THE PRIMARY POETRY.
We have now seen something of a culture that was introduced from abroad,
and guided by foreign models. But our people had a native gift of song,
and a tradition of poetic lore, which lived in memory, and was sustained
by the profession of minstrelsy. The Christian and literary culture
obtained through the Latin tended strongly to the suppression and
extinction of this ancient and national vein of poetry. But happily it
has not all been lost, and it will be the aim of this chapter to present
some specimens of that poetry which is rooted in the native genius of
the race, and which we may call the primary poetry. The poetry which is
manifestly of Latin material we will call the secondary poetry. It is
not asserted that we have two sorts of poetry so entirely separate and
distinct the one from the other, that the one is purely native and
untinged with foreign influence, while the other springs from mere
imitation. The two sorts are not so utterly contrasted as that. Even the
secondary poetry is not without originality. On the other hand the
primary poetry betrays here and there the Latin culture and the
Christian sentiment; and yet if is quite sufficiently distinct and
characterised to justify the plan of grouping it apart from the general
body of the poetical remains.
The chief features of the Saxon poetry may conveniently be arranged
under three heads: 1. The mechanical formation. 2. The rhetorical
characteristics. 3. The imaginative elements.
1. Of these the first turns on Alliteration, Accent, and Rhythm; and
this part, which is generally held to belong rather to grammar than to
literature, I have described elsewhere.[74]
2. The Rhetorical characteristic of Anglo-Saxon poetry which is most
prominent, is a certain repetition of the thought with a variation of
epithet or phrase, in a manner which distinctly resembles the
parallelism of Hebrew poetry.
3. The Imaginative element resides chiefly in the metaphor, which is
very pervading and seems to be almost unconscious. It seldom rises to
that conscious form of metaphor which we call the Simile, and when it
does it is laconically brief, as in the comparison of a ship with a bird
(fugle gelicost). The later poetry begins to expand the similes somewhat
after the manner of the Latin poets. In Beowulf we have four brief
similes and only one that is expanded; namely, that of the sword-hilt
melting like ice in the warm season of spring (line 1,608).
We will begin with the "Beowulf," the largest and in every sense the
most important of the remaining Anglo-Saxon poems. It has much in it
that seems like anticipation of the age of chivalry. The story of the
"Beowulf" is as follows:[75]--
Hroðgar, king of the Danes, ruled over many nations with imperial sway.
It came into his mind to add to his Burg a spacious hall for the greater
splendour of his hospitality and the dispensing of his bounty. This hall
was named Heorot. But all his glory was undone by the nightly visits of
a devouring fiend; Hroðgar's people were either killed, or gone to safer
quarters. Heorot, though habitable by day, was abandoned at night; no
faithful band kept watch around the seat of Danish royalty; Hroðgar, the
aged king, was in dejection and despair.
Higelac was king in the neighbouring land of the Geatas, and he had
about him a young nephew, a sister's son, Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow.
Beowulf had great bodily strength, but was otherwise little accounted
of. The young man loved adventure, and hearing of Hroðgar's misery, he
determined to help him. He embarked with fourteen companions, and
reached the coast of the Danes, where he was challenged by the
coast-warden in a tone of mistrust. After a parley, that officer sped
him on his way, and Beowulf's company stood before Hroðgar's gate. Asked
the meaning of this armed visit, the leader answers: "We sit at
Higelac's table: my name is Beowulf. I will tell mine errand to thy
master, if he will deign that we may greet him." Hroðgar knew Beowulf's
name, remembered his father Ecgtheow,[76] had the visitor to his
presence, heard his high resolve, was ready to hope for deliverance, and
prompt to see in Beowulf a deliverer. Festivity is renewed in the
deserted hall, and tales of old achievements revive forgotten
mirth--mirth broken only by the gibes of the eloquent Hunferth, which
give Beowulf occasion to tell the tale of an old swimming-match when he
slew sea-monsters; and all is harmony again. But night descends, and
with it the fears that were now habitual. Beowulf shrinks not from his
adventure; the guests depart, and the king, retiring to his castle,
commits to his visitor the night-watch of Heorot.
Næfre ic ænegum men
ær alyfde,
siððan ic hond and rond
hebban mihte,
thryth ærn Dena:--
buton the nu tha!
Hafa nu and geheald
husa selest;
gemyne mærtho,
mægen ellen cyth;
waca with wrathum!
ne bith the wilna gad,
gif thu thæt ellen weorc
aldre gedigest.
Never I to any man
ere now entrusted,
(since hand and shield
I first could heave)
the Guardhouse of the Danes:--
never but now to thee!
Have now and hold
the sacred house;
of glory mindful
main and valour prove;
watch for the foe!
no wish of thine shall fail,
if thou the daring work
with life canst do.
Beowulf and his companions have their beds in the hall.
They sleep; but he watches. It was not long before the depredator of the
night was there, and a lurid gleam stood out of his eyes. While Beowulf
cautiously held himself on the alert, the fiend had quickly clutched and
devoured one of the sleepers. But now Grendel--such was the demon's
name--found himself in a grasp unknown before. Long and dire was the
strife. The timbers cracked, the iron-bound benches plied, and work
deemed proof against all but fire was now a wreck. Grendel finding the
foe too strong, thought only of escape. He did escape, and got away to
the moor, but he left an arm in Beowulf's grip.
Early in the morning men came from far and near to see the hideous
trophy on the gable of the hall: men came to rejoice in the great
deliverance; for Heorot, they said, was now purged. Great was their joy.
Mounted men rode over the moor, tracking Grendel's retreat by his blood;
they followed his path to the dismal pool where he had his habitation;
then they turn homewards, riding together and conversing as they go.
They talk of Beowulf, they liken him with Sigemund, that hero of
greatest name. When they come to galloping ground, they break away from
the tales, and race over the turf. In another tale they talk of Heremod;
but he was proud and cold, not like Beowulf, who is as genial as he is
valiant. The early riders are back to Heorot in time to see the king and
the queen moving from bower to hall, the king with his guard, the queen
with her maidens. Then follows a noble scene. Hroðgar sees the hideous
trophy on the gable; he stands on the terrace, and utters a thanksgiving
to God as stately as it is simple. He reviews the woe and the grief, the
disgrace, the helplessness, and the utter despondency of himself and of
his people; "and now a boy hath done the deed which we all with our
united powers could not compass! Verily that woman is blessed that bare
him; and if she yet lives, she may well say that God was very gracious
to her in her childbearing. Beowulf, I will love thee as a son, and thou
shalt lack nothing that it is in my power to give."
Beowulf spake: "We did our best in a risky tussle; would I could have
brought you the fiend a captive. I could not hold him; he gave me the
slip: but he left a limb behind; _that_ will be his death." Next Heorot
is restored and beautified anew. Marvellous gold-embroidered hangings
drape the walls, the admiration of those who have an eye for such
things. The whole interior had been a wreck, the roof alone remained
entire. Now, it was straight and fair once more; and now it was to be
the scene of such a profusion of gifts as poet had never sung.
In honour of his victory Beowulf received a golden banner of quaint
device, a helmet, and a coat of mail; but what drew all eyes was the
ancient famous sword now brought forth from the treasure house, and
borne up to the hero. Furthermore, at the king's word, eight splendid
horses, cheek-adorned, were led into the hall; and on one of them was
seen the saddle, the well-known saddle of Hroðgar, wherein he, never
aloof in battle-hour, sate when he mingled in the fray of war. "Take
them," said the king, "take them, Beowulf, both horses and armour; and
my blessing with them."
The companions of Beowulf were not forgotten: they all received
appropriate gifts. The festivities proceed, and we have a picture of the
course of the banquet. The minstrel's tale on that occasion was the
Fearful Fray in the Castle of Finn, when Danes were there on a visit.
The song being ended, Waltheow the queen bears the cup to the king, and
bids him be merry and bountiful. Her queenly counsel stops not here. The
king had sons of his own; he should give no hint of any other succession
to his seat; while he occupied the throne, he should be large in bounty
and encircle himself with grateful champions. Next, with like ceremony
she honours Beowulf, and hands the cup to him. She also presents her
own special gifts to the deliverer:--bracelets, and a rich garment, and
a collar surpassing all most famed in story since Hama captured the
collar of the Brosings. The queen addresses Beowulf, wishes him joy of
her gifts, exalts his merits, bids him befriend her son and be loyal to
the king. She took her seat, and the revelry grew. Little deemed they,
what next would happen, when the night should be dark, and Hroðgar
asleep in his bower!
The hall is made ready as a dormitory for the men-at-arms; the benches
are slewed round, and the floor is spread from end to end with beds and
bolsters. Every warrior's shield is set upright at his head, and by the
bench-posts stands his spear, supporting helmet and mail. Such was their
custom; they slept as ever ready to rise and do service to their king.
Horror is renewed in the night; Grendel's fiendish dam visits the hall
and kills one of the sleepers, Æschere by name.
In the morning the king is in great distress. He sends for Beowulf, who,
after the purging of Heorot, had occupied a separate bower, like the
king. Beowulf arrives, and hopes all is well. Hroðgar spake:--"Ask not
of welfare; sorrow is renewed for the Danish folk! My trusty friend
Æschere is dead; my comrade tried in battle when the tug was for life,
when the fight was foot to foot and helmets kissed:--oh! Æschere was
what a thane should be! The cruel hag has wreaked on him her vengeance.
The country folk said there were two of them, one the semblance of a
woman, the other the spectre of a man. Their haunt is in the remote
land, in the crags of the wolf, the wind-beaten cliffs, and untrodden
bogs, where the dismal stream plunges into the drear abyss of an awful
lake, overhung with a dark and grisly wood rooted down to the water's
edge, where a lurid flame plays nightly on the surface of the flood--and
there lives not the man who knows its depth! So dreadful is the place
that the hunted stag, hard driven by the hounds, will rather die on the
bank than find a shelter there. A place of terror! When the wind rises,
the waves mingle hurly-burly with the clouds, the air is stifling and
rumbles with thunder. To thee alone we look for relief; darest thou
explore the monster's lair, I will reward the adventure with ancient
treasures, with coils of gold if thou return alive!"
Said Beowulf, the son of Ecgtheow:--"Sorrow not, experienced sire!
Better avenge a friend than idly deplore him:--each must wait the end of
life, and should work while he may to make him a name--the best thing
after life! Bestir thee, guardian of the folk! let us be quick upon the
track of Grendel's housemate. I make thee a promise:--not highest cliff,
not widest field, not darkest wood, nor deepest flood--go where he
will--shall be his refuge! Bear up for one day, and may thy troubles end
according to my wish!" The king mounts, and with his retinue conducts
Beowulf to the charmed lake: the wildness of the way, and the strange
nature of the scenes, are all in keeping. The armed followers sit them
down in a place where they command a view of the dismal water. Monstrous
creatures writhe about the crags; the men shoot some of them.
Beowulf equips for his adventure. His sword was the famous Hrunting,
lent to him by Hunferth, the boastful orator, he who had gibed at
Beowulf on the day of his arrival. It was a sword of high repute; a
hoarded treasure; its edge was iron; it was damascened with device of
coiled twigs; it had never failed in fight the hand that dared to wield
it. Now Beowulf spoke, ready for action: "Remember, noble Hroðgar, how
thou and I talked together, that if I lost life in thy service thou
wouldest be as a father to me departed:--protect my comrades if I am
taken; and the gifts thou gavest me, beloved Hroðgar, send home to
Higelac. When he looks on the treasures he will know that I found a
bounteous master, and enjoyed life while it lasted. And let Hunferð have
his old sword again: I will conquer fame with Hrunting, or die
fighting." Act followed word: he was gone, and the wave had covered him.
He was most of the day before he reached the depths of the abyss. While
yet on the downward way, he was met by the old water-wolf that had dwelt
there a hundred years, who had perceived the approach of a human
visitor. She clutched him and bore him off, till he found himself with
his enemy in a vast chamber which excluded the water and was lighted by
some strange fire-glow. At once the fight began, and Hrunting rang about
the demon's head; but against such a being the sword was useless, the
edge turned that never had failed before: he flung it from him and
trusted to strength of arm. In his rage he charged so deadly that he
felled the monster to the ground; but she recovered and Beowulf fell.
And now the furious wight thought to revenge Grendel; she plunged her
knife at Beowulf's breast, and his life had ended there but for the good
service of his ringed mail-serk. Protected by this armour, and helped by
Him who giveth victory, he passed the perilous moment, and was on his
feet again. And now he espied among the armour in that place an old
elfin sword, such as no other man might carry; this he seized, and with
the force of despair he so smote that the fell hag lay dead:--the sword
was gory, and the boy was fain of his work. With rage unsated, he ranged
through the place till he came to where Grendel lay lifeless: he smote
the head from the hateful carcase.
To Hroðgar's men watching on the height the lake appeared as if mingled
with blood, and this seemed to confirm their fears. The day was waning:
the old men about Hroðgar took counsel, and, concluding they should see
Beowulf no more, they moved homeward. But Beowulf's followers, though
sick at heart and with little hope, yet sate on in spite of dejection.
Meanwhile the huge, gigantic blade had melted marvellously away "likest
unto ice, when the Father (he who hath power over times and seasons,
that is, the true ruler) looseneth the chain of frost and unwindeth the
wave-ropes":--so venomous was the gore of the fiend that had been slain
therewith. Beowulf took the gigantic hilt and the monster's head, and,
soaring up through the waters, he stood on the shore to the surprise and
joy of his faithful comrades, who came eagerly about him to ease him of
his dripping harness. Exulting they return to Heorot, Grendel's head
carried by four men on a pole; they march straight up the hall to greet
the king, and the guests are startled with the ghastly evidence of
Beowulf's complete success. Beowulf tells his story and presents the
hilt to Hroðgar. The aged king extols the unparalleled achievements of
Beowulf, and warns him against excessive exaltation of mind by the
example of Heremod.
Soon after this we have the parting between the old king and the young
hero, who declares his readiness to come with a thousand thanes at any
time of Hroðgar's need; while Hroðgar's words are of love and admiration
and confidence in his discretion: and so he lets him go not without
large addition of gifts, and embraces, and kisses, and tears. "Thence
Beowulf the warrior, elate with gold, trod the grassy plain, exulting in
treasure; the sea-goer that rode at anchor awaited its lord; then as
they went was Hroðgar's liberality often praised." At the coast they are
met by the coast-warden with an altered and respectful mien: they are
soon afloat, and we hear the whistle of the wind through the rigging as
the gallant craft bears away before the breeze to carry them all merrily
homewards after well-sped adventure. The welcome is worthy of the
work:--Higelac's reception of Beowulf, the joy of getting him back;
Beowulf presenting to his liege lord the wealth he had won; old
reminiscences called up and couched in song; an ancient sword brought
out and presented to Beowulf, and with the sword a spacious lordship, a
noble mansion, and all seigneurial rights.
And so he dwelt until such time as he went forth with Higelac on his
fatal expedition against the Frisians, who were backed by a strong
alliance of Chauci, and Chattuarii, and Franks; and there Higelac fell,
and his army perished. Beowulf, by prodigious swimming, reached his home
again, where now was a young widowed queen and her infant son. She
offered herself and her kingdom to Beowulf; he preferred the office of
the faithful guardian. At a later time the young king fell in battle,
and then Beowulf succeeded. He reigned fifty years a good king, and
ended life with a supreme act of heroism. He fought and slew a fiery
dragon which desolated his country, and was himself mortally wounded in
the conflict. One single follower, Wiglaf by name, bolder or more
faithful than the rest, was at his side in danger, though not to help;
and he received the hero's dying words:--"I should have given my armour
to my son if I had heir of my body. I have held this people fifty years;
no neighbour has dared to challenge or molest me. I have lived with men
on fair and equal terms; I have done no violence, caused no friends to
perish, and that is a comfort to one deadly wounded who is soon to
appear before the Ruler of men. Now, beloved Wiglaf, go thou quickly in
under the hoary stone of the dragon's vault, and bring the treasures out
into the daylight, that I may behold the splendour of ancient wealth,
and death may be the softer for the sight." When it was done, and the
wondrous heap was before his eyes, the victorious warrior spake:--"For
the riches on which I look I thank the Lord of all, the king of glory,
the everlasting ruler, that I have been able before my death-day to
acquire such for my people. Well spent is the remnant of my life to earn
such a treasure; I charge thee with the care of the people; I can be no
longer here. Order my warriors after the bale-fire to rear a mighty
mound on the headland over the sea: it shall tower aloft on Hronesness
for a memorial to my people: that sea-going men in time to come may call
it Beowulf's Barrow, when foam-prowed ships drive over the scowling
flood on their distant courses." Then he removed a golden coil from his
neck and gave it to the young thane; the same he did with his helmet
inlaid with gold, the collar, and the mail-coat: he bade him use them as
his own.
"Thou art the last of our race of the Wægmundings; fate has swept all my
kindred off into Eternity; I must follow them." That was his latest
word; his soul went out of his breast into the lot of the just.
Reflections and discourses proper to the occasion are spoken by Wiglaf,
such as chiding of the timorous who stood aloof, and gloomy
anticipations of the future.
3,000 Thæt is sio fæhtho
and se feondscipe,
wæl nith wera,
thæs the ic wen hafo,
the us seceath to
Sweona leode
syððan hie gefricgeath
frean userne,
ealdorleasne
thone the ær geheold
with hettendum
hord and rice;
folc ræd fremede,
oððe furthur gen
eorlscipe efnde.
Nu is ofost betost
thæt we theod cyning
thær sceawian
and thone gebringan,
the us beagas geaf,
on âd fære.
Ne scal anes hwæt
meltan mid tham modigan,
ac thær is mathma hord,
gold unrime
grimme geceapod
and nu æt sithestan
sylfes feore
beagas gebohte.
Tha sceal brond gretan
æled theccean,
nalles eorl wegan
maððum to gemyndum,
ne mægth scyne
habban on healse
hring weorthunge,
ac sceal geomor mod
golde bereafod
oft nalles æne
el land tredan;
nu se here wisa
hleahtor alegde,
gamen and gleo dream.
This is the feud
and this the foeman's hate
the vengeful spite
that I expect
against us now will bring
the Swedish bands;
soon as they hear
our chieftain high
of life bereft--
who held till now
'gainst haters all
the hoard and realm;
peace framed at home;
and further off
respect inspired.
Now speed is best
that we our liege and king
go look upon,
And him escort,
who us adorned,
the pile towards.
Not things of petty worth
shall with the mighty melt,
but there a treasure main,
uncounted gold
costly procured
and now at length
with his great life
jewels dear-bought;
them shall flame devour,
burning shall bury:--
never a warrior bear
jewel of dear memory,
nor maiden sheen
have on her neck
ring-decoration;
nay, shall disconsolate
gold-unadorned
not once but oft
tread strangers' land;
now the leader in war
laughter hath quenched
game and all sound of glee.
And so this noble poem moves on to its close, ending, like the "Iliad,"
with a great bale-fire. Two closing lines record like an epitaph the
praise of the dead in superlatives; not as a warrior, but as a man and a
ruler: how that he was towards men the mildest and most affable,
towards his people he was most gracious and most yearning for their
esteem.
About the structure of this poem the same sort of questions are debated
as those which Wolff raised about Homer--whether it is the work of a
single poet, or a patchwork of older poems. Ludwig Ettmüller, of Zürich,
who first gave the study of the "Beowulf" a German basis, regarded the
poem as originally a purely heathen work, or a compilation of smaller
heathen poems, upon which the editorial hands of later and Christian
poets had left their manifest traces. In his translation, one of the
most vigorous efforts in the whole of Beowulf literature, he has
distinguished, by a typographical arrangement, the later additions from
what he regards as the original poetry. He is guided, however, by
considerations different from those that affect the Homeric debate. He
is chiefly guided by the relative shades of the heathen and Christian
elements. Wherever the touch of the Christian hand is manifest, he
arranges such parts as additions and interpolations.[77]
Grein saw in the poem the unity of a single work, and he thought the
motive allegorical. He interpreted the assaults of the water-fiend as
the night attacks of sea-robbers. I cannot see any such allegory as
this, but I agree with him as to the unity of the poem, so far as unity
is compatible with the traces of older materials. And I see allegory
too, but in a different sense.
The material is mythical and heathen; but it is clarified by natural
filtration through the Christian mind of the poet. Not only are the
heathen myths inoffensive, but they are positively favourable to a train
of Christian thought. Beowulf's descent into the abyss to extirpate the
scourge is suggestive of that Article in the Apostles' Creed which had a
peculiar fascination for the mind of the Dark and Middle Ages; the fight
with the dragon; the victory that cost the victor his life; the one
faithful friend while the rest are fearful--these incidents seem almost
like reflections of evangelical history. Without seeing in the poem an
allegorical design, we may imagine that, with the progress of
Christianity, those parts of the old mythology which were most in
harmony with Christian doctrines had the best chance of survival; and
that, as a poet puts a new physiognomy on an old story without
distorting the tradition, as we have seen in our own day the story of
Arthur told again, not with the elaborate allegory of Spenser, but with
a spiritual transfiguration which makes the "Idylls of the King" truly
an epic of the nineteenth century, so I conceive that Beowulf was a
genuine growth of that junction in time (define it where we may) when
the heathen tales still kept their traditional interest, and yet the
spirit of Christianity had taken full possession of the Saxon mind--at
least, so much of it as was represented by this poetical literature.
We may not dismiss the "Beowulf" without hazarding an opinion as to the
date of its production. It has been said to be older than the Saxon
Conquest, and some of the materials are doubtless of this antiquity. But
for the poem, as we have it, Kemble assigned it to the seventh century;
then Ettmüller thought it belonged to the ninth; then Grein went back
halfway to the eighth, and this has been adopted by Mr. Arnold, and most
generally followed. I think Ettmüller is the nearest to the mark; and I
would rather go forward to the tenth than back to the eighth. A
pardonable fancy might see the date conveyed in the poem itself. The
dragon watches over an old hoard of gold, and it is distinctly a heathen
hoard (hæðnum horde, 2,217) of heathen gold (hæðen gold, 2,277). In the
same context we find that the monster had watched over this earth-hidden
treasure for 300 years; and if this may be something more than a
poetical number, it may possibly indicate the time elapsed since the
heathen age. Three hundred years would bring us to the close of the
ninth or the beginning of the tenth century, a date which, on every
consideration, I incline to think the most probable.[78]
All the traces of affinity with, or consciousness of, the "Beowulf" that
we can discover--and they are very few--are such as to favour this date.
The only complete parallel to the fable is found in the Icelandic Saga
of Grettir, who is a kind of northern Hercules. This hero performs many
great feats, but there are three which belong to the supernatural. In
one of these he wrestles with a fiend called Glam, and kills him; and
though Glam is not the same as Grendel, yet the circumstances of the
encounter are so full of parallels as to establish, at least, the
literary affinity of the two stories. The other two supernatural feats
are coupled, just in the same way as two of the feats of Beowulf are. It
is two fights, one in a hall and one under a waterfall, with two
monsters of one family. The fight with the troll-wife in the hall is a
true parallel to Beowulf's fight with Grendel; but the fight with the
troll in the cavern under the force is in great essentials and in minute
details so identical with Beowulf's underwater adventure, that one may
call it a prose version of the same thing under different names. A
certain house was haunted. Men that were there alone by night were
missing, and nothing more was heard of them. Grettir came and lay in
that hall. The troll-wife came and he vanquished her. This he had done
under an assumed name, but the priest of the district knows he can be no
other than Grettir, and he asks Grettir what had become of the men who
were lost. Grettir bids the priest come with him to the river. There was
a waterfall, and a sheer cliff of fifty fathom down to the water, and
under the force was seen the mouth of a cavern. They had a rope with
them. The priest drives down a stake into a cleft of the rock and
secured it with stones, and he sate by it. Grettir said, "I will search
what there is in the force, but thou shalt watch the rope." He put a
stone in the bight of the rope, and let it sink down in the water. He
made ready, girt him with a short sword, and had no other weapon. He
leaped off the cliff, and the priest saw the soles of his feet. Grettir
dived under the force, and the eddy was so strong that he had to get to
the very bottom before he could get inside the force, where the river
stood off from the cliff. By a jutting rock he reached the cavern's
mouth. In the cave there was a fire burning on the hearth. A giant sate
there, who at once leaped up and struck at the intruder with a pike made
equally to cut and to thrust. This weapon had a wooden shaft, and men
called it a hepti-sax.[79] Grettir's sword demolishes this weapon, and
the giant stretched after a sword that hung there in the cave. Then
Grettir smote him and killed him, and his blood ran down with the stream
past the rope where the priest sate to watch. The priest concluded that
Grettir was dead, and it being now evening he went home. But Grettir
explored the cave. He found the bones of two men, and put them into a
skin. He swam to the rope and climbed up by it to the top of the cliff.
When the priest came to church next morning he found the bones in the
bag, and a rune-stick whereon the event was carved; but Grettir was
gone.
The identity is so manifest that we have only to ask which people (if
either) was the borrower, the English or the Danes. And here comes in
the consideration that the geography of the "Beowulf" is Scandinavian.
There is no consciousness of Britain or England throughout the poem. If
this raises a presumption that the Saxon poet got his story from a Dane,
we naturally ask, When is this likely to have happened? and the answer
must be that the earliest probable time begins after the Peace of
Wedmore in 878.
In the "Blickling Homilies" there is a passage which recalls the
description of the mere in "Beowulf."[80] So far as this coincidence
affects the question, it makes for the date here assigned.
Beyond the "Beowulf" we have but small and fragmentary remains of the
old heroic poetry. The most important pieces are "The Battle of Finn's
Burgh," and "The Lay of King Waldhere." These are now often printed in
the editions of the "Beowulf."
Ettmüller conjectured that the "Invitation from a True Lover Settled
Abroad," was not a single lyric, but a beautiful incident taken from
some epic poem.[81] A messenger comes with a token to a lady at home, by
which she may credit his message; he bids her take ship as soon as she
hears the voice of the cuckoo, and go out to him who has all things
ready about him to give her a suitable reception.
Next we will consider
"THE RUINED CITY."[82]
The subject of this piece is a city in ruins. There is massive masonry:
the place was once handsomely built and decorated and held by warriors,
but now all tumbled about; works of art exposed to view and forming a
strange contrast with the desolation around; there is a wide pool of
water, hot without fire; and there are the once-frequented baths. This
is no vague poetic composition, but the portrait of a definite spot. It
suits the old Brito-Roman ruin of Akeman after 577; and it suits no
other place that I can think of in the habitable world. The old view
that it was a fortress or castle seems misplaced in time, as well as
incompatible with the expressions in the text.[83]
The poem begins:--
Wrætlic is thes weal stan
wyrde gebræcon,
Stupendous is this wall of stone,
strange the ruin!
The strongholds are bursten, the work of giants decaying, the roofs are
fallen, the towers tottering, dwellings unroofed and mouldering, masonry
weather-marked, shattered the places of shelter, time-scarred,
tempest-marred, undermined of eld.
Eorth grap hafath
waldend wyrhtan
forweorene geleorene
heard gripe hrusan
oth hund cnea
wer theoda gewitan.
Oft thes wag gebad
ræg har and read fah
rice æfter othrum
ofstonden under stormum....
Earth's grasp holdeth
the mighty workmen
worn away lorn away
in the hard grip of the grave
till a hundred ages
of men-folk do pass.
Oft this wall witnessed
(weed-grown and lichen-spotted)
one great man after another
take shelter out of storms....
* * * * *
How did the swift sledge-hammer flash and furiously come down upon the
rings when the sturdy artizan was rivetting the wall with clamps so
wondrously together. Bright were the buildings, the bath-houses many,
high-towered the pinnacles, frequent the war-clang, many the mead-halls,
of merriment full, till all was overturned by Fate the violent. The
walls crumbled widely; dismal days came on; death swept off the valiant
men; the arsenals became ruinous foundations; decay sapped the burgh.
Pitifully crouched armies to earth. Therefore these halls are a dreary
ruin, and these pictured gables;[84] the rafter-framed roof sheddeth its
tiles; the pavement is crushed with the ruin, it is broken up in heaps;
where erewhile many a baron--
glædmod and goldbeorht
gleoma gefrætwed
wlonc and wingal
wig hyrstum scan;
seah on sinc on sylfor
on searo gimmas;
on ead, on æht,
on eorcan stan:
on thas beorhtan burg
bradan rices.
Stan hofu stodan;
stream hate wearp
widan wylme,
weal eal befeng
beorhtan bosme;
thær tha bathu wæron,
hat on hrethre;
thæt wes hythelic!
joyous and gold-bright
gaudily jewelled
haughty and wine-hot
shone in his harness;
looked on treasure, on silver,
on gems of device;
on wealth, on stores,
on precious stones;
on this bright borough
of broad dominion.
There stood courts of stone!
The stream hotly rushed
with eddy wide,
(wall all enclosed)
with bosom bright,
(There the baths were!)
not in its nature!
That was a boon indeed!
"THE WANDERER" (EARDSTAPA).[85]
In patriarchal or sub-patriarchal times social life was still confined
within the family pale; and the man who belonged to no household was a
wanderer and a vagabond on the face of the earth. Through invasion or
war or other accidents a man who had been the honoured member of a
well-found home might live to see that home broken up or pass into
strange hands, and he might be thus like a plant uprooted when he was
too old to get planted in a fresh connexion. His only chance of any
share in social life was to wander from house to house, getting perhaps
a brief lodging in each; and such a homeless condition might be well
expressed by the compound eardstapa, one who tramps (_stapa_) from one
habitation (_eard_) to another. In such an outcast plight the speaker in
this piece went to sea, and there he often thought of the old happy days
that were gone. He would dream of the pleasure of his old access to the
giefstol of his lord, whom he saluted with kiss and head on knee, and
then he would wake a friendless man in the wintry ocean, and his grief
would be the sorer at his heart for the recollections of lost kindred
that the dream had revived. Such a lot is in ready sympathy with
old-world ruins, of which there were many in England at that time, and
they raise the anticipation of a time when a like ruin will be the end
of all! "It becomes a wise man to know how awful it will be when all
this world's wealth stands waste, as now up and down in the world there
are wind-buffeted walls standing in mouldering decay"--and the
description which follows is either a reminiscence of "The Ruined City,"
or else it shows that the subject of ruins was familiar with the
Scōpas.[86]
"THE MINSTREL'S CONSOLATION."[87]
Ettmüller reckoned this the oldest of the Saxon lyrics; influenced,
perhaps, by the mythical nature of the contents. But, if we regard the
form rather than the material, there is a refinement about the
versification which does not look archaic. The poem is cast in irregular
stanzas, and it has a refrain. The poet, whose name is Deor, has
experienced the fallaciousness of early success. His prospects are
clouded; once the favourite minstrel of his patron, he is now superseded
by a newer Scōp. His consolation is a well-known one; perhaps the oldest
and commonest of all the formulæ of consolation. Others have been in
trouble before him, and have somehow got over it. This is not conveyed
as a mere generalisation; it is done poetically through striking
examples, of which Weland is the first, and Beadohild the second. After
each example comes the refrain:--
thæs ofereode
thisses swa mæg!
That [distress] he overwent,
So . I . can . this!
The failures of life's hopes and ambitions have been so often lamented,
that the subject is rather hackneyed and conventional. Here is a piece
out of the beaten track; fresh, though ingenious and artistic. Such a
poem is all the more welcome as the subject belongs to an extinct
career--the career of a court minstrel.
The Ballads have a peculiar value of their own. There is a sense in
which they are the best representatives of the native muse. There are
several extant specimens of various merit, but two are pre-eminent, and
these are, beyond all doubt, preserved in their original and unaltered
form. They were manifestly produced in the moment when the sensation of
a great event was yet fresh. They are impassioned and effusive, and they
bear good witness to the characteristics of primitive poetry. One
spontaneous element they preserve, which has been quite discarded from
modern poetry, and of which the other traces are few. I mean the poetry
of derision. The light and shade of the ballad is glory and scorn. The
most popular subject of this species of poetry is a battle. Whether your
ballad is of victory or of disaster, these two elements, not indeed with
the same intensity or the same proportions, but still these two, are the
constituents required. Our best examples are the "Victory of Brunanburh"
(937), and the "Disaster of Maldon" (991).
The battle of Brunanburh was fought by King Athelstan and his brother
Edmund (children of Edward), against the alliance of the Scots under
Constantinus with the Danes under Anlaf.
Various attempts have been made to present in modern English the Ballad
of Brunanburh, the most successful being that by the Poet Laureate. Our
language is rather out of practice for kindling a poetic fervour around
the sentiment of flinging scorn at a vanquished foe; but the following
will serve to illustrate this heathenish element, or such relics of it
as survived in the tenth century. The person first railed at is
Constantinus:--
X.
Slender reason had
_He_ to be proud of
The welcome of war-knives--
He that was reft of his
Folk and his friends that had
Fallen in conflict,
Leaving his son, too,
Lost in the carnage,
Mangled to morsels,
A youngster in war!
XI.
Slender reason had
_He_ to be glad of
The clash of the war-glaive--
Traitor and trickster
And spurner of treaties--
He nor had Anlaf,
With armies so broken,
A reason for bragging
That they had the better
In perils of battle
On places of slaughter--
The struggle of standards,
The rush of the javelins,
The crash of the charges,
The wielding of weapons--
The play that they played with
The children of Edward.
ALFRED TENNYSON, "Ballads and Other Poems," 1880, p. 174.
The longest of our ballads, though it is imperfect, is that of the
"Battle of Maldon." In the year 991 the Northmen landed in Essex, and
expected to be bought off with great ransom; but Brithnoth, the alderman
of the East Saxons, met them with all his force, and, after fighting
bravely, was killed. The lines here quoted occur after the alderman's
death:--
Leofsunu gemælde,
and his linde ahof,
bord to gebeorge;
he tham beorne oncwæth;
Ic thæt gehate,
thæt ic heonon nelle
fleon fotes trym,
ac wille furthor gan,
wrecan on gewinne
mine wine drihten!
Ne thurfon me embe Sturmere
stede fæste hæleth,
wordum ætwitan,
nu min wine gecranc,
thæt ic hlafordleas
ham sithie
wende from wige!
ac me sceal wæpen niman,
ord and iren!
Then up spake Leveson
and his shield uphove,
buckler in ward;
he the warrior addressed:
I make the vow,
that I will not hence
flee a foot's pace,
but will go forward;
wreak in the battle
my friend and my lord!
Never shall about Stourmere,
the stalwart fellows,
with words me twit
now my chief is down,
that I lordless
homeward go march,
turning from war!
Nay, weapon shall take me,
point and iron.
Other ballads, or something like ballads, that are embodied in the Saxon
chronicles are:--"The Conquest of Mercia" (942); "The Coronation of
Eadgar at Bath" (973); "Eadgar's Demise" (975); "The Good Times of King
Eadgar" (975); "The Martyr of Corf Gate" (979); "Alfred the Innocent
Ætheling" (1036); "The Son of Ironside" (1057); "The Dirge of King
Eadward" (1065).
Others there are of which only brief scraps remain, almost embedded in
the prose of the chronicles:--"The Sack of Canterbury" (1011); "The
Wooing of Margaret" (1067); "The Baleful Bride Ale" (1076); "The
High-handed Conqueror" (1086).[88]
Our last piece shall be "Widsith, or the Gleeman's Song."[89] This is a
string of reminiscences of travel in the profession of minstrelsy; some
part of which has a genuine air of high antiquity.[90] In the course of
a long tradition it has undergone many changes which cannot now be
distinguished. But, besides these, there are some glaring patches of
literary interpolation, chiefly from Scriptural sources. I quote the
concluding lines:--
Swa scrithende
gesceapum hweorfath,
gleo men gumena
geond grunda fela;
thearfe secgath
thonc word sprecath,
simle suth oththe north
sumne gemetath,
gydda gleawne
geofum unhneawne,
se the fore duguthe
wile dom aræran
eorlscipe æfnan;
oth thæt eal scaceth
leoht and lif somod:
Lof se gewyrceth
hafath under heofenum
heahfæstne dom.
So wandering on
the world about,
glee-men do roam
through many lands;
they say their needs,
they speak their thanks,
sure south or north
some one to meet,
of songs to judge
and gifts not grudge,
one who by merit hath a mind
renown to make
earlship to earn;
till all goes out
light and life together.
Laud who attains
hath under heaven
high built renown.
FOOTNOTES:
[74] In "A Book for the Beginner in Anglo-Saxon," Clarendon Press
Series; ed. 2 (1879), p. 70.
[75] The editions and translations are by Thorkelin, Copenhagen, 1815;
Kemble, ed. 1, London, 1833; ed. 2, London, 1835; translation, 1837;
Ettmüller, German translation, Zurich, 1840; Schaldemose, with Danish
translation, Copenhagen, 1851; Thorpe, with English translation, Oxford,
1855; Grundtvig, Copenhagen, 1861; Moritz Heyne, German translation,
Paderborn, 1863; Grein, 1867; Arnold, Oxford, 1876; Moritz Heyne, Text,
ed. 4, 1879.
[76]
Wulfgar then spoke to his own dear lord:
"Here are arrived, come from afar
Over the sea-waves, men of the Geats;
The one most distinguished the warriors brave
Beowulf name. They are thy suppliants
That they, my prince, may with thee now
Greetings exchange; do not thou refuse them
Thy converse in turn, friendly Hrothgar!
They in their war-weeds seem very worthy
Contenders with earls; the chief is renowned
Who these war-heroes hither has led."
Hrothgar then spoke, defence of the Scyldings;
"I knew him of old when he was a child;
His aged father was Ecgtheow named;
To him at home gave Hrethel the Geat
His only daughter: his son has now
Boldly come here, a trusty friend sought."
This is from Mr. Garnett's translation, which is made line for line.
Published by Ginn, Heath, & Co., Boston, 1882.
[77] Dr. Karl Müllenhof (papers in Haupt's "Zeitschrift") follows the
same line. His treatment is thus described by Mr. Henry Morley:--"The
work was formed, he thinks, by the combination of several old songs--(1)
'The Fight with Grendel,' complete in itself, and the oldest of the
pieces; (2) 'The Fight with Grendel's Mother,' next added; then (3) the
genealogical introduction to the mention of Hrothgar, forming what is
now the opening of the poem. Then came, according to this theory, a
poet, A, who worked over the poem thus produced, interpolated many
passages with skill, and added a continuation, setting forth Beowulf's
return home. Last came a theoretical interloper, B, a monk, who
interspersed religious sayings of his own, and added the ancient song of
the fight with the dragon and the death of Beowulf. The positive critic
not only finds all this, but proceeds to point out which passages are
old, older, and oldest, where a few lines are from poet A, and where
other interpolation is from poet B."--"English Verse and Prose" in
"Cassell's Library of English Literature," p. 11.
[78] No one needs to be told that the dragon story is of high antiquity.
But even of the elements which have most the appearance of history some
may be traced so far back till they seem to fade into legend. Thus
Higelac can hardly be any other than that Chochilaicus of whom Gregory
of Tours records that he invaded the Frisian coast from the north, and
was slain in the attempt. In our poem, this recurs with variations no
less than four times as a well-known passage in the adventures of
Higelac. But it affords a doubtful basis for argument about the date of
our poem.
[79] See Dr. Vigfusson's remarks in the Prolegomena to his edition of
the "Sturlinga Saga," Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1878.
[80] See Dr. Morris's Preface to the Blickling Homilies.
[81] Cod. Exon., ed. Thorpe, p. 473.
[82] Cod. Exon., ed. Thorpe, p. 476; Grein, i., 248.
[83] Years ago I discussed this little poem before the Bath Field Club;
and my arguments were subsequently printed in the "Proceedings" of that
society (1872). Professor Wülcker has since agreed with me that the
subject of the poem is a city, and not a fortress. My identification of
the ruin with Acemanceaster (Bath) has been approved by Mr. Freeman in
his volume on "Rufus."
[84] The feeling which pervades this remarkable fragment was strangely
recalled by the following passage in a recent book that has interested
many:--"Masses of strange, nameless masonry, of an antiquity dateless
and undefined, bedded themselves in the rocks, or overhung the clefts of
the hills; and out of a great tomb by the wayside, near the arch, a
forest of laurel forced its way, amid delicate and graceful frieze-work,
moss-covered and stained with age. In this strangely desolate and
ruinous spot, where the fantastic shapes of nature seem to mourn in
weird fellowship with the shattered strength and beauty of the old Pagan
art-life, there appeared unexpectedly signs of modern dwelling."--"John
Inglesant," by J.H. Shorthouse, new edition, 1881, vol. ii., p. 320.
[85] Cod. Exon., ed. Thorpe, p. 286.
[86] A translation of this poem in Alexandrines appeared in the
_Academy_, May 14, 1881, by E.H. Hickey.
[87] Cod. Exon., ed. Thorpe, p. 377. His title is "Deor the Scald's
Complaint." I have adopted the title from Professor Wülcker, "Des
Sängers Trost."
[88] Sometimes a prose passage of unusual energy raises the apprehension
that it may be a ballad toned down. Dr. Grubitz has suggested this view
of the Annal of 755, in which there is a fight in a Saxon castle (burh).
The graphic description of the place, the dramatic order of the
incidents, and the life-like dialogue of the parley, might well be the
work of a poet.
[89] Kemble called it "The Traveller's Song;" Thorpe, Cod. Exon., p.
318, "The Scop or Scald's Tale."
[90] A valuable testimony is borne to the substantial antiquity of this
poem, by the fact that Schafarik, who is the chief ethnographer for
Sclavonic literature, regards it as a valuable source on account of the
Sclavonic names contained in it. I am indebted to Mr. Morfil, of Oriel
College, for this information.