Grief, Gender, and Genre: Male Weeping in Snorri's Account of Baldr's Death, Kings'

Sagas, and Gesta Danorum

Author(s): Kristen Mills
Source: The Journal of English and Germanic Philology , Vol. 113, No. 4 (October 2014),
pp. 472-496
Published by: University of Illinois Press

Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5406/jenglgermphil.113.4.0472

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 Grief, Gender, and Genre: Male Weeping
in Snorri’s Account of Baldr’s Death,
Kings’ Sagas, and Gesta Danorum

Kristen Mills, University of Toronto

In recent decades the history of emotions, as pioneered by Barbara Rosen-

wein and William M. Reddy’s influential work on the historical and cultural
contexts of emotions and emotional expression, has been a steadily grow-
ing field of study.1 William Ian Miller, Kirsten Wolf, and Daniel Sävborg,
among others, have done much to advance our understanding of the
representation of emotions in texts produced in medieval Iceland and
Scandinavia.2 This essay contributes to the ongoing conversation by of-

I would like to thank Ann Dooley, Giselle Gos, Tom Hill, Ian McDougall, and the anonymous
reviewers for their valuable comments and suggestions. All errors, of course, are my own.
1. See Anger’s Past: The Social Uses of an Emotion in the Middle Ages, ed. Barbara Rosenwein
(Ithaca: Cornell Univ. Press, 1998); Rosenwein, “Worrying About Emotion in History,”
American Historical Review, 107 (2002), 821–45; and Rosenwein, Emotional Communities in the
Middle Ages (Ithaca: Cornell Univ. Press, 2006). See also William M. Reddy, The Navigation
of Feeling: A Framework for the History of Emotions (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2001);
and Reddy, The Making of Romantic Love: Longing and Sexuality in Europe, South Asia, and Ja-
pan, 900–1200 CE (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 2012). Reddy argues for the existence
of overarching “emotional regimes,” whose oppressive enforcement of emotional norms
prompts the creation of “emotional refuges,” in which emotions prohibited by the official
regime are allowed expression. Rosenwein points out that Reddy’s formulation “seems tailor-
made for modern centralized states, but even here it may overlook varieties and localisms.”
Rosenwein, “Review of Navigation of Feeling: A Framework for the History of Emotions,” American
Historical Review, 107 (2002), 1182. Rosenwein argues for replacing Reddy’s idea of “emo-
tional regimes” with “ascendant emotional communities” (p. 200): “emotional communities
are in some ways what Foucault called a common ‘discourse’: shared vocabularies and ways
of thinking that have a controlling function, a disciplining function. Emotional communities
are similar as well to Bourdieu’s notion of ‘habitus’: internalized norms that determine how
we think and act and that may be different in different groups” (p. 25). Both Rosenwein’s
and Reddy’s formulations are useful to think with; for the purposes of medieval Iceland, I
find Rosenwein’s “emotional communities” a more useful tool, but one might detect the
presence of Reddy’s “emotional regimes” in the Scandinavian courts.
2. For overviews of emotions in the sagas, see William Ian Miller, “Emotions and the Sagas,”
in From Sagas to Society: Comparative Approaches to Early Iceland, ed. Gísli Pálsson (Middlesex:
Hisarlik Press, 1992), pp. 89–109; and Carolyne Larrington, “The Psychology of Emotion
and Study of the Medieval Period,” Early Medieval Europe, 10 (2001), 251–6. Daniel Sävborg’s
Sorg och elegi i Eddans Hjältediktning, Acta Universitatis Stockholmiensis, Stockholm Studies
in History of Literature , XXXVI (1997) is an important study of grief and sorrow in Eddic
poetry; see also Theodore M. Andersson, “Is There a History of Emotions in Eddic Heroic
Poetry? Daniel Sävborg’s Critique of Eddic Chronology,” in Codierungen von Emotionen im

Journal of English and Germanic Philology—October

© 2014 by the Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois

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 Grief, Gender, and Genre  473

fering a re-evaluation of the relationship between gender and weeping

in medieval Icelandic and Scandinavian texts. In the following analysis,
I take as my starting point the two occasions of weeping for the death of
Baldr in Snorra Edda: the first performed by the male Æsir at the time
of his death, and the second performed by (nearly) all of creation in a
failed attempt to win the dead god back from Hel.3 Drawing on a selec-
tion of konungasögur and Saxo Grammaticus’s Gesta Danorum, I analyze
instances of weeping from bereavement, with a focus on funeral scenes.
Revising the commonly stated view that male weeping was an indication
of effeminacy in medieval Scandinavian texts, I argue that weeping by
men, or by groups comprised of both men and women, over the death of
a high-status individual is a topos employed to demonstrate the exceptional
esteem in which the deceased was held.
Literary texts are an important source for researching the emotions of
a past culture, but using them in this way is not without complications;
literature is not a mirror in which can be glimpsed the unaltered reflec-
tion of a vanished past. In an important discussion on the portrayal of
emotions in the Íslendingasögur, Miller warns that “[i]t is after all not so
easy to reconstruct the emotional economy of another culture, across
eight centuries, through imperfect sources.”4 Deriving the historical real-
ity of emotions from medieval texts is problematic; it is more accurate
to speak of literary representations of emotions, acknowledging that the
emotions depicted relate in some way to the emotions of the contempo-
rary society of the author, while keeping in mind that the nuances of this
relationship will often be opaque to a modern reader. Rosenwein points

Mittelalter/ Emotions and Sensibilities in the Middle Ages, ed. C. Stephen Jaeger and Ingrid Kasten,
(Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2003), pp. 193–202.
Kirsten Wolf and Jacques Le Goff have written on laughter in the sagas, see Kirsten Wolf’s
“Laughter in Old Norse-Icelandic Literature,” Scripta Islandica, 51 (2000), 93–117; and
Jacques Le Goff, “Laughter in Brennu-Njáls saga,” in From Sagas to Society: Comparative Ap-
proaches to Early Iceland, ed. Gísli Pálsson (Enfield Lock: Hisarlik Press, 1992), pp. 161–65.
On smiling, see Low Soon Ai, “The Mirthless Content of Skarpheðinn’s Grin,” Medium
Ævum 65 (1996), 101–8. On flushing, see the following: Thomas D. Hill, “Guðlaugr Snor-
rason: The Red Faced Saint and the Refusal of Violence,” Scandinavian Studies, 67 (1995),
145–52; William Sayers, “The Honor of Guðlaugr Snorrason and Einarr Þambarskelfir: A
Reply,” Scandinavian Studies, 67 (1995), 536–44; Thomas D. Hill, “The Red-Faced Saint,
Again,” Scandinavian Studies, 67 (1995), 544–47. On weeping, see Teresa Pàroli, “The Tears
of the Heroes in Germanic Epic Poetry,” in Helden und Helden-sage: Otto Gschwantler zum 60.
Geburtstag, ed. Hermann Reichert and Günter Zimmermann, Philologica Germanica, 11
(Wien: Fassbaender. 1990), pp. 233–66, and John Lindow, “The Tears of the Gods: A Note
on the Death of Baldr in Scandinavian Mythology,” Journal of English and Germanic Philology,
101 (2002), 155–69.
3. Snorri Sturluson, Edda: Prologue and Gylfaginning, ed. Anthony Faulkes (London: Viking
Society for Northern Research, 2005), pp. 45–48.
4. Miller, “Emotions and the Sagas,” p. 93.

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 474  Mills

out that “[e]motions are always derived ‘secondhand,’ . . . via gestures,
bodily changes, words, exclamations, tears. None of these things are
the emotion; they are symptoms that must be interpreted—both by the
person feeling them and by observers.”5 The intangibility of emotion,
past or present, always prevents direct access to the emotion itself.
Íslendingasögur, on the whole, depict a fairly realistic culture; no doubt
it is largely this realism that has led scholars to focus on this genre of
saga as the main source for studying emotions in medieval Iceland and
Scandinavia, as these sagas offer a vivid and credible portrait of Icelandic
society. For various reasons, Eddic poetry and other saga genres, such as
konungasögur and fornaldarsögur, might be expected to portray the emo-
tional lives of characters in a manner that has less basis in reality than the
Íslendingasögur. However, Theodore Andersson has argued persuasively
that “the saga writers cultivated the heroic or dramatic moment, or the
paralyzing retort, because they were recreating a heroic age. After all,
their characters were three hundred years old and had lived in a legend-
ary age. They were larger than ordinary life, and it was appropriate to give
them a more memorable language and a more chiseled set of gestures.”6
Andersson’s argument that saga authors were deliberately sculpting a he-
roic age whose legendary inhabitants operated in a distinctive emotional
register suggests that a high level of artificiality went into the creation of
the society depicted in the sagas.
Thomas D. Hill’s discussion of facial reddening in Heiðarvíga saga sug-
gests the level of thoughtful fashioning that may lie behind such an appar-
ently simple somatic response as flushing. Rather than asking what the text
reveals about emotions in medieval Icelandic culture, Hill considers why
the author chose to depict the character’s bodily response to emotion in a
particular way in the text. Hill argues that the saga’s author was not casually
imposing the emotional norms of his own society onto characters in texts,
but was influenced in his choice by Christian iconography.7 According to
Hill, the author of Heiðarvíga saga uses facial flushing, a common indica-
tion of emotional disturbance in vernacular Icelandic literature, in a way
that embeds this reaction within a wider Christian context, imbuing it
with additional associations, and thus enriching the meaning of the text.
Hill’s interpretation suggests that a great deal of consideration went into
the literary deployment of emotional responses and gestures. Will Say-
ers mounts a response to Hill’s claims, arguing that Hill “offer[s] novel
solutions when, to my mind, more quotidian ones will suffice.”8 Reading

5. Rosenwein, Emotional Communities, p. 27.

6. Andersson, “Is there a History of Emotions in Eddic Heroic Poetry?” p. 201.
7. Hill, “Guðlaugr Snorrason,” pp. 147–52.
8. Sayers, “Honor of Guðlaugr Snorrason,” p. 536.

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 Grief, Gender, and Genre  475

Guðlaugr’s flush as a reaction to impugned honor, Sayers suggests that

“the description of the deeply flushed face . . . alerts the saga public to
look below the surface—not for the simplicity of the Christian saint but
for the complexity of a well-born Icelander around the year 1008.”9 Hill’s
argument is persuasive, but the conflicting interpretations that modern
scholars can bring to a single blush speaks to the range of potential mean-
ing in these depictions, and it is probable that contemporary readers of
the sagas would also have had occasion to disagree over the meaning
of emotional gestures and somatic responses. Indeed, characters within
the sagas are sometimes confused; consider the discussion in Laxdæla
saga about Guðrún’s smile when her husband’s killer wipes his bloody
weapon on her garment.10 Miller argues that “[w]hat this scene reveals
is that the modern reader is not the only one who can be taken in by the
ways certain saga characters have of expressing emotions. It is clear that
the men who read Guðrún’s smile as evidence of a lack of great feeling
for her husband are telling us that smiles were not quite appropriate in
this particular setting . . . although Halldórr sees the method in Guðrún’s
smile he does not go so far as to say the smile indicates lack of emotion.
He only claims that it represents a different set of emotions and disposi-
tions than less perceptive people might conventionally assume.”11
David Clark briefly discusses Gizurr’s weeping tears “sem haglkorn”
(like hailstones) at the death by burning of his wife and son in Sturlunga
saga, pointing out that the “motif of hard tears has parallels in the Family
Saga corpus and lends an epic grandeur to the scene.”12 Sif Rikhardsdottir,
discussing the translation of continental texts into Old Norse, argues that
the translators adjusted the characters’ emotional displays to bring them
more in line with Scandinavian cultural norms: “Within the saga realm, the
accusation of crying (with respect to men) was considered a tremendous
insult to the masculine identity, as it was interpreted as an effeminization.
The weeping continental hero must thus have been a rather startling
discovery to the Nordic audience and one that necessitated some cultural
shifting, both in the matter being translated and, in fact, in the conceptual
realm of the audience itself.”13 Wolf offers a nuanced assessment of the
relationship between weeping and gender in the sagas, stating that “the
fact that most of the examples in the Sagas and þættir of Icelanders are

9. Sayers, “Honor of Guðlaugr Snorrason,” p. 540.

10. Laxdæla Saga, Íslenzk fornrit V, ed. Einar Ól. Sveinsson (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka forn-
ritafélag, 1934), p. 168.
11. Miller, “Emotions and the Sagas,” pp. 91–92.
12. David Clark, “Manslaughter and Misogyny: Women and Revenge in Sturlunga Saga,”
Saga-Book, 33 (2009), 37.
13. Sif Rikhardsdottir, Medieval Translations and Cultural Discourse: The Movement of Texts in
England, France, and Scandinavia (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2012), p. 64.

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 476  Mills

of women crying may suggest that it was considered improper for men
to weep or show feelings of sadness. However, Þórhallr Ásgrímsson, a re-
spectable man, is described as having cried . . . about Njáll it is said that
Hoskuldr’s death touched him so deeply that he could never talk about
it without sobbing . . . The reaction of Gunnarr of Hlíðarendi, when he
heard insinuations that he had cried . . . indicates that crying for reasons
other than sadness or grief was considered unmanly.”14
Genre exerts a strong influence on what, and how, emotions are de-
picted.15 As Rosenwein observes, “genres tend to have different uses for
emotions. Presumably letters best reveal how a person “really” feels. Saints’
lives tell us how people were supposed to behave, emphasizing emotional
ideals. . . . Histories and chronicles, it would seem at first glance, must be
driven by their subject matter and thus pose special problems: if someone
or some event is emotional, the historian has no choice but to portray it
thus. This, however, cannot be right, for the choice of subject and the way
in which it is portrayed has everything to do with a historian’s emotional
community and the ways in which he or she imagines her audience.” 16
Looking at the distribution of weeping across different genres of Old
Norse–Icelandic literature, it becomes clear that there is considerable
variation in the presentation of weeping between genres. While I am
unaware of any comprehensive survey of weeping in the Íslendingasögur, it
seems that it is fairly rare, and generally performed by women.17 The Eddic
poems that deal with mythological events also contain little weeping, and
all of it by women: it is stated in Voluspá that “Frigg um grét/ í Fensolum/
vá Valhallar”18 (Frigg wept for the woe of Valholl in Fen Halls); Skírnir
curses Gerðr with tears: “vaxi þér tár með trega!” (may your tears grow
with your grief!),19 and he promises her “grát at gamni/ . . . með tárom
trega” (weeping instead of joy/ . . . grief with tears);20 when Óðinn asks
the seeress in Baldrs draumar “hveriar ro þær meyiar/ er at muni gráta”

14. Kirsten Wolf, “Somatic Semiotics: Emotion and the Human Face in the Sagas and
Þættir of Icelanders,” in Traditio (forthcoming).
15. “The constraints of genre admittedly pose a problem. Might not the well-meaning
historian mistake a particular genre, with its rules of expression, for an “emotional commu-
nity”? . . . The rules of genre were not, however, ironclad. They themselves were “social prod-
ucts”—elaborated by people under certain conditions and with certain goals in mind—and
they could be drawn upon and manipulated with some freedom. . . . they shaped emotional
expression even as they themselves were used and bent so as to be emotionally expressive.”
Rosenwein, Emotional Communities, p. 27.
16. Rosenwein, Emotional Communities, p. 28.
17. A comprehensive survey of weeping in the entire Old Norse-Icelandic corpus is a
desideratum, but well beyond the scope of the present discussion.
18. Voluspá , in The Poetic Edda, vol. 2: Mythological Poems, ed. and trans. Ursula Dronke
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997), p. 16, st. 33.
19. Kommentar zu den Liedern der Edda 2, ed. Klaus von See, Beatrice La Farge, Eve Picard,
Ilona Priebe, Katja Schulz (Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag C. Winter, 1997), p.114, st. 29.
20. Kommentar zu den Liedern der Edda 2, ed. Klaus von See et al., p.117, st. 30.

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 Grief, Gender, and Genre  477

(who are those maidens, who weep heavily [or: who weep for love]), she
realizes that she is speaking with Óðinn, and ends their conversation.21
Turning to the heroic Eddic poems, women are still the primary weep-
ers. Sigrún’s nightly tears torment her dead husband in the afterlife,22
and Guðrún’s weeping is referenced repeatedly in the poems in which
she appears: she weeps when Sigurðr is slain in their bed,23 she weeps
over his corpse,24 and she weeps when she sends her sons to their certain
deaths to avenge their sister.25 There are only three occasions on which
men weep in Eddic poetry. In Atlakviða, when Gunnarr and Hogni set out
for Atli’s court, their followers weep,26 and the men of Atli’s court weep
under their cloaks when Guðrún announces that she has slain her sons
by Atli as revenge for her brothers’ deaths.27 The Atlamál poet recounts
that while Gunnarr plays his harp in the snakepit, the men who could
hear the music sobbed.28
Two of the most famous, and certainly most discussed, scenes of weeping
in medieval Old Norse–Icelandic literature occur in Snorri Sturluson’s
narrative of the death of the god Baldr, found in the Gylfaginning section
of Snorra Edda. Baldr, the son of Óðinn and Frigg, suffers terrible night-
mares, and Frigg takes an oath from every thing, living and dead, not to
harm her son. At an assembly, the Æsir celebrate Baldr’s immunity from
harm by pelting him with objects. Loki is displeased by this, and, disguised
as an old woman, gleans from Frigg that mistletoe did not take the oath.
Loki returns to the assembly with mistletoe, which he puts in the hand of
Baldr’s blind brother Hoðr, whom he points in the direction of Baldr so
that he may join in the game with the others. Hoðr throws the mistletoe,
striking Baldr dead. The Æsir fall silent for a moment, and then collectively
weep. A funeral is held for Baldr, and the Æsir send a messenger to Hel,
who rules over the land of the dead, to ask what she would exchange for
Baldr’s return. Hel’s condition is that if the entire cosmos will weep for
him, Baldr may return. The Æsir almost succeed in bringing this about,

21. Kommentar zu den Liedern der Edda 3, ed. Klaus von See, Beatrice La Farge, Eve Picard,
Katja Schulz (Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag C. Winter, 2000), p. 449, st. 12.
22. Kommentar zu den Liedern der Edda 4, ed. Klaus von See, Beatrice La Farge, Wolfgang
Gerhold, Debora Dusse, Eve Picard, Katja Schulz (Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter,
2004), p. 788, st. 45.
23. Kommentar zu den Liedern der Edda 6, ed. Klaus von See, Beatrice La Farge, Eve Picard,
Katja Schulz, Matthias Teichert (Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter, 2009), p. 364, st.
25; p. 375, st. 30.
24. Kommentar zu den Liedern der Edda 6, ed. Klaus von See et al., p. 244, st. 15; p. 246, st.
16.
25. Edda: Die Lieder des Codex Regius nebst verwandten Denkmälern, ed. Gustav Neckel and
Hans Kuhn, 4th edition (Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag C. Winter, 1962), p. 265, st. 9.
26. Edda: Die Lieder des Codex Regius, p. 242, st. 12.
27. Edda: Die Lieder des Codex Regius, st. 38.
28. Edda: Die Lieder des Codex Regius, p. 257, st. 66.

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 478  Mills

but are forestalled by Þokk, a giantess who may, Snorri tells us, be Loki in
disguise. She weeps “dry tears” (þurrum tárum) for Baldr, thus preventing
the fulfillment of Hel’s demand.29
The weeping for Baldr has long intrigued scholars, and a number of
theories have been advanced to explain what some consider to be puz-
zling and uncharacteristic behavior for Norse gods. There have been at-
tempts to connect the second weeping in this text with the mourning of
creation for Christ at the crucifixion,30 and Anatoly Liberman has argued
that the weeping should be associated with rain, with Baldr functioning
as a fertility/sky deity: “[T]he ethos of medieval Scandinavia could have
been expected to suppress such a demeaning detail as men in tears. Yet
Snorri allowed the gods to weep.”31 The assumption that male weeping was
disgraceful in medieval Iceland and Scandinavia forms the basis for John
Lindow’s discussion of the weeping for Baldr. Lindow states that “weep-
ing . . . was women’s work,”32 thus unsuitable for the male Æsir, and he
argues that by weeping they “behaved, however briefly, like unmanly men.”
Lindow considers the possibility that the Æsir’s weeping demonstrates
the importance of Baldr’s death, in that they are willing to “weep, that is,
behave in public like women,”33 in order to retrieve him. He references
a discussion by Preben Meulengracht Sørensen34 that looks at weeping
in Njáls saga, stating that Sørensen’s “analysis makes it clear that accusa-
tions of men weeping were powerful stuff.”35 However, Sørensen himself
is slightly more cautious about the applicability of the events in Njáls saga
for evaluating male weeping in saga literature as a whole: “In Icelandic
sagas real men do not cry, at least not in Njáls saga.”36
29. Snorri Sturluson, Edda: Prologue and Gylfaginning, pp. 45–48. The phrase þurrum tárum
occurs in a single stanza embedded in the prose. Some scholars have argued that this stanza,
combined with the alliteration in the description of Hermóðr’s ride to Hel, suggests the
existence of an eddic “Baldr lay” telling of his death and attempted recovery from Hel. For
a discussion and critique of these arguments, see Christopher Abram, “Snorri’s Invention of
Hermóðr’s helreið,” in The Fantastic in Old Norse/Icelandic Literature. Sagas and the British Isles
I. Preprint Papers of the 13th International Saga Conference, Durham and York, 6th-12th August,
2006, ed. John McKinnell et. al. (Durham: Univ. of Durham, 2006), pp. 22–31.
30. For an overview of some of these theories, see Lindow, “Tears,” 156–57. See J. L. Baird,
“Natura Plangens, the Ruthwell Cross and The Dream of the Rood,” Studies in Iconography, 10
(1984–86), 37–51, for a discussion of creation weeping for Christ in The Dream of the Rood
and the theme of nature weeping in classical tradition.
31. Anatoly Liberman, “Some Controversial Aspects of the Myth of Baldr,” Alvíssmál, 11
(2007), 39.
32. Lindow, “Tears,” 168.
33. Lindow, “Tears,” 169.
34. Preben Meulengracht Sørensen, “‘Græder du nu, Skarpheðinn?’ Nogle betragtninger
over form og etik,” in Studien zum Altgermanischen: Festschrift für Heinrich Beck, ed. Heiko
Uecker, Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der germanischen Altertumskunde, 11 (Berlin and New
York: de Gruyter, 1994), pp. 480–89.
35. Lindow “Tears,” 166.
36. Sørensen, “Græder,” p. 246, n. 15: “I islændingesagaerne græder rigtige mænd ikke,
i hvert fald ikke i Njáls saga.”

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 Grief, Gender, and Genre  479

The use of Njáls saga as a guide to standards for manly behavior in me-
dieval Iceland is problematic. Ármann Jakobsson has written persuasively
on the presentation of masculinity in this particular saga. He distinguishes
between the views of the society presented in the text, of the society in
which the text was composed, and of the saga itself.37 He argues that the
saga mounts a substantial critique on the gender norms of the society it
depicts.38 In his conclusion, Ármann writes that the 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 uncom-
promising and oppressive.”39 As far as the portrayal of male weeping in
the saga is concerned, Ármann states that “[t]he message at first seems
unambiguous: real men don’t cry. And yet they do, enough for small-
minded people such as Gunnarr Lambason to be constantly on the lookout
for crying men to victimize.”40 While acknowledging the heroism of Kári
for avenging the insult to Skarpheðinn and of Skarpheðinn and Gunnarr
for defending themselves against accusations of weeping, Ármann asks
whether this indicates that the saga presents weeping as “unmanly,” and
concludes that it does not.41 I find Ármann’s interpretation of masculinity
and weeping in the saga persuasive, however, even if his reading is incor-
rect; a single text cannot adequately speak for the emotional norms of a
broad geographical region over several centuries, not even if that text is
Njáls saga. As today, there would have been room for multiple perspectives.
As an example of a male whose weeping does not seem to indicate
weakness, Lindow turns to Gizurr Þ orvaldsson and his hailstone tears.42
He suggests that the difference between hail-like tears and the Æsir’s
“weeping uncontrollably” (gráta)43 separates the two scenes, with weep-
ing being less manly than hail-like tears.44 While considering the occur-
rences (or accusations) of weeping in these sagas, Lindow does not ask
whether the cause of the weeping may play as large a role in its reception
as the fact of weeping itself. Weeping from pain, as in the case of the
false accusations leveled at Gunnarr and possibly that of Skarpheðinn,
is different from weeping over a death, and Gizurr’s weeping for his wife

37. Ármann Jakobsson, “Masculinity and Politics in Njáls saga,” Viator, 38 (2007), 195.
38. Jakobsson, “Masculinity,” 195.
39. Jakobsson, “Masculinity,” 214.
40. Jakobsson, “Masculinity,” 203.
41. Jakobsson, “Masculinity,” 203.
42. Sturlunga saga, ed. Jón Jóhannesson, Magnús Finnbogason, and Kristján Eldjárn, 2
vols. (Reykjavík: Sturlunguútgáfan, 1946), I, 494.
43. Gráta does not always imply the shedding of tears but may also refer to lamenting,
mourning, or bewailing. However, in the myth of Baldr’s death, Þokk’s declaration that she
will “weep dry tears” (gráta/ þurrum tárum), thereby preventing his return, makes it clear that
gráta indicates weeping in this narrative. Finnur Jónsson, Lexicon Poeticum Antiquae Linguae
Septentrionalis (Copenhagen: S. L. Møllers Bogtrykkeri, 1931), s.v. gráta.
44. Lindow, “Tears,” 166.

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 480  Mills

and sons is a far closer parallel to the Æsir’s weeping than the examples
in Njáls saga. After briefly considering examples of male weeping in
Atlamál and Atlakviða, Lindow dismisses their relevance, concluding that
“these passages throw only a very dim light on the weeping of the Æsir
at Baldr’s death, set as they are in European courts far to the south. By
the standards expressed in the ‘realistic’ literature of medieval Iceland,
men should not weep.”45
Lindow does not explain why the norms of “realistic” Icelandic literature
are more applicable to Snorri’s story of Baldr’s death than those of Ed-
dic poetry, but I see several reasons why this might not necessarily be the
case. The Baldr myth is never set in Iceland, and even when it is partially
removed from the realms of the gods, as it is in Saxo Grammaticus’s Gesta
Danorum, it plays out in the courts of kings. Its subject matter is more
closely aligned with the royal courts featured in the heroic poetry of the
Edda than with the homesteads of farmers depicted in the Íslendingasögur,
and among its intended audience was a Norwegian king whose patronage
Snorri was seeking. Perhaps some overlap between these two spheres, farm
and court, should be expected; however, it does these authors a discredit
to assume that they were incapable of depicting the different mores of
these communities, or that an Icelander who spent time in the Norwegian
court, as Snorri did, would not have observed that customs varied. That
the Icelander as a fish out of water in the exotic Scandinavian courts is a
commonly employed trope in saga literature indicates that saga authors
were keenly aware of such differences.
As Ármann was careful to differentiate between three strata of ideologi-
cal beliefs when attempting to interpret the presentation of masculinity
in Njáls saga, it must likewise be taken into account that there may be
layered or competing perspectives present in Snorri’s version of Baldr’s
death. These perspectives may be impossible to delineate; the worldview
of thirteenth-century Icelanders is determined primarily through their
historical fictions, and it is only with difficulty that their own views can be
separated from what they imagined those of their ancestors to be. There
is the perspective of Snorri, which one might attempt to determine from
his writings; besides the worldview of his native Iceland in the thirteenth
century, there is also that of the Norwegian court in which he found pa-
tronage; there is the system of values of the society being depicted in the
narrative, in this case that of the Æsir. In attempting to discern the views
on male weeping in the latter case, the society of the Æsir as depicted
in Snorra Edda and in the mythological poems of the Codex Regius offers
scant material for comparison, as there is little weeping in these texts, and
no male weeping, outside of the Baldr myth-complex. One could argue

45. Lindow, “Tears,” 167.

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 Grief, Gender, and Genre  481

that this validates Lindow’s and Liberman’s assumptions that male weep-
ing was viewed negatively, for if weeping were not taboo, it would occur
more frequently in these texts. However, the death of Baldr is arguably
the greatest disaster to affect the Æsir before their destruction at the end
of the world, and as such it ought to evoke a greater emotional response
than any other event in the mythology. Attempting to determine Snorri’s
personal views on male weeping in order to understand his presentation
of weeping in his texts requires an impossibly circular mode of reasoning,
as he never explicitly expressed a view on this topic. As discussed above,
there are difficulties in relying solely on contemporary saga literature to
determine an Icelandic societal perspective.
This leaves the literature associated with the Scandinavian courts as
a potential window onto the emotional community portrayed in Snorra
Edda. This method is not without its own potential difficulties, includ-
ing the fact that is often difficult to determine whether a text from this
period was composed in Iceland or in Norway. Nonetheless, there are
texts that suit this purpose, and as I shall demonstrate, they contain use-
ful, and at times striking, parallels for Snorri’s account of the grief over
Baldr. Heimskringla has strong ties to Norway, and many scholars have as-
sumed that it was also composed by Snorri, although there is no certain
proof of his authorship.46 Fagrskinna is one of the major sources for Heim-
skringla,47 and Gesta Danorum, while focused on Denmark and composed
in Latin, is roughly contemporary with Snorra Edda and not only deals
with Scandinavian royalty but also extensively incorporates the mythic
and legendary material that Snorri uses in his own work. In the following
analysis, Fagrskinna, Heimskringla, and Gesta Danorum will provide a liter-
ary framework for reconsidering the relationship between weeping and
masculinity in Snorri’s account of the death of Baldr. Reading the weeping
in the Baldr narrative beside depictions of mourning in the kings’ sagas
and Gesta Danorum provides a different perspective on the relationship
between weeping and gender in Snorri’s text.
Fagrskinna depicts weeping related to the deaths of two kings: Magnús
and Hákon. After King Magnús’s death and burial, the text states, “Yfir
hans grof grét margr dýrligr drengr”48 (over his grave wept many a worthy
man)49. Oddr Kíkinaskáld wrote the following verses about the grief for
the dead king:

46. See Diana Whaley’s Heimskringla: An Introduction (London: Viking Society for Northern
Research, 1991), pp. 13–19, for a discussion of the authorship issue. Whaley suggests that
Snorri did write Heimskringla, although the evidence is not conclusive.
47. For an overview of the debate over the nationality of Fagrskinna’s author, see Alison
Finlay, Fagrskinna: A Catalogue of the Kings of Norway (Boston: Brill, 2003), pp. 15–17.
48. Ágrip af Nóregskonunga sogum: Fagrskinna—Nóregs konunga tal. Íslenzk fornrit 29, ed.
Bjarni Einarsson (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1984), ch. 54, p. 249.
49. Finlay, Fagrskinna, p. 199.

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 482  Mills
Felldu menn, þas mildan,
morg tór, í grof bóru,
þung byrðr vas sú, þengil,
þeim, es hann gaf seima.
Deildusk hugr, svát heldu
húskarlar grams varla,
siklings þjóð en síðan
sat opt hnipin, vatni.50

(Men bore the generous monarch

with many tears to the grave;
this was a weighty burden
to the ones he had given gold to.
The king’s retainers, hearts heavy,
hardly could keep from weeping;
the lord’s people afterwards
often sat in sorrow.)51

The return of young King Hákon’s corpse to Kaupangr for burial causes
great sorrow in his people: “Ok kómu aptr á hálfs mánaðar fresti menn
hans til Kaupangs með þeim tíðendum, at menn skyldu ganga í móti líki
Hákonar konungs, ok svá gekk allr lýðr, ok flestir, allir grátandi, því at
hverr maðr unni hónum hugástum”52 (And after the space of two weeks
his men came back to Kaupangr with the news that people were to go and
receive King Hákon’s body, and all the people did so, nearly all of them
weeping, because everyone was very fond of him)53.
On both occasions, the dead man is a king who was held in high esteem
by his people, and the text makes this clear: Magnús was generous to his
followers, and Hákon was loved by his people. Finlay’s translation, given
above, is perhaps not strong enough: she translates “hverr maðr unni
hónum hugástum” as “everyone was very fond of him,” but “every one
loved him fervently” or “every one loved him with his heart” would all
also be possible translations, and would likely better convey the intensity
of his people’s affection for him.54
Heimskringla contains over a dozen instances of weeping, many occur-
ring from grief over a death. For the purposes of this argument, I will
limit my discussion to examples of weeping caused by grief. The first
concerns the figure Njorðr, who is usually presented as a deity but here
is introduced as a king, whose corpse is burned by his Swedish subjects

50. Ágrip: Fagrskinna, ed. Bjarni Einarsson, p. 249.

51. Finlay, Fagrskinna, pp.199–200.
52. Ágrip: Fagrskinna, ed. Bjarni Einarsson, p. 303.
53. Finlay, Fagrskinna, p. 242.
54. Johan Fritzner, Ordbog Over Det Gamle Norske Sprog (Oslo: Tryggve Juul Møller Forlag,
1954), s.v. hugást and unna.

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 Grief, Gender, and Genre  483

who “grétu allmjok yfir leiði hans” (wept much over his grave). The text
55

does not comment further on the weeping, and there is nothing in the
description that suggests the weeping was viewed negatively. Upon the
death of King Hákon the Good, there is so much grief that “bæði vinir
ok óvinir grétu dauða hans”56 (both friends and enemies wept over his
death). I would like to draw particular attention to the fact that Hákon is
wept for by friends and enemies, to which one may compare the weeping
of all things living and dead over Baldr, which would include both the
Æsir and the Jotnar, the Æsir’s traditional enemies. King Ingi reportedly
“grét sem barn”57 (wept like a child) when informed of the death of his
dearest follower, Gregory Dagsson.
When returning from a pilgrimage to Rome, the poet Sighvatr learns
of the death of his patron, King Óláfr, in battle. Sighvatr passes through a
village where a man is mourning his wife: “barði á brjóst sér ok reif klæði
af sér, grét mjok, segir, at hann vildi gjarna deyja”58 (he beat his breast
and tore his clothes, and he wept heavily, saying that he wanted to die).
In a verse, Sighvatr contrasts his grief with that of the bereaved husband,
whose loss pales in comparison with Sighvatr’s:
Fúss læzk maðr, ef missir
meyjar faðms, at deyja.
Keypt es óst, ef eptir
oflátinn skal gráta.
En fullhugi fellir
flóttstyggr, sás varð dróttin,
várt torrek lízk verra,
vígtór, konungs órum.59

(The man says that he wishes to die

if he loses the maiden’s embrace.
Love is costly, if the proud man
must weep for the dead.
But the brave man who does not flee,
who has lost his lord,
sheds battle-tears.
Our loss seems greater
to the king’s men.)

The use of vígtór in the final line is interesting; the compound literally
translates as “killing-tears” or “war-tears” and refers to blood, and of course

55. Heimskringla, ed. Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, 3 vols, Íslenzk fornrit, 26–28 (Reykjavík: Hið
íslenzka fornritafélag, 1941–51), I, 23.
56. Heimskringla, ed. Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, I, 192–93.
57. Heimskringla, ed. Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, III, 365.
58. Heimskringla, ed. Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, II, 15.
59. Heimskringla, ed. Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, II, 15.

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 484  Mills

it is possible to read the stanza as referring to the renewed battle rage of

men whose lord has died on the field. In this reading, while the widower
weeps helplessly and passively wishes to die, the dead king’s warriors shed
war tears, blood, either their own or that of their enemies, and perhaps
in this way find death beside their lord. Sighvatr was away on pilgrimage
during the battle, and thus was not fighting beside Óláfr when the king
died. Perhaps the stanza should be read as a complaint that he was unable
to show his devotion to Óláfr by shedding blood. However, it is also pos-
sible to read these war tears as literal tears, and perhaps as literal tears of
blood brought forth by the most intense emotional distress, a motif with
which the well-travelled Christian poet may have been familiar, through
his native literature or the tradition of bloody tears in medieval Christian-
ity.60 In this reading, there would be three strata of tears in this stanza: the
man weeping for the dead maiden; the war tears, that is, blood, spilled
for Óláfr on the battlefield; and Sighvatr’s own tears, shed long after the
battle in which his king fell.
In Heimskringla, then, there are several accounts of kings or warriors
whose deaths prompt weeping from their companions, and in none of
these accounts is the weeping derided as shameful or effeminate. In con-
trast to the heroic Eddic poems, wherein the rare weeping men are out-
numbered by the heroines who often weep for dead husbands or sons,
these portrayals all feature men weeping; while the subjects who weep
for Njorðr and the townspeople who shed tears for King Hákon may well
have included women, this is implied, but not necessarily specified. Pàroli
observes of Eddic poetry that “men can shed tears only as a group in the
ritual setting of collective mourning for their chief’s death, actual or im-
minent,”61 and while this observation can be applied to many scenes in
Heimskringla, King Ingi, the skald Sighvatr, and the overheard widower all
weep alone. However, in these examples the circumstances are slightly dif-
ferent. King Ingi is a rare instance of a king weeping for his follower, and
in most cases, it is the followers who weep for the king or prince. While
Sighvatr is in mourning for his chief, his failure to be present in the battle
where King Óláfr was slain seems to have delayed the outpouring of his
grief, which is triggered only when he encounters a man lamenting his
wife’s death, a scene that is itself an unusual account of male grief for a
woman. Sighvatr responds to this display with poetry, and it is interest-
ing to note that while Sighvatr’s stanzas here and elsewhere eloquently

60. See Andrew Breeze, “The Virgin’s Tears of Blood,” Celtica, 20 (1988), 122; Andrew
Lynch, “‘Now, fye on youre wepynge!’: Tears in Medieval English Romance,” Parergon, 9
(1991), 49–50; and Vernam Hull, “Celtic Tears of Blood,” Zeitschrift für celtische Philologie,
25 (1956), 226–36 for examples.
61. Pàroli, “Tears of the Heroes,” p. 240.

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 Grief, Gender, and Genre  485

document his feelings of loss for his king, the prose of Heimskringla is far
more reticent, permitting the poet’s own words to express his sorrow. Had
Sighvatr been present at Óláfr’s burial, perhaps he would have mourned
in the presence of others. The mourning peasant is from a lower social
class than the other men named in the text, although the groups of name-
less people who weep for the dead kings could conceivably have included
peasants. Heimskringla, unlike the family sagas, rarely concerns itself with
the emotions of individuals outside of the upper classes. That he weeps
alone, and for his wife, sets him even further apart from the other weep-
ing men in the text.
Saxo Grammaticus’s Gesta Danorum contains numerous, and frequently
elaborate, depictions of weeping. Gesta Danorum should be used with cau-
tion; Saxo’s work was clearly heavily influenced by nonnative textual tradi-
tions, including classical Latin histories and Christian exegesis.62 However,
while the vernacular konungasögur may have the appearance of being
‘native’—or at least more native than Saxo—in their sources and influ-
ences, they were still influenced by classical, Christian, and contemporary
European texts.63 Bearing these factors in mind, it is striking that many
of Saxo’s depictions of male weeping correspond closely to those in the
konungasögur. Though using Saxo’s work as a source may be problematic,
it has value as corroborating evidence. If Saxo presented a wildly differ-
ent perspective on male weeping than Heimskringla and Fagrskinna, this
might be attributed to the influence of classical or exegetical accounts of
weeping; however, Saxo consistently depicts male weeping in a manner
that supports the picture that emerges from the vernacular sources deal-
ing with Scandinavian royalty. It seems likely, then, that Saxo was drawing
on similar conventions for depicting male grief, rather than that he drew

62. A comprehensive overview of Saxo’s Latin influences would be well beyond the scope of
the current argument. For discussion of Saxo’s use of Latin sources, see Lars Boje Mortensen,
“Saxo Grammaticus’ View of the Origin of the Danes and his Historiographical Models,”
Cahiers de l’Institut du moyen-âge grec et latin, 55 (1987), 169–83; Karsten Friis-Jensen, Saxo
Grammaticus as Latin Poet: Studies in the Verse Passages of the Gesta Danorum, Analecta Romana
Instituti Danici, Supplamenta, 14 (Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1987); Saxo Grammaticus:
A Medieval Author Between Norse and Latin Culture, ed. Karsten Friis-Jensen, Danish Medieval
History and Saxo Grammaticus, 2 (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 1981); Saxo
og Snorre, ed. Jon Gunnar Jørgensen, Karsten Friis-Jensen, and Else Mundal (Copenhagen:
Museum Tusculanum Press, 2010). See Hill, “Guðlaugr Snorrason: The Red Faced Saint,”
for a discussion of the probable use of the Christian motif of facial reddening as a sign of
saintliness appearing in secular vernacular literature.
63. See the discussions in Paul A. White, Non-Native Sources for the Scandinavian Kings’
Sagas (New York: Routledge, 2005); and Shami Ghosh, Kings’ Sagas and Norwegian History
(Leiden: Brill, 2011), especially chap. 3, “Non-Native Sources and Influence,” pp. 111–76.
For the relationship between hagiography and the kings’ sagas, see Carl Phelpstead, Holy
Vikings: Saints’ Lives in the Old Icelandic Kings’ Sagas (Tempe: Arizona Center for Medieval
and Renaissance Studies, 2007).

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 486  Mills

them entirely from non-Scandinavian sources, which coincidentally hap-

pened to correspond closely to vernacular accounts. I am not arguing that
depictions of weeping from grief in Gesta Danorum and the konungasögur
were not influenced by nonnative sources, as this is certainly possible,
even likely; whatever their relationship to one another, to other literary
traditions, and to historical reality, they are valuable as literary accounts
of the expression of grief in medieval Scandinavia.
After burning his wicked stepfather alive in his hall, Amleth rouses
the populace to his own cause with a lengthy speech, in which he asks,
“Quis cruentissimi lictoris cladem defleat aut crudelissimi tyranni iustum
lamentetur interitum?”64 (What sane person would grieve because the vil-
lainy has recoiled on its perpetrator? Who would weep for the overthrow
of such a bloody executioner?). Amleth’s speech is so successful that all
are swayed to follow him, and “alios ad lacrimas usque perduxit”65 (he
moved others to tears). This example does not depict people weeping for
the deceased man, but Amleth’s rhetoric presents such behavior as one
that would be acceptable, and perhaps even expected, under other cir-
cumstances; it is not permissible in this instance because of the character
of the dead king. Amleth does in fact elicit tears from the people, albeit
not arising from grief.
King Regnerus takes to his bed in grief after the execution of his son.
His wife chastises him for weakness, and Regnerus, afraid that inaction
would mar his good name, leaves his bed to pursue revenge:
Quo audito Regnerus, obstinato ad moriendum luctu, non modo merorem
induit, uerum et per summam animi egritudinem lectulo corpus affixit,
doloremque conceptum gemitu patefecit. Quem coniunx, uirilem super-
gressa fiduciam, imbecillitatis increpitum uirili adhortacione firmauit, re-
uocatumque a merore animum arma impensius celebrare perdocuit, affir-
mans, fortissimum patrem cruentos filii cineres iustius armis quam lachrymis
expiaturum. Monuit quoque, ne muliebriter lugens tantum sibi ignominie
fletu pareret, quantum antea claritatis uirtute contraxerat. Ad hanc uocem
ueritus Regnerus, ne pristinos fortitudinis titulos effeminato merore conter-
eret, discusso mesticie habitu depositisque doloris insignibus, promptissima
uindicte spe iacentem reuocauit audaciam. Adeo interdum ab inualidis forcia
roborantur ingenia.66

(When he heard the news, Regner in his grief was set on dying, for he not only
went into mourning, but, with a heart completely stricken, confined himself
to his bed and let groans reveal the sorrow he had suffered. His wife, whose
self-reliance surpassed a man’s, chided Regner’s feebleness and fortified him

64. Saxonis Grammatici Gesta Danorum, ed. Alfred Holder (Strassburg: Trubner, 1886), bk.
3, p. 94.
65. Saxonis Grammatici, ed. Holder, p. 96.
66. Saxonis Grammatici,, ed. Holder, ch. 9, p. 311.

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 Grief, Gender, and Genre  487
with her masculine exhortations; she summoned his soul from its dejection,
told him he must resort to energetic warfare and declared that a courageous
father made better amends to a son’s bloodstained ashes through arms than
tears. Further, she advised him not to whimper like a woman, for he would
reap as much dishonour through weeping as he had previously gained glory
by his valour. Her words made Regner fear he might obliterate his ancient
renown for bravery by effeminate lamentation; he therefore threw off his
sad demeanour and the outwards marks of misery, and allowed the hope of
a swift revenge to revive his dormant hardiness. So at times stout dispositions
are strengthened by weaker ones.)67

In this occurrence, weeping for the dead is portrayed negatively, but there
are several elements to this scene that set it apart from the other examples.
Here the weeping figure is a father, and the deceased is his son. Like Egill
and Njáll, he takes to his bed upon the death of his son, and this act is
related to the pursuit of vengeance for the death: both Egill and Njáll
acknowledge their inability, stemming from their advanced age, to avenge
their sons, and Regnerus’s wife informs him that it is more fitting that
he should seek revenge than weep in his bed. Following the examples
of countless other women in saga and poetry, she shames the man upon
whom she depends for status into fulfilling the obligations of blood feud,
and she uses accusations of effeminacy to goad him into action. Her con-
cern is not merely the fact of Regnerus’s weeping, but his refusal to fight.
It is not uncommon in the sagas to see men take to their beds from grief
and die. In some cases, such as Egill’s and Njáll’s mentioned above, the
explicit intent of such action is to die, while in others this is less clearly a
motivation. Nevertheless, a subtext to the queen’s hvøt may be fear that
her husband will die from his extreme grief, and, like Egill’s daughter, she
urges him to action to prevent this possibility from taking place.
The sorrow following Queen Thyra’s death is unusual, in that it is a
rare example of great grief expressed for a queen’s death, a grief that is
felt by the whole nation, as in the examples of royal men who are univer-
sally mourned by their people: “Post hec Thyra, Danice maiestatis caput,
absumpta est. Cuius corpus Haraldus amplissimo funere elatum magno
cum omnium plangore non longe a patris tumulo sepulture mandauit.
Neque enim tam acri iactura cuiusquam penates meroris expertes esse
poterant, priuato funere publicam patrie fortunam exspirasse credentes”68
(After this died Thyra, the chief glory of the Danes. After a most splendid
funeral, Haraldus ordered her body to be buried amid universal lamen-
tation not far from the mound of his father. No family was unmoved by

67. Saxo Grammaticus: The History of the Danes, Books I–IX, ed. and trans. Peter Fisher and
Hilda Ellis Davidson (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1979–80), p. 289.
68. Saxonis Grammatici, ed. Holder, bk. 10, p. 329.

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 488  Mills

grief at so bitter a loss, for they believed that the public fortunes of the
country would expire in these private obsequies).69
Kanutus, potential heir to the throne of King Henricus, is later mur-
dered by his cousin and rival Magnús; Magnús splits open Kanutus’s head,
then his men repeatedly stab his body with their spears.
Facinoris fama promiscuum patrie lamentum exciuit imniumque penates
plangore compleuit. Populus enim, cum calamitosum de nece eius nunciam
accepisset, protinus conuiuiorum, que ea tempestate gerebantur, hilaritate
deposita, morem tempori impensum merore mutauit, inque eo lamentando
uterque sexus unius gemebundi amici uocem habuit. Cuius funus publico
luctu elatum, quantus eius amor omnium animis insitus esset, indicio fuit.
Itaque, cuius uitam patria caritatis officiis excoluerat, morti quoque testes
grati animi lachrymas erogabat, ut Kanutum eiulatibus, ita raptorem spiritus
eius ualidissimis execracionibus insecuta.70

(The news of the crime excited the universal lamentation of the land, and
filled every dwelling with grief. For when the people heard the dreadful
report of the murder, they immediately abandoned the cheerful festivities
which they were conducting at that season, and exchanged them for an un-
seasonable mourning; both sexes bewailing him in unison. The proclaiming
of his death by public sorrow was an indication of how greatly he was beloved
by all. So the land which had favoured him with its love in his lifetime, also
wept tears of gratitude at his death, and as Kanutus was followed by lamenta-
tion, so was his murderer by the fiercest execration.)71

Kanutus’s brothers bring a suit in the assembly over his death, and the peo-
ple condemn his murderer.72 Kanutus’s death has parallels with Snorri’s
version of Baldr’s death: a man in the line of succession is treacherously
slain by a kinsman, and he is universally mourned.
When Archbishop Eskillus finally leaves office to retire to a monastery,
his departure prompts the sorrow of his friends: “Cuius flentis discessum
amicorum turba, ipsum ulterius non uisura, perinde ac funus lachrymis
persecuta est”73 (the crowd of weeping friends, who would never see him
more, followed its departure with lamentations, as if it were a funeral
procession).74 Here weeping and lamentation are presented as typical
behaviors at a funeral, although in this case one does not actually occur.
The grief at the funeral procession of King Waldemarus is vividly de-
scribed, in a passage that deserves to be quoted in full:
Accessit luctui matrum miserabilis planctus, sparsis comis funeri occur-
rencium iterumque se pristinum seruitutis onus experturas dicencium;

69. Danorum Regum Heroumque Historia, Books X–XVI, trans. Eric Christiansen, 3 vols., BAR
International Series (Oxford: B.A.R., 1980–81), I, bk. 10, p. 10.
70. Saxonis Grammatici, ed. Holder, bk. 13, p. 429.
71. Danorum Regum, trans. Christiansen, I, bk. 13, p. 129.
72. Danorum Regum 1, trans. Christiansen, I, bk. 13, p.130.
73. Saxonis Grammatici, ed. Holder, bk. 14, p. 631.
74. Danorum Regum, trans. Christiansen, II, bk. 14, p. 570.

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 Grief, Gender, and Genre  489
extinctum illum, qui ciuium capitibus captiuitatem detraxerit, qui patriam
pyratarum metu uacuefecerit maritimasque sedes, perinde ac domesticas, a
predonum incursu tutas prestiterit. Agrestes quoque, funebri ipsius pompa
conspecta, rustico opere, quo occupati erant, relicto, consentaneis arua
querelis replebant. Cui eciam ut supremi officii decus prestarent, funebri
eius lecto humeros subiicere iocundum ducebant, euersam regis morte
patriam miserisque sibi commune funus, aut siquid funere tristius est, im-
minere plangentes.75

(The sad lamentations of women swelled the mourning, as they came up to

the funeral procession with their hair all torn, declaring that once again they
were going to undergo their old burden of enslavement, now that he was
dead; for it was he who had led the citizens out of captivity, who had freed
his country from dread of piracy, and made dwellings along the coast as safe
from the depredations of robbers as those inland. And when the peasants
caught sight of his funeral procession, they left the rural tasks on which they
were engaged and filled the countryside with similar groans. And for the
sake of honouring the last rites, they cheerfully put their shoulders to his
bier, wailing that since the king was dead, and the country ruined, general
destruction, or worse, was impending over their sorry lives.)76

Absalon presided over the funeral, and he

inter solennium uerborum nuncupacionem doloris impotens non tempe-
rauit sibi, quo minus aram lachrymis spargeret, uixque ad rem diuinam
peragendam vocis aut manus ministerio sufficere valuit. Quin eciam tantum
egritudinis animo contraxit, tamque graui et periculosa ualetudine subito
affici cepit, ut pene uitam cum sacrificio finiret. Incredibile uideretur, tantum
uirum tam insigni luctus horrore confectum, si non eius erga Waldemarum
affectus fuisset notissimus. . . . Cuius lachrymis, precum loco defusis, res-
persa altaria non paruulum promptissime eius erga regem beneuolencie
indicium prebuere. Iisdem quoque madefacta thura gratum deo odorem
dedisse, crediderim.77

(was unmanned by sorrow as he uttered the solemn words; they could not
prevent him from bedewing the altar with his tears, and he had hardly suf-
ficient command of his voice or hand to perform the holy office. He was so
stricken with grief, and suddenly contracted so grave and perilous an infir-
mity, that he almost ended his life and the holy sacrifice at that same time.
It would seem incredible for so great a man to be numbed and disabled by
such risible78 grief, if his affection for Waldemarus were not so widely known.
. . . And the altar, wet with the tears that fell from him instead of prayers, was
no insignificant token of his love towards the king. I trust that the incense

75. Saxonis Grammatici, ed. Holder, bk. 15, p. 655.

76. Danorum Regum, trans. Christiansen, II, bk. 15, p. 600.
77. Gesta Danorum, ed. Holder, bk. 15, pp. 655–56.
78. I am not certain which word Christiansen is translating as “risible,” although I assume
it is insigni. I would instead translate the line “Incredibile uideretur, tantum uirum tam insigni
luctus horrore confectum” as “It would seem incredible, that such a man would be affected by
such an extraordinary trembling of grief.” Perhaps “risible” is a mistake for “visible,” in that
his trembling was so pronounced as to be visible.

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 490  Mills
which was moistened by those tears gave off a fragrance that was acceptable
to God.)79
The extravagant grief of the populace is paired in Saxo’s description
with the more restrained sorrow of Absalon. The women and the peas-
ants who participate in the procession echo the fears of countless other
lamenters whose safety is compromised by the death of their protector,
and Saxo seems to have more interest than the author of Heimskringla in
the mourning of the lower social classes. Their complaint has a ritual-
ized formality, and its thematic similarity to other laments universalizes,
rather than trivializes, their grief. However, it is the intimate portrayal of
Absalon’s weeping, the text lingering over his falling tears, that shows a
personal bond. One senses that Absalon mourns Waldemarus the man,
not the king. The suggestion that his behavior might have been consid-
ered “incredible,” if not for his famous affection for Waldemarus, along
with the mention that he was “unmanned by sorrow,” could be taken to
indicate that his grief was considered excessive, and perhaps effeminate.
However, the word that Eric Christiansen translates as “unmanned” is
impotens, and while “unmanned” is a perfectly good translation for the
Latin, it genders Absalon’s actions in a way that is perhaps not present
in the text; “weakened” might work better here. Nothing else in the pas-
sage presents him in a negative light, and perhaps the incredible nature
of the impact of the king’s death is pointed out specifically to emphasize
the great affection between the two men, which has been portrayed in
great detail in Books XIV and XV. Unlike the peasants who shoulder the
king’s bier and loudly proclaim their loss, Absalon can barely speak or
perform the rite. While mention of weeping occurs with some frequency
in the text, rarely are the tears themselves depicted in such detail: first they
“bedew the altar,” the altar is later described as “wet with the tears,” and
the burning incense is “moistened by those tears.” It should be noted that
Absalon had been Saxo’s original patron for Gesta Danorum, and Absalon’s
nephew was his patron when Saxon completed his work. Surely if Absalon’s
weeping at Waldemarus’s funeral had been scandalously inappropriate,
Saxo would not have included it, let alone lavished such attention on the
scene. Christiansen suggests that in Book XV of the Gesta Danorum, “[t]
he freshness of his detail, and the concentration on episodes involving
Absalon, point inescapably to the archbishop’s own words as the main
source of the book. They may have been colored by Saxo’s own experi-
ence, but there can be no convincing reason for looking further than

79. Danorum Regum, trans. Christiansen, II, bk. 15, p. 600.

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 Grief, Gender, and Genre  491

the spoken reminiscences of his patron for both the inspiration and the
substance of what he wrote.”80
Of the examples above, only Regnerus is strongly castigated for his weep-
ing, and I have argued that it is not his weeping alone, but the context of his
behavior, that prompts his wife to shame him with charges of effeminacy.
When the choice is either weeping or revenge, then the heroic course of ac-
tion for Scandinavian men is assuredly the latter. However, the remaining
passages from Gesta Danorum present shedding tears for the dead as a fitting
response to the death of a loved one or of a cherished leader. The weeping
individuals are sometimes men, sometimes women, and sometimes mixed
groups; on several occasions, it is explicitly stated that both men and women
wept, and sometimes that weeping was universal throughout the land. With
the exception of Queen Thyra, the dead being mourned are all men.
In the case of Hákon’s death, which is mentioned in Ágrip af Nóregs ko-
nunga sogum, Fagrskinna, and Heimskringla, all three texts mention the weep-
ing for the king in Kaupangr. Ágrip relates that “gekk allr lýðr á móti ok
flestr allr grátandi”81 (all the people went to meet [his funeral procession]
and almost all of them were weeping), and Fagrskinna uses nearly the same
phrasing. Heimskringla, however, adds the detail that both friends and en-
emies wept for his death. While this detail may be borrowed from different
versions of Ágrip or Fagrskinna than survive, or from another text entirely, it
is also possible that the author of Heimskringla may have invented this detail,
a possibility that is even more intriguing when one notes its similarities to
the universal weeping for Baldr. This may lend some small support to the
theory that Snorri wrote Heimskringla, but even if Heimskringla and Snorra
Edda do not share an author, the presence of such a distinctive figure in
each text, a character who was so admired that even his enemies wept at
his death, suggests that there may be borrowing between these texts. That
Snorri presents his text as a myth might be used to argue for its primacy,
but the absence of weeping in the other main version of the Baldr myth
does not suggest that weeping was generally as significant in the myth as
Snorri would have his audience believe. It is more likely, then, that Snorri
crafted his version of the narrative so that it would reflect contemporary
traditions of medieval Scandinavian mourning rites for kings and princes,

80. Danorum Regum, trans. Christiansen, III, 887. Friis-Jensen argues that Saxo is drawing
on classical antecedents for his description of Absalon weeping at the altar. Friis-Jensen, “In
the presence of the dead. Saint Canute the Duke in Saxo Grammaticus’ Gesta Danorum,”
in The Making of Christian Myths in the Periphery of Latin Christendom (c. 1000–1300), ed. Lars
Boje Mortensen (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 2006), pp. 209–13.
81. Ágrip af Nóregskonungasogum: A Twelfth-Century Synoptic History of the Kings of Norway,
ed. and trans. M. J. Driscoll (London: Viking Society for Northern Research, 2008), p. 64.

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 492  Mills

a move that would allow him to position his account of Baldr’s death as the
first of such rituals. Perhaps, then, this is an example of Snorri backtracking
from an observable custom to create a literary myth with all the hallmarks
of an origin story.
It may be important that Saxo’s version of the Baldr myth does not con-
tain any reference to weeping after Baldr’s death. However, Saxo is clearly
drawing on a radically different tradition than Snorri, and this must be
taken into account. Another famous grieving father who laments his dead
son is Egill Skallagrímsson, whose Sonatorrek “calques,” in Joseph Harris’s
opinion, “the mythic pattern” of Baldr’s death and attempted retrieval.
Harris goes on to suggest that Egill’s grief for his son follows the “sacred
prototype” of Óðinn’s for Baldr, and that “unless Egill is to be treated as
totally unique within his cultural setting, we are safe in hypothesizing that
the myth of the death of Baldr served more generally as a cultural model
for paternal grief.”82 Not all scholars accept the authenticity of Sonator-
rek as a pagan tenth-century poem,83 but here again there is a bereaved
father mourning his son, in a narrative that many scholars consider to be
related to the death of Baldr. Neither narrative mentions weeping, but
both fathers compose or recite poetry, which fits in well with the Óðinnic
theme; in fact, the absence of poetry in Snorri’s version, aside from Þokk’s
verse, is surprising, given Óðinn’s intimate connection to that art.
Lindow observes that “the general or universal weeping appears, from
the point of view of the textual tradition, to be a later phenomenon.”84 He
assumes that Snorri did not invent the tradition of universal weeping, as
it is mentioned in two skaldic stanzas; the first of these is found in Hrafns
saga Sveinbjararsonar and would, according the saga’s chronology, date to
1196:
Hvatvetna grét,
hefk þat fregit,
býsn þótti þat,
Baldr ór helju.
Þó hefir hata,
þá er hofuð færði
Þormóðr þotit,
þat er ólogit.85

82. Joseph Harris, “Homo necans borealis: Fatherhood and Sacrifice in Sonatorrek,” in Myth
in Early Northwest Europe, ed. Stephen O. Glosecki (Tempe: Arizona Center for Medieval and
Renaissance Studies in collaboration with Brepols, 2007), pp. 158–59.
83. Egils saga, ed. Bjarni Einarsson (London: Viking Society for Northern Research, 2003),
p. 186; Torfi Tulinius, Skáldið í skriftinni: Snorri Sturluson og Egils saga (Reykjavík: Hið íslenska
bokmenntafélag, 2004), pp. 106–15.
84. Lindow, “Tears,” 164.
85. Lindow, “Tears,” 164.

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 Grief, Gender, and Genre  493
(Everything wept,
So I have heard,
Baldr from Hel,
It seemed a wonder.
But when to his enemy,
He offered his head,
Þormóðr wailed;
that’s the truth.)86

The second stanza, from the poem Málsháttakvæði, is of an even more

tenuous dating and provenance: Lindow writes that it is “perhaps from
roughly the same time period [as the verse in Hrafns saga Sveinbjarnarso-
nar], perhaps later, and perhaps from the Orcadian bishop Bjarni Kol-
beinsson.”87 This stanza contains far more detail than the one from Hrafns
saga given above:
Friggjar þótti svipr at syni,
sá var taldr ór miklu kyni,
Hermóðr vildi auka aldr,
Éljúðnir vann sólginn Baldr,
oll grétu þau eptir hann,
aukit var þeim hlátrar bann,
heyrinkunn er frá honum saga,
hvat þarf ek of slíkt at jaga.88

(It seemed sad about Frigg’s son,

He was said to come from a great family,
Hermóðr wished to increase his life,
Éljúðnir managed to swallow Baldr,
All wept after him,
The ban on laughter was increased for them,
The story about him is known to be heard,
Why should I pursue such?)89

If these two texts are in fact from the late twelfth century, then they
predate Snorra Edda by a few decades. However, Hrafns saga itself is
thought to have been composed between 1230 and 1250, 90 and it is
not unknown for saga authors or compilers to invent stanzas or borrow
them from other texts, so the internal chronology of Hrafns saga Svein-
bjarnarsonar is no guarantee of the stanza’s actual existence in 1196. As
far as the other poem is concerned, too little is known about its origins
to use it as independent confirmation for weeping in the Baldr myth

86. Lindow, “Tears,” 164. Lindow’s translation.

87. Lindow, “Tears,” 164.
88. Lindow, “Tears,” 165.
89. Lindow, “Tears,” 165. Lindow’s translation.
90. Úlfar Bragason, “The Structure and Meaning of Hrafns saga Sveinbjararsonar,” in Scan-
dinavian Studies, 60 (1988), 267.

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 494  Mills

uninfluenced by Snorri’s account. If these verses were composed slightly

later than Lindow suggests, in the early or even mid-thirteenth century,
they could themselves be drawing this detail from Snorri’s account of
the myth. In the case of the second stanza, this possibility is bolstered
by the presence of the name Éljúðnir in the fourth line. In Snorra Edda,
this is the name of Hel’s hall, but the name does not occur elsewhere
aside from this stanza.91 It could be a coincidence that two of the only
sources that mention the weeping for Baldr also are the only extant ref-
erences to this name for Hel’s hall, but this seems unlikely. Christopher
Abram is cautious in assessing the value of the poet’s assertion that the
story was well-known; “while there is no reason to doubt it,” he writes,
“the evidence for the knowledge of the myth is hardly widespread.”92
The passage of eight years appears to have made Abram more skeptical
of the poet’s claim that the myth circulated widely: “Perhaps it was; but
Málsháttakvæði is a very late poem, possibly younger than Gylfaginning.
Both texts are products of the antiquarian revival of interest in pagan
myths in the Norse world.”93 Abram’s discussion of this stanza is embed-
ded in a larger argument about Christian influence on Snorri’s mytho-
logical works. Abram is of the opinion that Snorri has likely augmented
pagan traditions, especially those concerned with Baldr’s death, to give
his narrative a “Christian coloring.”94 Abram follows Sophus Bugge in
drawing a comparison between the weeping of all creation while Christ
is on the cross in The Dream of the Rood and the weeping for Baldr while
he is in Hel. He also sees a possible Christian source for Þokk’s refusal
to weep in Gregory the Great’s assertion that the Jews, alone out of all
creation, did not weep at Christ’s death.95
The presence of widespread mourning in the skaldic verses of poets
in Fagrskinna suggests that if the idea of universal or near-universal weep-
ing was borrowed from Christian tradition, it happened before Snorri’s
time. Such a borrowing may have occurred through cross-cultural inter-
actions when Scandinavia and Iceland were still largely pagan; however,
widespread or universal mourning for a dead god, king, or hero is found
so frequently in other literary and religious traditions that pinning its
presence in Icelandic literature on Christian influence is unnecessary. It
is a motif that could have been borrowed from elsewhere, or have deep

91. Snorri Sturluson, Edda: Prologue and Gylfaginning, p. 27.

92. Christopher Abram, “Representations of the Pagan Afterlife in Medieval Scandinavian
Literature” (PhD diss., Cambridge Univ., 2003), p. 142.
93. Christopher Abram, Myths of the Pagan North (London: Continuum International,
2011), p. 218.
94. Abram, Myths, p. 219.
95. Abram, Myths, p. 219. Gregory the Great, Forty Gospel Homilies, trans. David Hurst
(Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian, 1990), pp. 55–56.

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 Grief, Gender, and Genre  495

roots in Germanic tradition, or have arisen independently at a more re-

cent date. Furthermore, this literary motif appears frequently enough to
suggest that it may have its roots in actual mourning practices, and Saxo’s
description of Waldemarus’s funeral procession, which he probably re-
ceived first-hand from Absalon, supports this line of reasoning. This does
not rule out the possibility that Snorri and his audience were aware of the
Christian parallels to the Baldr myth; on the contrary, it seems unlikely
that an educated medieval Christian audience could have been oblivious
to such similarities. Nonetheless, widespread or universal weeping for the
dead is also found in narratives that do not parallel the story of Christ’s
death at all. This motif has a robust existence independent of mythic and
religious accounts of dying gods.
By reconsidering the weeping in Snorri’s account of Baldr’s death in
light of depictions of mourning in several of the kings’ sagas, I have shown
that, contrary to the dominant scholarly opinion, it is exceedingly likely
that the weeping for Baldr would not have been seen by the audience as
an indication of effeminacy or weakness. This clearly demonstrates the
danger in relying on a small selection of the most well-known family sagas
for determining the governing societal values in medieval Scandinavian
and Icelandic literature. Njáls saga is unquestionably a masterpiece, but
it is but one work out of an extensive corpus and should not be pressed
into service during every scholarly inquiry.
Taken altogether, the set of examples gathered from Fagrskinna, Heim-
skringla, and Gesta Danorum suggests that shame was not attached to men
who wept from grief for the dead, so long as appropriate vengeance was
pursued. Grief strong enough to elicit tears does, however, appear to
have been exceptional; many a king and prince is laid to rest without
mention of anyone weeping over his corpse or grave, and it appears that
tears were shed as tribute only to men (and the rare woman) who were
held in exceptionally high esteem by their followers and companions. As
for the weeping for Baldr in Snorra Edda, it is an indication of the great
love felt for him, and of how keenly his death affected not only his kin
and companions but all of existence. A griever’s own desolation and fear
in the face of death is often a component of mourning, and in the weep-
ing of all things living and dead, animate and inanimate, of the Æsir,
who have reason to love Baldr, and of the Jotnar, who do not, the Norse
cosmos rightly laments its own approaching destruction. The difficulty
of explaining the weeping for Baldr disappears if the text is read against
the background of the konungasögur rather than the Íslendingasögur. The
reality of historical emotions is never directly accessible; at best, one can
examine the records of such emotions, while always keeping in mind that
the recording of emotions embeds them in an artificial construct that can

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 496  Mills

only imperfectly reproduce them. Male weeping is presented at the very

least as problematic in the Íslendingasögur, though less so when the weep-
ing is caused by grief. However, acknowledging this does not require that
weeping be viewed as problematic in all other genres. Authors working
in the same cultural milieu may choose to portray emotions in radically
different ways, dependent upon the ideological aims of a genre or an
individual work; it is not surprising that those producing texts intended
to valorize and promote the royal lineages of medieval Scandinavia might
choose to foreground grief for dead kings.

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