THE FOLK EPIC: BEOWULF An epic is a long narrative poem treating of great actions, with the characters well defined. When traditions which have been in circulation among a nation, often for a long time, in ballads and lays, are gathered together and crystallized into a great narrative poem by some poet or succession of poets, we have the "folk epic" or "epic of growth." Such are the Iliad, the Niebelungen Lied, and Beowulf. In an epic of this sort it is generally desirable that the effect of unity be achieved by confining the action to one great event and the circumstances connected with it. In Beowulf, however, the story falls into two distinct parts: (1) Beowulf's fights with Grendel and Grendel's mother, and (2) his struggle long afterwards with the dragon. An interval of fifty years separates the two actions, but they are held. together by the character of the hero, whose life as a whole is of such interest that the reader passes from one adventure to the other without feeling any lack of continuity. The theme of the poem is of Scandinavian origin and the setting is Scandinavian. Beowulf is of the Geats, a tribe settled in what is now southern Sweden, and comes to the royal court of Denmark to assist King Hrothgar against his mysterious foe. Allusion to events which took place in Scandinavian countries between 450 and 530 make it almost certain that the traditions found in the poem were current among the Angles on the continent and were brought to England at the time of their migration thither in the sixth century. The poem was composed between 700 and 750 A.D., probably in the northern part of England. The manuscript in which it is preserved dates from about the year 1000. The original is in four-stress, alliterative verse. Since Beowulf was written at such a time-only one hundred and fifty years after the introduction of Christianity into the island-it is not strange that pagan beliefs and Christian allusions jostle each other in a way that strikes the casual reader as incongruous. But the Christian element is an inseparable part of the poem, and the references reveal just that simple conception which a pagan people might have of a belief that had recently broken in on their established philosophy of life without by any means destroying it. Beowulf is the greatest work in Old English literature. It is a splendid story of adventure, an invaluable picture of Anglo-Saxon life, and a fitting embodiment of the ideals of valor and honor, unflinching devotion to duty and unfailing loyalty between men, which are so fine a part of Old English life. Lo, we have heard of the glory in days of old of the Spear-Danes, of the kings of the people, how the athelings did deeds. of valor! Oft Scyld Scefing reft bands of hostile folk, many a tribe, of their seats in the mead-hall, terrified earls, after he was first found destitute. Yet for all that, he lived to know consolation, prospered on earth and grew rich in honors, till each of his neighbors over the whale-road must obey him and pay him tribute. That was a good king! To him thereafter a son was born, young in the house, whom God sent as a help to the people; He knew the dire distress that erst they had suffered, kingless a long while. Therefore the Lord of Life, Heaven's Ruler, gave him honor on earth: Beowulf2 was renowned-his fame leaped far-Scyld's son in Scedeland. In such a way shall a young man bring it 1 The whale-road is the sea. Old English poetry is characterized by bold metaphors and a certain indirect way of saying things that one must become accustomed to. The "product of files" is a sword, the "play of swords" a battle, the "battle seat" saddle, and the "protector of earls" is the king. After a very little reading these figures cause no trouble. One other feature of Old English poetry is still noticeable in a translation. This is a certain parallelism of thought, to which the stichic character of the verse especially lends itself, and a repetition that results in a heaping up of synonyms and appositional elements until often they appear awkward to the modern reader. This qual ity of the style is better adapted to slow chanting aloud than to our modern method of rapid reading with the eye alone. 3 Not the hero of the poem, who was Beowulf of the Geats. about by kindness, by gifts of treasure from his father's store, that in his age willing companions may stand by him, his people serve him, when war comes. Among all nations a man shall surely thrive by praiseworthy deeds. Then at the appointed time Scyld, full of might, went into the Lord's keeping. They bore him, his own dear companions, to the sea's waters, as he himself bade while this friend of the Scyldings still had the power of words. The beloved prince had ruled long. There in harbor stood the ring-prowed ship, ice-covered and eager to go, a hero's boat. They laid then their dear lord, giver of rings, in the bosom of the ship, the glorious one beside the mast. From afar were brought many treasures and rich trappings. Never heard.I of a ship fitted out more nobly with armor and weapons of war, swords and byrnies; on his breast lay heaped-up treasures that should go with him far into the flood's keeping. o No less did they furnish him with gifts and folk-hoardings, than did those who at his birth sent him forth alone, a child over the waves. And besides, they set up a golden banner high above his head, let the waters bear him, gave him up to the sea. Theirs was a sorrowful heart, a mournful mood. In truth, men cannot say -rulers in hall, heroes under heavenwho received that burden. I THE BUILDING OF HEOROT. a HATRED GRENDEL'S Long ruled, then, in the palace Beowulf of the Scyldings, beloved king of the folk, famous among nations his father had passed hence, the lord from his home-until in time the mighty Healfdene was born to him. He ruled the people as long as he lived, full of years and fierce in battle. To him, the leader of hosts, four children in all were born in the world, Heregar and Hrothgar and Halga the good; the fourth I have heard was Onela's queen, consort of Heatho-Scylfing. Then was success in war, glory in strife, given to Hrothgar, so that his followers gladly obeyed him, until the young host increased, a mighty company. It came into his mind that he would have a hall built, have men build a greater mead-hall than children of men ever heard of, and therewithin deal to young and old all that God gave him save the people's land and the lives of men. Then, as I heard, work was ordered far and wide of many tribes throughout this earth, to make fair the dwelling place. In due time it came to pass, speedily among men, that it was in all things ready, the greatest of halls. He named it Heorot, he whose word had power afar. Nor did he forget his promise, but bestowed rings, treasure at the feast. The hall towered high and broadgabled. It waited for the hostile flames, the hateful fire;1 nor yet was it long before war was to spring from the bitter enmity of father and son-in-law. Then the mighty demon that dwelt in darkness endured with difficulty the time that he heard each day loud rejoicing in the hall. There was the sound of the harp, the clear song of the scop. He spoke who knew how to relate from far back the creation of mankind, told how the Almighty created the earth, the beautiful land which the water surrounds, and, rejoicing in his work, set the sun and moon as lamps for light to land-dwellers, and adorned the regions of the earth with branches and leaves; life also he shaped for each race of those that live and move about. So mid rejoicing the tribesmen lived happily till a fiend in Hell began There was always danger of its being burnt down in a hostile attack. The Anglo-Saxon poet and singer. to work villainy. The grim spirit was named Grendel, infamous prowler on the wasteland, who held the moors, the fen and the fastness. For a long time the wretched creature dwelt in the land of the monster-race, since the Creator had condemned him. The eternal Lord avenged the murder on the race of Cain. because he slew Abel. He had no joy in the feud; God banished him far away from mankind for that wickedness. From him all the evil brood were sprung, Etens and elves and wicked monsters, and giants that long time strove with God; He requited them for it! II THE HAVOC WROUGHT BY GRENDEL When night came he went to seek out the high house and see how the RingDanes had settled down in it after their beer-drinking. He found there the band of athelings sleeping after the feast: they knew not sorrow, the misery of men. The creature of evil, grim and greedy, was soon ready and, fierce and furious, seized on their beds thirty thanes. Thence he went again towards home, exulting in the spoil, to seek his haunts with his fill of slaughter. Then at dawn, at break of day, was Grendel's strength in battle plain to men. After feasting was weeping; a great cry in the morning. was raised. The noble prince, timehonored atheling, sat joyless; the mighty one suffered, bore deep sorrow for his thanes, when they beheld the footprint of the loathed one, the accursed spirit. Too fierce was that strife, too hateful and prolonged! It was not long before Grendel again, after one night, committed more murder-slaughter and sin. Nor did he shrink therefrom; he was too steadfast in guilt. Then was many a one found who elsewhere sought him a more distant resting place, bed in bower,' when Grendel's hatred was revealed to him, was made known truly by clearest token. Who escaped from the fiend, held himself afterwards farther away and more safely. So Grendel held sway and contended against right, one against all, until the best of houses stood idle. It was a long time. Twelve winters long the Lord of the Scyldings suffered affliction, every woe, the greatest sorrow. And so it became well known to the sons of men, sadly through songs, that Grendel strove a great while against Hrothgar, waged war, continual strife, violence and crime, many a half year. He wished no peace with any man of the Danish host, nor would remove their life's bale, compound for money. None even of the old men need hope for bright compensation at the destroyer's hands. The grim monster, the dark death-shadow, was relentless to young and old, lay in ambush and waited. All night long he held the misty moors. Men do not know whither Hell's demons go in their rounds. So many crimes, mighty wrongs, the foe of mankind, the terrible solitary, oft did. Through the dark nights he dwelt in Heorot, the fair-fitted hall. He might not approach the gift-seat, precious before God, nor knew he God's love. It was a heavy trial, soreness of heart, to the friend of the Scyldings. Oft many a one strong in council sat and considered what was to be done,-what were best for brave men to do against the unthought of terror. At times they vowed sacrifices to idols in their heathen temples, entreated with words that the devil should give them help against this folk-affliction. Such was their custom, the hope of the heathen. In their heart they thought upon Hell. They knew not the Creator, the Judge of Deeds, knew not the Lord God, had not in truth learned to praise the Small building adjoining the hall. Heavenly Keeper, the Prince of Glory. Woe is it for him that shall through sore affliction thrust his soul into the fire's embrace, never to hope for help or in any way to change his doom. Well is it for him who may after his death-day go to the Lord and ask for peace at the Father's bosom. III BEOWULF JOURNEYS TO HROTHGAR So always care surged within the breast of Healfdene's son. Nor might the prudent hero avert the misery: the strife was too great, too hateful and long, that had come upon the people, the grim persecution, greatest of night-terrors. All this, the deeds of Grendel, a thane of Hygelac heard of far off in his country, a good man among the Geats, who was of mankind the strongest of might in his day and generation, noble and great. He ordered him a good wave-courser fitted out; said he would seek the war-king, the renowned prince, over the swan-road, since he had need of men. Wise men blamed him not for that journey, though he was dear to them. They urged the valiant one on, foretold success. The good man had chosen warriors of the Geat-folk, the bravest that he could find. One of fifteen, he started for the ship; the sea-crafty man 2 led them to the shore. Time went on. The ship was on the waves, boat under bluff. Ready men mounted the prow; the waters rolled, sea against sand. The warriors bore into the bosom of the craft bright trappings, dazzling armor. The men shoved off the tight-seamed ship, heroes on willing journey. Then, driven by the wind, the foamy-necked boat, likest to a bird, went over the waves, till about the same hour of the next day the curve-stemmed ship 2 i.e., Beowulf |