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Journal of English and Germanic Philology—July

© 2015 by the Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois

Memory, Imagery, and Visuality

in Old Norse Literature

Pernille Hermann, Aarhus University

What do we actually know about memory in the medieval Nordic world?
there exists no learned treatise in the Old Norse literary corpus that
explicitly deals with the ways in which Nordic writers perceived memory
or with the techniques they used when training their memory. but, as this
study will show, Old Norse texts of various genres offer multiple entrances
to studying this mental and intellectual resource. the literature reveals
important things about how memory functioned, about the perception
of memory, and about the impact of memory on the literature written in
the North in the High Middle Ages.
the texts referred to in this study were initially written in the thirteenth

century but are transmitted in manuscripts from later centuries.

1

Apart

from a single case from Norway, all the texts were written in Iceland.
there, education and literary production were practiced in various mi-
lieus: “Iceland had no single dominant cultural centre, and education and
the work of authorship and copying were carried on in many places in the
country, at chieftains’ farms, in monasteries and at episcopal seats.”

2

With

the adoption of Christianity—and with that, the introduction of writing
in the Latin alphabet—the Nordic world became part of the educational
systems and world of ideas of medieval Europe. Still, the Nordic authors
had a conspicuous interest in their own traditions and narrative heritage,
and their learning was influenced by this heritage. Old Norse literature is
shaped by multiple sources of inspiration, a variety of ingredients amal-
gamating in one melting pot, and this particular quality makes it both
unique and fascinating.
this study will, first, concentrate on the function of the book and re-
flect on imagery used as expressions of memory; second, it will concern
one of the main gateways to memory, namely visuality. the texts dealt
with are sources that in different ways are highly valuable to a study of

1. the dating of texts will not be discussed here; all dates given conform to standard

opinions of when the texts were first written.

2. Preben Meulengracht Sørensen, “Literature and Society,” in At fortælle Historien. Tell-

ing History. Studier i den gamle nordiske litteratur. Studies in Norse Literature (trieste: Edizioni

Parnaso, 2001), p. 317.

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Hermann

memory, both when they offer explicit commentary on memory (minni),
for instance, in authorial metacomments, and when they implicitly involve
perceptions of memory in the narrated worlds of the texts.

MEMORY AND WRIttEN CULtURE

Mary Carruthers has argued that memory as an important resource can-
not be restricted solely to oral cultures, but notes that it serves a crucial
function in cultures of writing as well:

because oral cultures must obviously depend on memory, and hence value

memory highly, such valorization has come to be seen as a hallmark of orality,

as opposed to literacy. this has led to a further assumption that literacy and

memory are per se incompatible, and that a “rise of literacy” will therefore

bring with it a consequent devalorizing and disuse of memory.

3

the suggestion that memory played an important role independent of
orality and writing is relevant to the Nordic case where studies often com-
bine memory and orality.

4

Rather than considering writing as a technique

or a method that substituted memory, it can be examined as a tool that
was taken up as a helpful ancillary device in a culture that continued to
use memory as one of its main cultural resources for storage and pres-
ervation. Medieval culture was essentially memorial and, as Ásdís Egils-
dóttir has written, “Writing and literary culture did not replace memory,
it supported it.”

5

Old Norse literature contains numerous authorial statements, which
suggests that medieval writers considered writing and books as aids to
memory, and some of these statements will be treated below.

6

First, how-

ever, an episode from Guðmundar biskups saga hin elzta (ca. 1280) can
serve to illustrate the function and symbolic meaning of the book in a
memorial culture. A story is told about the priest Ingimundr who gave
up his property and went travelling. While at sea, the ship lost its cargo,

3. Mary Carruthers, The Book of Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval Culture, Cambridge

Studies in Medieval Literature, 10 (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1990), p. 10.

4. the interest in orality and memory is a response to the many oral-derived and memory-

dependent genres in Old Norse literature (skaldic poetry, eddic poetry, saga, and law), all

of which point to highly complex levels of memory in oral Norse culture.

5. Ásdís Egilsdóttir, “From Orality to Literacy: Remembering the Past and the Present in

Jóns saga helga,” in Reykholt som makt- og lærdomssenter. I den islandske og nordiske kontekst, ed.

Else Mundal (Reykholt: Snorrastofa, 2006), p. 218.

6. On writing as an aid to memory, see, e.g., Jürg Glauser, “the Speaking bodies of Saga

texts,” in Learning and Understanding in the Old Norse World: Essays in Honour of Margaret Clunies

Ross, ed. Judy quinn, Kate Heslop, and tarrin Wills (turnhout: brepols, 2007), p. 19; Pernille

Hermann, “Concepts of Memory and Approaches to the Past in Medieval Icelandic Literature,”

Scandinavian Studies, 81 (2009), 289–93; and Hermann, “Saga Literature, Cultural Memory,

and Storage,” Scandinavian Studies, 85 (2013).

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including Ingimundr’s book chest, the only thing he did not sell when
he left home:

þá saknaðe Íngimundr bókakistu sinnar, ok var hon drepin fire borð; þá þótte

honum hart um höggvast, því at [þá var farit ynðe hans er bêkurnar vóro farnar

. . . Þá heitr Íngimundr prestr, at bókakista hans skylde á land koma ok bêkr;

en v nóttum síþarr spurðist, at kistan var á land komin at Dröngum heil, ok þar

í allt þat er ván var, ok hèlt hespa ein, en tvêr vóru af brotnar; en allar kistur

aðrar, þêr er á land vóru komnar, þá vóru brotnar, ok allt or þat er í hafðe verit.

7

(then Ingimund found that his book-chest was missing, for it had been

washed overboard. this was a hard blow for him, for with his books he had lost

his heart’s delight . . . then Ingimund the priest made a solemn supplication

that his book-chest and books should come ashore, and five nights later the

news came that his chest had been washed ashore at Drangar, undamaged

and with none of its contents missing; it was held together by a single clasp,

for the other two had snapped. Any other chests that came ashore were

smashed to pieces and their contents gone.)

8

the books are described as his delight (ynði), which implies that Ingi-
mundr’s preoccupation with books involved affectionate feelings. the
writing and reading of books implied a deep personal engagement and,
in a culture where books were rare, much effort was put into memorizing
their contents, an activity that demanded concentration and meditation.
Nothing is said about the topics of the lost books, a fact that directs atten-
tion away from book contents toward books as physical objects. As material
objects, books were not merely important because of their contents but
also because of their concrete physical existence. In Ingimundr’s case,
the reappearance of the books is connected to divine intervention. the
books thus act as media for communication between this world and the
other-world, an understanding of books that points to their placement
within a Christian milieu. At a symbolic level, the chest containing the
books can be seen to refer to memoria imagery, where the arca, that is, the
wooden chest or in other instances any storage container, is a metaphor
for memory.

9

thinking of this storehouse metaphor, the book chest–like

memory serves as a compartment where books, that is, knowledge, infor-
mation, and words, are kept.

10

At this symbolic level, the (miraculous)

7. Jón Sigurðsson and Guðbrandr Vigfússon, eds., Biskupa sögur I, Hið íslenzka bókmen-

tafélag (Copenhagen: Møller, 1858), pp. 423–24.

8.

The Life of Gudmund the Good, Bishop of Holar, trans., G. turville-Petre and E. S. Olszewska

(Coventry: Viking Society for Northern Research, 1942), pp. 12, 13.

9. Carruthers, Book of Memory, p. 43; Ásdís Egilsdóttir, “From Orality to Literacy,” p. 219.

10. D. Draaisma has shown how numerous storage spaces have in various contexts been

invoked as metaphors of memory, Metaphors of Memory: A History of Ideas about the Mind

(Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2000), p. 3:

. . . for information, archives and libraries, for goods, such as wine cellars and ware-

houses; for animals, such as dovecotes and aviaries; for valuables, such as treasure

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return of the book chest, with the undamaged books still in it, points to
a situation where memory is maintained and oblivion is prevented.

MEMORY AND COMPOSItION

the Icelandic Church history bearing the remarkable name of Hungrvaka
(hunger-stirrer), written ca. 1200 by an unknown author, is categorized as
one of the sagas of bishops. Its prologue is of interest to the present con-
text.

11

First, the prologue deals with the function of the book in memorial

culture, that is, how authors and readers made use of writing and of the
book in their mnemonic efforts, and second, its metaphorical expressions
give indications of how memory was perceived.
the

Hungrvaka prologue is one of many examples where an author

clearly states that the book serves as an aid to memory:

12

En ek hefi þó náliga

ǫllu við slegit, at rita þat sem ek hefi í minni fest. Hefi

ek af því þenna bœkling saman settan, at eigi falli mér með

ǫllu ór minni

þat er ek heyrða af þessu máli segja inn fróða mann Gizur Hallsson, ok enn

n

ǫkkura menn aðra merkiliga hafa í frásǫgn fœrt.

13

(though I have cast together into my book well-nigh all that I have fast in

my memory. I have put together this little book in order that there might

not altogether fall out of my memory what I heard that man of knowledge,

Gizor Hallsson, say on the matter thereof, and what certain other notable

men have set forth in narrative.)

14

chests and vaults; for coins, such as the leather purses or sacculi used by medieval

money changers. Other metaphors are derived from the landscape: woods, fields

and labyrinths. the hidden nature of memories is expressed in metaphors such

as caves, grottoes, mineshafts, the depths of the sea. buildings are also included in

this imagery: palaces, abbeys, theatres. the memory has been seen as a magnet,

stomach and a honey comb, as a phosphorus ore, an Aeolian harp and a loom.

Everchanging images are projected onto our theories of memory, a succession of

metaphors and metamorphoses, a true omnia in omnibus.

11. For an investigation of prologues in Old Icelandic texts, see Sverrir tómasson, Formálar

íslenskra sagnaritara á miðöldum (Reykjavík: Stofnun Árna Magnússonar, 1988).

12. Authorial comments that reflect on memory and on the book are found not only in

the sagas of bishops but also in various other kinds of text. A few selected examples will

follow below, otherwise they are seen in, e.g., konungasögur, Sverris saga, and in a saga such

as Þiðreks saga that has affinities to riddarasögur. See, e.g., theodore M. Andersson, “An In-

terpretation of Þiðreks saga,” in Structure and Meaning in Old Norse Literature: New Approaches to

Textual Analysis and Literary Criticism, ed. John Lindow, Lars Lönnroth, and Gerd Wolfgang

Weber, the Viking Collection, 3 (Odense: Odense Univ. Press, 1986), pp. 347–77.

13. Ásdís Egilsdóttir, ed., Biskupa sögur II, Íslenzk fornrit, 16 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka

fornritafélag, 2002), p. 3.

14. Gudbrand Vigfusson and F. York Powell, trans. Origines Islandicae 1 (Oxford: Clarendon

Press, 1905), p. 425.

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the author transferred what he had imprinted in his memory (festa í
minni) to the book (bœkling) in order to prevent oblivion. thus, memory
and the book are brought together in a way which implies that the book
was used as a device assisting memory.
Mary Carruthers has emphasized that authorship was closely linked to
memory and that the making of a text originated in activities of memory.
Authorship is to be understood from the perspective of composition and
from the acknowledgement that the coming into being of a text presup-
posed such activities as recollection, invention, and meditation. this type
of compositional activity is not limited to the writing process itself but
applies also to preparatory stages and contexts of exchange: “For com-
position is not an act of writing, it is rumination, cogitation, dictation, a
listening and a dialogue, a ‘gathering’ (collectio) of voices from their several
places in memory.”

15

In accordance with that line of thinking, the authorial comments in
Hungrvaka’s prologue imply a connection between authorship, memory,
and composition. An explicit hint that the author partakes in compositional
activity is that he reflects not merely on the transfer of knowledge between
memory and the book but also on the activity of putting together and arrang-
ing (setja saman) bits and pieces. the author refers to what he has gathered
and kept in his memory; the knowledge transferred to the book derives from
what he has heard from Gizurr Hallson, as well as what other outstanding
men have narrated, which presupposes a gathering of knowledge in the
form of what was heard orally alongside—presumably—what was taken
from written sources, that is, what was read. the knowledge thus gathered
was then processed in the author’s own memory and eventually transferred
into the book.
the processing of material is dependent on the author and his composi-
tional skills, his selective priorities, and his rhetorical abilities, a blend that
potentially makes the resulting book a contentious object. Accordingly,
directing himself to his readers, the author of Hungrvaka’s prologue ad-
mits reservations about his own individual processing of what was shared
knowledge:

Verð ek ok af því skyldugr til at þat mun af mínum v

ǫldum ok vanrœkð ef þat

er n

ǫkkut í þessu máli sem rangt reynisk, þat er ritat er, en eigi þeira manna

er ek þykkjumk þenna fróðleik eptir hafa.

16

(I also am the more bound to do this, because it is my fault and my lack of

care if, in the matter that is here written, there be anything which shall turn

15. Carruthers, Book of Memory, pp. 197–198.

16. Ásdís Egilsdóttir, ed.,

Biskupa sögur II, p. 5.

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out to be wrong, and not the fault of those men of whom I have said that I

have drawn my knowledge thereof.)

17

this comment suggestively alludes to the function of Hungrvaka within
the milieu that produced and received the result of his work: the written
text and the book facilitated a transfer from individual memory to public
memory, creating a focal point for dialogue. the memory of the author
(based upon what he had gathered from others) was transferred to the
book, a medium that externalized his memory and made it accessible to
others. the author, aware of this public function of the book and of its
function as a reference point of dialogue, directed himself toward his
readers with the following comments:

Sýnisk mér þar ráð at sá hafi af þessum fróðleik inum fátœka, er ritaðr er,

[þat er] bezt gegnir ok hann hendir svá gaman at, ok varðveiti þat eptir á er

sjálfum mun í geð falla, en felli þat niðr er honum fellr eigi í skap.

18

(Methinks it is good that a man shall pick out of this goodly matter that is

here written, whatsoever he liketh best and whatsoever yieldeth him pleasure,

and let him lay up in his mind that which falleth in with his mind, but drop

that which doth not fall in with his fashion of thought.)

19

the readers were expected to take things in and to leave things out, to
like and to dislike. For the readers, themselves engaging in mnemonic
and compositional efforts, that is, gathering material, the book served as
a place from which they could pick out (or leave behind) knowledge and
through such selective processes eventually be able themselves to take part
in compositional activities.
When interpreted this way, the prologue gives valuable information
about the function of the book in memorial culture. the book resulted
from the gathering, the storage, and the recollection of the author (and
could thus be a matter of dispute and disagreement, since he as an indi-
vidual shaped the book according to his mnemonic abilities). Moreover,
it functioned as an externalized—that is, socialized—memory, which was a
reference point for dialogue between author and readers.
this point leads to another aspect touched on in the prologue, namely
what is considered the incompleteness of the book that follows. the word
bók is used in the diminutive form (bœkling), that is, Hungrvaka is talked
about as a “little book”; moreover, the author talks about “the little that is
told in this scroll” (er hér verðr fátt frá sagt á þessi skrá).

20

this wording

has similarities with commonplaces that express humilitas, and it may be a
rhetorical device that establishes a contrast between the greatness of the

17. Gudbrand Vigfusson and Powell, trans., Origines Islandicae 1, p. 427.

18. Ásdís Egilsdóttir, ed., Biskupa sögur II, p. 4.

19. Gudbrand Vigfusson and Powell, trans., Origines Islandicae 1, p. 426.

20. Ásdís Egilsdóttir, ed., Biskupa sögur II, p. 3.

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men mentioned in the book, the Skálholt-bishops, and what the book
is able to convey. A book can never cover the activities and splendor of
these great men in their completeness; it can only serve as a reminder of
them.

21

Moreover, such reflections indicate that, although the text in a

book would have assisted memory, it was nonetheless in itself incomplete
and only fulfilled its function when seen as partaking in a dialogue.

MEMORY IMAGERY

What was seen above as relevant for Hungrvaka’s scheme (gathering and
processing knowledge, creating dialogue, and so on) homes in on one
of the metaphors in classical and medieval traditions for authors and
readers, namely that of the bee.

22

Such activities as study and authorship

can be symbolically expressed through comparisons to bees. Just as the
bee gathers its nectar from flowers and turns it into honey, so authors
and readers gather their material and turn it into a fair composition, the
book. Furthermore, memory can be expressed as cella, which refers to a
storage room, but which is also used for the compartment where the bee
leaves its honey. In Hungrvaka, the coming into being of the book and
the activities of the author and readers are not directly linked to such a
bee imagery. this imagery, however, is invoked in another of the sagas of
bishops, Jóns saga helga, which Ásdís Egilsdóttir has rightly pointed out as
one of the core texts for investigations of memory in Old Norse literature.

23

but other imagery is used in Hungrvaka’s prologue. the title Hungrvaka
is explained: the book is a “hunger-stirrer” or an “appetizer,” written with
the intention of making readers wish for greater knowledge:

bækling þenna kalla ek Hungrv

ǫku, af því at svá mun mǫrgum mǫnnum

ófróðum ok þó óvitrum gefit vera, þeim er hann hafa yfir farit, at miklu

myndu gørr vilja vita upprás ok ævi þeira merkismanna er hér verðr fátt frá

sagt á þessi skrá.

24

(this little book I call Hunger-waker, inasmuch as it appears to many unin-

formed men, wise though they be, that have gone through it, that they would

wish to know much more thoroughly the rise and the life of those notable

men of whom little is told forth in this scroll.)

25

21. Compare with the distinction made by Plato in “Phaedrus” between remembering and

reminding, where writing is connected to the latter; see Jürg Glauser, “Foreword,” in Minni

and Muninn: Memory in Medieval Nordic Culture, ed. Pernille Hermann, Stephen A. Mitchell,

and Agnes Arnórsdóttir, Acta Scandinavica, 4 (turnhout: brepols, 2014).

22. Carruthers, Book of Memory, pp. 191–92.

23. Ásdís Egilsdóttir, “From Orality to Literacy,” p. 222.

24. Ásdís Egilsdóttir, ed.,

Biskupa sögur II, p. 3.

25. Gudbrand Vigfusson and Powell, trans., Origines Islandicae, p. 425.

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Hermann

Also another metaphor is used to describe the book, namely, that it is like
the material from which a horn-spoon is made:

En mik varir at vitrum m

ǫnnum mun þykkja bœklingr þessi jafn líkr sem

hornspánar efni, af því at þat er ófimligast meðan vang

ǫrt er, þó at allfagrt

sé þá er tilg

ǫrt er.

26

(And I am aware that to wise men this little book will seem most like unto the

stuff out of which a horn-spoon is wrought, for that is most ungainly while

it is yet a-making, but very fair when it is carved.)

27

En því hefi ek jafnat þessu til hornspánar at mér sýnisk forkunnar efni í vera,

en ek veit at mj

ǫk þarf um at fegra, ok skal ek þaðan at um vera meðan ek

em til fœrr um at bœta.

28

(And for this cause also I have likened this to a horn-spoon, because methinks

there is much good stuff therein, but I know that there is much need that

it be beautified or fair wrought, and I shall as long as I am able busy myself

to the mending thereof.)

29

the horn-spoon metaphor points to the transferring of memory into a
fair and beautifully written composition. that the horn-spoon, that is, the
book, can be beautified underscores the book’s status, not as a material
object this time, but rather as a piece of literature or a discourse that can be
stylistically and rhetorically refined.

30

this perspective onto the content of

the book, regarding it as a rhetorical matter, confirms the connection be-
tween memory and rhetoric, which was emphasized by classical authors.

31

Moreover, the metaphors (“appetizer” and “spoon”) project the imagery
of bodily needs and indicate a semantic field concerned with food and
consumption. the book is like an appetizer, stirring up hunger, and it is
like a spoon, facilitating the eating process, something that points to the
metaphor of memory as a stomach that stores and digests knowledge.

32

the tendency to draw on imagery of this kind is not uncommon in the
sagas of bishops. Jón saga Helga—to use this saga as an example again—
specifically compares knowledge to “spiritual food” (andligrar fæðu),

33

a

26. Ásdís Egilsdóttir, ed., Biskupa sögur II, p. 4.

27. Gudbrand Vigfusson and Powell, trans., Origines Islandicae, p. 426.

28. Ásdís Egilsdóttir, ed., Biskupa sögur II, p. 5.

29. Gudbrand Vigfusson and Powell, trans., Origines Islandicae, pp. 426–27.

30. For a discussion of the rhetorical and stylistic aspect of Hungrvaka’s prologue, see

Jürg Glauser, “Staging the text: On the Development of a Consciousness of Writing in the

Norwegian and Icelandic Literature of the Middle Ages,” in Along the Oral-Written Continuum:

Types of Texts, Relations and their Implications, ed. Slavica Rankovi

ć, with Leidulf Melve and

Else Mundal (turnhout: brepols, 2010), p. 315.

31. See, e.g., Cicero, De oratore; quintilian, Institutio oratoria; and the anonomously written

Ad Herennium. See also Frances A. Yates, The Art of Memory (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press,

1974), pp. 2, 57.

32. See Draaisma, Metaphors of Memory, pp. 33–34; Carruthers, Book of Memory, p. 192.

33. Ásdís Egilsdóttir, “From Orality to Literacy,” p. 221.

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comparison that, like the imagery in Hungrvaka, presupposes an alimen-
tary metaphor.
these considerations about the coming into being of Hungrvaka as well
as the alimentary metaphors it presents reveal important things about the
memorial culture. behind the description of the book using an image of
food, and thus of the stomach, lies a perception of memory, which sees a
difference between storage on the one hand and mediation and composi-
tion on the other.

34

the food (knowledge) should not simply be ingested

and taken in (i.e., stored) but must be digested and ruminated (i.e., it must
lead to deep engagement and meditation). Mary Carruthers has proposed
using a rumination metaphor to express study and authorship. In her under-
standing, this metaphor, which derives from a cow ruminating (cf., English
“ruminate” in the sense of thinking deeply), is extended to include also the
bees: “Reading is to be digested, to be ruminated, like a cow chewing her
cud, or like the bee making honey from the nectar of flowers.”

35

MEMORY AND VISUALItY

Classical and medieval authors suggest that memory is much dependent
on the eye and the ability to see. Other senses, for example auditory or
olfactory perception, that is, hearing and smelling, are stimuli to memory
as well, but the importance to memory of what is visually perceived is repeat-
edly underscored.

36

that visualization plays a crucial role when words or

things are imprinted in memory is implied in the Old Norwegian Konungs
skuggsjá (the King’s Mirror) from ca. 1250. In line with many other Nordic
authors, the now-unknown author of this didactic text considers the book
a means to avoid oblivion:

Enn þá er eg hafdi feingit gnog andsuor og viturlig af munne mijns fodurs

vm alla þá hluti er eg spurda þá voru nær staddir gofgir men og spakir. þeir

er heyrdu mijna spurningu og hans viturlig og sannlig andsuor. þá bádu þeir

þess at eg skillda alla ockra rædu skrifa og i bok setia at eigi yrdi su ræda svo

skiott med tionum sem vier þognudum . . . Enn eg giorda bædi eptir bæn

þeira og rádum. og studderadi eg mykit i þeim ollum rædum med athuga-

samligu minne og setta eg allar þær rædur i eina bok.

37

34. Cf. Seneca’s linking of reading and digestion: “Non prodest cibus nec corpori accedit,

qui statim sumptus emittitur” (Food does no good and is not assimilated into the body if it

leaves the stomach as soon as it is eaten). Seneca, Epistulae morales, vol. 1, ed., L. D. Reynolds,

Loeb Classical Library (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1961), pp. 6, 7. See Augustine’s use of

the stomach as a metaphor for memory in Confessiones, book 10: 9, 14. See also Carruthers,

Book of Memory, p. 192.

35. Carruthers, Book of Memory, p. 164.

36. Carruthers, Book of Memory, e.g., pp. 27, 221.

37. Finnur Jónsson, ed., Konungs skuggsjá. Speculum Regale, Udgivet efter håndskrifterne

af Det kongelige nordiske oldskriftselskab (Copenhagen: Nordisk Forlag, 1920), p. 2.

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(but when my father had given wise and sufficient replies to all the questions

I had asked, certain wise and worthy men, who, being present, had heard

my questions and his wise and truthful answers, requested me to note down

all our conversations and set them in a book, so that our discussions should

not perish as soon as we ceased speaking . . . So I did as they advised and

requested. I searched my memory and pondered deeply upon the speeches

and set them all in a book.)

38

In this specific case, the author created a fictional dialogue between father
and son, which served as an educational tool as well as a framework for
mediating memory.

39

the knowledge and wisdom acquired was stored in

memory and subsequently transferred into writing, so that it would not
be forgotten. this process is here said to involve searching and ponder-
ing of memory (athuga-samliga minni), a procedure that emphasizes the
concentration and effort required to imprint knowledge in, and recollect
knowledge from, memory. the search itself presupposes that memory is
like a storage room, a place where knowledge is kept and from where it
can be retrieved.
Furthermore, the text of Konungs skuggsjá begins as follows:

Þá er eg leidda allar iþrottir firi augu hugur og rannsakadi eg med athygli

alla sidu huerrar iþrottar þá sá eg mikinn fiolda mædast i villistijgum þeim

er frá holludu sidligum þiodgotum og leiddu i villiattir usida og tyndust allir

i obyggiligum dolum.

40

(I passed all the crafts before my mind’s eye and studied intently all the

practices belonging to each craft; and I saw a vast multitude walking wearily

along the paths that slope downward from the highways of virtue into error

and vice.)

41

the image of the “mind’s eye” (augu hugar) was well-known in the medieval
period. It turns attention to memory’s visual dimension and points to an
encoding and retrieving of what is kept visually in thought and memory.

42

the

Prose Edda, written by Snorri Sturlusson (ca. 1220), also deals with

memory, and through the way in which it employs sight and the ability to
see, it seems to presuppose a connection between memory and visuality.
the Prose Edda shares its form with Konungs skuggsjá. In both of these very

38.

The King’s Mirror (Speculum Regale-Konungs skuggsjá), trans., Laurence Marcellus Larson

(New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1917), pp. 73–74.

39. Jens Eike Schnall has commented on the relationship between the fictional dialogue

and memoria; see Didaktische Absichten und Vermittlungsstrategien im altnorwegischen ‘Königsspiegel’

(Konungs skuggsjá) (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 2000), pp. 175–78.

40. Finnur Jónsson, ed., Konungs skuggsjá. Speculum Regale, p. 1.

41. Larson, trans., King’s Mirror (Speculum Regale-Konungs skuggsjá), p. 72.

42. On other imagery used in Konungs skuggsjá’s prologue, e.g., the speculum-metaphor

and the metaphor of the highways of virtue and the paths of error, see Andrew Hamer,

“Searching for Wisdom: The King’s Mirror,” in Speculum regale. Der altnorwegische Königsspiegel

(Konungs skuggsjá) in der europäischen Tradition, ed. Jens Eike Schnall and Rudolf Simek

(Vienna: Fassbaender, 2000).

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learned texts, a fictional dialogue and a question-answer format is used as
a method of education and as a framework for mediating memory. In the
part of the Prose Edda entitled Skáldskaparmál, the book is talked about as
an aid to memory:

En þetta er nú at segja ungum skáldum þeim er girnask at nema mál skálds-

kapar ok heyja sér orðfj

ǫlða með fornum heitum eða girnask þeir at kunna

skilja þat er hulit er kveðit: þá skili hann þessa bók til fróðleiks ok skemtunar.

En ekki er at gleyma eða ósanna svá þessar s

ǫgur.

43

(but these things have now to be told to young poets who desire to learn

the language of poetry and to furnish themselves with a wide vocabulary

using traditional terms; or else they desire to be able to understand what is

expressed obscurely. then let such a one take this book as scholarly inquiry

and entertainment. but these stories are not to be consigned to oblivion or

demonstrated to be false.)

44

the last sentence of this passage implies that the book was meant as a
guarantee against oblivion. Memory’s counterpart, forgetting, is implied,
indicating that the book is invoked as a device supporting memory. the
Prose Edda explains the background of many cryptic kennings, which con-
stituted one of the main ingredients in skaldic poetry. Judging from the
quotation above, one of the most complex and extraordinary memory
strategies deriving back to oral culture—skaldic composition—may have
been in decline in the High Middle Ages and in need of assistance in or-
der to secure its continued existence. From that perspective, the storage
possibility offered by the book was invoked in support of skaldic poetry.
When turning attention away from this authorial metacomment and toward
the mythic narratives in the Prose Edda, it appears that memory was a topic of
further interest.

45

In Gylfaginning, memory-related issues are highlighted

mainly in the context of Óðinn, the god of wisdom, and—according to the
Prose Edda—the highest god of the Old Norse pantheon.

46

What suggests the

43. Snorri Sturluson. Edda: Skáldskaparmál, ed., Anthony Faulkes (London: Viking Society

for Northern Research, 1997), p. 5.

44.

Edda. Snorri Sturluson, trans. by Anthony Faulkes, the Everyman Library (London:

David Campbell, 1995), p. 64.

45. the focus here is on the Prose Edda, however, further inclusion of, e.g., the Poetic Edda and

Ynglinga saga would add substantially to the discussion of memory-related issues in Old Norse

mythology. For treatments of myths and memory see, e.g., Margaret Clunies Ross, Prolonged

Echoes: Old Norse Myths in Medieval Northern Society, vol. 1: The Myths, the Viking Collection, 7

(Odense: Odense Univ. Press, 1994), p. 96, n. 7, and pp. 211–14; John Lindow, “Memory and

Old Norse Mythology,” in Minni and Muninn, ed. Hermann, Mitchell, and Agnes Arnórsdóttir;

and Pernille Hermann, “Key aspects of Memory and Remembering in Old Norse-Icelandic

Literature,” in Minni and Muninn, ed. Hermann, Mitchell, and Arnórsdóttir.

46. Only a very limited selection of Óðinn’s traits, abilities, and functions are taken up in

this study (focusing on memory and visuality). For an entrance to the study of Óðinn, see,

e.g., John Lindow, Norse Mythology: A Guide to the Gods. Heroes, Rituals, and Beliefs (Oxford:

Oxford Univ. Press, 2001), pp. 247–52.

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link between Óðinn and memory is first and foremost this god’s connection
with the mythological ravens Huginn and Muninn, with the wise master
Mímir, as well as with the mythological place, Mímir’s well (Mímis brunnr).
Memory is repeatedly associated with wisdom. this connection lies in the
tendency to insert the wisdom god into a semantic complex that refers to
memory. It is seen particularly in Óðinn’s two ravens, Huginn and Muninn,
commonly understood to be embodiments of the two complementary re-
sources of the mind, “thought” and “memory.”

47

Moreover, wisdom and

memory are connected since Mímir, “the one who remembers,” is said to be
guarding Mímir’s well, a mythological source of wisdom and intelligence.

48

the most conspicuous example that illustrates the connection between
memory and visuality is the myth wherein Óðinn forfeits his eye:

Þar er Mímis brunnr, er spekð ok mannvit er í fólgit, ok heitir sá Mímir er á

brunninn. Hann er fullr af vísindum fyrir því at hann drekkr ór brunninum

af horninu Gjallarhorni. Þar kom Alf

ǫðr ok beiddisk eins drykkjar af brun-

ninum, en hann fekk eigi fyrr en hann lagði auga sitt at veði.

49

(there is where Mimir’s well is, which has wisdom and intelligence contained

in it, and the master of the well is called Mimir. He is full of learning because

he drinks of the well from the horn Giallarhorn. All-father went there and

asked for a single drink from the well, but he did not get one until he placed

his eye as a pledge.)

50

the myth has an explanatory function and is an etiological tale that ex-
plains how Óðinn lost his eye and became the one-eyed god. the well
contains wisdom and intelligence (spekt ok manvit), and it is with the in-
tention of acquiring these resources that All-father, that is Óðinn, leaves
his eye as a pledge. Mímir, the master of the well, is in demand of this
exchange of an eye (sight) for a drink (wisdom). If we accept that Mímir
is associated with memory, as may be suggested by the etymology of his
name and especially through his narrative position, the myth concerns
the complementary resources of wisdom and memory. Moreover, a con-
nection between memory, wisdom, and sight is underlined by the status

47. For etymologies and references see, e.g., Stephen A. Mitchell, “Óðinn’s twin Ravens,

Huginn and Muninn,” in Gemini and the Sacred: Twins and Twinship in Religion and Myth, ed.

Kimberley Patton (London: I. b. tauris, forthcoming).

48. On the etymology of Mímir, see Rudolf Simek, Dictionary of Northern Mythology (Stuttgart:

Alfred Kröner Verlag, 1984), p. 216. For a discussion of the etymology, see Kate Heslop,

“the Mediality of Mímir,” in Medial Perspectives on Textual Culture in the Icelandic Middle Ages,

ed. Kate Heslop and Jürg Glauser (Zurich: Chronos, forthcoming). See also the analysis of

Mímir as a personification of memory in Clunies Ross, Prolonged Echoes, pp. 211–14; and

the interpretation of Míms synir in Völuspá 46 in Jere Fleck’s “Óðinn’s Self-Sacrifice-A New

Interpretation. II: the Ritual Landscape,” Scandinavian Studies, 43 (1971), 397–98.

49. Snorri Sturluson, Edda: Prologue and Gylfaginning, ed. Anthony Faulkes (London:

Viking Society for Northern Research, 2005), p. 17.

50. Faulkes, trans., Edda. Snorri Sturluson, p. 17.

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of the eye as the mediating element between on the one side Óðinn and
on the other side Mímir and the wisdom drink.
According to this myth, understanding and the acquisition of knowledge
require extraordinary efforts. It presupposes what is a commonplace in
Old Norse mythology, namely that Óðinn is dependent on others, that is,
on something outside of himself, to gain access to wisdom and memory.
In this instance, it is the forfeiture of this particular body part that gives
Óðinn the intellectual resources he strives for, supports his intellectual
abilities, and eventually confirms his function as the god of wisdom. In
other cases, this may be achieved through self-sacrifice, as in the eddic
poem Hávamál, or through the role as a spiritual caretaker, as is the case
in Ynglinga saga, another text compiled by Snorri Sturluson, where Óðinn
is depicted as the guardian of Mímir’s head (Míms h

ǫfuð).

the description of Óðinn as one-eyed draws attention to the sense of
sight, that is, to visualization.

51

the Prose Edda includes Óðinn-names and

heiti, that is, synonyms, which point to Óðinn’s blindness and lack of sight
(e.g., Helblindi and Blindi).

52

While this surrounds the nature of Óðinn’s

sight with some ambiguity, it seems not as such to indicate a disability,
but rather in a paradoxical way to draw increased attention to his posses-
sion of a spectacular visual ability.

that Óðinn’s acquisition of knowledge

depends on others and on something outside of himself is seen also with
specific references to sight. For instance, his encounter with the völva in
Völuspá who sees, knows, and remembers extraordinarily well confirms
that other mythological beings see, that is, know and remember, what
Óðinn himself cannot immediately see.

53

In some instances Óðinn’s extraordinary visual abilities indicate inner

sight, and it may intersect with his function as a magician, but it also points
to his cognitive superiority and confirms a connection between sight and un-
derstanding.

54

Some other details in the Prose Edda’s Óðinn-complex point

out the significance of sight to the complementary resources of memory
and wisdom. the ravens, Huginn and Muninn, relate to Óðinn what they
see and hear: “Hrafnar tveir sitja á

ǫxlum honum ok segja í eyru honum

ǫll tíðindi þau er þeir sjá eða heyra. Þeir heita svá: Huginn ok Muninn”

55

51. On the eye and blindness in Old Norse literature, including a treatment of Óðinn,

see Annette Lassen, Øjet og blindheden i norrøn litteratur og mytologi (Copenhagen: Museum

tusculanum, 2003), pp. 84–115.

52. Faulkes, ed., Prologue and Gylfaginning, pp. 21–22.

53. Judy quinn has argued that “[t]he v

ǫlva’s knowledge is essentially experiential; she

expresses it through the cognitive processes of remembering and seeing.” quinn, “Dialogue

with a v

ǫlva,” in The Poetic Edda: Essays on Old Norse Mythology, ed. Paul Acker and Carolyne

Larrington (New York: Routledge, 2002), p. 251.

54. Óðinn’s function as a magician is especially significant in

Ynglinga saga; see, e.g.,

Stephen A. Mitchell, Witchcraft and Magic in the Nordic Middle Ages (Philadelphia: Univ. of

Pennsylvania Press, 2011), pp. 79–80.

55. Snorri Sturluson, Prologue and Gylfaginning, p. 32.

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(two ravens sit on his shoulders and speak into his ear all the news they
see or hear. their names are Hugin and Munin

56

). the ravens speak into

Óðinn’s ear, implying that he perceives the information aurally, that is,
through hearing. Even so, the ravens function as extensions of two senses,
both the aural (heyra) and the visual (sjá), and Óðinn’s perception works
through them both. Moreover, Óðinn owns Hliðskiálf, which according
to the narrative in the Prose Edda is a seat, or watch-tower, from whence he
sees the whole world: “Þar er einn staðr er Hliðskjálf heitir, ok þá er Óðinn
settisk þar í hásæti þá sá hann of alla heima ok hvers manns athœfi ok vissi
alla hluti þá er hann sá”

57

(In the city there is a seat called Hlidskialf, and

when Odin sat in that throne he saw over all worlds and every man’s activ-
ity and understood everything he saw

58

). Hliðskiálf serves as a device that

broadens the range of Óðinn’s view. What is more important is that the
passage emphasizes that visualization is the medium for Óðinn’s cognitive
process; he understood everything he saw (“vissi alla hluti þá er hann sá”).
thus, the sensory mode of sight is underscored, and emphasis is placed on
how Óðinn obtains understanding of things through vision.
Surely, the mythic narratives represented in the Prose Edda are expressed
via a vocabulary different from the one used in the sagas of bishops, which
were treated in the first part of this article. Still, in both types of texts,
memory is firmly placed in contexts wherein the gaining of knowledge, that
is, study, is important. Moreover, if we return to the myth about Mímir’s
well, where both Mímir and Óðinn consume liquids, knowledge is expressed
through reference to ingestion. thus, something similar to the alimentary
metaphor, which is expressed as study in Hungrvaka, is at play in the text
recounting the myths. In Gylfaginning, however, the gaining of knowledge is
not expressed through an image of food and eating, but through the drink-
ing of fluids.

59

this tendency of the myths to combine knowledge with the

ingestion of fluids is repeated elsewhere, most obviously in the myth about
the mead of poetry wherein Óðinn attempts to gain possession of a much

56. Faulkes, trans., Edda. Snorri Sturluson, p. 33.

57. Snorri Sturluson, Prologue and Gylfaginning, p. 13.

58. Faulkes, trans., Edda. Snorri Sturluson, p. 13.

59. In a recent treatment, Judy quinn considers the metaphorical connection between

fluids and knowledge in mainly eddic poetry, especially the metaphor of “drinking in”

knowledge and the liquids that have transformative powers on the intellect. quinn, “Liq-

uid Knowledge: traditional Conceptualisations of Learning in Eddic Poetry,” in Along the

Oral-Written Continuum: Types of Texts, Relations and their Implications, ed. S. Rankovi

ć, Leidulf

Melve, and Else Mundal (turnhout: brepols, 2010), pp. 183–226. See also Jens Eike Schnall,

“Nahrung, Erinnerung, Dichtung oder Vom Zu-sich-nehmen, bei-sich-behalten und Von-

sich-Geben. Zum Raub des Skaldenmets und mittelalterlicher Körpermetaphorik,” in Poetik

und Gedächtnis. Festschrift für Heiko Uecker zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Karin Hoff et al. (Frankfurt

am Main: Peter Lang), pp. 249–77.

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desired drink that turns everyone who drinks it into a poet or a scholar (“sá
er hverr er af drekkr verðr skáld eða frœðamaðr”).

60

It is not the intention in this study to debate the origins of these memory-
related myths in the Prose Edda, nor to evaluate whether the connection
between Óðinn, memory, and visuality is a specifically pre-Christian trait,
an invention by the author, Snorri Sturluson, or a combination of the two.
In any case, the myths and mythic figures were combined and used in a
way that made them correspond to and express central components of
memory as it was perceived and expressed in the medieval period, namely
in connection with wisdom and knowledge, through transformational
processes linked to ingestion and through visualization. Whatever function
Óðinn had in earlier periods, this High Medieval text singles out this deity
(considered the highest god) as a carrier of wisdom and—inextricably
connected with that—memory, thus establishing Óðinn as a symbol of
significant intellectual resources.

MNEMONIC tECHNIqUES

Apart from being singled out as one of the senses highly relevant to memo-
ry, eyesight and visualization are connected to memory in a more technical
sense, namely as integral parts of ars memoria, that is, the art of memory.

61

Of specific interest here is “artificial memory,” a kind of memory that, in
contrast to “natural memory,” is trained and refined with the use of spe-
cific techniques and is essentially based on the creation of mental places
(loci) and mental images (imagio).

62

the next text example will be one of the Íslendingasögur, namely Njáls
saga from ca. 1275–85. Unlike the other examples discussed here, this

60. Faulkes, ed., Skáldskaparmál, p. 3. See also Peter Orton, “Spouting Poetry: Cogni-

tive Metaphor and Conceptual blending in the Old Norse Myth of the Poetic Mead,”

in Constructing Nations, Reconstructing Myth: Essays in Honour of T.A. Shippey, ed. Andrew

Wawn (turnhout: brepols, 2007); and Kate Heslop, “Minni and the Rhetoric of Memory

in Eddic, Skaldic and Runic texts,” in Minni and Muninn, ed. Hermann, Mitchell, and

Agnes Arnórsdóttir.

61. Classical authors provide descriptions of the art of memory, and their descriptions are

later elaborated on by medieval writers. Cf. Cicero, De oratore; quintilian, Institutio oratoria;

the anonymously written Ad Herennium; cf., also, Simonides of Ceos, Plato, and Aristoteles.

See Frances Yates, The Art of Memory, pp. 1–104.

62. For discussions of ars memoria in Old Norse literature and poetry, see, e.g., Ásdís

Egilsdóttir, “From Orality to Literacy”; Glauser, “the Speaking bodies of Saga texts”; Kate

Heslop, “Minni and the Rhetoric of Memory in Eddic, Skaldic and Runic texts,” Minni and

Muninn, ed. Hermann, Mitchell, and Agnes Arnórsdóttir; and Mats Malm, “Varför heter det

kenning?,” in Snorra Edda i europæisk og islandsk kultur, ed. Jon Gunnar Jørgensen (Reykholt:

Snorrastofa, 2009), pp. 73–90.

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saga does not explicitly reflect on the relationship between memory and
the book. In that, it corresponds to one of the defining features of Íslend-
ingasögur, which is that their authors are restrained and relatively invisible
in the texts, a feature that shows partly in the fact that none of the sagas
of this type have prologues, the otherwise obvious place for authors to
make explicit statements about their texts.

63

Yet, in the narrated world of this saga, the relevance of place and im-
age to memory is recognized. this is illustrated in the episode about the
burning of Njáll’s farm, bergþórshváll, where Njáll and his relatives are
buried in the ruins. the Greek legendary narrative of Simonides of Ceos is
considered to be the ultimate source of ars memoria. In an investigation of
the relevance of place for memory, Jürg Glauser has linked the Simonides
legend with this episode in Njáls saga: “Like the Greek Simonides in the
sixth century b.C., the Icelander Njáll in the autumn of the year 1010 or
1011, when according to Njáls saga he lost his life, realizes that memory
is best constructed on the basis of place (locus).”

64

As noted by Glauser, Njáll, in advance of the burning, asks his foreman
to take notice of the place where he, his wife, bergþóra, and their grand-
son position themselves under an ox-skin. thus, Njáll’s actions and the
directions given to the foreman confirm that Njáll considers memory to
be spatially anchored:

“Nú skaltú sjá, hvar vit leggjumsk niðr ok hversu ek býg um okkr, því at ek

ætla mér hvergi heðan at hrœrask, hvárt sem mér angrar reykr eða bruni;

munt þú þá næst geta, hvar beina okkarra er at leita.”

65

(“Now you must see where we lie down and how I lay us out, for I don’t intend

to budge from this spot, no matter how much the smoke and the fire hurt

me; then you will know where our remains can be found.”)

66

When a crowd of people return to the site to look for Njáll’s remains,
the particular place in the ruins where they lay down is pointed out, and
in that way, place is seen as a decisive memorial factor. What the people
find is expressed by a remarkable description of Njáll, bergþóra, and the
little boy:

Hjalti spurði Kára, hvar Njáll mundi undir liggja, en Kári vísaði þeim til,

ok var þar mikilli

ǫsku af mokat. Þar fundu þeir undir húðina, ok var sem

hon væri skorpnuð við eld. Þeir tóku hana upp, ok váru þau bæði óbrunnin

undir. Allir lofuðu guð fyrir þat ok þótti stór jartegn í vera. Síðan var tekinn

63. See, e.g., Preben Meulengracht Sørensen, Fortælling og ære. Studier i islændingesagaerne

(Aarhus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag, 1993), pp. 52–78.

64. Glauser, “the Speaking bodies of Saga texts,” p. 19.

65.

Brennu-Njáls saga, ed. Einar Ól. Sveinsson, Íslenzk fornrit, 12 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka

fornritafélag, 1936), p. 330.

66.

Njal’s Saga, trans. by Robert Cook, in The Complete Sagas of the Icelanders III, ed. Viðar

Hreinsson (Reykjavík: Leifur Eiríksson, 1997), p. 156.

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sveinninn, er legit hafði í meðal þeira, ok var af honum brunninn fingrinn,

er hann hafði rétt upp undan húðinni.

67

(Hjalti asked Kari where under the ruins Njal would be lying, and Kari pointed

to the spot; there was a great deal of ash to clear away. At the bottom they found

the ox-hide, shrivelled up from the fire. they lifted it off and underneath lay

the two of them, unburned. they all praised God for this and thought it a great

miracle. then the boy who was lying between them was taken up, and one of

his fingers, which he had stuck out from under the hide, was burned off.)

68

the bodies of the threesome are all untouched by the fire, apart from one
conspicuously contrasting detail, namely the boy’s finger, which is burnt.
the burnt finger marks a sharp contrast to the otherwise unburnt corpses,
it exaggerates the image and lends the bodies a hint of the extraordinary.
Njáll’s son, Skarpheðinn, is likewise found in a specific place in the
ruin, up against the gable wall:

Þá leituðu þeir Skarpheðins. Þar vísuðu heimamenn til, sem þeir Flosi h

ǫfðu

vísuna heyrt kveðna, ok var þar þekjan fallin at gaflaðinu, ok þar mælti Hjalti,

at til skyldi grafa. Siðan gerður þeir svá ok fundu þar líkama Skarpheðins,

ok hafði hann staðit upp við gaflaðit, ok váru brunnir fœtr af honum mj

ǫk

svá neðan til knjá, en allt annat óbrunnit á honum. Hann hafði bitit á kampi

sínum. Augu hans váru opin ok óþrútin. Hann hafði rekit øxina í gaflaðit svá

fast, at gengit hafði allt upp á miðjan fetann, ok var ekki dignuð.

69

(then they searched for Skarphedin. the servants showed them where Flosi

and his men had heard the verse spoken, where the roof had collapsed next

to the gable wall, and Hjalti said they should dig there. they did and found

the body of Skarphedin, and he had been standing up against the gable wall,

and his legs were burned off almost up to the knees, but the rest of him was

unburned. He had bitten into his upper lip. His eyes were open and not

swollen. He had driven his axe into the gable wall so hard that half the blade

was buried and it had not lost its temper.)

70

this description also stands out, and Skarpheðinn’s corpse, said to be
standing upright (even with his lower leg burnt off), with open eyes and
biting into his lip, but still with weapon in hand, is noteworthy for its detail
and strong visual effect.
the positions in which the corpses are found are of immense importance
to the reputation of Njáll and Skarpheðinn. It is disputed whether Skarp-
heðinn cried or not when he was enveloped by the fire, and thus his manli-
ness is called into question.

71

In support of the memory of Skarpheðinn as

67. Einar Ól. Sveinsson, ed., Brennu-Njáls saga, p. 342

68. Cook, trans., Njal’s Saga, p. 162.

69. Einar Ól. Sveinsson, ed., Brennu-Njáls saga, p. 343.

70. Cook, trans., Njal’s Saga, pp. 162–63.

71. See the analysis of the public opinion in this episode in Preben Meulengracht Sø-

rensen, “‘Græder du nu Skarpheðinn?’ Nogle betragtninger over form og etik,” in At fortælle

Historien. Telling History, pp. 241–246.

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a brave and masculine hero, his axe, a material object, is brought into focus
and shown to have special powers; in the narrative, the axe virtually has a
biography of its own, while at the same time, it reflects on the memory of
Skarpheðinn. the descriptions of the corpses serve to create the memory
of two heroes, one of an almost saintly character (Njáll) and the other as a
brave and strong warrior (Skarpheðinn).

72

What is at stake is the construc-

tion of the memory of the dead, and the descendants are seen to attempt
to restore what was destroyed by the chaotic event. We see how this memory
is facilitated through focusing on specific places in the ruin and using re-
markable images of the corpses found in these places.

MNEMONIC IMAGES

Frances A. Yates has written that “[t]he art of memory was a creator of
imagery which must surely have flowed out into creative works of art and
literature.”

73

this leads to the question of whether and how Old Norse

literature, in principle all kinds of texts ranging from what is usually called
“learned texts” over so-called “mythic texts” to sagas, may represent artifi-
cial memory. For instance: to what extent can such mental occurrences as
“mnemonic places” and “mnemonic images” be sources for and structuring
principles for this literature? Such a relationship would not suggest that ars
memoria in a narrow sense is a precondition for, for example, the sagas, but
it would highlight the possibility that—at the time when the sagas were writ-
ten down and transmitted in manuscripts—skills in techniques inherent to
ars memoria (known directly or indirectly through schools and education)
might have been merging with memory techniques and storage devices
going back to pre-Christian and preliterate culture. the likelihood that
this was so would further imply that learned culture, not only by introduc-
ing writing and books, but also through its focus on the technical side of
memory, supported the preservation of the traditional cultural heritage.
Concerning the sagas, the relevance of memory’s spatial dimension—
for instance, the topographic interest and the literary mapping of the
Icelandic landscape—has been dealt with in scholarship.

74

but what about

memory’s visual dimension? In Ad Herennium, the images that support
artificial memory are described as follows:

72. For a typology of character types and heroes in Njáls saga, see Lars Lönnroth, Njáls

saga. A Critical Introduction (berkeley: Univ. of California Press, 1976), pp. 65–68.

73. Yates, Art of Memory, p. 91.

74. See, e.g., Jürg Glauser, “Saga of Icelanders (

Íslendinga sögur) and Þættir as the Literary

Representation of a New Social Space,” in Old Icelandic Literature and Society, ed. Margaret

Clunies Ross, Cambridge Studies in Medieval Literature, 42 (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ.

Press, 2000), pp. 205–9.

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335

. . . at si quid videmus aut audimus egregie turpe, inhonestum, inusitatum,

magnum, incredibile, ridiculum, id diu meminisse consuevimus . . . Imag-

ines igitur nos in eo genere constituere oportebit quod genus in memoria

diutissime potest haerere. Id accidet si quam maxime notatas similitudines

constituemus; si non multas nec vagas, sed aliquid agentes imagines pone-

mus; si egregiam pulcritudinem aut unicam turpitudinem eis adtribuemus;

si aliquas exornabimus, ut si coronis aut veste purpurea, quo nobis notatior

sit similitudo; aut si qua re deformabimus, ut si cruentam aut caeno oblitam

aut rubrica delibutam inducamus, quo magis insignita sit forma, aut ridiculas

res aliquas imaginibus adtribuamus, nam ea res quoque faciet ut facilius

meminisse valeamus.

( . . . if we see or hear something exceptionally base, dishonourable, extraor-

dinary, great, unbelievable, or laughable, that we are likely to remember for

a long time . . . We ought, then, to set up images of a kind that can adhere

longest in the memory. And we shall do so if we establish likenesses as strik-

ing as possible; if we set up images that are not many or vague, but doing

something; if we assign to them exceptional beauty or singular ugliness; if

we dress some of them with crowns or purple cloaks, for example, so that the

likeness may be more distinct to us; or if we somehow disfigure them, as by

introducing one stained with blood or soiled with mud or smeared with red

paint, so that its form is more striking, or by assigning certain comic effects to

our images, for that, too, will ensure our remembering them more readily.)

75

the quotation explains that mnemonic images must be “striking images,”
something that is furthered if they are ridiculous, grotesque, comic, or
active (i.e., doing something). More than the simple and plain, a rich
image will support memory; it will facilitate memory storage and trigger
associations.
As we saw above in the case of Njáls saga, the remains of the heroes
are described in such a way that they conjure visually remarkable images.
these characterizations are decisive narrative elements in the saga as they
determine the reputation of the dead and restore in the memory of the
descendents what was destroyed by the fire. At the same time, however,
they may also represent mnemonic images.

76

Very often descriptions of

saga characters’ physical appearance include traits that are remarkable;
this is the case in long and elaborate descriptions as well as in brief ones.
Njáll provides an excellent example. One characteristic trait is repeatedly
mentioned and thus becomes integral to, and constitutive for, the narrative
about him: He has no beard. this is how Njáll is described when he is first

75.

Rhetorica ad herennium, ed. and trans., H. Caplan, in Rhetorica ad herennium, the Loeb

Classical Library (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Univ. Press, 1954), pp. 218–21.

76. It must be noted here that mental images were internal, closely linked to the experi-

ence, fantasy, and creativity of the individual, and—according to classical and medieval

authors—were not meant for externalization. Frances A. Yates says: “For the memory image

is invisible, and remains hidden within the memory of its user, where, however, it can become

the hidden generator of externalized imagery.” Yates, Art of Memory, pp. 86. It is never, then,

a question of a one-to-one relationship between inner image and externalized forms.

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Hermann

introduced in the saga: “Hann var vel auðigr at fé ok vænn at áliti, en sá
hlutr var á ráði hans, at honum óx eigi skegg”

77

(He was well off for money

and handsome to look at, but there was one special thing in his nature:
no beard grew on him).

78

Short characterizing descriptions of this sort,

referring to the physical appearance of saga characters, are common.

79

For instance, in Egils saga, the names of Egill’s father and grandfather,
Skalla-Grímr (Grímr the bald) and Kveld-Úlfr (Night Wolf), respectively,
include remarkable characterizing traits, either in the sense that they are
exaggerated to the extent that they escape reality, or in the sense that they
uphold a narrow focus on one specific trait: the contours of a creature, half
wolf, half man, and of a bald-headed giant are drawn up. Such names may
be literary representations of compressed mnemonic images, or reminis-
cences of such, and function as fixed points for memory storage or cues
that can trigger the recollection process. In Njáls saga, the beardlessness
does not merely characterize Njáll himself, who is nicknamed karl inn
skegglausi (Old beardless), but also his sons, who are insulted and given
the nicknames taðskegglingar (Dung-beardlings), hinting at people making
jokes about Njáll’s attempts to make not only hay but also their beards
grow with the use of dung. the numerous insults and attacks on the man-
liness of Njáll and his sons, caused by his beardlessness, become decisive
in the escalating conflict that eventually leads to the deaths of Njáll and
his sons.

80

thus, one of the main strands of the narrative is constructed

on this specific trait.
Alongside those short and stigmatizing depictions, Njáls saga has com-
paratively many long descriptions that form striking images. One example
is the characterization of Gunnarr, Njáll’s close friend:

Gunnarr Hámundarson bjó at Hlíðarenda í Fljótshlíð. Hann var mikill maðr

vexti ok sterkr, manna bezt vígr; hann hjó báðum h

ǫndum ok skaut, ef hann

vildi, ok hann vá svá skjótt með sverði, at þrjú þóttu á lopti at sjá. Hann skaut

manna bezt af boga ok hœfði allt þat, er hann skaut til; hann hljóp meir en

hæð sína með

ǫllum herklæðum, ok eigi skemmra aptr en fram fyrir sik; hann

var syndr sem selr, ok eigi var sá leikr, at n

ǫkkurr þyrfti við hann at keppa. . . .

Hann var vænn at yfirliti ok ljóslitaðr, réttnefjaðr ok hafit upp í framanvert,

bláeygr ok snareygr ok roði í kinnunum; hárit mikit, gult, ok fór vel.

81

77. Einar Ól. Sveinsson, ed., Brennu-Njáls saga, p. 57.

78. Cook, trans., Njal’s Saga, p. 25.

79. On the treatment of physical attributes in the sagas, see Lars Lönnroth, “Kroppen

som själens spegel-ett motiv i de isländska sagorna,” Lychnos (1963–64), 24–61.

80. For analyses of Njáll’s beard see, e.g., William Sayers, “Njáll’s beard, Hallgerðr’s Hair

and Gunnarr’s Hay: Homological Patterning in Njáls saga,” Tijdschrift voor Skandinavistiek,

15 (1994), 5–31; Ármann Jakobsson, “Masculinity and Politics in Njáls saga,” in Nine Saga

Studies. The Critical Interpretation of the Icelandic Sagas (Reykjavík: Univ. of Iceland Press,

2013), pp. 207–37.

81. Einar Ól. Sveinsson, ed., Brennu-Njáls saga, pp. 52–53.

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(Gunnar Hamundarson lived at Hlidarendi in Fljotshlid. He was big and

strong and an excellent fighter. He could swing a sword and throw a spear

with either hand, if he wished, and he was so swift with a sword that there

seemed to be three in the air at once. He could shoot with a bow better than

anyone else, and he always hit what he aimed at. He could jump higher than

his own height, in full fighting gear, and just as far backward as forward.

He swam like a seal, and there was no sport in which there was any point

in competing with him. . . . He was handsome and fair of skin and had a

straight nose, turned up at its tip. He was blue-eyed and keen-eyed and ruddy-

cheeked. His hair was thick, blond, and well-combed.)

82

this is the description of a man who is big in physical appearance, yet rec-
ognized as beautiful in every detail of his face, including the sway of his nose
tip. this is an active image, Gunnarr is “doing something,” as suggested in
the Ad Herennium quotation above on imagines agents. So from this particu-
lar perspective, the description of Gunnarr represents a dynamic image.
the richness of this description, if considered as representing a mnemonic
image, becomes even more evident if—as a thought experiment—the com-
ponents are mixed: what takes form in front of our eyes yields an image of
a swift, jumping seal, fully armed, and with bow and sword.
the characterization of Njáll’s eldest son, Skarpheðinn, provides another
example of what may derive from a mnemonic image of the saga hero:

Skarpheðinn hét inn ellsti; hann var mikill maðr vexti ok styrkr, vígr vel,

syndr sem selr, manna fóthvatastr, skjótráðr ok øruggr, gagnorðr ok skjótorðr,

en þó l

ǫngum vel stilltr. Hann var jarpr á hár ok sveipr í hárinu, eygðr vel,

f

ǫlleitr ok skarpleitr, liðr á nefi ok lá hátt tanngarðrinn, munnljótr nǫkkut

ok þó manna hermannligastr.

83

(Skarphedin was the eldest, a big and strong man and a good fighter. He

swam like a seal and was swift of foot, quick to make up his mind and sure

of himself; he spoke to the point and was quick to do so, though mostly he

restrained himself. His hair was reddish-brown and curled and he had fine

eyes; his face was pale and sharp-featured, with a bent nose and a broad row

of upper teeth. His mouth was ugly, and yet he was very like a warrior.)

84

It is noteworthy that this characterization is not merely effective from a
visual perspective, that is, the way it conjures a striking image, but also—as
Lars Lönnroth has shown—from an auditive perspective, since the word-
ing reveals use of alliteration and assonance which may, like its visual
counterpart, have supported the imprint in memory.

85

Later in the saga, when the conflict between Njáll’s sons and Flosi with
his followers is escalating and people are gathered at the Althing, Skar-
pheðinn is characterized as follows:

82. Cook, trans., Njal’s Saga, p. 24.

83. Einar Ól. Sveinsson, ed., Brennu-Njáls saga, p. 70.

84. Cook, trans., Njal’s Saga, p. 30–31.

85. Lönnroth, Njáls saga, pp. 84–85.

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Skarpheðinn glotti við ok var svá búinn, at hann var í blám kyrtli ok í bláren-

dum brókum, ok uppháva svarta skúa; hann hafði silfrbelti um sik ok øxi þá í

hendi, er hann hafði drepit Þráin með ok kallaði Rimmugýgi, ok t

ǫrgubuklara

ok silkihlað um h

ǫfuð ok greitt hárit aptr um eyrun.

86

(Skarphedinn grinned. He was dressed in a black tunic and blue-striped

trousers and high black boots; he had a silver belt around his waist and was

holding in his hand the axe with which he had killed thrain—he called it

battle-Ogre—and a small shield, and around his head he had a silk band,

with his hair combed back over his ears.)

87

Many components are involved in this portrayal of Skarpheðinn, both
regarding his physical appearance and his attitude. the detailed and
colorful characterization is repeated in remarks from people at the Alth-
ing, for instance Skafti and Snorri, whose comments on Skarpheðinn’s
appearance and force of personality support and reinforce the image of
a great hero.

“Hverr er sá maðr,” segir Skapti, “er fjórir menn ganga fyrri, mikill maðr ok

f

ǫlleitr ok ógæfusamligr, harðligr ok trǫllslígr?” . . . “Hverr er sá maðr, er

fjórir ganga fyrri, f

ǫlleitr ok skarpleitr ok glottir við tǫnn ok hefir øxi reidda

um

ǫxl?”

88

(“Who’s that big man,” said Skafti, “fifth in line, with a pale and luckless

look about him, but fierce and troll-like.” . . . Snorri spoke: “Who is that

man, fifth in line, pale-looking, sharp-featured, with a toothy sneer and an

axe on his shoulder?”)

89

In these two passages, Skarpheðinn’s place in the line is specified, hint-
ing at a numeric principle, which is in itself effective for ordering things
in memory.
Investigation of the possible impact of memory techniques on saga
texts reveals glimpses into how memory worked and functioned in the
High Middle Ages, and it sheds light on the intriguing interplay between
memory and sagas, for instance in the form of internal creation of places
and images. Coming to terms with the relationship between memory and
sagas is a complicated matter, which stir up long-standing debates in saga
scholarship. One of these debates concerns preservation and transmission
of narratives in a culture where writing has been introduced recently but
where memory still has an important storage role and where orality func-
tions as one of the primary media for the transmission of knowledge.

90

86. Einar Ól. Sveinsson, ed., Brennu-Njáls saga, p. 304.

87. Cook, trans., Njal’s Saga, p. 143.

88. Einar Ól. Sveinsson, ed., Brennu-Njáls saga, pp. 298, 299.

89. Cook, trans., Njal’s Saga, p. 141.

90. Much has been written about Íslendingasögur, orality, and writing. See, e.g., theodore

M. Andersson,

The Problem of Icelandic Saga Origins: A Historical Survey (New Haven: Yale Univ.

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339

Another debate, which remains unsolved in scholarship, concerns the
sagas’ relationship to reality. What is it that sagas represent? In evaluating
the historicity of the Íslendingasögur, the notion of “anachronism” has been
deployed, and elements in the narrated world of the sagas (roughly the
tenth century) have been shown to belong to later periods (the thirteenth
century and onward, that is, to the time when sagas were initially written
down and subsequently transmitted in manuscripts). this has been the
case for Njáls saga, for example, where elaborate characterizing descrip-
tions include elements such as dress and fighting gear that did not exist in
Iceland in the early period.

91

Such observations have often been used to

reject the historicity of the sagas and, as a consequence of that rejection,
to categorize them as fiction. Instead of automatically placing the sagas in
the straitjacket of the “history versus fiction” argument, maintaining that if
they are not history, then they must be fiction, memory can be invoked as
a third entity, which—like generic fiction—makes use of falsification and
fictionalization. If the sagas are viewed as representing memory, at least
to some degree, anachronisms that involve a mixing of temporal layers
do not conflict with methods of remembering. In principle, mnemonic
images absorb elements of different provenance, including what would
have belonged to the time and milieu in which the creator of the image
was positioned. Furthermore, mnemonic images are twisted and enlarged
with the intention of imprinting things and words in memory, which may
be one explanation for the fact that saga characters or events appear
overly exaggerated or too unreal for “history.” Increased awareness of the
representation of memory in the sagas, thus, directs attention away from
notions of historicity and the narrow history/fiction dichotomy; instead
it considers the sagas in the context of memory and the memorial culture
in which the authorial voices behind the sagas participated.

CONCLUDING REMARKS

In the High Middle Ages, where writing was increasingly invoked in order
to support the memorial culture of the Norse world, the book became an
aid to memory and functioned as a medium of public memory. Moreover,

Press, 1964); Lönnroth, Njáls saga; Carol Clover, The Medieval Saga (Ithaca: Cornell Univ.

Press, 1982); Gísli Sigurðsson, The Medieval Icelandic Saga and Oral Tradition: A Discourse on

Method (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Univ. Press, 2004); and theodore M. Andersson, “From

tradition to Literature in the Sagas,” in Oral Art Forms and their Passage into Writing, ed. Else

Mundal and Jonas Wellendorf (Copenhagen: Museum tusculanum, 2008), pp. 7–17.

91. See Lönnroth’s

Njáls Saga, p. 117, where the discussion of anachronistic literary

description is intermingled with the question of literary borrowings and influences on

Íslendingasögur from riddarasögur.

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memory was expressed by the use of metaphors and imagery known in
medieval Europe more generally and was acknowledged as such, signal-
ing the merging of Norse culture and the wider European world of ideas.
We can never know for sure what went through the minds of the learned
people of the High Medieval period, and our attempts to scrutinize how
memory was trained in that world must necessarily remain superficial.
Even so, as this article attempts to illustrate, the various branches of Old
Norse literature offer multiple entrances to studies of medieval under-
standings of memory, its perception, its function, and its influence on
the literature.

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