„Masculinity and Politics in Njáls saga,“ Viator 38 (2007), 191–215. more

MASCULINITY AND POLITICS IN NJÁLS SAGA ● by Ármann Jakobsson “SEE THE RED ELF” Masculinity seems to have been imagined as something of a burden in tenth-century Iceland. In chapter 45 of Njáls saga, it is related how the sons of Njáll go to Hlíðarendi to kill Sigmundr Lambason, a cousin of their father’s close friend, Gunnarr. Sigmundr had been goaded by Gunnarr’s wife, Hallgerðr, into making slanderous verses about Njáll and his sons. These verses (referred to in the saga but present in only some of its manuscripts) are inspired by Njáll’s innovative custom of carrying dung to the hillocks to help the hay grow, coupled with the fact that he (but not his sons) has no beard. The aim of the verses is to cast a slur on his and their manhood. Hence, they contain the epithets “karl inn skegglausi” (Old Beardless) and “taðskegglingar” (Dung-beardlings) and imply that Njáll has also used dung to help his sons grow a beard (113 and 471–472).1 Rather than live with this smear, the sons of Njáll kill Sigmundr and his Swedish companion Skj@ldr. One of the premises for this killing is clearly the importance of masculinity in mediaeval Iceland. In this case, Skarpheðinn, the oldest and most prominent of the sons of Njáll, learns of the verses and says: “Ekki h@fu vér kvenna skap … at vér reiðimsk við @llu” (114) (We are not made like women, that we become furious over everything). In spite of his statement, he is visibly angry; the saga mentions sweat on his brow and red spots on his cheeks. In fact, if we subscribe to his own outlook, Sigmundr’s verbal assault has indeed struck a double blow, as it has caused him to lose his manly composure.2 Before the attack, Skarpheðinn asks to be allowed to deal with Sigmundr on his own. He explains: “þykki mér þat karlmannligt” (that’s a man’s job). He has already spotted his adversary and remarked: “Sjáið ér rauðálfinn?” (Do you see that red elf?) (115). The saga notes that Sigmundr is wearing colored clothes, which Skarpheðinn clearly takes as a sign that he is something of a fop, and the implication is that keen interest in his appearance makes Sigmundr’s manliness ambiguous and even undermines it. The connection between a keen interest in one’s appearance and a lack of manliness has often been made throughout history, not least of all in the Iceland of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.3 It is hard to discern how dominant this link was, and 1 References to Njáls saga are taken from Einar Ólafur Sveinsson’s edition, “Brennu-Njáls saga,” Íslenzk fornrit 12 (Reykjavík 1954). The translation is Robert Cook’s, Njal’s saga (London 2001). 2 Thomas Laqueur suggests that there is a long tradition of a close relationship between effeminacy and instability; Making Sex: Body and Gender from the Greeks to Freud (Cambridge, MA and London 1990) esp. 114–48. 3 For examples in the criticism of Ordericus Vitalis and Saxo, who found the courtiers of King William Rufus and Svend Grathe foppish and unmanly, see The Ecclesiastical History of Ordericus Vitalis IV, ed. Marjorie Chibnall (Oxford 1973) 186–189; Saxonis Gesta Danorum I, ed. J. Olrik and H. Ræder (Copenhagen 1931) 388. Cf. C. Stephen Jaeger, The Origins of Courtliness: Civilizing Trends and the Formation of 2 ÁRMANN JAKOBSSON in fact whether a fashion is foppish or not or whether foppish equals unmanly usually depends on the eye of the beholder. In this case, Skarpheðinn decides that colored clothes are unmanly, while Sigmundr probably intends his clothes to be both decorative and masculine. Skarpheðinn’s previous contradictory reaction to the insulting verses may explain why he directs the attack at Sigmundr’s manhood. The elf statement is the first stage of this revenge, and probably intended to be a sexual slur (an appropriate translation might be: “See the red fairy”).4 Its precise nature is hard to ascertain as we know little about the connotations of medieval elves.5 However, as a figure of Otherness, an elf must be considered strange or abnormal and therefore “queer,”6 and society’s coupling of sexual deviancy with other forms of Otherness is, in fact, also evident from the link sometimes made in sagas between sorcery and “ergi,” a term which I would prefer to translate as queerness.7 Sigmundr Lambason is certainly queer in the sense that he is a stranger in Iceland. When he is introduced, he is said to have been traveling as a merchant for a while (105), bringing his Swedish companion Skj@ldr with him from his travels.8 Courtly Ideals 939–1210 (Philadelphia 1985) 176–195; Gábor Klaniczay, The Uses of Supernatural Power: The Transformation of Popular Religion in Medieval and Early-Modern Europe (Cambridge 1990) 58–65; Jo Ann McNamara, “The Herrenfrage: The Restructuring of the Gender System, 1050–1150,” Medieval Masculinities: Regarding Men in the Middle Ages, ed. Claire A. Lees (Minneapolis and London 1990) 3–29, at 9. Today, the ambiguous (or different) sexuality which is seen as going hand in hand with a masculine obsession with appearance is reflected in the invention of the term “metrosexuality” (which was introduced by Mark Simpson in an article in The Independent, 15 Nov 1994). 4 In a note in his 1954 edition, Sveinsson calls it a “háðsyrði” (a term of mockery) (115 n. 2), but refrains from explaining how elves are insulting. This is curiously similar to the late 19th-c. appropriation of the word “fairy” for alleged sexual deviants; see A Supplement to the Oxford English Dictionary I, ed. R. W. Burchfield (Oxford 1972) 1022. 5 This is discussed in my “The Extreme Emotional Life of V@lundr the Elf,” Scandinavian Studies 78 (2006). Cf. Alaric Hall, “The Meanings of Elf and Elves in Medieval England” (Ph.D. diss., Univ. of Glasgow Oct. 2004 (This work has not been published in book form but is available online at www.alarichall.org.uk.) If we believe that there is a connection between elves and Vanir, the use of the term might have something to do with the fact that Sigmundr is in the company of a Swede and presumably spent time in Sweden. 6 According to The Oxford English Dictionary (Oxford 1933), the original meaning of the word “queer” is “strange, odd, peculiar, eccentric, … also, of questionable character, suspicious, dubious.” It is this latter meaning that may have inspired the younger meaning of the word, which it in the 20th c. encompassed people engaging in allegedly deviant (mainly male homosexual) sexual practices; see A Supplement to the Oxford English Dictionary III, ed. R. W. Burchfield (Oxford 1982) 972. In the last two decades, the word has been appropriated by gender theory in a more positive sense, but it still signifies something radically different and at the same time deviant, sexually as well as in other respects. See Queering the Middle Ages, ed. Glenn Burger and Steven F. Kruger (Minneapolis and London 2001) esp. xi–xxiii; see also Jeffrey J. Cohen, Medieval Identity Machines (Minneapolis and London 2003) 38–41. In this study I use queer almost as a synonym for “ergi,” i.e., to indicate characteristics or behavior that are considered inappropriate for the gender in question, sexually or otherwise. It is exactly the development of the meaning of this word, from “eccentric” to “dubious” to “sexually deviant” to “sexually different” (without the negative connotations) which makes the word useful for my purposes. 7 See esp. “Ynglinga saga,” Íslenzk fornrit 16, ed. Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson (Reykjavík 1941) 19; “Gísla saga,” Íslenzk fornrit VI, ed. Björn K. Þórolfsson and Guðni Jónsson (Reykjavík 1943) 56–57. Cf. Preben Meulengracht Sørensen, Norrønt nid: Forestillingen om den umandige mand i de islandske sagaer (Odense 1980) 78; William Sayers, “Kjartan’s Choice: The Irish Disconnection in the Sagas of the Icelanders,” Scandinavian–Canadian Studies 3 (1988) 89–114, at 100. 8 Njáls saga is replete with male couples. Apart from Sigmundr and Skj@ldr, there are Otkell and Skammkell, Gizurr and Geirr, the Norwegians Þórir and Þorgrímr, H@skuldr and Hrútr, Gunnarr and Kolskeggr, H@gni and Grani, Grímr and Helgi, as well as several Viking couples encountered in Scandinavia (Vandill and Karl, Hallgrímr and Kolskeggr, Grjótgarðr and Snækólfr). See also n. 60. MASCULINITY AND POLITICS IN NJÁLS SAGA 3 The attack is further gendered when Skarpheðinn kills Sigmundr, after having taunted him that he is going to fall “í móðurætt” (116) (on your back, literally: into your mother’s kin).9 Skarpheðinn is subtly (or perhaps not so subtly) feminizing Sigmundr even more before killing him,10 which illustrates that this is a double revenge, for the killing of Skarpheðinn’s cherished foster father, Þórðr, and for the insulting verses, perhaps primarily the latter since a settlement had already been reached for Þórðr. The episode reveals that there are several ways to be unmanly: 1. to be beardless; 2. to be the bearded sons of a beardless man;11 3. to become furious over everything; 4. to change color when angry; 5. to be dressed in colored clothes, like an elf; and 6. to fall on the back when killed. This is a somewhat peculiar assortment of types of unmanly behavior. But it is important to note that the statements about unmanliness are all made by characters in the saga, not in the narrative prose itself. Furthermore, even this small incident reveals the surprisingly large number of things that may result in manhood being called into question in Njáls saga. There are many more. It turns out to be difficult to find a man whose manhood is not vulnerable. Njáls saga has a standing as an important mediaeval text, as the most celebrated of the Icelandic sagas, one of the longest and one of the most popular through the ages.12 Composed by an anonymous author or authors about two decades after the demise of the Icelandic commonwealth (around 1280),13 it is centrally concerned with this soci- Brennu-Njáls saga, 116 n. 5. Apart from the mention of the mother, the mere fact that Skarpheðinn draws attention to the back might constitute a reference to the back or to the anus, the part of the man’s body which symbolizes his descent into the feminine; see Carol J. Clover, “Regardless of Sex: Men, Women, and Power in Early Northern Europe,” Speculum 68 (1993), 363–387, at 375. There might be other instances of subtle feminizations of male opponents in Njáls saga, e.g., in chap. 119, when Skarpheðinn calls Hafr the Rich “mjólki“ (milksop) (301). It is possible to see in that insult a reference to the biological relationship between women and lactation, which is related to the hardness/softness binary which was (and still is) commonplace when it comes to distinguishing males and females; see the discussion in Laqueur, Making Sex (n. 2 above) 63–113. When, soon after, Skarpheðinn accuses Þorkell the Bully of having eaten horse meat (which was illegal in Christian Iceland), he inserts what may be a subtle reference to sodomy when he speaks of the “razgarnarendann merarinnar” (the mare’s arse) that Þorkell is supposed to have eaten (305); cf. “+lkofra þáttr,” in Íslenzk fornrit XI, ed. Jón Jóhannesson (Reykjavík 1950) 91. While these two instances need not be seen as feminizations per se, the saga’s interest in masculinity makes such an interpretation more feasible. 11 According to William Sayers, “Njáll’s beard, Hallgerðr’s hair and Gunnarr’s hay: homological patterning in Njáls saga,” Tijdschrift voor Skandinavistiek 15.2 (1994) 5–31, Sigmundr is accusing the sons of Njáll of coprophagy. Cf. Jonna Louis–Jensen, “En nidstrofe,” Opuscula 6 (1979) 104–107. 12 Jónas Kristjánsson states that Brennu-Njáls saga exists in more ancient manuscripts than any other saga; Saga Íslands III, ed. Sigurður Líndal (Reykjavík 1978) 341. Although this is a matter of definition, since several legendary sagas and romances also exists in many manuscripts (most of them less ancient) and saga manuscripts are still being discovered, it is close enough to the truth. Einar Ólafur Sveinsson counted between 50 and 60 MSS of Njáls saga in public libraries in 1952; “Um handrit Njálssögu,” Skírnir 126 (1952) 114–152, esp. 116. The actual number may be closer to 70. 13 This dating of Njáls saga has been accepted by a large majority of scholars since the 1880s, when it was argued for in, e.g., Karl Lehmann and Hans Schnorr, Die Njálssaga inbesondere in ihren juristischen Bestandtheilen: Ein kritischer Beitrag zur altnordischen Rechts- und Literaturgeschichte (Berlin 1883). One of the main arguments is the influence of the lawbook Járnsíða (introduced 1271) on the text of Njáls saga, but there are also other arguments, such as the age of the manuscripts. See, e.g., Karl Lehmann, “Jurisprudensen i Njála,” Tidsskrift for retsvidenskab 18 (1905) 183–199; Einar Ólafur Sveinsson, “Formáli,” Íslenzk fornrit XII, ed. Einar Ólafur Sveinsson (Reykjavík 1954) lxxv–lxxxiv. 10 9 4 ÁRMANN JAKOBSSON ety, its laws and institutions.14 As a tragedy, Njáls saga might be seen more as a lament over the past than a celebration of the present or future, in the socio-political sense perhaps even nostalgic to a degree. On the other hand, I will argue here that Njáls saga is also strikingly critical of the hegemonic ideas of its time and that in its treatment of gender roles and of the relationship between gender, power and love, it maintains a critical and perhaps ironical stance, rare in the Middle Ages as well as today, and certainly in Iceland.15 That is not surprising to my mind. Njáls saga has been accepted as one of the best if not the single greatest Icelandic saga since the late eighteenth century,16 and a literary text would hardly have such an enduring appeal if it was conventional in every way. In the 1970s, a fruitful era in Njáls saga scholarship,17 scholars began to address Njáls saga’s depiction of sexuality, gender, and power, the most important contributions coming from Helga Kress and Ursula Dronke.18 The former argued in 1977 that Njáls saga was conservative and misogynist, reflecting an age of inequality. Masculinity was its ideal and women were vilified.19 While this might seem convincing at first sight, I will argue that the saga’s treatment of sexuality is complex and critical,20 and that a firm line must be drawn between the dominant gender myths of the society depicted in the saga and those actually propounded by the text itself.21 See William Pencak, The Conflict of Law and Justice in the Icelandic Sagas (Amsterdam and Atlanta 1995) 13–34; Carola L. Gottzmann, Njáls saga: Recthsproblematik im Dienste sozio-kultureller Deutung (Frankfurt am Main and Bern 1982); William I. Miller, Bloodtaking and Peacemaking: Feud, Law, and Society in Saga Iceland (Chicago and London 1990) 182–220 and 284–289. 15 Sørensen’s Norrønt nid (n. 7 above) demonstrates effectively how Old Icelandic society, as reflected in the saga, was dominated by an ideology in which masculinity was regarded as positive and the feminine as negative, and where sexuality played a large role in the definition of manhood. See also Helga Kress, “Ekki h@fu vér kvennaskap: Nokkrar laustengdar athuganir um karlmennsku og kvenhatur í Njálu,” Sjötíu ritgerðir helgaðar Jakobi Benediktssyni 20. júlí 1977, ed. Jónas Kristjánsson and Einar Gunnar Pétursson (Reykjavík 1977) 293–313. 16 See Lars Lönnroth, Njáls saga: A Critical Introduction (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London 1976) 2– 7. W. P. Ker unequivocally called it “the greatest of all the sagas”; Epic and Romance: Essays on Medieval Literature, 2nd ed. (London 1908) 190. 17 Many important studies on Njáls saga’s structure and ideas date from 20 to 40 years ago. See Richard F. Allen, Fire and Iron: Critical Approaches to Njáls saga (Pittsburgh 1971); Lönnroth, Njáls saga (n. 16 above); Carol J. Clover, The Medieval Saga (Ithaca and London 1982). As for the subject of Njáls saga’s form, Ian R. Maxwell was an important influence on some of these studies; “Pattern in Njáls saga,” SagaBook of the Viking Society 15 (1957–1961) 17–47. See also Theodore M. Andersson, The Icelandic Family Saga: An Analytic Reading (Cambridge MA 1967) esp. 291ff. 18 See esp. Helga Kress “Ekki h@fu vér kvennaskap” (n. 15 above); eadem, “Manndom og misogyni: Noen refleksjoner omkring kvinnesynet i Njåls saga,” Gardar 10 (1979) 35–51; Ursula Dronke, The Role of Sexual Themes in Njáls saga, The Dorothea Coke Memorial Lecture in Northern Studies Delivered at University College London 27 May 1980 (London 1980). 19 “kvenhatur Njálu er ranghverfan á karlmennsku hennar og hetjuhugsjón” (313). 20 In her 1979 article, Kress had already modified her views somewhat and believes now that the saga depicts how gender roles are forced on the individual males and females; “Manndom og misogyni” (n. 18 above) 50. This is close to my own view. See also her Fyrir dyrum fóstru: Konur og kynferði í íslenskum fornbókmenntum (Reykjavík 1996) 8. Cf. Ármann Jakobsson, “Ekki kosta munur: Kynjasaga frá 13. öld,” Skírnir 174 (2000) 21–48. For a recent nuanced portrayal of Njáls saga’s treatment of women, see Anne Heinrichs, “Hallgerðrs Saga in der Njála: Der doppelte Blick,” Studien zum Altgermanischen: Festschrift für Heinrich Beck. Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde 11, ed. Heiko Uecker (Berlin and New York 1994) 327–353; Dronke, The Role of Sexual Themes (n. 18 above). 21 In this article I will make no attempt to determine who the author or authors of Njáls saga might be. To me, Njáls saga can be established as a 13th c. text; others would like to regard it as a cultural tradition encompassing a mulitude of individual works and not speak of a single Njáls saga. See Jón Karl Helgason, Höfundar Njálu: Þræðir úr vestrænni bókmenntasögu (Reykjavík 2001) 7–16. I do not suggest that Njáls 14 MASCULINITY AND POLITICS IN NJÁLS SAGA 5 Skarpheðinn’s ambiguous reaction, declaring that restraint is a fundamental manly quality while losing his composure, is just one instance of gender roles turning out to be problematic. Such a problemization might seem unexpected in a saga but Theodore M. Andersson has recently drawn attention to the hitherto largely unnoticed subversive nature of Njáls saga. According to him, it “represents such a pinnacle of style, range, and drama that it tends to overshadow the earlier sagas and relegate them to the status of preliminary attempts at a form that matures only in Njáls saga.” He, on the other hand, suggests that the saga “consciously subverts the narrative positions constructed in the earlier sagas” and the author may be viewed “less as the master architect perfecting inherited forms than as the satirist and caricaturist who holds these forms up to a searching gaze, revealing what is doubtful and even fraudulent about the older conventions.”22 Andersson does not discuss gender roles, but his arguments seem to fit well with those of this article, so that the ensuing analysis may complement his. I will discuss how masculinity is constructed in Njáls saga through various kinds of unmanliness.23 This closer inspection also reveals that three layers of ideologies need to be taken into account: the actual ideology of thirteenth-century Icelandic society, the dominant ideology in the society that the saga vividly creates, and the ideology of the saga itself. In this article, I am primarily concerned with the special perspective of this particular text rather than drawing out general conclusions concerning the community in which it was written.24 I will argue that although no other saga presents such a harsh ideology of unmanliness, masculinity is nevertheless undermined in the saga, and that the masculine ideal used to manipulate respect in the society as a part of a power game is not its own. On the contrary, Njáls saga demonstrates the restrictiveness of gender roles and how men and women may become their captives, although it also reveals some escape strategies to its audience. FIFTY WAYS TO LOSE YOUR MANHOOD Three of the categories of unmanliness mentioned so far involve appearance, in two cases a beard. When Njáll of Bergþórshváll, perhaps the dominant character of the saga that bears his name, is introduced, we are informed that he has a flaw: “en sá hlutr var á ráði hans, at honum óx eigi skegg” (but there was one thing about him: no beard grew on him) (57). Apart from that, Njáll is described in exalted terms, as a saga had an author in the post-medieval sense and it seems unlikely that this text, although relatively stable in the manuscript tradition, was ever considered the property of anyone. It is not ascribed to an author in the Middle Ages, and it is based on at least some traditional matter. Nevertheless, it is an artistic text and constructed in accordance with a narrative logic that demands at least the idea of an author, the “implied author” that the reader reconstructs from the narrative, to use a well-known narratological phrase. See, e.g., Seymour Chatman, Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film (Ithaca and London 1978) 148–51. Although the sagas of Icelanders are never ascribed to an author, any analysis of them needs such a figure. 22 Theodore M. Andersson, The Growth of the Medieval Icelandic Sagas (Ithaca and London 2006) 183. 23 I regard masculinity mainly as a cultural and social construction, following the lead of various other medievalists; see Jeffrey Jerome Cohen and Bonnie Wheeler, “Becoming and Unbecoming,” Becoming Male in the Middle Ages, ed. J. J. Cohen and Bonnie Wheeler (New York and London 2000) vii–xx. 24 As the text dates from the late 13th c., all my conclusions would seem to affect 13th-c. Iceland rather than society the saga purports to describe (it takes place from ca. 960 to ca. 1020). It is also necessary to keep in mind that this particular text to my mind demonstrates an original and unconvential mindset so that in spite of its popularity, it cannot be said to reflect the mentality of 13th-c. Icelanders in every way. 6 ÁRMANN JAKOBSSON wise, prophetic, well-intentioned, modest and noble-spirited man. That the lack of a beard is a shortcoming is evident from the terminology (“hlutr á ráði” indicates a defect), and Njáll’s lack of beard consequently becomes a leitmotif in the saga, when saga characters refer to it as a blemish on an otherwise almost perfect man and as somehow detracting from his manhood.25 Gunnarr of Hlíðarendi’s wife, Hallgerðr, is the first to mention it, when she mocks Njáll for being beardless and his wife, Bergþóra, for having gnarled nails (91). She insinuates that gender roles have been switched in this household, so that it is hard to determine who is the man of the house.26 Not one to abandon a good joke, she goes on to mock Njáll for the same thing when she incites Sigmundr to make the slanderous verses (113) and again refers to it when last seen in the saga (229). But she is not the only one to be preoccupied with Njáll’s missing beard. A little before Njáll’s demise in the fire, Flosi of Svínafell brings up the subject at the Alþingi: “þat er mín ætlan, at til hafi gefit faðir þinn, karl inn skegglausi—því at margir vitu eigi, er hann sjá, hvárt hann er karlmaður eða kona” (it’s my guess that your father gave it, Old Beardless, for there are many who can’t tell by looking at him whether he’s a man or a woman) (314). The lack of beard has been referred to as a flaw and Hallgerðr has already stated that this separates him from other men (113). Flosi elaborates on the theme: this particular absence may lead people to confuse him with a woman. Unlike Hallgerðr, Flosi has hitherto not appeared to have any quarrel with the old man.27 He must thus be echoing the opinion of at least some people in society. The beard is a well-known, if not unproblematic, mediaeval symbol of manhood,28 25 William Sayers calls it a “mutilation qualifiant” (using a term from Dumézil), i.e., that absence of facial hair is a necessary sacrifice compensated for by the seer’s power, comparable to Óðinn’s eye and Týr’s hand; “Njáll’s beard” (n. 11 above) 12. That may indeed be the case but the characters in the saga are unaware of this and tend to regard the lack of a beard as a flaw. 26 In Njáls saga, there is a sub-text concerning class divisions that remain more or less unstated. For example, there is no mention of Bergþóra’s family in the saga (not even when she is introduced in chap. 20), and that might indicate that she is of a lower class than Njáll and certainly Hallgerðr. In fact, she takes on the role of a servant in the wedding of Gunnarr and Hallgerðr (chap. 34). Although Njáll is descended from noble settlers, his family seems nevertheless to be less notable than that of Gunnarr, and Hallgerðr is of royal descent, of the line of the great matriarch Unnr djúpúðga (chap. 1). There is also a class difference between Gunnarr’s first and second set of enemies (chaps. 46–66). Cf. Kristján Jóhann Jónsson, Lykillinn að Njálu (Reykjavík 1998) 103: Otkell enjoys the support of his relatives, the chieftains Gizurr and Geirr, while the families of Starkarðr and Egill have no such noble supporters. 27 Unlike Hallgerðr, Flosi is a sympathetic character, as is demonstrated when his narrative of the burning at Bergþórshváll is so even-handed and just that everyone believes his version of the story (444; see also 342 and 419). The saga’s positive treatment of Flosi has prompted a discussion that the author of Njáls saga may have been connected to the prominent Svínfellingar family and in particular the magnate Þorvarðr Þórarinsson who died in 1296. See Barði Guðmundsson, Höfundur Njálu: Safn ritgerða (Reykjavík 1958) 1–91; Lönnroth, Njáls saga (n. 16 above) 174–203; Hermann Pálsson, Uppruni Njálu og hugmyndir (Reykjavík 1984) 97–112. 28 See Allen J. Frantzen, Before the Closet: Same-Sex Love from Beowulf to Angels in America (Chicago and London 1998) 76; James A. Schultz, “Bodies That Don’t Matter: Heterosexuality Before Heterosexuality in Gottfried’s Tristan,” Constructing Medieval Sexuality, ed. Karma Lochrie, Peggy McCracken, and James A. Schultz (Minneapolis and London 1997) 91–110, at 93. This may sometimes be extended to hairiness in general; see Joan Cadden, Meanings of Sex Difference in the Middle Ages: Medicine, Science, and Culture (Cambridge 1993) 181–183. Although beardlessness was never a rule for European clergymen in the Middle Ages, this could be regarded as problematic for the masculinity of those clerics who were not MASCULINITY AND POLITICS IN NJÁLS SAGA 7 and the absence of it is sometimes taken to symbolize diminished manhood figures in other sagas. In Kristni saga (which may be contemporary to Njáls saga, and is thematically related to its Christianization narrative), the heathens, unfamiliar with the sight of a clergyman, taunt Bishop Friðrekr for his lack of beard.29 On the other hand, in Flóres saga ok Blankiflúr, which was popular in Iceland shortly after the composition of Njáls saga, a lack of beard is not considered to detract in the slightest from the protagonist’s heroism.30 The same is true of Þiðreks saga, where King Þiðrekr’s lack of beard is referred to matter-of-factly.31 Of course there is a difference of status. Whereas Flóres is a royal youth, and King Þiðrekr a monarch, Njáll is one of many notable men in a society where power is more unstable. Nevertheless, the fact remains that we do not see such an obsession with beards in any other saga. In fact, the constant references to Njáll’s anomalous lack seems curious if we keep in mind that men with no beards or very insignificant ones are not altogether uncommon in the Nordic countries.32 But, then, gender differences are not necessarily founded on biology. As Thomas W. Laqueur has argued, “almost any sign of difference is dependent on an underlying theory of, or context for, deciding what counts and what does not count as evidence.”33 In Njáls saga, the missing beard has a greater and a different significance than in other mediaeval Icelandic texts: nowhere else (not even in Kristni saga) is beardlessness such a big issue, and yet we are clearly invited to sympathize with the beardless man who has to endure mockery for his unmanliness.34 A closer examination of the first incident reveals that one reason why beardlessness becomes a heated matter is that in Njáls saga everything can be used to discredit the gender role of everyone. When Hallgerðr first mocks Njáll for his lack of beard (chap. 35), she also mocks Bergþóra for her nails, which are apparently not ladylike. Bergþóra takes the feud a step away from biology and replies by reminding Hallgerðr that she has had her first husband killed, which presumably is not considered ladylike either. Then Hallgerðr goads Gunnarr, stating that it is no use being married to the most only shaven but also tonsured; see Robert Mills, “The Signification of Tonsure,” Holiness and Masculinity in the Middle Ages, ed. Patricia H. Cullum and Katherine J. Lewis (Wales 2004) 109–126. 29 “Kristni saga,” Íslenzk fornrit 15, ed. Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, Peter Foote, and Ólafur Halldórsson (Reykjavík 2003) 12. Kristni saga exists only in Hauksbók from the early 14th c. Jón Jóhannesson believed Kristni saga to be a part of an attempt to compose a history of Iceland, along with the Sturlubók version of Landnáma; Gerðir Landnámabókar (Reykjavík 1941) 70–71. Then it is contemporary to Njáls saga. Some recent scholars believe Kristni saga to be somewhat older than Njáls saga, perhaps composed in the 1240s. See Sigurgeir Steingrímsson, “Formáli,” Íslenzk fornrit 15 (Reykjavík 2003) cliv–clv. On the parallels between the episode of the taunt against the bishop, see Joaquín Martínez Pizarro, “On Níð against Bishops,” Medieval Scandinavia 11 (1978–79) 149–53. The problem of how to construct a masculine image for beardless men, such as clergymen, in the High Middle Ages has attracted scholarly attention in recent years; see McNamara, “The Herrenfrage (n. 3 above); Robert N. Swanson, “Angels Incarnate: Clergy and Masculinity from Gregorian Reform to Reformation,” Masculinity in Medieval Europe, ed. Dawn M. Hadley (London and New York 1999) 160–177. Cf. Patricia H. Cullum, “Clergy, Masculinity and Transgression in Late Medieval England,” Masculinity in Medieval Europe, ed. Hadley 178–196. 30 See Ármann Jakobsson, “Uppreisn æskunnar: Unglingasagan um Flóres og Blankiflúr,” Skírnir 176 (2002) 89–112. 31 Þiðreks saga af Bern I, ed. Henrik Bertelsen (Copenhagen 1905–1911) 31. Cf. Dronke, Role of Sexual Themes (n. 18 above) 11. 32 As Einar Ólafur Sveinsson has remarked; “Brennu-Njáls saga” 57 n. 2. 33 Laqueur, Making Sex (n. 2 above) 21. 34 Sayers, “Njáll’s beard” (n. 11 above), analyses the hair as a complex metaphor in the saga, and although the present author focuses on its significance in the manipulation of masculinity, that is clearly just one of its functions. 8 ÁRMANN JAKOBSSON manly man in Iceland (“þann mann, er vaskastr er á Íslandi”), if he does not avenge these words (91). Gunnarr is in an impossible position, being a guest at Bergþórshváll and suddenly encouraged by his own wife to kill his host and hostess. He is also recently home from an adventurous journey abroad where he has fought Vikings with such fervor that it seemed that he was fighting with three swords at once (79). Nevertheless, even such amazing feats do not exempt him from having his manhood suddenly called into question by his wife, who seems to want to establish his willingness to avenge any slight made to her reputation as the defining criterion for masculinity. A beardless man, a woman with gnarled nails or a woman who has been involved in killings are all “queer,” and the argument at Bergþórshváll reveals that several leading actors in the saga are unsteady in their gender role. Skarpheðinn’s elf comment indicated that colored clothes may be regarded as unmasculine as well, and other items of clothing may convey a suggestion of effeminacy.35 When Flosi makes snide remarks about Njáll’s missing beard, it is because he has found “silkislœður” (a silk robe) (312–313) on top of a huge pile of settlement money in the wake of the killing of H@skuldr, Njáll’s foster-son who had been killed by the sons of Njáll. In modern Icelandic, this word indicates a light silk garment not considered suitable for men, and seeing the garment unnerves Flosi, who goes on to insinuate that the beardless Njáll, whom he insists that people confuse with women, must have donated it—which Njáll indeed has. Another female garment is a “kast,” a gown worn by milkmaids in post-mediaeval Iceland. According to Einar Ólafur Sveinsson, the sole instance of the word in mediaeval Icelandic is in Njáls saga.36 The only mediaeval “kast” is worn by another one of Njáll’s foster-sons, the learned Þórhallr Ásgrímsson, whom Njáll tutors so well that he becomes one of the three greatest lawyers in Iceland (279). When Þórhallr first appears, the sons of Njáll are mocking him because he walks around “í kasti mórendu” (a coarse brown-striped cloak) (295). Þórhallr calmly replies that he will have thrown this garment away when the time has come to plead the case of his foster father, a statement that pleases Njáll. While it is impossible to ascertain whether this garment had the same connotations at the time as it had later, at least it is obvious that the sons of Njáll tease Þórhallr for wearing it. There are thus two possible cases of very positive characters in Njáls saga possessing or wearing something that others see as feminine. In Laxdæla saga, Guðrún Ósvífrsdóttir’s divorce from her first husband (in chap. 34) involves her making a shirt for him so lowcut that it reveals his nipples, and she goes on to goad her lover into accusing his wife of wearing man’s breeches. The dishonor in wearing clothes of the “wrong” sex is evident, and in Laxdæla, there seems to be some consensus on what constitutes gender-specific clothes.37 In Njáls saga, the 35 The social construction of gender through clothing in the Middle Ages is a complex issue; see Schultz, “Bodies That Don’t Matter” (n. 28 above); E. Jane Burns, “Refashioning Courtly Love: Lancelot as Ladies Man or Lady/Man,” Constructing Medieval Sexuality (n. 28 above) 111–134. 36 “Brennu-Njáls saga” 295 n. 3. Einar Ólafur seems reluctant to accept it as the same word, perhaps because it is worn by a positive male character. 37 “Laxdæla saga,” Íslenzk fornrit 5, ed. Einar Ól. Sveinsson (Reykjavík 1934) 94–96. On cross-dressing in the sagas, see esp. Kirsten Wolf, “Klæðskiptingar í Íslendingasögunum,” Skírnir 171 (1997), 381–400. Cf. Vern L. Bullough, “Cross Dressing and Gender Role Change in the Middle Ages,” Handbook of Medieval Sexuality, ed. Vern L. Bullough and James A. Brundage (New York and London 1996) 223–242. MASCULINITY AND POLITICS IN NJÁLS SAGA 9 situation is more complicated. It is only Skarpheðinn’s contention that brightly colored clothes are effeminate, and Sigmundr Lambason is unlikely to have intended to wear any garment that hinted at effeminacy. On the other hand, Þórhallr seems to wear a “kast” deliberately and risk being mocked. His reasons for this are unclear—he might be going through a rebellious gender-bending phase, or, as he seems to be a bit younger than the sons of Njáll, this might be construed as yet another case of the latest teenage fashion being regarded as not masculine enough by the older generation. Much harder to fathom is the silk garment which Njáll puts on the settlement pile, thus offending Flosi.38 Njáll’s behavior in this scene is curious from start to finish. Not only does he add an unnecessary gift to a pile of settlement money, even though it is explicitly stated in the saga that not a single penny was missing (312), he even more strangely does not even seem to consider that the “slœður” might perturb Flosi, an apparent loss of his celebrated ability of reading a social situation with such precision that he can foretell whole conservations almost verbatim.39 Then he specifically asks his sons not to sabotage the settlement, even though he must realize that such an admonition might have the reverse effect on Skarpheðinn. Njáll also inexplicably allows Skarpheðinn to stand on his own and not join the Njálssynir group on the east side of the “l@grétta,” and then remains silent throughout the exchange, even though he knows full well who has donated the offending silk garment. Even if he was hard of hearing, Flosi is waving the “slœður,” so Njáll is unlikely to have missed it.40 What is Njáll trying to convey with his gift? It almost seems as if he is willingly trying to sabotage a settlement he has himself had a hand in arranging.41 And yet Flosi comes across as being too tense. It seems that he could have chosen simply to ignore the silk garment. While it needs to be taken into account that Hildigunnr, Flosi’s niece and H@skuldr’s widow, has already taunted his masculinity in a variety of ways (289– 392), that is no excuse for him to taunt Njáll.42 Indeed, “silkislœður” are not always seen as feminine. Egill Skalla-Grímsson of Egils saga is not likely to have wished to be seen as feminine, and yet he receives “silkislœður” that he later treasures as a gift from his good friend Arinbj@rn.43 This accentuates one of the most important aspects Cf. Burns, “Refashioning Courtly Love” (n. 35 above) 112–116. The case of Bróka-Auður has been studied closely by Elín Una Jónsdóttir, “Fyrir hvað skal hún þá heita Bróka-Auður” (BA thesis, University of Iceland 2003). 38 In addition to the silk garment, Njáll puts “bótar” (boots) on the settlement pile but to my knowledge, no scholar has made anything of the role of the boots in the ensuing controversy. 39 As Jónsson notes with some amusement (Lykillinn að Njálu [n. 26 above] 192), scholars have been eager to explain this apparent mistake on behalf of the prescient Njáll. Einar Ólafur Sveinsson’s explanation was that this was an extra item (“baugþak”) intended for Hildigunnr, the widow of the slain H@skuldr; Um Njálu (Reykjavík 1933) 135. 40 Cf. Jakobsson, “Ekki kosta munur” (n. 20 above) 41–42. 41 The why is not really important in this context, but I have previously argued that Njáll might wish to die at this juncture, having lost both Gunnarr and H@skuldr, being apalled at the behavior of his sons, and perhaps believing the fire to be a necessary cleansing of the sins of the Bergþórshváll clan; “Misvitur er Njáll,” Mímir 40 (1992) 53–56. Another possibility, orginally introduced to me by a student, is that Njáll in his prescience had foreseen an even bleaker future if his whole family did not perish in the fire. There are no actual clues to this interpretation in the text but perhaps an audience immersed in the logic of foresight would have seen this as the most likely explanation. 42 At this juncture in the narrative, Flosi may still emerge badly from an episode. However, from chap. 131 onwards he is firmly rehabilitated as a noble adversary to Kári; see n. 27 above. 43 “Egils saga,” Íslenzk fornrit 2, ed. Sigurður Nordal (Reykjavík 1933) 213 and 274. 10 ÁRMANN JAKOBSSON of the obsession with masculinity so clearly discernible in Njáls saga: It is so exaggerated that it becomes ludicrous. In Egils saga, the “slœður” are important but not used to dispute anyone’s masculinity. We may also note that while colored clothes are (at least according to Skarpheðinn) supposed to indicate a lack of masculinity in Njáls saga, the heroes of Laxdœla saga strut around in decorative clothes without anyone ever disputing their manhood?44 In the same way, only in Njáls saga do “silkislœður” become an offending insinuation of effeminacy. It is possible that Njáll, knowing himself to be close to death, is also using the opportunity to make a point, the same point he has been making all along, by never responding to sneers about his missing beard. Like Þórhallr, Njáll may be indicating that he will wear whatever clothes he wants, no matter how inappropriate others might find them, and, like Þórhallr, he is not easily daunted by insinuations about effeminacy. If that is so, “Old Beardless” is using the opportunity to flaunt his otherness in the face of Flosi, who may be vulnerable to accusations of unmanliness himself (see below), but perhaps also in the face of society and its absurd myths of masculinity. While this behavior must be regarded as subversive, the saga hardly gives us another option than to side with Njáll. Although he is maybe less than straightforward in this scene, he is at least being more clever than anyone else, and it is hard to discern any attempt in the saga to undermine the faith in him that his original introduction in Ch. 20 must inspire. The crux of the matter is that, although they probably were soft, the “silkislœður” do not need to be regarded as feminine—Egill himself possessed such a garment—and neither is Njáll’s lack of beard. It is possible to adopt an opposite stance: that their reception demonstrates that there is something wrong about society’s narrow definition of manhood; the superfluous gift illuminates precisely that. As Skarpheðinn retorts in his reply to Flosi’s remarks about the “slœður,” Njáll has had sons with his wife (six children in all, plus a son with his mistress), whereas Flosi does not seem to have any (314). Indeed, Skarpheðinn drives home his point about Flosi’s own lack of masculinity with another piece of clothing, when he “kastaði brókum blám” (threw a pair of black trousers) at Flosi and then goes on to remark that Flosi might need those—“ef þú ert brúðr Svínafellsáss, sem sagt er, hverja ina níundu nótt ok geri hann þik at konu” (if you are the sweetheart of the troll at Svínafell, as is said, he uses you as a woman every ninth night). Are “brœkur blár” also feminine?45 Or is Skarpheðinn’s use of them even more ironic? Is he perhaps demonstrating that anything may be regarded as feminine, given the right (or wrong) circumstances? Although the scene is ambiguous, it emerges clearly that those who don’t want their manliness challenged had better not wear black trousers or colored clothes or silk garments or “kast.” Nevertheless, most, perhaps all, of these clothes are possessed and worn by men. We may be forced to deduce that men are often not very masculine, or perhaps that there is something wrong with the demands on men, if so many of their actual clothes do not fit the masculine image. This is reaffirmed when a son of Njáll, 44 This has been noted by Robert Cook, “Women and Men in Laxdæla saga,” Skáldskaparmál 2 (1992) 34–59; cf. Ármann Jakobsson, “Konungasagan Laxdæla,” Skírnir 172 (1998) 357–383. 45 Jenny Jochens has argued that they were; “Before the Male Gaze: The Absence of the Female Body in Old Norse,” Sex in the Middle Ages: A Book of Essays. ed. Joyce E. Salisbury (New York 1991) 3–29, esp. 10–12. MASCULINITY AND POLITICS IN NJÁLS SAGA 11 some might say the one who enjoys the most overt sympathy in the text, is killed wearing women’s clothes in order to escape from the fire that kills most of his family. This is through the agency of the women in the family, who have been allowed to leave and wish to take Helgi Njálsson in disguise with them. While Helgi himself is reluctant to save himself in this manner (perhaps aware of how easily the behavior of men gets branded as “feminine”), he nevertheless goes along with it, proving that there are instances when a man may be compelled to wear women’s clothes. That this does not make his death dishonorable is demonstrated by the fact that he is able to throw off the cloak before he is killed, and later on in the saga (chaps. 135, 141, and 142), his killing at the hands of Flosi himself constitutes the chief indictment against Flosi. Weapons are another important symbol of masculinity in the saga, as is revealed when Bergþóra taunts Hallgerðr with having had a hand in the killing of her husband (91). As this is an answer to Hallgerðr’s comment about Bergþóra’s nails and Njáll’s lack of beard, a woman who takes part in a killing is evidently also crossing gender boundaries. It is indubitably masculine to wield a powerful weapon; Skarpheðinn demonstrates that by naming his great battle-axe Rimmugýgr (Battle-Ogress).46 But again, Njáll seems indifferent to the gender symbolism, and the only time he is shown with a weapon is in extreme old age when he goes to visit his old friend Ásgrímr and has a “taparøxi” (short axe) in his hand, probably more suitable for chopping wood than for use in battle (296). Njáll does not care much for his heroic son Skarpheðinn and his big axe. He lavishes more affection on his fosterson Þórhallr, who is not afraid to wear something others find feminine. It has been argued that out of Njáll’s biological sons, his favorite is Helgi, who is killed after having proved that his need to survive outweighs his anxieties about being seen in women’s clothes.47 Even if we leave aside Njáll’s somewhat ambiguous action of adding a silk garment to the settlement pile, there are other indications in the saga that Njáll himself has ideas about masculinity that do not conform to those of the majority in the society presented in his saga. This beardless man is thus established as a counterpoint to the aggressive masculine symbols, such as mighty weapons and beards. FEAR OF CRYING Skarpheðinn not only needs to carry a big axe and protest his manly restraint when goaded (114), but goes on to kill not only Sigmundr but also Þráinn Sigfússon, after being called “taðskegglingr” (Dung-beardling) (113 and 229). Anyone who protests angrily that he does not get angry may seem like an ideal victim for bullies, were it not for his impressive size, sinister demeanor and the fact that he has killed on several occasions. But Skarpheðinn is not a figure of fun. On the contrary, he is heroic, witty and tough, and clearly enjoys the author’s sympathy and admiration, though the latter 46 This seems somewhat similar to post-medieval sailors referring to their ships as feminine, or modern youths describing various manly accessories, such as cars and motorcycles, as females. 47 Jónsson, Lykillinn að Njálu (n. 26 above) 48–49. Kristján nevertheless regards Helgi’s death as un-heroic (198) and on the whole sees the saga as more misogynistic than the present author does. 12 ÁRMANN JAKOBSSON may be qualified.48 This does not exempt him from being taunted for crying when he is the last person still living in the burning of Bergþórshváll: Gunnarr Lambason hljóp upp á vegginn ok sér Skarpheðin ok mælti: „Hvárt grætr þú nú, Skarpheðinn?“ „Eigi er þat,“ segir hann, „en hitt er satt, at súrnar í augunum.” (Gunnar Lambason leaped up on the wall and saw Skarphedin and said “What’s this? Are you crying now, Skarphedin?” “Not at all,” he said, “though it’s true that my eyes are smarting.”) (333) Crying is not considered masculine in the sagas. There is a startling image in Sturlunga saga, which is probably contemporary to Njáls saga. Gizurr Þorvaldsson is presented with the charred remains of his teenage son and the breasts which are all that remain of his wife, after having himself narrowly escaped from the fire that ruined his abode at Flugumýri, and yet Gizurr sheds only a single tear, firm as a hailstone.49 In Njáls saga, Þórhallr Ásgrímsson also cries a hailstone when extremely angry, right before instigating a battle at the Alþingi in revenge of Njáll (378). One hailstone does not really constitute crying and Þórhallr does not even fail as a man according to Skarpheðinn’s instability criterion, since he is furious with good reason and indeed heroic in his revenge. Skarpheðinn is a big man with a sinister grin.50 A formidable fighter. If he can be accused of crying, who is safe? The answer is: Nobody. Even Gunnarr of Hlíðarendi, just as heroic while far more restrained and modest, is accused of crying, when the stupid but rich Otkell has somehow lost control of his horse and strikes his spur against Gunnarr’s ear, so that blood flows.51 That this wound also constitutes an affront to Gunnarr’s manhood is confirmed when he kills Otkell on his way home— and then goes on to comment that he doesn’t know if he is “óvaskari maðr en aðrir menn sem mér þykkir meira fyrir en @ðrum m@nnum at vega menn” (less manly than other men because killing troubles me more than it does them) (139). Reluctant to kill as Gunnarr is, he sees no way out of it when not only has Otkell drawn blood from him but his boastful and equally dim-witted companion Skammkell has insinuated that Gunnarr has cried (135), a claim that Gunnarr’s shepherd quickly passes on to his master. Soon both Otkell and Skammkell are dead, which proves that Gunnar does not like to be taunted with crying and that such an affront to his manhood has to be avenged by blood. The rules of male crying in the North of Europe haven’t changed much, as noted by anthropologist Kate Fox in her study of English funerals.52 Other sagas also provide examples of an acute fear of crying but none more so than Njáls saga. The message seems at first unambiguous: real men don’t cry. And yet they do, enough for See Einar Ólafur Sveinsson’s nuanced discussion of Skarpheðinn, his strengths and weaknesses; Á Njálsbúð: Bók um mikið listaverk (Reykjavík 1943) 113–129. 49 Sturlunga saga 1, ed. Jón Jóhannesson, Magnús Finnbogason, and Kristján Eldjárn (Reykjavík 1946) 494. 50 Skarpheðinn's grin was the subject of much speculation in the 20th c., since the Norwegian novelist Hans E. Kinck interpreted it as a sign of a serious psychoneurosis; see “Et par ting om ættesagaen: Skikkelser den ikke forstod,” Til Gerhard Gran 9. des. 1916 (repr. in Sagaens ånd og skikkelser [Oslo 1951] 9–46). 51 This was regarded as derogatory in Norwegian law; see Kari Ellen Gade, “Homosexuality and the Rape of Males in Old Norse Laws and Literature,” Scandinavian Studies 58 (1986) 124–141, at 133. 48 MASCULINITY AND POLITICS IN NJÁLS SAGA 13 small-minded people such as Gunnarr Lambason to be constantly on the lookout for crying men to victimize. Again, a comparison with Laxdœla saga is illuminating. When Gunnarr of Hlíðarendi is accused of crying, he has already killed several men, including fierce Vikings in foreign battles. On the other hand, Kjartan Ólafsson of Laxdœla saga hardly lifts a sword until his last heroic stand, and his heroism consists of doing well in a swimming competition, hatching wild plans about killing the king of Norway, and walking around looking glamorous.53 And yet no-one ever insinuates that he cries. Laxdæla saga does not portray any uncertainties about the masculinity of its heroes.54 Gunnarr Lambason is killed when repeating his slander about Skarpheðinn. The latter’s brother-in-law Kári risks his life by decapitating Gunnarr in the presence of the Earl of Orkney, who is incensed for a moment but goes on to remark: “Engum manni er Kári líkr at hvatleik sínum” (There’s no man like Kari for bravery) (444). Kári is heroic for avenging the slight to Skarpheðinn’s reputation—so are Skarpheðinn and Gunnarr of Hlíðarendi when they kill those who try to smear them as cowards. Does that mean that the saga accepts that it is unmanly to cry? Quite the contrary. We are shown that Skarpheðinn does become angry, while stating that it is womanish to show one’s temper. Perhaps he even cries in the fire—there is no explicit statement that he doesn’t. Even Gunnarr might have cried when struck with the spur. The silence of the saga on whether the heroes actually did cry may reflect the view that it is unimportant. On the other hand, those who try to use crying against Gunnarr and Skarpheðinn deservedly come to a bad end.55 There is no actual authorial statement that crying is unmanly and no attempt made to vindicate those accused, while the saga has plenty of scorn for those who try to manipulate crying for their own gain.56 When Þórhallr Ásgrímsson learns that Njáll is dead, his reaction is extreme: “hann þrútnaði allr ok blóðbogi stóð ór hvárritveggju hlustinni, ok varð eigi st@ðvat, ok fell hann í óvit, ok þá st@ðvaðisk. Eptir þat stóð hann upp ok kvað sér lítilmannliga verða” (his whole body swelled up and blood gushed from both ears, and it did not stop and he fell in a faint, and then it stopped. After that he stood up and said that this had not been manly of him) (344). Misogynists might call this a hysterical reaction.57 Þórhallr palpably does not think it manly, but the saga, which approves of him, nevertheless sees no reason not to relate it. There is again a juxtaposition of values: on one hand those of society obsessed with manliness; on the other a saga text that shows heroes Watching the English: The Hidden Rules of English Behaviour (London 2004) 375–378. See Cook, “Women and Men in Laxdæla saga” (n. 44 above); Ármann Jakobsson, “Konungasagan Laxdæla” (n. 44 above). 54 That does not mean that Laxdæla saga is entirely unconcerned with gender instability, as Michael O'Rourke has discussed in “Queer Affect in the Icelandic Saga,” presented at Leeds International Medieval Congress, 11 July 2005. 55 Helga Kress explores gossip and its somewhat contemptible nature in “Staðlausir stafir: Um slúður sem uppsprettu frásagnar í Íslendingasögum,” Skírnir (1991) 130–156. 56 This seems to fit with the laws of the period that concentrate on those who accuse others of being “ragr” or “sorðinn,” rather than any behavior which might lead to such accusations. See Grágás efter det Arnamagnæanske Haandskrift Nr. 334 fol., Staðarhólsbók, ed. Vilhjálmur Finsen (Copenhagen 1879) 392. See also Sørensen, Norrønt nid (n. 7 above) 19–21; and Gade, “Homosexuality and the Rape of Males” (n. 51 above) 132–136. 57 Cf. Laqueur, Making Sex (n. 2 above) esp. 114–148. 53 52 14 ÁRMANN JAKOBSSON reacting excessively and then censoring themselves, while no such condemnation is present in the text. Þórhallr indeed goes on to kill some of his foster-father’s slayers, but he is still someone who faints when he hears very bad tidings. And indeed he continues to swell, and the saga metaphorically speaks of his transformation into a woman: “Þórhallr Ásgrímsson tók fótarmen svá mikit, at fyrir ofan @kkla var fótrinn svá digr ok þrútinn sem konulær” (Thorhall Asgrimsson had such an infection on his leg that above the ankle it was as swollen and as thick as a woman’s thigh) (359).58 The saga abounds in references to manliness and yet its heroes are beardless, wear womanish clothes, show excessive emotions that they themselves censor as feminine and one of them starts transforming into a woman in the hour of need. That does not preclude his proving himself a great warrior a short while later. One cannot but begin to suspect that Njáls saga might actually be cleverly subverting the whole gender system by demonstrating that being “queer” (in this case womanish) is perhaps not all that bad. SEX LIVES OF THE RICH AND FAMOUS Skarpheðinn and Þórhallr are different but alike in their excessive emotions and their concern that their lack of restraint makes them less manly. In fact, their intensity may have contributed to their heroic stature and caused readers of Njáls saga to develop a strong affinity for them throughout the ages. Gunnarr of Hlíðarendi is more restrained, and may even seem so perfect as to be somewhat dull.59 And yet he can be accused of crying, so even he must have a weakness. One possibility is that his weakness is also his greatest strength, i.e. the friendship of Njáll. When they first collaborate in the saga, Gunnarr’s cousin Unnr Marðardóttir asks Gunnarr to reclaim her dowry from her estranged husband Hrútr and suggests that he seeks the help of Njáll. She adds: “Er hann ok vin þinn mikill” (he’s a great friend of yours), to which Gunnar remarks: “Ván er mér, at hann ráði mér heilt sem @ðrum” (I expect that he’ll advise me as soundly as he does others) (58). This seems somewhat evasive, considering the emphasis on the friendship of the two men in the saga. But this friendship also becomes problematic later, after Gunnarr has married Hallgerðr, much to the chagrin of Njáll who is hostile to her from the outset (87). She reciprocates his hostility, remarking: “Tr@ll hafi þína vini” (The trolls take your friends) (92), when Gunnarr asks her to behave well to Njáll and his family. In spite of the pervasive homosociality of mediaeval Iceland and most of the sagas,60 Gunnarr’s anxiety about the closeness of the friendship possibly reflects a worry that their friendship might seem too close to some. On top of that, Njáll not only looks 58 The sagas emphasis on the physical and vulgar, perhaps even the grotesque, has been interpreted as “carnivalistic” by Helga Kress, “Njálsbrenna, karnival í Landeyjum,” Strengleikar slegnir Robert Cook 25. nóvember 1994 (Reykjavík 1994) 28–33. 59 The subject of whether Gunnarr’s perfectness may be equivalent with dullness is an old one; in 1943 Sveinsson saw fit to spring to his defense (Á Njálsbúð [n. 48 above] 68–69), especially against Kinck (“Et par ting om ættesagaen” [n. 50 above]) who was one of Gunnarr’s foremost critics. 60 The term comes from Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, Between Men: English Literature and Male Homosocial Desire (New York 1985) esp. 1–5, and refers to social bonds between persons of the same sex which is at the same time antithetical to and yet has things in common with homoerotic relations. It has been convincingly used in an analysis of Hrólfs saga kraka by Carl Phelpstead, “The Sexual Ideology of Hrólfs saga kraka,” Scandinavian Studies 75 (2003) 1–24. MASCULINITY AND POLITICS IN NJÁLS SAGA 15 unmanly but refuses to behave as others feel a man should. The implication would then be that a close friendship between two men might have lead to rumors of an illicit homoerotic relationship, which would inevitably lead to both men being branded as unmanly, especially as one of the parties would have been seen as having played the “female role.”61 As we have seen, masculinity may be disputed for less. The possibility that Gunnarr and Njáll’s friendship might cast doubt on their manliness is never referred to overtly in the saga. On the other hand, sexual relations between men are directly referred to in the aforementioned “silkislœður” scene, when H@skuldr has been killed and a settlement reached between his paternal uncles and Flosi of Svínafell, who had married his niece to H@skuldr, on the one hand, and on the other the sons of Njáll who killed H@skuldr, even though he had been raised at Bergþórshváll with Njáll. The situation is still tense, not least because of Hildigunnr’s taunts. It is then that Flosi loses his nerve and makes the inappropriate remarks about the silk garment donated by Njáll. Skarpheðinn in turn throws breeches at him and claims that Flosi has been used as a woman (presumably sodomized) by the troll of Svínafell (313–314). Preben Meulengracht Sørensen has stated that the notion that Flosi should have engaged in sexual activities with another man must be regarded as absurd.62 However, unlike some of the bullies in the saga who hurl accusations around, Skarpheðinn is someone the saga compels us to take seriously, and his previous accusations against chieftains such as Snorri goði and Guðmundr the Powerful (297–306) are certainly not out of the blue.63 Flosi’s tension, when confronted with the silk garment on the pile, may also indicate that he is far from confident when faced with possible insinuations about effeminacy. He may feel vulnerable because he has no children (Skarpheðinn does make that comparison between him and Njáll), or his over-reaction may be due to the fact Hildigunnr has already challenged his manhood, causing him to turn red, pale and black in the face (291).64 But as Flosi does not seem high strung in the least in the rest of the saga, it does seem psychologically unsatisfactory that mere goading about not having children would lead him to react so strongly to silk garments.65 61 See numerous examples in Sørensen’s groundbreaking study, Norrønt nid (n. 7 above). See also Gade, “Homosexuality and the Rape of Males” (n. 51 above); Jenny Jochens, “Old Norse Sexuality: Men, Women, and Beasts,” Handbook of Medieval Sexuality, ed. Vern L. Bullough and James A. Brundage (New York and London 1996) 369–400. 62 Sørensen, Norrønt nid (n. 7 above) 24. 63 Cf. Jakobsson, “Ekki kosta munur” (n. 20 above) 42. 64 On Hildigunnr’s goading and its socio-anthropological significance, see Carol Clover, “Hildigunnr’s Lament,” Structure and Meaning in Old Norse Literature: New Approaches to Textual Analysis and Literary Criticism, ed. John Lindow, Lars Lönnroth, and Gerd Wolfgang Weber (Odense 1986), 141–83. See also Jenny Jochens, Old Norse Images of Women (Philadelphia 1996) esp. 162–203; Rolf Heller, Die literarische Darstellung der Frau in den Isländersagas (Halle 1958) 98–122. 65 It is not a new truth that the sagas are psychologically subtle, and none more than Njáls saga. As no fundamental changes in the human psyche since the 13th c. have been postulated, I do not see it as anachronistic to use psychological methods to understand saga characters, and there even exists a 13th c.-narrative (Morkinskinna) where a king helps one of his subject to get over “lovesickness“ by using a method close to the Freudian “couch”: Morkinskinna, ed. Finnur Jónsson (Copenhagen 1932) 356. See also Ármann Jakobsson, Staður í nýjum heimi: Konungasagan Morkinskinna (Reykjavík 2002) 151. A recent convincing attempt to use psychology is made by Jon Geir Høyersten, Personlighet og avvik: En studie i Islendingesagaens menneskebilde, med særlig vekt på Njála (Bergen 1998). He uses both modern and medieval concepts in his analysis. 16 ÁRMANN JAKOBSSON Flosi must have had further reasons to worry that people might see him as not manly enough. One might be that he was inexperienced in battle and thus felt less masculine. Another might be that he knows himself to be a coward and is thus sensitive to goading. The third might be that he had actually been having sex with men and was terrified that others knew. We are faced with the dilemma that sagas never confirm such intimate things, so we are left with nothing but speculation. Many nineteenth- and twentieth-century scholars would be unwilling to accept that the saga author or audience might consider the third option, in line with their unstated feeling (if not a stated opinion) that homosexual sex, being unnatural, must be a recent phenomenon. But we still have to acknowledge that all the cases of insinuations of sexual relations between men in the sagas, as well the laws dealing with such insinuations,66 must refer to something, and that of course some men must have been having sex with each other in mediaeval Iceland as they have done anywhere and everywhere throughout history, even though they risked derision and social stigma.67 I thus think it is fair to assume that the incident reveals what is adumbrated in the taunts about Gunnarr’s crying: that men who have close friendships with other men are vulnerable to suggestions that they have had sexual relations with other men, which is yet another issue that may result in diminished manliness in Njáls saga. Gunnarr is evasive when Unnr first mentions his friendship with Njáll. A possible explanation is that he fears what society may make of a close friendship between two such different men, one of whom looks like a woman. On the other hand, Njáll has no such reservations and says when Gunnarr comes to seek his aid: “Margir eru þess vinir mínir makligir, at ek leggja til þat sem heilt er; en þó ætla ek at leggja mesta stund á við þik” (I have many friends for whom it is fitting that I give good counsel, and yet I will take the greatest pain with you) (58–59). In the beginning, their friendship is thus differently described by the two: Gunnarr indicates that there is nothing special about it, whereas Njáll clearly states that Gunnarr demands his attention more than others. For years, ordinary readers of Njáls saga have wondered whether a homoerotic interpretation of the friendship is possible. I will discuss its nature below but first the discussion needs to be moved away from the term “homosexuality,” partly since such a category would not have made any sense in the mind of the author or authors, or the saga’s original audience. Njáls saga is obviously not unaware of love between individuals of the same sex, as well as a physical attraction and sexual relations (the three may or may not go hand in hand). However, the term “homosexual” and classification of people into groups of heterosexuals, homosexuals and bisexuals did not exist in thirteenth-century Scandinavia. Of course scholars inevitably often have to use modern concepts when discussing mediaeval subjects, but I think this classification is unhelpful in studies of mediaeval (and perhaps even modern) sexuality.68 More useful 66 These have been explored by Sørensen, Norrønt nid (n. 7 above) 16–39; and Gade, “Homosexuality and the Rape of Males” (n. 51 above). 67 Today not even the risk of torture, flogging, and public hanging under Sharia law stops teenagers in Iran, demonstrated by a widely reported public hanging of two teenagers in the city of Mashhad in Iran on 19 July 2005. 68 Medieval ideas about same-sex relationships have been explored by several scholars in the past three decades. John Boswell was the best-known advocate for the view that there was some kind of medieval MASCULINITY AND POLITICS IN NJÁLS SAGA 17 is Richard E. Zeikowitz’s distinction between “late medieval normative homoerotic desire,” now considered queer but not at the time, and “sodomitic discourse,” where relations between two males face accusations of sodomy as a part of a political campaign.69 Perhaps we see instances of both in Njáls saga but in that case the latter is open, the former submerged. In the penitentials of St. Þorlákr from 1178, homosexual acts are mentioned as being sinful, along with bestiality (which is apparently the worst sin), adultery, fornication or masturbation (with or without the aid of a tree),70 but there do not seem to have been any secular laws against homosexual acts in thirteenth-century Iceland.71 Having sex with persons of the same sex was thus considered bad but so were many other sexual acts. It has also been shown that several narratives reveal a stigma connected with same-sex relations, chiefly based on the assumption that one of the partners would be adopting the ‘female’ role.72 While sexual relations with another man are clearly one of many things that may lead to men being stigmatized as unmanly in Njáls saga, there is no outright condemnation of them in the text. It may be that yet again the sympathy lies more with the accused than the accusers. Flosi is a sympathetic figure in the saga; it is only when he himself starts making jokes at the expense of other’s supposed lack of manliness that he emerges in an unfavorable light. But as I have demonstrated, nobody is ever exonerated of accusations of unmanly behavior in the saga. It is not the “unmanliness” that the text objects to, but rather that invasion into the emotional life of individuals which political manipulation of gender roles, love and desire inevitably results in. The saga reveals that other types of sexual encounters may also lead to a loss of manhood. In the first part of the saga, the wise and valiant Hrútr gets engaged to Unnr Marðardóttir but then has to go to Norway to contest an inheritance.73 There he is quickly seduced by the queen mother Gunnhildr, who intercedes on his behalf with the king but then goes on to inform him that he is to lie with her that night (15). In addition to the remarkable reversal of gender roles (partly explained by the difference in status), the saga is unusually candid about sex both in this instance and elsewhere, and although Gunnhildr forbids everyone to speak of their affair, a man called Úlfr the Unwashed refers to it during a battle with the men of the king of Denmark (18), and homosexuality accepted as such, see his Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality: Gay People in Western Europe from the Beginning of the Christian Era to the Fourteenth Century (Chicago 1980), and his Same-Sex Unions in Premodern Europe (New York 1994). For criticism of Boswell, see Warren Johansson and William A. Percy, “Homosexuality,” Handbook of Medieval Sexuality, ed. Vern L. Bullough and James A. Brundage (New York and London 1996) 155–189. Boswell’s main flaw is that his approach is somewhat essentialist and he uses terms such as “gay” and “homosexuality” which the scholarly debate is gradually moving away from, on to definitions which take the complexity of human desires more into account. See esp. Frantzen, Before the Closet (n. 28 above); also Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, Between Men (n. 60 above); and eadem, Epistomology of the Closet (Berkeley 1990). 69 Richard E. Zeikowitz, Homoeroticism and Chivalry: Discourses of Male Same-Sex Desire in the Fourteenth Century (NY and Basingstroke 2003) esp. 1–15. 70 Diplomatarium Islandicum I, ed. Jón Sigurðsson (Copenhagen 1857–1876) 243. 71 Gade, “Homosexuality and the Rape of Males” (n. 51 above) 135. 72 See n. 61. But even though the penetrated partner was seen as acting as a woman, the other partner would also be failing to conform to what would have been constituted as normative sex in this society (bearing in mind that anal sex between a man and a woman was also deviant). 73 Hrútr’s wisdom and valor is mentioned or demonstrated in the saga on several occasions (6, 13, 14 and 26). 18 ÁRMANN JAKOBSSON compares the relationship of the two to the hard blows which Hrútr strikes in battle.74 Sex indeed may function as a weapon in the saga, and soon the complexity of sex becomes apparent, when Gunnhildr asks Hrútr whether he has a woman in Iceland and he denies it (20). This lack of honesty leads her to curse their sexual relations and it turns out that Hrútr is unable to consummate his marriage with Unnr (24). Sex is complicated and dangerous, and, as Hrútr discovers, humiliating if it doesn’t work out the way it should. Unnr leaves Hrútr and soon word gets out that the reason is that Hrútr has been unable to penetrate his wife. His manhood is compromised and his humiliation spelled out by two little boys who innocently make a game of the legal quarrel between Hrútr and M@rðr, Unnr’s father, who now wants his dowry back (26– 29). The end result is that while Hrútr does not exactly gain his manhood, at least he manages to draw his ex-father-in-law into dishonor along with him, by challenging him to a duel, which M@rðr refuses, with the result that he is mocked for cowardice (28). The irony of the whole situation is that it seems to be the enormity of Hrútr’s male organ which leads to his impotence: “Þegar hann kemr við mik, þá er h@rund hans svá mikit, at hann má ekki eptirlæti hafa við mik, en þó h@fum vit bæði breytni til þess á alla vega, at vit mættim njótask, en þat verðr ekki. En þó áðr vit skilim, sýnir hann þat af sér, at hann er í œði sínu rétt sem aðrir menn” (When he comes close to me his penis is so large that he can’t have any satisfaction from me, and yet we’ve both tried every possible way to enjoy each other, but nothing works. By the time we part, however, he shows that he’s just like other men) (24). The last sentence suggests that Hrútr has no problem getting hard or to ejaculate but simply cannot penetrate Unnr. That this is due to the curse of Gunnhildr is made evident by the fact Hrútr does not seem to have sexual problems in any other age of his life—Laxdæla saga has him fathering 16 sons and 10 daughters and still siring children at seventy.75 By and large, Hrútr thus would seem like an unlikely candidate for sudden impotence. It is possible to detect an irony in the nature of the curse.76 Impotence has always been seen as diminishing a man’s maleness,77 but, while the mediaeval emphasis on the largeness of the penis may not quite have rivaled the modern one, a large penis would nevertheless also have been seen as a sign of manhood, as a physical attribute 74 Sexual frankness, to the point of vulgarity, is, strangely enough, characteristic of Njáls saga. The episode of Unnr and Hrútr ends with two small unnamed boys playing a game where they use the somewhat uncivil word “serða” (which means “penetrate” and was probably roughly equivalent to “fuck” in the Middle Ages) (29), and later in the saga the jealous Þjóstólfr tells Hallgerðr’s husband Glúmr that he has no strength for anything except “br@lta á maga Hallgerði” (bouncing on Hallgerd’s belly) (49). And Skarphéðinn refers to “razgarnarendann merarinnar” (the mare’s arse) (305), when he insults Þorkell hákr. I would contend that Njáls saga is frank to the point of obscenity, which may not be easy to define; see Madeline H. Caviness, “Obscenity and Alterity: Images that Shock and Offend Us/Them, Now/Then?” Obscenity: Social Control and Artistic Creation in the European Middle Ages, ed. Jan M. Ziolkowski (Leiden, Boston, and Cologne 1998) 155–175. 75 “Laxdæla saga” 48–49, 105–106. 76 And noted by Dronke, The Role of Sexual Themes (n. 18 above) 2–11 and 30. William Sayers has discussed the function of Gunnhildr in Njáls saga and other saga narratives in an interesting article, “Power, Magic and Sex: Queen Gunnhildr and the Icelanders,” Scandinavian–Canadian Studies 8 (1995) 57–77. He calls the saga’s tone “neutral” (66) but nevertheless sees Gunnhildr as a sexual predator (with some justification) and finds her curse more vindictive than humorous. 77 Vern L. Bullough, “On Being a Male in the Middle Ages,” Medieval Masculinities: Regarding Men in the Middle Ages, ed. Clare A. Lees (Minneapolis and London 1994) 31–45, esp. 41–42. MASCULINITY AND POLITICS IN NJÁLS SAGA 19 that clearly distinguishes men from women.78 When Gunnhildr makes Hrútr’s member so large that he effectively becomes impotent, she might be making the statement that a penis fit for a queen is too large for an ordinary Icelandic women. Or she has such a poignant sense of irony that in making her lover less sexually potent by enhancing his member, she demonstrates very effectively that being a big man is not always a blessing. The accursed union of Hrútr and Unnr is merely the first of many failed marriages in the saga. The narrative of this messy divorce is followed by an account of Hallgerðr’s two marriages in her youth, only one of which is unhappy, although both are abruptly terminated by her jealous foster father Þjóstólfr—he kills both husbands before being himself killed by Hrútr, who has now regained his manliness. Unnr goes on to marry the devious and unpopular Valgarðr grái, the union producing M@rðr, the arch-villain of the saga, who thus becomes an indirect fruit of Gunnhildr’s curse. Hallgerðr’s third and probably last marriage,79 to Gunnarr of Hlíðarendi, must also be regarded as a failure, in spite of their combined glamour. Its fate is in fact foreboded from the outset, as even during their wedding banquet, a divorce takes place (89). Of course, it must be kept in mind that a bad marriage is a better subject for a story than a happy one,80 and there are also happy marriages in Njáls saga, including that of Njáll and Bergþóra which goes on happily right until their death in the fire. Perhaps as another example of what Gunnhildr demonstrates with her curse, that hypermasculinity is an illusion and sometimes the least masculine may be the most potent. NJÁLL’S WAY In Njáls saga, the list of men attacked for not being manly enough seems almost endless; on it are Gunnarr and Njáll, Skarpheðinn and Þórhallr, Helgi Njálsson and his assailant Flosi, Hrútr and his father-in-law M@rðr. No other saga has such a plethora of leading men whose masculinity is challenged, and neither does any other saga reveal how good men deviate from the masculine ideal and become blubbering, crossdressing, troll-sodomized fops. Does this makes it possible to postulate a theory that Njáls saga, far from being misogynistic, instead holds men in contempt? The saga does portray masculinity under attack. However, it presents its leading men as rounded, sympathetic characters who usually behave honorably, although most (including Gunnarr and Hrútr) make grievous mistakes and some (Flosi and the sons 78 On the role of the penis in medieval Iceland, see Carl Phelpstead, “Size Matters: Penile Problems in Sagas of Icelanders” (forthcoming). In modern times the signification value of the penis itself has increased while in the Middle Ages, the testicles were regarded as just as important symbol of manhood; see esp. Gary Taylor, Castration: An Abbreviated History of Western Manhood (New York and London 2000) 30–100. It has been suggested by David M. Friedman, A Mind of Its Own: A Cultural History of the Penis (New York, 2001) 22, that the classical and medieval emphasis on the size of the penis may not have quite rivalled the modern obsession (which cannot have escaped the notice of anyone with an internet mail service, as it is driven home by daily offers of penis enlargements). 79 This is hard to ascertain, since Hallgerðr simply vanishes from the saga, last seen at Grjótá repeating her somewhat tired old ‘Old Beardless’ joke (229); cf. Bragi Halldórsson, “Áttundi maðurinn við Markarfljót,” Jarteinabók Jóns Böðvarssonar: Afmælisrit helgað Jóni Böðvarssyni sextugum 2. maí 1990 (Reykjavík 1990) 183–189. 80 Cf. Roberta Frank, “Marriage in Twelfth- and Thirteenth-Century Iceland,” Viator 4 (1973) 473–484, at 478. 20 ÁRMANN JAKOBSSON of Njáll) commit horrible atrocities.81 That none is immune from suspicions of a lack of manliness does not mean that they are more flawed than the average man. We must therefore conclude that the demands made on men constantly to prove their manhood are unfair.82 The virtues of what has been described as a “profoundly materialistic and honor-obsessed masculinity,” with the emphasis on courage, protection of one’s own, swift and merciless reprisal, loyalty and brutality,83 are being exaggerated to the point of meaninglessness by those who use the ideal as a weapon against their opponents. That does not mean that masculinity is unattainable. In fact, the saga does provide its own masculine ideal, which is vastly different from that of the society it depicts. Gunnarr is admirable for his fighting skills, modesty and elegance and Skarpheðinn for his sardonic wit, valor, and toughness. And yet it is Njáll who comes closest to being the ideal man of the saga, in spite of (or so it seems at first) his unmanly appearance.84 However, this apparent contradiction is to my mind a deliberate statement on the part of an author who is making his or her own point about masculinity: that it has less to do with beards and battle-axes than intelligence, restraint and power. Heroism is not absent from the saga. On the contrary, hardly anywhere else does one find such exaggerated feats and none more so than in the battles of Gunnarr of Hlíðarendi who has no problem catching large spears in the air and promptly sending them back, as well as killing Vikings by surprising them with his swift swordsmanship (77–79). By and large, Njáls saga glamorizes battles,85 and provides numerous examples of men who make laconic statements after having had various body parts chopped off (see, e.g., 158, 187, and 234).86 However, in Njáls saga (as well as most of the other sagas), there are two kinds of heroism. One is the battle-ax and sword-swinging type, possessed only by warrior heroes such as Gunnarr and Skarpheðinn.87 The other is the kind of heroism that is available not only to such heroes but to everyone else: women, children, servants, slaves, old men, and clerics— even to non-aggressive beardless chieftains.88 Also to villains such as Hrappr and Kolr Egilsson whom we cannot regard as role models and yet the saga does not deny even 81 Cf. William Ian Miller, “Justifying Skarpheðinn: Of Pretext and Politics in the Icelandic Bloodfeud,” Scandinavian Studies 55 (1983) 316–344. 82 Cf. Kress, “Manndom og misogyni” (n. 18 above) 50. 83 See David Townsend, “Ironic Intertextuality and the Reader’s Resistance to Heroic Masculinity in the Waltharius,” Becoming Male in the Middle Ages, ed. J. J. Cohen and Bonnie Wheeler (New York and London 2000) 67–86. 84 Kress takes the same line in “Manndom og misogyni” (n. 18 above); see also Fyrir dyrum fóstru (n. 20 above) 8. 85 See Ármann Jakobsson, “Sannyrði sverða: Vígaferli í Íslendinga sögu og hugmyndafræði sögunnar,” Skáldskaparmál 3 (1994) 42–78, esp. 53. 86 In many instances, these witty persons are actually villains. One may wonder whether it is possible to read something into that. If being calm and composed and telling jokes after receving terrible wounds is so heroic, why is it that the most memorable cases of this are minor figures from the wrong team? Is this particular brand of heroism, even though admirable, perhaps not something to strive for? 87 The problematic nature of this kind of heroism and the awareness of the sagas of it has been discussed by Theodore M. Andersson, “The Displacement of the Heroic Ideal in the Family Sagas,” Speculum 45 (1970) 575–593. 88 I am referring here to the binary opposition that Carol Clover outlined in her 1993 article “between able-bodied men (and the exceptional woman) on one hand and, on the other, a kind of rainbow coalition of everyone else (most women, children, slaves, and old, disabled, or otherwise disenfranchised men”; “Regardless of Sex” (n. 10 above) 380. MASCULINITY AND POLITICS IN NJÁLS SAGA 21 them their heroic moments. Thus, those branded by society as weak and feminine (or blauðr which means both female and cowardly),89 or by the saga as villainous and somewhat contemptible, can rise above the restrictions of the role, and they frequently do,90 the braggart Bj@rn from M@rk being a good example.91 That Njáll possesses such valor is beyond dispute. When the fires have been lit at his house, it is stated that he comforted all his household courageously: “Slíkar fort@lur hafði hann fyrir þeim ok aðrar hraustligri” (Such were the words he had for them, and others even more reassuring) (329).92 The anecdote about Hrútr’s impotence establishes potency as a major theme in the saga. Njáll does not lack that: one of the first things we learn about him is that he has four sons and three daughters. In addition, he is soon introduced as the surrogate father of Gunnarr and he fosters Þórhallr Ásgrímsson and H@skuldr Þráinsson, all of which makes him (as Helga Kress has noted), the dominating patriarch of the saga, beard or no beard.93 In addition, none of his sons, biological, adopted or surrogate, rebels against the father. Gunnarr may marry Hallgerðr without consulting Njáll (86– 87) and in the end he disobeys him and stays home instead of going abroad, which gets him killed (181–84). These fatal but isolated acts of independence only serve to accentuate Gunnarr’s dependence upon and obedience to Njáll. When Njáll hatches a plan to fool Hrútr, Gunnarr follows it to the letter and continues to do exactly as Njáll says in his various lawsuits at the Alþingi (see, e.g., 59–64 and 130–132). H@skuldr Þráinsson allows Njáll to chose a wife for him (240) and Njáll’s biological sons may marry and acquire their own homes but continue to flock to Bergþórshváll. In the rare instances where they act alone, they appear to have his unspoken blessing (115 and 232), and it is only in killing H@skuldr that they deliberately and aggressively defy their father. And yet there is something ambiguous about even this rebellion.94 They are instantly back at their father’s who then has to lead the effort to get them assistance (295). Only Skarpheðinn rocks the boat in this endeavor and when Flosi and his men arrive to kill them, they all doggedly follow the old man into the house to perish along with him. Again only Skarpheðinn has reservations about how smart that is (326) but still does not disobey his father. Although a strong character, he can only summon the energy to do so one single time. This relationship thus comes short of being a generation conflict of the type that characterizes many sagas.95 Njáll is not only in control of his family. He manipulates every law and every nota89 90 Ibid. 363–365. Well-known examples of very old men, poor men, and women showing that kind of spirit are in Gísla saga (84 and 112) and Sturlunga saga (434). This is elegantly phrased by Clover, “Regardless of Sex” (n. 10 above) 371: “Woman is a normative category, but not a binding one.” See also Preben Meulengracht Sørensen, Fortælling og ære: Studier i islændingesagaerne (Aarhus 1993) 203–206. 91 His role in the saga’s creation of the concept of heroism has been analysed by William E. Judd, “Valgerðr’s Smile,” Scandinavian Studies 56 (1984) 203–212. 92 While “hraustligr” can mean and probably does mean reassuring in this context, this word also indicates courage and valor. 93 Kress, “Ekki h@fu vér kvennaskap” (n. 15 above) 293–295. 94 For a detailed analysis of the political implications of the act, see Miller, “Justifying Skarpheðinn” (n. 81 above). 95 See Paul Schach, “Some Observations on the Generation-Gap Theme in the Icelandic Sagas,” The Epic in Medieval Society, ed. Harald Scholler (Tübingen 1977) 361–381; Marianne E. Kalinke, “Stæri ek brag: Protest and Subordination in Hallfreðar saga,” Skáldskaparmál 4 (1997) 50–68. 22 ÁRMANN JAKOBSSON ble man in Iceland in order to assist Gunnarr. According to the saga, he is “heilráðr ok góðgjarn … hógværr ok drenglyndr” (sound of advice and well-intentioned … modest and noble-spirited) (57). Yet he has no qualms about tricking Hrútr on Gunnarr’s behalf. Later on he counsels his sons to goad the people at Grjótá into piling up abusive language, so they can kill Þráinn without any blame being attached (226). And when he wants to help H@skuldr to get his “goðorð,” he deliberately gives bad advice so that cases cannot be settled and then argues for the establishment for a Fifth Court, that requires new “goðorð,” including one for H@skuldr. In spite of the previous statements about his kindness and good intentions, Njáll often seems coldly manipulative when helping his favorites.96 But he gets away with it and retains our sympathy. Last but not least, Njáll is also in supreme control of himself. It is perhaps not surprising that Skarpheðinn sees restraint as an all-important criterion of masculinity since he has grown up under a father who, unlike everyone else, cannot be goaded or taunted. Even the very restrained Gunnarr gets angry when accused of having cried (136). But Njáll is called Old Beardless on numerous occasions without losing his composure or lifting a finger to avenge the slights. This may paradoxically make him the strongest male of the saga. Unlike all the others, he accepts that having no beard makes him feminine and simply doesn’t care. Thus he is made stronger by his lack of masculinity.97 His unmanly appearance might be the key to his success. Njáll seems to embrace his feminine qualities and turn them into strengths. Perhaps it is because he was raised by a woman settler of noble birth: Njáll’s mother is one of the very few known woman settlers in Iceland (chap. 20) and he is thus raised in a matriarchy. For whatever reason, Njáll perceives the emptiness of the saga’s masculine ideal and proves immune to all jeers about his appearance. This freedom from the constrictions of gender is only possible because he had so much experience at being “Old Beardless.” DOES LOVE STAND A CHANCE IN THE SAGA WORLD? In Njáls saga, love often becomes a tool in the hands of manipulators. Ironically, one of the greatest manipulators of the saga, M@rðr Valgarðsson, falls victim to love near the close of the saga, when he is coerced into siding firmly with the Njálssynir camp after the fire at Bergþórshváll. Gizurr the White then counsels Kári to threaten M@rðr that his wife will leave him, adding that he loves her like his own eyes (355). Apparently the wife is in on the plot, or she is long tired of M@rðr, because when he starts stalling, she claims to be ready to leave him. That is enough for the biggest villain in the saga, who henceforth is on the side of good and it may even be argued that he manages to exit the saga with more honor than ever before.98 It seems appropriate that someone who has used the emotions of others so unscrupulously in his strategies 96 See Jónsson, Lykillinn að Njálu (n. 26 above) 128 and 174. I am not implying that this is condemned in the text; Lönnroth believes it isn’t (Njáls saga [n. 16 above] 191), and I would tend to agree, bearing in mind that the saga text itself may be critical of the (now deceased) system that Njáll is manipulating. See Pencak, The Conflict of Law and Justice (n. 14 above). 97 Cf. Kress, Fyrir dyrum fóstru (n. 20 above) 8. MASCULINITY AND POLITICS IN NJÁLS SAGA 23 should fall victim to his own. But it may at first seem to lead to a bleak conclusion: that love is a handicap in the commonwealth society depicted in Njáls saga, and that real emotions are impossible. I will nevertheless argue that the outlook of the saga is perhaps not quite so grim (perhaps it wouldn’t have been so popular if it was). Love can be attained in Njáls saga. In some cases though, it requires people to rise above the restrictive norms of society. Although Njáls saga has been described as being uncommonly devoid of emotional vocabulary,99 Njáll himself is a notable exception. He is not afraid to say that Gunnar is his favorite, even though he must realize that society’s rigid reinforcement of gender roles might make such a statement suspicious, just as everything else is. Later he is not afraid to speak of his love for his foster son H@skuldr in the most exalted terms: “ek unna meira H@skuldi en sonum mínum, ok er ek spurða, at hann var veginn, þótti mér sløkkt it sœtasta ljós augna minna” (I loved Hoskuld more than my own sons, and when I heard that he had been slain I felt that the sweetest light of my eyes had been put out) (309). Editors and translators have been quick to draw attention to the clerical nature of this vocabulary,100 but that doesn’t mean that Njáll is insincere. It seems more simple to assume that he loved H@skuldr dearly, and whether he is assisted in that endeavor by the language of Christianity or not, he is not afraid to express it. It is remarkable that love is only mentioned when Njáll speaks of his feelings for H@skuldr. That does not mean that this love is erotic and neither does it mean that it isn’t. In fact, our modern distinction between the sexual and non-sexual and our obsession with whether love between two men is sexual or not does not seem to be shared by Njáls saga. Love is love. Bergþóra does not speak of love for her husband when she returns into the fire with him but of her vows and commitment to him (330). That does not mean that she does not love him. In fact the marriage of Njáll and Bergþóra is a singular success in a saga which is replete with bad marriages. When they go together into the fire, there can be no doubt of their feelings and loyalty to each other. Ironically, they are perhaps the most queer couple in the saga: the man without a beard and his somewhat masculine wife with the gnarled nails. Since they are man and wife and have raised six children, there can also be no doubt that theirs was a sexual relationship. But it is equally hard to discern Njáll’s real feelings for Bergþóra as it is to analyze his feelings for H@skuldr. When it comes to the exact nature of love and sex, the author of Njáls saga 98 Robert Cook has argued convincingly that in the last part of the saga, M@rðr is partly rehabilitated; “Mörður Valgarðsson,” Sagnaheimur: Studies in Honour of Hermann Pálsson on his 80th birthday, 26th May 2001, ed. Ásdís Egilsdóttir and Rudolf Simek (Vienna 2001) 63–77, esp. 73–76. 99 Vésteinn Ólason, “Emosjon og aksjon i Njáls saga,” Nordica Bergensia 3 (1994) 157–172. The exception is its use of the words “vinr” and “vinátta,” which according to Vésteinn do not have strong emotional connotations (162). As seen below, I myself find that a bit understated and would argue that the friendships described in Njáls saga are emotionally charged. 100 See, e.g., Brennu-Njáls saga, 309 n. 2. On how learned 12th-c. Europeans unashamedly used passionate language to depict their friendships, see Julian P. Haseldine, “Love, Separation and Male Friendship: Words and Actions in Saint Anselms Letters to his Friends,“ Masculinity in Medieval Europe, ed. Dawn M. Hadley (London and New York 1999) 238–255. It is hard to find any living scholar who would deny the clerical influence on Njáls saga. Present scholarly consensus regards it as a mixture of native narrative tradition and foreign influence through schools and book learning. The most detailed and tightly argued discussion would be Lönnroth’s Njáls saga (n. 16 above). See also Pálsson, Uppruni Njálu og hugmyndir (n. 27 above) esp. 29–70. 24 ÁRMANN JAKOBSSON is vague. This unknown genius may realize that to be certain is sometimes to be obtuse. As I discussed above, there is reason to believe that some of the accusations of unmanliness against Gunnarr and Njáll owe something to an unspoken suspicion that their close relationship might be homoerotic (or even homosexual) and thus unmanly. It is impossible to know if the former is true since the saga never provides enough information to do more than speculate on whether there was any desire between Gunnar and Njáll, sexual or non-sexual.101 The latter is, however, not true in the eyes of the saga, since any type of relationship they might have had would not really have made them unmanly. When it comes down to it, it really does not matter as much as we might now think whether the relationship between Gunnarr and Njáll was erotic. What is important is that it is a loving relationship, uncomprisingly so, which comes under attack and yet it survives. Gunnarr and Njáll remain lifelong companions and friends, their friendship is voluntary, the tie is emotional, the gain uncertain. No women, and especially not Hallgerðr, are allowed to disrupt the intense bond between the two men. Just as Njáll never attempts to compensate for his lack of beard, they refuse to be taunted into giving up their friendship. One of the most intense episodes of the saga (from chaps. 35 to 47) depicts how their friendship survives even the most severe test. It ends in the explicit statement that the two men “váru jafnan vinir” (always remained friends) (118). Gunnarr furthermore remarks: “Góðar eru gjafir þínar, … en meira þykki mér vert vinfengi þitt ok sona þinna” (Your gifts are good, … but of greater worth to me is the friendship with you and your sons) (122) This statement highlights the essence of the whole exchange. Gunnarr is expressing what Njáll has already expressed, that theirs is essentially not a relationship of convenience but of emotions and Gunnarr is now ready to state this without reservations.102 In Njáls saga, the politics of sex are more important than sex itself. It is unimportant whether Gunnarr and Njáll were lovers or friends or just never found the line between the two. The survival of their friendship also proves that emotional attachments are possible in the saga world, even friendship between two such very different men. Only Njáls saga is able to explore that particular question since only the characters in Njáls saga are so obsessed with manliness and quick to find fault if they believe that people are deviating in the slightest from their preordained roles. Njáls saga also shows that these roles are so restrictive that they are almost impossible not to deviate from, and that one way to deal with this is to do as Njáll does, to ignore them. Njáls saga’s treatment of gender is critical of the norms of a misogynist society. It shows that the ideal of masculinity may become so exaggerated that it becomes uncompromising and oppressive. It leads to failed marriages and to outpourings of an aggressive heroism that thrives on the unease of males who know that everything may be used against them. On the whole, Njáls saga is subversive in its treatment of gen101 On the problems of distinguishing between homosexuality, homoeroticism, and homosociality in medieval texts, see Marianne J. Ailes, “The Medieval Male Couple and the Language of Homosociality,” Masculinity in Medieval Europe, ed. Dawn M. Hadley (London and New York 1999) 214–237. 102 Of course it is also to a degree a relationship of convenience. On the complexities of “vinátta” in this society, see Miller, “Justifying Skarpheðinn” (n. 81 above) 339–341. I do, however, believe that in this case, the friendship is more emotional than practical. It is hard, for example, to see Njáll’s precise political gain from this alliance. MASCULINITY AND POLITICS IN NJÁLS SAGA 25 der. It sides with the queers rather than those who brand others as unmasculine. It also provides us with an unlikely hero, without beard and weapons, who is nevertheless attacked no more than everyone else and has not only the wisdom not to react but becomes a master manipulator of the society that might have been expected to ostracize him for being queer. The saga turns the ideals of its society on their head: the queer becomes the norm and those who try to manipulate masculinity end up the lesser men. Not only does the notion of perfect masculinity do more harm than good; it is simply wrong: the least masculine of men may be the most powerful. Ármann Jakobsson Hverfisgötu 49 101 Reykjavik Iceland