Credits in a Comitatus and Boasts Filled with Wonder Words [ll.2484-2495] (Old English)

Posted on 2012/03/16 by NSCZach

The Translation
Ongentheow’s Killer and the Comitatus
“heoro-blāc”
“ēðel-wynn”
“Gifðum”
Wrap-up

{a younger Beowulf, perhaps, flashing his gams and doing some boasting. From “Gayle’s Bard Blog.”}

The Translation

We return to Beowulf now, as he rounds out his history lesson and starts to verbally fist pump. Let’s listen in:

“Then in the morning I heard that his kin
avenged him by the blade, plunged its edge to end
the slayer’s life where Eofor’s attack fell upon Ongenþēow;
his war-helm split, the Swedish warlord
fell sword-wan; his hand held memory enough
of feuding, he could not hold off that fatal blow.

“The treasure, which Hygelac gave to me,
I won for him by flashing sword; he gave to me land,
a native place, land joy. For him there was no need,
no reason to be required to seek some worse warrior
from the gifthouse or the spear-danes or the swedes,
my worth was well known.”
(Beowulf ll.2484-2495)

Some interesting stuff is going on in this passage.

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Ongentheow’s Killer and the Comitatus

First, there’s the question of who killed Ongenþēow. The text suggests that it was Hygelac who killed him “by the sword’s edge” (“billes ecgum” l.2485), but it also mentions an Eofor who is credited with splitting his helmet (“thǣr Ongenþēow Eofores nīosað;/gūð-helm tōglād” ll.2486-7). So who’s the real hero, Beowulf?

To a modern reader this double crediting of Ongenþēow’s kill (something that might lead to another killing if it happened in a MMORPG), might seem confused. But, to an Anglo-Saxon sensibility, it makes perfect sense.

Consider for a minute the fact that Hygelac is, at the point when Ongenþēow’s killed, the leader of the Geat forces against the Swedes at this battle since Hæðcyn has been killed. Thus, Eofor is fighting as Hygelac’s thane – Eofor is part of Hygelac’s group.

In Anglo-Saxon terms, such a group could be called a “comitatus,” a band of warriors held together by mutual quid pro quo. If a warrior pledges his life and sword to a lord, he fights until his death – even if that lord should die before he does. In return, the lord provides the warrior with treasure and land.

“The Battle of Maldon” is a perfect example of the comitatus style of loyalty because it tells of a band of warriors that fights on after their lord dies, even though they all know that they are doomed to die.

What’s happening in Beowulf, then, is that Hygelac is being credited with Eofor’s kill because Hygelac is the head of the Geats, of the Geatish comitatus, and likewise, all of the warriors within Hygelac’s comitatus are his swords. So it’s fair to say that Hygelac had his vengeance on Ongenþeow by the edge of the sword, in the sense that he was killed by one of Hygelac’s men.

At the level of words within the passage, there are indeed a few that are quite curious.

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“heoro-blāc”

The word “heoro-blāc”, meaning “mortal wound” is unique among these curious words since it is a somewhat mysterious combination of “heoru” meaning “sword” and “blāc” meaning “pallid, pale, wan.” So, literally, someone who is “heoro-blāc” is “sword-pale.”

Unfortunately, the literal translation doesn’t work quite so well, since “sword-pale” suggests that something is as pale as a sword. Depending on what it’s made of, a corpse might get to a similar pallor as a clean, shiny sword, but it’s a rather fantastical comparison.

“Mortal wound” is a little on the nose, though, so “sword-wan” is what was used above. The term is used in the senses that Ongenþēow is weakened by the sword, and about as strong as a sword without a wielder. He is mighty, yet useless, as he lay where Eofor split his helmet.

Moving into Beowulf’s boast about his own accomplishments yields more tricky and wondrous words.

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“ēðel-wynn”

First up there’s “ēðel-wynn” meaning “joy of ownership,” but made up of “ēðel” (native land, country, home) and “wynn” (joy). So translating the term as “joy of ownership” does work, in that there will be a joy in a native owning their own land, but at the same time “joy of ownership” falls short by generalizing the original word too much.

Nonetheless, what’s telling about the translation is that it completely ignores the fact that “ēðel-wynn” contains a specific reference to land (“ēðel”). There might not be an exact and precise equivalent term in English, but by cutting out any reference to land, it seems like that there’s a desire to deny a sense of landed-ness in Anglo-Saxon at play.

But that’s just not true.

The fact that a compound word with “ēðel” is used here is important because it shows that whenever Beowulf was written (or maybe even when it was still being sung) land ownership was a big deal to Anglo-Saxons. This means that they might have had a sense of nationhood as we do today, since it wasn’t something nebulous or abstract.

Words like “ēðel-wynn” allow you to make a case that there was a sense among Anglo-Saxons that a place defined a people and that if a certain people was given a certain space then that people would be joyous. So, it seems that Seamus Heaney’s translation of the word as “the security that land brings” is better, though still wanting for the implied sense of nationhood.

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“Gifðum”

The other word is “Gifðum,” which is not in the Clark Hall & Meritt Anglo-Saxon Dictionary. However, Seamus Heaney translates it as “gift house.”

Heaney’s translation might just be in a newer dictionary, or it could be derived from the idea that “Gifðum” is a corruption of “giefu-hus.” A stretch, maybe, but the poem Beowulf isn’t beyond having a few textual ticks here and there.

For example, in the original Anglo-Saxon, there’s a consistent difference in spelling between the first and second halves of the poem, suggesting that there were two scribes involved in making the copy of the poem that we still have today.

Of course, textual ticks or no, that still leaves the nature of “Gifðum” a mystery.

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Wrap-up

If you’ve got your own theory about what “Gifðum” could mean, I want to know, just leave it in a comment for me.

Next week, St. Isidore talks of the goat, we get some more medieval lore, and Beowulf starts into more boasting. Don’t miss it!
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sheep!…Sheep! – Sheep! [12: 10-12] (Latin)

Posted on 2012/03/14 by NSCZach

{A woolly one on the green. From the Netherland National Library’s Collection.}

Following up on his explanation of the differences between pack animals and herd animals – leaving off with the fact that “families” prefer to use goats/sheep for their sacrifices – St. Isidore explains a little bit more about this wondrous animal: the sheep.

Before getting to the translation, however, it must be pointed out that “families” is just one way to translate “gentilis.”

The almost automatic translation is “Gentile,” which may work, but the English translation of the Etymologiae that I use as a loose base text renders it “pagan.” To combine this with the Collins Pocket Gem Latin Dictionary’s translation of “family,” the word “gentilis” will be translated as “pagan clan” from here on out.

Now, without further ado, this week’s translation:

“[10] Wethers, also called males, which are stronger than other sheep; or which are virile, that is of masculine gender; or which have worms in their heads, which excite them by itching to strike each other with mutual force, and to carry out fights with great energy.

[11] Ares or [apo tou areos], that is Mars, these are called; so they are called manly in the flock by us or if that flock belongs to a pagan clan, the ram is first among the flock sacrificed. For the ram is placed on the altars by them. From whence it is: (Sedul. 1,115):

‘Upon the altar sacrifice the ram.’

[12] Lambs in Greek are called [apo tou agnou], as if holy, Latins on the other hand believe that the animal is so named for this reason, for compared with other animals it knows its mother; so that if ever it gets lost in a large flock, it immediately knows its parents by the call of their bleating.”
(St. Isidore of Seville’s Etymologiae: 12: 10-12)

(N.B.: the parts in square brackets are given in Ancient Greek: a dead language that I have yet to try my hand at.)

Where to start with this one? There’s the worms that, St. Isidore writes, are the reason for rams butting each others’ heads; there’s the weird reference to a mysterious work that clearly names rams as sacrifices; and there’s the etymology of the Latin word for lamb: “agnus.”

The beginning is always good.

The idea that worms cause a great itching on rams’ heads and this drives them to fight, is pure medieval bestiary material.

Completely wild ideas, but completely interesting, to boot. What’s most interesting about this idea though, is that it suggests that sheep are naturally harmonious. It isn’t that they butt their heads against trees to help soothe their itching heads, but they butt each other’s heads with “mutual force” (“invicem se concutiunt”). There’s a sense that these animals help each other out.

Even if this explanation for rams charging at each other is fantastical, it’s curious that such camaraderie is ascribed to sheep.

That these animals are also the ones that “Sedul.” dictates for sacrifice follows from this perception of sheep, no doubt. After all, why sacrifice any old animal?

If an animal has special value to humans it will be worth more amongst them. But if an animal seems to have a society going on that is similar to human society (considered the apex of all creation at this time), that must mean that within the cosmos the animal has a worth near that of humans. So, if you’re not going to sacrifice humans, why not sacrifice the next best thing – animals that help each other out.

Better yet, why not sacrifice animals that also show an inherent recognition of family?

The etymology for the Latin word for lamb, “agnus,” adds to this picture of sheep as a human-like animal, at least as far as values go. The word’s ascribed origin (the Latin word “agnosco,” meaning “to know”) also reflects the animal’s apparently Christian values – harmonious living among brethren and being aware of family. In particular, Isidore’s description of a lamb recognizing its parents by the sound of their voice (“statim balatu recognoscat vocem parentis” 12.12) is rather reminiscent of the tripartite holy family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

What’s perplexing though, is that sheep are so fixated on here.

Don’t calves know their mothers? Don’t foals?

Why are sheep so elevated as to have an etymology relating them to the Latin word “agnosco” meaning “to know”? Another, related question, is how “agnosco” morphed into the modern English “agnostic.”

At any rate, sheep might be so highly regarded and focused on simply because they could continuously provide. Year after year they could be sheared, some could be milked, and some could be slaughtered; so year after year they would provide food *and* clothing.

It’s hyperbolic, but that sheep give material for clothing and food turns the Chinese proverb “A warm coat is better than a fully belly” on its ear, since sheep could provide both. Couple that with their perceived cosmic value, and you’ve got a super animal.

What do you think about Isidore’s ideas of sheep? Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments.

So, can St. Isidore best himself as he starts to write of goats? Find out next week!

Before that, though, this week sees Beowulf wrapping up his history lesson and moving into a demonstration of effective boasting. Check back Thursday for it!

Swedish Retribution "from over wide water" [ll.2472-2483] (Old English)

Posted on 2012/03/09 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
On Swedes and Geats
Compounding New Words
Closing

We get the history hard and fast in this week’s passage of Beowulf (ll.2472-2483, Chapter XXXV).

“‘Then between Swedes and Geats was war and enmity;
from over wide water causing laments,
wall-hard warfare, after Hrethel had perished,
Ongeonðēow’s sons to them came,
warlike; they would not free
those they held under sorrow’s sway, and near Hrēosnahill
they oft launched voracious ambushes.
My close-kin avenged this,
feud and war-fire, as it is known,
though one of them bought the victory, at a hard price,
with his life; Haethcyn, Geatish lord,
was taken in the war’s assailing.'”
(Beowulf ll.2472-2483)

{Approximation of the Hrēosnahill fight offered by a mural of the Battle of Maldon. From the Braintree collection of murals.}

Questions bubble up like air in a flagon of ale upon reading this passage. Who was Ongeonðēow? What’s important about Hrēosnahill? What liberties were taken with the translation?

Ongeonðēow [On-g’in-thou] was the king of the Swedes who launched an attack on the Geats to recover his daughter and his gold, both of which had been taken by the Geats on an earlier raid. He was famed as a powerful king, and two Geats (Eofor and Wulf) had to work together to defeat him (read more here). Though, as we’ll see in next week’s entry, Beowulf makes it sound like Hygelac himself lands the deathblow.

Hrēosnahill [Heh-res-na-hill] is where Hæðcyn had taken Ongeonðēow’s daughter, and is apparently a real place (modern Swedish:”Ramshult”), as well as a place that is traditionally within Geatish territory. Go to this Wikipedia page for more info.

So, what’s happening here is a little bit of old fashioned early medieval back and forth. The Geats stole Ongeonðēow’s daughter and gold (according to Wikipedia), and now the Swedes are coming for rescue and revenge – which they (again, from Wikipedia) only half exact. The Swedes recover the woman, but not the gold.

Two liberties were taken in the above translation. In the third line (l.2474) “wall-hard warfare” is altered from the literal “hard warfare” since the alliteration makes it sound more Anglo-Saxon and “hard warfare” isn’t as evocative as the original “here-nīð hearda.”

The phrase “under sorrow’s sway” was also altered from the literal “lamentation holding” since it doesn’t have enough punch in Modern English. It also confuses the metaphor of being held under extreme emotion, which is clarified by “under sorrow’s sway.”

The words “here-nīð,” and “inwit-scearo” are both compound words worthy of elaboration.

The first combines the word for “predatory band, troop, army; war, devastation” (“here”) and for “strife, enmity, attack, spite, affliction,” (“nīð”). Literally, then, it could be rendered “war-strife” or “troop-enmity” and so warfare is a clear translation of it. The redundancy of a literal translation also makes the standard translation of the phrase more efficient than a literal rendering.

The word “inwit-scearo” on the other hand, is more worthy. The term is a mix of “inwit,” meaning “evil, deceit, wicked, deceitful,” and “scearo,” a form of “scieran,” meaning “to cleave, hew, cut; receive tonsure; abrupt.”

Literally, the word could be rendered as “evil-cleave” or “abrupt-deceit” which sound like they could still be productive words among modern counterparts. “Evil-cleave” at least sounds like a technique in an RPG, while “abrupt-deceit” could be a spicier way to describe an ambush or surprise attack.

To let me know what you think about these compound words (or this entry in general) just post a comment below. And feel free to follow this blog, I’ll follow yours back.

Next week, Isidore elaborates on the workings of sheep and rams, and Beowulf tells of Hygelac’s revenge, all the while bolstering his own warrior-like image.

Of Sweaty Armpits and Family Sacrifices [12:7-9] (Latin)

Posted on 2012/03/07 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Some Words to Wonder About
Cows of the Violent Kine
Family and Sacrifices
Closing

Abstract

St. Isidore goes into further detail about pack animals and flocks in today’s extract. And he reveals a thing or two about why sheep are so popular as sacrificial animals.

“[7]The name ‘pack animal’ is derived from their pulling, that they do for our work, or the help they give us in carrying up things or with plowing. For oxen draw the two wheeled coach, and turn the stiff soil of the earth with the ploughshare; horses and donkeys carry loads, and humans, walking in their wake, guide their labour. And so pack animals are so called from those that are of help to men: truly they are animals of powerful greatness.

[8] Also, there are the cattle, whose weapons are attached, that is for war; or that make use of these horns. We understand other cattle to be oxen, for plowing, as if horned or that are equipped with horns. Moreover the cattle are distinguished from the flocks: for cattle are horses and oxen, flocks are truly she-goats and sheep.

[9] Sheep are a soft fleecy herd, with a defenceless body, a gentle spirit, and calling forth with its voice; it is not the oxen that a priest keeps near at hand for the mysteries, but the sheep that are killed for the sacrifice. From this they call them two pronged, those that have two higher teeth amongst eight, those are the ones that families offer exceedingly oft in their sacrifices.”
(St. Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae 12:7-9)

Angel to Abraham: “You’re doing it wrong.”

These three sections at last get clear and close, dealing with things in a markedly medieval manner by looking at categories and clarifying just what those categories mean. Thankfully, it also seems to be going somewhere now. The pack animals are defined, as well as the cattle and the flocks. So Isidore’s moving right along here.

As far as curious words go, “capra” (“she-goat,” or “odour of armpits”) is definitely the strangest in this passage. Particularly fascinating about this word is its standing as a pretty stark reminder of the lack of deodorant in the 7th century when Isidore was writing. Goats might’ve been kept by some throughout the city of Seville as well, making for an immediate and visceral olfactory sensation.

Though, in a society without indoor plumbing, one wonders why a she-goat of all things is paired with the “odour of armpits.”

Speaking of which, when might that second meaning have became attached to the word? Did “capra” have these two meanings from the time it was first used as a word or did it pick up the meaning “odour of armpits” because people realized that armpits and she-goats at least have that in common? We may never know, but that’s part of the fun.

From Isidore’s description, it sounds like cattle were more violent then, too, or at least more prone to actually using their horns. That’s what their having horns and their being described in martial terms (“armis,” meaning “arms, especially for melee combat”) suggests.

It’s also likely that the connection could be held among those who work with cattle as well as the learned who write of cattle, since both groups could have access to stories of bulls and their tempers.

Isidore’s mention of families in paragraph 9 (“gentiles”) is also curious, since it seems almost like a promotional plug – 9/10 families sacrifice sheep with two teeth more prominent than the eight. So why is it there? Is family sacrifice still prevalent? Was it just something done for Easter?

The use of the semi-colon (yes, inserted after the fact, since original mss don’t have punctuation aside from diacritics marking abbreviations and such) suggests that the two sentences are related, but why are those qualities important for a good sacrificial animal?

The soft fleecy-ness, the naturally defenseless body, and the gentle nature – as well as the voice that calls out (“oblatione” which in St. Isidore’s Late Latin referred to a solemn offering) – all of them suggest some sort of inherent sacrificial function.

Soft means penetrable, offering little resistance to the knife, as does the defenceless body. And the gentle spirit suggests that the lamb wouldn’t begrudge the knife.

But the voice that calls out – it could reference an idea that the sheep bleated out a prayer itself as it was being killed or incinerated. An animal uttering such a prayer in death would definitely be favoured for sacrifice, since that bleating could also have the sacrificer’s own prayer projected upon it.

A petition sacrificed in that a way – burned up in the vessel of a living being rather than a piece of paper – would add power to that prayer. Possibly even in early Christian minds.

If you’ve got your own ideas about what some of the subtext or connotations of Isidore’s mention of “families” or structure mean let me know about it in a comment. And do follow this blog if you enjoy it – I’ll be sure to follow yours if you have one.

Check back Thursday for the next section of Beowulf, wherein Beowulf tells of the strife between Swede and Geat – and the fall of a prominent man.

Hreðel’s Choice [ll.2460-2471] (Old English)

Posted on 2012/03/01 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
A Religious Out
Another Crucial Phrase
A Word to Modernize
Closing

In this week’s excerpt Beowulf finishes his retelling of Hreðel’s reaction to Herebeald’s death. The old king is conflicted and ultimately gives up all of his possessions and holdings to his remaining sons:

“‘Then he lays himself in his bed and, wailing a dirge,
is alone even with himself; to him it all seems too large,
the fields and the halls. Thus was the Geat lord’s
heart sorrow after Herebeald
went into that far country; he knew not how he might
wreak his feud on the slayer;
nor could he hate that warrior,
despite his loathsome deed, though he loved him not.
Amidst that sorrow, that which sorely him concerned,
he gave up life’s joys, chose God’s light;
he left all to his sons, as any prosperous man does,
lands and towns, when he left off this life.'”
(Beowulf ll.2460-2471)

What more is there to say here? Hreðel’s great sorrow is combined with the utter failure that he faces in the face of the social code of the feud.

He can’t kill his own son. So he does what anyone in a bind did in those medieval days (and these modern ones as well), he turns to “God’s light”. However, the phrase “chose God’s light,” (“Godes lēoht gecēas” l.2469) is open to interpretation.

Hreðel might’ve gone and joined a monastery, maybe became an anchorite, or he might have just given up entirely and let his body waste away until he died. The phrase could also refer to a conversion, but that interpretation isn’t likely given the history of the poem’s transmission.

If Beowulf was written out by Christian monks as a way of preserving it/using it for teaching/propaganda, it seems odd that a conversion would cause a character to drop out of society as Hreðel, a king, does.

So, I think, that the phrase “chose God’s light” refers to some great act of austerity (fasting, seclusion) that leads Hreðel, in his weakened state, to his death.

{Job also “chose God’s light” it seems. A William Blake original.}

That’s not the only sticky phrase in the mix, though.

Afterall, there is the phrase used to describe the old man of Beowulf’s simile when he shuts himself in his room: “ān æfter ānum.” I translate this as “alone even with himself” (l.2461). As I have it, the phrase might seem to be lacking sense, but it’s based on the apparent meaning of a literal translation: “alone for the purpose of being alone.”

My rendering is intended to have the same basic meaning as a literal translation but with fewer words. “Alone even with himself” demonstrates how the old man is alone and separated from his thoughts and feelings even when he is by himself; that’s just how much his grief and sorrow consume him.

Other than those cruxes, the passage is pretty straightforward. It’s even got a neat Old English word that Modern English should pick up and dust off.

This word is “gum-drēam” (“enjoyment of life”), definitely a favourite. It’s a compounding of a word for “man” (“gumma”) and “joy, mirth, music, singing” (“drēam”), certainly a curious combination.

Literally it would translate as “man-joy” or “man-mirth,” a word that definitely wouldn’t resonate as well in a world where “man” is very rarely used to represent all of humanity. But it’s a cool word, and if, say, someone wanted to bring it back, “lifejoy” or “are-mirth” could work.

If you’ve got your own take on how “gum-dream” could be modernized, or on what Hreðel’s choosing “God’s light” means let me know about it in a comment!

Next week, Isidore writes about animals for war and animals for sacrifice, and Beowulf relates how the Swedes and Geats met in the field of war and how a certain Geat doesn’t return. Watch this blog for those entries next Tuesday and Thursday respectively!

Read on for the Difference Between Herds and Heads of Animals! [12: 4-6] (Latin)

Posted on 2012/02/29 by NSCZach

Introduction
Summary
Translation
Splitting Hairs
The Duality of “Cow”
Closing

{A sheep – certainly a *heard* animal. Image from the National Library of the Netherlands}

Introduction

Welcome back to St. Isidore of Seville’s Etymologiae – specifically book 12, part I (about herd and pack animals).

This week’s entry sees St. Isidore explain quadruped herd animals before moving on to differentiate herd animals from working animals. Let’s get straight to it!

[4] “They are called quadrupeds that walk on four feet: which are similar to herd animals save that they are not under human care; such as hinds, deer, wild donkeys, and others. But this does not include beasts like lions; nor pack animals, such as those humans may/can use like cattle.

[5] “We call all those lacking human languages and likenesses herds. On the other hand, strictly speaking, the name of a herd of such animals as those that are or could be used for food is called by this animal’s name alone, like sheep and pigs or those used for human convenience like horses and oxen.

[6] “The difference between herds and heads of animals: because beasts of burden gather in significance all such animals are called a herd, on the other hand heads of beasts are only those animals which graze, as do the sheep. But in general all that graze are called herd animals.”
(St. Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae 12: 4-6)

Paragraphs [5] and [6] are definitely about splitting hairs. But that’s Isidore’s business here, to try to differentiate between things so finely that his words only differ in their inflection on the page, subtle differences only really visible in their conjugation.

The words that best exemplify this are “pecus, -oris,” meaning “cattle, herd, flock; animal,” and “pecus, -udis,” meaning “sheep, herd of cattle, beast.” Their genitive singular forms (the standard case for a dictionary headword) are clearly similar.

But what really makes their similarity muddying is that when Isidore is describing the difference between herds and heads of animals he only defines one of his two categories.

After all, he points out that herd animals “graze like sheep” (“eduntur, quasi pecuedes”) and then just implies that those that don’t are called by “heads of [animals]” (such as a head of cattle).

It might be something that’s coming through as a result of translation, but it seems that Isidore is struggling to really make himself clear because he’s making such fine distinctions. But before I read too far into this sense of struggle, onto the next word.

“Iuvenca, ae,” meaning “heifer, girl.” It’s probable that this word had a specific connotation when Latin was still spoken across the Roman Empire, but it’s still quite telling of Roman culture that the same word could refer to a girl and a heifer.

Perhaps this second meaning wasn’t necessarily negative, but it’s difficult to see it as anything other than an insult of one sort or another.

After all, such a connotation for “cow” is still present in Modern English; “cow” sometimes sits in for b@!$&h. See for yourself here.

Also, my Latin dictionary lacks the heavy distinction that I hope might be present between the words “cervi” and “dammae” both of which can mean deer (cervi can also mean “hind” but a hind is just a specific sort of deer). Maybe I need to get a better dictionary, or maybe I just need to turn to my readers for a bit of aid.

If you’ve got a way to split apart the words that seem too close to me, or want me to translate more of Isidore per entry let me know about it in a comment.

And check back Thursday for Beowulf’s wrapping up of Hrethel’s woes in his informal history of the old king’s sons.

The End of an Epic (Simile) [Beowulf ll.2450-2459] (Old English)

Posted on 2012/02/24 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
On Heirs and Reasons
Summary and Surmise
Some Potential New Words
Closing

Beowulf finishes his digression in this section and then returns to the specifics of Hreðel’s situation after the death of Herebeald. Here, read for yourself.

“‘Relentlessly he is reminded each morning
of his son’s demise; he does not care to wait
for another heir in his hall
since his firstborn has been fettered
by death’s decree.
He looks with sorrowful soul into his son’s chambers,
a joy-hall now desolate, the dwelling place of winds,
bereft of all joy; the riders are asleep,
the fighters are laid down in darkness; no harp sounds are
there, no men in the yard, as there once were.'”
(Beowulf ll.2450-2459)

Among the images used in the passage, I think that of the father who has no interest in producing another heir because his first born has been killed is the strongest. That image really speaks to the sort of despair and sense of futility that anyone within a hierarchical inheritance system would feel when, as the Old English word implies, one has lost their inheritance guardian (“yrfe-weard,” ll.2453).

True, the man has his other sons to inherit his lands and property upon his death, but the death of the firstborn throws the identity of the heir into question. If mere birth order determines it then there could be a motive for the murder there.

Hæðcyn could have possibly killed his older brother to jump ahead in line, thus marking him as dishonourable and selfish and thus a bad king. If it was just an accident then might Hæðcyn also be a bad choice because he lacks control?

Yet simply handing the realm over to Hygelac and skipping Hæðcyn entirely would be a slight to him as the second eldest – and besides, who’s to say that the two didn’t conspire against Herebeald? The destruction of even a single link in the chain of inheritance throws the whole sequence into question.

And I think that’s why Hreðel’s sorrow is described in terms that are similar to those used for the last survivor’s sorrow. Though he has sons and his line will continue, he may be the last one who can fully enjoy the legacy of his properties and lands.

In the Lay of the Last Survivor (ll.2247-66) the bitterness of being the last of a clan is described, and these lines are particularly relevant:

“‘[…] the tried warriors passed elsewhere'” (l.2254)

“‘[…] No harp joy,
no delight of musical instruments, nor any good hawk
flies through the hall, nor any swift mare
stomps in the courtyard.'” (ll.2262-65)

The first of these sections echoes the statement in line 2458 that the “fighters are laid down in darkness,” after some verbal acrobatics. The word used for “elsewhere” in line 2254 (“ellor”) is also used in a compound word meaning death (ellor-sīð) in reference to Herebeald.

The death of the fighters in line 2458 is sheerly communicated via metaphor, but the idea of death being some ‘far country’ could be present in the mention of ‘darkness.’ Darkness was a very strong marker of the Other, and death is a great Other as well.

The second section is more clearly related to Beowulf’s description of Hreðel’s sorrow in that the imagery is that of lack of music, emptiness in the hall, and silence in the yard.

Essentially, spaces that were once filled – the air with sound, the hall with feasting, and the yard with motion – are now lacking these qualities.

Just as the last survivor laments the loss of people who bear cups, polish armour, or use any of the treasures that he’s returning to the earth, so too is the lack of what defines these spaces useful as an expression of mourning. One who is integral to the regular function of life and society has been lost.

Could there be more of a connection here? Does Beowulf perhaps look at the younger generation of Geats and think that he too is a last survivor? Is that why he uses similar imagery? Or was the poet/scribe just strapped for ideas?

{Image from Shopify.}

Narrowing my focus down to words that caught my eye, one that I would like to get back into everyday speech is “windgereste,” “resting place of the winds,” implying an empty or disused space. That whole phrase is a bit much (it’d take 26 characters out of any tweet!), so instead it could be introduced as wind-place, or wind-dwelling, or wind-home.

“Ellor-sīð” is also curious (meaning “journey elsewhere, death”), but ideas of death and dying are now so much broader than they were in the recorded West of the early middle ages. It’s a broad term, but I’m not sure if it would work given the acknowledged breadth of current ideas of death.

“Yrfe-weard,” mentioned near the top of this entry, could work on the same level as “windgereste,” since inheritance still happens and wills can be sticky situations.

However, inheritances don’t have the same general importance as they did then, since they aren’t the only (near) surefire way to a life of comfort/success/wealth. Whether it’d fly or not, “surety-heir” could work since surety is basically a term for a very specific kind of guard, and it does have a nice flow.

What’s your preference among those three compound words for a new English word? Let me know in a comment!

Next week, come on back for the continuation of St. Isidore’s entry on herd animals and beasts of burden, and for the completion of Hreðel’s part in Beowulf’s reminiscence.

Naming the Things that Move [Etymologiae 12: 1-3] (Latin)

Posted on 2012/02/22 by NSCZach

A First Impression
Translation
All About Isidore
An Opening and a Word
Latin Animals
Barbaric?
Closing

{St. Isidore at study. Image from mythfolklore.net.}

St. Isidore of Seville did not exactly organize his Etymologiae as I had expected. Rather than going animal by animal and offering a catalogue of facts, he instead set it out by category. That means that for the next few months I’ll be working through his explanation of “Herd Animals and Beasts of Burden” (“De Pecoribus et Iumentis”).

Now, my translation. This is twice removed from the original text, since, it being prose rather than poetry, what’s below is a revision of my (somewhat liberal) literal translation.

“I. The Herd Animals and Beasts of Burden
[1] “Adam first imparted names on all of the animals, calling each by name from its present state and alike to the condition in which it naturally served.
[2] “But Gentiles also gave to each animal names from their own languages. But it was not from the Latin nor from the Greek nor from any of the barbarous tongues, rather man imparted those names in that language which was used by all before the flood, which is called Hebrew.
[3] “In Latin these are called animals or living things, which are animated by life and moved by [the?] spirit.”
(St. Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae 12:1-3)

But before I get into the first three verses of this book, a few words about St. Isidore, patron saint of the internet (according to Wikipedia), himself.

He was born sometime in the latter half of the sixth century and died in 636 AD. Not much is known of his ear;y life, but his parents died while he was still young and so he was raised by his older brother, Leander, who had been prepared for a life in the Church. Leander followed this path to the bishopric of Seville and Isidore did the same, succeeding his brother as bishop around 600 AD. Isidore is famed for his writing, which covers a variety of topics ranging from the theological to the physical.

If you want more information on Isidore, check out the Catholic Online and the Catholic Encyclopedia entries on him – but keep in mind these sites’ biases.

Isidore begins book 12 of his Etymologiae with an explanation of how creatures were named. Of special interest here is the word “indidit” from “indere,” meaning, in particular, to “impart, impose.”

This word constitutes a translational fork.

On the one hand, Adam, or the more sweeping “man” imparted names to the animals, it was a benign act of giving of him/itself.

On the other, those names were imposed, meaning that there was a degree of coercion or force involved. Humanity either gave the names freely or stamped them onto the animals, branding them all with words that forever represent each animal.

And finally, things get rolling in verse three. Here the Latin words for animal and their meaning is given.

Quite straightforwardly.

So much so, in fact, that the original Latin is gloriously alliterative: “Latine autem animalia sive animantia dicta.”

I do wonder, though, if “spiritu” is the capital ‘s’ Spirit, or just a spirit or even just spirit. The redundancy in the original Latin offers a small clue.

Since “spiritu” is paired with “vita,” which just means life, the most general meaning of “spiritu” seems like the best choice. So it must be “spirit,” as in “school spirit,” or in the sense of morale. The implication of using “spirit” is neat, too – that things are animated by a sense of purpose or basic drive.

Also curious is that Latin and Greek are practically counted amongst the barbarous tongues.

Latin was paramount in medieval education, and Greek, though lesser known during much of the middle ages, also held a fair amount of prestige. Placing them in in such close proximity with “barbarous tongues” that don’t even get named definitely sets Hebrew up as something special.

Check back here Thursday for the continuing image of the mourning old man in Beowulf. And if you’ve got a preference for which “spirit” to go with or whether “indidit” should be translated as “impose” or “impart” let me know in a comment.

Quoth the Beowulf [ll.2441-2449] (Old English)

Posted on 2012/02/17 by NSCZach

Abstract
The Passage in Brief
Ravens and Ruin?
The Passage’s Words and a Modernization
Beowulf and the Raven
The Raven As Symbol of Sacrifice
Closing

Things take a turn in this passage (ll.2441-2449). Not from Hæðcyn’s sorrowful act, but from Beowulf’s direct retelling of his tale to his use of a peculiar simile.

On lines 2444-46 he compares Hreðel’s sorrows to those of an old man who sees his young son hanging on the gallows (“‘Swā bið geōmorlīc gomelum ceorle/to gebīdanne, þæt his byre rīde/giong on galgan.”) He goes on to expand this image by explaining that the old man can only look on helplessly while the raven rejoices over his son’s corpse (“hrefne tō hrōðre” l.2448).

What makes the image of a raven over Hæðcyn’s corpse so striking is that it not only efficiently brings out Hreðel’s sorrow, but the emotions evoked here resemble those in the “Lay of the Last Survivor.”

This section of the poem (ll.2247-66) details how the one who originally left the dragon’s hoard must have felt, being the last of his people. It describes the futility of treasure without people to use it and with whom it can be shared. But it also emphasizes the importance of community to the Anglo-Saxons.

The language of this passage is fairly straightforward and strangely filled with words that don’t seem to have changed much between then and now. “gefeoht” for “fight, strife,” “linnan” for “to lie,” “rīde” for “ride,” “giong” for “young,” “sārigne” for “sorrowful” “sunu” for “son,” “hangað” for “to hang,” “hrefne” for “raven,” “helpe” for “help,” and so on. As per coolness factor, one word stands out: “hyge-mēðe.”

The last word in that previous paragraph is a combination of the words “hyge” for “heart, breast, mind” and “mēðe” for “tired, worn out, dejected, sad.”

As far as modernizations go, “heart-sad” sounds both poetic and syrupy at the same time, but “mind-worn” could work for a modernization, I think. It could express a feeling of being so overwhelmed by a task or emotion that your mind is sore; just as a muscle feels sore after it’s been worked out. “mind-tired” could also work, there’d be some internal rhyme that way.

Although it only gets cursory mention here, a little bit of explanation of the raven in Old English lit is in order since I think it plays a larger role here.

The raven is one of the three “Beasts of Battle” (along with the wolf and the eagle) and held many different meanings (check this site for a good deal of info). Just as they’re regarded as bad luck, or ill omens by some today, so too were ravens regarded before the 11th century. But some also associated the raven with victory or sacrifice, and in Old English another word for raven is wælceasega (“chooser of the slain”) linking the bird to the Valkyrie of Old Norse thought.

Aside from the raven in Beowulf’s speech clearly being an ill-omen (Hreðel becomes despondent and the realm is soon threatened by war), I think that it can also be interpreted as a symbol of sacrifice.

Herebeald wasn’t sacrificed in the same way that say, Iphigenia was (by Agamemnon, for a wind to get the Greeks to Troy), but his death could still be regarded as the sacrifice of an eldest son for lasting fame.

Sacrifice is also likely at the fore of Beowulf’s mind at this point – perhaps it is even a cause of his being in such a heavy mood. He knows that he will die if he fights the dragon, but he also knows that doing so will win him fame, save his people, and land them a hefty amount of treasure.

All three of these things are necessary for a good king, as established by Beowulf‘s opening with Scyld Scēfing. He won a great amount of fame, and of treasure and was able to use both to increase his people’s prosperity (ll.4-11).

The treasure also helped his son to forge bonds and obligations with warriors who would fight for his right to succeed his father upon his death (ll.20-24).

Within the situation that Beowulf describes, Herebeald can be read as a sacrifice not just for the fame of Hreðel, but also for the fame of Beowulf.

After all, if Herebeald had lived he may have ruled well and been loved by all, giving Hæðcyn and then Hygelac no reason to rule, and thus leaving Beowulf without a kingship from which to launch his own fame.

So Herebeald’s death is also a sacrifice for the betterment of posterity – even if that eventually leads to the destruction of his people.

Next time, Beowulf continues to expand his comparison, detailing how the old man regards nothing in the same light again.

If you’ve got a strong argument for “heart-sad,” “mind-worn,” or “mind-tired” as a new word; if there’s anything about Beowulf that you want to ask; or if there’s anything in the poem that you want to see given special attention, then please do leave a comment.

The Final Notes of "Tempus Adest Floridum" (Latin)

Posted on 2012/02/15 by NSCZach

Introduction
The Whole Song
A Time for Recitation
Now it is the Animal Hour
Closing

Introduction

Now that I’ve translated the entire song “Tempus Adest Floridum”, I’ve brought it all together. I also made some improvements to the last two verses to get them to better fit the song’s meter, and I think that it came out rather nicely. Here’s how I’m going to pledge my complete translation to the ages:

“The time for flowers now is come, for the flowers now &nbsp&nbsparise.
All things now are of the spring, nature’s likeness is in &nbsp&nbspall eyes.
This which winter once had attacked, has regained its &nbsp&nbspfire;
We all see winter’s weeping, since spring has perspired.

“The meadows are full of flowers now, as they start &nbsp&nbspappearing.
These are brought where all may see, plants their pleasure &nbsp&nbspbringing,
Grasses, shoots both rising through, making winter turn &nbsp&nbspin.
Spring growing stronger in due time, bringing renewed bird &nbsp&nbspdin.

“This lovely creation shows your fullness, oh God,
to whom we entrust all deeds whether they be bare or shod.
O time therefore of great joy, pleasing all by laughter,
Now we pray you renew the world fill our souls to the &nbsp&nbsprafters.

“The earth is filled by flowers now, and with much beauty,
Death and love we now do dignify absolutely.
Thus we now in this season most pleasing rejoice,
With praise and laud of the lord with our heart’s voice.”

And here’s a version that I wouldn’t mind the ages getting a hold of, but really have no strong feelings either way:

And with that, “Tempus Adest Floridum” is complete.

Now, it’s my intention to work on mostly medieval Latin on this blog and with that in mind I’ve decided to move on to an entry from Isidore of Seville‘s Etymologiae.

The Etymologiae is the medieval world’s Wikipedia, essentially, an encyclopedia covering all fathomable topics.

Of course, Isidore didn’t write it, but he did compile it – much like how the first edition of the Oxford English Dictionary wasn’t written by a single person or even a small group, but was an effort of an entire mass sending in slips of paper with words and meanings and uses.

Because medieval bestiaries are often great fun, I’ll be translating a passage about an animal. Which animal, however, I’ll leave a mystery until next week.

If you want to compliment my reciting voice, perhaps make a special request, or just drop a line, feel free to do so in the comments.

A Blogger's Beowulf

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