Taking a break for a brew and some nuanced words (ll.491-498)

Posted on 2014/08/08 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Breaking for a brew
Words of nuance
Closing

Interlaced men motif. Image from http://public.wsu.edu/~hanly/oe/503.html.

Space is cleared for the Geats to sit, ale is poured, and songs are sung in Heorot hall.

“Then for the Geat men together at once
a space was cleared on a beer hall bench;
there the bold went to sit,
exulting in their strength; a thane acted on that office,
he who in hand bore the adorned ale cup,
poured out the sweet brightness; the poet meanwhile sang
clear in Heorot; there were songs of heroic joy,
among the none too few noble warrior Danes and Geats.”
(Beowulf ll.491-498)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

It’s no secret that the Anglo-Saxons enjoyed their beer. Such could be said for all Germanic peoples, really. But, they weren’t swillers of whatever they could get their hands on. At least, one would hope so after reading such a vivid description of a perfect presentation and pour as that found on lines 494-496.

The best way to approach this description is line by line, since each has a singular focus.

First, the second half of line 494 is about the person doing the pouring. Notice that this is the shortest part of the description. Also, that pouring the ale isn’t just some act or event that stands in the way of drinking it – it’s an “office.”

The Old English word used is “nytt,” which could translate as “use,” “utility,” “advantage;” “duty,” “office,” “employment,” “supervision,” “care;” “useful,” “beneficial,” “helpful,” “profitable.”

The word “office” best captures the sense that I think is implied here, a combination of officialdom with importance.

It goes unsaid throughout these three lines, but aside from the enjoyment of a good brew, ale-pouring would have been one of the major ways in which a host could make an impression upon his guests. Just as various modern cultures have various drinking etiquettes, the Anglo-Saxons surely had their own. As such, knowing how to properly pour was likely included in this and something that was learned early and learned well.

There’s some room for interpretation in the word “þegn,” since it could mean “servant” or “retainer.” But, whether it’s someone who is only a servant in Heorot or who is one of Hrothgar’s remaining retainers, I think that the act of pouring ale in Anglo-Saxon culture confers a great deal of importance on the pourer. Just like a bartender who knows how best to get that stout from the tap to your glass, anyone who could pour ale well no doubt commanded some respect.

After all, it is that servant who bears the ornamented drinking cup (as read on line 495). Probably a large pitcher-sized thing from which the smaller cups were filled, this cup’s exact decoration remains unmentioned. Likely with good reason.

The recitation of poetry in Anglo-Saxon Britain happened in social settings. In such settings just the same sort of pouring and drinking would be going on, so leaving out any fine details that would make this “adorned ale-cup” a specific item allows hearers of the poem to step into the fiction of Beowulf through this detail (or lack thereof).

Perhaps some hearers may even have thought, “maybe this ale-cup that poet’s caterwauling about is just like this one?” as they admired the design carved around their own cup, fingering over its design as much as looking at it.

But the bearer and the cup are just vehicles for the ale itself. That’s why the most vivid brief description of all is saved for the ale (or mead?) itself – that “sweet brightness” of line 496. It doesn’t contain so much detail as to become self-parodying, but the original Old English, “,” is, nonetheless open to interpretation.

Heaney translates the phrase as “bright/helpings of mead.” Wren would render it “bright [or “glorious”] sweet drink.” And Francis Gummere went with “clear mead.” These are all fairly similar, and mead is definitely implied (if not outright stated).

Yet, it’s curious that the word for the drink is not “medu” meaning “mead” or “ealu” meaning “ale.” It’s possible that the poet declined the use of either because it was obvious enough to contemporary audiences what the drink was. Though to us (and to me) it’s rather vague. There’s mention of the ale cup, and yet this is a sweet drink that’s being poured out. So is it mead or is it ale?

A meaning taken for granted is lost to us.

Or maybe I just need to get a little of either in me to work this one out.

One of the things that drew me to the study of words when I was younger is their power to reflect the values and ideas of the people and cultures who use them.

One of the words that stands out in this week’s extract is “swiðferhð.” Taken together, the word means “bold, brave, rash.”

Curiously, there’s a kind of gradient present in these definitions: to be called “bold” is generally a compliment, calling someone “brave” could go either way, and then calling someone “rash” sounds like a downright insult. Coming from a society that seems steeped in physical conflict and warfare, such nuance to a word that sounds like it should bear only positive connotations is curious. But, of course, contemplation and wisdom were highly valued in that society, too.

Taken apart, the word’s halves, “swið” and “ferð,” mean, respectively: “very,” “much,” “exceedingly,” “severely,” “violently,” “fiercely;” and “mind,” “intellect,” “soul,” “spirit,” “life,” “person.”

All of the definitions of “ferð are benign enough. But, the last four interpretations of “swið” sound like adverbs for something taken too far. Yet someone who is “severely spirited,” for example, could well be an asset or a liability on the battlefield. He’d be a powder keg, as likely to do much good as he would be to do much ill. So characterized are the Geats as they sit amongst the Danes for their entertainment.

I don’t think the poet means this as a backhanded compliment, though. I read the use of “swiðferð (aside from its use for alliteration’s sake) as the poet’s take on the Dane’s feeling about the Geats at this point. They don’t know if Beowulf will be successful against Grendel, or if he and his band will be smeared around their precious Heorot come morning.

Such an atmosphere is perfect for songs of man rejoicing, though. Or are they songs of hero gladness?

Line 497’s “hæleða dream” isn’t exactly a compound word, but its interpretation is still something of a crux.

The words “warrior,” “hero,” and “man” cover “hæleða” well enough. But that leaves the strangely familiar “dream,” a word that has a meaning that’s almost analogous to its Modern English cognate: “joy,” “gladness,” “delight,” “ecstasy,” “mirth,” “rejoicing;” “melody,” “music,” “song,” “singing.”

All of these words are close enough to one another, but the question is: which shade of meaning should someone translating Beowulf go with?

Songs of a warrior’s ecstasy are likely different from those of a warrior’s rejoicing. He might rejoice after a hard-won battle, but he may well be ecstatic right in the middle of it.

That’s kind of a problem of translation, though. Too often, in the process of moving words from one language to another, the original needs to be unpacked since all together it just won’t fit into its target language. It doesn’t help when one such word is attached to another (a man’s ecstasy is likely to be different from a man’s rejoicing, just as a warrior’s ecstasy is different from his rejoicing).

This sort of nuance might not be as wild as that of swiðferð or of other words I’ve covered in previous entries, but it’s still something that makes translating a fascinating task.

Next week, one of Hrothgar’s closest thanes calls Beowulf out on his boasting.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Hrothgar’s pro-story agenda and two normal compounds (ll.480-490)

Posted on 2014/08/01 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
On the use of stories
Two normal compounds
Closing

A page from an illuminated manuscript. Image from http://www.myarmoury.com/talk/viewtopic.php?t=28126&view=next.

Hrothgar closes off his speech to detail with an account of the carnage Grendel has wrought upon Heorot.

“‘Quite often ale-drunken threats
from warriors were issued over ale-cups,
that they would wait in the beer-hall
for Grendel’s onslaught with sword horror.
Yet when morning came to this mead hall,
this noble-hall was blood-stained, as day was lit,
all the bench space was smeared with blood,
the hall battle-bloodied; then had I fewer loyal
dear men, those death had carried off.
Sit now to the feast, and in the hall hear
of heroes’ glorious victories, as thine heart urges thee!
(Beowulf ll.480-490)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

This week’s passage is pretty straightforward.

Hrothgar tells Beowulf of those who have come before him in sparse, yet gory, detail, and then sends him off to make merry. It’s such a quick turnabout that I wonder if it’s supposed to be comical.

Schadenfreude can’t possibly be that recent a phenomenon after all. Especially when it’d be crystal clear that Beowulf will win, despite the odds. I mean, the poem is named after him and so it’d be hard for it to go on too far beyond his death were Grendel to bring it about.

If not schadenfreude, then maybe there’s some sort of irony at work here. Maybe Hrothgar’s conclusion is meant to be tragicomic.

Or perhaps Hrothgar is just drunk. That’s another possibility for sure.

Whatever his own state is, Hrothgar’s definitely a tragic figure and so that could well be what’s powering the comedy here.

It’s also important to remember that these characters, as much as they are the front end of the poem, are still puppets dancing upon the poet/scribe’s strings of words.

Another possibility is that Hrothgar’s emphasis falls on his final sentence. Maybe he’s trying to get Beowulf to fill his head with stories in which the hero triumphs over the monster. Medieval belief in the idea that what you carried around in your head affected your conduct and life in general was pretty widespread after all. So the big man’s conclusion might be less for comedic effect and more along the lines of “get your head in the game!”

Actually, stepping into the territory usually reserved for the second section of these posts, the word that Hrothgar uses for “urge” in that last sentence is worth a closer look.

In the original Old English it’s “hwette,” a clear ancestor of modern English’s “whet” and also translatable as “sharpen, incite, encourage.” The last two of these definitions are what led me to “urge.” But keeping the first two possibilities in mind makes Hrothgar’s use of “hwette” all the more fascinating.

(A quick note, “hwette” appears not to be used for its alliterative qualities since this line’s sound is “s,” curiously.)

If Hrothgar (or the poet) meant to mean “whet,” or “sharpen” then the line still retains its meaning. Beowulf is still being encouraged to sharpen himself on the whetstone of stories. But what does that say about stories?

I think this line gives us some minor insight into how the Anglo-Saxons (and many other cultures of the time, in keeping with the belief that what you enshrined in your memory affected you) regarded stories. In instances like those in which Beowulf finds himself, they could be used as much for entertainment as they could be for preparation.

Under such circumstances, it’s not likely that such stories were not necessarily closely analyzed. They were likely taken more or less at face value; the heroes are real and the monsters are real and that’s that.

I think we can add a layer of complexity to this matter, though.

I don’t think that the Anglo-Saxon’s necessarily believed that the monsters and heroes of such stories were real. Instead, I think they regarded their deeds as being such stories’ major purpose. Regaling each other with such stories could help to remind people that whether it was with divine or supernatural aid, or merely through human wit and wisdom, people can overcome some very large obstacles.

However, just as it’s possible to over-sharpen a knife, I think that the Anglo-Saxons also believed it was possible to over-sharpen oneself on such stories as those that Hrothgar encourages Beowulf to give an ear to.

However willing you might be to believe that hero x defeated supernatural terror y, hearing too many of these stories would inevitably lead to an awareness of their gaps. Analysis of such stories – whether out loud or only on reflection – would seriously undercut their power to empower.

Though, perhaps that’s why such stories are traded over ale or mead or beer, rather than, say, strong coffee or gentle tea.

This week’s passage doesn’t have any wacky compounds.

However, it does have one that apparently isn’t in the Clark Hall & Meritt dictionary that I’m using as my primary reference.

This word is “hreðsecga,” meaning “hero,” and it’s from line 490. The glossary in the back of C.L. Wren’s edition of Beowulf does include this word, though, and in it he gives the quite literal translation of “glorious warrior.”

How is that quite literal?

Well, “hreð” means “victory” or “glory” and “secga” means “warrior,” “hero,” or “man.”

All in all it’s pretty straightforward.

Except that “secga” also translates to “sedge,” “reed,” “rush,” flag,” and “ocean,”

Given the word’s context it’s clear that it’s not meant to mean “glorious reed” or “glorious ocean.” But it’s curious to think that a word for “man,” or “warrior” could also mean things like that. Especially such unwarlike things as “sedge,” or “rush.”

A “flag” could refer to the standard or emblem that a tribe bore into battle for symbolic and psychological reasons. As the Anglo-Saxons (and the Danes and Geats) were familiar with sailing, the “ocean” may have been (and was) commonly characterized as war-like.

But, those plants are just there.

Still, it’s possible that the Anglo-Saxons saw sedge and rushes as bristling clumps of swords and spears respectively, mêlées in which a hundred swords were drawn, raised, and then frozen in the moment before they all strike their targets, preserving these scenes as grasses that bristle in the breeze.

Maybe these alternate translations for “secga” nod towards some forgotten myth about just such a martial scene being transformed into a plant doomed to dress the fen and marshy waste that the Anglo-Saxons populated with beings like Grendel. Such a myth wouldn’t be outside the ken of Western mythology, since Greek mythology is full of origin stories involving people being turned into plants.

The word “oret-mecgas” is another compound word found in this week’s passage (on line 481). It doesn’t carry any mystifying possible alternate meanings like “hreðsecga,” but it’s a compound word that sort of tells a story.

The word’s first part, “oret,” means “contest,” or “battle” and its second part means “man,” “disciple,” or “son.” So, combined, the whole compound literally means “disciple of battle” or “son of contest,” referring to someone deeply versed in combat. Indeed an apt definition for a word meaning “warrior.”

Next week Beowulf and his crew are treated to an intermission of mead and minstrel song before a new challenger appears.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Hrothgar prefaces Grendel and a word combines “foolish” and “fiend” (ll.473-479)

Posted on 2014/07/18 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Why preface the massacre?
A terrible jester
Closing

A page from an illuminated manuscript. Image from http://www.myarmoury.com/talk/viewtopic.php?t=28126&view=next.

Hrothgar prefaces his relation of the terror of Grendel’s attacks with a brief summary.

It grieves me at heart to tell,
to any man, what affliction Grendel has wrought
on me and and Heorot amidst his hostile designs,
those spiteful attacks; by these is my hall troop,
my band of warriors, made thin; wyrd swept them
into Grendel’s terror. God easily may
put an end to the deeds of that fell-destroyer!
(Beowulf ll.473-479)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

This short passage is what Hrothgar uses as a preface to the retelling of Grendel’s attacks. In it he summarizes what he’s about to say next. But why?

Beowulf already knows about Grendel and the terror that he’s wreaked upon Heorot and the Danes. So why does Hrothgar feel the need to preface the relation of the same?

Maybe it’s because this is a first hand account of the story, and as such its details will be more vivid than those in news that has been blown afar by sailor and wanderer alike.

Maybe it’s not supposed to be taken in the same way as the modern newscasters’ “Now, we must warn viewers that some people may find some of the images in the following report graphic.”

Maybe, instead, it’s supposed to get Beowulf and his crew into the right mindset to hear the story of Grendel’s attacks.

In short, it’s meant to give context rather than to scare or warn.

Giving such a relation context makes fine sense. But I can’t help but think that there’s something more at work here.

Hrothgar’s old fashioned formality is certainly a factor. Someone like Beowulf would probably just rush right into the story and not really establish much beforehand.

Yet, such a formal system of expression seems strange given that Hrothgar’s just confessed openly to Beowulf that he’s not as great a man as his brother was. Normally someone in his position wouldn’t just come out and admit something like that, I think.

So perhaps that was something of a slip on his part, emotionally wrought as he’d been made by meeting Ecgtheow’s son and at last having a hero in whom he firmly believes.

If Hrothgar’s admission of weakness to Beowulf was a slip, then this little preface could well be his way of recovering himself and his manner.

After all, the poet wouldn’t want to waste time with lines about how Hrothgar’s look drooped and then slowly, like a trumpet vine, climbed and bloomed, ready to dispense the sweet nectar of the situation. Instead, the poet/scribe would be better off simply including this shift back to formality in the man’s dialogue. This poem thing has to keep a vigorous pace, right?

One other thing makes me think that this preface is more about context than being a warning.

Within the passage, Hrothgar makes a reference to the power of wyrd (kind of like fate, but beyond any notion of destiny) sweeping away his men (ll.477-478) and he also makes reference to god, whom he believes can put an end to Grendel all together (ll.478-479). This shows a man in transition on the spiritual level, since the concept of “wyrd” predates that of the Christian god among Anglo-Saxons. Hrothgar still holds to the old idea of wyrd while also investing hope in this new “god” figure. That is, so long as the “god” of line 478 is the Christian god and not just some vague reference to Odin or the Norse gods in general.

It’s also curious to note that wyrd and god appear in Hrothgar’s preface in the reverse order that they appear in Beowulf’s earlier speech. Pinning any real meaning on this kind of structure isn’t really worth the effort, since it could just be coincidence. But, Hrothgar’s repetition of these two things could relate to his hope that god will, without any real struggle, choose Beowulf to win. Hrothgar’s ending his preface with “God easily may/put an end to the deeds of that fell-destroyer” (“God eaþe mæg/þone dolsceaðan dæda getwæfan.”(ll.478-479)) definitely suggests this.

Brief as this passage is there is one word in particular that I want to break down. This word is “dolsceaða” (l.479). As a compound it means “fell destroyer.”

Broken into its constituent parts, though, we’re left with “dol” (meaning “foolish,” “silly;” “presumptuous;” and “folly”) and “sceaða” (meaning “injurious person,” “criminal,” “thief,” “assassin;” “warrior,” “atagonist,” “fiend,” “devil,” and “injury”).

At first glance a combination of a word for things like “foolish,” “presumptuous,” etc. with one for “criminal,” “thief,” “fiend” probably seems strange. How exactly can someone be a “foolish fiend”?

Within the context of Anglo-Saxon society, though, the reason that these two words combine to mean “fell destroyer” becomes clear.

As we saw in last week’s post, Ecgtheow started a feud with the Wulfings when he killed one of them. Along with the feud, Ecgtheow was also exiled from his people. And in Anglo-Saxon culture exile is a fate worse than death.

Death is final. Exile is an ongoing punishment in which the exiled was cut off from their community. Since Anglo-Saxons relied on their community for physical and emotional well being, such separation would leave one leading a solitary, vulnerable life. In exile, a person would cease being a Geat or a Dane and become simply an exile.

Therefore, killing indiscriminately as Grendel does would be foolish. Anyone who carried out such action would definitely be considered as grave a thing as a “fell destroyer” because they would be acting outside of all societal norms. What’s more, such a person would certainly be exiled and would gather all the rage of the slain’s kith and kin would be directed squarely at you. Gathering together so much hatred would surely, and rightly, be seen as a thing of folly.

Thus, combining the word for foolish and the word for criminal to create a third word meaning “fell destroyer” makes perfect sense. Applying it to Grendel makes even more, since his killing is indeed foolishly criminal.

Yet, you could argue that such is his nature as the kin of Cain. So Grendel’s actions aren’t so much mad or foolish as they are natural. He’s killing without any sort of sense of “feud” or “exile.” That’s really only if you take the monster’s perspective, though. From within the Danes and Geats’ frame of reference, in which feuds are a legal means for reparations, Grendel’s actions are indeed insane, those of a “fell destroyer.”

Next week, Hrothgar goes into gory detail in his telling of Grendel’s visits to Heorot.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Beowulf focuses though his words run free (ll.442-455)

Posted on 2014/07/04 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Beowulf focuses his speech for arms’ sake
Words off-book and revealing
Closing

Interlaced men motif. Image from http://public.wsu.edu/~hanly/oe/503.html

Beowulf finishes his speech with a prediction of what will happen if Grendel takes him and instructions should such a thing occur.

“‘I expect that he will, if he be allowed,
in the hall of battle, the Geatish people,
devour unafraid, as he often has,
that flower of men. You need not
to cover my head,but he will have me
blood-stained, if death take me;
he will bear away my bloodied body, thinking to taste;
mournlessly will the lone-goer eat me,
staining his moor-den; nor need you be long anxious
about my body’s state.
Send to Hygelac, if me battle take,
this best of battle dresses, that I bear upon my breast,
choicest of garments; that is Hraedlan’s heirloom,
the work of Weland. Always fate shall go as it will!'”
(Beowulf ll.442-455)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

Beowulf’s first sentence this week offers up more of something that we saw earlier in his speech (see June 13’s entry). The interlace of clauses once more makes the climactic statement “devour unafraid” (“etan unforhte” (l.444)) applicable to Grendel or Geat alike.

Grendel will be unafraid as he devours them because they pose no threat to his otherworldly might, and/or the Geats will be unafraid because they always accept their fate without flinching. If taken in the latter sense, this statement foreshadows Beowulf’s closing remark, actually.

Curiously, however, Beowulf’s clauses stop interlacing after that first sentence. He still retreats into subordinate clauses to add extra description to his subjects, but he doesn’t talk about parallel subjects again.

Why does he make this shift in speech?

My theory is that Beowulf’s speech becomes more focused after he wraps up about Grendel because he stops talking about the battle and matters that involve two feuding parties. Since he’s now discussing serious matters pertaining only to him (he is talking about his own death here) he brings more concentration to his words. They need to convey things clearly after all.

And convey things clearly they do. How could Beowulf’s instructions not be clear when “send my mail coat back to Hygelac” is stretched over four lines?

Part of the extension of his instructions involves some curious information about his mail coat. It’s being the work of Weland is definitely noteworthy. Though, as was the case the last time Weland was mentioned, it’s possible that “the work of Weland” (“Welandes geweorc” (l.455)) is just a very high compliment to the smith responsible for it.

More tangible is Beowulf’s mentioning that his mail coat is an heirloom of Hraedlan’s. Now that’s a name we haven’t seen before.

Though according to every translation of the poem I have at hand (Seamus Heaney’s, Allan Sullivan’s, and R.M. Liuzza’s) “Hraedlan” (l.454) is an alternative spelling of “Hrethel.”

This figure is none other than Beowulf’s maternal grandfather.

So Beowulf’s armour, made by Weland the Smith or not, is at least from Beowulf’s grandfather’s younger days.

Age and history added value to arms, making it obvious why Beowulf would not want to lose this mail coat. A sword that’s passed down from a grandfather is one thing – it can be broken to pieces and reforged. But armour that lasts that long must be doing something right.

Telling someone “gullible” isn’t in the dictionary is one thing. Using a word that’s not in that language’s dictionary (at least the one you happen to be looking in) is completely another.

Yet that’s just what happened with the word “hreð-manna” (l.445)

This word apparently translates as “flower of men,” but more literally could be “quick-man.”

Combined with the word “mægen,” the first half of line 445 could be taken to mean “mighty fast-men” – people who combine speed and strength. You may well wonder how “flower of men” can be pulled from such a line, but the path from “mighty fast-men” to “flower of men” is fairly logical.

The word “manna” on its own means “men,” and the word “hreð” on its own means “quick,” nimble,” ready,” active,” alert,” prompt.” The general implication of those words is liveliness, a certain vivacity of spirit that could be represented by a vibrant flower.

Plus, it doesn’t hurt that “hreð” + the Old English word for “month,” “monað,” means “March” – traditionally the first month of spring. A very lively season, especially when people had no long-lasting artificial light to extend those short winter days.

From this place of “hreð” comes the translation of “maegan hreð-manna:” “the flower of men,” or “the liveliest/most vital of men.”

Another unclear word in this passage is “byrgean” (l.448).

In the context of Beowulf’s speech the word means “to taste, eat,” but there are two other senses in which it can be taken.

One of these is “to raise a mound, hide, bury, inter,” and the other is “to save, deliver, preserve, guard, defend, fortify, spare; beware of, avoid, guard against.”

Translating “byrgean” as “to taste” definitely makes the most sense, but it’s interesting to see what other meanings branched off of the same word. In a sense they all mean to “bury,” since eating something certainly covers it, and, although drastic, burying something could be a way of saving it. Applied in this situation, though, it’s strange to think that Grendel would want to save Beowulf – or even more so that he would want to bury him.

Though this word’s alternative meanings are one of the poem’s several entry points to the view that Beowulf and Grendel share a certain kinship, that they’re both monstrous in a sense.

If the word “byrgean” is supposed to be translated as “to cover” or “to bury,” then the implication is definitely that Grendel doesn’t take Beowulf back for a midnight snack, but instead to pay the proper respects to his fallen kin.

Actually, maybe it’s just a question of Beowulf’s alignment.

He could be a monstrous being who’s not on the cusp of society as Grendel is because he has learned how to act within it (something shown in his speech to Hrothgar and to the coast guard), yet in the alternate future where Beowulf is beaten by Grendel the only reason he loses is because he comes to identify too closely with his monstrous self.

Without recourse to his association to the godly kin of Seth, Beowulf fails in ridding the Danes (included in the kin of Seth) of Grendel (kin of Cain). Because Beowulf, reminded of his own monstrousness, is set on an equal footing with Grendel he is bested and Grendel takes him back to his den to bury his fallen kin.

But all that is just a theory. A Beowulf theory.

With that, Beowulf’s speech to Hrothgar and his assembled thanes is finished. Next week Hrothgar takes up the mic to fill us all in on how exactly he came to know Beowulf’s father Ecgtheow.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Beowulf’s slip of the tongue and linden wood’s importance? (ll.429-441)

Posted on 2014/06/27 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Beowulf’s ego between the lines?
A balance of compound words
Closing

Standing before Hrothgar himself, Beowulf states that he will face Grendel unarmed.

“‘That you do not refuse me, protector of warriors,
close friend of the people, that for which I have now come from afar,
that I might alone and my band of warriors,
this hardy heap, to cleanse Heorot.
I have also learned, by asking, that this demon
in his recklessness does not care for weapons.
I the same shall scorn, that Hygelac may be for me,
my liege-lord, blithe of heart,
that I neither sword nor the broad shield shall bear,
the linden-bound battle buckler; and I shall grapple
against the fiend with my grasp and struggle for life,
hater against hated; in that I shall trust
in god’s judgement to take whom he will in death.'”
(Beowulf ll.429-441)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

As has been the case since Beowulf opened his mouth a few weeks ago, he says some curious things in this week’s passage. Either that, or the space of centuries has changed English so much that (my) modern interpretations are mismatched with his intentions.

Also, as has been the case with past posts, this week’s most curious passage could be the result of poetic conventions.

In lines 431-432 Beowulf states that he and his crew are here to cleanse Heorot. But in line 432 there’s a curious division between him and the rest of the Geats.

In Old English poetry, each line consists of two parts separated by a medial caesura. The medial caesura is a full stop used to give poetry a set meter and rhythm. On line 431, however, the caesura happens to fall at a crucial point in Beowulf’s statement.

The first part of this line ends with the nearly complete thought “that I might alone” (“þæt ic mote ana” (431)). At first glance such a statement seems perfectly normal. But then the audience/readers are reminded of the other Geats in the second part of the line “and my band of warriors” (“ond minra eorla gedryht”).

The caesura’s separating these two thoughts so cleanly leads me to believe that Beowulf, for a second, forgot about his fellow Geats.

He may have became so inflated with thoughts of the personal glory to be won that his focus was entirely on himself. But then something must have twinged in his memory and he snapped back to his senses, just in time to realize that there were other Geats – his “band of warriors” – with him.

Because the break in the line occurs in such a perfect place I find it hard to write off this apparent mental slip as merely the result of Old English poetic convention. Using a multifaceted word rather than a definite one to fill in alliteration is one thing. Splitting the line between clauses like this is entirely another.

But does such a slip necessarily mean that Beowulf is temporarily blinded by an egotistical drive for glory? Or could it be that his continuing use of interlacing clauses is starting to confuse him, showing that his forceful use of rhetorical speech is nearly too much for even him to handle?

Or, again, if you want to approach things on the meta level, is having the hero become so tongue-tied the poet’s way of stepping in to say, in a small way, “this poetry stuff is so hard even Beowulf here can’t fully handle it!”?

It’s this poem’s ability to generate these sorts of questions that makes it so fascinating. That’s why I keep coming back to it time and again and why I run this blog in the first place. What are your thoughts on Beowulf’s mental slip?

If Beowulf has tied himself into a bit of a rhetorical knot here, by the end of this part of his speech he’s pretty much recovered.

The phrase “lað wið laþum” is a linguistic gem. A near literal translation of this phrase is “the hater against the hated.” In the context of Beowulf’s fight with Grendel it works wondrously well no matter who its subject and object are between the two.

Unlike the other parts of his speech that we’ve seen so far, Beowulf’s boast is rather short on strange compound words. The word “wonhydum” (a variation of “wanhygd”) is kind of neat, but it’s one of those compounds that makes perfect sense.

The first part, “wan” means “wanting,” “deficient,” “lacking,” or “absent,” and the second means “mind,” thought,” “reflection,” or “forethought.” So “wanhygd” translates into “reckless” quite nicely.

However, “gealobord,” meaning “buckler covered with yellow linden bark,” is something of a find.

Why should it matter that a shield is covered within yellow? And why is it linden bark?

Maybe it’s just because linden bark is the best bark suited to covering a shield and it happens to be yellow? Maybe one or both have special significance outside of practicality?

From what I’ve been able to turn up online the reason that linden bark (or more likely just plain old linden wood – unless there’s a ship metaphor in there somewhere (“bark” could mean “ship”) – was used for shields is because it’s soft and light. It didn’t tend to split like harder woods such as oak, and could even catch and hold spear blades.

Such is the explanation that this page about arms and armour on Regia Anglorum has to offer anyway.

Also, Della Hook notes on page 215 of Trees in Anglo-Saxon England: Literature, Lore and Landscape that linden wood was so commonly used for shields that the word “lind” came to be used as a metonymy for shields in poetry.

Perhaps there was also some mythic or folkloric understanding of why linden wood was so well-suited to shields, but I’d need to dig deeper to find it. If you happen to know of such a thing though, please drop a link (or a line) in the comments.

Next week Beowulf balances his boasting with a description of his gruesome defeat and outlines what the Danes should do with his remains. If he happens to lose, that is.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Beowulf’s forceful resumé and multi-purpose words (ll.419-428)

Posted on 2014/06/20 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Words of force or forced words?
Multipurpose words
Closing

Beowulf’s speech continues. Picking up from last week’s speech about who he is and how he heard of Heorot’s distress, Beowulf now shares the highlights of his deeds.

“‘They themselves saw, when I cleverly overcame,
foe after foe, when I bound five,
devastated the kin of giants, and upon the sea slew
water-demons by night, I have endured dire need,
have fulfilled the Geat’s hatred – such was the hope they summoned –
it consumed those enemies. And so it shall now against Grendel,
against this monster I will stand alone as it please
in such a meeting with the demon. I to thee now then,
lord of the Bright-Danes, will make my request,
prince of the Scyldings, will proclaim this alone:'”
(Beowulf ll.419-428)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

The Anglo-Saxons were fond of woven patterns and intricate knotted designs. You can see it in their art (this blog’s header image for example), and poetry (Beowulf‘s interlace structure, is a prime example).

But Beowulf’s speech is a true show of what it means to weave words. Hrothgar has his “thee”‘s and “thou”‘s and the diction of an august figure. But Beowulf brings much more artifice to his speech. As a result, it’s hard to say how seriously we can take his words.

Now, as always when analyzing word use in Old English poetry, it must be noted that alliteration held considerable sway over which words made it to the page or performance. Beowulf’s speech is certainly no exception.

First among its more rhetorical flourishes is the use of ðing on line 426. This word has the same meaning as Modern English “thing,” but it can also mean “lawsuit,” “court of justice” or “meeting.” In this instance the word appears to be chosen for its alliterative properties (line 426’s alliterative sound being the dental fricative “th,”) yet its use gives me pause.

Should Beowulf’s use of this word be taken to mean that Grendel bears more than a mindless hatred toward Heorot?

Or is he just trying to say that Grendel has pursued this hatred of his with all the furor of a legal battle – a fight between two parties with wildly differing opinions about what’s fair?

Though it’s another example of something used for the sake of alliteration, line 428’s “bene” translates as “summon, command, proclaim.” These are strong words for a guest to use to indicate an upcoming request. Not to mention that this is the first time that Beowulf is addressing Hrothgar. As such, using such a forceful word comes across as rude. At the same time, though, the word’s force makes me wonder.

Beowulf is famed for having the might of many men in his grip. His deeds are all deeds of overcoming great odds against (mostly?) supernatural opponents. Beowulf is, at least in some ways, brute force personified. So then is he (or is the poet/scribe) trying to make that forcefulness come across in his speech as well?

Following the conventions of poetry is one thing, and a thing that Beowulf does more than the poet/scribe seems to as far as word-weaving’s concerned (he makes much greater use of interlacing his clauses), but surely words that carry such deep shades of force as “ðing” and “bene” indicate more than the speaker’s (and the poet/scribe’s) awareness of poetic convention.

As far as I know, there’s no pattern to the sounds used for alliteration. Perhaps it’s generally seen as poor form to have two consecutive lines with the same alliterating sound. But there are no hard and fast rules about ordering your alliteration scheme in Old English poetry as there are for, say, Renaissance or Victorian rhyme schemes. As such, any sound could have been chosen for these lines.

Although such interpretations of “ðing” and “bene” goes far too deep into authorial process (as well as authorial intent), I’m left wondering: What came first? Was it a word that gave rise to the line or the line that forced the poet/scribe into using a word that just sort of fit his/her intended meaning?

Since it’s nearly impossible to know for sure, I’ll choose to think that Beowulf is opting more for force than accuracy, more for strength than finesse. After all, Anglo-Saxons aren’t known for their lithe forms, erudite reasoning and appreciation of fine art and music.

As is to be expected in such a rhetorical passage as this, some words are curious cases.

The word that Beowulf uses when he talks about the kin of giants to say he’s “devastated” them for example, is “yðde” (a variation of the past form of “ieðan”).

But this word, like so many others in Old English doesn’t have just one meaning.

Along with meanings like “lay waste,” “ravage,” “devastate,” and “destroy,” this word means “to alleviate,” “be merciful.” Having such diverse meanings could be the result of the word’s appearing in different contexts in different Old English works.

However, it’s more interesting to wonder if the Anglo-Saxons had the idea that sometimes being merciful meant devastating something or someone. Monsters for instance. Surely, an existence outside of the love and purview of god was something that any thinking creature would want ended, right?

Such reasoning might stand for inhuman enemies, but, getting back to the previous section’s point about Beowulf brute-forcing his way through his speech, I can’t help but wonder if his using such a strong, double-edged word, leads him to qualify his devastating deeds (particularly those possibly against human enemies, the general “enemies of the Geats,”) as having been deserved (“such was the hope they summoned” (“wean ahsodon” (l.423))). If he is indeed qualifying his acts of violence, then perhaps Beowulf comes from a time of greater tolerance, a time in which the poem’s audience was less interested in wiping out those different from them.

Though there would always be plenty of room for enmity with giants, demons and wizards. In fact, why not roll them all into one word? The term “þyrse” would do nicely.

Yes, Old English has a single word that can mean “giant,” “demon,” or “wizard.” Now, these three things might seem distinct to us, but to a medieval mind (particularly an early medieval mind) they were likely much closer together.

Giants were believed to be enemies of god, a and the word could be a general term for the race of monsters that were the kin of Cain. It was also a handy term for unknown, powerful forces or enemies. In Layamon’s Brut, for example, the original settlers of Britain defeat the native giants before they claim the land.

Demons could have been giants. After all, they were the servants of Satan, the enemies of god, and therefore quite closely related to the kin of Cain. Save that, of course, they weren’t necessarily Cain’s kin. More like the family friend that Cain, in more modern times, might refer to as “uncle” or “aunt.”

And wizards famously enslaved demons to their wills. Surely someone who controlled demons must be somewhat demonic him or herself, right?

Also, wizards are wizards, so they could make themselves appear as giants or be cloaked in reputations of being unknown foes. Maybe they could even be referred to as giants in the general sense since they could be considered adopted members of the Cain family, those who have opted out of being sons of Seth and knowing god’s favour.

Next week, Beowulf proclaims his intent and explains just how he plans to deal with Grendel.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Beowulf’s poetic introduction and troubling relations (ll.407-418)

Posted on 2014/06/13 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Beowulf’s “poetic” phrasing
Weird word choices
Closing

Beowulf introduces himself to Hrothgar and announces why he has come.

“‘Be thou, Hrothgar, hale! I am Hygelac’s
relation and man; I have started into
great glory from my youth. News of Grendel
is openly known in my homeland;
It was the talk of sailors, that this hall stood,
best of buildings, idle and emptied
of each man after the evening light
becomes obscured beneath heaven’s brightness.
Then a council urged me to help,
the most esteemed, the cleverest of Geatish men,
the ruler Hrothgar, that I thee seek,
for they all know of my strength:'”
(Beowulf ll.407-418)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

When a poem’s titular character speaks up you should listen. But Beowulf’s speech is riddled with strange word choices and odd phrases that seem bewildering to modern perceptions and perspectives.

We first get a taste of Beowulf’s poetry when he describes the situation in Heorot. He explains how he has heard that the hall is “emptied and idle” every night in such a way that almost makes it possible to translate these words as a reference to the Danish men (rinca).

Such a translation isn’t quite right, though, since line 412’s “best of buildings” is an interjection set within “that this hall stood/…idle and emptied/of each man…” (ll.411-412).

Next, he explains how he has heard that the hall is emptied as soon as “the evening light/becomes obscured beneath heaven’s brightness” (“siððan æfenleoht/under heofenes hador beholen weorþeð” (ll.413-414)).

“Heaven’s brightness” sounds like a phrase that could be used for the sun or for a sky full of stars. Since Beowulf uses it along with a reference to the setting sun, though, the latter definition must be more accurate to his meaning. No doubt it is right, but it’s curious how the Anglo-Saxons construed the night sky as a show of “heaven’s brightness.” If it was only by night that heaven shone, then what did they believe the sky showed during the day?

Later in the passage, when describing his own situation, Beowulf explains that a council of “the most esteemed, the cleverest of Geatish laymen” (“þa selestan, snotere ceorlas” l.416) are the ones who suggested he come to Daneland. Once again we have Old English poetry’s penchant for interrupting itself to work with on this line.

As it is line 416 sounds like it’s referring to either one group or two.

Assuming that it is two groups, we’re left with a council made up of the learned advisers of the Geats (the most esteemed) and some of the wiser (hopefully) of the general population. Such a council of peers sounds like a fine group from which to receive advice. However, it’s also possible to read this line as a reference to just one group, and that’s where things get tricky.

Interpreted as just a single group of highly esteemed laymen, Beowulf could well be referring to drinking buddies. In this case the recommendation that he come to seek out Grendel could be a drunken dare or suggestion. As Robin Waugh contended, in some instances, Beowulf is known to struggle with the poet, almost as if he were trying to seize control of his voice and his story. But we’ll see more of that as Beowulf speaks on next week (and in the coming weeks, especially in the verbal showdown with Unferth).

Along with whole phrases that prove problematic, Beowulf uses a few words that also caused me some confusion.

When detailing his relationship with Hygelac, Beowulf says “relation* and man**” (“mæg ond magoðegn” (l.408)). The word “magoðegn” is pretty straightforward.

It can mean “vassal,” “retainer,” “warrior,” “man,” “servant,” or “minister.” All of these positions are understandable. The basic sense of them being that Beowulf has some clout in the court of Hygelac. He’s not just some common hanger on.

The first word that he uses, however, means “male kinsman,” “parent,” “son,” “brother,” “nephew,” or “cousin.”

This is slightly trickier to parse.

Because of the difference in Beowulf and Hygelac’s ages “parent” and “brother” don’t make sense.

Likewise, we’ve already been told a few times that Beowulf’s father is Ecgtheow, so “son” is out.

The generic “male kinsman” is intriguing, but ultimately too vague to use, and so we’re left with “nephew” and “cousin.”

This instance is one in which the date of the version of the poem that we have is fairly important.

For those tracking lineage in medieval Europe cousins were a much more valued relation than they are today. This is partially because to marry someone the bride and groom had to be at least seven degrees of consanguinity apart (meaning at least your fifth cousin). This was part of medieval canon law rule, and as such, marrying your fourth cousin or closer would make the marriage illegal.

That said, “cousin” could be used in a more general sense, too. Sort of in the same way that a good family friend might be referred to as an “uncle” or “aunt.”

The other definition, “nephew” might actually describe Beowulf and Hygelac’s relationship more accurately. After all, it is possible that Beowulf is indeed Hygelac’s nephew through his mother.

At the very least, Ecgtheow’s marrying into the Geats would make him a legitimate cousin of the Geatish king.

But convention mustn’t have allowed for a court’s greatest warrior to just come out and clearly state his relation to his lord, lest it be his father.

Next week Beowulf begins to boast about his deeds.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Beowulf’s placement and Wulfgar’s use of "you" (ll.389b-398) [Old English]

Posted on 2014/05/30 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Are they in or out?
Oh, “eow”…
Closing

Wulfgar runs to Beowulf and the Geats, bearing word of their being accepted by Hrothgar.

“Then to the hall door
went Wulfgar, from within this word was called out:
‘You as commanded by word of my war lord,
prince of the East-Danes, that he knows of your family:
and you to him are from over the sea-wave,
proven brave, welcome hither.
Now you may go in wearing your armour,
under your helmets, to see Hrothgar;
yet here unbind and leave your shields,
broad boards, and deadly spears, this is a meeting for words alone'”
(Beowulf ll.389b-398)
Back To Top
Recordings

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

This scene reminds me of Dorothy’s arrival at the Emerald City in The Wizard of Oz. I can very vividly picture Wulfgar popping his head out of a window cut into Heorot’s door and calling down to Beowulf that he and his Geats are allowed in.

The trouble with that is that they’ve already taken seats at benches. So are those benches outside on Heorot’s lawn (perhaps the setting for a now lost epic poem about lawn bowling) or are they in some sort of antechamber?

We are told, when the Geats arrive, that they lean some of their gear up against a wall (“sea-weary they set their shields aside,/battle-hard bucklers, against that hall’s wall;” (“setton sæmeþe side scyldas,/rondas regnhearde, wið þæs recedes weal,” (ll.325-326))). The benches (the exact word used is “bence” (l.327)) that they sit on are also vague. In the former case it seems as though they’re outside and have set their weapons up against the hall’s outer wall. The non-descript benches could also be outside (the word used isn’t “medu-benc” (“bench in a meadhall”) after all).

But then what can be taken from Wulfgar’s mentioning the conditions of their meeting with Hrothgar; namely that they are to leave their shields and spears outside?

Doing so could be an act of trust. It might be a way for the Danes to tell if the Geats are with honour and honesty. If they’re willing to leave the tools of their trade in the open, it shows that they see the Danes as no threat to their gear and that they believe that their equipment will be well kept for them.

If the Geats are still outside it definitely explains why the poet/scribe hasn’t said more about the Danes’ reaction to them. They are still new arrivals in this land and do not yet have the ability to freely enter and exit it. In effect, they need to leave part of themselves outside in order to gain access.

Though that does leave them with their swords.

But, as poetic as this all is, I can’ help but thiwael-sceaftasnk that the Geats are free to bring in their swords because these items are more status symbol than weapon.

Claiming to be someone’s son could only go so far, carrying your father’s sword would confirm your lineage. Along with whatever family resemblance there might be of course.

Not to mention, swords seem to have a much richer life as the weapon for single combats and particularly tough spots in battles. The compound for “spear” that appears on line 398 suggests that that weapon is much more regarded as the brutal tool of human destruction. The word “wælsceaftas” literally translates as “slaughter/carnage spear,” leaving little doubt as to their efficacy in mass combat.

Unless, behind all of this praise of spears, is a particularly boastful poet/scribe who thinks that the Danes and Geats were terrible swordsmen.

English has never been a tonal language. The difference between Old English and even Middle English (what Chaucer and Gower wrote in) is wide since the former is a synthetic language and the latter is much more of an analytic language, but even so. English has always been English.

Though, curiously, Old English seems to have more context-sensitive words.

The first word in Wulfgar’s speech, for example, is “eow.”

Seamus Heaney translated this as “my lord” and Francis Gummere translated the word simply as “to you” (l.391). From the original it’s clear that Wulfgar is addressing Beowulf directly. But even if he is a stranger, it seems as though more formality should be applied than that contained in “eow.” A nice “ðu” (modernized as “thou”) would be better suited.

Unless Wulfgar, in conveying Hrothgar’s message of extreme welcome, is dialling it back a bit because he’s wary of this fierce band claiming to be from Geatland.

As Hrothgar’s herald Wulfgar has no doubt seen his share of warriors coming to them with hopes of ridding Heorot of Grendel only to have those hopes plucked from them like legs from a spider. And maybe Wulfgar’s sick of seeing the flower of youth trampled in this way. All of the men of courage are throwing themselves at a problem with no clear solution and leaving the world filled with layabout rogues.

Of course, even for someone with a master’s degree in English, that’s a lot to pull out of a single “eow.” Wulfgar could also just be adjusting his address to something more casual because Beowulf and his fellow Geats are entering the Danish social hierarchy with a reputation for courage but no first-hand proof of it. “Eow” is thus used because the Geats have yet to become worthy of the daintier “ðu.”

Next week Beowulf and a select few of the Geats crowd into Hrothgar’s hall.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

On Danish welcomes and curious compounds (ll.381b-389a) [Old English]

Posted on 2014/05/23 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Danish welcomes
The case of the curious compounds
Closing

Hrothgar finishes his command to Wulfgar, imploring him to make sure the Geats know that they’re welcome.

“‘He holy god
for our support has sent
to the West-Danes, this I believe,
against Grendel’s terror. I shall well reward
them with treasures for his courage.
Be thou in haste, go with this command,'”
that the peaceful host may hear it together.
Also give him word that they are welcome
in these Danish lands!'”
(Beowulf ll.381b-389a)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

Hrothgar very clearly wishes to greet the Geats with glee. From his abbreviation of what he will reward Beowulf and the Geats for down to simply “his courage,” that much is clear. Hrothgar’s speech continues to be dusty (though I’ve done some modernizing with his syntax), but the energy in his speech nonetheless comes through. His line of thinking can even be seen.

It looks like it runs thusly:

Beowulf is rumoured to have the strength of thirty men in his grip and is famed in war (from last week’s translation and commentary). He is god-sent, and has courage, therefore he cannot fail and will be rewarded. Not to mention, we can prepare him for his fight with Grendel with a warm welcome.

But what if Hrothgar was not so inclined to the Geats? What if he had never heard of Beowulf, nor of his father? How does the Danish lord deal with those whom he believes to have no chance against Grendel?

Based on his imploring Wulfgar to make sure that the Geats know “that they are welcome/in these Danish lands!” (“þæt hie sint wilcuman/Deniga leodum.” (ll.388-389a) (which sounds almost as if he’s asking Wulfgar to communicate this welcome in every word), a cold reception would entail a cold welcome.

That sounds obvious enough.

But would that mean an ejection from the hall? An outright attack? The Geats have come quite heavily armed, after all. Such a violent reception could be expected. Though the Geats did respect whatever etiquette exists in putting their spears and shields to the side of the door when they came in. Swords may have been worn as a last line of defense, or as a mark of nobility, though, and so be perfectly allowed even in a hall. Or maybe the Geats didn’t want to drop their guard entirely. We aren’t exactly told that all of the Danes in the hall are wearing swords (or if any are, for that matter).

So a hostile reply would likely be a formal request to leave the hall and return whence they came.

In point of fact, aside from Wulfgar’s being told to warmly welcome them and that they’ll eventually be rewarded for their courage, we’re not really told what a warm Danish welcome entails. Is this the poet/scribe using some telling to set up a bunch of showing?

Old English compound words are usually very straightforward. There’s some phenomenon or item that is more specific than the usual words for it have connotation to cover and so two words are combined. For example, there’s “sorg” for sorrow, and then there’s “modsorg” for the more intense “heart-sorrow.”

Such compounds make sense because they are the sum of their parts.

But in this week’s passage there are two compound words that are more than the sum of their parts.

The word “arstæfum” is Old English for “support,” “assistance,” “kindness,” “benefit,” or “grace.” It is made up of “ar” (“servant,” “messenger,” “herald,” “apostle,” “angel”) and “stæfum” ((singular, stæf) “staff,” “stick,” “rod;” “pastoral staff;” “letter,” “character,” “writing;” “document;” “letters,” “literature,” “learning”). Maybe to Anglo-Saxon minds the herald or apostle of writing, literature, or learning are a support or a benefit, but I’m willing to bet that to most modern minds that connection isn’t as immediately made as “mod” and “sorg” being “heart-sorrow.”

Nonetheless, there is the religious and poetic combination of “benefit” (or “grace”) and “pastoral staff” which sounds like just what Hrothgar is talking about when he states his belief that Beowulf has been sent by god. So perhaps this word isn’t as literal a compound word as most others, but instead results from the combination of the senses of its two parts.

A similar case could be made for “mod-þræce” meaning “courage.”

This word is a combination of “mod” (“heart,” “mind,” “spirit,” “mood,” “temper;” “arrogance,” “pride,” “power;” “violence”) and “þræce” (“throng,” “pressure,” “fury,” “storm,” “violence,” “onrush,” “attack”). With such individual meanings combining it’s hard to see how these two words combine into one that means “courage.” Especially since modern everyday courage could be described as a “violence of the spirit,” but generally doesn’t happen in violent circumstances. As such, this compound sheds some light on the world from which it comes. Courage then may have included standing up to a bully as it does now, but then the follow through was much more likely to be a violent clash of one sort or another.

Though, that’s just one interpretation.

It’s also possible that combining such words to mean courage is meant to add a slightly negative connotation to the word. Perhaps “mod-þræce” isn’t intended to refer to a clean and tidy courage, but something more akin to the boldness of a berserk state. A kind of controlled fury. Something that even the poem’s early audiences well knew was dangerous, but that was also contained and controlled – for the most part.

Anyone with the strength of thirty men in his grip must have been considered at least a little bit monstrous even then after all.

Next week, Wulfgar rushes back to the Geats to relay Hrothgar’s message.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Hrothgar as grammatical relic and Beowulf’s grandfather? (ll.371-381a) [Old English]

Posted on 2014/05/16 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Hrothgar as relic
Ambiguity in spelling
Closing

Hrothgar speaks, acknowledging Beowulf’s parentage and his reputation.

“Hrothgar spoke, protector of the Scyldings:
‘I knew him when he was a boy;
his father of old was called Ecgtheow,
Hrethel of the Geats gave to him
his only daughter; now I hear his son
has come here, seeking favourable friendship.
Once sailors, that brought gifts
from Geatland thither as thanks,
said that he has the might of
thirty men in his hand-grip,
famed in war**.'”
(Beowulf ll.371-381a)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

Beowulf is an old poem. Whether you agree with those scholars who place its creation as a written piece of literature sometime around the eleventh century or with those who place it around the seventh, it’s still an old poem. As such, many early translations of it gave it a very authoritative “thee and thou” sort of tone. Take this passage from Francis Gummere’s famed Edwardian translation, for instance:

“HROTHGAR answered, helmet of Scyldings: —
‘I knew him of yore in his youthful days;
his aged father was Ecgtheow named,
to whom, at home, gave Hrethel the Geat
his only daughter.'” (ll.371-375a from gutenberg.org)

It sounds like an old poem. Yet, if you compare that to Seamus Heaney’s much more recent translation of the same passage it seems a little younger:

“Hrothgar, protector of Shieldings, replied:
‘I used to know him when he was a young boy.
His father before him was called Ecgtheow.
Hrethel the Geat gave Ecgtheow
his daughter in marriage.'”
(ll.371-375a from Seamus Heaney’s Beowulf)

The difference is clear in Heaney’s preference for a more common, everyday syntax.

Interestingly, though, Hrothgar’s dialogue tends more towards Gummere’s version.

Alliteration is a major feature of Old English poetry. Don’t ask why rhyming hadn’t caught on as much, no doubt it had to do with the sounds that English used at the time. When you learn to read Old English it isn’t a very sing-song tongue after all. But even keeping in mind the frequency of alliteration in the main text of Beowulf, Hrothgar really puts this poetic device to use. What’s more, he seems to really like the first sound of his name since much of the alliteration in his dialogue is “h” alliteration.

Perhaps littering his lines with “h” alliterations was the poet/scribe’s way of showing which lines were Hrothgar’s. Early writing was pretty scant on punctuation marks, and readers would much appreciate that sort of signal whether they were reading aloud or more silently to themselves.

But what Hrothgar’s taste for alliteration signals to me is that even in the world of the poem he’s a relic. Even some of his syntax is so much like Gummere’s translation that I’m left wondering if the original poet/scribe was actively copying a kind of old, poetic style for the elder Dane. I mean, lines like

“ðonne sægdon þæt sæliþende,/þa ðe gifsceattas Geata fyredon/þyder to þance, þæt he XXXtiges/manna mægencræft on his mundgripe”

would translate literally as

“Once said of him sailors,/those that gifts from Geatland brought/thither as thanks, that he thirty/men’s might has in his hand-grip” (ll.377-380).

Word order is shuffled, and clauses are delayed into a strange arrangement. It’s almost as if Hrothgar is a living link to an earlier time in the world, a time that is ending just as Beowulf’s own era is beginning. No wonder Hrothgar came across as depressed in last week’s entry.

But perhaps that’s the point. Amongst all of the battles and the monsters Beowulf is positioned as a figure of transition. From the old ways to the new. From the old gods equated with “the soul-slaying fiend” (l.178) to the new “Lord” who keeps saving Beowulf’s bacon as he gets it ever closer not to the frying pan but to the flames.

Old English’s lack of regulated spelling makes translation difficult at times. Most modern editions of texts will have some degree of standardization to their spelling, but there are still some outlier words. Take for example line 373’s “ealdfæder.”

Translated literally, I would render this compound word “old-father” possibly even “grandfather.” Such a translation isn’t out of the question, since “ealdfæder” could be a variation of “ieldrafæder,” the Old English word for “grandfather.”

However, in the context that “ealdfæder” appears, such a translation is troublesome. This difficulty comes up because the word refers to Ecgtheow who is Beowulf’s father and most certainly not his grandfather.

It’s a tiny detail, and, to be honest, “ealdfæder” is probably in that line simply to alliterate with “Ecgtheow.” But nonetheless, it’s a bit disorienting to come across such a word when you expect a simple “father” to come up.

Heaney changed “father” to “father before him” in his translation, and I think that’s a great choice. It sets this appearance of Ecgtheow’s apart from the others, and also acknowledges the element of time inherent in “ealdfæder.” It’s the same reason that I appended “of old” to the word, despite the ambiguity this phrase brings into the matter. Namely, was Beowulf’s father once called “Ecgtheow” but is now called something else? Or is Ecgtheow now long dead and hence is himself “of old”?

Next week Hrothgar concludes the message he sends back to Beowulf via Wulfgar.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

A Blogger's Beowulf

An Old English enthusiast's translation of Beowulf. Plus a little bit about Beowulf's impact on modern culture.

Category Archives: Beowulf

Taking a break for a brew and some nuanced words (ll.491-498)

Hrothgar’s pro-story agenda and two normal compounds (ll.480-490)

Hrothgar prefaces Grendel and a word combines “foolish” and “fiend” (ll.473-479)

Beowulf focuses though his words run free (ll.442-455)

Beowulf’s slip of the tongue and linden wood’s importance? (ll.429-441)

Beowulf’s forceful resumé and multi-purpose words (ll.419-428)

Beowulf’s poetic introduction and troubling relations (ll.407-418)

Beowulf’s placement and Wulfgar’s use of "you" (ll.389b-398) [Old English]

On Danish welcomes and curious compounds (ll.381b-389a) [Old English]

Hrothgar as grammatical relic and Beowulf’s grandfather? (ll.371-381a) [Old English]