Beowulf, Wealhtheow, and the two words that reveal much (ll.631-641)

Posted on 2014/11/14 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
One Word Says much about Beowulf’s Song
Another Word, and More of just What Wealhtheow Is
Closing

An illuminated Chad Gospel. Image from http://events.nationalgeographic.com/ events/special-events/2011/11/13/saint-spinners/.

An illuminated Chad Gospel, just one place where words matter. Image from http://events.nationalgeographic.com/
events/special-events/2011/11/13/saint-spinners/.

Beowulf sings his reply to Wealhtheow’s praises, and she, well-pleased, returns to Hrothgar’s side.

“Beowulf spoke, son of Ecgtheow:
‘I thought upon that, as I came across the sea,
seated in the sea boat amidst the multitude of my men,
that I completely for your people
would that will work, or die in the slaughter,
held fast in the fiend’s fist. I shall perform
the lordly deed, or my end days
find in this mead hall!’
That woman/lady well liked those words,
the boast-speech of the Geat; then went gold-laden
the stately queen of her people to sit with her lord.”
(Beowulf ll.631-641)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

When last week’s passage ended with the poet/scribe possibly saying that Beowulf sang his response to Wealhtheow, I thought I knew what was coming. I figured that we’d get more of the same artful and rhetorical language that we saw when he was talking to Hrothgar. A few ‘thee”s and ‘thou”s, rhetorical separation of related clauses, all of that.

Instead, Beowulf’s dialogue here is some of the most straightforward text I’ve come across in the poem yet.

There aren’t any structural acrobatics. There aren’t any strange combinations of words. Even when it comes to compound words there are only two. These are “feondgrapum,” “endedæg” and “meoduhealle.”

All of these words are straightforwardly translated as “fiend-grip,” “end days,” and “mead hall.” There don’t seem to be any shades of morality hiding in multiple meanings, nor does Beowulf seem to be putting any of them to tricky use here.

It’s almost enough to make me think that when formal speech is delivered to a man it is a thicket, whereas when a formal speech is delivered to a woman it is a bouquet.

Though there are some rare words at play in Beowulf’s dialogue.

In line 634 Beowulf uses the word “anunga” and in line 635 he uses “crunge” (a form of “cringan”). These words aren’t often used, but there’s nothing really special about them aside from their being highly specialized.

The word “anunga” refers to something done quickly and thoroughly if taken as a whole word (my Clark Hall & Meritt dictionary separates these senses). Yet it makes sense that Beowulf use this word here since it alliterates with the word that follows, which just so happens to be on the other side of the line’s caesura: “eowra.”

“Crunge” isn’t used for alliterative purposes, but it is highly specialized, having but three meanings: “yield, fall (in battle), die.” Using any three of these fits the meaning of Beowulf’s punchy ending, but he could have simply used “acwelan” or “sweltan” (both mean “to die”).

It’s telling, then, that Beowulf dresses up his language as he sings his reply to Wealhtheow.

Perhaps this was part of formal speech, though. Perhaps when speaking to a woman the decorum was to avoid innuendo so that there would be no misunderstandings between the genders. So that there would be no young thanes lasciviously speaking to their lord’s wife about sheathing swords or venturing into mystically warm caves.

If that’s the case, though, then Beowulf slips up in being one hundred percent crystal clear. As Robert Graves might put it, he fails in speaking to Wealhtheow in plain prose; some poetry sneaks into his singing.

In line 633 Beowulf refers to his entourage as “minra secg gedriht.” This translates to “the multitude of my men.” The important word here, as far as poetry goes, is “secg.”

Why?

Because this word can mean “reed, rush, flag; sword; ocean.”

We can probably discount “ocean” right away since it’s not likely that Beowulf was thinking about defeating Grendel as he was sailing over and in the midst of ‘his multitude of oceans.’

However, he could be, whether intentionally or unintentionally, referring to his men as reeds, rushes, or flags — things that bend and twist in the wind. Maybe he’s doing this to try to raise his own esteem in Wealhtheow’s eyes. His men look tough, but they’re nothing to him. He could be using this word to add to his boast, then.

Or, Beowulf could be practicing a bit more artistry in his song. He could be referring to his men as swords.

This bit of metonymy is especially fitting since it would mean that Beowulf’s saying he wasn’t just sitting amongst his men thinking about beating Grendel, but he was sitting amongst swords thinking about it. He was having his warlike, tumultuous thoughts surrounded by warlike, tumultuous gents.

If this is the sense that the poet wants us to take away it opens up the possibility that Bewoulf is once more trying to put across the idea that he can switch between war and peace states. That he isn’t just a warrior or some sort of lunkhead, but that he is adaptable — perhaps his most useful characteristic. And perhaps it is his adaptability is what he’s really been boasting about all along.

Perhaps Wealhtheow picks up on this adaptability and can respect it as Hrothgar seems unable to adapt, unable to try a new way to kill Grendel himself and so he must rely on the help of outsiders. Because of his adaptability, however, Beowulf has no need for such help.

What do you think about the idea that a single word could hold so much importance? Is the word “secg” just there to alliterate with “sae-bat” (sea boat) and “gesaet” (“sat”)?

This week’s passage is mostly Beowulf’s speech, but the last little bit is just as rich. Thanks in large part (again) to a single word: “freolic.”

This word is used to describe Wealhtheow as she goes back to her seat beside Hrothgar. In the text it’s in the nominative case, so it very clearly goes with “folccwen” (folk queen, also in the nominative case). It’s also one of the three alliterating words in the line along with “folc-cwen and “frean.”

But what does “freolic” mean?

The Clark Hall & Meritt dictionary offers a list of definitions: “free, freeborn, glorious, stately, magnificent, noble, beautiful, charming.”

The dictionary in the back of the C.L. Wrenn edition of Beowulf I have simply gives two definitions: “excellent” and “noble.”

Now, to be totally honest, the C.L. Wrenn definitions are no doubt right on, exactly what is meant. After all, the dictionary included in his edition of Beowulf is specifically for Beowulf. Clark Hall & Meritt’s dictionary is more general, a dictionary for all of Old English.

But. Simply going with C.L. Wrenn’s take on the word wouldn’t be any fun. And besides, as much as a modern reader knows that a “fan” could refer to a fanatic or a device that cools off its target, surely Old English speakers were aware of the same nuance in their language.

As such, let’s speculate a bit.

There’s no doubt that Wealhtheow is merely being described as stately, magnificent, noble, beautiful, and definitely charming. Any of the definitions of “freolic” fit her.

Especially that last one, since she seems to have charmed Beowulf. I mean, he’s never sung in the poem before now. Nor has he spoken so plainly when speaking formally. I’m interpreting that as a sign of his being smitten, the strange decorous informality of his reply.

But then what about the “free” and “freeborn” meanings of the word?

Well, I think that the poet is pointing to the similar word use in last week’s passage. I think that he’s trying to suggest, however subtly, that part of what makes Wealhtheow magnificent and noble is that she resists whatever sort of behaviours one in her position tends to fall into.

It needs to be remembered, after all, that Wealhtheow is very probably the queen of her people by force rather than by birth or (pre)arranged marriage. That’s not to say she’s Hrothgar’s spoils, but rather a peace-weaver, a woman given by one group to another as a means of creating peace between the two.

Yet, despite being away from home and amidst these foreign peoples, Wealhtheow retains the mien and attitude of a freeborn woman. I think it’s this that the poet is getting at and, aside from the ever-present convenience of alliteration, he used “freolic” with the full intention of getting this across.

Going on the fairly thin theory that Wealhtheow is specifically Welsh or more broadly a Celt, I think this is also supposed to meant that she, like her brethren in the British Isles, remain culturally cool under fire. Even when their culture has been overrun (just as, in a way, the Anglo-Saxon culture implied by Beowulf‘s being in Old English has been overrun by its being about Norse peoples), they remain proud and true to that original culture beneath the trappings of the new or imposed.

In this sort of captive situation, the captured culture creates a kind of kernel of true identity around which they weave something more acceptable to the group in which they currently find themselves.

Beowulf’s being young and adventuresome, I think appeals to this kernel of true identity within Wealhtheow and that is why she goes away well pleased from him — not just because he boasts once more about beating the monster. Maybe that’s even why she “well liked his words,/the boast-speech of the Geat” (“þa word wel licodon,/gilpcwide Geates” (ll.639-640)). Wealhtheow recognized in Beowulf’s words the sort of power and mastery of her own people over their own arts and knowledge.

Not to mention, that “secg.”

This interpretation pretty much entirely turns on its being layered in its meaning and Beowulf’s slipping it in there either intentionally to get Wealhtheow’s attention or unintentionally as a reflection of his own true nature of adaptability, his own true identity.

For when an old word has many senses in a modern language, why would that same word not have multiple sense in the old?

Has Modern English just diversified more than Old English ever did, so where they had but the word “freolic” we have the nine that it can be defined as?

Or was it that in older languages words just pulled double (triple, quadruple, etc.) duty more often, coming to be used in multiple senses, the one intended being suggested by delivery or gesture or tone — something that is, unfortunately, lost when written out?

We’ll probably never know any of those answers. But that’s what makes this Old English stuff fun to me. We’ll never really know about it, but at the same time, we know enough for there to be a structure from within which we can look out and speculate about that which is unknown.

What do you think of the idea that Wealhtheow represents the Briton Celts as they were under Anglo-Saxon rule? Am I putting way too much stress on just one word?

Though Beowulf’s undoubtedly left an impression on Wealhtheow we won’t see it manifest again right away. Instead, we get a glimpse of things as they were before the night of revelry comes to an end in next week’s passage.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Hrothgar’s gloom and Heorot’s hall cup (ll.607-619)

Posted on 2014/10/31 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Hall joy and Hrothgar’s mood swing
Straightforward compounds and the “hall cup”
Closing

The lady of Heorot serving Hrothgar. It looks genial enough.

Heorot revels in Beowulf’s promise. The beer-drinking commences!

“Then in the hall was the treasure-giver joyed,
grey-haired and battle strong; consolation lived
for the ruler of the bright Danes, he heard in Beowulf
the guardian of the people’s steadfast hope.
There was the laughter of men, the roar of singing,
words were joyful. Then came forth Wealhtheow,
Hrothgar’s queen, mindful of her king;
she greeted the gold-ornamented warriors in the hall,
and the freeborn woman dearly/quickly gave
first to the lord of the East-Danes’ realm;
told him to be blithe at the beer-drinking,
dear to the people; he then turned more to
the feast and the hall-goblet, a victorious king.”
(Beowulf ll.607-619)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

In this week’s passage of Beowulf we take a break from all that dialogue and get some good old fashioned descriptive narrative. Hoo yeah!

So, in the passage Hrothgar responds incredibly positively to Beowulf and his boastful promise to destroy Grendel. I use “boastful” because, well, that’s still what his promise is.

Beowulf has shared stories of past victories with the Danes, but none of his fellow Geats have stepped up to back him nor has he shown any proof of these past victories. So far, Beowulf has just boasted expertly and looked the part of a warlike leader.

And that’s enough for Hrothgar. At the beginning of this passage he seems to be smiling benevolently at Beowulf. The poet even goes so far to say that Hrothgar saw in Beowulf “the guardian of the people’s steadfast hope” (“folces hyrde fæstrædne geþoht” (l.610)). It seems that after months, probably even years, of feeling utterly defeated at the hands of Grendel, this monster that listens neither to reason nor responds to human valour, he will finally find relief in this Geat.

This sense of joy and happiness then disperses itself throughout the hall and washes over the poet.

I’m not sure if the poem’s suddenly simple sentences (ex 1; ex 2) are a reflection of this joy or not, but I can see how they could be. In extreme happiness (especially that of the drunken variety that seems likely in the hall once the festivities start) it’s probable that the Anglo-Saxons abandoned their usual poetic wordiness in favour of more straightforward three word statements.

But then Wealhtheow, queen of the Danes, comes into the poem.

And for a brief second, for the space of maybe a line at most, it seems like that joy drains out of Hrothgar.

Already, unless I’m missing something, he seemed to be blithe and happy as he recognized in Beowulf the hero on which his people had waited. Yet Wealhtheow, when she serves him first from the beer jug, tells him “to be blithe at the beer-drinking” (“bæd hine bliðne æt þære beorþege,” (l.617)). Did Hrothgar slip back into his depression while the poet went off and described the general feeling in the hall?

I’ll cut right to it. I think he did.

But I don’t think gloomy thoughts stormed back in on him once the poet turned from him to the hall at large. I think the renewed furrow in Hrothgar’s brow is the result of Wealhtheow’s appearing. I think that she and Hrothgar are in the middle of some sort of spat.

I can’t say that the particulars can be sussed out from such a short appearance, but the poet (for reasons of alliteration, mind) mentions that she is a “freeborn woman” (“freolic wif”). Such a description directly contradicts Wealhtheow’s name, both parts of which (“wealh” and “theow”) translate as “slave”.

Interestingly, though, the first part of her name could also translate as “Welsh,” or “Briton.”

In the context of Beowulf‘s being an Anglo-Saxon poem it could just be that she represents the people of the British Isles that the Anglo-Saxons subjugated. So as pleasant as Wealhtheow appears at this point, I can’t help but wonder if she harbours some sort of resentment for Hrothgar. That is, of course, if the Danes represent the ruling Anglo-Saxons.

Whether representatives of something larger, or simply husband and wife, there’s definitely a tension between Hrothgar and Wealhtheow in this scene. But, that said, it wouldn’t surprise me if the poet/scribe created Wealhtheow and the tension based on the plight of the Britons who were under Anglo-Saxon rule.

Of course, there wouldn’t even need to be marital difficulties or any deeper meaning behind the tension I feel in this scene. Wealhtheow is, after all, in the position of being a sort of peace offering between the Danes and another tribe. That could be reason enough for tension, I think.

But what does it mean, though, having the ostensibly only actually British character in a poem from Britain be a woman and a wife to the king of a fading people who hold a grand old palace of a hall?

Because so much of this passage is straightforward, there aren’t too many words of great interest.

Of the few compounds that are used, gamolfeax and guðrof seem like they should stick out. But the former literally means old hair or old head of hair. The latter compound, likewise has a straightforward translation as war renowned or strong in battle. There’s not really much room to wiggle around in either of these cases.

In the last part of the passage that describes Hrothgar’s reaction to Beowulf’s pledge (line 610, specifically), we’re given one compound that’s kind of neat.

The word “faest-raedne” means “steadfast.” Taken apart, translators got to this meaning by combining the security of “faest” with a word that generally means “counsel.”

That is, the word “raedne” means (aside from counsel) things like “resolution,” “deliberation,” “plan,” “way,” “design;” “decree,” “ordinance;” “wisdom,” “reason,” “intelligence;” “gain,” “profit,” “benefit,” “good fortune,” “remedy;” “help,” “power,” “might.” All of those concepts do sort of relate back to advice and advisers to some extent, but there are nuances. None of them are so far out of step as past parts of compounds, however.

Taken as a part of the larger sentence, though, “faest-raedne” as “steadfast” works with “geþoht” to shift the meaning of the clause away from simply “the people’s fervent thought” to the “people’s steadfast hope.” It’s a slight difference, but it’s still a curious one considering the elements that the poet put into place to achieve it (or, more large scale, considering how Anglo-Saxon developed to where it could express such things with this sort of nuance).

Oh, and there’s one more word that defies a simple breakdown but is still fun to speculate about. It’s the word “hall goblet” (“seleful”) on line 619.

The word “sele” is taken to mean “hall,” “house,” “dwelling, “prison,” or “tabernacle.” Given the importance placed on Heorot, this part of “hall goblet” fits most of those definitions quite nicely.

But add in “prison,” and the word fits Heorot almost like a glove. Since Grendel’s imposition, it’s a place that, for the Danes at least, is definitely prison-like.

The word “ful” is also pretty clear, meaning only “beaker, cup.”

So, taken together, “hall goblet” is just one sense of the word, the more general expression of which would be something like “sacred cup” or “exalted cup.” Basically, the sense that I get of the cup referred to with “seleful” is that it’s the one that the lord of the hall gets to use.

This cup may well have a ceremonial function, too, it being necessary for the lord of the hall to drink from this cup before any festivity or celebration really gets under way. There could also be a belief that any invited to drink from that cup shares in that lord’s glory.

More relevant to the poem, though, is the wondering that I got up to about the cup that’s stolen from the dragon in the latter half of the poem.

It’s just one cup, and it’s rust covered, but maybe it’s the hall cup of the forgotten people who used to live where the dragon took up residence. And maybe, since halls were generally places to go to be social and to drink, the hall cup represents the spirit of its hall.

As such, when the thief steals what could be the same cup from the dragon’s hoard, it recognizes the loss of this object with value beyond its physical worth and attempts to retrieve it to restore order to its hoard.

Or, when Wealhtheow fills Heorot’s “hall goblet” for Hrothgar maybe the act signifies the reinvigoration of Heorot and the Danes.

What do you think of a steadfast thought being a hope? Or of the hall cup having so much significance?

Next week we watch as Wealhtheow travels around the assembled host, doling out beer until she gets to Beowulf.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Beowulf gets mytho-poetic and words reveal more than meanings (feat. Robert Graves) (ll.598-606)

Posted on 2014/10/24 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Finding the goddess in Beowulf
Words with mythical connotations
Closing

A piece of Anglo-Saxon ornamentation. Image from http://research.uvu.edu/mcdonald/Anglo-Saxon/Art.html.

Beowulf finishes off his reply to Unferth with another boast.

“‘After all, against that apostle of violence none arise
from among the Danish people, so he wars as he likes,
killing and feasting, prosecution he knows comes not
from the spear-Danes. But I shall now surprise
him with the might and strength of the Geats,
bringing him battle. Afterward whomever wants to
go to mead shall and heartily, once the morning light
brings another day to humanity,
when the light-clad sun shall shine once more from the south.'”
(Beowulf ll.598-606)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

Since I’m reading Robert Graves’ The White Goddess over on my reading and gaming log Going Box by Box, I feel like I might have some insight into the meaning of Beowulf’s language here.

After all, this is the end of his speech to Unferth and the Danes. As such, he’d not want to waste any words getting his point across. He will defeat Grendel because he will do things in a way that the Danes never yet have. Such a statement is impressively logical.

But impressive enough to complete steam roll all of the Danes and get away with it? Well. Apparently. I still think he says things like “none arise/from among the Danish people” (“nænegum arað/leode Deniga” (l.598-599)) to stir them up to some extent. And to show that where they failed, he will not.

Though, using what I’ve gleaned from The White Goddess, I think that Beowulf isn’t just boasting about strength and power and the ever important element of surprise. I think he’s also speaking in a poetic language. Since I’ve not absorbed everything from The White Goddess like some sort of giant sponge, I won’t be covering all of the poetically sealed things that Beowulf has to say in this passage, but I will be speculating about the two that are the most apparent to me.

In line 602 when Beowulf speaks of the “power and might” (“eafoð ond ellen”) of the Geats, the second word he uses in his alliteration stands out. This word is fairly commonly used in the poem Beowulf, and, although my reading’s limited, probably other Old English writing as well. It stands out here, though, because one of the definitions that my Clark Hall & Meritt dictionary offers is “elder-tree; elder-wood.” A large part of The White Goddess is about Graves deciphering the Druidic tree alphabet, and elder is amidst its letters.

I think that there might be a connection between that alphabet and Beowulf’s speech here.

According to Graves, the elder tree is the one that stands for the last month of the Druidic calendar. It signifies death and is said to have been the crucifixion tree. Graves backs this connection up with the mention of elder-leaf shaped funerary flints found in megalithic long-barrows.

In short, the elder tree is deeply associated with death.

It’s also quite deeply connected with witches and the devil itself. Though, because of its white flowers that are “at their best at midsummer” (185), the elder is also an aspect of the white goddess herself, the ruling triple deity of Graves’ Indo-European religion.

Setting this into the context of Beowulf’s speech, specifically his boasting that Geatish “might and strength” ((“eafoð ond ellen”) l.60) will prevail, does actually make sense.

The word “eafoð” specifically means “power,” “strength,” or “might,” and “ellen” means “zeal,” “strength,” “courage;” “strife,” “contention.” As a noun or adjective “ellen” means “elder-tree” or “elder-wood” respectively.

Pairing both words up is, thus, a little redundant. Though this apparent redundancy could be emphasizing the power of which Beowulf speaks. Combining the strength of eafoð with the death connotations of ellen as “elder wood,” though, I think that Beowulf is pushing his claim that he’ll beat Grendel with brand new tactics even further. He’s really saying that with the strength of death he will overcome the fiend that has been terrorizing the Danes for years.

Maybe that sounds a little far-fetched, even for something on the blog of someone who studied literature up to the graduate level. But hear me out.

The Geats have so far been characterized as a warlike people. Anyone who is so warlike will likely invest a lot of importance in their armour and arms.

The Anglo-Saxons clearly do this, as a good portion of the poem to this point has been about this or that bit of armour. Beowulf even gives Hrothgar explicit instructions to send his armour back to Hygelac should he fail.

In a sense, then, Beowulf identifies with his armour, as any culture that puts hereditary significance onto arms will. (Passing a sword down from father to son, I think, signifies a passing of a sort of family spirit, something that identifies the rightful wielder as a true member of the tradition and therefore of the family.)

When push comes to shove, Beowulf’s tactic for defeating Grendel is to fight him at his own game. Beowulf knows that conventional weapons have no effect on the fiend and so he strips away his armour and wrestles with him. Removing his armour signifies a death of sorts, and I think that (along, of course with alliteration), that’s why Beowulf refers to the might of the Geats with eafoð and ellen. I think that he’s definitely pulling on the alternate interpretation of “ellen” as “elder” and all that the tree connotes.

Jumping down to the bottom of the excerpt, I think that Beowulf completes very intentionally ends his speech about defeating Grendel and restoring Heorot with a reference to the sun rising and shining from the south.

Again, turning to Graves, he gathers quite a bit of evidence for the conception of the most terrible place on earth in many European myths being the far reaches of the north (it’s basically the whole point of chapter six). Thus, the sun’s shining from the south signifies a complete turn around in which the Danes’ troubles are over and the light of the sun (already equated to the light of god elsewhere in Beowulf) will shine down on them with all of its might.

Ultimately, then, I think that Beowulf’s not just boasting about taking a new tack against Grendel to beat him, I think he’s making the extreme claim (at least in the connotation of his full boast from lines 601 to 606) that he will defeat Grendel by dying and resurrecting.

If this is the case, then I have no idea what to make of the reference to one of the most important events in the pre-Christian year (the festival celebrating the death and rebirth of the year) in a poem that was very clearly written in its current form in a post-Christian time. The reference’s not being a direct one does suggest the sort of subterfuge that Graves writes about poets using to avoid church persecution, but I’m not entirely sure that’s at work here.

Though I could push my analyses of these references further by pulling one more thing from Graves.

In chapter three he writes that in the old poetic language, the roebuck signifies something hiding. A hart (the animal on whose name “Heorot” puns) isn’t exactly a roebuck, but again, maybe the poet/scribe was just covering himself.

Unsurprisingly for a passage that contains the sort of arcana that I pointed out in the first part of this entry, this one has some doozies so far as words go.

In its first line, for example, is the mysterious word “nyd-bade.”

The Clark Hall & Meritt dictionary I have defines it as “messenger of evil?[sic]” and grabs this definition from the word’s context in the Old English Exodus. Breaking down the word doesn’t give us a clear definition, but it might shed some light on just what it means.

The word “nyd” is an alternate spelling of “neod” meaning any one of “desire,” “longing,” “zeal,” “earnestness,” “pleasure,” or “delight” or of “nied” meaning “need,” “necessity,” “compulsion,” “duty,” “errand,” “business;” “emergency,” “hardship,” “distress,” “difficulty,” “trouble,” “pain;” “force,” “violence,” “what is necessary;” “inevitableness,” or “fetter.” This word could also signify the name for the rune “n.”

Notwithstanding the possible rune reference, the common denominator in the various meanings of “nyd” is urgency. Drawing urgency out of “fetter” might be a stretch, but something that’s fettered is usually so bound quickly to prevent it from doing any unnecessary harm.

Thankfully, “boda” is much more straightforward; it means “messenger, herald, apostle, angel; prophet”

Taken together, then, these words seem to refer to someone who brings something urgent.

In that general sense, they don’t need to bring something evil.

It could even be interpreted as referring to someone who is a forerunner for some important piece of information. Actually, following that interpretation could lead to reading Grendel not as some godless monster, but perhaps as a pagan priest who continually visits the freshly converted Heorot in an effort to bring them back to the old beliefs.

Grendel’s only known relation being his mother makes this a very curious interpretation indeed, since that could make Grendel the final, faded champion of a now perverted great goddess. Or perhaps even the champion only of the death aspect of Graves’ triple goddess.

Looking at it that way really casts the whole poem into a new light – it’s not just about a vaguely Christian warrior claiming victories over monsters in god’s name and ruling his people well, but about the decay of the old religion and the revitalizing force of this new one. As well as how the new one is integrating aspects of the old.

A comparative study of Grendel’s mom and the as yet unintroduced Wealhtheow of Heorot could be quite curious in this light. But that’s a project for another day.

Another word worthy of note (and another compound!) is “sweglwered.” This word’s parts are much clearer than those of “nyd-boda.”

The word “swegl” means “sky,” “heavens,” “ether,” “the sun;” or possibly “music” while “wered” means “throng,” “company,” “band,” “multitude;” “host,” “army,” “troop,” or “legion.”

The combination of these two words creates a fairly vivid picture of the other things in the sky forming a sort of comitatus with the sun at its head.

Closing on this reference of a bright and shining lord and retinue really brings out the hope in Beowulf’s claim. He’s not just claiming that a new day will dawn on Heorot, bringing them all their old happiness, but that the sun will be out in all its grand array to herald this day, truly an omen of great things ahead.

Now, one more thing.

Something that’s clear to me from my reading of Graves is that the goddess of whom he writes is associated with the moon. The rising of the sun from its poetically strongest quarter, and with its full retinue then suggests something opposing the goddess.

In a general sense it could be the more aggressive, patriarchal religion that Graves believes overtook an older matriarchal one. This would make Beowulf’s claim all the grander, but it’s not as if his wrestling a terrible monster to death and then later facing a dragon were stories told with mind numbing regularity when one Anglo-Saxon asked another “how was your day?”

Next week there’s an interlude in the dialogue. Hrothgar takes in what Beowulf says and Wealhtheow, his queen, appears.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Beowulf’s reply to Unferth (part 1) and words with picky translations (ll.529-538)

Posted on 2014/09/05 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Beowulf’s opening statement
Tallying swimming strength in youth
Closing

A young man makes a mead hall stand.

Beowulf presents his counter argument to Unferth’s accusations of weakness and introduces his version of what really happened with Breca.

“Beowulf spoke, son of Ecgtheow:
‘Well, you are very much, my friend Unferth,
beer-drunken speaking of Breca,
telling of his victory! The truth as I reckon
is that I more swimming strength had,
hardship on the waves, than any other man.
We two dared and bet with each other
since we were children – we two were then
yet in youth – that we two out on the spear-sea
would risk our lives; and so it happened.'”
(Beowulf ll.529-538)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

Well, if Beowulf is to be believed, Unferth is in his cups at this point. But Beowulf? If he’s been drinking, then drink may well make him more eloquent.

Immediately after Unferth’s saying that Beowulf is not as great as he’s said he is, the main man himself throws down his rebuttal.

Ever aware of the order of things, though, Beowulf doesn’t just reply with a quick “That’s not true!” (or the even simpler “nuh-uh!”). Instead we get a very structured, very well laid out rebuttal of what one of Hrothgar’s closest thanes had to say about Beowulf.

First in Beowulf’s reply we hear what Unferth did in the subtext of his accusation: Beowulf attacks Unferth’s character.

Of course, being Beowulf, he does so up front and boldly. Making the jab that Unferth’s not doing the talking, but the beer is if he’s going to say that sort of thing about Breca. I like to think that Beowulf paused for laughter then, if only that of his own men (while Hrothgar, or maybe some of his other thanes, groaned).

Then Beowulf presses onward to “The truth as I reckon” (“Soð ic talige” (l.532)). He admits that making such a bet is reckless, but also that that was just the nature of his friendship with Breca. It’s not direct, but I read this as Beowulf’s reply to Unferth’s implication that the swimming challenge was something off the cuff or coming from a drunken mind.

What’s more, Beowulf reflects that he and Breca were yet young then, and so the foolishness of the boast should be definitely be set aside.

Now, whether the poem’s audience or the audience in the poem (or both) would find this funny is up for debate. But, at this point in the poem, Beowulf can’t be older than 20. So, though he may well have been younger when he and Breca braved the waves in this foolish bet, he isn’t now that much older.

I get the definite impression that Beowulf, as serious as he may be taking himself here, might also be trying to diffuse the seriousness of Unferth’s attacks with some comedy. He may be trying to lighten the room a bit so that things don’t get too gloomy and throw him off his game (or get him thrown from the feast table). As pompously as he says it, I think the bit about their age is meant to sound similar to someone today saying (perhaps starting with an audible sigh) “Ah! We were so young and foolish then!”

Whatever sort of verbal tricks and public speaking strategies Beowulf might have used up to the end of this week’s extract, its final sentence really shows his acumen as a story teller.

Or, at the least, it shows the poet’s desire to have his subject appear to be expert in this essential skill. Compelling storytelling would be essential even for warriors, though, since if you couldn’t tell a great story (or had such a teller with you always), how would your deeds be immortalized in the memories of men, women, and children?

Whatever the case, Beowulf’s saying that he and Breca bet that they would risk their lives on the “spear-sea” (“gar-secg” (l.537)) – not even just the “secg” but the dangerous-sounding “gar-secg” – and that things turned out that way too is the perfect end point for an introduction. It’s like the hook you’d find at the end of a book’s prologue or first chapter.

It’s also important that Beowulf make this predictive statement since it suggests that circumstances would see the boast fulfilled. He’s just boasted about beating Grendel (god willing), so making good on a boast about racing in the sea would help boost his hosts’ confidence in him. Such a statement reinforces the idea that Beowulf is able to turn his words into deeds.

Do you think that Beowulf’s really putting this much thought into his reply to Unferth? Or is he just opening his mouth and talking?

I don’t think any Anglo-Saxon would have sucked on the blade of grass he had in his mouth, thumbed his overalls, rocked on his heels and said “Well. I reckon…” But Beowulf pretty much does just that before he tells Unferth and whomever else is listening his version of the Breca event.

Nonetheless, the word he uses in his “The truth as I reckon” (“Soð ic talige” (l.532)) is “talian,” (the root of the modern “tally”) a word that can also mean “count,” “calculate,” “account,” “relate,” or “impute.” Among these options, I went with “reckon” because I think that even in Old English this understanding of “talian” connotes clear, sober thinking. Unferth may have been drinking well before the Geats arrived, but Beowulf’s maybe had a mug or two. So I think “reckon” suits when it comes to describing his present thinking.

Such presence of mind and considered thought also give Beowulf an air of maturity. Though authority and gravity weren’t the only things the Anglo-Saxons saw coming with such maturity. They also seem to have thought mastery came with it, too. At least, that’s what I’ve gleaned from the word “mere-strengo.”

This compound combines the word for “sea,” “ocean;” “lake,” “pond;” “pool,” or “cistern” and the word for “strength,” “power,” “vigour,” “ability,” “firmness,” “fortitude,” “manhood,” “mature years.” Together these words mean “strength in swimming.”

Looked at apart, though, we get a pretty clear suggestion that such skill, such strength, comes only in “manhood,” or “mature years.” The implication that I pull out of that being that you can only achieve that level of strength after practicing something into your “mature years.” Actually, if that’s the case then translating “geogoð-feore” of four lines down as “youth” seems inaccurate.

Yes, Beowulf and Breca would have been fairly young when their boast was made and carried out, but “geogoð-feore” implies more than simply being “young.”

As a combination of the word for “youth” (“geogoð,” which even sounds sort of like the Modern English word since its vowel-ensconced “g”s are pronounced as “y”s) and the word for “life, principle of life, soul, spirit” (“feore”) a literal translation of this compound could be “youthful in spirit”.

What do you think is more important when it comes to translation? Is it better to go with the rough equivalent of a word in Modern English even if it simplifies the Old English original, or should a translation err on the side of being literal as much as possible?

Next week, Beowulf details the dangers the two faced, their strength in the race, and what befell them on the sixth night.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

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.

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 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.

A Blogger's Beowulf

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

Tag Archives: Grendel

Beowulf, Wealhtheow, and the two words that reveal much (ll.631-641)

Hrothgar’s gloom and Heorot’s hall cup (ll.607-619)

Beowulf gets mytho-poetic and words reveal more than meanings (feat. Robert Graves) (ll.598-606)

Beowulf’s reply to Unferth (part 1) and words with picky translations (ll.529-538)

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

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

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

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)