Unferth doubly damns a doomed Beowulf (ll.520-528)

Posted on 2014/08/29 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Unferth’s biting conclusion
Normal words spiced with speculation
Closing

A medieval depiction of a donkey. An apt animal for Unferth.

Unferth finishes his account of Beowulf and Breca’s swimming match before predicting Beowulf’s doom at the hands of Grendel.

“‘Then he sought his dear father land
those dear to him, the land of the Brondings,
splendid strongholds against war, where he had folk
fortress and rings. So in truth the son of Beanstan
fully bested you by endurance in your bet with him.
Then I believe that you will have the worse outcome,
though thou hast thrived in combat everywhere,
bloody battle, if thou darest wait
nearly all the long night for Grendel'”
(Beowulf ll.520-528)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

Haters are gonna hate. Doubters are gonna doubt. But Unferth, really, seems to be neither of these things.

There’s no two ways about it: he doesn’t like Beowulf. And his account of the swimming match between Beowulf and Breca does not put the poem’s titular character in a good light.

But, I don’t think Unferth’s being entirely dismissive of Beowulf either last week’s or this week’s half of his outburst. I think he’s being a little more precise with his heckling.

I’m grounding this idea of Unferth’s being more subtle in his line “though thou hast thrived in combat everywhere,/bloody battle” (“ðeah þu heaðoræsa gehwær dohte,/grimre guðe” (l.526-527)). It’s sarcastic, sure. But Unferth isn’t just being smarmy, he’s saying that Beowulf lacks individual prowess.

Battles, such as they were in the early medieval period, were free for alls. Melees.

As such, there would be individual bouts, sure, but these would be surrounded by other fights. Within the mesh of warriors mashing each other to pulp archers could have your back. Fellow warriors, spearmen or swordmen, could have your back. So as long as you were quick enough and didn’t get in the way of your support team, you could no doubt do quite well and be quite the celebrated warrior.

After all, the Anglo-Saxons recognized that team work was an essential thing both on and off the battlefield. They were well aware that if you completely isolated yourself socially, you would have no means of understanding what was going on outside of your hall or hovel.

So I think that Unferth presents his account of Breca to say that Beowulf, for all of his boasting about beating Grendel, isn’t likely to come off well because his usual strategy of working in a tight team (he does have what is basically a comitatus of 12 Geats with him after all) won’t work because it hasn’t worked for the Danes.

Moreover, I think Unferth’s using the swimming match to illustrate Beowulf’s individual incompetence is meant to underline his inability to cope with things alone. It was he who floated off and wound up washed ashore in some foreign land, after all.

Breca, on the other hand, according to Unferth (or rather, the version of events that he heard – or maybe is making up on the spot), won their match handily. As such Beowulf is bound to get “the worst outcome” (“wyrsan geþingea” (l.525)) if he waits for Grendel.

As to why Unferth bothers specifying the difference in Beowulf’s team and solo performances in this subtle way, I think it’s because it’s more biting than just saying “hey, you work well in a team but stink on your own.”

Unferth is supposed to pose a threat to Beowulf’s state of mind and the way in which he’s perceived by the other Danes. Thus, he damns him directly and then follows up with further damning via faint praise. At least poetically (and in my own opinion), this is the best way to do so.

What do you think? Is Unferth just being sarcastic when he talks of Beowulf having “thrived in combat everywhere”? Or is there a bit of faint praise there?

What to say about the words in this extract, this passage? Well, there aren’t many strange compounds. Actually, there really aren’t any at all.

There’s the word “eðel,” meaning “country,” “native land,” “ancestral home.” This word is completely straightforward when it comes to translating (though some might argue its implications that Anglo-Saxons had a sense of nationality or some grander unity beyond their immediate group are anachronistic).

But in this word’s dictionary entry, you can find that it combines with the word for whales (“hwales”) to make a compound word for “sea.” Of course, this makes sense, since the sea is the whales’ ancestral home and native land.

Though I can’t help but read this combination and think that the Anglo-Saxons had some crazy ideas about the origins of whales and just what they were. It’s not very likely, but maybe some had over developed vestigial legs and so the very early Anglo-Saxons regarded the whales as being somewhat like them?

Or maybe because of the whales’ incredible strength and size and sociability they were regarded as being powerful denizens of the sea in a kind of spiritual way.

Maybe they were just big creatures that captured the imaginations of the Anglo-Saxons and fired up many a tale around a hearth fire.

There’s also the phrase “þaer he folk ahte.” Unferth uses this to describe Breca’s homeland. It more than likely means that he just had kinsmen there. But, because the word “ahte” means “to have, possess,” and combines with “folc,” could it be a reference to Breca’s having slaves or servants in that country?

It’s incredibly unlikely that that’s what’s intended, but it is something to think about. Maybe “having slaves there” was a kind of short hand for “has a well-established home there.” But that’s some deep speculation on my part. So deep in fact, that it’s pretty much groundless.

Rounding out the collection of words to at least stop and sniff at in this week’s passage is “freoð-burh.”

A combination of “friðu” meaning “peace, safety, protection; refuge, asylum” and “burh” meaning “stronghold,” “enclosed area,” this word strikes me as notable for its redundancy.

You’d hope that a stronghold or enclosed area would offer safety and protection. Though, maybe it’s like Old English’s use of double negatives for emphasis. Doubling up on words that imply protection means that this fortress of Breca’s is nigh unto impenetrable and so well-supplied that none could successfully lay siege to it or capture it in all out war.

If this Breca is the same Breca who later became a ruler of the strategic Swedish island of Brännö, then such a fortress may well have been there. Any strategic site in medieval Europe would need to be well fortified, after all.

What do you think of my interpretations of these words and phrase? Am I onto anything, or just filling space with groundless speculation?

Well, we’ve heard Unferth’s heckling of Beowulf. It kind of splutters near the end, though. Next week we’ll get the main man’s reply.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Unferth blasts boasts, and I wonder about boats (ll.506-519)

Posted on 2014/08/21 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Unferth blasts boasts
Did Beowulf and Breca row or swim for their row?
Closing

An ornate boat from a medieval manuscript. Found at http://azelina.wordpress.com/about-2/first-experiences-of-literature-and-writing/.

Unferth sets up his eventual accusation of Beowulf.

“‘Art thou the Beowulf, he who contended against Breca,
on the wide sea in a swimming contest,
where you two for pride moved as you could
and for a foolish boast in the deep water
ventured your lives? No man whatever,
neither loved nor loathed, could dissuade you two
from that distressing journey, as you rowed out to sea;
there you two eagerly covered the waters with your arms,
traversing the sea-street, moving more quickly with your hands,
gliding over spear-like waves. Ocean ripples roiled,
the winter’s surge; you two on the waters
had toil for seven nights; he who the flood overcame,
it had greater strength; so that come the morning
the sea had carried him to the land of the Heatho-Reams.'”
(Beowulf ll.506-519)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

Unferth addresses Beowulf like any one wishing to talk to someone contemptuously would: in the third person.

But what’s weird about how Unferth speaks to Beowulf in this part of his counter-boast is that he continues to talk about Beowulf in the third person after starting with “[a]rt thou the Beowulf[?]” (“[e]art þu se Beowulf[?]” (l.506))

The distancing that’s going on in this continued use of “he” definitely makes it clear that Unferth wants as little to do with the Geat as possible.

It also makes it clear that he’s holding himself aloft from Beowulf’s heroic persona.

Unferth’s relation of the swimming contest definitely doesn’t confirm Beowulf as some sort of grandiose figure. Instead it portrays him as nothing more than an idle-boaster (think of a drunk challenging all comers to whatever contest they might cook up), someone who tries to aggrandize himself through pointless challenges. Not entirely unlike a lot of modern day reality TV.

Actually, I think the implication of Unferth’s claim and that sort of TV are the same.

He’s implying that Beowulf has nothing better to do than to engage in such contests, just as a lot of reality TV’s audience probably has nothing better to do than watch (and/or participate). Unferth’s point in making this implication is to show that Beowulf isn’t nearly as worthy as a champion as he’s made himself out to be.

In fact, Unferth suggests that Beowulf not only lost the swimming contest, but in fact wound up washed ashore – the sea overcame him!

Him, the one with the power of thirty men in his grip!

Him, the one who has so pompously boasted that he will kill Grendel (if god so allows)!

On the one hand it’s easy to see how Unferth’s bringing up an old challenge is a direct attack on Beowulf’s integrity. Maybe the story of this swimming match is something that Beowulf would rather keep under wraps, and Unferth, in revealing it to all of Heorot’s gathered elite, has destroyed Beowulf’s posture of perfect warrior-hood. Or maybe it’s something ambiguous that Beowulf’s had to explain away before.

On the other hand, is there really any shame in being overcome by the sea? Especially after, as Unferth puts it, having “had toil for seven nights” (“æht/seofon niht swuncon” (ll.516-517)) on its waters?

It’s easy to see how Unferth’s sudden accusation would probably turn heads and gather all of the crowd’s attention onto Beowulf – the one who, until Unferth opened his mouth – was very clearly the focus of the Danes’ hopes for relief from Grendel.

But, I think, Unferth’s broad and accusatory tone, combined with his distancing Beowulf through the use of the third person in his accusation, also signalled to the poem’s listeners that Unferth’s threat to Beowulf’s heroic image is fiery but unfounded. His appeal to the rhetorical tactic of immediately seizing upon some hitherto unknown weakness of his target probably sounded as desperate to that early audience as it does to us, familiar as we are with political debates.

In fact, we can, I think, almost see Beowulf slowly nodding and grinning slightly as Unferth speaks, knowing full well that he can either twist the man’s version of the story to maintain his heroic image or correct it with his own version of what happened – the truth.

Do you think Unferth is just a strawman the poet set up for Beowulf to knock down? Or does he pose a real threat? Write your take in the comments.

The exact word that Unferth uses to describe the challenge between Beowulf and Breca is “dol-gilpe.” This word, when translated as a whole comes out as “idle-boasting.” Taken as the words “dol” and “gilpe” we get “foolish,” “silly,” and “presumptuous,” and “boasting,” “pride,” “arrogance,” “fame,” and “glory” respectively.

Cultural differences between the Anglo-Saxons and ourselves aside, the first half of the word is none too flattering, and being able to interpret “gilpe” as “arrogance” doesn’t do much for the second half. So this word’s pejorative connotation, at least in Unferth’s usage, is pretty clear to see.

Even combining one of the more upstanding interpretations of “gilpe” with any of those for “dol” gives us something like “silly glory” or “presumptuous glory.” In other words, a sort of glory that is as valuable as the sands on which Beowulf washed up. This quality of “dol-gilpe” shows that there is some meat to Unferth’s calling Beowulf out on his boastful ways.

In a way, Unferth’s even trying to get under the skin of boasting words in that using the word “dol-gilpe” could well imply that all boasts are nothing more than words.

Although the parallel isn’t perfect, it could even be that Unferth is trying to make the swimming contest and Beowulf’s challenging Grendel parallel events. Both start with idle boasting, nothing more than words, and then deeds are quickly shown to run contrary to all those words. Actually, on the level of words, Unferth could also use this compound (matters of the poet’s concern with alliteration aside) to call attention to Beowulf’s affected way of speaking, his use of stiff forms of address and of formalized rhetoric.

On the topic of words and their being void of meaning, Unferth’s “reon” in line 512 may as well mean nothing.

This word, as it appears, means “rowing.” It could also, however, mean “go by water, sail, swim.”

In the context of Unferth’s telling of the swimming contest between Breca and Beowulf this brings up a small, but niggling question: Did they row out to sea and then start swimming? Or did the two start from the shore?

As I said, it’s a very minor thing, but it is an important detail. If they did row out to sea in a boat, then it’s likely that some sort of third party was involved – otherwise that boat would have to be abandoned.

If there was a third party, he could have stopped the two, or he could have been the contests’ judge. Also, if they did go out in a boat, then maybe the race was merely from the boat to the shore. In that case it’s possible that Beowulf wound up ashore elsewhere because he tripped on the boat’s edge, fell into the sea rather than heroically leaping into it, and was washed away.

If “reon” is meant to be “swim” or “go by water,” though, and Beowulf and Breca swam for the entirety of their challenge, then it could well have been nothing more than a contest between two drunks who jumped in the ocean late at night and wound up ashore elsewhere some time later.

Without clarity about the boat – not to mention clarity about the rules of the race – it’s entirely unclear just what happened. We only have Unferth’s (and later Beowulf’s) version of events to go by.

There may be some clue as to how deep the waters were, though, in the word “gar-secg.”

Literally translated as “spear-sea,” this word implies that the waters were choppy, the tiny waves atop it looking like spear blades pointing skyward (or, feeling like the points of hundreds of spears because of the intense chill). If the waters were that choppy, the race must’ve been a ways out to sea, and a boat was probably present. Probably. Maybe the boatman was among the “neither loved nor loathed” (“ne leof ne lað” (l.511)) who couldn’t dissuade Beowulf and Breca from their fool’s errand.

Do you think the two “rowed” out to sea, or “swam”? Leave your take on this in the comments.

Next week, Unferth’s attack on Beowulf continues. Can it get much nastier?

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Tolkien’s influence on Unferth? And unbinding battle runes. (ll.499-505)

Posted on 2014/08/15 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Unferth’s first impression – a success?
Unpacking the battle runes
Closing

What they are: Runestones. What they mean: …I’m not entirely sure.

Unferth is brought onto the stage and introduced as a self-important toady who can’t stand the greatness of others.

“Unferth spoke, son of Ecglaf*
he who sat at the foot of the Scylding lord,
unbound battle words**, that venture of Beowulf’s,
the courageous sea-farer, a great grudge***,
for he would not allow that any other man
over all the earth and under heaven
could ever achieve fame to match his own:****”
(Beowulf ll.499-505)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

*”Ecglaf” – “sword-leaving/Sword-heirloom” Hm. So he’s a child of war? Or is this a ref to penis?
**onband beadu-rune: unbound his ‘secret of a quarrel’ [HALL, MERRIT]//battle words/hostile words [CL WRENN] = unbound + war/battle/fighting/strife + mystery/secrecy/secret/counsel,consultation;council;runic character, letter;writing – Is this meant to be a foil to beowulf’s “unlocked his word hoard”? Hm…
***interweaving structure starts up here. This clause refers back to the battle words.
****Gets really, really tangled in terms of regular ModE syntax here. A literal translation is
“|that any other man//ever fame compared to greater|in earth//care for under heaven| than he himself:”
-Unferth introduced as one who sits at the feet of Hrothgar, a close councilor, a coward who is close to Hrothgar to avoid fighting. Does this relate to his father’s name? Is my impression of him as wormtongue because he could be the template for wormtongue or because I encountered wormtongue first? Hm…little help, Tolkien?

Beowulf is not a poem that’s full of characters or character introductions. Many of those that do appear in it are just dropped into place. Wulfgar, Hrothgar’s trusted councillor and herald is a great example of this class of character. Major characters like Hrothgar and Beowulf, on the other hand, get more of an introduction.

And then there’s Unferth.

This guy, whom I’ll forever remember as being well-played by John Malkovich in the mostly terrible Zemeckis Beowulf of 2007, is a character of a third sort.

Unferth occupies a grey middle ground between protagonist and antagonist. In this position he’s able to become a much more interesting character than most of the others in the poem. Yet these seven lines are his introduction, and set the tone for his character going forward.

So what can we say about him?

Being told that he comes from the foot of Hrothgar, tells us that he’s very close to the elder Dane. He’s probably a councillor in a similar capacity to Wulfgar.

However, his breaking into the poem with the line “Unferth spoke, son of Ecglaf,” (“Unferð maþelode, Ecglafes bearn” (l.499)) gives the impression that he’s been holding his tongue until this very moment, at which, like a coiled cobra, he strikes into the din of the partying troop.

Nonetheless, he’s saved from being entirely maligned in the reference to his father that the poet adds in for alliterative reasons.

Though what kind of a father a man named “sword heirloom” was is up for debate. Maybe he was the son of some sort of illicit, war-time love affair. Or, maybe more crudely, his name’s a play on simply being a “sword’s leavings.” Either way, it’s not him but his son (whose name in the manuscript is reported as “Hunferth”) that we’re concerned with here.

After the next line in which we’re told that he was sitting at Hrothgar’s foot the poet decides to shuffle the syntax of his line halves around. This means that, as had happened in some of Hrothgar’s dialogue, one line contains two halves that combine with the next line’s opposite halves to create full thoughts.

Making this change in descriptive poetry rather than dialogue, where we’ve mostly seen it before, leaves me with the impression that these lines are made to endure. They’re given extra care in their making, and so are meant to stand as important. Of course, the single phrase “unbound his battle words” (“onband beadu-rune” (l.501)) also marks this as important. For the poet earlier used a similar phrase to set off the first speech of the poem’s hero himself.

As a gamer immersed in the lore of The Legend of Zelda, I can’t help but take this parallel sort of setup as a cue to view Unferth as Shadow Beowulf.

This man is a reflection of Beowulf’s darker side and what he could become were he to use his powers for ill.

The poet doesn’t give much leeway for such an interpretation after this echoing phrase, though, since we’re told in some of the most tangled Old English I’ve ever read, that Unferth can’t stand the thought that anyone is considered more famous than himself.

Nonetheless, Beowulf’s key characteristic up to this point is his optimism. His boasts are claims of great power and the ability to defeat Grendel despite the odds. He willingly faces death with high hopes for glory.

Here, though, we’re shown that Unferth’s outlook is inherently pessimistic since he refuses to acknowledge anything great from outside of himself. To some extent, this portrayal makes him Beowulf’s foil. It also makes him a character that forces Beowulf to reflect on his own goals and aspirations. This gives Beowulf some room to grow spiritually, perhaps something that’s required of him to overcome Grendel.

It’s also got to be said of Unferth that I can’t decide if I view him as a slimy toady sort of character because I first encountered a similar type in Tolkien’s Wormtongue or if I see him as such because Tolkien used him as a template for Wormtongue.

What do you think is more likely? What came first in terms of impressions – the slimy underling Wormtongue or the shady and suspect Unferth?

Carrying on from something mentioned above, let’s take a look at the phrase “onband beadu-rune” (“onband beadu-rune” (l.501)) Starting, of course, with the definitions of each word.

The verb here, “onband,” is quite close to its Modern English equivalent: “unbound.” It could also mean “untie,” “loosen,” “release,” or “disclose.”

The word “beadu” translates as “war,” “battle,” “fighting,” “strife.”

And, finally, the word “rune,” along with its less than helpful translation to the Modern English “rune” could also mean “mystery,” “secrecy,” “secret,” “counsel,” “consultation;” “secret council;” “runic character,” “letter,” or “writing.” Translating it as “words” is kind of a stretch, but it’s one that fits well and makes clear sense of the phrase.

But those first four definitions of the word are tempting. The word “rune” is clearly one that’s quite coloured by things unknown, unseen.

Perhaps it’s the poet’s use of this word rather than something more straightforward like, well, “word” that puts me in mind of Tolkien’s Wormtongue as I read this passage.

The word “rune” is definitely not used for reasons of alliteration, since it’s the only word that starts with “r” in the line. In fact, people who know more about Old English prosody than I could probably argue that “rune” could be substituted for with “word” with only a small change to the quality of the line.

So then why is it there? Why choose the word “rune” if it has these associations with the mysterious rather than a straightforward word?

I think it’s used here because it suggests that Unferth is about to say things that Beowulf would rather have hidden. He is about to challenge Beowulf not with swords but with facts to undercut his boasts.

In a metaphorical sense, this makes Unferth a representation of Beowulf’s doubt.

A hero of so clear a purpose and one-track a mind can’t be clouded by complex internal strife, and so the self-doubt that a normal person would feel in Beowulf’s position is placed in another character all together. Personifying Beowulf’s doubts like this allows him to overcome and disprove them, basically to work through them, in the forum that Heorot provides. It gives Beowulf a chance to speak through the secrets and possibly less-than-heroic facts of his past.

That Unferth would utter such secrets does nothing for his character, though. The idea that he can’t stand the existence or idea of there being people more famous than himself around boldly paints him as a schemer and underhanded coward. He’s a cad who would sooner undercut a boaster than suffer him to try to actually fulfil his boasts.

I think that quality in his character – an apparent desire to impose his own limits on other people – is what gives the lasting impression of Unferth’s villainy. He is made to personify the antithesis of the idea of grasping beyond what you expect is your reach.

As a people interested in treasure and in venturing off to new locales, I think it goes without saying that the Anglo-Saxons prized such a characteristic in people. It’s definitely a strong one in Beowulf and he’s the poem’s hero after all.

So maybe my reaction to Unferth is less learned and more cultural.

But just what are the secrets that Unferth lets out of the bag? Well, find out in next week’s extract!

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

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.

Hrothgar’s speech gets casual but his words stay interesting (ll.456-472)

Posted on 2014/07/11 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Hrothgar gets calculatedly casual
Less colourful words, but words nonetheless
Closing

An example of an image touched with gold leaf from an illuminated manuscript. Image from http://ica.princeton.edu/conferences/2010march16-17.php.

Hrothgar replies to Beowulf. He opens with an explanation of how and when he knew his father.

“Hrothgar spoke, protector of the Scyldings:
‘For manly deeds thou, friend of mine Beowulf,
and for our benefit have you sought us.
Thy father fought his way into a terrible feud,
he became Heatholaf’s killer by hand
amongst the Wulfings; so that he might not have
shelter with those kin for dread of war.
From thence he sought South Dane folk
over the surging waves, the Ar-Scyldings;
that was when I had just begun rule of the Danish people
and in youth governed this fierce empire,
walled and treasure-filled towns of warriors;
then was Heregar dead, my elder kinsmen left unliving,
son of Halfdane; he was better than I!
Afterwards I settled that feud with goods;
sent I to the Wulfings over the water’s ridges
old treasures; he to me oaths swore.'”
(Beowulf ll.456-472)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

It seems that Beowulf has proven himself to Hrothgar.

Certainly not because he’s shown the Danish lord what he can do, but because his words have inspired him with belief. That’s my explanation for Hrothgar’s switching to a more plain speaking style, anyway.

Throughout the entirety of his speech in this week’s extract, Hrothgar leaves out any sort of interlaced structure. He doesn’t start an idea before the caesura of one line and then end it on the opposite side of the next line’s mid-way pause.

Considering that he’s just met Beowulf, and only just heard him speak, Hrothgar is also being quite open and forthwith. Certainly the thanes that he has around him would only faintly correct him when he says that his brother was a better man than he (l.469) at this point in the struggle with Grendel, but it’s still a strange thing to admit to a total stranger.

One thing’s for sure, historical accuracy in regards to these men’s exchange takes a back seat here.

Instead of having to go through several meetings to get to this level of candid speech, Hrothgar just immediately moves to it after hearing Beowulf’s pitch. And that is exactly what the main man’s speech was, a pitch.

Epic poems can’t be all bluster and long-winded speeches after all, so rather than showing a series of meetings between the leaders where Beowulf and Hrothgar gradually build up a rapport and mutual trust (no doubt a decent way to turn this story into a modern novel), the poet just has Hrothgar accept Beowulf at his word. Oh – and at his father’s word, too.

For, although Ecgtheow isn’t present, I think his having sworn oaths to Hrothgar (l.472) gives Beowulf some privileges within his estimation. From the sounds of it Ecgtheow caused Hrothgar some worry when he was just starting to rule over the Danes, but I think something important remains unsaid here.

I think that Hrothgar’s being given the opportunity to solve the feud between Ecgtheow and the Wulfings is something that he used to secure his then new-found position as ruler of the Danes.

On line 467 he describes the Danish people as consisting of “walled and treasure-filled towns of warriors” (“hordburh hæleþa”). These are a people who would probably not readily transition into having a new king. Any one who was fresh to the throne would likely have to prove himself worthy of it.

Such proof would probably come in the form of a show of might, but I think part of why Hrothgar brings up Ecgtheow here is that he sees the man as having given him an alternative way of showing is aptitude. He’s given a diplomatic situation to solve, and he does so handily. Hrothgar sends the Wulfings what amounts to wergild – payment as recompence for a slaying – and gets the exile to swear oaths to him. Thus, the Wulfings are appeased and the threat that is Ecgtheow is neutralized.

So on one hand, Hrothgar helped Ecgtheow when he was in a tight spot. Being exiled because you’ve killed a man with your bare hands isn’t an enviable position. But Hrothgar took Ecgtheow in. On the other hand, Ecgtheow helped Hrothgar, though it seems that this help was much less explicit. Yet, I think that Hrothgar is well aware of both of these and so he feels desperation because only might (something Hrothgar lacks) can deal with Grendel and a sense of obligation to Ecgtheow’s kin.

Hrothgar’s feeling this way explains his shift into a more open style of conversation.

Going further, I think that Hrothgar mentions the oaths that Ecgtheow swore to him to confirm to Beowulf his father’s honorability and to inspire in our hero a sense of filial obligation. Beowulf did not take such oaths. Nor can he be expected to at this point in his relationship with Hrothgar.

Yet, Hrothgar would certainly have been aware of Beowulf’s understanding of the importance of words after hearing his pitch. Thus, he likely mentioned his father’s oaths in a calculated move to appeal to Beowulf’s underlying philosophy of following through on his word.

So Hrothgar’s jumping to much more open speech (though it’s still not free from his use of words like “ðu”) fits into the poem’s current situation. This shift is also, of course, a convenient way to pick up the story’s pace.

Hrothgar’s speech is much less colourful than Beowulf’s. He doesn’t use nearly as many words that could be interpreted in more than one way, nor does he use that many compound words. Though of those that he does use, the curious “hordburh” and “gesloh,” an example of how much the prefix “ge” can change a word, are worth pointing out.

The word “hordburh” is made up of the word “hord” (meaning “treasure”) and the word “burh” (meaning “walled town,” “fort,” or “castle”). This word is noteworthy partially because it also appears in the Anglo-Saxon poetic version of Genesis and the Cartularium Saxonicum (a collection of Old English charters), and apparently in all three can mean simply “treasure city.”

Now, fierce as the Danish people that Hrothgar rules over are, and as likely as they are to live in towns filled with plunder, “treasure city” just doesn’t have enough of a ring to it for my tastes. So I got a little creative and instead rendered “hordburh” as “walled and treasure-filled towns.” It’s a bit wordy, but I think it works.

Modern English just doesn’t compound like its ancestor.

The other word to be aware of in this week’s excerpt is “gesloh.”

This prefixed verb means “to enter into by fighting.” It’s pretty straightforward in context, and I’ve kept it nearly as it is in the passage above. But what happens when you take “ge” away?

The word “sloh” is a form of “slean,” which can mean “strike,” “beat,” “stamp,” “coin (money),” or “forge (weapons)” in one sense, “throw,” “cast,” “sting,” or “pitch,” in another, “strike across,” “dash,” “break,” “rush,” or “come quickly” and “slay,” or “kill” in yet another. It’s a single word that covers a lot of ground. Yet with “ge” added to it, it becomes quite narrowly focused.

Though, in the first sense of “slean” there’s some of “geslean” to be seen. For that first group of words relates to creation in some form or another (as long as you understand “strike” and “beat” as referring to hitting instruments or mixing things. Building on this relationship, I think that you can draw a connection between the first sense of an un-prefixed word and its prefixed form. The latter may also bring in some of the former’s other senses.

Another word that becomes more specific when you add “ge” to it is “ascian.”

On its own, this word means “ask,” “inquire,” “seek for,” “demand,” as well as “call,” or “summon,” and “examine,” or “observe.”

Put a little “ge” on the front, though, and the word means “to learn by asking,” “discover,” or “hear of.”

These “ge-” words are sort of the opposite of the words that I’ve been tracking over the last few weeks because of their specificity, but they’re just too odd to pass up.

There really isn’t anything like the “ge” prefix in Modern English. Just another reason to study these old books.

Next week Hrothgar continues to speak, telling Beowulf that his thanes are thinning out.

As for this week’s excerpt: What do you make of Hrothgar’s switching tones? Do you think that he’s come to trust Beowulf based on his family connections and speech alone?

What about this week’s words, “is walled, treasure-filled town” a good translation of “hordburh”?

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.

A Blogger's Beowulf

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

Unferth doubly damns a doomed Beowulf (ll.520-528)

Unferth blasts boasts, and I wonder about boats (ll.506-519)

Tolkien’s influence on Unferth? And unbinding battle runes. (ll.499-505)

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)

Hrothgar’s speech gets casual but his words stay interesting (ll.456-472)

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)