<HTML><HEAD><TITLE>Fanitullen</TITLE></HEAD>
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<center><font size=5><b>Fanitullen</b></font></p>
<font size=4><b>A Poem About Viking Belt-Fighting
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<b>by Ingrid Josefsdatter</b></p></p>
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It was many years ago that I first heard Jorgen Moe's poem, "Fanitullen". The party had reached that wonderful stage that many Norwegian parties attained where stories, songs and poems were freely exchanged. A tall, muscular, red-bearded young man stood up, and the room fell silent with obvious anticipation. Like the storytellers of old, he recited from memory a poem that told of dueling to the death, of grieving women, and of a strange fiddler. It was indeed a powerful story, and as the rolling sonorous sounds filled the room, it seemed as if we were transported back 1,000 years to when long winter nights were passed around the central fire of the Viking longhouse.
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Curiosity about whether this wonderfully dramatic poem actually pertained to any sort of Viking-esque activity or not lead me recently to track down the entire text of the poem, translate it, and then mount some research enquiries into the subject matter of the poem. the following is the result of this research.
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<center><font size=4><b><i>“Fanitullen”</i></font><br>
By Jørgen Moe (1813-1882)</b></p></p></center>
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<tr><td width=400>I hine hårde dage<br>
da ved øldrikk og svir<br>
hallingsdølens knivblad<br>
satt løst I hans slir, --<br>
da kvinnene til gilde<br>
bar likskjorten med, <br>
hvori de kunne logge<br>
sin husbonde ned, </p></p>
</td>
<td width=400>In bygone hard days <br>
with beer drinking and carousing<br>
the knife of the man from Hallinq Valley<br>
sat loose in his sheath, --<br>
when the woman to the feast<br>
carry the shroud <i>(corpse shirt )</i><br>
in which they can lay<br>
their husbands down.</p></p>
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<tr><td>Stod der et blodig bryllup <br>
i Hemsedal ensteds, <br>
hvor lek og dans var tystnet, <br>
og karene slo krets: <br>
ti midt på gulvets tilje<br>
stod to med dragnet kniver<br>
og et belte spent omkring. </p></p>
</td>
<td>There vas a bloody wedding<br>
in Hemse Valley somewhere, <br>
where games and dance were silenced, <br>
and the men were drawn up in a ring: <br>
right in the middle of the floor<br>
stood two with drawn knives<br>
a belt strapped around them. </p></p>
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<tr><td>Og som utskårene støtter<br>
i hvilend ro <br>
står ennu fire karer <br>
i kretsen an de to. <br>
De løfter tryilysen  <br>
mot det sorte bjelketak, <br>
hvor røkens virvler samles<br>
til et rugende lag. </p></p>
</td>
<td>And like carved statues<br>
in the restful quiet<br>
stood another four men<br>
in a ring around the two. <br>
They raised the pinewood light <br>
towards the black rafters, <br>
where the smoke swirls gather<br>
in a brooding layer. </p></p>
</td></tr>

<tr><td>Forgjeves tvenne kvinner <br>
med hyl trenger frem <br>
å bryte det faste gjerde <br>
der er stillet foran dem. <br>
De kastes vredt tilbake <br>
av de muskelsterke menn, -- <br>
og spillemannen rolig <br>
går til kjellertrappen hen. </p></p>
</td>
<td>In vain two women try <br>
with a howl press forward<br>
To break the solid fence <br>
that is set un front of them. <br>
They are thrown back <br>
by the muscle-strong men, -- <br>
and the fiddler calmly <br>
goes off to the cellar steps. </p></p>
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<tr><td>Nu skal han ned og tappe; <br>
ti den seirende mann <br>
kan saktens vel behøve <br>
å kysse bollens rand. <br>
I beltespenning nappes <br>
de kun med blodets tap; <br>
så må vel åren fylles <br>
fra tønnetutens gap. </p></p>
</td>
<td>He should now descend and tap<i>(the beer) </i><br>
because the victorious man<br>
Will no doubt well need<br>
To kiss the edge of the bowl. <br>
In belt fighting they win<br>
Only with the loss of blood, <br>
So must well the vein be filled<br>
From the barrel’s spout. </p></p>
</td></tr>

<tr><td>Men da han stod i kjelleren, <br>
han så et blålig skinn <br>
én sitte der på tønnen <br>
og stemme felen sin. <br>
Og karen holdt den omvendt, <br>
tett opp til brystet klemt, <br>
og gav seg til å stryke <br>
så snart han hadde stemt. </p></p>
</td>
<td>But when he stood in the cellar, <br>
he saw in a bluish light<br>
someone sitting there on the barrel<br>
and tuning his fiddle. <br>
And the fellow held it inverted, <br>
crushed tight up to the chest, <br>
and gave way to bowing<br>
as soon as he had tuned. </p></p>
</td></tr>

<tr><td>Det var et spill som dugde; <br>
det klang som vred manns ord, <br>
som hugg av stålsatt bile <br>
og som neveslag i bord. <br>
Det jublet og det hulket <br>
i den skumle kjellerhall <br>
da slåttens toner endte <br>
med et rungende mannefall. </p></p>
</td>
<td>It was an air that steamed<br>
it rang like an angry man’s word, <br>
like a blow of a steel broad axe<br>
and like a fist blow on the table. <br>
It exulted and it sobbed<br>
in the gloomy cellar hall, <br>
then the air’s notes ended<br>
with a resounding man-fall. </p></p>
</td></tr>


<tr><td>Taus spillemannen lyttet <br>
til de mektige løp; <br>
det var som spillets virvler <br>
nedad ryggen ham krøp. <br>
Så spurte han den annen: <br>
"Hvor lærte du den slått?" <br>
Han svarte: "Det er det samme, <br>
men minn deg den blott!" </p></p>
</td>
<td>Silently the fiddler listened<br>
to the mighty, vast run <i>(of notes)</i>,<br>
it was as if the song’s swirls <br>
crawled down his back. <br>
So he asked the other: <br>
“Where did you learn that air?” <br>
He answered: “It makes no difference, <br>
But remember it well.” </p></p>
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<tr><td>Nu mannen med seg lutet <br>
og etter tappen tok, - <br>
da så han hestehoven, <br>
som takt mot tønnen slo. <br>
Han glemte rent å tappe, <br>
han sprang i stuen opp, - <br>
der løftet de fra gulvet <br>
den falne mannekropp. </p></p>
</td>
<td>Now the man bend down<br>
And went after the tap, --<br>
Then he saw the horse hoof, <br>
That beat time against the barrel. <br>
He forgot completely to tap, <br>
he leapt up to the room above, --<br>
there they lifted from the floor<br>
the fallen body of the man. </p></p>
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<tr><td>Fanitullen kalles <br>
ennu den ville slått, <br>
og dølene den spiller, <br> 
og spiller den godt. <br>
Men lyder de grumme toner <br>
under øldrikk og svir, <br>
da løsner atter kniven <br>
i hallingdølens slir. </p></p>
</td>
<td>Fanitullen <i>(The Devil’s Craziness)</i> is called <br>
that wild air still, <br>
And the valley men play it, <br>
And play it well. <br>
But if the dreadful tones sound<br>
During beer drinking and carousing, <br>
Then loosens once again the knife<br>
In the sheath of the Halling Valley man. </p></p>

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<i><b>Ceara's Note:</b> <a href="http://www.espen.com/papers/fanitullen.html">A more bardic-friendly translation by Espen Andersen</a> also has a few notes about Jørgen Moe.</i>
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Although the normal form of trial by combat in medieval Scandinavia was the <i>“holmganga”</i> (withdrawal by the parties to a place on an islet), other forms by which honor was assuaged or legal disputes were settled also occurred. According to V.G. Kiernan in <u>The Duel in European History</u>,  “…the most murderous was the ‘girdle-duel’, in which the combatants were strapped together and fought with knives to the death.” Further, a 19th century dictionary reference cited by Perkins states: “A curious kind of duel in a tub is recorded in Floam.S. ch. 17, called <i>kerganga</i>, perhaps akin to the modern Swedish fight in a belt.” Perkins goes on to elucidated: “The contest referred to here was one where the two opponents were, by a belt around their waists, attached to one another and fought with knives. This type of duel seems also to have been known in Norway and often to have fatal consequences…the contest in question might well be as old as the Middle Ages and seems to have been fought outside the law…”</p>


To the Vikings, honor was the most important reason for living. Jørgen Moe, in his poem <Fanitullen</i>, vividly evokes this concept. Maybe the next time I am partying with Norwegian friends, I will again be lucky enough to hear the poem recited by another big red-headed young man.</p>

I would like to sincerely thank the following institutions and people for helping me track down the text of the poiem and the references concernting dueling. They are the Royal Norwegian Ministry of Church and Education; Universitetet i Oslo, Norway; J.W. Cappelens Forlag, Norway; and especially Roark Wulfkynde the Peacock, who gave me invaluable and selfless help in obtaining obscure references. </p></p>





<p></p>
<b><i>Sources:</b></i></p> 
<ul>
Kiernan, V.G., <u>The Duel in European History</u>.<i> Oxford University Press.</i> 1988.</p>
Kirkeby, Willy, <u>Norsk-Engelsk Ordboken</u>. <i>Gyldendal Norsk Forlag.</i> Oslo, 1974.</p>
Perkins. <u>"Kerganga" in Sjotiu ritgerdir: Helgadar Jakobi Benediktissyni</u>. <i>20 Juli 1977.</p>
Steinberg, S.H. ed., <u>Cassell's Encyclopedia of World Literature</u>. <i>Funk and Wagnalls Company</i> New York, 1953.</p>
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