy. But, as might be expected from his treatment of the king's functions, there is no great similarity to the ideal king of The King's Mirror or similar sources.¹³

Rather, in its broad outlines, Snorri's ideal corresponds to that of the European aristocratic chronicles. Snorri's ideal king or chieftain is the aristocratic hero, who is tall, strong, handsome, brave, magnificent, and generous. There are, however, some differences. There is little trace of the courteous ideal that became prominent in feudal Europe from the twelfth century, emphasizing polite manners, courteous behavior toward women, and romantic love.¹⁴ As for individual virtues, the most striking difference is that Snorri is less concerned with pomp, ceremony, and lavishness, which are often extremely important in European aristocratic literature. This corresponds to the fact that Snorri's heroes are somehwat more concerned with ordinary, practical tasks than their European counterparts. Thus, besides all his warlike virtues, St. Óláfr was “skilled and had a sure eye for all kinds of handicraft work, whether he made the things himself or others did.”¹⁵ His stepfather, Sigurðr sýr, whose peaceful habits and agricultural interests form a prosaic contrast to the brilliant young warrior, is nevertheless depicted as a man of great wisdom, who proved essential in gaining Óláfr the necessary support to be acclaimed as king and win the battle of Nesjar. Similarly, it is perfectly normal for a magnate in Heimskringla to take part in trading expeditions, as for instance Þórir hundr during his expedition to Bjarmaland, in which Óláfr's hirðmaðr Karli and his brother Gunnsteinn participated, the former as his master's partner.¹⁶ Thus, as we should expect from Snorri's description of society, the norms concerning aristocratic behavior differ less from those of ordinary people than the corresponding ones in feudal Europe. Finally, Snorri lays greater emphasis on eloquence, intelligence, and political maneuvering than his European contemporaries. This emphasis may even to some extent explain his way of treating other qualities, such as generosity and magnificence: Snorri clearly understands the importance of pomp and lavishness for gaining adherents and political influence, but he does not take the same pleasure in describing such things as do his European contemporaries. The same applies to the other aristocratic virtues: they are means to achieve political success, not an end in themselves.

ONE IDEAL OR MANY?

Having analyzed Snorri's description of the ideal king as it is found in the mannjafnaðr and other places, I shall now discuss it within a wider context. Two questions then present themselves: (1) how far does this ideal differ from his ideal of man in general? and (2) how is Snorri's ideal of man and king related to his idea of the game of politics?

Concerning the first question, the qualities required in a king in the mannjafnaðr and other characterizations do not give the impression that the king's duties differ radically from those of other great men or that there are virtues that are specifically royal. Rather, Snorri describes a heroic-charismatic ideal of a king, according to which he should excel all others in bodily beauty, bravery, generosity, wisdom, eloquence, and so forth. As the theme of Heimskringla is the game of politics, and virtues and vices are closely related to this, we could hardly expect such a distinction. All the characters Snorri describes are politicians, and though some are more prominent than others, basically the same qualities are needed to succeed in the game. The distinction between kings and ordinary men is rather expressed quantitatively.

Very few of the large number of persons mentioned in Heimskringla are characterized. A somewhat larger number are presented through their genealogies. As might be expected, there is a connection between characterization and social status. Kings are normally characterized, often in some detail. So are usually the greatest magnates, whereas men of lower status are not, though they may play an important part in the saga.¹⁷ Characterizations of women are short and extremely stereotyped. Women whom the kings fall in love with or marry are usually described as beautiful but nothing more is said about their appearances.¹⁸ We are thus left entirely in the dark concerning Snorri's ideal of feminine beauty, whereas his descriptions of men's appearances are often detailed. Occasionally, Snorri makes some references to inner qualities of women, wisdom, pride, and so forth.¹⁹ But even here, it is difficult to detect a clear picture of the ideal woman which may be compared to the one of the ideal man which I have already discussed. The reason for treating women in this way is most probably their indirect or secondary role in the political game.

There also seems to be a general correspondence between a person's standing and importance and the length of his characterization. Characterizations of men who are not kings are often confined to qualities that are relevant in the particular context in which the person appears. The characterization of Hárekr at Tjøtta as a prudent man who is able to further his interests comes in connection with the description of how he gathers wealth by buying land from small farmers (OH chap. 104). Einarr þambarskelfir is described as a man who knows the laws and is able to speak at the popular assemblies in the introduction to his conflict with King Haraldr at a particular assembly (HHarð. chap. 43).

Very few magnates receive characterizations that are as complete and detailed as those of the kings. Of Norwegian magnates this applies only to Earl Hákon, Einarr þambarskelfir, Erlingr Skjálgsson, and Erlingr skakki. Of the four, the first and last were the real rulers of the country for a considerable period, whereas the two others ruled important parts of it and were prominent allies or rivals to more than one king. Then Snorri gives exceptionally detailed characterizations of two Icelanders who served under Haraldr harðráði, namely Halldórr Snorrason and Úlfr Óspaksson (HHarð. chaps. 36-37), above all of the former. The reason for this is probably that Halldórr was one of Snorri's ancestors and even one of his sources (cf. HHarð. chap. 9). The latter played a prominent part as Haraldr's stallari (constable) and became the ancestor of Archbishop Eysteinn. The difference between kings and other men is particularly striking concerning the elogium. Only two of the above-mentioned magnates receive this, Earl Hákon and Erlingr Skjálgsson. Erlingr skakki might possibly deserve it, but he was still living at the end of Heimskringla.

The characterizations of kings may also be of quite varying length. This may have something to do with the distance between their times and Snorri's and thus with the amount of information at his disposal, but above all with their importance. Óláfr Tryggvason, St. Óláfr, and Haraldr harðráði are described in great detail, whereas for instance Óláfr kyrri, Magnús blindi, Haraldr gilli, and Hákon herðibreiðr are dismissed in a few sentences. While the great kings receive both notatio and elogium,²⁰ those of minor importance receive only one characterization, normally notatio. But there is no exact correspondence between a king's importance and the length of his characterization. Magnús góði, who is one of the kings that most conforms to Snorri's picture of the ideal king and is credited with some of the greatest external successes in Heimskringla, receives no notatio and only a short, though very favorable elogium after his death (HHarð. chap. 30). By contrast, the two Magnússons, Sigurðr and Eysteinn, who are certainly great kings, but whose reigns are not among the most important, are described in great detail; actually, their saga is largely composed around their contrasting characters. The three sons of Haraldr gilli, who are all fairly insignificant as persons, are also described in some detail, though without an elogium, apparently because their characters serve to explain the result of the war between them (Ingi chaps. 21-22). The characterizations thus show a fairly clear consciousness of social status, which is also evident in Snorri's description of society. This status distinction corresponds very well with the heroic-charismatic ideal of the king: the king is not qualitatively different from other great chieftains, but he should represent the heroic ideal more completely than they.

MORALITY AND THE POLITICAL GAME

As for my second question, the analysis of the game of politics in chapter 2 gave a fairly clear picture of the kind of person who was most likely to survive in this game, namely the astute, careful, and rather cynical politician who is able to use both force and diplomacy. How far can this picture be generalized? Does Snorri's description of morality and human character confirm it, or are there also other ideals of human behavior in Heimskringla? Lie (1937: 94 ff.), as an example of Snorri's general inclination toward antithesis, points to his contrast between the egotist and the idealist, illustrated for instance by the contrast between Hroerekr and Hringr, Haraldr harðráði and his brother St. Óláfr, and Kálfr Árnason and his brother Finnr. The contrast is too sharply drawn. Idealists in the real sense are rare in Snorri; most men fight for their own interests, even saints like King Óláfr. At least apparently, however, there is a contrast between politicians such as Einarr þambarskelfir and Kálfr Árnason, who consistently maneuver for gain, and men who remain faithful to their masters whatever happens or who distinguish themselves through bravery and heroic qualities. I shall refer to them as respectively politicians and heroes.

The general difference between heroes and politicians can be illustrated through the contrasts between Erlingr Skjálgsson and Einarr þambarskelfir and between Grégóríús Dagsson and Erlingr skakki. The former embody all the traditional and heroic virtuse, whereas the latter are cold, calculating politicians. An even clearer contrast is the one between Bjorn stallari and Kálfr Árnason. Both have been promoted by King Óláfr but desert their master after his exile. But Bjorn does this in a momentary weakness, repents his sin, and joins King Óláfr in Russia and is killed in the battle of Stiklestad (OH chaps. 185-186, 228: 493). Kálfr, however, becomes one of the leaders of the army that defeats King Óláfr, and there are even rumors that he dealt him one of his wounds. When he eventually returns to the cause of his former master and brings his son to the throne, it is clearly to serve his own interests.

Among kings, perhaps the two Óláfrs could be used to illustrate the difference. Óláfr Tryggvason is above all the great athlete and warrior hero (OT chap. 85), whereas St. Óláfr is the wise governor and the good politician. Snorri does not mention the former's eloquence and intelligence, but he lays great emphasis on the latter's. The saga of Óláfr Tryggvason is also one of the most romantic ones of Heimskringla, in which the protagonists act more out of regard for chivalry and splendor than as politicians maneuvering for gain. Rather than contrasting St. Óláfr and Haraldr harðráði, who are after all said to be essentially similar despite apparent differences, one should point to the contrast between Haraldr, the politician, and Óláfr Tryggvason, the chivalrous hero; St. Óláfr is in an intermediate position, having something in common with both, although he is closer to his half-brother than to his predecessor. Haraldr harðráði is described as an exceptionally intelligent man, who is always able to find a solution in a difficult situation (HHarð chaps. 36, 99-100). This corresponds very well to his acts. Another quality, which is not mentioned explicity in the characterization, but which repeatedly occurs in individual episodes, is his ability to suppress anger and conceal his feelings. He gives way to his young nephew Magnús, who is outraged when he finds Haraldr's ship at his place in the harbor (see above and n. 13), and he is completely calm when the old and captive Finnr Árnason directs the most extreme insults against him (HHarð. chap. 66). This quality also gives him an unusual talent for treachery, which is demonstrated in several episodes.

How great is the actual difference between heroes and politicians? The most serious problem is the contrast between Bjorn stallari (the constable) and Kálfr Árnason. On the one hand, Snorri seems to suppose that most men act according to their own interests and easily change sides if it can serve this purpose. On the other hand, Bjorn is depicted as a repentant sinner and together with some other characters serves as an example of loyalty to one's lord and master.²¹ It would be too easy to describe this difference as the contrast between ideal and reality or to assume that Bjorn is an example of the right way of behaving, whereas Kálfr is not. Snorri's numerous examples of changing loyalties to serve one's own interests in the political game make this suggestion unlikely. In this particular case, though Bjorn and Kálfr are different characters, the former's repentance is not quite independent of political calculation, as it conveniently takes place when he has received the news that Óláfr's rival, Earl Hákon, is dead and the country is without a ruler. Further, we can point to the discussion between the Árnasons after the conflict over Steinn Skaptason of whether or not to accept King Óláfr's peace proposal (OH chap. 138; Hkr. [Heimskringla] vol. 2: 319 f.; see Lie, 1937: 96, 98). Kálfr is here the most negative, refusing to swear an oath to the king and only declaring himself willing to serve him as long as it serves his own interests. Finnr may perhaps be considered an idealist, though he later shows that his loyalty to his king and master is not unconditional, but generally, the discussion is not in terms of interest versus loyalty or idealism. Þorbergr finds his interests best served by remaining on Óláfr's side, whereas Árni wants to follow Þorbergr.

There is no reason to suppose that Snorri is always consistent. Though friendship in his opinion is primarily a political relationship, it is not devoid of the emotional aspects with which we associate it. The main explanation to this difference, however, must be sought in different kinds of relationships between men. One does not have general duties to other men, whether loyalty to the king or the duty to be a good man or citizen and treat other men decently. Duties, loyalty, and so forth depend on some kind of special relationship, kinship or its equivalent, membership of the hirð or household of a master. It is difficult to trace exactly Snorri's view of the kind of obligations one enters by becoming a hirðmaðr or lendr maðr, but there is clearly some distance between Snorri's attitude and the sort of total submission demanded by contemporary royalist ideology, as expressed in sources like The King's Mirror (Bagge, 1987b: 26 ff.). Basically, to become another man's “man” is to enter a contract, with mutual rights and duties and with the possibility of ending the relationship if it does not turn out to be satisfactory. The exact obligations may vary. An oath of submission or loyalty creates very strong obligations, but Snorri seems to regard this as unusual, even between the king and his men. The general rule determining a man's loyalty to his master or superior is best illustrated by the parable in the New Testament concluding that the one who has had the larger debt annulled will also love his benefactor most (Luke, 7: 41-43). It is the same logic as in the exchange of gifts. A gift presupposes a return of equal value. If a man cannot return the gift with material values, he owes service to the giver (Hamre, 1960: 653 f.; Bagge, 1986: 154 f.). Consequently, a man of low status or a man who has been promoted by a benefactor is bound to serve him loyally, whereas the one who is his equal is not.²² From this point of view Kálfr Árnason is possibly morally reprehensible, as he had been promoted by Óláfr, whereas Erlingr Skjárgsson, who also joined King Cnut against him, is not, and appears as the perfect example of a hero.

A GOOD KING IS A SUCCESSFUL KING

As for Kings, the mannjafnaðr presents two ideals, which are to be found throughout Heimskringla. The first is the mild lover of peace, who is popular with the people and excels in the administration of justice and other peaceful activities and is moderate in his demands on the people. The second is the warrior, strong-willed and aggressive. The contrast is particularly striking in the case of the peaceful Óláfr kyrri and his warlike father and son, Haraldr harðráði and Magnús berfoetr. Snorri apparently shows no consistent preference for either type. On the one hand, Óláfr kyrri, in spite of his good looks and popularity, is a rather dull and insignificant person. On the other hand, Snorri explicitly mentions the heavy burdens Magnús berfoetr laid on the people because of his wars (MB [Saga of Magnús barfoetr] chap. 26) and he is no uncritical admirer of Haraldr harðráði. Probably his ideal king should be a mixture of both types. Hákon góði and Magnús góði, after his “conversion,” come very near to fulfilling this ideal. Both are extremely popular and manage to keep internal peace, while at the same time being great warriors and fighting external enemies. Haraldr harðráði is also a great king, though too much on the harder side. To some extent, this even applies to the two main heroes of Norwegian history, the Óláfrs.

Whereas the good kings more or less conform to the ideals described in the mannjafnaðr, the bad ones depart from it in one way or another. Eiríkr blóðøx and his sons are strong, beautiful, and brave but ruthless and cruel. The reign of the Eiríkssons is one of the worst periods described in Heimskringla because of the kings' greed and lack of respect for the laws. Among the kings of the later period Magnús blindi, Sigurðr munnr, and Eysteinn Haraldsson belong to the same category. They are characterized as cruel, ruthless, and unfriendly. Other kings are weak and insignificant, such as Haraldr gilli, who is easily led by his friends. He is described as a slightly ridiculous person, with his bad mastery of the Norwegian language and his foreign habits. Before his accession to the throne, he receives little respect at the court, and on one occasion he is nearly hanged by his adversaries in a quarrel (Msyn. chap. 29). A man against whom his subordinates dare to do such things is evidently no great king. Nevertheless, Haraldr's character enables him to gain more friends than Magnús and he is ultimately successful. Another king who is depicted as rather weak is Ingi Haraldsson, who is crippled and thus prevented from being an actual leader in war, but who is a mild and friendly man, who easily attaches friends to him. Though Ingi is not a great king, Snorri's picture of him is fairly sympathetic. He even gains heroic dimensions toward the end of his life, when he dies in battle, fighting to revenge his friend Grégóríús. Snorri thus seems to be more indulgent toward weak kings than toward those who are ruthless and aggressive.

The reason for this preference, however, is not Christian ideas of clemency as a virtue for the prince, but political realism. Snorri's real criterion for a good or bad king is not morality but success. A good king is a successful king, a bad king is a failure. The Eiríkssons are clearly and Earl Hákon to some extent depicted as bad rulers. But it does not follow from this that Snorri regards their means to achieve power as evil. In the case of Earl Hákon, Snorri rather seems to admire his cunning than to condemn his treachery. His double-dealing and his feigned worry on behalf of both King Haraldr and Gull-Haraldr is described with considerable humor. Moreover, in his final characterization Snorri describes Hákon as a great man and a magnificent chieftain, whose fall was not primarily caused by his own shortcomings, but by ill luck and unforeseen circumstances (chap. 50). And though Hákon to some extent was to blame, the reason for this was not his treachery and political cynicism but his behavior toward the wives and daughters of the farmers of Trøndelag, which led them to rebel against him (chaps. 45, 48).

Moreover, there is little difference between Snorri's heroes and villains regarding their means to achieve power. The Eiríkssons' treachery against Earl Sigurðr is hardly more reprehensible than Haraldr harðráði's against Einarr þambarskelfir or even the acts of the Óláfrs against some of their adversaries. Óláfr Tryggvason lures the leader of the people of Trøndelag, Járnskeggi, away from his men under the pretext of wanting to see the hof and then kills him, admittedly for the noble purpose of introducing Christianity (OT chap. 69). St. Óláfr kills the leader of his adversaries in Ránríkí (Bohuslän) at a negotiation meeting (OH chap. 61). His capturing Earl Hákon by ambush without any declaration of war or feud is also morally objectionable by contemporary European standards, although there is nothing to suggest that this was the case in Snorri's society. Snorri occasionally lets St. Óláfr, as a good Christian, repent his sins, and even, in his last days, show consideration for his adversaries, but there is no indication that the king's conscience was particularly burdened by such treacherous acts. Thus, the real reason for the condemnation of rulers like the Eiríkssons and Earl Hákon is not their treacherous acts, but their failure. The former are even blamed for suppressing paganism, which is highly laudable when the Óláfrs do it. Magnús blindi's great fault was to spoil his victory and drive his friends away by stupid and arrogant behavior. In Snorri's characterizations he appears in a worse light than his adversary, Haraldr gilli. The contrast between the two is not, however, borne out by the actual events. Magnús's cruelty is only a general assertion; all actual cruelties in the conflict between them are committed by Haraldr.²³ Magnús seems to be condemned mainly because he was a failure.

Snorri's characterizations of the kings thus confirm our impression from the conflicts: you can do anything, if you can only get away with it. But as ultimate success depends on general support and the prize of the battle is not primarily wealth or fixed social positions and offices but influence over other men, there are certain limits to what you can actually get away with. Excessive aggressiveness or cruelty is counterproductive. The worst thing a king can to do is to be mean and tyrannical; this will inevitably cost him his throne. This is evident from the case of King Erlingr Eiríksson, who is killed by the people of Trøndelag because of his harsh taxation, and from other kings, who meet resistance from the people in the “constitutional” episodes. By contrast, weakness is not good for one's honor and reputation and may place one at risk of being a king in name only, but it is less dangerous. Consequently, Snorri shows more sympathy for a weak and insignificant king like Haraldr gilli than for his unsuccessful adversary.

THE PROBLEM OF ST. ÓLáFR

The great problem from this point of view is of course the reign of St. Óláfr, which was an ultimate failure, as he was killed in battle by his own people. Admittedly, other great kings were also defeated and killed in battles, such as Hákon góði, Óláfr Tryggvason, Haraldr harðráði, and Magnús berfoetr. When such a battle takes place against a foreign enemy, who is greatly superior in number, it is a fitting end to a great hero. The problem in Óláfr's case is that he is deposed by his own people. The rebellion against Óláfr thus becomes an equally great problem from a secular as from a theological point of view, a problem that Snorri strictly speaking is not able to solve. Considering his real as opposed to his ideological explanation of Óláfr's fall, one gets the impression that Óláfr ought to have been able to overcome the opposition through some diplomatic ability, negotiating a compromise with some of his enemies and outmaneuvering others. Actually, in dealing with the magnates Óláfr appears to commit almost all possible blunders, provoking and humiliating them by defending his own rights to the bitter end. From a political point of view, some of the episodes that occur between Óláfr and the magnates may be well suited to launch an attack against a mighty rival. But it is sheer folly to provoke so many of them at one time, particularly when they have a potential ally in King Cnut. Thus, at a time when Cnut prepares himself for attack and has secured himself allies among the mightiest Norwegian magnates, Óláfr risks losing his best friends and allies, the Árnasons, for the sake of revenging a minor servant. At about the same time, he provokes Hárekr at Tjøtta by supporting his enemy Ásmundr Grankelsson in the dispute between them. And even worse: immediately before Cnut's massive attack Óláfr kills two of Kálfr Árnason's stepsons, thus contributing to bringing him into the opposite camp. Nor is Óláfr's behavior in the conflict arising out of the episode of Ásbjorn selsbani a model of political wisdom. Though there may perhaps be something to be said in favor of a hard line against Erlingr Skjálgsson at a time when Óláfr is in a strong position, and Ásbjorn's failure to fulfil his promise certainly calls for revenge, Finnr Árnason's behavior toward Þórir hundr is bound to give Óláfr another dangerous enemy at a time when he is in great need of friends.²⁴

Thus, by reading Snorri's account of Óláfr's fall, it is difficult to avoid the impression that it is largely the result of his own political incompetence. To say so explicitly, however, would not be acceptable to Snorri's public and may even have been a difficult conclusion for Snorri himself to draw, given Óláfr's well-established position as a saint. Consequently, Snorri is in great need of a different kind of explanation, which he finds in the ecclesiastical picture of the rex iustus, who is deposed because of his strictly impartial justice: Óláfr's intransigent behavior is the result of his insistence that offenses should be strictly punished and that it should not be possible for mighty men to buy themselves off. Though Óláfr's practice of this principle is at best highly selective, it serves to explain some of his acts which seem otherwise incomprehensible. Further, in complete contrast to Snorri's normal way of thinking, Óláfr's apparent failure is depicted as in reality a success: by resigning the earthly kingdom he prepares himself for the heavenly, and through his death at Stiklestad he wins the country for Christianity and becomes its eternal king. By means of Christian ideology and the traditional legend of St. Óláfr, Snorri is thus able to show that the great king was after all successful. Though Snorri in his description of St. Óláfr's fall clearly departs from his normal criteria for evaluating kings, his very problem with this case serves to confirm the preceding analysis of his attitude toward virtues and morality, that virtues are important insofar as they are means to success.

MEANS AND ENDS

Consequently, the difference between the contrasting ideals we have considered on the preceding pages should not be exaggerated. Both heroism and political ability are means to the same end. An attractive personality, outward splendor, and lavish generosity are important in gaining adherents. On the other hand, Snorri has little sympathy with a leader who acts foolishly. Magnús blindi, who fights a greatly superior force instead of fleeing, might easily be depicted as a tragic hero, but Snorri has only scorn left for him. The constrast between the warrior king and the peaceful ruler may be regarded in the same light. A successful king must be able to win the support of powerful and influential men in the country. The warrior hero is more likely to win it among his own men, the hirð, the peaceful ruler from the people as a whole. Ideally, however, a king should be able to satisfy both groups. In a similar way a good king or leader should be able to maneuver for gain, find the best solution in a difficult situation and be sufficiently eloquent to convince other men that they ought to follow him. But he is more likely to be successful in this if he also possesses virtues like bodily strength and beauty, courage, and athletic abilities.

From this point of view we can distinguish between the conventional heroic virtues, such as beauty, courage, skill at arms and athletics, which are important for one's esteem among people, that is, they belong to the charisma of the leader, but are not of great importance in themselves. To lack courage is a shame, and to accuse another person of doing so or in general to be “unmanly” is a great offense against his honor and has to be revenged (Sørensen, 1983). However, though the leader's bravery in battles is often underlined, it rarely appears to be decisive for the outcome of the battle, and even less for success in general. Other virtues are more directly important for success, such as generosity, which is essential for attracting friends and adherents. But the single most important virtue is intelligence. This is important both in war, in diplomatic negotiations, in justice and administration, and in general in the political game that consists in winning adherents and outwitting one's adversaries. As is evident from numerous examples, such as Óláfr's conquest of Norway, his negotiations with the King of Sweden, and Magnús blindi's defeat against Haraldr gilli, this is the virtue that is most often decisive for success in the game.

It is tempting in this context to quote Machiavelli's dictum that it is more important to appear to have the virtues, than actually to have them (The Prince, chap. 18). It is doubtful, however, whether Machiavelli is quite appropriate or useful in understanding Snorri, as he presupposes a clearer distinction between the “inner” and “outer” side of the human personality than is actually to be found in him.

DIGNITY, SELF-CONTROL, AND THE CODE OF HONOR

According to Elias (1977, vol. 1: 65 ff.) there is a fundamental difference between the modern and the medieval personality, which is determined by a corresponding one between the respective societies: to the simple, loosely organized medieval society corresponds a spontaneous personality, whereas modern man is bound by innumerable restrictions, which are integrated in his personality and which enable him to function in our highly specialized and complex society. In Elias's opinion, the first breakthrough for the modern personality came in the court milieus created by the early modern, absolutist state. In accordance with this general view, Elias depicts medieval aristocrats as primitive and uncivilized, both concerning table manners, attitudes to bodily functions, sexuality, and cruelty and aggressiveness. This picture is based partly on descriptions in the sources of cruelty and aggressiveness; and partly on handbooks on manners and behavior at court and in higher circles, which contain elementary rules like the ones addressed to children in modern society, such as to wash one's hands before a meal, not to blow the nose at the table—with the hand, because one did not use handkerchiefs and—not to dry one's hand—which was used for eating—on the clothes during the meal (Elias, 1977, vol. 1: 79 ff.). From a political point of view, Elias's aristocrats are far removed from the cold, calculating courtier of the absolutist age, who behaved with impeccable politeness and amiability to his most dangerous rivals, while at the same time planning their downfall (Elias, 1977, vol. 2: 351 ff.; see also 1975: 139 ff.).

Elias's theory of a unilinear civilizing process is probably too crude: there is no particular reason to believe that cruelty and aggressiveness belong to human nature in its “unrefined” form and are modified with the progress of civilization. It is probably more a question of adaptation to different circumstances. His picture of the Middle Ages is also somewhat one-sided. Though there are numerous examples of aggressiveness and cruelty in the sources, he generalizes too much from them.²⁵ There is also another side to the picture. First, the ideal of the courtier is hardly as alien to the Middle Ages as Elias assumes. Though its circulation and practical importance should not be exaggerated, it can be traced back to the German imperial court of the tenth and eleventh centuries, and it became gradually more prominent in the following centuries with the influence from ecclesiastical and classical sources and the growth of the royal court and administration (Jaeger, 1985: 101 ff., 196 ff.). Second, and most important, Elias underestimates the importance of the aristocratic concept of honor and the rules of chivalrous behavior.²⁶

Chivalrous behavior means that one should be able to control fear or anger and treat one's enemies amicably and honorably. It was considered disgraceful to flee, and there are numerous examples in the sources of men who for honor's sake prefer to fight against a superior force.²⁷ During conflicts there were fairly strict rules of “fair play,” for example, against treason or ambush or against taking advantage of the enemy's momentary weakness, such as to attack him when unarmed, exploiting one's own numerical superiority, and the like.²⁸ Finally, aristocratic prisoners—as opposed to ordinary ones—were normally treated honorably and released against ransom. Very often they were released before the ransom had been paid against their word of honor.

The difference between these two kinds of aristocratic behavior may to some extent be explained as the difference between ideal and practice and individual differences. But the most important explanation is no doubt the exclusive character of the feudal aristocracy. The aristocratic code of honor that was developed from the twelfth century on was applied mainly to members of the aristocracy, whereas the rest of the population could be treated at will.²⁹

The code of honor, which evidently demands considerable self-control on some occasions, serves to modify Elias's picture of the spontaneous medieval aristocrat. Medieval aristocrats could even behave with greater self-control than modern men in some respects, for example, in sustaining pain. Further, when medieval aristocrats behaved irrationally according to modern standards, attacking the enemy under unfavorable circumstances instead of planning carefully or awaiting reenforcements, this was not necessarily a result of spontaneous impulses, but might be directed by the aristocratic code of honor. In a similar way, the love of pomp and splendor, generosity, and lavish spending is not necessarily evidence of a personality unhampered by capitalistic and puritan norms of saving and thinking of the future, but can as well be regarded as an expression of the entirely different norms of chivalrous behavior.

It may be objected both to the picture of the spontaneous and the chivalrous medieval aristocrat that numerous examples can be found in the sources that are best explained as the result of strategic behavior. Modern studies of individual politicians or of warfare in general (e.g., Smail, 1956; Beeler, 1971) have detected strategic plans, which cannot be easily dismissed as modern constructions. Further, we may suspect that apparently naive and straightforward accounts of chivalrous warfare often cover a rather cynical game, as in Villehardouin's story of the conquest of Constantinople as a noble undertaking, which the good men among the crusaders managed to carry out in spite of opposition from evil men who wanted to destroy the plan, or in Froissart's descriptions of the many great deeds performed during the Hundred Years War.³⁰ Such strategic thinking is not incompatible with the chivalrous code of honor. Feudal warfare and politics is a game, which the actors want to win. The difference is that the game is played according to fairly strict rules, which the actors generally obey, even if they risk to lose. At least, this is the picture we get from the narrative sources.

Though these sources no doubt contain idealizations and exaggerations, the most likely explanation to their general picture of chivalrous behavior is that it bears some resemblance to reality. This seems gradually to have become a fairly widespread opinion among scholars (Painter, 1940: 39 ff.; Keen, 1984: 3; Duby, 1986: 91 f., 115, 149 ff.; see also Gillingham, 1988). Given the existence of the rules, we can also point to the rationality in obeying them. In many preindustrial societies, there is no distinction between “soft” values in the cultural and social field, such as honor, and the “hard” ones of the political and economic field. Consequently, generosity, reckless bravery, chivalrous behavior toward the enemy, or other kinds of apparently unselfish behavior may actually be a kind of maximization of the kind of “profit” that is most highly regarded in a particular society (Bourdieu, 1977: 177 ff.; see also below), whereas failure to obey them may lead to sanctions in the form of loss of honor.

Despite these objections, Elias's basic assumptions deserve close examination and may even be largely correct. The idea of a correspondence between table manners, attitude toward the body, and rules of daily life and social change seems fruitful and may be able to explain important features in the evolution of modern society.³¹ Though the aristocratic code of honor of the Middle Ages does not generally allow people to indulge in their immediate impulses, it accords better with a spontaneous personality than with the modern ideal of self-control. First, it is in complete opposition to the modern ideal of the rational politician who acts to further his own long-term interests. One should act so as to impress other people and acquire fame, and every offense against one's honor must be punished immediately (see Brandt, 1966: 110 ff.). The code of honor demands that one should act according to certain specific rules, whatever its consequences for one's own interests and welfare. The ideal man is not the one who plans in advance and acts strategically and prudently but the one who acts according to some specific rules in every situation, whatever the consequences for his own interests and welfare. Though it is not irrational to behave according to such norms the systematic pursuit of long-term aims as opposed to obedience to norms that dictate behavior in each particular situation is likely to make considerable difference.

Second, according to the modern ideal of the civilized man, self-control is more or less an ideal in itself, to be exercised all the time, whether one is alone or together with other people. This has to do both with the modern ideal of the individual personality as clearly distinct from its surroundings and with the importance of discipline and long-term planning in modern civilized society, which necessitates suppression of immediate impulses. By contrast, the medieval demand for self-control was directly related to other men: it was necessary to suppress certain impulses in certain circumstances to avoid losing face or to maintain “stance,” in Brandt's terminology (Brandt, 1966: 114).

CHIVALRY AND THE CODE OF HONOR IN SNORRI

As we have seen, long-term interests play a more prominent role in Heimskringla than in contemporary aristocratic European chronicles. This is also evident in Snorri's attitude to honor and the rules of chivalry. The European chivalric romances may serve as examples of literature in which “pure” honor plays an overwhelming part. In Chrétien de Troyes's Erec et Enide, for instance, the protagonist is exclusively concerned with honor. After his marriage to Enide, he is so happy for a while that he forgets his real task, to perform honorable deeds. Having been reminded of this, he sets out do it, only accompanied by Enide, fighting numerous other knights and distinguishing himself (Erec, verses 2430 ff.). His adversaries are completely unknown to him and no reason is given for their conflict. Erec is apparently wholly uninterested in the material advantages he may gain from victory; his sole concern is honor. Thus, to Chrétien, pure honor gives nothing but honor. This is an extreme example, which is certainly not representative of actual behavior. Nevertheless, it belongs to the kind of literature that was popular in aristocratic circles and may be considered an extreme example of the chivalrous ideals of this milieu, which can be contrasted with the ideals of Snorri's society.

The importance Snorri attaches to honor can be illustrated through one of the miracle stories: Guthormr Ketilsson had been on a Viking expedition with the king of Ireland. On their return from the expedition, the king demands all the booty for himself. Guthormr is in a desperate situation, having only five ships against the king's sixteen. On the one hand, fight seems to be impossible, on the other, it is dishonorable to give away the booty without a fight. Trusting in St. Óláfr, Guthormr decides to fight and wins a complete victory (HHarð. chaps. 54-55). Honor is thus the most important consideration. In this case, however, great material interests are also at stake. This seems generally to be the case in Snorri: honor is related to material and other interests.³² First, wealth is essential for honor and for furthering one's political interests. Snorri often refers to the material foundation of his characters' power and influence, and the idea that one can be a great hero without wealth and thus that nobility is an “inner” quality does not seem to have occurred to him. Second, honor is a reward for success. Admittedly, the tragic hero, who dies fighting an overwhelming number of enemies, is not unknown to Snorri—Óláfr Tryggvason is an example of this—but he more often refers to the honor that is the result of a successful action and the scorn and dishonor following defeat.³³ Finally, honor is a means to success. It is dangerous not to fight for one's interests. This point is occasionally made by Snorri's persons, for instance by King Ingi when refusing to flee for his enemies: it is dangerous to show weakness, for it is likely to lead to the desertion of one's friends. It may therefore be rational to act in sudden anger to revenge one's friends or subordinates or protect one's interests, however small. But the next step is carefully to consider whether one's interests are better served by accepting an offer of compensation from the opposite party or by using the opportunity to launch an attack in the hope of gaining a decisive victory. Whether a particular course of action is honorable or not ultimately depends on its success. Thus, there is no point in provoking a dangerous conflict over a trivial matter if there is little to gain from it.

The difference between Snorri's concept of honor and that of the contemporary European aristocracy is therefore not that honor is less important, but that it has another meaning. This also seems to be the solution to the modern discussion on the importance of honor in the sagas. Honor is the fundamental value in the sagas, in the sense that one's value as a person depends on other men's esteem, but not in the sense that the man who goes to the most extreme length in revenging insults, taking risks, and so forth is also the most highly esteemed. Honor is not incompatible with prudence or moderation. On the contrary, if such qualities are likely to lead to success in the long run, they also promote honor.³⁴

Consequently, whereas “pure” honor in European aristocratic ideology is crystallized in fairly detailed rules, which should be observed whether they lead to victory or defeat, honor in Snorri's society is mainly a consequence of success, and few means are banned which may lead to that. The examples mentioned above of treason and ambush are in clear contrast to the detailed rules of “fair play” of the European aristocratic ideology. Further, Snorri often refers to discussions before battles whether or not to fight against an overwhelming majority. The matter is usually decided by the king or another person of heroic inclination, who points out that it is a shame to withdraw from battle (e.g., HG chaps. 23, 28; OT chap. 102; HHarð. chaps. 61, 88). A battle is then fought and normally won. However, there are frequent examples of heroic kings withdrawing from battles, though with no direct discussion of the decision.³⁵ The norm that it is a shame to withdraw from battle should therefore not be taken too seriously, it is rather a piece of rhetoric that can be invoked when suitable.

To release prisoners against ransom was apparently not normal practice in Snorri's society, though it is occasionally mentioned.³⁶ The rule seems to have been that captives belonged to the victors, who decided their fate, either to kill them or give them grið. In the latter case they were released completely, but normally against a promise not to fight against their victor any more or to join his faction.³⁷ Though there was no code of honor obliging the victor to do the one thing or the other, there were clearly general criteria for the choice. Erlingr skakki, who was a great politician and a hard man, gives the following answer to his son Magnús, who has asked him to save the life of a potential pretender: “You will not govern your kingdom in peace for long if you only yield to counsels of mercy” (“þú munt lítla hríð ráða ríkinu í frelsi, ef þú skalt heilhugaráðum einum fram fara”; ME chap. 35, my translation). Though Erlingr was harder than most against his adversaries, his advice here was certainly in accordance with normal practice. Direct rivals in conflicts over the throne were normally executed, if they were not killed in battle. St. Óláfr apparently behaved with the utmost clemency when he allowed the young Earl Hákon to survive against promising to leave the country and not to fight against him any more (OH chap. 30). In most cases it seems to have been considered too dangerous to let such rivals survive. However, this rule might contradict another one, namely the rule that one should avoid killing close relatives. Revenge was clearly also a motive for killing one's adversaries, though in the case of kings this seems to have been subordinated to political considerations.

In the case of adversaries who were not direct rivals, the decisions seem less predictable. Magnús berfoetr kills the leaders of the rebellion against him. Snorri refers in this case to treason against the king (MB chaps. 6-7; see also below). When Steigar-Þórir, who has instigated the rebellion, is hanged, the king is so angry that none of his men dare to ask for pardon. It appears, however, that he had wanted them to do so. Þórir's fate was thus more the result of unfortunate circumstances than political calculation. The scene of the captive jómsvíkingar after the battle of Hjorungágr gives a similar impression (OT chap. 41). The captives are sitting in chains on a log, waiting to be executed. Sigurðr Búason, the son of one of the leaders, has barely escaped the first blow of the axe, when Earl Eiríkr passes by, asks the name of the young man with such unusually beautiful hair, and gives him grið. Shortly afterward, another of the leaders, Vagn Ákason, manages to kill his personal enemy Þorkell leira, who is about to kill him, and is also pardoned. Eiríkr is apparently impressed by his adversaries' courage, beauty, or ability to act in a difficult situation to save their lives.³⁸ In one of his first battles during the conquest of Norway, Haraldr hárfagri takes King Grýtingr of Orkdalen captive, pardons him, and allows him to enter his service (HHárf. chap. 5). Earl Eiríkr pardons Einarr þambarskelfir after the battle of Svolð, marries his sister to him, and makes him his closest ally (OH chap. 21). St. Óláfr offers Erlingr Skjálgsson pardon after defeating him in their last encounter (OH chap. 176), but Áslákr fitjaskalli kills him. The king's words to Áslákr, that he had struck Norway out of his hands,³⁹ succinctly expresses the political aspect of this pardon: to kill Erlingr would mean to have his numerous kindred and friends as enemies, to pardon him would at least mean a possibility of having him as an ally. The example of Einarr þambarskelfir shows that such an alliance could be very close. Apparently, the grið created a bond of gratitude similar to the ones established through gifts. Though one could never trust one's allies in the game completely, there seems to have been fairly good political reasons for pardoning most of one's adversaries after a victory, except one's most direct rivals.

There seems to have been a similar respect for oaths in Snorri's Icelandic society as in feudal Europe (Sigurðsson, 1987: 150 ff.). It is difficult to tell exactly how far this respect goes in Heimskringla, as there are not many examples of oaths. Earl Hákon breaks his oath to St. Óláfr not to fight against him any more, but is severely blamed for it (OH chaps. 130, 146, 161). Haraldr gilli swears not to demand the kingdom as long as King Sigurðr and his son Magnús are alive (Msyn. chap. 26). When he breaks the oath, it is justified by the fact that he was forced to take it (MB. HG [The Saga of Magnús blindi and Haraldar gilli] ch. 1). Thus, though oaths are not always kept, there seems to be considerable respect for them. But they are apparently not much used. St. Óláfr does not demand an oath from Ásbjorn selsbani when he allows him to go home before taking up his position as ármaðr, despite the fact that it would be difficult to catch him in Northern Norway. When Óláfr demands an oath from the Árnasons as part of the settlement between them, this seems to be a drastic step, which meets with strong resistance from Kálfr. The rare use of oaths thus seems to confirm the suggestion that to swear an oath means to take on a very heavy responsibility. But just because of this respect for oaths, it is difficult to demand it from other people. With some reservations, we may therefore conclude that the respect for oaths is the nearest parallel to the European code of honor. One should as far as possible avoid oaths, but if one does, it is difficult to avoid blame if it is not kept.

Another point on which similar rules of chivalry as in feudal Europe seem to apply in Snorri's society is the treatment of women. At least women of high rank, who are mentioned by name in Heimskringla, seem to be perfectly safe in the hands of the enemies of their male relatives, as for instance in the example of Kristín konungsdóttir, Erlingr skakki's wife, who remains in Oslo after King Ingi's death and defeat to take care of the dead bodies and who is able to inform her husband of the enemy's plans (HHerð. chaps. 18-19). There are examples of sexual assault on women, which may create serious political repercussions, but women are not regarded as actors in the political game and accordingly not subject to revenge or violence. This seems to be the general rule in other Icelandic and Norwegian sagas as well (Heusler, 1912: 40 f.).

The different attitude to the rules of chivalry once more illustrates the greater importance Snorri attaches to political maneuvering. The difference between Snorri's society and the one described in the chivalrous literature of feudal Europe does not lie in the different importance of honor, but in the fact that honor is more directly related to success in Snorri's society. Honor is primarily a political reality. Snorri's aristocrats are thus more “modern” in the sense that they act according to their long-term interests and are less concerned with the norms of chivalry. Does this mean that they have also a less spontaneous personality than their European contempories?

SELF-CONTROL OR SPONTANEITY?

The immediate impression of Snorri's aristocrats is that they bear close resemblance to the Olympic Gods. One is almost reminded of Winckelmann's famous characterization of Greek art: “Edle Einfalt und stille Grösse.” The impression is enforced by the famous drawings of the 1899 translation. Such an impression, however, can easily be misleading. Elias's picture of the spontaneous medieval personality is not as a rule derived from the kind of historical writings Snorri represents, which often tends to heroize and tells little of the situations in which the modern ideal of the civilized human being is most clearly expressed, daily manners, attitudes toward the body, and so forth. However, the short glimpses Snorri gives confirm the impression of Elias and others of physical intimacy among men and a matter-of-fact attitude to bodily functions and sexuality. Kings and great men sleep together, often in the same bed (e.g., OH chap. 83: 151, 85). There are occasional, though rather discrete references to urination and defecation (e.g., OH chap. 83: 151; MB. HG chap. 14: 343). To be a great womanizer, is entirely compatible with being a great chieftain, and Snorri gives fairly direct references to kings' and other great men's affairs with women, though he is more discrete in this respect than some of his predecessors, often omitting words and episodes that may appear indecent (Nordal, 1973: 202 ff.). His main criterion, however, is more probably political relevance than decency.⁴⁰ He casually mentions drinking parties and people who get drunk (e.g., OT chap. 43; OH chaps. 72, 83; MB. HG chap. 16; Ingi chap. 28; HHerð. chaps. 11, 12). In contrast to European aristocratic literature, he rarely mentions differences in manners and behavior between members of the aristocracy and ordinary people.⁴¹

Kings' and great men's anger is often mentioned. St. Óláfr was apparently known for his hot temper, which even made his men afraid of waking him when his newborn son was about to die unbaptized (OH chap. 122). Snorri several times mentions his anger (OH chaps. 90, 108, 119, 165). Anger evidently belonged to a forceful personality. Some of the conflicts are also the result of sudden anger, but, as we have seen, this is not the normal way of things. Generally, Snorri does not approve of decisions taken in sudden anger. Nor are Óláfr's harsh measures the result of this.

In a similar way, personal hatred does not seem to play an important part in Heimskringla. The wish for revenge and the duty to carry it out is evidently an important factor, but is apparently not often associated with strong hatred.⁴² When some member of the aristocracy is killed, the killer and his victim usually behave with the same restraint. Torture is occasionally mentioned, notably as a means to force people to accept Christianity (OH chaps. 76, 80). For the purpose of revenge, however, as in the case of Sigurðr slembir, it is highly exceptional. Snorri tells that the chieftains wanted to kill him at once and went away when he was tortured (Ingi chap. 12), thus apparently expressing disgust at such cruelty. Killing people may be necessary and even laudable, but Snorri seems to condemn cruelty without purpose. His attitude appears to be in general accordance with that of contemporary Norwegian and Icelandic society.⁴³

Thus, Snorri and his milieu appear more “civilized” in this respect than contemporary Europe. However, the idea that cruelty is characteristic of “primitive” people is one of the most controversial aspects of Elias's theory. It is probably more characteristic of certain levels of “civilization,” during which terror was used to create respect for the norms of society and keep the common people in their place. The relative absence of cruelty in Snorri's society may thus be evidence of less conflict, violence, and social stratification than in contemporary Europe rather than of a particularly “civilized” mentality in the upper classes. At least in Snorri's case, however, there seems to be a connection between his attitude on this matter and his general view of political behavior: violence is a means in the political game, which should not be used more than strictly necessary.

Snorri quotes several examples of almost incredible self-control during danger or physical pain. The highest form of such dignity seems to be the ability to deliver a casual, even humorous remark in the face of death. After the battle of Stiklestad, St. Óláfr's scald Þormóðr kolbrúnarskáld, is treated for his wounds by a woman. He asks her to cut in his breast to remove an arrow. Then Þormóðr takes her pincers and pulls out the arrow:

It had barbs on it, and there were fibers of his heart in it, some red and some white; and when he saw that he said, “[Well has the king fed us.] I am fat still about the roots of my heart.” Thereupon he leaned back and was dead.⁴⁴

King Eysteinn Haraldsson, who is otherwise neither a great king nor a sympathetic person, is praised for dignity in the face of death (Ingi ch. 31). And Sigurðr slembir, who is a violent and not very successful pretender and war leader, gains heroic dimensions through his incredible self-control when tortured to death.⁴⁵ In a similar way, confrontations between Snorri's heroes take place in an atmosphere of calm dignity.⁴⁶

Examples similar to those mentioned by Snorri of self-control and heroic behavior can easily be found both in contemporary Icelandic (see e.g., Foote, 1984: 51 f.) and European sources. The difference from the corresponding modern ideal is also evident: these examples show the heroes acting on the stage before their fellow men. Characteristically, Snorri normally accords his praise through the mouths of other men: “It was said,” “most men thought,” and the like. This is not to be understood as modesty or discretion on the part of the author, but rather as an expression of the fact that morality is directly a question of what people thought. Just as a man's personality is what appears to other people, so morality is what people think is good, and other men's reactions represent the standard to which one must adjust one's behavior, that is, Snorri's culture is a culture of “shame,” not of “guilt.”⁴⁷ These examples of self-control are thus expressions of stance and different in purpose, partly also in kind, from the modern concept of internalized self-control in all situations in life. Shame and honor are not connected to the difference between nature and culture or privacy and the external world, but to other men's esteem. Self-control is not an instrument to keep oneself intact versus the world and nature, but a means to win other men's recognition. These ideas are in turn closely connected to Snorri's almost exclusive interest in the social aspect of men's character and behavior.

There are, however, occasional examples of self-control which do not quite fit into this picture. Some of Snorri's most astute politicians, Haraldr harðráði and Erlingr skakki, distinguish themselves by an unusual ability to conceal their feelings.⁴⁸ Halldórr Snorrason, who accompanied Haraldr harðráði on his adventures in Byzantium, is described as a man who was able to control himself in all situations:

Halldórr was very tall, strong and handsome. That testimony King Haraldr bore him that he was one of those among his followers who was least disturbed when anything terrible and unforseen occurred. Whether danger threatened or good news was brought, or whatever peril there was, he was neither gladder nor sadder, nor did he sleep more nor less, nor eat nor drink otherwise than was his custom. Halldórr was a man of few words, and gruff, outspoken, stubborn and obstinate.⁴⁹

Snorri clearly considers Halldórr an unusual person. Does he also admire him? The answer probably lies in the concluding remark, which shows him as an introverted and rather difficult man, who was no success at King Haraldr's court. Snorri adds that the king did not like him and sent him away. Further, Snorri points to the contrast to Haraldr's other follower, Úlfr Óspaksson, whom Haraldr loved greatly and who was the kind of joyful, extroverted and eloquent person who is likely to impress other people and be a political success (HHarð. chaps. 36-37). Self-control and the ability to think clearly in difficult situations are no doubt valuable qualities, but Snorri seems to think that Halldórr's extreme self-control is won at a rather high price. An example that points in the same direction is the story of Earl Hákon's intrigues during his exile in Denmark. Hákon is not the polished courtier, who plans and carries out his plots while conversing amiably with other men, including those whom he intends to deceive. He pretends to be ill, eats and drinks little, and isolates himself from other people, probably because it must have been impossible to conceal his plans during the intense social life and frequent drinking parties of the court. Self-control and the ability to conceal one's feelings are valuable assets in Snorri's milieu, but he does not expect his characters to have too much of these, nor does he consider them worth having at any price.

To some extent Snorri's characters excel in self-control in the same way and for the same purpose as their European counterparts: they are brave, able to sustain pain and face death with dignity for the purpose of impressing other men. They are extremely concerned with honor and shame and seem to act as if on a stage before their fellow men. Nevertheless, the importance of the political game in Snorri means that his characters are relatively more concerned with the long-term effects of their acts and with achieving success in the long run rather than doing the adequate thing in each particular situation. To some extent, self-control serves this purpose. One should avoid excessive cruelty and one should kill or conduct feuds not because of sudden anger or to seek vengeance but to further one's political interests. Deception, treachery, and cunning are necessary means in the political game, and self-control makes it easier to deceive one's opponents. Though it may be difficult, it is often necessary to control one's immediate impulses, such as anger or sexual desire, not because it is shameful to indulge in them but because it is likely to endanger one's interests in the long run.

NORMS AND SOCIETY

Though it should not be exaggerated, there is clearly a difference between Snorri's ideas of virtue as means to achieve a political purpose and the complex code of honor of contemporary European aristocratic society. This difference may possibly be explained by an analogy to Mary Douglas's analysis of rules concerning purity and pollution in different societies. She points out that there is no unilinear development from detailed and mechanistic rules to the emphasis on inner attitudes and flexibility commonly associated with modern society. Rather, apparently very “modern” attitudes can be found in quite primitive societies. The decisive factor is therefore not the complexity or modernity of a particular society, but the “tightness” of the society and the need for its members or particular classes of them to protect themselves against “contamination” from other peoples or from lower classes within their own society (Douglas, 1970: 99 ff., 125 ff.; see also 1966: 109 ff.). This seems to fit in well with the contrast between Snorri's society and that of his European contemporaries. The aristocracy of feudal Europe was more segregated from ordinary people than that of Snorri's society, and its members were probably also in closer contact with one another, both in conflict and friendship. Consequently, a detailed code of honor that served to distinguish this class from the rest of the population and to regulate its behavior was likely to develop.

We can also point to reasons for the particular rules of this code of honor. When stance and heroic behavior were more highly valued than success, it may have to do with the fact that the stakes were relatively low in most internal conflicts within feudal Europe, that the possibilies of total victory were small, and that a large number of the warriors had no great interest in the outcome of the conflict.⁵⁰ In some cases—though evidently by no means always—it might even be rational for the individual actor to behave according to the code of honor rather than to win, for example, to fight bravely and be captured instead of fleeing, not to take advantage of the momentary weakness of an adversary but give him a fair chance, and so forth. The adversary of today might be the ally of tomorrow, and to an ordinary member of the aristocracy, the considerable financial loss of being taken prisoner might be worthwhile if he could then be “discovered” by some great prince and enter his service.⁵¹ By contrast, in Snorri's society chivalrous behavior was clearly not rational. The stakes were high, one fought to win, and the participants, at least the aristocratic ones, had great interests in the outcome of the conflict.

However, the greater emphasis on the ability to play the political game is not necessarily evidence of a very advanced society. Though I do not intend to deny that modern society and in some respects also modern man are radically different from all that has existed before, there is apparently no unilinear “Prozess der Zivilisation” from the Middle Ages and other traditional societies to our own. There is probably a difference in degree concerning the ability to suppress immediate impulses in favor of long-term gain between modern men and those of less complex societies, but there seems to be ample evidence of quite “rational” political behavior in “primitive” societies (Barth, 1981: 72 ff.; Bailey, 1980: 37 ff.; 86 ff., etc.). The difference between the political behavior of Snorri's society and that of our own is not so much the difference in rationality as the lack of distinction between the political sphere and other spheres of life. “States have no friends, only interests” is the maxim of classical diplomacy and foreign policy. Though Snorri's characters clearly had interests that they sought to further, it was not possible to distinguish so clearly between interests and friendship in a society where politics was mainly conducted at the personal, face-to-face level. This meant that personal friendship or enmity could influence political alliances much more than is the case in our society, but also the opposite. Consequently, though the politics of Snorri's society is in one sense less “rational” than in ours we are equally justified in saying that private life was more “rational.”⁵²

MODERN AND MEDIEVAL IDEAS OF THE PERSONALITY

It is commonplace that modern, Western culture is extremely concerned with the individual. Institutions and professional groups (psychologists, psychiatrists, etc.) are devoted to the care of the individual. Our official ideology, expressed explicitly or implicitly in political agitation, definitions of human rights, laws, speeches at solemn occasions, the teaching in the schools, and so forth regards individual rights as sacred and encourages individual assertion and self-realization. In addition, numerous biographies, autobiographies, novels, films, and theatre and television productions testify to the interest and importance of the individual in modern culture. It is equally commonplace that this concern with the individual is a specifically modern and Western phenomenon, though there are reasons to believe that the development that has culminated in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries actually started in the Middle Ages.

The modern idea of the individual, as expressed among other things in the biographical literature, both fact and fiction, is both historically and logically intimately connected to historicism (Weintraub, 1975: 821 ff.; see also Olney, 1980: 3 ff. and Gusdorf, 1980: 28 ff.). It rests on two foundations, the uniqueness of the individual and the ideal of historical development. As for the first, this is not necessarily opposed to the idea of man as a social being, nor does it mean that each individual is intrinsically different from all others. On the contrary, both our ideas of human rights and our highly organized society presuppose some sort of common human nature. The individual represents a unique combination of common human qualities. Further, the uniqueness of the individual is not only a biological or psychological fact, it is an ideal. Every human being should find his or her own identity, expressed in personal taste, interests, career, ways of behavior, religious or political opinions, and even to some extent moral norms. Finally, this combination is largely the result of his or her contact and interaction with other individuals. This again means that there is a close connection between the first and the second foundation: the individual becomes unique largely because of unique experience, that is, a sort of historical development. Like the history of society, the modern idea of the individual personality implies organic growth. Our idea of the uniqueness of the individual is based on evolution, which is a combination of constancy and change: everything is in constant change, which is not predictable, but, however, neither total nor unintelligible. The individual is formed through choices, events, reactions to other people, and so forth. New situations occur, and his or her reactions to them affect the personality. Nevertheless, the reactions are specific to that particular individual, as is also the change and development. The changes take place “in character.”

The modern concept of the personality presented above was developed in the nineteenth century and may be considered passé by avant-garde authors and philosophers. I nevertheless believe it to be sufficiently widespread as an ordinary, more or less implicit idea to form a useful contrast to medieval ideas on the subject. Besides, there is a difference between deliberately rejecting this concept and never having heard of it. Though both ideas of the personality and ways of describing individual persons differed considerably in the Middle Ages, a common medieval attitude can be defined negatively in opposition to the modern one. Much less importance was attached to the uniqueness of the individual person, and the idea of evolution, combining change and constancy, did not exist or was at least far less prominent than in our time. In contrast to modern, historicist thought, there was a clear opposition between constancy and change.

The ideas of the human personality found in learned or clerical milieus are derived from Greek thought and tend to emphasize constancy rather than change. There were two such theories, which may be termed respectively materialistic and idealistic. The materialistic one imagines a correspondence between outward appearances and character, based on the four temperaments, which correspond to the four elements. From a Christian point of view, however, this theory presented a threat to the doctrine of free will and the superiority of the soul over the body. It was therefore not acceptable in its extreme form, but in a moderate one, that is as a tendency for persons to behave in a certain way under the influence of certain fluids, which could be counteracted. By contrast, the idealistic doctrine, mainly of Platonic origin, was more acceptable in a Christian context. This view is based on a clear difference between “substance” and “accidence,” which is again ultimately based on the Platonic “realistic” philosophy. In contrast to various other philosophical schools in antiquity, the Platonists maintained a clear distinction between body and soul and regarded the latter as a nonmaterial entity (Armstrong, 1952: 3 ff.). This doctrine was adopted by most of the Church Fathers and became universally acknowledged in the medieval Church. Behind the outward appearances of a man, there was thus a constant, inner nucleus.

Although the doctrine of the four temperaments describes types rather than individuals, the idealistic theory, at least theoretically, opens the possibility of describing unique individual characters, as Christian doctrine maintained that each soul was unique, created directly by God, in contrast to the human body, which was only indirectly created by him, through natural procreation. Similarly, its insistence on each human being's responsibility for the choice between eternal life and damnation evidently implied some emphasis on the uniqueness of the individual. The practical consequences of this, however, should not be exaggerated. The saints' lives, which are the best example of the clerical view of the human personality in practice, are mostly stereotyped and make disappointing reading from the point of view of modern psychology. This is a result of their purpose, which is not to describe individual character but to demonstrate general truths within the framework of the life of an individual: the life of the saint is an imitation of that of Christ, it shows God's works in human life and serves as an example of Christian virtues (see Børtnes, 1988: 26 ff. with ref.). This emphasis on the general rather than the individual has to do with the character of medieval morality, which is very different from the modern one: there are always clear answers to the question of right or wrong and there are fixed models of behavior to which each individual should conform, according to his or her position in society.

Further, most of the Church Fathers and their successors adopted the static view of the human personality that was current in antiquity. Admittedly, the great biographer Plutarch pointed to the variety and inconstancy of human character (see Kirn, 1955: 108), and in his works are several nuanced and complex descriptions of individual character. Nevertheless, the normal way of explaining change in character was to explain it away, as for instance in Polybios's famous portrait of Philip V of Macedon and Tacitus's of Tiberius. Both these rulers were excellent in the beginning and later changed into tyrants. To Polybios and Tacitus the tyrannical character was their true self all the time and gradually became manifest as they became established as rulers (Kirn, 1955: 110 ff.). To some extent, the idea of a fundamental moral choice, in ancient thought expressed in the story of Heracles at the crossroads (Kirn, 1955: 109), might modify this. This idea was further developed in the Christian doctrine of conversion. Augustine's Confessiones is a famous example of this doctrine leading to a detailed and nuanced description of a fundamental change in character. But Augustine was not only unique against an ancient background, he was without real successors among the Christians, until the high Middle Ages. In the saints' lives, the heroes are normally perfect Christians from the time of their birth, or, if they are converted at adult age, it happens all of a sudden, with no real psychological explanation. Change was thus not integrated into a concept of the individual personality. On the contrary, insofar as one was interested in describing one particular person, his or her constant qualities were emphasized. Being the essence of a person, the personality could only be changed with great difficulty, normally only through drastic interference from the outside, through God's grace or seduction by the Devil. Nevertheless, the Christian idea of conversion and individual choice between salvation and damnation did eventually encourage interest in change in character.

In contrast to the idealistic theory the materialistic-biological seems more modern in the sense that it integrates the idea of change in the form of the seven ages of man. This, however, was not understood as organic growth but as a series of successive stages (Ariès, 1973: 1 ff.).

Whereas the saint's life was a well-established literary genre, which produced an enormous number of works, the secular biography appears later, is more difficult to classify within one genre, and contains fewer examples. Though the norms themselves are different, the secular authors take approximately the same attitude to the individual as the clerical ones, that he or she should conform to a fixed pattern. In contrast to the clerical view, this ideal is expressed in outward acts rather than in the inner nucleus of the personality. A man's virtues are the sum of his actions. Not only the “inner nucleus” of a person, his inner thoughts and motives, is irrelevant, but the individual himself. As the purpose of these works is mainly to describe and evaluate individual heroic acts, there seems to be no particular reason for giving a coherent picture of each character that performs them (see also Brandt, 130 ff.; Archambault, 1974: 68).

The most important explicit model of a secular biography in the middle ages was Suetonius's biographies of the Roman emperors. Suetonius distinguished clearly between biography and history (Townend, 1967: 82 ff.). In biography, chronology was looser than in history, and great events were described only if they were able to throw light on the person in question. But in contrast to his Greek counterpart, Plutarch, whose Platonistic view of the personality was similar to that of the saints' lives and may even have influenced them. Suetonius did not try to create a coherent picture of an individual character. His method may rather be termed impressionistic. It consists partly of characterizations inserted at appropriate stages of the emperors' careers, partly of vivid snapshots of them in particular situations. Suetonius is thus less concerned with the “inner nucleus” of human beings than with their outward activity and the impression they make on other men. Though Suetonius does not seem to have been very well known in the Middle Ages, some authors have been directly or indirectly influenced by him, such as Einhard, in his biography of Charlemagne (Beumann, 1969; 1 ff.; Smalley, 1974: 67 ff.), William of Malmesbury (Townend, 1967: 98 ff.; Southern, 1963: 326; Gransden, 1974: 171), and Otto of Freising and his successor Rahewin (Lönnroth, 1965: 81, 96 f.).

I believe it is important to underline the general difference between medieval and modern concepts of the personality. On the other hand, there was clearly a change in the modern direction in the high Middle Ages, which may even justify the expression “the discovery of the individual” of the changes that took place during the Renaissance of the twelfth century (cf. Morris, 1987; Hanning, 1977; Bynum, 1980: 1 ff.; Morris, 1980: 195 ff.; Benton, 1982: 263 ff.; Radding, 1983: 587 ff. and 1985: 196 ff.). On the theoretical level, this is expressed in an increasing number of works dealing with the soul (De anima), originally in French Cistercian monasteries and later in the universities, which attempted, first, to bridge the gap between body and soul that had developed in the early Middle Ages, by using a moderate version of the doctrine of the four temperaments to understand human psychology: the humors of the body influence the soul but do not determine character. The wise man and good Christian is able to counteract evil influences of the body upon the soul. Second, they tried to reach a more nuanced understanding of the various faculties of the mind, the relations between intelligence and will, and so forth (Webb, 1962: 3 ff.; Lottin, 1942: 393 ff., 505 ff.). This theoretical interest in psychology corresponds to an increasing practical interest in individual character expressed in biographies, autobiographies, and so forth from the late eleventh century onward (Lehmann, 1953; Misch, 1959; Southern, 1966: 320 ff.; Benton, 1982: 269 f.). These works show tendencies toward a more nuanced description of the individual human being, more interest in describing emotions and inner deliberations, and attempts to explain great changes in a person's life, such as a conversion, in psychological terms. Further, the interest in motives is a characteristic feature, not only of literature but also of moral theology and jurisprudence, which in turn influenced legislation and jurisdiction. This seems a quite logical consequence of the idealistic view of human character, which emphasized the “inner nucleus” of the personality rather than outward acts. Nevertheless, it was largely a novelty in the twelfth century that these consequences were actually drawn.

Examples of this new trend are Abélard's autobiography (Misch, 1959: 523 ff.; McLaughlin, 1967: 463 ff.; Southern, 1970a: 86 ff.; Hanning, 1977: 17 ff.; Benton, 1982: 265 f.), Eadmer's biography of St. Anselm of the twelfth century (Misch, 1959: 220 ff.; Southern, 1966: 314 ff.), Gerald of Wales' historical and autobiographical writings of the early thirteenth (Kirn, 1955: 179 ff.; Misch, 1962: 1297 ff.), and Joinville's biography of St. Louis of the early fourteenth (Southern, 1966: 336). There is also an increasing sense of psychology and development of character in the romances of the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries (Scholes and Kellogg, 1966: 167 ff.; Hanning, 1977). Two of the most interesting descriptions of change in character are Adam of Bremen's biography of Archbishop Adalbert (late eleventh century), a great archbishop and great man who was ruined through his own ambition (Gesta book 3; see also Kirn, 1955: 119 ff.; Misch, 1959: 168 ff.; Smalley, 1974: 125) and Thomas of Celano's first Life of St. Francis from the first half to the thirteenth century. In the latter we have to do with the static character of the worldly and shallow youth in the beginning and the equally static picture of the ascetic and God-loving saint in the later and larger part of the vita. In between, however, there is a conversion story of considerable psychological interest, describing Francis's growing disappointment with the life he has led hitherto and his search for a new and better life in God's service.⁵³ Though the modernity of these works should not be overrated, they indicate new trends in the concept of human character in the high Middle Ages.

SNORRI'S IDEAS OF THE PERSONALITY

As is evident from the analysis of Snorri's ideas of morality, he belongs to the secular tradition. Further, he shows similarity on several points to the classical tradition derived above all from Suetonius. Both the contents of his characterizations, the distinction between notatio and elogium, and his various ways of placing the former conforms to this tradition (Lönnroth, 1965: 90 ff.). By contrast, there is little to suggest that he was influenced by the Platonist doctrine of the soul that dominated medieval clerical historiography. He shows little concern for the inner nucleus of the human personality. As in the Icelandic sagas, Snorri's persons are nearly always regarded from the outside. The character sketches usually start with a quite elaborate description of the person's appearances, and the subsequent description of his mental qualities mainly deals with what may be observed by other men, such as eloquence, courage, generosity or greed, temper or normal way of behaving. In his direct narrative, Snorri very rarely “looks inside” his persons to tell of their thoughts and feelings. Motives, plans, and reflections are normally expressed in the speeches and dialogues. Or they are expressed through dreams, such as Óláfr's deliberations on whether or not he should return to Norway, or indirectly, as when Earl Hákon in his exile in Denmark isolates himself from other men to deliberate, and the results of these deliberations are gradually disclosed in the events that follow.

This form of narrative is fairly familiar to readers of the twentieth century, as many modern authors, like Hemingway, have deliberately adopted it, leaving their readers to draw their conclusions as to the “inner” side of the persons' actions. As Steblin-Kamensky has pointed out (1973: 69 ff.), the narrative of Snorri and other Icelandic authors is hardly to be understood in the same way, though he probably goes too far in stating that this narrative style was the only one available to them. The contemporary clerical style, even in the North, was very different and there is evidence that the “objective” saga style was the result of a gradual evolution and thus not a spontaneous expression of primitive mentality. Nevertheless, given Snorri's and other saga writers' ideas of morality, it seems reasonable to regard this style as the expression of a mentality in the sense that it is mainly concerned with the outward aspect of the human personality: Actions are more important than inner qualities, and it is of primary importance to his characters to impress other men. The same point of view is to be found in the older Norwegian and Icelandic laws, which are concerned with outward acts and mete out punishment according to the damage caused by them, completely disregarding motives, in clear contrast to the new jurisprudence introduced by the Church (see Bagge, 1987b: 66 ff.).

As for the theories of a constant human character referred to above, Lars Lönnroth has suggested that the contrast that is often found in the Icelandic sagas between men who are dark, ugly, quarrelsome, and difficult on the one hand and those who are fair, beautiful, generous, and amiable on the other may ultimately be derived from the “materialistic” doctrine of the four temperaments, the former character corresponding to the melancholy temperament, the latter to the sanguine.⁵⁴ There are traces of this contrast in Snorri, notably in his description of the earls of the Orkneys: Þorfinnr was large and strong and ugly, and while he grew up, one could easily see that he was an avaricious man, hard, cruel, and very wise (OH chap. 96). The following description of the two brothers Einarr and Brúsi contain the same contrast in character but nothing is said of their appearances (OH chap. 97).⁵⁵

Very few of the kings Snorri describes are dark. Hálfdan svarti, Haraldr hárfagri's father and the first great conqueror, is named after his dark hair but nothing much is said of his character apart from the fact that he was greatly loved by the people (HS [Saga of Hálfdan svarti] chaps. 1, 9). Haraldr gilli, the foreigner, was dark and apparently not handsome but his character was the exact opposite of the hard, introverted melancholic. He was cheerful, weak, friendly, and easily led (Msyn. chap. 27; MB. HG chap. 1). By contrast, his adversary Magnús, who was exceptionally beautiful and thus probably fair, was just the sort of cruel, unfriendly, and introverted person that corresponds to this prototype (MB. HG chap. 1). Haraldr's son Eysteinn, who was also dark, corresponds better, as he was wild and aggressive and above all avaricious and mean (Ingi chaps. 21-22). Similarly, there is some correspondence between King Eysteinn Magnússon's beauty and his mildness, friendliness, and easy manners in contrast to his brother Sigurðr, who was more harsh and warlike and lacked beauty. Haraldr harðráði, whose character bears some resemblance to the melancholic type, as he is hard against his adversaries and—as appears from several descriptions of individual episodes—unusually able to conceal his feelings, has fair hair and beard. The contrast between fair and dark thus seems to be of no great consequence to Snorri, apart from the fact that he clearly prefers fairness for aesthetic reasons. All his great kings are also handsome and strong, most are also tall. But there are handsome kings who are not great, such as the Eiríkssons and Magnús blindi, and there are kings who although not handsome or even strong, are at least better than their appearances, such as Ingi, Haraldr gilli, and Sigurðr jórsalafari. Snorri is therefore hardly influenced by the doctrine of the temperaments in the form Lönnroth refers to. There are somewhat better reasons for thinking that he believed in a correspondence between outward appearances and inner qualities in general. The clearest expression of this is his reference to St. Óláfr's exceptionally strong and beautiful eyes, which frightened his enemies when he was angry. It is a widespread assumption that the eyes are the mirror of the soul, and Snorri seems to share this idea (Lönnroth, 1963-1964: 43 f.). More generally, Snorri's great interest in outward appearances and his description of physical and mental qualities in the same way and the same context indicate that he did not distinguish very sharply between them.

This admittedly rather vague correspondence between inner and outward qualities indicates a belief in some constancy of the human character. So does the fact that Snorri does not confine himself to describing his persons in action, but regularly gives fairly detailed characterizations of the most important of them. As we have seen, the two do not always correspond. Nor is it easy to see how Snorri manages to reconcile the constant and changing features of the personality. His way of coping with this problem is best illustrated in his largest and most detailed biography, of the greatest king in Norwegian history, St. Óláfr.

THE BIOGRAPHY OF ST. ÓLáFR

The life of St. Óláfr represents a real challenge to a biographer: a man who started as a Viking, raiding the Baltic and the Christian countries of Western Europe, then became the great Christian king of Norway and a strong ruler, and finally found his death as a saint and martyr. Moreover, Snorri's oral and written sources presented him with a wealth of material on all aspects of the king's activities, from his performances on the battlefield to his miracles. From a modern point of view, Óláfr's life would make the ideal Bildungsroman: how did the Viking chieftain develop into the Christian king? And how did the Christian king, cleansed through sufferings and adversities, change into the saint and martyr? Snorri's life of St. Óláfr has in fact been interpreted in this way and been regarded as his greatest achievement as a psychologist (Storm, 1873: 151 ff.; Paasche, 1916: 377 ff.; Nordal, 1973: 181 ff.).

Compared to his predecessors, Snorri does emphasize the changes in Óláfr's life through a more orderly chronology, above all concentrating most of his miracles and religious life to the period after his exile. But Snorri does not describe a development. He describes three successive characters with no real link between them.

Óláfr's saga starts with a characterization of him as a quite young man (OH chaps. 1, 3). As usual, Snorri gives a detailed description of his appearance: he was not very tall, but broad and strong, with blond hair and ruddy complexion. His eyes were exceptionally good and beautiful and sharp, so as to frighten people when he was angry. He grew up early, both in wisdom and strength, was wise, eloquent, good at sports and in the use of arms and in handicrafts. He was well liked by all and he was ambitious, wanting to be the first in all things—as he ought to be, Snorri adds. Already in his early years, Óláfr's ambitious, warlike character is contrasted to that of his stepfather, Sigurðr sýr, above all in the story of Óláfr saddling a he-goat for him when asked to saddle his horse (OH chap. 2). This characterization serves as a useful introduction to the following story of Óláfr as a Viking and his numerous victories and heroic deeds. In accordance with Snorri's normal practice concerning military matters, he lays particular emphasis on Óláfr's intelligence, that is, his ability to find a solution in a desperate situation.⁵⁶ This is also an important aspect of his success at the beginning of the next phase of his life, the conquest of Norway. During these events, Snorri further underlines Óláfr's strong and ambitious character by once more pointing out the contrast between him and Sigurðr sýr and by letting Hroerekr describe him as a dangerous man for the petty kings.

After Óláfr's conquest of Norway, Snorri once more stops to give a picture of his daily life as a king (OH chap. 58). He rises early, dresses, and washes his hands, goes to church to attend mass and the early canonical hours, and then spends his day on meetings, solving conflicts between people, judging and other necessary matters, and on legislation. Snorri describes him as a man of high moral standing,⁵⁷ wise, controlled, quiet, a man of few words, generous but at the same time fond of money. In other words, the aggressive and ambitious Viking chief has become the wise and moderate statesman and a good Christian. The same picture emerges from Snorri's elogium on Óláfr, in which he emphasizes his strict justice, which led to his fall (OH chap. 181; see also above).

How has the change come about? As his predecessors, but in contrast to the saga of Óláfr Tryggvason, Snorri does not tell of Óláfr's conversion. He accepts the Icelandic tradition that he was baptized at the age of three and had Óláfr Tryggvason as his godfather (OT chap. 60). He is then completely silent about Óláfr's Christianity until he tells of his plans to go to Jerusalem, a plan that is not carried out because of a dream, in which a man tells him to return to his óðal to become king eternally (OH chap. 18). Though not directly stated, this must be seen against a Christian background. There was no reason for Óláfr to go to Jerusalem unless he was a Christian, and the dream is evidently to be regarded as a sign from God, prophesying Óláfr's future as the eternal king of Norway. Characteristically, however, Snorri does not make Óláfr follow the advice of the dream immediately, and when he does, he has also more secular reasons for returning. In political terms, Snorri is able to give a convincing explanation of Óláfr's return, but his change in character remains a mystery.

Snorri is more explicit concerning the next change. Having brought Óláfr in exile to Russia, he turns to the changes that now took place in the king's life and character:

We are told that King Ólaf led a pure life and was diligent in his prayers to God all the time he lived; but when he found his power diminishing and his opponents waxing strong, he concentrated all his mind on serving God. Then no other concerns kept him from that, nor such efforts as he had before been busy with. Because during the time he was king he had labored with what he considered most requisite, first, to pacify the land … then to convert the people …⁵⁸

The opening of this passage reads like a rather banal modern psychologization: troubles in this life make people more prone to seek consolation in religion, a psychologization that has its counterpart in traditional Christian ideas of God using advertisities to make men turn to him. We may note, however, that Snorri only points explicitly to a chronological connection between the two, not a causal one. His causal connection follows in the next passage: when Óláfr was free from his duties in Christianizing and governing Norway, he could spend all his time in prayers and religious contemplation. What occurs, is not strictly speaking a change in character, but only a change in the circumstances of life.

The question of change or continuity between the three phases of Óláfr's life must ultimately be answered from Snorri's description of his deeds. How different are actually the Viking chief, the king, and the saint? In his speech before his mother and stepfather when returning to claim Norway (OH chap. 35), Óláfr expresses some regret concerning his earlier life: while in exile from his lawful inheritance, he has been forced to seek his living at the cost of others, many innocent men having lost their properties and some even their lives. As a confession from a saint and future martyr, this is not very impressive. Óláfr concedes that plundering innocent people is not a very praiseworthy activity, but after all, one has to live. The real blame is directed at the men who have usurped Óláfr's inheritance, thus forcing him to gain his livelihood in this way.

Another possible example is Óláfr's patience at the humiliation he suffers during the negotiations with the King of Sweden. Is this an example of the moderate statesman, suppressing his pride for the sake of long-term gain, having replaced the aggressive young Viking chief? This is unlikely for two reasons. First, Snorri does his best to cover up the fact that Óláfr is actually humiliated. And second, the story is not at all representative for Óláfr's behavior as a king. On the contrary, he is usually quite uncompromising in his confrontations with the Norwegian magnates. We may thus safely conclude that the difference between the Viking chief and the king is much less in practice than appears from the characterizations.

The difference between the saint and the king seems somewhat greater. Whereas Óláfr hardly makes a miracle during his period as ruling king, several miracles occur during his exile and on his way to Stiklestad, and these are more integrated in the story than miracles usually are. Óláfr's piety is emphasized in several episodes. He punishes himself for working on a Sunday by burning the slivers he has cut from a piece of wood while sitting in deep thought (OH chap. 190). He refuses to burn the farms in Verdalen on his way to Stiklestad (OH chap. 205). He accepts only Christian men in his army (OH chaps. 201, 204). And he gives silver for masses for the souls of those of his adversaries who will be killed in the battle, no masses being needed for his own men, who will enter heaven as martyrs (OH chap. 207). Óláfr's inner life also receives more attention in this part of the saga. He has dreams and visions, which point to his future death and his position as the eternal king of Norway,⁵⁹ and Snorri often refers to his deep thought and deliberations. His deliberations before his decision to return to Norway to fight for his kingdom are told in great detail, in contrast to his original decision. The decisive argument for returning to Norway, brought forward by Óláfr Tryggvason in a dream, is also derived from the Christian idea of the king as God's representative on earth, who is not allowed to leave his office (OH chap. 188).

However, the contrast between the new and the old King Óláfr should not be exaggerated. Óláfr's new mildness, in forbidding his men to burn the homes of farmers, is in clear contrast to his harshness during his two previous “lives.” But his reason for showing moderation now does not imply a confrontation with his former behavior: previously, he had burned farms to force the people to accept Christianity; now, as he is only fighting for his own kingdom and punishing his adversaries for betraying their king, he will abstain from such means and show mercy toward his enemies. Nor does Óláfr repent his burnings and lootings during his two earlier lives which were not for the sake of Christianity (see OH chaps. 5, 7, 15, 68, 89). Further, Óláfr has a more down-to-earth reason for not burning: he does not want to destroy his and his men's booty in case they should win! In a similar way Óláfr's last speech before the battle of Stiklestad (OH chap. 211) contains some pious references to God's providence and his and his men's just cause. Apart from that, however, it is an ordinary battle speech, appealing to luck, promising rewards—of an entirely earthly nature!—in case of victory, urging the men to fight bravely and outlining the tactics.

As in the case of the change between the first two “lives,” there is thus no direct comparison between then and now. There are some short glimpses of Óláfr looking back on his former life. When deliberating whether or not to return, Óláfr reflects on the fact that his first ten years as a king were successful but that luck had then changed and he had experienced increasing difficulties the following five (OH chap. 187). This is not a biographical reflection, however, but a part of the discussion whether or not to trust luck so much as to return to Norway. Óláfr's dream, in which he sees the whole country and remembers that he has often been happy (glaðr) there (OH chap. 202) is evidence of the close connection between the king and his country, which is now going to be permanent but is even less relevant from a biographical point of view.

Finally, there is a characterization of Óláfr which sums up his whole life, the comparison between him and his half-brother Haraldr (HHarð. ch. 100), which points to their essential similarity as great warriors and strong, proud, and ambitious kings, despite the different purposes of their activities, Óláfr fighting for Christianity and justice, Haraldr for his own glory. As this comparison is intended to show the similarity, not the difference between them, the heroic ideal seems more important to Snorri than their different aims. This then points to the essential unity of Óláfr's character. After all, the qualities Snorri describes in his initial presentation of the young Viking chief remain throughout the three successive “lives.”

There is thus a considerable tension between continuity and change in Snorri's biography of St. Óláfr. In most of the general characterizations and in some of the stories he appears as three different characters succeeding one another, while in most of the narrative he is essentially the strong, warlike, and ambitious leader. This evidently reflects the different traditions Snorri had before him, the saint of the clerical vitae, the great ruler and legislator of the contemporary royalist ideology, and the hero of the many stories that had survived in oral and written traditions. Particularly the first tradition, to some extent also the second, were alien to Snorri's normal way of thought and are therefore less successfully integrated. Snorri's “real” Óláfr is thus most probably the one who appears in the first and the last characterizations and the numerous confrontations with his rivals among the magnates.

CONTINUITY AND CHANGE IN HUMAN CHARACTER

Although the particular arrangement of the biography of Óláfr may thus be explained from the sources at Snorri's disposal, his way of solving this problem also throws a more general light on his concept of human character. Clearly, both the modern concept of the evolution of a personality, which is expressed in the Bildungrsroman and the historical biography originating in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and its medieval predecessors were alien to him. In contrast to Thomas of Celano, who tries to explain the transition from the one life of St. Francis to the other, Snorri describes St. Óláfr's three successive lives without reflecting on the change from the one to the other. How does he then conceive of the relationship between constancy and change in human character? And how is it possible to combine essential unity of character with the description of three successive personalities that are basically different? The problem has to be solved along two lines.

First, there is a close connection between social role and personality. Although Snorri has no concept of the royal office in the modern sense, he has fairly clear ideas of a royal personality. One is king all the time, and to be so, one has to have certain qualities. Admittedly, not all kings fulfill these demands, but it seems entirely conceivable that a man could change sufficiently to conform to the ideal. In Óláfr's case, the role of king may be compared to that of saint. To us there is a fundamental distinction between them. To be a king is to be appointed to a certain office, which may clearly mean new demands and duties but which need have no consequences for one's personality. By contrast, to be a saint is exactly a question of personality. Snorri's description of Óláfr as successively a king and a saint shows that he makes no real distinction between the two roles. In both cases, it is a question of being a particular kind of person.

Second, Snorri's characterizations do not aim at a “total” representation of character, but confine themselves to particular features that seem striking. Nor are they concerned with the “uniqueness” of the particular person. Rather, the characters are valued according to a fixed scale, which is in turn determined by the game in which they take part. What Snorri describes is the various persons' amount of beauty, strength, courage, intelligence, and other qualities that serve to gain support and ultimately success in the political game. These qualities are all easily observed by other men; hidden qualities are irrelevant from a social point of view. Further, the qualities are not only observable, to a large extent they summarize the deeds the person in question has performed: to be brave means to have performed brave deeds, to be intelligent is to have been able to find the correct solution in difficult situations, and so forth. This is evident both from the way the descriptions of persons are arranged, such as in the mannjafnaðr, and from numerous examples that show that a man's honor and reputation is dependent on his acts and may change accordingly.

This conclusion receives further support from a comparison between the characterizations and the actual narrative. The characterizations are often vivid and detailed, particularly the descriptions of outward appearances, more so than European descriptions in the rhetorical style (Lönnroth, 1965: 71 ff.). Compared to the narrative, they are nevertheless fairly conventional. Nor are they intended to be objective descriptions of the persons in question. Both their occurrence or not and to some extent also their contents are determined by status. Occasionally, they may differ considerably from the impression we get of the persons in the narrative, notably in the case of Magnús blindi and Haraldr gilli. The best descriptions of human character are usually found in the narrative and not in the characterizations. We are more impressed by the descriptions of Haraldr harðráði's maneuvers to save himself in difficult situations or to suppress his enemies (HHarð. chaps. 45, 52) and by the scenes between him and Magnús (HHarð. chap. 27) and Finnr Árnason (HHarð. chap. 66) than by any general assertion that he was an intelligent man, who was able to conceal his feelings. And many of Snorri's best descriptions of politicians are found entirely in the narrative.

To Snorri, man is thus the sum of various amounts of individual characteristics and—above all—actions, that may be observed by other men. Admittedly, a modern characterization or biography, which aims at depicting the uniqueness of a particular character, must also necessarily describe degrees of various qualities. After all, there are no words in the language for qualities that are unique to one particular human being. But we have an idea, which was apparently alien to Snorri and his contemporaries, of a combination of qualities and a particular relationship between them, that is unique to each particular human being. The question of change versus continuity is therefore not the same as in modern discussions of character. When a man's character is basically the sum of his acts, each new act may in principle change it. Sudden, radical changes of character are thus in principle no problem. King Magnús góði changed from a tyrannical and vindictive king to one of the best rulers the country had known, who was loved by the whole people. This happened all of a sudden as a result of Sigvatr's Bersoglisvísur. Earl Sigurðr, the leader of the party of the pretender Sigurðr Markúsfóstri, was not considered a brave man. Before his last battle against Erlingr skakki, he commented on this himself and promised to fight bravely and urged his men to do the same. He kept his promise and fell honorably in the first battle at Ré in 1163 (ME chaps. 13-14). Earl Hákon was most of his time a great chieftain and a successful and popular leader, but changed toward the end of his life, notably because of his lusting after women, which led him to an ignominious end. Nevertheless, his achievements before this were sufficient to earn him a great name.

This conclusion serves to confirm our impression of the similarity between Snorri and the tradition from Suetonius. Both his way of characterizing his subjects by showing them in action and his lack of interest in creating a consistent picture of their essential character are similar.⁶⁰ However, there is a considerable difference between the style of Suetonius and other Roman historians and the Old Norse sagas (Amory, 1979: 68 ff.). And Suetonius's interest in biography as opposed to history, that is, describing character instead of giving a continuous narrative of events, has no parallel in Snorri. There is no direct evidence that Suetonius was known in Iceland in the Middle Ages, though this is not impossible. But other Roman historians were, and Old Norse historians may have been influenced either by them or by medieval authors who in their turn had borrowed from Suetonius.⁶¹ Characterizations in the classical style are fairly widespread in medieval historiography, and though the kind of impressionistic and indirect descriptions of individual characters in action are less frequent, they do occur.⁶²

However, Snorri and his contemporaries hardly chose this way of describing persons solely in order to adapt to foreign models, but because it suited their purpose. Snorri's concept of human character is ultimately determined by the political game he describes. Modern man can play and normally does play a number of different games, as a politician, scholar, industrialist, artist, lover, father or mother, and so forth, and the particular aims or combination of them pursued by each particular person is an important feature in a biographical description. Even within the game of politics, which is of primary concern in our context, there are a number of different aims. Though there are no doubt “pragmatic rules of the game” (Bailey, 1980: 4 f.) that are common to all politicians and which aim at gaining important positions, no modern politician would survive without pursuing—or at least pretending to be pursuing—long-term aims. By contrast, there is for all practical purposes only one game in Heimskringla, that of winning power and honor among other men. There may be differences as to the extent of one's ambitions, such as between St. Óláfr and his stepfather Sigurðr, but basically, most men described by Snorri are politicians whether they like it or not and have to try to win the esteem of their fellow men. In some marginal cases, it may be a question of playing or not, as when a king's son, having grown up outside the court and the royal family, deliberates whether or not to claim the throne. If he decides not to do so, he becomes uninteresting and is hardly likely to be mentioned at all in Heimskringla. Occasionally, Snorri hints that there may be other games, such as being a saint and abandoning earthly power and glory, which Óláfr to some extent does. But this is very exceptional and is of little consequence to Heimskringla as a whole.

We can then conclude that Snorri's biographies and characterizations of his subjects do not represent a particularly “advanced” psychology or an anticipation of the modern historical biography. On the contrary, they are less “advanced” than some of the works associated with “the discovery of the individual” in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, such as the autobiography of Abélard and Thomas of Celano's biography of St. Francis. Nor does Snorri seem very much influenced by contemporary explicit theories of human character. He may have some idea of a correspondence between a man's personality and his outward appearances, but he does not adhere to this doctrine in its more extreme form. He is even less influenced by the idealistic or clerical theory of “the inner nucleus” of the personality. Rather, his basic ideas of human character resemble those of contemporary aristocratic thought, both in the North and in feudal Europe: a man is what he appears to other men.

On one point, however, he may be influenced by clerical thought, namely in his interest in motives. He is the only one of the authors whose works are extant to mention Óláfr's deliberations before his return to Norway, though Theodoricus also mentions the dream (chap. 18). He explicitly states Cnut's motives for conquering Norway (OH chap. 130: 282 f.). He mentions that Einarr þambarskelfir remembered King Cnut's broken promise to him and delayed his return to Norway to avoid taking sides in the fight between him and King Óláfr, whereas earlier extant sagas are completely silent on Einarr þambarskelfir's shifting loyalties and his motives for this. Legendary Saga mentions Kálfr Árnason's apostacy from Óláfr's cause and his subsequent conversion on the battlefield of Stiklestad after Óláfr's death, but regards it entirely in religious terms (Leg. Saga: 76, 79, 88 f.). Fagrskinna gives the bare facts of Kálfr's alliance with Cnut and his subsequent change of sides in leading the rebellion against the Danes, but gives no motives (Fsk. pp. 178 f., 191 f.). Further, apart from these rather rare direct references to motives, Snorri makes more direct use of speeches and dialogues to analyze motives than his predecessors (Lie, 1937: 85 f.; Knirk, 1981: 142 f.). In his interest in motives Snorri also distinguishes himself from aristocratic authors of contemporary Europe.

Though we cannot exclude the possibility that Snorri may be influenced by clerical historiography or thought in general, it is important to note that his purpose in analyzing motives is very different. Snorri is not concerned with the inner soul of his characters, but with making them intelligible in terms of the political game. In attaching greater importance to long-term interests, Snorri also has to analyze motives. Motives are the “inner” side of human acts and can be fairly easily reconstructed, as most men act according to their interests. As Snorri, in contrast to European aristocratic chroniclers, is less interested in the intrinsic value of the individual act, according to the code of honor, than in his characters' ability to achieve the aims they have set for themselves, motives become more important to him. A good politician must be able to understand other people's motives, and he must plan his own actions in advance and maneuver carefully to carry out his plans. Consequently, analyses of motives become an important part of the political game.

Though Snorri is not very “advanced” in his descriptions of human character and his reputation as a psychologist is somewhat exaggerated, he nevertheless compares favorably by modern standards to most—though not all—of his contemporaries through his vivid snapshots of characters in action. From a literary point of view, this is not difficult to understand. A modern literary public is much more likely to be impressed by such descriptions than by long discussions of what a particular person really was like behind the façade. Snorri's “nominalistic” idea of man as a sum of his actions, in addition to his considerable literary talent and understanding of the political game, enables him to excel in this in a way that impresses even modern readers, despite his generally static view of human character and his lack of ability to analyze change and development. His psychological insight is thus not derived from an “advanced” theory of human nature, but from his practical experience as a politician.

CONCLUSION

There is thus a correspondence between moral norms and the general concept of character in Snorri, both being determined by the game of politics. Though Snorri seems to represent a more advanced stage than his European contemporaries according to Elias's evolutionary schema of political man, this is to some extent an illusion. His “machiavellian” attitude to politics has its parallels in fairly “primitive” societies and is thus probably more the result of actual conditions in his rather loosely organized society than an anticipation of modern political thought. And his psychological insight, which is in one sense impressive, is not derived from a particularly modern or advanced theory of the human personality, but is rather to be understood in a similar way, as derived from practical experience in the game of politics. This indicates, as we should expect, that Elias's theory needs considerable modification, though it does not contradict his general assumption of the uniqueness of the modern personality and the connection between “private” norms, attitudes to the body, and so forth, and modern, complex society.

Notes

1. The dialogue is derived, partly verbatim, from Morkinskinna (Msk.: 382 ff.), but Snorri differs from his source both in presenting the mannjafnaðr as a deliberate confrontation and in making it into a more elaborate discussion of royal virtues. For a comparison between the two versions and the descriptions of the two kings in general, see Kalinke, 1984: 152 ff., particularly 162 ff.

2. See Lönnroth, 1965: 85 ff. for a comparison with the characterizations in the medieval tradition influenced by Suetonius, which contain the same mixture of idealization and apparently realistic description, though the former element is more prominent there. See also Teuffel, 1914 for characterizations in German chronicles of the earlier Middle Ages.

3. Further, there is the amusing story of Þórarinn Nefjólfsson, whose feet were incredibly ugly (OH chap. 85). When King Óláfr sees one of them, he declares that another, equally ugly is not to be found. Þórarinn bets that there is one and shows him his other foot, which lacks one toe. Óláfr, however, declares that the first one was the uglier, since it had five ugly toes, whereas the last one had only four. It would be far-fetched, however, to draw conclusions concerning aesthetic opinions from this example, as the story is intended as an example of Óláfr's smartness.

4. Haraldr hárfagri's hair, which has given him his sobriquet, is of course long and exceptionally beautiful when it has been cut and combed after the ten years it took the king to conquer Norway (HHárf. chap. 23). Sigurðr Búason with the long, golden hair is taken captive and given grið after the battle of Hiqrungavágr (OT chap. 41: 334 f.). Óláfr kyrri's hair is yellow like silk and falls beautifully (OK chap. 1). Sigurðr slembir's hair is thin but beautiful (MB chap. 13).

5. Óláfr kyrri, who is in one sense a good king but who achieves nothing remarkable, is described as an exceptionally handsome man and very tall. He was mild and cheerful at the drinking table, but rather quiet and no great speaker at the assemblies (OK chap. 1). In other words: except for his looks not a very impressive personality. Hákon herðibreiðr, who was too young when he died to have achieved very much, is described as tall, good-looking, and cheerful (ME chap. 8). The Eiríkssons and Magnús blindi, who receive the most negative characterizations of all kings in Heimskringla, are praised for their beauty and athletic abilities (HGráf. chap. 2). Sigurðr and Eysteinn Haraldssynir, whom Snorri also dislikes, are not without good qualities. Sigurðr is strong and handsome and an excellent speaker, whereas Eysteinn is intelligent (chaps. 21-22).

6. Thus Haraldr hárfagri (HHárf. chap. 42), Earl Sigurðr (HHárf. chap. 37), Hákon góði (HHárf. chap. 40), Earl Hákon (HGráf. chap. 8), St. Óláfr (below), Haraldr harðráði (HHarð. chaps. 36, 99-100), Eysteinn Magnússon (Msyn. chap. 16), Eysteinn Haraldsson (Ingi chap. 22), and Erlingr skakki (Ingi chap. 17, ME chap. 37).

7. E.g., St. Óláfr (OH chaps. 7, 12-13, 30, 112-114, 121, 149-150, 175-176) and Haraldr harðráði (HHarð. chaps. 6-10, 35, 58). See also the examples of political ability above.

8. OT chap. 50, OH chap. 181: 422, though the latter is said to be fond of wealth (fégjarn), despite his generosity (OH chap. 58). As for the former, Snorri apparently does not consider the vice that did lead him to his fall, his love of women, equally shameful, though he evidently regards his way of satisfying his sexual appetite as highly imprudent (OT chap. 45; see below, chap. 3).

9. In this case, however, Snorri is fairly sober compared to some other historians. Morkinskinna contains some rather fantastic stories of the way Sigurðr impresses his Byzantine hosts (Msk.: 348 ff.; see Kalinke, 1984: 156 ff.). A later version of Heimskringla contains the well-known story of Sigurðr shoeing his horse with golden shoes and then arranging for one of them to drop off and forbidding his men to notice (Codex Frisianus, Msyn. chap. 11—an early fourteenth-century manuscript).

10. E.g., Hákon góði's and Grégóríús Dagsson's golden helmets (HG chaps. 28, 30, Ingi chap. 26) and Hákon's sword Kvernbítr (HHárf. chap. 40), Óláfr Tryggvason's ship Ormr inn langi (OT chap. 88), Sigurðr munnr's and Níkolás Sigurðarson's shields (Ingi chap. 28, MEchap. 40), St. Óláfr's men's equipment in the battle of Nesjar (OH chap. 49), and the swords he intended for Christmas presents, of which Sigvatr skáld received one (OH chap. 162). See also the descriptions of the wealth and spending of men like Erlingr Skjálgsson and Grégóríús Dagsson.

11. See the description of Ásbjorn's dress and the house at Avaldsnes when he kills Selþórir (OH chap. 118: 251) and of the pagan cult place in Bjarmaland with the statue of the Jómali (OH chap. 133: 293 f.).

12. OH chaps. 32-34, 35: 50. Sigurðr's entertainment of Óláfr and his men is also mentioned in Leg. Saga: 23 and Fsk.: 147, but the descriptions there are much shorter.

13. For the ideal of the rex iustus in Norwegian sources, in its ecclesiastical and monarchical version, see, e.g., Tobiassen, 1964: 196 ff.; Gunnes, 1969: 154 ff.; and Bagge, 1987b: 97 ff.

14. For this ideal, see among others Ehrismann, 1970; West, 1938; Painter, 1940: 30 ff.; de Boor, 1970: 386 ff.; Keen, 1984: 3 f., 21 ff., 30 ff., 34 ff.; Duby, 1986: 86 ff. Not all aspects of this ideal are equally prominent in feudal Europe, however. Romantic love plays a subordinate part in the early thirteenth-century L'Histoire du Guillaume le Maréchal, which may serve as a mirror of aristocratic virtues (Keen, 1984: 22; Duby, 1986: 87). The importance of the polished courtier as a general aristocratic ideal may also be doubted (Jaeger, 1985: 101 ff., 196 ff.). The essential virtues, which were prominent even before the twelfth century, were generosity, magnificence, and a strong sense of honor (Bosl, 1977: 32 f.; see also below).

15. “hagr ok sjónhannarr um smíðir allar, hvárt er hann gerði eða aðrir menn” (OH chap. 3; my trans.).

16. OH chap. 133: 290 f. The same attitude occurs in other Norwegian and Icelandic works, such as The King's Mirror (Kgs.: 3-7, 38, lines 26-31; see Bagge; 1987b: 223).

17. Thus, Snorri uses a fairly long passage to introduce Sigvatr skáld, referring both to his father and to his life before he entered King Óláfr's service, but does not describe him (OH chap. 43). Nor are there characterizations of most of Óláfr's other men, not even prominent ones like Bjorn stallari (see OH chap. 57) and the Árnasons, though the latter are formally introduced in the story with mention of their father (OH chap. 110). See also the numerous references to Óláfr's local supporters, above. Exceptions to this are Ásmundr Grankelsson, who is mentioned as one of the best sportsmen in Norway (OH chap. 106) and Karli, who excels in a similar way, and who is described as a very handsome man (OH chap. 123). Among Óláfr's adversaries, Þórir hundr is not characterized, though most of the other leaders are.

18. E.g., Snæfríðr (HHárf. chap. 24: 133), with whom Haraldr hárfagri falls passionately in love, Þóra, the mother of Hákon góði (HHárf. chap. 37), Gunnhildr (HHárf. chap. 32: 145), married to Eiríkr blóðøx and mother of the Eiríkssons, Ástríðr (OH chap. 88: 163), married to St. Óláfr, Álfhildr, his mistress and mother of Magnús góði (OH chap. 122), and Borghildr, Sigurðr jórsalafari's mistress and Magnús blindi's mother (Msyn. chap. 19).

19. In addition to the examples referred to above, n. 17, there are Ragnhildr, mother of Haraldr hárfagri (HS chap. 6), and Sigríðr stórráða (OT chap. 43: 339).

20. This applies to Haraldr hárfagri (HHárf. chaps. 1, 42), Hákon góði (HG chaps. 1, 32—with a long quotation of a scaldic poem), St. Ólafr (OH chaps. 1, 3, 58, 181), Haraldr harðráði (HHarð. chaps. 36, 99-100), Magnús berfoetr (MB chaps. 7, 16, 26), and Sigurðr and Eysteinn (Msyn. chaps. 16-17, 23, 33). Óláfr Tryggvason does not receive an elogium in the strict sense, but the description of his last battle is unusually detailed, with numerous quotations from scaldic poetry, and Snorri ends his story by discussing the rumors that he escaped from the battle (OT chap. 112). St Óláfr's elogium, which has more in common with the classical model than most others in Heimskringla, giving a summary of the king's deeds and an assessment of his reign, comes after his exile and not after his death. This is quite appropriate, since the former event marks the transition between Óláfr the king of Norway in the ordinary sense and Óláfr the saint and eternal ruler of the country.

21. Similar examples of minor characters showing loyalty to their masters or particular bravery in fighting for their cause are the anonymous workman who saved the four-year-old son of Einarr Laxapálsson from Sigurðr slembir's men by telling them that the boy was his own son (Ingi chap. 7), Hreiðarr Grjótgarðzson, King Magnús blindi's hirðmaðr, who is killed, carrying his master in the battle of Holmengrå, and is praised for his loyalty (Ingi chap. 10), and finally an anonymous Birchleg after the battle of Ré. When seeing the body of his master, he tries to kill King Magnús, and is killed himself. When it turns out that he was heavily wounded, dragging his intestines after him, he is praised for his bravery by all (ME chap. 42).

22. See The King's Mirror on the social reality behind this: the king often prefers men of low status in his service, because they are completely dependent on him and therefore more trustworthy (Kgs. 40, lines 28-31; see Bagge, 1987b: 178).

23. After his victory, he blinds and castrates Magnús and cuts off one of his feet, kills one of his men and blinds another, and hangs a bishop (MB.HG chap. 8). See also the story of the two lendir menn taken captive by Haraldr, of whom one is to be hanged and the other to be thrown into a waterfall (MB.HG chap. 4).

24. In this case, however, it does not appear directly from the narrative whether Óláfr is himself responsible for this course of action. In his instruction to Finnr when sending him to Northern Norway, Óláfr does not mention Þórir at all (OH chap. 139: 320 f.). However, he does not blame Finnr at his return, implying in his comment that he would not have been able to trust Þórir in any case: “I believe Thórir is our enemy, and the farther [he is] from us, the better” (“trúi ek því, at Þórir mun vera oss óvinr, ok þykki mér hann ávalt betri firr mér en nærr”) (OH chap. 139: 326, Holl.: 422). This way of telling the story may be partly intended to relieve Óláfr of responsibility, although it is difficult to think that Snorri imagines Finnr to have acted completely on his own.

25. The main source for his description of cruelty and aggressiveness is Luchaire, 1967: 249 ff., who has been accused of generalizing too much from reports on chaos and internal strife (see Baldwin's introduction p. x).

26. For these rules and examples of such behavior, see Painter, 1940: 28 ff.; Keen, 1984: 162 ff.; and Duby, 1986: 78 ff. But see also Gillingham, 1988, who criticizes Duby for having misinterpreted his source and exaggerated the chivalrous behavior there.

27. For instance, according to William of Malmesbury, Earl Robert of Gloucester was taken captive because of this (Historia Novella chap. 500). See also the examples in Huizinga, 1955: 98 f. of strategic interests being sacrificed to honor.

28. See, in addition to the references in nn. 25, 26, the example of King Stephen, who, according to William of Malmesbury, gave his enemy, Empress Mathilda, an escort when she came to fight him, that she might safely join her ally, Earl Robert of Gloucester (Historia Novella chap. 478). William adds that an honorable knight does not refuse this even to his deadliest enemy.

29. The hundred years war is of course an excellent example of this. On the one hand, the chivalrous warfare between the aristocrats reached its highest peak and was celebrated by Froissart and other authors, on the other, the strategy mainly consisted in enriching oneself and providing one's army by plundering and forcing the enemy to submission through massive terror. The Black Prince, for instance, who was famous for his chivalrous treatment of his noble adversaries, was quite merciless toward ordinary people. The chronicles refer casually to such terror and massacres (Brandt, 1966: 132 ff.). Even members of the aristocracy might be cruelly treated, particularly when they were considered guilty of treason or breach of fealty. Edward I had the Scot rebel William Wallace dragged by a horse to the scaffold, where he was hanged and quartered (Powicke, 1953: 712). An aristocrat who behaved dishonorably might suffer a humiliating and painful punishment (cf. Keen, 1984: 174 f.).

30. E.g., chaps. 50, 54, 58-63, 91-96. On Villehardouin as a politician and a historian, see Archambault, 1974: 25 ff., according to whom he was “intelligent enough to be a scoundrel,” but who has no definite opinion on the sincerity of his pious phrases. On honor and the heroic ideal in Villehardouin, see Beer, 1968: 46 ff. Even in Froissart, who is mainly concerned with chivalry and shows little understanding of strategy (Contamine, 1981: 132, 137 f.), some kind of political game is discernible. His heroes are largely opportunistic, seeking their own advantage and shifting sides accordingly (Archambault, 1974: 71).

31. For an interesting application of Elias's theories to the evolution of bourgeois culture in Sweden in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, see Frykman and Löfgren, 1979.

32. For a counter-example to the one referred to here, see the story of Egill Skalla-Grímsson, who complains about the goods he has lost in Norway and gets his friend Arinbjorn to go to the king to claim them. When the king refuses to do anything in the case, Arinbjorn compensates Egill's loss out of his own property, and Egill is completely satisfied, apparently forgetting the question of honor (Egils saga chap. 68).

33. Earl Eiríkr is famous because of his victory in the two greatest battles in the Northern countries (OH chap. 24). Princess Ingigerðr praises St. Óláfr for his great victory, when he captures five kings in one day, and thus provokes her father to cancel their marriage (OH chap. 89), Ásbjorn selsbani earns shame because of the failure of his two expeditions to Southern Norway (OH chaps. 117, 120). King Magnús góði is so famous after his victory at Hlýrskógsheiðr that many men think that it will be impossible to fight against him (MG chap. 28). Both Sigurðr jórsalafari and Erlingr skakki receive much honor because of their successful expeditions to the Holy Land (Msyn. chap. 13; Ingi chap. 17). During the conflict between Erlingr and Grégóríús in Bergen, Erlingr regards it as shameful to be defeated by people from Viken in a region where he has numerous kinsmen (HHerð. chap. 12). See also Snorri's comments on the shameful defeats the Danish kings suffered in Norway, above.

34. For the traditional idea of honor as the fundamental value of Germanic or Nordic society, see Grønbech, 1955 I: 57 ff.; Gehl, 1937: 18 ff.; Bandle, 1969: 12 ff. Andersson, 1970: 575 ff. criticizes this view, pointing to numerous examples of moderation being highly regarded, which he explains as the replacement of a warrior ideal with a social ideal. Though I shall not attempt a general analysis of the Old Norse idea of honor in this context, it seems to me that some of the more extreme examples of “pure” honor in the Icelandic sagas have a literary ring and may represent ideas of heroic behavior in the past more than actual norms at the time the sagas were written down. Nor can we exclude the possibility that some such examples may be influenced by European chivalrous literature. Generally, modern anthropological research suggests that the rules of honor in traditional societies are more nuanced and subtle than particularly Gehl's picture of the Germanic warrior hero implies. One is not expected to take revenge against someone far more powerful than oneself. Conversely, a mighty man is expected to show moderation in dealing with his inferiors; it is dishonorable to exploit one's superiority too much (Bourdieu, 1977: 12 ff., based on examples from Kabylia). Such considerations may explain some of Andersson's examples of honor apparently being disregarded, such as Blund-Ketill's toleration of Hoensa-Þórir's provocations (1970: 578) and Hallr of Síðu abstaining from demanding compensation for his dead sons to avoid a conflict that would split Icelandic society (1970: 587; see Grønbech, 1955 I: 63 f.): a man can afford to be moderate when there is no doubt of his superiority and ability to protect his honor, and may even promote his honor in this way.

35. St. Óláfr and King Onundr of Sweden's victory at Helgå, where they inundate a large part of King Cnut's fleet and army, is actually an escape from an overwhelmingly superior enemy, who has surrounded them. Characteristically, the two kings find it best to withdraw afterward (OH chaps. 150-51). In his last battle against Erlingr Skjálgsson, Óláfr also intends to escape. When he discovers that this is impossible, he lays an ambush for Erlingr instead (OH chap. 175). Nor does Snorri point to any objection against his leaving the country when the enemy becomes too numerous. Other examples of this are Haraldr harðráði's retreat from King Sveinn, when he throws overboard valuable goods to uphold the enemy (HHarð. chap. 35), Magnús berfoetr's retreat when surprised by an Irish army (MB chap. 25), and Sigurðr Sigurðsson's advice to King Magnús blindi to withdraw to Trøndelag instead of fighting in Bergen, an advice of which Snorri clearly approves (MB.HGchap. 5).

36. An example is Ívarr skrauthanki, who was ransomed—with difficulties—after the battle of Holmengrå by his brother Jón, who was in the victorious army (Ingi chap. 10). In the contemporary sagas we frequently hear of people who save the lives of their relatives who have fought with the opposite party (n. 37). It is not unreasonable to assume that this often happened against payment to those who had most reason for revenge, in analogy with the normal custom of accepting payment instead of taking revenge. But the circumstances clearly indicate that there was no strong custom in favor of this, and that relatives who were absent or still belonged to the opposite party were hardly able to achieve anything.

37. When in 1201 the garrison of Slottsfjellet outside Tønsberg surrendered to King Sverrir, the king, after some discussion with his men, gave them grið and included them in his own army (SS chap. 179). See also the episode of Jón kuflungr, who gave grið to the Birchlegs who asked for it and included them in his army but did not demand an oath of submission from them, with the result that they all defected to Sverrir. This provoked Sverrir to the comment that Jón's behavior showed that he was not fit to be a chieftain (SS chap. 105). The difficulties involved in giving grið is demonstrated in the battle of Strindsjøen (1199), when some Birchlegs complain to King Sverrir that their relatives, whom they have given grið, have been killed by men in the army. Sverrir's advice is that they should kill these men's relatives in return (SS chap. 159: 169). Before the battle, Sverrir, contrary to the normal practice the saga attributes to him, had asked his men not to give grið (SS chap. 159: 168). His reason for this illustrates the logic of the system: many of the Croziers are perjurers and traitors to the king. The enemy can therefore only be defeated by arms. This means that the grið had failed in its purpose, to bring the enemy over to Sverrir's side.

38. Eiríkr's decision might possibly be regarded in the context of his bad relations with his father, who is actually very angry at his pardoning Vagn, and his need to build up a clientela independently of his father (HGráf. chap. 8; OT chap. 20). However, although Eiríkr's good relations with Denmark are essential to his later successes (OT chaps. 90, 98), Snorri does not imply that the pardoned jómsvíkingar had any importance in this respect.

39. “nú hjóttu Nóreg ór hendi mér” (OH chap. 176: 406).

40. Snorri frequently mentions kings' and magnates' illegitimate children but rarely their love affairs. One such reference occurs in the story of the birth of St. Óláfr's son Magnús (OH chap. 122). See also the story of King Sigurðr munnr, who, when passing a farm, hears the beautiful song of a woman. He sleeps with her and she gives birth to a son, the later King Hákon herðibreiðr (Ingi chap. 18). By contrast, Snorri omits Styrmir's story of St. Óláfr's affair with Steinvor (cf. Separate Saga: 683, 685 f., 695 f.), which was without political relevance. References to women, including their love affairs, are rarer, but Snorri tells without further comment that Erlingr skakki's wife, Kristín, went to Constantinople with a lover and that she had illegitimate children (ME chaps. 30, 35). Snorri apparently does not consider such illegitimate connections shameful. They may even be politically useful. But it can be dangerous to take other mens' women. King Sigurðr Eiríksson slefa rapes the wife of Klyppr hersir and is killed by him (HG chap. 14: 249 f.). Earl Hákon, who is very fond of women, is killed by the people of Trøndelag because of his offenses to their wives and daughters.

41. A rare example of this is the story of King Sveinn of Denmark, who, having been defeated by Haraldr harðráði in the battle of Nisså, seeks refuge with a farmer. He is given water to wash. But when he dries his hands on the middle of the towel, the farmer's wife snatches it from him and says: “You have no manners. It is boorish to wet all the towel.” Sveinn answered: “I shall yet come to a place where I can dry my hands on the middle of a towel” (“fátt gott kantu þér; þat er þorpkarlegt at væta allan dúkinn senn … þar køm ek þá enn, er ek þerri mér meirr á miðri þerru”) (HHarð. chap. 64; see Msk.: 214 f.). Though this is a unique example, it is characteristic of Snorri to find the contrast between the life of the aristocracy and that of the people in such a small detail from everyday life! See also Bagge, 1987b: 106 ff. on The King's Mirror, which, though more concerned with courteous manners than Snorri, differs in a similar way from European courtly literature.

42. See Steblin-Kamensky, 1973: 106 f. on the attitude in the Icelandic sagas. For a Norwegian example, see Kgs.: 6, where the Father urges the Son to show prudence and circumspection when taking revenge. In Snorri's own examples of revenge (e.g., OH chaps. 123, 133, 169, 178; HHarð. chap. 72; Ingi chap. 14) little is said about feelings. An exception is Ásbjorn selsbani, who behaves imprudently when rushing forward to kill Selþórir (OH chap. 118). But Ásbjorn is subject to an extreme provocation, being ridiculed before a large audience. Besides, Snorri hardly regards him as a great chieftain or a very intelligent man.

43. As has been noted by several scholars (e.g., Heusler, 1912: 41 f.; Steblin-Kamensky, 1973: 113 ff.), Norway and Iceland compare favorably to most other countries of medieval Europe in this respect. Torture and especially painful means of execution are rarely mentioned in the sources and were not institutionalized in the laws as in many other countries. But it is probably going too far to suggest that the examples that did occur were inspired from Europe. The fact that these examples date from after the introduction of Christianity may simply be the result of the sources being more detailed after this time. Moreover, there is a possibility that people belonging to the lower levels of society were more exposed to cruel treatment, either from the aristocracy or from people of their own rank. The miracle accounts, in Snorri and elsewhere, give some quite nasty examples of cruelty, e.g., the story of the poor young man who had his tongue cut off by King Sigurðr jórsalafari's mother for a trivial offense (Msyn. chap. 30) or of the young priest, who was tortured and maimed by some great men because of rumors of an affair between him and their sister (Ingi chap. 25). On the one hand, such stories give glimpses of milieus other than the top aristocracy, with which the main narrative of the sagas deal. On the other hand, miracle accounts are hardly the most trustworthy sources and may easily give an exaggerated picture of cruelty.

44. “en þar váru á krókar ok lágu þar á tágar af hjartanu, sumar rauðar, sumar hvítar; ok er hann sá þat, mælti hann: [vel hefir konungrinn alit oss] feitt er mér enn om hjartaroetr. Siðan hné hann aptr ok var þá dauðr” (OH chap. 234). The words in brackets are only found in one of the manuscripts of Heimskringla but occur in the Separate Saga chap. 234. See also the words of Magnús berfoetr, who is wounded by a spear passing through both his thighs and breaks its shaft: “Thus break we every leg-spar, men!” (“svá brjótu vér hvern sperrilegginn, sveinar”) (MB chap. 25). A quarrel between two housecarls, of whom the one has let himself be bled and the other accuses him of being too pale and thus not behaving sufficiently manly almost leads to a full battle between Erlingr skakki and Grégóríús (HHerð. chap. 12).

45. Ingi chap. 12. Although the description of Sigurðr's sufferings is truly exceptional and bears considerable resemblance to the story of a martyr (Guðnason, 1978: 96 ff., 171), it may be worth considering how far it can be explained in terms of the heroic ideal. There is little in Sigurðr's life as a whole that resembles a saint's vita. The only direct reference to religion in the story of his torture is the statement that he recited one-third of the psalter before his death. Though this is clearly evidence of both learning and piety, it also serves as an indication of the length of time the torture lasted and above all of his self-control: he was able to talk and his voice did not change from normal. This is in fact Snorri's explicit comment: “Hall [the eye-witness] thought that betokened endurance and strength beyond that of other men” (“ok lézk honum [Hallr] þat þykkja umfram eljan ok styrk annarra manna”). The story of Sigurðr's torture is found in a slightly different version in Morkinskinna, in which some scaldic stanzas, mentioning the recitation of the psalter, are quoted (Msk.: 436 f.).

46. E.g., the dialogue between the captive jómsvikingar and their victors after the battle of Hiqrungavágr (OT chap. 41), between St. Óláfr and Earl Hákon when the latter is taken captive (OH chap. 30), between St. Óláfr and Erlingr Skjálgsson during their last battle (OH chap. 176), and between King Eysteinn Haraldsson and Símun skálpr, who takes him captive and kills him (Ingi chap. 32).

47. For the concepts, see Benedict, 1946, who used them to characterize the difference between Japanese and Western mentality. Though some of her conclusions may be doubtful and her dichotomy too sharply drawn (see, e.g., Doi, 1976: 48 ff. and Benton, 1982: 271), the concepts seem useful in contrasting medieval and modern attitudes.

48. On Haraldr, see above. On Erlingr, see Snorri's remark that he was silent and spoke quietly to those of his enemies whom he had decided to kill, whereas he scolded those whom he intended to pardon (ME chap. 35). Other examples are Hárekr at Tjøtta and Kálfr Árnason. When Ásmundr Grankellsson and his men beat Hárekr's housecarls, Hárekr makes the following comment: “It is always interesting to hear news. That has never occurred before that my men were beaten” (“tíðendi þykkja nýnæmi oll þetta hefir eigi fyrr gort verit, at berja menn mína”) (OH chap. 140; my trans.). He confines himself to this, is calm and cheerful, and apparently accepts the king's verdict in favor of Ásmundr a little later. But he bides his time and revenges himself by killing Ásmundr's father (OH chap. 169). Before the battle of Stiklestad, Finnr Árnason comments on his brother Kálfr's conciliatory words to St. Óláfr that he always speaks fair when he intends to do evil (OH chap. 224).

49. “Halldórr var manna mestr ok sterkastr ok inn fríðasti; þat vitni bar Haraldr konungr honum, at hann hafi verit þeira manna með honum, er sízt brygði við váveilifliga hluti, hvárt er þat var mannháski eða fagnaðartíðendi eða hvat sem at hendi kom í háska, þá var hann eigi glaðari ok eigi óglaðari; eigi svaf hann meira né minna eða drakk eða neytti matar, en svá sem vanði hans var til. Halldórr var maðr fámæltr ok stirðorðr, bermæltr ok stríðlundaðr ok ómjúkr, …” (HHarð. chap. 36).

50. However, there are various opinions on how dangerous warfare was to the members of the military aristocracy. Duby, 1986: 91 f., 149 f. probably minimizes its dangers; cf. Gillingham, 1988. See also Keen, 1984: 220 ff., and demographic data for the English aristocracy of the later Middle Ages, which show considerably higher mortality for men than for women, because of men's participation in warfare (Hollingsworth, 1965). Though reliable statistics are scarce, other sources give a similar impression (see Leyser, 1979: 56 f. and Shahar, 1983: 129 with ref.).

51. The general point behind this explanation is not to state that people only act according to norms if such action serves their own interests, but that there is some connection between the self-imposed norms of a given group and the interests of its members.

52. See Shorter, 1979 and Stone, 1982, who suggest that people in the early modern period, and by implication also in the Middle Ages, were more cold, cynical, and calculating in their relations to other men, particularly relatives. Though these theories have been criticized, it seems reasonable to assume that less distinction between public and private also meant that the private sphere was less emotional than in our society. See also Bagge, 1989c.

53. “Vita Prima” book 1, chaps. 1-5. By contrast, the later “Vita Secunda” (book 1, chaps. 1-7) is more conventional. On the various biographies of St. Francis, see Brooke, 1967: 177 ff.

54. Lönnroth, 1963-1964: 24 ff. This doctrine, which was current throughout the Middle Ages, was known also in the Nordic countries, as appears from several manuscripts examined by Lönnroth (op. cit.: 34 ff.).

55. There is almost verbatim correspondence between Snorri's story of the conflicts at the Orkneys during these years and the Orkneyinga saga (OH chaps. 96-103 = Orkn. chaps. 13-19). The common explanation to this is that these chapters were copied from Snorri's Separate Saga during a revision of the Orkneyinga saga (Guðmundsson, 1965: xxvii ff. and 1967: 700). However, we cannot exclude the possibility that Snorri has been influenced by the original version of the Orkneyinga saga, which is now lost.

56. E.g., his fight against the Vikings near Sotaskjær (OH chap. 6), his escape from Lake Mälaren by leading the water away (OH chap. 7), and his destruction of London Bridge by covering his ships with shields of tree roots, branches, etc., sailing under the bridge and dragging it down by ropes (OH chaps. 12-13).

57. siðlátr, i.e., a man who lived according to the commands of Christianity; see Fritzner.

58. “Svá er sagt, at Óláfr konungr var siðlátr ok boenroekinn til guðs alla stund ævi sinnar, en síðan er hann fann, at ríki hans þvarr, en mótstoðumenn eflðusk, þá lagði hann allan hug á þat, at gera guðs þjónostu; dvalði hann þá ekki frá aðrar áhyggjur eða þat starf, sem hann hafði áðr með hondum haft, þvíat hann hafði þá stund, er hann sat í konungdóminum, starfat þat, er honum þótti mest nytsemð at vera, fyrst at friða ok frelsa landit … en síðan at snúa landz-fólkinu á rétta trú …” (OH chap. 181).

59. In addition to the dream that makes him decide to return to Norway, he sees the whole country in a vision (OH chap. 202) and dreams that he is climbing a high ladder that leads to heaven (OH chap. 214).

60. Thus, Suetonius's picture of Augustus bears some resemblance to Snorri's of St. Óláfr in that both the brutal and ruthless general of the civil wars and the mild and moderate statesman of the following period are described without any attempt to bridge the gap between them (e.g., De vita Caesarum chaps. 13 ff., 27 for the former and chaps. 21, 28 ff., 41 ff., 51 ff., 54 ff., 67 for the latter). See also Suetonius's different judgment on his private morality, especially concerning sexuality, where he had a reputation for being dissolute, particularly in his early period, and his self-control and moderation in most other respects (chaps. 68-78).

61. Lönnroth, 1965: 79 ff. In particular, Lönnroth refers to Dares Phrygius's Historia de excidio Troiae, which is preserved in an Old Norse translation, Trójumanna saga, most probably from the late twelfth century (Lönnroth, 1965: 82 f., 100 ff.).

62. See above and Kirn, 1955: 152 ff. and 179 ff., who points to Gerald of Wales as a master, not the least in indirect characterization.

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Abbreviations

Ágr. = Ágrip. Ed. and trans. Gustav Indrebø. Oslo, 1936.

Eirsp. = Eirspennil (AM 47 fol.). Ed. Finnur Jónsson. Oslo, 1916.

Fsk. = Fagrskinna. Ed. Finnur Jónsson. Copenhagen, 1902.

G = “Gulaþingslog,” in Norges gamle Love, vol. 1. Ed. R. Keyser, P. A. Munch, G. Storm, E. Hertzberg. Oslo, 1846: 1-118.

Gesta = Otto of Freising. Gesta Frederici seu róctius Chronica, ed. F. J. Schmale. Darmstadt, 1965.

H = “Hirðskrá,” in Norges gamle Love, vol. 2. Ed. R. Keyser, P. A. Munch, G. Storm, E. Hertzberg. Oslo, 1848: 387-450.

HG = The Saga of Hákon góði, in Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla 1: 165-222.

HGráf. = The Saga of Haraldr gráfeldr, in Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla 1:223-254.

HHarð. = The Saga of Haraldr harðráði, in Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla 3:74-224.

HHárf. = The Saga of Haraldr hárfagri, in Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla 1:98-164.

HHerð. = The Saga of Hákon herðibreiðr, in Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla 3: 398-431.

Hkr. = Snorri Sturluson. Heimskringla, vols. 1-4. Ed. F. Jónsson. Copenhagen, 1893-1901.

HN = “Historia Norvegiae,” in Monumenta Historica Norvegiæ. Ed. Gustav Storm. Oslo, 1880: 69-124.

Holl. = Heimskringla. Trans. with intro., etc. by Lee M. Hollander. Auston, 1967.

Hom. = Gamal norsk homiliebok. Ed. G. Indrebø, Oslo, 1931.

HS = The Saga of Hálfdan svarti, in Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla 1: 86-97.

HT = Historisk Tidsskrift (Norwegian).

Ingi = The Saga of Ingi and His Brothers, in Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla 3: 348-397.

Ísl. = Ari Þorgilsson fróði. “Íslendingabók,” ed. J. Benediktsson (Íslenzk fornrit vol. I.1: 1-28). Reykjavík, 1958.

Jóms. = Jómsvíkinga saga. Ed. Ó. Halldórsson. Reykjavík, 1969.

Kgs. = [The King's Mirror] Konungs skuggsiá. Ed. L. Holm-Olsen. Oslo, 1945.

KLNM = Kulturhistorisk leksikon for nordisk middelalder. Oslo, 1956-1978.

L = [The National Law] Landslog, in Norges gamle Love, vol. 2. Ed. R. Keyser, P. A. Munch, G. Storm, E. Hertzberg. Oslo, 1848: 1-178.

Larson = The King's Mirror (Speculum regale—Konungs Skuggsjá). Trans. and intro. Lawrence M. Larson. New York: The American-Scandinavian Foundation, 1917.

Leg. saga. = [Legendary saga] Óláfs saga hins helga. Efter pergamenthaandskrift i Uppsala Universitetsbibliotek, Delagardieske samling nr. 8 ii. Ed. O. A. Johnsen. Oslo, 1922.

MB = The Saga of Magnús berfoetr, in Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla 3: 233-266.

MB.HG = The Saga of Magnús blindi and Haraldr gilli, in Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla 3: 315-347.

ME = The Saga of Magnús Erlingsson, in Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla 3: 432-492.

MG = The Saga of Magnús góði, in Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla 3: 3-73.

MHN = Monumenta Historica Norvegiæ. Ed. Gustav Storm. Oslo, 1880.

Msk. = Morkinskinna. Ed. Finnur Jónsson. Copenhagen, 1932.

Msyn. = The Saga of the Magnússynir, in Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla 3: 267-314.

NG = “Nyere Gulathings Christenret,” in Norges gamle Love, vol. 2. Ed. R. Keyser, P. A. Munch, G. Storm, E. Hertzberg. Oslo, 1848: 306-326.

NGL = Norge gamle Love. Ed. R. Keyser, P. A. Munch, G. Storm, E. Hertzberg, vols. 1-5. Oslo, 1846-1895.

OH = The Saga of Óláfr hinn helgi [St. Óláfr], in Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla, vol. 2.

OK = The Saga of Óláfr kyrri, in Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla 3: 225-232.

Oldest Saga = Otte Brudstykker af den ældste Saga om Olav den hellige. Ed. G. Storm. Oslo, 1893.

Orkn. = Orkneyinga Saga. Ed. Finnbogi Guðmundsson. (Íslenzk fornrit vol. 34). Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1965.

OT = The Saga of Óláfr Tryggvason, in Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla 1: 255-459.

Passio = Passio et Miracula Beati Olavi. Ed. F. Metcalfe. Oxford, 1881.

Prol. Hkr. = Heimskringla. Prologue. Ed. Finnur Jónsson. Copenhagen, 1893-1901, vol. 1: 1-8.

Prol. OH = Saga Óláfs konungs hins helpa. Prologue. Ed. O. A. Johnsen. Oslo, 1941, vol. 1: 1-5.

SagaOT = Oddr Snorrason munkr. Saga Óláfs Tryggvasonar, ed. Finnur Jónsson. Copenhagen, 1932.

Separate Saga = Saga Óláfs konungs hins helga, vols. 1-2. Ed. O. A. Johnsen. Oslo, 1941.

Sk. = Det arnamagnæanske Haandskrift 81a Fol. (Skálholtsbók yngsta). Ed. A. Kjær and L. Holm-Olsen. Oslo, 1947.

Skjalded. = Den norsk-islandske Skjaldedigtning. Ed. Finnur Jónsson, A1-B2. Copenhagen, 1908-1914.

SS = Sverris saga. Ed. G. Indrebø. Oslo, 1920.

Sturl. = Sturlunga saga. Ed. Kr. Kålund, vols. 1-2. Copenhagen, 1906-1911.

Theod. = Theodoricus Monachus. “Historia de antiquitate regum Norwagiensium.” In Monumenta Historica Norvegiæ, ed. Gustav Storm. Olso, 1889: 1-68.

Vigf. = Hákonar saga and a Fragment of Magnúss saga. Ed. Gudbrandur Vigfusson (Rerum Britannicarum medii ævi scriptores 88/2). London, 1887.

Yngl. = The Saga of the Ynglingar, in Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla 1: 9-85.