And was the holy Lamb of God,
On Englands pleasant pastures seen!
- And did those feet, William Blake
Viser innlegg med etiketten Iceland. Vis alle innlegg
Viser innlegg med etiketten Iceland. Vis alle innlegg

onsdag 29. april 2026

Reading-spots, part 10 - The wonders of Ireland

 

I am in Dublin for a conference, and the journey has been long albeit relatively smooth. For reading material, I brought my copy of an early-twentieth-century copy of Konungs Skuggjsá, the King's Mirror, a didactic treatise from mid-thirteenth-century Norway. The choice was mainly due to the fact that I have been meaning to read this from end to end, and I thought that the lulls of a lengthy travel might provide good opportunities to delve into it. But another important element in the process of choosing was that the book also contains a description of wonders of Ireland. These wonders - discussed together with the natural wonders of Iceland and Greenland - comprise both stories of saints, marvellous landscapes and wondrous animals. 


I began reading this translation on the flight from Oslo, but quickly fell asleep. When I arrived in Dublin, there was plenty of time to delve deeper into the book, and by the time I managed to get a rather belated lunch I had reached the discussion of natural wonders. I had found a lovely café which to my fortune served one of the true wonders of Ireland, the full Irish breakfast, and I sat down to refill my energy after having been awake since three in the morning. There was a lovely harmony in eating this rich meal while reading about how Norwegians in the thirteenth century envision the country that I am now visiting for the second time in my life. Such ideas about distant lands are always illuminating and highly interesting to me, especially when those ideas are juxtaposed with the more mundane materialities of travel. 




mandag 28. oktober 2024

The edge of knowledge – sixteenth-century cartography and the North

 

The sixteenth century is one of the most dynamic periods in the history of European cartography. Not only did the voyages of the era provide new knowledge that was transmitted through maps, but experimentation with projections and ways of transmitting knowledge about the world led to a wide variety of maps. However, in some cases the cartographers got things wrong. In some cases – as I hope to blog about at a later point – it was because the sources were faulty, and this is the explanation for why we find a lot of non-existent islands of some of the most cutting edge maps of the period. In other cases, knowledge got warped in transmission. It is one such case I want to write about here.      

 

Knowledge could be warped in a multitude of ways along the chain of transmission. In some cases, the knowledge could be faulty from the start, whereas in other cases something might get lost in translation, seeing as knowledge often passed through several different languages on its way from observation to the map itself. In the present case, the main reason appears to be a mixture of unfamiliarity with the territory in question, combined with unfamiliarity with the language(s) of that region.  



Courtesy of the University of Tromsø's map collection


In 1561, Girolamo Ruscelli, a cartographer based in Venice, printed two maps of the North Atlantic theatre – one detailed, one rather stylised. The detailed map is known as Septentrionalium partium nova tabula, a new map of the northern parts. This map contains a lot of placenames, including settlements, rivers and islands. These names are often imprecise, suggesting how difficult it could be for those from – for example – the Netherlands or Italy to accurately render the Icelandic, Danish or Norwegian pronunciations. In the case of Iceland, this difficulty is in part suggested by the choice of using Latinised names of the island’s two dioceses, Skálholt and Hólar, rendered as Scalodin and Olensis. While the accuracy of these names can be discussed, the names themselves are correct insofar as the identification of the diocesan sees is concerned.     

 

What is more puzzling, however, is to consider the correct identification of the detailed map with some elements of the more stylised map, the so-called Schonladia Nuova, new Schonladia, issued in the same year. There are several interesting differences in the presentation of Iceland and Greenland in these two maps. The detailed map contains both names, respectively Islanda and Engronelant, the latter suggesting that information was transmitted through Dutch interlocutors. The stylised map, however, does not provide a name for Greenland – and indeed seems to suggest that Greenland is linked with the Kola peninsula – whereas Iceland is identified as Thyle, an alternative spelling of Thule. That Iceland is given the name Thule is not surprising, as these two names were used interchangeably about the island throughout the Middle Ages. Another interesting difference, however, is that the stylised map includes a stretch of frozen sea, the ‘mare congelatum’, which forms a belt of ice along the coast of Greenland.



Courtesy of the University of Tromsø's map collection


The most surprising difference between the two maps, however, is that the stylised map contains a strange duplication of names – a duplication of sorts. In this map, there are two place names on Iceland, namely the two dioceses. However, the names are not the same as those found in Septentrionalium partium nova tabula. Instead, the dioceses are called Skalholten and Holen. These are Danified names, and suggest that the information has been transmitted through Danish informants in Venice. A direct Danish contact would not be all that surprising, considering that several Scandinavian ecclesiastics were in exile following the Protestant reformations in Denmark-Norway and Sweden. Given the accuracy of these names, it is therefore curious to see that the Latinised and less accurate names found on the detailed map are still included in Schonladia Nuova, but not where we would expect them to be. Rather, the two Latinised names have been moved to Greenland, where they are rendered as Scalholdin and Holenses, the placements of which do not correspond to any placename in Greenland in Septentrionalium partium nova tabula. We seem to be dealing with some kind of overcorrection, where an attempt to include the vernacular names of Iceland’s two dioceses in the new map has replicated the error elsewhere. This is, of course, presuming that Schonladia Nuova was produced after the other map, which seems likely given the confusion in question.    

 

The case of the duplicated Icelandic names is a good example of how certain parts of the sixteenth-century world were, in effect, the edge of knowledge. Along this edge, some certainties existed – such as the fact that Greenland and Iceland were real places – and so did many uncertainties, such as how to accurately and correctly render the names of these places. The confusion in Schonladia Nuova is not only due to the fact that Venice is a long way away from Iceland and Greenland. It is also indicative of how Greenland was falling off the European edge of knowledge in this period. Throughout the fifteenth century the contact between the Norse settlements in Greenland and the rest of Europe dwindled and eventually stopped. Bishops continued to be appointed to Greenland’s diocesan see, Garðar, but these were bishops in name only and never set foot on the island itself. Greenland was still known, if mainly as a memory or as a landmass occasionally seen by voyagers who traversed the Greenland Sea. Consequently, instead of knowledge there was a lot of information about Greenland, and most of it appears to have been incorrect, as seen in the confusion regarding Scalholdin and Holensis. In this way, knowledge warped into information, and information was tainted by hearsay, legend, and fiction, but became common misconceptions through the medium of maps.


Schonladia Nuova (1561) (detail)
Courtesy of the University of Tromsø's map collection



Schonladia Nuova (1598) (detail)
The sea monster is a decorative embellishment in the 1598 edition of the map
Courtesy of the University of Tromsø's map collection








søndag 19. november 2023

Saint Edmund in late-medieval Denmark - a hint from the Odense Breviary

 

Today, November 20, is the feast of Saint Edmund Martyr, a ninth-century king of East Anglia who, according to legend, was killed by invading Danes. His death is commonly dated to 869/70, following the so-called Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. The cult of Saint Edmund – on which I have written several times before – grew significantly in the eleventh century, in large part due to royal protection and munificence, and also due to the abbacy of Baldwin (r. 1065-97). Most likely, it was also during the eleventh century that the cult was actively exported abroad. Herman the Archdeacon’s collection of miracles pertaining to Edmund, written in the 1090s, records how relics were brought to Lucca by Baldwin himself. It is also possible that the veneration of Edmund at the Abbey of Saint-Denis outside Paris was initiated by Baldwin, although the earliest surviving traces of the cult there seems to be from the twelfth century.       

Edmund was also brought to Scandinavia. As of yet, we do not know when the cult arrived there, and where it arrived first. Perhaps the most likely candidate would be Denmark, seeing that Bury St Edmunds was reformed into a monastic house during the reign of Knud II of Denmark, Norway and England. Such a thought is tantalizing, and Knud’s attention to the cult of Edmund appears to be unquestionable, even if we apply the necessary filter of scepticism when reading Herman the Archdeacon’s account of this relationship between king and abbey. However, while Knud’s respect for English saints is demonstrable, this respect and attention, perhaps even veneration, occurs in the context of a foreign king seeking legitimacy in a new kingdom. Consequently, there is little reason to think that Knud II brought Edmund to Denmark, although we should not omit the possibility that someone – perhaps a cleric at Bury – sought to disseminate the cult overseas as well. The main counterargument to a dissemination that early is that there was little cult material with which to spread the knowledge of Edmund. Knud II’s English reign (1014-35) was the abbey’s infancy, and despite the king’s patronage we do not know of any large-scale text production taking place at Bury, or any other kind of production pertaining to the material dimension of a saint’s cult, until Baldwin’s abbacy.           
 
What we do know, however, is that in the course of the twelfth century, we find several references to the cult of Saint Edmund in Scandinavia. He appears in several calendars, there are two Norwegian churches dedicated to him, and liturgical fragments show that his feast was being celebrated, although it was not universally important in either of the three Scandinavian church provinces. In Denmark the death of Edmund is a historical reference point in the Chronicon Roschildense from c.1138, and in Iceland – to step outside of the strictly Scandinavian remit – the same is the case for Ari Frodi’s Íslendingabók from c.1130. Due to the general loss of sources – both textual and pictorial – from twelfth-century Scandinavia, we will never have a complete picture of the extent of Edmund’s cult there, but the sources that do remain suggest a wide dissemination which entered into Scandinavia at different times and by different routes.

One question, however, is how the cult of Edmund fared after the twelfth century. From 1200 onwards, we have more surviving source material – although only a small percentage of what was produced – but we have few clues as to the development or spread of the cult of Edmund. Yet there is one late clue – from 1497 – which might shed some light on the late medieval fate of Edmund’s cult in Scandinavia.

The clue in question is a rubric on folio 435r from the 1497 edition of the Breviarium Othoniense. This was the second edition of the printed breviary, the first being in 1482 and which I have not yet checked for the issue at hand. The rubric opens the office for the feast of Saint Elizabeth of Hungary (d.1231, can. 1235), which is on November 19. In this rubric, it is stated that the Second Vesper of Elizabeth’s feast is not to be celebrated, as this is the feast of Saint Edmund. Instead, psalms are to be sung in Edmund’s honour, although it is worth mentioning that the breviary does not contain any texts for Edmund’s feast. What follows the office for Saint Elizabeth is the feast of the dedication of a church.    


Breviarium Othoniense, 1497, f.435r


The note in the rubric, and the absence of any further indications about Edmund’s feast, suggest that Edmund’s importance in the diocese of Odense had dwindled significantly by the later medieval period, and these two elements also suggest how it happened. Elizabeth of Hungary was one of the most universally famous new saints in from the thirteenth century onwards – universally within Latin Christendom that is. Her widespread popularity was due to three main factors. First of all, her canonized status in a period when the papal church was actively asserting its power through its claim to monopoly over canonization. Secondly, the Franciscan order’s network and influence. Thirdly, her inclusion in Jacobus de Voragine’s collection of saints’ legends, Legenda Aurea. Which factor had the greatest impact in Denmark is difficult to assess, although my preliminary guess would be the Franciscan influence.

Due to Elizabeth’s importance, she appears to have eclipsed that of Edmund. Granted, that the rubric does acknowledge Edmund’s feast suggests that he was not entirely superseded, but that the celebration of his feast is marked as being ferial psalms – i.e., an everyday office rather than an office of a Sunday – points to Edmund being kept more for tradition than devotion.     

We – or at least I – do not know when Saint Elizabeth came to replace Saint Edmund. The difficulty of using the Odense breviary is that the monastic community that comprised the cathedral chapter in Odense from c.1100 onwards was reformed into a secular house in the mid-fifteenth century. Indeed, it was most likely this reform which prompted the printing of the Odense breviary in 1482, since the liturgy needed to be adapted to the secular use. Consequently, we cannot know whether rubrics such as this one was copied from an older, monastic breviary, or whether Saint Elizabeth’s replacement of Edmund was part of the reform. The question is complicated by the Franciscans’ strong position in Odense, which has made it entirely plausible that the feast of Saint Elizabeth might have been introduced as early as the thirteenth century.

Ultimately, we cannot say for certain when this replacement took place, but we do see that it took place, and through the replacement we can see how a Danish bishopric responded to changes in ongoing trends within the cult of saints. From this little rubric, we might, therefore, get a better sense of what happened to Edmund’s cult in Denmark.


mandag 30. mai 2022

New publication: Byzantine history in the legend of Saint Olaf of Norway

 
Today, a collection of articles was published where I was fortunate enough to contribute with a publication. The book in question is based on a conference on Byzantine history in hagiography, arranged in Paris in December 2017. I was invited to give a presentation, and since I am not a byzantinist I decided to talk about a miracle story that appears in Miracula Olavi, a collection of miracles pertaining to Saint Olaf of Norway, collected in the end of the twelfth century. According to the miracle account, Saint Olaf appeared to a group of Varangians - the Byzantine imperial body guard - in a battle against the nomadic Pechenegs and caused Byzantine victory. This story is found in many different versions in Latin and Old Norse texts from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and I provided an overview of the various versions and their developments. 

The book is titled L'histoire comme elle se présentait dans l'hagiographie byzantine et médiévale, and is edited by Anna Lampadaridi, Christian Høgel, and Vincent Deroche. It is available in open access on this website. My own contribution is titled "Byzantine history in the legend of Saint Olaf of Norway". 

I am very happy to be included in this collection, because the conference was very interesting and the volume is full of interesting materials. It has also been one of the most rewarding texts I have ever written, and definitely text I have had the most fun writing, because I was venturing so far out of my expertise that I had to learn a lot of new things, and to seek help from a number of colleagues. And I was lucky enough to get very expert and patient aid from the editors, without whom I would have delivered a product of much lower quality. 


torsdag 29. april 2021

Sources for a conference presentation (30.04.21)

 
As I mentioned in my previous blogpost, I am giving two conference presentations this week. The first of these is tomorrow, where I will be speaking on the third and last day of the Becket conference, the belated 850th anniversary of the martyrdom of Thomas of Canterbury in 1170 (as well as the 800th anniversary of the translation of his relics in 1220). 

In my presentation, I talk about the veneration of Saint Thomas in medieval Norway, as evidenced by materials for the liturgical office for his feast-day on December 29. While there are many interesting sources to the cult of Saint Thomas in medieval Norway, my focus is only on the materials from the feast-day office, and not about his translation feast or the materials for the mass. 

The presentation is pre-recorded, and to access it you need to register for the conference. If you have not done so, you might still find this blogpost useful, as the purpose of the post is to provide links to some of the sources that I have used in my research. 


AM 679 4to, f.10r


The first source is AM 679 4to, a thirteenth-century Icelandic manuscript which contains a version of the so-called Ordo Nidrosiense, i.e. a book containing the liturgical feasts celebrated in the Norwegian archiepiscopal province, which included Iceland, Greenland, Shetland, the Orkneys, the Faroes, the Hebrides and Man. This source is invaluable for understanding the yearly cycle of liturgical performance in the churches throughout the Norwegian archdiocese.

The second source is Breviarium Nidrosiense, a breviary containing the materials for the office for the feasts celebrated throughout the liturgical year in the Norwegian church province. The breviary was printed in Paris in 1519, commissioned by Archbishop Erik Valkendorf. The content was most likely drawn - at least in part - from a manuscript of the Ordo, or some similar manuscript used at Trondheim, the metropolitan see of Norway. This means that despite the use of new technology, the content was old and therefore a valuable source to liturgical observance in earlier centuries. 

A digitised edition of Breviarium Nidrosiense can be found on the website of the Norwegian National Library.

A searchable, transcribed edition of the content of the Breviarium can be found on the website Bokselskap. This version is edited by Ingrid Sperber, and it includes an introduction by Espen Karlsen and Sigurd Hardeide, and it is a phenomenally useful tool for any researcher or enthusiast. The edition was published by the National Library for the 500-year-anniversary of the printing of what are known as the first Norwegian (printed) books, and which was celebrated by a series of events throughout Norway in The Norwegian Year of the Book in 2019. 


The third source that I mention, although I do not engage with it, is Missale Nidrosiense, the sister-volume of the Breviarium containing the materials for the mass celebrations in the Norwegian archdiocese. 

A digitised edition can be found at the Norwegian National Library. 

And as with the Breviarium, the National Library has also published a transcribed edition made by Ingrid Sperber, including an introduction by Espen Karlsen and Sigurd Hardeide. And as with the edition of the Breviarium, this edition is an extremely helpful and valuable tool for anyone interested in the medieval liturgy of Norway.



These sources will be mentioned in the course of my talk, and in the event that my presentation, or just the reading of this blogpost, inspires you to explore these sources, here they are gathered on one single plate. Enjoy.





søndag 29. juli 2018

Saint Olaf seated - an illumination from The Icelandic Model Book


Today is the feast of Saint Olaf, the patron saint of Norway, who died at Stiklestad north of Trondheim in 1030. He fought against an army of Norwegian nobles and the Danish king Knud, the latter having established overlordship over Norway when Olaf was sent into exile in Russia in 1028. The cult of Olaf was of great importance throughout medieval Norway, and also in the wider Nordic world. Of the few Norwegian saints, Olaf is by far the most widely and frequently depicted. In this brief blogpost, I wish to present one example of this, namely from the Icelandic Model Book, in which were drawn images from which the illuminators could see how various figures should be drawn. Olaf figures frequently in this, and below is one of the images, where he is seated, holding the axe of his martyrdom. This photograph was taken at the North-Atlantic House in Odense, when a friend and I attended the exhibition of the manuscript.
















fredag 15. mai 2015

Saint Hallvard of Norway



Today, May 15, is the feast of St Hallvard of Norway, the patron saint of Oslo, and in this blogpost I want to give a brief presentation of one of the few Norwegian saints who were recognised as such by the official medieval church calendars.
 
The legend of St Hallvard as depicted in the coat of arms of Oslo Municipality
Image taken from Wikimedia

The story of St Hallvard has predominantly been transmitted to us from liturgical sources: the Breviarium Nidrosiense  (modern-day Trondheim) which was printed in 1519 (and later printed by Gustav Storm in Monumenta historica Norvegiæ, and a manuscript from Utrecht which was printed in Acta Sanctorum from 1680. In the latter work the feast is set to May 14, a mistake - or perhaps a local custom - that has been repeated in David Farmer's Oxford Dictionary of Saints. The Utrecht legend is a more expansive version, but both sources transmit a short, liturgically precise legend. Hallvard was venerated in the archbishopric of Nidaros, which included mainland Norway (including parts of modern-day Sweden) and the North-Atlantic islands and taxlands such as Iceland and Greenland. Hallvard was also venerated in Skara in modern-day Sweden and, as stated, in Utrecht. The cult of Hallvard seems to have been most fervent in Oslo, whose cathedral was and remains dedicated to him.
Nic Schiøll, St. Halvard, 1938-1945. Bronse. Oslo City Hall
Photo, Brigitte Stolpmann (from UiO-Wiki)


We have mostly just liturgical textual sources for the legend of St Hallvard. He is not mentioned in any of the Norwegian historiographies from the twelfth century, such as Theodoricus Monachus' Historia de Antiquitate Regum Norwagiensium from c.1180, or the anonymous Historia Norwegie from roughly the same period. He is briefly mentioned in Adam of Bremen's History of the Church of Hamburg, but Adam's account gives no details about his legend beyond his status as a martyr, and the fact that he was killed by friends while protecting someone who was not a friend.

The story can be summarised very briefly. Hallvard (d.1043) was a young son of a nobleman from Husaby near Oslo. As he was crossing Drammenfjorden by boat, a woman called out to him and begged him to save her from a group of men who wanted to kill her. She was wrongfully accused of stealing, and Hallvard wanted to help her. Then the pursuers appeared on the scene and demanded that Hallvard hand her over to their justice. When the young man refused, the attackers shot him with arrows and tied a millstone around his neck to sink him in the fjord. His body later resurfaced and he became the centre of a local cult. Ten years later his body was exhumed and translated to the church of St Mary in Oslo.
Halvard and the maiden
Fresco by Alf Rolfsen, Oslo City Hall
Courtesy of oslobyesvel.no


Sources


Adam of Bremen, Beretningen om Hamburg stift, erkebiskopenes bedrifter og øyrikene i Norden, translated into Norwegian by Bjørg Tosterud Danielsen and Anne Katrine Frihagen, Oslo, 1993
Farmer, David, Oxford Dictionary of Saints, Oxford, 2004

Gjerløw, Lilli (ed.), Antiphonarium Nidrosiensis Ecclesiae, Oslo, 1979

Gjerløw, Lilli (ed.), Ordo Nidrosiensis Ecclesiae, Oslo, 1968

Storm, Gustav, Monumenta historica Norvegiæ, 1880

http://www.katolsk.no/biografier/historisk/hallvard


søndag 2. november 2014

Norwegian history as it never happened - or, A Lesson in Norwegian Particularism


I'm a medievalist, and I'm often reminded of why the study of history is important. To me it's about challenging grand narratives and comprehending human diversity, to unlock the vast complexity of human experience and to remind both myself and those around me that the past is not easily grasped and that we see history through a glass darkly. Historians are not here to bring comfort to those content with a simplistic view of times past and the historical progress. Historians are not here to sustain grand narratives, but to challenge them, to complicate them and, to the needful extent, to falsify them. That this is important is to me quite evident and I don't question this importance - nor do I need to, because I'm very often reminded why such constant revisionism is necessary.

To illustrate this necessity of historical studies in the manner of medieval didacticism, I want to present a very recent exemplum of historical misunderstanding. This took place on a Facebook page dedicated to my home place, a small village in the Western Norwegian fjords. There was an on-going discussion about the history of one of the place names, and during this discussion some very strange remarks about Norwegian history came to light, uttered by one of my fellow townspeople (henceforth called Mister G). His comprehension of the Middle Ages in Norway was wildly erroneous, and serves as a good example of the kind of historical misunderstanding that one can find when history is marked by a certain grand narrative. 

Olav Haraldsson's death at Stiklestad by Peter Nicolai Arbo (1831-92)
This is one of the most important events in the old Norwegian grand narrative
From Wikimedia

The purpose of this blogpost is to present the way in which Mister G misunderstood Norwegian history, and to illustrate how much it is possible to be wrong about a historical period. In order to do so, I will first give a brief overview of twelfth-century Norway with a focus on the key points of the discussion I had with Mister G. Then I will present his version of Norway in the Middle Ages. The discussion took place on a Norwegian public forum, but I don't wish to mention names or to quote at great length, especially because the man in question will probably not be aware of this blogpost and can therefore not answer. The few quotes I translate, will only serve to emphasise a point of importance. 

Olav Tryggvasson is made king of Norway by Peter Nicolai Arbo
Olav Tryggvasson is another iconic figure in the old Norwegian grand narrative
From Wikimedia

Overview of twelfth-century Norway

By the beginning of the twelfth century, Norway was a unified kingdom under its own kings. Ecclesiastically it was a part of the archbishopric of Lund together with Sweden and Denmark, which had been fairly recently separated from the archbishopric of Hamburg-Bremen. This was the case until 1152/53 when the the churches of Norway and Sweden were loosened from the archbishopric of Lund and organised under their own archbishops, respectively situated in Nidaros (modern-day Trondheim) and Uppsala.

Up until this time we know very little of the literary production in Norway. Sagas of Norwegian kings were being written in Iceland, although these are now lost to us. These works were written in Old Norse, then commonly referred to as the Danish tongue, with the Latin alphabet brought to Scandinavia by missionaries at some uncertain time. Runes were also used for shorter messages, and these were common all over the Norse world, including parts of England where Norse influence was strong.

The first Norwegian literature has been conjecturally dated to the early 1150s, and the first work is believed to be a Latin hagiographical account of Olaf Haraldsson, the saint-king who died at Stiklestad and who was the patron saint of Norway. Shortly after, probably in the 1160s, the first Norwegian Latin chronicle was written, Historia Norwegie, and towards the end of the century we also find books in Old Norse written in Norway. One of these is a history of Norwegian kings called Ágrip or Extracts by modern scholars, which is likely composed c.1190. Another one - often referred to as our oldest book - is the Old Norwegian Homily Book, written c.1200, containing a number of homilies, most of which appear to be translations of Latin texts. Although these texts were written in the vernacular, there were only small differences - so-called Norwegianisms - that made them distinguishable from texts produced in Iceland or Denmark, for instance.

Much of Norway's history in the twelfth century was marked by civil strife as various pretenders to the royal throne fought each other. Towards the end of the century, Sverre Sigurdsson reigned the kingdom after the defeat of King Magnus Erlingsson in Nidaros. King Magnus had been supported by Archbishop Eystein Erlendsson (governed from 1161 to 1188), and because of this there were periods of conflicts between Sverre and the ecclesiastical powers. This resulted in Eystein's exile in England (1180-83) and the exile of his successor Eirik in Lund (1190-1202). For this policy, Sverre was excommunicated by the pope.

This very brief survey covers the main points about which Mister G harboured a severe misunderstanding. His own version of events follows suit.


King Sverre crossing the Voss mountains
Peter Nicolai Arbo
From Wikimedia

Norwegian history as it never happened


The underlying concern that sustained Mister G's version of Norwegian medieval history, was Norway's exceptional place in the history of Scandinavia. His first historical claim in the debate was that Norway had its own written language around 1120, "200 years before Sweden and Denmark". He went on to say that all people of knowledge - presumably about the written word - and all the writings disappeared during the Black Death.

This is, as we can see from the survey above, spectacularly wrong, and I challenged him on these points, pointing out that Norway shared a written language with the rest of Scandinavia, and that we had a Latin literature. I did not, however, press him on the particularism evident in his remark that Norway was two centuries ahead of our neighbouring countries.

His reply to my comment on the written language, was a slight but very minute modification of his claim. He said that "it was beyond doubt" that Norway had its own written language c.1150, and he added that this "was many years before Sweden and Denmark". The support for this claim was that under the reign of Sverre Norway parted ways with the Catholic church and its Latin mass. Instead, we "went over to" the English church which unlike the Catholic one held mass in the vernacular. He went on to say that this was a process that had been going on since 1066 when King Olav Kyrre made an agreement with William the Conqueror not to attack England. The impossibility of this agreement can be seen in the fact that Olav Kyrre became king in 1069. However, this impossible agreement resulted over hundred years later - if I understand his timeline correctly - that Norway joined the English church. He furthermore said that this was something Sweden and Denmark did not like to hear about after having ruled over Norway in various periods, and the underlying claim seems to be that Sweden and Denmark are envious of Norway's ecclesiastical liberation from Rome at a time when they themselves were still Catholic.

So, in short: In the 1100s, Norway got its own written language, and this took place two hundred years before Sweden and Denmark. By the end of the century, Norway split with the Catholic church and went to the English instead, as a result of a process that had been going on since 1066, following an agreement between William the Conqueror and a king who would not be king for three years. This particular position was something of which both Sweden and Denmark are very envious.

The Battle of Stamford Bridge by Peter Nicolai Arbo
Three years before Olav Kyrre became king of Norway
From Wikimedia

There is very much at play here. The most glaring issue is perhaps the repeated insistence on Norwegian particularism, that our history is so widely different - and even centuries ahead - to the histories of Denmark and Sweden. This is an idea that burgeons from a deep-rooted current of historical interpretation in Norway, and it comes from the fact that for centuries - ever since 1397 - Norway has been ruled by kings from Sweden or Denmark. This lack of historical independence put its mark on Norwegian historiography in the 19th century. This was a century during most of which we were governed by the Swedish king after having been handed over from Denmark in 1814 following the outcome of the Napoleonic wars. Norway's secondary role in the politics of the kingdom led some historians to seek comfort in the past, and the perhaps most spectacular result of this was the claim by Ernst Sars that Sweden and Denmark had been populated from Norway in prehistoric times. Mister G draws from this ideological current in his insistence on Norway's exceptional role in the twelfth century, and although the political milieu that gave force to this current in the 1800s now is gone, Mister G is swayed by the very same little-brother-complex that haunted some of Norway's historians in the 19th century.

There is also another current feeding the ideas of Mister G, namely the Protestant distaste of anything that smacks of Papism. After Norway's reformation in 1536/37, Norwegian Lutherans eventually adopted the historical interpretation moulded and sustained by Protestant anti-papist propaganda. This interpretation of history was very strong and ubiquitous in Protestant countries, and perhaps most accessibly found in the great English epics of Edmund Spenser and John Milton. This current remained strong through centuries, and in the first draft of the Norwegian constitution in 1814, Jesuits were, along with the Jews, denied access to the kingdom. These restrictions were revoked later, and from the 1860s and onwards Catholic missionary work no longer needed to be clandestine, resulting in the first modern Catholic churches to be built at the turn of the 19th century. Nonetheless, despite the gradual acceptance of Catholics, the historical understanding on which Mister G relies has marked Catholicism as something negative. This is why Mister G is so adamant in his insistence on Norway not being Catholic after the twelfth century, and which is why he claims Sweden and Denmark appears to be ashamed of their prolonged Catholic past. 

Håkon the Good and the farmers at the yuletide offerings at Mære
Peter Nicolai Arbo
From Wikimedia

The Cost of Historical Blindness


In the grand scheme of things, Mister G's excessively erroneous interpretation of Norwegian history is fairly innocuous. His belief in Norwegian particularism is unlikely to cause harm to anyone, and it has not found a violent incarnation in him. However, the belief itself is thoroughly disturbing and potentially damaging if it is adopted by younger people, or people who exert some kind of influence in political or social matters. I don't for a second believe that it will have nationwide ramifications on a grand scale, the Norwegian public consciousness is too tolerant for that to happen. But it might instil in some people a sense of entitlement, a sense of pride that can lead them on to a path towards increased nationalism and make them dismiss the needs of those from other countries. In a globalised world where millions of people are in dire need of help, and where Western countries have a moral duty to receive refugees, it is necessary to counter ideas of particularism and to fight chauvinism that might prevent people from obtaining a life in safety on the grounds that they don't belong to a country's particular, exceptional historical journey towards the fulfillment of its destiny. The kind of historical misunderstanding embraced by Mister G, is the same kind of historical interpretation that creates a gap between one country and the rest of the world, and in a time of perverse consumerism and increased selfishness throughout the west, we can't morally afford that kind of particularism. No country is alone in the world, and a historical understanding that leads people to think this is the case, is a historical understanding that must be challenged, countered and falsified.

tirsdag 29. juli 2014

Hymn for St Olav


Today, July 29, is the feast of St Olav of Norway, possibly the most important of Norwegian saints. Olav Haraldsson was born in 995 and died at the battle of Stiklestad close to modern-day Trondheim in 1030. In the year after his death, he was declared a saint by Bishop Grimkell whom Olav had brought from England to Norway, and he quickly became a rallying point for Norwegians who were disappointed with the Danish overlordship. Many of those who sought the saint's protection were his former enemies, many of whom had been Christian for many years and no thanks to Olav. It is therefore a myth that Olav brought Christianity to Norway, but as a saint he became a figurehead that united Norwegian Christians.

Olav has engendered a significant cultural legacy, as can be seen in the wealth of texts and sculptures depicting him. In later blogpost I hope to return to this fascinating repertoire of medieval culture, but this time around it will have to suffice with a modern hymn for St Olav, written in in 1896 by the Norwegian poet and playwright Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson. I will first give the Norwegian text, which can be found here along with the musical setting by Wolfgang Plagge from 2000. I will then provide a literal translation of the text.


Du folk i Hellig Olavs hjem
Som han blant frie førte frem
Som han gav liv og kristen tro
Ved dåpen i sitt martyrblod.
Nu reis dei, syng på Olavs dag
Til Olavs Gud om Norges sak.

Hvelv over frie norske hjem
Det lyse håp som samler dem!
Gi at hver mor med barn på kne
Må trygg og glad vår fremtid se
Da blir det gamle hjem så kjært
Og kommer oss så nært, så nært!


Statue of St Olav in wood, 67 cm tall
Probably produced on demand in Lübeck c.1450, but found in Iceland
Courtesy of this website

O people in Saint Olav's home
Whom he among the free led forth,
Whom he gave life and Christian faith
By baptism in his martyr's blood.
Now stand up, sing on Olav's day
To Olav's god for Norway's sake.

Ensconce each free Norwegian home
In that light hope which gathers them!
Give that each mother with child on knee
May safe and glad our future see
Then will the old home be so dear
And come to us so near, so near.

mandag 21. juli 2014

Seamus Heaney in Iceland



To a medievalist, summer season is conference season, and in the course of June and July several conferences have been arranged and are being arranged for the purpose of bringing together people who study the Middle Ages in some capacity. I myself gave a paper at the annual International Medievalist Congress in Leeds, and in time I might dedicate a somewhat lengthy blogpost on this wonderful experience. I'm still composing myself in the aftermath of the congress and finally moving out of my apartment, so I'm still not in a frame of mind suitable for writing lengthy blogposts. In the interrim, here is a poem by Seamus Heaney, which is a friendly nod to my fellow medievalists who last week participated at the New Chaucer Society at Reykjavik. 


Ingolfr Arnasson at Reykjavik
Johan Peter Raadsig (1806-82)
Courtesy of Wikimedia




A Postcard from Iceland

As a dipped to test the stream some yards away
From a hot spring, I could hear nothing
But the whole mud-slick muttering and boiling.

And then my guide behind me saying,
'Lukewarm. And I think you'd want to know
That luk was an old Icelandic word for hand.'

And you would want to know (but you know already)
How usual that waft and pressure felt
When the inner palm of water found my palm.




The Althing
W. G. Collingwood
Courtesy of Wikimedia