The Proverbs of Vatnsdoela saga and the Sword of Jokull: The Oral Backgrounds of Grettir...

The Proverbs of Vatnsdœla saga and the Sword of J�kull:

The Oral Backgrounds of Grettir Ásmundarson’s Flawed Heroism

Richard L. Harris

My purpose in this essay is to explore certain affinities between Grettis saga (also called

Grettla) and Vatnsdœla saga with the intention of showing how the meaning of the former work

is partially derived from or enhanced by a background of oral tradition concerning the outlaw

Grettir’s maternal ancestors that is reflected in the extant narrative of Vatnsdœla saga. Although

the two sagas, especially Grettla, have diverse written sources, both also, by the nature of their

genre, draw upon what Theodore M. Andersson termed the “oral family saga,” the nature of

which is succinctly described by Carol Clover as that “larger undertaking—the dramatic

chronicle of the Icelandic settlement,” or, in other words, those innumerable stories the

Icelanders told about their ancestral heritage. It is clear that parts of these two tales arise from1

closely related if not identical portions of that vast yet sparsely recorded oral undertaking. In

particular, I believe, certain thematic strains in portions of the oral family saga underlying the

Vatnsdœla text could have inspired the vision of the extant Grettla’s composer as he developed2

the remarkably self-contradictory figure of Grettir, who on the one hand is valued as a cleansing

hero but on the other is sought and destroyed as an outlaw.

The closeness of the two texts in their respective origins, conceptions, and executions is

apparent in a number of ways. The extant version of Grettis saga, composed several decades

after that of Vatnsdœla saga, has as its hero a descendant of the family whose backgrounds and

individual members’ accomplishments are recounted in the latter work. Besides their interest in

this family, however, the two narratives have much else in common. They are both, for instance,

thought to have been written at or near Þingeyraklaustr, that noted medieval Icelandic center of

learning which lay at the mouth of Vatnsdalr, not far from Hof, the ancestral seat of the

Vatnsdœlers. There is also, as would be expected, considerable overlap in the geographical areas

of their respective scenes of action.

Then again, in terms of structural style, significant portions of both sagas are unusually

episodic, the segments often quite discrete. These passages are mostly concerned with social

2 Richard L. Harris

cleansing and exorcism, accompanied by a touch of magic and the supernatural. While Grettir’s

role as an unfortunate exorcist is widely noticed by critics, less has been made of those similar

purgative feats performed by Þorsteinn Ingimundarson and his brothers. All of these adventures,3

in no way linked to a clear narrative thread, are rather included in Vatnsdœla saga to celebrate

the abilities and courage of the sons of Ingimundr inn gamli—incidentally ancestral relatives of

Grettir—as exhibited in their cleansing protection of the neighborhood over which they have

control. The composers of both works had this function of heroism consciously in mind and used

it for their respective narrative purposes.

Walther H. Vogt, in a time when the extant Grettla was thought to have been written

prior to Vatnsdœla saga and himself denying any literary connection between the two works,

nevertheless noticed affinities of thematic concern between them: “Grt. und Vd. sind die beiden

sagaschöpfungen, die eine idee ausgesprochen über ihre handlungen legen, jene die ógœfa,

dieser die hamingja” [Grettis saga and Vatnsdœla saga are two saga creations which impose one

particular idea upon their plots, the one, ógœfa, the other, hamingja]. In most of the family sagas4

fate, or forl�g, is given significant place as a factor in the motivation of action, and some readers

see it as the exclusive motivator in at least a few of these narratives. Studies of Grettir typically

view him as a victim of his own ógœfa, his personal fate, or ill luck, although he himself has

many gifts and is of a family, especially among the Vatnsdœlers of his maternal background,

remarkable for its hamingja, or good luck in a more general sense.

The nature and tragedy of Grettir´s ógœfa seems most poignant when we are aware, as

was the contemporary audience, of the fortunate circumstances and lives of his hamingja-blessed

maternal ancestors, depicted as they are in a peculiarly enthusiastic way by the composer of

Vatnsdœla saga. A. U. Bååth has observed that of all the family sagas, Vatnsdœla saga

distinguishes itself by being exclusively about the family for which it is named, concerned as it

is with their history from around 890 down to about 980: “Från början till slut rör den sig kring

en och samma slägt, som, från forst bosatt i Norge, sedan nedsätter sig i Vatnsdalen på Island.

Hela fem slägtled omfattas i den samma, och berättelsen är oafbrutet fortlöpande” [From

beginning to end it deals with one and the same family, which, originally resident in Norway,

later settles in Vatnsdalr in Iceland. A whole five generations are included in it, and the narrative

THE PROVERBS OF VATNSDŒLA SAGA 3

is uninterrupted in its progress]. This saga was composed around 1280 and is probably5

comprised of two major parts, the former telling of Ingimundr inn gamli’s settlement in

Vatnsdalr and his life there. The latter part, following the lives of Ingimundr’s descendants after

his death, has traditionally been considered inferior in style to the former, episodic in structure,

recounting mostly disparate events in which the Vatnsdœlers devote much energy to cleansing

their valley of unclean spirits and unsavory beings.6

These main portions of the narrative are preceded by an introductory segment, legendary

in nature and style, on the founding of this fortunate family. Here, Þorsteinn Ketilsson, of

Raumsdalr in Norway, initiates the previously noticed role of cleansing hero in this narrative by

ridding the neighboring forest of a dangerous highwayman, J�kull, who turns out to be the son of

Ingimundr jarl and who extracts Þorsteinn’s promise to marry his sister Þórdís after his death. It

is their son, eventually known as Ingimundr inn gamli, offspring of this unlikely union, who with

some relatives and friends makes his way to the valley in the North of Iceland where the

subsequent adventures of the Vatnsdœlers unfold.

These Vatnsdœlers find success and affluence in their community, enjoying a good

quantity of hamingja, a term upon which scholars have remarked as occurring with some

frequency in the earlier chapters of the saga. This good fortune seems designed for them by

forl�g, to which a series of interestingly applied proverbs refer in a passage of the former major

part of the narrative, as is presented below. “All of this is recounted after the manner of

Herodotus,” wrote Guðbrandur Vigfússon in 1878, “and the mainspring of the whole is one of

his most characteristic maxims, to wit, no man may withstand his fate.” Aside from the rather7

beautifully tragic death of Ingimundr inn gamli, little detracts from the positively fated success

of this aristocratic family, whose story is the work of a composer intent upon the happy idea that,

as Andrew Wawn puts it, “nobility and goodness will always defeat malevolent forces.” It is8

thought that this saga in its extant form, of decidedly royalist leanings, was produced to praise

the background and fortunes of Þorsteinn’s Icelandic descendants at a time when royalist

sympathies had become fashionable in Iceland.9

The causal relations between prophecy and its fulfillment are, as often in the sagas,

unclear when Ingimundr Þorsteinsson’s ire is aroused by a Lapland prophetess who predicts his

4 Richard L. Harris

forl�g (in order to lend clarity to my argument, I have italicized passages in the saga narratives

that pertain to the workings of Fate in the Vatnsdœler family): “þú munt byggja land, er Ísland

heitir; þat er enn víða óbyggt; þar muntu gerask virðingamaðr ok verða gamall; þínir ættmenn

munu ok margir verða ágætir í því landi” [You will settle in a land which is called Iceland; it is

not widely settled. There you will become a man of honour and live to great age. Many of your

kinsfolk will be leading figures in that land]. “Þetta er af því vel sagt,” he unenthusiastically10

responds, “at þat hefi ek einhugsat, at koma aldri í þann stað, ok eigi verð ek þá góðr kaupmaðr,

ef ek sel áttjarðir mínar margar ok góðar, en fara í eyðibyggðir þær” (p. 29) [That is all very

well, seeing that I have made up my mind never to go to that place, and I won’t be a successful

merchant if I sell my many fine ancestral lands and head off to that wilderness (p. 14)]. But the

prophetess has caused a silver amulet of Freyr, a gift from King Harald Fairhair, to vanish from

Ingimundr’s purse and has projected it to the place where he must settle in the new country. His

friend, Grímr Ingjaldsson, included also in this prophecy, is less recalcitrant than Ingimundr,

observing (in order to make clear to the reader the presence and extent of proverbial material

related to Fate, I have placed the proverbs in the saga narratives in bold type), “at eigi mundi

tjóa at brjótask við forl�gunum” [there was nothing to be gained from fighting against

fate]. Ingimundr exclaims to his close friend, “Eigi mun ek þangat, ok mun þat skilja með11

okkr” [I will not go there, and this will be the parting of the ways for us]. But Grímr answers it

may be so, “en eigi kemr mér þat á óvart, þótt vit finnimsk á Íslandi, því at óhœgt mun forl�gin

at flýja’” (pp. 30–31) [but it would not surprise me if we were to meet each other in Iceland,

because it is not possible to fly from fate’s decree (p. 15)].12

The ultimate respectability of this settling family is emphasized in a conversation

between Ingimundr and King Harald in which the former announces his intentions of seeking a

second shamanistic opinion about his Icelandic future. The king replies that he may do that, “en

þat hygg ek, at þangat munir þú koma, ok er þat uggligt, hvárt þú ferr í lofi mínu eða leynisk þú,

sem nú tekr mj�k at tíðkask.” “‘Þat mun mér aldri verða,’ segir Ingimundr, ‘at ek fara í banni

þínu’” (p. 34) [“but I think that you will end up in Iceland, and it is a matter of concern whether

you go with my blessing or keep the decision to yourself, which is very much the fashion

nowadays,” said Ingimund. “It would never be the case that I would go without your permission”


(p. 16)]. With much-boasted hard work, Ingimundr’s alternative Lapps report that they came to

where “þrír firðir gengu af landnorðri ok v�tn váru mikil fyrir innan einn fj�rðinn. Síðan kómu

vér í dal einn djúpan, ok í dalnum undir fjalli einu váru holt n�kkur: þar var byggiligr hvammr,

ok þar í holtinu �ðru var hlutrinn.” They found, however, that they were unable to recover the

amulet, which repeatedly flew away from them as they approached it, “ok muntu sjálfr fara

verða” [three fjords open up to the north-east and in one fjord there were big lakes to be seen.

We later entered a long valley and there at the foot of a mountain were some wooded areas. It

was a habitable hillside, and there in one of the woods was the amulet. . . . [S]o it is that you

yourself must go there]. Ingimundr then acquiesces, “ok kvað eigi mundu stoða við at sporna”

[and declared that it was useless to fight against this]. The king, when this is reported to him,13

is not surprised, declaring that it was “óhœgt at gera við ákveðnu” [difficult to go against the

way things must be]. Defeated, Ingimundr responds that this is true, “ok hefi ek nú alls í leitat”14

[I have now tried every way]. Meeting with friends and chieftains he announces his decision:

“hygg ek mik fara munu til Íslands, meir af forl�gum ok atkvæði rammra hluta en fýsi” [I am

thinking of going to Iceland, more because of destiny and the decree of mighty forces than out of

any personal desire]. The general response, that it was the greatest pity for such a man to go

away, is ameliorated by the simple observation, “en þó er fátt sk�pum ríkara” (pp. 35–36)

[there are few things more powerful than destiny (p. 17)].[AU: note that wherever � appears

in a sentence set in boldface, though it doesn’t look as though it is in boldface here, it will in the

final version; ditto in italicized sentences, where, on the other hand, it appears to be in boldface

(this is a glitch of this software, but not in the eventual layout software)]15

With his legendary status among the jarls enhanced by a marriage arranged by King

Harald to Þórdís, daughter of Earl Thorir the Silent, and the respectability of his continued royal

friendship assured—unusual for an Icelandic settler—Ingimundr, compelled only by fate, sails to

his new home, where his friend Grímr greets his arrival with the delighted assurance, “ok kemr

hér nú at því, sem mælt er, at torsótt er at forðask forl�gin” [(so it is with you here now that, as

the saying goes, it is very hard to fly in the face of fate]. “Ingimundr kvað þat satt vera,—‘ok16

verðr eigi við g�rt, fóstbróðir’” (p. 38) [Ingimund said that this was true—“it cannot be resisted,

foster-brother” (p. 18)]. Exploring for settlement, he recognizes the lay of the land from the

6 Richard L. Harris

alternative Lapps’ description: “Sú mun sannask spáin Finnanna, því at nú kenni ek landsleg at

frás�gn þeira, at hér mun oss at vísat, ok vænkask nú mj�k” [This must confirm the Lapps’

prophecy for now I recognise the lie of the land from their description; this must be the place

intended for us, and how very good it now looks]. Digging holes for the temple high seat pillars,

they find his Freyr amulet in the ground. Ingimundr then concludes, “Þat er þó satt at segja, at

eigi má við sk�punum sporna, en þó skal nú á þetta góðan hug leggja. Bœr sjá skal heita at

Hofi” (pp. 41–42) [It is indeed true to say that one cannot fight against fate, and we may now

settle here in good spirits. This farm will be called Hof [Temple] (pp. 19–20)]. [AU: awkward:17

reword?] Subtlety is thus not required of a reader seeking the motivation for Ingimundr’s move

to Vatnsdalr, made absolutely clear by the density of proverbs about and references to fate in the

passage presented here. And the generally laudatory terms in which the family’s settling with

royal approval and progress in Iceland are described leave little doubt, either of the intentions of

fate or, for that matter, of Ingimundr’s own personal quantity of good luck—or then again, of the

composer’s purpose in pursuing these subjects.

Yet a flawed thread may also be observed to run through the uncommonly abundant

hamingja of these Vatnsdœlers. J�kull Ingimundarson jarls, who dying confided to his killer,

Þorsteinn, that he had just recently been planning to give over his erring ways, was not a

fortunate son. And another J�kull, the grandson of Þorsteinn, is the hot-headed member of his

generation, strong, impetuous, and arrogant, a physically heroic foil to his brother Þorsteinn, who

is clever, deliberate, and a peace-maker possessed of mature forethought. His grandson was still

another J�kull, son of Bárðr, and he makes a brief but impressive appearance in Grettis saga as

the hero’s maternal uncle, “mikill maðr ok sterkr ok inn mesti ofsamaðr; hann var siglingamaðr

ok mj�k ódæll, en þó mikilhœfr maðr” [a big, strong man, and exceptionally arrogant. He was a

merchant and was very overbearing, but a man of many gifts]. His aristocratic background did18

not save him from being executed, according to Snorri Sturluson in Óláfs saga helga, for having

taken the side of Óláfr Haraldsson’s enemy, Hákon jarl Eiríksson. While not overtly19

emphasized by the confidently optimistic composer of Vatnsdœla saga, the factors of universal

fate and of individual luck prove more complex and more interestingly mixed in the story of this

great family than the overt and fulsome praise of its members might lead one to anticipate. In


particular, it does not seem as if family members called J�kull are apt to enjoy much in the way

of that hamingja which their relatives possess in such an abundance. It remains to be considered

how this darker side of the otherwise fortunate Vatnsdœlers is recalled and used by the composer

of Grettis saga as he fashions his puzzling hero.

The extant Grettis saga, finished around 1325, is thought to be based on an earlier lost

version by Sturla Þórðarson (d. 1284), and it contains explicit references to a number of other

sagas. Without citing these particular sources, its composer employs portions of Landnámabók20

for his first eight chapters and of Fostbrœðra saga for chapters 25 to 27, and he makes less

extensive use of ten or so other Icelandic works, including Vatnsdœla saga. He was probably a21

man of the cloth, living near to and, as was mentioned above, perhaps associated with

Þingeyraklaustr, like the composer of Vatnsdœla saga. In fact, the closer one comes to the

physical origins of the two sagas I am considering in this essay, the more one is struck by the

nearness and smallness of pertinent things—Þingeyraklaustr itself, with never more than a

handful of men, and the neighborhood, near the origins and homes of the heroes discussed here,

and where all, especially writers, must surely have been aware of one another’s activities and

pursuits. Critical scholarship on the textual awareness of the respective sagas’ composers22

seems idle if we consider the reality of the setting in which they worked.

In any case, the composer of Grettis saga has used his materials, oral as well as written,

to depict for his audience a figure motivated by anachronistic ideals of heroism reinforced by the

pressures of his aristocratic background and thus tragically ill-fitted to his contemporary society

of farmers and merchants. Eventually the Grettir of the extant saga is led by his ógœfa to a point

where, unfairly sentenced to what becomes his terminal outlawry, he is destroyed—but only

when his enemy, as a last desperate and ignominious resort, turns to sorcery to effect his demise.

Although no book-length or other definitive study of this puzzling hero and his equally

puzzling saga has yet appeared, few readers would disagree with the succinct observation of

Peter Foote that “[t]he author seeks the causes for Grettir’s downfall.” In this regard, several23

shorter works are helpful to our reading, probably the most useful being Kathryn Hume’s “The

Thematic Design of Grettis Saga.” Thorough in its analysis of the saga’s text for an24

understanding of the composer’s intentions, it identifies Grettla’s theme as “the incompatibility

8 Richard L. Harris

of a traditional form of heroism with the demands of an evolving society.” In the process, it

touches upon the self-destructive flaw of this chronically alienated outlaw hero, who “is trying to

find a meaningful life in a society that seems mundane, unexciting, and full of necessary

drudgery.” For Hume, the saga depicts an “irremediable conflict between society and heroic

longings,” in which, “though Grettir is necessarily destroyed, he emerges with a genuinely tragic

stature.” She contends that in Grettis saga “theme took precedence over antiquarian desire to

preserve history,” even that “the choice of theme preceded the shaping of the story.” Hume’s25

contention that the composer was more devoted to his theme than to the precise rendering of

given traditions as he told his story does not seem remarkable today and in fact must be among

the underlying assumptions upon which critics now base their observations of saga literature. As

Hume’s composer borrows from other narratives, he does so with three different purposes in

mind: to provide “historical window-dressing,” to contribute to the array of heroics, and to draw

a background “less displaced from the heroic archetype than that of the usual family saga with its

societal orientation.” Thus, in my view, the composer included, in some cases explicitly, or in26

others implicitly by reference, select material from Grettir’s ancestral backgrounds conducive to

the development of the saga’s theme—on his mother’s side, particularly from stories of her

Vatnsdœler ancestors.

The idea that Grettir’s negative personality traits derive from his maternal ancestry has

been noticed before. Marlene Ciklamini has remarked that Grettir shares with his uncle J�kull

the propensity to fall into the psychological state of j�tunmóð, “the violent anger of the giants,”

and in her article, partially devoted to demonstrating his associations with these creatures, she

contends that “Grettir’s character was transmitted from his maternal kin.” In this context, she27

observes that J�kull is a name used by giants in a number of the sagas. Grettir’s mother, Ásdís28

Bárðardóttir, is descended on her father’s side from Jotunbj�rn, “giant-bear,” a legendary Norse

chieftain in the North, ancestor of Ketill raumr, and mentioned in Hversu Noregr byggðist as

descended from giants. On her mother’s side she comes from Ketill hœngr Þorkelsson, the29

latter kinship thus placing her background directly among those legendary giant lovers of old

celebrated in the Hrafnistumannasögur, the four fornaldarsögur, Ketils saga hœngs, Grímssaga

loðinkinna, �rvar-Odds saga, and Áns saga bogsveigis, whose heroes are Ketill and his


descendants. “The kinship to giants is of significance to both Ketill and Grettir,” contends

Ciklamini, “although in [Grettis saga], Grettir’s giant-descent is evident only to cognoscenti of

fornaldarsögur-lore.” Given the importance attached to the relationship of names and30

characters in Vatnsdœla saga, noticing the unfortunate lives and careers of men called J�kull in

that saga, and aware of the implications of the name itself from Ciklamini’s study, we see further

the importance of these men in Grettir’s maternal background. His impulsive violence, one factor

which leads ultimately to his death, thus a significant aspect of his flawed heroism, can be seen

as a result of his giant ancestry, part of that mixed legacy from his mother and her family, and in

particular of relatives called J�kull.

Thus we can now return to that introductory segment of legendary style in which the

dying J�kull Ingimundarson jarls charges his killer, Þorsteinn Ketilsson, with the peculiar task of

seeking out and marrying his sister Þórdís—“Nú ef þér verðr sona auðit eða þínum sonum, þá

láttu eigi nafn mitt niðri liggja, ok vænti ek mér þar gœða af, ok hefi ek þat fyrir lífgj�fina” (p.

10) [And if you or your boys are blessed with sons, do not allow my name to die out—it is from

this that I hope to derive some benefit, and I want this in return for sparing your life (pp. 4–5)].31

Einar Ó. Sveinsson remarked of the passage that various critical interpretations have been voiced

about requests like these. Often enough, benefits might be expected from such naming—the32

honor and longevity of the name itself might be enhanced, for instance. A number of scholars

have suggested that the impulse derived from a belief that a person might thus arrange for his

reincarnation through his namesake. Max Keil held that this custom arose from men’s desire to

protect and preserve the individual good luck of particular ancestors. Einar Ó. Sveinsson favors33

the latter view, though allowing that hopes of reincarnation may also have been a factor

sometimes in the giving of a name, and I follow his thinking here.34

The flawed thread in the history of the Vatnsdœlers is partially explainable in terms of

that quality of personal luck which might be expected to accompany the name J�kull when given

to commemorate the entity of the unwise and unfortunate J�kull Ingimundarson jarls. Thus when

the second son of Ingimundr is born, he observes, “Þessi sveinn er allmikilfengligr ok hefir

hvassar sjónir; hann mun verða, ef hann lifir, ok eigi margra maki ok eigi mikill

skapdeildarmaðr, en tryggr vinum ok frændum ok mun vera mikill kappi, ef ek sé n�kkut til; mun

10 Richard L. Harris

eigi nauðr at minnask J�kuls frænda várs, sem faðir minn bað mik, ok skal hann heita J�kull” (p.

37) [This boy is hefty and sharp-sighted. If he survives, few will be his match, and he will be no

great shakes at controlling his temper; but he will be true to his friends and kinsmen, and a great

warrior, if I am any judge. Our kinsman J�kul must be remembered, as my father requested me,

and he shall be called J�kul (p. 18)]. Despite the fact that these predictions for J�kull

Ingimundarson ins gamla do not include a portion of good luck, the name sticks and his character

makes manifest those features one would expect. As the narrative proceeds, it is not difficult to

find traits in this ancestor of Grettir that remind us of the less fortunate aspects of his own

personality.

Now it was this J�kull who, at the distribution of his deceased father’s fortunes, received

the sword Ættartangi. This treasure had come into Ingimundr’s possession in the first place

through an oddly ignoble, out-of-character trick that he played upon a visiting Norwegian sea

captain, Hrafn, who had come to land at Húnavatnsós, “fálátr í skaplyndi, stórr ok ódæll ok

mikill af sjálfum sér” [taciturn by nature, burly, difficult to deal with, and a self-made man]. He

proves a difficult and unprepossessing guest, but he has a good sword. Ingimundr asks to buy it,

without success, and Hrafn’s refusal is insulting. Ingimundr’s ire aroused, he tricks Hrafn by

leading him into the temple wearing his sword. “Eigi er þat siðr at bera vápn í hofit,” he then

admonishes his unpleasant guest, “ok muntu verða fyrir goða reiði, ok er slíkt ófœrt, nema bœtr

komi fram” [It is not our custom to carry weapons into the temple, and you are exposing yourself

to the wrath of the gods, and this is intolerable unless some amends is made]. Hrafn smells a

rat—“Hér hefir þú lengi um setit ok ráð til sett, ok ef ek hefi misg�rt í l�gum yðrum, þá ætla ek

þat ráð, at þú gerir um, því at þú ert kallaðr sannsýnn maðr” [You have waited a long time for an

opportunity to plot against me; but if I have broken your laws, then I think it right that you

should deal with it, because you are said to be a just man]. Not surprisingly, Ingimundr settles

upon the sword as appropriate compensation for the gods, “því at hann lézk eiga ok því at

stjórna, ok mýkja svá reiði goðanna” [because Ingimund could then say that he owned and had

control of it, and in this way assuage the wrath of the gods]. Hrafn relinquishes the sword

without much objection or even a curse, as might otherwise have been expected based upon

traditions surrounding forcibly or deviously obtained weapons in other saga narratives. “Mun35


þér annat stórmannligar fara” [Your other dealings do you more credit] he accurately observes.

The narrator concludes the episode, “Þetta sverð áttu þeir feðgar, meðan þeir lifðu, ok k�lluðu

Ættartanga” (pp. 47–49) [Father and son owned this sword for as long as they lived, and they

called it Ættartangi (pp. 22–23)].

This sword, Ættartangi in Vatnsdœla saga, is traditionally identified with that which

Grettir’s mother, Ásdís Bárðardóttir, granddaughter of the impulsive and high-spirited J�kull

Ingimundarson ins gamla, great-great granddaughter of the unfortunate outlaw J�kull, the son of

Ingimundr jarl, presents to her son Grettir in chapter 17 of Grettis saga as he departs from the

family farm of Bjarg, a short distance from the future site of Þingeyraklaustr. Grettir’s father,

who does not particularly like him, has given him few goods for his journey and no weapon at

all. Speaking like a true Vatnsdœler, Ásdís complains,

“Eigi ertu svá af garði g�rr, frændi, sem ek vilda, svá vel borinn maðr sem þú ert;

þykki mér þat mest á skorta, at þú hefir ekki vápn, þat er neytt sé, en mér segir

svá hugr um, at þú munir þeira við þurfa.” Hon tók þá undan skikkju sinni sverð

búit; þat var allgóðr gripr. Hon mælti þá: “Sverð þetta átti J�kull, f�ðurfaðir minn,

ok inir fyrri Vatnsdœlar, ok var þeim sigrsælt; vil ek nú gefa þér sverðit, ok njót

vel.” (pp. 49–50)

[“You haven’t been sent on your way as well equipped as I would like to see

someone of your standing, my son,” she told him before they parted. “What I

think you lack most is a useful weapon. Something tells me you will be needing

one.”]

Then she took an inlaid sword from under her cloak, a fine piece of workmanship. “This sword

belonged to my grandfather J�kul and the most prominent people of the Vatnsdal clan, and it

brought them many triumphs. I want to give you this sword. Make good use of it” (pp. 70–71).36

While the noble legacy of his family, maybe even some aspects of its luck, could be seen

as accompanying this sword by a Grettla audience familiar with the stories of Vatnsdœla, they

would as well be much aware of the mixed luck of this family, the tragic associations with


relatives called J�kull—even Ásdís’s brother, J�kull, had, as we recall, died a violent death a few

years after a fateful meeting with Grettir in which he gave his nephew good but unheeded advice.

And they might also remember the humorous but less than admirable means by which the

otherwise honorable Ingimundr inn gamli was said in Vatnsdœla to have obtained the weapon for

himself and his family.

In Grettis saga this sword comes to be called J�kulsnautr, which, of course, is usually

translated into English as “J�kull’s Gift.” An initial presumption would be that the J�kull

referred to in the sword’s name is the paternal grandfather, J�kull Ingimundarson ins gamla, to

whom Ásdís refers in her presentation of the weapon to her son (pp. 49–50). It should be noticed

that she also mentions as owners, however, “inir fyrri Vatnsdœlar” [th[os]e previous

Vatnsdœlers], in the plural and apparently preceding her grandfather. Depending on the precision

of the composer’s phrasing, Ásdís seems thus to indicate family owners previous to Ingimundr

inn gamli, and this would place their possession of the treasure prior to his generation as well.

Readers might accordingly wonder whether the composer of Grettla, while he may be referring

to the sword of the Vatnsdœlers called Ættartangi in their saga, attaches to it the same traditions

regarding its acquisition as seem represented by the story of its coming into the covetous hands

of Ingimundr inn gamli from the reluctantly duped Norwegian seafarer. The gift of Ásdís to

Grettir, though according to her sigrsælt (blessed by victory) for her ancestors, cannot be said to

bring any amount of notable luck to the impetuous outlaw hero, and his brother Atli, to whom he

later gives it, dies while using it to defend himself, after which it is out of the saga.

Readers could find it odd that a sword acquired in a humourously devious way but not by

force or violence nor attended by a curse—as can often happen with extorted gifts—should bear

so much ill luck with it. The name Ættartangi itself occurs only in Vatnsdœla saga, and Einar Ó.

Sveinsson identifies the second component of the name as “broddurinn á efri enda sverðblaðsins,

sá er gekk upp í handfangið” [the point on the upper end of the sword blade, that which goes up

into the hilt], remarking that used in this name it denotes the whole of the weapon—as would

also be the case with brandr, more accurately only the blade of the sword. He points to parallel

compounds, such as ættargripr (family treasure) and ættarøx (family axe). The term, however,37

is more problematical than he indicates. Guðbrandur Vigfússon was troubled by it: “The Saga


names the sword Ættar-tange [Kin-tang], [Landnámabók] being silent over it, but that name is

inappropriate, and a folk-shift, as we believe, the real word being [Old English] Átor-tán (cf.

[Beowulf], line 1459). This in [Old Norse] should stand as Eitr-tein, but it was not understood,

and so has been forced into the semblance of an [Old Norse] word which had some little, though

inadequate, meaning.”38

In notes to his translation of the saga Gwyn Jones sees no justification for changing the

name. He is, however, troubled by the peculiar use of such a term in a compound sword-name,39

more likely “preserved from some forgotten, or neglected, twist in the saga which would justify

the robber J�kul’s prophecy” in his dying conversation with Þórsteinn: “Nú þótt þér sé ríki boðit

í Gautlandi, þá far þú heldr til eigna þinna í Raumsdal, því at eigi munu f�ðurfrændr mínir þér

ríkis unna eptir hans dag, en verða má, at h�rmungarvíg liggi í kyni yðru, ok munu menn missa

saklaussa frænda sinna” (Vatnsdœla saga, p. 11) [Moreover, even if you are invited to rule in

Gotland, return instead to your estate in Romsdal, because my father’s kinsmen will not grant

you authority after his death and it may be that terrible killings would lie in store for your kith

and kin, and men would lose their innocent kinsmen (p. 5)]. As Jones notices, Landnámabók at40

the point of recalling the execution of J�kull Bárðarson (Grettir’s uncle, the most recent member

of the family named J�kull), “er Óláfr konungr enn helgi lét drepa” [whom Saint Olaf had

killed], adds: “Þat sagði J�kull stigamaðr, at lengi mundu glapvíg haldask í ætt þeiri” [J�kull the

highwayman said that accidental manslaughter would occur for a long time in that family]. This41

latter version of the older J�kull’s prediction sounds more specifically like a warning associated

with family luck itself—with a clear example of where that ill luck could lead—rather than, as in

Vatnsdœla, a warning of what might happen if Þorsteinn were to remain in Gotland. In

Landnámabók, by contrast, the warning could be seen as the leftovers in the manuscript of an

otherwise forgotten prophetic curse somehow associated with revenge for Þórsteinn’s killing of

J�kull, even though such a curse is no longer justified by the action of the extant text.

While Ættartangi in the Vatnsdœla narrative cannot itself be logically connected in this

text with the ill luck of the aristocratic highwayman J�kull and his slaying and attendant

prophecy (because the weapon is not called J�kulsnautr in Grettis saga), it might be helpful in

this regard to question the “forgotten, or neglected twist in the saga which would justify the


robber J�kul’s prophecy” of which Jones speaks, but which he does not pursue in the limited

space of his notes to his translation. In Grettis saga, the sword which Ásdís gives to the young42

Grettir about to go abroad is referred to for the first time as J�kulsnautr not long after its

presentation. And yet it is not literally or figuratively the gift of her grandfather J�kull, but rather

an heirloom, presumably the one her great grandfather had extracted from the unwilling

Norwegian guest.

The name attached to the sword of Grettla, however, makes much better sense if it is

seen as the sword with which Þórsteinn killed J�kull Ingimundarson jarls in Vatnsdœla saga

during those tragic events which were the making of the Vatnsdalr family. This killing follows

closely the patterns of giant-killing more typical of fantastic Icelandic narrative tradition.43

Þórsteinn observes the large man remove his sword as he prepares for sleep: “Svá sýndisk

Þorsteini, sem þat væri in mesta gersemi ok alllíkligt til bits, ok gerði sér þat í hug, at duga

myndi, ef hann næði saxinu” [Thorstein regarded this sword as a great treasure and very likely to

cut well, and he felt that the weapon would serve him well if he could get hold of it]. Having

tried the sleep of his intended victim the three times requisite for such stories, he “brá þá saxinu

ok lagði fyrir brjóst inum mikla manni ok veitti honum mikit sár. Þessi brásk við fast ok þreif til

Þorsteins ok kippði honum upp í rúmit hjá sér, en saxit stóð í sárinu, en svá fast hafði Þorsteinn

til lagit, at oddrinn stóð í beðinn” (pp. 8–9) [drew the short-sword and thrust at the mighty man’s

chest and dealt him a deep wound. The man turned sharply and grabbed hold of Thorstein and

pulled him up onto the bed alongside himself, and the sword remained in the wound—so

strongly had Thorstein struck him that the sword-tip was stuck in the bed (pp. 3–4)]. It is not said

in Vatnsdœla saga that Þórsteinn takes anything with him from J�kull’s lair other than a gold

ring J�kull gives him as an identifying token for the visit to his victim’s family.

If, however, he did in some earlier version of this story take the victim’s sword, as one

would expect in such a tale, then it is far more likely that Ásdís gives to Grettir this more

correctly named J�kulsnautr, once owned by her near legendary skógarmaðr (outlaw) ancestor,

rather than a renamed Ættartangi with a far less powerful heroic history. The second element of

such compound names as J�kulsnautr is nearly always translated into English as “gift,” although

its actual meaning and etymological background have quite a different range. Guðbrandur


Vigfússon links -nautr to njóta, which he associates in turn with net, nót (= a net), as derived

from the same root, the primitive sense of which was “to catch, to hunt.” The verb, njóta, then

means “to use, to enjoy [the use of ]” with the secondary meaning, “to derive benefit from or

through the virtue of another person,” and, reciprocally, “to enjoy one another.” For nautr, he44

gives “mate”’ in various contexts and, secondarily, “a person from whom a gift is received, a

donor, giver”— after which, “an object is called a nautr of the person from whom it comes,

whether it be as a gift, or even as booty.” He concludes with the usual compounds with people’s

names, referring to various weapons and treasures. The noun comes, then, in Vigfússon’s sense45

of “booty,” to be used ironically, not meaning a voluntary gift, but rather an object of which

someone has been forcibly or deviously deprived. Other swords in Grettla, for instance, are

Kársnautr, which Grettir took from the grave of the not altogether dead Kárr the Old, and

Grettisnautr, which Þórbj�rn �ngull took from Grettir when he killed him, cutting off the dead

outlaw’s hand to relax its grip upon the hilt. Taken in this same ironic sense, J�kulsnautr

becomes a more plausible name, linguistically and in terms of likely oral background, than the

Ættartangi about which Guðbrandur Vigfússon and Jones expressed or hinted at their various

doubts.

The shaper of the extant Vatnsdœla saga, whose primary purpose was clearly the

historical glorification of the district’s founding family, would not have wanted to create a scene

between Þórsteinn and J�kull that would suggest the family’s hero had taken anything in the way

of a trophy from his mortal victim with whom he parted on such otherwise friendly terms. So

although our J�kulsnautr must have become current in oral or in some other written tradition, it

did not emerge in extant literature until the sword’s presentation to Grettir by his Vatnsdœler

mother in Grettis saga—in a saga composed for purposes far different from those which

motivated the composer of Vatnsdœla. The sword that belonged to J�kull and was used to kill

him and then taken from him after his death easily carries with it the fate Landnámabók suggests

he predicted, descends through several generations of Vatnsdœlers, and comes into the hands of

a still hopeful young Grettir, who in his turn falls a victim of fate and of personal ill luck. And it

is this blade, two-edged and doubly sharpened with that ill luck which Jones senses—and of

which he speaks, but which he never quite pins down—as accompanying the descent of a family


1. Theodore M. Andersson, “The Textual Evidence for an Oral Family Saga,” Arkiv för

nordisk filologi 81 (1966): 1–33, in continuation of the interests he pursued in The Problem of

Icelandic Saga Origins: A Historical Survey (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1964).

Carol Clover, “Open Composition: the Atlantic Interlude in Njáls Saga,” in Sagas of the

Icelanders: A Book of Essays, ed. J. Tucker (New York: Garland, 1989): “The sagas lack fixed

beginning and ending points, but accumulate preludes and sequels. Moreover, for all their

individual ‘completeness,’ the sagas share characters, dovetail matter, and refer and defer to one

another in a way that suggests that they were not conceived as self-contained wholes but as

interrelated or interdependent members of a larger undertaking—the dramatic chronicle of the

Icelandic settlement period” (p. 290). Several passages from the sagas containing descriptions of

incidents in which oral narration took place can be found in Preben Meulengracht Sørensen,

Saga and Society, trans. J. Tucker (Odense: Odense University Press, 1993); originally published

as Saga og Samfund (Copenhagen: Berlingske forlag, 1977). See chapter 4, “The Oral

Tradition,” section 7, “The Story-teller and His Public,” pp. 101–7, in which it is apparent that

sword which Grettir takes with him as he makes his way into the heroic world.

When, in chapter 69 of Grettis saga, with all avenues of social redemption closed to him

and with help nowhere to be found, Grettir prepares to wait out his end with his younger brother

Illugi on Drangey in Skagafj�rðr, their mother speaks to them for a last time: “Nú fari þit þar

synir mínir tveir, ok mun ykkarr samdauði tegask, ok má engi renna undan því, sem honum er

skapat; mun ek hvárigan ykkarn sjá sinni síðan” (p. 223) [There you go, my two sons, and your

deaths will be the saddest of all, but no one can avoid what is ordained to him (p. 158)]. It is

hard to say whether the common proverbial form which she employs was meant to remind the

early audience of Grettis saga of the remarkably dense proverbial references to fate, quoted

above from the former portion of Vatnsdœla saga, the stories of her settler ancestors, but the

ancestral context of the dilemma in which her sons now find themselves cannot possibly have

escaped those who read or heard this story.

Notes


some of the narratives related in this fashion were of considerable length. I have not yet seen

Gísli Sigurðsson’s The Medieval Icelandic Saga and Oral Tradition: A Discourse on Method

(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004), which I understand emphasizes evidence for

the existence of longer narratives in medieval Icelandic oral tradition than has generally been

assumed in recent critical thinking.

2. I use the term composer, here as elsewhere, for the individuals who wrote the sagas,

because at this stage in the progress of our literary critical understanding of the Íslendingasögur,

also known as the family sagas, or sagas of the Icelanders, no other term seems to me so fitting.

“Author” implies an originality in the process of creativity which is not so fully present in the

sagas as it is for authors of fiction in our culture, and it can thus mislead students of Old

Icelandic literature. “Author” would of course have been more appropriate in those decades

when our reading was strongly influenced by the Book-Prose Theory, the idea that the sagas

were indeed primarily literary creations. The Free-Prose Theory, that this literature was mainly

reliant on narratives preserved in and transcribed from oral tradition, was revived in modified

form in the beginning of the 1960s, so that now there is the common assumption of that “oral

family saga” to which my paper refers. It is thus now generally agreed that people “composed”

narratives on the written page which they drew from various oral as well as literary sources, and

the shape and content of our texts are now studied on the basis of theories with these ideas at

their roots. No matter one’s views on this lengthy debate, “writer” and “compiler” describe in

any case more mechanical activities than what was involved in the production of the written

sagas.

3. For instance, chapters 18–26 are devoted to the destructive adventures of Hrolleifr, his

contemptible killing of Ingimundr inn gamli, and his and his mother’s resultant executions. In

chapter 28 the reader is entertained by the obnoxious cat-loving sorcerer Þórólfr sleggja and his

remarkable escape from his pursuers, sinking with one of them into a mire. The attempted

territorial encroachments upon the sons of Ingimundr by Már Jorundarson with the help of his

sorcerer henchman, Þorgrímr skinnhúfa, are treated with appropriate punitive measures in

chapter 29. And in chapter 30 Þórólfr heljarskinn, an evil sacrificer, tests the intelligence and

bravery of J�kull Ingimundarson. Robert Cook, “The Reader in Grettis saga,” Saga-Book of the


Viking Society for Northern Research 21, nos. 3–4 (1984–85): 133–54 (see p. 153 n. 4), noticed

a twice-used phrase in Grettis saga that “suggests Grettir’s special destiny: when the hauntings

at Bárðardalr begin, ‘Grettir hafði spurn af þessu, ok með því at honum var mjok lagit at koma af

reimleikum eða aptrgongum, þá gerði hann ferð sína til Bárðardals ok kom atfangadag jóla til

Sandhauga’ (p. 210) [Grettir heard about it and because he was particularly skilful at putting an

end to hauntings and ghosts he set off for Bardardal, arriving at Sandhaugar on Christmas Eve];

at the end of the saga Sturla the lawman is reported to have said three things about Grettir, one of

which is ‘at hann var sterkastr á landinu sinna jafnaldra ok meir lagðr til at koma af aptrgongum

ok reimleikum en aðrir menn’ (pp. 289–90)” [he was the strongest man in Iceland among his

contemporaries, and more capable than others at laying ghosts and visitations to rest].

Translations are from Bernard Scudder, trans., The Saga of Grettir the Strong, in vol. 2 of The

Complete Sagas of Icelanders, Including 49 Tales, ed. Viðar Hreinsson, 5 vols. (Reykjavík:

Leifur Eiríksson, 1997), pp. 151 and 191. The definition of this aspect of Grettir’s role in the

saga is thus made explicit in the text itself.

4. Walther Heinrich Vogt, in his edition of Vatnsdœla saga, Altnordische Saga-

Bibliothek 16 (Halle a. S.: Niemeyer, 1921), p. xxxii. Vogt followed Mogk (Grdr.2 II, 575) in

considering Grettla the older of the two[AU: ?]. While he also acknowledged their use in

common of historical figures, places, and objects, he was dubious of a close relationship between

them. Concepts of competing oral traditions were not particularly relevant to Vogt’s focus at that

time, and the inconsistencies between the two texts that he cites do not now seem conclusively

evident of their existence independent of each other.

5. A. U. Bååth, Studier öfver kompositionen i några isländska ättesagor (Lund: Fr.

Berlings Boktryckeri och Stilgjuteri, 1885), p. 20.

6. Guðbrandur Vigfússon writes: “After Ingimund’s death and revenge (chaps. 28–47)

the story flags; and the latter part of the Saga is greatly inferior, and has evidently been worked

up in a weak and confused manner by a late hand, while the early part (chaps. 1–27), though

somewhat wordy and diffuse in style, probably preserves the plain original work”

(“Prolegomena,” in his edition of Sturlunga saga, including the Islendinga saga of Lawman

Sturla Thordson and other Works, 2 vols. [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1878], 1:lv).


7. Vigfússon, “Prolegomena,” 1:lv.

8. Andrew Wawn, trans., The Saga of the People of Vatnsdal, in The Sagas of Icelanders:

A Selection, preface by Jane Smiley and intro. by Robert Kellogg (New York: Penguin, 2000).

See the translator’s introductory remarks, p. 188.

9. Paul Schach, in Icelandic Sagas (Boston: Twayne, 1984), chapter 3, “The First

Biographies,” discusses several historical works also originating at Þingeyrar and noticeably

royalist in their sympathies (pp. 48, 56, 59, 66).

10. Einar Ó. Sveinsson, ed., Vatnsdœla saga, Íslenzk fornrit 8 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka

fornritafélag, 1939), p. 29; this edition is used for passages from Vatnsdœla saga quoted in the

present essay; Andrew Wawn, trans., The Saga of the People of Vatnsdal, in vol. 4 of The

Complete Sagas of Icelanders (see n. 3), p. 14; translations are from this edition. Hereafter

references are cited by page numbers in the text.

11. In Thesaurus proverbiorum medii aevi: Lexikon der Sprichwörter des romanisch-

germanischen Mittelalters, started by Samuel Singer, ed. Kuratorium Singer der

Schweizerischen Akademie der Geistes- und Sozialwissenschaften, 13 vols., with an additional

index volume (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1995–2002), pp. 1–13 [AU: in which volume], and

Quellenverzeichnis [AU: are you referring to the index volume here?]; see 5:67–68, 69 for

similar proverbs. Hereafter cited as TPMA by volume and page numbers.

12. TPMA, 5:69.

13. TPMA, 5:68.

14. TPMA, 5:68.

15. TPMA, 5:67.

16. TPMA, 5:69.

17. TPMA, 5:68.

18. Guðni Jónsson, ed., Grettis saga Ásmundarsonar, Íslenzk fornrit 7 (Reykjavík: Hið

íslenzka fornritafélag, 1936), p. 117; trans. Scudder, The Saga of Grettir the Strong, p. 104.


19. Snorri Sturluson, Óláfs saga helga, chap. 181, in Heimskringla, ed. Bjarni

Aðalbjarnarson, Íslenzk fornrit 26–28, 3 vols. (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1945),

2:331–32. Interestingly, J�kull, true to his name, dies a rather horribly unfortunate death at his

execution: “ok var vondr snúinn í hár honum, ok helt á maðr. Settisk J�kull niðr á bakka

nokkurn. Þá réð maðr til at hoggva hann. En er heyrði hvininn, réttisk hann upp, ok kom hoggit í

hofuð honum, ok varð mikit sár. Sá konungr, at þat var banasár. Bað konungr þá hætta við hann”

[A willow twig accordingly was plaited in with his hair, and a man held him fast by it. J�kul sat

down upon a bank, and a man swung the axe to execute him; but J�kul hearing the sound, raised

his head, and the blow struck him in the head, and made a dreadful wound. As the king saw it

would be his death-wound, he ordered them to let him lie with it]. Quoted from Samuel Laing,

trans., The Heimskringla, Part 1: The Olaf Sagas, 2 vols. (London: Dent, 1964) 1:340–41.

20. The textual history of Grettis saga has been the occasion of much conjecture, some

scholars advocating its growth by a series of interpolations augmenting a biography by Sturla

Þórðarson. Frequently cited is a work by Sigurðar Nordal, “Sturla Þórðarson ok Grettis saga,”

Studia Islandica: Íslenzk fræði 4 (1938): 3–32. See also Guðni Jónsson in the “Formáli” to his

Íslenzk fornrit edition (Grettis saga Ásmundarsonar), where he covers the earlier scholarly and

critical ground of this debate, much of which seems intuitively based and not particularly

helpful, at least to my own purposes. Guðbrandur Vigfússon, in “Prolegomena” (1:l n. 1), cites a

comment by Árni Magnússon that has long tantalized those who study the text of Grettla. It is

placed in support of his observation that the verses of the saga are mostly spurious, a view held

by Árni Magnússon: “Grettis saga gengr nær fabulae en historiae; . . . er interpoleruð úr

einhverju opere Sturlu, og hans ætla eg vísurnar sé. Grettis saga sú er vér höfum, er interpoleruð

úr þeirri er Sturla Þórðarson hefir ritað, og það kannske seint á tímum. Interpolator mun hafa sett

fabulas þar inn. Eg minnist mig að hafa séð gamalt fragment úr þessari Grettis sögu” [Grettis

saga comes closer to fable than to history, is full of fables; . . . is interpolated from some work of

Sturla, and I expect the vísur are his. The Grettis saga that we have is interpolated from the one

that Sturla Þórðarson wrote, and is perhaps late. The interpolator must have placed the fables in

it. I remember having seen an old fragment of this Grettis saga]. Guðbrandur suggests that “The

Saga must have been put together into its present shape no long time after the death of Sturla the


Historian, as the compiler speaks of the later days of his as ‘lying within the memory of still

living men.’” And he seems to attribute to Sturla alone the fabulous aspects of the narrative: “We

may even conjecture the mythical part to be Sturla’s own addition, and the Saga as we have it

now to have been finally edited c. 1300–10” (p. xlix).

21. R. C. Boer, ed., Grettis saga Ásmundarsonar, Altnordische Saga-Bibliothek 8 (Halle

a.S.: Niemeyer, 1900). Editorial studies concerned with sources are in Boer’s “Einleitung,”

briefly (pp. xxxi–xxxiii), and more fully Guðni Jónsson’s “Formáli,” “Grettis saga og ritaðar

heimildir” ( pp. xvii–xxxi). The latter’s essay, “Munnlegar heimildir og þjóðsagnir,” also in the

“Formáli,” offers further insight. Aside from his silent use of Landnámabók and Fóstbrœðra

saga, Grettla’s composer cites Laxdœla saga, Bandamanna saga, Bjarnar saga Hítdœlakappa,

and two sagas not now extant: Saga Böðmóðs, Grímólfs ok Gerpis, and Eiríks saga jarls. He

shows awareness of and in some cases includes material from Heiðarvíga saga, Eyrbyggja saga,

Egils saga, Njáls saga, Kormáks saga, Kristni saga, Hungrvaka, Íslendingabók, and a version of

the story of Tristan. The extended debate over the composer’s use of folk materials which many

have also observed in Beowulf receives comprehensive though controversial treatment by

Magnús Fjalldal, The Long Arm of Coincidence: The Frustrated Connection between “Beowulf”

and “Grettis Saga” (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1998).

22. Since, as on the Continent, they were centers of learning and are often regarded as

points of origin for particular sagas and other writings, it is unfortunate that not much has been

written about Iceland’s medieval monasteries. However, these religious houses were small,

probably never more than ten members at most, and there is not much in the way of sources.

Janus Jónsson’s Um klaustrin á Íslandi, first printed in Tímarit hins íslenska bókmenntafélags 8

(1867; repr. Reykjavík: Hins Íslenska Bókmenntafélags, 1980), draws upon the Annálar, Biskupa

sögur, and Diplomatarium Islandicum for primary source material and refers often to Finnur

Jónsson’s Historia ecclesia islandica. Hermann Pálsson included an interesting interpretation of

known material in “Stofnun Þingeyraklausturs,” in his Tólfta öldin. Þættir um menn og málefni

(Reykjavík: Prentsmiðja Jóns Helgasonar, 1970), pp. 92–102. There have been individual works

on the literary productivity and styles of particular religious houses, but a modern comprehensive

study of this important subject remains to be done.


23. Peter Foote, introduction to The Saga of Grettir the Strong, trans. G. A. Hight

(London: Dent, 1965), p. x.

24. Kathryn Hume, “The Thematic Design of Grettis Saga,” JEGP 73 (1974): 469–86.

25. Hume, “Thematic Design,” pp. 482, 480, 486, 477.

26. Hume, “Thematic Design,” pp. 480, 481.

27. Marlene Ciklamini, “Grettir and Ketill Hængr, the Giant-Killers,” ARV 22 (1966):

136–55 (p. 142).

28. Ciklamini, “Grettir and Ketill Hængr,” p. 141. Lotte Motz, “Old Icelandic Giants and

Their Names,” Frühmittelalterliche Studien: Jahrbuch des Instituts für Frühmittelalterforschung

der Universität Münster 21 (1987): 295–317, studies the names of these figures with some

regard to “the generic designations of the family, troll, þursar, jötnar, risar,” and with particular

attention to their associations with forces of nature, parts of the landscape, magical activity,

deformity, and the like; see p. 295. Unfortunately, she does not touch upon the name J�kull,

which one would obviously have thought appropriate to an icy, mountainous region.

29. Hversu Noregr byggðist, in Fornaldar sögur norðurlanda, ed. Guðni Jónsson, 2 vols.

(Reykjavík: Íslendingasagnaútgáfan, 1954), 2:75–87; see especially pp. 75 and 78.

30. Ciklamini, “Grettir and Ketill Hængr,” p. 137.

31. See also the death of Ingimundr jarl, at which he makes the same request of

Þorsteinn: “En ef ykkr verðr sonar auðit, látið hann hafa mitt nafn” (p. 17) [And if you are

blessed with a son, let him take my name (p. 8)].

32. Sveinsson, Vatnsdœla saga, p. 10 n. 1.

33. Max Keil, Altisländische Namenwahl, PALAESTRA, Untersuchungen und Texte aus

der deutschen und englischen Philologie 176 (Leipzig: Mayer & Müller, 1931).

34. At the birth of Ingimundr himself, his father, Þorsteinn Ketilsson, declares, “Sjá

sveinn skal heita Ingimundr eptir móðurfeðr sínum, ok vænti ek honum hamingju sakar nafns”

(p. 17) [This boy shall be called Ingimund after his mother’s father, and I expect that he will

enjoy good fortune because of his name (p. 8)].


35. The curse of Andvari for the taking of his treasure comes to mind as an archetypal

example, although in that case no weapon is involved. A passage in the Y version of Gísla saga

exemplifies this tradition well. Ari Þorkelsson asks for Ingibjorg Ísadóttir and is accepted. With

her she brings to her marriage Kolr, of whom it is here said that he “var mikill at kyni. Hann

hafði hertekinn verit ok var kallaðr þræll” (Gísla saga Súrssonar, in Vestfirðinga sogur, ed.

Björn K. Þórólfsson and Guðni Jónsson, Íslenzk fornrit 6 [Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag,

1943], pp. 5) [was of great family. He had been captured in battle and was called a thrall

(translation mine)]. This well-bred thrall owns the sword, Grásíða, which Gísli Þorkelsson

borrows to protect Ingibjorg from the importunities of the berserkr, Bjorn inn blakki. When, just

as in the more familiar text, Gísli fights Kolr rather than return the sword, as both are dying the

latter places a curse on the weapon: “Nú hefði farit betr, at ek hefða tekit við sverði mínu fyrstu,

sem ek beidda; ok mun þó endir einn leystr vera um þá ógiptu, er yðr frændum mun þar af

standa” (pp. 13–14) [Now it would have gone better, if I had taken my sword at first when I

asked for it; and yet this is only the beginning of that ill luck, which you and your relatives will

get from the sword (translation mine)].

36. Scudder’s rendering of “inir fyrri Vatnsdœlar” as “most prominent people” is

doubtful.

37. Sveinsson, Vatnsdœla saga, p. 49.

38. Guðbrandur Vigfússon and F. York Powell, eds. and trans., Origines Islandicae: A

Collection of the More Important Sagas and Other Native Writings Relating to the Settlement

and Early History of Iceland, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1905), 2:292 n. 1.

39. Gwyn Jones, trans., The Vatnsdalers’ Saga (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University

Press, for the American-Scandinavian Foundation, 1944), p. 135; see the note to p. 55.

40. This J�kull is the great-great grandfather of Ásdís Bárðardóttir, mentioned above.

41. Landnámabók, in Íslendingabók: Landnámabók, ed. Jakob Benediktsson, 2 vols.,

Íslenzk fornrit 1 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1968), 2:223; translation mine. The saga

has hormungavíg instead: “grievous slayings.”

42. Jones, The Vatnsdalers’ Saga, p. 135; see the note to p. 55.


43. Inger M. Boberg, Motif-Index of Early Icelandic Literature (Copenhagen:

Munksgaard, 1966), G500-584, OGRE DEFEATED; Z312.2. Giant ogre can be killed only with

his own sword; N538.2. Treasure from defeated giant (or giant’s wife).

44. An Icelandic-English Dictionary, ed. Richard Cleasby and Gudbrand Vigfusson

[Guðbrandur Vigfússon], 2nd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1957), s. v. “njóta,” p. 456. Johan

Fritzner, ed., Ordbog over det gamle norske Sprog: Omarbeidet, forøget og forbedret udgave, 3

vols., repr. with vol. 4, Rettelser og tillegg, by Finn Hødnebø (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget,

1972–73), 2:800, takes a slightly different view, which is worth noticing though not pertinent to

my arguments. He gives as a first meaning of nautr, “Person som er delagtig med en (e-s) i

noget” [a person who is involved with someone in something] and second, “værdifuld Eiendom

(jvf. gripr)” [valuable possession (cf. Gripr)], noticing its use “med et foregaaende Ord i Genitiv,

som betegner eller angiver dens forhenværende Eier” [with a previous word in the genitive,

which indicates or states its former owner]. His conception of the form seems then unrelated to

giving and concerned rather with possessing or enjoying the use of something, so that

J�kulsnautr would thus be “the object which J�kull used, or of which he enjoyed the use.”

45. Icelandic-English Dictionary, s.v. “nautr,” p. 456.

The Proverbs of Vatnsdoela saga and the Sword of Jokull: The Oral Backgrounds of Grettir...

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