Dvergar (ON sing. dvergr, modern Icelandic sing. dvergur) have
featured in Icelandic narrative from the earliest written
sources. Originally used to denote supernatural beings, the
noun has come to describe individuals with dwarfism in some
texts from the medieval era onwards. This paper explores representations of
dvergar across Icelandic medieval narrative tradition to ascertain to what
extent they were associated with dwarfism and how these links developed over
time.
The aim of this research is to contribute to further clarification of the
relationship between dvergar and dwarfism within the field of Icelandic
narrative studies, whilst also scrutinising the foundation of a central aspect of
modern stereotypical portrayals of people with dwarfism—namely, their
association with the Norse world and the dvergar of Nordic mythology and
folklore (Pritchard 2017, 5–6).
The article is split into three sections. The first deals with thirteenth-century sources on mythological dvergar. These are the poems of the Edda,
whose subject matter is pre-Christian mythology and heroic legend, and the
works of Christian-era writer Snorri Sturluson (1179–1241) on mythology.
While stature—short or otherwise—does not seem to have defined the earliest
dvergar, I argue that this may already have started to change by the thirteenth
century. In support of this notion, the second section concerns what is likely
the earliest Icelandic narrative about a non-supernatural, short dvergr, the
court entertainer Túta. An analysis of Túta’s portrayal in Sneglu-Halla þáttr in
the thirteenth-century manuscript Morkinskinna and the later
manuscript Flateyjarbók focuses on the cultural ideas which underpin the
portrayal of a character likely conceived as having dwarfism.
The final section
then explores the representation of characters identified in broad terms by
Schäfke (2015, 369) as “saga dwarves.” These are found in fourteenth- to
seventeenth-century literary works—the legendary sagas (fornaldarsögur) and
romance sagas (riddarasögur). With an emphasis on the influence of European
chivalric romance in making short stature an identifying feature of many
dvergar, I explore how two conceptions of dvergar fused to create a stock
character that is still recognisable in twentieth-century Icelandic folklore—that
is, of a supernatural, rock-dwelling dvergr who is recognisable by their short
and disproportionate build.
To analyze the role of physical difference in representations of Túta and
select “saga dwarves,” I look to the field of cultural disability studies, as
researchers within this discipline have built a strong foundation to analyze
representations of dwarfism. The relationship between dwarfism and disability
is nuanced, however, and not all people with dwarfism consider themselves
disabled (Shakespeare et al. 30). To apply a disability studies framework, I build
on an understanding of disability as it is described by Davis (50), as not the
presence of an impairment, but rather the reception and construction of that
difference. The importance of challenging how dwarfism as a difference is
constructed in narrative is emphasized by Pritchard, who deems the rarity of
dwarfism and its contrasting abundance in cultural representations
problematic, “as it allows a false representation to be constructed and rarely
challenged” (2021, 135).
Dvergar in Eddic Poetry and Snorri Sturluson’s Works
Narratives of mythological dvergar, preserved in thirteenth-century
manuscripts, do not betray associations with dwarfism. There are few
indications that dvergar were thought of as short in pre-Christian mythology.
In rare instances of thirteenth-century descriptions which could have been
informed by a notion of dvergar as small, there is little indication that this
aspect of their portrayal has roots significantly pre-dating the time of writing.
Continuing from Motz’s (1983, 116–17; 1973, 116) observation that appearance
does not matter greatly with the dvergar of Eddic and Skaldic poetry, recent
studies have also drawn attention to a lack of clear, consistent characterizations
of mythological dvergar as small beings (Gunnell 2020, 1559; Mikučionis 2017;
Liberman 305).
Whether dvergar were originally conceived as having any
physical form is unclear, as compelling arguments have been made that the
dvergar of pre-Christian Northern Europe were invisible spirits (Mikučionis
2017, 60–62; Liberman 314–15). A runic inscription dating from the 720s found
on a piece of a cranium from Ribe in Denmark contains likely the oldest Nordic
reference to a dvergr. According to Grønvik’s (113; 123) interpretation, the
dvergynja [female dvergr] Bóurr was causing illness in the son of the writer, who
invokes gods Úlfr and Óðinn and Týr against the abscess and Bóurr. The name
Bóurr is interpreted by Grønvik (116) as meaning the dweller of the abscess.
Mikučionis (2017, 61) writes that although the Ribe inscription does not provide
sufficient information to draw a conclusion, if Grønvik’s interpretation is
correct, then it would be likely that dvergar—or at least this one—were
perceived as invisible spirits.
Descriptions of the appearance of mythological dvergar are few. When
physical descriptions are found, size is not the defining characteristic that it is
to become in the legendary and romance sagas. A reference to human likeness
found in stanza 10 of the Eddic poem
Völuspá has been interpreted either to
refer to the dvergar themselves, or to their creation. The stanza reads as follows
in the Konungsbók and Hauksbók manuscripts respectively:
Þeir mannlíkuni
mǫrg um gørðu
dvergar ór jǫrðu,
sem Durinn sagði.
(Eddukvæði 1:294 (Konungsbók))
Þeir mannlíkun
mǫrg of gørðu
dverga í jǫrðu,
sem Durinn sagði.
(Eddukvæði 1:309 (Hauksbók))
This passage is rendered “many manlike figures they made, dwarfs from the
earth, as Durin recounted” in a translation by Larrington (
The Poetic Edda 5). It
has similarly been understood by Steinsland (83–85) and Tryggvi Gíslason (84–88) to refer to humans created by dvergar. Gunnell (2020, 1560–61) introduces
the possibility that “mannlíkun” in this stanza could refer to the dvergar, rather
than humans, referencing Snorri Sturluson’s (2005, 15)
Gylfaginning, which
describes dvergar as having the likeness of men (
mannslíki). A physical
description is found in the second stanza of the Eddic poem
Alvíssmál of the
dvergr Alvíss, described as being pale around the nostrils (
fölr um nasar)
(
Eddukvæði 1:438). Þórr’s taunt, that this paleness could result from sleeping
with a corpse, is one of many associations between dvergar and death.
Other
key characteristics of mythological dvergar found in Icelandic texts include an
association with stones and the world underground as well as with
craftmanship.
These connections appear much more consistently in
characterizations of mythological dvergar than physical size, lending support
to Liberman’s (306) observation that it was the dvergar’s place in the universe,
rather than their size, that distinguished them.
It is nonetheless possible that physical stature could have started to play a
part in how Icelandic narrators thought of dvergar around the same time that
these mythological texts were written in the forms that we have access to today.
The prose introduction to the Eddic poem Reginsmál, likely significantly younger
than the poem itself, raises important questions.
In this text, Reginn is
described as being the best of all at craftsmanship and “dvergr of vǫxt.”
(Eddukvæði 2:296). This is translated by Larrington as “a very skilful man in
making things and a dwarf in height” (The Poetic Edda 151). Although Reginn’s
own nature has been the topic for much discussion, there are indications that
some narrators considered him a dvergr, or a figure that was connected to
them.
Schäfke (2015, 371) includes Reginn in a category that he names “dwarf-like characters.” There are many contradictions, and Reginn is characterized
elsewhere in Eddic poetry as a jötunn, similarly to the dvergr Alvíss who is
likened to a þurs—two concepts (often used interchangeably) commonly
translated as “giant,” yet with a complicated relationship with physical size.
Mikučionis (2020, 161–62) and Schäfke (2015, 372) have both discussed how
Reginn is only sometimes associated with or identified as one of the dvergar, in
a development that is likely linked to his great abilities as a smith.
Notably, the
term “dvergr of vǫxt” provides an indication that by the time that the prose
introduction to Reginsmál was written, physical stature was considered a
distinguishing feature of dvergar.
What it meant to be a dvergr in stature at this time is not clear. Gunnell
(2020, 1565) argues that “of vǫxt” could signify strength rather than size,
referencing the myth that four dvergar hold up the sky, found in Snorri
Sturluson’s Gylfaginning (2005, 12).
Answers have been sought in Scandinavian
stone carvings depicting Reginn, such as the Sigurd runestone at
Ramsundsberget in Södermanland from c. 1030, and the woodcarvings in the
doorway of Hylestad stave church in Norway from ca. 1200–1250. Both depict
Reginn at a similar height to Sigurðr, while, on the Sigurd runestone, he is
shown with broader shoulders coupled with brawny arms. In a similar spirit to
Gunnell, Mikučionis (2017, 85) proposes that Reginn’s “dwarfish vǫxtr ‘shape’
refers to sturdiness and especially to the breadth of the shoulders and
muscularity of the arms.” Whether Scandinavian carvers conceived of Reginn
as a “dvergr of vǫxt” when they made images of him, however, is a different
question, and Mikučionis (2017, 85) notes that there is very little on the Hylestad
carving that distinguishes Reginn physically from Sigurðr.
In the Icelandic context, I contend that ideas of mythological dvergar as
small beings had already entered narrative culture by the thirteenth century.
In the next section of this article, I will discuss a thirteenth-century description
of a court entertainer, Túta, who is said to be as short as a dvergr in
Morkinskinna’s
Sneglu-Halla þáttr. Alongside Morkinskinna, I propose that two
dvergar narratives from Snorri Sturluson’s works could possibly be interpreted
as further indications of this shift. By proposing these examples as possible
sources on dvergar informed by ideas of short stature, I do not mean to suggest
that they are representative of all dvergar documented by Snorri. Nor do I
consider them to inform on whether dvergar in pre-Christian religion were
perceived as small, as there is a widespread recognition in contemporary
scholarship that works such as Snorri’s
Edda blend native concepts and lore with
the concerns, learning, and narratives of continental Christian literature (Du
Bois 36; Abram 207–21). They can, however, help to shed light on the possible
connotations of the word in Iceland by the time Snorri was writing—connotations which likely have origins in cultural or narrative traditions
further afield. In
Gylfaginning, Snorri describes how easily the god Þórr killed
the dvergr Litr:
Þá stóð Þórr at ok vígði bálit með Mjöllni. En fyrir fótum hans rann
dvergr nokkurr. Sá er Litr nefndr. En Þórr spyrndi fœti sínum á hann
ok hratt honum í eldinn ok brann hann.
(Snorri Sturluson 2005, 46)
[Then Thor stood by and consecrated the pyre with Miollnir. But a
certain dwarf ran in front of his feet. His name was Lit. Thor kicked at
him with his foot and thrust him into the fire and he was burned.]
(Snorri Sturluson 1987, 49)
Although Þórr would be capable of kicking most beings into a fire, to my mind
this passage raises the question of whether oppositions are being employed for
effect; that Þórr represents strength and mass, and a dvergr, by contrast, an
absence of these qualities. That absence in general is an integral feature of the
representation of dvergar has been argued by Ármann Jakobsson (2005). If we
are to view the text about Þórr and Litr as the juxtaposition of a large and a
small figure, then it might also be worth reading this episode with consideration
to critique of modern-day spectacles which draw on contrasts of people with
substantial difference in size. Pritchard (2023, 8; 18) has analyzed the role of
contrast in the modern phenomena of “midget wrestling” and “midget tossing.”
In the former, she writes that dwarf wrestlers are used “as props to reinforce
average-sized wrestlers’ strength and masculinity,” while the aim of the latter
is “not to see who can throw a midget furthest, but for the average-sized man
to show dominance over a smaller person.” Although I do not mean to argue
that Snorri conceived of Litr as having dwarfism, the interaction between Þórr
and Litr nonetheless raises questions, to my mind, of whether he employs the
dvergr Litr to create a similar dynamic to that described by Pritchard—in which
Þórr’s strength and physical mass is at the forefront.
Another juxtaposition of dvergar with larger mythological beings is to be
found in Snorri’s Ynglinga saga (1941, 10) when he says of Sweden “there are risar
[giants], and there are dvergar.” In the case of this example, parallels with other
Christian-era works have been noted (Johansson 144). With consideration to the
Litr episode, and the Morkinskinna description of a man as being as short as a
dvergr, however, I propose that one possible reading of this juxtaposition is that
it, too, builds on an understanding of dvergar as small to contrast them with
larger figures. If Snorri’s representations of Litr and the dvergar of Sweden are
informed by a notion of dvergar as small beings, then this would support the
thesis that in thirteenth-century Iceland, connections between mythological
dvergar and short stature were already making their way into narrative. This
would not contradict the notion of mythological dvergar as having originally
had little connection to short stature. Similarly to how Mikučionis (2017, 58)
proposes, building on Gunnell’s (2007, 129) discussion of álfar (elves), that
“different references to dvergar may have originated from different belief
systems, which may have continued to live side by side through centuries,” I
suggest that conflicting ideas about the size of dvergar may have also coexisted
in thirteenth-century Iceland, likely originating from different narrative
traditions.
A Short dvergr: Túta in Morkinskinna and Flateyjarbók
It is from the thirteenth century that the first Icelandic example is found
linking dvergar clearly to short stature, and likely to dwarfism. The Frisian Túta
from Sneglu-Halla þáttr is first attested to in Morkinskinna (GKS 1009 fol.), a
compilation of sagas of Norwegian kings written in thirteenth-century Iceland.
Túta is described as “lágr sem dvergr ok digr” [short as a dvergr and fat]
(Morkinskinna 1:273). This phrasing is worth bearing in mind when the meaning
of “dvergr of vǫxt” in the prose introduction to Reginsmál is considered, as it is
a thirteenth-century example of an Icelandic narrator employing a comparison
to dvergar to convey a character’s short stature.
There are indications that Túta is conceived in Morkinskinna as a human
with dwarfism. Firstly, the contrast of his girth with his short height gives a
vague indication that the author may have been influenced by an
understanding of disproportionate dwarfism—a type of dwarfism whereby the
torso is of average size but limbs are short.
Túta is also said to have been on
exhibition (“til sýnis”) in King Haraldr’s court (Morkinskinna 1:273). This could
reference a trend of court entertainers with dwarfism, documented across
Europe during the medieval era and continuing into the renaissance (Metzler
90; Adelson 11–21; Tuan 155). Tuan (169) describes how a notion of dwarf
entertainers as partial and specialized beings, as opposed to free and whole
persons, would have underpinned these relationships. This unequal dynamic,
in which Túta is primarily defined by his short stature, has been noted in
literary analyses of Sneglu-Halla þáttr. Richards (52) analyzes Túta as one of a few
medieval Icelandic dvergar who are seen in court, arguing that “the rarity of a
dwarf intruding on society implies [ . . . ] a devaluing of impaired bodies.”
Certainly, the court dwarf phenomenon plays on a perceived incongruity.
This is evidenced in the episode of Sneglu-Halla þáttr in which the king dresses
Túta in his own armour, lets him stand before the court in the drinking hall, and
then offers a knife and belt to the poet who can compose a verse about Túta on
the spot—a challenge which Halli accepts. In a later episode, Túta is made to
bring cooked pork to Halli, who must compose a verse before the food arrives.
One might imagine that Túta’s short legs are a factor in this set-up. Richards
(52–53) examines how Halli’s verse about Túta in the armour plays on martial
language to deride, questioning Túta’s utility in the martial space of the court,
while Ármann Jakobsson (2009, 75) has looked at Halli’s verse about Túta as one
of many elements in the þáttr which come together to create an aura of low
comedy.
The type of comedy seen here fits with Shakespeare’s (1999, 48–49)
description of humour dependent on the presence of the disabled person as an
outsider. In such humour, he writes, “the comic stereotype of the disabled fool
or clown is part of a pattern of cultural representation which always maintains
physically different people as other, as alien, as the object of curiosity or
hostility or pity, rather than as part of the group.” The differences of the
“other” are exaggerated, while those of the group that laughs are suppressed
(Shakespeare 1999, 49). This exaggeration of factors which make Túta “other”
is pronounced in a later version of
Sneglu-Halla þáttr, preserved in the
later manuscript Flateyjarbók (GKS 1005 fol.). There, it says of
Túta:
Þar geck inn j haullina duergr einn er Tuta hiet. hann var friskr ath
ætt. hann hafdi leingi verit med Haralldi konungi. hann var ei hæri
enn þreuett barn en allra manna digrazttr og herdimestr. haufudit
mikit og elldiligtt hrygrinn ei allskamr en syllt j nedan þar sem fætrnir
voru.
[There walked into the hall a dvergr called Tuta. He was Frisian in
origin. He had been with King Haraldr for a long time. He was no taller
than a three-year-old child and the most fat and broad-shouldered of
all men. The head large and aged, the back not very short but syllt in
the lower part where the legs were.]
(Flateyjarbók 3:418)
In the Flateyjarbók description, there is a markedly greater emphasis on Túta’s
appearance.
The adjective “syllt”—
sýldur in modern Icelandic [cleft, split,
notched]—has been interpreted in this context to refer to an unusually shaped
lower spine (Samúelsson 4–5). In a twentieth-century continuation of the
medieval court’s fascination with Túta’s body, a 1998 Icelandic newspaper
featured a medical doctor’s thoughts on the possible cause of the shape
described, which he deemed to be an early—if not the oldest—Icelandic
description of dwarfism (Samúelsson 4–5). Flateyjarbók’s detailed description,
which comes in place of Morkinskinna’s simpler “short as a dvergr and fat,”
lends further support to the notion that ideas about disproportionate dwarfism
had informed Túta’s characterization. This representation is bound closely with
a notion of Túta as a spectacle. Flateyjarbók’s (3:418) use of the adjective
undrskapadr [of wondrous shape], which is used to describe how the men
perceived Túta in the king’s attire, contrasted with the simpler
undarligr
[wonderful] in Morkinskinna (1:273) further solidifies this aspect of his
portrayal.
Tirosh (4) describes how Old Icelandic literature was not only meant to
contribute to a body of knowledge, but rather “a living tradition that had real-life implications on the identity and the legitimacy of different groups within
Icelandic society.” The fact that these texts were “living” and constantly
changing as part of their manuscript form, he notes, strengthens this point
further. I will now draw attention to how the ideas underpinning Túta’s
representation by Icelanders living over two hundred years after the events
described were grounded not in the lived experiences of medieval people with
dwarfism, but were rather reliant on cultural meanings attached to dwarfism.
Garland Thomson (9) describes how disabled literary characters can “remain on
the margins of fiction as uncomplicated figures or exotic aliens whose bodily
configurations operate as spectacles, eliciting responses from other characters
or producing rhetorical effects that depend on disability’s cultural resonance.”
Túta’s portrayal as spectacle and entertainer is an example of this. The
widespread idea of the dwarf entertainer is of little relevance to the lives lived
by most medieval Europeans with dwarfism (Metzler 91).
To my mind, behind the characterization of Túta lies an assumption
recognized by Garland Thomson (12) that disability reduces the complex
disabled person to one attribute. In Bolt’s (2021, xvi; see also 2019) work on
“metanarratives of disability,” he explores how authority assumed by non-disabled people is underpinned by “a displacement of personal narratives in
favour of overarching metanarratives of disability that find currency in a
diverse multiplicity of cultural representations.” These metanarratives are
largely defined by non-disabled people (2021, xvii). Applying this concept,
Pritchard (2021, 129) identifies infantilizing and humorous depictions as aspects
of the metanarrative of dwarfism. Both accounts of Túta betray an association
between dwarfism and humour, while the Flateyjarbók description likens him
to a three-year-old child.
That the characterization of Túta would have borne little relevance to the
lives of people with dwarfism is not to say that such portrayals would have been
inconsequential to them. Cultural associations between dwarfism and
entertainment may have begun to have a detrimental social impact on the lives
of people with dwarfism during the medieval period, as indicated by an example
given by Metzler (91) of a mid-fifteenth-century accommodation made by the
University of Oxford to give two students with dwarfism greater privacy. The
degree of this detrimental impact is, however, difficult to determine. Even in a
modern context, Shakespeare (2014, 50–51) writes that there is an extensive
debate about the effects of culture on society and the full impact of cultural
representations therefore remain to be proven.
Short and Supernatural Dvergar in Medieval Sagas and Beyond
The description “syllt í neðan” [cleft, split or notched in the lower part]
seen in Flateyjarbók’s description of Túta is also used to describe the rock-dwelling dvergr Asper in Gibbons saga. Asper is introduced with the words
“kemur fram vr skoginum einn duergr furdv likr sialfum fiandanum ath yfir liti
og sylltt j nedan” [From the forest comes a dvergr, with a strange resemblance
to the devil himself and syllt in the lower part] (Gibbons saga 19).
Gibbons saga is a very different type of late medieval narrative to
Sneglu-Halla þáttr. It belongs to the “Icelandic romances” sub-genre of romance
sagas—narratives composed in Iceland from the fourteenth century onwards
that drew inspiration from both translated chivalric romances and the
legendary sagas (Mundal 10, see also Kalinke 2005). The fifteenth-century
Icelandic romance Samsons saga fagra similarly indicates that some narrators
were combining notions of difference in bone growth with supernatural
qualities to characterize dvergar. In Samsons saga fagra, the dvergr Grelent, who
lives in a stone and possesses great craftsmanship skills, pleads for his life with
the words “lítil fremd er þér það að brjóta í mér mín stuttu bein” [It will bring
you little glory to break my short bones] (Riddarasögur 3:368–69).
In this final section, I explore how some dvergar belonging to a diverse
category dubbed by Schäfke (2015, 369) as “saga dwarves” and by Ármann
Jakobsson (2008, 184) as the dvergar of romance and folktales came to be
represented as identifiable by their short, disproportionate stature in
conjunction with the more mythological attributes of stone dwellings and
craftsmanship. “Saga dwarves” are found in a range of texts dating from the
fourteenth to the seventeenth centuries, which have since been classed as
belonging to either the “legendary saga” or the “romance saga” genres. Counted
among the romance sagas are translated chivalric romances and those
composed in Iceland, such as Samsons saga fagra and Gibbons saga. Short stature
is by no means an identifying characteristic of all dvergar found in these works.
In the legendary saga genre, dvergar are identified not by their size but rather
by their stone dwellings and craftmanship.
There are, however, short dvergar
in some legendary sagas. Their small size is sometimes implied, for example in
narratives of overpowered dvergar.
It can also be conveyed by explicit
description as is the case with Göngu-Hrólfs saga’s Möndull.
This same Möndull
summarizes what it means to be a dvergr with the words “ek er dvergr í jörðu
byggjandi, ok dvergsnáttúru hefi ek á kynstrum til lækidóms ok hagleik” [I am
a dvergr living in the earth, and I have a dvergr’s nature for wonders of healing
and craftmanship] (Fornaldarsögur Norðurlanda 2:417).
A very different understanding of a dvergr’s nature is found in translated
chivalric romance. Notions of dvergar informed by the Old French nains of
chivalric romances entered Icelandic literature through Norse translations in
the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, and would influence the portrayal of
dvergar in Icelandic romances. The nains, rendered dvergar in Norse
translation, were intrinsically connected with a small stature (Lummer 2021a,
335; 337).
In translation, they retain their characterization as having a smaller,
distinctive appearance. While nains are hunchbacked or have humps, however,
the dvergar of translated and Icelandic romance are disproportional (Schäfke
2015, 369). In two translated chivalric romances, Erex saga and Ívens saga,
physical descriptions emphasize the unusual proportions of dvergar.
The
works are Norse renditions of Chrétien de Troyes’ twelfth-century romances
Érec et Énide and Yvain, preserved in much younger manuscripts. In both these
narratives, the noun dvergr is used in the absence of any characterizations
which suggest a role as a rock-dweller or a smith. I therefore interpret the term
to refer to short stature or dwarfism, as it does in the Flateyjarbók description
of Túta. The Erex saga dvergr is described as “ugly” (ljótr) on a big horse, and the
dvergr in Ívens saga as “fat and puffy” (digur ok þrutínn) in the AM 489 and Holm
46 versions of the text (Erex saga 224–25; Ívens saga 114–115). The dvergar in Erex
saga and Ívens saga both appear in service to a master—a knight and a jötunn,
respectively. The fat, servile dvergr contrasted with military objects that are
too big for him has a notable parallel in Túta, who appears to also be influenced
by continental ideas about dvergar, status, and impairment. The question has
been raised in earlier scholarship of whether the nains of European romance
were influenced by real-life impaired court entertainers, but this has been the
subject of debate (Wohlgemuth 98–99, see the discussion in Schäfke 2015, 352).
Whether there was indeed a direct link between these two phenomena, both
build on an understanding of humans with dwarfism as a commodity,
distinguished by their physical appearance.
Lacking any basis in the lives of contemporary Icelanders with dwarfism, I
contend that the short dvergar of romance sagas are bestowed with a distinctive
appearance to solidify their dvergr identity further. In Icelandic romance, their
appearance can function to cast them in the role of supernatural other. The role
played by association with the supernatural in stigmatizing representations is
well established (Goffman 5). In a development which would continue into the
age of folklore collection, narrators emphasize specific physical attributes—in
particular, short stature, a large head, and girth—to establish a supernatural
dvergr identity. An example is found in Sigurðar saga þögla, for which the main
manuscript is from the sixteenth century, while the oldest dates from the
fourteenth century. There, the disguise of a dvergr is described as entailing
“lagum lijkamsvexti fotsijdum hỏndum storum fotum” [short bodily stature,
hands reaching down to the legs and large feet] and subsequently as “digur og
hỏfudmikill. enn eigi lengri enn einnar stiku har” [fat and large-headed, yet no
more than a yard/two ells in height] (Late Medieval Icelandic Romances 2:157–58;
2:205).
In Viktors saga ok Blávus, preserved in manuscripts from and after the
fifteenth century, the dvergr Dimus is “fotlagur ok skamhryggiadr. middigr ok
miog baraxladr handsijdr ok hofudmikill” [short-legged and short-backed,
stout in the waist with very prominent shoulder bones, long-armed and large-headed]” (Late Medieval Icelandic Romances, 1:18). The role played by the
characterization of dvergar as short and disproportionate can be viewed with
reference to Mitchell and Snyder’s (225) term “narrative prosthesis,” which
treats disability as a “narrative device–an artistic prosthesis–that reveals the
pervasive dependency of artistic, cultural, and philosophical discourses upon
the powerful alterity assigned to people with disabilities.” These
characterizations have in common with Sneglu-Halla þáttr’s Túta that they are
underpinned by cultural ideas about dwarfism formulated by non-dwarfs.
An indication of the lasting influence of the physical characterizations of
romance saga dvergar is encountered in the folklore collector Sigfús Sigfússon’s
twentieth-century summary of dvergar, who he describes as:
Ólíkir álfum í sjón, nema að þeir eru í mannsmynd. Þeir eru sagðir
skegglausir, höfuðstórir, hálsstuttir, búkmiklir og afar fótleggjalágir.
Þeir eru hugnir og vitrir og snildhagastir allra jarðbúa á smíðar.
[Unlike elves in appearance, except that they have the likeness of
men. They are said to be beardless, large-headed, short-necked, with
large torsos and very short legs. They are thoughtful and wise and the
most brilliantly skilful of all the earth-dwellers at craftsmanship.]
(Sigfússon 166)
Not all dvergar in the legends collected by Sigfús, or by other folklore collectors,
are described along these lines. Some are identified as dvergar only by their
craftsmanship and healing abilities, such as the rock-dwellers reportedly called
upon by the historical figure Guðmundur Bergþórsson (Árnason 1:453–55;
Davíðsson 2:16–21) and the father of an ill child in the Hornstrandir region of
the Westfjords (Bjarnason and Gíslason 3(1): 91–93) for their medicinal balms.
Other dvergar legends bear similarities to those of elves and hidden people
(
huldufólk), with dvergar sometimes portrayed as stone dwellers leading parallel
lives to humans, singing, worshipping, and leaving behind mittens.
Like
medieval literature, the folktales give insight into how divergent, continuously
evolving, ideas of the features of dvergar have lived alongside each other for (at
least) the greater part of Iceland’s history.
A prospective benefit of studying some of these younger narratives further,
however, is the greater availability of sources which could shine light on how
narrative representations interacted with the lives and legacies of Icelanders
who, by virtue of a physical impairment or difference, were associated by others
with the dvergar of folklore. This is seen in texts about Guðmundur Bergþórsson
(1657–1705), a distinguished poet without dwarfism whose mobility was greatly
impacted by a physical impairment acquired in early childhood, and Guðbjörn
Helgason, who lived with restricted growth and played the dvergur character
Rindill in the 1950 film Síðasti bærinn í dalnum [The Last Farm in the Valley].
Guðmundur Bergþórsson is described in folk legend as having unsuccessfully
sought a cure for his impairment from a dvergur (Bower 2022). In Jón Espólín’s
(92) history of Iceland, his erroneous description of Guðmundur as “dvergr á
vöxt, nema at höfdinu” (a dwarf in stature, except for the head), bears
resemblance to medieval characterizations of dvergar. While Guðmundur’s
incorrect characterization as a dwarf likely stems from widespread knowledge
of both his physical impairment and his association with dvergar legends,
Guðbjörn Helgason, by contrast, is depicted as a folkloric character by virtue of
his restricted growth, caused by childhood rickets. Prior to his acting role,
Guðbjörn had tried to work in the textile industry, but was denied opportunities
due to his height (“‘Litli og stóri – –,’” 5). A newspaper article published after
Guðbjörn’s death, entitled “Síðasti bærinn í dalnum” (34), employs fairytale
language to report on the decline of his childhood farm, Unaðsdalur. Starting
with the rhetorical question “Where is the protective hand of Rindill and the
hidden woman now?”, it then summarizes that “now Guðbjörn is gone, the
valley uninhabited and trolls abound.” This characterization of Guðbjörn’s
connection with the farm provides a stark reminder of the influence that
metanarratives can exert over how people’s histories are constructed and re-constructed. Bolt (2019, 342) defines the metanarrative of disability, which, in
this case, entails the association of dwarfism with supernatural land-dwellers,
as “the cloud of a story under which those of us who have impairments often
find ourselves, an overriding narrative that seems to displace agency.”
Conclusion
From the earliest written sources to the twentieth century, divergent ideas
about what it means to be a dvergr have been in circulation in Iceland. A
proportion of dvergar narratives, of which the oldest is found in the thirteenth-century Morkinskinna version of Sneglu-Halla þáttr, link dvergar to a short and
often disproportionate stature. Meanwhile, others draw on understandings of
dvergar with roots in mythology and legend. The greatest changes in Icelanders’
perceptions of the physical shape of dvergar may well have taken place in the
period from the settlement of Iceland in the ninth century to the thirteenth
century, as sources on pre-Christian mythology written in thirteenth-century
Iceland present dvergar as beings with an unclear, inconsistent physical form.
The notion of dvergar as having any physical form represents a significant
development from the conception that may have existed in pre-Christian
Nordic belief, if we are to build on the interpretation of the Ribe cranium as
proposed by Grønvik and understand the dvergar of pre-Christian Scandinavia
as able to dwell in abscesses.
Links between dvergar and dwarfism become more common in texts
written from the fourteenth to seventeenth centuries. A likely catalyst for this
development is the use of the term dvergr in Old Norse translations of chivalric
romances involving Old French nains—non-supernatural, servile characters
intrinsically connected with a small stature. In descriptions of “saga dwarves,”
some narrators—mostly of the romance saga genre—present a short and often
disproportionate build as an identifying characteristic. In the sub-genre of
Icelandic romances, this build is often twinned with established mythological
and legendary dvergar characteristics, such as stone dwellings and
craftsmanship. In Icelandic romances Gibbons saga and Samsons saga fagra,
descriptions of stone-dwelling dvergar even convey differences in bone growth.
A conception of supernatural dvergar as identifiable by a short and
disproportionate build would continue to characterize some narratives into the
age of organized folklore collection and indeed further, with an actor with
restricted growth cast in a dvergur role in the 1950 folklore-inspired film Síðasti bærinn í dalnum. Bearing no relation to historical lives lived with dwarfism,
portrayals of short dvergar are dependent on cultural meanings attached to
dwarfism by non-dwarfs. Mitchell and Snyder (226) identify a paradox, whereby
“disabled peoples’ social invisibility has occurred in the wake of their perpetual
circulation throughout print history.” To my mind, this rings true when
representations of dwarfism are studied in Icelandic medieval narrative, with
sources on the lives lived by the people who are invoked in dvergar narratives
much less easy to come by. That the actor cast to play a dvergur in Síðasti bærinn í dalnum was reported to have acquired his growth restriction through rickets
during his childhood on a Westfjords farm provides an indication that dwarfism
and restricted growth could have played a part in the lives of many historical
Icelanders on a much more mundane, everyday level.