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

Posted on 2014/05/30 by NSCZach

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

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

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

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though that does leave them with their swords.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Progressive early medieval religion and why that word? (ll.348-355) [Old English]

Posted on 2014/04/25 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Going deep into a short passage
Wulfgar’s wisdom
Closing

Wulfgar gives a bureaucratic and ordered reply to Beowulf’s request.

“Wulfgar spoke: a Wendel man,
well known for his heart-thought,
of war and of wisdom: “‘I the friend of Danes
will inquire of our shield,
giver of rings, as thou art a petitioner,
of that famed lord, about your journey,
and then the answer I shall convey immediately,
that I may speak as it so pleases him.'”
(Beowulf ll.348-355)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

This week’s passage is no shorter than last week’s, but it seems less dense. Maybe I see it this way because Wulfgar isn’t a character of action.

Presented in his role as Hrothgar’s herald, he is very definitely installed in the Danes’ hierarchy and his actions are defined by his place in it. Therefore, his actions seem less interesting than Beowulf’s since he isn’t acting as an outsider trying to get into the Danes’ society. Instead he is already very much an integral part of that society.

That said, Wulfgar is portrayed as a nearly perfect front for Hrothgar. We’re not given much of his conduct, but it’s easy to picture (quite anachronistically) Wulfgar dressed up in a suit with a smartphone and briefcase acting as Hrothgar’s PR guy. Beowulf has put in a petition and Wulfgar’s now about to send this request up the line since he sees nothing wrong with it.

Speaking less anachronistically, you could make the case that this relationship, free from emotion as it appears to be, mimics that of god and god’s scribe in the Hebrew tradition: The angel Metatron.

Of course, Hrothgar’s realm being ravaged by Grendel does not make him out to be a very capable god. Though it is interesting to think of that situation representing the poet/scribe’s take on the pagan gods of the Anglo-Saxons: Old, hoary men who have passed their glory years and are in need of a hero to come in and save them – and eventually to supersede them.

It’s jumping quite a ways ahead, but there are some who believe that Beowulf is a kind of Christ figure at points in the poem. Combine that with the Anglo-Saxons’ taste for the story of Exodus (and no doubt god’s struggle against rival gods in that book and the rest of the Old Testament) and it’s rather tempting to see Beowulf as the Anglo-Saxons’ take on a hunky young god going around showing up and taking down all of the other gods among which people’s attentions are split.

Of course, for this reading of Beowulf to work entirely you’d need to figure out what the God-Beowulf’s very definite death could mean. Maybe the Anglo-Saxons, with a concept that their own gods could pale and die in comparison with the Christian god also believed that eventually the same would happen to that new Christian deity.

Of course, that’s nothing but pure speculation. The sort of speculation that has little to no basis in what we know about Anglo-Saxon religion, since it’s hard to say who first uttered the thought that Neitszche would write at the end of the nineteenth century, “God is dead.”

Getting back to Wulfgar and his role as Hrothgar’s herald. Wulfgar’s entirely by the book. He says that he’ll ask for Hrothgar’s take on the matter (using all due honorifics), that he’ll bring answer back immediately, and then that he’ll speak as it so pleases Hrothgar. The poet/scribe really goes all in to show just how fastidious Wulfgar is in all this.

So much so that I don’t think the translation of of “mod-sefa” as simply “thought” is good enough.

Instead, I think this is a situation that calls for a literal translation from “mod-sefa” to “heart-thought.”

Why? (You may ask.)

Because of the clause that follows: “of war and of wisdom” (“wig ond wisdom” (l.350)). Being renowned for “thought” just doesn’t suggest a man who is supposed to be wise in the matters of both war and of peace. Instead something that strikes a bit deeper, like “heart-thought” seems better suited. Not because his thoughts are necessarily borne of passion, but because they are a combination of instinct and reason.

This interpretation of “mod-sefa”s meaning might be a bit much, but I really think that’s what the word means in situations like this.

Although it’s not stated, Wulfgar is likely an older man, one who has seen many battles at Hrothgar’s side and no doubt been with him for many social functions. As such I think it’s safe to say that he has internalized a great deal of knowledge. With such a store of knowledge, much of it is likely instinctual, and so Wulfgar’s able to bring it forth from his instinct and then temper it with his reason. Thereby making his council sharp as a sword and tough as steel plate.

“Heart-thought” seems the perfect fit.

Next week, Wulfgar delivers Beowulf’s request (in a passage longer than eight lines!).

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Words from the "gif-stol" (ll.164-174) [Old English]

Posted on 2013/10/04 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
All about the “gif-stol”
On ‘secret’ ‘courage’
Closing

At long last we’re given details about Grendel’s grip on Heorot beyond a body count.

“So the fiend trespassed deeply against humankind,
the horror of the lone-goer, oft cursed,
awful affliction; Heorot was lived in,
the richly adorned hall was his by gloomy night,
though he could not approach the throne,
the treasure to the Measurer, nor could he be known.
This did much to the misery of the Scyldings,
their hearts broken. Many oft sat
with the ruler to give counsel, esteemed advice,
things that the rash and the best were fixing
to do against the awful horror.”
(Beowulf ll.164-174)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

As the physically stronger party, Grendel claims physical control over Heorot, though the Danes retain legal ownership of it. But Grendel, even as a violent squatter, cannot approach “the throne” (“gif-stol” (l.168)).

The Old English word used here for “throne” can also mean “gift-seat.” The difference between the two translations is minimal, but the reason for there being two in the first place is because “gif-stol” doesn’t just refer to the throne as a place of power. It refers to the gift-giving role that any good ruler had to play, as well. The throne is the place from which a ruler would dispense gifts and favours.

It’s entirely possible that the throne is set aside so that it can be the exclusive purvey of a ruler, imbuing him with a kind of positive, public solitude. It’s a place in which a ruler could be guaranteed clearer thinking and judgement in the matter of gifts because it was the ruler’s alone – no one else could enter that head (or cheek) space. Gifts were important in early medieval Europe, to the point where their being given and being received was closely watched. Who gave what to whom and vice versa mattered greatly to peoples’ reputations and standing.

Grendel can’t approach this gift-giving center, however.

In the text, the implication is that the throne is somehow dedicated to god. Building on the story that the scops had been singing in Heorot when times were still great, it seems that Grendel, as an accursed of god, can’t approach the throne because it is simply not for him. In a gift-driven society in which gifts could end feuds (and start them), not being able to approach the throne would mean that Grendel is cut off from a major social function. Being so isolated from society at large shouldn’t matter much to one who is already quite monstrous and thus excluded from society, and, really, it doesn’t seem to. The mention of Grendel’s not being able to approach this throne reads more like a detail added to show that there was hope yet. After all, Grendel “could not be known” (“ne his myne wisse” (l.169)).

I take this extra clause to mean that he could not be acknowledged by anyone in the throne (seated there, or to whom it had been dedicated), and therefore showing that Grendel was indeed cut off from society at large, reinforcing his isolation. It’s interesting to note that there’s no mention of Grendel’s aggression in this passage. He rules the hall by night. After reading this passage, it almost seems that Grendel could be capering about it, revelling in being in a public, social space.

Some curious words appear in the latter half of this passage.

First, on line 172, we have “counsel” or, in Old English: “rune.” It’s a neat philological fact that the Old English word for “mystery, secret, secrecy” is also the one for “counsel, consultation.” It gives the sense that rulers were believed so wise and powerful not necessarily because they themselves were, but because their counsel – with whom they worked behind the scenes – helped them to be so. The dictates and gifts made from the throne, would, after all, be made by the ruler alone. Thus the power of many would appear to be the power of one in public.

One line later we run into the word that I’ve translated as “rash”: “swiðferhðum.” This word pulls triple duty as far as Modern English translators are concerned, since it can mean “bold,” “brave,” or “rash.” In the context of the survivors giving Hrothgar advice about what to do with Grendel, “rash” is the best fit because it definitely reflects the attitude and outlook of some of his counsellors, as well as their advice.

The “and” between “rash” and “best” is my own insertion. I added it to distinguish between the “rash” and the “best” who are giving Hrothgar advice.

Next week, we learn more about the measures that the Danes have taken to ward off Grendel.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Grendel the grim and greedy (ll.138-146a) [Old English]

Posted on 2013/09/20 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Confrontation, or ambush?
Grendel’s reign
Closing

The poet describes how Grendel has terrorized the Danes, and has the area around Heorot in his goblin grip.

“Then was he easy to find roaming
about elsewhere seeking rest,
a place to recline and relax, to which he left a trail,
that token spoke truly of the object
of the hall-dwellers’ hate; they sought
refuge outside the hall once that fiend was running free.
So he ruled in defiance of right,
one of lesser stuff against all, until that
greatest of houses stood silent.”
(Beowulf ll.138-146a)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

Each of these extracts has brought up questions. The first that comes up here is why the Danes don’t track Grendel back to his resting place, or lay in wait and ambush him there. The latter of those two is out since it would be considered underhanded.

Any tactic that involved facing an enemy in an indirect way would have been considered cowardly or deceitful – both of which were traits to be avoided. On the one hand a code of honour is definitely responsible for the Anglo-Saxons’ looking down on such indirect tactics as ambush, but, at least within the realm of literature, I think the reason that Grendel isn’t merely staked out is because of the prevalence of feuds. If you were trying to minimize or avoid trivial feuds, the best way to do so would be to deal directly with friends and enemies alike – any misunderstanding, after all, could burst into a feud.

After all, on top of their inter-generational nature, feuds also involved a complex system of monetary compensation, and not every family or group in the Anglo-Saxon world had a hoard of gold to which they could turn for such payments. Also speaking from literature, it would not surprise me if some of the more astute admirers of poetry at the time considered Sigurd’s ambushing the dragon Fafnir the spark that ignites the blaze of tragedy that engulfs him and his family.

As to why the Danes don’t just follow the “token [that] spoke truly” (“gesægd soðlice sweotolan tacne” (l.141)) back to Grendel’s resting place and attack him there, all I can put forward is Grendel’s strength. He has already overpowered the Danes in their own “home turf” so to speak, and so they probably figure that facing him on his own turf would not go any better for them. Even if they didn’t have the concept of a home field advantage, Grendel’s resting place would likely be somewhere in the moors, an environment that’s less than hospitable considering its boggy ground, swarming insect life, and whatever superstitious trappings were attached to it as a place that is “Other.”

Grendel’s rule of Heorot is here characterized as “in defiance of right,/one of lesser stuff against all” (“wið rihte wan,/ana wið eallum” (ll.144-145)).

First, the “one of lesser stuff” is my interpretation of the lone wan meaning “lacking,” “deficient,” or “wanting.” The reason I chose to unpack the word in that way is because it underscores the poet’s overturning of the proper sense of order at this point in the poem. Grendel, the representative of devilish forces is winning, while the Danes, not exactly paragons of virtue, but nonetheless people striving to do good as far as they understand it, are brought low. So turning wan into “one of lesser stuff” makes sense.

Grendel’s rule over Heorot and its surroundings at this point is a definite low point. Not only because the Danes are without their meeting/mead hall, but because it’s a building that stands as a high point of civil achievement. It’s a place that is made to be sturdy, and that’s finished with stunning gold eaves. The specificity of the decor isn’t accidental, no doubt putting gold into a building’s roof was a way that the Anglo-Saxons tried to curry favour with their god(s). Though later scholars, and maybe even the religious who wrote down Beowulf, would see Heorot as an example of pagan pride and vanity, it nonetheless is something that stands as a sign of a people doing good as they see it.

Strangely this sort of cultural clash between pagan and Christian world views is most prevalent before Beowulf enters the story. Maybe this shift away from the clash is because his character is quite overwhelmingly proto-Christian, coming in and bragging that he’ll beat Grendel by the grace of god and so on. Whatever the case, this clash of world views becomes even more prevalent in the poem’s coming lines.

Tongues in Jars will be updating normally again from here on out. So be sure to check back next week!

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Grendel’s complications (ll.126-137) [Old English]

Posted on 2013/09/06 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Grendel’s hesitation
“G” is for vendetta
Closing

In the aftermath of Grendel’s attack there is great sorrow. This sadness is amplified when Grendel shortly strikes again.

“Then, outside the hall at daybreak,
was Grendel’s war-strength seen by human eyes;
after that was there weeping to heaven,
a morning full of mourning. Famous warriors,
long tested true lords, sorrowful sat,
the mighty moaned, the lost thanes saddened them,
until they found the faint, loathful footprints that
the evil doing fiend had made. That was helpful to
the beast’s escape,hateful and sluggish. That night
was not long alone, nigh the next night he again brought
more violent death and seemed not to hesitate as before,
bringing violence and outrage; he came down heavily upon
them.”
(Beowulf ll.126-137)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

So apparently Grendel was holding back in his first visit. Based on the penultimate line of this week’s extract, Grendel “seemed not to hesitate as before” (“no mearn fore”(l.136)). But what was there to hesitate about?

The suggestion that Grendel was holding back implies that he had some scrap of humanity in him on that first night, and it was this that was picked up on in last week’s entry. So, for some reason, after that first attack Grendel descends into something worse.

Perhaps Grendel was merely testing Heorot and those that he found there. But why would he need to test them? Again, it seems that Grendel had something in him to help him to know that he had something in common with his targets. Grendel is the kin of Cain, after all.

So, even if he could feel some commonality with the thanes of Heorot, he would be feeling it from the perspective of one who has a cursed nature. It’s safe to say, then, that Grendel’s perspective, feelings of kinship/commonality aside, is different at its base. Different enough to realize that he was somehow better than them, or that they were not a threat, not something against which he would have to hold back.

As a quick aside, John Gardner’s Grendel is a great study in the ghoul’s character, and it seems that Gardner drew more from Beowulf for it than you might think.

Carrying forward the ideas of the feud between god and the monsters and the distant kinship between the Danes and Grendel (from last week’s entry), there’s a curious word on line 137. This word is “fæhðe,” which means “violence,” “outrage,” or “vendetta,” according to Clark Hall & Meritt’s Anglo-Saxon Dictionary.

Now, a “vendetta” isn’t quite the same thing as a “feud.” The former is something that’s generally more one-sided, something that a person embarks upon because of a perceived wrong, whereas the latter is usually something where both parties are at least dimly aware of some mutual wrong(s) that are the cause for their enduring dispute.

So, since the feud between god and monsters is something limited to the songs of the scops, it’s not likely that Grendel’s striking Heorot as part of the age old feud of which they sing. Whether it’s the noise, or being god’s preferred offspring, Grendel is raining violence down upon Heorot as part of a vendetta, a one-sided feud. To modern readers this could be something rooted in Grendel’s nature as a monster. But, to the poem’s early audiences, a thing like a vendetta would seem monstrous in itself.

Before authority became centralized in the form of kingdoms and fiefdoms, one of the great laws of Northern Europe was the feud. But it was, in the ideal case, something that involved both parties, and was a means of redressing a wrong that was great enough to legitimize the bloodshed inherent in such a conflict.

To bring a vendetta against someone or some other group would be seen as a flaunting of the law of the land, and the action of an imbalanced person. Thus, Grendel’s made to be extra monstrous because of the apparently unmotivated violence that he brings to the Danes. Not simply because he’s acting so violently, but because he’s carrying a vendetta to the hall.

In next week’s extract, Grendel’s assaults drive people away from Heorot, and word of the hall’s woe spreads across the world.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Feuding References (ll.99-114) [Old English]

Posted on 2013/08/26 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Referential storytelling
Justification through a feud
Closing

Grendel has his first mention by name, and his origin is quickly explained.

“So the warriors of the hall lived in joy,
were prosperous, until one began
committing crimes, like a fiend of hell.
It was the ghastly ghoul called Grendel,
border walker from the marshlands, he that the moors held,
whose mire was his mansion; from the land held fast by
woe laden man-shaped sea beasts,
since the Shaper had condemned them
as kin of Cain – so the almighty Lord punished
him for that murder, when he slew Abel.
Cain was given no good from that, the Measurer cast him
far abroad, done for his evil, away from humankind.
Then the monsters all awoke,
ogres and elves and orcs,
also giants, those that waged long warfare
against God; until he gave them their reward.”
(Beowulf ll.99-114)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

To anyone familiar with Greek myth, there’s a strange mash up of origin stories happening here. The final two lines suggest some sort of war between god and monsters, specifically giants. In Greek myth, such a story would be a reference to the Gigantomachy wherein the Giants (the force of chaos) fought against the gods of Olympus (the force of order).

Taken as a reference to early parts of the Old Testament, these lines could be describing an Anglo-Saxon take on the Nephilim, the half human/half angel offspring of angels who walked the earth and cavorted amongst humanity. In the Old Testament stories, interestingly, given the Anglo-Saxons’ warrior status, these angels are allegedly the ones who showed humans how to work metal and create weapons for war.

This tale of a war between god and monsters could also be a reference to the story of the Roman de Brut, an epic poem about the first settling of what’s now England, and the giant that the settlers had to overcome to claim the land for their own. But the version of that poem written by Wace is dated to 1150-1155 with much more certainly than Beowulf’s own dating. As a result of this late date, Beowulf would have had to have been written/composed later in the twelfth century. Alternatively, it could well have influenced Wace (along with his major source for his Roman de Brut, Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regium Britanniae).

Nevertheless, the story about a war between god and giants could be construed in a number of historical ways, too. Perhaps it’s a Christian insertion into the poem, meant to represent how Christian monotheism overtook pagan polytheism (something that is quite active in this leg of the poem, actually). Or maybe there’s more of an historical/allegorical bent at work, the figures on either side standing for certain factions that faced off in the poets/writers’ distant past.

Whatever the case, this event is definitely something that took place far into the past. After all, it’s clearly stated that the monsters all awoke after the condemnation of Cain (ll.109-112). Likely this is how the story goes because Biblically Cain is the first human outcast. Surely, Adam and Eve had their own losses from being cast out of the garden, but to be cast out from the cast outs would make Cain particularly damned. Especially in the eyes of the Anglo-Saxons, for whom community and social inclusion were integral for survival.

The whole “kin of Cain” (“Caines cynne” (l.107)) thing is interesting. It takes something that is by its nature as a creature of the borderlands mysterious and other and gives it a lineage. Grendel isn’t just some monster that no one knows anything about, but is instead related to the first murderer and, curiously, an early farmer. A cheeky reading of the Cain and Abel story, could, in fact, be that god, with childish aplomb, prefers meat to vegetables.

Anyway, giving Grendel a lineage and taking the mystery out of him thereby, makes him more approachable. It feeds into the feud culture of the Anglo-Saxons as well. After all, without a hereditary feud to conclude/perpetuate, Grendel would be somewhat in the right, since the Danes are encroaching on his territory. What’s more, Grendel only attacks Heorot once he’s provoked by the noise from within. Giving Grendel a clear ancestor, though, brings the feud element into play, which makes who’s in the right and who’s in the wrong muddier. After all, any godly person would surely take the side of god in a war with the monsters. Surely.

Running with the idea that Beowulf was substantially altered when written down for the sake of Christianizing the Anglo-Saxons, any feud element would be an incredible asset. From the perspective of a missionary such elements would be their “in;” to the Anglo-Saxons feuds were eminently familiar.

This familiarity would help make the Christian parts of the story seem more understandable. Particularly helpful in this area is the final line of this extract. The climactic sarcasm to be found there makes it prime for Anglo-Saxon appreciation, and could be there as a kind of medieval fan service.

Grendel ventures into the hall next week, and there wreaks his first reported havoc.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Gilding the greats (ll.43-52) [Old English]

Posted on 2013/07/04 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Homeward bound Scyld?
Imposing a word and why
Closing

Scyld is sent off with his boat of treasure as his living comrades are plagued by heavy hearts.

“By no means did they leave a lack of gifts,
treasures of the people, when that was done,
when they sent him forth to his origin,
for he was one who came over the waves as a child.
Then they established a golden sign for him
high overhead, they let the waves bear him,
their gift to the raging ocean; they were
sorrowful at heart, mourning souls. Men cannot
say for certain, hall rulers,
heroes under heaven, who that horde discovered.”
(Beowulf ll.43-52)

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

Initially, it’s tempting to say that the first sentence of this excerpt is very familiar. Not in that everyone sends their dead out to sea laden with treasure, but in that ‘going to see your maker’ is a fairly popular euphemism for death. However, as the sentence ends we get an extra layer is added to Scyld’s story.

Like so many other “chosen heroes” (or figures like them), it’s revealed that Scyld’s origins are shrouded in mystery. On one hand this is definitely a trope, but considering the patriarchal society in which Beowulf was composed/sung, it’s also a curious quality in a great leader.

If there’s one thing that’s important in Anglo-Saxon society it’s a person’s connection to their lineage and heritage. Later in the poem, when Beowulf appears before Hrothgar, there’s no question that Hrothgar’s helping Beowulf’s father in the past goes far in getting Hrothgar to feel secure in entrusting Heorot to the travelling Geat. Scyld’s lack of any connection, since he’s an orphan from across the sea, makes his rise to power all the more impressive.

Though, it’s not out outlandish to guess that having no earthly origin might have as much clout as regal or warrior origins would. After all, a leader’s story and reputation could be as powerful as any army – having such mysterious origins could only bolster such power. So long as they were properly maintained.

Though there’s no connection between the hoard sent out with Scylde and that of the dragon later in the poem, I’ve chosen to suggest one. This centers around the word “hlæste” (l.52).

Commonly, this word means “burden,” “load,” or “freight,” but I went with “hoard.” It’s true that the treasure is the boat’s freight, with the implication that Scyld is as much a treasure as the glittering armour or piled gold, but “hoard” doesn’t subtract from this implication. Thus, it’s a variant translation, but still a valid one.

For, using “hoard” associates Scyld with the treasure that has been sent off in the same way as the more common translations of “hlæste.” It’s possible that Anglo-Saxons might regard “hoard” as more negative in its connotations, though. Hoarding treasure means that it isn’t shared, and unshared treasure is more often than not the undoing of a ruler.

Actually, this raises a curious point. In the person of Scyld literal treasure and a valued figure are joined into one thing; both of them become regarded as treasure. Then, later in the poem, we get the stories of Heremod (who hoarded his treasure, much to the dissatisfaction of his thanes), and of Modthryth (who hoarded her beauty to herself, and punished men simply for looking at her). So, after a great person has been gilded we then see examples of the extreme opposites – a man who refuses to share his treasure in an expected way and a woman who refuses to share her person in an expected way (as skeezy as that might sound).

This establishing of the true value of a great man and then its deconstruction makes for a grand set up for the end of the poem. After all, the tension between valued figures and valued things is resolved in Beowulf’s death and funeral.

Like Scyld he is buried with a great deal of treasure, and like Scyld he is a greatly valued figure among his people. The major difference – Beowulf’s being buried rather than set off to sea – does two things. It gives closure for the poem, but it’s a much more definitive kind of closure since Beowulf returns to the dust of his home rather than mere dust in general.

Next week, the focus returns to Beow, and we hear the first mention of Hrothgar.

You can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Spreading the Word [ll.2892-2899] (Old English)

Posted on 2012/11/09 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Why so few Thanes?
More ‘Limits Lessening’
Closing

Looks like those knights have maille. Image found on *iStockPhoto*.

Wiglaf commands a messenger to go to tell the encamped Geats about Beowulf’s battle with the dragon.

“Commanded he then that the battle work be
reported to those encamped on the cliff-edge, where the
noble warrior host sat sorrow-hearted the morning length of day,
the shield bearers, each entertained both possibilities:
that it was the end of the dear man’s days and that
the prized prince would return again. The messenger
kept little silent in his story, so that naught was left
unsaid, and so he spoke truth to them all:”
(Beowulf ll.2892-2899)

Old English:

Modern English:

The first thing that comes to mind upon reading this passage is – if Beowulf had all of these shield bearers at his command, why didn’t he have all the Geatish warriors lay on the dragon at once? I can only imagine how poorly he’d do in Pikmin or in Little King’s Story.

Pitifully anachronistic references aside, it is a wonder why Beowulf wanted to travel only with 13. Sure, it could be said that he simply wanted to endanger as few as possible, but then you need to ask: Why 13 and not 3? Or, if there had been some hint of Wiglaf being the most valiant of the bunch, why not just the two of them with the thief as their guide?

However, as a poem that might’ve been used as a missionary tool, or that may have been hurriedly adapted from a pagan original by some deft bard, it makes sense that Beowulf travel with 13. After all, he’s he’s a Christ-figure (having survived the harrowing of the Grendels’ lair) and so to complete the analogy he needs 12 companions. One needs to betray him (the thief in this case, I suppose), and few need to prove true. In Beowulf only one the apostle analogues proves his mettle, but I’m sure that even when this change, or this narrative choice, was made, it was done to keep things interesting rather than boring its listeners with a thinly veiled Christian tale.

Stranger than any analogy, however, is this messenger that Wiglaf commands to go to the people. He’s clearly quick, and he’s clearly trained in the art of delivering messages (unless his heart and mind were so affected by the sight of Beowulf that he speaks truth to the people). It’s possible that it could be one of the cowardly thanes, but then, where did he come from? I’m not an early medieval military historian, by any means, but given the nature of communications then, it would make perfect sense to have a messenger in every military unit.

To hopefully suss this out a little bit more, let’s look back to lines 2878-2879 where Wiglaf says that he felt his “limits lessen”:

“…ongan swa þeah/ofer min gemet mæges helpan;”

“…I felt my limits/lessen when I strove to help our lord.”

Is it possible that just as Wiglaf found a previously unknown reserve of courage as he defended Beowulf, that the thane who delivers the news of the battle experiences the same?

If Beowulf, as we have it today, is truly a work that’s been influenced by early Christianity, as many believe it is, then this otherwise minor detail might be a major part of its Christianization. A major part of Christianity is the idea that everyone has freewill, and that one way to find your destiny is to essentially give that freewill up of your own choice so that you willingly accept “god’s plan.”

Wiglaf and this nameless messenger may not give up their freewill in doing what they do, but I don’t think it’s far from the mark to say that they both do what they’re supposed to do, and being part of the younger generation (which is almost always cast as defiant in literature), doing what these two do doesn’t come as naturally to them as it might to a young man with something to prove to kin that think he’s a good-for-nothing weakling.

Cutting right to it, then, I think that Wiglaf’s feeling his limits lessen and the messenger (assuming that it’s one of the cowardly thanes, and not some mysteriously a-horse messenger specialist) speaking freely to the gathered Geats are examples of two people finding their callings. Wiglaf is to be the battle leavings: something he can be as long as he goes to battle (if he wins, he survives and is a leaving, and if he loses he dies, and is an heirloom of the battle left to the crows and the sun). And the messenger…well…we don’t get enough information on him to be sure, but if there were certainty in analysis of English literature, science majors wouldn’t be so adverse to it.

That wraps things up for both blogs this week.

Come Monday, a new short story will appear over at A Glass Darkly, and expect a movie review (title TBA), and Annotated Links entry on Friday and Saturday respectively. Here at Tongues in Jars, the usual Latin and Old English entries will be updloaded on Tuesday and Thursday.

And you can find the next part of Beowulf here.

Natural Exhaustion ["Dum Diane vitrea" Fourth Stanza] (Latin)

Posted on 2012/10/17 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Teasing Meaning from Images
It’s all about Sleep
Closing

{An idyllic windmill scene. Image found on *JA Tappero’s Main Page*.}

The poet waxes on about satisfying (?) post-coital sleepiness.

“Morpheus then draws forth
an urge in the mind
Like gentle wind over mature corn,
clear shoreside river murmurings,
the circuitous orbit of mill arms,
he who steals sleep from clear eyes.”
(“Dum Diane vitrea” Stanza 4)

The entire poem will be recorded once it’s all been posted. This recording will then be posted with a final, full edition of my translation.

What this stanza describes sounds unequivocally like post-coital sleepiness. The way it’s described with rustic, idyllic even, similes strengthens this reading, too.

After all, If love is often romanticized in classical literature as the affection between a shepherd and a shepherdess, why not also romanticize the urge to sleep afterwards with a bunch of natural imagery? Though it definitely needs to be noted that this stanza’s imagery isn’t entirely natural.

Corn may grow on its own, but it’s made into fields by human hands, just as much as a windmill is something of human design and construction. Yet, associating these things with sleep makes sense on many different levels.

There’s the obvious level of their soothing nature, and that of all three working together to paint a very calm and relaxed scene. And relaxed is the best word for this scene, since all of these actions are passive. The corn merely bends in the wind, the water is just running to lower ground, and the mill’s arms turn as gusts go by.

Further, the first and third of these images are visual cues of something invisible but audible: wind, while the second of the three is an aural representation of something very visual. This synaesthetic description of the sweeping desire to sleep is incredibly effective if you think about the last time you felt utterly exhausted. Alternatively, you could compare this stanza’s main image to the gradual release of tension in a yogic meditation or that you might experience if you just lay in bed, close your eyes, and concentrate on your breathing.

But why, if the poet wanted to depict an idyllic country scene, did he use these three things? Why does the poet choose the wind in a cornfield, the babbling of a river, and the wind through the arms of a windmill? These are all things found in the countryside, sure. But why these three? How do they work together? And why move from wind to water to wind?

It’s possible that this arrangement offers further reflection on the medieval biphasic sleep pattern.

The wind could be the gentle and effortless rest that sleep affords, while the water, coming in between wind images, could be the awake phase in between sleep periods (or sex itself, depending on how far you want to take the flow of the river).

What’s more, shifting the wind image to that of a mill after that middle water image works perfectly well within an interpretation of this stanza as the medieval sleep pattern in miniature. After all, a windmill would often be used to grind grains (corn included) into meal or flour, and medieval associations between this flour and male potency (or more generally the active principle) are many.

So reading these three images as a representation of the night as a whole is certainly possible within context. What’s especially significant about such a reading though is that it shows the poet’s associating this sleep pattern with human use of nature, and the way that nature and humanity interact. On the surface, this kind of idea sounds tame enough, but through such a series of associations, the poet could well be asserting that sex is merely something natural.

Maybe the poet is even trying to go so far as to bring sex, something contemporarily thought of as dangerous and needing control (a natural, base urge), into the more civilized and human realm. Moreover, because of the cyclical nature of this series of images, the poet seems to suggest that sex is just another part of a natural cycle that can be put under human control, or under human use (as water and its flow can be).

Of course, all of this is speculation – go right ahead and share your own in the comments!

Also, don’t miss Thursday’s Beowulf entry – Beowulf is firmly cut from the story, as its focus moves over to the grieving Wiglaf.

Beowulf’s Death, and his Soul’s Departure [ll.2809-2820] (Old English)

Posted on 2012/09/28 by NSCZach

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Ambiguity in Beowulf’s Death
Beowulf Doomed?
Closing

{Wiglaf listens to Beowulf’s final words. Image found on “Outpost 10F” of *The Poetry Guild*.}

Beowulf bestows his war garb unto Wiglaf, and then gives up the ghost.

He did off the golden ring about his neck,
the brave hearted prince, gave it to the thane,
the young spear warrior, his gold adorned helmet,
ring and mail shirt, commanded him to use them well:
“You are the last remaining of our kin,
of the Waegmundings; fate has swept away all
of my line as per the decree of destiny,
warriors in valour; I after them now shall go.”
That was the old one’s last word
of thoughts of the heart before he chose the pyre,
the hot battle flame; from his breast went
his soul to seek the judgment of the righteous.
(Beowulf ll.2809-2820)

Old English:

Modern English:

As will be the case with the death of any great literary figure, this passage is one that’s often studied. Beyond its importance to the story, we’re also once more confronted with some ambiguity around Beowulf’s deeds. Yet, rather than being confronted with ambiguity by the words of Beowulf himself, we’re confronted with ambiguity in the poet/scribe’s own phrasing.

At the passage’s end we’re told that Beowulf’s soul leaves to “seek the judgement of the righteous.” Just as the phrase “judgement of the righteous” is ambiguous in Modern English, since the litigous could defend its meaning either ‘the judgement handed down by the righteous,’ or ‘the judgement that is passed on the righteous,’ it’s the same in Old English. There it simply reads: “soðfæstra dom” (l.2820).

The problem here is that there’s no clarifying word or phrase either in the original or in most translations that strive to be accurate. As a result we’re left with something that leaves the interpretation up to the listener/reader.

But could this maybe be the point here? Could the poet/scribe who created the version of the poem that we have today have been going for ambiguity at this part of the poem?

Just as either side of the phrase’s meaning could be argued, so too could either side of the interpretation debate.

In brief, if it’s understood to mean that Beowulf is a righteous one going to the judgment that awaits him it sets him among the holy heathens whom Christ pulled from the upper levels of hell during its harrowing.

Alternately, if the phrase is interpreted as meaning that the righteous are passing judgment, there’s a strong implication that either righteousness is something a person earns after being judged worthy by those who have it (thereby becoming one of their peers).

Or, taking this meaning could mean that Beowulf really isn’t righteous at all, and that his being judged by them means that there will be a great deal of hardship in his afterlife.

Of these three possibilities, the most interesting is that Beowulf might be doomed in the end since he’s being judged by the righteous.

A truly puritanical Christian audience might be expecting as much from such a violent, alcoholic figure, but at the same time, that would seriously undermine any missionary value that this story had. After all, the Christian monks who recorded stories such as this from oral traditions would definitely have given them a spin that could be useful for bringing around the unconverted.

Of course, that gives the idea that this moment of ambiguity is intentional even more steam.

Yes, it could maybe spark debate among those who differ in their interpretations, but as long as this version was being told by a priest or religious, they would be there to point the way to their own version of the truth. If monks or religious actually went around reciting this poem, then this moment in particular would be the perfect one to serve as a crisis moment that could be turned around and explained so as to make Christ seem super appealing.

Unfortunately, the only way we’ll ever know for sure if any of this speculation about the ambiguity of the phrase “soðfæstra dom” is accurate is if another version of the poem shows up or the scribe of our version is definitively identified.

Until then, feel free to leave your thoughts on the phrase in the comments!

Next week, the second verse of “Dum Diane vitrea” will be up, along with what Wiglaf does next after Beowulf’s demise.

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: speculation

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

Progressive early medieval religion and why that word? (ll.348-355) [Old English]

Words from the "gif-stol" (ll.164-174) [Old English]

Grendel the grim and greedy (ll.138-146a) [Old English]

Grendel’s complications (ll.126-137) [Old English]

Feuding References (ll.99-114) [Old English]

Gilding the greats (ll.43-52) [Old English]

Spreading the Word [ll.2892-2899] (Old English)

Natural Exhaustion ["Dum Diane vitrea" Fourth Stanza] (Latin)

Beowulf’s Death, and his Soul’s Departure [ll.2809-2820] (Old English)