Tag: icelandic sagas

It was amusing to realize I don’t have one. Njáll/Bergþóra do little for me (dying tragically for love is easy; living in spite of tragedy for love is hard). I sort of have a soft spot for both Hallgerður’s second and third marriages, both of which I think had more love to them than folks assume–but as OTPs? Not quite. Maybe Hildigunnur/Höskulður–but again I find myself thinking, it’s more complicated than that.

Which really is the reason the saga doesn’t lend itself to OTPs, for me at least–it’s always more complicated with that. That’s how the sagas work. They’re about how things are always more complicated. So I’m hard-pressed to find a clear-cut OTP in any of the ones I’ve read. Even Guðrún/Kjartan (“though I loved him best, I treated him worst”) has me not quite convinced–because it seems to me she genuinely loved two at least two of her actual husbands, too.

Maybe Gísli/Auður, with her hiding him through the many years of his being outlawed. And I’m fond of the tragic Sigurður/Brynhildur, too. (lnhammer suggests–Gunnar/Hillside. Hee!)

But mostly, looking for OTPs in the sagas feels like it’s missing the point. Which is kind of a fascinating thing to realize.

I guess I’ll just have to stick to sighing happily over the thought of Eowyn/Faramir and Meg Murray/Calvin O’Keefe, my own personal favorite forever OTPs.

Þorgerður Glúmsdóttir is Hallgerður’s only daughter (that we know of), by Hallgerður’s second husband, a man who Hallgerður just might have loved (to my reading), but who Hallgerður’s foster father killed just the same.

In the summer she [Hallgerður] gave birth to a girl. Glum asked what her name should be.

She shall be named after my father’s mother, Thorgerd, because she was descended on her father’s side from Sigurd Fanfnisbani [Fafnir’s Bane].

The girl was sprinkled with water and given that name. She grew up there at Varmalaek and came to be like her mother in appearance.

That’s all we hear from Þorgerður until her father Glúmur dies and her mother marries Gunnar. Þorgerður, now fourteen, accompanies her mother to the wedding. She’s described again as a “very beautiful woman.”

Certainly Gunnar’s uncle, Þráinn thinks so. Þráinn is married to a woman–a poet–who was fond of mocking verses. It’s hard to blame her for aiming a few of these verses at Þráinn, though, when he spends his nephew’s wedding oogling his new niece’s fourteen-year-old daughter. Þráinn, not the sort to stand for this sort of thing, apparently, jumps across the table, declares himself divorced from his sharp-tongued wife, and insists she leave the premises at once.

And then, just as the rest of the wedding guests are returning to their drinks and trying to pretend nothing has happened here, that their extended family really isn’t all that dysfunctional, Þráinn speaks up again, and asks Hallgerður’s father if he might have Þorgerður as his wife.

There’s some hemming and hawing–Hallgeður’s father, to his credit, is a little disturbed by Þráinn’s hasty departure from his last wife, but no one’s really willing to speak ill of Þráinn, in the way no one ever wants to be the one to admit that any troublesome relative is, well, troublesome. Even Njáll, who can see the future and so ought to know better, says only that it’s a good match.

So what does fourteen-year-old Þorgerður think of all this? The saga says only that she, like her mother, had nothing against it. I have to assume Hallgerður, at least, meant that, given that she has no trouble at all speaking up when she does disapprove of someone. Þorgerður is betrothed, and seats are hastily shifted about to acknowledge this. The scene concludes, in what seems a pretty tame fate for Hallgerður’s daughter:

Thorgerd took over the [Þráinn]’s household at Grjota and was a good housewife.

I keep wondering–did Þorgerður want this marriage, and if so, what were her reasons? Was she attracted to Þráinn, even after the way he treated his ex-wife? Was she attracted not to him, but to his material possessions and position in the world? Was the marriage maybe simply a convenient way out of her mother and new step-father’s home? Or did Þorgerður somehowfeel pressured into accepting it? It’s not hard to feel pressured into a lot of things at fourteen, after all.

There’s something else that I’ve realized about Þorgerður Glúmsdóttir, which I also keep thinking about: she suffers some of the largest losses from tangled blood-feud that is Njál’s Saga. First her father, Glúmur (though his death had nothing to do with the main blood feud). Then her stepfather Gunnar. Then her husband, Þráinn. (According to the saga, Þorgerður may have been present for her husband’s death.) Then finally, her son, Höskuldur, in one of the story’s most disturbing slayings. (The only time Þorgerður speaks directly on stage is to urge that her brother-in-law take action for that slaying.)

I’m not sure about this, but after Kári Sölmundarson (whose brothers-in-law, father and mother-in-law, and young son are all burned alive), Þorgerður just may be the person who suffers the saga’s most devastating losses.

More and more I find myself wondering just what Þorgerður’s thoughts were during the saga–and what she was really like, beneath the surface of the story, whether she really was simply a good housewife and beautiful woman, or whether there was more there that we never see to this daughter of Hallgerður and descendant of Sigurður Fafnir’s bane.

One day it happened that Gunnar came from the Law-Mount and went down past the booth of the men of Mosfell. Then he saw some women approaching him and they were all beautifully attired, but the one at the head of them most beautifully of all. As they met she greeted Gunnar at once. He responded politely to her greeting and asked who she might be. She said her name was Hallgerd and that she was the daughter of Hoskuld Dalakollsson. She spoke to him without any shyness and asked him to tell her about his travels, and he answered that he would be glad to do so. So they sat down and conversed. She was dressed in a red gown adorned with much finery. She had a scarlet cloak thrown about her which was trimmed with lace down to her skirt. Her hair, which was both fair and full, came down to her bosom. Gunnar on his part was dressed in the robe of honor which King Harald Gormsson had given him and wore on his arm the gold ring which Earl Hakon had given him. They talked together aloud for a long time, and finally he asked whether she was married. She answered that she was not — ‘and there are many who would not risk that.’

‘Is it because you cannot find a suitable match?” he asked.

‘It’s not exactly that,’ she said, ‘but I am said to be hard to please in the matter of husbands.’

‘What would you say if I were to ask you?’ he continued.

‘You wouldn’t be thinking of doing that,’ she answered.

‘But I am,’ said Gunnar.

‘If you are of a mind to, then speak with my father,’ she replied.

With that they ended their talk.

—–

Every time I reread that passage, I find myself asking, was Hallgerður in love with Gunnar, or was she simply going after his riches? The saga doesn’t say–one of the fascinating things about the sagas is that they don’t tell you what anyone is thinking, but leave that to the reader. The first time I read this, I assumed Hallgerður was after Gunnar’s money–he’d just returned from Norway a rich man, after all–and that asking about his travels was just a line to get him talking to her.

But three readings later–I think Hallgerður loved him. Whatever happened later, I think the affection shared during their first meeting was real.

And Hallgerður’s uncle Hrút, who’s one of those (remarkably frequent) saga characters with a way of seeing what’s going to happen before it does, seems to have thought so, too (at least in the Hollander translation–there’s some variation here)–he says, ‘Yes, I realise that both of you are foolishly in love. To be sure, it is you two who risk the most [if you take such a leap in the dark].’

Indeed. But don’t we all?

(Of course, for most of us the risks don’t generally involve blood feud. But even so.)

“That one’s really mythic,” lnhammer told me when I started on the Volsungs. Yeah, sure, I thought, because every saga has scattered bits of mythicness–ghosts, women who turn into birds, men who turn into wolves, people who see the future (lots and lots of people who see the future), random bits of inexplicable sorcery, signs and portents.

But no. The Völsunga Saga is really mythic.

Things that have shown up in the saga so far, in no particular order, include:

– Men who pull on wolf skins and take on wolf shapes
– A one-eyed man who shows up occasionally, offering random advice (in Norse lore, one is always wary when a one-eyed man shows up)
– A sword stuck in a tree that can only be drawn free by a worthy man
– A woman who takes on another woman’s shape in order to produce a son with her twin brother, in order to give birth someone who can avenge her father’s killer
– A man so strong poison cannot kill him (and his son, not quite as strong, who cannot drink poison, but who is at least up to surviving venomous bites)
– Another woman who bears her son for six years before dying in childbirth; her son enters the world well-grown as a result of all that time, and kisses his dead mother
– A broken sword of power, reforged (Tolkien, you little plagiarist)
– A deadly serpent with poisonous blood who guards a hoard of gold
– And whose heart, when eaten, gives one the ability to understand the speech of animals
– A shieldmaiden, sworn to fight in battle and never marry (See Tolkien above. Only Aragorn got off easy when he spurned his shieldmaiden, I see that now)
– The sharing of runes and knowledge and love vows all at once
– A potion of forgetfulness (thinking of the plot of TE, this made me smile–there is precedent for magic to make you forget, yay!)
– A test that requires one ride through flames to win the shieldmaiden’s hand, something only the man she truly loves can do
– The man she truly loves, taking on another man’s shape so that the other man can win the shieldmaiden’s hand instead
– A man killing another man, and the first man’s wife waking drenched in her husband’s blood
– And of course, always, people who can see the future

There’s more. I know I’m forgetting things. Listening to this saga, especially toward the end, is like swimming in mythic lore. Two lines, roughly remembered, that have been particularly staying with me:

– “The potion was made of the strength of the earth and the sea and the blood of her son.”

– “When you rode through the fire, I thought I knew your eyes, but the veil fate laid over me kept me from seeing you clearly.”

I think I need to purchase a good translation to give this one a closer read when I’m done listening to it.

I started with the burners, of course Flosi and the Sigfússons and the others. They committed the deed, after all.

But no one believes it´s that simple. Flosi especially was forced into the burning, after Njáll’s sons killed Njáll’s foster son, Höskuldur Hvítanes-goði, who was kin to the Sigfússons.

So blame the Njálssons for causing their poor Dad’s death, not to mention their own.

Only the Njálssons were goaded and misled and lied and tricked into killing Höskuldur by Mörður Valgarðsson.

Blaming Mörður is easy. He’s a sneaking, lying sort of character, and he plays a role in Gunnar’s death, too. And notice how Mörður bears this strange resemblence to Mordor? Even Tolkien knew Mörður was a villain!

But Mörður was goaded into getting rid of Höskuldur by his father, Valgarður. Valgarður came home after time abroad to discover that men were switching allegience from his and his son’s goðard to Höskuldur’s.

So blame Valgarður for the burning of Njáll.

Oh, but wait, Njáll is the one who helped Höskuldur become a goði. So maybe we need to blame Njáll for his own horrible demise! (And Njáll, with his foresight, really ought to have known better.)

But no, that’s silly. Let´s go back to blaming Valgarður. Valgarður got much of his lands and wealth (not to mention his son) by marrying Unnur, who had a substantial dowry.

So it’s Unnur’s fault? The saga does begin with her. (I still remember our saga guide, in Iceland, pointing to her lands and telling us, this is where it begins.)

But wait, Unnar wouldn’t have had that dowry if her kinsman, Gunnar, hadn’t helped her to reclaim it.

So it’s Gunnar’s fault Njáll died? Gunnar, Njáll’s best friend and staunch supporter, who is years gone by the time of the burning? Well, that would be awfully tragic.

But Unnar wouldn’t have had a dowry to reclaim if she hadn’t divorced her first husband, Hrútur. So it’s Unnar’s fault again. (Also, Unnar wouldn’t have needed to reclaim that dowry if she hadn’t been extravagant, and gone through all of her own resources first.)

But Unnar only divorced Hrútur because he couldn’t consumate his marriage to her. This whole mess is because of Hrútur’s problems in bed!

Come to think of it Hrútur’s niece, Hallgerður of the bowstring incident, helped goad the Njálssons into killing Thráin, Höskuldur’s father–Njáll took Höskuldur as his foster son by way of mending that quarrel. So we could blame Hallgerður for Njáll’s death, too, and why not–she gets blamed for everything else. (And anyway, Hallgerður plays a role in Gunnar’s death, which plays a role in Njáll´s death in turn.)

But no, it’s more fun to blame Njáll’s death on Hrútur’s lack of marital performance. (The saga claims the problem was that Hrútur’s performance was, umm, too vigorous, rather than lacking. But the saga was written by men. We know what really happened.)

But wait, Hrútur wasn’t to blame for failing to consumate his marriage! A curse was placed on him by the queen of Norway, when he left her bed to go return to Iceland and marry Unnar.

So clearly, Njáll’s death is the fault of the queen of Norway. I like that. I want to stop there. 🙂

Only she might not have cursed Hrút if she hadn’t lied to her, so … is it Hrút’s fault again?

The amazing thing is, Njáll’s death really is the fault of all these characters, wittingly and unwittingly, in small ways and large ones, and of other characters and undercurrents and events that I left out, too, because this is actually something of a simplification.

And that is some serious story plotting–the sort of plotting that could stand its own beside any multi-volume fantasy series. Especially considering that the story doesn’t even end with the burning–there’s all the vengeance and reconciliation that comes afterwards, too, which would probably take up a volume or three all by itself today. 🙂

Saga geekery follows.

Gunnar defends his dorm room. Complete with an updated singing halberd.

Hallgerður buffs her nails as Gunnar dies. A high-school production. Includes Hallgerður and Bergþóra’s always-entertaining who-can-kill-more-servants contest.

The lego-people version of the burning of Njáll. Alas, the clip ends before the half-melted Kári lego can take vengeance.

Claymation Njála. There’s Njal at the end, (silently) saying, “There’ll be nothing but trouble if that woman comes to the south.”

The clip that came up the most often of all in my Njála searches.