ANGLO-SAXON CHRISTIAN POETRY.
When the Anglo-Saxons became Christians (597-655) they took the Gospel,
and the rules of the Church, in the North, from the Irish missionaries
who, under St. Columba of Ireland, settled in the Isle of Iona: in the
South from Roman teachers, such as Theodore of Tarsus, who had studied
at Athens, and, in 668 became Archbishop of Canterbury. Both in the
South, and North, in Northumberland, great schools were established, in
connexion with the monkish settlements: in the monasteries Greek was
not unknown, and the language of Rome, Latin, was taught and was used
in writing all learned works, and hymns. With the language of Rome,
almost dead as a living speech, came knowledge of ancient history, and
of the great Roman poets, especially Virgil. The seventh and eighth
centuries were thus a new epoch, a century of learning, and of division
between the educated and the unlearned. The learned, mainly priests, no
longer cared much for making songs and stories about fighting, love,
and the adventures of their heathen heroes. They were occupied with
the history of Rome and of the old world; and still more with their
new religion, and the stories of apostles and saints and Hebrew kings
and patriarchs, and with the making of sermons and hymns. Thus the old
heathen tales and poems were lost or half forgotten.
Cædmon.
The first sacred poet of whom we hear is Cædmon. His tale is told by
the great and learned Bede, born at Wearmouth in Northumberland in
673, and trained in the new monastery there. Says Bede: "There was in
the monastery of St. Hilda at Whitby, a Brother who, when he heard the
Scriptures interpreted, could instantly turn the lesson into sweet
verses." Just so the minstrel of Hrothgar, when he heard the nobles
talk about Beowulf's defeat of Grendel, turned the story _at once_ into
a song. This was "improvisation," and Cædmon "improvised" religious
poems; no man has equalled them since, says Bede. But he began when he
was far from young, and was not yet a priest. Till then he had not been
a poet; indeed, if he were at a feast where every man sang in his turn,
when the harp was brought to people near him at table, he arose and
went home.
One night he ran away from the harp into the stalls of the cattle, and
there fell asleep on the straw. In a dream One appeared to him, and
bade him sing. He answered that he had left the feast because he could
not sing.
"You must sing."
"About what am I to sing?"
"The beginning of things created."
Cædmon then made in his sleep a poem about the Creation, and when he
awoke he remembered it, as Coleridge made "Kubla Khan" in a dream, and
remembered part of it until he was disturbed by a person on business
from Porlock. After this Cædmon made sacred poems, doing Scripture into
verse, with perfect ease, and he became a monk.
Now there exist long Anglo-Saxon poems on parts of Genesis, Exodus,
and Daniel, and it has been very naturally supposed that these are the
poems of Cædmon, which, as Bede thought, had never been equalled in
the Anglian tongue. Nothing is known for certain, and only one short
hymn has a good chance to be by the poet Cædmon. The ideas of the poet
singing of the war in Heaven, so closely resemble those of Milton, in
"Paradise Lost," that Milton has been supposed to have known something
of the Anglo-Saxon poem.[1] No lines in "Paradise Lost," are more
familiar than those which describe a land of fire,
Yet from these flames,
No light, but rather darkness visible,
Served only to discover sights of woe.
The old Anglo-Saxon poet says:--
They sought another land,
That was devoid of light,
And was full of flame.
The speech of Satan, too, in Anglo-Saxon, the speech in which he blames
the justice of God; his threat of what he would do, were he free for
but one winter; his design to avenge himself on Adam and his posterity,
are all like Milton, whose
Fairest of her daughters, Eve,
is exactly like
The fairest of women,
That have come into the world.
In the fighting scenes of these Anglo-Saxon Biblical poems, the poets
appear to enjoy themselves most and to feel most at home. They have
only to write in the manner of their own old battle songs, about the
howling of wolves and crying of ravens to whom the victor gives their
meat.
Indeed Anglo-Saxon poetry reminds us of an ancient casket of whalebone
in the British Museum, with its scenes from the heathen story of Weland
or Weyland Smith, the adoration of the Magi, Romulus and Remus and the
wolf, and a battle between Titus and the Jews: such is the mixture of
Christianity, heathenism, and learning in the Christian Anglo-Saxon
literature.[2]
Thus in the long fragment "Judith," based on the well-known story
of Judith and Holofernes in the Apocrypha, there is vigour in the
descriptions of the intoxicated roaring Holofernes; and of the cries of
wolf, raven, and eagle; and of the clash of swords and shields.
Cynewulf.
The best Christian poem, called "Crist," is full of the happiness
bestowed by the new religion. The verses are by a poet named Cynewulf
of whom nothing is known but his name, recorded in a kind of acrostic
written in the Runic alphabet. He took his matter from sermons and
hymns in Latin, but Cynewulf makes the poetry his own. He is joyously
religious. After all the melancholy of the heathen or half-heathen
minstrels, their wistful doubts about the meaning and value of our
little life, the author of the "Crist" comes as one who "has seen a
great light". He rejoices like the shepherds who heard good tidings
of great joy at Bethlehem on the first Christmas night. It is as
when spring comes to the world and the thrushes cannot have enough
of singing: the night and the darkness are over: the grave has lost
its sting and Death his victory. The poet is as happy as the birds
in March. To him the message of Christ is no old story, but a new
certainty; he has no doubt, no fear, and this gladness of faith is all
his own, whether he sings of Our Lord or of Our Lady. That is the charm
of Cynewulf; his fresh delight in his work.
Thou to us
The bright sun sendest,
And thyself comest,
That thou may'st enlighten
Those who long ago
With vapour covered,
And in darkness here
Sat, in continual night.
The legends of "St. Guthlac" and "St. Juliana," on the other hand, are
not, it must be confessed, such spontaneous bursts of song.
Andreas.
In the "Andreas" the poet, whoever he was, sings of what he has heard,
adventures of St. Andrew and St. Mark. St. Matthew has fallen into the
hands of the cannibals of old Greek legend, the Læstrygonians, the poet
calls them the "Mermedonians".[3]
The cannibals have caught, and are about to eat St. Matthew, but the
Lord appears first to him, in his dungeon, and then to St. Andrew,
who is living among the Achæans, in Greece. The voyage, the fighting,
are in the old heathen style, and the Deity appears with two angels,
all three disguised as sailors. It is impossible to give the whole
tale, which appealed to the natural man as a great story of adventure
in waves and war, while it introduced religion. The adventures are
many, and much more startling and wild than any that survive from the
Anglo-Saxon poetry of heathen times.
Dream of the Rood.
There is a singular poem "The Dream of the Rood," which with many other
"masterless" poems, some critics assign to Cynewulf, on account of the
style, and the deep personal feeling which we admire in the "Crist":
others attribute it to Cædmon. This opinion was partly based on a
curious set of facts. The followers of the great Reformer, John Knox,
in Scotland (1560) destroyed almost all the "monuments of idolatry" as
they called works of Christian art. But they forgot to break to powder
a tall ancient cross of red sandstone, beautifully carved, and marked
with Runic characters, in the church of Ruthwell, near Dumfries. Some
eighty years later (1642) when the Covenanters were in arms against
Charles I, the preachers began a new war against works of Christian
art, and ordered the Ruthwell Cross to be destroyed. It was broken
into several fragments, which have now been pieced together, and the
Cross stands in an apse-shaped building adjoining the church. The Runic
characters record a part of the poem styled "The Dream of the Rood,"
and give the inscription "_Cædmon me made"_, probably Cædmon was really
the artist who made and carved the stone cross: indeed the name is
rather hard to read.
The poem speaks of the author's wonderful dream of the gold adorned
and jewelled True Cross, and, in "Elene," Cynewulf also speaks of the
revelation to him of the light of the Truth of the Cross. Conceivably,
then, Cynewulf really had a dream or vision, and became devout after a
life of war and minstrelsy.
Elene.
It would, in that case, be in old age that Cynewulf wrote, in the
"Elene," a poetic version of the legend of the discovery of the True
Cross by Helena, mother of the Emperor Constantine. This poem, probably
based on a Latin legend, has been very highly praised. But before we
can take any pleasure in it, we must try to think ourselves back into
the state of mind of England when the heathen poetry of war was still
popular, and Christianity, with many mediaeval legends, was a fresh
inspiration. Even when we have done that as well as we can, the "Elene"
awakens only an historical kind of rapture. The natural man is much
more at home with "Beowulf" and "Waldhere" than with "Elene".
The poet begins with an imaginary battle: allied Franks and Huns attack
the Emperor Constantine. The motive of Cynewulf is to introduce plenty
of fighting: probably he never fought himself, but like other men of
peace, he loves to sing of war. His treatment of war is conventional;
he introduces the usual cries of wolf, eagle, and raven. Constantine is
encouraged by a dream of a bright being who urges him to trust in God;
he also sees a vision of the Cross, gay with jewels (as in "The Dream
of the Rood") and letters making the words "In this sign conquer".
Then the battle is described, with more zest than originality, and
the heathen are routed; many are converted. Helena next takes a large
force, and sails to Palestine to look for the True Cross. The usual
formulæ descriptive of a seafaring are employed.
Helena preaches to the Jews in the mediaeval way, and they, naturally,
reply, "We know not, lady, why you are so angry with us". A crafty
Jew, Judas, guesses that she has come to demand from them the True
Cross, which he is reluctant to give up. Helena threatens to burn the
Jews, and does put Judas in a pit, without meat or drink, for seven
days. Broken in spirit at last, he says that he will do his best; he
prays; a miraculous vapour arises from the spot where, twenty feet
underground, three crosses are discovered. Another miracle points out
which of the three is the Holy Rood; Judas is baptized, and the shining
nails of the Cross are discovered. Then follow the verses in which the
poet describes his own old age, and his beholding the true light that
lighteneth all men.
Riddles.
Among other poems vaguely assigned, in part, to Cynewulf are Riddles.
The Sword describes itself, so do the byrnie, or shirt made of iron
rings, the helmet, the shield; and there are many other riddles, some
derived from late Latin. The best are really poetical. In addition to
the Riddles there are several curious magical songs, or charms, for
curing diseases, and removing spells of witchcraft. In these there are
remains of the old heathen magical songs.
Phœnix.
The "Phœnix," assigned to Cynewulf as usual, is based on a late Latin
poem attributed to Lactantius (290-325) and ends as an allegory of
Christ. It is interesting to observe in the "Phœnix" a description of
an ideal land of peace "where comes not hail or rain or any snow," the
picture is borrowed from Homer's lines on Olympus, the home of the
gods, and Elysium, the abode reserved for Helen of Troy and Menelaus,
in the Odyssey. Anglo-Saxon poetry, without knowing it, came in touch,
through Lactantius, with the most beautiful verses in the most ancient
poetry of Greece, verses paraphrased in Latin, by Lucretius, and in
English by Tennyson, twice ("Lucretius," and the "Morte d'Arthur"),
and in "Atalanta in Calydon," by Mr. Swinburne. The golden thread of
ancient Greek poetry thus runs through Roman, Anglo-Saxon, and English
literature.
[1] First published in his time (1655) by Francis Junius (of course not
the Junius who has been identified with Francis).
[2] find that Mr. W. P. Ker has made the same comparison.
[3] Apparently he has confused the _Læstrygonians_ who devoured some of
the companions of Odysseus, with the _Myrmidonians_ (Myrmidones) the
Greeks who followed Achilles to Troy.