Heroic Identity in the World of Beowulf (Medieval and Renaissance Authors)

Heroic Identity in the World of Beowulf

Medieval and Renaissance Authors and Texts Editor-in-chief

Francis G. Gentry Emeritus Professor of German, Penn State University

Editorial Board

Teodolinda Barolini (Columbia University) Cynthia Brown (University of California, Santa Barbara) Marina Brownlee (Princeton University) Keith Busby (University of Wisconsin-Madison) Craig Kallendorf (Texas A&M University) Alastair Minnis (Yale University) Brian Murdoch (Stirling University) Jan Ziolkowski (Harvard University and Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection)

VOLUME 2

Heroic Identity in the World of Beowulf by

Scott Gwara

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2008

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Gwara, Scott, 1962– Heroic identity in the world of Beowulf / by Scott Gwara. p. cm.—(Medieval and renaissance authors and texts, ISSN 0925-7683 ; v. 2) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-17170-1 (alk. paper) 1. Beowulf. 2. Heroic virtue in literature. 3. Epic poetry, English (Old)—History and criticism. 4. Heroes in literature. I. Title. II. Series. PR1585.G93 2009 829’.3—dc22 2008040583

ISSN 0925-7683 ISBN 978 90 04 17170 1 Copyright 2008 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

THIS BOOK IS FOR PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE STAFF OF THE DICTIONARY OF OLD ENGLISH, UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

CONTENTS Acknowledgments ....................................................................... Author’s Note ............................................................................. Abbreviations ..............................................................................

ix xiii xv

Introduction

A Contested Beowulf .......................................

1

Chapter One

The Wisdom Context of the SigemundHeremod and Hunferð Digressions ...............

59

The Foreign Beowulf and the “Fight at Finnsburh” ......................................................

135

Chapter Three The Rhetoric of Oferhygd in Hroðgar’s “Sermon” ........................................................

181

Chapter Two

Chapter Four

Beowulf ’s Dragon Fight and the Appraisal of Oferhygd .......................................

239

King Beowulf and Ealdormonn Byrhtnoð ....

311

Conclusion ..................................................................................

351

Bibliography ................................................................................

375

Chapter Five

Indices Index of Passages Cited from Old English Verse Texts ........ Index of Old English Words, Affixes, and Collocations Discussed ............................................................................. Index of Latin and Greek Words and Collocations Discussed ............................................................................. Index of Old Icelandic Terms Discussed .............................. General Index .........................................................................

397 405 409 410 411

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS My research on Beowulf would not have been possible without generous subsidy from the University of South Carolina and its Department of English Language and Literature. Major sections of this book were drafted during a sabbatical semester in 2001. In 2002 the Department of English awarded me research leave to pursue what, at the time, was meant to be a much shorter book on the digressions of Beowulf. I am grateful to the department chairman (now Associate Dean) and Louise Fry Scudder Professor of English, Steven Lynn, and to the Research Professorship committee members, for sustaining a project of such duration. Also, unfailing and gracious cooperation from the divisions of Circulation (Tucker Taylor), Reference (Sharon Verba), Special Collections (Patrick Scott), Off-Site Storage, and Interlibrary Loan at the Thomas Cooper Library enabled me to work efficiently: for the years this book was in production I was the chief user of university library resources campus-wide. I also wish to thank a number of scholars who read this book in draft and offered explicit and judicious comments on it. In 2004 I met with Michael J. Enright, Professor of History at Eastern Carolina University, and we spent a day together explicating the warband context of Beowulf. Michael convinced me how important the comitatus was in the poem, and his influence is obvious in these pages. His 1998 article “The Warband Context of the Unferþ Episode” transformed my own thinking about Beowulf ’s identity. Michael Drout, William C. H. and Elsie D. Prentice Professor of English at Wheaton College (MA), shared his own insights and doubts over the direction I was taking, as did John M. Hill at the United States Naval Academy. Both made me re-think and ultimately justify more than a few positions I had staked, especially in regard to the potentially negative Beowulf I envision. I also owe a significant debt to Tom Shippey, Walter J. Ong Professor of English at Saint Louis University, for reading several chapters and offering cogent corrections and points of departure. My greatest thanks, however, are due to Rob Fulk at Indiana University, who read every line of my penultimate drafts for chapters 2–4 and offered pages of advice and corrections with enthusiasm or skepticism, wherever appropriate. Rob’s learning saved me from countless errors,

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acknowledgments

and this book is far better because of his input—even if his own reaction to Beowulf differs quite substantially from mine. Finally, my retired colleagues at the University of South Carolina, Trevor Howard-Hill, and Philip B. Rollinson, commented on every word and nuance of the manuscript. Their impressions encouraged me to re-think more than a few statements I made in contradiction of the received interpretation of Beowulf. One’s best friends seldom make the most searching critics, but mine held me to account. A few scholars whose work I have drawn on deserve special mention here. This book has been evolving for a long time. Parts of it date to 1984–86, when I was an undergraduate at Corpus Christi College, Cambridge. There I learned much from Richard North, my tutor in Old Norse (now Professor of English at University College London). I think of Richard’s 1990 and 1991 articles as some of the very best recent forays in Beowulf and Maldon scholarship, and his research launched my own thinking about digressions in the poem. I arrived at Yale in 1986, a year after Fred C. Robinson had published Beowulf and the Appositive Style. The ingenuity of this book convinced me immediately, and twenty years later I still rate Appositive Style as one of the most important books on Old English. Andy Orchard influenced my thinking in a different direction. His Pride and Prodigies made room for Anglo-Saxonists to think skeptically about the depiction of Beowulf. Orchard’s chapter on Grettir’s Saga defined Grettir as monstrous, an Achilles in the Germanic setting. No one reading the saga comes away unconflicted about Grettir, and I have always wondered, from Robinson’s perspective, how we should appraise Grettir’s “Miniver Cheevy” born-too-late-ism. Grettir lived at the end of the Viking Age and during the transition to Christianity—at a time, one might say, similar in social context to the backwards-looking Beowulf. For more than two decades the question has pursued me: If Beowulf is the closest analogue to Grettir’s Saga, shouldn’t we also feel conflicted about Beowulf ? Orchard’s views suggested my approach to Beowulf in ways distinct from an earlier generation of Christianizers. My approach to Beowulf leans towards the “anthropological” or “ethnological” analysis that John M. Hill pioneered in The Cultural World in Beowulf. Hill’s book proposes that Germanic cultural identity, hypothetically stable and consistent, is realized in—and can be quarried from—Old English literature. Anglo-Saxon kin relationships, marriage ties, warrior identities, kingship and other social idioms may likewise be paralleled in modern cultures with similar social structures. Hill

acknowledgments

xi

contends that Beowulf accurately renders an idealized Germanic society, which in turn directs much of the poem’s meaning. His second opinion is that the ethnological details make sense of the poem. Although Hill’s endorsement of ethnology reflects my own understanding of Beowulf, his methodology differs slightly from mine in philosophy and focus. First, I make no claims that anthropological observations derived from Beowulf represent any reality other than the aesthetic—even if they might actually do so. In my mind the Beowulf poet could have rendered an invented culture. Second, my position is that characters in Beowulf discern themselves, reflect on their own cultural anxieties, and dramatize both personal feeling and political instinct. In the public social currents that Hill discerningly locates in Beowulf, I find private eddies, subtle literary meditations on the fictive society of the poem. By complex analogies and overlapping narratives, the poet himself critiques the institutions he defines. Writing about Beowulf has been immensely gratifying, and I remain deeply indebted to all the critics whose works I have consulted—many more than are listed in the Bibliography. Of those critics I do acknowledge, I should mention my particular indebtedness to works by Alfred Bammesberger, George Clark, Dennis Cronan, J. E. Cross, Michael Enright, Roberta Frank, R. D. Fulk, Stanley B. Greenfield, Elaine Tuttle Hansen, John M. Hill, Thomas D. Hill, Ida Masters Hollowell, Edward B. Irving, Jr., Frederick Klaeber, Johann Köberl, John M. Leyerle, Bruce Mitchell, John D. Niles, Richard North, Andy Orchard, Fred C. Robinson, T. A. Shippey, Eric Stanley, John Tanke, and Dorothy Whitelock. It is a pleasure at last to dedicate this book to the past, present, and future staff of the Dictionary of Old English project at the University of Toronto. Ongoing now for three decades, the Dictionary of Old English is the premier philological mission in Anglo-Saxon studies, an inspiring intellectual monument to the industry and brilliance of its collaborators. The Dictionary and its offshoots have generated, and will continue to beget, the most significant and fundamental research on Old English language and literature. Scott Gwara June 2008

AUTHOR’S NOTE With the exception of Beowulf, and unless otherwise noted, all Old English verse texts are cited from The Anglo-Saxon Poetic Records, ed. George Philip Krapp and Elliot Van Kirk Dobbie, six volumes (New York: Columbia UP, 1931–53). Beowulf is cited from the monumental fourth edition of Klaeber’s text, Klaeber’s Beowulf, ed. R. D. Fulk, Robert E. Bjork, and John D. Niles (Toronto: U of Toronto P, 2008). The standard short titles for Old English poems are taken from Bruce Mitchell et al., “Short Titles of Old English Texts,” ASE 4 (1975), 207–21; emended by the same authors in “Short Titles of Old English Texts: Addenda and Corrigenda,” ASE 8 (1979), 331–3. Translations in all languages are my own unless otherwise stated. “Bosworth-Toller” refers to Joseph Bosworth and T. Northcote Toller, An Anglo-Saxon Dictionary, enlarged edition, ed. Alistair Campbell (Oxford: Clarendon, 1972). “DOE” refers to the Dictionary of Old English, ed. Antonette diPaolo Healey et al. (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies and U of Toronto P, 1986–). I am grateful to Fordham University Press for permission to re-print a version of my article “The Foreign Beowulf and the ‘Fight at Finnsburg’ ” (Traditio 63 [2008]) as chapter 2 of this book; to the editor of Mediaeval Studies for permission to cite passages from my article “Forht and Fægen in The Wanderer and Related Literary Contexts of AngloSaxon Warrior Wisdom” (Mediaeval Studies 69 (2007), 255–98) in several places throughout; and to the editor of Neophilologus, for permission to re-print my note “Beowulf 3074–75: Beowulf Appraises His Reward” (Neophilologus 92 (2008), 333–38) in Chapter 4.

ABBREVIATIONS ANQ ASNSL ASE BGDSL BJRL CCSL CL CSEL EETS OS, SS ELN ES JEGP LSE MÆ MGH AA MLN MLR MP Neophil NM NQ PBA PLL PMLA RES SBVS SN SP SS TRHS ZfdP

American Notes and Queries Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Litteraturen Anglo-Saxon England Beiträge zur Geschichte der deutschen Sprache und Literatur Bulletin of the John Rylands Library Corpus Christianorum, Series Latina Comparative Literature Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum Early English Text Society Original Series, Supplemental Series English Languages Notes English Studies Journal of English and Germanic Philology Leeds Studies in English Medium Ævum Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Auctores Antiquissimi Modern Language Notes Modern Language Review Modern Philology Neophilologus Neuphilologische Mitteilungen Notes and Queries Proceedings of the British Academy Papers on Language and Literature Publications of the Modern Language Association of America Review of English Studies Saga Book of the Viking Society Studia Neophilologica Studies in Philology Scandinavian Studies Transactions of the Royal Historical Society Zeitschrift für deutsche Philologie

INTRODUCTION

A CONTESTED BEOWULF Insisting that Beowulf is a great poem sounds like making a virtue of necessity, since it might be said that the uniqueness of Beowulf accounts for its modern prestige as a succès d’estime. Sui generis in length, structure, action, versification, and diction, the work confounds standards that attend most readings of Old English poetry and figuratively straddles every conceivable generic classification, as folktale, heroic verse, epic, elegy, saga, and the like.1 In other words, few native literary parallels can illuminate so distinctive a poem. Because of this inherent historical and cultural ambiguity, Beowulf criticism has been marked by persistent contradictions, chief of which is the relevance of the poem’s Christian elements. Even the very last word lofgeornost “most eager for praise” (designating Beowulf ) is the target of apologists who debate whether the social milieu of Beowulf is “essentially” Christian, secular, or mixed.2 Disagreements over the Christian-versus-secular emphasis typically arise whenever Beowulf ’s motivation or attitudes are scrutinized. Most readers sense that anachronistic Christian values are meant to clarify Beowulf ’s judgment, but for others an unyielding ambiguity always seems to qualify his virtue. Beowulf especially seems to succumb to pride (or its Germanic equivalent), a notorious vice inimical to Christian humility. Despite a solid consensus that idealizes Beowulf, then, doubts over any universal approval we ought to have of him and his feats continue to surface. The minority view generally challenges the positive orthodoxy—a pseudo-Christian idealization—and disputes whether we should characterize Beowulf as a “noble pagan” or an ignoble one. As a pre-Christian archetype, then, is Beowulf to be indicted, lionized, or pitied? Unsurprisingly, the obvious questions about Beowulf ’s motivations (vainglorious or charitable?) and temperament Sisam, Structure 27. On the general context, see the references gathered in Chickering, “Lyric Time” 492 note 7; Richards, “Reexamination”; Stanley, “Hæþenra Hyht” 148; see the assessments by Mitchell, “Literary Lapses” 16–17, Orchard, Pride and Prodigies 56, and Cronan, “Lofgeorn.” Cronan reveals that lofgeorn in prose translates Latin prodigus “(overly) generous” and shows that the word could have a positive sense in Beowulf. 1 2

2

introduction

(ruthless or benign?) have had no unconditional resolution. In this book I shall argue that they are not meant to. Both as a hero and king, the potentially reckless Beowulf coexists in the same text, and often in the same verses, as the potentially generous and wise Beowulf. Judgments of the Geat’s motivation are a matter of perspective. Some readers look outside Beowulf to settle the fundamental ambivalence that I theorize for it. Identifying, dating, and localizing the poem and its hypothesized audience (as much as a work probably composed and transmitted in an oral tradition could allow) might resolve the discrepant accounts of Beowulf ’s character. An early aristocratic audience, the notion goes, might find virtues in Beowulf where monks given to Benedictine Christianity would see faults. The assumption again yields no purchase on the ethical valences of Beowulf, for two reasons. First, even a monastic audience need not have disparaged the poem’s vigorous secularism, as Patrick Wormald has shown.3 Second, Beowulf has resisted any firm dating. Although the manuscript Cotton Vitellius A.xv can be dated paleographically no later than ca. 1010,4 scholars have ventured a point of originary composition anywhere between ca. 650 and 10165 and have backed Northumbria, Mercia, Wessex, and East Anglia as a place of origin.6 Where Beowulf originated has no bearing

Wormald, “Anglo-Saxon Aristocracy.” Dumville, “Beowulf Come Lately.” 5 By “originary composition” I mean a form of the text generically similar to the one that survives. Oral-formulaic theorists have defeated decisive chronologies. From Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe (Visible Song) we have learned that every written transmittal is a potential scribal performance. Relying on the hypotheses of Roy Michael Liuzza (“Dating of Beowulf ”), Michael Lapidge (“Archetype of Beowulf ” 37) has conjectured that over 600 lines in the poem could reflect scribal intervention from generations of copying. Yet the degree of interference may be slight, depending on how one views the matter; see Fulk, “Argumentation” 16–25. 6 Proposals for the poem’s historical setting are gathered in Bjork and Niles, Handbook 13–34. Sam Newton (Origins of Beowulf ) has proposed pre-Viking East Anglia; Dorothy Whitelock (Audience of Beowulf ) suggests late eighth-century Mercia; Michael Lapidge (“Beowulf, Aldhelm”) recommends mid-eighth-century Wessex for two main reasons: 1. the mention of Hygelac in the Liber monstrorum, whose Anglo-Saxon author shared a rare source with Aldhelm of Malmesbury (d. 709), and 2. place-names in the vicinity of Malmesbury; A. S. Cook (“Beowulf 2523”) and Ritchie Girvan (Beowulf and the Seventh Century) proposed Northumbria, Girvan for reasons of a theorized warband polity; Frank (“Skaldic Verse”) backed ninth-century Wessex because of Skaldic parallels in Beowulf; the date was later affirmed (Frank, “Germanic Legend”) on the assumption that pan-Germanicism is not attested any earlier. Stanley (“Lordlessness in Ancient Times”) alleges interesting historical contexts for these periods. Few observe that the names from Beowulf seem to have been popular in ninth-century Northumbria, as 3 4

a contested BEOWULF

3

on my interpretation of it, but the date is more crucial, and, for the moment, recent scholarship has pushed the composition back to the pre-Viking Age. In 1992 R. D. Fulk investigated Kaluza’s Law, which governed metrical patterns in compounds terminating certain verses, and noted that “Beowulf is unique in respect to the great ease and regularity of the poet’s ability to distinguish long and short endings.”7 He concluded, “Beowulf almost certainly was not composed after ca. 725 if Mercian in origin, or after ca. 825 if Northumbrian.”8 This remarkable finding gained support from Michael Lapidge’s more recent analysis of scribal errors in Beowulf.9 Many, he explains, arose from misreading an alphabet called Cursive Minuscule, which fell out of use by ca. 800. Therefore, while a date for Beowulf cannot be firmly assigned, a convergence of evidence now indicates a poem written no later than ca. 800. Admittedly, however, strong minority opinions still confute this early chronology. Unfortunately, neither the early date for Beowulf nor a conjectural mixed audience can easily explain its presentation of an inchoate Christianity. Although Beowulf exclusively treats pre-Christian Germanic figures, its references to Cain, a “flood,” and heathen devil-worship, not to mention a host of ostensibly Christian words, idioms, and collocations, presuppose a poet familiar with, but not necessarily steeped in, Christian doctrine.10 In an edifying article that frames the debate, Edward B. Irving, Jr. has traced the contradictory positions on the poem’s Christian references.11 He reminds us that the poet’s Christianity engages Germanic heroism, not “paganism” per se: A third sense of pagan lies in the realm of ethics and morality, and this is the area that has caused the most argument. Here matters might often be clarified if we used terms like secular or non-Christian (or possibly Germanic or

recorded in the Liber vitae of Durham: Biuuulf, Hyglac, Heardred, Ingeld (Ingild), Heremod, Sigmund, and Hroðuulf appear among priests, deacons, and monks (Dumville, Liber Vitae Dunelmensis). Roy Liuzza (“Dating of Beowulf ”) has valuably summarized the scholarship on the dating question. In addition to the work listed above, landmarks in the dating effort also include Amos; Chase, Dating of Beowulf; Wetzel; Dumville, “Beowulf Come Lately”; Fulk, Old English Meter; Kiernan; Lapidge, “Archetype of Beowulf.” 7 Fulk, Old English Meter 164. 8 Ibid. 390. 9 “Archetype of Beowulf.” 10 For a recent view of Christian components in the poem, see Irving, “Nature of Christianity.” 11 Irving, “Christian and Pagan Elements.”

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introduction heroic) for pagan . . . The fundamental ethical code of the poem is unmistakably secular: it is the warrior code of the aristocracy, celebrating bravery, loyalty, and generosity, with the hero finding his only immortality in the long-lasting fame of great exploits carried out in this world.12

Irving observes, “in certain strict Christian contexts . . . some of these secular virtues can be seen as vices: especially pride in the frank display of strength and the open pleasure taken in material wealth.”13 With this important reservation Irving describes the prevailing view of the poet’s narrow Christianity, “not so much primitive,” he says, “as either deliberately or unconsciously tailored to the dimensions of heroic poetry.”14 In other words, Christianity moderates the poem’s triumphant secularism. The pagan characters of Beowulf espouse this anachronistic “tailored” Christian virtue and that their actions should be measured against it, as sanitizing or authorizing.15 The argument has wide appeal, as Irving concludes, but it introduces problems related to audience.16 Since the narrator delivers all the verifiably Christian references, the audience seems to enjoy a privileged Christian knowledge, if not a point-of-view, clearly distinct from that of the characters. Irving trivialized this complication in 1989 by simply arguing that the “border-line” between the audience’s and the characters’ Christian knowledge is “sometimes hard to trace.”17 He proposed, for example, that an anonymous scop sings the Genesis version of creation but that the Danes do not know about Grendel’s descent from Cain. Some have disagreed. Yet more troubling in Irving’s model is how inadequately it accounts for the characters’ behavior. Irving identified Hroðgar and Beowulf as the most pious characters, since

Ibid. 180. Ibid. 14 Ibid. 186. 15 Christians, it must be said, have no monopoly on virtue, and some critics have affirmed Beowulf ’s rectitude in secular terms, alleging that the Christian element is overemphasized. Those who envision Beowulf as a “noble pagan” found evidence in the Icelandic sagas, especially Njáls Saga; see Lönnroth, “Noble Heathen.” Larry D. Benson reasons that the poet’s secularism reflects tolerant attitudes towards eighth-century continental pagans, who were pitied but respected (“Pagan Coloring”). Halverson, Moorman, and Cherniss (all are discussed in Irving’s article) affirm that the poem’s rarified Christianity does not fundamentally affect its secularism. 16 Irving (“Christian and Pagan Elements” 191) submits, “apparently a consensus is now forming, or has formed, on the subject: namely, that Beowulf is at all points a smooth blend of pagan/secular elements with Christian ones, with its chief purpose to express and celebrate the heroic ethic.” 17 Irving, “Nature of Christianity” 9. 12 13

a contested BEOWULF

5

together they express thirty percent of the religious allusions in the poem.18 Irving defines a religious allusion as an expression like “ece drihten” (“Eternal Lord”) or “god ælmihtig” (“Almighty God”) which occur chiefly in Christian contexts outside of Beowulf. Hroðgar utters such “Christian” sentiments three times more often than Beowulf, Irving calculates, but Irving nevertheless disapproves of Hroðgar’s “passivity.”19 By contrast, Beowulf seems beyond reproach. When, for example, the density of Christian language drops off measurably in the dragon-fight section, Irving projects a “patchwork” text or “awkward questions” created by Christian expectations at Beowulf ’s death—but not any qualms over Beowulf ’s behavior.20 What pseudo-Christian secularism explains Irving’s impression of Hroðgar’s weakness, even when Hroðgar imparts such religious zeal? What religious scruples get submerged at Beowulf ’s death? Evaluating Beowulf ’s motivation in Christian terms still appears unresolved. Opposed to Irving’s position is Fred C. Robinson, whose book Beowulf and the Appositive Style insists on the distinction between diegetic and intradiegetic narrative.21 Robinson’s ideas convincingly extend a position first voiced (as far as I am aware) by R. M. Lumiansky, in a paper subsequently refined by Alain Renoir and Marijane Osborn.22

18 Ibid.: “If we first tabulate the utterers of these Christian words, we find that it is the poet-narrator who, in his 61.7% of the poem, makes about 65% of the references. The poet is not the most Christian speaker, however; though Hrothgar’s speeches comprise only 8% of the poem, they contain nearly 17% of the religious allusions. Beowulf ’s speeches make up 18% of the poem, but he makes only 13% of the Christian allusions. To re-state these important differences more clearly: the narrator makes one Christian reference every sixteen lines; Hrothgar makes one every eight lines or twice as often; Beowulf makes one every twenty-four lines or only one-third as often as Hrothgar. The remaining speakers as a group, with 12% of the lines, are the least Christian of all: they make only 5% of the Christian references, or one every forty-three lines. Only the young warrior Wiglaf has any significant number.” 19 Ibid. 14: “Hrothgar’s religion is that of the passive person, one who depends on God to rescue him and even grumbles at one point that God could easily have done so earlier if he had had a mind to . . . When Beowulf . . . makes the hall-floor clatter with his decisive movements, it sets off by contrast Hrothgar’s helpless passivity.” 20 Irving, “Christian and Pagan Elements” 186. 21 By no means has Robinson’s book met with universal approval. His recent collaboration with Bruce Mitchell boasts a section “Two Views of Beowulf ” in which Mitchell opposes Robinson’s position: “[ Bruce Mitchell] finds it hard to believe that the poet was always in such firm control of his material and maintained throughout the poem such a clear understanding of the strategy [ Fred C. Robinson] detects” (Beowulf: An Edition 34). 22 Lumiansky; Renoir 245. Lumiansky proposed that the characters in the world of the poem impart reactions that the omniscient audience cannot have. Donahue

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Osborn’s more enlarged argument rests on the simple proposition of a “double point of view in Beowulf —what they know in the poem and what we know outside it.”23 For a single passage she observes how attentively the poet differentiates between the knowledge of his enlightened Christian audience and that of his benighted pagan Danes. This superior understanding generates the poem’s situational ironies, especially those in which the narrator places heathen suffering in the cosmic feud: Cain’s murder results in Grendel’s depravities, but the pagan audience only senses the action of wyrd or “fate.” The runic inscription about the flood that Hroðgar reads on the giant sword hilt may reference the Flood of Genesis, but Hroðgar has no knowledge of the biblical context. As he sees it, a band of giants encounters a flood and drowns. Exploring this dual consciousness more fully, Robinson resolved a handicap in Osborn’s elaboration of the double audience in Beowulf, and prophetically rebutted Irving’s identification of specifically “Christian” utterances, by theorizing bivalent references in the poet’s language. Holding the strict division between the Scandinavian and English settings, Robinson maintained that the poet’s sententious commentary on Christian pre-history reveals a consistent dramatic irony. He argued persuasively that terms like “ælmihtig, alwalda, dryhten, god, metod and waldend” express a context-dependent polysemy. Borrowed from a pagan lexicon to express Christian concepts, these words describe an “all-powerful being,” a “creator,” a “lord,” or a “ruler” who is both inconspicuously pagan in Beowulf ’s Scandinavian society but faintly, if anachronistically, “Christian” in the Anglo-Saxon audience’s imagination. The Old English word god, Robinson explains, should be parsed “a god” for the Geats and Danes, but recall the Christian God—capital G—for those admiring of Beowulf ’s or Hroðgar’s piety. When Beowulf and his retainers “gode þancodon” (“thanked a god/god/God,” 227b), they literally acknowledge a heathen god in language that sounds familiarly Christian to a Christian audience. But not only does the poet freight equivocal language with dual meanings, more importantly he also avoids words and expressions with

extended Renoir’s ideas, and Osborn (“Great Feud”) argued them in even greater detail. Famously, Benson suggested that Beowulf expresses a pagan “coloring” that derives from continental models. On the basis of a passage in the Life of St. Anskar, Andersson (“Heathen Sacrifice”) has argued that the Danish apostasy of lines 175–88 makes sense for a community of recent Christian converts. Andersson accepts the anachronism. 23 Osborne, “Great Feud” 974.

a contested BEOWULF

7

prominent and therefore obtrusive Christian associations, such as: 1. “the popular system of God terms consisting of a base word combined with the genitive engla”; 2. “two-part terms meaning ‘God’s Son’ ”; 3. “the terms nergend and hælend.”24 Furthermore, “[the poet] never alludes,” Robinson observes, “to the Incarnation, Crucifixion, Eucharist, Redemption, Cross, church, saints, New Testament, and other cardinal elements of Christianity.”25 The poet’s reluctance to voice overt Christian references, a curiosity long attended by critics, can be expounded as the avoidance of ideologies with no feasible pagan resonance. Because the two social systems—secular/heroic/pagan and the Christian—were not coterminous, the secular was engineered to parallel the Christian. One’s revulsion becomes less automatic.26 For this reason, I find it unconvincing that the Scandinavian world in Beowulf could be deemed an unadulterated expression of pre-migration pagan culture, however much the poet endeavors to depict it as authentic. The suppression of flagrant paganism—the reluctance to name pagan gods, to report (invent, if you will) any details of potentially offensive rituals, to parade the term hæðen as consummately disparaging—lies in the poet’s ambition to evoke a moral or religious proximity between Beowulf ’s world and that of the audience. (Nevertheless, just enough paganism survives in the poem to remind Anglo-Saxons that the characters were benighted, if not doomed.)27 In these ways, the Beowulf poet can be said to have inflected the religion and moral behavior of his pagan characters in terms similar, if distant, to those Irving alleges. Irving unfairly mischaracterizes Robinson’s argument by describing this linguistic duality as “wigwagging secret messages to his Christian audience over the heads of his characters.”28 On the contrary, this ingenious encryption subtly validates secular attitudes coincident with

Robinson, Appositive Style 43. Ibid. 26 See Robinson, “Language of Paganism” 182 note 13: “My own view, expressed repeatedly in the past, is that the poet is careful not to go into detail when he refers to pagan elements, for while it is important to his purpose to affirm the paganism of his characters, it is equally important not to dwell on these elements, for to do so would make it difficult for his Christian audience to admire the heroism of his characters.” 27 Bazelmans 87–9. 28 Irving, “Christian and Pagan Elements” 188; Irving had earlier concluded: “. . . Hrothgar does not see . . . the story of God’s use of the flood to punish the ancient giant-race that is written or pictured on the sword-hilt Beowulf brings back from the mere. At least he makes no comment on it; it seems a message to us over his head, so to speak” (1989 10). 24 25

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Christianity by making them appear Christian and by emphasizing the heathen Beowulf ’s moral enlightenment. From the Beowulf poet’s perspective pagan Danes, Swedes, Geats, and Frisians cannot discern anything of Christianity, despite their tendentious piety. Yet the narrator can magnify the Christian God’s eternal intervention, even in the pagan world, and negotiate a coincidental religious empathy for his characters. Robinson shows how the double perspective of Beowulf (between character and audience) expresses the poet’s emphatic regret for the pagan past, not Irving’s “gloating over the pitiable or pathetic condition of the benighted characters.”29 On the contrary, the Beowulf poet admires these fictional men and women, and he wants to redeem them by making their virtues look Christian. In these terms the poet may have moderated offensive heroic ideals with a ration of Christian humility, as Irving proposes. Two Beowulfs Robinson’s study contemplates how the Beowulf poet was deeply moved by the strength, generosity, wisdom, and eloquence of secular heroes. He defines the theme of Beowulf using the words “admiration” and “dignity,”30 and his argument requires a beneficent, righteous Beowulf such as Tolkien imagined in his lecture on “The Monsters and the Critics” (although Tolkien famously changed his mind about Beowulf ’s virtue). Nor is Robinson’s position unorthodox. Reactions to Beowulf as a literary figure have been chiefly positive, and notional Christianity in the poem (or pseudo-Christianity or secularism, however one wishes to pose it) seems to have licensed the critics’ views. Even after eighty years, Frederick Klaeber’s assessment of Beowulf ’s heroism summarizes the prevailing opinion: “Beowulf rose to the rank of a truly ideal hero, and his contests were viewed in the light of a struggle between the powers of good and evil.”31 Major writings on Beowulf sanction this extravagant sympathy. Arthur Brodeur speaks of Beowulf ’s “gallant stand” and “valiant fight” in Frisia,” his “sacrificial and triumphant

29 30 31

Irving, “Christian and Pagan Elements” 188. Robinson, Appositive Style 11, 13 resp. Klaeber, Beowulf cxviii.

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death.”32 Robert Kaske’s famous essay on sapientia and fortitudo in Beowulf sets out to recover wisdom and strength in the hero along the lines of Roman virtus.33 Eric Stanley proclaims him “all but flawless.”34 George Clark claims that “the hero’s lasting fame, more enduring than monuments, confirms the value of a heroic life.”35 John Niles, who sees the controlling theme of Beowulf as “community” subverted by an ineffable mutability, relates: . . . Beowulf . . . praises a life lived in accord with ideals that help perpetuate the best features of the kind of society it depicts . . . Most notably they include the notions of unflinching courage in the face of adversity; unswerving loyalty in fulfilling one’s duty to one’s king, one’s kindred, and one’s word, and in carrying out one’s earned or inherited social obligations in general; and unsparing generosity, particularly on the part of kings and queens.36

Having acknowledged opposing views “based on the notion of the hero’s faults,” Niles protests that, “such negative verdicts concerning the value of the hero’s final self-sacrifice maintain an appeal whose attractiveness is chiefly a priori rather than based on the text.”37 Like Irving, Niles believes that the poet has blunted Beowulf ’s secular heroic values by reference to Christian ethics. This judgment seems moderate compared to Christian allegorical readings like Maurice B. McNamee’s: “The character of Beowulf is . . . a complete verification of the Christian notion of the heroic or magnanimous. . . .”38 The valedictory overwhelms, to such an extent that one seeks intellectual shelter in Roberta Frank’s salutary quip,

Brodeur, Art of Beowulf 72–3. Kaske, “Sapientia et Fortitudo.” 34 Stanley, “Hæþenra Hyht” 203. 35 Clark, Beowulf 142. 36 Niles, Beowulf 236. 37 Ibid. 237–8. Here I must situate Stanley B. Greenfield’s article “Judgement of the Righteous,” which systematically rationalizes three “volatile centers that have produced negative perceptions of the hero” (395): 1. Hroðgar’s “sermon”; 2. implications of greed in Beowulf ’s speech (2518b–37); 3. Wiglaf ’s criticism of Beowulf ’s resolution to face the dragon. Greenfield reasons that Beowulf is “fallible in judgement (his only flaw)” (396), so that the poet’s audience could “empathize with the ‘tragic situation’ ” (397). I see the same potential flaw but find it more egregious. 38 McNamee, Epic Hero 109 (cited in Niles, Beowulf 302); the view summarizes that of McNamee, “Allegory of Salvation”; see also Robertson and Cabaniss for allegorical views of Beowulf as a Christ figure. Bazelmans 71–110 adroitly critiques the various positions on the Christian-versus-secular influences that have been intuited in the poem. 32 33

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introduction Scholarly tradition wants us to speak well of the works we study; there would be little point in talking about something that was not beautiful and truthful, not ‘interesting.’ Germanic legend has interest, almost too much so, but its beauty is not in the usual places.39

A minority of skeptical scholars disputes Beowulf ’s latent “Christian” virtue, and their negative evaluations of Beowulf also exploit Christianity as an ethical yardstick. The critics fall into two dominant groups. The first condemns heroic values in general, suggesting that, while Beowulf may be good on his own terms, his cultural debts compromise his deeds.40 For these writers Beowulf does not, and cannot, acknowledge his moral deficiency, since he is shackled to his governing social ideology. A subset of these critics considers Beowulf to be morally flawed, but they focus narrowly on the dragon fight where they insist Beowulf ’s egotism is most transparent. By contrast, Beowulf ’s actions in the first half of the poem reveal more genuine selflessness, and the movement of the poem entails a moral decline. This reading alone proposes a mixed account of Beowulf ’s heroism, rather than a purely positive or negative one. It likewise assumes that Beowulf resists the potentially negative values dominating secular heroism by reference to the sublimated Christianity I have outlined. The second group of critics, mostly the Christian allegorists, likewise reads Beowulf ’s heroism in terms of pride, but for them Beowulf consistently expresses vanity associated with heroic secularism right from the start.41 Whether or not Beowulf is a victim of his civilization, he still fights for all the wrong reasons: glory, empire, wealth. In other words, Beowulf disregards the pseudo-Christian canons implicit in the poem’s delicate syncretism and charges into profane error and damnation. Both the positive and negative assessments of Beowulf in this “Robertsonian” tradition have recently been discounted, since few now credit the alleged theological sophistication of the imagined audience. Frank, “Germanic Legend” 88. Stanley, “Hæþenra Hyht”; Leyerle, “Beowulf the Hero”; Berger and Leicester; Huppé, Earthly City; Bolton, Alcuin and Beowulf; Fajardo-Acosta. 41 Bolton, Alcuin and Beowulf; Goldsmith, “Christian Perspective,” Mode and Meaning. Goldsmith’s and Bolton’s volumes approach Beowulf ’s characterization by imagining a Christian world-view against which his deeds could be read. Goldsmith’s historical pastiche broadly evokes Christian intolerance for anything pagan. By contrast, Bolton intuits what the Anglo-Saxon cleric Alcuin may have thought of Beowulf, since Alcuin expressed disdain for heroic poetry in a famous letter to Bishop Speratus (Unuuona) of Leicester (“Quid Hinieldus cum Christo?”); see Bullough. Reviews of these books were exceptionally derogatory, no doubt partly because of the strongly positive views of Beowulf current at the time. 39 40

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Andy Orchard has lately revived the skeptical tradition, at least in perspective if not precisely in methodology. He interprets Beowulf as he imagines Anglo-Saxon Christian readers might have done, whether monastic or lay.42 Extending Kenneth Sisam’s description of the Nowell Codex as a liber monstrorum,43 Orchard examines protagonists in an alleged Nowell “anthology”:44 Alexander the Great, St. Christopher (a cynocephalus or “dog-head”), anthropomorphs and other beasts of the Liber monstrorum. He finds pre-Christian sources critical of Alexander the Great. If Greeks and Romans could view some of Alexander’s behaviors as immoral (vainglorious, specifically), an Anglo-Saxon could just as easily condemn Beowulf for similar failings—especially because their own outlook on Alexander was largely negative. Orchard likewise delves into Grettir’s Saga, an anonymous work from early fourteenth-century Iceland that portrays the protagonist Grettir as a misanthropic troll.45 He alleges the author’s condemnation of Grettir’s freakish strength and fierce sociopathy. Parallels drawn between Beowulf and his monster adversaries and between him and Cain, Alexander the Great, and Grettir Asmundarson make Beowulf ’s deeds unrighteous.46 Orchard concludes that Anglo-Saxons would probably have regarded Beowulf rather more cynically—as the victim of pride—than most critics do today: “The heathen warriors and monster-slayers, such as Hercules, Alexander, Beowulf, and Grettir, have themselves become monsters in Christian eyes.”47 Yet Orchard steers clear of positing any internal Christian atmosphere—the imaginary secular or pagan perspective I have been describing—in the heathen setting. Instead, he appraises the poem from the standpoint of a hypothetical Christian audience evaluating the poet’s imitative Germanic secularism, which betrays little of the moderation that Robinson, Irving, Niles, and others have inferred. The extensive evidence for Beowulf ’s “pride” that Orchard has gathered exemplifies the problematic disposition that Beowulf imparts in my reading of the poem. When Orchard outlines the separate traditions of pride-versus-glory associated with Alexander the Great in Anglo-Saxon reception, he does not propose that Alexander has a

Orchard, Pride and Prodigies. Sisam, Studies 65–96. 44 On a different view of the Nowell anthology, see Howe, Writing the Map 151–94. 45 Orchard, Pride and Prodigies 140–68. 46 The view that Beowulf is monstrous himself is an old one, but rather benign prior to Orchard’s publication; cf. Pettitt; Dragland; O’Brien O’Keeffe, “Transformations.” 47 Orchard, Pride and Prodigies 169. 42 43

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mixed nature susceptible to prejudicial misinterpretation. On the contrary, he suggests that Christian readers emphasized Alexander’s pride in mistrust of it as a sinful, monstrous indulgence. Orchard’s chapter “The Kin of Cain” affirms Christian misgivings for heroic conduct by associating Grendel with the proud tyrants of Genesis. These “mighty men” are unequivocally imperious. Because Beowulf acts at times like Grendel, Orchard deduces that Beowulf ’s heroism is troublingly arrogant. His take on Grettir is similar. For Orchard, Grettir embodies a monstrous avatar that makes him “a type of Antichrist” at his death.48 At the end of his “five-act tragedy” Grettir’s arrogance will consume him.49 By comparing Beowulf to this portrait of Grettir, Orchard concludes that the Beowulf poet himself set out to criticize his hero and that referents to pride in the poem have been routinely slighted in favor of Beowulf ’s presumed virtue. By contrast, my own reading proposes that characters in Beowulf debate Beowulf ’s motivation, which is only potentially proud. This ambivalence is expressed throughout Grettir’s Saga, when, for example, Grettir’s maternal uncle Jökull Bárðarson urges Grettir not to fight the revenant Glámr.50 Jökull’s advice sounds much like Germanic “wisdom” in Beowulf that recommends moderation over recklessness, and this discourse, I reason, challenges any confident assertion of Beowulf ’s pride. The Wreccan of Beowulf From the foregoing discussion one might ask why the Beowulf poet described the hero’s behavior so evasively that completely opposed views of Beowulf ’s motivations could be entertained. As Stephen C. Bandy remarks, “. . . the question remains why Beowulf should repeatedly attract such dark suspicions, so many challenges of his motives.”51 Quite understandably, critics fall back on some indeterminate cultural paradigm (such as the “heroic code” or latent Christian morality), either affirming or disputing the hero’s virtue, when, in fact, this dual consciousness comprises the poet’s subject. Robinson’s position on the internal and external audiences of Beowulf accounts for this ambivalence, 48 49 50 51

Ibid. 154. Ibid. 142. Ibid. 155. Bandy 244.

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which is generated by contradictory appraisals of Beowulf ’s identity and motivation. Outside the poem an audience of Christian Anglo-Saxons weighs Beowulf ’s deeds from the superior, but not condescending, viewpoint of Christian dogma. The narrator himself validates this nominal Christian outlook. In the fictional world of Danes and Geats, however, characters of imperfect capacity and discernment appraise Beowulf ’s ambition, judgment, and potential. Such figures contemplate Beowulf ’s exceptionality in light of his desire for glory (dom) or praise (lof ), and some react guardedly. By no means do all the inhabitants of Beowulf ’s Germanic world approve of his “confidence,” especially in the Grendel fight, and some worry about the consequences of his success. At the inflection point of heroic eminence, then, Beowulf ’s motivations engender anxieties about his present and future conduct—the potential for immoderation that he seems to express. While some are satisfied with Beowulf ’s sense of heroic proportion, more skeptical observers fear the prospect of latent recklessness that can accompany matchless strength and uninhibited zeal. These characters mistrust Beowulf ’s potential for excessive ambition, as much for themselves as for him. For them Beowulf is an enigmatic figure whose incommensurate power they admire and fear. As I shall show, their views of Beowulf occasionally confront the Christian audience’s superior awareness and the narrator’s sympathy for his hero. The notion of Beowulf ’s latent arrogance or recklessness will no doubt surprise some readers of the poem, because most critics endorse the position of Beowulf ’s generous heroism. Yet the characters observing Beowulf hold conflicting and therefore inconclusive views of him. Beowulf represents a liminal figure of pre-eminent ability whose potentially courageous actions can also seem just as potentially reckless, especially to those who lack his gifts. A key impediment to entertaining this motivational—and hence moral—ambivalence stems largely from defining the social (or literary) phenomenon of Germanic heroism as distorted by the poet’s projected Christian morality. Apart from hæle or hæleð and perhaps the loanword cempa, Old English has no equivalent word for “hero,” a loan from Greek heros first attested in 1387 but popularized in its present-day meaning only in the sixteenth century. The “hero” as we moderns imagine him typically conjures the pretensions of late medieval chivalry: decorous, devoted, fearless, etc. This description does not comfortably suit Germanic heroes like Beowulf, who could belong to any number of identifiable social positions, temporarily or intermittently. The categories “nobleman” (æþeling,

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eorl ), “retainer” ( þegn, gesið, guma, monn), “warrior” (wiga, cempa, freca, etc.), “lord” (dryhten), or “king” (cyning, þeoden) arguably characterize Beowulf, who yet has a special status in addition to these.52 Coming from abroad, Beowulf should be classified as a peripatetic warrior or adventurer, not in the strict sense of “mercenary” but as a sound, if untested, fighter eager to earn a reputation for his “warfare.” In other words, Beowulf intends to distinguish himself at a famous court. Some critics have doubted this heroic rationale, as if offended by martial glory devoid of any altruistic context. John M. Hill, for example, alleges that Beowulf comes to Heorot for selfless reasons: “Is [ Beowulf ’s] quest simply for glory, despite the great risk? Or is there something in the idea of ‘need’ that a right-minded, ethical warrior cannot ignore?”53 Hill, I sense, identifies a tension occasioned by the poem’s dual audiences. Where the external Christian audience may intuit God’s “right-minded” deputy, the pagan characters see a champion motivated by glory, a fundamental and honorable incentive for heroic action in Beowulf ’s world. Abundant evidence contradicts the implication that an “ethical” Beowulf merely wishes to rescue Hroðgar. On the contrary, Beowulf has sailed from home to earn fame by killing Grendel. Critics have largely neglected Beowulf ’s status as a foreigner in Denmark, even though nomadic fighting men like him differ in standing from Hroðgar’s native retainers who are largely anonymous in the poem.54 If historical records are any guide, the presence of foreigners

For a thorough analysis of the relational terms found in Beowulf see Bazelmans 114, 136. 53 Narrative Pulse 11 (my emph.). The phrase “despite the great risk” implies that Beowulf is foolhardy and must have a better reason to fight Grendel than “mere” glory. On the contrary, the great risk attracts Beowulf. Much of Hill’s position is staked on comparisons to Andreas 307–14 (see 13–14) and on passages from the Odyssey. The Andreas passage confirms my own intuition about Beowulf ’s bivalent motivation, for Christ in disguise questions Andreas about the recklessness implicit in his overseas venture. Andreas’s reply downplays the risks in fatalistic terms, suggesting that Christ himself will determine the outcome of the journey. Andreas illuminates the character of Beowulf ’s own mission as potentially reckless, an observation made by some men in his world, and Andreas’s divine mission corresponds to Beowulf ’s exercise of divine will in killing Cain’s spawn. 54 The failure to disambiguate this special status in studies like Bazelmans’ surprises (see 112 (“powerful lords often attracted followers from outside their realm”) and 141 set against the identical categorization of native and foreign warband members, 115 note 15, 136–7). Bazelmans also suggests that “a prominent retainer should undertake without the king adventurous endeavours (siðas, journeys, enterprises, expeditions) in the world outside the kingdom in order to show his strength and courage” 175–6. By this 52

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in a king’s warband was normal. Stephan S. Evans points out that as war-leaders gained reputations for winning riches, men flocked to their banners. Guðlac’s late seventh-century warband attracted fighters “of various races” (“diversarum gentium”),55 no doubt from many different tribes.56 Evans goes on to describe Bede’s account in the Historia ecclesiatica, that King Oswine of Deira recruited noblemen from neighboring provinces once his reputation had been established: “ad eius ministerium de cunctis prope provinciis viri etiam nobilissimi concurrerent.”57 The make-up of these historical courts matches Hroðgar’s legendary one. In Heorot at least, foreign fighters seem to hold high offices, possibly because they were ranking nobles in their homelands, or else pre-eminent fighters. Wulfgar, described as a “prince of the Wendels (or Vandals?)” (“Wendla leod,” 348b), has an important position as a counselor to Hroðgar, his authority implicit in the terse way he advises the king: “No ðu him wearne geteoh//ðinra gegncwida” (“Do not refuse him your reply,” 366b–7a). Moreover, Wulfgar’s “courage is known to many” (“his modsefa/manegum gecyðed,” 349a–b), an expression that implies a pan-Germanic reputation. This “modsefa,” literally “spirit” or “zeal,” is glossed by the variand “war and wisdom” (“wig ond wisdom,” 350a), a phrase emphasizing Wulfgar’s prudence and reliability. Another foreign soldier, Hunferð, holds the office of þyle (defined below, pp. 87–92), but Hunferð represents a different kind of adventurer with a more sinister reputation. Because Hunferð had a hand in the death of his brothers, he may belong to the social category of wreccan, a term translated variously as “exiles,” “outcasts,” or “adventurers.” Described as “wræcmæcgas” (“banished men”) in Beowulf, the Scylfing princes Eanmund and Eadgils may exemplify Hunferð’s status. They seek Heardred’s protection after rebelling against their king, Onela:

formulation, he deduces that Beowulf “has brought honour to Hygelac’s people by his actions” (183). No doubt this turns out to be true, but why would any king risk losing a prominent thane in the first place? In fact, John M. Hill emphasizes Beowulf ’s potential to leave Hygelac’s service and become Hroðgar’s thane (Cultural World 106). 55 Colgrave, Felix’s Life 80 (XVII). 56 Lords of Battle 28. 57 Ibid. 33. HE III.14: (“to his service flocked the most noble men from nearly all the provinces.”).

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introduction Hyne [ Heardred ] wræcmæcgas ofer sæ sohtan, suna Ohteres; hæfdon hy forhealden helm Scylfinga, þone selestan sæcyninga þara ðe in Swiorice sinc brytnade, mærne þeoden. (2379b–2384a) The sons of Ohthere—banished men—sought [ Heardred ] over the sea. They had rebelled against the protector of the Scylfings, the best sea-king who had ever dispensed treasure in Sweden, a glorious prince.

Although some critics have concluded that Onela “usurped” the Swedish throne from Eadgils,58 the circumstances of the nephews’ exile confirms Onela’s legitimacy: he was already the Scylfing king. As the “best king” in Swedish history, a “glorious prince,” he dispensed treasure liberally. Eanmund and Eadgils have wronged their generous lord. Even though, like Wulfgar, Hunferð is trusted and his reputation widespread (“widcuðne man,” 1489b), his implicit status as a man like Eanmund and Eadgils brands him as potentially dangerous. Both Wulfgar and Hunferð have strength, courage, and zeal for glory. The difference between them lies in the way they express these heroic endowments in their behavior, either sensibly or rashly. OE wrecca derives from the verb wrecan “to force or impel” and, among a host of other usages, describes warriors “forced out” or exiled from their homelands, mostly because of rivalrous dispositions and impetuous violence. The identity is socially liminal, for wreccan are exiled for the same ruthless ambition that motivates other foreign fighters seeking glory abroad. The forcibly exiled wrecca can attach himself to a foreign retinue, one reason why powerful kings manage to rule relatively vast dominions. In Beowulf the foreign wrecca Hengest joins a Danish warband, which, on the evidence of the Finnsburg Fragment, also includes a man named Sigeferþ, “a prince of the Secgan and an ‘exile’ widely known” (“Secgena leod,//wreccea wide cuð,” 24b–5a). This is the same language used of Wulfgar and Hunferð. Interestingly, the custom of kings recruiting exiles like Germanic wreccan is documented even in the Iliad, where Phoenix and Patroclus gain patronage from Peleus. Phoenix chooses exile after threatening to kill his father, but Patroclus

Klaeber’s Beowulf lx: “. . . upon Ohthere’s death, Onela seizes the throne, compelling his nephews Eanmund and Eadgils to flee the country” (my emph.). Even in Beowulf the king’s eldest son is not automatically enthroned after his father’s death. On the passage see Bazelmans 132 (“the two sons . . . challenge Onela’s accession”). 58

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is banished for a murder committed over a game. Both become leading men in Phthia. While Beowulf himself is not exiled from Geatland, his appearance at Heorot prompts a conspicuous appraisal of him as one of these two types of mercenary fighters. Wulfgar resolves that Beowulf has come “for wlenco/nalles for wræcsiðum” (“for reasons of glory, not at all because of exile,” 338). In my view, Wulfgar’s verdict first introduces a key anxiety that frames Beowulf ’s ambition—that he could, in light of his pre-eminence and ambition, cross the behavioral threshold separating wreccan from other adventurers. For this reason, one may be tempted to render Wulfgar’s laconic statement as mild sarcasm: “I suppose you have sought Hroðgar for ‘glory’—‘majesty of mind’, as it were—and not because of ‘exile’ ” (“Wen’ ic þæt ge for wlenco,/nalles for wræcsiðum//ac for higeþrymmum,/Hroðgar sohton,” 338a–9b). The prominent foreign leaders in Hroðgar’s host, the implicit profile of Hunferð as a wrecca “widely known,” and Wulfgar’s pointed evaluation of Beowulf ’s voyage to Denmark for wlenco rather than wræcsið draw attention to Beowulf ’s problematic identity. Even more evidence, however, broadens this characterization. Beowulf ’s father Ecgþeow resembles a wrecca himself. Ecgþeow caused a “great strife” (“fæhðe mæste,” 459b) among the Wylfings when he slew Heaþolaf (459a–61a), a conflict which Hroðgar settled by payment of wergild. One wonders what business took Ecgþeow to such a distant corner of the Baltic.59 In no way am I suggesting that Ecgþeow was exiled from Geatland, but he may represent the soldier-of-fortune whose behavior triggered powerful hostilities abroad. While the lack of detail about the Wylfing feud prevents any conclusive understanding of Ecgþeow’s identity, the suggestion seems clear: does Beowulf, like his father, also have the potential for such violence? Furthermore, the long-recognized association between the wrecca Grendel and Beowulf has suggested a kind of congruent identity.60

59 Following the settlement, Ecgþeow may have attached himself to Hroðgar’s retinue, joining Hroðgar before or after his marriage to Hreðel’s only daughter (374b–75a). Under these hypothetical circumstances, Ecgþeow either switched his loyalty to the Geatish court or served Hroðgar for a time, given that royal marriages in Beowulf are rewards for exceptional military service. On the possibility that Ecgþeow was a Scylfing, see Wardale. Kemp Malone formulated an ingenious argument that Ecgþeow had himself been a Wylfing and fled to Hroðgar because Wealhþeow was likewise a member of that tribe (“Ecgtheow”). Paul Beekman Taylor (“Beowulf ’s Family”) offers some speculations on Ecgþeow’s marriage. 60 Orchard, Pride and Prodigies 30–4.

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Like other exiles in Beowulf, Grendel “has trodden the paths of exile” (“wræclastas træd,” 1352b) “deprived of joy” (“dreamum bedæled,” 721a; “dreame bedæled,” 1275a), a wretched being (“wonsæli wer,” 105a). Johann Köberl has lately pointed out that Grendel is not just an “exile” but, ironically, a “hall-thane” (“healðegnes,” 142a) and a “hall-guardian” (“renweardas,” 770a).61 He has, in appreciation of the verb rixode (“ruled,” 144a), become the king of Heorot.62 This subtle metaphor has suggested to Johann Köberl that Grendel and Beowulf share a co-extensive identity, Beowulf serving as Grendel’s “alter ego.”63 In fact, Andy Orchard had investigated this convincing parallel in Pride and Prodigies, drawing particularly on Norse evidence of Beowulf ’s monstrous identity. On the basis of this suggestive evidence, identifying Beowulf as a “wrecca” would be imprecise, as Wulfgar acknowledges. But to say that Beowulf is compared to wreccan reflects the poet’s conscientious strategy of disinterest in the exploration of his hero’s liminal identity. The implicit identification of Ecgþeow as a wrecca and the potential relevance of this bloodline for Beowulf ’s conduct become significantly meaningful when Beowulf is later compared to three famous (or, depending on one’s sympathy, notorious) exiles: Sigemund, Hengest, and Heremod. In multiple analogous stories characters scrutinize Beowulf ’s present motivation and, by extension, foretell his future. The digressions function as exempla. All of them take wreccan as their subjects, actually identifying the warriors and kings they profile as “exiles.” The explicit comparisons strongly suggest that some observers in the world of the poem consider Beowulf to have the traits of a wrecca. Beowulf ’s potential status as one of these Germanic champions marks him as a figure of supreme ability whose motivations remain arguably impulsive, solitary, and socially marginal. This alleged identity generates an extraordinary anxiety over the possibility of Beowulf ’s leadership. Because his deeds in Denmark as well as his aristocratic heritage distinguish him as a future king of Geats, the prospect of tyranny remains a foremost worry for all the characters in the poem, especially Hroðgar. Comparison of Beowulf to prominent wreccan suggests the liminal behavior that characterizes Beowulf ’s exceptionality. Attending this

61 62 63

Indeterminacy 97. Ibid. Ibid. 98.

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focus on heroic identity not only enables us to reconcile the contradictory judgments of Beowulf ’s deeds made by internal characters (and modern critics), but also to understand the bearing of Grettir’s Saga for Beowulf. Both works explore the intersection of heroic prominence and social disruption. The early fourteenth-century Grettir’s Saga has often been advanced as the closest analogue to Beowulf, and quite clearly Grettir represents the Beowulfian parallel.64 It would seem relevant, then, that Grettir earns exile for his first killing, a savage murder over a food bag. Details from the saga reveal the innocent circumstances under which Grettir and the servant Skeggi lost their supplies, but the recovered food bag may have belonged to either man. Skeggi’s reluctance to show the bag looks suspicious. Grettir insists on seeing it, but Skeggi then insults Grettir by recalling an earlier humiliation that Grettir suffered. Skeggi attacks first and swings at Grettir with an axe, but Grettir ends up killing Skeggi with the same weapon. Exiled for the killing of Skeggi at the Althing, Grettir sails to Norway, proving his strength, if not obviously his virtue, time after time. Grettir later becomes the most famous exile in Iceland—respected, tolerated, or despised—for almost twenty years. Grettir’s ambiguous motivation and the contradictory appraisals of it indicate that the saga characters cannot fathom his violence. The central ambivalence characterizing Grettir, his impetuous aggression, reflects my own reading of Beowulf ’s conflicted portrayal. Although Beowulf should in no way be thought to have committed any crime before venturing to Denmark, some Danes perceive a Grettir-like potential in Beowulf ’s confidence and pursuit of glory. Grettir’s life as an exile from the community of men invites comparison to Beowulf ’s life as a future exile, in consideration of latent arrogance. My comparison of Beowulf to Grettir in support of Beowulf ’s potential conceit may likewise explain Beowulf ’s “inglorious youth,” subject to flagrant dissembling because it ostensibly confirms a failing of sorts. Right after Beowulf has reported his success in Denmark, honored Hygelac, and bestowed Hreðel’s war-gear on him, the narrator mentions 64 At a glance, the resemblances between Grettir and Beowulf seem remote, since Grettir’s arrogance is devoid of the civility, at least, that Beowulf arguably expresses as a thane and king. A provocative recent study by Magnús Fjalldal postulates no genetic connection between the two works, although Fjalldal’s findings only address moments in Beowulf thought to be related to long-held folktale analogues. He finds these parallels impressionistic, although they quite convincingly explained Beowulf ’s behavior as described in Orchard, Pride and Prodigies.

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that Beowulf was “hean” (“humiliated,” “abject”) for a long time (2183b), since the “Geata bearn” or (“sons of the Geats,” 2184a) thought him immature (“unfrom,” 2188a),65 shiftless (“sleac,” 2187b), and unworthy of much honor on the mead-bench (2185a–b): swa hyne Geata bearn ne hine on medobence dryhten Wedera swyðe wendon, æðeling unfrom. tireadigum menn

Hean wæs lange, godne ne tealdon, micles wyrðne gedon wolde; þæt he sleac wære, Edwenden cwom torna gehwylces. (2183b–9b)

[ Beowulf ] was abject for a long time, since the sons of the Geats did not consider him good, nor would the lord of the Weathers make him worthy of much on the mead-bench. They earnestly presumed that he was immature, a cowardly prince. A change came to the victory-blessed man for each of those indignities.

Although these lines voice disapproval and OE hean regularly describes exiles,66 anything disparaging about Beowulf is invariably downplayed. Raymond Tripp, Jr., for example, denies any “inglorious youth” and charges that the narrator expresses a Geatish view of Beowulf ’s antiheroic temperance.67 The Geats therefore mistake Beowulf ’s pacifism for passivity. The parallel in Grettir’s Saga answers some critics of the passage, as “indolence” indeed characterizes Grettir’s youth. Lazy, impetuous, and hostile, young Grettir the “coal-biter” scorns work that does not flatter his self-esteem, such as herding geese, scratching his father’s back, or herding the mare Kengala. He kills many goslings, injures his father with a wool comb, and flays Kengala. Furthermore, while sailing to Norway aboard Hafliði’s ship, Grettir is accused of being shiftless because he will not help bail. Only when the ship is swamped will Grettir intervene and leverage his miraculous rescue for maximum prestige. “Humiliated” by women’s work and by the general disregard for his heroic genius, the “shiftless” Grettir suggests why Beowulf is thought to be “abject” and “slack”: he will not perform any chore beneath his heroic dignity. Some characters in the saga think little of 65 I back this reading uncomfortably, but note that “unfrom” occurs elsewhere only in a verse from the Paris Psalter (138.14: “unfrom on ferhþe”) where it glosses imperfectum, perhaps “immature.” 66 Greenfield, “Theme of Exile” 203. 67 Tripp, “Inglorious Youth” 133–4. The passage is generally explained by a “principle of contrast” in which present accomplishments are magnified by a recollection of past miseries; see Klaeber’s Beowulf note to line 2183b ff. (236).

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Grettir—a position, one might say, that reflects Hunferð’s opinion of Beowulf. Grettir’s presumption, sensitivity, and willingness to resort to extreme brutality characterize him throughout the saga, but every case of violence seems moderated by provocations or other special circumstances. Kathryn Hume contends that Grettir cannot adapt to the lawful, agrarian (or commercial), and Christian society that Iceland became and that, inevitably, to most Icelandic settlers, “Grettir is a frightening, ugly-minded bully.”68 Grettir’s heroism needs to be managed under the right circumstances: When the [social] context is congenial, Grettir is portrayed as nearly ideal, and he can coexist peacefully with men of good will, and they approve of him. He is also able to control his temper when happily circumstanced.69

According to Hume, Grettir exhibits self-restraint when some authority—specifically a man of the “lordly type”—validates him with the “grand gesture.”70 In other words, Grettir’s ideal patron acts much like an ancient king whom Grettir would serve as a prominent thane (the simile is Hume’s). Without such indulgence Grettir would appear irascible and arrogant. The narrative homologies between Beowulf and Grettir’s Saga merely suggest that Beowulf might express an identity with similarly ambiguous contours. In fact, Beowulf is not a wrecca, but he is compared to them because, to some observers, he seems to betray their temperament. The burden of proof lies with me to show that Beowulf may exhibit the negative characteristics associated with wreccan, and in the chapters which follow I lay out the evidence for a cynical fear surrounding Beowulf and his accomplishments. Beowulf ’s prospective identity as a wrecca hinges significantly on his perceived temerity, his arguably reckless feats, and the notable but sociopathic wreccan to whom he is compared. The Limits of Heroic Glory OE wrecca begot Modern English “wretch,” while its continental antecedent gave rise to Modern German Recke (“hero”). Each reflex characterizes 68 69 70

Hume, “Thematic Design” 473. Ibid. Ibid. 474, 472 resp.

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the ambivalent personality of the Germanic “hero” represented by Beowulf: always glorious, fearless, and solitary on the one hand; potentially spiteful, vain, barbaric, even murderous, on the other. The combination of isolation and habitual violence, I suppose, make the wrecca a “wretch.” Heroic literature abounds in the kind of individual potentially represented by Beowulf. Achilles epitomizes the type: acutely defensive of any slight to his honor, rebarbative, hateful, and violent, yet the most outstanding fighter among the Greeks. Only with Achilles can the Argives hope to win the Trojan War; they have to accommodate him. In the Norse tradition the best-known figure corresponding to the Anglo-Saxon wrecca would be Starkaðr. The late thirteenth-century Gautreks Saga traces his ambiguous personality to an altercation between Óðinn and Þórr over Starkaðr’s fate. While Óðinn magnifies Starkaðr’s powers, a curse from Þórr makes each of his attributes a hardship:71 . . . skapa ek þat Starkaði, at hann skal hvórki eiga son né dóttur ok enda svó ætt sína. Óðinn svaraði: Þat skapa ek honum, at hann skal lifa þrjá mannzalldra. Þórr mællti: Hann skal vinna níðingsverk á hverjum mannzalldri. Óðinn svaraði: Þat skapa ek honum, at hann skal eiga en beztu vópn ok vóðir. Þórr mællti: Þat skapa ek honum, at hann skal hvórki eiga land né láð. Óðinn mællti: Ek gef honum þat, at hann skal eiga of lausafjár. Þórr mællti: Þat legg ek á hann, at hann skal alldri þikjazt nóg eiga. Óðinn svaraði: Ek gef honum sigr ok snilld at hverju vígi. Þórr svaraði: Þat legg á hann, at hann fái í hverju vígi meizlasár. Óðinn mællti: Ek gef honum skálldskap, svó at hann skal ei seinna yrkja en mæla. Þórr mællti: Hann skal ekki muna eptir þat er hann yrkir. Óðinn mællti: Þat skapa ek honum, at hann skal þikja hæztr enum göfguztum mönnum ok hinum beztum. Þórr mællti: Leiðr skal hann alþýðu allri. . . . [Þórr spoke:] I ordain this for Starkaðr, that he shall have neither a son nor a daughter, and his issue will end with him. Óðinn spoke: I ordain for him that he shall live for three lifespans. Þórr pronounced: He shall commit treachery in each of them. Óðinn spoke: I ordain this for him, that he shall have the best weapons and clothes. Þórr pronounced: I ordain this for him, that he shall have neither land nor territories. Óðinn pronounced: I give him this, that he shall possess treasure. Þórr pronounced: I lay this on him, that he shall never think he has enough. Óðinn spoke: I give him victory and renown in every battle. Þórr spoke: I lay this on him, that he shall have serious wounds in every battle. Óðinn pronounced: I give him the art of poetry, so that he shall compose verses

71

Ranisch 28–9.

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as he speaks. Þórr pronounced: He shall never remember afterwards what he composes. Óðinn pronunced: I ordain this for him, that he shall be thought foremost by all the noblest and best men. Þórr pronounced: All the common people shall despise him.

Admired by kings but despised by commoners, Starkaðr represents the consummate soldier. He exchanges kingship (the responsibilities and limitations of power) for the glory and the visible display of clothing and weapons. Much like Achilles’s own zeal, Starkaðr’s drive for preeminence makes him commit three great crimes, suffer repeatedly from battle wounds, and guard his reputation with a jealous vigilance. The motivation for Starkaðr’s ferocity is the same as Achilles’s: glory. No modern English term quite captures Beowulf ’s motivation, which in Greek epic might be expressed as thymos, a quality associated with one’s personal ambition for honor and a touchy regard for its public acknowledgment. One approximation in Old English might be mod, a word for “spirit,” “courage,” or “high-mindedness” that has lately been called an aristocratic virtue.72 Here my interest involves the underlying motivation for one’s deeds, not in the terminology describing the deeds themselves. Thus OE ellen means “courage” but does not describe the incentive to express courage. OE mod belongs to kings, noblemen, retainers, and other elites, but more precision is required for Beowulf, whose mod should be distinguished as that appropriate to his liminal exceptionality. I suggest that OE wlenco, a term for “pride” or “dignity,” could express both the magnitude and the ambiguity of Beowulf ’s heroism, that wlenco may be the silent term by which Beowulf ’s behavior is contested as “courageous” or “arrogant.” Within a spectrum of motivations OE wlenco has context-specific boundaries that determine its ethical value, and precisely because of its bivalence, T. A. Shippey calls wlenco “the quality of a hero—or of a meddler.”73 Dennis Cronan comes closest to my own position that wlenco reflects a mental state, and he has lately expressed the range of behaviors associated with its positive and negative manifestations:

Highfield. Shippey, Old English Verse 39. The same bivalence also characterizes OE mod; see Godden 287: “mod seems to convey to many Anglo-Saxon writers not so much the intellectual, rational faculty but something more like an inner passion or willfulness, an intensification of the self that can be dangerous.” 72 73

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introduction . . . wlenco denotes a daring bravado which shades into the recklessness that can impair a person’s judgement. Wlenco thus appears to have been a greatspirited courage which could lead one to daring undertakings for the good of others or to reckless endeavours that produce unnecessary risk.74

Heroic and homiletic sources document this semantic equivocacy.75 Even Saint Guðlac can seize his mountain hermitage from devils “for wlence” (“in daring,” 208a) in the Exeter Book poem. And yet in Genesis A the Shinarites also build the Tower of Babel “for wlence” (“in arrogance,” 1673a). Both audacity and greatness of accomplishment can be implied in the term. On its own, being wlonc might mean being either “proud” or “dignified,” but the nature and outcome of one’s social interactions will determine the aspect of wlenco. Dangerous or rash behavior verges on “pride” when one’s conduct merely establishes social supremacy, enhances personal prestige, or unnecessarily endangers the group. In fact, especially hazardous (one might say “aggressive”) physical or verbal behavior intended for one’s own social or material profit often establishes the limit at which wlenco turns negative. Avenging a kinsman, however, or defending one’s territory would characterize the positive kind of wlenco, in which a moral or civic duty calls for sacrifice. This same motivational bivalence figures in Beowulf, where the noun wlenco occurs three times. In Wulfgar’s speech “wlenco” seems to have a positive sense: Beowulf has come seeking glory, not refuge as an exile (338a). In line 508a, however, Hunferð accuses Beowulf of a committing a reckless stunt with Breca “for wlence,” and in this case the term is pejorative. The same derogatory usage describes Hygelac’s Frisian raid, which the King of Geats undertakes “for wlenco” (1206a). The narrator himself makes this judgment, and given the outcome of the invasion, the verdict hardly evokes praise for glorious deeds. A similar case can be made for the usage of OE wlonc, either “dignified” or “arrogant.” When Wulfgar and Beowulf meet, both are described as “wlonc,” portending a formal, confident dignity (331b, 341a). After Beowulf has killed the dragon, the narrator remarks that it will no longer visit its lair, “proud in its treasured possessions” (“maðmæhta wlonc,” 2833b). This usage

Cronan, “Poetic Words” 34. Cronan’s remarks refer to Beowulf 338 and 1202–7. The primary and most comprehensive study is by Michael von Rüden, who has documented this ambivalent sense for OE wlonc and wlenco in all genres: prose, poetry, and glosses. 74

75

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expresses a degree of arrogant overconfidence. Quite clearly, being “wlonc” means having “wlenco,” and both terms seem to encompass the semantic ambivalence of Modern English “proud” and “pride.” While the term wlenco is found in Beowulf in exactly the indefinite sense that characterizes my understanding of Beowulf ’s liminal action, it never comprises part of a behavioral or moral system like the one I theorize. In other words, the Beowulf poet never explicitly says, “Beowulf expressed wlenco when he challenged Grendel” or “Beowulf was wlonc when he confronted the dragon.” From convergent conclusions reached in these pages, I observed that OE wlenco perfectly approximates the uncertain ambition motivating Beowulf ’s feats. Nor is OE wlenco ever associated with the conduct or deeds of wreccan in any specific expression. I propose the affiliation because the usage of OE wlenco throughout the corpus describes Beowulf ’s bivalent potential. In other words, while wlenco specifically may not have motivated Beowulf to fight Grendel, the poet has conveyed a similar motivation of equivocal virtue. What thought-category he had in mind is impossible to discover, but OE wlenco captures the bivalent nature of this heroic confidence. In Beowulf one encounters elites apparently motivated by glory, but wreccan are a special case. Simply because wreccan are disposed to maximize their prestige, the motivation they express may resemble “pride” more often than “dignity,” “arrogance” more often than “sacrifice.” Their deeds therefore look more “foolhardy” than “courageous,” especially when men of lower status, ambition, and skill suffer for their zeal. I must be forthright, however, about Beowulf ’s alleged status: the poet never accuses him of arrogance. It is my view that doing so would tip his hand, for he aims merely to hint of Beowulf ’s potential arrogance as a prospective wrecca, to improvise phantom reservations, to discredit certainties. This inconclusiveness should not imply a dearth of evidence, only that symptoms of Beowulf ’s negative potential are subverted by signs of possible magnanimity (on Beowulf ’s part) or misjudgment (on the characters’ part). Sometimes the evidence suggests that Beowulf resembles a vainglorious wrecca, and sometimes it suggests that he resembles an honorable foreign champion defending Danes and Geats. In my view, the poet’s explicit indecision over Beowulf ’s motivation—the charge of generosity or pride—explains the poem’s general ambivalence.

26

introduction Ambivalent Heroism and Indeterminacy

The competing perspectives, arguments, and counter-arguments for Beowulf ’s ambivalent identity give rise to a subtle contrapuntalism, a discourse of ratiocination. I do not mean to imply that the poet has laid out evidence pro and con in daisy-chain fashion, but that he has presented multiple alternative readings of Beowulf ’s character. While his method invites deliberation, however, it does not concede resolution, only conjectures formulated in reaction to preferred interpretations. My treatment of the Hunferð digression illustrates the method of this internal debate: charge and rebuttal that, on each occasion, have no clear-cut factual proof. In answer to Hunferð’s accusation of temerity, Beowulf states that he was young. Are we satisfied that he is less impetuous now? He says that he killed water-monsters in a struggle that Hunferð could never win. Does that validate his alleged rashness? Does Beowulf ’s public condemnation for Hunferð’s “murder” mean that Hunferð must be biased, or is Beowulf just using the flyting convention of distorted sarcasm to demean his opponent? The implicit “argumentation” that characterizes the Hunferð episode has an extensive corollary in the dragon fight, where the poet has frustrated any conclusive ruling on Beowulf ’s motivation. The poet has not, in fact, established an incontrovertible outcome, but one shaped by debate. He has both posed and rebutted the most subtle reactions to Beowulf ’s death in a way that demands full engagement with the paradox of it. This frank ambivalence invites readers of Beowulf to settle the poem’s open-endedness: an audience was meant to judge Beowulf ’s motivation and rationalize the poet’s equivocacy, the position of arrogance that some readers have over-emphasized and others dismissed. As I see it, the uncertainty of Beowulf ’s ambition motivates the poem by inviting judgment: “how is Beowulf a good king?” The ambivalence of heroic action in Beowulf and the consequent rationalization that such indeterminacy would entail have been the subject of a recent book called The Indeterminacy of Beowulf. Johann Köberl proposes that the poem’s ambiguities have yielded “over-determined” interpretations foreclosing its intentional open-endedness. Köberl generally locates this ambivalence in the text of Beowulf as construed by its Anglo-Saxon audience, rather than intradiegetically, in the imperfect awareness of its characters. Explaining the potential impiety of heroic archetypes for an Anglo-Saxon audience, he remarks,

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. . . it may also be speculated that Anglo-Saxon society is characterised by an ambivalent attitude towards its own pre-Christian past. If a society keeps alive the memory of its ancestors because of their heroism and is then faced with the possibility that those ancestors are doomed to an eternity in hell, it may well develop a way of talking about its past in terms that do not unambiguously sing the praises of those ancestors.76

The poet’s sublimation of offensive pagan associations has atheticized Beowulf ’s heroism and therefore encourages such an evaluation. For Köberl Beowulf yields thematic oppositions enhanced by nuanced linguistic amphibolies (polysemous words like lofgeornost, fah/fag, gæst) that not only prevent hermeneutic closure but also draw attention to the oppositions themselves—the “anxiety” that I would locate in Beowulf ’s liminal identity. Even so, Köberl’s global account of narrative misprision in Beowulf also concedes both the narrator’s and the characters’ perspectives. At times, Köberl addresses the subjective viewpoints of characters like Hunferð in establishing the valences of indeterminacy. In other words, Köberl’s position may be applied to the narrower thesis of heroic identity that I allege for the poem as a whole. In a chapter on “The Search for a Theme” Köberl conjectures that ambivalences in the dichotomy individual-versus-collective and king-versus-subject cannot be resolved in favor of one domain, but must recognize that both exist coterminously. Grounding this notional ambivalence in the wider context of fate, transience, and mortality, Köberl concludes that “the text’s discourse on the final things, death, judgment, heaven and hell, refuses to be authoritative.”77 Instead, the poet juxtaposes competing views of heroic identity, unresolved in their argumentative equipoise: a warrior’s eternal glory is meaningful in response to heroic Fatalism but antithetical or irrelevant to the Christian afterlife, from which perspective its ideologies are offensive, if not odious. While I find this situational and semantic polyvalence nearly identical to my own understanding of the poet’s rhetorical strategy, I perceive a different emphasis on heroic action as a human ideal but subject to defects of proportion that exceptional mortals exhibit. The ambivalence that Köberl theorizes for heroic action in Beowulf centers on an ambiguously rendered ethos that is uncertainly resolved.78 76 77 78

Indeterminacy 9. Ibid. 82. Ibid. 81: “Is [Beowulf ] about a celebration and glorification of heroic life, or is it

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Critical of the interpretive judgmentalism that reduces many latent oppositions to a single reading, he reasons that both positive and negative aspects of heroism remain salient to the poet’s audience. Choosing one position, Köberl argues, forecloses a deliberate equivocation: “The disputed issue of heroism need not be resolved in terms of glorification or condemnation. The poem’s presentation of heroism oscillates between approval of its search for glory and disapproval of its inherent instability, its feud-and-revenge ethics, its materialism, and its consequent ignorance if, and disregard for, Christian values.”79 Köberl describes an “oscillation” of perspective that I have characterized as a logical “contrapuntalism” centered on the poet’s presentation of Beowulf ’s ambiguous motivation. In contrast to Köberl’s wider sense of indeterminacy, I do not claim that the poet distrusts heroic action per se, only its expression in the hero Beowulf. The difference is significant. Köberl envisions a positive Beowulf who “has managed to keep royal and heroic qualities in balance,”80 such that any ambiguity rests on valuing or devaluing Beowulf ’s accomplishments, as well as Germanic heroism more generally. In my view, the accomplishments themselves—killing the dragon, above all—are equivocated as possibly springing from excessive ambition. Köberl, I imagine, would see my own position as a kind of narrative closure, although the indeterminacy I theorize in the dragon fight challenges the Anglo-Saxon audience as much as the characters. At times throughout the poem internal and external perspectives overlap. The Function of Fate in Heroic Prominence A primary reason why Beowulf is theoretically indeterminate results from its presentation of heroic restraint as a function of Fatalism. No boundary seems to separate right action from excessive action. The incentive to earn glory motivates a pretense of Germanic heroism, that a fighter’s utmost courage sometimes enables him to prevail against otherwise impossible odds, as Beowulf remarks:

a condemnation? The indisputable fact that these—and other—thematic ambivalences have not been resolved in all the years of Beowulf criticism may well lead to the conclusion that any resolution can only be temporary, since the ambivalences are actually characteristic of the whole text and are, therefore, ultimately unresolvable.” 79 Ibid. 176. 80 Ibid. 95.

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Wyrd oft nereð þonne his ellen deah! (572b–3b)

Fate often protects an undoomed nobleman when his courage is strong!

The statement is not tautological. No amount of courage saves a doomed man, of course, but exceptional valor can forestall an unanticipated death that might come about through momentary weakness or doubt. An ambiguity in this system of belief lies in gauging the unknowable boundary of success, since the riskier the deed, the greater the honor and likelihood of fatality. Somewhere between sheer cowardice and certain death one finds a point of comfortable risk—a coordinate of multiple social variables beyond which one exhibits immoderation by overestimating the chances of survival relative to one’s legitimate obligations.81 An acceptable risk, it must be said, depends as much on the situation as on one’s own prowess and motivation. The motivational dimension includes such public and private terms as revenge, kinship, duty, wlenco, or emotions like love and hate. The situational dimension could be called “luck.” For example, we are led to speculate that Beowulf would have died fighting Grendel’s mother if the giant sword had not been hanging within reach in her cave. Now, before the fight the poet notes that Beowulf is the strongest man alive (196a–8a; cf. 379b–81a), so his prowess cannot be impugned. Moreover, the narrator specifically says that Grendel’s mother is weaker than Grendel (1282b–4b)—a deduction that Beowulf might have made himself— although Beowulf is handicapped by fighting her underwater and in her lair. Yet prowess alone did not save Beowulf, nor did the foresight of wearing a mailcoat. Fortune also favored him, and if not for the arguable motivation of avenging Æschere’s death, one might question Beowulf ’s prudence: Did he express courage for a just cause or pride for a rash enterprise? The poet defers judgment. As I shall show, the fight with Grendel’s mother does not acquit Beowulf of pride–the desire for glory—but does vindicate the encounter, since Beowulf endangers no one but himself. Like the legendary Sigemund, who fights his dragon solo, Beowulf confronts Grendel’s mother alone, the only appropriate circumstance in Beowulf for men to convey reckless “heroism.” Beowulf straddles the margin separating permissible and excessive zeal— is perceived, in fact, as inclined to violate the social decorum governing wlenco as “courage” and to be driven by a potential recklessness.

81

Gwara, “Forht and Fægen.”

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Judged either by secular or Christian principles, his ambition for glory could, but need not, violate standards of moderation and self-control common to Germanic warriors. Therefore, the contested Beowulf I describe in these prolegomena conveys the crisis of resolving Beowulf ’s motivation, of keeping it centered on the social virtues that Germanic warriors safeguard. Beowulf serves an apprenticeship of sorts at Heorot, as Hroðgar, I argue, teaches him a conduct of moderation and responsibility especially appropriate to kingship. The old king’s lessons countervail the potential for Beowulf to fall into the unrestrained ambition and violence that distinguish Germanic “exiles” as a class. Warrior Wisdom: The Language of Self-Restraint, Humility, and Reticence Two contingent questions emerge from my stance on Beowulf ’s transgressive personality: how does recklessness arise, and how can it be recognized and prevented? It should come as no surprise that the Anglo-Saxons, like the Greeks, developed an ars heroica or art of heroic behavior, components of which were codified in Old English “wisdom verse.” Old English “wisdom poetry” comprises a hodgepodge of sententious lore disseminated in maxims, exempla identifying good and bad behavior, and utterances about the competitive warrior life in a Germanic hall. I shall have more to say in detail about aspects of the wisdom verse, but for my current purposes I need only mention that much of it offered advice on controlling one’s “willa” or “desire.”82 In fact, it has become commonplace to imagine that Germanic warriors adhered to a golden mean or rule of moderation (a native understanding of “righteous behavior”): not too boastful, not too lustful, not too aggressive, not too talkative, etc. The problem lies in the boundary of excess implied by the adverb “too.”

82 Even the most tentative research on Anglo-Saxon literary presentations of mind confirms the tension between a mental faculty of “desire” and one of “restraint.” Citing metaphors of “holding or binding the mind” in Maxims I, Homiletic Fragment II and The Wanderer, Godden concludes, “such expressions invite us to see a distinction between the conscious self and some other, inner power which we might legitimately gloss as ‘mind’ though it could also be translated in particular contexts as ‘passion’, ‘temper’, ‘mood’ ” (288). Elsewhere he affirms, “the thought of the heart stems from an inner self with its own volition, which a man needs to learn to understand and anticipate, since it can, presumably, dictate his actions in spite of his conscious self ” (292).

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In Old English verse “wisdom” or snyttru takes the form of “warning,” and being wise means restricting ambition in recognition of a social ethic, what is “right,” “jural,” or even achievable. We need only read certain “wisdom” passages that advocate the heroic mean to know that self-restraint was a prized virtue.83 In The Seafarer, for example, the “exile” concludes, “scyle monna gehwylc/mid gemete healdan//wiþ leofne ond wið laþne” (“a man ought to treat friend and foe with moderation,” 111a–12a). Presumably one should be neither too trusting of friends nor too hateful of enemies. Both extreme situations are imprudent and potentially reckless, a point made by M. R. Godden about the poem’s depiction of a bipartite mind: “[The Seafarer] distinguishes two centers of consciousness: an inner, urgent, passionate personality and a more reluctant self which controls action.”84 In The Wanderer the same virtue of moderation is expressed more fulsomely: ne sceal no to hatheort ne to wac wiga (ne to forht ne to fægen), ne næfre gielpes to georn, Beorn sceal gebidan, oþþæt collenferð hwider hreþra gehygd

Wita sceal geþyldig, ne to hrædwyrde, ne to wanhydig, ne to feohgifre ær he geare cunne. þonne he beot spriceð, cunne gearwe hweorfan wille. (65b–72b)

A wise man ought to be patient, not too hot-tempered, nor too hasty in speech, nor too weak a warrior, nor too reckless (neither too fearful nor too eager), nor too greedy nor too ready to boast before he knows for certain. A man ought to wait whenever he speaks a boast until, stout-hearted, he readily understands whither the thought of his breast will turn.

Conjoining “wisdom” and “moderation,” this passage emphasizes selfawareness, the capacity for regulating a vice that approximates pride.

Kindrick suggests exactly this formulation of wisdom as restraint and moderation. In reference to Beowulf, for example, he remarks, “the governing or restraining aspect of wisdom finds vivid expression in . . . portions of the poem” (6). Kindrick explores multiple political contexts in which restraint functions “as the prince’s responsibility for the welfare of his subjects.” Although I have notably different views of Beowulf ’s moderation, Kindrick’s intuition that restraint motivates political objectives related to social amity is fully explored in this book. Furthermore, the parallels Kindrick adduces in “Hávamál” support his general conclusion that Beowulf centers on “wisdom, restraint, social consciousness, and strategy” (13), and his deduction that “Germanic culture was developing its own set of restraints on unchecked valor and wild heroism” (ibid.) is precisely the claim I examine here. 84 Godden 294. 83

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The poem called Vainglory focuses entirely on identifying, and avoiding, a proud individual, the sort of man who would manifest excess in drunkenness, ridicule, lust, and greed. In just this way one should honor comrades as “friends” or trusted co-equals in battle, presumably of legal responsibility, and not as jealous rivals. The Old English poem Precepts also clarifies Beowulf ’s prospective recklessness. In 1982 Elaine Tuttle Hansen drew important parallels between Hroðgar’s instruction in his “sermon” and Precepts, a central apothegm of which reveals that moderation is the soul of Germanic wisdom: “Hæle sceal wisfæst//ond gemetlice” (“A warrior should be wise and moderate,” 86b–7a). Precepts takes the form of a wise “father” (probably an aristocratic father: a king or retainer) warning his “son” to be loyal to friends, to avoid drunkenness and indiscreet remarks, and to recognize good and evil. Responsible or proportionate action informs wisdom poems like Precepts, where what is “good” is not to drink, speak, or desire in excess. “Evil” is defined as intemperance. The father furthermore enjoins his son to heed the advice of parents, elders, and the wise—by which terms compliance might be said to characterize the humble. The humble warrior can learn restraint from his teachers because he already expresses patience, while the arrogant soldier embraces habitual self-regard. One immediately sees the utility of the wisdom verse for inhibiting recklessness, either in the beer-hall or on the battlefield. Although some who see the Anglo-Saxon warriors as barbaric and fatalistic might imagine that recklessness was encouraged, in fact it was thought to be a vice. Circumspection was encouraged. Wisdom poetry taught warriors to judge whether they could achieve the deeds they promised to undertake. Death was the surest sign of recklessness, and the motivation of recklessness was an insatiable craving for glory. Unrestrained and unwise acts spurred by immoderate ambition distinguish “pride” from “dignity,” and the wrecca was most given to this excess. With the capacity for violence, the extreme sensitivity to dishonor, and the drive to excel in every combat, a wrecca arguably expresses a judgment barely governable by the ordinary conventions of warrior wisdom. In the Anglo-Saxon tradition the experience of adversity begets wisdom. As the poem Precepts puts it, Seldan snottor guma swylce dol seldon ymb his forðgesceaft,

sorgleas blissað, drymeð sorgful nefne he fæhþe wite. (54a–6b)

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Seldom does a wise man rejoice without having experienced some sorrow; likewise the fool rarely rejoices over the future with any sense of anxiety unless he should understand violence.

Having suffered no setbacks that might teach him moderation—the limits of his ambition—a fool foresees no edwenden or reversal and rejoices too confidently in his prospects. This same attitude defines the fatalistic world of Beowulf, in which recklessness arises through a succession of victories in encounters of increasing boldness. Victory follows victory until the warrior begins to think that he will always win any engagement, no matter the risk. Wlenco or “pride” arguably makes a man seek greater glory, of course, but such ambition can shade into arrogance or presumption when the warrior can no longer assess the odds of his victory. Death often results from overestimating one’s chances against an enemy—the very antithesis of warrior wisdom. Without exercising restraint, one could eventually, but not inevitably, come across a superior enemy or encounter impossible circumstances—at which point one becomes fæge or “doomed.” Consider, for example, that glory tempts an otherwise moderate man to sail a boat in a storm. If the sailor survives, providence may be said to have saved him, no matter how strong or experienced he was. Providence in this scenario is nothing more than the concatenation of circumstances that led to his survival. A god does not literally rescue the sailor, even if a god is thought to have been behind the circumstances of his miraculous survival, in some abstract sense (as “Wyrd,” capital W). If the sailor thinks that surviving the storm was solely his own doing, he may then be tempted to paddle a canoe in a hurricane. If he lives, he may acknowledge providence for his escape and end his risk-taking, or else continue to test his skill—and luck—until the day he “goes too far” and dies. “Going too far” means that the sailor encounters an unexpected circumstance, a rogue wave let us say, that he could have handled in his boat but not in his canoe, even when he exerts himself to the utmost. If his canoe sank because of this wave, a god should not be seen to deliver a punishment for arrogance by creating a storm, although a god, as ruler of the universe, could be said to determine in some dispassionate sense the fate of the proud. What emerges from this (deliberately simplistic) illustration of Anglo-Saxon fatalism is nothing less than a rationale for moderating one’s desire for glory in the moral universe of Germanic heroism. If the sailor represents a warrior and the confluence of rogue wave and canoe a hopeless engagement, arrogance would characterize the

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warrior’s motivation. He would have misjudged his advantage, and death would prove his recklessness. Yet a significant vexation in Beowulf is that exceptional men, including wreccan, perform under different constraints. Rather than enacting cultural ideals, they challenge them. Men like Beowulf contravene the expectation of responsible or appropriate action because they survive encounters likely to result in death for other, less capable men. Their solitary ventures are both admired as magnificent accomplishments and scorned as impetuous and arrogant–not “heroic” in the modern sense of the term as “sacrificial.” To ordinary men fighters like Beowulf challenge the definition of wisdom as restraint, and explicit social boundaries regulate their seemingly insatiable ambition. Killing human adversaries seems too easy for these liminal “heroes,” unless they encounter many of them, like the wrecca Waldere does, or credible national champions like Beowulf (against Dæghrefn and the Franks). In fact, so transcendent are some warriors—like Sigemund and Beowulf—that they must fight superhuman foes such as trolls and dragons. Only against these foes can the ambitious translate their audacity into fame. Therefore, a solitary fighter may legitimately pursue what looks like “suicidal” combat, and his unlikely victory would confer immense glory in Germanic terms. Theirs is a distinctive mentality, not merely the extension (and hardly the apotheosis) of a Germanic warrior profile. Beowulf ’s Prospective Kingship and Subaltern Anxiety In the first half of the poem and especially in the Grendel duel, some Danes imagine Beowulf to behave like a wrecca, or else expect him to become like one because of a latent predisposition. The tension that emerges in the appraisal of Beowulf as potentially reckless is further magnified by Beowulf ’s potential to become king of Geats. The complication of this status for Beowulf explains the conspicuous emphasis in the poem on wisdom. Kings differ from exceptional warriors and wreccan in responsibility, as the Rune Poem relates: Feoh byþ frofur fira gehwylcum. Sceal ðeah manna gehwylc miclun hyt dælan gif he wile for drihtne domes hleotan. (1a–3b) Treasure is a comfort for every man. Yet a man [or: retainer] must give it freely if he intends to obtain glory as a lord.

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All men (including warriors) want to earn treasure, the anchor of their security, while kings (also men) must learn to dispense it in rejection of personal frofor. In these terms, disgracing one’s retainers by jealously withholding their rewards not only represents a failing of generosity but also manifests a clash of incompatible identities. Hence, in becoming a stingy king, Heremod does not transcend the competitive warrior outlook that earns him exile. A second failing of warrior-kings derives from unnecessary, ever escalating risk that subordinates the national good to the attainment of personal glory. Such kings become tyrants subjecting their people to ruinous warfare.85 In light of this premise, recognizing and preventing Beowulf ’s potential recklessness means acknowledging the social expectations of Germanic kingship as represented in the poem.86 The poet deflects whether Beowulf might express the immoderation of a wrecca by focusing instead on whether and how the future responsibility of kingship necessitates inhibiting any immoderation he might possess. Beowulf appears in Heorot at the head of a “warband,” whose members with one exception are anonymous. I say “warband” advisedly because the terms typically used of such retinues (dryht, duguð, gesiðas, gesteallan, etc.) never describe Beowulf ’s followers. The poet is careful to show that Beowulf need not be responsible for this group of men as a “dryhten” might be for a warband. Beowulf ’s troop, of course, does nothing against Grendel or Grendel’s mother and has always seemed a vestigial “blind motif,” or else a foil highlighting Beowulf ’s prowess. From this moment, however, the war-leader Beowulf will be evaluated as a potential king, and the imagined obligations to his men and his kingdom should regulate his own valor. Partly for this reason Hunferð condemns Beowulf ’s presumption, and the story of Breca warns Geats and Danes that Beowulf is unfit because he unthinkingly endangers his men. Hunferð’s criticism invites us to conclude that Beowulf ’s leadership would translate into disaster for any nation that has him as king,

85 Köberl 80, citing Howe, Migration (see 152–3); see Bazelmans 127–8 on the king’s duty to exercise restraint: “Knowing that his rule is granted him by God, he is obliged to ensure a prosperous reign, not by the unfettered use of power, but precisely by observing closely the limits of that power” (128). 86 Jackson (Hero and the King 26–36) proposes that Beowulf, like epic in general, frequently addresses “the conflict between ruler and hero . . . as much a conflict of values as of personalities” (4). Regarding Beowulf as an outsider or “exile,” he envisions the Grendel fight as a challenge to Hroðgar’s authority.

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although Hunferð’s jealousy impugns his credibility. Moreover, King Hroðgar works actively and persistently to teach Beowulf how to recognize and limit excessive ambition in kingship. As I shall show, Hroðgar’s “sermon” teaches Beowulf to shun the kind of heroic recklessness that ignores one’s own responsibilities and other men’s capacities. The Oferhygd Complex Aspects of the Anglo-Saxon wisdom tradition that identify excessive zeal, curb immoderation, or recommend self-restraint underlie implicit and explicit criticisms of Beowulf ’s behavior. Germanic “wisdom” promotes ideal kingship by advocating methods preventing recklessness associated with leadership. For Germanic kings, ambition can yield “over-confidence” or “immoderation,” concepts expressed by the term oferhygd in Beowulf. Oferhygd defines a kind of Germanic psychosis specific to leaders. Superficially, it means “excessive spirit” or “impetuosity,” although it may be best to think of it as a leader’s excessive ambition. Casting a long semantic shadow over Beowulf ’s heroic mentality in the first half of the poem, OE oferhygd in Beowulf reflects a specific propensity for something like arrogant overconfidence. In the context of Beowulfian kingship, it is expressed in warfare and in relations with the comitatus. The prospect of Beowulf ’s oferhygd would handicap his leadership because excessive zeal in a king translates into blind intolerance that portends fatal misjudgments. “Glory,” in other words, tempts one to take chances otherwise hazardous for the comitatus, and accelerating successes generate over-confidence to the point where annihilation becomes certain. The weaker men subordinate to a tyrant of peerless strength and unbounded oferhygd would find themselves, like the nation as a whole, exposed to risks they could not possibly master. Some have suggested that the poet presents such warfare as socially determined—the outcome of feud, specifically—but the poet’s criticism falls chiefly on kingship as an extension of personal ambition.87 The identical concern is raised in my appraisal of two other kings afflicted by oferhygd: Nebuchadnezzar and Belshazzar. In fact, Hroðgar’s mental taxonomy of overconfidence perfectly describes arrogant kingship in the Old English Daniel.

87

Berger and Leicester; Leyerle, “Beowulf the Hero.”

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This view of Beowulf ’s potential egotism is nearly identical to that voiced by John Leyerle, who suggested a “fatal contradiction at the core of heroic society”: “The hero follows a code that exalts indomitable will and valour in the individual, but society requires a king who acts for the common good, not for his own glory. The greater the hero, the more likely his tendency to imprudent action as king.”88 Even Maxims I seems to stipulate the contrary opinions of Anglo-Saxon kings whose prestige derives from plunder or (in times of peace) tribute: lað se þe londes monað,

Cyning biþ anwealdes georn; leof se þe mare beodeð. (58b–9b)

A king is eager for dominion, hated when he claims land but beloved when he offers more of it.

While I agree that “indomitable will and valour” could motivate a heroic champion, even suicidally, I discern a deterrent to recklessness in heroic wisdom, as well as an intentional ambiguity in Beowulf ’s susceptibility to oferhygd. Furthermore, the heroic king beset by the oferhygd psychosis has no conscious awareness of his breakdown: he does not literally choose “imprudent action.” He falls into it as a consequence of his security and renown—the success that comes from being exceptional. As I have said relative to heroic recklessness, ignoring the limits of one’s power will generate escalating, potentially fatal, risks. The Instructional Function of the Digressions The Christian allegorists have exaggerated, and the secularists underestimated, the potential for Beowulf ’s immoderation in the Grendel section of Beowulf, and oferhygd in the dragon fight, for an understandable reason: the poet delivers criticisms of Beowulf indirectly in conversation or asides. In fact, most of the evidence for Beowulf ’s potentially reckless behavior actually comes from characters in the fictional Scandinavian world: from Hunferð, Hroðgar, Wiglaf, and a number of unnamed poets who memorialize Beowulf ’s exploits. As it turns out, criticism of Beowulf ’s faults—those of the Germanic hero and of the social institution of heroism, in fact—are expressed largely in the poem’s digressions,

88

Leyerle, “Beowulf the Hero” 89.

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which often take the form of analogies.89 The digressions of Beowulf therefore resemble exempla, a modus legendi that contemplates a man’s future and directs his conduct by historical or legendary precedent coextensive with present circumstance. One might call the digressions “counsels,” for they are meant to guide behavior, as intradiegetic commentary. As such, they were not intended merely to “entertain” but to depict choice as a function of wisdom, to anticipate the hero’s fate by his attitude, to impart behaviors that promote success, and to expose conduct that invites disaster. Hence, the pagan Scandinavian audience of Beowulf weighs Beowulf ’s intentions and prospects after his feats, which might be deemed opportunities for reflection.90 Without this reflection, I contend, Beowulf would appear uncritically righteous, for the poet’s intentional ambiguity would lack its defining antitheses: dignity versus pride, proportionate action versus recklessness, responsibility versus fame, the group versus the individual. I take pains to analyze the digressions in Beowulf as extended analogies or exempla because comparing Beowulf to his heroic antecedents generates internal reflections on immoderation and oferhygd, and on the clash between the social identities of wrecca and cyning. Interestingly, some digressions in Beowulf are called gidd in the poem or implicitly identified as gidd: the lay of Finnsburh, the story of Sigemund and Heremod, Heremod’s story in Hroðgar’s “Sermon,” and Beowulf ’s meditation on the death of Hreðel. Dictionaries and translations render the well-attested vocable gidd multifariously as “account, dirge, lament, lay, maxim, poem, proverb, reason, reckoning, riddle, saying, sentence, sermon, song, speech, story, tale, verses or words.”91 In Beowulf, however, the meaning of OE gidd in these contexts may be 89 On the digressions in general, see Bonjour, Digressions; Leyerle, “Interlace Structure”; Bjork, “Digressions and Episodes.” Bonjour theorized thematic “links” between the digressions and moments in the main narrative, or between two or more digressions themselves, all of which constitute “parallels” or “parallelisms.” Most of the episodes are “contrasts” or else “counterbalance” incidents or themes in the main narrative. The digressions can be “prophetic,” “ironic,” “premonitory” or, most commonly, “anticipatory.” In other words, they highlight social or philosophical backgrounds of “portentous significance” (73). This epic mode of discourse is widespread in ancient Greek literature, especially in the Iliad. On digressive analogy and the way it functions in the Iliad, and correspondingly in Beowulf, see Gwara, “Misprision” and Alden. 90 Michael D. Cherniss (“Oral Presentation”) makes a similar case, that the digressions ought to be meaningful in their immediate context. He assumes that an audience hearing Beowulf would expect digressive matter to comment on, or respond to, local narrative. 91 On the meaning of the term, see Parker; Howlett; North, Pagan Words; Reichl.

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extended to embrace a “didactic or prophetic comparison” between a figure or event from the past and one in the present. For example, the gidd of Sigemund and Heremod describes wreccan from the legendary and historical past, respectively. The Finnsburh story recalls an episode from British history concerning the wrecca Hengest, almost certainly the Jutish or Anglian commander of Vortigern’s mercenary “Saxons,” and the events surrounding his leadership of a group of Danes. In these narratives, Sigemund illustrates a distinguished precedent that Beowulf could become if he adopted Sigemund’s policy of fighting alone. By contrast, Beowulf should avoid the failings of Heremod and Hengest. Heremod destroyed the Danes with the kind of unrestrained ambition that brought glory to Sigemund. The story of Hengest, by contrast, exemplifies the danger of Beowulf ’s potential kingship for the Danes. As a non-Danish leader of Danes, Hengest hesitates too long in fulfilling the sacred obligation of vengeance for the Danes’ fallen lord. Other episodes are structured analogically but never called gidd. Like the other digressions, they also compare people or events in illustration of a present circumstance. For example, the story of Fremu (formerly thought to be Modþryð or Modþryðo) evokes the ambivalence characterizing Beowulf in the Grendel fight. Having described Hygelac and his queen Hygd, the poet launches into a description of the arrogant queen Fremu whose venality was tamed by marriage to King Offa. The digression, I will argue, refers not to Hygd but to Beowulf whose attendance on Hroðgar has reined in Beowulf ’s own potential truculence. Interestingly, the poet-narrator makes this analogy outside the Scandinavian world of the poem—invisible to its inhabitants, in other words—probably as confirmation of Beowulf ’s new-minted political maturity. In most respects the digressions in Beowulf function like paradeigmata or ainoi in the Iliad. In Book 9 of the epic, the ambassadors Odysseus, Ajax, and Phoenix approach Achilles with gifts intended to assuage his anger and bring him back into the war. When Achilles declines the bribe, Phoenix tells three stories in illustration of the choice that awaits Achilles. He first recounts his own biography, his own feud with his father Oeneus, the attempt on Oeneus’s life, his self-imposed isolation, and flight. This paradeigma analogizes Achilles’ stated decision to return home by describing Phoenix’s parallel experience and illustrating the outcome for Achilles should he choose this fate. Phoenix’s comparandum is his own life experience from the recent past. Later, however, Phoenix will tell the paradeigma of Meleager, a hero from past generations

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and hunter of the Calydonian boar. Like Achilles, Meleager abandons his comrades in wartime, taking to his bed in a fit of pique for a curse laid down by his mother. By recalling the scenario, Phoenix illustrates how another hero hesitated to fight and lost magnanimous gifts that were offered but rescinded. Of course, Phoenix is trying to win Achilles’ trust and bring him back to the Argive ranks, but his method of persuasion is narrative analogy, not direct appeal. He describes the outcomes of choices made by other great men in similar situations. Phoenix’s analogies are discernible on the level of the characters, but Homer has himself embedded parallel narration in the chariot race of book 22. The dispute that arises between Menelaus and Antilochus after the chariot race re-plays, and significantly re-interprets, the events of book 1. This focalization recalls the story of Queen Fremu, which, I claim, analogizes Beowulf ’s own experience abroad. Because it has been told by the narrator, the audience—not the characters—attends the narrative parallel between Fremu and Beowulf. Obviously, moments like the Fremu episode refine our perception of Beowulf ’s conduct. Perhaps the most important example of such characterization is the flyting, or verbal debate, between Beowulf and Hunferð. The Hunferð episode in Beowulf yields evidence of Beowulf ’s possible recklessness and alleges his potential for oferhygd. Described as a þyle or “spokesman,” Hunferð is, I will argue, a ranking counselor charged with teaching retainers the traditions of Germanic warrior wisdom. One of his arts is the assessment of a warrior’s motivation—the “intention of an evil man,” as the Old English poem Precepts puts it. Beowulf contextualizes Hunferð’s position when he deploys the language of Hunferð’s office sarcastically: Vainglory tells the warrior how to recognize and avoid oferhygd in terms that recall Hunferð’s charge of rash action against Beowulf. In other words, Beowulf accuses Hunferð of a failure of judgment, the þyle’s key faculty, and the narrator even suggests that Hunferð could have misjudged Beowulf out of jealousy. Nevertheless, while Beowulf seems to “win” the flyting with Hunferð, the victory makes him uncertainly righteous, as a survey of flytings in Scandinavian sources reveals. We are left wondering whether Hunferð’s estimation of Beowulf could still be accurate in part. Hunferð levels two charges that originate in observing Beowulf as a potential wrecca and as a leader of daring volunteers. On the one hand, he criticizes Beowulf for provoking Grendel, since the Danes have learned to stop their losses by giving up the hall before the monster shows. They know their enemy. Because Beowulf does not know anything about Grendel’s size and strength, his boast sounds arrogant

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and offensive. On the other hand, if only Beowulf were endangered, the boast would be less repugnant, but Beowulf risks his Geatish comrades, too. Hunferð proposes, then, that Beowulf lost the venture with Breca and that he will lose against Grendel. Yet he also emphasizes Beowulf ’s eagerness to endanger Breca “because of wlenco” (“for wlence,” 508a) and on account of a “foolish boast” (“for dolgilpe,” 509a). Not only was Breca a king with towns and treasure, but the escapade was also deemed a “sorhfullne sið” (512a). This collocation literally means “sorrowful venture,” but in Beowulf it designates a “venture almost certain to end in sorrow,” i.e. reckless and irresponsible. Implicit in the critique is Beowulf ’s unfitness for leadership, especially kingship, because of impetuosity. As Bazelmans formulates this provision of wisdom, “no one, nor any group either, may be seen as separate from another or others.”92 Hunferð’s evaluation of Beowulf ’s recklessness appears confirmed when Hondscioh dies and when the other Geats find themselves incapable of piercing Grendel’s hide. Perhaps by claiming so confidently that he could kill Grendel with a sword (680b), Beowulf wrongly encouraged their involvement. His confidence may have caused one man’s death. Or did it? The narrator divulges that Beowulf intended to gauge Grendel’s strategy by watching how the troll would proceed, but Grendel moved faster than Beowulf expected. Even this excuse, however, does not justify Hondscioh’s death, for reasons I shall outline later. Clearly, the poet carefully alternates arguments for and against Beowulf ’s excessive wlenco, and characteristically undercuts each argument, so that neither position can be substantiated and fully believed: Beowulf is arrogant . . . Hunferð is jealous . . . Beowulf lost a competition . . . Beowulf actually killed watermonsters . . . Beowulf endangers his men unnecessarily and Hondscioh dies . . . Beowulf was assessing Grendel’s ambush. Despite his status and objections, Hunferð has been deemed rancorous, a “jester” or “coward,” and his criticisms are unsympathetically demeaned. He may be jealous, as the narrator remarks, or responsible for the death of kinsmen, or incapable of exploits like Beowulf ’s, but the full context of Hunferð’s challenge still disparages Beowulf ’s ambition. Making bold claims to kill a powerful demonic adversary is reckless but especially so when other men’s lives are at stake. Understanding the digressions as analogical commentary enables us to read searchingly their relevance in Beowulf, but reading them on two levels complicates the matter of Beowulf ’s motivation. The digressions

92

Bazelmans 123 (italicized in the original).

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speak not only to the narrator’s Christian audience but also to the audience in the world of the poem. Because the Anglo-Saxon spectators know a Christian truth (and very likely the outcome of the poem), their evaluation of an episode may be thought to supersede the secular “Christianized” dogmas endorsed in the narrative. An unresolvable tension therefore arises between the two perspectives, internal and external, although the Christian view is never satisfyingly transparent. In other words, because we know so little of the secular world glimpsed in Old English literature, we cannot appreciate what anachronistic “Christian” precepts the heathen Beowulf is made to embrace, although we may theorize that they relate to moderation or humility. On account of this ambiguity, scholars have tried to evaluate Beowulf ’s behavior or attitude by Christian principles, and have ransacked the Patrology for evidence of his failings or virtues. My own view is quite different. The moral judgments in Beowulf (I think of them as “Christianized,” for they are no doubt influenced by notional Christian ethics) coincide with heroic ideologies centered on responsible leadership. Ethical conflicts arise in the world of the poem as the “hero” Beowulf competes with the subaltern in his own heroic domain. The subaltern position manifestly derives from the comitatus, the source of group identity, and the foundation of a king’s prosperity, and the focus of his responsibility. In most respects, the digressions exemplify this subaltern voice, that of the minor characters whose opinions, I speculate, represent a customary point of view relative to warrior identity, politics, kingship, and Germanic wisdom. The anonymous singers, the coast-warden, Hunferð, Wiglaf, and (to some extent) Hroðgar voice the aristocratic values of community and peace—of “mondream” or “joys of fellowship.” The Subaltern Voice As authorial critiques, the Beowulfian digressions, including the gidd, figuratively direct a social discourse about heroic fanaticism in the social institution of Germanic kingship. The tension between wrecca and king that I locate in Beowulf centers principally on the warband (comitatus in Latin, duguð in Old English). Superficially, this group of men comprises the king’s retainers and fighting force, but as an institution it also betrays a complex “psychological” identity. Scholars now agree that institutionalized kingship emerged as a consequence of expanded tribal jurisdictions in the post-migration period. As characterized in Tacitus’s Germania, however, the king and comitatus enjoyed a “horizontal”

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power-sharing relationship, perhaps something akin to the roving Viking bands whose leaders in one ninth-century source described themselves as coequals.93 By the Anglo-Saxon period, however, the “horizontal” relationship yielded to a more strongly “vertical” one, in which retainers in the warband owed service to a king who rewarded them for loyalty. The ensuing problem is, how does one negotiate responsibilities shared by the individual (a king) and the group (a warband) when the individual’s priorities–glory as embodied in status and wealth—derive from his own ambition? While it is true that a Germanic warrior seeks status—the honors attached to gifts and the glory of reputation–as a member of a retinue, he ultimately answers to the king’s ambition. In fact, he earns honor primarily by being “hold” or “loyal.” But because glory drives the economy of heroism, however, thanes have a right to earn status. In this quid pro quo, the king’s wishes must accommodate his men’s inclinations and abilities, and his own ambition has to be tempered by institutions emphasizing reciprocity, especially gift-giving. The king’s men will fight more willingly for his causes in recognition of mutual obligations. Although the king’s authority was paramount, he undoubtedly took counsel from the ranking members of his warband. One can legitimately speculate that they voiced a subaltern opinion to the king, and the king, in turn, would ideally acknowledge these subaltern views in decisions affecting the group’s prosperity. Because the nation relied on the warband for its security and wealth, the king had to respect the warband’s capabilities and objectives. They may not have shared the same ambitions, but the successful king negotiated power with his retainers, regardless of his absolute authority. The unsuccessful king, by contrast, would fail to consult his men—or at least appreciate their political stake in decisions that jeopardized their lives or prestige. One might therefore say that the primary resistance to ideal kingship derives from an antithetical heroic vanity. I am not suggesting that Beowulf belongs to Hroðgar’s warband as a thane in any sense, although Beowulf ’s implicit status inflects the poem’s fundamental tensions. I do propose that certain warrior-kings at least challenge, if not confound, the pattern of royal obligation and retainer allegiance, and that Beowulf is thought by some to have the potential for such tyranny. The Beowulf poet represents this kind of king as a tyrant given to oferhygd.

93

North, “Tribal Loyalties” 28.

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In the Gautreks Saga passage I have cited above, Óðinn says of Starkaðr, the Norse equivalent of a wrecca, “I ordain this for him, that he shall be thought foremost by all the noblest and best men.” Þórr counters with a curse: “All the common people shall despise him.” An uncanny parallel to the sentiment emerges in Beowulf, where the relationship between the king and his retainers, the duguð or comitatus, foregrounds the evaluation of Beowulf ’s behavior. One might say that the Germanic warband gains a voice in Beowulf, at least as part of a system of kingship constituted by warband reciprocity. An eminent warrior born into the royal lineage, Beowulf could expect to become king of the Geats. Hroðgar even speaks of kingship as a kind of election, and he predicts that Beowulf ’s valor will make him a prominent candidate. Before this eventuality, however, Beowulf must learn to curb his ambition in acknowledgment of a king’s responsibility towards his warband. Kingship demands reciprocity, which the poet emphasizes from the start when he describes how Beow (18a), Scyld’s son, earns the trust of his men even before his father dies: Swa sceal geong guma gode gewyrcean, fromum feohgiftum on fæder bearme, þæt hine on ylde eft gewunigen wilgesiþas, þonne wig cume, leode gelæsten. (20a–4a) So should a young warrior perform good deeds with lavish gifts in his father’s company, so that in maturity willing companions will support him—the people sustain him—should war come.

The stress here on Beow’s willing companions (“wilgesiþas,” 23a) and his national advocacy make it plain that future kings owe retainers recognition as much as they owe service to their own lords, at least to guarantee loyalty in old age. Depictions of reciprocity in Beowulf prove that the king-warband relationship was similarly based on the material exchange observed in Beow’s conduct above. The extent of this reciprocity—the king’s generosity, significantly—determined the stability of the warband relationship and the corresponding strength of the kingdom. But bestowing lavish gifts was only one dimension of a king’s responsibility to his warband, although intertwined with the obligation to foster the group’s well-being. A significant duty of the king was to intuit the group’s will relative to his own. In fact, one senses the conflict between Hroðgar’s own will and the group’s when he says,

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Ful oft ic for læssan lean teohhode, hordweorþunge hnahran rince, sæmran æt sæcce. (951a–3a) Very often have I bestowed a reward for less, hoard-honor to a lowlier warrior weaker in battle.

Hroðgar’s admission betrays some reluctance for past generosity, as if to suggest that the other men who faced Grendel did not (in his view) earn their rewards. The allusion to Heremod, who did not reward his men at all, reveals Hroðgar’s diplomacy in suppressing his own obsession for Grendel’s death. Because he will not risk lesser men against so powerful a foe, Beowulf ’s appearance inspires his hope. The Heremod narrative succinctly expresses the king’s neglected duty to his warband. In this digression Hroðgar explains the cause of oferhygd as progressive overconfidence and moderation as the result of moral vigilance. When kings forget that providence bestows success, progressive victories magnify their audacity, until they think that no enemy can ever harm them. Just as excessive ambition would tempt a wrecca to pursue fatal risks, oferhygd would cause a king to endanger his men and, by extension, his nation. Heremod’s status as a kingturned-wrecca evokes Beowulf ’s potential for a similar destiny. Said to be troubled for a long time by “sorhwylmas” (“anxieties,” 904b), this wilful king (“swiðferhþes,” 908a) led his nation to disaster because of oferhygd. The laments his people utter are reminiscent of those expressed by Ermanaric’s Goths in the poem Deor. Ermanaric’s chronic warfare was so brutal that his own men lived in expectation of extermination, the outcome that one expects from a king afflicted by oferhygd. Heremod’s men regretted his behavior, too, and he became a terrible burden on their lives. Unlike Hroðgar, who rewarded his men in their failed assaults against Grendel, Heremod seems to have stopped rewarding his retinue for the risks they took in his campaigns. As a result, Heremod’s own retainers banished him. He was killed amongst his enemies and, like Grendel, conveyed “into the power of devils” (“on feonda geweald,” 903a). The message could not be plainer: the potential for recklessness could grow unintentionally from heroic vanity. The subaltern voice in Beowulf manifests the hero’s egotism, but it is important to understand that named and unnamed warriors level charges of recklessness against Beowulf. The narrator’s own judgment of Beowulf is more circumspect. I have mentioned, for example, how the Fremu digression functions as the narrator’s oblique statement of

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Beowulf ’s growth into responsible kingship. It is crucially important to keep the distinction between the pagan inside and Christian outside, simply because the judgments made about Beowulf in his own world reflect a deliberate ambivalence. Collapsing the perspectives confounds the poet’s strategy. Hence, Beowulf ’s description, manna mildust leodum liðost

. . . wyruldcyninga ond monðwærust, ond lofgeornost (3180b–2b)

. . . among the kings in this world he was the mildest of men, the gentlest, the kindest to his people and the most desirous of praise.

issues from the mouths of his hearth-companions (“heorðgeneatas,” 3179b) and is subject to the dissembling that undercuts Beowulf ’s glory throughout. Readers who disregard the pessimistic view of Beowulf ’s motivations fail to appreciate the poet’s imitation of moral doubt in Beowulf ’s own universe. Offering no resolution to the ultimate fate of his pagan lords, the Beowulf poet makes reflection the vehicle of judgment. The subaltern views of social cohesion and benevolent leadership happen to coincide with the poet’s arguable “Christian” emphasis. Nevertheless, in the world of Beowulf the subaltern should be thought of as wholly secular (albeit Christianized), and any alignment between its values and arguable Christian resonances derive in all likelihood from the poet’s amelioration of heroic excess. The same position holds for Beowulf ’s actions, which may or may not be antagonistic to his subalterns. At times Beowulf ’s choices appear to clash with the expectations of the comitatus for security—a function of warrior moderation—but his actions turn out to be justifiable, at least to the audience. But if Beowulf recklessly confronts Grendel and Grendel’s mother, why does he survive? The poet implies that he survives because his enemies happen to be enemies of the eternal Christian God, the kin of Cain united in a cosmic feud against the Almighty. For the audience, this coherence strongly endorses Beowulf ’s righteousness as a divine avenger and legitimizes the monster fights in Beowulf ’s world on the grounds of moral authority.94 This divine validation recalls a curious and neglected parallel illuminating Grettir’s own heroic motivation. Like Beowulf, Grettir’s Saga looks

94 On the Grendelkin as literally demonic, see Orchard, Pride and Prodigies 39–45 and Russom “Center of Beowulf.”

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back to a pagan age, and its author situates Grettir’s actions relative to Christianity in the way Fred C. Robinson describes Beowulf ’s religious expression as conforming to anachronistic Christian precedents. Born prior to the Conversion in 999 AD, Grettir is quite certainly pagan but expresses no overt heathen (Odinic) identity separate from his fatalistic belligerence.95 He worships no god and utters no prayers. Until the introduction of Christianity to Iceland, Grettir expresses a retrospective Viking “heroism” judged by social custom, law, and (one presumes) an unstated moral pretense. In the post-Conversion setting, however, the sagaman makes Grettir’s significant feats coincide with Christianity, although Grettir remains ignorant of their moral valence. For example, the pagan Swede Glámr demands food during the Christmas fast, upon which he becomes possessed by a demon. When a priest is present, Glámr’s body cannot be found. Grettir defeats God’s enemy, then, although the audience alone appreciates the function of this narrative congruity. Grettir appears either uninterested in religion or ignorant of Glámr’s contempt for Christianity. Coincident moments between Grettir’s motivation and the furtherance of Christianity recur throughout the saga. When Snorri’s son promises to kill Grettir, Grettir remembers a past kindness and spares the gangly boy’s life. The fact that Snorri is a Christian priest is never said to motivate Grettir’s mercy. When two women cannot cross a flooding river, Grettir carries them. His aid is never attributed to their need to attend a feast day Mass, and in fact he stays behind and kills two trolls. When Grettir fails an ordeal to clear his name, the narrator excuses his violence by saying that the boy who incited Grettir was possessed by a demon. Like Beowulf, therefore, Grettir’s Saga expresses a discrete separation between the hero’s motivations and the audience’s perception of them. This unacknowledged Christianity may validate Grettir’s most significant fights in the same way it does Beowulf ’s against Grendel. Hroðgar, however, has a fatalistic interpretation of Beowulf ’s triumph. From his position, Beowulf survives because providence suffered him to survive, not by intervening in the combat but by engendering him, endowing him with profound strength, and bringing him to Heorot, as it were, to confront the Grendel plague. A fatalistic Dane, Hroðgar envisions a detached god whose intervention in the world approximates

95 On this peculiar dimension of Grettir’s coincidental Christianity see Orchard, Pride and Prodigies 153–5.

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providence but whose omniscience seems to enact deliverance. The simple reason why Grendel does not crush Beowulf is that Grendel has encountered a stronger force, in fact, the strongest force he has ever encountered. For Beowulf, Grendel’s death assures glory. To Hroðgar, however, Beowulf ’s victory looks like a god’s special protection for the Danes and, indeed, a god’s future special protection for Geats—as long as Beowulf does not continue to “tempt fate” by assuming ever greater risks until he meets his own predestined terminal force. In this way, Hroðgar elevates Beowulf ’s heroism, pointing it away from personal indulgence towards community protection. Yet the Christian audience perceives even more behind Beowulf ’s success. They understand that Beowulf is God’s agent of revenge and that, in some special circumstances, the nature of one’s enemy or the status of a conflict (revenge, say) legitimates glory-seeking, even if it appears excessive to the poem’s benighted onlookers. Of course, Beowulf cannot know about Grendel’s ancestry, but he can be taught to direct his ambition and undertake “righteous” deeds that coincidentally suit this ineffable “Christian” imperative. What I blandly call “righteous deeds” should be understood as Hroðgar understands them: for a hero, deeds that promote individual glory and imperil no one else; for a king, deeds that benefit the security of others, especially the tribe or nation. Beowulf ’s Dragon Fight: Responsible Kingship or Reckless Heroism? Part of the problem we have in decoding Beowulf ’s conduct, especially in the dragon fight, derives from his treatment by critics as a static character. He does not start out exemplary and remain so. The poem implicitly asserts Beowulf ’s progression to kingship as the cultivation of wisdom (i.e. restraint)—the consequence, to be sure, of the many digressions and exhortations, especially those made by Hroðgar. The old king indoctrinates Beowulf in the protocols of kingship passively, in the gracious behavior he himself exhibits, and actively, in the lessons of moderation and discretion he utters. One can only assume that Beowulf learns Hroðgar’s lessons of moderation, since his return to Geatland is marked by exceptional generosity and his rule by obvious prosperity. What happens later will challenge this ideal. Beowulf falls into three (or more) parts: 1. the fight with Grendel and Grendel’s mother; 2. the homecoming; 3. the dragon fight. All of the

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intradiegetic digressions appear in the first division, and these warn against excessive ambition in the quest for glory. Yet the homecoming affirms Beowulf ’s promise. The digression concerning Queen Fremu repeats the same expressions of venality used to describe Heremod, but Fremu’s reform under her husband Offa’s supervision conjures Beowulf ’s own rehabilitation in Denmark. Revealingly, Beowulf now praises Hondscioh’s valor, when before he never mentioned the dead thane, and his own generosity to Hygelac, as well as his declaration of loyalty, defy precedent. The narrator then moves swiftly to commemorate Beowulf ’s generous reign—and to introduce one final crisis, the dragon. Having achieved distinction as a liberal king and having defeated all his enemies, Beowulf faces a moral test in the dragon epilogue. OE oferhygd arguably constitutes the silent term by which his fight is evaluated as righteous or arrogant. An extraordinary coda, the dragon episode swings between evidence of recklessness and heroism in expression of the poet’s mannered ambivalence—just as it did in the Grendel section. Characteristically, however, the poet’s elaboration of Beowulf ’s potential oferhygd is deliberately inconclusive. He dodges, undercuts, and invalidates any position that can be formulated on the question of Beowulf ’s charge as a king versus that of his heroic ego—a significant reason why both Beowulf and the dragon must die. An authority’s judgment of oferhygd depends significantly on outcome, and “recklessness” only explains the hero’s death, and the nation’s jeopardy, if motivated by vanity. By fixing the boundary between courage and recklessness in the duties of Germanic kingship, therefore, Beowulf emphasizes ideal social contexts for a heroic prodigy—for which reason the poet sympathizes with Beowulf in a manner that simultaneously confounds his admiration. When Hroðgar establishes the mental contours of oferhygd in his “sermon,” we become immediately sensitized to Beowulf ’s future predicament in the dragon episode, especially because wlenco accounts for Hygelac’s death and oferhygd misled Heremod. Inquiry into Beowulf ’s possible oferhygd explains the poet’s enigmatic and paradoxical analysis of intent relative to kingship and heroism. The poet has laid out the signs of Beowulf ’s potential irresponsibility as reminiscent of his immoderate heroic wlenco, and opposed them to the gestures of his righteousness as a responsible protector of Geats. This strategy often generates frustrating contradictions that scholars typically account for by adopting one sense or the other of Beowulf ’s motivation. Beowulf is either honorable or ignoble, but not both. Because most readers resist a negative Beowulf,

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virtue trumps doubt, and the poet’s ethical symmetry is submerged. In the dragon fight, however, the narrator does not intend to relieve any of our doubts. What most bedevils readings of the dragon episode is the absence of any Christian horizon that previously guided the reception of Beowulf ’s fight against the Grendelkin. Symbolically, any dragon could represent evil generally, or the Satanic evil of Revelation, and in Beowulf at least, it seems clearly allied to insatiable greed and immoderate vengeance, the draconitas that Tolkien foresaw. Is this dragon therefore the enemy of God? Or, as the poet also proposes, is the dragon simply an animal with a correspondingly bestial disposition? It sniffs round the barrow like a dog, after all. We feel the loss of guidance at the conclusion of Beowulf because our self-conscious arbitration imitates the condition of the subject. In a moment of contemplation Beowulf justifies his attack on the dragon, yet we remain unsure whether the terms of his reflection validate the risk. Moreover, one should not confuse Beowulf ’s conduct in the dragon episode with his exemplary rule. Hygelac, we should recall, was a laudable king until he ventured to Frisia in search of glory. Despite the potentially negative sense of “lofgeornost,” therefore, the overall impression remains that Beowulf ruled well until one final ambiguous incident. The poet so carefully complicates Beowulf ’s motivation and so thoroughly disarms criticism of him that the poem appears to define the inflection point of socially compatible heroism. The most explicit criticism of Beowulf emerges when Wiglaf protests Beowulf ’s decision to fight the dragon. Beowulf has died by this time, but Wiglaf recalls that he and the other retainers tried to dissuade Beowulf from an attack: Oft sceall eorl monig anes willan wræc adreogan, swa us geworden is. Ne meahton we gelæran leofne þeoden, rices hyrde ræd ænigne, þæt he ne grette goldweard þone, lete hyne licgean, þær he longe wæs, wicum wunian oð woruldende. (3077a–83b) Many an earl must often suffer ruin for the desire of a single man, as has happened to us. We could not teach our dear prince, protector of the kingdom, any counsel that he not meet the gold-guardian, just let him lie where he had been for so long, dwell in the precincts until the world’s ending.

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Again, critics have undercut or undermotivated the statement because they see Beowulf as a figure whose virtues the poet applauds. For example, John Niles (following Klaeber) proposed that “anes willan” could mean “for the sake of one man” and that “wræc adreogan” really describes the present condition of grief. He would translate, “many an earl must often endure pain for the sake of one man.” Yet willa + genitive does not mean “for the sake of,” and wræc is what nations commonly endure from kings given to oferhygd. In fact, the signs of oferhygd as voiced in Hroðgar’s “sermon” pervade the dragon episode. In the case of Wiglaf ’s accusation, the casual reading is the right one: Wiglaf deplores Beowulf ’s decision, which seems to have jeopardized the nation’s defense. My view does not mean, however, that Wiglaf ’s position has to be correct, for the poet deliberately complicates our judgment of Beowulf ’s actions. The poet achieves this goal in large part through the curse on the treasure, about which Wiglaf can know nothing. Ignorant of the spell, Wiglaf cannot entertain the proposition that Beowulf died not from oferhygd but from the lingering effects of pagan witchcraft. Of course, not even the spell answers all the questions about Beowulf ’s motivation for fighting the dragon in the first place. The poet invokes the curse simply to compound the uncertainty over Beowulf ’s motivation, just as he had infused uncertainty into Beowulf ’s success against Grendel by an unknowable “historical” precedent: the cosmic feud between God and the descendants of Cain. The poet’s deliberate ambivalence explains a whole series of textual challenges in the dragon episode: God’s ability to lift the curse (was it lifted?), the claim that gold can easily “overcome” (“oferhigian,” 2766a) any man (greed?), the assertion that Beowulf “oferhogode” (“scorned,” 2345a) the dragon’s might (presumption?), the need to bring a warband but not to let them engage, the reason for the retainers’ flight. Once the vacillation between oferhygd and heroism is recognized, the poem is seen to encipher an irresolvable tension. While Wiglaf condemns Beowulf for fighting the dragon, his criticism is merely one observation highlighting Beowulf ’s potential oferhygd. Other accusations and exonerations derive from the circumstances and the narrator’s commentary. Taken together, the argument they manifest embodies the contrapuntalism that characterizes the poem’s implicit argumentation: Is the dragon a persistent or one-time threat? If a one-time threat, did Beowulf seek an unnecessary quarrel (“sohte searoniðas,” 3067a) out of pride? Or was vengeance called for? Is the

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dragon merely an animal, therefore, or is it consciously evil? Is Beowulf overconfident when he “scorns” to seek the dragon with an army? Doesn’t Beowulf show restraint when he wields an iron shield and refuses to enter the dragon’s lair? Is Beowulf seduced by the gold? If so, is it for himself or for his people? Does Beowulf unfairly involve his retainers in an impossible fight? Why would he bring them and make them stay in hiding? Does Beowulf thereby acknowledge that he may be endangering them unnecessarily? Do they need to fight for him in such a lopsided encounter? Does the dragon fight enable Wiglaf to achieve greater courage than he would have otherwise? Would any other man have done as well? Or does Wiglaf act because of loyal kinship? Does Beowulf die from the curse? If so, his death could not necessarily be attributed to oferhygd. But if God can lift the curse, could he then be said to die from oferhygd? Perhaps Beowulf merely dies because he was too strong and broke his sword. Or was his judgment poor when he hit the dragon’s head in the first place? The poet formulates these questions to guide reflection on Beowulf ’s potential oferhygd, but he also interposes other kinds of evidence for and against Beowulf ’s overconfidence. First, Beowulf justifies his decision to fight the dragon in a long meditation which suggests both lingering doubts and moral judgment. Beowulf likewise recalls Hygelac’s ruin on a foolhardy raid, which the narrator had earlier said was undertaken “for pride” (“for wlenco,” 1206a), and possibly prefigures his own motivation in fighting the dragon.96 Yet Beowulf ’s reprisal for Hygelac’s death reminds his men that even the foolhardy deserve vengeance. Or do they? This passage in particular harks back to Hroðgar’s warning that a succession of ever greater victories often leads to oferhygd. One at a time Beowulf recalls his successful battles in a way that makes him seem presumptuous. He concludes, “I ventured many wars in my youth, so will I seek out this feud and earn glory” (“Ic geneðde fela// guða on geogoðe;/gyt ic wylle, // . . . fæhðe secan//mærðu fremman” (2511b–14a). None of this evidence proves oferhygd, as the poet piles vagueness upon nuance in the dragon fight. To heighten the uncertainty he omits any coincident Christian overlay. While he does speak knowingly of the treasure’s origin and of the curse, he does not draw the dragon as God’s adversary, as he does with Grendel. Instead, he

96 On a possible historical context for this raid see the remarks in Storms, “Hygelac’s Raid.”

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invites us to regard the sniffing dragon either as a serpent or a Satanic enemy, as an intermittent danger or a chronic one, and by doing so qualifies Beowulf ’s motives as arguably righteous and just as arguably compromising. This reading of Beowulf ’s dragon fight has two significant advantages. First, it explains why the fight itself should be depicted so ambiguously. Wiglaf ’s criticism, Beowulf ’s doubts, the double death of Beowulf and his adversary, the eccentric detachment of twelve fighters, the anticipated extinction of the Geats, the magical curse, and the immolation of the vast treasure make little sense if the poet had proposed only a positive context. One would have to find reasons (as scholars have done) to dismiss the narrative elements that do not support a virtuous Beowulf. Yet I sense that this procedure represents exactly half the strategy intended by the Beowulf poet. The alternative view is to acknowledge the possibility that Beowulf expressed oferhygd and that his death resulted from reckless self-confidence. In this event the contrary case in favor of oferhygd and against Beowulf ’s virtue would need to be made. The second advantage conferred by reading a morally ambiguous Beowulf stems from the thematic unity it provides for the entire poem. In the poem’s first half Beowulf could be said to reveal a potentially harmful immoderation, which is suppressed through Hroðgar’s instruction. The dragon fight then poses the question whether Beowulf succumbs to the kingly reflex of excessive ambition called oferhygd when he confronts the dragon and dies. Yet it is important to recall that both portions of the poem defy certainty, that the limits of heroic excess are debated in these bivalent terms. Heroic Parallels The dual motivation that I see in Beowulf ’s dragon fight, the admixture of potential virtue and skepticism, sounds like an inconceivable poetic strategy. How could one manage the competing arguments for Beowulf ’s ambition and justify either? The answer is, while we are invited to assess the relative merits of Beowulf ’s decision to fight the dragon, we are not meant to reach any consensus about his motivation. Unprecedented? No. I claim that the Beowulf poet’s strategy occurs elsewhere in Old English heroic verse. Although there are only five heroic poems from pre-conquest England, two of them adopt the strategy of juxtaposing ambiguous moral states and inviting resolution.

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Like Beowulf, Battle of Maldon describes an old leader, “Earl” Byrhtnoð, taking a stand against a fiendish Viking enemy. His choices of fighting or buying off this horde closely resemble Beowulf ’s choices of engaging or ignoring the dragon. Furthermore, subalterns in Battle of Maldon stand in opposition to Byrhtnoð, whose men are arrogant, insouciant, or woefully unprepared to face the enemy. After Byrhtnoð’s death the retainers act heroically like Wiglaf or gutlessly like the “shirkers” in Beowulf. Even the specter of national calamity ensues from the failed Maldon campaign, for the English faced years of Viking onslaughts and extortion afterwards. I would be reluctant to allege that the Maldon poet knew Beowulf, but the situational parallels suggest to me that his models were not obviously Scandinavian drápur. A problem in Maldon criticism has always been the treatment of an ancient warband ethic described in Tacitus’s Germania: the case of “men dying for their lord.” The willingness to die for one’s fallen lord is unmotivated in Tacitus, and in Maldon it has always been deemed both sacrificial and derivative of the obligation for vengeance. For reasons of homology scholars have assumed that Scandinavian analogues, especially in court poems called drápur, influenced the tradition of warrior sacrifice in Maldon. They may be right that certain details of “men dying with their lord” come from Norse traditions, but the trope itself functions in Beowulf ’s dragon fight. I shall argue that the ethic of “dying with one’s lord” motivates Wiglaf, who expects to face certain death alongside his own lord, Beowulf. Wiglaf ’s intervention is no rescue. One verbal parallel between Maldon and Beowulf has always stood out. Readers will recall that Byrhtnoð is said to suffer from “ofermod,” a term parallel in morphology to OE oferhygd.97 Scholars have had trouble defining OE ofermod in Maldon, and definitions range from “highmindedness” to “pride.” The natural impulse to translate “ofermod” in a positive sense and exonerate Byrhtnoð comes from his apparent Christian humility (so argued), the praise he receives from the narrator and characters, and the sacrifice of his men. Yet as in Beowulf internal contradictions defy any positive meaning for the term. Byrhtnoð seems to act like a glory-seeking warrior rather than a king—or at least a king’s

97 On the apparent interchangeability of oferhygd and ofermod, see the table following page 140 in Schabram, where the glosses to superbia in the Anglo-Saxon psalters are collated.

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ealdormonn. Throwing his victory open to God’s intervention, in fact, evokes the whole context of the cursed treasure in Beowulf: has God lifted the curse and still made Beowulf lose his life? Similarly, why has God bestowed victory on pagan Vikings and death on the Christian Byrhtnoð? Byrhtnoð’s “mistake” in generalship does not, however, compromise his long and successful career, although it does illustrate the manner of his death. A major confusion in the ofermod complex comes from Viking deceit. It might be said that they gull Byrhtnoð into a state of ofermod, for which reason he might be exonerated. For Beowulf the broken sword, the heathen curse, or the failure of his men might function in just this way, explaining why Beowulf himself might not be thoroughly guilty of oferhygd. Accusations and exonerations are so carefully managed in both poems that the obfuscation of ethical motivation must represent a prominent tradition of Anglo-Saxon heroic verse. Beowulf ’s Doom: Reflections on the Final Achievement of a Good King Only a potentially negative Beowulf is suggested in this book, for the Beowulf poet has engineered a deliberate equivocacy—an indeterminate text in Köberl’s parlance. It has seemed to me that others may have observed the same potential in other ways. For example, in an article on narrative technique in Beowulf Michael Lapidge has reasoned that “knowledge . . . is always a matter of retrospection and re-interpretation.”98 “There is no doubt,” he continues, “that the poet intended the audience of the poem to reflect, retroactively, on the narrated events and their relationships during the course of the telling.”99 While Lapidge connects the distinction between “physical perception and mental realisation” to an “awareness of transience,”100 I prefer to see it as one of ethical judgment. The Beowulf poet’s idiosyncratic narrative style, especially the tendency to interweave flashback and anticipation, reflects his aim to manifest conduct and motivation comparable to Beowulf ’s. The characters’ realization of transience imitates their deliberation: why should malevolence occur, and what can be done about it? How do

98 99 100

Lapidge, “Beowulf and Perception” 87. Ibid. 88. Ibid. 87.

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men’s acts influence mutability? Andrew Galloway has posed this same question perceptively in an article emphasizing the “varieties of choice” in Beowulf. In a published reply to comments made on his paper, he explained his intention “to trace the slippage between ideas of perception and choice in a number of medieval and ancient languages and to note that although in some cases a root sense of ‘perceive’ in words for ‘choice’ explains this . . . in other cases one must consider the way concepts of choosing and perceiving intermix.”101 In his article, Galloway demonstrates how anomalous it is that choice is dramatized in Beowulf, for, while surviving heroic literature reveals choice, it rarely discloses the mental process of choosing. Galloway attributes this idiosyncracy to Christian attitudes concerning moral deliberation: It is precisely by means of what seems to us to be choice in the political realm that Beowulf offers a mediation between the heroic and the devotional traditions of choice, though it is also in this middle range that choice is most difficult and full of risk, both to achieve and to judge. This middle range bridges inner ethical struggles with their contexts and consequences in the social world. The poem demonstrates the interaction of context, choice and consequence rather than a flatly causal relation among them.102

For Galloway, volition (the enactment of choice) drives the poem’s contemplative polarity, and his statement that “with this perspective on choice, Beowulf stands in a generically and ethically complicated position”103 reflects exactly my own view of the poem, with one exception. For me, the choices facing Beowulf do not necessarily emerge from compelling political contexts but rather from moral distinctions made about heroic motivation. The right kind of attitude (the mechanism of volition) always fosters the right kind of choice, which in turn drives political success in the world of the poem. The delicate and sometimes imperceptible boundary between moderation and recklessness represents the moral crux by which Beowulf ’s choices ought to be judged. The ambiguity of motivation surrounding Beowulf results from deducing his motivation only from his choices rather than from the poet’s omniscient judgment. We must perceive Beowulf ’s deeds, hear the opinions of other characters, and determine Beowulf ’s motivation and potential. This process of judgment of course arises from Beowulf ’s preeminence, 101 102 103

Galloway et al. 311. Galloway 203. Ibid. 204.

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his implicit depiction as the greatest hero-king of his age and therefore most prone to a breach of conscience related to wlenco. Convincing evidence of Beowulf ’s moderation can be found, but I will spend little time rehearsing Beowulf ’s virtues, so thoroughly and convincingly have they been expressed. Instead, I show first that excessive ambition could compromise Beowulf ’s presumed virtue, second that elements of Old English wisdom poetry emphasize Beowulf ’s potential recklessness, third that Hroðgar works to suppress any potential faults deriving from immoderation, and fourth that during the dragon fight Beowulf may have relapsed into the ambition he repressed under Hroðgar’s tuition. Criticisms of Beowulf are made in the digressions which act as commentaries or exempla. By analogous story Beowulf is counseled to remember the duty he has towards the warband and, by extension, the tribe or nation. Kings defend, expand, and rule nations by the strength of a warband, and the soldier’s competition with his fellow warrior should not be extended into kingship, where lavish generosity yields power. Sometimes a named critic like Hunferð, but most often anonymous poets or commentators, admonish Beowulf for the kind of leadership that could endanger the group. Extraordinary, if not actually unique in Old English poetry, is the manifestation of what I designate the “subaltern” voice, the expression of the ordinary soldier or warband member. In short, my argument expresses a straightforward trajectory: the emergence into responsible kingship of a man perhaps expressing the incipient traits of a wrecca, and his potential downfall in the re-appearance of the heroic failing he once arguably controlled. If my argument for Beowulf has a more generous context, it will be found in heroic literature generally, in poems like Maldon or the Iliad. One appreciates in the Iliad the moral bivalence of martial “heroism” in the figure of Achilles. He earns glory, admittedly, but at the price of any moral respectability. Not only do multitudes of Greeks have to die for Achilles’ rage, but Patroclus also falls in an unanticipated reaction to Achilles’ defiance. Parallels could be made between Achilles’ potential ate and Beowulf ’s potential oferhygd. The reality is that heroic poetry is not about “heroes” in the modern sense but about ambitious men trying to achieve the glory of enduring reputation in a fatalistic world. As men they are immune neither to criticism nor to doubt. Wisdom curbs their otherwise reckless ambition and blunts the edgy rivalry they convey at the expense of reason and, more practically, group cohesion. The heroic character therefore challenges moral virtue, both in the Germanic secular sense and in the Christian one. It would

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be hard to doubt, in fact, that Beowulf ’s pagan virtue is not somehow influenced or molded by Christian ideals. To a Christian the kind of pagan moral conflict that obsessed the Germanic peoples looks more like degeneracy than probity, as Bertha S. Phillpotts observed over seventy years ago: “Fame is for the man who has the courage to choose: whether he chooses resistance to the uttermost against hopeless physical odds, knowing that his death is ordained, or whether he chooses one course rather than another of two that are hateful to him, and makes something magnificent of it by a single-minded pursuit of it.”104 The Beowulf poet has manipulated a literary paradigm and depicted a character that balances the irrational with the humane. The division between the two ideals, personal secular glory and the rule of men, clash in Beowulf ’s competing motivations, and the anxiety felt for his status as a potential wrecca and as a potential tyrant reflects the poet’s aim to represent a Germanic exemplar. Beowulf chooses the kind of fame associated with kingship, and for the poet earns a kind of secular glory thought secondary in the heroic setting but foremost among those interested in deeds of statecraft. Complex, interconnected, and certainly chaotic attitudes of individual-versus-collective—of ambitionversus-restraint—separate the two spheres.

104

Phillpotts, “Wyrd and Providence” 6.

CHAPTER ONE

THE WISDOM CONTEXT OF THE SIGEMUND-HEREMOD AND HUNFERÐ DIGRESSIONS I examine two episodes in this chapter. The Sigemund-Heremod digression, I speculate, predicts Beowulf ’s destiny by describing two paths for the potential wrecca that Beowulf represents. Here I must be scrupulous in saying that darker traits some characters detect in Beowulf are merely implied through comparisons to Sigemund and Heremod, since the poet aims for uncertainty. As seen from the perspective of the anonymous poet “mindful of gidd,” Beowulf could take Sigemund’s path, glorious but mostly solitary and full of dark suspicions, or Heremod’s path, which leads to tyranny and national annihilation. Sigemund’s behavior is distinguished by successes like Beowulf ’s: encounters with men and monsters, including a dragon. But the ambiguity surrounding Sigemund’s “fyrene” or “crimes,” and especially the notable silence on the notorious incest central to the Volsung legend make us wonder whether Beowulf has the potential for such deplorable behavior. Notwithstanding these possible faults (they are as deliberately vague as Beowulf ’s), Sigemund, I sense, is depicted as an exile-paragon whose conduct is worthy of emulation. One proviso stands out. The anonymous scop specifically stresses that Sigemund’s “nefa” Fitela does not accompany him to the dragon fight. Supreme achievements (one might call them “reckless”) like the dragon-slaying presumably require a solo action. Sigemund’s venture therefore seems creditable for a wrecca, yet it is exactly what Heremod does not do. The singer makes clear that Heremod’s behavior should be avoided, but in telling the story of a king-turned-wrecca, he suggests that Beowulf has the potential to be like Heremod. This brief interlude in the narrative apostrophizes the question of Beowulf ’s potentially vainglorious motivation explored in Hunferð’s challenge. As Hroðgar’s þyle, Hunferð would have taught the etiquette of wisdom, especially the kind of self-restraint or moderation so often advocated in Old English “wisdom literature.” New research on the office of þyle enables us to theorize that intricate verbal features of Beowulf ’s retort to Hunferð parody the language of native wisdom

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found in poems like Precepts and Vainglory. These poems are generally considered “monastic,” or to derive from Christian teachings, but their relevance to Beowulf implies that wisdom verse might just be native. Judging from the themes of such wisdom poetry—pride, reticence, and moral behavior individually and in the warband—native “wisdom” could be easily adapted to Christian teachings. This is not obviously true of the Old English maxims, say, but Precepts, Vainglory, and elements of The Wanderer and The Seafarer detail modesty perfectly in keeping with heroic tradition, at least as it is presented in Beowulf. For a warrior, this humility approximates self-awareness and moderation in one’s enterprises. “Pride” is zealously discouraged, “dignity” encouraged. For a king, humility transcends self-awareness, becoming responsibility for the group: the family, warband, tribe, etc. From an examination of these poems and related models in the Scandinavian tradition, we can deduce what Hunferð honestly thinks of Beowulf: he is a conceited boaster. Here I must emphasize that the evidence does not validate Hunferð’s opinion of Beowulf—but neither is it invalidated. The poet imparts a balanced view of Beowulf ’s motivation, which lies open to scrutiny from the internal and external audiences. Our confidence in Hunferð’s objection is compromised by his own jealousy, of course, but Beowulf ’s rhetoric still seems excessively malevolent. Yet ever since Carol Clover’s eminent paper on the flyting context of the Hunferð episode,1 critics have wanted to validate Beowulf ’s speech because he has “won” the debate. The victory may be secure, but in re-visiting the flyting evidence in Scandinavian sources, I find reason to believe that Beowulf ’s moral position is not so clearcut. First, combatants in the flyting disputes often betray the fierce temperament of mercenaries, and the winner is often the more vehement. From another perspective, the flyting winner might be called a dogmatic troublemaker. Furthermore, the disputes themselves pivot on identifiable but dubious “moral” categories: “action vs. talk, hard life vs. soft life, adventurer vs. stay-at-home.”2 In heroic terms, “action,” the “hard life,” and “adventure” always trump “talk,” even when “action” might be barbaric or reckless. By these terms, “moderation,” even for a proven warrior, could elicit blame. This catch-22 exactly reflects Beowulf ’s indeterminate virtue, since the flyting commends

1 2

“Unferþ Episode.” Ibid. 454.

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action, not prudence. Hence, while Beowulf manages to shame Hunferð into silence, his exaggerated put-down compromises our confidence in Beowulf ’s generous motivation. I say “exaggerated” because a new model of flyting oratory I propose here betrays how Beowulf viciously distorts the “facts” of Hunferð’s kin-killing. And yet, in keeping with the poet’s deliberate ambiguity—the subtle effect of his contrapuntalism—Beowulf might be said to express the humility revealed earlier in his discourse with the coast-warden. Arguments will be made on both sides of the proposition. The Exploits of Sigemund In the Sigemund-Heremod digression Hroðgar’s nobleman (“cyninges þegn,” 867b) narrates the stories of the legendary Germanic hero Sigemund and the equally legendary but reckless Danish king Heremod on the morning after Beowulf overcomes Grendel. This anonymous thane is said to be “laden with boasts” (“gilphlæden,” 868a), “mindful of gidd ” (“gidda gemyndig,” 868b), and familiar with ancient tales (“ealdgesegena,” 869b): prepared to boast about Beowulf ’s feats, one assumes, drawing on legendary figures in the mode of comparison.3 Labeled a “spel” or “narrative,” the Sigemund/Heremod digression itself cannot with certainty be designated a gidd, and it appears, moreover, to be “summarized” in the poet-narrator’s voice.4 In other words, the story 3 The warrior who recites the Sigemund-Heremod digression found “another mode of expression bound by truth” (“word oþer fand//soðe gebunden,” 870b–1a). Interpreting these lines means solving a semantic ambiguity: the long-stem neuter monosyllable “word” has an endingless plural, yet the forms of oþer and gebunden are singular. Not all translators have interpreted the phrase “he found other words bound by truth,” as Klaeber acknowledges. Klaeber himself thought that “words truly bound” (he interpreted soðe as adverbial) referred to alliterative conventions (Beowulf 158, reaffirmed in Klaeber’s Beowulf, note to lines 870b–1), and even George Jack’s recent edition proposes “[he] composed a new poem correctly linked in meter” (78; see Stanley, “Beowulf ” 157; Opland 458). These half-lines could be construed in reference to the “ealdgesegena,” a store of legend appropriated to the present circumstances. Stanley acknowledges that this view is rejected by Klaeber and Else von Schaubert: “there is nothing that might lead one to the view that old traditions in new words represent an ideal among the Anglo-Saxons” (Stanley, “Beowulf ” 157). 4 While Howlett represents the spell as a distinct genre in Beowulf (as indeed it may be), the narrator suggests that this “spel” served as a gidd for the Danes. The encomiast uses the expression “wordum wrixlan” to describe his mode of narration, and the expression varies “wrecan . . . spel.” OE wrixlan means “to stir, scramble, mix,” and it has been taken to indicate the appositive style, in which half-lines amplify each other

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heard by the audience is not undeniably the fictional one heard by the retainers in the world of the text. Furthermore, when Hroðgar brings up the story of Heremod a second time in his “sermon,” he specifically calls it a gidd: Ðu þe lær be þon, gumcyste ongit; ic þis gid be þe awræc wintrum frod. (1722b–24a) Teach yourself by this; perceive the virtue of a man. Wise in years I have recited this gidd about you.

Hroðgar claims, “I have recited this gidd about you” or “in respect to you,” not “for your benefit,” as many translators say.5 On account of this recapitulation some commonalities between the two episodes might be discernible, and I shall draw on both in my discussion of Heremod. In my view, the þegn who commemorates Beowulf ’s deeds analogizes the hero’s accomplishments by interweaving a recent happening into the context of legendary narrative. In the blandest terms, the story of Sigemund appears to ground Beowulf in the universal context of Germanic heroism. Adrien Bonjour addressed the Sigemund/Heremod digression in 1950, reaffirming Hoops’ opinion that the whole passage summarized a single “lay” in honor of Beowulf. Bonjour regarded the moment as a “consecration,” asserting that each narrative encodes “a parallelism and a contrast, partly implicit, partly explicit, and not devoid of a slight dramatic irony.”6 Sigemund’s role as a dragon-slayer predicts Beowulf ’s future, although Bonjour emphasized Sigemund’s other exploits as a giant-killer, interpreting “hæfdon eal fela/eotena cynnes//sweordum gesæged” (883a–4a) in the manner of “they had utterly dispatched many kinds of giants by swords.”7 The irony, of course, materializes in Beowulf ’s failure to live long enough to enjoy his treasure.8 Bonjour suggests both “immediate” and “anticipatory” functions for the Heremod digression as well:

in variation. On the punctuation of this passage, see Stanley, “Notes on Old English Poetry” 330–4. 5 A close parallel can be found in The Wife’s Lament: “Ic þis giedd wrece/bi me ful geomorre” (1) or “I recite this gidd about myself, fully wretched.” 6 Digressions 47. 7 Ibid. 8 On the grounds that Beowulf does not belong to the same class of ancient heroes represented by Sigemund, Köberl suggests that Beowulf cannot be expected to dispatch his dragon alone (Indeterminacy 104–14).

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Here the ‘immediate’ purpose of the parallel is the reference to Heremod’s former strength and courage (‘eafoð ond ellen’)—in which he doubtless matched the greatest heroes—the anticipatory part is that his sorrowful end was not to be Beowulf ’s lot.9

For Bonjour Beowulf ’s future appears to hold neither fame nor infamy, leaving us disappointed that Beowulf did not achieve Sigemund’s status and relieved that he avoided Heremod’s fate. Beowulf scholars have almost unanimously adopted Bonjour’s position, deeming Sigemund glorious, in contrast to Heremod, a sadistic tyrant. Clemoes, for example, consistently praises Sigemund’s “famous deeds” and faults Heremod’s “notorious crimes.”10 Fred C. Robinson maintains that Sigemund’s successes are paradigmatic of Beowulf ’s, whereas Heremod’s are not. In celebration of Beowulf ’s deeds, Robinson and others find Heremod an unworthy standard.11 R. Barton Palmer calls Heremod’s behavior the “end-product of a transformation which is the mirror image of Beowulf ’s.”12 Nevertheless, Joseph Harris makes the point that Norse panegyrics that might be compared to this passage of Beowulf (“Ragnarsdrápa,” “Haustlöng,” “Eiriksmál,” “Hákonarmál,” “Hyndluljóð,” and “Sigurðardrápa”) have no contrasting archetypes.13 In fact, Scandinavian sources link Sigmundr and Hermóðr consistently but not in obvious contrast. In “Hyndluljóð” both men receive weapons from Óðinn, Sigmundr a sword and Hermóðr a byrnie and helm.14 H. M. Chadwick concluded that both figures were celebrated in Odinic warrior cults.15 In Eyvindr Finnsson’s “Eiriksmál” Sigmundr and Sinfjötli are said to welcome the slain at Valhöll, whereas in “Hákonarmál”—allegedly derivative of “Eiriksmál”—Hermóðr and Bragi perform the same function.16 From this connection Chadwick concluded: “As

Digressions 48. Clemoes, Thought and Language 195; Stanley, “Narrative Art” 175. 11 Chickering, Dual Language Edition 318; Bandy 243; Malone, “Coming Back” 1296 (“complete opposites”). 12 Palmer 16. 13 “Beowulf in Literary History” 20. 14 See also Jess H. Jackson; Neckel and Kuhn 288 (str. 2): Biðiom Heriaföðr í hugom sitia! Hann geldr oc gefr gull verðugom; gaf hann Hermóði hiálm oc brynio, enn Sigmundi sverð at þiggia. Let us pray to the Father of Hosts that he keep us in mind. He gives and grants gold to servants. He gave helm and mailcoat to Hermóðr, and Sigmundr received a sword. 15 H. Munro Chadwick, Cult 51–2; Ryan 476–7; the idea is developed in North, Heathen Gods 102, 181 and passim. 16 Chambers, Beowulf 91. The Fagrskinna scribe acknowledged the indebtedness, a 9

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the former poem [“Hákonarmál”] is modelled on the latter, this fact tells decidedly against the view that the association of Hermóðr and Sigmundr is merely accidental.”17 The heroes share traits that earn them both a place at Valhöll, where they appear to be leading residents! In light of such close literary affinities, perhaps the Beowulf poet considers Sigemund and Heremod to express the same identity in different social environments. Sigemund satisfies his reckless ambition in killing a dragon, whereas Heremod takes the route of warrior-king and enlists his nation in support of ambitions identical to Sigemund’s. The offensively raw Sigemund legend as told in Scandinavian sources may differ from the presumably “sanitized” version transmitted in Beowulf, but M. S. Griffith has reasoned that the Beowulf poet knew the story in something like its later form.18 He argues that Sigemund and Beowulf actually deviate in temperament, since Sigemund’s exploits publicize some disreputable aspects of heroic character. By contrast, the actions of Griffith’s Beowulf square with the pseudo-Christian decency that the poet fabricates. While the language of the Beowulf passage is telegraphic (perhaps because it belongs to the narrator’s summary of the warrior’s recitation), Griffith suspects Sigemund’s moral ambiguity. He presents some evidence of a negative Sigemund as definitive and some as conceivable, but because of protests recently voiced by Fred C. Robinson and because of my own position on Beowulf,19 I will present all of his cases as conceivable but not definitive. The idea is that, just as Beowulf expresses a morally indeterminate ambition, Sigemund can be seen to express equivocal virtues that demand reflection as potentially reckless. Nevertheless, Sigemund still exhibits a prototypical heroism that Beowulf should emulate if he would earn fame like Sigemund’s. Later Scandinavian sources lead us to quarry the Sigemund digression for evidence of Sigemund’s ambivalent heroism. In one of Griffith’s examples, the secg tells “whatever” (“welhwylc,” 874b) he has heard, main reason why Eyvindr is thought to have earned the moniker “Skáldaspillir” or “The Plagiarist.” 17 Origin 139 note 2. From “Eiríksmál”: “Sigmundr oc Sinfiatli,/risit snarlega/oc gangit i gongu grame” (“Sigmund and Sinfjötli, rise quickly and greet the warrior at the entry”; Finnur Jónsson vol. 1.1, p. 175); from “Hákonarmál”: “Hermoðr ok bragi,/qvað hroptatyr/gangit i gögn grami . . .” (“ ‘Hermóðr and Bragi’, says Óðinn, ‘greet the warrior at the entry’; ibid., vol. 1, pp. 66–7.) On the connection between “Eiríksmál” and “Hákonarmál,” see Marold. 18 Some additional evidence for knowledge of the dragon-slaying may come from Aethicus Ister’s Cosmographia; see Alan K. Brown 442–3. 19 Robinson, “Sigemund’s fæhðe ond fyrena.”

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including “many unspeakable things . . . feud and crimes” (876b, 879a).20 Fred C. Robinson objects to the supposititious translation “crimes” for “fyrena,”21 but the pejorative sense “sin” is available and contextually suitable. Deliberate or unintended violence apparently characterizes wreccan like Sigemund. In fact, it may be their defining characteristic. My examination of OE wrecca (below) shows the identical admixture of violence and eminence. For Griffith, Sigemund’s incest with his sister Signý may be suggested in the subtle connotations of OE nefa, perhaps “influenced by late Latin nepos in the sense of ‘illegitimate son (especially of an ecclesiastic).’ ”22 In Norse legend Sigmundr’s sister Signý conceives Sinfjötli (= OE Fitela) with her brother as a hoped-for avenger on Signý’s husband, Siggeir, slayer of all her brothers except Sigmundr. One wonders not whether the Anglo-Saxons knew about the incest, but why they should not know of it. The oversight seems pointed. Sigemund’s exploits are called ellendæd (876a, 900a), his travels (and, by extension, his reputation) are widespread. Griffith finds reason to think that Sigemund’s ellendæd are “brazen deeds” rather than “bold” ones. When compared to Beowulf ’s dragon-slaying, Sigemund’s own (an “audacious act”: “frecne dæde,” 889a) shares in multiple equivocacies: the secular “glory” (“dom,” 885b) earned by such a venture, the hero’s potential for recklessness, the scandal of greed (plundering the treasure “selfes dome” or “on his own terms,” 895a).23 Finally, 20 On this collocation, see Kahrl 192. Kahrl alleges that feuds have a bivalent character depending on motivation: “The distinction is that which we regularly make between the reckless courage of the criminal who has abandoned all hope and whose actions are purely selfish [i.e. Grendel], and the selfless courage of the hero who places the good he is defending before his instinct for self-preservation [i.e. Beowulf ]” (191). 21 In “Sigemund’s fæhðe ond fyrena” Robinson says that “sufferings” might be as secure a rendering as “crimes” for “fyrena.” Although his translation “extreme need” for “fyrenðearfe” (Beowulf 14b) and for “firinum tharf ” in Heliand 204 calls to mind the Modern English usage “I have a terrible [extreme] thirst,” Robinson is ultimately right. There is no reason for these terms to be unequivocally pejorative, but they can raise doubts about Sigemund’s behavior. Even by Robinson’s reasoning, “fæhðe ond fyrene” in Beowulf 2480a, descriptive of the “suffering caused by Ongentheow when he attacked the Geatas” (205), still refers to an enemy’s unexpected, and possibly unjustified, onslaught. 22 The Latin influence is so slight as to be unlikely, and Robinson raises yet another objection (“Sigemund’s fæhðe ond fyrena” 202). 23 The expression “selfes dome” (“agen dom,” “an dom,” etc.) and the concept of self-judgment (terminating a feud through a payment assessed by oneself or one’s allies) occur sporadically in Old English verse, and three times in Beowulf. Yet the concept in Beowulf, according to Mezger, “shows the least degree of relationship to the ancient institution of self-judgment (109). One wonders whether the poet pretends that a “wronged” Sigemund is entitled to vengeance. Sigemund and Fitela are also said to

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there is the problem of Sigemund’s status as a wrecca, the most famous examples of which are Lucifer and Cain. Sigemund may express an exile’s misery and aggression, but Griffith denies that Beowulf could ever be designated a wrecca like Sigemund. Overall, a plausible case could be mounted for Sigemund’s potentially equivocal virtue. Griffith claims, however, that Sigemund actually betrays a dubious Germanic morality, which, he asserts, differs from Beowulf ’s unequivocal rectitude. The poet, he alleges, has deliberately under-reported or camouflaged Sigemund’s offenses to distinguish Beowulf as a secular pre-Christian (“a noble pagan”). For this reason Griffith thinks that Beowulf and Sigemund are subtly contrasted in the episode. The Rapacious King Heremod Griffith’s article does not treat Heremod, who is just as intrepid as Sigemund but more obviously detestable. Danish and Anglo-Saxon genealogies suggest that Heremod could have been Scyld’s immediate ancestor. In some discussions Heremod has been connected to the figure Lotherus, mentioned in Saxo’s Historia Danorum as the father of Scyld.24 Had Heremod’s death followed a time of interminable national warfare, as I theorize, it would explain the Danes’ “fyrenðearfe” (“terrible need,” 14b) right before Scyld’s advent. Being “aldorlease//lange hwile” or “without a king for a long time” (15b–16a) could be considered a dire misery, but the actions of a despot who brought ruin on his population might answer the condition of “terrible need” even better. One must always bear in mind the aptness of Heremod’s name, not “War-Minded” per se but “Army-Minded.”25

lay low a number of “eoten,” which Griffith is disposed to translate “Jute” but which I think means either “enemy” or “giant” (below, pp. 163–6). Griffith asks whether Sigemund’s enemies were human (i.e. Jutes) and therefore “innocent,” but the dual sense of OE eoten still confirms the ambivalence Griffith attends in the passage. 24 Chambers calls it a “close parallel” but he equivocates: “assuming the stories of Lother and Heremod to be different stories of the same original . . .” (Beowulf 90). On the connection between Lotherus and Heremod, see Sievers 175–80. Meaney 11 ff. offers authoritative analyses of the genealogical evidence and onomastic equivalences. 25 Björkman 63–5; Robinson, “Significance of Names” 51–2; Orchard, Pride and Prodigies 49 (“war-spirit”). In emphasizing Heremod’s “pugnacious, cruel disposition” (51), Robinson seems to accept Karl Müllenhoff’s gloss “kriegerischer Mut” or “warminded” (Beovulf 51).

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Heremod’s viciousness is paralleled in Saxo’s account of King Lotherus, who “was no more tolerant as a king than he was as a soldier” (“sed nec Lotherus tolerabiliorem regem quam militem egit”).26 Lotherus savagely killed his own high-born men or robbed them—exactly as Hroðgar alleges Heremod did in Beowulf:27 . . . siquidem illustrissimum quemque uita aut opibus spoliare, patriamque bonis ciuibus uacuefacere probitatis loco duxit, regni emulos ratus, quos nobilitate pares habuerat. Indeed, for reasons of security he undertook to despoil the most illustrious men of life or riches, and to empty his homeland of its leading citizens. He judged those whom he had held equal in rank to be enemies of the state.

In Beowulf Heremod kills his own beodgeneatas (“table-companions,” 1713b), his eaxlgesteallan (“men stationed with him shoulder-to-shoulder,” 1714a). He did not bestow rings on the Danes (1719b–20a). The Lotherus story even echoes the fratricidal theme of Beowulf, since Lotherus dispossesses his modest brother “Humblus” to gain the throne. Humblus learns to accept his loss of honor as a blessing (“beneficio”), observing that there is more splendor but less security in a king’s hall than in a fisherman’s hovel.28 While Sievers’ summary of the Lotherus/ Heremod story, adopted by Chambers, includes a “weakling” elder brother and deposed king, the narrative contrast in Saxo emphasizes the humble and the arrogant. More specifically, Saxo’s aperçu that Lotherus “was no more tolerant as a king than he was as a soldier” not only imparts how to read the Sigemund/Heremod digression but also highlights the substance of Beowulf as a work obsessed with the incompatibility of heroism and kingship.29

Holder 11. The story itself clarifies the sense of comp. adj. tolerabilior, which can mean either “tolerable” or “tolerant.” 27 Ibid. 28 Ibid.: “documentum hominibus prebuit, ut plus splendoris, ita minus securitatis aulis quam tuguriis inesse.” 29 Other examples of the arrogant king can be found in Anglo-Saxon sources, the first Iugurtha, as described in the “Ælfredian” Orosius (see Stanley, “Geoweorþa” 332–5). Another may be represented by Sigebryht deposed by Cynewulf in the 755 Chronicle entry. A third is Osred I of Northumbria, who reigned ca. 705–716 (see Whitelock, “Poetry and the Historian” 77–8). Finally, the poet named “Deor” expresses sympathetic misery with the men whose lived under the tyrant Ermanaric (lines 21a–7b). 26

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By themselves the parallels from Germanic literature do not explain why a Danish thane would compare Beowulf either to Sigemund or Heremod right after Beowulf has killed Grendel. Yet the alleged function of historical analogies anticipates the comparison. The singer’s hearers, the inhabitants of Beowulf ’s world, would detect an implicit application to Beowulf of the Sigemund/Heremod exempla. While Griffith admirably draws together the verbal parallels in depictions of Sigemund and Beowulf, his argument contextualizes the digression in the poem as a whole, and not at this single narrative moment. It is undeniably true that Beowulf ’s dragon fight differs from Sigemund’s, but the observation is much less relevant for the Danes, since only the Beowulf poet’s audience, and not the unidentified singer, can discern that future. Griffith concludes, Though the poem is set in the pagan past, the poet does not see his hero as a pagan; his deeds are done in this past, but his nature is not entirely of it. He is a noble pagan, a sublimation of this past, the past as the poet dreams it might at best have been.30

But what function does the episode serve for these Danes, Geats, and guests commemorating Beowulf ’s victory? What is the thane’s objective in telling the Danes this story and not another? Like so many other digressions in Beowulf, the stories of Sigemund and Heremod evaluate Beowulf ’s success against Grendel and predict his fate. For the singer Beowulf resembles both Sigemund and Heremod in conviction and “potential” as a precocious champion. Clearly, the potential in Heremod’s behavior is as negative as it is prodigious—as much as critics might be dismayed to hear it. Beowulf ’s Future Foretold Let us first consider Sigemund’s unquestionable glory. The narrator specifies that Sigemund’s companion Fitela participated in and witnessed Sigemund’s ellendæd, strange encounters (“uncuþes fela,” 876b), conflicts, and wide travels—his “fæhðe ond fyrena,” as it were. They were, the thane remarks, “necessary comrades in every hostility” (“æt niða gehwam/nydgesteallan,” 882a–b), hence indispensable to each other

30

Griffith 40.

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except in the case of the dragon. The poet not merely conveys but emphasizes the remarkable technicality that Sigemund fought a dragon alone: “ana geneðde//frecne dæde,/ne wæs him Fitela mid” (“he ventured an audacious deed alone; Fitela was not with him,” 888b–89b). Verse 889b is highly unusual, since it must bear stress on “Fitela” and “mid,” a circumstance which accents the importance of Sigemund’s solo venture.31 The secg could be suggesting, of course, that Sigemund earned the greatest honor when he fought the dragon single-handed in this dangerous attack. A second possibility also seems feasible, that Sigemund accomplished his deed without risking Fitela, his otherwise indispensable comrade, in a possibly disastrous undertaking. For all his theoretical failings, Sigemund concedes the liability of his nefa, who is without question the subordinate partner in Sigemund’s adventures. From this story Beowulf learns one trait that will make him an exemplary champion: not to involve other, less capable men, in his most reckless encounters. This trait, it turns out, is especially important for leaders. The absence of Fitela in Sigemund’s dragon fight documents the thematic relevance of Heremod’s tale as one of two possible futures for Beowulf: “scrupulous” heroism or infamy. Saxo ultimately supplies a clue to understanding the episode. When Heremod became king, he failed to put aside the soldier and became “tyrannical” because he could not, or would not, restrain his ambition (the “arrogance” Saxo speaks of ) and acknowledge a duty to his subalterns. Heremod fails to confront the limitations of his men dependent on their loyalty. This special kind of “tyranny”—a king’s failure to restrain the impetuosity associated with heroic self-regard—is called “oferhygd” in Beowulf. When Hroðgar discusses Heremod again in his “sermon,” he will cite him as someone afflicted with oferhygd and teach Beowulf to recognize any similar recklessness in himself. In fact, because multiple digressions warn against one’s susceptibility to oferhygd (as a king) or excessive ambition (as a warrior), we should expect to find charges of recklessness in the Heremod analogy. From my analysis emerges the picture of Sigemund as the ideal warrior (of implicit moral ambivalence) gaining glory on his own and Heremod as the worst tyrant sacrificing his own men for reckless vanity. Only as a kind of Sigemund would it be acceptable

31 On this archaism see the discussion in Wende and, most recently, in Lehmann, “Postpositions” 543. Michael Lapidge supplies a list of such postponed adjectives in “Postponing of Prepositions.”

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for a man to attack a dragon, and then only alone. This future could await Beowulf. So could Heremod’s ruin. Heremod cannot give up soldiering, and one clear parallel between him and Sigemund involves material honors. After fighting the dragon, Sigemund makes off with the treasure by himself: “he was able to enjoy the ring-hoard on his own terms” (“he beahhordes/brucan moste// selfes dome,” 894a–5a).32 Heremod is likewise unwilling to share glory with his retinue by rewarding them, but this vice is mentioned only in Hroðgar’s gidd, extended in his “sermon.” Prone to oferhygd, Heremod views wealth the way Sigemund does: earned by himself without concession to his warband. The failed warfare of his comitatus may also explain Heremod’s famous stinginess, however. The anonymous singer relates Heremod’s iniquity in the vaguest terms: “whelming sorrows oppressed him too long” (“Hine sorhwylmas//lemedon to lange,” 904b–5a).33 These “sorrows” go unspecified, although one senses that his paralysis is caused by repeated military defeats or Pyrrhic victories, or else by the frustration of his heroic ego. Ruth Wehlau frames a warrior’s consolation in three related expectations: “an awareness of the brevity of worldly joy . . . a recognition of the unpredictability of fate . . . the possibility of a change of fortune for the better.”34 This is a philosophy of Germanic fatalism. While it might be true for Wehlau’s precedents that “the failure of consolation revolves around a failure of exchange . . . [withdrawal] from the world of social interaction—language, gift-giving and feuding,”35 Heremod’s misery derives from a failure to limit his own ambition and to embrace the warrior’s consolation mentioned above. My justification for this view comes from an examination of verses in the Sigemund/Heremod digression. The poet remarks that “in former days many a wise man often lamented the wilful man’s ‘course’ or ‘venture’ ” (“swylce oft bemearn/ ærran mælum//swiðferhþes sið/snotor ceorl monig,” 907a–8b) and that Heremod became an “aldorceare” (“life-sorrow,” 906b) who should rather have offered his nation comfort.36 In Beowulf OE sið means either 32 Stressing the poet’s own observation of Fitela’s absence, Lucas 108–9 calls Sigemund’s deed “an individual act of heroic proportions.” 33 OE lemman literally means “to lame,” and Anglo-Saxon poets often described sorrow as paralyzing. One could be “bound” by sorrows ( gebunden) or “roped” by sorrows ( gesæled ). The editors of Klaeber’s Beowulf emend to “lemedon,” but on the singular verb form with plural subject, see Klaeber, “Textual Interpretation” 259. 34 “ ‘Seeds of Sorrow’ ” 3. 35 Ibid. 5. 36 Cf. DOE s.v. ealdorcaru: “mortal grief, perhaps ‘life-long anxiety’ ”; cf. lifcearu in

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“journey” or “venture, exploit, course of action,” and some readers have been unable to establish the sense in this context. Do Heremod’s men, they wonder, lament their king’s “banishment”? In fact, the specific designation “many a wise man” evokes the wisdom tradition of warrior moderation in opposition to recklessness. Wise men “lament” the actions of a despot who brings them (or has brought them) to ruin. The language resembles that of verses in Deor: “sæt secg monig/sorgum gebunden,//wean on wenan” (“many a man sat bound by sorrows, in expectation of woe,” 24a–5a).37 Here the tyrant Ermanaric governs the Goths with such ferocity that his own men lament their king’s warfare and expect genocide. The phrase “wean on wenum” has generally been translated “in expectation of woe,”38 but it is used elsewhere in Old English explicitly to describe exile or extermination. Punished by exile, Cain lays his tracks “in expectation of woe” (Genesis A 1026b–7b), and the Israelites in Exodus await a national extermination at the banks of the Red Sea: “orwenan/eðelrihtes . . . wean on wenum” (“deprived of a right to a homeland . . . in expectation of woe,” 211a–13a). Often paired with “exile” in Old English verse, including Beowulf, OE wea itself may simply mean military annihilation, too. In Beowulf Ongenþeow has promised “woe” for the Geats (“wean oft gehet,” 2937b), specifically the massacre of Hæðcyn’s army. Beowulf punishes a race of giants (“eotena cyn,” 421a) who have “asked for woe” (“wean ahsodon,” 423b). Similarly, Hygelac “asked for woe” (“wean ahsode,” 1206b) when he ventured to Frisia, and, with the exception of Beowulf, his shore party was lost. Therefore, in his expression that many men lamented Heremod’s “sið,” the secg may imply a fact intimated in Hroðgar’s “sermon”: Heremod’s behavior endangers his men and even his nation.39 This biography therefore illustrates the kind of belligerence that could have led to Heremod’s exile.

Genesis A (“sagast lifceare//hean hygegeomor,/þæt þe sie hrægles þearf . . .” 878b–9b; “wretched and disheartened you call it a ‘life-long care’ that you have need of raiment”) and Andreas (“Is me feorhgedal//leofre mycle/þonne þeos lifcearo”; “Death is far more preferable to me than this life-long misery,” 1427b–8b (following a description of Andreas’s sufferings). 37 Read wenum for wenan. 38 Whitbread, “Four Text-Notes,” 206–7. 39 In lines 1711a–12b: “ne weox he him to willan/ac to wælfealle//ond to deaðcwalum/Deniga leodum” (“he did not grow to accommodate their desires but for the slaughter and massacre of the Danish people”). The expression “Deniga leodum” could imply that Heremod endangered his men in unnecessary conflicts, but the following statement that Heremod cut down his own men (1713a–14a) seems to specify the preceding acts as murder, at least in the abstract.

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On the evidence of lines 902b–4a from the Sigemund/Heremod digression, and particularly on the account of Lotherus from Saxo, most have seen Heremod betrayed by his own Danes, interpreting the passage “wearð forð forlacen” as “was betrayed” or “lured away” by his people.40 This reading finds further support in Hroðgar’s “sermon,” where Heremod’s worst offense is to risk national well-being out of jeal-

Heremod’s “exile” has been inferred from the following lines: He mid eotenum wearð on feonda geweald forð forlacen, snude forsended. (902b–4a) Most interpret “wearð forð forlacen” as “was betrayed” or “lured” by his people. The agent goes unstated, however, and the adverb is difficult. To be “betrayed forth” or “lured away” may mean to be utterly betrayed, i.e. unto death. While OE forlacan is attested only four times, one attestation in Andreas reveals that fate also “deceives” or “seduces”: “Hie seo wyrd beswac,//forleolc and forlærde” (“that destiny betrayed them, deceived and misled,” 613b–14a); cf. Blake,“Heremod Digressions” 284; on the simplex lacan, see Afros 436. The expression “forð forlacen” is varied by “snude forsended” (“quickly exiled”), and OE forsendan (attested only seven times) does describe banishment. Yet adverb snude suggests that forsended may express Heremod’s ultimate “exile”—death. To be quickly “forsended” means to die right away, the effect of being “lured forth,” as in Beowulf 2265b–6b: “Bealocwealm hafað//fela feorhcynna/forð onsended!” (“Baleful death has banished the lives of many men!”). In the Old English Martyrology the collocation gast + onsendan commonly describes death, and Juliana characterizes martyrdom as an exile in “Juliana” 438a–b: “Þonne ic beom onsended/wið soðfæstum”; “When I am exiled amongst the righteous”). The Martyrology also confirms that, in the case of the tyrant Þeodric, one could be “sent off” into “everlasting fire”: “Þæt wæs swiðe riht þæt he from þæm mannum twæm wære sended on þæt ece fyr þa he ær unrihtlic ofsloh in þyssum life” (Kotzor My 18, A.22). This reading of OE forsendan explains a second difficulty in the passage. The phrase “wearð forð forlacen” is modified by a circumlocution “on feonda geweald,” which elsewhere seems to describe Grendel’s spirit passing to hell after his combat with Beowulf: “se ellorgast//on feonda geweald/feor siðian” (“the foreign spirit/guest traveled far into the power of enemies,” 807b–8b). (Blake unnecessarily suggests that “on feonda geweald” describes the Christian hell, but the locution may simply mean “he died” [“Heremod Digressions” 284]). Kock and Malone propose that Heremod fell under the power of his “enemies”; cf. resp. “Interpretations and Emendations VIII” 117; “Ealhhild” 268: “ ‘he was betrayed into the power of his enemies the Euts.’ Here mid Eotenum is a variation of feonda.” Finally, in Andreas 1619a–b, the expression “in feonda geweald/gefered ne wurdon” (“was not brought into the power of enemies”) refers both to death and to the damnation of “gastas” or “souls” (1617a). Heremod might therefore have been betrayed into the hands of devils by death. Like Grendel, Heremod metaphorically “travels” in death, a figure confirmed in Fortunes of Men 26b, where “feorð biþ on siþe” (“his spirit is/will be on a journey”) is said of a dying man. If to be “lured away and quickly dispatched into the power of fiends” describes Heremod’s death as an exile, “mid eotenum” becomes important. Ernst A. Kock has compared the half-line to a clause in the Old English Orosius: “hie sendon . . . þone consul mid him mid firde” (“they sent the consul against him with an army”) (“Interpretations and Emendations VIII” 117); cf. Bately, Orosius 120 (line 18). By this logic, if we construed eoten (“giant”) as a locution for “enemy,” we could read: “among his enemies he was betrayed right away into the power of fiends, quickly subdued.” Another reading of “on feonda geweald” is suggested below (337 note 90). 40

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ous resentment. (The sermon is discussed in greater detail in Chapter 3.) He became his men’s rival, as if he were competing with them for honors in the warband setting. By killing his own men and failing to share his riches, he alienated the warriors who would support his ventures and ensure his own glory. These retainers in turn banished their king. Heremod’s story therefore teaches Beowulf that men like Sigemund could become tyrants like Heremod, susceptible to vices like oferhygd. It seems surprising that Beowulf could be thought of as imperious, but the thane contemplates Beowulf ’s future from the subaltern vantage of the Grendel fight. For reasons I shall develop, this encomiast expects that Beowulf could turn out like Heremod, should he become a king, and Hroðgar has the same worry. This anonymous poet, actually a warrior seemingly versed in traditional wisdom poetry, detects in Beowulf a streak of reckless condescension that might evolve into arrogance towards a warband. However, under different circumstances (presumably the right circumstances), Beowulf could rival Sigemund, whose life is one that Beowulf should live up to but whose own achievement expresses an important heroic limitation. In other words, both stories offer comparisons to Beowulf, but only Sigemund’s course is thought to affirm Beowulf ’s. Identity of the Wrecca in Beowulf and Old English Verse The principal reason why Beowulf could become an arrogant king derives from his profile as an exceptional warrior with the latent tendencies of a wrecca or “exile.” Sigemund and arguably Heremod are identified as wreccan in Beowulf, inasmuch as we are told that Sigemund was “the most famous of wreccan . . . after Heremod’s war-strength failed”:41 Se wæs wreccena wide mærost ofer werþeode, wigendra hleo, ellendædum —he þæs ær onðah— siððan Heremodes hild sweðrode, eafoð ond ellen. (898a–902a)

41 This I take to mean that Heremod was the most famous wrecca before his death, not that Sigemund was the most famous in the time after Heremod’s demise. Griffith does not mention the possibility, but finds only three wreccan in Beowulf: Sigemund, Hengest, and Eanmund (38). In the preceding description of Sigemund, “wreccena mærost” varies “wigendra hleo,”a phrase used of Beowulf in lines 1972b and 2337b and of Hroðgar in 429b.

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chapter one After Heremod’s war-strength failed, his might and courage, [Sigemund] widely became the most famous of wreccan among the nations of men, the protector of heroes, for his deeds of glory. He had so prospered.

The contrast implies that Sigemund supplanted Heremod as the most celebrated wrecca, and since Beowulf is compared to Sigemund and Heremod, he may be thought likely to join their company. Often translated “exile” or “fugitive,” OE wrecca is related to a host of Old English nouns and verbs with meanings of “force” or “misery,” that is a man “driven” or “expelled” (from his people) and consequently “suffering” in exile. In fact, a verse from Maxims I attributes misery to isolation in general, and confirms the duality of OE wrecca as “exile” and “wretch”: Earm biþ se þe sceal wineleas wunian;

ana lifgan, hafaþ him wyrd geteod. (172a–3b)

He who must live alone, dwell friendless, will be wretched; destiny is decreed for him.

The Anglo-Saxons distinguished many kinds of wreccan. The anonymous woman in “The Wife’s Lament” is identified as an “exile,” ostracized from the kindred for reasons unknown, perhaps erotic. A second type of wrecca, like the Wanderer or Seafarer in the Exeter Book poems, or like the Last Survivor in Beowulf (2231–70), lives in “exile” because war has taken their lord and companions.42 If the later Scandinavian sources are any guide, Sigemund may belong to this category because Siggeir slaughtered his family and kept him exiled out of enmity and fear. At the same time, neither the Wanderer nor the Seafarer lives as a fugitive committing fæhðu or fyrene. The Exeter Book lyrics seem to have reworked familiar topoi of warrior “exile” to express a Christian perspective on worldly mutability. In such terms a warrior’s loyalty towards an earthly lord compares to a believer’s faith in a heavenly king. The Beowulf poet, however, explores a different emphasis in the wrecca identities he contemplates.

42 The woman in The Wife’s Lament also calls herself a wrecca (10a) and twice speaks of “wræcsið” (5b, 38b), almost certainly in exploitation of the exile trope in poems like The Wanderer and The Seafarer. She represents a different kind of outcast, although the reason for her isolation is unknown. Perhaps an exile like the Wanderer and Seafarer is the dispossessed king, represented, for example, in the very late Chronicle poem “Death of Edward” (16a–21b) and in Aldhelm’s Prosa de uirginitate (see Jones, “Comitatus-Ideal”).

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A less familiar type of wrecca found in heroic poetry refers to warriors who, on account of violent action or betrayal, have been exiled from their homelands. Such men can attach themselves to royal comitatus in defense of far-flung kingdoms, or to roaming warbands in commission of what today we might call piracy. In other words, wreccan are foreigners with a history of aggression compelled to seek environments where they can, as it were, express their ambition and belligerence. The Beowulf poet explores this identity. Hunferð evokes it, for he allegedly “killed” his brothers and now lives abroad in Hroðgar’s court. Eanmund and Eadgils are called “wræcmæcgas” as well. They rebelled against their king Onela and fled to Heardred for protection. One has the impression that Onela pursues them to Geatland because he does not want his mutinous nephews to join forces with Heardred. Finally, Beowulf ’s own father Ecgþeow caused the “greatest feud” (“fæhðe mæste,” 459b) amongst the Wylfings, nearly precipitating a national invasion (“herebrogan,” 462a), fled to Denmark (presumably sparing his own homeland), and settled in Geatland. Simply on the basis of the Wylfing feud, irrespective of its precise cause, and on his itinerancy, he also calls to mind the social identity of the wrecca. While Hunferð, Ecgþeow, and the sons of Ongenðeow are never called wreccan in Beowulf, three characters are: Sigemund, Heremod, and Hengest. Of these figures, only Hengest could be identified as an “exile” in the terms I describe above. While the reasons for Hengest’s exile are never stated, and the identification may even allude to his role as the founder of the English nation, it has to be conceded that Hengest has joined Hnæf ’s warband as a foreigner in pursuit of glory. Hnæf has recruited other foreign fighters, too. In the Finnsburg Fragment, the man Sigeferþ calls himself “a wrecca known widely” (“wreccea wide cuð,” 25a),43 and he is a “prince of the Secgan.” It seems plausible, therefore, that Sigeferþ and Hengest have joined Hnæf ’s warband either for national defense or for an “expedition,” to use the euphemism.44 Sigemund and Heremod, the other explicit wreccan in Beowulf, have been exiled for different reasons entirely. They are not fighters who

43 Hickes’s printed texts reads “wrecten,” probably in error for “wreccen,” emended as above; cf. Hickes 192–3. The standard edition is that in ASPR VI 7–16. Dictionary definitions of OE wrecca as a voluntary exile (“soldier-of-fortune,” “glory-seeker,” “mercenary,” “adventurer”) rely largely on this attestion (see Griffith 37–8). More plausibly, Sigeferþ was exiled involuntarily and joined Hnæf ’s company. 44 North, “Tribal Loyalties” 14.

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attach themselves to warbands. As far as we can tell from evidence and inference, Sigemund lives in exile because of Siggeir’s hostility and not from any violence that earned him expulsion. Nevertheless, Sigemund goes on to commit acts of violence that characterize other exiles like him, the “feuds and crimes” that would perhaps yield a less disparaging reputation in a warband context. Heremod, as we have seen, was exiled for his behavior as a warrior-king. His rule began well but turned violent in the expression of untempered ambition and jealousy. His exile at the hands of his own people—probably the members of his retinue—recalls the motivation of warrior appetites that he failed to suppress. The wrecca exemplar that Heremod represents therefore describes a psychopathy related to the unrestrained ambition that causes a warrior’s banishment. The Beowulf poet’s fascination with the wrecca identity has rarely interested critics, yet it characterizes a latent ambition in Beowulf detected by some observers in the poem’s Germanic setting. When Beowulf reaches Heorot, he is greeted by the foreigner Wulfgar, who concludes that Beowulf has come “for reasons of glory, not at all because of exile” (338a–b). This calculated appraisal frames the ambiguous terms of Beowulf ’s arrival. Not every foreign fighter could be called a wrecca, but many, and especially the most ambitious, have the potential to become wreccan. Both the voluntary fighter (a specific kind of mercenary) and the compulsory exile share similar traits: ambition, aggression, and impaired loyalties. As a man who has left behind his lord, comrades, and family to confront monsters abroad, Beowulf seeks glory, a supreme victory that will afford him an enduring reputation. He is a special case, different from the native members of a royal retinue whose motivations would hinge on kinship ties, tribal allegiance, and the patronage of long-term gift exchange. This absence of natural affiliations by institutionalized reciprocity is the essential distinction between a native warband member and a foreigner like Beowulf. In a world where one’s identity derives largely from relationships within a kindred, the uncoupled loyalties expressed by foreign fighters engender profound anxieties about personal ambition relative to group welfare. All foreign fighters therefore have a liminal status, the potential for unchecked zeal, and this ambivalence is especially worrisome when they are endowed with exceptional strength—the usual case with such men. As an unknown foreign fighter, Beowulf generates the reservations associated with ambitious strangers, some of whom are wreccan, and some of whom might become wreccan. Apart from his professed loyalty, and

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Hroðgar’s contact with Ecgþeow, Beowulf betrays no evident ties to Hroðgar or to the Danes, for which reason his motivation “for glory” may be seen to worry his hosts. They know that ambition unbounded by the duties and respect owed to a king or to comrades can produce wreccan. In my view, the Beowulf poet examines Beowulf ’s heroic motivation in just these terms. He describes an exile’s distinctive mentality and its reflexes in multiple social environments as a way of discovering the proper, ethical limits of heroic action. The intradiegetic comparison of Beowulf to wreccan and the men who resemble such exiles suggests that Beowulf may share their identity. Hence, the “hero” must be cautioned to suppress any possible venality in awareness of the potential for moral and political depravity. Central to this potential failing, of course, are the subjective authorities who confront Beowulf ’s promise, the limits of his ambition, in light of his exceptionality. In the absence of confident knowledge, the figures of Beowulf ’s world work to quash any latent recklessness he seems to exhibit. Comparisons of Beowulf to wreccan real or apparent suggest a specific heroic vice to which Beowulf may be prone, and Old English writings document this failing as ambition, aggression, and impaired loyalty. Both Cain and Lucifer are identified as wreccan in Old English biblical poetry. In Genesis A Cain is described as a “wineleas wrecca” (1051a) for having killed Abel, and the motivation is of special significance: “anger” lay heavy in his heart (979b–80a), a surge of temper (“hygewælm”) rose from his breast (980b–1a), a hostility that made him livid (“blatende nið,” 981b). Cain’s violence is a sudden, uncontrollable fury.45 Moreover, his enmity is figured not only as improper jealousy of a (moral) superior (cf. “aldorbanan,” 1033b; “ordbanan,” 1097a), but as the overthrow of the humble by the arrogant—the terms used of Lotherus in Saxo’s Heremod parallel. While Cain is typically viewed as a “criminal” exiled as punishment for his violence, he goes on to found a nation with a distinguished lineage. All wreccan who are not bereft of lords plausibly exhibit Cain’s cynical jealousy and impetuous rage to some extent. Perhaps the same could be said of Hunferð, implicated in the deaths of his chief kinsmen (“heafodmægum,” 588a).46 This event would explain his presence in Heorot.

On these attributes see the wrecca context proposed in Hanley. Even in Saxo’s Gesta Danorum, the legendary Starkaðr, who distinctly resembles Sigemund (and Beowulf ) in social identity, has been described as an “alien within 45 46

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The notion of Satan as the chief wrecca is widespread in Old English literature. The devil in Juliana is a “wræcca wærleas” (“disloyal exile,” 351a), God “makes a home of exile” for the disloyal angels in Genesis A (“Sceop þam werlogan//wræclicne ham,” 36a–7b), and the identification of Satan-cum-exile is fully developed in Christ and Satan:47 Forðon ic sceal hean and earm hweorfan ðy widor, wadan wræclastas, wuldre benemed, duguðum bedeled, nænigne dream agan uppe mid ænglum, þes ðe ic ær gecwæð þæt ic wære seolfa swægles brytta, wihta wealdend. (119a–24a) Lowly and wretched, I must traverse the paths of exile, wander all the more widely, deprived of glory and divested of honors, possess no joy on high amongst the angels, because I had said that I alone was the governor of the skies, the ruler of creatures.

“Disloyalty” in these passages imparts the treachery of rebellion against an established superior. By confronting his own lord, Satan disavows the covenant (“wær”) of a sacred oath or implicit social harmony. Arrogant, unjustified entitlement characterizes wreccan like him. The devil’s presumptuous challenge of God’s supremacy justifies the punishment of exile, and the lesson is carefully elaborated in the Old English Vainglory. The Exeter Book poem Vainglory condemns the hall-life of warriors as a secular distraction and warns against the “flying spears” of pride.48 Some warriors are given to vainglory. They plot, cheat and scheme (“Wrenceþ he ond blenceþ,/worn geþenceþ//hinderhoca,” 33a–4a);

society,” and as having an “implacability and non-restraint” (Ciklamini, “Starkaðr” 170, 185 resp.). He commits three crimes or níðingverk, one perfidious act, mostly involving murder, for every lifetime he is given to live (ibid. 180). Stemming from Viking or troll ancestry, this cruelty, when mixed with fanatical daring, commonly describes the socially marginal “heroes” of many Icelandic sagas. 47 See also 186a–b: “þæs ðe ic geþohte adrifan/drihten of selde” (“because I intended to drive my lord from his throne”). Any figure who challenges his lord’s supremacy becomes identified as an exile. In Elene 386a–93a the Jews—called “cursed exiles” (“werge wræcmæcggas,” 387a) oppose the “fædera lare” (“teachings of the patriarchs,” 388a), leading to foolish undertakings (“dyslice/dæd gefremedon” (“you committed foolish acts,” 386a–b). The height of this arrogance is the Crucifixion, a crime against the “æðelinga ord” (“chief of princes,” 393a). Similarly, Andreas describes Matthew’s imprisonment in terms of exile, for Matthew “scorned the heavenly king’s instruction” (“ðu forhogedes/heofoncyninges word,” 1381a–b). 48 On this image of the devils’ darts as featured in Hroðgar’s “sermon,” see below, pp. 203–10.

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they live a shameful life (“hafað fræte lif,” 48b). The exemplum of Lucifer in verses 57a–66b illustrates how the proud shall be cast down, made wretched, confined in hell, and held firmly in torments.49 This gidd compares the predicted fall (or damnation) of a proud warrior in terms matching the fall of the angels. The angels “forsawan hyra sellan” (“scorned their betters”) just as the proud man “boð his sylfes//swiþor micle/þonne se sella mon” (“boasts that he is much greater than the better man,” 28b–9b). The fallen angels and the proud man resort to deceit (“swice,” 31b, 61b), and both parties are afflicted by oferhygd (23b, 43b, 58b). The angels and the proud are literally brought low (“grundfusne gæst,” 49a; “niþer gebiged,” 55b), to hell. By repudiating loyalty and honor, the wrecca fosters these sociopathic impulses. Old English texts consistently document the nature of wreccan as arrogant, contemptuous of their superiors, including kinsmen,50 and unnaturally violent—incapable of restraint, in other words. The poet of Guðlac A describes the devil’s temptation of Guðlac—a man who “loved many audacious deeds” (“gelufade//frecnessa fela,” 109b–10a)—in terms of the wrecca’s savagery: Oþer hyne scyhte, þæt he sceaðena gemot nihtes sohte ond þurh neþinge wunne æfter worulde, swa doð wræcmæcgas þa þe ne bimurnað monnes feore þæs þe him to honda huþe gelædeð, butan hy þy reafe rædan motan. (127a–32b) Another [devil] urged him to seek out at night a party of raiders and through daring to strive after worldly goods, just like exiles do who do not care for the lives of the men at whose hands they gain booty, unless through them they may learn about plunder.

This same attitude could be attributed to Satan as well as other infamous “exiles” in Old English poetry, especially Grendel.51 Grendel 49 Krapp and Dobbie end the gidd at line 77a, but I end it at 66b for structural reasons. The analogy compares the fallen angels to the proud thane. 50 The Old English Orosius mentions a certain Lacedemonian “wreccea” named Damerað who commited treachery against his kin (“se þæt facn to his cyþþe gebodade”) (Bately 46.9–10). Multiple homilies treat human existence as a kind of exile, since Adam and Eve were expelled from Eden for their rebellion against God (e.g. Willard 83.78–80; Napier, Wulfstan 1–3). 51 Greenfield, “Theme of ‘Exile’ ”; Baird, “Grendel the Exile” 380: “[The poet] demands that we see Grendel as both wicked monster and wretched man.” As far as I am aware, it has not been suggested that Grendel could be deemed a displaced marauder in search of a duguð. Yet the context of OE wrecca can suggest as much.

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especially fits the profile of an unnaturally irascible “warrior” who “could not pay respect to the gift-throne” or even “know the devotion of it.”52 At lines 168a–9b “Grendel is portrayed . . . as a lawless retainer who refuses to respect civilized customs.”53 Such a “lawless retainer” could be described as a wrecca, a status explaining why Hroðgar might endure “wræc micel” or “great torment” (170a): this particular wrecca cannot lay claim to the dignity of service in Hroðgar’s warband—unlike other foreign “exiles” (arguably Hunferð, Wulfgar, and Ecgþeow) who joined the Danish retinue. Some celebrated heroes of Germanic legend are called “wreccan,” and it seems logical that Beowulf might earn the same status, as predicted by the thane’s comparison of him to Sigemund and Heremod. Beowulf is praised for an unyielding ferocity or ellen (“courage”), a heroic virtue which begets Sigemund’s and Heremod’s supreme distinction in both their social environments. Yet more than “mere” courage suggests that Beowulf ought to be viewed as having the disposition of a wrecca. He may well share his father’s constitution as a glory-seeker, killing giants in an unspecified location, challenging Breca in Norway, and traveling to Denmark to fight Grendel. The motivation for such acts is not likely to be high-minded, as few have assumed. John M. Hill perceives Beowulf ’s voluntary aid to Hroðgar as a generous commitment, asserting that “glory has yet to enter into this developing equation [the “free warrior duty-call . . . valiant proposal” to battle Grendel], unless it is implicit in his desire to help a glorious, famous, and illustrious lord.”54 Certainly, this partisan view of Beowulf ’s enthusiasm for the 52 “No he þone gifstol/gretan moste,//maþðum formetode,/ne his myne wisse”; “Nor could he pay respect to the gift-throne (he despised treasure or he despised the precious thing), nor could he know the devotion of it,” 168a–9b; for the suggestion of Grendel as a lapsed retainer, see Howren and Orchard, Pride and Prodigies 62. My translation “pay respect to” for OE gretan follows the argument in Robinson, “Gifstol.” The reading “formetode” was proposed by Bammesberger, “Five Beowulf Notes” 243–8; “for metode” has been retained in Klaeber’s Beowulf. 53 Robinson, “Gifstol” 258; Baird, “Grendel the Exile” 378–96. Stanley B. Greenfield contemplated an opposing argument that Hroðgar may not approach the gift-throne, but Greenfield had not considered the meaning of OE gretan that Robinson elucidates, nor would he have known of Bammesberger’s reading “formetode”; see “ ‘Gifstol’ and Goldhoard” 111–12. John M. Hill has addressed this concern again in Narrative Pulse, theorizing that Grendel does not have Hroðgar’s royal permission as well as his “welcoming or questioning or expectant thoughts” (10), unlike Beowulf, into whose special guardianship the hall has been given. In this case Hill retains Klaeber’s reading “for Metode” and understands Grendel “coming not as a guest but as something ghastly” (ibid.). I see in these terms the same parallel of Grendel as an anti-thane. 54 Narrative Pulse 21. We are led to believe that Beowulf ’s contest is unmotivated

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Grendel fight contravenes Danish skepticism for Beowulf ’s readiness. On the contrary, abandoning one’s homeland to fight Grendel sounds far more like ambition (the “wlenco” that Wulfgar acknowledges) or exile (the motivation that Wulfgar rejects). Being compared to wreccan puts Beowulf in the company of heroes of pan-Germanic eminence, none of whom, it must be said, have unimpeachable morals.55 At the start of the poem, Beowulf has yet to be admired as “mildust” (3181a), “monðwærust” (3181b) and “leodum liðost” (3182a), an assessment in any event arguably reminiscent of “de mortuis nil nisi bonum.” Let me not impugn Beowulf, however, for any inflexible criticism would misrepresent the poet’s own objectives. At the outset at least, he aims for a deliberate ambivalence, innuendos and feints that, in sum, undermine one’s complete confidence in Beowulf ’s magnanimity. Rather like Achilles among the Achaeans, the Danes admire Beowulf ’s daring and mistrust his potential volatility. The secg who sings about Sigemund and Heremod therefore praises Beowulf ’s heroic profile, but fears darker traits that confer both fame and infamy. This crucial ambivalence explains the required indeterminacy of Sigemund’s glory. Unless we follow Griffith’s line and imagine that the poet depicts Beowulf differently from Sigemund, the Sigemund exemplum would suggest a moral ambivalence for Beowulf, a susceptibility to the transgressions implicit in the thane’s coy parlance of “fæhðe ond fyrena,” or in competing versions of the Volsung legend. This coyness is quite deliberate, for men known as wreccan will commit acts of ambiguous virtue. Yet direct reference to these acts in a comparison of famous wreccan to Beowulf would confute Beowulf ’s potential virtue, an oblique representation that the Beowulf poet aims to preserve. His game is suggestion. Is Beowulf Responsible for Hondscioh’s Death? Beowulf has come to Heorot to face Grendel—hopefully to slay Grendel. Based on his confidence and strength, he seems able to handle the challenge. His men, however, are much less capable, and perhaps their

by ambition and that Beowulf ’s willingly risks his (present and future) obligations to Hygelac as well as his life to face a foreign king’s diabolical enemy. 55 Frank, “Germanic Legend” 90; Shippey, Old English Verse 29.

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leader’s “confidence” may be attributed to the “dangerous individualism of the heroic ethos.”56 In fact, the wrecca’s solo adventure is deliberately set against the king’s responsibility for his men in the fight with Grendel. Beowulf ’s comitatus seems not to have much standing with him: apart from manning the ship, one wonders why they have come at all. On the one hand, the narrator attests that the men went “on wilsið” (216a; cf. “wilgesiðas” or “willing companions,” 23a). By choice they joined a potentially reckless campaign. On the other hand, Beowulf may seem reluctant to endanger the men in this notional “warband.” When greeting Hroðgar, Beowulf emphasizes his own valor and refers to his men in passing:57 Ond nu wið Grendel sceal, wið þam aglæcan ana gehegan ðing wið þyrse. Ic þe nuða, brego Beorht-Dena, biddan wille, eodor Scyldinga, anre bene, þæt ðu me ne forwyrne, wigendra hleo, freowine folca, nu ic þus feorran com, þæt ic mote ana, minra eorla gedryht ond þes hearda heap, Heorot fælsian. (424b–32b) And now against Grendel, the adversary and giant, [I ] shall settle the dispute alone.58 I will ask you now, prince of the Bright Danes, lord of the Scyldings, a single boon, that you not prevent me, protector of warriors, lord and prince of the people, now that I have come thus from afar, that I might alone—o band of my earls and this hardy troop—cleanse Heorot.

Beowulf wants to cleanse Heorot without weapons and alone, the way a risky venture should be handled.59 Just before the fight Beowulf will repeat his pledge to kill Grendel alone:

Bazelmans 82 note 59. Alfred Bammesberger argues for the manuscript reading in which ond follows gedryht. He contends that “minra eorla gedryht/ond þes hearda heap” is vocative (“Textual Note”); the emendation has been accepted in Klaeber’s Beowulf. On Beowulf ’s “egocentrism,” see Lehmann 223–4. Lehmann suggests that “ana” might disguise an otherwise unattested preposition meaning “without,” cognate with OHG OS āno and OIcel ān. 58 The verdict is still out on the meaning of “ðing gehegan,” but the legal context of the phrase and related locutions could imply that Beowulf speaks ironically and therefore glibly about settling disputes by assembly; see Stanley, “Poetic Phrases.” 59 Hill reads this “spectacular boast” as an act that would gratify Hygelac, for reasons of fairness (Narrative Pulse 30). Lucas remarks on the “tension between the hero and the group of Geatish retainers to which he belongs,” but he concludes on the basis of 56

57

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swebban nelle, þeah ic eal mæge. (679a–80b)

Therefore I will not kill him, deprive him of life, with a sword, though I may do so.

Despite Beowulf ’s own pledges here, his “warband” joins the fight and uselessly battles Grendel with swords. The narrator states conclusively that a “spell” prevents swords from biting Grendel’s flesh (lines 801b–5a), although it is important to recognize that the retainers know nothing of the enchantment. They might presumably have helped, but no champion in past years had any luck with swords. Yet the central question remains: why would Beowulf ’s men try and defend him against Grendel when Beowulf ’s beot implies action independent of the warband? The insinuation that Heremod mistreated his own men connects Heremod’s deeds to Beowulf ’s, since Beowulf is thought to bear responsibility for committing his “warband” to a dangerous exploit for which he alone was suited. During the Grendel fight, Beowulf appears to watch Hondscioh get devoured in a moment that has seemed gratuitous to critics who find Beowulf consistently honorable. Knowing that Beowulf fights righteously in the context of God’s feud against Cain’s kin, the poet apparently confirms Beowulf ’s hesitation as tactical: mæg Higelaces under færgripum

Þryðswyð beheold hu se manscaða gefaran wolde. (736b–8b)

The mighty kinsman of Hygelac observed how the evil-doer would perform in his sudden attack.

Translators disagree on how to take the prepositional phrase “under færgripum” (“in his sudden attack”), which is almost universally thought to refer to Grendel: Beowulf “beheld” how Grendel would “proceed” with a surprise attack. By this logic Beowulf unsympathetically exploits his retainer’s death. Alternatively, however, the poet simply shows Beowulf ’s inattention to Hondscioh. The phrase “under færgripum” would then describe Beowulf ’s own attack, a reading that requires the narrator’s interjection (698–700a) that “the action is to be carried out by the loner for the benefit of the group” (109–10). Reinhard 96–102 voiced this same conclusion. Reinhard excuses Beowulf ’s boast as “heroic superiority,” which derives from “selfunderstanding” (97). For a summary of debate on perceiving Beowulf as an individual and therefore responsible for his actions, see Clark, “The Hero and the Theme.”

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re-translating “beheold” as “considered” and “gefaran” as “manage” or “act”:60 Beowulf considered how the monster would manage under (Beowulf ’s own) surprise assault. Beowulf ’s reaction to Hondscioh’s death does not come across as disinterested in this less likely reading. He is simply taken off guard, in which event Beowulf is still impeached for unnecessarily losing Hondscioh. Early critics appealed to folk-tale archetypes to explain Hondscioh’s death. W. W. Lawrence proposed that “the younger hero had to wait until his older or more renowned companions had fought and died.”61 R. W. Chambers likewise believed that the poet had insufficiently worked out the folk-tale structure.62 Still other critics have proposed that Beowulf intends to ambush Grendel and that Hondscioh’s death is a necessary element in Grendel’s rout, a display of cannibal brutality.63 They also appeal to the folk-tale context.64 George Clark imagines that “Grendel’s victims slept helplessly, passively into death”: 65 “the monster’s approach may have had the power to charm his intended victims to sleep and Beowulf ’s wakefulness . . . may represent a victory of his will over Grendel’s power.”66 Two critics have gone so far as to claim that Beowulf ’s men owed him their lives because he was their captain. Arthur K. Moore cites Tacitus: “all are bound to defend their leader . . .”67 The problem remains that Hondscioh is not “defending” Beowulf; he is asleep. Moore’s charge that “the followers must act to preserve the leader” does not apply to these circumstances.68 T. M. Pearce followed this line but went further, regarding Hondscioh’s death as “the earliest instance in English literature of the practice of expendability in a military situation.”69 Beowulf exploits the subaltern’s duty as

60 See DOE s.v.v. be-healdan sense B1 and ge-faran sense II.A.6. Another, less likely, reading is provided by Greenfield, “Three Beowulf Notes” 169–70. Greenfield argues that Grendel is simply quicker than Beowulf and seizes Hondscioh before Beowulf can react. 61 Epic Tradition 176. This is the view of Lord as well. 62 Beowulf 64. 63 Brodeur, Art of Beowulf 92–3: “. . . the slaughter of Hondscio is the culminating horror in an ascending sequence . . . Hondscio died so that the poet’s audience might have final demonstration of the hideous power and fury of the foe whom the hero must now face . . . Grendel’s first attack . . . was too swift to permit Beowulf ’s intervention.” 64 Foley 231–42. 65 Beowulf 74–5. 66 Ibid. 74. 67 Moore 168 (citing Moore’s reference to Tacitus). 68 Ibid. 69 Pearce 170.

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Moore evaluated it, and he acts out of necessity. In fact, Pearce makes a virtue of necessity and asks, “what was the valor required for Beowulf to refrain from helping Hondscioh as he must have somehow struggled against the foe?”70 The poet never says that Hondscioh struggled, and the expendability that Pearce alleges may be owed to less valiant motivations. Finally, Robert L. Kindrick concludes that Beowulf shows himself to be a “tactician,” a view he derives from observing Beowulf ’s “wisdom” throughout the poem. In Kindrick’s view, the poet’s description of Beowulf as “snotor ond swyðferhð” (“wise and stout-hearted,” 826a) after killing Grendel implicitly justifies a wise decision leading to Hondscioh’s death.71 Why does Hondscioh go unnamed until Beowulf reports to Hygelac?72 Frederick M. Biggs attends an “uneasy sense that Beowulf cares little about his retainer.”73 He takes the line that Hondscioh’s death minimizes the importance of kin ties for the Geats, whereas Æschere’s death magnifies the value of kin for the Danes. I likewise see the deliberate ambivalence surrounding Hondscioh’s death and anonymity as a potential criticism of Beowulf ’s behavior. Kinship does not fail; leadership might. The secg who recounts the Sigemund/Heremod lay implies that Beowulf has just committed a deed, which, however great, ended with someone else’s death—just the sort of “woe” that Heremod may be accused of as an “aldorcearu.” To grasp the situation, one must accept the Danish outlook: they have a détente with Grendel, who inhabits Heorot at night. By these terms they manage to stay alive. Their solution does not prevent some men from risking an attack on Grendel: anyone brave enough may try, should Hroðgar entrust Heorot to them—and accept responsibility for the outcome. It only means that they will not be forced to lose more lives, as Beowulf does when he risks his own men in an unequal match. The comparison to Heremod therefore reflects the view that Beowulf ’s sið may have been acceptable for him, but not for his more vulnerable followers. Sigemund’s venture against his dragon exposes the objection as well: a solo endeavor earns glory but endangers no one else. Yet the mitigating factor is clear: Beowulf intends to fight on his own. He pledges to do so twice. Can we not

Ibid. 171. Kindrick 9. 72 On some further arguments exonerating Beowulf, see Biggs, “Hondscioh and Æschere” 643 and 650 note 31. 73 Ibid. 645. 70 71

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find reason to exonerate him? In fact, the best exoneration is the poet’s own somewhat weak allowance that other men would have died, if not for Beowulf ’s fight (1055b–7a). The stories spoken by a thane “mindful of gidd ” imply that Beowulf could become a solitary warrior, a wrecca bent on personal glory (“þrym”), jealous of his reputation and a threat to his followers. Two futures can be predicted for such a man: the hero’s path, Sigemund’s, involves supreme self-regard leading to violence and glory. Sigemund can be admired for solitary daring but not for generosity or moral virtue. The other future, the king’s path, appears more dire, since an ambitious, soldierly king could lead men to destruction. Beowulf is credited with heroic greatness, true, but the wreccan he resembles seem to commit offenses that qualify their fame. In no way does the singer claim these outcomes as inevitable, but he sees a potential in Beowulf, I propose, that critics have often disregarded. Moreover, this explanation of the subaltern attitude exists in the larger context of Germanic wisdom. Even before Beowulf fights Grendel, Hunferð will accuse Beowulf of the same malfeasance. As I shall demonstrate, the Hunferð episode situates Beowulf ’s potential recklessness in the context of warrior moderation, a condition of self-restraint held to be “wise.” The Hunferð Digression The ambivalent Beowulf that the anonymous singer anticipates emerges most visibly in the poem’s digressions. I will have more to say shortly about specific episodes, but I need to answer the critics who allege only a positive, heroic Beowulf in the poem’s first half. Their essential proof, of course, is Grendel’s defeat: he is a monster cursed by God and can only be eradicated by God’s chosen adversary. Unfortunately, the Danes are completely unaware of Grendel’s lineage and Beowulf ’s fortuitous “moral” alignment against God’s enemy, and they object to Beowulf ’s interference, none more so than Hunferð. Yet the “Hunferð digression,” my opposition says, shows Beowulf ’s decisive heroism, and Hunferð’s jealous hostility and background as a kin-killer demolish his prestige. Admittedly, Hunferð’s resentment may compromise his judgment, but the poet raises the broader issue of how to tell sincerity from conceit in a man who could lead his companions to disaster. Whether Beowulf is such a man depends on his motivation. In fact, Beowulf ’s riposte to Hunferð betrays the potential egotism that the Danish secg mentions in his recollection of Sigemund and Heremod.

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Reservations bedevil analyses of Hunferð’s character; whether the name means “Discord” has even provoked discord. R. D. Fulk has lately shown that “Hunferð/Hunferþ” (the manuscript spellings but with ū)—rather than an alleged poetic coinage “Un-frið” (“Discord”) or “Un-ferhð” (“Folly” or “Bold”)—is attested in Germanic tongues.74 Hunferð’s “official” position in Hroðgar’s court is also disputed, since he is twice called a þyle (even Hroðgar’s þyle),75 a puzzling word with myriad translations. Old English glosses give a neutral or negative denotation, either “spokesman” or “jester”: ORATORES] þylæs76 RETHORICA] þelcræfte R5, þelcræft Bc, þelcræ O77 DE SCVRRIS] hofðelum78 HISTRIONES] fæðelas79

In classical Latin orator means “(public) speaker” and rhetorica designates the art of forensic speaking. Yet other Old English translations of orator also include “spelboda” (“messenger, spokesman, prophet”)80 and

74 “Unferth and his Name.” Many readers have accepted Hunferð as a form of Unferhð and translated “Folly,” as Robinson (“Personal Names”), followed by others. Early on it was theorized that “ferð” disguises “frið” (“peace, concord”) which led to the translation “Mar-Peace” (see, e.g., Shuman and Hutchings 219). Fulk’s objection to these doubles ententes is linguistic, but the obvious pun on ferð/ferhð (118) makes it seem that “un”+“ferð” was transparent. Marijane Osborn observes that “the poet himself later provides an etymological gloss which cannot be ignored . . . gehwylc hiora his ferhþe treowde . . . Each of them [Hrothgar and Hrothulf ] trusted his ‘ferth’ ” (“Some Uses of Ambiguity” 24). On the sense that I have interpreted as “Bold” (i.e. “Very Courageous”), see Roberts. For the view that “Hunferð” could give “Hun-spirited,” see Patricia Silber, “Emendation.” Most recently, Robert Boenig has implied that the name is deliberately ambiguous (“Morphemic Ambiguity” 280). 75 “Swylce þær Hunferþ þyle//at fotum sæt frean Scyldinga” (“Likewise, Hunferþ the þyle sat at the feet of the Scyldings’ lord,” 1165b–6a); “ðyle Hroðgares” (“Hroðgar’s ðyle,” 1456b). 76 Stryker 334 (no. 34). The context is from Aldhelm’s Prosa de uirginitate: “. . . ut disertissimi oratores tam sagax uirginibis ingenium alterno experiri conflictu uererentur”; cf. Gwara, Prosa de uirginitate, vol. 124A, p. 471. 77 Gwara, Prosa de uirginitate, vol. 124A, p. 456.62; R5=London, BL MS 6 B.vii, (Exeter, ca. 1078); Bc=“Hand C” of Brussels, Bibliothèque Royale MS 1650 (Canterbury, s. x1/4); O=Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Digby 146 (Canterbury, s. xex). 78 Stryker 145 (no. 22). This is from II Sm 6.20: “nudatus est quasi si nudetur unus de scurris.” While the element hof- has been interpreted as preposition of (translating Latin “de”), it may also mean “court,” as “ðelas attached to a court” (Meritt, “Hard Old English Words” 232). Yet Ida Masters Hollowell points out that OE hof can also mean “temple” (“Unferð the þyle” 251), suggesting a priestly function for the þyle. 79 A scratched gloss from Oxford, St. John’s College MS 28, printed in Napier, Old English Glosses 204 (no. 36, 2). 80 Hessels 86 (O240): “oratores: *spelbodan.”

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“wordsnoter” (“word-wise [man]”).81 Latin scurra designates an urbane, clownish fellow who accompanies gentlemen in Roman comedies. Old English glosses elsewhere render scurra by “gligman” (“entertainer”),82 which also translates the Latin terms musicus, iocista, cantor, ioculator, mimus, and pantomimus.83 By this evidence neither OE gligman nor Latin scurra is intrinsically negative. Nevertheless, the gloss scond to scurra in the Corpus glossary may mean “a shameful man,”84 and James L. Rosier drew attention to other unflattering Latin glosses to scurra from the Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum: “parasitus,” “subtilis inpostor,” “qui incopiatur,” “qui res ridiculas dicit et facit”;85 and from SteinmeyerSievers, Die althochdeutschen Glossen: “ioculator uerbosus,” “subsannatoris,” “bilinguis accusatoris,” “parasitus ridiculosus.”86 There is no context for the glosses from the Abavus and Ab Absens glossaries, but excepting “parasitus,” “qui res ridiculas dicit et facit,” “ioculator uerbosus,” and “parasitus ridiculosus,” the senses are negative. Latin ridiculosus and ridiculus can mean “facetious” (in a mild sense), and while “parasitus” may remind us of a freeloader, in Latin it denotes a subordinate, hanger-on, or attendant.87 The expression “parasitus ridiculosus” may therefore mean “facetious attendant,” not “absurd parasite.” Finally, passages from Aldhelm’s Carmen de virginitate and Epistola ad Heahfridum reveal that to speak “scurrarum more” is to denigrate or criticize for the purpose of ridicule.88 While Aldhelm expresses irritation with his critics, he acknowledges their competence, too. 81 Gwara, Prosa de uirginitate, vol. 124A, p. 470.345–6: ORATORES] wordsnotere Bcd O; for the sigla, see above, note 77. 82 In Ælfric’s glossary (Zupitza, Ælfrics Grammatik und Glossar 302.9: “mimus ł scurra gligmann”). The Epinal-Erfurt gloss reads “leuuis,” but the term has not be satisfactorily explained. It may be “leas” (“deceitful”); see Pheifer 125 (note to 977a); and Alan Kelsey Brown, “Epinal Glossary” 802 (note to S264). The word is probably identical to the first element (or word) of “lewis plega” (?
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Latin histrio designates an actor in a play, but one Old English gloss renders histrio as “trumpeter” (“truþ”).89 Herbert Dean Meritt interpreted fæðelas as plural adjective fæ (
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chapter one and carving runes, and, as this implies, with incantation and magic; he deals in sacrifice and augury; thus, he can be considered an intermediary between gods (or, better, one god, Óðinn) and men; he is a man of wisdom, being apparently the repository of countless wise adages in verse form, of which the large number in the Hávamál is illustrative; he was learned for his time, having an encyclopedic knowledge of mythological lore, and probably carried historical material in his mind together with genealogies of importance to his people; with an ear for god and man, he seems fitted for the role of adviser to his king and clan.96

In support of the connection between the Old English and Old Icelandic evidence, Hollowell elucidated an obscure gloss in the Liber Scintillarum, where a “gelæred þyle” is said to speak “in few words”:97 gelæred þyle fela spæca mid feawum wordum geopenað doctus orator plures sermones paucis uerbis aperit A learned speaker discloses many pronouncements with few words.

“Disclosing many pronouncements with few words” suggested to Hollowell the apothegmatic wisdom such as that transmitted in the Old English maxims and catalogue poems. Hollowell rebutted Rosier’s position that “the person designated as þulr is treacherous, and . . . such an application of the word is consistent with what we have seen to be the associated meanings of þyle in Old English.”98 In reaching this conclusion, Rosier overemphasized the negative connotations of OE þyle summarized above.99 In refining Hollowell’s work, Elizabeth Jackson has lately reaffirmed that the þulr “acted as the mouthpiece of Óðinn and as both the repository and the transmitter of traditional lore concerning counsel, runes, and charms.”100 Such “traditional lore” seems to be represented by gnomic utterances like those in Maxims I and “Hávamál.”101 Caroline Brady recognized that “the Old Norse feminine noun þula denotes one of the oldest types of Germanic poetry, a mnemonic device consisting of a

“Unferð the þyle” 247. Ibid. 252; Rhodes 119. 98 Rosier, “Design for Treachery” 3. 99 A convincing refutation comes from the “Loddfáfnismál” 134, in which Loddfáfnir is told not to laugh at an aged þulr because “what old men speak is often good” (“opt er gott,/þat er gamlir qveða . . .”). 100 “Seat of the Þyle?” 186. 101 These texts are actually quite different. While “Hávamál” is indeed a series of lists, it actually records gnomic lore of some “moral” or “truth” value; see Larrington 15–72 and Shippey, “Maxims” 31–4. 96 97

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running list, sometimes rhymed or alliterative, of gods, heroes, kings, tribes, dwarfs etc. The earliest extant þular are in Widsith. . . .”102 Brady likewise drew attention to “Vafþrúðnismál,” in which Vafþrúðnir the self-described “old þulr” trades arcane questions with the supreme “old þulr,” Óðinn.103 Jackson imagines a context in which the statement “Gleawe men sceolan gieddum wrixlan” (Maxims I 4a) might precede an “exchange of wisdom between one sage and another.”104 For “sage” one might read þyle. Jackson goes on to claim that þular impart three types of warrior wisdom: gnomic instruction, runic lore, and spells or charms.105 As a kind of Germanic sage, the þulr actually “taught” this wisdom. In the Eddic poem “Fáfnismál,” she notes, Fáfnir the dragon calls his deceitful brother Reginn a “hára þul” or “old þulr,”106 and the précis to “Reginsmál” attests that Reginn “instructed” Sigurðr.107 In disguise Óðinn also instructs Sigurðr, and according to a recapitulation of the scene in “Norna-Gests Þáttr,” Óðinn sits at Sigurðr’s feet and asks “if he would take any advice.”108 In the “Hávamál” Óðinn is called a “fimbulþulr” (“mighty þulr,” 80.5, 142.5), and the anonymous character who sings “from the seat of the þulr” in strophe 111.1 (the opening of the “Loddfáfnismál” section) claims to have gathered his wisdom directly from Óðinn. The “wisdom” of this þulr (if one can call him that) is wholly proverbial, e.g.:109 á fialli eða firði ef þic fara tíðir, fástu at virði vel. (str. 116) Should you wish to travel over fell or firth, procure good provisions.

Hunferð’s position at Hroðgar’s feet (1166a) recalls Óðinn’s in “NornaGests Þáttr,” as well as that of a harpist in Fortunes of Men: “Sum sceal

“ ‘Warriors’ ” 222. Ibid.; Neckel and Kuhn 46 (str. 9): “inn gamli þulr.” The verbal contest between the giant Vafþrúðnir and Óðinn involves the recitation of arcane lore, often metaphorical, in lists. 104 Jackson, “Seat of the Þyle” 184. 105 For a taxonomy of lists in Old English and Old Norse wisdom contexts, see Jackson, “ ‘Not Simply Lists.’ ” 106 The same appellation “hoary þulr” is found in “Hávamál” 133. Starkaðr is the only other þyle we know of from the Germanic tradition (so-called in Gautreks Saga, Ranisch 32 line 17). Here Starkaðr is called a “þöglan þul” or “silent þulr,” almost certainly a wry comment on the þulr’s silenced counsel at Uppsala. 107 “Seat of the Þyle?” 186. 108 Ibid. 109 Neckel and Kuhn 35. On maxims about travel, see Shippey, “Maxims” 31–3. 102 103

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mid hearpan/æt his hlafordes//fotum sittan” (“one ought to sit at his lords’ feet with a harp,” 80a–1a).110 No competing view of OE þyle has received more attention. On the basis of this evidence, we might speculate that Hunferð served as an oracle of traditional gnomic wisdom, components of which arguably survive in Maxims I, Maxims II, Widsið and other poems like Order of the World and Vainglory. In fact, Margaret Schlauch and Lars Lönnroth have already made the claim that elements of Norna-Gest’s lore resemble aspects of Widsið,111 and I would allege that Norna-Gest’s anecdote of Sigurðr’s deeds functions like the story of Sigemund in Beowulf. Yet historian Michael J. Enright has gone even further in identifying the role of Hunferð at Heorot. Like Jackson he portrays Hunferð as the master of traditional wisdom and closely connects him to the Odinic religiosity of the warband, for which reason he imagines that the Beowulf poet belittles Hunferð.112 Yet Enright also sees Hunferð as a prominent warband counselor and spokesman for Hroðgar, a “morale officer” responsible for egging on the men.113 By his reasoning, Hroðgar uses Hunferð to test Beowulf.114 Whether or not Hunferð was a prominent officer (quite likely, in my view) or Hroðgar’s inquisitor (less likely), it seems natural for him to criticize Beowulf. If Hunferð is responsible for preserving and reciting Germanic “wisdom,” he plausibly reacts to Beowulf in ways that evoke his social calling. In fact, Hunferð’s resentment could be justified by gnomic wisdom codified in The Wanderer, Precepts, and Vainglory. Furthermore, Beowulf actually parodies the formal language of wisdom that Hunferð, I suspect, should have pronounced.115 110 The reference to a harp in The Fortunes of Men suggests that Hunferð may be a poet of sorts. Some Germanic poets seem to have been conventionally “disparaging.” Related to ModE “skoff,” OE scop (“poet”) belongs to a word-family that includes OIcel skap “abuse.” However, Robert Fulk’s recent deduction that “Healgamen” in Beowulf 1066a is the name of Hroðgar’s scop suggests the þyle and scop did not share the same duties (see “Fragment and Episode” 195–7). The þyle’s repertoire may have included so-called wisdom literature critical of ambition. 111 Respectively: Schlauch; Lönnroth, “Hjálmar’s Death-Song” 4. 112 “Warband Context” 313. The position was first proposed by Adelaide Hardy; see also Baird, “Unferth the Þyle.” 113 Enright, “Warband Context” 310. 114 Hill, Narrative Pulse 35: “Although Unferth may be a sanctioned challenger, one of his offices then being to goad strangers into revealing themselves, the poet motivates him personally as well. Why? I suggest that just here Beowulf ’s posture as a foreign but entirely friendly, legalistically and ethically minded giant-slayer is in question. Could his real motive be glory, even vainglory as Unferth’s always seems to be?” 115 Earl R. Anderson has proposed that “ironic verbal echoes are a conventional feature of heroic flyting” (“Flyting” 199). I find echoes of a different sort in Beowulf ’s exchange with Hunferð.

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The wisdom contexts that I draw on here specifically denounce arrogance in terms descriptive of Beowulf ’s behavior, which could threaten warband security by jeopardizing martial collaboration.116 We need hardly invoke Scandinavian sources like “Hávamál” to understand why Beowulf ’s boasting sounds arrogant, for The Wanderer supplies one felicitous context for Hunferð’s challenge. Although The Wanderer has been called “elegiac,” the term “elegy” to describe a group of Old English poems has lately gone out of fashion as a Victorian invention.117 Enigmatic poems like the “elegies” are troublesome to categorize, but one critic has quite recently proposed that The Wanderer conveys “proverbious” features of Old English wisdom poetry.118 T. A. Shippey’s remarks apply as much to Beowulf as to The Wanderer: “ ‘Proverbiousness’ . . . allows one to say the common/recognised/accepted/socially-valued thing, but at the same time, by alteration, framing or juxtaposition, indicate an attitude towards the socially acceptable which is quite different from mere parrot-repetition.”119 One proverbial passage in The Wanderer exposes the “proverbiousness” ostensibly staged in Beowulf. In The Wanderer a “wise man” ought to be “patient,” not too “hasty in speech,” and especially “never too eager to boast until he readily understands.” The ambiguous expression “geare cunne” (“readily understands”), which applies to all the situations in this passage, is later amplified by the clause “whither the thought of his breast will turn,” specifically in reference to boasting: ne sceal no to hatheort ne to wac wiga (ne to forht ne to fægen), ne næfre gielpes to georn, Beorn sceal gebidan, oþþæt collenferð hwider hreþra gehygd

Wita sceal geþyldig, ne to hrædwyrde, ne to wanhydig, ne to feohgifre ær he geare cunne. þonne he beot spriceð, cunne gearwe hweorfan wille. (65b–72b)

A wise man ought to be patient, not too hot-tempered, nor too hasty in speech, nor too weak a warrior, nor too reckless (neither too cautious nor too confident), nor too greedy nor too ready to boast before he knows

116 Evans, Lords of Battle 83: “heroic poetry was used to reinforce those values and beliefs that tended to strengthen the warband’s structure, while condemning those acts that would have had a detrimental effect upon it.” 117 Mora 129–39. 118 Shippey, “The Wanderer and The Seafarer.” 119 Ibid. 152.

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chapter one for certain. A man ought to wait whenever he speaks a boast until, stout-hearted, he readily understands whither the thought of his breast will turn.

The locution “ne to forht ne to fægen” appears to vary “wac” (“weak”) and “wanhydig” (“thoughtless,” “reckless”) in a list of antitheses, and even though “fægen” in 68a should correspond to “wanhydig” in 67b, it has frequently been translated “happy.”120 T. A. Shippey rendered a similar expression from the “Durham Proverbs” “glad-too-soon (i.e. optimistic)”: “Ne sceal man no to ær forht ne to ær fægen” (“A man should not be afraid or ‘happy’ too soon”).121 “Optimistic” is clever indeed, since the opposite of “cautious” (“too fearful”) ought to be “overconfident,” almost certainly the implicit meaning of “too happy.” (Alternatively, the opposite of happiness ought to be sorrow, but OE forht is not attested in this sense.) In a related passage, Wulfstan’s “Sermo de baptismo” condemns premature exuberant “happiness” (i.e. “overconfidence”: “færinga to fægene”) alongside arrogance (“rance”) and enthusiasm for boasting (“gylpgeorne”) as traits to avoid: “ne beon ge to rance ne to gylpgeorne ne færinga to fægene ne eft to ormode” (“do not be too arrogant or too boastful, nor right away too ‘happy’, nor too despairing.”)122 It seems here that being “too arrogant and too boastful” defines the state of being “too ‘happy.’ ” A wise man in The Wanderer should therefore recognize the risk attending an exploit.123

120 For a summary of the positions, see Thomas D. Hill, “Unchanging Hero” and Gwara, “Forht and Fægen.” While OE forht may also mean “formidable” or terrifying, OE fægen would not be its opposite, and the arguable parallelism between “wac . . . forht” and “wanhydig . . . fægen” would be lost. On the complication that “too” may mean “not at all,” see Bruce Mitchell, “Some Syntactical Problems” 112–17 (translating “to fægen” as “sanguine”). T. P. Dunning and A. J. Bliss propose “too cringing,” just the opposite of what one should expect (117–18 and 49: “it seems then not quite impossible that fægen should mean ‘fawning, cringing, servile, sycophantic’ ”). OE fægen yields ME adj. fain or “eager,” a sense first attested in Lagamon’s Brut, according to the dictionaries. I argue that OE fægen in The Wanderer anticipates the semasiological development, for it can mean “expectant” or “happy in the prospective fulfillment of desire.” 121 “The Wanderer and The Seafarer” 150; cf. Arngart 293 (no. 23). Shippey alters to “ærforht” and “ærfægen,” on which compounds see Bryan. Interestingly, “to ær fægen” in the “Durham Proverbs” is translated by the Latin “nec ilico arrigens” or “not quick to rouse”—lacking any hint of “happiness.” Hill points out (“Unchanging Hero” 248 note 24) that “to ær fægen” differs from “to fægen,” but I think the expression “to ær fægen” clarifies the meaning of “to fægen.” “Happiness” becomes acceptable when it is not heedless. 122 Bethurum 184; see also “De septiformi spiritu”: “ne biþ on gefean to fægen ne on wean to ormod” (“Do not be too ‘happy’ in joy, nor too despairing in woe”), ibid. 185. 123 Nolan and Bloomfield 503.

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The question is, does Beowulf ’s enthusiasm for challenging Grendel contravene this advice, that one should never be too eager to boast before experience can teach the wisdom of moderation? Experience tempers ambition and makes a warrior understand that shame, injury, or death could result from reckless promises. But where experience is lacking, wisdom poetry can substitute, for which reason so much Old English and Old Icelandic wisdom poetry coaches warriors in proper behaviors or attitudes. Now, Beowulf does not “know for certain” what Grendel is like, since he has never seen him. In fact, he does not know that Grendel cannot be cut by swords, so that his bare-handed encounter without armor sounds even more reckless.124 Nevertheless, by his own admission, Beowulf has fought monsters before—a “race of giants” (420b–1a)—and by this experience he may perhaps be qualified to fight Grendel. In this declaration to Hroðgar Beowulf also adds that he “slew water-beasts on the waves at night” (“on yðum slog//niceras nihtes,” 421b–2a), possibly in reference to the contest with Breca.125 While these credentials sound like the right “experience,” Hunferð believes that Beowulf lost a contest with Breca, quite possibly the only independently verifiable experience of Beowulf ’s. From Hunferð’s position, Beowulf ’s boast to face Grendel contradicts the evidence of experience. Even though Hunferð concedes that Beowulf has “everywhere survived the onslaughts of battle, fierce warfare” (“ðeah þu heaðoræsa/gehwær dohte,//grimre guðe,” 526a–7a), losing the contest with Breca is the best prediction of the outcome in the Grendel fight. By this measure, Beowulf ’s manner ought to be cautious. Instead, his boast conveys intemperate eagerness and immature haste, just the opposite of “wisdom” in this Anglo-Saxon binary. Hunferð concludes that Beowulf is reckless, yet a second locus from the wisdom poem Vainglory explains why he might also consider Beowulf ’s impetuous boast to be the swagger of a man exhibiting pride (“on oferhygdo,” 23b). The situation in Vainglory almost perfectly matches Beowulf ’s own circumstances, for the imagined hypocrite depicted in Vainglory boasts before a warband in a hall. “Proud warsmiths sit at a feast in the wine-precincts,” the poet states (“wlonce

Beowulf says that Grendel “does not care for weapons” (“wæpna ne recceð,” 434b), not that he cannot be injured by them. If it were known that swords could not bite Grendel’s flesh, Beowulf ’s retainers would not have hacked at him uselessly. 125 Biggs, “Nine Nicors” 318. 124

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wigsmiþas/winburgum in,//sittaþ æt symble,” 14a–15a),126 and as their revelry mounts (“Breahtem stigeð,” 19b),127 the clamor (“cirm,” 20a) of their various speeches resounds among the host (“on corþre,” 20a). At this moment the narrator remarks that “their minds will be divided into parts” (“swa beoþ modsefan//dalum gedæled,” 21b–2a), an idiomatic way of saying that they are not all sincere. In Guðlac A God perceives those holding good or bad customs (“hadas cennað,//micle ond mæte” 52b–53a). In 53b–4a the statement “Is þes middangeard//dalum gedæled” is followed by a disclosure of God’s perspicacity: “Dryhten sceawað//hwær þa eardien/þe his æ healden” (“The Lord knows where those men dwell who keep his law,” 54b–5b). The Lord also perceives those who do not keep his law (56a–9b), as well as the hypocrites who keep his law in word but not in deed: Sume him þæs hades wegan on wordum

hlisan willað ond þa weorc ne doð. (60a–1b)

Some men want to bear the fame of this calling in words but not perform the works.

The verbal context of “dalum gedæled” is that of men with hidden intentions (compare the formulation of Latin discretio < discerno “separate”), and ME dēlen “to deal” kept this rare sense “to dissemble” into early Middle English. The Ancrene Riwle of London, British Library MS Cotton Nero A.xiv records, “Iob seide. pepigi fedus cum oculis meis ut ne cogitarem du uirgine. ich habbe i vestned seið iob foreward mid min eien. þ ich ne mis þenche. v. deale.”128 Relevant in this context are certain Old Icelandic expressions with cognate “deila” and related vocables.129 In “Helgaqviða Hiörvarðzsonar,” Helgi tells Sváva to “divide her mind,” i.e. subdue her emotions,

On the meaning of OE winburg as “stronghold” rather than “hall,” see Del Pezzo. Probably a circumlocution for thoughtless boasting; see Precepts 57a–8b: Wærwyrde sceal wisfæst hæle breostum hycgan, nales breahtme hlud. A warrior firm in wisdom ought to think inwardly, [speak] cautious conversation, not loud chatter. 128 Day and Herbert 27 lines 20–3. 129 References in Cleasby and Vigfusson s. v. deila I.4 are mistaken. Thus, “deildusk hugir, svá at húskarlar héldu varla vatni” which is translated “their minds were so distraught that the house-carles could hardly forbear weeping” should mean, by re-assignment of the adverb, “their minds were so concealed that the servants held themselves from barely weeping.” 126

127

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since his death is inevitable: “Hug scaltu deila.” 130 The expression resembles one from “Guðrúnarqviða II”: “Lengi hvarfaðac,/lengi hugir deilduz. . . .”131 For a long time Guðrún waited for Sigurðr to return, during which ordeal she “divided (concealed) her thought.” When the illicit love-affair between Oddrún and Gunnar is exposed in “Oddrúnargráttr,” the poet states how hard it is to read a man’s mind when he intends to dissemble over love: Enn slícs scyli maðr fyr annan,

synia aldri þar er munuð deilir.132

No one should speak with certainty, one man on behalf of another who divides (conceals) his passion.

The proposed meaning of “distressed” in each of these passages ignores the essential context of dissembling. Finally, Grettir is criticized for not being a “skapdeildarmaðr,” translated in the dictionaries “master of his temper” or “hardened man.” In other words, Grettir cannot camouflage his discomfiture and is easy to anger.133 In Vainglory men are said to be different (“sindon dryhtguman// ungelice”; “noblemen are unalike,” 22b–3a), and in the poet’s conceit a “certain one” expresses oferhygd (23b), here “arrogance” more than “recklessness.” This man’s mind presses with majesty (“þrymme þringeð,” 24a) and swells with an immoderate spirit (“þrinteð him in innan//ungemedemad mod,” 24b–5a).134 This inflated ego in turn leads to boasting, the articulation of insidious jealousy (“æfþonca,” 26a): Boð his sylfes swiþor micle þonne se sella mon, þenceð þæt his wise welhwam þince eal unforcuþ. (28b–31a) He boasts of himself much more than the better man does; it seems to him that his manner [wise] would appear completely brave [unforcuþ] to everyone.

Neckel and Kuhn 149 (str. 40). Ibid. 225 (str. 6). 132 Ibid. 237 (str. 24). The preceding stanza clarifies the sense: Mælto margir mínir niðiar, qvóðuz ocr hafa orðit bæði; enn mic Atli qvað eigi myndo lýti ráða né löst gora. 133 Cleasby and Vigfusson s.v. deila sense I.4; Zoëga s.v. deila. 134 On “ungemedemad” (<(ge)medemian), see Pickford 23 note to line 25; Thomas D. Hill, “Unchanging Hero.” 130 131

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This observation is relevant to Beowulf ’s situation because Hunferð believes that Beowulf lost his competition with Breca. To Hunferð, then, Beowulf exhibits the insolence of an arrogant braggart, someone who “boasts about himself more than the better man.” The “better man” in this context could be Breca, the winner of the match in Hunferð’s estimation. In the passage cited above, the subjunctive “þince” (“his manner would appear completely brave”) supposes that some “strongminded” warrior might see through the proud man’s bluster. Hunferð thinks he has seen through Beowulf ’s. But obviously, more is at stake than Breca’s reputation. Hunferð’s standing in Hroðgar’s court, his conspicuous fame (“widcuðne man,” 1489b), and his celebrated hæftmece suggest that he might be one of the “better” men implicitly faulted in Beowulf ’s opening speech to Hroðgar, and explicitly impugned in Beowulf ’s retort that Grendel would not have committed so many atrocities had Hunferð (and the Danes!) been as brave as Hunferð implies by his pique (590a–601a). Therefore, Beowulf not only seems to issue a reckless boast, but he also appears to inflate his own ego the way an arrogant warrior might boast to companions in a hall. In so doing, Beowulf offends Hroðgar’s þyle, who arguably imparts the kind of heroic reticence espoused by a “wita” (“wise man”) in The Wanderer and by the narrator in Vainglory who has been taught by a “wita” (1a). If scholars were willing to acknowledge the perception—not necessarily the reality—of Beowulf ’s arrogance, native sententiae that chastise recklessness and pride would be found to compliment the Hunferð digression. Other evidence of “proverbiousness” suggests as much, too. By no means does the poet gratuitously mention Hunferð’s status as Hroðgar’s “þyle.” Beowulf realizes that Hunferð is charged to instill counsels of wisdom and that he would be most qualified to assess the courage and loyalty of Hroðgar’s own men and guests. Hence, Beowulf answers Hunferð ironically, appropriating Hunferð’s own “professional” idiom to ridicule him. Beowulf appropriates Hunferð’s mockery of Beowulf ’s self-proclaimed mastery in battle, “ðeah þu heaðoræsa/ gehwær dohte” (“though you succeeded on every occasion in the assaults of war,” 526a–b) when he says “þeah þin wit duge” (“though your mind is strong,” 589b). Beowulf sneers at Hunferð’s presumed mastery of “wisdom.” Uttered after claiming that Hunferð will suffer torments in hell for slaying his brothers, these terms are paralleled in the expression “gif þe deah hyge” (“if your mind is strong”) from Precepts 48b. Having a “doughty intellect” is specifically linked to “wisdom” as the capacity to perceive good and evil:

the sigemund-heremod and hunferð digressions ‘Ongiet georn ond toscead simle in sefan þinum A þe bið gedæled; wunað wisdom in, ondgit yfles; feorma þu symle

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hwæt sy god oþþe yfel, scearpe mode ond þe a þæt selle geceos. gif þe deah hyge, ond þu wast geare heald þe elne wið, in þinum ferðe god.’ (45a–51b)

Recognize zealously what is good or evil; always distinguish them in your mind with keen insight, and choose the better one. Ever will it be concealed from you. If your mind is strong, wisdom will dwell in you, and you will know right away the appearance of evil [or: an evil man]. Zealously guard yourself against it [or: him], and always foster good in your heart.

The phrase “ondgit yfles” (50a) could mean “the appearance of evil” as translated here,135 but the alternative “intention of an evil man” is equally possible. The expression “a þe bið gedæled,” which I have translated as “ever will it be concealed from you” recalls the clause “Swa beoþ modsefan//dalum gedæled” in Vainglory 21b–2a, in which context some men are said to conceal their arrogance. For the AngloSaxons, having a strong mind means discerning concealed evil and choosing concealed good, as implied in The Seafarer: Stieran mon sceal strongum mode, ond þæt on staþelum healdan, ond gewis werum, wisum clæne scyle monna gehwylc mid gemete healdan wiþ leofne on wið laþne. (109a–12a) A man should steer [ his boat and himself ] with a strong mind, and hold it on course. Constant in promises and pure in his ways, every man should hold himself in moderation both towards friend and foe.

Equating moderation with rectitude, specifically constancy and continence, The Seafarer compares the mariner’s business of battling the wind (or tacking) to moral self-guidance.136 Being “measured” (“gemet”)

135 The DOE suggests an idiomatic rendering (s.v. 1.b.ii): “to have knowledge of, to know,” hence “you will have knowledge of evil.” 136 Compare these lines to Maxims I 50a–2b, where storms batter the shipman: Styran sceal mon strongum mode. Storm oft holm gebringeþ, geofen in grimmum sælum; onginnað grome fundian fealwe on feorran to londe, hwæþer he fæste stonde. A man must steer with strong mind. A storm will often bring a storm, the ocean in cruel seasons. Fiercely will fallow waves begin to advance from afar towards the land, although the man may stand securely.

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therefore defines the moderation associated with patience and restraint. The wise (arguably poets, “þylas” or “witan”) therefore discriminate between honesty, courage, and humility—qualities characterized blandly by the word “god”—and deceit, condescension, and vanity, which ensue from “oferhygd” (in Vainglory at any rate). The Coast-Warden Reads Beowulf ’s Intentions This concealed intent, the general “yfel” which the “wise” man must fathom may be defined even more precisely, since this “proverbious” cant—the “professional” jargon of the þyle, I imagine—occurs also in the watchman’s assessment of Beowulf. Somewhat earlier the coastwarden regarded Beowulf ’s honor in terms nearly identical to those in this same passage of Precepts: Æghwæþres sceal scearp scyldwiga gescad witan worda ond worca, se þe wel þenceð. Ic þæt gehyre, þæt þis is hold weorod frean Scyldinga. (287b–91a) A sharp-witted shield-warrior (someone who thinks well) must have an understanding of each thing: of words and of deeds. I hear that this is a troop loyal to the Scyldings’ lord.137

The “sharp(-witted) shield-warrior” of Beowulf recalls the “sharp mind” of Precepts, and “understanding” in Beowulf (“gescad”) sounds much like the “difference” (“toscad”) of Precepts.138 “He who thinks well” recalls the capacity of having a “strong mind” able to perceive a man’s true thoughts. Most significantly, both passages emphasize the discernment of intentions. The one from Vainglory evaluates the concealed intentions of boasters in a hall, whereas the second from Beowulf highlights the concealed intentions of aggressive foreigners, whose “boastful” words could mask dishonesty. In fact, the possibility of deceit is raised when the coast-warden says that Beowulf seems not to be exalted by weapons alone—unless his appearance belies him: “næfne him his wlite

137 Accepting the deletion of Klaeber’s comma after “witan,” as proposed by Bammesberger, “Coastguard’s Maxim” 4; Klaeber’s Beowulf retains the comma. 138 Shippey, “Maxims” 34 note 9.

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leoge,” 250b.139 In this instance, he sizes up Beowulf ’s appearance, as he did the Geats’ bold landing. Somewhat later, however, he appraises Beowulf ’s words, concluding that Beowulf and his troop are “hold” (“loyal”) to Hroðgar, not spies. From this context, one might assume that “Æghwæþres sceal scearp scyldwiga gescad witan worda ond worca” should mean that the coast-guard has determined that Beowulf does not intend to raid Denmark. T. A. Shippey came very close to this sense in 1978 when he summarized the maxim, “it is the duty of a sharp-witted shield warrior to decide correctly, even on inadequate evidence.”140 The watchman concludes from Beowulf ’s words that the Geats are neither pirates nor spies, but Shippey then takes the watchman’s own deeds as the focus of judgment. Rejecting Shippey’s interpretation, Stanley B. Greenfield popularized a slightly different reading of the maxim, but applied it to the wrong context.141 Greenfield thought that the watchman was gauging whether Beowulf would be able to kill Grendel and deduced that he would indeed fulfil his pledge: “ ‘the sharp-witted shield-warrior must learn to tell the difference between ‘empty’ words and words which have the resolution and capability of deeds behind them.’ ”142 The confusion over context is understandable. Assessing the truth of Beowulf ’s statement about his mission would mean evaluating whether he had a chance of defeating Grendel. It would also mean assessing Beowulf ’s modesty, a feature of his discourse so often attended here. In 1988 Peter Baker accepted Greenfield’s context. The watchman cannot assess Beowulf ’s deeds, Baker surmised, just before claiming that Beowulf ’s words were analogous to deeds: “the coast-guard has taken [ Beowulf ’s] words as virtual equivalents of the feats he is going to perform.”143 While this statement is arguably true, Baker’s theoretical position that “a phrase like ‘empty words,’ so typical of mainstream western thought with its anxiety about language that lacks substance, seems foreign to Old English literature,” distorts the exchange, for “empty words” are exactly what the watchman is trying to intuit. We 139 For an interesting historical discussion of weapons and status in this passage, see Thomas D. Hill, “Beowulf as Seldguma.” 140 Beowulf 14. This is also the sense in Pepperdene 416, but without elucidation. Klaeber and others before him proposed as much, too, but never provided the linguistic justification. 141 “Words and Deeds.” 142 Ibid. 51. 143 “Beowulf the Orator” 10.

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need only read the verses that immediately follow the watchman’s maxim to learn that he has judged Beowulf ’s intent: “I hear that this is a troop loyal to the Scyldings’ lord” (290a–1b). The adjective “hold” (“loyal,” 290b) emphasizes Beowulf ’s sincerity. In other words, the coast-warden has decided that Beowulf intends to confront Grendel and that he is capable of confronting him—and that he will not plunder the interior. R. E. Kaske had reached this conclusion in 1984, in a note that generally confirmed Shippey’s understanding of the maxim: ‘The keen-witted shield-warrior who thinks effectively must be aware of the differing conclusions that can be drawn from observing words and works.’ . . . the coastwarden has been initially misled by observing only ‘works’ (the apparent audacity of the Geats’ landing); having now had that opinion reversed or modified by listening to words (Beowulf ’s speech), he remarks that a dependable watchman must bear in mind the quite different impressions that can be created by different modes of perception.144

As Baker pointed out some years after Kaske’s piece, the genitive “worda ond worca” does not vary “æghwæþres” (“to know the gescad of each, (of ) words and deeds”), nor can it be ignored, making “worda ond worca” dependent on “gescad” (“the difference between words and deeds”). Rather, “worda ond worca” is a partitive genitive dependent on the pronoun “æghwæþres,” and should mean “of both words and deeds.”145 Baker went on to allege that “gesc(e)ad witan” and “gesc(e)ad cunnan” should mean “to have knowledge of, to understand.”146 Unfortunately, this etiolated rendering fails to communicate exactly what kind of “knowledge” or gescad the watchman claims for himself, a crucial feature of his maxim. Alfred Bammesberger has lately joined this camp, apparently independently, with the translation “know fully, have complete knowledge of ” rather than “know the difference between,” for the “idiomatic phrase” gescead witan.147 It seems to me, however, that gescead witan should be contextualized in the Anglo-Saxon wisdom tradition. Having a gescead of words and deeds generally means discerning good and evil intent and should probably be translated “moral discrimination.” Even in the late tenth century, Ælfric used OE gescead as the 144 145 146 147

“Coastwarden’s Maxim” 18. “Beowulf the Orator” 7. Ibid.; see Bammesberger, Linguistic Notes 84–5. “Coastguard’s Maxim Reconsidered.”

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prime characteristic of soul that separates man from animal. He specifically thought of gescead as an instrument of personal judgment and moral guidance: “Gescead is ðære sawle forgifen to gewyssienne and tó styrenne hire agen life and ealle hire dæda” (“Moral discrimination is given to the soul to understand and to guide her own life and all her deeds”).148 Attestations of gescead in the Old English corpus suggest two things about the gescead that Ælfric appreciates. First, it refers to a moral distinction between “good” and “evil,” often figured as the “knowledge” of Christian virtue. Such Christian knowledge or “good” is sometimes described as contingent on humility or self-restraint. Second, this moral choice is not always transparent, and gescead identifies a process of deliberation that distinguishes good from evil, that helps one choose Christian virtue. The evidence for gescead as “moral intuition” is widespread in the corpus. The Ælfredian Boethius suggests that righteousness and discretion direct one’s gescead: Hu mæg ænig man ðinga æniges, þeah hine rinca hwilc æfter fringe on his modsefan rihtwisnesse

andsware findan þegen mid gesceade, rihtwislice gif he awuht nafað mycles ne lytles ne geradscipes?149

How may anyone find an answer to anything, a thane with gescead, though a man should ask it of him properly, if he has no righteousness and prudence for small or great matters in his mind?

This passage refers to one’s personal judgment in making a decision about moral virtue. In an anonymous Vercelli homily, gescead enables one to overcome evil partly through patience: “Þæt [the sin of anger] bið soðlice oferswiðed þurh geðyld 7 þurh þolomodnesse 7 þurh andgytlic gescead ðe God onasæwð on manna modum” (“Truly [anger] is overcome through patience, forbearance and the clear moral discernment that God implants in the minds of men.”)150 Here one senses that patience confronts intemperance, and Ælfric describes the function of gescead elsewhere as policing temptation:151

148 149 150 151

In Ælfric’s “Nativity of Christ” (Skeat, Lives of Saints 16 lines 107–8). Meters of Boethius 22.43a–48b. Szarmach 12 (lines 99–101). Norman 40 (from St. Basil’s “Admonitio ad filium spiritalem”).

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chapter one Ðære sawle miht is ðæt heo sylf ðæs lichaman lustas underðeode ðæs modes gesceade. ðæt ðæt gescead beo wylldre ðonne seo yfele gewilnung. and ðæt heo gitsunge forhogige and beo hire eaðhylde. The soul’s power is that she herself subdues the body’s desires to the moral discernment of the mind, such that one’s moral discernment might be stronger than the evil temptation, and such that [the soul] despise concupiscence and be satisfied in herself.

A state of moral blindness exists among drunks and children because they lack self-control, and give in to temptation because they cannot resist it. The Rule of Chrodegang states, “Se druncena ne . . . gescead ne can betwyx gode 7 yfele” (“the drunk does not know the moral distinction between good and evil”),152 and a passage from Deuteronomy affirms the same of children: “Eowre lytlingas 7 ða cild ðe nyton nanes ðinges nan gescead ne godes ne yfeles . . .” (“Your little ones and the children who do not know the moral distinction of anything, neither good nor evil . . .”).153 Having gescead for oneself can therefore mean exhibiting humility, but using it to judge others might mean determining their motivation as humble or arrogant. Relevant in this context is a passage from Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica, in which representatives of various British churches practicing Irish heterodoxies must judge whether Augustine was a true “man of God”: Si ergo Augustinus ille mitis est et humilis corde, credibile est quia iugum Christi et ipse portet et uobis portandum offerat; sin autem inmitis ac superbus est, constat quia non est de Deo, neque nobis eius eius sermo curandus.” Qui rursus aiebant: ‘Et unde uel hoc dinoscere ualemus?’ If this Augustine is meek and lowly of heart, it is to be supposed that he himself bears the yoke of Christ and is offering it to you to bear; but if he is harsh and proud, it follows that he is not from God and we have no need to regard his words.’ Once more they said, ‘But how can we know even this?’

Implicit in the counselors’ ethical judgment of Augustine is the difference between humility and arrogance (“mitis et humilis corde” vs. “inmitis ac superbus”), engendering a general distinction between right and wrong. Now, the Old English version of Bede’s History translates “inmitis ac Napier, Rule of Chrodegang 74 lines 35–7 (translating “Ebriosus . . . neque inter bona et mala discernit”). 153 Crawford, Heptateuch 336; cf. Dt 1.39: “Parvuli vestri . . . et filii qui hodie boni ac mali ignorant distantiam . . .” 152

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superbus” as “unmilde 7 oferhygdig,” and the sentence “Et unde uel hoc dinoscere ualemus?” with the expression “be hwon magon we þis gescead witon?” (“How can we discern this moral distinction?”).154 In this passage, OE gescead explicitly designates a knowledge of hidden intention: arrogance or humility. Wulfstan, too, talks of the man with “god ingehyd” or “good conscience,” who “knows the moral distinction between truth and falsehood” (“can him gescead betweox soðe ond unsoðe”).155 He also alleges that gescead applies to truth and deceit in his homily “De septiformi spiritu”: “And se hæfð god ingehyd . . . þe . . . can him gescead betweox soðe 7 unsoðe” (“He has a good conscience who knows the moral distinction between truth and deceit.”)156 One’s moral choice is often concealed, as the father in Precepts declares when he says, “a þe bið gedæled” or “ever will it be divided for you.” Based on this evidence, the Danish watchman judges the “moral quality” of Beowulf ’s words and deeds, specifically in respect to humility and arrogance. As Kaske has said, the Geats’ presumptuous appearance on Danish shores (Beowulf ’s “deeds”) alarms the coast-guard, who has to satisfy himself that Beowulf has come for his stated purpose—his “words.” He determines that Beowulf tells the truth, of course, but if “truth” derives from humility or self-restraint, as it seems to in the contexts cited above, the watchman discerns Beowulf ’s honesty by his humility. In Vainglory evil explicitly designates arrogance, so that god’s own son embraces humility, while the devil’s spawn practices arrogance. In the context of wisdom literature like Vainglory one can understand why the watchman in Beowulf finds Beowulf ’s words reassuring. They are not simply decorous, as so many have noticed, but conspicuously submissive, just the attitude needed to defuse the situation. Beowulf has come “with loyal intent” (“þurh holdne hige,” 267a), asks to be given

154 Colgrave and Mynors 138–9; for the Old English passage, cf. Miller 100 lines 29, 31. Greenfield (“Words and Deeds”) cited Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 41, which reads “þises gescead” (“the moral distinction of this,” 270 note 9), but Robert E. Kaske rejected Greenfield’s obviously correct view that “þises gescead” refers to Augustine’s demeanor, either humility or pride (“Coastwarden’s Maxim” 17). Quite similar to this position is the laconic observation by Mackie, “Notes upon the Text” 517. 155 In his sermon “De septiformi spiritu”: Bethurum 186 line 44. This gescead judges thoughts, words and deeds in Ælfric’s homily on the circumcision: “we sceolan of deaðe arisan. 7 agyldan gode gescead ealra ure geþohta. and worda 7 weorca (“we must rise from death and yield to God the moral judgement of all our thoughts, words and deeds”); see Clemoes, Catholic Homilies 227 lines 100–2. 156 Bethurum 186 lines 42–4.

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advice (“Wes þu us larena god!” 269b), proposes a “great mission” (“micel ærende,” 270b), acknowledges the watchman’s superior grasp of the situation (“Þu wast, gif hit is . . .” 273), offers to teach Hroðgar “counsel” through magnanimity (“þurh rumne sefan/ræd gelæran,” 278a–b), grants that the old king is wise and good (“frod ond god,” 279a), and shows concern for his suffering (“cearwylmas/colran wurðaþ,” 282a–b). Baker terms Beowulf ’s speech “understated and deferential” but grants that Beowulf does flaunt his own strength.157 Yet Beowulf ’s resolution (in the expectation that he alone can defeat Grendel, lines 280a–5b) is consistent with the hero’s need to state his unwavering intent. From the passage one can draw two conclusions. First, characters in the poem are liable to misjudge Beowulf ’s actions as arrogant, and they react suspiciously. Second, at least one subaltern concludes that Beowulf expresses the right degree of humility. As I shall argue throughout, the judgment of Beowulf ’s behavior, the potential misunderstanding of his words and works, comprises a central concern in much of the poem. The Jealous Þyle To return once more to my premise, Beowulf ’s retort “þeah þin wit duge” challenges Hunferð’s role as þyle in command of the social customs of Germanic wisdom. Men with “wit” or “hyge” have a penetrating intelligence: they have “strong minds” or “think well,” and therefore they can discern “evil,” the symptoms of arrogance. Though presumably Hroðgar’s wisest retainer, Hunferð does not reach the same conclusion as the watchman about Beowulf ’s intent to face Grendel. The poet’s “proverbious” exploitation of this wisdom topos invites a further examination of Beowulf ’s attack on Hunferð’s position as a þyle. Are Beowulf ’s other statements compatible with provisions of Old English wisdom verse? Significantly, the jeer “þeah þin wit duge” follows on Beowulf ’s verdict that Hunferð will suffer punishment in hell for killing his brothers: “þæs þu in helle scealt//werhðo dreogan,” 588b–9a. Because kin-killing is such a fundamental abomination in Beowulf, it has escaped notice that hell also happens to be the domain of the proud (cf. Cain). In Vainglory the arrogant man is described as the fiend’s own

157

“Beowulf the Orator” 10–11.

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child, a concealed devil clothed in flesh whose life will be useless to God and destined for hell: Nu þu cunnan meaht, gif þu þyslicne þegn gemittest wunian in wicum, wite þe be þissum feawum forðspellum, þæt þæt biþ feondes bearn flæsce bifongen, hafað fræte lif, grundfusne gæst gode orfeormne . . . (44b–9b) Now you may understand should you meet such a thane dwelling in the precincts. Know by these few preceding narratives that that man is the devil’s own son clothed in flesh and that he will have a shameful life, a spirit eager for hell and useless to god.

The narrator concludes that warriors given to oferhygd always end up in hell: Se þe hine sylfne þurh oferhygda ahefeð heahmodne, æfter neosiþum wunian witum fæst,

in þa sliþnan tid up ahlæneð, se sceal hean wesan niþer gebiged, wyrmum geþrungen. (52a–6b)

He who inclines himself towards that time of hardship through reckless ambition, who exalts his proud ego [scil. hine sylfne . . . heahmodne], shall be wretched, humbled [ lit. ‘bent downwards’] after death, must dwell fast in torments, pressed by serpents.

Only with some strain can one capture the metaphor that depends on ahlænan “to lean towards” and gebiged “bent downwards.” It recalls the biblical verse, Lc 14.11: “quia omnis qui se exaltat humiliabitur et qui se humiliat exaltabitur.” Because the expression “in þa sliþnan tid” is accusative, the proud man should be thought to incline himself towards “the time of cruelty,” a circumlocution for death.158 Beowulf does not simply condemn Hunferð for murder (or cowardice), therefore, but for the arrogance that led him to commit murder. This reasoning explains the accusation that Hunferð “killed” his “heafodmægum”—his “chief kinsmen” or older brothers—a wrecca’s crime that Beowulf insinuates would be motivated by Hunferð’s jealousy. See, for example, Elene 855b–6a “Rodor eal geswearc//on þa sliðan tid”; Guðlac B 991b–2b: “ac him duru sylfa//on þa sliþnan tid/sona ontyneð.” The expression in Beowulf 184a “þurh sliðne nið” (“through cruel enmity”) describes men destined for hell, the “fire’s embrace” (185a), and should probably describe the manner of punishment, as Klaeber, Beowulf 136 note to lines 184–6. “Hell” may be an alternative to “death,” for which see Andrew 401–10. 158

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Of course, the Beowulf narrator explains that jealousy motivated Hunferð to mention the Breca episode and predict that Beowulf would not crush Grendel: forþon þe he ne uþe, æfre mærða þon ma gehedde under heofenum

þæt ænig oðer man middangeardes þonne he sylfa (503a–5b)

. . . because he would not grant that any other man would have given more thought to earthly honors under the heavens than he himself had.

Fred C. Robinson proposed that Klaeber’s gehēde ( gehedde MS), theoretically derived from OE gehēgan “to perform, carry out,” should rather express (ge)hēdan “to heed,” since every occurrence of (ge)hēdan in Old English is collocated with “þing, seonoð, spræc, or mæðel as its direct object and means ‘to hold (a meeting)’.”159 Robinson interpreted this statement of Hunferð’s jealousy as a “Falstaffian attitude toward heroic deeds,”160 but John C. Pope has proposed a positive rendering for it: “[Unferth] would not grant that any other man on earth could ever . . . care more for glorious deeds [“mærða,” 504a] than he himself did.”161 In other words, Hunferð “not only cared a great deal but had deluded himself into supposing that nobody on earth could ever have cared more.”162 Pope’s terms certainly mitigate Hunferð’s resentment—competitiveness is the source of his jealousy. Alternatively, however, we could take (ge)hēdan in its root sense “give thought to,” in which event the passage could be translated “he would not concede that any other man might ever have given more thought to honors under the heavens than he himself had.” This probably means exactly what Pope conveys, that Hunferð thinks himself the better man. But it may also portend that, “Elements of the Marvellous” 31. Ibid. 161 “Beowulf 505” 180. 162 Ibid. Pope likewise exposed two common mistakes in reading this passage, the first exacerbated by Klaeber’s glossary, s.v. mærðo, where “mærða” is queried as a genitive plural—unprecedented for predicate gehēgan—and often mistakenly construed with “ma” (acc. sing.) giving “he would not allow that any man under the heavens would achieve more glory . . .” instead of the (correct) adverbial usage “þon ma,” impossible to construe with the MnE translation “achieve”; see Mitchell, Old English Syntax, vol. 2, §3246. Second, the form gehedde is a preterite (likely subjunctive) and, even if derived from gehēgan, ought to be translated “would have achieved.” The translation, “he would not allow that any man under the heavens would have achieved glory . . .” logically refers either to Beowulf ’s fight with giants, or else preempts Beowulf ’s upcoming fight with Grendel. The editors of Klaeber’s Beowulf have revised the glossary to reflect the verb gehedan + genitive obj. 159 160

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having reflected on honor more than anyone else, Hunferð thinks himself to be the better judge of Beowulf ’s fitness to assail Grendel than Beowulf. Coming from someone responsible for teaching men how to achieve heroic deeds in moderation—as the “morale officer” Enright envisions—Hunferð’s sanctimony would befit the context of wisdomas-moderation that motivates the digression as a whole. Hunferð thinks Beowulf is not ready to fight Grendel, but Beowulf assumes, and the narrator confirms, that Hunferð abuses his office to discredit Beowulf ’s ambition. Hunferð’s “jealousy,” I allege, has a specific context, again divulged by wisdom verse. Just after Hunferð recites the Breca story, Beowulf says, Hwæt, þu worn fela, wine min Hunferð, beore druncen ymb Brecan spræce . . . (530a–1b) Well, drunk on beer, you have spoken very many things about Breca, my friend Hunferð.

In a characteristically clever argument, Fred C. Robinson explains that “beore druncen” in Beowulf 480b should mean “having drunk beer” and therefore having participated in a ritual that elicits trust, not shame.163 In his new volume Beowulf: An Edition Robinson extends this reading to the Hunferð passage cited above,164 perhaps because accusing Hunferð of being drunk sounds indecorous. Beowulf ’s harsh reply could therefore be attributed to Hunferð’s infringement of social dignity and group cohesion. Yet the accusation that Hunferð is “drunk on beer” (confirmed in “wine druncen,” 1467a) connects directly to wisdom verses in which drunkenness should be avoided specifically because it causes one to utter offensive and therefore reckless words. So in Precepts the father warns his noble son, “keep yourself from a drunken and foolish statement” (“druncen beorg þe/ond dollic word,” 34a–b). In Vainglory, moreover, the drunkard “deceived by wine” (“wine

163 Appositive Style 77. Robinson compares the Beowulf locus to “dreore druncne” in Andreas 1003a, but the claim that “to translate druncne as ‘drunk, inebriated’ is logically impossible in the Andreas passage” seems overstated. In Beowulf 480b Hroðgar implies that drink induced his retainers to make reckless boasts they could not fulfil and so his bencþelu or “bench-platforms” (486a) ended up “blode bestymed” or “drenched in blood.” I do not find Hroðgar’s remark “inappropriate” in the context. On the reluctance of scholars to acknowledge “inebriation” in the Germanic hall, and the prospect that Hunferð is being accused of inebriation, see Stanley, “Courtliness and Courtesy” 93. 164 Mitchell and Robinson, Beowulf: An Edition, in the glossary s.v. drincan.

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gewæged,” 41a) “maliciously [or deceitfully] lets his words flow out” (“searwum læteð . . . word ut faran,” 40b–1b). Elsewhere in Vainglory 18b–19a “drink” incites a man’s spirit and engenders jealousy. Finally, the wisdom poem Fortunes of Men explores the vice of warrior drunkenness at length. It can be fatal, according to the Fortunes poet, because a sot cannot moderate his speech: Sumum meces ecg yrrum ealowosan were winsadum; Sum sceal on beore meodugal mæcga; gemearcian his muþe ac sceal ful earmlice dreogan dryhtenbealo ond hine to sylfcwale mænað mid muþe

on meodubence ealdor oþþringeð, bið ær his worda to hræd. þurh byreles hond þonne he gemet ne con mode sine, ealdre linnan, dreamum biscyred, secgas nemnað, meodugales gedrinc. (48a–57b)

On the mead-bench the sword’s edge will crush the life from another one, an angry ale-talker, a wine-sated man. He had been too hasty in his words. One in his cups will become a mead-flushed fellow through a server’s hand. Then he will not know moderation, how to limit his mouth with his mind, but full pitifully will give up his life and, deprived of joys, suffer supreme destruction. Men will call him a suicide and lament with their voices the intoxication of a man flush with mead.

These passages reveal how fundamental it was for a wise retainer to control his speech while drinking. Beowulf does not merely accuse Hunferð of being drunk, therefore; he accuses Hunferð of violating a cardinal axiom of warrior virtue that Hunferð would be responsible for promulgating among Hroðgar’s troops.165 Indeed, this explanation accounts for Beowulf ’s taunt that Hunferð had uttered “very many things” (“worn fela,” 530a)—an excessive amount. For all his wisdom, Hroðgar’s þyle sounds much like a boastful drunkard and loudmouth himself ! The narrator seems to confirm the wisdom topos of drunken boasting in the motivation for Hunferð’s challenge. Vainglory alleges that a proud man’s “immoderate spirit” (“ungemedemad mod”) will become “filled with the fiend’s darts of jealous irritation” (“bið þæt [leg. ‘mod,’ 165 On warnings against drunkenness in “Hávamál” (Neckel and Kuhn, str. 11, 12, 19, 131), see Larrington 24–5. Appropriate to this context are verses 18 and 47 of “Lokasenna” as well. Hugh Magennis argues counter-intuitively that Hunferð’s “drunkenness provides an acceptable pretext for his verbal attack on Beowulf, a way in which such an attack can be accommodated to the prevailing standards of hall courtesy without implicating the whole company” (163).

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25a] æfþonca/eal gefylled//feondes fligepilum,” 26a–7a). Drunkenness among a company in the hall specifically engenders such pompous selfregard, and Cynewulf ’s Juliana confirms that the psychological state of “æfþonca” originates in drinking: Sume ic larum geteah, to geflite fremede, þæt hy færinga ealde æfþoncan edniwedan, beore druncne. Ic him byrlade wroht of wege, þæt hi in winsele þurh sweordgripe sawle forletan of flæschoman fæge scyndan, sarum gesohte. (483b–90a) I prompted some by my advice, brought them to strife, so that, when drunk on beer, they might revive old annoyances. I offered anger from a cup, that in the wine-hall they might let their souls be parted from their doomed bodies, sought out by wounds, through the sword-stroke.

OE æfþanc/æfþanca is often translated as “vexation, chagrin, annoyance, displeasure, rancor,” but here I prefer “jealous irritation.” The noun is related to OE ofþyncan, used in Beowulf to describe the irritation felt by the Heaðobards when members of the Danish retinue flaunt captured Heaðobard weapons (2032a). In this digression the poet describes a kind of irritated envy directed at unworthy interlopers. In light of the Vainglory passage describing the boaster whose spirit becomes completely filled with jealous irritation, it seems relevant that Hunferð expresses “micel æfþunca” or “extreme jealous irritation” (502b) over Beowulf ’s venture. From these Vainglory and Juliana passages we can deduce two things about Hunferð. First, Hunferð’s “æfþunca” should probably be situated in the context of convivial drinking and possible drunkenness. Second, although Hunferð thinks that Beowulf is arrogant and reckless, the poet seems to confirm the opposite: at this moment at least, Hunferð displays the jealousy of a hypocrite. In his mocking reaction to Hunferð’s challenge, Beowulf implies that drink causes a second breach of decorum. Beowulf calls Hunferð “my friend” quite sarcastically. As far as I am aware, there is no evidence that OE wine or freond had a specific legal definition, but in the warband community it may have designated a man one could rely on for aid, in war as in peace.166 In other words, friendship may have been a social institution (loosely defined) in which peers took on risks and 166

Hill, Cultural World 99.

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responsibilities for each other as sacred obligations. This may be the context of Hroðgar’s address to Beowulf, “wine min Beowulf” (457b, 1704b), as well as the old retainer’s insinuation to his young “friend” in the Heaðobard digression (2047a). If so, Beowulf acts as a “friend” to Hunferð in fighting Grendel on behalf of the Danes, and Beowulf implies that Hunferð violates this voluntary “friendship” with his criticism. Because trust motivates friendship, wisdom literature expresses contempt for betrayals between friends. “Hávamál” shows a particular obsession with honest and dishonest friendship congruent in many respects to that of Anglo-Saxon wisdom verse.167 Like “Hávamál” Maxims I recommends cultivating friendships (lines 144a–5b), but injunctions against deceitful friendship are commoner in the Anglo-Saxon wisdom corpus. Maxims I also warns “earm se him his frynd geswicað” (“wretched the man whose friends fail him,” 37b), and Precepts records that one should never tolerate sin (“man”) in a friend or kinsman: “ne næfre freonde þinum,//mæge man ne geþafa” (17b–18a). Later, the “father” tells his son never to be deceitful against his friend: þæt þu næfre fæcne weorðe

Ræfn elne þis, freonde þinum. (30b–1b)

Do this with conviction, that you never become deceitful towards your friend.

Finally, Dorothy Whitelock has pointed out, in reference to a passage from Maxims I, that exile entailed friendlessness, a life among wolves: “Wineleas, wonsælig mon/genimeð him wulfas to geferan,//felafæcne deor” (“A friendless, miserable man takes wolves for companions, quite treacherous beasts,” 146a–7a).168 In the wisdom context appropriate to a þyle, Beowulf ’s taunt “wine min Hunferð” expresses the breach of a social taboo, that betrayals of friendship were offenses against the honor of the comitatus. Perhaps the old father’s advice (in Precepts) that his son be neither “too reproachful” nor “too doubting” (“Ne beo þu no to tælende,/ne to tweospræce, 90a–b) contextualizes Hunferð’s exchange with Beowulf.169 However appropriate this maxim might be, in the Beowulf passage cited above Beowulf blames drunkenness for Hunferð’s breach of etiquette.

167 168 169

Larrington 29–35; 52–7. “Poetry and the Historian” 91. On “mockery” in “Hávamál,” see Larrington 28–9.

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Beowulf ’s Competition with Breca The insults that Beowulf directs at Hunferð deflect the problem that Hunferð’s challenge seems entirely creditable, the argument of wisdom against folly.170 Some considerable dispute has centered on whether Beowulf and Breca row or swim, but swimming is almost certainly intended.171 In a recent article of extraordinary importance, R. D. Fulk has offered convincing evidence against the “rowing” hypothesis: first, the expression “earmum þehton” would not describe rowing;172 second, boats are never mentioned, even when Beowulf is later said to be in the water; third, analogous swimming matches abound in Scandinavian sources.173 William Nelles has recently championed the view that the Breca contest was one of endurance: neither boy can part from the other until one of them concedes, as lines 541b–3b seem to portend.174 Although Nelles thinks the Breca contest involved boats, his emphasis on endurance strikes me as the right deduction—when applied to swimming. Apparently taking Breca’s side in the matter, Hunferð establishes uncertainty about Beowulf ’s success, but he also criticizes Beowulf ’s overconfidence, susceptible to any rash challenge. 170 Gingher 19 note 1: “It is possible, of course, that Unferth’s remarks . . . are perfectly true and that Beowulf indeed failed in the swimming [sic] contest.” See, more recently, Nagy 21. 171 The boating argument has a clear critical pedigree: Robinson, “Elements of the Marvellous; Wentersdorf; Earl, “Rowing Match”; Frank, “Sea Changes”; Nelles 302–3. R. D. Fulk has lately proposed what has to be the final word on the semantics of OE sund, that it means “natation,” later developing the sense “sea” (“Semantic Space”). 172 Since OE þeccan means “cover, wrap, embrace,” he proposed that one’s arms would “embrace” the “eagorstream” (“sea-current”) in swimming more likely than in rowing (“Semantic Space” 461). I disagree with his analysis of the variand: “mundum bregdan,” he avers, “does not mean ‘pulled quickly with your hands’ . . . and the parallel arum bregdað . . . rather damages the case for rowing than supports it, for as the Dictionary of Old English suggests, if arum bregdan means ‘move (across water) by means of oars,’ that is, ‘row,’ then mundum bregdan ought to mean ‘move (across water) by means of hands,’ or ‘swim.’ ” The primary sense of OE bregdan is indeed “pull” (>MnE “braid”), so the meaning is precise: “pull with hands,” an action that could describe rowing. 173 The remarks by Geoffrey R. Russom (“Germanic Concept”), that swimming skill was often contested among nobles, may contextualize the Breca incident; see also Jorgensen, Fulk, “Semantic Space” 463 note 20. To these positions I would also add that boating seems tame as a competition, which seems to have entailed endurance, not racing. 174 Beowulf ’s phrase “no ic fram him wolde” (“not at all did I want [to float; “fleotan,” 542b] from him,” 543b) suggests the endurance scenario. I cannot agree with Nelles’s interesting conjecture that Breca drowns, because it is highly important that the victory be disputed, a point Beowulf makes when he says, “soð ic talige” (“I maintain the truth,” 532b). Nelles’ argument is quite close to the proposition by Wentersdorf.

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He says the venture resulted from a “stupid boast” (“dolgilpe,” 509a) made out of “recklessness” (“wlence,” 508a) and abetted by stubbornness (510b–12b).175 Hunferð remarks explicitly that both youths made a “sorhfullne sið,” best translated as “a venture that brings sorrow.”176 The Beowulf poet uses the expression “sorhfullne sið” consistently to represent deeds likely to end in death. Grendel’s mother undertakes such a “sorrowful venture,” and the water-monsters at Grendel’s mere are said to enter on “sorrowful ventures” (against sailors, presumably).177 Hunferð makes the incident sound insane by stressing the rushing current, open water, and winter weather. Neither Beowulf ’s friends nor enemies could dissuade him from the challenge (511a–b), a point similar to that made by Hygelac about the Grendel expedition. Yet Hunferð also criticizes Breca for recklessness, an inimical trait for kings. He grants Breca secular responsibilities by emphasizing Breca’s triumphant return to the “fair peaceful fortress where he ruled a nation,” his “fortification,” and “treasury”: ðonon he gesohte swæsne eþel, leof his leodum, lond Brondinga, freoðoburh fægere, þær he folc ahte, burh ond beagas. (520a–3a) Whence he sought his cherished homeland, land of the Brondings, the man dear to his people, his fair peaceful fortress where he ruled a nation, his fortification, and his treasury.

Breca’s kingship is independently confirmed in Widsið 25a: “Breoca [weold] Brondingum” (“Breca ruled the Brondings”). Significantly, Heremod himself neglected precisely these symbols of responsibility:

175 Norman E. Eliason proposed that dolsceaða (“foolish combatant”) in 479a can refer to Hroðgar’s men rather than Grendel (“Beowulf Notes” 446–7). He supplies a context for “God eaþe mæg//þone dolscaðan/dæda getwæfan!” (478b–9b): “The men, primed with beer, would boast about what they would do to Grendel, but in the morning they would be dead” (446). OE dolgilp may be derogative in just this way. 176 Paul Beekman Taylor, “Themes of Death” 261–4, esp. 262: “. . . the inclusion of Breca in the charge ( git) implies that the journey was indeed sorrowful because it was a futile, silly, and vain exploit, characteristic of headstrong but foolish boys.” Taylor suggests that because the nicors suffer death, “Beowulf ’s reply to Unferth twists the latter’s terms of abuse into descriptions of his own heroic deeds” (263). I think, rather, that sorhfull sið describes any venture likely to end in death. Taylor identifies the expression as a “type E whole-verse formula” (261) which the Beowulf poet alone uses. 177 Klaeber, Beowulf, lines 1278a (of Grendel’s mother’s attack on Heorot), 1429a (of the water-monsters at Grendel’s mere), 2119a (“siðode sorhfull”: of Grendel’s mother, as narrated by Beowulf to Hygelac).

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“scolde . . . // . . . folc gehealdan/hord ond hleoburh . . .” (“He should have ruled his nation, treasury and defensive fortress,” 910b–12a).178 The accusation calls into question Beowulf ’s responsibility, present and future. Hunferð’s message is twofold. First, Beowulf risked his life on a stunt that should have brought disaster to himself and his companion. Had Breca died, his people could have suffered the “fyrenþearf” (describing the lack of a ruler) bemoaned by the Danes at the opening of Beowulf. Second, Beowulf lost to Breca and failed to live up to his boast that he could last longer at “natation.” Hunferð implies that the Geats may lose Beowulf this time for swearing, yet again, to undertake a mad escapade. We are meant to infer that Hunferð’s jealousy may have affected his judgment, and Beowulf certainly implies that Hunferð misjudges him. In fact, Beowulf ’s admission that his act was youthful bravado (“on geoguðfeore,” 537a), that his war-gear saved his life in the Breca match, and that “it was granted” that he slew his foes sounds much like the “humility” he expressed towards the coast-guard. Beowulf ’s hitherto unknown killing of nine sea-monsters (during a storm!) transforms the terms of victory in the match from “natation” to self-defense, and deflects Hunferð’s trenchant criticism. Hunferð has charged Beowulf with reckless boasting, but Beowulf defends his masterful sword-play: “Breca næfre git//at heaðolace . . . // swa deorlice/dæd gefremede// fagum sweordum” (“Breca has never yet in battle done such a bold deed with shining sword,” 583b–6a). Beowulf established this rhetorical misdirection by observing that he and Breca held naked swords (539a), and therefore their competition involved defense against predators (540b–1a). But while Beowulf ’s sword-play may guarantee his readiness and confirm his ability, his motivation “for wlence” and his victory against Breca stand unresolved. Of course, we now credit Beowulf ’s conviction, which Hroðgar applauds. Many have been misled by Hroðgar’s response to Beowulf ’s put-down, but the narrator’s precision should give pause: the old king “heard in Beowulf a firm intention” (“gehyrde on Beowulfe . . . // fæstrædne geþoht,” 609b–10b), an example of linguistic implicature (“on Beowulfe”) that subtly features what else was heard but not attended.179

Bazelmans 134. Perhaps this passage may be elucidated by remarks made in Shippey, “Principles of Conversation” 111–12. 178 179

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The verb hyran almost certainly expresses just this kind of intuition in Old English. The coast-warden “hears” that Beowulf is “loyal,” just as Hroðgar “hears” in Beowulf ’s invective a “firm intent.” Had Beowulf stopped with his vindication, the ambiguity of his “confidence” would not raise as many suspicions in the “flyting” or verbal debate context. But he goes on to demean Hunferð in the way I outlined above, and his rebuke sounds too defensive. Although many have praised Beowulf for “winning” this dispute with Hunferð, the attack seems excessive, and excessively vicious. In fact, the flyting context so often invoked for the Hunferð interlude presupposes Beowulf ’s susceptibility to wlenco. The Wisdom Context of the Hunferð Digression: A New Theory of Flyting Rhetoric Critical approbation for Beowulf ’s “victorious” response in the Hunferð dispute has done away with an equivocation implicit in the flytings or verbal debates attested in Old Icelandic sagas and Eddic verse.180 As I have been emphasizing all along, Beowulf represents an ambivalent figure: either a man like a wrecca prone to arrogance and recklessness, or a warrior of surpassing virtue who has recognized the limitations of his strength, which he does not exceed. Individual characters contribute assessments of each potential, but none is validated. As we have seen, Hunferð’s insecurity conditions his own appraisal, and Beowulf ’s put-down could be thought to affirm the warrior virtues of courage, wisdom, amity, etc. that Beowulf claims for himself. At the same time, Beowulf ’s victory in the flyting limits any confidence we might have in his virtue. It may be true that Beowulf ’s defense of the swimming contest with Breca and his protest of Hunferð’s acrimony vindicate Hroðgar’s judgment. Many have thought so, and substantial evidence supports their intuition. Yet the poet has also engineered an opposing position in the context of the Germanic flyting, which does not disprove, but rather “complicates,” Beowulf ’s righteousness.

180 Peter Baker claims, “here the insults seem quite in order, and everyone (perhaps even Unferth) seems to be pleased by their vehemence and the elegance of their delivery” (“Beowulf the Orator” 17) and “downing Unferth is the same kind of task as killing Grendel” (ibid.). On the flyting, consult Lönnroth, De Dubbla Scenen 53–80; Harris, “The Senna.”

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In an impressively perceptive paper Carol Clover once alleged that the Hunferð episode impersonated the Norse mannjafnaðr or “mancomparison,” a quarrel over the heroic qualities of two combatants.181 The flytings could be described as ritualized abuse. While scathingly contemptuous, the flyting still incorporates a sophisticated sarcasm that generates deep humiliation, an objective it shares with the OIcel níð. I will suggest, however, that the flyting more subtly exploits moral ambivalences to generate shame, and reveal how flyting discourse misrepresents truth. The flyting form has multiple variations, but many follow a broad pattern in which one participant accuses the other of “dishonor,” figured as cowardice, malingering, or infamy, versus honor, identified as action (fighting and winning, in other words). Clover maintains that “boasts have to do with manly virtues: defeat of mighty adversaries, participation in military campaigns, victory in contests of strength, and rape.”182 She reiterates this very same symptom only a few pages later: “Travel and adventure are otherwise unanimously favored over domestic pastimes.”183 And she noted the identical emphasis in an earlier article on “Hárbarðsljóð”: “. . . the general bias . . . consistently and unambiguously favors martial heroism over all other activities.”184 It could be said that the flyting typically justifies violence. Even from a native perspective, then, the flyting “winner” is often the dogmatic troublemaker, the Odinic warrior capable of the greatest violence or most reckless deeds. Within the prevailing opposition of action-versus-passivity exemplified here, Clover summarizes the flyting contestant’s rhetorical skill and delineates three categories of insult: Inferior contestants (Þórr, Byggvir, Grep, and Sinfjötli) tend to be random and excessive in their remarks, while the first-rate performances of Ófeigr, Hárbarðr, Ericus Disertus, and Skarpheðinn are carefully proportioned, use classical rhetorical techniques, and build on a few standard oppositions: action vs. talk, hard life vs. soft life, adventurer vs. stay-at-home.185

181 Clover, “Unferþ Episode” 463; she sides with Lönnroth against Harris, who classified the episode as a senna. In 1978 Geoffrey R. Russom proposed that the flyting between Hunferð and Beowulf was a device the poet used to highlight Beowulf ’s abilities (“Germanic Concept,” 11–13). 182 Clover, “Unferþ Episode” 453. 183 Ibid. 456. 184 Clover, “Hárbarðsljóð” 129. 185 Clover, “Hunferþ Episode” 454.

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Within these distinctions, “action vs. talk, hard life vs. soft life, adventurer vs. stay-at-home,” specific accusations can include “acts of cowardice (deserting a battle), heroic failure (losing a battle), trivial or irresponsible behavior (pointless escapades, domestic indulgences, sexual dalliance), failings of honor (unwillingness or inability to extract due vengeance, hostile relations with kinsmen).”186 The flyting combatants commonly denigrate each other’s position: the “adventurer” accuses the shiftless “layabout” of being a jeering coward. By contrast the “hall-dragger” puffs up his own deeds, and attacks his opponent’s self-proclaimed prowess. A passage from Örvar-Odds Saga perfectly documents this most basic opposition between passivity (i.e. “hall-dragging”) and action. Oddr interprets King Sigurðr’s rule as malingering and craven: Sigurðr, vart eigi, er á Sælundi felldak bræðr böðharða, Brand ok Agnar, Ásmund, Ingjald, Álfr var inn fimmti; en þú heimi látt í höll konungs, skrökmálasamr, skauð hernumin.

“Sigurðr, you weren’t there on Zealand when I felled the battle-hard brothers Brandr and Agnarr, Ásmundr and Ingjaldr, and Álfr was the fifth; you were lying at home in the king’s hall, full of tall stories, a captive gelding.”187

In many examples of the flyting such as this one, “honor” conceived as campaigning vanquishes “cowardice” construed as shiftlessness, even when action is reckless or unjustified, or when “cowardice” (so named) should be espoused as a social good, the kind of “cautious” or conscientious behavior that might arguably derive from wisdom. One could conclude that accusations of shiftlessness come from murderous adventurers, who enact strife, re-open settled feuds, and trade peace for glory. Underappreciated in Clover’s study is the type of combatant engaged in such flytings. He is often belligerent, malicious, and doctrinaire. As treated in “Lokasenna” the rebellious Loki clearly has the last laugh, even though Þórr chases him out of the hall where he has managed to insult nearly every god and goddess. His vituperations certainly lack delicacy: Ibid. 453. This is Clover’s translation, but the term skauð (as she explains, p. 457 note 39) is far more ribald than “gelding” suggests. 186 187

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‘Þegi þú, Njörðr! þú vart austr heðan gíls um sendr at goðom; Hymis meyiar höfðo þic at hlandtrogi oc þér í munn migo.’188 Hush now, Njörðr! You were sent by the gods as a hostage east of this place. Hymir’s maidens used you like a urinal, and pissed in your mouth.

By no means could Loki’s insults be justified by his own moral conviction (Njöðr, in fact, fathered the beloved god Freyr in captivity), but he is the clear victor in the verbal debate. So, too, is Óðinn, the flyting champion in “Hárbarðsljóð,” but his verbal duel with Þórr compares escapades of ever-escalating rapacity, alleviated by touches of toilet humor: ‘Þórr á afl œrit, enn ecci hiarta; af hrœzlo oc hugbleyði þér var í hanzca troðit, oc þóttisca þú þá Þórr vera; hvárki þú þá þorðir fyr hrœzlo þinni hniósa né físa, svá at Fialarr heyrði.’189 Thor is powerful but not brave: out of terror and fear you squeezed yourself into a glove, and none would have thought you were Thor then. Because of your terror you did not dare sneeze or fart lest Fjalar hear you.

Hárbarðr (Óðinn) takes pride in his own assaults, seductions, and verbal abuse! This is no contest between gentlemen but a way of establishing superior ferocity between competitors. Having laid out the taxonomy of flytings, Clover professed that “they argue interpretations, not facts”:190 Far from being ‘unfounded taunts,’ flyting charges are, at least in the hands of the chief practitioners, deadly accurate: the art of the boast lies in creating, within the limitations of the facts, the best possible version of the event; and the art of the insult lies in creating, within the limitations of the facts, the worst possible version of the event.191

Clover’s multiple examples convey her sense of these competing “versions.” One “stay-at-home” who actually wins a contest with an “adventurer” is the patently Christian King Eysteinn in Magnússona

188 189 190 191

Neckel and Kuhn 103 (str. 34). Ibid. 82 (str. 26). Clover, “Unferþ Episode” 458. Ibid. 459.

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Saga from Heimskringla.192 King Sigurðr denounces his brother King Eysteinn as a “hall-dragger”: “Þat hefir verit mál manna, at ferð sú, er ek fór ór landi, væri heldr höfðinglig, en þú sazt heima meðan sem dóttir föður þíns” (“It is commonly thought that my expedition abroad was rather princely, while you in the meantime sat at home like your father’s daughter”).193 Sigurðr harps on his valor again, Clover clarifies, when he boasts about his travels and conquests in the Holy Land.194 Yet Sigurðr’s brother Eysteinn has a crushing reply: he stayed home to govern the nation while his brother globe-trotted: “[I] built hospices, churches, roads, harbors, towers, beacons, a royal hall, founded a monastery and annexed Jämtland.”195 Clover deduces, “Eysteinn challenges not the substance of Sigurðr’s boast . . . but its significance or practical value. It is not, in other words, a question of factual true and false but of moral plus and minus.”196 She goes on to observe how the flyting in general establishes “moral character”: “If the flyting refers to actual events or behavior, it constitutes a major and serious plot event in which the moral character of the participants is at stake.”197 While shrewd, Clover’s argument about “fact” and “interpretation” (voiced in terms like “significance or practical value”) dislocates key ambivalences in the flyting genre. The “moral plus and minus” that Clover observes in the flyting, I sense, reflects her view of the ethical valence of each participant’s behavior. Is it morally superior to campaign or build churches? For Clover, each flyting competitor tries to show that his opponent’s factually true event is somehow immoral, weak, or pointless. This is the “interpretation” that Clover claims for the flyting, and she furnishes an example from Magnússona Saga which “epitomizes both the method and the rhetoric.”198 King Eysteinn claims to have more knowledge of the law, but his brother Sigurðr says that he only knows more legal tricks and that his smooth but empty words only flatter those around him.199 A problem with Clover’s perspective is her insistence that the opponents concede that the “facts” are true, when, on the contrary, 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199

Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid.

455–7. 456. 459. 457. 458. 458–9.

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the facts are actually distorted to create the flyting accusations. The foregoing claim and counterclaim exemplify the method. The brothers debate the “fact” of Eysteinn’s knowledge of the law. For Clover, Sigurðr acknowledges his brother’s expertise but alleges that Eysteinn uses it maliciously. In just this way Clover imagines that “the art of the insult lies in creating, within the limitations of the facts, the worst possible version of the event.”200 Yet this view cannot be true, at least in these terms. In this case Sigurðr actually challenges “fact” when he argues against Eysteinn’s legal proficiency. Far from conceding the “fact” of Eysteinn’s competence, he argues a different kind of “interpretation,” that Eysteinn’s self-proclaimed skill is mere trickery, idle words and false promises made to sycophants. This aspect of the flyting—that the “facts” are distorted to suit the claims—can actually be proved from other flytings that Clover analyzes, even when the flyting combatant does not typically refute the alleged slander. Clover classified Skarpheðinn’s flyting from Njáls Saga as “a first-rate performance” of the “adventurer vs. stay-at-home” type. The Njálssons seek allies to defend a charge for the killing of Höskuldr Hvítanessgoði, whose unjustified murder ends up causing cataclysmic violence. At the Alþing Skarpheðinn travels from booth to booth and seeks support from various chieftains for his unpopular case. Each potential ally observes Skarpheðinn’s obvious doom, his monstrosity and his ugly face, as Skafti Thorodsson: “Hverr er sá maðr . . . er fjórir menn ganga fyrri, mikill maðr ok fölleitr ok ógæfusamligr, harðligr ok trøllsligr?”201 Few could doubt that Skarpheðinn has become more troll than human, a victim of his own unnatural truculence and cold tenacity.202 When turned down in his demands for assistance, Skarpheðinn slanders his prospective allies in the Norse equivalent of a flyting. He accuses Skafti Þorodsson of cowardice for escaping his enemies by hiding in flour-sacks, among other dodges. Of this moment Clover writes, “Skarpheðinn’s charges at the Alþing are not denied; they are acknowledged, one after

Ibid. 459. Sveinsson, Brennu-Njáls Saga 298: “Who is that man, the fifth one in the line, huge, pale-looking, luckless, cruel, and troll-like?” 202 The malicious grin that Skarpheðinn sports is a feature of trolls and giants—the literary ancestry of Beowulf, Grettir, and Starkaðr; cf. Low 102: “. . . in OI glott [trans. “grin”] there is none of the warmth of shared amusement; the tone is one of contempt for fools not suffered”; 106: “His grin is a blatantly brazen, inappropriate facial expression for a man who is soliciting support for a bad murder”; ibid.: “consummate defiance.” 200

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the other, tacitly or directly, by the men in question.”203 In fact, an examination of Skarpheðinn’s charges shows how the flyting actually exploits ambiguities of “fact” disguised as “truth.” The circumstances backing the insult directed at Skapti cannot be confirmed in extant sources, but they can be in one other gibe. Skarpheðinn alleges Snorri Þórgrimsson’s moral and physical weakness in failing to avenge his father—presumably a “failing of honor” in Clover’s scheme. Snorri’s answer acknowledges the “fact,” but he asserts without any shame that taunts cannot move him: “Margir hafa þat mælt áðr . . . ok mun ek ekki við slíku reiðask.”204 Skarpheðinn’s charge reveals his own disgraceful intemperance, for Gíslis Saga documents that Snorri’s maternal uncle killed Snorri’s father.205 Snorri’s revenge would be highly objectionable, since he would have to murder a man whose relationship to him was, in Germanic societies, as close as that of father. The imprecision of fact yields the opposing positions that define the flyting. While it is a “true fact” that Snorri has not avenged his father, what goes unstated is that such vengeance would be obscene and therefore impossible. The flyting generally hinges on such equivocal “facts” that contravene expectations for action. This delicate equivocacy misled Clover into thinking that accusations had to be “true,” when they really amplify half-truths, the difference between having legal skill or exploiting a technicality. The importance of the half-truth lies in its capacity to be factually “true” (as Clover detects) but contextually false and therefore deficient as evidence of moral debility, in Snorri’s case. How could one doubt this scepticism for the Anglo-Saxons, who held that “soð bið swicolost” or “truth is most deceptive”?206 The “interpretation” imputed to the flyting does not therefore derive from the absolute morality of an opponent’s deeds but from the humiliating indecency one contrives in exploiting their moral ambiguity. This position will become clear when I turn to the Hunferð digression. Skarpheðinn’s flyting at the Alþing reveals yet even more about the flyting combatants in the context of action versus passivity. Although “Unferþ Episode” 458. Sveinsson, Brennu-Njáls Saga 300: “Men have said that before, and I am not angered by such things.” 205 Benedikt Sveinsson, Saga Gísla Súrssonar 34–6 (chapter 16); in fact, Þorgrímr had murdered Vésteinn in an act called “launvíg” or “secret manslaughter,” which complicates Snorri’s vengeance. What is more, Snorri was born after his father’s death: the only father he knew was Börkr. 206 See Robinson, “Old English Wisdom Verse.” From the context Robinson conceives of this maxim as demonstrating the corruption of lucre. 203

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maligned, Snorri and men like him are universally esteemed for their tact and diplomacy, as Theodore M. Andersson has elucidated in a study of honor in the family sagas: . . . the most illustrious and successful diplomat in the sagas is Snorri goði . . . Snorri is no gallant viking nor a memorable hero but a skilled tactician . . . His greatness rests on keen judgment and a willingness to compromise, not on a jealous disputing of honor . . . I fail to find any evidence that the Odyssean Snorri was less highly regarded than his more Achillean compatriots, rather the contrary . . . I believe that anyone wishing to prove that the mild-mannered man is more highly esteemed in the sagas than the ójafnaðarmaðr [?arrogant man] would have little difficulty.207

In this episode of Njáls Saga one could not say that the “just cause” belongs to the flyting winner, an imprudent troll who urges men to violence even in the most compromising circumstances. The chieftains detect Skarpheðinn’s luckless imprudence, and Njáll himself only supports his sons because it would dishonor him not to. Yet in Clover’s scheme, Skarpheðinn’s “wins” the debate by “silencing” his opponent. Victory in this flyting, I would argue, does not prove virtue. It does prove “a jealous disputing of honor,” in Andersson’s terms. Moreover, Skarpheðinn’s aim to uphold a contemptible murder shows just how dishonorable the flyting champion can be, and in Njála this sort of reckless “courage” opposes Njáll’s own sagacity. Njáll frequently counsels restraint and negotiation, and while maligned for being epicene, the sagaman admires his discretion and condemns Skarpheðinn’s “heroic” temerity. Even though Njáls Saga is late in the literary tradition relative to Beowulf, and culturally distant, it highlights a dominant Germanic opposition between passivity and action. The moral valence of this opposition complicates Beowulf ’s response to Hunferð. While motivated by jealousy, Hunferð yet suggests with authority that the Breca incident proves Beowulf ’s recklessness in fighting Grendel. Beowulf, however, answers that the incident validated his swordsmanship. By Anglo-Saxon standards of warrior virtue—wisdom and war—which of them offers a “moral” position? Clover points to Skarpheðinn’s flyting when she highlights “the opposition between Beowulf the adventurer (sword-wielder, warrior) and Unferþ the hall-dragger, coward, and þyle.”208 Yet I have alleged that Hunferð is neither a “hall-dragger” nor a coward but a man who

207 208

“Displacement” 581–2. Clover, “Unferþ Episode” 463.

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has realistically assessed his chances against Grendel, like many other Danes. The poet himself mentions that the Danes “trusted” (“treowde,” 1166b) Hunferð’s “fighting spirit” (“ferhþe,” ibid.) and judged that he had “great courage” (“mod micel,” 1167a). Furthermore, because the poet confirms that swords cannot harm Grendel, Beowulf ’s insinuation of Danish cowardice seems insensitive. What good can anyone do against this foe? While Beowulf has been said to “win” this debate,209 it has not been thought that winning could imply intemperance, as in the case of Skarpheðinn. Hunferð expresses annoyance at Beowulf ’s presumption, and the Breca episode perfectly articulates his criticism: the Breca duel was frivolous, a “sorhfullne sið” made “for wlence.” Is the duel with Grendel any different? Having made this point, I want to re-open the way Hunferð’s challenge should be interpreted as a flyting, which, according to Ward Parks, “centers on the courage and capacities essential to the fulfillment of such commitments” as boasts or vows.210 Nearly two decades ago Roberta Frank adopted Clover’s approach to the flyting and suggested that Hunferð denigrated Beowulf ’s match with Breca by exploiting an ambiguity in the meaning of OE sund, either “swimming” or “sea” (>MnE “sound”), meanings derivative of its originary sense “natation.” With characteristic ingenuity, Frank proposes, “the quarrelsome thyle would have been delighted at the controversy he initiated, especially if he had deliberately created a ‘gap’ of indeterminacy by employing ‘sund’ in both its poetic and prose senses simultaneously, keeping a handle on the truth while insinuating something quite different.”211 In other words, Hunferð appears to mean “swimming” when he remarks that Beowulf “ymb sund flite” (“contended around the sea,” 507b).212 Supplemental to this ambiguity is Frank’s charge that Hunferð depicts rowing as swimming. When Hunferð says that Beowulf and Breca “thatched the sea-streams with their arms, measured the ocean-streets, pulled with limbs, glided over the main,” he hopes to ridicule their “adolescent exertion at the oars in terms suitable to poodles paddling furiously in

Greenfield, Interpretation of Old English Poems 130–1; Polanyi; Silber, “Rhetorical Powers”; Bjork, “Speech as Gift.” 210 Verbal Dueling 47. 211 “Sea Changes” 160. 212 Frank’s translation, ibid.; yet Fulk’s implicit reading “competed at natation” makes better sense (“Semantic Space” 465–6). 209

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a pond.”213 Antecedent to the accusation stated above, Hunferð admits, “git on sund reon” (“you two rowed on the sea”), where OE sund is not likely to mean “swimming,” since OE reon “never has the sense ‘to swim’ outside of Beowulf.”214 In fact, OE reon can only mean “swim” in Beowulf if we accept the premeditated ambiguity that Frank senses in the passage. What is more, Beowulf himself admits that he “rowed” in the ocean (“wit on sund reon,” 539b). In Frank’s terms, however, OE reon does mean “row” in the context of 512b, and she goes on to remark, “the progression in Unferth’s speech from rowing to covering with arms, spanning, flinging hands, and gliding is a movement from specificity to ambiguity, from the real to the disguised.”215 In other words, what starts out as rowing sounds much like swimming by the end. While “rowing” might strike anyone as obvious in the context, the ambiguity of OE sund as “swimming” or “sea” has only recently been resolved. R. D. Fulk has argued that “sund” means “natation,” and could apply as much to swimming as to rowing.216 This research has important ramifications for the Hunferð episode because it resolves a tension of the flyting. Influenced by Clover’s formulation of the flyting, Frank was led to imagine that Hunferð’s ridicule would have to discredit the Breca feat itself as somehow morally deficient. Hence, Frank thought Hunferð depicted Beowulf as a “poodle,” the “interpretation” of his drama as mere dog-paddling and therefore spurious proof of success against Grendel. In other words, Beowulf at least engaged in a feat against Breca, but it fails to impress. Yet Ward Parks unwittingly contested this approach in his remark that “Beowulf and Unferth recall their differing versions of the swimming adventure because they think it reflects on Beowulf ’s likelihood of success against Grendel.”217 For Parks, Beowulf and Hunferð dispute the facts: “The Beowulf-Unferth exchange,” he says, “devotes much of its bulk to the rival versions of a particular episode in Beowulf ’s career . . . on which each flyter imposes

“Sea Changes” 161. The text in Klaeber’s Beowulf reads: Þær git eagorstream earmum þehton, mæton merestræta, mundum brugdon, glidon ofer garsecg. (513a–15a) 214 Frank, “Sea Changes” 160; Nelles 301. 215 “Sea Changes” 161. 216 “Semantic Space.” 217 Verbal Dueling 49 (my emph.). 213

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his own interpretative bias.”218 In a footnote to this quotation Parks elaborates: “Specifically, Unferth wishes to characterize the adventure as a contest, whereas Beowulf does not.”219 By this reading, Hunferð accuses Beowulf of losing a match, but Beowulf denies that there was any match to be lost. Parks’ resolution to the Breca incident may be idiosyncratic, but it correctly re-orients the flyting debate to a clarification of half-truths, and away from an “interpretation” of “facts.” This way of reading the Hunferð digression dominated until Clover’s paper was published. According to the argument I made above, the flyting distorts the truth, its moral equivocation lying in a coy misdirection. In fact, Hunferð exploits two ambiguities, both of which Beowulf immediately refutes. In the first, he makes Beowulf appear reckless, a charge answered when Beowulf confesses that he was immature, still acting from youthful insouciance when he defied Breca (537a). Some in the Danish audience might not have gathered this detail from Hunferð’s accusation. A second ambiguity in the Hunferð digression pertains to the contest itself, the essence of Hunferð’s accusation, “Beot eal wið þe//sunu Beanstanes/soðe gelæste” (“Beanstan’s son truly fulfilled his entire boast against you,” 523b–4b). Breca lasted seven nights on the waves (517a) and won the competition. What goes unregistered in Hunferð’s accusation is the fierce storm that drove Breca and Beowulf apart on the fifth day. Beowulf admits that he “lost” the contest because of this storm and its effects in stirring up water monsters—not because of any failure of strength or will. These extenuating conditions answer my definition of the flyting as an exploitation of a circumstantial ambiguity.220 Yes, Beowulf lost to Breca, but why he lost necessitated the defenses he just supplied. Important to this debate is the lack of resolution in the charges. Although claiming to have battled water-monsters, Beowulf is still publicly untested against a human adversary, and his assertion that he was “spirited” in his youth hardly dispels Hunferð’s charge of recklessness in the Grendel confrontation. In concession to the poet’s 218 Ibid. 107. My reading of Parks’ implicit position actually derives from arguments made in his book. His wording (“rival versions of a particular episode . . . interpretative bias”) discloses his misunderstanding of Clover’s argument regarding “interpretation.” For this reading, see Harris, “Senna” 68: “disingenuous characterization . . . Beowulf denies it with a correct version of the story.” 219 Verbal Dueling 205 note 20. 220 On this straightforward reading, see Kuhn, “Life of Beowulf ” 109; John M. Hill, “Hrothgar’s Noble Rule” 172–3.

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liminal heroism, accusations of overconfidence have been made, but none unconditionally discounted. The opposition between Beowulf and Hunferð reflects that between two parties in a “stay-at-home vs. adventurer” flyting. Given the exaggeration that characterizes such exchanges, why should Beowulf ’s accusation that Hunferð slew his brothers be any more valid than Hunferð’s accusation of Beowulf ’s loss to Breca? Calling attention to the fratricide theme in Beowulf, critics appear certain that Hunferð killed his own brothers, as Beowulf accuses: “ðu þinum broðrum/to banan wurde” (“you were murderer to your brothers,” 587a–b).221 The poet’s confirmation of Hunferð’s “jealousy” makes the hypothesis even more attractive, as I have stated. Yet Beowulf ’s accusation sounds much like the insult Skarpheðinn leveled at Snorri. While the circumstances alluded to in this insult are never confirmed, the narrator remarks vaguely, “he [Hunferð] his magum nære//arfæst æt ecga gelacum” (“he was not dutiful/honorable to his kinsmen in battle,” 1167b–68a). These terms convey why Beowulf used the expression “to banan wurde,” with OE to “marking the position occupied, the purpose fulfilled by an object, to, as, for.”222 In this sense, OE to is often translated as expressing certitude: “you were your brothers’ slayer.” But the simile could be expressed, in this case at least, as circumstantial: “you acted like a slayer to your brothers.” Beowulf ’s accusation of cowardice would therefore reflect a distortion of the “facts”—a reading, however, that Clover discounts in concession to her premise that “flyting charges are . . . deadly accurate”:223 Recourse to the Norse context brings into sharper relief Beowulf ’s charge of fratricide, long the subject of scholarly questions. Kinship crimes, we have shown, form a major theme in the genre, and it is a rare flyting that does not exhibit at least one such accusation. It may furthermore be concluded by extrapolation from documentable examples that such insults tend as a group to be true—true at least with respect to received tradition. The duplicate charge in [“Helgaqviða Hundingsbana I”] (“[ Þú hefir] þínum brœðr/at bana orðit”) is verified elsewhere. The Norse sources thus appear to substantiate Unferþ’s fratricide, and there is no reason not to take the Beowulf poet at face value when he later says that Unferþ was not ‘honorable to his kinsmen at sword play . . .’224

221 222 223 224

On this possibility, see Morey 39–42. Bosworth and Toller, OED, s.v. tó sense I.5 (f ) (991). Clover, “Unferþ Episode” 459. Ibid. 463.

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This claim is misleading. Guðmundr’s remark, “þú hefir . . . brœðr þínom/ at bana orðit”225 accuses Sinfjötli of murdering his (Sinfjötli’s) “brothers.” In fact, Sinfjötli killed his half-brothers, who are also his nephews (via the incestuous relationship with Signy), and sons of his mortal enemy, Siggeir. In Völsunga Saga Signý brings the boys to Sinfjötli, and commands their deaths in vengeance for the treacherous capture, torture, and murder of Sinfjötli’s other half-brothers, Sigmund’s sons, at Siggeir’s hands. By these terms, Guðmundr’s accusation obviously capitalizes on a notable ambiguity in the Volsung revenge. But while Sinfjötli’s killings are indeed “true facts,” they are ameliorated, if not sanctioned, in the context of the most celebrated retaliation in Germanic legend. In just this way Beowulf ’s own accusation against Hunferð might be distorted. Others have been tempted to think so, too, but most critics, like Clover, have been beguiled by granting Beowulf ’s virtue as the “winner” of the debate. If Beowulf were the “hero,” as they imagine, how could he trounce his opponent with half-truths? Yet the Beowulf poet excuses Hunferð by praising his fighting spirit and by referring to his “murders” in such conscientious terms. Appreciating the poet’s ostensible tact, W. W. Lawrence and J. D. A. Ogilvy reasoned that Hunferð “killed” his brothers by failing to help them in a crisis.226 This strikes me as the obvious solution but not the only one. Even if Hunferð had killed his brothers, kinslaying might “[serve] the purposes of the commonwealth,” as Nagy proposes,227 or, as Chambers advocates, might reflect the “tragic complexities of heroic life.”228 Or had Hunferð’s brothers simply undertaken a campaign that he wanted no part in? Certainly the best parallel to this alleged “murder” comes from Beowulf itself, where Hæðcyn accidentally “murdered” his brother Herebeald.229 By no means am I trying to pardon Hunferð’s jibe, which I understand to reflect both jealousy and wisdom. I simply contend that Beowulf ’s “victory” in the flyting does not prove Hunferð morally bankrupt. Nor does it prove Beowulf morally virtuous, and it may even signify just the opposite. While Hunferð’s charge of Beowulf ’s failure in the Breca 225 Neckel and Kuhn 135 (str. 36); this Norse expression parallels Beowulf ’s formulation. 226 Lawrence, “Breca Episode”; Ogilvy 370–5. This reading contextualizes Beowulf ’s quip, “wine min Hunferð,” which criticizes a man who has failed friends and kinsmen. 227 Nagy 25. 228 Beowulf 28. 229 Discussed below, pp. 259–60.

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episode appears discredited,230 the implicit accusation of recklessness goes unresolved. Having perfected the “art of the insult,” Beowulf now belongs to the rank of men like Skarpheðinn, Ófeigr, and the god Óðinn, who value “action” at all costs. Potential Recklessness and the Apprehension of the Warband Hunferð’s accusation against Beowulf has seemed “mean-spirited” to many, but it highlights a common anxiety of the warband. Very recently, Michael J. Enright has challenged views of a negative Hunferð by alleging that the þyle holds an important warband position as the king’s official spokesman.231 Enright’s best parallels emerge from Irish sources, and it is uncanny to observe how similar such military offices can be in heroic societies. One of Enright’s significant contributions has been to formulate a “realistic” picture of warband behavior, so much of which has been idealized out of existence. Following his lament that “the warband context is still much neglected,” he naturally opines, Scholars rarely question the practical organizational requirements of such a group in ‘gritty reality,’ and a good deal of Beowulf scholarship thus seems to lack bite: it discusses the characters in the poem without analyzing their roles in the harsh, security-conscious, predatory military organization to which they belong.232

In this aspect of his work, Enright follows the lead of John M. Hill, whose books The Cultural World in Beowulf and The Anglo-Saxon Warrior Ethic offer a detailed psychological portrait of comitatus membership. The “gritty reality” that Enright speaks of in this context refers to his own view of Hunferð as Hroðgar’s adjutant, responsible for baiting guests into publicizing their intentions. The argument depends significantly on the kind of military hierarchy one wants to theorize for the poem. Scholarship in much of the last century backs Enright’s view of a “vertical” relationship between king and retainers. The king, that is, dictates to his retinue, which owes allegiance in exchange for status and material wealth. This hierarchical relationship could resemble the

230 231 232

Nagy 23. “Warband Context” 310. Ibid. 299.

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modern military establishment that Enright evokes when he speaks of “sergeant,” “sergeant-at-arms,” and “morale officer.”233 If this hierarchy were as rigid as that of the modern military, Hunferð could only act as Hroðgar’s spokesman when he tests Beowulf ’s resolve with his challenge. Correspondingly, Hunferð would have a legitimate obligation for later making amends with Beowulf by loaning him a famous sword. Most problematic, however, is the poet’s statement that Hunferð gave up his honor by loaning the sword Hrunting: “þær he dome forleas// ellenmærðum” (“he lost glory, reputation for courage, 1470b–71a). One cannot imagine Hroðgar condoning this humiliation. Another view of Hunferð’s behavior is possible, if we surmise that within the military hierarchy of Beowulf some latitude was granted to senior members of the comitatus. The case has been made quite cogently by Stephen S. Evans, who calls attention to the advice Hroðgar receives from counselors in lines 171–4, to Wulfgar’s laconic demand that Beowulf be heard, and to Beowulf ’s presentation of his pledge to confront Grendel (“ræd,” 278b).234 My argument need not imply that an “independent” Hunferð capable of confronting Beowulf on his own jeopardizes Hroðgar’s authority, nor does it suggest the warband had a “horizontal” relationship with the king. A “horizontal” relationship would mean that the king and retinue are co-dependent, issuing joint decisions and policies. Such a social institution sounds much less like a modern military organization. It goes too far to allege that a “horizontal” relationship best fits the context of Beowulf, but a sympathetic conception of “co-dependence” could explain why Hunferð challenges Beowulf. Admittedly jealous, Hunferð speaks for the warband as a conscientious officer (þyle), although confronting Beowulf is not an “official” act. Hunferð’s criticism is personal, defensive, and no doubt shared.235 Having lost so many lives already, the comitatus has an arrangement with Grendel that nevertheless humiliates Hroðgar. In other words, warband security is assured in the current détente with Grendel. The king could hardly order more men to their deaths, but he condones Beowulf ’s intervention because he sees that Beowulf might be capable of killing Grendel. That is why he is said to express joy when Beowulf trounces Hunferð, even though, as I have said, there may be some unease over Beowulf ’s vehemence. 233 234 235

Ibid. 304, 310. Lords of Battle 66–7; Bazelmans 4. Hill, Narrative Pulse 34.

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In some sense, then, Hunferð speaks to Hroðgar over Beowulf ’s head when he invokes the Breca affair. Hunferð expresses a majority opinion—not the view of cowards or rogues but of Hroðgar’s fighting men—that engaging Grendel is foolhardy. One has to understand an important emphasis in Beowulf, that a king must learn to accommodate his warband. The word “accommodation” simply means that kings have to ascertain how much valor their men are capable of—or could legitimately be expected to perform. The antitype is represented by Heremod, a king who (as described above) destroyed his own retinue and compromised the Danish kingdom. It is an egregious fault of men like Heremod that they will not, or cannot, recognize the limits of the warband after being crowned. As Saxo says of Lotherus, “he was as intolerant a king as he was a soldier.” Hunferð speaks for the subaltern when he chastizes Beowulf. He suggests that Beowulf overemphasizes his own accomplishments, embraces recklessness, and interferes in a situation that the Danish warband has resolved, however unhappily. Beowulf disrupts the compromise at Heorot, by which the Danes abandon the hall for Grendel’s use at night. He may endanger others for his own glory, even when he does not know the stakes. From Hunferð’s point of view, Beowulf ’s boast to kill Grendel without weapons sounds more like arrogance than confidence. When contextualized in the flyting tradition, we see Beowulf as a potential instigator, a breaker of truces, more an adventurer than a king—a man like Sigemund, in other words, wanting all glory for himself, or like Heremod who plagued his people. In this respect Beowulf ’s attack on Hunferð has an equivocal justification. In fact, the moral sanction for Beowulf ’s fight comes only from outside Beowulf ’s world: he prosecutes God’s feud. Nevertheless, Beowulf cannot be aware of this serendipitous moral alignment, and we are left merely with a coincidental validation of heroic action. In fact, Hroðgar himself steers Beowulf away from vanity by setting Ecgþeow’s “moral” and financial debt against Beowulf ’s self-promotion. When Beowulf says that he intends to cleanse Heorot, Hroðgar retorts that Beowulf is repaying a favor owed to Hroðgar for defending Ecgþeow years before. Many have grappled with this “inconsistency.” Is Hroðgar restating Beowulf ’s reason for sailing to Denmark in humbler terms, or does he reveal what Beowulf really thinks but cannot say openly during such traditional introductions? In fact, the king’s pretense creates a secular justification for Beowulf ’s attack on Grendel, reason enough to break the current détente.

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Although reconciled to his current circumstances, Hroðgar expresses, in my view, a whiff of annoyance that his warband could not handle Grendel’s threat. First, he mentions that his drunk “pledgers” very often boasted about meeting Grendel “with the terror of their swords”: Ful oft gebeotedon ofer ealowæge þæt hie in beorsele Grendles guþe

beore druncne oretmecgas bidan woldon mid gryrum ecga. (480a–3b)

Very often my pledgers, drunk on beer, would boast over the ale-cup that they would await Grendel’s assault in the beer-hall with the terror of their swords.

Such pointed remarks sound insensitive. Of course, Hroðgar may simply be warning Beowulf that beer will not make bold in this case, yet behind these words Hroðgar seems to be claiming that his own men often failed to fulfil boasts like Beowulf ’s.236 Elsewhere Hroðgar seems to belittle his men when rewarding Beowulf for killing Grendel: Ful oft ic for læssan lean teohhode, hordweorþunge hnahran rince, sæmran æt sæcce. (951a–3a) Very often have I bestowed a reward for less, hoard-honor to a lowlier warrior weaker in battle.

Hroðgar minimizes the effectiveness of his own retainers and suggests that he has over-rewarded them. In both of these quotations, not to mention Hroðgar’s expression of joy following the Hunferð incident, the old king appears to express disappointment with his men. Moreover, Hroðgar sets Beowulf up as heir in direct competition with his own kin. If Enright is correct to see a strong relationship between Germanic queens and royal retinues,237 Wealhþeow’s objection to Beowulf as Hroðgar’s heir indicates her position as spokeswoman for the retainers’ candidate, Hroþulf. She reverses Hroðgar’s decision to appoint Beowulf, in the opinion of many. Hroðgar’s support for Beowulf seems undercut by Æschere’s death, a perfect equivocation for the old Scylding’s exuberant advocacy. I have argued that Beowulf could be deemed responsible for Hondscioh’s death, but the loss of Æschere questions Hroðgar’s leadership in allow236 237

Magennis 161; Robinson, Appositive Style 67. Lady with a Mead Cup.

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ing Beowulf to pursue what might amount to personal glory. Æschere represents the warband as its figurehead—more so than Hunferð—and the savage decapitation of Hroðgar’s chief counselor raises the question of reparation. Was Grendel’s death an adequate trade for Æschere’s? Few could doubt that Hroðgar’s loss is significant, although many would disagree on its relevance in the poem. My own view is that Æschere’s death has to be viewed as the consequence of Hroðgar’s support for Beowulf ’s intervention, just as Hondscioh’s death results from Beowulf ’s resolution to fight Grendel. One should not instantly accept that Beowulf and Hroðgar were right to confront Grendel. Instead, the poet wishes to evaluate why or whether they were right by appraising the consequences of their deeds for the men who did not decide to fight Grendel, for whatever reason. The loss of Æschere proves that even a king’s concession can unwittingly imperil the warband. A distinctive polyvalence emerges from the foregoing discussion in which Beowulf may or may not express excessive, glory-seeking ambition, depending significantly on the subaltern evaluation of the Grendel fight. It cannot be doubted, I think, that Beowulf ’s potential excess is thought to contravene Germanic “wisdom” in the Hunferð episode. Yet Hunferð’s own jealousy may discredit his authority as a judge of Beowulf ’s motivation, even when Beowulf emerges victorious in a verbal contest that typically exalts action over passivity, no matter the risk. It seems to me that Beowulf and Hunferð are rival opponents—one endorsing a fight, the other a truce—and that the poet intends to balance these competing impulses in evaluating how self-knowledge and intent separate courage from recklessness. God favors Beowulf against Grendel, and his victory confirms a greatness that Hunferð refuses to welcome. But Beowulf ’s ambition still gainsays his promise. The Sigemund/Heremod digression investigates the fate of wreccan, suggesting that Beowulf might become as famous as Sigemund, one wrecca who acted properly. Sigemund may be reckless, and of indefinite virtue, but at least he endangers no one else in the dragon fight. Casting its shadowing over Beowulf ’s future is Heremod’s war-mongering, the alternate destiny that awaits kings with Beowulf ’s potential. The strategy of comparison found in the digressions I have discussed is also found in the poem’s most elaborate episode, the subject of the next chapter. In my view, Beowulf is compared to the wrecca Hengest in the Finnsburh digression, which largely criticizes ambition as a dire fault of kings. In Finnsburh, however, Beowulf is subtly disparaged as a foreigner, too. The frank exploration of loyalty, group cohesion, and

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power which emerges in a scop’s performance exemplifies Beowulf ’s unfitness for ruling Danes. Hnæf ’s murder cries out for vengeance, but Hengest does not respond until forced to by his own party. His willingness to disregard even a sacred duty, the obligation of revenge that one’s retainers hold to be righteous, illuminates my allegation of Beowulf ’s potential moral ambivalence. Motivated by the highest regard for his stake in the joint rule of Frisia, Hengest would leave the Danes humiliated by their service to Hnæf ’s killer. Presumably based on his own observation, the narrator concludes that Beowulf might also direct his rule towards a private ambition and away from responsibility for the warband.

CHAPTER TWO

THE FOREIGN BEOWULF AND THE “FIGHT AT FINNSBURH” Antitheses in the digressions of Beowulf converge on a fundamental distinction between the warband and leader, and express an unresolved worry that a king’s ambition might compromise the nation’s security. In the Grendel fight Beowulf has shown himself to be potentially ambitious and callous, eager for glory, and scornful of the ordinary man’s abilities against an inhuman adversary. Risking his men in what looks to the Danes like certain defeat, he dismisses their own experience of Grendel and ultimately says nothing of Hondscioh’s death. As I have proposed, Hunferð sees in Beowulf a threat to the warband: Beowulf ’s allegiance to his men extends only as far as it intersects with his ambition. I suggest that the Beowulf poet broadens this perspective in the Finnsburh digression, where Hengest’s righteous loyalty to a Danish tribe is tested. Now that Beowulf is exalted by Hroðgar’s adoption—he becomes a surrogate “son”—there is a risk that the foreign Beowulf could compromise the dignity of the Danish people. The Finnsburh poet exposes the failure of Hengest, another wrecca implicitly like Beowulf, to honor the sacred duty owed to his own retinue. To exemplify the Danish position, the Finnsburh digression spotlights the foreign Hengest, a Jute or Angle I argue, who has come to command a group of Danes, probably a marauding company joining up with King Finn in Frisia. Details of the episode in Beowulf are notoriously baffling mostly because the story is conveyed so telegraphically. In the following pages I spend considerable time explaining what I take to be a very simple tale of reluctant revenge. The specifics will matter a great deal because the tale answers charges of recklessness and indifference made against Beowulf prior to the Grendel fight. In the case of Finnsburh, however, the accusations will cut even deeper. The central figure Hengest is accused of an irresponsible dereliction, allowing the Danish leader Hnæf to lie without vengeance. Hnæf died because of Frisian treachery. In such a situation vengeance would not simply be imperative but righteous or “jural,” among the most sacred

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obligations for kin and retainers. In fact, the grief of the Danish noblewoman Hildeburg, a recurring figure in the episode, constantly reminds us of the conspicuous duty for vengeance. The Danes demand blood, but Hengest cannot bring himself to suborn even a righteous act because he has retailed his loyalty to the Frisian king Finn. Only when his Danish cohort threatens mutiny does Hengest finally concede the warband’s charge, and even then the planned revenge must accommodate Hengest’s sacred oath of allegiance to Finn. Finnsburh belongs in Beowulf at this place because it exemplifies yet again the conflict between a foreign leader (Hengest) and his retinue, a host of Danes. In this gidd, the essential contrast between Hengest-asBeowulf and a hypothetical warband rests on the designation of Hengest as a “wrecca” (1137b). This identification underscores the makeup of Hnæf ’s band, for the Fragment attests that the fighter Sigeferþ was likewise a “wrecca widely known” (“wreccea wide cuð,” 25a).1 The term has a fateful resonance for Beowulf ’s own unformed identity. Yet no longer does the poet’s attention rest on Beowulf ’s fight with monsters, under which circumstances a “retinue” could be said to have volunteered its support for their wrecca-leader. Not in the Finnsburh episode. As a foreign warlord, Hengest may have no duty to avenge the fallen Hnæf, although he ought to recognize the duty of Hnæf ’s Danes to do so. The warband suffers from Hengest’s delay in vengeance, if not from the very compromise that drove them into service to their lord’s killer. Hence, the Finn episode in Beowulf concerns Hengest’s compliance with an indisputably honorable duty that the warband should undertake in direct conflict with their leader’s sworn oath—and personal ambition. Hengest has become the Danish commander and Finn’s adjutant. With Hengest as his model, the Finnsburh poet has indicted Beowulf for his likely failure in promoting the unambiguous duty of his men. Infamy is averted only after the stalled vengeance is consummated, but the Finnsburh poet has made his point that foreign leaders like Beowulf can subordinate even the most righteous instincts to their ambition. The sacred obligations of one’s retainers, moreover, seem incidental to the foreign war-leader’s political objectives or alliances.

1 George Hickes’s printed text reads “wrecten,” probably in error for “wreccen” (Thesaurus 192–3). Sigeferþ and Hengest may plausibly have joined Hnæf either for national defense or for an “expedition,” to use the euphemism for piracy.

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Reading Finnsburh as an Analogy More or less covering lines 1071a–1159a (not counting the introductory verses),2 Finnsburh comprises the longest and most intensively studied episode in Beowulf. Its context may be summarized briefly. Beowulf has mortally wounded Grendel. War-leaders from surrounding territories follow Grendel’s tracks to the mere, now boiling with gore. On the way back a warrior sings of Sigemund and Heremod. Horse races are held, and Danes gawk at Grendel’s arm, which has been hung from a beam in Heorot. Hroðgar acknowledges Beowulf as an adoptive “son,” and a lavish celebration honors the hero, who secures five dynastic treasures not only in recognition of his valor and but also as confirmation of retainership and possibly of Hroðgar’s adoption.3 Immediately following the bestowal of these gifts, a poet recites Finnsburh “fore Healfdenes/hildewisan” (“before Healfdene’s warriors,” 1064a–b). The tale commemorates a Danish victory over Frisians, a triumph which all agree should compliment Danish resolve. In fact, just before the episode opens, the Scylding Hnæf is called a “hæleð Healfdena” (“hero of the Half-Danes,” 1069a), an epithet explicitly linking audience and characters.4

2 Few agree on where the digression begins: “. . . the Episode is generally printed within marks of quotation. Holthausen, Wyatt, Sedgefield begin this quotation with 1068 Finnes eaferum (or eaferan); Schücking with 1071 Nē hūru Hildeburg; the old Heyne-Socin text (1903) with 1069, Hæleð Healfdena, so also Trautmann, loc. cit., p. 30. Gering, Child, Tinker, and Clark Hall begin with 1068; Lesslie Hall with 1069” (Lawrence, “Tragedy of Finnsburg” 399–400). Alexander Green later elaborated: “Marks of quotation are placed before l. 1068, ‘Finnes . . . by Ettmüller, Grein, Wülcker, Bugge, Wyatt, Holder, Arnold, Holthausen, Sedgefield, and Chambers; before l. 1069, ‘Hæleð . . . by Heyne, Socin and Trautmann; before l. 1071, ‘Nē hūru Hildeburh . . . by Schücking and Holthausen; whilst Kemble, Thorpe, and Grundtvig—the latter assumes a considerable gap after Scyldinga—print no signs of division or of quotation. Among the translators, l. 1068 forms the commencement of the quotation in Ettmüller, Grein, Garnett, Clark Hall, Child, Tinker (based on Wyatt’s text), Wyatt-Morris, and Gering; l. 1069 in Lesslie Hall, Earle, and Trautmann, and 1. 1071 in Gering. As against all of these, Gummere has no marks of quotation, but a simple indentation in l. 1069 . . .” (“Opening” 777–8). Köberl brilliantly suggests that such “referential ambiguity” collapses distinctions between past and present (Indeterminacy 160). 3 Some (Klaeber included) have questioned whether Beowulf actually gets Healfdene’s sword, as he does Healfdene’s saddle. Klaeber emended MS brand Healfdenes “Healfdene’s sword” of 1020b to bearn Healfdenes “Healfdene’s son.” Opposed to this emendation are Kuhn, “Sword of Healfdene” and “Further Thoughts”; Mitchell, “Beowulf 1020b”; Watanabe, “Final Words.” This brand of Healfdene’s is almost certainly the weapon once owned by Heorogar and given to Hygelac (2155a). 4 Healfdene was a Danish king, Hroðgar’s father, whose name engendered the

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Even if the Anglo-Saxons did not all share details of the Finnsburh episode as narrated, the audience plausibly knew of some events rehearsed in the digression, since the story was popular. Its main figure Hengest arguably inaugurated the Anglo-Saxon migration.5 The earliest versions of Hengest’s deeds in sub-Roman Britain are chronicled in Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica and the Historia Brittonum of “Nennius.”6 Elsewhere Widsið records that “Finn son of Folcwalda ruled the Frisians,”7 and the events recounted in Beowulf formed the subject of an independent lay now designated “The Fight at Finnsburh.”8 In fact, neither telling conflicts with the other except in the names Ordlaf (fragment) and Oslaf (Beowulf ) and in one other detail (discussed below), although omissions in the digression and the fact that two men share the same name in the lay make the plot of both subject to ample disagreement. In the following précis the Finnsburh versions in Beowulf and the fragment have been reconciled to provide a schematic outline of events, not all of which will enjoy universal agreement:

dynastic term “Half-Danes”; see Tolkien, Finn and Hengest 37–45. Although Widsið 29a calls Hnæf a leader of “Hocings,” Klaeber has alleged that Hnæf and his party represent “a minor branch of the great Danish nation” (“Observations” 544). Hoc is father to Hildeburh in Beowulf 1076b, and since Hildeburh is deprived of a brother and son (1073a–4a), Hnæf must be her brother. 5 See Aurner 57–8: “In the earlier translations of [Beowulf and the “Finnsburh Fragment”] it was generally taken for granted that this Hengest was identical with the well-known figure in the chronicles. Grundtvig, the first to give a complete interpretation of these passages, assumed as a matter of course that the Hengest in the tale was the only Hengest referred to in heroic tradition . . . This understanding of Hengest’s identity was not only accepted but was definitely reaffirmed by Price and Kemble. Kemble, however, changed the translation of the important lines 1142–1144, making them tell of the death of Hengest . . . It was this translation apparently, that raised the first doubt of Hengest’s identity . . . But it was the compelling influence of Grein [Ebert’s Jahrbuch 1862] that caused general acceptance of the theory that the Hengest of the Finnsburg tragedy was a person entirely distinct from the one in Bede and the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.” See also Van Hamel; Turville-Petre; Joseph; de Vries; Hawkes. Nicholas Howe avers “the Hengest of Beowulf may be the Hengest who led the Anglo-Saxon Migration” (Migration and Mythmaking 145), although John D. Niles (“Locating Beowulf ” 98) is more direct: “To take this Hengest to be the Hengest of the Migration Myth seems only natural.” Richard North accepts the identification unconditionally in “Tribal Loyalties.” He repeats the same position in Heathen Gods 65–77. Here I must mention the judgment of Bruce Mitchell, that the “modern identification of . . . Hengest with the Hengest (of Hengest and Horsa)” rests on highly tenuous evidence (“1947–1987: Forty Years On” 338). 6 Colgrave and Mynors 50, 150; Dumville, Historia Brittonum §§20, 24–7. 7 Line 27: “Fin Folcwalding/Fresna cynne [weald] . . .” 8 Klaeber’s Beowulf 283–5.

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A Dane named Hnæf travels to Finnsburh—a stronghold of the Frisian king, Finn. Finn has married Hildeburh, Hnæf ’s sister, probably to reconcile a feud between Frisians and Danes. The Frisians apparently attack Hnæf ’s retinue at night, and the fragment concerns the Danish defense of Finn’s hall. Hnæf falls during the fight, and Hengest, possibly a Jute or Angle, becomes leader of the Danes. Finn’s unnamed son, who fought either with the Danish party as Hnæf ’s foster-son or with his father, is also killed. Given Hengest’s advantageous position and Finn’s losses, the conflict cannot be resolved. An uneasy truce is established: Finn’s party may not taunt Hengest’s over the indignity of following their lord’s killer, Finn shares his hall with Hengest and the Danish squad, and Finn swears binding oaths, accepting Hengest as bondsman and the Danes as co-equals with his own Frisian retinue. Gold is produced: Either Finn’s oaths are sworn on the god Ing’s sacred relics, or Finn pays wergild for the slaughtered men. Hildeburh laments the killing of brother and son, reciting a gidd at their funeral pyre. Finn’s retinue disperses for the winter. Hengest stays on. Apparently goaded by his own party and given a sword by one Hunlafing (“son of Hunlaf ”), Hengest engineers the dissolution of his vow, kills Finn and takes both Hildeburh and the Frisian treasury to Denmark.

The digression represents the narrator’s abridgment of the scop’s performance, a conjecture accounting for a number of missing details that might otherwise clarify the scenario.9 The Beowulf poet undoubtedly intended his audience to identify Finnsburh as a gidd and, correspondingly, to have it bear a prophetic meaning deducible from the narrative. Just prior to the performance the narrator admits that a gidd was often recited (“gid oft wrecen,” 1065b) at the gathering, when the poet “had to recite the hall-joy along the meadbench” (“healgamen . . ./æfter medobence/mænan scolde,” 1066a–7b). This is a common rendering.10 More creatively, R. D. Fulk has proposed that “Healgamen” is the name of Hroðgar’s scop.11 No matter one’s translation, however, the manuscript requires emendation in the next verse, “[be] Finnes eaferum” (“about the sons of Finn,” 1068a),

9 Some have wondered whether the digression in Beowulf represents an actual performance (synoptic or otherwise) or the poet-narrator’s summary of events as recited at that moment in Hroðgar’s hall; see R. A. Williams, Finn Episode 15–16. A. Campbell suggested that evidence of an underlying lay of Finn could be observed in the scop’s summary (“Epic Style” 13–26; see also Frank, “Germanic Legend” 101). 10 Malone, “Hildeburg and Hengest” 261: “had to lament the hall-play along the mead-bench.” 11 Fulk, “Cruces in the Finnsburg Fragment”; the emendation is adopted in Klaeber’s Beowulf.

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apparently in need of a preposition to govern “Finnes eaferum.”12 Because one commonly recites a gidd about (“be”) someone, this emendation—among the earliest ever proposed—is contextually satisfying. The scop “Healgamen” either laments “about” Finn’s kinsmen or else an anonymous poet recites “hall-joy” (“healgamen,” a poem) about them. Directly following the Finnsburh digression, the poet acknowledges the genre by concluding, “the poem, the singer’s gidd, was sung” (“leoð wæs asungen,/gleomannes gyd,” 1159b–60a). Finnsburh apparently represents the “gleomannes gyd” just referred to. While the Anglo-Saxons learn that Finnsburh is a gidd, a problem lies in determining whether the characters in the world of Beowulf recognize it as one. On the one hand, we may simply assume that the poet’s use of the word gidd implies as much. A “gid wrecen” could acknowledge the narrator’s omniscient reporting. On the other hand, Beowulf appears to realize that Finnsburh is a gidd, from which he draws a lesson when addressing Hygelac. After he returns to the Geats, Beowulf reports that gidd were recited in Heorot (“Þær wæs gidd ond gleo,” 2105a) specifically in celebration of Grendel’s end, and that more than once a gidd was uttered (“hwilum gyd awræc,” 2108b; cf. “gidd oft wrecen,” 1065b):13 Þær wæs gidd ond gleo; felafricgende hwilum hildedeor gomenwudu grette,

gomela Scilding, feorran rehte; hearpan wynne, hwilum gyd awræc

12 Klaeber, “Observations” 547–8. Alexander Green wrote extensively on this emendation, first proposed by Benjamin Thorpe as adopted in Kemble’s 1835 edition; cf. Kelly 244, 268. Green suggests that eaferum in 1068a is a “dative-instrumental of personal agency” (“Opening” 770) and translates, “By Finn’s battle-fighters . . . Hnæf of the Scyldings . . . was fated to fall” (ibid. 792). Mitchell calls the emendation “disputed” and voices doubts about the formulation; cf. Old English Syntax vol. 1, §§ 1371–8. Yet “[be] Finnes eaferum” creates anomalous meter, and an ambiguity whereby the poet may lament “about Finn’s men” (one frequently recites a gidd about (be) someone or something) or may lament that Hnæf was destined to die “by Finn’s men.” The problem that “eaferum” should means “sons” and not “men” is resolved in Klaeber’s Beowulf by the emendation to eaferan, which requires the subject “Healgamen.” 13 On such examples of “incremental repetition,” see Orchard, Critical Companion 58 note 10. Kemp Malone sees multiple performances leading up to the recitation of Finnsburh and attributes them to “amateurs or lesser artists” (“Hildeburg and Hengest” 260). Reichl does not clarify whether the narrator or the characters in this digression call it a gidd: “Although it is not clear whether giedd here refers to the Lay of Finnsburh, which follows, the end of that lay in Beowulf makes it clear that this kind of narrative can be called a giedd (as well as a leoð)” (363). It has often been noticed that Beowulf ’s recollection seems muddled (see Waugh, “Competitive Narrators” 210–12).

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hwilum syllic spell rumheort cyning; eldo gebunden, gioguðe cwiðan, hreðer inne weoll, worn gemunde. (2105a–14b)

There was gidd and mirth. (An, The) old Scylding recited things inquired of from far back in time. Sometimes (a, the) battle-brave man greeted the play-wood, harp’s joy; sometimes he recited a gidd, true and sorrowful; sometimes the big-hearted king recited a marvelous story according to custom. Sometimes, bound by age, the old battle-warrior began to lament his (lost) youth, his war-strength. His breast welled up from within, whenever, wise in years, he recalled so much.

Beowulf ’s reflection on the “gidd ond gleo” in Heorot comes directly after his narration of Grendel’s death. One naturally assumes that Beowulf has Finnsburh in mind when speaking of gidd—the only one we know to have been recited at length. Furthermore, in Beowulf the collocations “gomenwudu gretan” and “gidd (a)wrecan” describe only the scop’s performance of Finnsburh and Beowulf ’s recapitulation of the entertainment at Heorot. Even so, the narrator describes the “gomenwudu greted” (1065a) just before Finnsburh, and Beowulf ’s recollection might memorialize Hroðgar’s performance, not the scop’s. Heeding the syntactic parallelism of “hwilum,” Klaeber punctuated in a way that attributes all of the recitations to Hroðgar, the “old Scylding,” (“gomela Scilding,” 2105b), “big-hearted king” (“rumheort cyning,” 2110b), and “old battle-warrior” (“gomel guðwiga,” 2112a). The editors of Klaeber’s Beowulf have retained this punctuation. In fact, modern editors adopting this punctuation implicitly identify Hroðgar as the “hildedeor” of line 2107a.14 “The old battle warrior began to lament his (lost) youth and war-strength” evokes the content of gidd, and the verb cwiðan (“lament,” 2112b) is often collocated with gidd. The problem arises that we have not seen Hroðgar play the harp before, although he does recite at least one gidd in his “sermon.” While the phrase “gomela Scilding” may refer just as much to “an old Scylding”

14 On this conundrum see Opland 455–7 and Creed 47. Citing Kock and Hoops, Klaeber still concedes, “hildedeor 2107 may be taken as an epithet relating to an unnamed retainer” (Beowulf 205). Earlier in his note he posed the question, “was the gyd recited by Hrothgar?” (ibid.). The editors of Klaeber’s Beowulf have reformulated Klaeber’s questions, suggesting that Hroðgar’s “skills as a singer and musician . . . complete the portrait of him as a warlord” (note to lines 2105 ff.).

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as to “the old Scylding,” elsewhere it does describe Hroðgar (1792a). Yet OE hildedeor, which means “battle-brave (man),” is used seven other times in the poem, three times of unnamed warriors (312a, 834a, 3169b), three times of Beowulf (1646a, 1816a, 2183a), and once of Wiglaf (3111b). The related compound heaþodeor, used twice, refers once to Beowulf (688a) and once to Beowulf and Grendel together (772a). Describing Hroðgar as “battle-brave” seems incongruous, especially when hildedeor so often denotes anonymous but distinguished and youthful fighters, such as the coast-warden. As I see it, no clear solution to this problem presents itself, but Beowulf may be attributing the gidd mentioned here to an anonymous warrior.15 The indebtedness could be important because Beowulf seems to acknowledge Finnsburh when he tells the Heaðobard digression, and events in the Heaðobard feud might elucidate obscurities in Finnsburh. A brief summary of the Heaðobard digression is necessary: Beowulf observes that Hroðgar’s daughter Freawaru will marry the Heaðobard king Ingeld to settle a feud. At the wedding a Danish attendant wearing a captured Heaðobard sword will offend the Heaðobards. An old warrior will then incite a young Heaðobard to kill this offender and take the sword. The murderer runs away. After the killing, Ingeld’s love for Freawaru will cool and hostilities resume.

Many readers have drawn connections between the Finnsburh and Heaðobard digressions, even though the Heaðobard episode is not a gidd. Adrien Bonjour’s analysis, which equates Hengest’s situation with Ingeld’s, ultimately derives from William Lawrence’s views that Hildeburh, Freawaru, and Wealhþeow are to be equated.16 Bonjour reasoned: “The Wealhtheow scene is thus, in a way, the link connecting—in their striking analogy—the situation of Hildeburh in the Finnsburh Episode, and that of Wealhtheow’s daughter Freawaru in the Heathobards Episode.” Linking Hengest to Ingeld, Bonjour extended his findings: Beowulf ’s prophecy concerning Freawaru is in fact but another effective illustration of the theme of the precarious peace. Ingeld’s tragic dilemma is almost the exact counterpart of Hengest’s, and in both cases the aspect

15 Riley identifies this singer as the anonymous reciter of the Sigemund/Heremod digression (189). 16 Lawrence reasoned in 1915, “so far as the woman is concerned, the general situation underlying both stories [Finn and Ingeld] is much the same” (“Tragedy of Finnsburg” 382); see also Girvan, Finnsburuh 15; Ayres 289: “The tragic situations both of Hildeburg and of Freawaru are keenly present to [the poet’s] mind.”

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of the sword . . . meant the decisive ‘call to action’ resulting in the victory of the urge for revenge and the outbreak of fresh hostilities. We said ‘almost’, because, if compared with the situation of Hengest, Ingeld’s represents an even greater concentration of the dramatic element: not only does the claim of vengeance force him to break the compact with the former enemy, as in Hengest’s case, but he is now connected by the bonds of marriage with Freawaru, the Danish princess, and such bonds render the dilemma even more tragic. It is, to a certain extent, as if he had been married to a Frisian princess, say a daughter of Finn! And yet vengeance triumphs, again emphasizing how fateful indeed was a renewal of the enmity between the two tribes.17

The situations are similar: Hengest parallels Ingeld in the Heaðobard digression, since both men are now confronted with breaking a truce. Hengest must fight his king and benefactor Ingeld, his father-in-law. Both do so with supreme reluctance because each confrontation means voiding a sworn treaty. Ingeld will be forced into confrontation because the murderer of the young Dane cannot be found and punished, and (one imagines) the animosity grows on both sides. It takes time for the humiliation to become intolerable, as Beowulf says: “ond him wiflufan//æfter cearwælmum/colran weorðað,” 2065b–6b. Furthermore, both Hengest (as I shall argue) and Ingeld are constrained to honor the wishes of their men in a situation of shame. Three other parallels are obvious. First, both Freawaru’s and Hildeburh’s marriages confirm truces made between Danes and their nonDanish adversaries.18 At least one collocation in the Heaðobard episode clearly evokes the Finnsburh context: “on ba healfe” (“on both sides,” 2063b) recalls “on twa healfa” of Finnsburh (1095b). The Heaðobards and Danes are sworn enemies. Second, the fact that Danes are visiting their national enemies the Heaðobards closely matches the events of Finnsburh, in which Danes are visiting their rivals, the Frisians. My final parallel is frequently alleged, but my reading of its significance differs from others’. The central moment in the Heaðobard digression, extending for over twenty lines, describes Freawaru’s attendant flaunting a sword taken from a defeated Heaðobard warrior named “Wiðergyld.”19 Because Hengest receives a sword in Finnsburh and, as

Bonjour, Digressions 61–2. In Finnsburh Danes and Frisians are said to share a “fæste frioðuwære” (“firm compact of peace,” 1096a), whereas the Heaðobard digression refers to a “freondscipe fæstne” (“firm friendship,” 2069a). 19 The name is elsewhere known only from Widsið 124a, in context with Hama, 17 18

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I shall argue, flaunts it, the swords themselves are strong parallels in both episodes. The attendant is murdered on account of this sword, and the delicate alliance, the motivation for the wedding itself, disintegrates. Since a sword will re-ignite the enmity of Danes and Frisians in the Finnsburh digression, details from the Heaðobard digression have particular relevance for Finnsburh.20 In fact, I think the parallel answers an enduring crux. The Heaðobard Digression Ingeld and his thanes are said to dislike (“ofþyncan”) the marriage to Freawaru, to exhibit discomfort over an enforced peace. Escalating the humiliation, the Danish dryhtbearn or “noble sons” sport the “gomelra lafe” or “heirlooms of elders,” not of Danes, however, but of Heaðobards.21 Slain in war by Danes, the former Heaðobard owners were once “dear companions” (“swæse gesiðas,” 2040a), their weapons “hard and ring-adorned treasures of Heaðobards,” (“heard ond hringmæl/ Heaða-Beardna gestreon,” 2037). Beowulf (the narrator) contrasts the immaturity of the Danish owners with the glory of the former fallen possessors. Possibly because Grendel has killed all the experienced warriors, these boys are “duguða biwenede,” the accompanying (or “honored”)

mentioned in Beowulf 1198b. Wiðergyld (“Retribution”) may not be the Heaðobard’s father’s name; the connection was first proposed by Mead 435–6. Bonjour also expatiates on the swords in both episodes and connects them to Wiglaf ’s sword. He expects that Eanmund’s sword, now in Wiglaf ’s hands, will induce a conflict with the Swedes, ruled by Eanmund’s brother Eadgils (ibid. 38); Cronan rejects the position in “Wiglaf ’s Sword.” 20 Huppé, “Reconsideration” 221; cf. Ayres 293: “Suppose, now, the son of Hunlaf offered the sword to Hengest with egging words similar to those of the eald æsc-wiga in Beowulf ’s account of the Ingeld-Freawaru episode . . . Such a hint would do much to teach Hengest his course. . . .” 21 The syntax here is strained; I prefer to take the line “dryhtbearn Dena,/duguða biwenede” as a loose appositive to þæs (2032a) particularizing the annoyance to Ingeld and his troop and referring to “him” (2036a): “noble sons of Danes, honored hosts—on them the weapons of elders shine . . .” “He” therefore refers to Ingeld. Some read dryhtbearn as singular and connect it to “fæmnan þegn” of 2059a and “he” of 2034a because of the repetition of fæmne and of “on flett gæð” (2034b) and “on flet gæð” (2054b) (Huppé, “Reconsideration” 220; Girvan, review of Hoops, Beowulfstudien 246). Either reading works well with the solution I propose here: singular dryhtbearn may be an equivalent of dryhtguma or dryhtealdor in the sense “bride’s attendant” (Green, Carolingian Lord 270, 274).

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“senior retainers.”22 Unless we see the Danish youth as particularly callow, they must be deliberately taunting the Heaðobards by wearing such trophies.23 Beowulf uses the locution “on him gladiað” (2036a) to describe the gear. The verb gladian means “to shine” in poetry, but other meanings common to prose overlap, “to gratify” especially.24 The weapons shine on the Danes and unavoidably attract the eye. Beowulf underscores the deliberate indignity, as well as the irony. The humiliation annoys the Heaðobards. An “old spear-warrior” (“eald æscwiga,” 2042a) then “begins to test the spirit of a young fighter through the thought of his breast.”25 A young Dane is singled out, and his youth and dubious birthright emphasized. The æscwiga calls him a byre or “lad” of unknown parentage: “a lad of I know not which of those slayers” (“þara banena/byre nathwylces,” 2053a–b). The boy is said to “exult” in the trappings, a sword in particular, and here Beowulf deploys the adjective “hremig” typically used of booty in Beowulf.26 Thus, Grendel is hremig in his Danish corpses (124a), and Beowulf hremig in the twelve treasures awarded by Hroðgar (1882a). The unnamed Danish boy’s father killed the Heaðobard’s father Wiðergyld, and took the sword from him as a prize. The old champion claims that the young Dane “boasts of the murder”: “morðres gylpeð,” 2055a. OE morðor does not typically describe a “noble” battlefield killing but (as mentioned above) a deceitful, anonymous one. Two verbs linking this section with the Finnsburh episode are myndgian “to remind” and (ge)munan “to recall.” The veteran “remembers all” (“eall geman,” 2042b) and “reminds” (“myndgað,” 2057a). In Beowulf OE myndgian is found only here and in Finnsburh, attested as myndgiend wære (“calling to mind,” 1105b), specifically used in context of the oath: a disgrace someone should not call to mind or hostilities would erupt. In the Heaðobard digression the cempa or “warrior” emphasizes the

22

297.

The phrase “duguða biwenede” is difficult; see Mitchell, “Two Syntactical Notes”

Huppé, “Reconsideration” 223. Owen-Crocker, “ ‘Gracious’ Hrothulf ” 4–5. The Beowulf poet calls Ingeld the “glæd son of Froda” (2025b), underscoring an ironic appreciation for his marriage to Freawaru. 25 This Heaðobard is described as “fæmnan þegn” or “lady’s thane,” not “untried warrior” as Malone proposes (“Ingeld” 259) but the warrior accompanying a bride; see Girvan, review of Hoops, Beowulfstudien 246, where se fæmnan þegn is compared to Bede’s description of Bishop Paulinus as comes copulae carnalis (Colgrave and Mynors 164). 26 Riedinger 309–11 (310: “a thematic formula whose function it is to signify ‘the victor’s reward’ ”). 23

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disrupted inheritance. The young Heaðobard should own the sword “mid rihte” (“by right,” 2056a). He ultimately kills the Dane—an act predicated on an event from a previous generation that nevertheless results in the dissolution of Ingeld’s marriage. This situation, I shall argue, explains precisely what happens in the Finnsburh episode and incidentally explains how Finnsburh functions in its dramatic context. For the time being, therefore, we must turn from the Heaðobard episode. Proposed Functions of the Finnsburh Digression As a digression, Finnsburh parallels its context, the specific moment in Hroðgar’s hall, and predicts how the situation might evolve. Since 1915 nearly every critic reflecting on the Finnsburh episode has analogized its characters and plot in just this way.27 Two widespread interpretations have emerged.28 Grendel’s mother’s forthcoming attack prompts the first, which emphasizes Bonjour’s “precarious peace”; as a social imperative revenge supersedes all other claims, including sworn reconciliation. So highly is vengeance prized that peace always fails in the face of any incitement, no matter how trivial. Grendel’s mother is said to indulge in the blood feud in a way analogous to Hengest’s inevitable retribution, and Æschere—Hroðgar’s “runwita” (“counsellor,” 27 The earliest commentators saw no relevance in it, or else deemed it an example of Danish resolve. Green calls it an “interlude” (“Opening” 782). R. A. Williams went further than most of the nineteenth-century philologists, suggesting that the poet wished to describe “momentous events” in another hall. He paraphrased: “Now in the evening, gathered together in Heorot, which still shows plain traces of the terrific struggle, they wonder whether in any other hall such a game had e’er been played as Beowulf played there with Grendel. Can any other hall compare with theirs as the scene of events so momentous?” (Finn Episode 10–11). Brodeur wrote “the circumstances under which the minstrel sang his lay have no bearing whatever on the interpretation of the Finn Episode. Our poet introduces the Episode simply as an illustration of the songs which furnished entertainment for Hroðgar’s feasting warriors” (“Design and Motive” 41–2). Malone queries, “Why does the poet treat as he does this great story of the English heroic age?” and goes on to conclude weakly that the poet had an interest in Hengest’s repentance for his hesitation in taking vengeance (“Finn Episode” 171). 28 Bruce Moore proposed a number of parallels between events in Beowulf ’s purview and in the scop’s narrative: “treachery and its association with the world of monsters, kinship relationships (particularly those between uncle and nephew), the hall, treasure, and more general questions concerning political and social order” (317). Moore compares Hroþulf ’s duplicity to Finn’s, underscores the persistence of feuds (Grendel’s mother), and reflects on the negative value of treasure-giving as a kind of institutionalized bribery.

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1325a), “rædbora” (“herald,” 1325b), and “eaxlgestealla” (“close warcompanion,” 1326a)—dies for this sterile heroism. Here the suffering of Hildeburh must stand for the suffering of all the collateral victims of the revenge ethic, and the “precarious peace” becomes universalized. Bonjour closes his argument by reading the dragon’s “revenge” as symbolic of “the great epic prophecy of the downfall of the Geatish people”29—a consequence which the poet himself never confirms. The second argument made about Finnsburh heeds the tension between Wealhþeow’s sons Hreðric and Hroðmund and her nephew Hroþulf, a situation that Saxo Grammaticus records in a fuller but more convoluted form:30 “. . . wene ic þæt he mid gode/gyldan wille//uncran eaferan” (1184a–5a). Wealhþeow’s expectation that Hroþulf will support his cousins after Hroðgar’s death sounds apprehensive.31 In fact, the poet adumbrates discord between Hroþulf and Hroðgar, a rivalry that apparently involves Hreðric and Hroðmund:32

Bonjour, Digressions 62. Sarrazin 144–5. R. W. Chambers expounded on this evidence for Hroþulf ’s treachery in the Historia Danorum, and his argument (Beowulf 26–7) deserves summarizing. Drawing on the now lost Bjarkamál, Saxo reports that “Roluo,” whose name is identical to OE Hroþulf, slew a king named Røricus, a name identical to OE Hreðric. Saxo calls Røricus the “son of the covetous Bøkus,” hypothetically translating the Old Icelandic epithet hnøggvanbaugi or “?greedy for rings (i.e. treasure).” Coincidentally, the Langfeðgatal, a genealogy of the ancient Danish kings, calls this Røricus “Hrærek Hnauggvanbaugi” and records his succession after Rolf (= Hroþulf ). Chambers asserts that the genealogy identifies Hrærek as Hroðgar’s son and further reasons, “Hrærek has been moved from his proper place in order to clear Rolf of any suspicion of usurpation” (Beowulf 26 note 3). Chamber’s clever speculation is ultimately unnecessary to demonstrate Hroþulf ’s intentions, for the intimations in Beowulf and Widsið present the case convincingly enough. However, Gerald Morgan disagrees with Hroþulf ’s implication in treachery. 31 Hroþulf is Hroðgar’s nephew, son of Halga “the Good” (“Halga til,” 61b). The succession in Germanic lands, as in post-migration England, generally followed on seniority and often generated strife between uncles and nephews. Hroðgar himself seems to have shared in this tradition, for Heoroweard did not rule after his father Heorogar’s death. The poet specifically mentions Beowulf ’s receipt of Heorogar’s sword. For the subtleties of Wealhþeow’s reply, see Owen-Crocker, “ ‘Gracious’ Hrothulf ” 4–5 and below, pp. 179–80. 32 These words mirror the ominous tone in Widsið, where Hroðgar and Hroþulf are said to have held their peace until after they had “devastated Ingeld’s army”: Hroþwulf ond Hroðgar heoldon lengest sibbe ætsomne suhtorfædran, siþþan hy forwræcon wicinga cynn ond Ingeldes ord forbigdan, forheowan æt Heorote Heaðobeardna þrym. (45a–9b) 29

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chapter two medoful manig swiðhicgende Hroðgar ond Hroþulf. freondum afylled; Þeod-Scyldingas

. . . fægere geþægon magas þara on sele þam hean, Heorot innan wæs nalles facenstafas þenden fremedon. (1014b–19b)

Their stout-hearted kinsmen, Hroðgar ond Hroþulf, joyfully relished many a mead-cup in the high hall. Heorot was filled with friends within. Not yet had the Scylding countrymen prepared malicious plots.

John M. Hill explains how Beowulf carefully negotiates the competing interests in the scene, especially Wealhþeow’s appeal to Beowulf to serve as an ally to her family instead of its king.33 Her bestowal of a precious torque counters Hroðgar’s gift of family heirlooms. Wealhþeow’s gift encumbers Hroðgar’s plan to enthrone a foreign mercenary and highlights the conviction that her native children have more trustworthy allegiances than an outsider.34 This particular reading of the situation has been mapped onto Finnsburh, which features the “precarious peace” between Finn and Hengest. Because (the argument goes) human relations will always deteriorate and because even the sincerest pledges will fail, Hroþulf will ultimately kill his cousins, and Wealhþeow will suffer. This future stands in ironic juxtaposition to the present hall-joy and Wealhþeow’s (misplaced?) trust in her nephew.35 Hroðgar’s adoption of the Geat Beowulf is then seen as enhancing the dramatic irony. Again, this moment has been universalized, made to confirm the view that the Beowulf poet condemns heroic brutality: The disaster at Finnsburg casts its pall over Wealhtheow’s ministrations, creating an ironic distance between her hopes for the future and the bloodshed that every member of the audience knows will follow. The same theme is again expressed . . . in Beowulf ’s later prophecy concerning Freawaru and Ingeld.36

“Danish Succession”; Cultural World 100–4. Alfred Bammesberger’s interpretation of “druncne dryhtguman/doð swa ic bidde” (1231) as “oh retainers, having drunk [the royal mead], do as I ask!” (Bammesberger’s brackets) accords with this view (“Conclusion of Wealhtheow’s Speech”). On Wealhþeow’s status, see the remarks of Thomas D. Hill, “Foreign Slave” 106–12. 35 Orchard, Critical Companion 180–1. Yet Hill has admirably shown that Wealhþeow is not “a passive onlooker in a much wider and more vicious game” (“Danish Succession” 181). 36 Camargo 127. Camargo summarizes, “the function of the Finn episode, in short, is to cast doubt on the revenge ethic at the very point in the narrative where such a code [of vengeance] appears most glorious” (132). 33 34

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Berger and Leicester had made much the same case: “As the Finn and Ingeld episodes suggest . . . sooner or later peace-weaving will become war-making.”37 Insistently trained on Hildeburh’s sorrow and consequently suspicious of revenge, these voices radically impugn the status of the digression as Danish triumph.38 In one respect a serious problem compromises these two readings of Finnsburh. Both solutions are incompatible with the poet’s dual perspective, since they focus on the narrator’s point-of-view and neglect the reason why Finnsburh might be relevant for the Danes. Hroðgar wants to appoint Beowulf as a regent, but Wealhþeow thinks Hroþulf is a better candidate, for reasons of obligation. Yet Fred Robinson, among others, senses anxiety in Wealhþeow’s statements, glædne Hroþulf, arum healdan . . . (1180b–2a)

Ic minne can þæt he þa geogoðe wile

I know that my gracious Hroþulf intends to treat the youths honorably . . .

and . . . wene ic þæt he mid gode uncran eaferan, hwæt wit to willan umborwesendum ær

gyldan wille gif he þæt eal gemon, ond to worðmyndum arna gefremedon. (1184a–7b)

I expect that he will reward our kinsmen with kindness, if he bears in mind all that: what honors we two awarded him as a child, both for his desire and his glory.

The first claim is unambiguously optimistic: Wealhþeow knows (“can”) that Hroþulf intends (“wile”) to act honorably (“arum”). In this context OE glæd has recently been translated “appreciative.” Wealhþeow therefore highlights Hroþulf ’s consideration: he appreciates Hroðgar’s generosity to him when he was a boy and is obliged to reciprocate.39 Wealhþeow’s trust mitigates the suspicion implied in the second quotation, that Hroþulf might forget the honors (“hwæt . . . arna”) once bestowed on him: “I believe that Hroþulf will reward . . . if he bears 37 Berger and Leicester 43; these critics envision Grendel’s mother’s revenge as symbolic of Hroþulf ’s future treachery. See also Leyerle, “Hero and the King.” 38 As John M. Hill acknowledges in a different context (Warrior Ethic 67): “We have . . . failed to understand the extent to which Hildeburh’s bitter appropriation of the funeral pyre is a mute demand for retribution.” Robert A. Albano would go further and implicate Hildeburh in the revenge. 39 Owen-Crocker, “ ‘Gracious’ Hrothulf ” 4.

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in mind. . . .” Secondarily, Wealhþeow here stresses Hroþulf ’s duty to protect her children in return for Hroðgar’s past generosity,40 a benefit that Beowulf cannot lay claim to. In effect, she observes that the foreigner Beowulf cannot “bear in mind” any longstanding debt of personal generosity. Although some misgivings have been conceded, Wealhþeow does not know that Hroþulf will inevitably usurp Hreðric’s place. On the contrary, she finds Hroþulf more trustworthy because he is an appreciative kinsman and socially indebted to Hroðgar.41 Inevitably, Wealhþeow’s coy remarks about Hroþulf in lines 1185–7 become unusually apprehensive in light of the poet’s comments,

sæton suhtergefæderan; æghwylc oðrum trywe. (1163b–5a)

. . . þær þa godan twegen [Hroðgar and Hroþulf ] þa gyt wæs hiera sib ætgædere,

. . . where the two good men [Hroðgar and Hroþulf ] sat, uncle and nephew. At that time they were still united in goodwill, each loyal to the other.

and Þeod-Scyldingas

. . . nalles facenstafas þenden fremedon. (1018b–19b)

. . . not yet had those Scylding countrymen prepared malicious plots. (my emph.)

The dramatic irony could not be plainer: the narrator confirms Hroþulf ’s present loyalty. In fact, the poet further justifies Wealhþeow’s confidence in him: “Heorot innan wæs//freondum afylled” (“Heorot was filled with friends within,” 1017b–18a). If Wealhþeow expects no betrayal, what is the relevance of the “precarious peace” imputed to Finnsburh for the Danish audience? The chances are remote that the scop reciting Finnsburh intended any comparison between Hildeburh and Wealhþeow as failed peace-weavers, since the parallels are too inexact. Hroþulf ’s expected betrayal therefore does not emerge from Finnsburh as an example of the “precarious peace.” Nor do the Danes expect retaliation from Grendel’s mother, who takes them completely by surprise: “Wyrd ne cuþon,//geosceaft grimme,/swa hit agangen wearð//eorla manegum” (“they did not know of their 40 41

Ibid. Damico, Valkyrie Tradition 128.

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fate, their grim destiny, as it had been ordained for many an earl,” 1233b–5a).42 Unless it could be shown that the Danish scop foresees Grendel’s mother’s “inevitable” vengeance, the Finnsburh digression could not warn of any “precarious peace” relative to her revenge. In fact, the whole “precarious peace” derived from the episode seems unrealistic. Are we really invited to compare the situation of national enemies trapped in a fragile détente (Finn vs. Hengest) either to the predatory retaliation of a cannibal monster or to a contest between blood kin from different family branches (Hreðric and Hroðmund vs. Hroþulf )?43 From such a comparison are we to posit the inevitability of violence? The proposed analogies I have discussed ignore the primary comparanda in the Finnsburh episode. Notwithstanding Hildeburh’s emotional agony and Finn’s duplicity, the action in Finnsburh clearly concerns Hengest, who should be compared to another hero of similar renown and not stand for an abstract principle. Since Beowulf is the central figure of the narrative throughout and especially at this moment, the Finnsburh recitation may pertain to him and his motivations, in the same way that the Sigemund/Heremod and Herebeald/Hæðcyn digressions do. Beowulf is being compared to Hengest. As I shall argue, Finnsburh subtly reflects a grave unease over Beowulf ’s appointment as Hroðgar’s heir—a worry that Wealhþeow responds to, but not entirely for the reasons that have been presented hitherto. In order to clarify this moment and its relevance for the Danish audience, we need to investigate the episode more closely. Details of the Finnsburh Episode Finnsburh concerns a dishonorable night attack on guests and an honorable defense leading to a sworn truce between Hengest and Finn. The

42 Donald K. Fry avoids the problem of perspective by alleging that Grendel is expected to return (“New Interpretation” 2). Ward Parks reveals the poet’s opinion that the mother’s aim was revenge (“wolde . . . sunu deoð wrecan,”1277b–8b) but her method predation (“Prey Tell” 13): “In keeping with the habits of her clan, [Grendel’s mother] too introduces herself to the Danes predatorially . . . All the same, while her behavior is predatory, her motives are not”). 43 The monsters in Beowulf are popularly metaphorized as human evils. Whenever a monster appears, a whiff of crime hangs in the air; see, for example, Fajardo-Acosta, “Intemperance.”

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truce has often seemed suspicious: “. . . If Finn’s men were too few to prevail over the Danes, why did the latter assent to a condition which, according to Germanic ideas, was in the highest degree dishonorable?”44 Chambers likewise questioned Finn’s complicity in the attack, asserting that he was the dupe of a Jutish faction in his warband rather than the principal conspirator. In part, this deduction stems from Chambers’ examination of Germanic story, where enemies accept quarter from attackers. Yet Chambers also bases his interpretation on the meaning of the word eoten in the verses, “Ne huru Hildeburh/herian þorfte//eotena treowe” (“Indeed, Hildeburh did not have need to praise the faith of the eotena,” 1071a–2a). I shall defer my discussion of this word momentarily, while I show why Finn must be the leading villain in the tale.45 He is, after all, called Hnæf ’s bana (“slayer,” 1102b), and the narrator explains that Finn cannot conclude his war against Hengest: . . . þæt he [Finn] ne mehte wig Hengeste

on þæm meðelstede wiht gefeohtan . . . (1082a–3b)

. . . that he (Finn) might not at all win his battle against Hengest in the meeting-place.

According to the Fragment, the battle lasts five days, during which span it is hardly conceivable that King Finn could not manage his own retinue. And finally, retribution meted out to the fierce (“ferhðfrecan,” 1146a) Finn seems to have been deserved, and in his own home, to boot (“æt his selfes ham,” 1147b).46 In Chambers’ argument, the Danes would appear to have wronged Finn by disregarding his “innocence” in the clash—leaving us with a besmirched Danish victory. Much back-pedaling and special pleading disappear, however, if we simply acknowledge that Finn attacks his Danish guests duplicitously. To return to the “problematic” truce, the poet explains why the settlement is reached. On the one hand, Hengest’s retinue is called a “woeful remnant” (“wealaf,” 1084a and 1098a) after the fight, belying

Lawrence, “Tragedy of Finnsburg” 403. Many others have alleged Finn’s innocence, e.g. Brodeur: “[Finn’s] failure to make adequate preparation for a surprise attack suffices to establish a probability against malicious intent” (“Design and Motive” 37) and “[Finn] had been compelled to support his troops once the battle at Finnsburg had been joined” (ibid. 39). 46 OE ferhðfrecan is a hapax, but frec is often attested in Beowulf, where it can mean “fierce,” “terrible,” or “dangerous.” The repetition of begeat (“befell,” 1146b), used to describe Finn’s attack against Hnæf (1068b), highlights Finn’s death as retributive. 44 45

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the evidence of the fragment that few Danes had been killed.47 But because Finn has lost so many men (1080b–1b), the Danish survivors cannot be “dislodged” ( forþringan) from their defensive position.48 Kemp Malone supplied one possible interpretation of the facts:49 Finn could not expel the Danes from the hall by force and could not set fire to the hall without destroying his whole burh; the Danes could not hold out indefinitely because in time they would run short of food and drink . . . Finn offered the Danes the best of terms because, above all, he did not wish to drive them to desperation: as desperate men they could do him the gravest damage.

Hengest emerges as leader of the Danes, and he negotiates the peace which they are constrained to accept:50 ðeah hie hira beaggyfan ðeodenlease,

banan folgedon þa him swa geþearfod wæs . . . (1102a–3b)

Though lordless they followed the slayer of their ring-giver, when it was necessary for them to do so.

OE geþearfian is exceptionally rare in Old English, occurring just this once in verse. The poet relays the unique situation by the verb and Danish blamelessness by the passive construction. The Danes had to compromise at an impasse, and nothing but the circumstances dictated their truce. In 1917 Henry Morgan Ayres declared that the Finnsburh digression precipitated a tragic situation for Hengest,51 since he follows his

“Wig ealle fornam//Finnes þegnas/nemne feaum anum . . .” (1080b–1b). A very close verbal parallel is narrated in the Old English Meters of Boethius. The Goths demolish the Romans: “Ne meahte þa seo wealaf/wige forstandan//Gotan mid Guðe” (1.22a–23a). In this case the Romans give treasure and land, and swear oaths—the same capitulations that Finn has to make: “giomonna gestrion//sealdon unwillum/eþelweardas,//halige aðas” (1.23b–25a). A passage from Wulfstan’s homily “Be godcundre warnunge” confirms the sense of a diminished war-band: “And þonne land wyrðeð for synnum forworden 7 þæs folces dugoð swyþost fordwineþ, þonne fehð seo wealaf sorhful 7 sarimod geomrigendum mode bemænan 7 sarlice syfian . . .” (Bethurum 253.68–71). For a highly heterodox view of lines 1085b–96a, see Gray, who argues that the Danes offer terms to Finn. 49 “Finn’s Stronghold” 85; see also Diller 18. 50 Malone, “Hildeburh and Hengest” 267: “the poet gives Hengest credit (1) for the fact that the Frisians offer terms of peace at all, and (2) for the highly favorable nature of these terms.” In fact, Arthur G. Brodeur criticized Malone’s view of Hengest as a “craven weakling” by praising Hengest’s negotiation which “[saved] his men from needless slaughter” (“Design and Motive” 7). 51 “Tragedy of Hengest”; see also Stanley, “Narrative Art” 177. 47 48

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lord’s killer after swearing a binding oath.52 The poet affirms, “those on the two sides trusted in the firm compact of peace” (“Ða hie getruwedon/on twa healfa//fæste frioðuwære,” 1095a–6a). The oath is solemnized “elne unflitme.” OE flitm is no doubt related to flitan “to compete,”53 and North underscores two legal parallels—both from Ine’s Laws—which James L. Rosier once noted: “unceases [
Folcwaldan sunu Dene weorþode, hringum wenede sincgestreonum swa he Fresena cyn byldan wolde. (1089a–94b)

52 North has argued that Finn pledges on the god Ing’s sacred relics, possibly a boaridol taken from the Frisian treasury. He understands the lines “Að wæs geæfned/ond icge gold//ahæfen of horde” (“an oath was performed and [Ing’s] gold was taken from the treasury,” 1107a–8a) to refer to an oath sworn on a golden artifact (“Tribal Loyalties” 32–8). It also seems plausible that gold taken from the hoard is meant to be shared among Hengest’s retinue in compensation of Hnæf ’s death (see lines 1089a–94b and Lawrence, “Tragedy of Finnesburg” 406 note 22). Coming right after the oath (“að wæs geæfned,” 1107a), it seems most convenient to speculate that wergild is being paid out. R. D. Fulk has also suggested that icge and incge disguise idge “shining” (“Old English icge and incge”). Klaeber emended að “oath” to ad “pyre” and translated “the pyre was prepared” (Beowulf 173); this emendation has been retained in Klaeber’s Beowulf. 53 Not all agree on the meaning, and some prefer to read “unhlitme” here; Rosier summarizes the history of this reading in “Unhlitm of Finn and Hengest”; but see now Taylor, “Beowulf 1130” 357–8 and Boenig, “Time Markers.” W. S. Mackie (“Notes upon the Text” 521) proposed emending unflitme to *unflitne, and the reading suggests how unflitme has almost universally been thought to modify “ellen,” as in “with undisputed zeal” instead of “with zeal renouncing dispute.” 54 North, “Tribal Loyalties” 22 (“Finn would thus forswear vengeance for his son by cancelling him out with Hnæf ”) and Rosier, “Unhlitm of Finn and Hengest” 173. The language is exotic, but ceast is attested in the Antwerp Glossary (Kindschi 64: “Seditio, flocslite [leg. folcslite] uel æswicung, sacu, ceast”) and ceas in Aldhelm glosses (Gwara, Prosa de uirginitate, vol. 124A, p. 430: “insectationes i. persecutiones, rixas uel cæsa”). The context makes it clear that an oath sworn “unceas” would mean that no guile would be tolerated. An oath of “unfæhð” means forgoing vengeance.

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And in gift-giving the son of Folcwalda [Finn] would honor the Danes, Hengest’s heap, every day, would ennoble them with rings, jeweled treasures, and plated gold just as much as he would encourage Frisians in the beer-hall.

No cavil endangers this agreement. OE benemnan “to solemnize” is used only twice in Beowulf, here and when the ancient warriors “solemnly declared” their intentions for the treasure later claimed by the dragon (3069b).55 Few critics doubt that the oath is binding—indeed, that breaking oaths in general is unendurably disgraceful.56 Beowulf says, “Ic . . . ne me swor fela//aða on unriht” (2736b–9a), about which the editors of Klaeber’s Beowulf comment, “a conspicuous example of litotes.” Although Robert A. Albano thinks “the Anglo-Saxons would break any pledge if the greater commitment to revenge was already in force,” his argument contradicts what we know of oaths.57 Albano finds vengeance “ethical” and concludes, “if Hengest sees himself as doing his duty and by doing that duty there is no breach of ethics, then there is no dilemma.”58 This argument evokes Brodeur’s regard for the frioðuwær as the “mere abstract sanctity of an oath.”59 If so, this position renders Hengest despicable, given all the evidence to suggest that Hengest does not want to break the truce. These critics and others would deny any heroic choice for Hengest.60 No, the difficulty for Hengest becomes whether and how to escape the truce, but he arrives at his decision to act with the greatest reluctance, and even then he seems to doubt his plan.61

55 I realize that the usage of “benemdon” in this passage is disputed, but I agree with Alan Bliss’s reasoning as laid out in “Beowulf, Lines 3074–75,” and with Tanke, “Gold-Luck. 56 Renoir, “Heroic Oath” 237–66; on the sanctity of Germanic oaths, see North, “Tribal Loyalties” 32–3. 57 “Role of Women” 4. Other remarks of Albano’s cannot be substantiated either: “Once a bond of loyalty was established in either Anglo-Saxon or Old Norse culture, such loyalty would last indefinitely” (4). Albano ultimately denies Hengest’s “dilemma”: “Both Hildeburh and Hengest probably already had their minds made up as to what action to take in connection with Finn” (3–4). By this reading, Finn must have been a fool to trust Hengest’s oath. 58 “Role of Women” 4. 59 “Design and Motive” 38. 60 Such as Fry, “New Interpretation” 10: “I interpret Hengest as awaiting his chance to avenge Hnæf . . . Hengest must break his oath to Finn . . .” 61 Although Hengest takes his oath so seriously he will not break it, references to him as a “traitor” are somewhat overstated; cf. Stanley, “ ‘Hengestes heap.’ ”

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The articles of the oath are given in detail. The poet emphasizes the Frisian side of the agreement: “Fin Hengeste . . . aðum benemde” or “Finn solemnized it with oaths to Hengest,” 1096b–7b. Thereafter follow the stipulations: 1. “þæt he þa wealafe/weotena dome//arum heolde,” 1098a–9a: “that Finn would govern Hengest’s retinue honorably according to the judgment of his (Finn’s) counselors”; 2. “þæt ðær ænig mon//wordum ne worcum/wære ne bræce,”1099b– 1100b: “that no one there would break the covenant by word or deed”; 3. “ne þurh inwitsearo/æfre gemænden,” 1101a–b: “nor would ‘they’ ever mention it through malicious cunning.”

The referent of the unstated plural subject “they”of gemænden (1101b) has been disputed. North thinks it refers to Danes because the stated subject hie of 1102a certainly does.62 It makes sense, however, that the unstated subject of 1101b refers to the subjects, Frisians, already under discussion, but that the stated pronoun hie then refers to Danes.63 Emphasis also justifies the reading: no Frisian would break the agreement in word or deed, nor would they even mention it, however subtly.64 Furthermore, the passage as a whole focuses on Finn’s oath. Since he perpetrated the assault on Hnæf, he is under pressure to prove that no such attack would ever take place again. He must hold everyone accountable. The passage naturally concludes by discussing a Frisian violation: gyf þonne Frysna hwylc ðæs morþorhetes þonne hit sweordes ecg

frecnen spræce myndgiend wære, syððan scede. (1104a–6b)

If any Frisian should ever recall the murderous hatred with bold speech, the sword’s edge would afterwards settle it.65 “Tribal Loyalties” 23. Pogatscher 261–301. 64 The element searo denotes skillful artifice, and in prose always has a negative sense; see Taylor, “Searoniðas” 114–15. 65 Klaeber’s “seðan scolde” (1106b) has been emended here in consideration of R. D. Fulk’s reading “syððan scede” (“Cruces in the Finnsburg Fragment”), where “scede” is the preterite subjunctive of OE scadan “decide.” This emendation has been incorporated into Klaeber’s Beowulf. The sense is not substantially changed from that of Klaeber’s reading, but the syntax, phrasal parallelism, and metrical expectations are far superior. Malone thought that the Klaeber’s original formulation, “þonne hit sweordes ecg/seðan scolde,” meant that “the man [“guilty of trouble-making”] will be put to death” (“Finn Episode” 163, my italics); but the fact that the “sword’s edge” should settle “it” rather 62 63

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The concluding phrase “Frysna hwylc . . .” keeps us in mind that these are the terms of Finn’s oath to Hengest, so that “ænig man” (1099b) means “any Frisian.” Hengest and the Danes now obey a new lord—Finn—since half of Finn’s hall is given over to the Danes, and Finn dispenses treasure to them as he would his own Frisians. While OE flett can mean “hall,” as part of Finn’s terms it has a specific meaning: the platform of a hall where retainers eat and sleep.66 The verb “gerymdon” (“made room,” 1086b) confirms this sense: Finn will “clear” one of two platforms for Hengest and the Danes. Nothing suggests that Finn fails to treat the Danes like his own men. For the Danes, however, loyalty to this oath means serving Hnæf ’s killer, a situation that compromises Hengest’s allegiance to the Danish retinue. Indeed, the poet unconditionally condemns Hnæf ’s death, calling it “morþorbealo” (1079b) or “grief resulting from murder.” OE morþor usually has a precise meaning: a pointless or random killing, one for which no culprit or motive can be identified.67 Hildeburh’s grief likewise reminds the Danes of their suffering and humiliation, as John Hill points out.68 It has to be a sign of profound reluctance that any provocation endangering such a precarious detente will be punished by death. Although binding, the truce becomes deeply shameful. A common impulse has therefore been to exonerate Hengest whose service to Finn dishonors Hnæf ’s memory: “one cannot blame the Danes overmuch . . . unheroic though their submission to Finn undoubtedly

implies that the entire episode of “morþorhete” would be settled by all-out war, the sort of risk that would prevent any baiting. Here the ingenious solution proposed by Robinson (“Textual Notes” 111) should also be mentioned, in light of many cogent parallels. Retention of syððan would yield “it will be left to the sword.” 66 DOE s.v. flett sense 1; the editors cite this passage under sense 2 (“dwelling, house, hall”). 67 OE morþorbealu and its morphological equivalent morþbealu are used only three times in Beowulf. Grendel commits “more murderous destruction” (“morðbeala mare,” 136a), because he is an indiscriminate killer without motive. The second attestation comes during the Herebeald/Hæðcyn digression: Hæðcyn’s killing is called “murder,” not because the crime was secretly committed but because it was both heinous and motiveless. On compounds with the second element in -bealu, see Shippey, Wisdom and Learning 130 note 6. 68 Hill, Cultural World 26; Warrior Ethic 64–5. Many have observed how central Hildeburh is in the digression but without noting that her appearances manifest the extent of Danish distress and absolute necessity for revenge, as Orchard has concluded in Critical Companion 177–8: “The Beowulf-poet is a particular pains to highlight her impotence and passivity, as well as her innocence: she is portrayed purely as a victim.”

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remains.”69 In part, the claim responds to the episode’s triumphal mood as entertainment for Hroðgar’s company. Rebutting the allegation of Hengest’s impiety, Rosemary Woolf identifies an “ideal of effective vengeance” in the Finnsburh episode, part of an extensive argument questioning the pointlessness of dying with one’s lord in revenge.70 The claim imposes a positive slant on Hengest’s behavior, that his service must be a temporary expedient, his revenge already planned.71 The case cannot be true, however, since Finn trusts not only the wording of the oath but also Hengest’s allegiance to it. Finn is vulnerable. His men have gone home for the winter, presumably leaving him only a bodyguard: Gewiton him ða wigend freondum befeallen, hamas ond heaburh. (1125a–7a)

wica neosian Frysland geseon,

The warriors departed to seek out the towns, to see Frisia (now bereft of friends),72 homes and high-dwellings.

Yet as I shall argue, Hengest never intends to break his oath, the conditions of which he and Finn understand to be completely secure. Therefore, Hengest’s reluctance to break the oath not only exposes him as dishonorable but calls into doubt his role in accepting a shameful peace in the first place. William Lawrence has questioned why Hengest accepted the brokered compromise, but the episode sidesteps this issue entirely and asks instead why he should abide by the oath at all. One explanation bears on his ambitions, another on his nationality. Hengest has competing allegiances as a wrecca (1137b), a “mercenary” warrior or “gist” (“guest,” 1138a), and Finn takes advantage of Hengest’s self-interest. The words of D. H. Green, who has written extensively on early Germanic lordship, perfectly

Malone, “Hildeburg and Hengest” 270. “Ideal” 69 71 Ibid. 71. Others have also suggested that the truce is only temporary (e.g. Fry, “New Interpretation”; Boenig, “Time Markers”), but I prefer North’s argument (“Tribal Loyalties”) that Finn intends to supplement his diminished warband with Hengest’s recruits. 72 On this reading of “freondum befeallen,” see Bammesberger, “OE befeallen”; Mitchell rejects Bammesberger’s position in “OE befeallen in Beowulf.” Malone conjectured that the Danes were allowed to wander about Frisia, but the locution “hamas ond heaburh” would then make little sense: why would Danes wish to see their enemies’ homes? (“Finn Episode” 165). 69 70

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describe Hengest’s role in Hnæf ’s retinue: “a leader who had proved successful could attract warriors from outside his own tribe, lured by the prospect of further success . . . However, in thus cutting across the boundaries between tribes the war-band was also a disruptive force in Germanic society.”73 Finnsburh depicts such a disruption. In a single enterprise Hengest vaults from subaltern, to Danish warband leader, to co-equal with one of the celebrated kings of Germania. Like Beowulf, who advances from untried foreign “mercenary” to great hero to royal heir, Hengest must be feeling gratified by his fresh prominence. Other parallels between Hengest and Beowulf emerge. Hengest ultimately becomes a leader of Danes in a time of crisis, when Hnæf is killed, and Beowulf waits to be elevated now that Grendel is dead. Hroðgar’s Danes may be unhappy with this situation (at least Wealhþeow and Hunferð are), just as Hnæf ’s Danes seem to exhibit annoyance over following Finn. However, my reading of their reaction to Hengest’s delayed retribution derives from a context for which the chronology requires justification. The verses following Finn’s death describe the complaints of Guðlaf and Oslaf, the chief Danes in Hengest’s retinue: Swylce ferhðfrecan Fin eft begeat sweordbealo sliðen æt his selfes ham, siþðan grimne gripe Guðlaf ond Oslaf æfter sæsiðe sorge mændon, ætwiton weana dæl . . . (1146a–50a) So [such?] cruel sword-killing again befell the bold Finn in his own home once Guðlaf and Oslaf lamented the sorrow—the grim assault—following their sea journey, and censured the number of their woes.

Two problems have puzzled readers here. Lawrence reasoned that Guðlaf and Oslaf had traveled home to Denmark and returned with a larger force.74 This is entirely unnecessary if we accept these lines as a recapitulation and consider “æfter sæsiðe” in reference to the original sea-voyage that brought Hnæf ’s party to Finnsburh. In such a way æfter could simply mean either “following” or “attendant to/following

Language and History 108. “Tragedy of Finnsburg” 415–16; see also Malone, “Finn’s Stronghold” 85 (“the whole wealaf presumably left Frisia with them”); idem, “Hildeburg and Hengest” 282; Brodeur, “Design and Motive” 26; Tolkien, Finn and Hengest 138. 73 74

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from”:75 Guðlaf and Oslaf bemoan the sorrow following their sea-voyage to Frisia. If they had sailed home for fresh recruits, as Lawrence and others alleged, Guðlaf and Oslaf must be lamenting to their Danish friends. In this event, Hengest would need no urging to make up his mind. Of course, the problems with this reading abound. First, where else are the fresh recruits mentioned, and is Finn so utterly naive that he never suspects a Danish reprisal of such magnitude? Second, why would Hengest exhibit such scruples over the truce, then break it so flagrantly? Tom Shippey suggests that “genuine Heroic Ages often throw up a streak of cunning and ruthlessness disliked in gentler eras,”76 but here Shippey imagines that Hengest breaks the oath: “Hengest goes back on it by attacking Finn as treacherously as Finn attacked Hnaef.”77 In fact, the choice to act lies with Hengest all along. A further complication concerns the subject of Guðlaf ’s and Oslaf ’s complaint. Some readers have seen them prematurely breaking Finn’s truce by enticing the Frisians to break their oath.78 These critics read “ætwiton weana dæl” in reference to Finn, that Guðlaf and Oslaf baited Finn and therefore broke the agreement. North proposes, however, that Guðlaf and Oslaf “lament” their woes in a performance given before an assembly of Frisians and Danes: “without warning they chant of the ‘fierce attack’ the treaty forbids them to mention, making their taunts, and signal to Danes, Jutes and others to fall on the Frisians.”79 The problem with such readings as these is, again, they do not acknowledge that breaking a sworn truce would be reprehensible. The Danes should be praised for a just action, but how can betrayal ever be praiseworthy?

75 DOE s.v. sense II.C.1 “following (someone/something) in succession, succeeding, after”; sense II.C.7 “subsequent to and in consequence of, as a result of, because of.” 76 Old English Verse 25. Girvan also dislikes the duplicity, but the suggestion that the episode praises the Danes disturbs him more (Finnsburuh 11). Phillip Pulsiano attempts to show that Danes especially were known for verbal duplicity. Pulsiano nowhere alleges, however, that Danes actually break oaths, but his general observation on duplicity as a Danish national attribute could imply that Guðlaf and Oslaf come up with the plan that Hengest adopts. 77 Old English Verse 25. 78 Klaeber, Beowulf 176 note to lines 1148 ff.; Orchard, Critical Companion 185–6; Brodeur, “Design and Motive” 27: “Guðlaf and Oslaf cast in Finn’s teeth all the woes that had befallen them since that first fateful journey across the sea, to Finnsburg” (Brodeur’s italics); Earl R. Anderson, “Formulaic Typescene Survival” 295. 79 “Tribal Loyalties” 31. Fry suggests that “Guthlaf and Oslaf embolden the Danish spirits by reciting all their woes since the original voyage to Frisia” (“New Interpretation” 12).

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Furthermore, if Guðlaf and Oslaf break the truce, what good could be said of Hengest, whose role as agent provocateur has been diminished? Another view may be easier to accept. Hengest decides to bring about a conflict only after complaints from the highest quarters. Guðlaf and Oslaf therefore recount the sufferings that follow on their venture, the “sea-journey” to Frisia. For the sake of argument, let me suggest that Hengest’s vacillation disgusts them, and that their criticism is piercing. Yet agreeing that the Danish party criticizes Hengest means agreeing that Hengest has earned their reproach. I think he has. Admittedly polysemous, OE mænan generically means “bewail” in Beowulf, and in the passage it varies OE ætwitan “to reproach”: Guðlaf and Oslaf reproach Hengest for the number of woes they have suffered. In vernacular poetry, even poetry not contemporaneous with Beowulf, OE ætwitan describes the reprehensible behavior of a retinue that fails to avenge its fallen lord, as in Maldon:80 Ne sceolon me on þære þeode þæt ic of ðisse fyrde eard gesecan, forheawen æt hilde. (220a–3a)

þegenas ætwitan feran wille, nu min ealdor ligeð

Retainers among my countrymen shall not reproach me, that I intend to leave this host to seek my homeland, now that my lord lies dead, cut down in battle. Ne þurfon me embe Sturmere wordum ætwitan, þæt ic hlafordleas

stedefæste hælæð nu min wine gecranc, ham siðie . . . (249a–51b)

Steadfast heroes from Sturmer need not reproach me with words, that I would go home lordless now that my friend has fallen.

Guðlaf and Oslaf accuse Hengest of the worst dereliction. Yet this criticism of Hengest has dismayed some readers, such as Kemp Malone: “A Hengest who hangs back, reluctant to take action and in need of prodding by his more heroic fellows, has no proper place in heroic poetry.”81 Furthermore, Finn’s apparent trust in Hengest—he must be utterly devoted to the Frisian camp for Finn to suspect no retribution—further impugns Hengest’s character. Some have seen Finn’s There are only five occurrences of OE ætwitan in verse. It translates exprobraverunt (“they accused”) twice in the Paris Psalter (73.16, 88.45). 81 “Hildeburg and Hengest” 278; see also 282–3. This is also the opinion of Taylor, “Beowulf 1130” 358. 80

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innocence in his trust of Hengest, especially Chambers—one obvious reason why Hildeburh is thought to have no faith in “Jutes.” Rather, Finn places his trust in the solemn oaths that Hengest swears. Hengest is quite clearly the leader of Danes, principal to Guðlaf and Oslaf, who demand revenge. Yet Hengest has no tribal, let alone blood, ties making revenge imperative, and as I have pointed out, he has everything to gain from an alliance with Finn. The explicit terms of the sworn oath reveal Hengest’s position: “ðeah hie hira beaggyfan/ banan folgedon//ðeodenlease . . .” (“although, lordless, they followed their ring-giver’s slayer,” 1102a–3a). OE ðeodenlease can be translated “lordless,” but it literally means “without a national leader or head of the ðeod,”82 the present circumstances of Hengest’s followers. The Danes still follow Hengest, neither a member of their ðeod nor, by extension, of their blood.83 Like Beowulf he may be said to be “elþeodig” or “belonging to another ðeod” (336b). Since Germanic national revenge devolves on the ðeod, just as feud does on the kin,84 Hengest’s position becomes confrontational within his own faction. As Richard North acknowledges, “there is no evidence in this text that Hengest has any duty to avenge a leader who was not a blood-relative.”85 Perhaps this fact explains why the Cynewulf and Cyneheard episode from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle poorly reflects the motivations of Finnsburh, even though it is frequently used to support claims of Hengest’s duty to avenge Hnæf. Allegiance to one’s king could apparently override duty to one’s kin. Yet Hengest is no king but a war-leader, maybe even of a mercenary band.86

82 Just as dryhten means leader of a dryht (war-band), ðeoden means leader of a ðeod (nation or tribe in a quite restricted sense); see Green, Language and History 126–7; Storms, “Subjectivity” 178. 83 The point is emphasized in the expression “þeodnes ðegne” (1085a) in reference to Hengest; see Carleton Brown 181–3. 84 Evans, Lords of Battle 68; Bazelmans 3. 85 “Tribal Loyalties” 25. 86 Ibid. 18, 28. North suggests that Hengest transfers power and responsibility for the oath to the Danes. While I do not follow his argument about the transfer of power, his remarks on Hengest’s role in the confederacy are germane. The problem is, of course, that Hengest seems to hold sway over the Danes as more than a leader in name alone.

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Jutes and Giants in Finnsburh As impossible as it is to know Hengest’s nationality, I would argue that, at the very least, he cannot be Danish. Relying on the testimony of the Historia Brittonum, some critics deduce that Hengest was an Angle, designating a relatively small tribe occupying the territory of present-day Angeln, between the Schlei river and Flensborg Fjord. Most, however, would claim Hengest as a Jute on the basis of evidence from Beowulf and Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica.87 Bede tells that Kent was settled by Jutes and that Hengest ruled in Kent, so by inference Hengest could have been a Jute.88 In fact, it seems certain that Hengest is the originary Germanic settler of Kent, as stated in Bede. Yet Jutes, I contend, are nowhere mentioned in Beowulf, and neither is Hengest’s nationality. The matter has been thought important, because the word eotena (“of the giants/Jutes”) appears throughout the Finnsburh digression, and much has been made of its meaning. The Old English word for “Jute” was the weak feminine eote, with plural forms: nom./acc. eotan, gen. eotena, and dat. eotum.89 OE eoten, a noun denoting a creature like a “giant,” is found only four times in Beowulf, and twice in the Trinity College Psalter, where it glosses Latin “gigas” (“giant”).90 As Robert Kaske observes, three additional attestations preserve the grammatically ambiguous genitive plural form, eotena. All three come from the Finnsburh digression: “eotena treowe” (1072a) and “eotena bearn” (1088a, 1141a). Although weak eote (“Jute”) is morphologically distinct from the strong eoten (“giant”), some still allege that eotenas in Beowulf means “Jutes.” Just how this happened can be summarized from the commentary in J. R. R. Tolkien’s posthumous lectures on Finnsburh, edited by Alan Bliss: Orchard, Critical Companion 183. The archaeology supports Bede; see Myres; Suzuki 103–21. However, Hengest is never called a Jute, and it makes sense that he could be an Angle, as Alan Bliss proposed on the evidence of the Historia Brittonum (Tolkien, Finn and Hengest 168–80). On the impossibility of discovering facts of Anglo-Saxon settlement history from the written sources, see Sims-Williams. 89 Chambers, Widsith 237–41. 90 In Beowulf, alongside the adjective eotenisc (“made by giants, giant”) and compound noun eotonweard (“watch against a giant”); see DOE s.v. eoten. Klaeber marks this word with the symbols denoting its exceptional rarity in prose (s.v.). On the poet’s linguistic precision in using eoten and gigant, see Bandy 240. Eric Stanley facetiously proposes “Jutish giants” in his translation of “eotena cynnes,” 883b (“Notes on Old English Poetry” 333). 87 88

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chapter two I have no hesitation in saying at once that ‘Jutes’ are undoubtedly referred to. The argument on which this conclusion is based is essentially bound up with the identification of Hengest—and also, for all these problems are intricately bound up with traditions concerning early Danish history, with the identification of Heremod and the explanation of the dark allusions in Beowulf 898–915 and 1709–1722.91

By a chain of association, Tolkien identified Heremod as the Danish king Lotherus, who had been deposed by his barons for belligerence in Saxo’s Gesta Danorum. We learn in Beowulf that Heremod had been driven “mid eotenum” (902b). Tolkien then invoked Messenius’s remark in the Scondia Illustrata that Lotherus had been driven “in Jutiam.”92 He concludes that eotenum therefore means “Jutes,” both here and elsewhere in Beowulf. Tolkien tried to rationalize the genealogical evidence with the philological—supporting the form as a late morphological development along the lines of OE oxnum93—but even Alan Bliss demurred in a footnote: “Actually, no such late forms are found . . . with proper nouns.”94 By reading eoten as Jute, Tolkien (and many others besides) have seriously complicated the action in the Finnsburh episode. Richard North extended Tolkien’s observations, which seem now to have been widely accepted.95 Tolkien made much of the phrase “on twa healfa” (“on the two sides,” 1095b) describing the truce, sensing that the poet could not say “on ba healfa” (“on both sides”) because more than two parties were involved.96 It has therefore been theorized that Jutes served with Hnæf and Finn, and that Finn’s Jutes attacked Hnæf ’s.97 Thus, North imagines Finn’s Jutes to have been resident in Frisia long enough to have adopted a Frisian identity. This incipient loyalty to Finn is the “Eotena treowe” that Hildeburh should not have trusted. North likewise argues that the terms of the treaty include establishing a second “hall” where Hengest would rule the Jutes in

Finn and Hengest 53–4. Messenius. 93 Cf. Campbell, Old English Grammar § 619. 94 Finn and Hengest 62 note 64. Bliss does offer an unlikely parallel in OIcel gotnar, gotna, gotnum (“Goths, men”). 95 Suzuki 116–17. 96 This does not seem to be the case, however, in Beowulf 1305a (“on ba healfa”), describing the Danes’ and Grendel’s “sides.” The genitive singular adjective “healfre” in the phrase “þæt hie healfre geweald . . . agan moston” modifies a feminine noun, almost certainly “heal.” 97 Thorkelin first identified the eotenas as “Jutes” in his 1815 translation of Beowulf: “Jutorum foedus/Injuste fuit/Fractum adversus dominum.” 91 92

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both factions, Hnæf ’s and Finn’s, as North translates the verses “þæt hie healfre geweald//wið Eotena bearn/agan moston” (“in such a way that they were allowed to have power of half [the hall] facing the sons of the Jutes,” 1087b–8b).98 Unfortunately, the complications of reading eotena bearn as “sons of the Jutes” in the episode means, first, that Finn could be absolved of responsibility for Hnæf ’s death, an unlikely position. Second, if Hengest took revenge on Jutes rather than Frisians, why would Finn have to die? Killing Finn would make the Danes appear unprincipled. A competing interpretation of OE eoten disregards “Jutes” altogether and greatly simplifies Tolkien’s complex version of events in Finnsburh. In 1967 R. E. Kaske argued that eoten throughout Beowulf means “giant,” either “enemy” or “Frisian” and that Hengest’s Danes ridicule the Frisians with the epithet.99 Giants were the traditional enemies of the Æsir and Vanir in the Scandinavian cosmology, and the familiarization seems as natural as calling someone a “devil” today. Kaske’s view has gained some recent strong support from John F. Vickrey, who alleges that “eorðcyninges” in Beowulf 1155b and “eorðbuendra” in the Fragment 32b denote figurative earth-dwellers or giants.100 Jacqueline Stuhmiller, moreover, observes that Beowulf has just trounced Grendel, an eoten of sorts.101 She suggests that Beowulf, like Hengest, is an eoten-slayer. Kaske’s work was less context-specific, however. He noted that “Skáldskaparmál” attests that “giant terms” (“jötnaheiti”) are insulting designations for men. Yet another recension of the text claims that a man can be called a “jötunn” (“kent er ok til iøtna”), the Old Icelandic cognate of eoten, and exemplifies the heiti with a verse.102 Þjóðólfr of Hvinir’s late ninth-century “Haustlöng” deploys the phrase “enemy of Thor”

“Tribal Loyalties” 21. “Eotenas in Beowulf ”; see also Holthausen, “Zu altenglischen Denkmälern” 180; Lawrence, “Tragedy of Finnsburg” 393: “. . . Frisians, the men of King Finn, who are also called Eotenas . . .”; Malone, “Finn Episode” 161: “. . . Euts and Frisians are equivalent terms, for our poet, and from that we may infer that the treachery was on the Frisian side.” 100 “Eorð-Compounds.” 101 Her point is that “the Geats may have vanquished this particular eotena [Grendel], but the Danes have eradicated whole hosts of them in the past, against tremendous odds” (11). Stuhmiller concludes with an observation similar to mine: “it is no less important to acknowledge that Beowulf himself, from a Danish viewpoint at least, is a rapacious eoten of sorts” (12). 102 Kaske, “Eotenas in Beowulf ” 289. 98 99

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for “giant.”103 Interestingly, the Frisians seem to have been reputed for their size. Kaske observes that Þjóðólfr’s expression, “á fjalla Finns ilja brú minni” (“on my bridge of the foot-soles of the Lapp [= “Finns”] of the Fells”), refers to the giant Hrungnir, who protects himself from the god Thor by standing on his own shield.104 “Finnr” has to mean “giant” here.105 To continue, the runic “Rök Stone” seems to refer to a man as a killer of “giants,” very tentatively identified as Frisians. Finally, Kaske brings forward some medieval Italian references to the height of Frisians—implying that Frisians were known in Dante’s circles for their size. Here I must mention that details about Hygelac in the English Liber Monstrorum have been attributed to Frisian oral tales—perhaps accounting for the morbid interest in the dimensions of Hygelac’s bones.106 On the basis of Kaske’s Norse evidence, then, OE eoten could mean “giant” in the Finnsburh contexts. If so, it may denote an “enemy” or specifically a Frisian, should one wish to emphasize the minuscule evidence of Frisian gigantism. Ultimately, reading eoten as a Frisian or enemy fits the context I furnish for the poem. In this context, Hengest’s position is “tragic”—as Brodeur alleges. He must choose service to Finn or vengeance for Hnæf regardless of the cost to his personal reputation. Hengest can either break a sworn oath or deny vengeance to his lord. While the Danes censure Hengest for following Finn, Hengest does find a solution to his predicament, one that preserves his honor. Hengest’s Resolution Malone does observe, for all the wrong reasons,107 the poet’s accusation of Hengest’s “failure”: . . . Hengest, however eager, was unable to fulfil his obligation of taking vengeance . . . We are told, not that Hengest left Finn’s court, but that he was eager to leave; not that he brought on a battle, but that he had it in mind to bring one on; not that he took vengeance, but that he thought of

North, Haustlöng 8, 69. Ibid. 56. 105 See the comments of Russchen 351 and Wilts. 106 Magoun, “Beowulf and King Hygelac”; Backx 61; Whitbread, “Liber Monstrorum and Beowulf ” 463. 107 Brodeur is especially dismissive of the view that Hengest “made no [heroic] choice at all . . . between duty linked with desire to avenge . . . and his own weak irresolution”; see “Design and Motive.” 103 104

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taking it. This is surely apologetic material: the poet lays so much stress on his hero’s good intentions that we must suspect the hero of failing to carry them out.108

Malone calls Hengest a “sinner,” a judgment raising the issue of blame for Hengest’s delay: “The poet warms to him . . . because he repents of his sin, even though he is unable to make amends.”109 Malone makes this claim because he sees Guðlaf and Oslaf, not Hengest, as Hnæf ’s avengers. Hengest’s resignation incriminates his resolve, but he does make amends in my reading of the episode. Yet Malone reasonably detects Hengest’s equivocation, as some evidence discloses Hengest’s hesitation to pursue vengeance for Hnæf. As Brodeur avers, “Hengest’s followers were separated from him by an abyss of incomprehension and mistrust; the trust and comradeship which he had shared with them were dissolved.”110 Determining how Hengest feels about his conflicting obligations and especially his contemptible deference can be found in the passage equating his wintry mood with the bleak weather of the sea in winter.111 Hengest ða gyt wælfagne winter wunode mid Finne [ea]l unhlitme; eard gemunde, þeah þe he [sic MS] meahte on mere drifan hringedstefnan —holm storme weol, won wið wind, winter yþe beleac isgebinde . . . (1127b–33a)

“Finn Episode” 168. Ibid. 171. 110 “Design and Motive” 23. Brodeur, however, thinks that Hengest resolves to break his oath. 111 Stanley, “Poetic Diction” 252, 257; Burlin, “Inner Weather.” Burlin exonerates Hengest (“the aim of the episode is clearly not to cast blame” 83) and suggests that Hengest succumbs to “the way things are” (ibid.). The editors of Klaeber’s Beowulf adopt the following emendation of 1128b–29a: wunode mid Finne; he unhlitme eard gemunde, þeah þe ne meahte on mere drifan hringedstefnan . . . (1128b–31a) [Hengest] dwelled with Finn. He eagerly remembered his homeland, although he could not drive his ring-prowed ship on the sea. Yet it seems imprecise to allege that unhlitme (“not by lot”) has lost its originary sense and simply means “eagerly,” in the sense “he fondly remembered.” The negative adverb ne in 1130a seems more defensible: Hengest remembered a homeland but could not leave. 108 109

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chapter two Hengest then voluntarily dwelled with Finn for a slaughter-stained winter; he recalled a homeland, although he might drive his ring-prowed ship on the sea. The ocean weltered in storm, struggled against the wind, winter locked the wave, the ice-fetter.

The winter Hengest spends with Finn is “wælfag,” stained by the remembered slaughter. Hengest’s growing discomfort with his position is demonstrated by the expression “eard gemunde” (1129b): Hengest “remembered [his, a, the] homeland.” The precise meaning of eal unhlitme has been contested (the manuscript reads “finnel unhlitme”), but nearly all views connect it to OE hlitm and translate “not by lot.”112 Donald K. Fry takes eal unhlitme as “voluntarily”113 and John F. Vickrey renders it “not by necessity.”114 They jointly argue that Hengest willingly stays in Frisia to avenge Hnæf, and Vickrey extends the case by reading eard gemunde as “ ‘bore in mind’ where disaster had befallen his lord.”115 North connects the curious expression to Gildas’s remark that the Germanic invaders read omens before venturing to Britannia. Gildas’s words are “omen” and “auguria.”116 Historia Brittonum, however, records that Hengest was forced

112 While many have offered reconstructions of the text, the solution “(Finn) eal unhlitme” has found favor, the last two words being translated “not at all by lot.” This reading connects unhlitme to OE hleotan “to cast lots” and OE hliet “chance, lot, share”; cf. “on hlytme,” Beowulf 3126a. Orchard translates “ill-fated” (Critical Companion 186). 113 Finnsburh 22. 114 “Narrative Structure” 91: “Any hlitm, ‘casting of lots’, would imply ‘choice’ in the sense ‘decision pursuant to lots and not to one’s desires’. But the translation ‘having no choice’ means much more than this; it means ‘unwillingly’, and shows that -hlitm here is really taken to imply ‘free choice, choice pursuant to one’s desires.” The translation “voluntarily” may be euphemistic, as Fulk implies in his treatment of the term as “ ‘not reluctantly’, ‘eagerly’, ‘fondly’ ” (“Six Cruces” 199). Having accepted the sense “eagerly,” he applies “unhlitme” to the following half-line “eard gemunde,” partly because the subsequent verses about the winter weather suggest the impossibility of travel. Fulk therefore accepts the emendation ne < MS he in 1130a. In proposing the clause onset, he also recommends emending eal to he. These suggestions have been incorporated into Klaeber’s Beowulf. Given the telegraphic style of the passage, I do not think that the verses on the winter weather need to explain the reason for Hengest’s predicament, as the punctuation (a dash) implies. One could intuit, “Hengest stayed happily, even though he could sail home . . . the winter squalls set in.” 115 “Narrative Structure” 95; Vickrey claims, “Hengest meditates a dire revenge” (ibid.). Vickrey further argues that Hengest’s revenge is implicated twice in the telling. When the poet describes the dread winter he actually portrays Hengest’s mood. The arrival of spring represents Hengest’s revenge: “The first ending hints at rage and a slaughterous revenge; the second records the details of revenge” (101). 116 “Tribal Loyalties” 27: “Hengest does not sail, therefore he does not look for omens . . . [he] plans to settle a new land [Britain], but his private feud takes precedence.”

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to leave his homeland, although omens as such are not mentioned: “Interea tres ceolae, a Germania in exilium expulsae, Bryttanniam aduenerunt.”117 Geoffrey of Monmouth seems to have embroidered the tradition of Hengest’s exile by adding details of a “lottery”: Fueramus etenim expulsi a patria nostra nec ob aliud nisi quia consuetudo regni expetebat. Consuetudo nanque in patria nostra est ut, cum habundantia hominum in eadem superuenerit, conueniunt ex diuersis prouintiis principes et totius regni iuuenes coram se uenire precipiunt. Deinde proiecta sorte potiores atque fortiores eligunt qui extera regna petituri uictum sibi perquirant [ut] patria ex qua orti sunt a superflua multitudine liberetur. Superfluente igitur nouiter in regno nostro hominum copia conuenerunt principes nostri sortemque proicientes elegerunt iuuentutem istam quam in presentia tua cernis; preceperunt ut consuetudini ab antiquo statute parerent.118 We were expelled from our homeland for no other reason than that our nation’s custom required it. For the custom in our land is that when there is an abundance of men in it, the nobles from various districts meet and command the young men from the whole kingdom to come before them. Lots are then cast, and the powerful and strong choose those who will seek out foreign kingdoms to earn their bread, so that the homeland where they were born may be freed from an inordinate multitude. Since a superabundance of men has lately befallen our homeland, our princes, casting lots, selected the youth which you see in your presence; the nobles commanded that they adhere to the custom by ancient decree.

Given Geoffrey’s celebrity for invention, the sentiment may express nothing more than his impulse to amplify Gildas’ remarks. If the “lottery” reflects an actual tradition, however, translating “eal unhlitme” as “not at all by lottery” could refer to the circumstances that made Hengest a wrecca: exile from his (Anglian or Jutish) homeland and service with Hnæf. The fact that Hengest stays eal unhlitme in this instance could mean one of two things: no lottery compelled Hengest’s service to Finn or no lottery forced him to leave. Taking “not by lot” as “voluntarily” perfectly captures the sense of the expression. From the parallels in Gildas, North ingeniously suggested that Hengest recalls a homeland: Britain.119 Presumably Hengest stayed on to consummate his revenge, as lines 1137b–9b suggest:

117 118 119

Dumville, Historia Brittonum 82. Neil Wright, Historia Regum 65 (emending “et” to “ut”). “Tribal Loyalties” 26–7.

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chapter two gist of geardum; swiðor þohte

Fundode wrecca, he to gyrnwræce þonne to sælade . . .

The wrecca was eager to set out, the guest from those precincts. He thought more about vengeance than his sea venture.

Notwithstanding his ambitions, Hengest thinks more about vengeance than any sea venture. For some reason, however, he continues to honor his pledge to Finn. While he had the opportunity to go home, he is trapped in Finnsburh.120 Something is holding him back. In the end Hengest cannot restrain his “wæfre mod” (1150b) or “hesitant disposition.” In describing Beowulf ’s action with the dragon I will suggest that the term wæfre describes a psychic paralysis, an indecisiveness about proper behavior. The sense “flickering,” as of igniting a flame (“Daniel 240b) or “gutturing” might also be defended here. Others have translated wæfre more vaguely by attributing an indistinct “restlessness” to the Danes. Translating the clause “ne meahte wæfre mod/forhabben in hreþre” (1150–51a) as “the restless spirit [of the Danes] could not restrain itself in the breast,” Kemp Malone simultaneously makes the verb reflexive and writes Hengest out of the Danish revenge.121 Yet Hengest’s uncertainty finds direct expression in the clause, . . . gif he torngemot þæt he eotena bearn

þurhteon mihte, inne gemunde. (1140a–1b)

. . . if he could engineer an angry meeting, that he might remind the sons of the giants within.

The hapax legomenon torngemot consists of elements torn “angry, indignant” plus gemot “counsel, meeting, assembly.” Others have interpreted torngemot as I do, but these critics insist that the Danes intend to hold such a meeting.122 On the contrary, Hengest does not intend to break the oath, but he engineers an angry meeting where he goads the Frisians into breaking it. In this way “he might remind the sons of the giants [= enemies, Frisians] within [“inne”].” The semantic problem here is twofold: the meaning of adverb “inne” and of verb “gemunde.” OE inne has occasionally been emended to irne (“with iron”), but inne may 120 The half-line “þeah þe he meahte” has often been emended to “þeah þe ne meahte,” but the negation should be rejected; see Taylor, “Beowulf 1130” and North, “Tribal Loyalties” 26. 121 “Finn Episode” 159. 122 Fry, “New Interpretation” 11.

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stand as an adverb of position.123 North alone has argued that inne here means “within the nation,”124 although “inwardly” (of a mental state) could make sense, too.125 Yet the context is more specific: inside the hall. Adverb inne can be found seven other times in Beowulf, and in five of these it means “inside a hall.”126 The best parallels occur in 1866b, where Hroðgar is said to have bestowed gifts “inside” (“inne gesealde”) and in 3059b, where the dragon is said to have hidden his treasure “inside” (“inne gehydde”). The context of inne “inside the hall or barrow” has to be inferred, since mention of either location is several lines away. A further parallel from Vainglory shows that inne can mean in a hall: “witan fundiaþ//hwylc æscstede,/inne in ræcede//mid werum wunige” (“Inside the building prudent men are eager to know where the battlefield will be among their peers,” 16b–18a). This is exactly the circumstances of the passage in Finnsburh. Hengest makes Finn’s hall the scene of his revenge. Hengest intends to remember (“gemunan”) the sons of the giants/ enemies inside the hall, where he can press an advantage. OE gemunan generally means “to remember,” but how would one “remember the sons of giants/enemies”?127 The collocation recalls Norse expressions meaning “take revenge,”128 since the Beowulf poet uses gemunan to denote the promise of compensation for acts committed or pledged. “Ic þe þæs lean geman” (“I will remember a reward for you for that”) says

123 The emendation proposed by Trautmann. Bruce Mitchell offers a discussion of this line in his “Two Syntactical Notes.” 124 “Tribal Loyalties” 19–20. 125 An excellent precedent for the sense “mental state” can be found in Beowulf 2113b. 126 Lines 390b, 642b, 1281b (adverb of motion), 1570b, 1800b, 1866b; 3059b refers to the dragon’s lair. The phrase is highly formulaic. It occurs solely in the b-verse, and three times in Beowulf (I count “inne gemunde”) inne is found with a preterite verb form having prefix ge-. 127 Orchard suspects that gemunan “remember” can also mean “call to mind” (Critical Companion 186), but this sense would require justification if it meant “call to (someone else’s) mind.” Yet Orchard’s reading of the verb would solve multiple problems in the passage! In Beowulf OE myndgian is used for the sense “remind” or “call to mind.” The form gemunde appears to be preterite subjunctive, but a translation would be crabbed: “might have remembered.” 128 Cleasby and Vigfusson s.v. muna sense 2. It has to be conceded that in all the Old Icelandic citations, one does not remember a person (as in Beowulf ) but his doings. One “remembers” (humiliations or miseries) just before seeking revenge in Beowulf 1259b (Grendel’s mother remembers “yrmþe” or “humiliation”) and 2488b–89a (Eofor’s hand remembered feuds). In the Heaðobard digression the eald æscwiga “remembers all” and goads a youth to murder (2042b).

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Wealhþeow in 1220b when she asks Beowulf to protect her sons. Elsewhere Beowulf “remembers a requital” (“lean gemunde,” 2391b) for Heardred’s death: “Se ðæs leodhryres/lean gemunde” (“he remembered a requital for the prince’s [or: nation’s] fall,” 2391). When Hengest says “eotena bearn . . . gemunde,” that he “means to remember the Frisians inside the hall,” he intends to pay them back for their earlier attack. The understatement euphemizes Hengest’s determination and makes the scene of his suffering the arena of his vengeance. To this end, the Danish Hunlafing129 presents Hengest with a sword whose edges are known “among the giants [that is, the Frisians]”: “þæs wæron mid eotenum/ecge cuðe,” 1145a–b. While Kaske interprets this passage to mean that the sword was old—known among the ancient race of giants—he suggests the alternative “known among Frisians” as well. This reading is arguably preferable, since it has lately been established that the Beowulf poet uses eoten consistently for post-diluvian creatures.130 The emphasis on the sword’s edges—not on the common Old English metonymy ecg for a sword in general—implies violence. On the one hand, this sword may have been used to kill Frisians in the surprise attack, perhaps even Hnæf ’s, thereby making it “known.”131 On

129 This character is the son of “Hunlaf ” (see John R. Clark Hall) known from the pages of the lost Skjoldunga Saga epitomized by Arngrímur Jónsson in his Rerum Danicarum fragmenta (“Hunleifus, Oddleifus, Gunnleifus,” which correspond exactly to Hunlaf, Oddlaf (Ordlaf/Oslaf ), and Guðlaf )”, and from an important reference in Cotton Vespasian D. IV fol. 139v, deriving from an anonymous history “de Bruto et Brittonibus secundum Bedam” (Imelmann, review of Heyne and Schücking, Beowulf col. 999): “In diebus illis, imperante Valentiniano . . . regnum barbarorum et germanorum exortum est. Surgentesque populi et naciones per totam Europam consederunt. Hoc testantur gesta rudolphi et hunlapi, Unwini et Widie, Horsi et Hengisti, Waltef et hame, quorum quidam in Italia, quidam in Gallia, alii in britannia, ceteri vero in Germania armis et rebus bellicis claruerunt.” Various readings have been proposed (for which see Klaeber’s Beowulf note to lines 1142–4), a heterodox one revived by Friend. Two questions arise if we accept the reading Hunlafing: Is Hunlafing the name of a sword (Olrik, Danmarks Heltedigtning vol. 1, p. 68; Malone, “Hunlafing”) or a person? The question arises whether one can call a son “Hunlafing” without a full first name, but Brodeur seems to have resolved the question to the extent that it can be (“Climax” 330–54). Girvan perversely identified Hengest as Hunlafing: “it was on his own lap he laid and wore the sword” (Finnsburuh 24). 130 Bandy. 131 Although this is not the only explanation: Van Meter recalls an earlier explanation (i.e. Girvan, Finnsburuh 24) that the sword may have been Hnæf ’s and that a ritual of political legitimation renders Hengest fully responsible for blood vengeance (185; the notion of an heir seems implicit). If so, we would need to account for the delay of the ceremony, Hengest’s own reluctance to break the treaty (does one require a ceremony to perform one’s duty?) before and afterwards, and the ambiguity of the sword’s history.

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the other hand, the sword may have an even older history, one I am prepared to argue for. My claim for the function of the sword in the episode derives from the parallel I noted above between the Finnsburh and Heaðobard digressions. In the Heaðobard digression, a byre provocatively wears a Heaðobard sword captured in a battle that had been waged in a prior generation.132 The sword was passed from father to son. This is exactly the circumstances of Hunlafing’s sword, already passed down from the previous generation. The anomalous sobriquet “Hunlafing” or “son of Hunlaf ” emphasizes this important distinction. While the boy’s name is irrelevant, his parentage is not. From the parallels between the two episodes we can conclude that wearing the wrong weapon can arouse enmity over a past event which has no bearing on a present one. In short, an insensitivity recalls a past conflict, which in turn affects Ingeld’s marriage, despite Ingeld’s best efforts to prevent any breach of trust. Recall that the perpetrator escaped, making punishment or compensation for the slaughtered Dane impossible. Like Ingeld, Finn would not want one of his own men to breach his well-constructed treaty over an event from the distant past that had nothing to do with the Danish-Frisian feud. But to be faithful to the terms of the treaty, Hengest would want just this eventuality, since he expects the treaty to be breached by infuriated Frisians. Hunlafing presents the sword not to bait Hengest but for him to wear it and precipitate an incendiary reaction among Frisians in the hall.133 Hence, the verb þurhteon, literally “to pull through” but here “to effect,” highlights Hengest’s ostensible conspiracy. This strategy answers the detail that Hengest wanted to provoke a torngemot or “angry meeting.” The point is to make the Frisians remember grievances against Danes, for which reason the poet emphasizes the Frisian oath. One must not

Hanning 6, 8. Frank, “Germanic Legend” 90: “The silent placing of a sword on Hengest’s lap screams out vengeance.” Frank is not quite clear how the sword prompts Hengest, and neither is Klaeber, writing, “Hunlafing . . . presents Hengest with a famous sword with the stipulation . . . that the vengeance he is brooding over is to be carried into execution” (“Observations” 547). For Klaeber, it almost seems as if the sword were a gift—or bribe. Malone (“Hildeburg and Hengest” 276) proposes that receiving the sword signifies Hengest’s intent: “On this earlier occasion the Eotens had got well acquainted with his sword; he is intent on having them renew this acquaintance”; see also “Finn Episode” 167. Brodeur alleges, “acceptance of the sword was a promise to Hengest’s men; it restored him to unity with them, and ended his tragic isolation” (“Design and Motive” 24). 132 133

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say anything related to the settlement, but it might all emerge if emotions can be provoked. Hunlafing’s sword must have had a transparent history if Hengest is using it to make the Frisians speak of remembered killings, the essential reason why it is “known among giants.” It has been suggested that Hunlaf fell in the attack on the hall and that his son received the father’s sword. This seems unlikely, since the prominent Hunlaf is not made the object of vengeance. More likely, it would violate the oath to bring up an issue related to the current feud, but the past is not off limits. North follows some readers who allege that Hunlafing receives Hengest’s rule over the Danes by placing his sword in Hengest’s lap.134 In this way, Hengest transfers his power and responsibility for the oath, presumably to Hunlafing. On the basis of four episodes (two from the sagas, one from Beowulf, and one from Saxo), North reasons that receiving a sword indicates vassalage. In each of North’s cases, however, a king delivers the sword, whereas in Finnsburh a subordinate (Hunlafing) hands it over. Hunlafing would therefore have to be a king already—a status the alleged ceremony preempts. North’s incongruent parallels yet raise as many questions as they answer: Why should the oath be binding only for Hengest and not for his troops? If Hengest yields power to Hunlafing, is an attack ethical by heroic standards? Why should the young Hunlafing become “king” and not Guðlaf or Oslaf ? Why are the sword’s edges “known among giants”? Two more questions emerge as well: Of what parallel relevance is the detail of the sword-wearer in the Heaðobard digression—if it indeed echoes Finnsburh? If the Danes could slaughter Finn with impunity, why do they need Hengest to cede power? He need not break the oath if they assaulted Finn on their own. Finally, in yielding power does Hengest capitulate in his duty to seek revenge, as Malone charged, in effect turning over the responsibility to his subalterns and diminishing his own status? The moment seems unusually heightened not because it implies a transfer of authority but because it initiates Hengest’s plot. North alleges Hengest’s reluctance to break the oath, but the pledge is broken in his reading. Handing over the sword is described by the idiom don + on, which generally means “put on” in Old English, a locution different from alicgan + on in 2194a–b (“. . . on Biowulfes/bearm alegde” or “laid in

134

“Tribal Loyalties” 28–9.

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Beowulf ’s lap”).135 The phrase “on bearm” could mean “on his lap” by synecdoche but could equally represent attaching a sword to a baldric.136 Most plausibly, Hunlafing puts his own famous sword—perhaps Hunlaf ’s own (?captured) sword—on Hengest. This moment has a strong correlate in the Ingeld digression, where a sword worn “innocently” provokes a murder. The parallel is being exploited: a sword is being used as provocation in a scene like that in Finn’s hall. Interestingly, the sword mentioned in the Ingeld digression had been taken from Heaðobards at some time prior to the marriage settlement. So, too, was Hunlafing’s sword, almost certainly inherited from Hunlaf. Its edges are hypothetically “known among giants” because Hunlaf either killed many “giants” with it or took it from “giants”—Frisians, in other words. The expression simply suggests why Frisians would react when they see the weapon. In the Heaðobard digression the tauntings of the eald æscwiga and the murder that incites war trigger this reaction.137 Hengest wears the sword as provocation, thereby preserving the letter of his oath. Hengest expects that a Frisian will see the sword, recall a fatal incident unrelated to the current delicate situation, complain of it, and thereby bring up the feud. In fact, this strategy answers the specific clause in the treaty between Finn and Hengest: gyf þonne Frysna hwylc ðæs morþorhetes þonne hit sweordes ecg

frecnen spræce myndgiend wære, syððan scede. (1104a–6b)

If some Frisian should call to mind through audacious talk the murderous hostility, then the sword’s edge would afterwards settle it.

Hengest makes the Frisians resort to such audacious talk, so that he may exploit this provision and “settle” the dispute honorably, by not breaking the truce himself. Hengest remains leader of the Danes throughout but only earns respect by making the Frisians break the oath—a situation

Gwara, “Second Language Acquisition” 14. Collinder 20–1. A verse from Maxims II 25b bears on this question: “sweord sceal on bearme.” This occurs in a long section patterned “X sceal on Y” describing where men or objects should be positioned. Thus, “a gem should stand in a ring” (23b–4a), “a mast on a ship’s keel must support a sail-yard” (24b–5a), “a king should give rings in his hall” (28b–9a). The context (as well as the dative of position) here indicates that the sword be attached to the bearm, and there is every reason to think that Hunlafing places the sword where it belongs, and not on Hengest’s lap. 137 Hill suggests—and there is no avoiding the realistic possibility of his reading—that Hengest then carried out his vengeance using the sword (Warrior Ethic 67). 135 136

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identical to Ingeld’s. Even so, Hengest can be faulted for making his decision only after Danish intimidation. Hunlafing’s act ultimately coincides with my reading of the passage mentioning Guðlaf and Oslaf. Hengest does not refuse “the counsel of the world” or “woroldrædenne” (1142b), which is often uselessly emended to “weorodrædende” (“host-ruler, king”), but neither does he embrace it actively. His hesitation, which North also envisions, evokes the “tragic” sense often seen in the digression—that he is compelled to act against his better judgment (or self-interest) and break a truce.138 Arthur Brodeur’s paper on “The Climax of the Finn Episode” brilliantly clarified the meaning of woroldræden and demolished competing emendations.139 In nearly all Old English compounds terminating in -ræden, the element ræden functions as an abstract suffix. However, in cases like landræden “law of the land,” sinræden “widespread counsel,” and folcræden “national law,” the second element retains its meaning “counsel, stipulation, law, decree” and should be translated “counsel of the world.”140 To my mind, the world’s counsel could be as vague as “duty” or as specific as “vengeance,” but many have offered other suggestions: “what pertains to the world,”141 “revenge and destruction,”142 “the course ‘suggested by public opinion.’ ”143 Hengest apparently scorns a duty that the world demands. Why should he hesitate for so long? First, he is not a Dane and therefore not compelled to exact revenge to the extent the Danes are.144 Second, Hengest has been elevated to

Burlin, “Inner Weather” 83–4. “Climax” 313–30. 140 Ibid. 328–9; see DOE, s.v. folcræden: “public policy” (Gifts of Men 42) and “national legislation” (Cleopatra Glossary 1, no. 3807). 141 Lawrence, “Tragedy of Finnsburg” 418. 142 Burlin, “Inner Weather” 83. 143 Garmonsway 141. For a summary of the earliest suggestions, see Klaeber’s Beowulf note to line 1142b (189) and Sanderlin 501 note 1: “worldly intercourse,” “retainership,” “way of the world,” “destiny,” “custom of the world,” “condition,” “worldly duty,” “universal obligation.” 144 Malone’s view (“Hildeburg and Hengest” 267) holds good in one respect: “In truth, all the Danes were in the same boat. Every man of them, when he entered Finn’s service, made sacrifice of his honor. The tragedy of Hengest is representative; it is not his peculiar personal property.” All suffer humiliation, but only the Danes represented by Guðlaf and Oslaf insist that the oath must be voided. For this reason, Malone proposes that Hunlafing must be a sword name: “In getting rid of [Hunlafing as a character] we also get rid of the hypothetical and inherently improbable difference of opinion (not to say ill feeling) between Hengest on the one hand and his fellow members of the wealaf on the other” (278). Malone then proceeds to vitiate his own theory when he says, “In my reconstruction, the other Danes became unjustifiably suspicious 138 139

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a supremely high rank and capitalizes on his status. Third, he cannot imagine how the oath could be violated without an accusation of perfidy. But Guðlaf and Oslaf make Hengest see his duty, and Hengest redeems his vacillation. Beowulf the Foreign King of Danes This reading of multiple parallels between the Finnsburh and Heaðobard digressions not only eases difficulties in Finnsburh but also has the added virtue of greatly simplifying the plot, so that its meaning for the poem’s internal audience of Geats and Danes becomes transparent. In essence Finnsburh describes reluctant but eventual revenge. Ambition and duty are its key terms. The episode dramatizes the ethical consequences of electing an ambitious outsider, someone “elþeodig,” to defend the interests of one’s people. Even when an obviously righteous choice lies before such a man, his duty to his sworn allies will be compromised by the prestige and wealth garnered from—astonishingly!—a treacherous enemy. A maxim transmitted in the Vespasian manuscript of the Old English “Dicts of Cato” and untranslated from any Latin source actually describes the calamity of foreign leadership voiced in the Finnsburh digression: Wa þære þeode þe hæfð ælðeodigne cyng—ungemetfæstne, feohgeorne, 7 unmildheortne—for on þære þeode byð his gitsung, 7 his modes gnornung on his earde.145 Woe to the nation that has a foreign king—immoderate, eager for treasure and pitiless—for his own rapacity will be among the people, and the sorrow of his spirit will be for his homeland.

Finn gigs Hengest’s ambition with precisely these expectations. Hengest sacrifices Danish honor for his own self-interest, and he abuses the trust of his Danish subalterns—the men whose trust he supposedly

of Hengest because of his failure to act, and made their escape without him, under the leadership of Guthlaf and Oslaf ” (284, my italics). 145 Cox, “Dicts of Cato” 15. London, British Library MS Cotton Vespasian D.xiv (s. xii med.) alone preserves this aphorism, which does not derive from the alleged source, the Distichs of Pseudo-Cato. The expression “his modes gnornung on his earde” may have some bearing on the phrase “eard gemunde” in Beowulf 1129b. Just as the tyrant laments for his homeland in a way that compromises his duty, Hengest may miss his people. By staying with Finn Hengest starts to resemble the rapacious foreign king.

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safeguards. The very notion that he goes on to conquer territory in sub-Roman Britain suggests, in fact, that supreme glory rather than loyalty, kinship, or honor motivates him from the start. And, ironically, Hengest defends his own reputation, not the dignity of his men. Only Danish complaints force Hengest to retreat from his seemingly ironclad treaty, and he must devise a plan that will not contravene his sworn allegiance to Finn. The allegiance to Hnæf seems forgotten. The Finnsburh poet poses questions of revenge and feuding, to be sure, but he centrally features a foreign-born leader whose interests lean towards self-promotion rather than an expected good, the natural retaliation for betrayal, murder, and humiliation. The scop’s narrative archetype Hengest must choose between two conflicting obligations, and Hengest’s choices disclose hesitation and compromise. This factitious comparison applies to Beowulf. In the same analogous terms that characterize all the Beowulfian digressions, Hroðgar’s scop compares Beowulf to Hengest, implicitly identifying Beowulf as a wrecca—a trusted outsider whose sword and counsel are valued even above those of native kinsmen. While Beowulf belongs to this class of warriors more in imagination than fact, the Finnsburh scop chooses to presage Beowulf ’s ostensible ambition. In fact, he opposes ambition to loyalty in a scenario analogous to Beowulf ’s present circumstances as Hroðgar’s protégé. Through this extended parable the scop imaginatively critiques Hroðgar’s intention to adopt Beowulf as his son and heir. Having praised Beowulf ’s mother (lines 942b–46a) for producing such a man as Beowulf,146 Hroðgar promises an emotional tie resembling fosterage: secg betsta, freogan on ferhþe; niwe sibbe. (946b–49a)

Nu ic, Beowulf, þec, me for sunu wylle heald forð tela

Now I, Beowulf, best of men, will honor you in my heart like a son. Hold well this new kinship henceforth.

The choked expression—I, you, me, son—confirms Hroðgar’s strong feelings. Beowulf is a new son in sentimental terms, though not yet a political successor. But when Hroðgar’s dynastic treasures are distributed, Beowulf ’s position as heir becomes solidified politically. He receives five items: a standard, helmet, mailcoat, and sword, all formerly owned by 146 Hill, “Danish Succession” 182: “The thought of Beowulf ’s parent, his mother only, may have led Hroðgar to offer himself as a ‘father.’ ”

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Heorogar, so it seems—and Hroðgar’s war-saddle.147 These status objects confirm Hroðgar’s intention to promote Beowulf as regent, and this alarming development poses a threat to the social cohesion of Heorot and especially to the solidarity of the Danish warband. After all, the foreigner Beowulf is unknown to any of them, and he is, even at his death, “lofgeornost” (“most desirous of praise,” 3182b). To the Danes celebrating Grendel’s defeat, Beowulf is an extraordinary fighter, but as their leader he might fail to heed the “world’s counsel” and become that rapacious foreign king mentioned in the Vespasian maxim. Suspicious of Beowulf ’s standing as Hroðgar’s designated heir, Queen Wealhþeow registers her own doubts about the Geat’s throne-worthiness. John M. Hill observes how Wealhþeow discerns Hroðgar’s intent to thrust Beowulf into the succession and that she counters the king’s gambit with a competing offer and admonition.148 For Hill, Wealhþeow suggests rewarding Beowulf with exceptional treasures received in tribute or won in war.149 Beowulf, she observes, has no long-standing debt of gratitude and reciprocal obligation that would tie him to Hroðgar or the Danes. Having instead committed a glorious deed, he should be honored as a champion, the way heroes are recognized. Most significantly, however, Finnsburh intervenes before Wealhþeow presents her counter-offer. Her remonstration is a disjunctive moment in the poem and in my view a direct reaction to Finnsburh, which rehearses the circumstances of potential Danish disgrace at the hands of a foreign leader. In other words, the Finnsburh scop recites a poem full of anxiety over righteous duty, and Wealhþeow may be seen to respond sympathetically.150

147 Ibid. 184. It is often noted that these four gifts are delivered to Hygelac in exactly the same order in which they are received (2152a–54a) and at that time Beowulf recounts that Heorogar once owned them. Apparently Beowulf keeps the saddle; see Orchard, Critical Companion 226. 148 Ibid. 186–90. Hill reads suspicion and distrust in Wealhþeow’s reaction: “She seems to imply that Beowulf, much favored, might be unkind to her sons, that he might commit deeds against their interest and against his own present fame” (190). 149 Ibid. 186. Bazelmans makes the important point that “the valuables presented by the lord to his retinue are not to be regarded as a mercenary’s wages” (111), and the same consideration applies equally to Wealhþeow, who does not pay Beowulf “cash” in any sense. 150 Contrary to the opinion of Damico (Valkyrie Tradition 129) that Beowulf is a superior candidate for the kingship. Damico proposes that “an adjustment of Wealhtheow’s relationship to Hrothulf from that of aunt to that of aunt-mother helps to demystify the queen’s behavior” (ibid. 130).

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The gidd of Finnsburg may criticize the “revenge ethic,” as many imagine, but for a Danish faction that includes Wealhþeow its relevance chills their conviviality. Beowulf ’s loyalties may lie with strangers or adversaries and not with the nation to which he has little allegiance, or at least far less than Hroþulf has. To his credit, Beowulf perceives this warning and understands the implications of the Finnsburh parable, one reason why he later recites the Heaðobard digression. He tacitly rejects Hroðgar’s offer of kingship but acknowledges the role of “son.” In the renunciation of kingship it could be said that Beowulf takes the advice of a court poet as a much as that of a queen. For this reason, the Finnsburh digression represents the first time in English literature that characters can be shown to evaluate and react to intradiegetic narrative that analogizes their circumstances and guides their conduct. In fact, the Heaðobard digression confirms Beowulf ’s percipient appropriation of the Finnsburh gidd. He applies the scop’s lessons to Ingeld’s predicament when he anticipates how a past incident could ignite a feud, even when Ingeld’s marriage was intended to settle hostilities. Just like Finn, Ingeld expects that his alliance is secure. Betrayed, however, by the heat of a boy who covets his father’s sword, Ingeld will come to experience unforeseen violence. For Beowulf, then, Finnsburh analogizes a pattern of oath-breaking, and the relevance of the Heaðobard interlude for Finnsburh as I theorize it derives from Beowulf ’s recollection of King Hroðgar’s court entertainment.

CHAPTER THREE

THE RHETORIC OF OFERHYGD IN HROÐGAR’S “SERMON” Wulfgar, who announces Beowulf to Hroðgar, seems to conclude that Beowulf has come to Heorot for wlenco or “glory.” As I have explained, in Beowulf OE wlenco can describe potential recklessness related to oferhygd, a king’s indulgence in risk. Beowulf ’s arguable impulsiveness and inconceivable success portend a susceptibility to oferhygd, fear of which explains “wise” (1698b) Hroðgar’s anxieties over Beowulf ’s future conduct.1 Nowhere are Hroðgar’s misgivings more transparent than in a passage popularly called “Hroðgar’s sermon,” which includes a recapitulation of the Heremod story (1709b–24a) described by Hroðgar as a gidd (1723b). Not only does the sermon reveal Beowulf ’s potential for oferhygd, it also details how oferhygd emerges from prosperity, and how it may be avoided by a practice of moral introspection. At birth one’s endowments can create the ambition to extend god’s favor, especially when profound success or robust health foster a sense of invincibility. One might be tempted to seek a little more divine favor, and then a little more, until an inevitable and cataclysmic reversal occurs. For this reason the Anglo-Saxons believed that lessons of moderation could be drawn from personal or military defeats, and where experience could not provide guidance, literature could. In fact, many of the terms associated with Beowulfian oferhygd can be documented in wisdom poetry, where “snyttru” frequently counters arrogance. Nevertheless, the precise Beowulfian meaning of OE oferhygd is awkward to document in contexts outside of the poem. Elsewhere it often translates Latin superbia, chiefly in the glossed Psalters and Gospels and in the Paris Psalter.2 In

1 By no means is mine a prevailing or popular view. Most critics will try to disarm any potential criticism, as John M. Hill, for example: “Readers have responded to Hrothgar’s speech in various ways, but not fully enough in the sense that this ‘warning’ is no hint about Beowulf, incipiently criminal in some way. Beowulf is fully exemplary and fully dedicated to the good at all times throughout the poem. What we have here is the anxious love of an old king for a retainer whom he would have as his son. The world is not a friendly place and weird, strange reversals can and have occurred” (“Hrothgar’s Noble Rule” 177). 2 See Schabram on the distribution of the term in the Anglo-Saxon sources, especially 123–9 for occurrences in verse.

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homilies, too, oferhygd and related vocables commonly render superbia, a term which lacks the nuance encountered in Beowulf. In most cases, the context reflects the fall of Lucifer, the source of superbia in the Christian tradition. Yet in a few departures from the trivialized sense of “pride,” the Anglo-Saxon oferhygd psychosis expressed in Hroðgar’s sermon shares conspicuous lexemes and collocations with other Old English texts, specifically Genesis A and Daniel. Anglo-Saxon poets had a notably coherent picture of oferhygd as the mental state of tyrants. Beowulf, Genesis A, and Daniel all deploy a distinctive lexical taxonomy for the sin portrayed as superbia in Christian teachings: bealunið, betera/selra, dreamleas, ece ræd, egesa, eorðan wynn, forðgesceaft, fremde, gebolgen/bolgenmod, gram, snyttru, weorc gewinnes, weorðmund, wlencu/wlonc, woh/wom. Oferhygd seems to have been a literary fixation in these early texts, inasmuch as the same locutions for oferhygd in Beowulf characterize Lucifer in Genesis A and Nebuchadnezzar and Belshazzar in Daniel. They probably represent the adaptation of a native theme: the tyrant’s moral degeneracy. However, Lucifer’s rebellion in Genesis A equates arrogance with warband sedition rather than with a rejection of morality conceived as ece ræd or “eternal counsel.” Oferhygd in Beowulf therefore represents the kind of moral corruption documented elsewhere only in Daniel. While the vices of soldier-kings seem to have been a preoccupation of poets and even churchmen, Hroðgar’s discussion in Beowulf has a specific relevance for the poem’s inconclusive ending. The psychology of overconfidence drawn in the sermon establishes the terms by which Beowulf ’s actions in the dragon episode should be weighed. Far from being a pointless digression, it actually explains how Beowulf ’s final venture explores whether he heeds the virtues that Hroðgar has imparted.3 In other words, Hroðgar’s speech elucidates the dragon episode as a test of Beowulf ’s potential oferhygd. Hroðgar and the “Ancient Strife” of Giants After returning from Grendel’s mere, Beowulf presents Hroðgar with an ancient hilt, all that remains of the sword he used to kill Grendel’s mother and decapitate Grendel. The hilt bears an enigmatic inscription, the nature of which is important because Hroðgar self-consciously

3

Smithers, “Meaning of The Seafarer” 8.

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responds to it.4 The audience is told that the “origin of an ancient conflict” (“or . . . fyrngewinnes,” 1688b–9a) was “carved” (“writen,” 1688b) on the hilt, and that the conflict preceded a “flood” (“flod,” 1689b) that wiped out a race of giants (“giganta cyn,” 1690b). This race was “alien to the eternal Lord” (1691b–2a), and he gave them a “final retribution” (1692b–3b): fyrngewinnes; gifen geotende frecne geferdon; ecean dryhtne; þurh wæteres wylm

On ðæm wæs or writen syðþan flod ofsloh, giganta cyn, þæt wæs fremde þeod him þæs endelean waldend sealde. (1688b–93b)

On it was carved the origin of ancient strife. Afterwards the flood, the rushing ocean, slew a race of giants; they committed audacity. That nation was estranged from the eternal lord; the ruler gave them a final retribution through the rising water.5

While the narrator says that the owner’s name is carved in “runstafas” (“secret letters,” 1694a–8a), he fails to mention whether the story of the giants is recorded in words, symbols, or images, and whether Hroðgar can even understand the carving.6 It has been typically assumed that Hroðgar is reading a runic message with an accompanying pictograph.7 Engraved letters alone, the argument goes, could not convey such information concisely, and the poet says specifically that the owner’s name was recorded in “runstafas.”8 Yet this minor controversy over the engraving may be irrelevant. Since details in the sermon so aptly evoke this history of giants and a retributive “flood,” Hroðgar’s knowledge of it must be assumed, whether or not he can “read” the hilt’s script or language. For the sake of argument, I would propose that images

4 Although not everyone thinks so: “If [Hroðgar] cannot decipher the story, the content of the sermon . . . would seem to suggest that the mere possession of the object adds wisdom to Hrothgar’s speech-making . . .” (Waugh, “King-Poet Relations” 307). Waugh contends that “morality . . . does not seem suitable for the celebration of Beowulf ’s victory over Grendel’s mother” (ibid.). 5 Dennis Cronan proposes reading syðþan (1689b) as adv. “afterwards” in “Ancient Strife,” and the suggestion has been adopted in Klaeber’s Beowulf. 6 Schrader concludes that the “runstafas” (“secret, runic letters,” 1695a) on the sword-hilt are to be seen as indecipherable Hebrew (“Giant’s Sword-Hilt” 141–7). On the difficulty of interpreting the hilt, and the possibility of a magical inscription based on a passage from the poetical “Solomon and Saturn,” see McNelis 179–80. 7 Klaeber, Beowulf 189–90 note to lines 1688–98. 8 Cramp, “Beowulf and Archaeology” 66; Osborn, “Great Feud” 977.

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of warfare and of the flood are engraved, but that only the owner’s name is given in (possibly unreadable) runes. More consequential is the problem of audience occasioned by the reported speech. As Marijane Osborn has observed, the poet “has distinguished between two levels of knowledge, that bound by the secular world of the poem and that perceived from our initiated Christian perspective.”9 While construing the engraving as a narrative, Hroðgar may be incapable of interpreting it as Christian history. Furthermore, the comment that the giants were “alien to the eternal Lord” (1691b–2a), who avenged himself on them with a “flow of water” (1693b–4b), sounds much like the poet’s own interjection, especially in the use of pronoun þæt: “that was a race estranged from the eternal Lord.” Elsewhere in the poem the expression “þæt wæs . . .” commonly occurs in the poet’s own voice, rarely in the voice of the characters.10 But in this case, it may be that Hroðgar is drawing such a conclusion while inspecting the hilt, and that the poet expresses the king’s thoughts. If so, Hroðgar may suspect a calculated divine punishment for the drowned giants, not an accidental “retribution.” A problem has been to intuit what Hroðgar gathers from this inscription.11 Concluding that Hroðgar never comprehends the carving, Marijane Osborn alleged a “contextual allusion.”12 Just as God perpetrates a feud against giants, men confront the “soul-slayer,” a malicious force mentioned in Hroðgar’s sermon: “[Hroðgar] gazes upon the hilt, and the information with which the poet provides us during this pause gives a scriptural context for the wisdom that Hrothgar subsequently reveals about the recurrent feud with mankind’s enemy within the human breast.”13 God’s “feud” with the giants ultimately validates a warrior’s “Great Feud” 973. Stanley B. Greenfield avoids discussing this phrase in “Authenticating Voice” (60), but see McGalliard, “Poet’s Comment” 244–51. McGalliard examines every instance of such expressions and others of similar arrangement, i.e. “Ne wæs þæt gewrixle til,” 1304b. Hideki Watanabe has lately concluded that expressions of the “þæt wæs” type represent a “formula employed to end various units of a body of text: a verse, a stanza, a fitt, a direct speech, or a whole poem” (“Sentences” 152). 11 Some interpretations of the hilt are summarized in Waugh, “King-Poet Relations” 304. Robert W. Hanning proposes, “a reminder of Beowulf ’s own monster-killing deeds . . . the sad end that may await the Geatish hero . . . the transitoriness of all life” (“Poetic Emblems” 3). 12 This seems to be the position of Allen J. Frantzen as well in “Unreadable Beowulf 347: “Hrothgar’s reading of the hilt is likewise closed, since it is merely looking or seeing rather than ‘cutting through’ and offers no exegesis.” 13 Osborn, “Great Feud” 978. 9

10

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spiritual struggle against unheroic temptations (excessive aggression or stinginess, for example), and Grendel’s descent from these giants corroborates Beowulf ’s heathen righteousness—the nobility of his cause: “. . . the highest conduct of Germanic heroes is not in opposition to that of any hero aligned with God’s forces in the Great [cosmic] Feud.”14 The “highest conduct” turns on the heroic virtue of generosity: “The Germanic ethos of wise magnanimity,” Osborn proposes, “supports the will of God.”15 Osborn therefore sees Hroðgar embracing a natural wisdom that confers (or entails) spiritual knowledge, although this part of the argument becomes slightly problematic. She dismisses the purely secular reading of Hroðgar’s sermon proposed by Michael D. Cherniss (“the duties and proper conduct of Germanic lords”),16 thinking that propriety ensues from spiritual as well as political instincts.17 Because the inscription alludes to Genesis and is therefore inaccessible to Hroðgar as Christian history, she theorizes an impaired moral intuition: “Hrothgar’s vision reaches beyond the bounds of the heroic world until he seems able to accept (if not precisely to imagine) a generous God superior to wyrd, a Boethian ruler of the universe.”18 Hroðgar’s god is “Boethian,” I infer, because a remote divinity grants men the capacity for stable interactions through gift exchange, even in a mutable world. The sermon validates this moral decency. While the narrator makes Hroðgar’s suffering bearable in the (Christian) cosmic context where the pagan gropes blindly for moral purchase, I do not see how Hroðgar can intuit a “generous god” without having read the hilt inscription and connected the giants’ behavior to their destruction. The sermon suggests as much. My objection to Osborn’s reading therefore centers on the perception that Hroðgar does not respond to the carving in his sermon. While, as Osborn sensibly theorized, Hroðgar remains unaware of a scriptural context for the hilt inscription, I make out a different “Boethian” premise behind the giants’ drowning. Their behavior does not precipitate a retributive flood. A Germanic fatalist might argue that destruction occurs merely from an unpredictable incident the giants endure, not as an administered

14 15 16 17

3–6. 18

Ibid. Ibid. Ingeld and Christ 149. On political “wisdom” in the poem as a reflex of moral behavior see Kindrick Osborn, “Great Feud” 978; for a similar position see Hamilton.

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punishment. But Hroðgar seems to infer that a conscious will, rather than destiny, suborns one’s actions. A god, as it were, governs events that might otherwise appear random. In this respect, the poet’s remark that the giants were “fremde . . . ecean Dryhtne” or “estranged from the eternal lord” could belong to Hroðgar’s level of consciousness as the basis of a theorized punishment. Seth Lerer espouses quite a different view of Hroðgar’s “sermon.”19 He believes that Hroðgar reads the incised markings—pictographs and runes—and he concedes the poet’s reference to cosmic feud as Osborn defines it. Furthermore, he credits Hroðgar with an understanding of lines 1691b–3b, which I also ascribe to Hroðgar’s level of consciousness. For Lerer, however, Hroðgar cannot fathom figurative interpretations, Christian or not. In many respects, Lerer’s position emerges from an analysis of Riddle 42 (solution: “Cock and Hen”), which approximates Hroðgar’s predicament as a “reader.”20 Riddle 42 analogizes bind-runes for “cock” and “hen” quite literally as the image of a cock treading a hen. From Lerer’s perspective, “establishing a governing distinction between things hidden and things apparent, [Riddle 42] ostensibly sets out to oppose everyday experience with learned runology.”21 The description of the copulating chickens expresses a visual hermeneutical experience open even to “drunken men.”22 In other words, commoners understand what the chickens are up to, but clerics perceive how writing could encode an image of copulation. The bind-runes representing the animals (since these runes also encode the animals’ names) derive from the different hermeneutical environment of writing, one accessible only to a learned coterie: “[Riddle 42] asks us to hold two potentially competing sets of interpretive environments in mind, the one, a set of heightened literate skills drawn from runology or scriptural interpretation; the other, a set of common experiences drawn from farm life or from men at their wine.”23 For Lerer’s illiterate “men at their wine” in Riddle 42, the cock and hen exhibit no more than barnyard antics.

Literacy and Power 158–94. As detailed in chapter 3 “The Riddle and the Book” (97–125); see the remarks, p. 173: “If the hilt presents, figuratively speaking, a kind of riddle, then it is a riddle on a par with the inscribed chalice of Riddle 59, or more generally, with the self-conscious ‘reading’ riddles explored in chapter 3. We might do well, therefore, to consider Hrothgar’s sermon as a solution to the riddle of the hilt.” 21 Ibid. 116. 22 Ibid. 122. 23 Ibid. 119. 19 20

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For men without access to writing, the runes make no hermeneutic statement. The hermeneutical skills Lerer obviously associates with literacy are metaphor or analogy, mostly in the specific context of Christian book-learning, the acquired code or “key” for an abstract hermeneutical system. He disenfranchises the læwed or the pagan not only from Christian knowledge but from the interpretive strategies suggested by “reading”—that letters can represent sounds that represent things. As a response to the runic hilt, then, Hroðgar’s sermon cannot decode the symbolism of the flood. The old king responds with a superficial, “literal” acknowledgment of the object as correctly fabricated: “What Hrothgar ‘sees’ . . . are these Continental, pagan representations of memorial inscription and interlace design . . . a familiar object of memorial epigraphy . . . he reads . . . the memorial conventions of the rune master.”24 Lerer emphasizes the “order” evoked by runic artifice as Hroðgar’s response to the hilt inscription: . . . the sermon solves the hilt by answering its enigmatic story of a war with a precise account of a divinely governed peace . . . it posits a political and moral world where everything turns towards God’s will . . . In this concern with governance, the speech answers the hilt’s story of strife and challenge . . . the speech responds to the report of challenge and retribution written on the hilt. To speak more generally, both the text and the speech address problems in the order of the world and in the place of social remembrance in the reverence of divinity. A god who overpowers giants, a runesmith who rightly sets his text, a king who wisely governs his own and his peoples’ impulses—these are the interests that yoke together the run and ræd and which render Hrothgar’s sermon an informed response to the specifics of the hilt.25

Lerer’s opinion derives from his understanding that the poet has depicted the pagan Hroðgar’s “reading” natively—literally or superficially, one might say—as “reverence” and “order.” In fact, it seems highly plausible that the poet endows Hroðgar with more sophisticated interpretive strategies that Lerer associates with literacy, Christian or runic.26 My argument, in fact, can be universalized to include the gidd embedded in Hroðgar’s sermon. Ibid. 171. Ibid. 173. 26 Here I must acknowledge Lerer’s more persuasive claim that Christian readers depicted (invented) acts of pre-Christian “literacy” (reading and writing, say) as a “mythology” of literacy. The Beowulf poet could attribute reading skills to Hroðgar 24 25

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Hroðgar’s sermon responds to the hilt explicitly, as Lerer and others assert. The king begins with an edgy affirmation, that Beowulf was born “betera” or superior (1703a), and acknowledges that his reputation will spread throughout the Germanic world. The term “betera” recalls the antediluvian giants, whose birth, either through Angels or the children of Seth, afforded them supreme strength. (Of course, Hroðgar does not know this Christian history, but he at least recognizes that the drowned foes are giants.) Hroðgar self-consciously claims that Beowulf controls his giant strength steadily (“geþyldum”) through “sagacity of mind”: “Eal þu hit geþyldum healdest,//mægen mid modes snyttrum” (1705b–6a).27 The wisdom context clarifies Beowulf ’s “steadiness” as self-restraint or moderation. In its list of ideal heroic attributes The Wanderer makes clear that the wise man is “geþyldig”: “Wita sceal geþyldig” (65b). Hroðgar exclaims how mysteriously God bestows “snyttru” (“wisdom”), as well as land and nobility.28 He expects that Beowulf will be a comfort to his people, a help to warriors. Yet Hroðgar simultaneously ponders the once-promising race of giants that lost their lives in a “flood,” and introduces Heremod as a link between them and Beowulf. As he says, “ic þis gid be þe//awræc wintrum frod” (“Wise in years, I have told this gidd about you!” 1724b–5a). Hroðgar is prompted to recite the gidd of Heremod precisely because he has just “read” the story of an ancient strife involving giants swallowed by the ocean. The text answers how one can be “fremde” or “alienated” from the “eternal Lord” in the expression “frecne geferdon” (“they behaved audaciously” or “they committed an audacious thing,” 1691a).29 The verb “geferdon” (geferan) may be translated “behaved” or

that resemble Christian modes of reading, the deliberate dodge, I would say, of a man bent on dignifying his characters. 27 Klaeber suggests “steadily” for geþyldum (“Textual Interpretation” 459). 28 On the “gifts of men” topos, see Russom “Germanic Concept.” The Beowulfian passage 1724b–7b resembles that in Deor 31a–4b: Mæg þonne geþencan, þæt geond þas woruld witig dryhten wendeþ geneahhe, eorle monegum are gesceawað, wislicne blæd, sumum weana dæl. One may then reflect that throughout this world the wise Lord frequently brings changes; to many a nobleman he shows mercy, a reputation for judgment, to some a share of woe. 29 OE geferan occurs five times in Beowulf in the sense “reach, obtain, bring about”

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“brought about,” depending on one’s understanding of frecne, either an adverb or adjective. Definitions of OE frecne in Beowulf are confused. There are four attestations of a noun, 22 of an adverb, and 75 of an adjective. Klaeber deemed frecne a substantive adjective in this line, but some (including the editors of Klaeber’s Beowulf ) have opted for the adverb, translating “they acted boldly” or “they fared terribly.”30 OE frecne (adj) can refer to a daring act or a fatal presence, and in Beowulf it describes death (twice), Beowulf ’s dragon, Sigemund’s act of killing the dragon, speech that incites retribution in the Finn digression, Grendel’s mere, and the path leading to it. To these attestations of the adjective I would add an alleged occurrence of adverbial frecne in Beowulf. Lines 958a–60a describe Beowulf ’s assault on Grendel and could be translated, “we ventured a perilous thing [“frecne geneðdon”], the strength of an unknown foe.” In this case “frecne” in 959b would vary “ellenweorc” in 958a. In all these instances OE frecne emphasizes peril, audacity, and terror, whether or not one settles ultimately on a precise translation of the line. Behaving frecne means inviting death, as Sigemund’s killing of the dragon, Beowulf ’s attack on Grendel, and the inflammatory speech of Frisians suggests. The path to Grendel’s mere and the mere itself are frecne because they portend death, similar in tone to the “sorhfullne sið.” One could reasonably conclude, then, that the giants mentioned on the sword hilt committed perilous deeds without fear of any future consequence. Hroðgar observes how these deeds endangered the whole race, just as Heremod (he mentions) endangered the Danes by “wælfealle” (i.e. wælfyll: “slaughter-death,” 1711b) and “deaðcwalum” (“violent death,” 1712a). OE wælfyll is used elsewhere in Beowulf to describe Grendel’s (Klaeber’s Beowulf 375 s.v. ge-feran). The DOE records this sense for the past participle gefered (sense IV), citing two attestations from Beowulf; see also DOE frecne adv. where the verb in this Beowulf passage is translated “they suffered” or “they behaved” and frecne noun where it is rendered “pass through” or “travel.” The DOE documents the sense “behave” for feran (sense II, intransitive); cf. Beowulf 738b “gefaran wolde” in which Beowulf observes how Grendel “would behave.” 30 DOE s.v. frecne adv. The DOE editors suggest the noun form (s.v. frecne noun) in the same collocation from Andreas 516a “frecne geferan,” which varies “sið nesan” (“to survive a journey”). In this context, to “accomplish something audacious” (or “to fare boldly”) describes crossing the sea “earfoðlice” (“with difficulty”)’; see also Förster, “Beiträge” 329–39. The editors of Klaeber’s Beowulf supply the rendering “they fared terribly,”suggesting that frecne modifies “fare” in the sense “drowning” rather than “behave” in the sense “audaciously.” However, frecne in this verse is still regarded as a neut. sing. acc. adjective in the glossary, where the verb in the passage is identified as ge-feran “bring about.”

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prize of thirty men (120a–5b) and the contemplated extinction of the Geats (3152b–5a), and in Genesis A 2565a to characterize the extinction of Sodom. In Genesis A 1523b–8a, “wællfyll” also describes the class of homicides—unnatural or vindictive killings. OE deaðcwalu similarly denotes violent death, of the sort encountered in battle, although it may also describe murder. By Hroðgar’s implicit analogy, the giant’s behavior in the commission of audacious deeds may have resembled Heremod’s. According to Beowulf 1689a, an “ancient conflict” or fyrngewin followed on from the extermination of giants in a “flood.” The fyrngewin designates the ongoing feud between God and monsters, descendants of those “giants” wiped out in the cataclysm.31 God’s indignation began with Abel’s murder. Patrizia Lendinara established a connection between antediluvian “giants” and violence in Maxims I 192–200, where Cain’s murder of Abel awakens national enmities,32 described as “wæpna gewin” (“strife of weapons,” 199a). Charles D. Wright confirmed how “social discord and treachery” originated “in the first murder, committed in the context of an ostensibly cooperative and brotherly observance.”33 Andy Orchard explains the patristic, biblical, and apocryphal origins of “recorded” histories of antediluvian traditions, monstrosities associated with miscegenation, the gigantism resulting from unions between the kin of Seth and Cain, and the cruelties committed by such reckless warriors.34 Emphasizing superbia or “pride,” Orchard calls the story of

31 Frantzen 348: “Thus the sword hilt is not a story of endings but of beginnings: it tells of the beginning of an evil line, not its end, and in Beowulf it serves to establish continuity between the curse of Cain, the descendants of creatures who escaped the flood, and the evil that has escaped Beowulf ’s own retribution and that, in the form of the fire dragon, will destroy him.” James W. Earl appreciates that the inscription represents the “divine judgement upon the race of Cain,” now fulfilled once again by Beowulf (“Necessity of Evil” 84). However, Dennis Cronan (“Ancient Strife”) proposes that the fyrngewin depicted on the hilt must be the murder of Abel. By this logic, lines 1689b–93b are narrative commentary. But in terms reminiscent of the hilt passage, the Beowulf poet earlier confirmed that the “giants” (“gigantas,” 113a) “strove against God for a long time; [God] gave them a reward for that” (“þa wið Gode wunnon//lange þrage;/he him ðæs lean forgeald,” 113b–15b). This ancient strife seems to include Grendel’s assaults on the Danes. 32 “Un’allusione” 85–98; “. . . micel mon ældum,/monegum þeodum//bealoblonden niþ” (“a serious crime for men, enmity mixed with malice for many nations,” 195a–6a). 33 Wright 17. 34 Pride and Prodigies 58–85. His evidence augments that first brought to light in David Williams 19–39 and elaborated in Mellinkoff. Cronan challenges the view that a “giganta geweorc” could refer to the flood (“Ancient Strife” 65), but Orchard’s position elegantly affirms the possibility. On the problems of the giants’ paternity, cf. Kaske,

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the giants as inscribed on the hilt a “depiction of overweening ambition laid low.”35 In fact, few sources refer to pride per se among the antediluvian giants, although Orchard alleges a plausible link to post-diluvian traditions of superbia through the orthographical confusion of “Cain” and “Cham.” Cassian’s Collationes VIII.xxi attributes tyranny and violence to these antediluvian men, called “giants” on account of their size and cruelty.36 Alcuin calls these giants “uiribus superbi,” but “superbus” in this way almost certainly means “outstanding” in a neutral, even admiring, sense.37 A reference to “gigantes” in Job 26.5 amplified in the Hiberno-Latin poem “Altus Prosator” with an accompanying scholion, mentions the “tyrannical glory of kings” (“tyrannica . . . regum . . . gloria”) in reference to giants drowned in a flood.38 A comment in Philip the Presbyter’s Commentarium in librum Iob calls all giants “proud, war-mongering, and obstinate men.”39 Orchard imagines a cross-fertilization of concepts between the (postdiluvian) proud hunters like Nimrod, and the Beowulf poet may indeed have had such models in mind. For the poet “overweening ambition” takes the form of aggressive action, predicated, it seems, on one’s might, the accident of birth. This profound, god-given strength was abused for the purpose of glory, the commission of frecne. Implying that wlenco or oferhygd (“pride” in Orchard’s terms) might be one motivation for the giants’ aggression, the poet stresses that by acting “frecne” the antediluvian giants became alienated from god. One reason why Hroðgar recalls Heremod in reaction to the sword hilt therefore derives from the inscription about an extinct race of giants bent on committing “frecne.” Osborn shows how the audience of Beowulf realizes that the giants wage war against God in a “cosmic feud” and, correspondingly, that a divine will governing nature punishes their arrogance by a flood. For Hroðgar, however, the giants did not commit atrocities against god. They simply “frecne geferdon,” and “Book of Enoch.” The apocryphal “Book of Enoch” confirms the view of giants as destroyers: “And the spirits of the giants afflict, oppress, destroy, attack, do battle, and work destruction on the earth . . .” (cited from Kaske, ibid. 425). 35 Pride and Prodigies 67. 36 Petschenig 240: “. . . de illis ergo quemadmodum diximus filiis Seth et filiabus Cain nequiores filii procreati sunt, qui fuerunt robustissimi uenatores, uiolentissimi, ac truculentissimi uiri, qui pro inormitate corporum uel crudelitatis atque malitiae gigantes nuncupati sunt.” 37 Orchard, Pride and Prodigies 78–9. 38 Ibid. 80. 39 Ibid. 81: “Gigantes autem appellat scriptura diuina homines superbos, rebelles et contumaces. Diabolus quoque, et sui, propter superbiam translato nomine gigantes nuncupantur.”

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Hroðgar may be seen to impute their downfall to wyrd, behind which may lie (as he supposes) a divine reprisal. That is why verses 1691b–3b, beginning “þæt wæs fremde þeod//ecean Dryhtne . . .” (“that nation was estranged from the eternal lord”), might represent the poet’s synopsis of Hroðgar’s own reaction to the giants’ history, a rare example of erlebte Rede or “narrated internal monologue.”40 When speaking only somewhat later about one’s corruption by “oferhygd,” Hroðgar lists certain forms of death, some “accidental”: sickness, war, flame, and flood (“flodes wylm,” 1764b).41 “Flood” is a conspicuous choice here. As I see it, Hroðgar alleges a passive (or “Boethian”) morality, that vainglorious provocation begets its own “penalty,” a “fate” potentially attributable to a god’s judgment. This is precisely the sentiment characterized by Beowulf ’s gnomic expression “fate often saves the undoomed man if his courage is strong” (“Wyrd oft nereð//unfægne eorl,/þonne his ellen deah!” 572b–3b). In other words, a man’s courage in evading violent death may be looked upon as the action of fate—a god’s protection—even when survival appears circumstantial. Osborn’s deduction that Hroðgar “seems able to accept (if not precisely to imagine) a generous God superior to wyrd, a Boethian ruler of the universe”42 could be applied to Hroðgar’s indistinct sense of divine retribution for the giants’ arrogance. Hroðgar therefore appreciates that aggression resulting from oferhygd could be “impious,” but only through this intuition would he advocate what Osborn expresses: “the Germanic ethos of wise magnanimity supports the will of God.” His gidd about Heremod promotes such “wise magnanimity” in its emphasis on humility and self-restraint, partially realized in gift-giving. Concerned that recklessness (“oferhygd”) could master Beowulf, Hroðgar proposes a logical deterrence in narrative: a king victimized by oferhygd will destroy his own people through ambition. The marvel of the colossal sword itself also inspires Hroðgar’s sermon. Described as “ealdsweord eotenisc” (1558a) and “giganta geweorc” (1562b), the weapon was indisputably forged for a “giant.”43 Now handled by the “gigant” Beowulf,44 survivor of a “flod” (Grendel’s Harris, “Beowulf ’s Last Words” 25. Harris’s example is Beowulf 2419b–20b. J. E. Cross alleges that these modes of death are Christian in origin (“The Wanderer Lines 80–84” 99–100). 42 Osborn, “Great Feud” 978. 43 Orchard (Pride and Prodigies 66) describes apocryphal and biblical traditions that may have led to the attribution of metal-work to Cain’s descendants. 44 Orchard’s Pride and Prodigies has, I think, settled any dispute over Beowulf ’s affini40 41

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mere), the hilt makes Hroðgar wonder whether Beowulf could perish for the same wrong that afflicted its original owner. In some respects Hroðgar’s misgivings of Beowulf ’s future qualify his enthusiasm for Beowulf ’s killings, especially, in my mind, the eagerness with which Beowulf took on the challenge of Grendel’s mother.45 Of course, one could speculate at length why Hroðgar suspects that Beowulf could become the victim of “oferhygda dæl” (“some over-confidence,” 1740b) as Hroðgar’s sermon implies, but the giants’ story yields the obvious solution. The relevance to Beowulf ’s position lies in the difficulty with which Beowulf subdued Grendel’s mother, and the acknowledgment of god’s intervention in the attack. “The battle was all but settled, if god had not shielded me,” Beowulf says in 1657b–8b (“ætrihte wæs//guð getwæfed,/nymðe mec God scylde”). He explains, “the ruler of men granted that I saw a huge ancient sword hanging bright on a wall” (“ac me geuðe/ylda waldend//þæt ic on wage geseah/wlitig hangian//ealdsweord eacen,” 1661a–3a). Beowulf credits “god” with an even greater intervention here than in the Grendel fight, where the “metod” merely failed to impede Grendel’s escape (967b).46 In attributing his success to god, Beowulf has admittedly acquired some of Hroðgar’s “wisdom.” Yet Hroðgar broods that Beowulf might be tempted to extend his record and alienate god’s favor.47 His impaired judgment might then induce him to tackle ever greater risks, an idea felicitously described in the poetic Solomon and Saturn: Dol bið se ðe gæð se ðe sund nafað ne fugles flyht, grund geræcan; full dyslice,

on deop wæter, ne gesegled scip ne he mid fotum ne mæg huru se godes cunnað dryhtnes meahta. (225a–9b)

Foolish is he who ventures into open water without any swimming skill, or sailing ship or bird’s capacity for flight; or who cannot touch bottom with his feet. In fact, he tests God, the powers of the Lord, in utter folly.

ties to “giants.” OE flod bears the primary sense of “flowing water,” which may also evoke Grendel’s mere. 45 See Eliason, “Beowulf Notes” 452–3. 46 Garde, “Heroic Ideal in Beowulf ” 165; Louden 357. 47 Bazelmans 82: “[Hroðgar] warns against the temptations that accompany success, i.e. against the advent of pride and avarice . . . Hroðgar gives expression not to Christian teaching but to a secular wisdom with which the poet is sympathetic.”

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The prospect for oferhygd in Beowulf ’s case is especially sinister because Hroðgar predicts that Beowulf will one day become a king and have to disregard his own ambitions—as Hroðgar did in the Grendel affair. He might then endanger his people with an unforeseen consequence, a divine retribution, as it were. A Condition of Germanic Tyranny Ancient giants given to audacity and Beowulf ’s potential as a giant inspire the gidd of Heremod. Hroðgar mentions how Heremod, like Beowulf and the “giganta cyn,” was endowed in strength: “. . . hine mihtig god/mægenes wynnum,//eafeþum stepte/ofer ealle men” (“mighty God advanced him in the joys of power, of strength, over all men” 1716a–17b). The verb “stepte” is varied by “forð gefremede” (1717b–18a), where gefremede means either “promoted” or “advanced.” Hroðgar then describes a turn away from the Danes’ desire (“him to willan,” 1711a) and towards the violence implied in the terms “wælfeal” and “deaðcwalu.” Heremod is characterized as “bolgenmod” (“enraged”), a word used elsewhere in Beowulf to describe only Beowulf (709a, awaiting Grendel), although “gebolgen” describes Beowulf when he fights Grendel’s mother (1539b) and the dragon (2550b), and depicts the dragon (2220b, 2304a) and water-monsters at Grendel’s mere (1431a). In a state of utter rage, Heremod is said to “breat” (1713a) or “crush” his “beodgeneatas,” a word used only twice in the corpus, both times in Beowulf: here and where Beowulf calls himself and his men Hygelac’s “table-companions.” The contrast of violence and calm sociality emphasizes Heremod’s ferocity. OE breotan occurs two other times (in verse), where both “idols” (“hergas,” Christ B 485b) and “the learned” (“boccræftge,” Juliana 16a) can be “smashed.”48 Heremod’s obvious viciousness results in isolation (“ana,” 1714b), a condition which afflicted the young Beowulf, as I have argued, and which characterizes Sigemund and Heremod in the Sigemund/Heremod digression. Heremod has turned from “mondream” (1715b), just as Grendel has (1264b). Lucifer’s punishment in hell likewise entails

48 OE abreotan is better attested. It translates extermino “exterminate” in the Vespasian Psalter, and most contexts suggest extreme violence, as in Fortunes of Men 16b: “sumne guð abreotan”; see DOE s.v.

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the loss of “dream” (Genesis A 56b), which the loyal angels enjoy (81b). Similarly, Heremod is said to be “dreamleas” (“joyless,” 1720b), a situation linked to the undefined “pain for strife”: “þæt he þæs gewinnes/ weorc þrowade,//leodbealo longsum” (“he suffered pain for that strife, a long-lasting national tribulation,”1721a–2a).49 Therefore, OE mondream, literally “joy of men/mankind,” suggests the delights of civilization associated with peace. OE leodbealu occurs only in this passage and one other in Beowulf, and the meaning is uncertain. The editors of Klaeber’s Beowulf have retained Klaeber’s “harm to a people,” adding “widespread affliction,” but the reading needs justification. OE leodbealu resembles OE þeodbealu and folcbealu, for which it has been suggested that “the sadness of the second element . . . is caused by having lost the first.”50 Now, OE bealu has a range of meanings beyond “sadness,” including “destruction, malice, assault”—the “harm” or “affliction” that Klaeber alleges. It is not consistently true, either, that “harm”derives from the loss of the first element in the -bealu compounds. For example, in Andreas 1136a the term þeodbealu describes the possible murder and cannibal devouring of a young boy. While the term may mean “great affliction”—as Klaeber once alleged for Beowulf—it seems to imply “affliction caused by a nation.” This meaning is attested likewise in Menologium 125b, at which moment Peter and Paul endure public martyrdom, an “affliction caused by a nation.” In Christ C 1267a–b, however, humans condemned to hell suffer þeodbealu, referring to “anguish experienced by a people [hell-dwellers].” In Beowulf there are ten compounds terminating in -bealu, five of which refer to harm caused by the first element: cwealm-, morð-, morðor-, sweord-, wigbealu. The terms ealdorbealu, feorhbealu, and hreþerbealo (1343a) describe harm afflicting the first element, “life” or “breast, emotion.” This evidence suggests that context alone will determine the meaning of leodbealu in Beowulf, whether “affliction experienced by a nation” or “affliction caused by a nation.”

49 N. F. Blake has translated “þæs gewinnes/weorc” as “hell” on the basis of attestations from Genesis A and Christ C (“Heremod Digressions” 285–7). Yet the variation with “leodbealo” implies that the “affliction for that strife” means a national calamity, a possibility that Blake wrongly dismisses when he argues that leod- “seems to have lost its primary meaning of ‘of or belonging to a people’ ” (286). OE weorc actually disguises the Anglian form wræc and should be translated “pain”; cf. Fulk, “OE weorc” (in response to Frank, “Aspirin”). 50 Shippey, Wisdom and Learning 130 note 6.

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Heremod suffered “þæs gewinnes weorc” (“pain for that strife”), an expression that occurs elsewhere only in Genesis B (“worc þæs gewinnes,” 296a), where it describes the punishment of Lucifer for “ofermede micel” (“great arrogance,” 293b). Presumably this torment is the sorhcearu that “lamed” Heremod for so long. If “þæs gewinnes weorc” denotes punishment for “pride,” leodbealu may describe the harm inflicted by a people, a notion that could support Heremod’s exile. Yet this harm is described as “longsum” or “long-lasting,” for which reason it seems more likely that the nation despaired for a long time and that the nation’s hopelessness was Heremod’s undoing. The strife Heremod endured was an “affliction experienced by his people.” This reading accommodates lines 905a and 907, which imply Heremod’s long rule, as well as the remark that his death was quick (“snude,” 904a). While Hroðgar elaborates on the consequences of Heremod’s belligerence in his gidd, he also describes Heremod’s emotional disintegration. The “breosthord” in Heremod’s “ferhþe,” we are told, grew “blodreow” (1718b–19a). OE ferhþ means “spirit,” either “the seat of wisdom or knowledge” as the Toronto DOE defines it, or “the seat of affections.” OE breosthord means “treasure-house of the breast,” a cognitive part of the intellect associated either with speech or emotion, the evidence is unclear. OE blodreow is unique, although it may disguise *blodhreoh (“blood-fierce”) or blodhreow (“bloodthirsty,” attested four times in the Paris Psalter).51 Both possibilities seem apt. Healfdene is described as “guðreouw” (“battle-fierce,” 58a), Beowulf as “wælreow” (“slaughter-fierce,” 629a) just before fighting Grendel, but ferocity for blood differs from these other usages with respect to objective: Heremod is bloodthirsty. The phrase “on hreoum mode” (2581b) describes Beowulf when he fights the dragon and Hroðgar when he learns of Æschere’s death (1307b). Beowulf is likewise “hreoh” (1564a) when he seizes the large sword from Grendel’s lair. Finally, in a locus that may reflect Heremod’s condition of “blodreow,” the narrator establishes that Beowulf never slew his hearth companions, that he did not have a “hreoh sefa” (2180b). Heremod, by contrast, fails to reward his men even in defiance of his own destiny (“æfter dome,” 1720a).52

51 See DOE svv. and Paris Psalter 54.23 (trans. “uiri sanguinum”), 58.2 (bis; trans. “de uiris sanguinum”), 138.17 (trans. “uiri sanguinum”). 52 Ernst A. Kock takes the view that “æfter dome” refers to the giver, Heremod: “for Heremod’s own glory,” rather than “in recognition of a retainer’s glory” (“Interpretations and Emendations IV” 113–14). On the important parallel in the Old English Rune Poem, see Klaeber’s Beowulf, note to line 1720.

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Hroðgar proceeds to analyze his gidd about Beowulf and to define the symptoms of a king’s failure in lines 1724b–57b. The passage bears a number of homiletic traits, but on the basis of parallels in Precepts Elaine Tuttle Hansen has called it “parental wisdom.”53 More specifically, however, she describes the “father” as a king speaking to his son, a prince, although this part of the argument is largely undeveloped.54 I prefer to interpret Precepts as a special kind of parental wisdom: warrior wisdom, the expression of an ideal king’s virtues. A number of extant poems share parallels. The admonition to “choose the better” can be found in Precepts and Christ B, and the topos of the devil’s darts turn up in Vainglory 34b–5a and Christ B 779b.55 In characterizing a “shieldless” state as one of psychological vulnerability (8a, 35b), Vainglory describes an assault against judgment as a devil’s shaft breaking one’s spiritual armor, the rational defenses associated with humility, judgment, or wisdom.56 Finally, some vocabulary in the sermon proper is replicated in The Seafarer, although one could not extrapolate in this context any link between the sermon and the “elegies.” Wisdom as Moral Defense Against the Devil’s Darts Hroðgar’s analysis of his gidd has a structure that one can intuit from language and situation. Hroðgar declares that God endows men with wisdom (“snyttru”), land, and nobility and then imagines a king with just these attributes, one possessed of “earthly joys” (“eorþan wynne,” 1730b), specifically a kingdom (1731b–3a).57 Yet in his “unsnyttrum” (“folly” or “ignorance”) the king does not acknowledge his “ende,” most likely mortality that would terminate his joy. The condition of unsnyttru results from good health, youth, no emotional dread (“inwitsorh”), and successive victories:58 53 Solomon Complex 61–7, incorporating elements of an earlier article, “Hrothgar’s ‘Sermon.’ ” One homiletic trait is paired alliterating verbs, such as “weaxeð and wridað” (1741a), “forgyteð ond forgymeð” (1751a), and “forsiteð ond forsworceð” (1767a); see Orchard, Pride and Prodigies 51. 54 Ibid. 61. 55 Ibid. 64, 198 note 59. 56 On the pun intended by OE scyld, which means both “shield” and “guilt,” see Trahern 172. 57 Kaske’s claim in “The Sigemund-Heremod and Hama-Hygelac Passages” 492. On this formulation of God’s endowments, see Andreas 317b–20a and below, pp. 198–9. 58 Deor may supply an example of inwitsorh in the occurrence of “on sefan sweorceð”

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chapter three no hine wiht dweleð adl ne yldo, ne him inwitsorh on sefan sweorceð, ne gesacu ohwær ecghete eoweð . . . (1735b–8a) Neither sickness nor age mislead him, nor does dread darken his mind, nor does battle offer sword-hate anywhere . . .

While some have argued that gesacu parallels ecghete, The Seafarer makes it clear that ecghete means “wound received in battle”: Simle þreora sum ær his tid aga, adl oþþe yldo fægum fromweardum

þinga gehwylce, to tweon weorþeð; oþþe ecghete feorh oðþringeð. (68a–71b)

Likewise at each opportunity before one’s time comes, one of three things will be in doubt: disease, age or sword-hate will crush the life out of each man doomed to depart hence.

Much of this passage approximates remarks made in The Gifts of Men, in which a king endowed with wisdom is never given too much lest he despise the unfortunate “for wlence”: Nænig eft þæs swiþe in þeode þrym forð gestigeð, þurh his halige giefe wise geþohtas under anes meaht þy læs he for wlence mon mode swiðe ond þonne forhycge

þurh snyttrucræft þisses lifes þæt him folca weard hider onsende ond woruldcræftas, ealle forlæte, wuldorgeofena ful, of gemete hweorfe heanspedigran . . . (18a–26b)

No one in this life advances so mightily through powers of sagacity to the leadership of a nation that the Guardian of Peoples would send him here wise thoughts and secular powers through his holy grace, and relinquish all of them to the control of one man, lest he for arrogance, full of glorious gifts and strong of mind, should turn from moderation and despise those of less success.

(29a), a result of “dread” in Beowulf 1737a. In Deor a man whose “mind darkens” imagines endless sorrow (“þæt sy endeleas/earfoða dæl,” 30a–b) due to unexpected reversals. This misery could describe any of the characters Deor mentions in his lament, or Deor himself. He has been deprived of his “londryht” (40b), which was bestowed on a rival scop, Heorrenda.

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The temptation to wlenco comes from a deficiency of snyttru. Having been awarded glorious gifts (wisdom, land, and nobility), Hroðgar’s imagined tyrant comes to despise the less successful when he fails to reward his men “on gylp” (“for their pledge,” 1749b).59 In Hroðgar’s “sermon,” the tyrant does not “know the worse” precisely because the world proceeds in accord with (but not because of ) his will. “Knowing the worse” means enduring agonies that disclose either the world’s indifference (i.e. “fate”) or “god’s will.” Hroðgar claims folly for himself when he states that “he counted no enemy under the sky’s expanse” (1773b–4b)—a condition occasioned by subjugating his territorial enemies for fifty years.60 Ultimately, he compares this state of ignorance to the “sleep” of a “soul’s protector” or “guardian” (1741b–2a), possibly the simple repetition of one’s duties. Hroðgar claims that oferhygd steals upon a powerful and successful king, and this “false confidence” derives from a sense of one’s invulnerability. Underlying the proposition is a view that too much happiness could lead to overconfidence and, following a reversal, to despair. In a study of The Wanderer 68a, which advises a wise man (“wita,” 65b) to be neither “too fearful nor too ‘happy’ ” (“ne to forht ne to fægen”), Thomas D. Hill concludes that “a warrior cannot let himself become too attached to comfort and well-being if he is to maintain his status as a warrior.”61 He connects heroic apatheia (“equal indifference to joy

On this prepositional phrase, see below, p. 211. Hroðgar’s own thoughts on Grendel are vague. Right after the sermon he claims, Swa ic Hring-Dena hund missera weold under wolcnum ond hig wigge beleac manigum mægþa geond þysne middangeard, æscum ond ecgum, þæt ic me ænigne under swegles begong gesacan ne tealde. (1769a–73b) So I ruled the Ring-Danes for fifty years under the heavens, and secured them in battle, with spears and swords, from many tribes throughout this earth, that I did not reckon anyone my adversary under the sky’s expanse. A close parallel to the construction “hig wigge beleac manigum mægþa” comes from a Psalm fragment in MS Junius 121: heald me herewæpnum wið unholdum and wige beluc wraðum feondum þe min ehtend ealle syndon . . . (34.3) I held myself in battle-weapons against the disloyal, and secured battle against hateful foes who were all my persecutors. The expression translates “effunde framea[m] et conclude aduersus eos qui me persecuntur.” 61 “Unchanging Hero” 249. 59

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or sorrow”) to the “related theme of stoic self-control . . . that it is necessary for an honorable man to conceal his feelings,” and traces the “stoic” convention of moderation to classical sources.62 For this same passage I have proposed that “to fægen” means “overconfident,” not “too happy,” and that the wise warrior is advised to avoid recklessness, the result of “overconfidence.”63 While Hill ingeniously detects that excess happiness was condemned as an Anglo-Saxon heroic failing, I have to disagree that “too much happiness” involves concealing one’s feelings or relates to apatheia. Nor do I think that the attitude stems from classical antecedents. In the Germanic tradition, wisdom derives from pain or loss—or from their literary evocations, as I hold—and lack of suffering makes for rash behavior because one has not learned to expect setbacks. An undefeated, overconfident warrior is more likely to take risks, and when he finally loses, the defeat may be unbearable, if not fatal. Precepts expresses this very philosophy, that a wise man (“snottor guma,” 54a) has experienced sorrow: Seldan snottor guma swylce dol seldon ymb his forðgesceaft,

sorgleas blissað, drymeð sorgful nefne he fæhþe wite. (54a–6b)

Seldom does a wise man rejoice without having experienced sorrow; likewise the foolish man full of sorrow will seldom rejoice over his destiny, unless he is experiencing violence.

In deriving snyttru from painful experience, this statement recalls line 1735a from the sermon: “Wunað he on wiste.” Hroðgar’s imagined tyrant lives “in abundance.” Hill relies on Saxo Grammaticus for evidence of apatheia—as he calls it—but in passages of the Historia Danorum that he does not cite, the figure Ericus Disertus explains how too much happiness actually inhibits moderation: Nemo modeste se in prosperis agit, qui aduersa tolerare non didicit. Preterea omnis bonorum usus post agnita gracius mala percipitur. Iocundior est uoluptas, que rerum amaritudini succedit.64 No one behaves humbly in prosperity who has not learned to endure hardship. Furthermore, the entire benefit of good things is received more gratefully after known evils. Pleasure which follows the bitterness of things is sweeter. 62 63 64

Ibid. 237, 240 resp. Gwara, “Forht and Fægen.” Holder 143.

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Insipidus est, qui numquam meroris poculum degustauit. Nemo dura non passus temperanter facilibus utitur.65 He is a fool who never tasted the cup of sorrow. No one who has not suffered hardships enjoys ease in moderation.

In Saxo the easy life makes Frode (Froda) suicidal at Ericus’s lesson in humiliation, a rout in battle. This despair recalls the inwitsorh that afflicts a tyrant like Heremod, a poet like Deor, or the “gomela ceorl,” whose son is hanged in Beowulf ’s story of his own personal grief (lines 2444a–62a). In Beowulf, by contrast, prosperity without self-control or moderation can lead to tyranny and thence to despair. Anglo-Saxon “wisdom” poetry teaches moderation in order to ward off the disasters that arrogance fosters, or to endure them when they happen. It has long been recognized in the Old English wisdom verse how experience of sorrow furnishes snyttru or “wisdom.” T. A. Shippey’s evaluation of two “elegiac” poems expresses Hroðgar’s view about how his imagined king’s success could lead to unconscionable oferhygd: In both The Wanderer and The Seafarer (and in several places elsewhere), the speakers insist that experience of one’s own is a necessary prologue to wisdom. Wat se ðe cunnað [he knows who makes trial of it], observes The Wanderer; in a more negative way, The Seafarer presents three times the figure of ‘the man who does not know, who little believes’ what others have gone through, because he has only lifes wyn gebiden in burgum [experienced the joys of life in human dwellings]. . . . The alternating styles of The Wanderer reflect the two traditional duties of the poet, to endure bitter experience, and to give men relief through the expression of its lessons.66

Corollary to the poet’s expression of “relief ” for misery is the function of guidance, for “wisdom” is not only the capacity to expect or endure change67 but also to create change in behavior. The poetic Solomon and Saturn, Shippey notes, asks why “the young will not struggle for wisdom” (388a–90b) by discussing the problem of “fate” (wyrd) versus “warning” (warnung). The problem sounds “Boethian”: does foreknowledge imply providence? Citing Bosworth’s dictionary, Carolyne Larrington translates OE warnung as “prescience,” but the sense is unique, as she concedes.68 In fact, Ibid. 143–4. Old English Verse 59. 67 Shippey describes this function admirably as “the abandonment of personality for a general historical perspective.” He continues, “along with this goes a concern, not for the past alone, but for the past as a guide to future events” (ibid.) 68 Larrington 152. 65 66

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Robert J. Menner, foremost editor of the poem, denied the connection to strict Boethian philosophy, since in every other occurrence OE warnung means “admonition.”69 From Menner’s perspective a verbal warning (in poetry, say) can bring about a change in attitude and therefore an alteration of fate. Solomon (who represents the Christian point of view to Saturn’s pagan one) concludes that a wise man cannot change, but can “moderate,” his fate(s): “. . . him mæg wissefa/wyrda gehwilce// gemetigian” (440a–1a). One recalls at this moment the context of Order of the World, in which only “rincas rædfæste” (“men firm in counsel,” 13a) can moderate their behavior. OE rædfæst is a penitential term that could be parsed “firm in counsel,”70 and the implicit advice is righteous, often opposed to one’s willa or “(base) desire.” Order of the World later states that a “thoughtful man” (“deophydig mon,” 18a) should “fasten lessons in his mind” (“[scyle] . . . wordhordes cræft//fæstnian ferðsefan,” 19b–20a), and “the spirited nobleman should not reject this [advice]” (“ne sceal þæs aþreotan/þegn modigne,” 21a–b). Clearly, the advice of the wise—a “warnung”—is difficult to put into practice. Warriors in Order of the World and the young in Solomon and Saturn especially need

69 Menner 138: “The antithesis is not between Boethian fate and providence, nor between Augustinian predestination and free-will, but between Germanic destiny and foresight.” 70 The Paris Psalter expresses the connection between OE rædfæst and righteous living: Me þin se goda gast gleawe lædde, þæt ic on rihtne wæg reðne ferde; for naman þines neodweorðunge, drihten usser, do me halne, þæt ic on ðinum rihte rædfæst lifige. (142.11) Your good spirit has led me in wisdom, that I traversed the cruel in your righteous way. In the compelling honor of your name, our Lord, make me safe, that I might live resolute in your righteousness. (Translating Ps 142:10–11) Ælfric’s Catholic Homily 17 (first series) confirms the connection between prophets who declare what is “riht” and the “rædfæst” men who follow them: “Gesælig bið þæt folc ðe fela witan hæfð gif hi riht wyllað and rædfæste beoð. 7 ond se is wita geteald þe wyle rihtwisnysse” (Clemoes, Catholic Homilies 540.174–6: “Blessed is that people who have wise leaders if those desire what is right and are resolute, and anyone who wishes righteousness is considered a prophet”). The link between “riht” and “rædfæst” is also confirmed in Waldere B, where Waldere says, “Ðeah mæg sige syllan/se ðe symle byð//recon ond rædfæst/ryhta gehwilces . . .” (“Although he who is swift and resolute in everything that is right may bestow victory . . .” II.25a–26b). OE rædfæst in these passages indicates the will to abide by proper (or promised) conduct—what is “riht”—not to falter in one’s actions out of fear, temptation, pride, or other moral weakness. Being rædfæst is purely mental, therefore, and involves choice, desire, and, from the Christian perspective, humility.

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the kind of advice that sages give. Hroðgar imagines them, I think, as the inexperienced. The poetic Solomon and Saturn contextualizes the struggle between “fate” and “warning” as a Christian one, and Hroðgar seems to offer pseudo-pagan wisdom of comparable substance. Hroðgar seems to admit to oferhygd, either by failing to anticipate Grendel’s attack or by sacrificing so many men in his feud with Grendel that his status declined. Current glory predicated on past success, Hroðgar reasons, can make some men feel invincible—just as he felt before Grendel’s appearance. He specifically warns Beowulf against oferhygd (1760b), precisely the trait of the arrogant warrior in Vainglory 43b and of the giants on the sword hilt. Hroðgar describes the origin of oferhygd as an assassination (or wound) of the soul through a “bitter dart”—allegorically pictured as the “depraved, wondrous commands of a cursed spirit” (“wom wundorbebodum/wergan gastes,” 1747a–b).71 (So I conclude from the testimony that the dart is fired when the “soul’s guardian” is asleep.)72 Vercelli Homily 4 uses exactly this metaphor to describe the “shield” (in Beowulf the term is “helm”) needed to protect against “accursed spirits”: Þonne is mycel þearf, men þa leofestan, þæt we hæbben þa scyldas þærongean þe dryhten us hæfð gesett mid to scyldanne. Ærest is an scyld wisdom 7 wærscipe 7 fæstrædnes on godum weorcum, 7 mildheortnesse 7 eaðmodnesse scyld, 7 ryhtes geleafan scyld 7 godra worca scild . . . 7 þone scyld nimen us to wige wið þam awyrgedan deofle þe lufu hatte. Ne mæg þonne nan synsceaða þa þurhsceotan, for þam þe Godes englas bioð mid þam scyldum gewæpnod to feohtanne wið þam awirgdum gastum.73 71 For an Aldhelmian locus see Orchard, Pride and Prodigies 103–4. Describing oferhygd (and even wlenco) as injurious occurs elsewhere in Daniel (“þam æðelinge/oferhygd gesceod,” 489a–b and “him wlenco gesceod,” 677b). Mark Atherton has lately made a connection between scenes of the devils’ darts and Psalter illuminations. Farrell, “Archer” 112 investigated the archer on the Ruthwell Cross and reached a similar conclusion: “the archer is best interpreted as an inimical figure.” In the poetic Exodus the collocation “wommum awyrged” (“cursed by depravities,” 533a) varies “wreccum alyfed” (“yielded to exiles,” 533b) in describing the condition of one’s mutable prosperity (“læne dream,” 532b). 72 R. E. Kaske proposes “to interpret the weard . . . sawele hyrde (1741–2) as sapientia itself put to sleep by pride; but even if this guardian is to be thought of as ‘conscience,’ ‘intellect,’ or ‘reason,’ its sleep represents a turning away from sapientia coincident with the growth of pride” (“Sapientia et Fortitudo” 281). The soul’s protector could be any of Kaske’s suggestions, but I disagree that the hypothetical king is endowed with sapientia at all, and the “sleep” specifically derives from one’s “daily cares” (bisgum). 73 Scragg, Vercelli Homilies 103.321–104.2. Scragg notes that there is no Latin source for this passage: “it is possible that the final section, lines 308 to the end, is from a

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chapter three Then there will be great need, dear men, that we hold our shields, which the Lord has set amongst us for protection, against it. The first shield is wisdom and prudence and resolution in good works, and the shield of mercy and humility, the shield of firm belief, the shield of good works . . . And let us carry that shield called Love to war against the accursed devil. No sinful enemy may pierce it, for God’s angels are themselves armed with those shields to fight against cursed spirits.

Presumably the shield of wisdom in its reliance on “mildheortnesse ond eaðmodnesse” defends from attacks of arrogance, and demands the conviction of “fæstrædnes.” Each “shield” protects against a cursed devil (“awyrgedan deofle”) or cursed spirits (“awirgdum gastum”). Because Christ A documents that “exiles have cursed spirits” (“Habbað wræcmæcgas/wergan gæstas,” 363a–b), having such an affliction may presuppose a state of exile. Interestingly, this metaphor of the devil’s darts is widely paralleled. Cynewulf used it in Christ B, uninfluenced in the context by his Gregorian source: Forþon we a sculon synwunde forseon, Habbað we us to frofre ælmihtigne. halig of heahðu, þa us gescildað eglum earhfarum, wunde gewyrcen, in folc godes of his brægdbogan

idle lustas, ond þæs sellran gefeon. fæder on roderum He his aras þonan, hider onsendeð, wið sceþþendra þi læs unholdan þonne wrohtbora forð onsendeð biterne stræl. (756a–65b)

Therefore we should ever despise vain desires—the wounds of sin—and rejoice in the better. We will have the almighty father in the heavens as our comfort. Holy, he sends his messengers from on high who will shield us against the terrible volley of our enemies, when the bringer of enmity sends forth amongst God’s people the bitter dart from his drawn bow.

The “wounds of sin” are precisely “idle lustas” or “vain desires.” As in Beowulf, one ought to reject one’s lusts and embrace “the better.” Cynewulf urges all to hold out against the poisonous point (“attres ord,” 768a), which could lodge “under banlocan” or “in the flesh” (769b). This ambush (later called “devils’ darts” or “deofla strælas,” 779b) is

vernacular source independent of that which provides the main part of the homily” (89).

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specifically “the sudden cunning of fiends” (“feonda færsearo,” 770a). This metaphor is fully explored in Cynewulf ’s Juliana 225a–88b, where an “exiled” devil concealed as God’s righteous angel tempts the saint to marry the pagan Eleusius. The devil’s disguise proves that victims of oferhygd in Beowulf may be blind to their moral benightedness, and deem their actions to be justifiable. Only Juliana’s prayer saves her from succumbing to the devil’s temptation. Her confidence is intuitive, not intellectual. The image of the “flying spears” of pride also recurs in the Exeter Book poem Vainglory, as symptomatic of vainglorious men carousing in a beer-hall: þrymme þringeð, ungemedemad mod; bið þæt æfþonca feondes fligepilum,

Sum on oferhygdo þrinteð him in innan sindan to monige þæt! eal gefylled facensearwum. (23b–7b)

A certain man given to arrogance brims with majesty; his immoderate spirit swells from within. Too many are like that! That vexation is entirely filled with the fiend’s flying spears, his treacherous deceits.

The suggestion that oferhygd might be glossed “majesty” from the perspective of the arrogant man recalls the potential sarcasm of Wulfgar’s remarks to Beowulf: “I suppose you have sought Hroðgar for ‘glory’— ‘majesty of mind’, as it were—and not because of ‘exile’ ” (“Wen’ ic þæt ge for wlenco,/nalles for wræcsiðum//ac for higeþrymmum,/Hroðgar sohton,” 338a–9b).74 More conclusively, oferhygd in Vainglory is said to derive from immoderation (“ungemedemad mod,” 25a), a state different from general boastfulness characterizing the other warriors. The psychological wound happens from within, the reason why “treacherous deceits” varies “the devil’s flying spears.” These darts, we later learn, penetrate this warrior’s defenses simply because of his (moral) inattention: “læteð inwitflan//brecan þone burgweal” (“He allows deceitful 74 While OE higeþrym is often considered positive (i.e. “majesty of mind”), OE þrym could be at least equivocal if not pejorative as an inducement to violence. Maxims I attests, Þrym sceal mid wlenco; þriste mid cenum sceolun bu recene beadwe fremman. (60a–1b) Glory goes with recklessness, rash men with the bold must both quickly do battle. I translate wlenco as “recklessness” because the maxim seemingly pairs it with þrist “rashness” and states that rash men battle impetuously.

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darts to break the shield-wall,” 37b–8a). He is now vulnerable to an affliction he cannot perceive. The Old English prose “Life of Saint Guðlac” likewise preserves the image of the poisonous dart of a cursed spirit (“mid þære geættredan streale gewundod wæs þæs awerigedan gastes”),75 but it leads to despair rather than arrogance. Guðlac’s “ormodnysse” results from a wound to his human heart (“menniscan heortan”).76 Temptations (“costunga”) are consistently proffered by a “cursed spirit”, too. Because Guðlac was once a warband leader, it might be possible to see in his vita the struggle to suppress the kind of arrogance that he turned from by becoming an anchorite. He noticed in himself vainglory checked only by a devotion to humility and isolation from the temptations of campaigning. Guðlac A, at least, suggests just this impulse: mara in gemyndum þrymme æfter þonce

him wæs Godes egsa þonne he menniscum þegan wolde. (167b–9b)

The fear of God was greater in his thoughts than for him to wish in his mind to receive human glory.

In the poetic Guðlac A, these demonic blandishments tempt Guðlac to trade his saintly “exile” for that of a wrecca: Oþer hyne scyhte, nihtes sohte wunne æfter worulde, þa þe ne bimurnað þæs þe him to honda butan hy þy reafe

þæt he sceaðena gemot ond þurh neþinge swa doð wræcmæcgas monnes feore huþe gelædeð, rædan motan. (127a–32b)

75 Gonsor 120.52–5; cited from Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Laud Misc. 509 + London, BL MS Cotton Vespasian D. xxi fols. 18–40 (s. xi2). The Vercelli translation has a nearly identical reading; see also p. 119.39–50: “þa se ealda feond mancynnes gengde geond þæt græswang efne swa grymetigende leo, þæt he his costunga attor wide todæleð. Mid þy he þa his yfelnysse mægen and grymnysse attor teldode, þæt he mid þan þa menniscan heortan wundode, þa semninga swa he of gebendum bogan his costunge streale on þam mode gefæstnode þæs Cristes cempan” (“Then the ancient enemy of mankind traversed the grassy area like a roaring lion, that he might widely propagate the poison of his temptation. He had then so spread the poison of his evil and savagery that he had wounded the human heart by it, just as if he had straightaway fixed an arrow of temptation from a drawn bow in the soul of Christ’s warrior”). Guðlac A has a more attenuated image: “feonda færscyte” (“sudden shots of fiends,” 186a). 76 Ibid. 119.46.

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Another [devil] urged him to seek out at night a party of raiders and through daring to strive after worldly goods, just like exiles do who do not care for the lives of the men at whose hands they gain booty, unless through them they may learn about plunder.

The depravity of this behavior lies in the absence of humanity in the single-minded pursuit of plunder: wreccan do not care for men’s lives. This reputation likewise describes tyrants. The specific connection between the devil’s darts and a king’s tyranny is found elsewhere only in Beowulf and in a letter of Boniface (written ca. 744 × 747) to Æþilbald of Mercia (d. 757). S. J. Crawford first revealed this significance of this epistle in 1931, when he called attention to multiple parallels in Hroðgar’s sermon:77 Et memor eris, quia indecens conprobatur, ut imaginem Dei, quae in te creata est, per luxoriam ad imaginem . . . maligni diaboli converteris et tu—quem non propria merita sed larga pietas Dei regem ac principem multorum constituit—te ipsum per luxoriam servum maligno spiritui constituas. Praeterea, fili carissime . . . si in iuventute adolescentiae tuae putridine luxoriae inquinatus et foetore adulterii involutus et voragine libidinis quasi puteo inferni demersus fueras, iam tempus est, ut memor Domini tui a diaboli laqueis resipicas . . . Hi duo reges [Ceolred and Osred] haec duo peccata maxima in provinciis Anglorum diabolico instinctu . . . monstraverunt. Et in istis peccatis commorantes, id est in stupratione et adulterio nonnarum et fractura monasteriorum, iusto iudicio Dei damnati de culmine regali huius vite abiecti et inmatura et terribili morte preventi a luce perpetua extranei in profundum inferni et tartarum abyssi demersi sunt. Nam Ceolredum . . . apud comites suos splendide epulantem malignus spiritus, qui eum ad fiduciam dampnande legis Dei suadendo pellexit, peccantem subito in insaniam mentis convertit, ut sine penitentia et confessione furibundus et amens et cum diabolis sermocinans et Dei sacerdotes adhominans de hac luce sine dubio ad tormenta inferni migravit . . . Quapropter, fili carissime, cave tibi foveam, in quam vidisti coram te alios cecidisse. Cave tibi iacula antiqui hostis, per que propinquos proprios coram te vulnerators cadere vidisti. Adtende tibi a laqueo insidiatoris, in quo notos et commilitones tuos videbas strangulatos et presentem vitam et futuram perdere. Noli talium ad perditionem exempla sequi . . . ‘Quid nobis profuit superbia, aut quid divitiarum iactatio contulit nobis?’ [Sap 5:8] Transierunt omnia illa tamquam umbra . . . Et alias: ‘Numerus dierum vitae hominis, si multum, centum anni, quasi parvula gutta de magno mari deputatus est’ [Sir 18:8] . . . Desere vitia et studium inpende sacris virtutibus adimplendas.78

“Beowulfiana.” Tangl 146–55 (no. 73). In Asser’s Vita Alfredi Regis the striking phrase “diabolico instinctu” describes a “discordia” that afflicted the Northumbrians ca. 867 (Stevenson 77 78

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chapter three And you will recall, because it is affirmed obscene, that you turned the image of God in which you were created to the image of the wicked devil. And you, whom not your own merits but the generous will of God established as king and prince of many men—you confirm yourself through lust as a servant to an evil spirit. Moreover, dear son, if in the immaturity of your adolescence you had drowned—polluted by the filth of wantonness, immersed in the stink of lust, and enveloped in the filth of adultery and in the vortex of desire as if in the pit of hell—it is now time that you recover yourself from the devil’s snares. Through a demonic influence both those kings manifested these two great sins in the lands of the Angles. And wallowing in these sins, that is, in sexual filth and lust of nuns and dispossession of monasteries, condemned by God’s judgement, cast down from the kingly heights of this life and cut off by a premature and terrible death, exiled from the perpetual light, they sank in the depths of hell and the perdition of the pit. For an evil spirit, which, through persuasion, had beguiled him to lose faith in God’s law, suddenly turned the sinner Ceolred, who had been feasting splendidly among his thanes, towards derangement of mind, that without penance or confession, enraged and delusional (speaking with devils and cursing God’s priests) he doubtlessly made his way from this light to the torments of hell. On which account, dear son, beware the pit into which you saw others fall before you. Beware the darts of the ancient enemy. Keep yourself from the noose of the deceiver, by which your nobles and fellow soldiers were strangled and lost both present and future life. Do not follow the example of those men to perdition. ‘What has pride profited us, and what has the pomp of riches ever brought us?’ All those things will pass like shadows. And elsewhere: ‘the number of a man’s days, if great, are no more than one hundred years, as if measured as the merest raindrop from a vast ocean’. Avoid these vices and devote your ambition to the holy virtues which ought to be cultivated.

Boniface warns Æþilwald through historical exempla—the conduct of Ceolred and Osred—and the letter captures multiple Beowulfian affinities: Boniface “non propria merita sed larga pietas Dei” “fili carissime”

Beowulf 1. God-given prosperity 2. paternal advice

Lines 1724b–27a [Beowulf ’s “adoption”]

22 [§27 line 2]). King Osberht was deposed in favor of Ælla, a tyrant (“tyrannum”) outside the royal family. As in Boniface’s letter and Beowulf, the expression connects tyranny to diabolical instigation.

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Table (cont.) Boniface “iacula antiqui hostis” “luxoria” “diabolico instinctu” “subito in insaniam mentis convertit” “in profundum inferni et tartarum abyssi” “superbia” “Numerus dierum vitae hominis, si multum, centum anni”

“Desere vitia et studium inpende sacris virtutibus adimplendas”

Beowulf 3. the devil’s darts 4. the sin of desire 5. the demonic prompting 6. an unexpected possession 7. potential damnation 8. the focus on pride 9. the inevitability of death

10. the exhortation to avoid sin and embrace holy virtues

Line 1745a–b Lines 1738b–9b Line 1747a–b Line 1746b Lines 1750b–2b Lines 1748a–50a Lines 1753a–7b; 1761b–8b

Lines 1758a–61a

There emerges as well an arresting acknowledgment that youthful luxuria could be excused but that mature leadership demands more stringent moral principles. We learn from this reflex that the moral failing Hroðgar describes afflicts kings, not just churchmen. Both in outline and detail Beowulfian oferhygd resembles Homeric ate, a term often rendered “madness, delusion, folly, ruin” or the like but whose root sense is “blindness.”79 In the Iliad especially, ate seems to be the silent term by which Achilles’s rage is evaluated as justifiable or excessive. Ate represents a moral debility that afflicts one’s thymos, the

79

On the concept of Homeric ate see Doyle 7–22.

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seat of the passions. In Homer it is figured as an external daimon, or even the goddess Ate, a daughter of Zeus. This divine possession leads to the “blindness” of disproportionate erotic passion or excessive rage, the fury that Achilles exhibits. In other words, the possessed man (or woman) will not perceive the immoderate nature of his desires—he is figuratively blind to his obsession. Such a man contravenes the expectations of responsible behavior without realizing it. At the same time, other observers condemn his abnormal passion as a failure of restraint and duty, and diminished glory frequently results from ate. Interestingly, Homeric ate is difficult to attribute to characters, including Achilles, and this uncertainty characterizes Beowulf ’s dragon fight, where heroic action and oferhygd seem practically coextensive. Independent of the narrator’s confirmation, the surest sign of ate is a character’s acknowledgment of it. Agamemnon admits to having ate in Book 9, and while his capitulation to Achilles is no formal apology, his generous gifts manifest some degree of culpable excess. As a fatalistic concept, however, Homeric ate removes the agent from complete responsibility for immoderation, a reason for the bewilderment that follows Beowulf ’s dragon fight. The Geats simply do not know how to fathom their king’s motivation. These generous analogues in Homer and Old English verse not only substantiate the obsession with oferhygd so prominent in Beowulf but also allow some latitude in reconstructing Hroðgar’s attitude towards temptation and sin. “Maliciously” discharged (“fyrenum sceoteð,” 1744b), the missile Hroðgar describes penetrates the hreðer, the domain of emotional life, and slays the “guardian.” The guardian represents a faculty like conscience that resists wrongdoing that might stem from arrogance. He imputes injury to the soul (OE sawol), which is consistently vulnerable to arrogance—Cynewulf ’s “vain lusts”—in Old English wisdom literature. In Vainglory, for example, the man afflicted by arrogance “does not know guilt for the crime he committed” (“He þa scylde ne wat//fæhþe gefremede,” 35b–6a). Even in the prose “Guðlac” the saint’s “despair” sounds much like the dissatisfaction afflicting Hroðgar’s fictitious king immediately after the attack: “þinceð him to lytel,/þæt he lange heold” (“what he long held seems too little to him,” 1748a–b). One might say that Guðlac controls his malaise by being “rædfæst” or “firm in (wise or righteous) counsel.” The use of fyren in the context of Hroðgar’s sermon recalls the undertakings of Sigemund and Heremod described earlier, especially the allegation that fyren “entered” Heremod (915b). The arousal of oferhygd

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elicits the fyren the anonymous secg condemned in the Sigemund/Heremod digression. This fyren derives from the “cursed spirit” mentioned both in Guðlac and the Vercelli passage. A corresponding association between oferhygd and fyren arises in Genesis A 18b–19a, where Lucifer and his angels, afflicted by oferhygd, “did not know audacious deeds” prior to their fall: “Synna ne cuþon,/firena fremman.” Lucifer’s rebellion seems to have been a locus classicus of oferhygd in the biblical tradition. The gidd of Lucifer in Vainglory 57a–66b characterizes oferhygd as a revolt against righteous authority which results in a “national” calamity, the fall of the angels. The oferhygd of Hroðgar’s imagined king ultimately destroys the nation. Once the soul is wounded, the king becomes “gromhydig,” resulting in his cupidity: he no longer bestows rings for the fulfillment of pledges (“on gylp,” 1749b). Describing a state of ferocity most often associated with combat, OE gramhydig matches Heremod’s condition of bolgenmod. OE gramlice describes Belshazzar’s boastfulness in the Old English Daniel, right at the moment of his utmost arrogance: “gealp gramlice/gode on andan” (“He boasted pompously in hatred for God,” 713a–b). Being “gram” (“fierce”) often entails “forgetting” one’s duty or obligation, as in Exodus: “Ealles þæs forgeton/siððan grame wurdon” (“they forgot all that after they became fierce,” 144a–b) or the Paris Psalter 118: “Gearo ic eom symble,/nalæs grames modes,//þæt ic betst cunne/þine bebodu healdan” (“I am ever ready, not at all of fierce mind, that I may best know how to obey your commands,” 118.60). In Judgment Day I, the “gromhydge guman” (14a) who rule become deceived by the “guardians of sins” and “seek hell” with their hosts (16a–17b), and being “fierce” as an aspect of oferhygd answers the proud angels’ description as “reðemode” in Genesis A 47b. Right after becoming “gramhydig,” Hroðgar’s fictional king quite appropriately “forgets and neglects” (“forgyteð ond forgymeð,” 1751a) the destiny (“forðgesceaft,” 1750b) which god had given him, specifically a “weorðmynda dæl” (1752b) or “share of honors.” In reference to kings in Beowulf OE weorðmynd describes national campaigns: Scyld Scefing prospered in honors (“weorðmyndum þah,” 8b) until his neighbors submitted to him, and Hroðgar enjoyed “wiges weorðmynd” (“honor in warfare,” 65a)—specifically “heresped” (“military success,” 64b). These “justified” honors seem limited to political consolidation, the “share” (“dæl”) that god bestows. Hroðgar proposes a definable limit to aggression, in other words, beyond which a king could express oferhygd.

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Hroðgar divulges that an imagined successor to this vainglorious and bloodthirsty king would freely distribute treasure and “forgo” egesa. Reviving John F. Vickrey’s reading of egesa as “timor Domini,”80 Andy Orchard affirms in Heremod the failure of “Christian reverence.”81 Alternatively, Heremod’s successor may not care for “national warfare,” the sense of the term in Beowulf. OE egesa occurs six times in the poem, alongside the compounds gledegesa (2650a), ligegesa (2780b) and wæteregesa (1260a). Three of the simplex forms occur in the context of national warfare.82 Beowulf promises aid to Hroðgar should his neighbors threaten “egesan” (1827b); Beowulf proclaims that no neighbor risked “egesan” (2736a) while he ruled the Geats; and the Geats fear a time of “egesan” (3154b)—of countless wælfyll or “national slaughters,” humiliations [hynðo], and enforced slavery (3154a–5a)—once news of Beowulf ’s death becomes general. Both “humiliation” and “slavery” indicate genocide. Other occurrences of egesa describe Grendel or the dragon, both national “terrors.” The cry of Grendel, a “leodsceaða” (“national enemy,” 2093b) and a “þeodþrea” (“national threat,” 178a), is an egesa heard by “North-Danes” (783b–8a), his “unnatural violence, shame [hynðu], and corpse-felling [hrafyl, cp. wælfyl]” (276a–7a) endured by “Scyldings.”83 The dragon, too, is a national enemy (“ðeodsceaða,” 2278a), which spouts unnatural and deadly flame, a gledegesa and ligegesa. Finally, this seems to be the underlying sense of “egsode eorlas” in 6a. In the consolidation of his kingdom, Scyld did not merely “terrify earls.” As one of the first Danish warlord-kings, he invaded or exterminated his enemy earls, thereby establishing the Danish nation. Given this constellation of concepts centering on national “terror,” Hroðgar may conceive of Heremod’s offense as unjust invasion or assault of a terrifying magnitude—exactly the kind of bellum iniustum decried by Church authorities. J. E. Cross has compiled and analyzed evidence showing

80 81 82

“Egesan ne gymeð.” Pride and Prodigies 53. See also þeodegsa from Christ B:

Þeodegsa bið hlud gehyred bi heofonwoman cwaniendra cirm, cerge reotað fore onsyne ece deman (833b–6b) In a heavenly tumult, loud national terror will be heard, the noise of those lamenting; in sorrow they will grieve before the sight of the eternal judge. The sense of the compounds may be quite different; see Klaeber, “Textual Interpretation” 263. 83 On the possibility of puns on hrafyl/wælfyl, see Whitesell 146.

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that the Anglo-Saxons condemned wars waged for glory, both in their poetry and religious writings.84 I see no reason why Hroðgar does not also warn Beowulf against such expeditions. Germanic Warrior Wisdom: A Counsel of Restraint in Consideration of Virtue Hroðgar concludes his narrative at line 1757 and immediately applies the story to Beowulf. Recalling the fictional king who did not know how to protect himself (“bebeorgan”), Hroðgar demands that Beowulf protect himself (“Bebeorh,”1758a) from “bealonið.” OE bealunið occurs only six times in Old English, three times in Beowulf. Most significantly, it describes the poison that has penetrated Beowulf ’s body, the “attor on innan” which wells up from within and causes death. In the Kentish Psalm, the exiled David is said to have relieved a “hoard” of bealunið with a humble conscience (“mid eaðmede/ingeþance,” 152a–b). Specifically “wounds of the spirit” (“gastes wunde,” 154a), these bealunið are said to afflict the “ferðe” (“spirit,” 153a), the seat of emotion. In Guðlac A the collocation “beorgað him bealoniþ” (“they protect themselves from rancor,” 809a) occurs in a list of accomplishments committed by those assured of heaven. They “love fasting” and “seek prayer,” deeds which suggest that avoiding bealunið might call for self-restraint, asceticism, or humility. After the dragon burns Beowulf ’s hall, Beowulf is said to inquire “whence the hostility [ fæhðu] arose,” a phrase which varies “bealonið biorna” (2403b–4a). From this passage we might conclude that OE bealunið describes an act that initiates strife, and “rancor that leads to strife” is perhaps the best translation. Just after this warning, Hroðgar calls Beowulf the “best man”—not the “better” man—and urges him to “choose the better” (“þæt selre geceos,” 1759b).85 In 1703a Hroðgar lavished praise on Beowulf and called him “better born” (“geboren betera”), an affirmation of Beowulf ’s moral virtue and exceptional promise. “Choosing the better” in Precepts 47b means choosing between good and evil—a fruitless injunction when over-confidence distorts one’s judgment. “Choosing the good” is impossible for Hroðgar’s fictional king. In Beowulf Hroðgar advises Beowulf to “choose the better” by protecting himself from “bealonið,” a snare from

84 85

“Ethic of War.” On the “better” man see also Hansen, Solomon Complex 75.

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which Hroðgar’s imagined king does not know how to protect himself (“he þæt wyrse ne con,” 1739b). At this moment the “better” is varied by “ece rædas” or “eternal counsels,” and many have compared this collocation to the choice of “ecne ræd” that Hama made in Beowulf 1201b: “[Hama] . . . searoniðas fleah//Eormenrices,/geceas ecne ræd” (“Hama fled Ermanaric’s plots; he chose eternal counsel,” 1200b–1b). Most critics interpreting this passage cite the thirteenth-century Icelandic Þiðreks Saga af Bern, which states that Heimir (= Hama) entered a monastery after “fleeing” from Erminrekr (= Ermanaric).86 Yet the notion that Hama earned “eternal life” (i.e. “ecne ræd”) by professing a monk has been discredited as “false to the context of the episode.”87 In fact, the Beowulf poet supplies his own calque on “ecne ræd,” stating “searoniðas fleah//Eormenrices” (“he fled Ermanaric’s planned enmities,” 1200b–1a). Almost fifty years ago R. E. Kaske suggested a contrast between Hama’s “flight” and Hygelac’s loss of the collar given Beowulf by Wealhþeow on a “daring and presumably needless expedition.” 88 “Whatever the searoniðas Eormenrices may have been,” Kaske insisted, “they certainly represent an evil avoided; whatever the ecne ræd may have been, it certainly represents a good chosen.”89 Kaske’s reading demands that “fleah” be interpreted “fled” (and so the passage is universally interpreted),90 making Hama’s flight from Ermanaric’s “searoniðas” a “good chosen.” What could this mean? Thomas Hill has explicated the compound searonið as a hostility hatched by men—malicious plots or wars of aggression—and every context in Beowulf supports this reading.91 The Beowulf poet could therefore be imagining the moment

86 The matter is still further complicated by the collocation “floh . . . Otachres nid” in Hildebrandslied 18 (Klaeber’s Beowulf 340), about which Klaeber stated in the third edition of Beowulf, “Odoacer’s place as the adversary of Theodoric was afterwards taken by Ermanaric” (Beowulf 179 note to line 1200b–1a). 87 Kaske, “The Sigemund-Heremod and Hama-Hygelac Passages” 491 note 3. 88 Ibid. 491. 89 Ibid. 490. 90 The reading fleah emends MS fealh, but the attempt by Hintz to retain the scribal form seems highly strained. Klaeber regarded this article as “hazardous” (Beowulf 179 note to line 1200b–1201a), and the editors of Klaeber’s Beowulf note that “feolan, which actually means ‘enter, penetrate,’ is elsewhere only intrans.” 91 Paul Beekman Taylor proposes, “Hama had fled searoniðas to save his life. He had fled a curse on treasure as well as the malefic power of Eormenric himself, whose searoniðas marks him as one of the monsters” (“Searoniðas” 124). I do not perceive the connection between searonið and magic, and prefer the reading of Thomas D. Hill that searo- means man-made, intricate, or artificial and that searonið denotes a manufactured hostility—one instigated by men (“Confession of Beowulf ” 173).

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known from Þiðreks Saga when Heimir denounces Erminrekr’s tyranny, specifically the false charges leveled against Þiðrek: Heimir gengr nú á fund Erminreks konungs með reiði mikilli ok mælti: ‘Þú, Erminrekr konungr hefir margt illt gert á þínum frændum. Friðrek ok Reginbald sendir þú fyrst sjálfr til dauða, ok inn unga Samson draptu, ok þína bróðursonu Egarð ok Áka léztu hengja, ok hér á ofan hefir þú á brott rekit ór sínu ríki þinn frænda, Þiðrek konung, ok Þethir ok Úlfráð, þinn systurson, ok inn góða dreng Hildibrand ok marga aðra góða riddara, suma drepit, en suma brott rekit . . . ’92 Heimir went to meet King Erminrek with great rage and said, ‘King Erminrek, you have committed great ill against your kinsmen. You first sent Friðrek and Reginbald to their deaths, and then you killed the young Samson, and you had your nephews Egarð and Áka hanged. And now you have exiled your kinsman King Þiðrek from his kingdom, as well as Þethir and Úlfráð, your sister’s son, and the good warrior Hildebrand and many other fine fighters, some [of whom] you have killed, and some exiled . . .’

Although we cannot be sure the Anglo-Saxons knew the story as transmitted in this saga,93 Heimir did choose exile over dishonor; he literally “fled.” According to the saga, only after long exile, perpetual readiness for ambush, and constant harassment of his enemies did Heimir earn a place at Þiðrek’s court. Alternatively, OE searoniðas perfectly describes the general conduct imputed to the legendary Ermanaric (i.e. Erminrekr), who “became in heroic poetry the type of a ferocious, covetous, and treacherous tyrant.”94 Frederick Klaeber summarized the highlights: “[Ermanaric] causes the fair Swanhild to be trodden to death by horses, and his son . . . to be hanged at the instigation of his evil counselor . . . he slays his nephews . . . and oppresses Theoderic [i.e. Þiðrekr].”95 By this reasoning, Hama may have fled Ermanaric’s habitual “conspiracies,” a way of saying that Hama earned “ecne ræd” by fleeing depravity. Yet the expression “fled conspiracies” may also be figurative, since OE fleah can mean “shunned” or “rejected” in prose or poetry, especially in reference to moral offenses.96 Hama may simply have rejected Ermanaric’s tyranny, and not any specific malice. Guðni Jónsson vol. 2, p. 388. Brady, Legends 149–68, esp. 162. 94 Klaeber, Beowulf 178 note to lines 1197–1201. 95 Ibid.; cf. Ashdown 327; Brady, Legends 166. 96 Thus, Vercelli Homily 21 states, “oferhygde fleoð 7 unnytt word, æfste 7 andan” (“flee recklessness and vain words, spite and anger,” in Scragg, Vercelli Homilies 357 (lines 92 93

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Whatever sense may be imputed to the expression “searoniðas fleah// Eormenrices,” Genesis A appears to offer a close parallel for the “ece rædas” Beowulf is urged to embrace. The Sodomites practice “ecne unræd,” and Lot is said to have fled (“fleah”) “þære mægðe monwisan” (“the criminal ways of that people,” 1939a–b), an expression which varies “facen and fyrene” (“treachery and audacity,” 1941a).97 The poem elaborates on the consequences of Lot’s choice: “þeah þe he on þam lande/lifian sceolde” (“although he had to live in the land,” 1940a). Lot chose exile, in other words, just as Hama did.98 Moreover, the commission of unræd specifically marks Lucifer’s lapse into oferhygd in Genesis A: “þe þone unræd ongan/ærest fremman” (“which first began to undertake folly,” 30a–b). OE ræd, in fact, designates what the angels obeyed before their fall (24a), and hell becomes their “rædleas hof ” (“home without counsel,” 44b). Finally, Moses teaches the exiled Israelites his “ece rædas” in the poetic version of Exodus, and these counsels, when internalized in the soul, fortify the nation: “we gesne ne syn/godes þeodscipes,//metodes miltsa” (“we should never lack for good conduct [or: community], the Measurer’s mercy,” 529a–30a). As the objective of wisdom, OE þeodscipe surely means righteous living. Athough Hama “fled Ermanaric’s plots” and chose “ecne ræd”—a kind of Germanic righteousness—critics have defamed him. Called a “wrecca” in Widsið 129a, he is said to have accompanied a band of seven other heroes that persecuted a “grome þeode” (“hostile or

139–40: the text is repeated in An Exhortation to Christian Living); and Precepts 81a–2b: “bið him geofena gehwylc/gode geyced,//meahtum spedig,/þonne he mon flyhð” (“for him will every gift be multiplied in goodness, supremely favored, when he flees sin”); the full context is given below, note 98. 97 In deference to context, dictionaries consistently treat OE monwise as “men’s ways,” but the first element may likewise be construed as “man” (“criminal”) without any injury to sense or meter. A pun may also be intended. R. T. Farrell defines “unræd” as “the totality of all that is most ill-advised” in Daniel and Azarias 57. 98 The advice sounds much like that in Precepts 78a–82b: Snyttra bruceþ þe fore sawle lufan warnað him wommas worda ond dæda on sefan symle ond soþ fremeð; bið him geofena gehwylc gode geyced, meahtum spedig, þonne he mon flyhð. He enjoys wisdom who for love of his soul ever warns himself off iniquities of word and deed in his spirit, and holds truth; for him will every gift be multiplied in goodness, supremely favored, when he flees sin. The “soul” is specifically affected, as snyttru becomes that which always “warns” against “sins” of word and deed in one’s mind. When one flees crime (“mon”), one’s gifts will be multiplied.

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cruel nation,” 128b).99 This cruel nation was plausibly identified in the preceding lines as “Ætlan leodum” (“Attila’s people,” 122b), the Huns. In fact, the detail that Wudga and Hama fight together with six other men “of þam heape” suggests a battle waged against Attila rather than an expedition of “exiles” against Ermanaric. Unfortunately, the view of Hama as a fugitive “robbing” Ermanaric inspired Chambers and Klaeber, among others, to suggest that Hama stole the Brosinga mene from Ermanaric: “. . . in Beowulf, the Brosinga mene is in the hands of Eormenric, and is carried off by Hama.”100 Nothing in Beowulf convincingly links Hama to this “theft,” arguably contradictory to the “ecne ræd” that Hama chose.101 Furthermore, the text states that Hama carried off (“ætwæg,” 1198b) the “Brosinga mene,//sigle ond sincfæt” (“the torque of the Brosings, brooch and jeweled setting,” 1199b–1200a) to some “bright town” (“to þære byrhtan byrig,” 1199a).102 The unspecified “bright town” may be Hama’s own or Ermanaric’s, especially because of Ermanaric’s reputation for vast wealth. But in all events, no reference conclusively links the Brosinga mene to Ermanaric, either. In the details of his career, Ermanaric’s cruelty resembles Heremod’s rapacity and the betrayal of his own men.103 Ermanaric’s tyranny is known from Deor, in which the “grim cyning” (“savage king,” 23b) is described as having a “wylfenne geþoht” (“wolvish temperament,” 22a). As I have already discussed in reference to the phrase “wean on wenan” from Deor 25a, the Goths expect that Ermanaric’s behavior could lead to national extermination. By contrast, Hama seems to be an ideal king in Beowulf. Widsið 129a–30a confirms that he “ruled men and women with twisted gold,” a compliment on his liberality. Kaske draws attention to the loss of Wealhþeow’s necklace on Hygelac’s raid (where Hygelac “sought hostilities” (“ahsode//fæhðe,” 1207a–8b

Chambers, Beowulf 54. Widsið 33; Klaeber’s opinion has been retained in Klaeber’s Beowulf 193: “Reading between the lines of the Beowulf passage, we judge that Hama had robbed Eormenric of the famous collar.” Þiðreks Saga af Bern does attest that Heimir pillaged the Goths. 101 Brady, Legends 161–2. 102 OE þære has been emended from “here” (“army”). Helen Damico (231) has proposed a mythological context that conforms to this hypothesis. The adjective “bright” describes other towns and dwellings, twice in Beowulf, for example, once in The Ruin, and once in The Riming Poem. At the risk of being too literal, the “leoma” (“light, gleam,” 311a) of Heorot itself is said “to shine over many lands” (311a–b). (In a West Saxon genealogy text, the minster at Glastonbury is also said to be “bright”; cf. Wright and Halliwell vol. 2, p. 172–3, line 6). 103 Brady, “Eormanric of the Wīdsīð.” 99

100

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among the Frisians) and emphasizes that Hama preserved wealth whereas Hygelac squandered it.104 I see the contrast somewhat differently: Hygelac endangered the Geats in his pointless expedition, unlike Hama, who fastidiously avoided the behavior imputed to Ermanaric and rewarded his men with gold. How Hroðgar elaborates on the expression “ece rædas” confirms my reading of Hama’s probity. Just after stating that Beowulf ought to choose “enduring counsels,” he announces that oferhygd ought not to be heeded: “oferhyda ne gym” (1760b). OE gyman likewise characterizes Heremod’s penchant for egesa, which a more liberal king would not heed (“gyman”) but which Heremod chose, neglecting (“forgyman”) his destiny. The reason not to heed oferhygd is completely material. Hroðgar warns Beowulf against trusting his strength in the same terms used of Heremod (mægen and eafoþ, 1761b and 1763b resp.), and he emphasizes the physicality of Beowulf ’s power with the verb oferswiðan: sickness, wounds, flood, blindness, etc. will eventually “over-power” Beowulf. In the story of the hilt, this false security led the giants to their deaths in a flood. The best strategy is therefore to avoid rancor in situations where one might be tested needlessly by being drawn into a fatal challenge. Mastering such ambition means being snottor (“wise”) or having snyttru (“wisdom”), and this is clearly the injunction to foresee one’s positive “forðgesceaft,” either “destiny” or “promise,”105 by a kind of moral readiness. Hroðgar calls attention to his own arrogance in predicting Grendel’s advent as a failure to imagine an enemy (1772b–3b). This specific kind of “wisdom,” which might be termed “moral,” quite clearly derives from admonition and narrative. At the opening of Order of the World a stranger asks a “prophet” about his “forðgesceaft” (3b), revealed to warriors in days past through story. In Precepts, too, the father bemoans that so few obey the “fyrngewritu” or “ancient writings”

“Sigemund-Heremod and Hama-Hygelac Passages” 491: “. . . the SigemundHeremod and Hama-Hygelac passages both employ the device of a positive followed by a negative example, to dramatize two parallel but different themes: the preservation of fame through prowess and courage, and the preservation of wealth and life through wisdom.” 105 OE forðgesceaft occurs only seven times in the lexicon, and while it could mean “afterlife” (cf. Maxims II 61b), the sense of secular destiny is suggested here. In fact, the passage from Maxims II observes that one’s forðgesceaft (61b) is “digol ond dyrne” (“hidden and secret,” 62a), terms which evoke what a nobleman ought to ask of a wise man in Order of the World: “dygelra gesceafta” (“hidden destiny,” 18b). In the Kentish Psalm a penitent asks that Christ might guide him to his “forðgesceaft” (“an forðgesceaft/feran mote,” 52a–b). 104

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(67a–8a), a term which evokes the “ece rædas” the wise are enjoined to observe.106 By neglecting the ancient writings, “the mind decays, courage cools, and discipline falters” (“him hyge brosnað,//ellen colað,/idlað þeodscype,” 68b–9b). Like the king who cannot protect against oferhygd, “they have nothing for it” (“ne habbað wiht for þæt,” 70a). Precepts explicitly links ignorance of “ancient writings” to the onset of “wom” or evil. In lines reminiscent of Hroðgar’s imaginary king who follows the “perverted, bizarre commands (“wom [<woh] wunderbebodum”) of a cursed spirit (1747a),107 those who do not hold with the fyrngewritu in Precepts commit crimes (“wom”) against the Measurer’s command (“meotudes bibod”). In Precepts, we observe how “the wise hero must think ‘cautious speeches’ in his breast, not ‘loud noise’ ”: Wærwyrde sceal breostum hycgan,

wisfæst hæle nales breahtme hlud. (57a–8b)

For a successful king who has never experienced a reversal, narrative is the only warning against oferhygd. “Wite be þissum” (“learn from this”) we hear from the speaker in Vainglory in reference to his story of the proud and humble. And Precepts concludes, “gemyne//frode fæder lare/ond þec a wið firenum geheald” (“remember your father’s wise teachings and always keep yourself from crimes,” 93b–4b). This must be the way in which Hroðgar intends his own gidd and “sermon” to be internalized and recalled. T. A. Shippey astutely showed how memory functions in the Old English “elegies” as a recollection of past personal experience manipulated

106 The Jews in Elene fear the decline of their ancient ways (“fyrngewritu,” 431a) if the true cross were ever discovered. The term fyrngewritu is varied by “fæderlican lare” (“paternal or traditional instruction,” 431b–2a), possibly like the moral lessons imparted by the “father” in Precepts. The “fyrngewritu” of Elene 560b, however, refer to prophecies about the Incarnation (“hu on worulde ær/witgan sungon,//gasthalige guman,/be godes bearne,” 561a–2b). 107 King Ælfred’s description of Nero from Meters of Boethius 9.34a–38a also draws on the typology of Germanic tyrants: Nalles sorgode hwæðer siððan a mihtig drihten ametan wolde wrece be gewyrhtum wohfremmendum, ac he on ferðe fægn facnes and searuwa wælriow wunode. By no means did Nero grieve that the mighty lord would ever afterwards mete out vengeance for those perverse iniquities, but he remained slaughter-fierce, happy in spirit for enmity and plots.

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to “stir up passion” so that it may be “bridled” through “restraint.”108 He describes this operation as an “anguished struggle in the mind between outburst and repression, fact and illusion, present and past.”109 Anglo-Saxon wisdom literature generally, and some Beowulfian gidd specifically, function the way memory does in The Seafarer, not only as entertainment but also as philosophical reflection from which one draws consolation. It seems more restrictive, however, since much of it is directed at one’s false sense of immunity from adversity. Old English wisdom literature teaches that curbing one’s ambition and forgoing glory may be both practical and ethical. Practically speaking, tyranny can ruin nations and ultimately discredit one’s heroic reputation. Hroðgar’s “ece rædas” or “eternal counsels” could imply ethical mandates potentially contravened and “punished” by a “Boethian” deity. It is often remarked that Scyld’s funeral proves the characters’ skepticism in their (imagined) pagan afterlife. “Men do not know who received that load,” the poet says of Scyld’s funeral ship, and metaphorically of his soul (50b–2b). This statement resonates with Hroðgar’s own unconfirmed sense of divine morality, in contention with the practical demands of a wrecca’s heroic ambition. While culled from disparate contexts, the foregoing analysis yet enables us to reconstruct the Germanic tyrant’s personality and descent into oferhygd. As I see it, the stages of corruption are reasonably transparent. Endowed with strength, an aristocratic genealogy, and rule of a nation, the king enjoys political and military success (“weorðmynd”). He becomes complacent in his duties, his “earthly joys” or eorðan dreamas, largely the maintenance of his boundaries and the disbursement of the nation’s wealth to his comitatus. By not suffering any defeats, he becomes “too happy,” and he seeks to extend his fortune as his ambition grows. The king cannot check himself because he does not “know the worse.” Moreover, his wisdom, a divine endowment, fails to curb his zeal. He neglects “the better,” those “eternal counsels” or ece rædas associated with moderation and self-restraint. Then his empathetic or rational faculties, once protected by a “shield-wall,” become wounded by a psychological affliction, a “dart.” Succumbing to rancor (“bealonið”), he starts to obey the “perverted, bizarre commands of an evil spirit.” The king becomes “gram” or “fierce” and now cannot heed “the better.”

108 109

Old English Verse 58. Ibid.

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Counsels cannot sway him, since he now believes his decisions to be righteous. He forfeits his higher destiny (“forðgesceaft”). In his arrogance the tyrant commits reckless deeds (“fyren”) and either national invasions or hostile acts of extreme terror (“egesa”). He imagines that he can achieve greater glory. “Joyless” (“dreamleas”), he scorns his own men, neglects to reward them for their loyalty, and eventually kills them out of jealousy or fear. He lives alone and comfortless, possibly because of an insuperable defeat that has left his nation bereft. He dies alienated from god’s favor and from men’s praise. As hard as it might be to accept, Hroðgar sees in Beowulf the potential for this self-destructive oferhygd. Otherwise, the entire sermon seems otiose as a “general” caution against “pride.” For reasons I have outlined in the preceding chapters, and intend to augment in pages to come, Beowulf expresses traits that resemble those stemming from oferhygd. He seems susceptible to vice of this kind, and subalterns object far more strongly to his meaner, “heroic” bias. One emphasis in the sermon on Heremod’s abuse of his retainers adverts to Beowulf ’s own apparent indifference to what The Gifts of Men calls the heanspedigran or “those of less success” (26b). Beowulf at least seems to crave ever more renown. Yet Hroðgar has also taught him moderation. Is the old king satisfied that lessons have worked? His “warning” suggests faint apprehension, but he cannot do any more than offer advice. Hroðgar’s “fatherly” counsel—wisdom for Germanic noblemen—is simply to identify the symptoms of oferhygd so as to recognize them, flee overconfidence, and avoid Heremod’s appalling fate. Whether Beowulf evades oferhygd is a question raised in the dragon episode. A Demonstration of Oferhygd in the Old English “Daniel” The tyrant represented by Heremod and by Hroðgar’s imagined king in the “sermon” is depicted elsewhere in Daniel. Metrical tests support the case that Beowulf and Daniel are more or less coeval110—written between 725 and 800—although a recent lexical study is inconclusive.111 Both poems express a profile of kings given to oferhygd, a focus that has never been stressed enough in the critical tradition. Instead, most studies of

110 111

Fulk, Old English Meter 391–2. Cronan, “Poetic Words” 48–9.

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Daniel rehearse multiple departures from the biblical narrative.112 Robert T. Farrell describes the thematic emphasis as a conflict “between Daniel and the Three Children in their struggle against Nabuchodnossor and his line.”113 He goes on to describe oppositions (enhanced by verbal repetitions) between God’s law and devil’s cunning, earthly bliss and eternal counsel, wisdom and pride.114 In stressing “pride” Graham D. Caie comes closest to my own view of the Daniel poet’s concern to illustrate biblical kings afflicted by oferhygd: The poet’s aim is to warn his audience in times of prosperity of the dangers of wlenco and oferhygd, respectively the pride which results from the abuse of worldly gifts, and the vainglorious presumption, such as Lucifer’s, of considering one’s good fortune the result of own’s own endeavors.115

Caie describes the poet’s depiction of a proud “society” (Israel before the captivity) and of two proud Babylonian men, Nebuchadnezzar and Belshazzar.116 A slight adjustment to Caie’s scheme changes the poet’s focus from proud men to proud kings, tyrants whose reckless behavior endangers entire nations. Interestingly, Nebuchadnezzar possesses the exact characteristics and fortune of Heremod and of Hroðgar’s imaginary tyrant, and the poet’s account of him invokes the linguistic symptoms describing Heremod’s rashness. Although vocables shared by Beowulf and Daniel have been noted before, they have never been examined as a linguistic taxonomy describing oferhygd.117 At the opening Nebuchadnezzar is called “wælhreow” (53a), just as Heremod is “blodreow.” Consistently “swiðmod” (100a, 161b, 268a, 449a, 528a, 605a), Nebuchadnezzar’s portrayal as “wlancan” (96a) at the opening leads to oferhygd (297b, 489b, 494a) after the three youths predict no lack of abundance for him and his troops (102a– 3b).118 On two other occasions the poet reinforces Nebuchadnezzar’s

Craigie; Alison Jones; Farrell, “Possible Source.” Daniel and Azarias 30. 114 Ibid. 34–5. 115 Caie 1. 116 Ibid. 2. 117 Among the earliest to expose the linguistic overlap between Daniel and Beowulf was P. G. Thomas; see also Klaeber, Beowulf cxi (theorizing the indebtedness of Beowulf to Daniel ), though rebutted in Klaeber’s Beowulf clxxvii; Brodeur, Art of Beowulf 209 (“The parallelism seems superficial to me”); Betty S. Cox 150–1 (“merely a common AngloSaxon recognition of superbia as the weightiest of sins and a common use of it as a topic in Old English poetry,” 151). 118 See Caie 4. 112 113

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invulnerability. “Nis þe wiðerbreca,//man on moldan,/nymðe metod ana” (“No man on earth is your adversary but God alone,” 565b–6b), Daniel assures him, later adding that the king had no rivals at the time of his death (668a–b). Learning of his prosperity, the tyrant immediately becomes “terrifying to men” (“egesful ylda bearnum,” 106a) and lives “in oferhygde” (107a). Nebuchadnezzar becomes “bolgenmod” when defied (209a) and “hreohmod” (“ferocious,” 241a) when he sees the youths unharmed in the furnace. His irrational reaction is to sharpen his cruelty by heaping more fuel on the fire. The details of Nebuchadnezzar’s first dream go unreported in lines 110–15, and while Daniel interprets the dream, the poet departs from the biblical source by omitting the prophecy. Uncanny verbal details from this first dream occur in Hroðgar’s sketch of an imaginary tyrant. Nebuchadnezzar refuses to acknowledge the “wisdom” that Hroðgar approves in own dilation on oferhygd (1724b–34b): . . . com on sefan hwurfan swefnes woma, hu worold wære wundrum geteod ungelic yldum oð edsceafte. Wearð him on slæpe soð gecyðed, þætte rices gehwæs reðe sceolde gelimpan, eorðan dreamas ende wurðan. (110a–15b)119 . . . the disturbance of a dream came to roam in his mind, how the world was mysteriously created dissimilar for men until its renewal. The truth was made known to him in his sleep, that the end of every kingdom would happen cruelly, the termination of earthly joy would occur.

Hroðgar describes precisely how the world is “unequal to men”: some have greater wisdom, land, and lordship. The allocation of fortune, says Hroðgar, is “mysterious” to relate (“wundor is to secganne,” 1724b), as gifts in Nebuchadnezzar’s world are mysteriously awarded (“wundrum,” 111b) on unequal terms. We learn from the story of the Israelites in Daniel that the Hebrews “had joy and wealth as long as the Measurer allowed them to” (“hæfdon lufan, lifwelan/þenden hie let metod,” 56a–b). “Mighty god” (“mihtig God,” 1725a) likewise “allows” (“læteð”) the nobleman in Beowulf to experience joy or “lufan” (1727a–8b). In Daniel the cruel end of every kingdom is explained in the following line as the end of earthly joy. Hroðgar not only remarks that god bestows “earthly joy” (“eorþan wynne,” 1730b) but also defines it metonymically

119

I have removed commas after geteod (111b) and dreamas (115a).

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as a stronghold of men (1731b)—a kingdom in other words. Moreover, he specifically mentions that a foolish king would not imagine his own “ende” (1734b). Hroðgar alleges that no counsel succors a man afflicted by oferhygd, and Nebuchadnezzar in fact gains nothing from the wisest refugees whom he appoints as his teachers: . . . nales ðy þe he þæt moste þæt he þara gifena þe him þær to duguðe

oððe gemunan wolde gode þancode drihten scyrede. (85a–7b)

. . . not that he could or would recall that he should thank God for those gifts which the lord had bestowed on him for his power.

Nebuchadnezzar will not acknowledge any authority outside himself and needs to “remember” what he had “forgotten” with the experience of defeat. Daniel’s multiple warnings approximate the “lare” (“counsel,” 25b) God sent to the Israelites just before Nebuchadnezzar occupied their kingdom. This “counsel” is said to be “wisdom,” but the Jews believed in the “truth of that wisdom” (“þære snytro soð,” 28a–b) only briefly. The Israelites suffered moral blindness and subsequent enslavement because “recklessness entered them (“hie wlenco anwod,” 17a). The formulation harks back to the expression “hine fyren onwod” (Beowulf 915b) that described Heremod and seems one way of speaking about moral negligence that degenerates into crime.120 The Israelites committed “unriht” (“wrong,” 23b), and “longing for earthly joys,” the narrator claims, “seduced them from eternal counsel”: “hie langung beswac//eorðan dreamas/eces rædes” (29b–30b). The one is the “lord’s decrees,” the other, the “devil’s power” (32a–b). At this moment the text becomes vague, elucidating a point not found in the source. “Earthly joy” is opposed to “eternal counsel” (ece ræd), the same locution used of Hama and the condition which Beowulf is enjoined to choose.121 In Daniel the “langung eorðan dreamas” (“desire for earthly joy”) repre120 Thomas, “ ‘Beowulf ’ and ‘Daniel A’ ” 537. Note, too, how this pride enters one’s consciousness through “drunken thoughts” (“druncne geðohtas,” 18b), prompted by a “devil’s deeds” (“deofoldædum,” 18a). The failing entails disloyalty (16a) and brings about exile. 121 See the Chronicle poem “Edgar” s.a. 975: Her geendode eorðan dreamas Eadgar, Engla cyning, ceas him oðer leoht . . . (1a–2b) Here Edgar, King of the English, ended his earthly joys; he chose another light for himself. The expression “earthly joys” apparently refers to worldly power, not happiness.

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sents political ambition, the seduction of kingship, discontent with one’s position. Reminiscent of the “willa” (1739a) which subverts Hroðgar’s imagined king, OE langung in particular expresses “unsatisfied desire.” By contrast, ece ræd, which I have discussed above, must be what the Israelites refuse in abandoning the law (19a–b), turning towards “gedwolan” (“error,” 22b), committing “unriht” (“unrighteous deeds,” 23b) and “wommas” (“crimes,” 24a). All of this leads to national destruction, plunder, and enslavement. Nebuchadnezzar ignores the warning in both dreams, the second of which predicts his exile. Daniel reveals the “egesan” (“terror,” 540a) disclosed in the vision: the king is to be sent “on wræc” (“into exile,” 568b) where he will not recall “mandreame” (570b). Daniel had previously predicted that Nebuchadnezzar will be “dreamleas,” like Heremod (Beowulf 557b). Attested three times in the lexicon, OE dreamleas occurs only in verse; in Christ C it modifies “hus” (“dwelling,” 1627b) as an appellation for hell, a place of “exile.” Exile ultimately proves fortunate for Nebuchadnezzar, in whose “spirit” (“in gast,” 650b) a “rædfæst sefa” (651a) lodges afterwards. The term recalls those “rincas rædfæst” in Order of the World who alone benefit from traditional wisdom. It has not escaped notice that Nebuchadnezzar’s exile follows his acclaim for the Tower of Babel, built in celebration of earthly “honors” (“to wurðmyndum,” 609b): he imagines himself completely safe in his “eard ond eðel” (“dominion and homeland,” 611a). At this point he is said emphatically to be “alone in his recklessness over all men” (“ana on oferhyd/ofer ealle men,” 614a–b). Hroðgar, too, suffers Grendel’s attacks after building his own colossal hall, although I would not compare Hroðgar to Nebuchadnezzar as prone to oferhygd.122 More significantly, the Daniel poet connects national extermination with Nebuchadnezzar’s leadership. Nebuchadnezzar’s people become “fremde” (185a), like the race of giants depicted on the sword’s hilt,123 when they worship idols: “Fremde folcmægen,/swa hyra frea ærest,//unræd efnde . . . unriht dyde” (“the estranged nation performed unrighteous deeds, as their lord had done,” 185a–7b). Nebuchadnezzar’s nation is promised an “endelean” 122 Bosse and Wyatt 265–7. Bosse and Wyatt cleverly identify a “conversion trope,” a process of humiliation leading to acceptance of new beliefs. Yet the anachronism of Christianity and “reversion to idol-worship” (257, my emph.) complicates the identification of a conversion paradigm in Beowulf. I propose that the poet describes how oferhygd is “reproved.” 123 The population is said to have despised the condition of a holy life (“had oferhogodon/halgan lifes,” 299a–b).

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(“final reward,” 187a), exactly the sort of retribution the giants warranted. OE endelean occurs uniquely in these passages of Beowulf and Daniel. The emphasis on the shared fate of the king and his people is prominent throughout Daniel. The Babylonians do not undergo such privations under Nebuchadnezzar, but their seven-year preservation is unusually emphasized. Moreover, Daniel insists that Nebuchadnezzar atone for his behavior by saying that “the measurer often allows many nations to make a remedy when they themselves so desire to atone for sin by fasting”: Oft metod alæt wyrcan bote, fyrene fæstan . . . (589a–91a)

monige ðeode þonne hie woldon sylfe,

Daniel concludes with the downfall of Belshazzar and his Chaldeans specifically because of wlenco (677b), oferhygd (678a), and onmedla (747a). One could not call this a genocide like that of the giants depicted on the hilt, but it is a national vengeance. While God allowed the Chaldean “blæd” to flourish, he knew that the “ealdormen” were living in impiety (“in unrihtum,” 684b). The leader of the Medes then “became confident” (“gehogode,” 686a) that he could overthrow Babylon. Then Belshazzar begins to “tempt” God by eating off the vessels ransacked from the temple, whereupon the angel delivers the warning of disaster. In this context tempting God (“godes frasode,” 694b) is expressed by OE frasian, which could mean “to test by making a demand.”124 Like Nebuchadnezzar and Heremod, Belshazzar performs a deed predicated on his presumed invincibility. As far as the text goes (it ends defective), Belshazzar’s enemies overcome him as a matter of fate, construed as a “Boethian” directive, a deed passively “sanctioned” as punishment for the Jews or Babylonians. Hroðgar imagines the same for the giants and Beowulf. Nebuchadnezzar’s history in Daniel has a structure that replicates that of Beowulf and suggests why Beowulf is episodic. A warning against oferhygd in the first dream follows a deed (enslavement of the Israelites or “exile”). Even after Daniel’s warning, Nebuchadnezzar builds his altar, after which arises a second warning (dream of the tree), which is then followed by the imagined tower and exile. Belshazzar’s downfall follows, with its own “warnung” about the dangers of God’s displeasure, and

124

DOE s.v. sense a. The verb is emended from frea sæde; see also frasung sense 2.

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Belshazzar’s unrepentant egomania. In the case of each king, one senses the poet’s adaptation of source material to the progression of Germanic oferhygd. In this context one is constantly reminded of Daniel’s role as the purveyor of “Germanic” wisdom, the righteous interpreter of gidd. Daniel’s prophecies go unheeded, but their exposition in the context of oferhygd shows at least one wisdom function that a counselor may have been thought to hold in a Germanic hall like Hroðgar’s. The Analogy of Fremu and Beowulf ’s Emergence into Responsible Kingship Hroðgar and his Danes express anxiety over Beowulf, whose standing among them is ambiguous. Although he has trounced Grendel and Grendel’s mother, he either risked his life and the lives of others unnecessarily, or else judged his own competence to a nicety. He seems to be the kind of warrior who would sell out his own men or the kind who would selflessly defend their interests against the worst odds. The Finnsburh episode reveals the disapproving position held by Hroðgar’s retainers. For them Beowulf resembles the ambitious Hengest who did not acknowledge the “counsel of the world” until his men threatened to revolt. Nevertheless, Beowulf ’s rejection of Hroðgar’s throne reveals a political maturity that Hengest never demonstrated. In fact, by the end of the Danish section of the poem, Beowulf has managed to suppress not his arrogance but any potential arrogance others, right or wrong, detected in him. In my view, Hroðgar has instructed Beowulf by example and by advice how to moderate behaviors that are potentially reckless, and how to govern the men who make the kingdom strong. Hroðgar’s not-so-subtle guidance begins at Beowulf ’s introduction and peaks with the sermon. In the sermon Hroðgar affirms his faith in Beowulf ’s virtue but warns against any failure of moral vigilance. The old king who has himself experienced oferhygd contemplates Beowulf ’s susceptibility to this fault. The sermon culminates Beowulf ’s apprenticeship, and the poet concludes Beowulf ’s youthful adventures with a homecoming that proves his readiness for rule. While it is universally agreed that Beowulf expresses this readiness in his gracious modesty towards Hygelac, many critics have wrongly extended this conduct backwards into the Danish adventures. They commonly envision a static Beowulf who has always been generous and trusting, for which reason they will be puzzled by the anxieties I have been emphasizing. The sermon seems especially troublesome for

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those who resist Beowulf ’s status as a man given to ambition, someone who could end up a wrecca. Yet the view that Beowulf earns respect in Geatland has no countervailing position: Beowulf ’s loyalty is never impugned in this section, nor does he ever display a whiff of ambition. In fact, the poet has shown Beowulf ’s “consecration” (the term is Bonjour’s) in an unparalleled magnanimity followed by a swift summation of Beowulf ’s unprecedented success as a king. The dragon fight will debate whether Beowulf ever falls from these heights, but before I discuss its relevance I want to lay out the evidence of Beowulf ’s kingly accomplishments. Of course, the homecoming is exceptionally important in documenting Beowulf ’s self-restraint, generosity, wisdom, and humility, but it also presents a neglected digression that confirms Beowulf ’s “education.” In the past, the casual but copious remarks made about a queen formerly thought to be “Modðryþ(o)” were deemed to emphasize Queen Hygd’s generosity, and, just recently, John M. Hill has tendered the view that the digression “underlines Beowulf ’s victory-enhanced movement.”125 In fact, this neglected digression subtly documents the “education” that I have theorized for Beowulf. Having taken leave of Hroðgar, Beowulf sails home. Just as he arrives in Geatland, the poet anticipates his meeting with Hygd, Hygelac’s queen. Described as “very young” (“swiðe geong,” 1926b) but politically mature (“wis wel þungen,” 1927a), Hygd (her name means “Thought”) balances her husband Hygelac’s arguable temerity.126 His name means “Impetuosity” or the like.127 Like any good queen (or lord), she generously rewards the Geats with treasure: ne to gneað gifa maþmgestreona. (1929b–31a)

næs hio hnah swa þeah, Geata leodum,

. . . nevertheless she was not lowly, nor too sparing of gifts, of precious treasures for the people of the Geats.

Hygd was not “lowly” (“hnah”) because she had spent few years among Geats. As we have seen, “hnah” typically describes male status. The Old English hapax legomenon gneað means “stingy,” and the claim that Hygd was not stingy recalls the criticism directed at Heremod, who did 125 126 127

Narrative Pulse 66. Kaske, “ ‘Hygelac’ and ‘Hygd’ ” 201. Ibid. 205.

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fail to reward his men. The association with Heremod gains prominence when the poet introduces another famous queen right after commending Hygd’s liberality. In the past the digression concerning this has been thought to pertain to “Modþryð” or “ Modþryðo,” on the basis of lines 1931a–2b in Klaeber’s third edition of Beowulf: “Modþryðo wæg,//fremu folces cwen,/firen’ ondrysne” (“Modþryðo, famous queen of the people, committed dreadful atrocities”). Lately, however, R. D. Fulk has revived Ernst Kock’s proposal that the queen’s name is actually “Fremu” and, following Sisam, that she “committed modþryðo” or “wilfulness.”128 Klaeber’s Beowulf now reads: “Modþryðo wæg//Fremu, folces cwen,/firen’ ondrysne” (“Fremu, the people’s queen, exhibited arrogance, terrible atrocities”). Key evidence in Fulk’s analysis stems from three observations. First, the nominative form “modþryðo” is unrecorded (hence the common emendation Modþryð). Second, “modþryðo wæg” has a close parallel in Genesis A 2240b “higeþryðe wæg,”129 and, third, the expression “firen’ ondrysne” would seem to suit the context as a consequence of “modþryðo.” Set against Fulk’s analysis is evidence from the twelfth-century Vitae duarum Offarum, in which Offa of Mercia’s queen has a profile identical in many details to the wife of Offa of Angeln in Beowulf, and is identified first as Drida and later as Quendrida. Drida and Quendrida disguise the element “þryð(o).” Sources confirm that Offa’s queen was named Cyneþryð,130 circumstantially explaining why “modþryðo” was taken to be a personal name. On balance, the evidence is stronger that Fremu represents the name of Offa’s queen, and the episode known as the “Offa-Modþryð(o)” digression ought therefore to be called the “Offa-Fremu” episode. The nomenclature

128 Fulk, “Offa’s Queen”; Sisam, Studies 41 note (ii); on the view that “Fremu” is actually Hygd, see Eliason, “ ‘Thryth-Offa Digression.’ ” 129 This passage describes Hagar’s arrogant behavior towards Sarah when Hagar discovers Sarah’s pregnancy: Hire mod astah þa heo wæs magotimbre be Abrahame eacen worden. Ongan æfþancum agendfrean halsfæst herian, higeþryðe wæg, wæs laðwendo, lustum ne wolde þeowdom þolian, ac heo þriste ongan wið Sarran swiðe winnan. (2237a–43b) Her attitude inflated when she became pregnant with a child by Abraham. Stiffnecked, she began to show supercilious wilfulness towards her lord and owner, became hostile; she would not willingly endure servitude but audaciously began to strive mightily against Sarah. 130 Fulk, “Offa’s Queen” 623.

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will appear inconsistent in the following pages, as I cite critics who heeded Klaeber’s argument that Modþryðo was Offa’s queen. I take the liberty of substituting the name “Fremu” (in quotes) for Modþryðo when referring to these scholars’ still valid arguments, and use brackets identifying Modþryðo as Fremu in quotations. Unlike other digressions in Beowulf, the Fremu episode only acknowledges the Anglo-Saxon audience, not any intradiegetic one of Geats or Danes, and this fact alone compromises its narrative function. The intrusion has created the impression among scholars that Fremu’s story has no purpose except to magnify Hygd’s liberality. Over two decades ago Constance B. Hieatt reasoned on the basis of significant verbal parallels that “Fremu” was a “feminine reverse-parallel to Heremod.”131 Like Heremod and other wreccan, “Fremu” commits “fyrene” (1932b), which spring from a self-indulgent vanity, the newly restored “modþryðo” of 1931b. The parallel “higeþryð” from Genesis A 2240b describes Hagar’s supercilious treatment of Sarah in terms reminiscent of Vainglory, where the arrogant man does not respect the “better.” Before becoming Offa’s queen, Fremu used to accuse members of the comitatus (“nænig . . . swæsra gesiða,” 1933a–4a) who “stared” at her during the day of (presumably) a sexual crime. The men are subsequently executed.132 Having members of the retinue dispatched (“cwealmbealu,” 1940a) recalls Heremod’s deaðcwalu inflicted on the duguð (1711a–12b). Fremu plausibly kills men who might dominate or desire her, as Heremod feared being overthrown. King Offa stopped Fremu’s atrocities, and she presumably acquired the “cwenlic þeaw” (“queenly custom”) mentioned in 1940b. When reporting that Fremu “committed fewer national killings” (“leodbealewa/læs gefremede,” 1946) after her marriage, the poet uses the same noun leodbealu that characterizes Heremod’s actions.133 Hroðgar pictured how Heremod perpetrated “leodbealo longsum” or “long-lasting national slaughter” by killing his own men. The poet condemns Fremu’s “ligetorn,” which can only be construed as “false anger,” similar to the trumped-up charges of treason that Heremod, one imagines, used against his rivals. Yet Fremu’s husband Offa curbs her behavior, which seems like feminine arrogance: she thinks that the men staring Hieatt 182. Mary Dockray-Miller has proposed alternative readings of multiple terms in this passage: “handgewriþene,” “mundgripe,” “ligetorne,” among others. 133 Hieatt 182. 131 132

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at her are contemptible. Through Offa’s intervention Fremu becomes “splendid,” as her name implies. In my view, the Fremu digression recalls one feature of Hroðgar’s sermon and attests that one’s sociopathy can change. Moderation emerges from the warrior community of the hall.134 In Fremu’s rehabilitation one perceives the poet’s objective to imply Beowulf ’s own transformation from ambitious young warrior to sage ruler. While never called a gidd, the Offa-Fremu episode illustrates the parallelism characteristic of the genre. It seems disjunctive to mention Beowulf ’s landing and then move swiftly to Hygd and Fremu, but Hygd serves merely as an excuse to introduce Fremu, whose marriage to Offa answers Beowulf ’s homecoming. Some could object to the comparison of Beowulf to a woman, but Deor likened his own situation to that of the pregnant Beaduhild and of Mæðhild, deprived of Geat’s love. By this poetic model, the correspondences between Fremu and Beowulf are worth venturing. In my view, Fremu’s reformation, her change from jealous virago to peerless queen, signifies a change in Beowulf. The poet emphasizes the moderation she acquires after leaving her father’s court. What kind of change does Beowulf undergo? Hieatt treats “Fremu’s” conduct as an analogue of Beowulf ’s “unpromising youth,”135 although she denies that Beowulf ever engineered the deaths of men through vanity.136 I sense that, having plumped for Beowulf ’s virtue, Hieatt has to find the analogy with “Fremu” asymmetrical: The [Fremu] episode, then, is like the first Heremod episode in more than one way, for the poet may be making a triple comparison of Hygd/ [Fremu]/Heremod as he earlier made one tripling Sigemund/Heremod/ Beowulf. Or, and this seems very likely, it may be more complex than that, with Beowulf also drawn in as another slow-starter on the road to success in life, like [Fremu], but, on the other hand, one who unlike [Fremu] was never at any time guilty of the blood of his companions.137

Arguing that Beowulf “was never at any time guilty of the blood of his companions” disregards the possibility that he may be directly responsible for Hondscioh’s death and indirectly for Æschere’s. Is it too impressionistic to draw a connection between Fremu’s and Beowulf ’s audacity? The poet remarks that Fremu’s plots were no 134 135 136 137

Kroll 119. Hieatt 177. Ibid. 179. Ibid.

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“queenly custom,” even if she were “ænlicu.” OE ænlic means “peerless” (hence “beautiful, handsome”), and the only other occurrence in Beowulf describes the coast-warden’s reaction to Beowulf ’s “peerless visage” (“ænlic ansyn,” 251a). Fremu exhibits extreme sensitivity to insults of honor, and her customs afflict the warband. Due to what sounds like arrogance, “no dear companions” dared approach her, and the expression “swæsra gesiða” (“[of ] dear companions,” 1933a–4a) evokes the warband setting. On three other occasions in Beowulf (29a, 2040a, 2518a), “swæse gesiðas” refers to the most trusted members of one’s retinue. In fact, the entire context sounds “martial”: bondage described as “mundgripe” (“hand-grip,” 1938a; cf. 380b, 753a, 965a, 1534a), the sword “ordained” (“mece geþinged,” 1938b; cf. “hilde geþinged,” 647b), the damascened blade settling “it,” the infraction (“hit sceadenmæl/scyran moste,” 1939a–b; cf. 1106a–b, “hit sweordes ecg/syððan scede”). The poet describes the execution of these men as a conflict with Fremu, an adversary, and it recalls Heremod’s leodbealu. My alleged parallel between Fremu and Beowulf highlights a personal transformation which Theodore M. Andersson has also sensed in the digression: “whatever the exact relevance of the account, it illustrates that the most startling changes are possible.”138 Fremu has left a father for a husband in new relationship emphasizing political responsibilities. The poet stated earlier that Heremod’s men wished him to follow a different course (“sið,” 908a), to assume his paternal virtue (“fæderæþelum onfon,” 911a). Heremod fails to listen. Yet Fremu heeds her father’s council and moderates her conduct: “be fæder lare//siðe gesohte” (“by her father’s counsel she sought her course,” 1950b–1a).139 Fremu’s role at Offa’s court fulfilled her promise: in gumstole, lifgesceafta

ðær hio syððan well gode mære, lifigende breac . . . (1951b–3b)

There [in Offa’s court] afterwards, while alive, she well achieved her destiny on the throne, a woman esteemed for good.140

“Tradition and Design” 102. Ibid. 182. 140 The noun “god” in Beowulf entails liberality to some extent: a young prince should work “good” with gifts (20b–1a); God dispenses favors (“gode,” 956a), and Wealhþeow says that Hroþulf will re-pay his cousins “with good” (“mid gode,” 1184a). In general dispensing “good” is the political behavior of a king. 138 139

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The term “lifgesceafta” (“destiny,” as lifetime accomplishments) recalls the “forðgesceafta” (“destiny,” as future promise) that Hroðgar’s anonymous king neglects when he turns to oferhygd. Fremu fulfills her promise because she was turned from despotism and vanity. The “gumstol” or throne represents a political office, from which position one dispenses the “good” to men. Finally, we discover that Fremu bore a famous warrior son, Eomer, meeting the expectation, one might say, of begetting an ideal king, “hæleðum to helpe” (“a help to warriors,” 1961a). Hroðgar himself expects Beowulf to become “hæleðum to helpe” (1709a) as well. One is struck forcefully by the political nature of these accomplishments: fulfillment of a royal destiny, dispensing of treasure from a throne, earning a reputation for generosity, producing an heir to lead Offa’s kingdom. The change in Fremu’s behavior came about through marriage to Offa, who “onhohsnode” (1944) her spiteful behavior. OE onhohsnian derives from a noun “hamstring,” so that Offa did not simply “check” but “hobbled” Fremu’s violence. The poet alludes to Beowulf ’s own ambition as a glory-seeker. In this case Fremu’s marriage to Offa, an experience of political training, corresponds to Beowulf ’s “education” under Hroðgar. With Hroðgar’s advice Beowulf learns to moderate behaviors that resemble Heremod’s, just as Fremu did when she joined her husband’s foreign court. Beowulf, the poet seems to say, will fulfill the same promising destiny as Fremu, now that his potential for arrogance has been hobbled. Hroðgar’s campaign to teach Beowulf wisdom has paid off, a success acknowledged at their parting: “ne hyrde ic snotorlicor//on swa geongum feore/guman þingian” (“I have not heard men at such a young age negotiate more wisely,” 1842b–3b). Beowulf has just promised alliances between Geats and Danes, and friendship to Hreþric. While Beowulf ’s resemblance to Fremu may once have reflected Hunferð’s evaluation of him, therefore, Beowulf ’s rehabilitation transforms him from possibly callow fighter into levelheaded king. However, only the narrator confirms Beowulf ’s modified attitude, since the Fremu digression is spoken to the audience, not the characters. All along the poet has reinforced the opposed perspectives of retinue and king, even while his own judgments might be said to favor Beowulf. In fact, Beowulf ’s justifications for fighting the dragon will remain unknown to his retinue and second-guessed even after his death. What has Beowulf learned from the time spent at Heorot? Is there any evidence that he has acquired the self-restraint that he may have

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lacked in the Hunferð confrontation?141 The Fremu digression suggests that Beowulf has developed a political sensibility, the consequence of wisdom, by the time he leaves Heorot. Hroðgar has taught Beowulf how to lead men—the duguð—by which force a king magnifies the influence he earned as a fighter.142 Beowulf ’s education can be observed in many significant actions: having his men wait on the edge of Grendel’s mere, returning Hunferð’s sword—finding no fault with it and even thanking Hunferð for his generosity (1807a–12a)—bestowing a sword on the coast-warden, promising troops to Hroðgar,143 and declining to meddle in the Danish succession. Furthermore, having come home, Beowulf compliments Hondscioh, whom he had never mentioned before, and for whom Hroðgar has paid compensation. Among Geats, however, Beowulf honors Hondscioh’s death at Grendel’s hands in lavish terms: a “famous young nobleman” (“mærum maguþegne,” 2079a), a “champion” (“cempa,” 2078a), and a “beloved man” (“leofes mannes,” 2080a) to whom “battle was fatal” (“hild onsæge,” 2076b), Hondscioh was first to fall (2077b). Being first to fall was high praise for one’s courage. Anonymous and apparently expendable before the fight, Hondscioh now earns praise for “fighting”—even though he was snatched in his sleep. Naming a man’s killer, manner of death, and deposition seems to have been customary, so Beowulf describes Grendel as a muðbona or “devourer” (2079b) and remarks that Hondscioh’s remains were not recoverable: “[Grendel] swallowed the whole body” (“lic eall forswealg,”

141 For the following passages John W. Schwetman has suggested views completely opposite to my own: “What, then, do the details in Beowulf ’s long speech to Hygelac suggest? That Beowulf used his speech to warn, or at least to hint, that the Danes might once again stand in need of aid (though not mentioning that he had pledged such aid). That he desires to appear wise to his own people as he has to the king of the Danes. That he is eloquent enough to praise the man [Hondscioh] for whose death he may have felt some guilt, reminding Hygelac that warriors fall in battle. That he is eloquent enough to stress his own valor in defeating an otherworldly foe of gigantic proportions, of a size hardly hinted at by the narrator’s description. And that he has become a hero vital to the survival of another people . . . [These observations] merely suggest that the young Beowulf was still finding his place, here in the first half of the poem . . . They suggest that he was overcoming an earlier reputation which the narrator refers to at the end of the scene” (146). 142 Edward B. Irving, Jr. proposes that characters are made to emulate each other in heroic poetry (“Heroic Role-Models”). Irving suggests that Beowulf is Hroðgar’s and Hygelac’s model rather than vice versa (356, 359, 360–1). 143 Hill has investigated the complexities of Beowulf ’s astonishing treaty, which seems rather to usurp Hygelac’s prerogatives, in Narrative Pulse 58.

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2080b). In these terms Beowulf explains why a traditional service—with a pyre, perhaps—did not take place.144 Moreover, as many have observed, Beowulf casts himself in the role of avenger, the killer of Hondscioh’s “bloody-toothed slayer” (“bona blodigtoð,” 2082a). Beowulf requited every death that Grendel caused, including Hondscioh’s: “ic ðam leodsceaðan//yfla gehwylces/ondlean forgeald” (“I made requital for every evil on that national scourge,” 2093b–94b). Beowulf ’s flattering remarks, which honor a man who died without lifting a sword, reveal a new motivation for Beowulf ’s fight: vengeance rather than glory. We recognize the gambit from Hroðgar’s reception of Beowulf, when the old king re-contextualizes Beowulf ’s journey to Denmark as reparation for Hroðgar’s consideration for Ecgþeow, specifically settling the Wylfing feud. In respecting the fallen, Beowulf likewise honors his men the way a king would honor his duguð. He has learned generosity, I think, from Hroðgar’s reaction to Æschere’s death: naming the hero, praising his warfare, identifying Grendel’s mother as the handbana (“bare-handed killer,” 1330b). Beowulf has successfully completed an apprenticeship. The Heaðobard digression is yet another demonstration of Beowulf ’s acumen. In the previous chapter I mentioned how Beowulf patterns his narrative on the Finnsburh digression, that a sword worn by a Dane in the Heaðobard episode actually resolves the complication of the sword bestowed on Hengest. Much has been written about the Heaðobard episode but little on its function in Beowulf ’s speech. In my mind it predicts a moment when Hygelac and the Geats might be called upon to fight for Hroðgar. Beowulf committed a Geatish force specifically to repulse invasion: “þæt þec ymbsittend/egesan þywað” (“that your neighbors intend invasion,” 1827a–b). On the one hand, Beowulf plants the first seed that the time for Hyeglac’s aid may not be far off: Freawaru is still too young for marriage, but mature enough to be betrothed and to serve men in the hall. On the other hand, Beowulf asserts that Hroðgar’s position will be defensive, the war unjustly provoked. Alternative justice will not be possible, since the murderer he foresees will have escaped, and escalation will inevitably result as Ingeld’s love for his wife “grows cool” (2066b). In other words, a Heaðobard invasion matches the circumstances under which Beowulf has promised a thousand Geatish

144 On the relevance of Beowulf ’s comment, see Owen-Crocker, “Horror in Beowulf.”

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spears (1826a–35b). Beowulf has called Hygelac “young” (1831b) but willing to support Beowulf, and it seems likely that Beowulf has begun to educate Hygelac on a beneficial alliance. Beowulf ’s distribution of Hroðgar’s dynastic riches constitutes a final illustration of Beowulf ’s political intuition and royal apprenticeship. In his remarks and actions Beowulf both acknowledges his newly acquired prestige and minimizes his ambition at home. He is likewise seen to understand the magnitude of Hroðgar’s adoption, and to follow Hroðgar’s plan of delivering the Danish treasures to Hygelac with a specific codicil. The narrator claims that this speech comprises a gidd, an exemplum by which Hygelac can appraise Hroðgar’s esteem: Het ða in beran heaðosteapne helm, guðsweord geatolic, Me ðis hildesceorp snotra fengel; þæt ic his ærest ðe

eaforheafodsegn, hare byrnan, gyd æfter wræc: Hroðgar sealde, sume worde het, est gesægde. (2152a–7b)

He commanded the boar figure, a leader’s standard, to be brought in, a battle-tall helmet, grey mailcoat, splendid battle-sword. Afterwards Beowulf recited a message: ‘Hroðgar the wise king gave me this battlegear. He commanded that I first say a few words to you about the magnanimity of it.’

Karl Reichl’s reasoning that “gyd cannot mean ‘poem’ or ‘song’ here but must have a more ‘neutral’ meaning, possibly ‘wise words’ ”145 ignores the implicature of Beowulf ’s utterance: cwæð þæt hyt hæfde leod Scyldunga no ðy ær suna sinum hwatum Heorowearde, breostgewædu. (2158a–62a)

Hiorogar cyning, lange hwile; syllan wolde, þeah he him hold wære,

He said that King Heorogar, lord of the Scyldings, owned it for a long time. By no means would he give such breast-ornaments to his own son, blessed Heoroweard, though Heoroweard was loyal to him.

David C. Van Meter has persuasively affirmed that “the artifact is the tangible and intergenerational source of status and power for a bloodline; and to transfer the artifact to an heir is to assert the societal rank

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and authority of a bloodline into another generation.”146 In this case, awarding Heorogar’s sword to Beowulf evokes all three of Van Meter’s explanations for transferring weapons: legitimation of an heir, affirmation of retainership, and reward for service.147 In telling this analogy, then, Beowulf reveals the value of accomplishment and Hroðgar’s estimation of him not merely as a loyal “son” (Heoroweard’s status) but as great fighter, loyal servant, and exceptional “son” worthy of rule. Astonishly, the history of the sword recounted in Beowulf ’s brief gidd proclaims the terms by which Beowulf rejects these magnificent gifts and implicit mutuality. That Heorogar owned the sword for a “long time” (“lange hwile,” 2159b) suggests a precocious aptitude for war that may have led to Hroðgar’s own “election” as king.148 Apparently, Heoroweard did not show the same promise as Hroðgar. Beowulf understands the “gyd” of the sword’s bestowal; he does not undervalue Hroðgar’s adoption. Moreover, he wants Hygelac to appreciate the value of his loyalty in the sacrifice of such material and relational benefits. On such terms he situates himself in this analogy as comparable to the unworthy nephew “Heoroweard” who remained loyal to the rightful king, wielder of a dear father’s weapon. Beowulf accepts Hroðgar’s designation as “son” but yields this status to Hygelac. In bestowing the sword on his own king, Beowulf both flatters Hygelac and analogizes his renunciation of the Danish throne. As John M. Hill has reasoned, Beowulf minimizes his own political allegiance with the Danes as Hroðgar’s retainer and heir.149 Relevant in the implicit wrecca context that I have theorized is Beowulf ’s profession of loyalty. In the most extravagant and convincing terms, Beowulf publicizes that he will not become a usurpatious nephew or, by extension, a despicable tyrant. He remains Hygelac’s nephew and thane, and his gesture radiates goodwill. This exaggerated gesture yet brings out what had earlier been thought of Beowulf as a potential wrecca, a man prepared to challenge his own kin for supremacy. Like

Van Meter 178. See Kaske, “Weohstan’s Sword.” 148 It has been suggested that Hroðgar has usurped Heorogar’s claim, but this passage rather implies that kingship is earned and conferred. Oddly, Hill suggests that Beowulf ’s explanation of Hroðgar’s generosity is false (Narrative Pulse 72). I see no reason why Hroðgar could not have spoken privately to Beowulf about the disposition of these treasures now that Beowulf will not become king of Danes. Beowulf instead will leverage them to become a sub-king of Geats. 149 “Danish Succession” 181. 146 147

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the meeting with the coast-warden, this conspicuous humility disarms any anxiety attending Beowulf ’s triumph. By alluding to Heoroweard’s situation as Hroðgar’s complacent nephew, Beowulf rejects the ambition that would ensue from supreme accomplishment and embraces loyalty—even though the Geats had mistreated him earlier. He becomes, as we learn, a “very loyal nephew” (“nefa swyðe hold,” 2170b) and ultimately fulfills the dictum that Heremod neglected: nealles inwitnet dyrnum cræfte, hondgesteallan. (2166b–9a)

Swa sceal mæg don, oðrum bregdon deað renian

So should a young kinsman behave, not weave a malicious trap for another kinsman by secret plotting, preparing death for a close comrade.

Beowulf avoids the spiteful plotting against a superior that afflicts the reckless man full of oferhygd in Vainglory 33a–44a.150 The poet closes with a summary of ideals associated with kingship, some of which I have discussed elsewhere. In acknowledgment of the Heremod stories, Beowulf is said never to have slain his drunk hearth-companions or expressed a savage disposition.151 He ruled with the greatest skill (“mæste crafte,” 2181b). This final reckoning answers Beowulf ’s characterization in youth as an “æðeling unfrom” (“cowardly nobleman,” 2188a) by charting his progress from an ambitious fighter to a beloved king. The poet’s emphasis could not be more transparent: by avoiding the vices of Heremod and Fremu, Beowulf secured prosperity and fame. The passage underscores Beowulf ’s deflection of heroic egotism and does not celebrate heroic virtue per se. Those who see Beowulf as a Fürstenspiegel perhaps come closest to appreciating the poem’s movement as one of apprenticeship and initiation.

Because Hygelac is superior in rank, he is the “better man,” as the poet maintains: Him wæs bam samod on ðam leodscipe lond gecynde, eard eðelriht, oðrum swiðor side rice þam ðær selra wæs. (2196b–9b) They both ruled the land together, in territory and in jurisdiction, but [Hygelac], who was the better man there, [ruled] a more extensive realm. 151 Palmer 11. 150

CHAPTER FOUR

BEOWULF’S DRAGON FIGHT AND THE APPRAISAL OF OFERHYGD Often divided into halves, Beowulf falls more naturally into three parts.1 In the first the young Beowulf may be thought to display either warrior virtue or the ambition associated with wreccan. Hroðgar predicts Beowulf ’s future kingship, for which he is readied by Hroðgar’s counsel and the earnest warnings implicit in the old king’s admonitory gidd. In the second part of the poem, Beowulf ’s homecoming, Beowulf exhibits the self-discipline and leadership he acquired abroad. He emerges into a responsible kingship that values the warband and its stake in political stability. The dragon episode, the poem’s coda, extends this reflection on heroic restraint by inviting a final assessment of Beowulf ’s wisdom. To a large extent the dichotomy between heroic action and kingship motivates the dragon-fight, but in this final appraisal of Beowulf ’s leadership, the poet also contemplates Beowulf ’s potential for oferhygd. The expression of Beowulf ’s motivation, in my view, achieves an improbable balance of countervailing judgments, those of Beowulf, his warband, and the narrator. Innumerable and irresolvable ambiguities continue to impart for us the nature of Beowulf as potentially immoderate, a king whose actions may be indecorous, offensive, or tyrannous. Although the poet discloses multiple contours of oferhygd as laid out in Hroðgar’s sermon, his deliberate coyness is meant to frustrate any conclusive evaluation of Beowulf ’s decisions and behavior. With few exceptions, traditional readings of Beowulf ’s demise have nearly always tried to downplay any hint of criticism, in elaboration of the hero’s presumed virtue. But the conventions of oferhygd, and in fact, the whole scope of Beowulf as presented here, invite us to weigh the prospect of

1 John M. Hill summarizes the “large-scale, structural views of Beowulf ” in Narrative Pulse in two ways, first as a series of approximately twenty arrivals and departures (that include “approaches and returns or exits,” 4), and second as a work in two parts: “the extended account of the Danish dynasty” (3) and the “awakening of the dragon” (ibid.).

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a ruinous failing. Once we admit the mere possibility that Beowulf succumbs to oferhygd, and perceive his own self-doubt, we can appreciate the social or literary context for the poem’s anomalous incidents: the decision to enlist only a handful of exceptional warriors but to leave them out of the fight, the double death of Beowulf and his adversary, the nature of a pagan curse on the treasure, the splintering of Beowulf ’s sword. My own position on Beowulf ’s dragon fight partially coincides with that of John Leyerle, whose underappreciated article, “Beowulf the Hero and the King” proposed a “fatal contradiction at the core of heroic society”: “The hero follows a code that exalts indomitable will and valour in the individual, but society requires a king who acts for the common good, not for his own glory. The greater the hero, the more likely his tendency to imprudent action as king.”2 Leyerle asserts Hroðgar’s misgivings over Beowulf ’s “tendency to unreflective confidence in his own strength” and reasons that “the heroic king, however glorious, was apt to be a mortal threat to his nation.”3 Citing the Heremod exempla, the conspicuous vice of oferhygd, Carolingian sources on royal power, and the innumerable passages declaring Beowulf ’s potential recklessness (all examined here), he concludes, “men who had been accustomed to conduct suitable to an individual hero could not adjust to the rather different conduct suitable to a king.”4 Although critics have been slow to welcome Leyerle’s views, let alone concede them,5 they coincide with those I present here, with some vital exceptions. First, it would be erroneous to say that the Germanic king has to imperil his people, although the Beowulf poet suggests that such rulers may betray a passionate urge to win glory. Leyerle’s treatment of Heremod manifests this deterministic approach to heroic kingship. He imagines that, because Heremod died “killing giants,” Beowulf wants to perform a heroic deed by killing the dragon. However, I do not think that “heroic society inevitably encouraged a king to act the part of a hero,”6 unless it were under the most dire circumstances. Leyerle quotes Leyerle, “Hero and the King” 89. Ibid. 93, 97 resp. 4 Ibid. 98. 5 See the remarks of Irving, Rereading Beowulf 80–1: “[Leyerle] blames Beowulf for personal vanity and insufficient attention to his people’s needs, maintaining that Beowulf brings ‘dire affliction’ upon them by his unnecessary death. This is a way of distorting meaning by implying the presence in the poem of options that do not exist . . .” (81). 6 “Hero and the King” 97. 2 3

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a letter of Alcuin’s stating “mors regum miseriae signum est” in illustration of the consequences he foresees in heroic kingship, but I would emphasize the opposite: a concern for continuity and prosperity, of “mondream,” as it is known in Old English verse. From my perspective, no ascertainable social expectation or imperative of Germanic kingship compels Beowulf to fight the dragon; he chooses to do so, for reasons of oferhygd or national security. I do not contend that Beowulf must be guilty of oferhygd, then, only that he could be guilty of it: the poet gives evidence on both sides.7 Finally, oferhygd itself should not be defined as the expression of heroic behavior by kings but rather as the unconscious subversion of kingship by the appetites of powerful, arguably reckless men like wreccan. Beowulf may undertake a reckless deed because he cannot reconcile his own ambition with “mondream,” and his prestige displaces the national interest. One of the exceptional merits of Leyerle’s article has been to harmonize the first two parts of Beowulf—the Grendel fights and homecoming—with the enigmatic single combat of the dragon episode. The abrupt transition at line 2200 has prompted more than a few critics to think that the dragon episode represents an afterthought of sorts.8 Those who wish to connect the dragon and Grendel episodes disagree on what links them. Does the brilliance of youth in the Grendel fight contrast the decline of age in the dragon section, as Tolkien alleged?9 Tolkien’s Oxford colleague Kenneth Sisam posed the same contrast—“the two parts of the poem are to be solidly bound together by the opposition of youth and age”—but he found Beowulf triumphant.10 Again, Edward B. Irving, Jr. proposed a reading in general accord with Tolkien’s, one in which the dragon episode represented “the slow erosion of [heroic] identity by time.”11 Others are not so pessimistic: Phyllis Rugg Brown and Theodore M. Andersson envision a “rhythm of sorrow and relief ” (the terms are Andersson’s) leading to redemption.12 In emphasizing community as the “controlling theme” of Beowulf, John Niles suggests that

7 On the position that oferhygd afflicts Beowulf, see Swanton, Crisis and Development 140–54. Swanton’s book makes a strong case for the negative Beowulf but does not allow for the virtue which I think is equally emphasized. 8 See, for example, Magoun, “Béowulf B.” 9 “Monsters and the Critics” 32. 10 Structure of Beowulf 26. 11 A Reading of Beowulf 205; compare Brodeur’s sentiment, the “shadow of ineluctable doom” (Art of Beowulf 83). 12 Respectively “Cycles and Change in Beowulf ”; “Tradition and Design” 102.

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the dragon fight discloses the “continuing vulnerability of human society, rather than the restoration of communal order.”13 Having found that the digressions emphasize “presumptuous, ambitious heroes,” J. L. N. O’Loughlin concludes that the dragon episode of Beowulf concerns “the settlement of feuds in conflict with kings and people who will not or cannot come to terms.”14 Some positions are negative in a different sense. Arthur E. Du Bois made the case that the dragon, as a symbol of arrogance, implicated Beowulf in a national failure: “his fault is originally similar to Hroþgar’s, a result of overconfident pride and careless sloth leading to a debasement of Geats.”15 Fidel FajardoAcosta determines that the dragon’s attack punishes Beowulf for the “past crime” of killing Grendel and Grendel’s mother.16 Resolutions like these most often express grand, impressionistic “themes” generated by twentieth-century Formalism, and frequently entail the reduction of awkward conundrums to manageable intelligibility. By no means would I imagine Beowulf ’s motivation to be obvious or simple. My own view is that Beowulf ends with an invitation to judgment in an incident of excruciating complexity. The poet has formulated equally opposed, but delicately expressed, reasons why Beowulf may or may not exhibit oferhygd in the dragon fight. This proposition perfectly harmonizes with my reading of the Grendel fight, where Beowulf expresses either courage by killing Grendel or recklessness by jeopardizing his men, or by just facing Grendel and Grendel’s mother. While both positions have formidable evidence, neither can be proven. In the dragon episode it must be pointed out that others have observed Beowulf ’s potential for oferhygd, but they consistently resolve it in Beowulf ’s favor. The impulse to exonerate Beowulf from any whiff of oferhygd has entailed some scrupulous readings of this episode, outlining the precise issues that would impugn Beowulf ’s judgment. Among the best of these was contributed by John Niles, who intuited key intricacies of the dragon fight. Niles posed four questions pertaining to Beowulf ’s responsibility in a chapter, “The Fatal Contradiction,” from his book Beowulf: The Poem and its Tradition. The heading “Fatal Contradiction” at least gives a nod to Leyerle’s position, but as Niles develops the chapter, his method perfectly maps the poet’s intentional equivocations as I draw them. 13 14 15 16

Beowulf 230. O’Loughlin 13. Du Bois 401. Condemnation of Heroism 106.

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Niles’s answers to these contradictions betray an unalloyed optimism for Beowulf ’s virtue, a position he continues to hold in his contributions to the influential Beowulf Handbook. But because his volume Beowulf: The Poem and its Tradition has dealt so thoughtfully with the subject of Beowulf, I intend to answer its questions just as he dealt them. In this dialogue, I will be resisting Niles’s positivism, showing just where the poet intended us to intuit Beowulf ’s virtue, and where he otherwise rendered more disparaging (or at least equivocal) symptoms of a darker trait. The Nature of the Dragon Niles first asks the paramount question posed in the dragon fight: “Is Beowulf ’s decision to fight the dragon imprudent?”17 Evidence for this alleged imprudence comes after Beowulf ’s death. Wiglaf criticizes Beowulf ’s retaliation, and the retainers, Wiglaf testifies, tried to dissuade Beowulf from an attack: Oft sceall eorl monig anes willan wræc adreogan, swa us geworden is. Ne meahton we gelæran leofne þeoden, rices hyrde ræd ænigne, þæt he ne grette goldweard þone, lete hyne licgean þær he longe wæs, wicum wunian oð woruldende. (3077a–83b) Many a nobleman must often suffer agony for the desire of a single man, as has happened to us. We could not teach our dear prince, protector of the kingdom, any counsel that he not meet the gold-guardian, just let him lie where he had been for so long, dwell in the precincts until the world’s ending.

Niles challenges Wiglaf ’s apparent disapproval on two fronts. First, he questions whether the phrase “anes willan” means “through one man’s will” or “for the sake of one [person].”18 As far as I have been

Beowulf: The Poem and its Tradition 235–47. Ibid. 238. Klaeber proposed “for the sake of ” in this single instance (s.v. willa), probably because he found Wiglaf ’s potential criticism inconsistent with his view of Beowulf ’s heroism; the interpretation has been removed from Klaeber’s Beowulf. The lengths to which distinguished critics will go just to exonerate Beowulf always surprise: Mitchell, “ ‘Until the Dragon Comes . . .’ 8: “the anes could well be the thief who first plundered the dragon’s hoard . . . But this is not vital.” These comments ignore the context apparent in my translation above. 17 18

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able to determine, OE willa always means “desire” or “gratification,” and comparable expressions with OE willa plus genitive never mean “for the sake of.” Second, Niles’s argument that “wræc” means present (emotional) suffering over Beowulf ’s death rather than future national suffering strikes me as partial to his optimism, especially in light of the subsequent statement that Beowulf did not heed the retainers’ advice.19 Narrowly interpreted, the expression “swa us geworden is” (“as has happened to us,” 3078b) seems like it could refer only to Beowulf ’s death. But OE wræc can denote extreme suffering, the worst pain, such as Hroðgar’s agony over Grendel’s unabated hostility in line 170a. While OE wræc means “pain,” therefore, the retainers “suffer pain” not just for Beowulf ’s death but for a host of anticipated conflicts which have just been foretold by the messenger. Beowulf ’s decision precipitated this crisis; his “destiny was too firm”: “wæs þæt gifeðe to swið” (3085b). Nor is this Wiglaf ’s only criticism of Beowulf, for in line 2646b he calls his lord’s assault on the dragon “reckless” or even “foolish”: þis ellenweorc to gefremmanne, forðam he manna mæst dæda dollicra. (2642b–6a)

. . . þeah ðe hlaford us ana aðohte folces hyrde, mærða gefremede,

. . . although our lord intended to perform this deed of courage alone, because he performed the most famous deeds of men, the most reckless acts.20

19 See Hill, Warrior Ethic: “. . . willfulness presumably rendered Beowulf deaf to the offstage advice (ræd) Wiglaf and others offered that he, Beowulf, should leave the enraged dragon alone . . . good advice for sleeping dragons, but paradoxical for the angry and wakeful” (31); see also Irving, Rereading Beowulf 126–7: “We could conclude that the Geatish nation has been ruined because of Beowulf ’s arrogant folly in daring to fight the dragon. His conceited and inflexible willa has destroyed him and with him his people, who were unable to deter him from the irrational venture. But this answer is not acceptable.” Irving is reluctant to acknowledge what he deems “inconsistent” (127), but I have tried to show that such liminality is consistent in Beowulf ’s character. Niles and Irving (Rereading Beowulf 126) follow McGalliard in deriving this statement from Wiglaf ’s grief. Hill likewise presumes that “Wiglaf and the nobles” suffer this pain, but not the Geats generally, and he concedes, “Wiglaf has identified himself with them and them with him, while seeming to set their plight as an outcome of something like high willfulness or tyranny on the part of one person, in this case Beowulf ” (Narrative Pulse 86, my emph.). 20 It is possible to translate “mæst” apo koinou, but Klaeber’s assignment of the genitives makes better sense. Nor I do not think it possible to read OE mæst as an adverb.

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A problem lies in construing OE mæst (“most,” 2645a), which Klaeber interpreted as the superlative of OE ma “more,” rather than the superlative of OE micel, i.e. “biggest, greatest.” He implicitly intended: “because he performed the greatest number of glorious deeds of men, of foolhardy acts.” Yet the context presupposes “greatest”—Beowulf intended to fight alone because he had always performed the most eminent deeds worthy of praise.21 Although OE mæst plus genitive is frequently translated as “greatest of,” with the sense “superior,” here it should be expressed straightforwardly by the superlative: Beowulf could be said to commit not “the greatest of reckless acts,” but “the most reckless acts.” Translations of “dollicra,” which I have rendered “reckless,” betray the anxiety of critics who find Beowulf consistently virtuous. The relevant attestations have been gathered by Deborah S. Frisby, who concludes that “dol and dollic have the same purpose in prose and in poetry: to express disapproval, not praise.”22 Frisby notices an important detail, that being “wise” (“snottor” and “wis”) occasionally challenges being “dol.”23 Precepts conveys that drunkenness gives rise to “dollic word,” the kind of thoughtless gloating that identifies vainglorious boasters. The only other occurrence of OE dollic, from Wulfstan’s “Institutes of Polity,” suggests that “dollican dædan” suit children, who are irresponsible and incapable of self-restraint.24 While OE dol and related terms are always pejorative, scholars have tried ingenious ways of neutralizing Wiglaf ’s criticism of Beowulf ’s deeds. In a reply to Frisby’s article, Fred C. Robinson defended the position of Norman E. Eliason, in saying that “the bitter irony in Wiglaf ’s usage turns the pejorative sense against the cowardly retainers rather than against Beowulf.”25 In brief remarks on this passage Eliason rendered “mæst” in the approving sense “superior” rather than the potentially unflattering way suggested by the superlative: “among men he achieved the greatest of glory and of foolish deeds.”26 Robinson at 21 The editors of Klaeber’s Beowulf retain Klaeber’s interpretation “ma,” as the glossary documents, s.v. 22 Frisby 59. 23 Ibid. 60. 24 Jost 267: “þæt næfre ne geriseð/to geonclic wise/ne ealdan esne/þæt he hine sylfne/on dollican dædan” (“noch ist es für einen alten Knecht [Gottes] ohne Tadel, wenn er sich selbst zum Kind macht durch törichtes Tun oder Benehmen”). 25 Robinson, “Further Word” 12; Eliason, “Beowulf Notes” 454–6. 26 Ibid. 455. Eliason seems to have translated “manna” as “among men,” rather than “of men,” dependent on “mærða,” which he parses either as a genitive plural (as here), or an accusative plural with singular meaning.

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once impeached Frisby’s reading and upheld Eliason’s by invoking the diversity of an audience’s “perceptiveness and sensitivity”—that we moderns (i.e. Frisby) have yet to divine how “discerning and sensitive people in other times thought, felt, and perceived.”27 Yet to dismiss Wiglaf ’s reproach of “mæst dollicra dæda,” Robinson must also defer the grievance implicit in “anes willan”—a suspicion that goes unanswered.28 In fact, Frisby poses the better solution: “That Wiglaf should have such a moment of critical thought need not detract from his loyalty. Rather, his loyalty is enhanced when we see it complemented by a keen assessment of Beowulf ’s actions.”29 The comitatus gains glory from loyalty, even if the king acts recklessly, as Wiglaf acknowledges. Accusing Beowulf to the warband validates the retainers’ fear, dispels Wiglaf ’s potential arrogance (in resigned acknowledgment of the challenge they faced), and endears them to Beowulf: “he always was attracted to danger . . .” Yet Wiglaf ’s protest does not, in theory, relieve the retainers of their duty. They swore oaths, accepted treasures, and were chosen for this expedition. In one sense, then, Wiglaf ’s “assessment” of Beowulf ’s deeds as reckless reveals what Eliason and Robinson could be said to perceive, that Wiglaf does not disparage the retainers in ignorance of Beowulf ’s potential folly. Wiglaf ’s attitude, half resigned and half resolved, divulges the rift between king and comitatus, a central feature of the oferhygd complex. In fact, Wiglaf will mention that Beowulf chose the retainers for the dragon fight “sylfes willum” (“at his own desire,” 2639b). This and the expression “anes willan” recall the earlier description of Heremod in Hroðgar’s sermon as satisfying his own “desires”: “ne geweox he him to willan” (1711a) and “him eal worold//wendeð on willan” (1738b–39a). The “tyrant” disregards his warband and gambles his own and his men’s lives on expeditions for glory that imperil the entire nation. Clearly, the retainers do not find it expedient or necessary to provoke the dragon. Wiglaf says they counseled Beowulf to let the dragon lie—let him dwell in his precincts (“wicum wunian,” 3083a). The term “wicum” here refers to the dragon’s lair, not the Geats’ territory; indeed, most occur-

“Further Word” 11–12. See Mitchell and Robinson, Beowulf: An Edition 157 note to line 3077: “ ‘through the will of one’. ‘One’ could refer to Beowulf, the dragon . . . the man who first plundered the hoard . . . or wyrd.” No mention is made of the context, that retainers tried to dissuade Beowulf from the fight. 29 Frisby 61; Hill, Narrative Pulse 87. 27 28

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rences of OE wic in Beowulf refer specifically to Grendel’s abode. These remarks invoke a parallel commonly drawn between the dragon, which “began to be powerful” in Geatland (“ongan . . . ricsian,” 2210b–11b) and Grendel, who “was powerful” (“rixode,” 144a) in Heorot. In Beowulf OE ricsian (rixian) is used only in these two passages. The parallels seem indisputable: Beowulf and Hroðgar are old, Grendel and the dragon act at night, the retainers resist engagements. But while Beowulf ’s dragon is figuratively Hroðgar’s Grendel, these passages do not mean that both enemies expressed the same kind of power, only that they both came to power. The dragon seems quite different from Grendel. The Nature of Beowulf ’s Dragon While Niles has concluded that “the poet does not specify the dragon’s intentions,”30 the witan’s proposition to let it sleep in its barrow forever must represent a legitimate solution to the crisis.31 As a national scourge, however, the dragon looms so much larger than Grendel ever did. We cannot therefore suspect that the Geats would let it drive them to extinction without hazarding a reprisal. Even the Danes attacked Grendel—for a time. But what if such a reprisal were thought suicidal? The risk of death has to be weighed against the prospect of the dragon’s attacks, and its behavior may be unpredictable. The dragon may attack the Geats nightly, as it has done since awaking. But could the Geats expect a mitigation over time? The dragon’s behavior is not drawn finely enough for us to judge, but the retainers’ counsel to let the dragon lie implies that its threat could be accommodated. The scenario resembles that of Danes at Heorot: joyless lives of dread and humiliation, led in expectation of future relief. To escape Grendel’s raids Hroðgar and his men only need to sleep in the outbuildings, no doubt mortifying but tolerable when compared to the alternative. Perhaps some Geats even hoped that the dragon was satisfied in its fiery retribution and that it had gone back to sleep for three more centuries. In this unlikely scenario, the dragon could re-awaken at an unspecified date, but since the theft of a cup aroused him in the first place,

Beowulf 240. Pace Hill, Narrative Pulse 87: “Wiglaf here raises the fiction of counsel, of something he and the remaining nobles attempted but which of course they did not.” 30 31

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one has trouble imagining unmotivated periodic attacks. Of course, none of these questions is actually voiced in Beowulf, yet critics rightly sense that they underlie the whole dragon episode, even if they reject proposed solutions to them. It seems to me that, with the exception of Beowulf, the Geat subalterns think they can, and should, accommodate their enemy. Their policy towards the dragon resembles Hroðgar’s towards Grendel, since his men abandon their hall every night for twelve years instead of confronting him. At the start, however, fighting Grendel decimated their ranks—until Hroðgar came to understand the magnitude of his expectation and relented. Therefore, one should approach the dragon fight like the Hunferð digression, evaluating the evidence for Hunferð’s perspective (restraint that looks like “cowardice”) or Beowulf ’s (action that looks like “recklessness”). The central conflict pits the king against his warband. Beowulf, however, seems to face a choice at least more exaggerated than Hroðgar’s, since the dragon besets the populace as a whole rather than the warband alone. Because it inflicts greater ruin more widely, the imperative to kill it seems stronger, and the risk greater. Hroðgar faced a (mere) troll, and even though Beowulf may be thought greater than Hroðgar, he faces a dragon. Is Beowulf ’s fight proportionate to his accomplishments, or has he finally exceeded his capacity and tempted God’s favor? Both views are held at one and the same time, and both are justified on the basis of deliberate equivocacies and contradictions. Beowulf ’s decision, for example, evokes the context of “wisdom” learned from Hroðgar in the first half of the poem, especially in respect to warband security. Hroðgar did not fight Grendel directly, the way Beowulf fights the dragon. Beowulf disavows the advice of his own retainers, admittedly, but he accommodates their position by stationing them in the woods and enlisting their aid under the strictest terms. As I shall propose, Beowulf thinks that he will prevail and that his men will not need to risk their lives. The decision whether and when to risk their lives will be theirs alone.32 Yet as I shall show, Beowulf ’s plan still puts his men in jeopardy, perhaps unfairly. Worse, Beowulf ’s act may bring about exactly what it was intended to forestall: devastation, exile, and death. Beowulf ’s decision to fight the dragon may rest in no small part on his perception of it as sentient and evil. One thinks ultimately that

Irving has argued that Beowulf ’s scenario lets the individual decide whether to attack, and when; see Reading of Beowulf 155. 32

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any attack on the dragon is as much retaliatory as strategic, the next (hopefully final) stage of a feud. The witan arguably counsels Beowulf not to engage the dragon either as an animal independent of the social conventions of feuding—a dog whose tail has been trodden—or as a tolerable evil. My regard for the dragon as a tolerable evil may suggest that Beowulf fights it for reasons of principle, and the obvious parallel is Grendel. Edward B. Irving, Jr. contrasts Grendel’s consciousness with the dragon’s bestiality: . . . the Grendel race is named repeatedly as Cain’s descendants and God’s enemies; nothing of the sort is ever said about the dragon. In certain ways, to be sure, the dragon may be considered evil . . . Yet, though he may be evil, he is not Evil. There is an amoral aspect to him, alien and remote. In some sense, there is nothing personal about what he does . . . A great deal of space in the poem is devoted to exploring Grendel’s thoughts, but very little is given to explaining the dragon’s motivations or feelings. We look at the dragon’s external behavior rather than at his thoughts, because the dragon has no thoughts: he is an animal.33

Although Irving observes that the dragon behaves like an animal when it sniffs around the lair to find a scent,34 his view allows for some evil on the dragon’s part (“though he may be evil”). Burning down Beowulf ’s hall appears to be an excessive, “unjustified” reprisal, the sort of “evil” one could associate with even non-sentient dragons.35 As the narrator says, “no ðær aht cwices//lað lyftfloga/læfan wolde” (“The hateful flier did not intend to leave anything alive,” 2314b–15b). Yet I have trouble

Reading of Beowulf 214–15. This is an aspect of Tolkien’s position, and the essence of John Niles’s: “From the first time he appears, he is presented as a living creature of the same general sort as any lion, bear, or other wild beast, only more fearsome” (Beowulf: The Poem and its Tradition 25). Daniel G. Calder extended the symbolic reading of the dragon’s “evil”: “What the existence of the dragon implies is the presence of an eternal force for evil and destruction that does manifest itself within time. In confronting this symbol of eternal and unknowable evil, even the heroic forces of humanity are doomed . . . The dragon . . . is the force for negation at once present as fact in the world and eternally present in the universe” (35, 36 resp.). For this position to be true, the dragon has to threaten the survival of the Geats, and that jeopardy is not certain. Calder conveniently summarized the symbolic readings of the dragon in this article at page 33: “the dragon is death [Nora K. Chadwick], an expression of the evil of a debased society [Du Bois 391], internal versus external evil (Grendel) [Kaske, “Sapientia et Fortitudo”], and, like Grendel, a ‘feond mancynnes, of a similar order and kindred significance’ [Tolkien, “Monsters and the Critics” 276].” He separates these approaches from the Christian, which he calls “allegorical.” 35 John M. Hill suggests that “in the dragon we have the primal infant’s first, purest and most uncomprehending, unrelenting rage,” which he parses as an “evil omnipotence” (Cultural World 137). This alone may justify Beowulf ’s reprisal. 33 34

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dissociating Irving’s “evil” (because of its harsh reprisal) from “Evil,” the possibility that Beowulf ’s dragon is evil through its intentions despite its “amoral . . . alien and remote” image. For Irving the dragon can be evil the way any animal can be instinctively harmful. By contrast, being “Evil” amounts to having consciousness, as Irving implies of Grendel, whose murderous thoughts necessitate intellect. Irving’s appraisal of the dragon’s nature as “evil” (a consequence) but not “Evil” (an intention) conjures one of the poet’s deliberate equivocations, one that depends on the dragon’s motivation. Either the dragon’s attack is like fatally startling a poisonous snake (the “only an animal” position), or else it behaves maliciously because it is Evil and intends malice. This dichotomy goes straight to the matter of the dragon’s future threat (animals instinctively strike when threatened; malicious beings have no scruples), or to Beowulf ’s own motivation in the duel (monsters intending Evil must be exterminated). For Beowulf to appear virtuous in light of Wiglaf ’s criticism, the dragon should present a baleful threat. Its menace, however, has to be assessed relative to the motivation for its rage. Theft of the dragon’s precious cup seems a defensible reason for the dragon’s rampage, but the poet has already predicted, and confuted, this argument against Beowulf ’s reprisal. The narrator says that “someone’s slave” (“þeo nathwylces,” 2223b) “unintentionally” (“Nealles met gewealdum . . . sylfes willum,” 2221a–22a) broke into the lair—and out of distress to boot (2224b). He offered the treasure to his lord in settlement for the unstated offense that earned him a beating (2281b–2b). Such precise details seem gratuitous until we realize that they relate directly to our judgment of the dragon’s malice, the grounds for its provocation. Innocent desperation may explain why the cup was stolen and may therefore vindicate Beowulf ’s defiance. But Germanic warriors still understand that even “innocent” theft can earn terrifying reprisals under the terms of feuding. The narrator’s opinion that the dragon wrongly (“unrihte,” 3059a) held the treasure and the slave’s unintended offense make a case for the dragon’s evil nature. But it would present a greater danger, and a threat of a different magnitude, if it embodied Evil like Grendel did as Cain’s kin. Yet the view of Beowulf ’s dragon as sentient depends significantly on a Christian association between the dragon and the devil that Beowulf could not share with his Christian audience. To explain the Evil of Beowulf ’s dragon, J. R. R. Tolkien invoked draconitas, a vague, cosmic malice that ultimately obligates and ennobles Beowulf ’s

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attack.36 For Tolkien, who envisioned a secular story, dragons were Evil by nature. In concession to this potential, Raymond P. Tripp, Jr. supported the theory that Beowulf ’s dragon was originally a man turned into a dragon because of greed, deviousness, and unnatural violence.37 Nora K. Chadwick had espoused much the same view in 1959, although some of the examples of dragons she remarks on belong to the mere animal class, though potentially semi-divine. Chadwick and Tripp seem to be responding to the apparent sentience of the dragon: while it is an animal, it seems to have more than animal sense. The narrator calls Beowulf ’s enemy a “hostile dragon” (“niðdraca,” 2273a), “strong-minded” (“stearcheort,” 2288b), a hateful avenger (“wolde se laða/lige forgyldan//drincfæt dyre”; “the hateful dragon intended to repay with flame the precious cup,” 2305a–6a; see also the possible intentionality in seeking out his adversary, lines 2294b–5b), thoughtful enough to trust in his barrow (“beorges getruwode,//wiges ond wealles”; “he trusted in his barrow, his warfare, and his wall,” 2322b–3a), and hostile to the voice of man (“hordweard oncniow//mannes reorde”; “the hoard-guardian recognized a human voice,” 2554b–5a). None of this evidence proves the dragon’s sentience, but it could suggest more than mere animal nature, and I think the mere hint of malice is quite deliberate. On the level of physical animal nature, the poet wants us to debate whether the dragon can intend evil. This position differs from Niles’s and Irving’s, to name only two critics interested in the dragon as an effect or consequence. Other critics have proposed that Beowulf ’s dragon intentionally evokes the Devil, and Joyce Tally Lionarons elucidated the Christian resonances, beginning with the biblical: “Traditionally considered the most pervasive of intertexts for the medieval literary dragon are the descriptions of dragons and other monsters found in the Bible, where the dragon appears as a direct manifestation of Satan and therefore

36 “Monsters and the Critics” 17: “a personification of malice, greed, destruction (the evil side of heroic life).” In “Monsters Crouching” Adrien Bonjour rejected the opinion of T. M. Gang, who saw no reason to universalize the dragon as anything other than a “human foe.” On the basis of Norse dragons, Jonathan D. Evans has proposed that the dragon’s “characteristic behaviors distinguish it as non- and antiheroic—i.e., as a villain” (100). 37 More About the Fight; see also Jensen, who proposes that Onela turns into the dragon (12).

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takes on connotations of absolute evil.” 38 Lionarons refers to the originary locus from Apc 12.9 (“proiectus est draco ille magnus serpens antiquus qui vocatur Diabolus et Satanas”) and adds, “here the dragon is explicitly identified as Satan, an identification which led the Church Fathers and their medieval descendants to the subsequent glossing of virtually all the Biblical monsters as types of the devil.”39 In drawing attention to the Exeter Book poem called “Panther,” Lionarons shows how this allegorical depiction of the Savior fought against its only natural enemy, the dragon.40 What may be even more important to the alleged Christian intertexts of Beowulf ’s dragon fight is the medieval saint’s life. Alan K. Brown proposed that a dragon fight in the “Life of St. Samson” shares common elements with the episode in Beowulf,41 and James Carney has gone so far as to suggest that the Beowulf poet may have drawn from the “Life.”42 Most recently Christine Rauer has sketched even stronger parallels between two lives of Saint Samson and the dragon fight in Beowulf, concluding that “a theory of hagiographical influence on the dragon episode can, but need not necessarily, have implications for the symbolic content of Beowulf.”43 Rauer insists that “the poet may have used religious source material for emphatically secular contexts in Beowulf,”44 but details in some sixty dragon fights from hagiography sustain Fred C. Robinson’s contention: So carefully does the poet maintain this two-leveled portrayal of the monsters [Grendel and Grendel’s mother] that in the last part of the poem he need only introduce a monster with well-established credentials in both worlds—a dragon—and trust that the audience will, without further prompting, see the creature in its full complexity. It is on one level of perception like the dragon that Sigemund slew; on another it

Medieval Dragon 17. Ibid. 18. Lionarons also explains why some dragons do not conform to the diabolical archetype (19). 40 Ibid. 19. 41 “Firedrake” 443–4. 42 Carney 124–5. These hypotheses succeed the speculation of Cook, that the dragonslaying in Aldhelm’s treatment of Saint Victoria proved the Beowulf poet’s familiarity with Aldhelm’s Prosa de uirginitate (“Source of Beowulf 2523”). 43 Beowulf and the Dragon 141. Rauer makes an intriguing case for the Beowulf poet’s knowledge of the Vita I s. Samsonis and Vita II s. Samsonis, both printed and translated in her “Appendix A” (154–9). 44 Ibid. 142; see also 57: “no single hagiographical tradition has so far been identified which would present detectable evidence for direct influence [on Beowulf ].” 38 39

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has those connotations of Satanic evil with which Bible and commentary had long invested it.45

But while the Christian resonances must be present for the poet’s symmetry to work, I do not sense that the “connotations of Satanic evil” have to be conclusive, only latent. One has to recognize that, unless one appeals to Christian allegory of Beowulf as Christ,46 the poet himself never identifies his dragon as God’s enemy, and regard for the dragon as mere animal discourages any conclusive identification. In fact, dragons in the saints’ lives that Rauer examines are more obviously animal, not demonic. Lionarons therefore posits my own view, that “[the Beowulf dragon’s] challenge lies in the peculiar lack of interpretive indicators within the text to guide an audience to a conclusive interpretation by confirming or disputing contradictory elements with the audience’s horizon of expectation.”47 Niles preceded Lionarons in this deduction,48 but by denying any Christian resonance for the dragon, he drew a conclusion quite different from hers: To make this distinction between the spiritual evil of the Grendel creatures and the physical threat of the dragon is by no means to diminish the dragon’s stature. It is simply to clarify his character . . . He is evil in the sense that an earthquake or tornado is evil when people are in its path. Of course the dragon is frightful, but he is not therefore Satanic . . . If we fail to make this distinction—if we do precisely what he does not and identify the dragon with Satan—we risk distorting the meaning of the end of the poem by polarizing it along the lines of a false spiritual dichotomy. However essential the contrast of good versus evil or God versus Satan may have been in the first part of the poem, by the time of the hero’s combat such terms of moral opposition have ceased to apply. Instead we are shown the heroic end of a heroic life.49

In my opinion, Niles has judged the case in asserting Beowulf ’s “heroic life,” when an arguable “spiritual dichotomy” may actually motivate the dragon episode.

45 Appositive Style 32. Of course, it is Rauer who gathered and analyzed sixty-three dragon fights from the hagiography in Beowulf and the Dragon 52–86. 46 Klaeber, Beowulf li note 2 and 217 note to line 2596ff.; Putnam Fennell Jones; McNamee; Brown, “Firedrake” 454. 47 Medieval Dragon 28. 48 Beowulf: The Poem and its Tradition 26: “The moral neutrality of the Beowulf dragon stands out clearly when one considers how easily the poet could have associated him with the Christian devil.” 49 Ibid. 27. Gang compared the dragon to a disease (6).

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Refusing to call upon his omniscience, the poet discloses little information about the dragon’s nature, nor does Beowulf allude to the dragon as Evil. In this silence, the poet evokes in his audience the moral blindness that Beowulf experienced in the Grendel fight.50 As demonstrated in Chapter 1, Beowulf could be said to fight righteously when he challenges Grendel, even if Geats and Danes in the world of the poem do not perceive Grendel as the Christian God’s enemy. Beowulf ’s success against Grendel and Grendel’s mother seems validated mostly for this reason, even if Beowulf had been motivated by inordinate ambition. In the dragon fight, however, the Christian audience can have no absolute faith that Beowulf is confronting a malevolent being, God’s natural adversary, or even a saint’s enemy. By this reading, it could not be said with assurance that Beowulf rids Geatland of Evil, or even of a sentient evil being. In support of the view that the dragon is God’s enemy, and that Beowulf ’s fight was therefore righteous, one has to account for the opposing evidence that challenges the expedience of Beowulf ’s retaliation, the automaticity of his vengeance: “him ðæs guðkyning,//Wedera þioden/wræce leornode” (“The battle-king, prince of Geats planned vengeance against him for that,” 2335b–6b). Of course, even if the dragon does not intend Evil, it may yet intend evil in Irving’s or Niles’s terms, whether or not it is merely an animal or may be thought to have a rudimentary consciousness like dragons transformed from men. Yet this reading legitimates Beowulf ’s dragon fight only as a matter of practical or strategic importance. If the dragon is merely an animal, however “evil,” the fight may be deemed either sensible (or essential) in disarming a threat (or taking vengeance), or reckless because it is strategically dangerous. How Beowulf ’s decision may be justified as essential or reckless then motivates the ambiguities and contradictions of this section. Recognizing this “fatal contradiction” not only legitimates Wiglaf ’s criticism of Beowulf but also evokes the context of oferhygd, in which potential recklessness has to be gauged by a critical intuition. Heroic Confidence and Oferhygd The poet invokes the oferhygd complex when he remarks that Beowulf “oferhogode” or “scorned” seeking the dragon with a large army: 50

Clark, Beowulf 130–1; Tanke 377–9.

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Oferhogode ða hringa fengel þæt he þone widflogan weorode gesohte, sidan herge; no he him þa sæcce ondred, ne him þæs wyrmes wig for wiht dyde, eafoð ond ellen, forðon he ær fela nearo neðende niða gedigde, hildehlemma . . . (2345a–51a) The prince of rings then scorned to seek out the wide-flier with a troop, a big army. He did not fear the battle, nor did he care one whit about the dragon’s combat, its strength and courage, because he had previously endured many assaults, battle-clashes, braving many straits.

Etymologically OE oferhogian “to despise, contemn, scorn, disdain” is related to OE oferhycgan “to despise, contemn, disdain, scorn” and to oferhygd.51 Beowulf ’s potential overconfidence is transparent in his attitude: “ne him þæs wyrmes wig/for wiht dyde.” In case we missed it the first time, Beowulf will repeat his confidence just before the fight: “Ic eom on mode from,//þæt ic wið þone guðflogan/gylp ofersitte” (“I am confident in my heart that I will fulfil my boast against the battle-flier,” 2527b–8b). In consideration of the oferhygd complex, the poet enumerates the “niða”52 and “hildehlemma” that Beowulf has hitherto triumphed in: killing the Grendelkin, avenging Hygelac, and helping Eadgils kill Onela. Each accomplishment led to more substantial success, with the result that Beowulf now does not fear fire-breathing dragons at all. It might be objected that the narrator lists Beowulf ’s feats, but they are in fact the reason why Beowulf scorns the dragon’s power: “forðon he ær fela//nearo neðende/niða gedigde” (“because, risking constraint, he had survived many hostilities,” 2349b–50a). Furthermore, right before fighting the dragon, Beowulf will recall his victories in similar terms: “Ic geneðde fela//guða on geogoðe” (“I ventured many battles in my youth,” 2511b–12a). Like Nebuchadnezzar, Heremod, and Hroðgar’s fictional king, the victim of oferhygd cannot foresee any defeat because he has never experienced any loss. Tallying Beowulf ’s past victories like this raises the specter of oferhygd. When a king “despises” a fire-breathing dragon, it could manifest arrogance and forebode irresponsibility that would engender aggression and national annihilation.

The citations come from Bosworth-Toller, svv. The poet will emphasize Beowulf ’s achievements at the conclusion of his list by alleging “Swa he niða gehwane/genesen hæfde,//sliðra geslyhta . . .” (“so he had survived each hostility, each terrible onslaught,” 2397a–8a). 51

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Yet the poet merely evokes the question of oferhygd in Beowulf, which seems countered in Beowulf ’s reaction to the attack. First, we are told that Beowulf, “the leader, expected that he had bitterly enraged the Wielder, the eternal Lord, over an ancient custom” (“wende se wisa/ þæt he Wealdende//ofer ealde riht,/ecean dryhtne//bitre gebulge,” 2329a–31a). Without knowing about the stolen cup, Beowulf tries to imagine why the dragon attacked him. The poet’s terminology sounds mildly Christian (“ecean dryhtne,” 2330b), but Morton W. Bloomfield has proposed that ealde riht “refers not to Old Testament (i.e., Sinaitic) law but natural law which was implanted in the hearts of pagans, including the pre-Mosaic ‘pagans’ of the Old Testament.”53 In keeping with my own strict narratology, however, the “custom” Beowulf imagines offending is undoubtedly a pagan one, even if the Old Testament resonances are valid. Beowulf thinks he has failed to uphold an expected behavior or duty, a “law” of sorts, but I propose another, vaguer kind of right action may be intended: the counsel of pagan moral virtue explicitly opposed to oferhygd. Offending an “ealde riht” is the badge of a tyrant in King Ælfred’s Consolatio Philosophiae. The heretic Þeodric “promised Romans his friendship such that they could keep their ancient customs in honor” (“He gehet Romanum his freondscipe, swa þæt hi moston heora ealdrihta wyrðe beon”),54 but instead he persecuted the nation.55 Guðlac A discloses that doing “ryht” (32b) means holding “divine commandments” (“halig bebodu,” 34a). Order of the World describes gieddinga (“sober narratives”) as revealing what is “ryht” (13b), quite often the lessons of moderation comprising ece ræd. In Daniel the Israelites and Chaldeans commit “unriht” (23b, 187b respectively), contrary to the prophet’s advice, and unriht leads to extermination for both peoples. The passage recalls Hroðgar’s surprise at Grendel’s attack, or Heremod’s loss in battle, even in the tyrant’s ensuing “dark thoughts”: “breost innan weoll//þeostrum geþoncum” (“His breast welled inwardly with dark thoughts,” 2331b–2a). Heremod suffered from such wrack as well, and his dark thoughts probably stem from helplessness in the face of defeat,

“Patristics” 39–41. Sedgefield, Boethius 7.7–8. 55 In reference to Nero Nicole Guenther Discenza remarks, “anecdotes about the kings themselves also illustrate the necessity of self-control, showing rulers’ lack of restraint and inability to attain the ends they desire . . . Nero may represent Theodoric, but his role as a figure lacking self-control overshadows other meanings” (80). 53 54

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too. By these terms the narrator depicts Beowulf ’s reaction to Hroðgar’s warning of oferhygd. In these terms we could not say that Beowulf has been blind to the insinuation of oferhygd, or that his “soul’s guardian” has slept. On the contrary, Beowulf ’s thoughts on the “ealde riht” invoke humility, which opposes national arrogance, the overconfidence a people derives from longstanding security. In this case Beowulf ’s anxiety proves his virtue, since he searches his own past for present miseries, just like Hroðgar did. Similarly, Beowulf arguably attributes the dragon’s rage not simply to fate, but to a Boethian divinity theoretically in charge of “moral” punishment. “Punishment” in this case can mean either conflagration in Geatland and/or Beowulf ’s death. The parallels suggest that Beowulf has acquired Hroðgar’s semi-enlightened outlook on fatalism. At this moment, then, the evidence would appear convincing that oferhygd has not mastered Beowulf. Confronting the dragon seems reckless, but Beowulf ’s reaction implies conscience. In fact, this “conscience” engenders many of the tensions that I identify in the dragon episode, for Beowulf himself may suspect that confronting the dragon could be irresponsible. In his sermon Hroðgar identified the inevitability of oferhygd once it steals upon a king asleep in his cares. After the dart poisons the king’s mind, he “cannot protect against it.” The afflicted king follows the perverse, wondrous commands of a cursed spirit in utter ignorance of his recklessness. Nevertheless, Hroðgar’s sermon envisions an act of conscience in avoidance of oferhygd. “Bebeorh þe ðone bealonið . . . oferhyda ne gym” (1758a–60b), warns Hroðgar, who suggests that vigilance may inhibit the complacency that leads to arrogance. From the depictions of arrogant kings in Old English literature we can be reasonably confident that Beowulf ’s introspection is not the reaction of a tyrant. The arrogant king would give in to bealunið or “rancor,” but Beowulf ’s ostensible compunction belies any rashness, and this conscience indicates that he has not yet fallen prey to oferhygd. Nevertheless, Beowulf reaches no conclusion about transgressing an “ealde riht,” and the silence surrounding his reasons for fighting the dragon creates multiple awkwardnesses that go unresolved. We understand that Beowulf has thought about his decision but not why he has made it. He fights the dragon because he thinks it is right to do so, in other words, but we have no way to evaluate his rationale. While oferhygd can distort self-awareness, Beowulf could be said to respond explicitly to Hroðgar’s warning and to wonder whether he has already been infected by oferhygd. Yet he still decides to fight the dragon

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and irrationally scorns its strength. Seemingly in doubt of his decision, however, he takes steps to ensure that his behavior cannot easily be impugned. He orders a metal shield to be made (2337a–41a), and vows that he will not seek the dragon in its lair (2514b–15b). Absent any motivation to fight the dragon, these decisions sound like they come from a cautious man, not someone given to oferhygd. In light of the wrong motivation, however, they become the miscalculations of a benighted warrior. The question of Beowulf ’s conscience in the context of oferhygd therefore highlights Beowulf ’s possible moral ignorance. Beowulf ’s Lament Beowulf ’s own attitude towards the dragon fight—the expression of his conscience—is voiced in a long passage which I think of as “Beowulf ’s lament.” Right before the dragon fight Beowulf slips into a reverie that clarifies his uncertainty and corresponding resolve. The poet relates: wæfre ond wælfus, se ðone gomelan secean sawle hord, lif wið lice . . . (2419b–23a)

Him wæs geomor sefa, wyrd ungemete neah, gretan sceolde, sundur gedælan

His spirit was doleful, hesitant and eager for battle, the fate immeasurably close, that would meet the old man and seek out the soul’s hoard, divide asunder life from body.

Beowulf ’s earlier scorn for the dragon has disappeared, but one senses that the retainers do not perceive his reservations. Both “hesitant” (“wæfre”) and “eager for slaughter” (“wælfus”), Beowulf vacillates because he doubts whether he should, or can, avenge himself at all.56 OE wæfre is a difficult term because of its rarity: attested only four times in Old English, it occurs three times in Beowulf. In the Finn digression Hengest cannot restrain his “wæfre” spirit, a vacillation deriving from the uncertainty of his position. In line 1331a Hroðgar says that a “wælgæst wæfre” (Grendel’s mother) slew Æschere—a detail actually confirmed by the poet’s remarks:

56 Wood, “Etymologies” col. 98; Klaeber interprets the word as “vagans” (“Christlichen Elemente” 256): “Garmonsway argues that OE wæfre means “furious, raging” and denies that Beowulf is “hesitant” (143–6). On wælfus as “bound for death,” see James W. Earl, “Necessity of Evil” 96 note 15; Smithers, “Meaning of The Seafarer” 103.

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wolde ut þanon, þa heo onfunden wæs (1292a–3b)

She was in a hurry, wanted to get out of there and protect her life after she had been discovered.

In Beowulf to be “wæfre” means to exhibit hesitation, the same indecision expressed in the ModE reflex, “wavering.”57 The poet, I think, confirms Beowulf ’s hesitation when he says that “he himself did not know what form his parting from this world should take” (“seolfa ne cuðe//þurh hwæt his worulde gedal/weorðan sceolde,” 3067b–8b). Yet Beowulf resolves to fight, and his reasons for doing so stem from the narratives he tells right before encountering the dragon. Beowulf the Storyteller In my view, Beowulf turns to a story to reflect on a pivotal childhood incident as an evaluation of his present circumstances. He recounts the history of Herebeald’s death at his brother’s hands, which draws vaguely on the legend of Baldr and Höðr from Norse mythology.58 Hreðel’s eldest son Herebeald dies “unfittingly” or “inappropriately” (“ungedefelice,” 2435b) when his brother Hæðcyn misses a target (“miste mercelses,” 2439a) with a bowshot.59 The incident is called a “feohleas gefeoht” (2441a), which Dorothy Whitelock described as a crime ineligible of composition.60 Even in 1939, therefore, Herebeald’s death was considered “accidental,” an opinion formed partly from the Scandinavian parallels to Baldr’s death and partly from the expression “miste mercelses.” Yet the vehement language implies that the

The other attestation of OE wæfre occurs in Daniel 240a, where it has to mean “flickering” or perhaps “guttering”; see above, p. 170. 58 See, most recently, O’Donoghue. Three other works are important: North, Heathen Gods 199–203; Frank, “Skaldic Verse” 132; Dronke. 59 Frank, “Skaldic Verse” 132: “the Beowulf poet inserts what seems to be a Nordicism: missan (ON missa) “to miss, not hit” with a genitive of the object, a usage common in Old Norse but otherwise unknown in this sense in Old English”; see also Frank, “Memorial Eulogies” 11. It seems to me that these polar meanings could express the ambiguity of the “crime,” either “murder” (hit the “target”) or “accident” (miss the target). 60 “Beowulf 2444–2471” 198–9: “. . . the accidental nature of the slaying would not in itself have saved the perpetrator from the penalties of homicide.” The historical precedents come entirely from the Germanic, not Anglo-Saxon, law-codes. Whitelock cites evidence collected by Liebermann that “vengeance could not be taken for a slaying within the kindred” (199). James H. Morey makes the allegation of murder in “Fates of Men” 30–1. 57

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killing was the equivalent of murder.61 Hæðcyn strewed a murder-bed (“morþorbed stred,” 2436b) for his lord,62 friend (“freawine,” 2438a), kinsman (2436a, 2439b), brother (2440a), and heir to the kingdom (“yldestan,” 2435a; “æðeling,” 2443a). Hæðcyn pierced Herebeald through in a direct, lethal hit (“ofscet,” 2439b) with a bloody spear (“blodigan gare,” 2440b). The event, described as a fyren (2441b), an act “mindnumbing” (“hygemeðe,” 2442a) and “loathsome” (“laðum,” 2467a), causes King Hreðel to despair.63 Hreðel finds himself unable even to hate his son, who became estranged from him (“him leof ne wæs,” 2467b). Clearly, the language describes a jealous rage as much as an innocent accident—in which event Whitelock’s parallels may not apply. Ultimately, however, the episode debates accountability for a potentially excusable crime: is vengeance appropriate at the cost of further personal sacrifice—the agony of Hreðel? Hæðcyn’s suspicious killing of Herebeald seems an odd recollection at this moment, but the poet in fact dramatizes Beowulf ’s narration in response to the hero’s circumstances. The same ratiocination continues in the parable of the gomela ceorl or “old man” that follows the story of Herebeald and Hæðcyn. In it Beowulf recounts an old man’s grief at a beloved son’s execution. Many readers of these paired anecdotes acknowledge that they comment on Beowulf ’s current situation, like Laurence N. De Looze: “This ‘heroic simile’ is a fictional projection which allows Beowulf to distance himself from the class of obligations facing him, to examine them more objectively, and to resolve the Hamlet-like question of whether—and how—to act or not to act.”64 Observing that the old man’s story is a central fiction in Beowulf, De Looze proposed one way the hero analogizes his situation.65 A synopsis of the Swedish-Geatish wars (lines 2354b–99a) which immediately

61 The best examination of the poet’s ambiguity in this passage is that by Georgianna. 62 The collocation “morþorbealo maga” is found both in the Finn digression (1079a) and, as Beowulf ’s last words (2742a), something the “Ruler of men” could not accuse him of. Morþor is a deliberate, secretive act. 63 It is often assumed that Hreðel cannot expect compensation for his son’s death, but a historical parallel from ca. 700 shows that kin can pay wergild for relatives they have slain. The Mildryð legend records how King Egbert of Kent ceded land to his cousin Mildryð in compensation for killing her brothers Æðelberht and Æðelred; cf. Rollason 49–51; Wehlau, “ ‘Seeds of Sorrow.’ ” 64 De Looze 243. 65 De Looze calls this the only fictional moment (243), but Hroðgar’s story of a king seduced by oferhygd is also fictional.

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precedes the Herebeald/Hæðcyn exemplum illustrates how Beowulf ’s decision whether to fight the dragon is closely tied to the Geats’ future.66 Herebeald’s accidental death leads to Hreðel’s incapacitation, which in turn prompts attacks from Swedes. Beowulf ’s own death would cause as much instability. Either retribution or toleration, however, would generate identical misfortunes. De Looze explains: “the two extremes of inaction (Hrethel’s response) and excessive (re)action (characteristic of the [Swedish-Geatish] wars) . . . lead to doom.”67 He continues: “[Beowulf ] can let the dragon destroy his realm, or he can enter into a battle which may claim his life and leave his realm to be ravaged by the Swedes.”68 Attacking the dragon becomes a matter of urgent practicality, and Wiglaf ’s criticism of Beowulf ’s fight is implicitly dismissed. De Looze will keep returning to this expectation as a key position: “the passive course would leave both the Swedes outside the Geatish realm and the dragon inside to be dealt with after Beowulf was gone.”69 By insisting that the dragon will continue marauding, De Looze will later make the staggering claim, “there is the obligation on Beowulf to take vengeance for the dragon’s attack on his realm, an obligation which is indifferent to the effectiveness or the ultimate consequences of such action.”70

66 As De Looze sees it, Hygelac undertakes a “rash action” in Frisia, Beowulf a thoughtful one at the dragon’s lair” (244). Yet only the narrator recounts the Swedish feud, and one wonders how immediately it impacts Beowulf ’s thinking at this moment, especially because he singles out his vengeance for Hygelac as a moment of glory. According to Stanley B. Greenfield, the narrator first “recapitulates the engagements Beowulf has lived through since he cleansed Heorot of the Grendel clan” (“Geatish History” 121). For Greenfield, Beowulf ’s miraculous escape from Frisia evokes the theme of “survival,” an ironic, “elegiac” comment on Beowulf ’s death in the dragon fight (ibid.). “Survival” might be one focus of the passage, but a second covers both the historical background of events succeeding Beowulf ’s death and the inevitable uncertainty of outcomes; see Kahrl 196. The evocation of human misery—Hygd and Heardred are feasceaft, Eanmund and Eadgils wræcmæcgas—blunts Beowulf ’s moral goodness and obvious maturation “from warrior to king” (Greenfield, “Geatish History” 122). The poet depicts telescopically the slow rise and brisk fall of kings: Hygelac, Heardred, Onela, Eadgils . . . Beowulf. 67 De Looze 246. 68 Ibid. 247. Much hinges on De Looze’s speculation that the dragon poses a continuing threat, but the poet deliberately avoids saying whether the dragon plans any further raids. De Looze also proposes that “the historical analogue chosen by Beowulf literalizes the patriarchal relationship of Beowulf to his realm; the father is unable to save his charges through effective action” (ibid.). 69 Ibid. 250. 70 Ibid. 247–8.

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De Looze suggests that the gomela ceorl story matches Beowulf ’s circumstances more realistically, since Hreðel could not demand vengeance and the dragon’s appearance could not be attributed to chance in the way the accidental shooting could. In other words, Beowulf manufactures a projection. De Looze then reasons, “the father of the condemned criminal finds himself subject to two strong social demands: one that he take vengeance for his son’s death, the other that he take no action because his son was a condemned outlaw.”71 Hence, the old ceorl must respect the social justice that penalized his heir, just as Beowulf would need to set aside personal vengeance (fighting the dragon) in respect of a duty owed to his folc (not fighting). In fact, De Looze claims, “Beowulf again projects himself as a father figure, this time as an old man without progeny.”72 Vengeance conflicts with duty, but imagining the gomela ceorl dying from grief even without vengeance, Beowulf pursues retribution regardless of the personal consequences. Like Dorothy Whitelock, for whom the passage affirmed a second kind of inexpiable occasion—legal execution for a crime—De Looze appreciates the story of the gomela ceorl as a comment on revenge. Unlike Whitelock, he thinks that the ceorl actually has the option of reprisal!73 Furthermore, De Looze imagines that the old man represents the state, and he then universalizes the ceorl’s sentiment and concludes, “the poet depicts a culture whose social institutions are strained almost to the breaking point.”74 By these terms he subtly argues that Beowulf ’s reliance on heroic attitudes discloses a moral impoverishment related to heroism generally. The argument resembles Linda Georgianna’s, which stressed the same failure of heroic idealism, especially vengeance: “In destabilizing or confusing the categories of innocence and guilt, victim and villain,

71 Ibid. 249. The position is shared by many, expressed in Hill’s words: “Hrethel cannot avenge himself on one son for the death of another. Thus he suffers sick at heart in much the same way, Beowulf imagines, that a father would suffer who must bear the death by hanging of his outlaw son. These expressions of impotence, of a harrowing inability to act, are terrible because there can be no satisfactory or allowable revenge in either case” (Warrior Ethic 14); see also Owen-Crocker, “Horror in Beowulf ” 86. Owen-Crocker asks whether this byre is a “criminal or sacrificial victim.” 72 De Looze 249. 73 Ibid.: “The lamenting father can choose the societal obligation by which he will be bound, as does Beowulf.” The position, too, of Kahrl: “The poet, through Beowulf, appears to be stating that killing the murderer of one’s kinsman or friend, rather than mourning, provides a release for emotions of hate that are sufficiently powerful, if uncontrolled, to destroy not only the peace of mind but even the life of the individual governed by such emotions” (195). 74 De Looze 248.

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insider and outsider, the poet begins to undo the basis of heroic action as it is represented in the poem’s first half.”75 Georgianna proposes the poet’s condemnation of disastrous, unending conflict by the deliberate confusion of social categories for which no action is viable. She, too, thinks of Herebeald’s death as accidental and of the old man’s predicament as resulting from frustrated revenge. In her arguments and De Looze’s, however, I am troubled by the expectation that the dragon’s threats must be intolerable, that the old man can take vengeance for a state punishment (against whom?), and that Beowulf ’s predicament should be universalized as a criticism directed against his society. Specific to De Looze’s position, I find it unlikely that Beowulf would tell the tale of Herebeald’s death and then supplant it with a more cogent analogy. The exempla of Herebeald and the old ceorl actually portend Beowulf ’s retribution against the dragon. In the part of this digression Hæðcyn is seen to commit “murder” and go unpunished, whereas in his fiction Beowulf reflects on what would happen if he (or someone like him) had been punished. In 1910 Walter Sedgefield suggested that the story of the gomela ceorl reflects “the sorrow Hreðel would feel if Hæðcyn expiated on the gallows his slaying of Herebeald.”76 This view strikes me as wholly accurate, but with a different application. De Looze reasons that the byre mentioned in the ceorl’s tale is a “condemned criminal,”77 and, in deference to Whitelock’s article, most will treat the byre as a “felon,” the term used by Georgianna. It has escaped notice, however, that OE byre (“lad” best captures the sense) is contextually significant. Often in collocation with geong (“young”), the poeticism byre occurs seven times in Beowulf, where it generally implies the thoughtless impetuosity of youth.78 For example, in the Heaðobard feud the old agent provocateur slanderously pictures a Danish “byre” wearing a sword taken from a “murdered” father.79 We learn how passionately and disastrously this Georgianna 841. Beowulf 177. Whitelock noted that this position advanced that by Brunner I.213. Brunner suggested that the gomela ceorl was Hreðel himself, but because Whitelock thought such killings inexpiable (at least in Anglo-Saxon sources), she did not pursue Brunner’s (or Sedgefield’s) reasoning. 77 De Looze 249. 78 Bäck 66. 79 The language Beowulf uses when depicting the scene is deliberately outrageous, the sort of taunt to which a youth might quickly react. Brodeur has made the case that the killing at his home almost certainly displeased Ingeld (Art of Beowulf 167), and he further exonerates the byre who wears the sword: “. . . the poet tells us, not that the young Dane was slain for any deliberately provocative conduct of his own, but that 75 76

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boy reacts. “Byre” describes Hroðgar’s two immature sons, for whom Wealhþeow seeks a guardian in Hroþulf. When Beowulf recalls this episode in his recapitulation to Hygelac, he says that the queen “urged on the young boys” (“cwen . . . //. . . bædde byre geonge,” 2016b–18a), not just her own sons but her sons’ friends, too. Reflecting on the origin of the sword that Wiglaf carries, the poet remarks that Weohstan bestowed it on his “byre” when Wiglaf became capable of heroic deeds. In fact, Wiglaf was very young, engaging in his first battle: geongan cempan mid his freodryhtne

Þa wæs forma sið þæt he guðe ræs fremman sceolde. (2625b–7b)

In two other places Wiglaf is also called “byre Wihstanes” (“Weohstan’s boy,” 2907b and 3110b). Therefore, in the episode of the gomela ceorl, OE byre reveals that youthful irresponsibility probably motivated the son’s offense, a capital crime for which one can bear only restricted blame. This anonymous, fictional byre undoubtedly corresponds to Hæðcyn, but unlike Hæðcyn he gets punished according to tribal custom. In fact, Dorothy Whitelock recounted that in certain old Germanic law codes the state punished unintentional murder, and the boy’s hanging bears all the hallmarks of a state sentence. Yet executing him for an ambiguous crime still leads to a paralyzing grief identical to Hreðel’s. These nested stories operate analogically and describe Beowulf ’s attitude towards the dragon, whose motivation for such widespread ruin was the mere theft of a cup.80 One could not fail to call this devhe was killed fore fæder dædum. This comes close to an exoneration of deliberate offense. It was natural enough that he should wear a sword which he had inherited from his father; he may have been ignorant of its provenience, or, at worst, he may have worn it in careless forgetfulness. Certainly the son of that Heaðobard who originally owned it shows no knowledge that it had once been his father’s, until the old spear-warrior brings the fact to his attention. The reason for the young Dane’s death is not simply that he wears the sword of a slain Heaðobard; it is that his father had slain that Heaðobard, and that killing calls for killing. But the killing would not have occurred if a vengeance-hungry veteran had not been present to point out to the son of the slain Heaðobard that splendid weapon which should have been his inheritance but is now being worn in his presence by the son of his father’s slayer” (ibid. 169). 80 For this reason it is important for the audience to know that the thief betrayed no malice when he stole the dragon’s cup, but did it for “þreanedlan” (“dire necessity,” 2223a). The view of Theodore M. Andersson (“Thief ”) that stealing the cup was criminal might be contradicted simply by context: the dragon is no “owner” in any moral sense, and no one would dare take responsibility for the theft. T. A. Shippey metaphorized the dragon’s hostility: “The dragon is like Revenge. It sleeps but can be woken; it is monstrously sensitive to the slightest of injuries . . . So the entire conflict

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astation an over-reaction, but, even worse, this carnage may represent the unintentional over-reaction of a provoked animal. Two similar “criminals” were Hæðcyn and the anonymous byre, whose involuntary “malice”—the actions of immature, unthinking boys—rendered their deeds morally ambiguous. These narratives therefore stand for Beowulf ’s theoretical reactions to the choices forced upon him, as if he observed himself in two imaginary roles. Failing to punish Hæðcyn—like leaving the dragon alone—comes down on the side of expedience, since Hæðcyn is the æþeling and will be king.81 Exacting wergild is no option, as it would amount to the same impossibility as revenge. Yet ignoring vengeance does not conform to social expectations, and Hreðel’s grief derives from a paralyzing, irremediable shame. Yet again, avenging the dragon’s raid may be just as paralyzing for Beowulf and the Geats. Punishing the anonymous byre asserts retribution (if not justice in the Germanic sense) but begets a different kind of self-inflicted misery. As readers have consistently stated, the options of excusing crime and punishing it both lead to a paralyzing grief for the father, but in each case the grief stems from a different cause. Staying alive, on the one hand, means continued rule but (like Hroðgar’s situation) a life of humiliation and misgivings. In Beowulf ’s story of the gomela ceorl retaliation still brings grief because provocation and impetuous rage mitigate responsibility and because retaliation will bring about a more egregious loss. Peculiarly, Beowulf ’s narrative describes a father who loses his only son, a calamity that terminates his bloodline. Yet the story of Hæðcyn involves no such extermination, since Hæðcyn and Hygelac survive Herebeald.82 The disparity, I think, reflects the outcomes of punishment versus non-punishment in the dragon episode. Unpunished, Hæðcyn goes on to rule, but Geats mourn the failure of reciprocal vengeance. This is Hroðgar’s fate against Grendel. Punished, the fictional lad dies without issue, and the father bewails his barren future, the repercussion of a “moral” obligation. This future, it has been pointed out, closely resembles the bleak national extermination in the digression of the

[between Beowulf and the dragon] is an accident from the start, swinging from one frightened or vengeful reaction to another” (Old English Verse 48–9); see also Kahrl 195; Andersson, “Thief ” 507 (“metaphorical elaboration of civil disorder”). 81 It seems fair to say that Beowulf tells the story of a “ceorl” simply because a ceorl could be punished for such a crime, while a nobleman might not be, or else get away with a fine. 82 Bragg 82.

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leaderless Last Survivor (2231b–70a).83 Beowulf understands, I think, that attacking the dragon could ensure his death, the termination of his bloodline, and possible genocide. The exemplum of the gomela ceorl universalizes the sad (“geomorlic,” 2444a) experience of any man who laments the death of his only son by reciting a gidd: “he gyd wrece” (2446b), a “sarigne sang” (2447a). The lament concerns the wider context of Beowulf ’s fated death and the outcome of his vengeance.84 Although we cannot prove that what follows in lines 2450a–9b constitutes a synopsis of the grieving man’s gidd, it seems contextually logical to imagine that Beowulf voices not only his future conduct but also the finality of his lineage in a narrative. The episode of the gomela ceorl concludes with the tropes of “exile” appropriate to the sole survivor of a clan: an empty hall, a windy grave devoid of cheer, riders who sleep, heroes in the tomb, no joy of the harp or play in the precincts: Gesyhð sorhcearig winsele westne, reote berofene; hæleð in hoðman; gomen in geardum,

on his suna bure windge reste, ridend swefað, nis þær hearpan sweg, swylce ðær iu wæron. (2455a–9b)

The grieving man looks upon, in his son’s chamber, an empty wine-hall, windy resting-place deprived of joy; the riders sleep, heroes in their graves. There is no harp-song, play in the precincts, as there once had been.

Earlier in Beowulf the earl who buried the dragon’s future treasure issued a lament very close in phrasing to this one. He conceals the treasure on a headland (“be næsse,” 2243a). Its polishers sleep (“feormynd swefað,” 2256b). Neither harp-joy nor play of the lyre (“Næs hearpan wyn,/gomen gleobeames,” 2262b–3a) can be heard. Like the gomela ceorl who laments “an æfter anum,” the last survivor mourns “an æfter eallum” (2268a). The gidd arguably uttered by the gomela ceorl reflects the survivor’s language as well as his despondent mood: “giomormod/ giohðo mænde,” 2267a–b. It would seem fitting that the survivor utters a gidd, therefore. This sober reflection on responsibility shapes Beowulf ’s conscience. He could ignore the dragon and endure self-inflicted grief, like Hreðel. Or he could take action and endure a different self-inflicted grief. Readers like De Looze and Georgianna allege the inadequacy of heroic 83 84

Ibid. Schrader, “Deserted Chamber.”

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retribution to resolve Beowulf ’s dilemma, and they profess a categorical denunciation of vengeance as a social institution. They and others extend this rejection to the entire heroic ethos, the constituents of which are coextensive with vengeance as a cultural obligation. Many adages in the poem support Beowulf ’s decision to attack the dragon, even at the expense of his life, bloodline, and nation: Fate often saves the undoomed man—if his courage endures: “Wyrd oft nereð/ unfægne eorl,/þonne his ellen deah!” 572b–3b It is better for everyone to avenge his friend than mourn much: “Selre bið æghwæm/ þæt he his freond wrece/þonne he fela murne,” 1384b–5b Death is better for every nobleman than a life of shame: “Deað bið sella/eorla gehwylcum/þonne edwitlif,” 2890b–1b

Action is the essential protocol of heroic life, but I cannot agree that Beowulf ’s action is reprehensible because it is thought to be necessary according to a social prescription. Beowulf appreciates that his choice to fight the dragon entails doubt, the risk of death for himself and jeopardy for his leaderless people. This self-consciousness personalizes Beowulf ’s choice of heroic action, but the narratives do not justify it. Beowulf understands what both choices entail. For this reason, I sense that, while the narrator endows Beowulf with conscience, he does not endow him with motivation. Even after a long meditation that lays out his options, Beowulf never lets on why he prefers fighting to not fighting. The audience has to determine why. But because the poem also turns on Beowulf ’s worthiness to rule others, Beowulf plausibly sets aside the responsibilities of kingship to take up arms. Critics Harry Berger, Marshall Leicester, Jr. and John Leyerle make this claim persuasively, although I doubt that the poet intended any firm conclusion on the matter of Beowulf ’s culpability. In light of the equivocacy I am arguing for, it would be supremely important for Beowulf to appear to fathom his heroic choice, and for the audience to rationalize it. In spite of Beowulf ’s mental distress and apparent self-doubt, the prospect of oferhygd cannot be ruled out as a competing factor in his resolution. The Measure of a Man The second question Niles poses about the dragon episode motivates the unconformity of Beowulf ’s strategy: “Should the hero have accepted help?” Beowulf ’s scheme to bring twelve retainers only as back-up, with an additional force in reserve, has generally seemed normal to

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readers when, in fact, it should be thought highly unorthodox. Another formulation of the question befits the context I propose, Niles’s inverse proposition: “Can Beowulf defeat the dragon alone?” Beowulf ’s awareness of oferhygd explains all of the most intractable contradictions in the dragon fight, including the eccentric decision to bring twelve handpicked men to the dragon’s barrow, but to leave them in relative safety. Wiglaf admits that Beowulf chose them because the old king thought they were worthy of glory (perhaps they wanted it, too): “onmunde usic mærða” (“[Beowulf ] considered us worthy of glories,” 2640a). Some of these fighters may have been conscripted from Beowulf ’s warband and owed him the greatest debts of loyalty. But the passages “on herge geceas” (“he chose us from the army,” 2638b) and “fyrdgesteallum” (“army companions,” 2873b) may be quite accurate, for at least one of them would not have belonged to the duguð: Wiglaf, Beowulf ’s nephew.85 The byre Wiglaf has never fought in battle before. Beowulf tells this select squad to stay in the copse and observe the outcome of the duel, which he claims as his sole duty: Gebide ge on beorge secgas on searwum, æfter wælræse uncer twega. ne gemet mannes þæt he wið aglæcean eorlscype efne. (2529a–35a)

byrnum werede, hwæðer sel mæge wunde gedygan Nis þæt eower sið, nefne min anes, eofoðo dæle,

Await in the woods, protected by mail-coats, men in armor, which of us two can better endure his wounds after the attack. This is not your venture, nor is it fitting for any man but for me alone to dispense might against the foe, perform a noble duty.

Beowulf orders his men to “await which of us two can better endure his wounds.” The assumption has always been that if battle favors the dragon, the retainers should assist Beowulf; otherwise, they are to let him do the killing. Wiglaf later confirms Beowulf ’s plan to act alone when he says “þeah ðe hlaford us//þis ellenweorc/ana aðohte//to gefremmanne” (“although our lord intended to perform this courageous deed alone,” 2642b–4a). Lines 2532b–5a in this passage have been the subject of a rather neglected article in which Raymond Carter Sutherland explains

85 For the Beowulf poet’s indiscriminate use of OE here and fyrd, see Pulsiano and McGowan.

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that “eorlscype” denotes an “office or duty” of responsible kingship: “[Beowulf ] says that facing the beast is no mission of warriors, that this is no sīð (‘venture,’ i.e. opportunity for winning renown and gold) but is his eorlscype.”86 Contrary to Sutherland’s view, Beowulf here calls his own participation in the dragon fight a “sið.” Sutherland argues that OE monn in such heroic contexts describes a warrior to whom security is owed, “the inferior of a contractual relationship,” as M. J. Swanton terms it.87 The expression “gemet mannes” in this passage would therefore mean not that Beowulf alone can defeat the dragon (the sense “fitting for no man but me alone”), but that no retainer should have to face it. In other words, Beowulf sees this venture as a duty commensurate with his eorlscipe, for which reason the dragon fight could be called sacrificial. Yet I think that the expression “gemet mannes” has a significance contrary to Sutherland’s proposition. The wise man of The Seafarer proposes a behavior associated with the cultivation of warrior wisdom, that “every man should hold himself in moderation towards friend and foe”: “scyle monna gehwylc/mid gemete healdan//wiþ leofne ond wið laþne” (111a–12b). Acting beyond this capacity, outside the bounds of warrior wisdom, presumably means performing “beyond one’s measure,” and multiple texts prove that exertion beyond one’s measure denotes heroic action or even arrogance. In Genesis A the Shinarites build the Tower of Babel out of arrogance (“for wlence,” 1673a), beyond what men should hope to achieve in moderation, the “measure of men”: . . . and to heofnum up strengum stepton ofer monna gemet, hæleð mid honda. (1675a–8a)

hlædræ rærdon, stænenne weall mærða georne,

And they raised ladders to the heavens, men eager for glory erected with their hands a mighty stone wall beyond the measure of men.

Striving beyond the “monna gemet” expresses the same eagerness for glory (“mærða georne”) that Beowulf arguably admits to. Furthermore, when Nebuchadnezzar ignores Daniel’s warning in Daniel, the narrator accuses him of “oferhygd,” in having a “spirit mightier and thoughts in his heart greater than was moderate” or “gemet”:

86 87

Sutherland 1134. Crisis and Development 67.

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No þy sel dyde, oferhygd gesceod, and on heortan geðanc þonne gemet wære . . . (488b–91b)

He did none the better, but arrogance injured the prince [Nebuchadnezzar]. His spirit became mightier and the thoughts in his heart greater than was meet.

Saint Guðlac confronts his tormenting demons with a similar acknowledgment of excess, that “the Lord’s servant should not love in his heart more earthly wealth than is a single man’s portion, that he might have maintenance for his body”: in his modsefan eorþan æhtwelan þæt he his lichoman

Ne sceal Dryhtnes þeow mare gelufian þonne his anes gemet, lade hæbbe. (386b–9b)

In heroic terms the “measure of a man” was an allowance of glory appropriate to his discretion (i.e. “wisdom”), sometimes seen as a divine grace, as attested in Order of the World: Nis þæt monnes gemet þæt he mæge in hreþre furþor aspyrgan to ongietanne

moldhrerendra, his heah geweorc þonne him frea syle godes agen bibod. (27a–30b)

It is not within the compass of a man—of earth-dwellers—that he may see in his heart a noble deed, God’s own commandment, any further than the Lord allows him to see.

The passage expresses a personal limitation even to virtuous action, an attitude so compelling in Beowulf ’s dragon fight. In Order of the World an individual is warned that a great deed (“heah geweorc”) can have ignoble motivations unknown to its perpetrator. The problem lies in grasping the right kind of noble motivation in the pursuit of what is “gemet.” Without the moderation promoted in wisdom verse, one could gamble recklessly. Perhaps Beowulf ’s orders are explicit enough, but if this fight is not “gemet mannes,” why were Beowulf ’s retainers ever involved? On the one hand, the plan reinforces Beowulf ’s self-doubt, the condition of being “wæfre.” Beowulf expects injury or death, and he establishes a means of rescue. On the other hand, it also expresses Beowulf ’s uncertainty about committing oferhygd in the dragon fight. His extraordinary proviso emerges from the injunctions of the wisdom genre not

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to jeopardize one’s men for personal glory. Hygelac died in a raid undertaken for wlenco, Hroðgar flung his comitatus at Grendel, and Heremod destroyed his Danes out of oferhygd. But Beowulf self-consciously resists sacrificing his men, and he isolates those most indebted to him from a fight he feels uncertain about winning. In fact, he does not expect to use his back-up. Yet Beowulf is realistic, too. Should he be injured or die in the dragon fight, he trusts that his men will be motivated by vengeance, and this expectation can be inferred in a passage coming just before the dragon fight. Subsequent to the story of Hreðel’s death, Beowulf describes his own and Hygelac’s deeds. He emphasizes revenge at desperate odds. In line 2478a–b Ongenðeow is said to have often committed “eatolne inwitscear” or “hateful, vicious slaughter” against the Geats. Having killed Hæðcyn, Ongenðeow plans to exterminate the remaining Geats at Ravenswood, but Hygelac charges Ongenðeow’s troops and avenges his kinsman’s death (“mæg oðerne//billes ecgum/on bonan stælan”; “one kinsman avenged another with sword’s edge,” 2484b–5b). It has often been pointed out that the messenger seems to contradict Beowulf ’s account of the Swedish threat when he says that “for onmedlan/ærest gesohton//Geata leode/Guð-Scilfingas” (“The people of the Geats first sought the Battle-Swedes out of arrogance,” 2926a–7b). According to J. E. Cross, Beowulf “clearly refers to an earlier stage of the struggle when he speaks of the sons of Ongentheow making war across the lakes at Hreosnabeorh.”88 In fact, it seems that Geatish hostility led to a peace with Ongenðeow that Ongenðeow’s kinsmen later failed to honor. Both the indeterminacy and the enormity of the Swedish violation are important. No matter the origin of the feud, or Ongenðeow’s culpability, vengeance is still demanded for the breach and for Hæðcyn’s death. Yet one other detail is highly relevant to Beowulf ’s last speech. The killing of Ongenðeow for Hæðcyn’s death fell to another man, Eofor, presumably unrelated to Hygelac. Precisely because Eofor remembered “feuds enough” (2489a), he did not fail to deliver a fatal blow against Ongenðeow. Subsequent to Hygelac’s rescue of Hæðcyn, Beowulf recounts Hygelac’s death and his own vengeance in lines 2490a–2509b. In this second of three re-tellings of the Swedish feud, Beowulf recounts slaying

88

“Ethic of War” 279.

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Dæghrefn, probably Hygelac’s killer.89 Beowulf recalls that Hygelac gave him treasures and land, that he had no need to seek out a worse warrior among Swedes, Danes or Gifðas, an East Germanic tribe. Beowulf claims that he was always in the vanguard, even when (the implication is obvious) Hygelac recklessly attacked the Frisians.90 Beowulf avenged Hygelac on Dæghrefn, the Frisian standard-bearer, by crushing him to death. If the emendation “Frescyninge” is accepted, Beowulf prevented Dæghrefn from carrying off Hygelac’s “breostweorðunge” (Wealhþeow’s jewel, presumably). Quite obviously, Beowulf analogizes his present circumstances—but not in the way Stanley B. Greenfield, for example, imagines. For him, Beowulf ’s “vatic admonition”91 describes his own dedication to vengeance against the dragon, though thwarted.92 Interpreting the Herebeald/Hæðcyn digression and the gomela ceorl exemplum as illustrations of frustrated revenge, Greenfield would emphasize “old age and deaths unavenged” in contrast to “youthful vengeance.”93 The contradictory details in Beowulf ’s recollection of the Swedish-Geatish conflict suggests that Beowulf propagandizes. Greenfield casts Beowulf ’s revenge against the dragon in ironic terms by alluding to “deaths unavenged,” but if Beowulf simply affirms his proven valor by summarizing his past successes, or implies his own determination to seek vengeance (by Greenfield’s equivalence, in which Beowulf answers to the rescuer Hygelac or to himself as Hygelac’s avenger), the implicit parallels between the Frisian raid, Ravenswood, and the dragon fight become submerged. Moreover, Beowulf ’s “wæfre” state and his intuition that death is nigh become inexplicable, and the emergence of an ostensible successor is clouded. In fact, Beowulf has another gambit in mind. Rather than

89 Klaeber’s Beowulf note to lines 2501 ff. (248). Even if Beowulf were wrong to attack the dragon, it could be argued that he has earned vengeance for himself. Eight nouns describing violence punctuate the description of the Swedish hostilities apparently led by Ohthere and Onela: “synn ond sacu” (“crime and war,” 2472a), “wroht” (“assault,” 2473b), “herenið” (“enmity of an army,” 2474a), “inwitscear” (“hostile attack, 2478a), “fæhðe ond fyrene” (“feud and aggression,” 2480a), “guð” (“battle,” 2483b). The messenger blames the Geats (2922a–7b) for this strife, but Beowulf blames the Swedes (2472a–8b). As Greenfield remarks (“Geatish History” 123), Ongenþeow’s sons did not want to honor the peace: “Ongenðeowes/eaferan . . . freode ne woldon” (2475a–6b). 90 Cross, “Ethic of War” 278. 91 “Geatish History” 125. 92 Ibid. 123. 93 Ibid.

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justifying his own decision to confront the dragon, Beowulf urges his retainers to act like Hygelac, Eofor, and himself: to recover a desperate moment, in other words, and fight for their injured or fallen king. An avenger could either be a retainer like Eofor (who kills Ongenðeow) or a kinsman like Beowulf (who kills Dæghrefn). Furthermore, the ambiguous pretext of the Swedish invasion and the folly of Hygelac’s raid “for wlenco” answer Beowulf ’s uncertainty in the dragon fight. Although he cannot be sure he is justified in attacking the dragon, Beowulf yet affirms his expectation for the most extreme retribution on his behalf. Hygelac’s raid “for wlenco” did not prevent Beowulf ’s retaliation, the obligation of a loyal retainer. Just as Hygelac gave Beowulf land and treasure (2490a–3a), Beowulf rewarded his men’s loyalty with honors. Mentioning such gifts in light of his own devotion to Hygelac, Beowulf implicitly dares at least one of his men to emerge as an avenger, however they wish to interpret his motivations. In fact, while Rosemary Woolf maintains that the prospect of dying for one’s lord exists only in Tacitus’s Germania, Beowulf appears to voice it here. I shall have more to say about this famous conundrum later. For the present it is enough to claim that Beowulf expects his men to die for him but does not demand it. It almost seems as if he does not even look to it. Wiglaf will endorse vengeance, too (2650b–2b), and state that leaving Beowulf to die does not “seem fitting”—to him, at least: Ne þynceð me gerysne eft to earde, fane gefyllan, Wedra ðeodnes. (2653a–6a)

þæt we rondas beren nemne we æror mægen feorh ealgian

It does not seem fitting to me that we should bear shields back home, unless we should first fell our foe, protect the life of the Geats’ king.

In this context shame becomes an implicit motive to rescue Beowulf, and Wiglaf reiterates the retainers’ disgraceful failure of duty when addressing them after the fight. “Unloved” (“unleofe,” 2863b) at this time, their fault lies in not having honored the social debt implied in Beowulf ’s generous gifts, which Wiglaf emphasizes as “the most splendid that could be found anywhere” (“swylce he þrydlicost//ower feor oððe neah/findan meahte,” 2869b–70b). The narrator confirms Wiglaf ’s appraisal by calling the retainers “tydre treowlogan” or “cowardly oath-breakers” who “did not dare to engage with spears in their lord’s serious need” (“ða ne dorston ær/dareðum lacan//on hyra

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mandryhtnes/miclan þearfe,” 2848a–9b). He focuses, moreover, on the war-gear they bear from the woods, where they had fled to safety:94 . . . ac hy scamiende guðgewædu

scyldas bæran, þær se gomela læg. (2850a–1b)

But, ashamed, they bore shields and battle-gear where the old man lay.

Admittedly, the retainers owed Beowulf service for the oaths they swore and the goods they received—being “hold” (“loyal”) was their duty—but perhaps not against such impossible odds. The implicit question “should the retainers fight?” ought to be posed as “could the retainers fight?” Incentives for defending Beowulf in his ostensibly hopeless conflict with the dragon become contested when Beowulf is imperiled. But Beowulf ’s duty to the warband may confound his generosity. Although Beowulf thinks that he has earned vengeance, his men were paralyzed by terror even though they comprised his most capable squad.95 To what extent do Beowulf ’s men, his kinsmen and “friends,” owe him loyalty for his generosity? Does their failure engender Beowulf ’s death? By no means are these questions theoretical. Merciless critics, however, find no grounds to pardon the retainers (they do not try very hard). Most simply accuse the retainers of cowardice, although explanations of this complaint appear from time to time: the folk-tale plot requires the retainers’ failure of will, Wiglaf ’s virtue is shown to be greater in light of general cowardice, the Geats are constitutionally weak as a nation.96 Excessively condescending towards the subaltern position is Kemp Malone: “How well he took the measure of his retainers! When put to the test, all but one fled the field, hardly to their lord’s surprise.”97 Yet as we have seen, a king who succumbs to oferhygd would sacrifice his own men for personal glory, in blatant disregard for their desires or capacities. Despite Beowulf ’s decision to safeguard his warband, his expectation that the men avenge him criminalizes any malingering. The retainers will be compelled to face near-certain death by avenging Beowulf on 94 “They turned to the woods and protected their lives” (“ac hy on holt bugon,// ealdre burgan,” 2598b–9a). 95 Markland 341–3. 96 Putnam Fennell Jones 300–1; Lawrence, Epic Tradition 227–8. 97 “Beowulf the Headstrong”143; see also Irving, Rereading Beowulf 111: “Obligation is the theme of the crystal-clear paradigm of ideal behavior that Wiglaf delivers to the runaways. They are free to carry out the obligation he reminds them of. We know they could do so, for Wiglaf does so, but they choose not to.”

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the dragon. This position contradicts John M. Hill’s contention that Wiglaf ’s “aid is a free gift given that Beowulf has just told them all to stay put, safely out of harm’s way.”98 In no respect can Beowulf expect his retainers to act freely, for they are duty-bound to defend him and cannot be excused from their sacred obligations. This cruel dilemma—escaping or facing a dire enemy in a conceivably pointless engagement that perhaps only a warrior of immoderate ambition would undertake—suggests that Beowulf is abusing the obligation of the duguð. Since the duty is absolute, the dire options seem clear: fight and probably die, stay safe and be branded a coward. Yet the poet never settles for absolute judgments. Regardless of Beowulf ’s potential oferhygd, his expectation for vengeance strikes me as the litmus test of the retainer’s glory, to avenge the king’s death even if loyalty meant one’s own. In condemning Beowulf ’s men, the narrator also sees a failure of loyalty, at least in theory. The ideal of retainer loyalty therefore comes under scrutiny in the dragon fight. Does a retainer owe his life to a king victimized by oferhygd, if the retainer’s glory entails a death predicated on the king’s suicidal impetuosity? The answer to this question depends on whether Beowulf is reckless, but one demonstration of his overconfidence may lie in the retinue’s flight. They imagine that his chances are hopeless, that he will “fall in battle”: þæt næron ealdgewyrht, Geata duguðe gesigan æt sæcce; (2656b–9a)

Ic wat geare, þæt he ana scyle gnorn þrowian,

I know for certain that his former deeds were not such that he alone among the hosts of the Geats should suffer sorrow, fall in battle.

Like the retainers in Battle of Maldon, Beowulf ’s men have to embrace what looks like suicidal loyalty, in aid of what looks like suicidal impetuosity. If Beowulf ’s best retainers, his most “heroic” companions, are too terrified to face his foe, Beowulf arguably expects far too much for whatever honors he once bestowed. His men, I would argue, are no more “cowardly” than American GIs who recently balked at reconnoitering the Baghdad Airport road without armored vehicles. In answer to Beowulf ’s oferhygd, my critics will assert that the untried byre (“lad”) Wiglaf entered battle when Beowulf ’s experienced retainers 98 Narrative Pulse 82; see also 79: “[Beowulf ] has both their welfare and his sense of duty close to heart.”

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quailed.99 Pledges made in the mead-hall, Wiglaf imagines, are reason enough to fight for Beowulf, but the narrator clarifies that such pledges alone do not motivate Wiglaf. Leaving Beowulf behind does not “seem fitting” to him because of their close kinship, something the other men cannot claim:100 sefa wið sorgum; wiht onwendan

Hiora in anum weoll sibb æfre ne mæg þam ðe wel þenceð. (2599b–2601b)

The spirit in one of them welled with sorrows. Kinship may never spurn anything in a man who is well disposed.

Right-minded kin never spurn anything, even a dragon fight, and without a kinship claim, one wonders whether Wiglaf would have assisted Beowulf. The issue seems important for two reasons. First, it could be said to pardon the “cowardly” retainers, at least marginally. Even though they earn scorn and exile among Geats, there is reason to understand why they could not have shared Wiglaf ’s motivation. Second, Wiglaf ’s consanguinity with Beowulf answers why he fought “beyond his measure”: “nevertheless I began to help my kinsman beyond my ability” (“ongan swa þeah//ofer min gemet/mæges helpan,” 2878b–9b). Wiglaf ’s remark establishes that desperation (or alternatively: battle) can make one surpass the “gemet mannes,” an obvious human capacity little discussed in Old English criticism. Exceeding the “manna gemet” can express the condition of proud wlenco, as Genesis A 1673a–8a reveals. The Shinarites build the Tower of Babel “ofer monna gemet” and venture on arrogance and recklessness (“for wlence/and for wonhygdum,” 1673a–b). Wiglaf ’s claim confirms Beowulf ’s own assertion that the dragon fight went beyond the “gemet mannes” and proves that the combat was perilous, even suicidal, but survivable. The evidence from Genesis A suggests that such action may also have been deemed arrogant. In theory, any man could have exceeded the “gemet mannes” if he were willing to risk his life. But when criticizing his companions, Wiglaf fails to concede that kinship motivated him to transcend a limit that Beowulf had staked for Niles, Beowulf: The Poem and its Tradition 246. This point is made convincingly in Evans, Lords of Battle 51–2. The reading of “sibb’ ” (= sibbe) in Klaeber’s Beowulf translates the noun as acc. d.o. of onwendan with wiht as subject: “A thing may never change kinship.” Reading wiht as d.o. and sibb as subject, Klaber suggests “kinship can never change anything,” from which he derives “kinship will always prevent a change of heart.” OE onwendan often means “turn” or “turn from,” so the translation “kinship never turns from anything” seems more fitting. See Klaeber’s Beowulf, note to line 2600b f. (251). 99

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himself. His criticism, I might add, recalls Beowulf ’s arrogant remark, that Grendel would not have been so destructive had Hunferð shown more courage. The measure of a man should not be gauged so disdainfully, and Wiglaf for this reason has exhibited a behavior associated with youthful assertiveness. To return to Niles’s question whether the hero should have accepted help, my own position generates a series of irreconcilable contingencies: 1. theoretically owing Beowulf for his generosity, the Geats fail in their arguably sacred duty in a combat that they counseled against and which was, in Beowulf ’s judgment, his own to prosecute; 2. yet the untested Wiglaf manages to help Beowulf and fights “beyond his measure”; 3. but Wiglaf is also motivated by kinship, which may explain his surpassing heroism, and the greatness men can achieve by facing risk; 4. but such “surpassing heroism” resembles suicide. One perceives deliberate paradoxes in this evaluation—not a wholesale dismissal of heroic ideals, but a searching critique of their ultimate effectiveness, and of a king’s accountability, in a potentially hubristic engagement. Worried that his fight could be reckless, Beowulf brings his best men but stations them out of danger. He hopes that stories of vengeance might motivate them to aid him, if necessary. War and Wisdom in the Dragon Fight Couched in the terms befitting oferhygd, Beowulf ’s behavior in the dragon episode evokes the context of Hroðgar’s sermon, the prospect that Beowulf has fallen victim to oferhygd. Alienated from this wisdom context, Niles poses what looks like the same question, “does the hero act for his own glory, out of pride?” This question defines the essence of oferhygd in Beowulf, the motivation of a hypothetically ambitious soldier-king who may have enlisted his men in a quest for personal glory. Predictably, Niles denies that Beowulf acts for personal glory, since he finds Beowulf the winner of a treasure from which his people can benefit. Niles’s whole case turns on a dichotomy advanced by John Leyerle, “a desire for personal glory rather than the common good,” and he concludes that Beowulf fights for the common good—having rejected Wiglaf ’s claim that the dragon may not harm the Geats anymore!101 Yet it cannot be a common good for the Geats to “suffer 101

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ruin” (“wræc adreogan,” 3078a), as Wiglaf states categorically. Niles is unwilling to concede that “wræc” could refer to the national wars, slavery, and exile that the Geats expect to endure because of Beowulf ’s death. On the contrary, he is ultimately attracted to Ritchie Girvan’s reasoning that the dragon fight was “a moral act which [Beowulf ’s] honor compels him to undertake.”102 Girvan’s emphasis on individual honor comes close to “personal glory” and turns Beowulf into Ahab, in consideration of the dragon-as-animal position. But even if Beowulf ’s vengeance were practical—the elimination of an “evil”—it must still answer the charge of necessity. Girvan’s stance implicitly renders Wiglaf and the other retainers self-serving or even ignominious in their advice. If Beowulf ’s “compulsion” were as indisputable as Girvan alleges, why would Beowulf ’s closest companions question his motives? I have already suggested that they consider him potentially reckless. Ultimately, Niles’s alternatives, “glory” and the “common good,” pose the fundamental question in the dragon episode, answerable only by the most searching appraisal of Beowulf ’s motivation. In analyzing Beowulf ’s kingship, my answer will continue to replicate what I take to be the poet’s own logic. The Intentional Fallacy might these days betoken the height of folly, but I sense that the questions scholars have posed about the dragon episode are exactly the ones they are meant to. The Terms of Heroic Greed Beowulf ’s attitude toward the dragon’s treasure has always been raised as a sign of his moral virtue in the dragon fight, and it influences any evaluation of Beowulf ’s potential oferhygd—or whether he fights for the “common good.” In the past critics have thought that Beowulf ’s cupidity could only derive from “presumed parallels between Beowulf and exegetical commentary,” but this attitude is fallacious.103 The implicit accusation of oferhygd, the pretended failing of a pagan king, taints Beowulf ’s pursuit of gold—the reward for heroic achievement—as an act of personal glory over national security. Eric Stanley concluded that Beowulf was motivated by greed in seeking the dragon hoard,104 and Ibid. 243. Greenfield, “ ‘Gifstol’ ” 115. Randolph Quirk suggested a secular background to these same anxieties (168–71). 104 “Hæþenra Hyht.” 102 103

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the poet confirms Beowulf ’s interest in the “heathen gold.” We learn, rather pointedly, that Beowulf received the stolen cup: “him to bearme cwom//maðþumfæt mære/þurh ðæs meldan hond (“the famous cup had come into his possession by the hand of the informer,” 2404b–5b). The poet insists on highlighting this unfathomable wealth when emphasizing Beowulf ’s curiosity in the hoard. He finishes his recollection with the pledge to fight for the hoard (“ymb hord wigan,” 2509b), and his final boast concludes with the remark, “I shall reach the gold through courage”: “Ic mid elne sceall//gold gegangan” (2535b–6a).105 The poet seems to confirm that winning treasure was indeed Beowulf ’s aim, when interjecting that Beowulf traded his life for gold: dryhtmaðma dæl hæfde æghwæðre lænan lifes. (2842b–5a)

Biowulfe wearð deaðe forgolden; ende gefered

For Beowulf a surfeit of precious treasures was paid for by death; by the action of each it brought an end to this transitory life.106

Moreover, just before he succumbs, Beowulf asks Wiglaf to convey lavish treasures from the mound, so that the old king could die “the softer,” i.e. “more peacefully”: hord sceawian Wiglaf leofa, swefeð sare wund, Bio nu on ofoste, goldæht ongite, swegle searogimmas, æfter maððumwelan lif ond leodscipe,

Nu ðu lungre geong under harne stan, nu se wyrm ligeð, since bereafod. þæt ic ærwelan, gearo sceawige þæt ic ðy seft mæge min alætan þone ic longe heold. (2743b–51b)

Dear Wiglaf, now that the dragon lies dead—sleeps sorely wounded and deprived of treasure—go quickly and look upon the hoard under the gray stone. Go in haste so that I may see the wealth of old, the gold

105 Translating OE gegangan here is difficult, for it must be “venture” or “fight for” rather than “win.” 106 Bammesberger, “Three Beowulf Notes” 482–3. Bammesberger concludes that MS “æghwæðre” should here be read as instr. sing. “through the action of each,” rather than emended to “æghwæðer.” The emendation (universally adopted) would be translated “each brought an end to his transitory life.” Bammesberger suggests that “dryhtmæðma dæl” ought to be the subject. The editors of Klaeber’s Beowulf retain the emendation.

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Beowulf ’s curiosity about the hoard has earned reproach as materialistic, and it should not be doubted that the warrior bent on personal glory would take an interest in his prize. To die “the softer” implies that killing the dragon is not enough for Beowulf; he has to have the treasure, too. The personal glory sought by a warrior and manifested in riches seems here to trump the king’s duty to his nation. Beowulf might have sounded more kingly in boasting that he rid Geatland of a menace. Relevant to Beowulf ’s heroic motivation is the poet’s obscure remark that treasure can easily “overcome” any man: gold on grunde, oferhigian,

Sinc eaðe mæg, gumcynnes gehwone hyde se ðe wylle. (2764b–6b)

Treasure—gold in the earth—can easily overcome any man, hide it who will.

The hapax oferhigian has been the subject of some dispute, but attestations of the simplex higian betray the sense “strive” or “hasten,” and at least once in the pursuit of lucre: “Se ðe æfter ðæm higaþ ðæt he eadig sie on ðisse worulde.”107 The root sense solves any complication, since “strive beyond” may be translated “overcome” or “overtake,” not in the sense “come upon” but “overpower.” The seduction of treasure in these lines may refer either to the whole context of the dragon fight, or to Wiglaf ’s momentary shock at the accumulated wealth.108 Yet the phrase “hyde se ðe wylle” seems to indicate that all men will seek out riches if they learn of them, no matter how well guarded they may be. The poet never says that the vast riches of the dragon hoard seduced Beowulf, but he could imply as much, and the insinuation would suit Beowulf ’s potential oferhygd. For this reason, it seems essential to the poet’s paradox that Beowulf receive the stolen cup (2404b–5b). Nevertheless, Beowulf ’s “greed” cannot be substantiated, here or elsewhere. A passage once thought to prove it can be found in lines

Sweet 44.9 (translating “qui festinat ditari”). Greenfield made this same point in “ ‘Gifstol’ ” 115: “descriptive of what Wiglaf sees when he enters the mound at his dying lord’s request.” 107 108

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3074a–5b, “Næs he goldhwæte/gearwor hæfde,//agendes est,/ær gesceawod.”109 The subject of considerable reflection in recent articles by John Tanke, R. D. Fulk, and William Cooke,110 these words come at the end of a description of a “curse” laid down on the treasure by its previous owners, the race of men represented by the “Last Survivor.” Partly because this statement was thought to incriminate Beowulf, it was emended: MS næs he (“not at all”) was altered to næfne (“unless”). Klaeber translated his own emended verses as “unless God’s grace (or, kindness) had before (or, first) more readily (or, thoroughly) favored those (or, the one) eager for gold.”111 William Cooke has re-affirmed the general tone of this translation: “. . . we can adopt and the text that Pätzig and Klaeber proposed but construe and interpret it differently . . . ‘unless he had first quite clearly respected the Ruler’s gold-rich (or ‘gold-bestowing’ or ‘gold glittering’) bounty’ . . . ‘unless the one eager for gold had first quite clearly respected the Ruler’s favour.’ ”112 For each of these two options, Cooke begins with the position that Beowulf is not cursed—that, in fact, the Geats themselves enchant the treasure—and that Beowulf ’s desire for the riches was honorable, as “a loyal servant of the supreme good God.”113 By these terms Beowulf has earned the dragon’s hoard. John Tanke explores a very different solution to these lines. Restoring the manuscript reading “næs he” and taking the implied subject to be Beowulf, Tanke translates, “he had by no means more readily

109 Based on arguments in the following paragraphs, I have removed the comma after goldhwæte and added those following hæfde and est. 110 See now Gwara, “Beowulf 3074–75,” from which the following argument derives. 111 Beowulf 227 note to lines 3074–5. The discussion in Klaeber’s Beowulf summarizes Fulk’s treatment of the passage (“Cruces in Beowulf ”). Cooke explores competing interpretations of lines 3074–75 in exceptional scholarly detail, but his work must have been accepted for publication before Fulk’s and Tanke’s articles appeared, since he makes no mention of them (e.g. 223 note 50). Cooke accepts the emendation “næfne” as a variant of OE nefne/nemne (as elsewhere in Beowulf ) but errs in the paleographical conclusion reached about sigmoid <s> in the manuscript reading næshe. The error of “ne” for “he” is plausible. However, Cooke concludes that the scribe misread for tall <s>, writing sigmoid <s> in his copy. In the vernacular alphabet, has no ascender, and its lower hast sits on the bounding line. Cooke is thinking of the modern tall in offering this conjecture. 112 Cooke 218. 113 Ibid. 219. The complex arguments that Cooke adduces here are thoughtfully considered in detail, but the readings of Tanke and Fulk (which follow) have the virtue of retaining the manuscript reading “næs he.”

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foreseen good luck with gold, the Owner’s favor.”114 Tanke proposes to read “agend” (“Owner”) as “God” and the term “goldhwæte” (< *goldhwatu) as “luck with gold,” which he quite reasonably modifies to “good luck with gold.”115 Beowulf, in Tanke’s opinion, expects to lose this fight: “Though he had no idea how he would meet his death in this encounter (i.e., that he would come up against the cursed gold and not merely the dragon), he had not expected much good from it, either.”116 Extending Tanke’s conjectures, Fulk suggested that *goldhwatu could indicate the curse placed on the gold, since OE galdor “spell” is sometimes paired with OE hwatu, and that gearwor could mean “rather.”117 He translates, “Beowulf by no means had sought out (or contemplated?) a curse on gold, rather the owner’s (God’s) favour.”118 In this reading Fulk emphasizes the irony attending Beowulf ’s death, occasioned by an unknowable curse. I find this passage to be more circumspect than Tanke or Fulk do, and my own view modifies three aspects of Tanke’s reading. First, Tanke derives a sense “foresee” for OE gesceawian on the analogy of Beowulf 204b: “hæl sceawedon” (“they foresaw good fortune”), but OE gesceawian typically means “observe” or “look.” In fact, this verse might as easily be rendered “they observed their fortune.” Alan Bliss drew attention to the collocation “gearo sceawige” in verses 2747a–9a and speculated, “it is not enough for [Beowulf ] to know that the treasure is now his, he must also see it”:119 Bio nu on ofoste, goldæht ongite, swegle searogimmas . . .

þæt ic ærwelan, gearo sceawige

Hasten now, that I might see the gold hoard, the ancient treasure, and look avidly upon the bright crafted jewels.

Bruce Mitchell discounts any meaningful parallel between this passage and verses appearing some three hundred lines later,120 but the precedent

Tanke’s translation (362). The proposal *goldhwatu was first made by Kock, who translated it “as a substantive . . . ‘readiness about gold,’ ” later “liberality” (“Interpretations and Emendations IV” 123–4). 116 Tanke 367. 117 Fulk, “Cruces in Beowulf ” 362. 118 Ibid. 363. 119 “Beowulf, Lines 3074–75” 58. 120 “Damnation of Beowulf ?” 32. 114 115

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in Beowulf does prove that “gearo gesceawian” can simply mean “look eagerly.”121 A second issue in Tanke’s scheme concerns the referent to “agend.” Only with some strain can “agendes est” in this context mean “God’s favor,” since the dragon has been alluded to as the “biorges weard” (“guardian of the barrow,” 3066b) with which Beowulf has sought strife.122 This reference, indeed, follows the earlier report that the “weard” slew Beowulf (3060b–1a). For multiple reasons—none ultimately convincing—Tanke considered but rejected the dragon as the “owner” referred to. “Dragons never grant anyone their favor where gold is concerned,”123 he explained when he presumed “God” to be a more fitting owner. In fact, I believe that no specific owner is referred to here, but that the dragon may be considered a hypothetical one. Finally, Tanke ingeniously parses “goldhwæte” as a feminine noun *goldhwatu, not the feminine accusative singular adjective modifying “est,” as most other commentators claim. In a seminal article G. V. Smithers criticized the prevailing assumption that the adjective “goldhwæte” (modifying “est”) could mean “brave” or “cursed.”124 He argued instead that the element -hwæt meant “bestowing,” since OE ahwettan, attested in the expression “est ahwette” from Andreas 339b, “means something like ‘bestow on.’ ”125 His translation

121 R. D. Fulk (“Cruces in Beowulf ” 359–63) has proposed that “gearwor” here means “rather,” an unattested sense in Old English. Moreover, he challenges Tanke’s reading “luck” for hwatu. Although hwatu is attested in the sense “divination,” and may possibly mean “destiny” in Old English (as it did in Middle English), Fulk interprets it as “spell” in reference to the curse. Translating OE gesceawian as “seek out” or “contemplate,” Fulk translates the verses, “Beowulf by no means had sought out (or contemplated?) a curse on gold, rather the owner’s (God’s?) favour” (363). 122 Stanley, “Hæþenra Hyht” 199–200. 123 Tanke 363–4. First, lifes/sigores/swegles/wuldres + agend designate “God” in five Old English poems. Second, collocations of godes/metodes + est can often be found, in the sense “God’s favor.” Only in Beowulf do we find genitive + est, where est can mean an inanimate object (“his . . . est,” 2157a–b). 124 Smithers 79–80; see Imelmann, “Beowulf 303 ff. und 3074 f.” 337: “goldhwæte ist nach Analogie anderer Adjektiva zu deuten also goldstark oder goldreich; goldgierig scheidet aus. . . . Hier ist alles klar und glatt, und der Satz liest sich fortschreitend natürlich: ‘und nicht . . . er vorher ganz des Eigentümers goldreiches Erbe’ (geschaut).” Kemp Malone’s impossible punctuation of the last line of this citation (“agendes, est, ær, gesceawod”) made for a crabbed translation: “Beowulf beheld the owner’s bounty no better,/he viewed the dragon’s liberality no sooner” (“Notes on Beowulf ” 5–6). He explains, “when the author tells us that Beowulf did not see the dragon’s generosity very well, he means that Beowulf did not see his generosity at all” (6). 125 Smithers 79. He elaborates: “The existence of an OE noun meaning ‘luck’ [hwæt, derived from hwæteadig, Elene 1195] suggests that the factitive verb had senses corresponding to all those proper to the adj. or noun . . . and that we may therefore

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“gold-bestowing munificence” gained wide attention. Tanke, however, derailed the semantic development and emphasized the “fortune” of bestowal in his expression “luck.” In conjunction with Tanke’s translation of “goldhwæte” as “good luck with gold,” which would vary “agendes est,” I would render the term “est” by “generosity” rather than “favor.” OE est can mean “favor,” admittedly, but as an abstract circumlocution for “gift” in Beowulf and Andreas, the term “generosity” ultimately eases the sense.126 A small matter of substituting the indefinite article for the definite lets the passage be read: “not at all had he ever before looked more intently at his own gold-luck, an owner’s generosity.”127 In other words, Beowulf examined the dragon’s cache more closely than any other gift he had ever received, an act of studied appraisal. For this reason Beowulf stares at the treasure (“on starie,” 2796b), a spectacle that should cue similar appraisals: men “staring” at Grendel’s arm (996b), Hygelac’s imagined “staring” at (i.e. evaluation of ) Beowulf ’s treasures (should Beowulf not survive the fight with Grendel’s mother, 1485b), Hroðgar’s “staring” at Grendel’s head (1781b). This moment perfectly expresses the poet’s own studied ambivalence, even in respect to minute details like the stolen cup. Because dragons seem to have been always associated with gold, Beowulf ’s receipt of the cup after his resolution to fight the dragon would not necessarily vitiate his potential rapacit y.128 Beowulf could therefore be reproved on Stanley’s grounds, that he “showed himself eager to see the gold, and was guilty, therefore, of avarice,”129 but the premise remains contested by Beowulf ’s need to die comforted (“ðy seft,” 2749b). As I see it, Beowulf ’s eager attention to the gold may either satisfy him in the reward for a great accomplishment (“heroic greed”), or exonerate him as hopeful of bequeathing an extravagant legacy. Readers will no doubt be querying why the charge

posit for ahwettan the hitherto unacknowledged sense ‘bestow on,’ perhaps derived from ‘cause to befall’ or ‘make fortunate’ ” (ibid.). 126 DOE s.v. sense 1b: “gracious/liberal gift.” 127 I must point out, however, that even if goldhwæt were translated as the adjective “gold-bestowing” modifying “agendes est,” my argument would not be significantly changed: “not at all had he looked more closely at the gold-bestowing munificence of an owner.” Adverb ær has to be translated “before” in this context and would not represent the marker of the pluperfect (Bliss 56–7). 128 Greenfield exonerates Beowulf for this very reason (“ ‘Gifstol’ ” 109). 129 “Hæþenra Hyht” 203; and Bliss, who has a more complex theory, that lines 2747a–51b exhibit Beowulf ’s “improper attitude towards treasure, and unmistakably savours of avarice” (58), whereas lines 3074–75 show Beowulf ’s “irreproachable attitude . . . the gold-bestowing favour of God” (59).

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“satisfy him in the reward for a great accomplishment” should be the negative term of this opposition, labeled “heroic greed.” In fact, the quest for transcendent deeds rewarded by enduring reputation and vast wealth explains heroic recklessness or arrogance. In focusing solely on the dimension of reward, some might call this obsession “greed.” The reading I have been discussing restores an important equivocation: Beowulf ’s interest in the treasure may still be nothing more than a hero’s due bounty, in acknowledgment of an enemy’s defeat. Earning unparalleled riches validates the dragon fight as the “glorious deed” Beowulf imagined it would be: “ic wylle,//frod folces weard/fæhðe secan,//mærðu fremman” (“I, wise guardian of the people, intend to pursue the feud, perform a glorious deed,” 2512b–14a). Ernst Leisi and Michael D. Cherniss have justified this view by acknowledging that treasures are earned as “the material manifestations or representations of the proven or inherent worthiness of whoever possesses them.”130 Cherniss compares Scyld’s own funeral ship heaped with treasure to Beowulf ’s pyre, heaped with the dragon’s gold. From Cherniss’s perspective, critics who treat the dragon’s treasure as Beowulf ’s legitimate reward appreciate that the narrator does not unambiguously discredit Beowulf ’s interest in it.131 Any interest in the hoard, however, automatically evokes the oferhygd complex, since glory-seeking warriors earn treasure for “mærðo,” whereas kings secure prosperity. Although Beowulf dies in the duel, killing the dragon is a transcendent accomplishment, as Cherniss notes. The accomplishment of killing the dragon cannot be questioned (although Beowulf ’s death undermines it), nor can the reward. But the motivation can: heroes like Sigemund earn glory and treasure in this way. Did King Beowulf need to earn it, too? The term “greed” has too often hijacked the debate over Beowulf ’s motivation in the dragon fight, yet the poet poses Beowulf ’s “heroism” as the chief complication in the episode. By Cherniss’s logic, Beowulf ’s retainers have not earned the dragon’s gold, with the exception of Wiglaf, who (it is argued) at least feels that

Respectively, “Gold und Manneswert”; “Progress of the Hoard” 475. A point explored in Greenfield, “ ‘Gifstol’ ” 108–9. Greenfield supposes that Beowulf ’s eagerness to gain the hoard and see his winnings is positive (113); see also the more complex reading of Hill, Cultural World 134–5. Hill concludes, “not fearing combat or the dragon’s great strength, Beowulf responds to his obligations as a king should but to his task as a warrior” (135). I sense that this equivocation represents a certain unresolved discomfort over Beowulf ’s fight. 130

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he has not earned it.132 Therefore, Beowulf ’s hope to “win the gold” sounds like an Olympian’s. Yet there may be reason to think that Beowulf acted in the interests of national security rather than selfinterest. After all, he receives the precious cup only after resolving to confront the dragon.133 Furthermore, one of his later utterances appears to moderate the suspicion of rapacity. Wiglaf gathers what treasure he can carry and brings it to Beowulf, who says: Ic ðara frætwa Wuldurcyninge ecum dryhtne, þæs ðe ic moste ær swyltdæge Nu ic on maðma hord frode feorhlege . . . (2794a–2800a)

frean ealles ðanc, wordum secge, þe ic her on starie, minum leodum swylc gestrynan. mine bebohte

In words I give thanks to the Lord, the king of glory, the eternal Lord, for all of the treasures which I look upon here, such as I could gain before my death-day for my people. Now have I bought my fate with a hoard of treasures.

Does Beowulf sacrifice his life to enrich “his people”? In support of Beowulf ’s action, the narrator contends that the dragon wrongly hoarded the treasure: “se sið ne ðah//þam ðe unrihte/inne gehydde// wrætte under wealle” (“the venture did not avail him who wrongly hid the treasure within, under a barricade,” 3058b–60a).134 William Cooke has lately proposed that Beowulf leaves the treasure to his successor, Wiglaf, to ensure the Geats’ security: “With this wealth the new king of the Geats will be well placed both to hold his own thanes’ loyalty and to attract the bravest and best warriors from all the surrounding lands.”135 While this solution is convincing, two others occur to me. First, Beowulf 132 The disposal of the gold has also exercised Thomas A. Carnicelli, who imagines that one retainer (whom he identifies as the messenger) redeems his cowardice by proposing to inter the treasure with his fallen king; cf. Greenfield, “ ‘Gifstol’ ” 113: “the rusted and ultimately useless hoard is an analogue for the cowards themselves, their honour gone to rust.” Hill proposes that the treasure constitutes Beowulf ’s wergild (Narrative Pulse 12), but under these circumstances it would seem that the Geats should accept it. 133 Greenfield, “ ‘Gifstol’ ” 109–10. 134 Many critics have exonerated Beowulf ’s presumed “greed” by these verses. They suggest that because hoarding is vilified and sharing praised, Beowulf is justified in freeing the treasure for distribution. This view can hardly be credited under the circumstances I propose. 135 “Who Cursed Whom?” 208.

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could be thinking that the dragon’s wealth compensates his losses, one inevitable reason why he was motivated to take revenge.136 This first reason sounds sacrificial. Second, he might imagine that the riches could be used to buy off his enemies after his death.137 Such settlements are known even in Beowulf. One final influential critic, Edward B. Irving, Jr., has endorsed an impressionistic reading: “once the Geats have the proper feel of all this [the various “sensations” they have, and “actions” they commit, after the dragon’s death], then they will know where the treasure must go now and who should be its present possessor.”138 For Irving, the treasure is obviously Beowulf ’s. Nevertheless, multiple problems emerge in accepting Beowulf ’s presumed self-sacrifice. First, what else would one say in resigned acknowledgment of a mortal injury? If Beowulf cannot use the treasure himself, the inheritors of it are his people by default. Second, to earn treasure for “one’s people” magnifies Beowulf ’s own standing as ring-giver, in light of a king’s ambition to be “generous.” Is Beowulf then seeking to enlarge his reputation for liberality? Finally, Wiglaf ’s decision to burn and then bury the treasure with Beowulf confounds Beowulf ’s generosity “for his people.” Indeed, the poet remarks that the treasure now buried with Beowulf was “as useless to men as it had been before”: “þær hit nu gen lifað,//eldum swa unnyt/swa hit æror wæs” (“where it now yet lies as useless to men as it had been before,” 3167b–8b).139 Wiglaf probably expected Beowulf to enjoy this treasure

136 Similar to Irving’s proposition that the treasure was Beowulf ’s wergild (Reading of Beowulf 167; see idem, Rereading Beowulf 129: “gold is used as a measure of heroic effort”); Greenfield, “ ‘Gifstol’ ” 112–13. 137 Irving, Reading of Beowulf 208. See also Hill, Narrative Pulse 88 (“use the treasure to look after the Geats”). 138 Irving, Rereading Beowulf 129. 139 John Niles (Beowulf: The Poem and its Tradition 244) explains this contradiction “pragmatically”: “Since the Geats deposit the dragon’s gold in the dead king’s barrow in lieu of tribal treasures, from a purely pragmatic standpoint they are spared having to make a great material sacrifice at their king’s funeral. They are no poorer after the funeral than before. The gold from the hoard lies in the ground ‘as useless to human beings as it was before’ (3186), just like the precious objects that accompany any funeral.” The statement seems unlikely in two respects. First, there was no expectation for Beowulf to receive the wealth of an entire nation at his funeral. I would have said that the Geats are much poorer after the funeral than before. Second, the narrator’s statement that the gold was useless to men actually qualifies Beowulf ’s success: the gold lies with Beowulf, useless now and useless when the dragon had it. Why, then, did Beowulf trade his life for it?

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in the afterlife,140 but the Christian narrator discloses the vanity of his heathen pietas. Cherniss’s neat equation that treasure equals merit evaporates when one considers that Beowulf, perceiving himself as a king, thinks this treasure belongs to his folc, whereas Wiglaf and the Geats, perceiving Beowulf as a warrior in pursuit of glory, bury it with him. The moment obviously harks back to Hroðgar’s evocation of oferhygd: se þe unmurnlice eorles ærgestreon,

fehð oþer to, madmas dæleþ, egesan ne gymeð. (1755b–7b)

Another man will inherit who gives treasures, the former wealth of an earl, without hesitation; he will not care for national warfare.

Beowulf certainly cared more for these treasures than Wiglaf, a fact that fosters our preoccupation with Beowulf ’s “morality.” In this context the “egesa,” which I have elsewhere translated as “national invasion,” can characterize the “searonið” that Beowulf “sought,” perhaps unnecessarily, against the dragon. In summarizing his achievements on his deathbed, Beowulf says that he never “sohte searoniðas” (“sought contrived hostilities,” 2738a). However, the narrator records that Beowulf “sohte searoniðas” (3067a) in the dragon fight, and he identifies this provocation as a possible reason for Beowulf ’s death.141 Hygelac himself “sought” a feud with the Franks when he (quite literally) “asked for woe” (“wean ahsode,” 1206b), and his death, I sense, is being compared to Beowulf ’s.142 While Beowulf never confesses to a wrong decision, the inconsistency between his own perspective that he never sought out searoniðas and the narrator’s affirmation that he had done so against the dragon manifests a potential benightedness. The disarming contradiction recalls my earlier point: either subalterns misunderstand Beowulf ’s motivation, or Beowulf unknowingly misrepresents himself.

140 Frank, “Memorial Eulogies” 2–3. Or perhaps the deposition represented a booty sacrifice; see Fabech, “Warfare and Ideology.” Inhumations were also found alongside such Migration-era sacrifices (ca. 100–500 AD), in which the elaborate and valuable deposits (weapons, mounts, personal gear, horse trappings) had been deliberately damaged, sometimes burnt; see Fabech, “Reassessment” 88 and 91. 141 Thomas D. Hill, “Confession of Beowulf ” 173. 142 On the sense of the verb (“to ask for it”), see Klaeber, “A Few Beowulf Notes” 15.

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A State of War While Beowulf ’s hoard may signify glory gained, his real legacy is to expose the Geats to invasion, an “orleghwile” (“time of war,” 2911a), a “fæhðo . . ./. . . feondscipe,//wælnið wera” or “feud . . . state of hostility, the slaughter-malice of men” (2999a–3000a).143 There can be no doubt that the misery predicted by the Geat messenger describes exile. In company they will pace strange lands as refugees (3019a–b). The woman who sings a “giomorgyd” at Beowulf ’s funeral “often said that she sorely feared invasions of hosts, countless slaughters, a warband’s terror, humiliation, and forced slavery”: þæt hio hyre heregeongas wælfylla worn, hynðo ond hæftnyd. (3152b–5a)

Sæide geneahhe hearde ondrede, werudes egesan,

On the basis of references to Geats in Skaldic verse, Roberta Frank speculates that the Geats were not exterminated as predicted here.144 In an earlier article, she gathered evidence highlighting the anomalous doom forecast in the herald’s prophecy and the maiden’s lament.145 Old Norse erfidrápur disclose that a king’s death traditionally portends death, devastation, and enslavement, as “Hákonarmál” (ca. 960): Deyr fé, deyia frændr, eyðisk land ok láð,

Cattle die, Kinsmen die, land and realm are emptied.

143 According to Niles (Beowulf: The Poem and its Tradition 245), Wiglaf “singles out the Geats’ cowardice, not their hero’s death, as the source of their approaching misfortunes.” One might be able to draw this conclusion by translating lines 2884a–90a as Niles does (“all joy and love in your native land will cease for your people” > “all cherished joy of one’s homeland will cease for your kinsmen” . . . “every man will go bereft of his rightful domains among the tribe” > “every man of your tribes will be deprived of his rightful domains”), but it seems to me that Wiglaf is precise: kinsmen of these retainers (“þære mægburge/monna æghwylc,” 2887a-b) will lose their property rights (“londrihtes,” 2886b) once their fear becomes known abroad. Wiglaf does not say that these men brought about national invasion, although misery will befall them. In fact, the messenger declares that Beowulf ’s death will invite invasion: “Nu ys leodum wen//orleghwile,/syððan underne//Froncum ond Frysum/fyll cyninges//wide weorðeð” (“Now the people should expect a time of tribulation after the king’s fall becomes widely known among the Franks and Frisians,” 2910b–13a). 144 “Skaldic Verse” 125; see Sisam, Structure of Beowulf 55–9. 145 “Memorial Eulogies.” On the identity of the “geatisc meowle” as a mourner, see Mustanoja. Orchard’s proposed parallel with the messenger’s predicted annihilation in Judith may suggest the formulaic character of such doom (Pride and Prodigies 8, 12).

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Since Hákon fared to the heathen gods, many a people is enslaved.146

One cannot escape the impression that idiomatic expressions of grief in Scandinavian (or Germanic?) eulogies influenced the apocalyptic ending of Beowulf. Yet research by Carol J. Clover into the origins of the OIcel hvöt (“incitement”) and erfikvæði (“dirge”) does not square with Frank’s conclusion.147 At least, women in the Icelandic sagas and Eddic poems were not given to the prediction of their own deaths and enslavement, or national ruin, as part of ritual lamentation. The tradition appears to be Skaldic, and masculine. Could it be possible, then, that the “geatisc meowle” is repeating a truth that the messenger had voiced? If it were true that the Geats’ “lament” merely expresses their desolation and does not predict actual massacre, why would the narrator confirm the messenger’s expectation that disaster awaits them? The messenger concludes his long oracle by predicting a feast for eagles and wolves (the traditional Beasts of Battle), after which the narrator adds: Swa se secg hwata laðra spella; wyrda ne worda. (3028a–30a)

secggende wæs he ne leag fela

So the man was recounting prophecies, hateful tidings; he did not lie much in his predictions or statements.148

The Geats could hardly be unaware of their doom, since its origin has just been rehearsed in the recapitulation of Hygelac’s Frisian raid and the Swedish wars. If not a litotes, however, the expression “ne leag fela” could suggest that the messenger’s prediction was not completely accurate, that he was mistaken in some details. Is there enough distortion to exonerate Beowulf, one wonders? I sense here a deliberate ambiguity which hinges on the possibility that the messenger and “geatisc meowle” may be uttering a conventional Germanic dirge or at least exaggerating the consequences of Beowulf ’s death. Either possibility could substantiate the impression that Beowulf ’s dragon fight was not irresponsible. Beowulf had not exposed his people to excessive risk. Cited from Frank, “Memorial Eulogies” 5. “Hildigunnr’s Lament.” 148 On reading “hwata” as gen. pl. “prophecies” (<*hwatu) rather than the wk. masc. n. “eager” (
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The preceding rehabilitation appeals to critics who resist the alternative, that Beowulf ’s death left his nation vulnerable to what the messenger predicts. Yet the possibility that Beowulf was negligent in fighting the dragon represents a viable alternative reading of this coda, and the oferhygd complex reveals why the trope of national extermination is relevant. In pursuit of glory, the tyrant afflicted by oferhygd becomes a burden to his nation, often because of rash but unnecessary military campaigns. Heremod’s Danes, Nebuchadnezzar’s and Belshazzar’s Babylonians, the Israelites in Daniel, Ermanaric’s Goths in Deor, and Satan’s angels all face disaster on a national scale: exile, enslavement, massacre. These fates are not mere expressions of grief but befall people bereft of kings. In Beowulf ’s case, one could not imagine a blacker sin: to confirm the Geats’ expected annihilation would be to accuse Beowulf of oferhygd, in trading a possible destruction (as I argue the dragon represents) for a certain one. Here I must insist that Beowulf ’s oferhygd is neither confirmed nor even likely, but conceivable. Vital to the portents of doom at the close of Beowulf is the uncertainty so often imputed to them: the Geats’ presumed extinction is forecast but never confirmed, and, in fact, preemptively challenged. The poet has carefully created a situation in which the possibility of national annihilation exists for the two opposing judgments one may hold of Beowulf ’s behavior. Even so, readers will recognize differences between Heremod’s campaigns and Beowulf ’s own. First, a detour: It has been argued that Beowulf was not responsible for the events leading to the expected Geatish tribulations, Hygelac’s Frisian raid, and the Swedish wars.149 This is patently untrue: Beowulf fought against the Franks and killed Dæghrefn, and he supported Eadgils against Onela. Moreover, the claim would divorce Beowulf from all responsibility for his people. In these terms, a boy hitting his baseball into a picture window would say, “your house got in the way of my home-run.” There are better reasons for exonerating Beowulf. Beowulf ’s conscience implies that he has reflected on an uncomfortable decision. Because he did not lead an army to the dragon, for which reason it might be said that he had not jeopardized his own men, could Beowulf be said to have acted like Heremod, the “army-minded” king who killed his own people? Is it reprehensible for Beowulf to ask his men to avenge him, to engineer their intervention without demanding it? Is one’s own death an adequate proof of

149

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rashness? This question yields another observation. Beowulf is quite old, unlikely to live much longer in aid of his people. Does Beowulf ’s death fighting the dragon therefore compromise Geatish survival any more than his inevitable death from old age? One might think that this observation should have no bearing on Beowulf ’s oferhygd, but the poet intends it to bear centrally on Beowulf ’s motivation. Moreover, Beowulf has no heir, a perplexing complication in the poem. Is it Beowulf ’s failing? Because Scyld is honored for fathering Beow, a “comfort to his people” (“folce to frofre,” 14a), and Fremu for bearing Eomer, a “help to warriors” (“hæleðum to helpe,” 1961a), it seems natural that conceiving a son was a king’s duty. Critics have answered Beowulf ’s childlessness by proposing that sons cannot amend political instabilities.150 Just as Hroðgar made his champion Beowulf into a “son,” Beowulf looked to the dragon fight to yield an eligible and distinguished heir. The dragon fight therefore solves the problem of merit-versus-lineage by establishing a test for rule. Although not as capable as Beowulf, a courageous man emerges who may yet become a king worth following. Some critics have disputed that Wiglaf will become the Geat king, but the expectation is natural: he is a kinsman, and already seems to be giving orders and disciplining the retinue. Wiglaf ’s receipt of Beowulf ’s collar may be considered a reward for Wiglaf ’s help, but it resembles an investiture, too.151 And yet Wiglaf ’s advent as the Geat king will engender one of two central conflicts feared in the messenger’s speech. Wiglaf carries Eanmund’s sword, an inheritance from his father Weohstan and testimony that Wiglaf ’s family fought against the Scylfing refugees Eanmund and Eadgils, sons of Ohthere. Because either Eadgils or his descendants arguably command the Scylfing throne at Beowulf ’s death (fifty years on), Wiglaf might be considered an enemy. Of course, Beowulf materially helped Eadgils regain rule of the Scylfings in campaigns against Onela, but Eadgils’s (or his descendants’) forebearance is

150 Tripp, “Fathers and Sons”; Thomas D. Hill, “Scyld Scefing” 39: “true kingship is given, not won.” 151 Some would deny that Wiglaf becomes king after Beowulf, but I do not know how it could be doubted. Hill suggests that by bestowing the collar along with his words, i.e. ceremonially, Beowulf “confers war-band leadership” (Narrative Pulse 83). In Beowulf Hama, Hygelac, and Beowulf wear such collars. Hama and Hygelac were kings, and Beowulf bestows his torque on Hygd, possibly in repudiation of the rank. Bazelmans sees it differently: “When Beowulf passes his torque to Wiglaf and with it his ‘luck’, it signifies the continuation of the blood-line and of the sublunary fame of his family” (161).

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not likely to be transferred to Wiglaf. Yet from the messenger’s speech it seems that Beowulf ’s death itself, and not Wiglaf ’s legitimacy, would arouse Swedish ire. We simply have no details which could explain the Geatish jeopardy. No consolation in Beowulf ’s dragon fight comes without this kind of engineered equivocation, an ambivalence suggesting that Beowulf ’s choice of fighting the dragon entails a concatenation of potential hardships, none of which might be firmly attributable to Beowulf ’s own decision. The Unknowable and Unforeseeable Heathen Curse A further moment of ambiguity essential to the oferhygd complex is the curse on the dragon’s hoard. This heathen spell may have some purchase on Beowulf ’s heroic “greed,” if one wishes to spotlight cupidity as one of Beowulf ’s failings. I theorize quite a different function for this curse, however. In 1958 Kenneth Sisam laid out three passages dealing with the dragon’s treasure and showed how impossible it was to reconcile them.152 The tale of the last survivor seems to account for this curse, although it has been alleged that the “famous princes” (“þeodnas mære,” 3070a) who laid up the treasure and laid down the curse could not be the same as the Last Survivor.153 To critics favoring consistency, this would seem an otiose polemic. We learn that a certain man (“gumena nathwylc,” 2233b) deposited the hoard, and, in explanation of the term “gumena” (“of men”), he reveals that death had taken all the other men who had assembled it (“Ealle hie deað fornam,” 2236b). Knowing that his own death was drawing near, a single survivor took the treasure

“Beowulf ’s Fight with the Dragon.” Brodeur, Art of Beowulf 238–9. William Cooke claims, problematically, that Beowulf ’s own Geats place the curse on the treasure. He suggests that OE þonne (cf. 3051a) as clause-initial should mean “then” in a prospective sense, not “furthermore” (as some translators have interpreted it). Appealing to the poet’s interlace style, Cooke sees no difficulty in transitioning from a statement about the treasure to one about its enchantment by its recipients. Many, I sense, may not be quick to adopt this reading, partly because of the blatant pagan overtones and partly because the hoard is itself incinerated. Would there be need to protect a rusted, burnt-out hoard from looters? Possibly. According to Cooke, the “þeodnas mære” of 3070a are Beowulf ’s men, his duguð (211), but quite clearly these “illustrious princes” do not comprise Beowulf ’s duguð, who could hardly be described as “princes,” and, having lost their reputations, are in no sense illustrious (“mære”). 152

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to a barrow.154 “Famous princes” collected the wealth and protected it with an incantation, but one man alone deposited it in the barrow. While this explanation would sound artificial to some, it works for my purposes, since the origin of the curse is immaterial. The curse invokes the situational background of oferhygd without condemning Beowulf outright. In fact, the poet inflects the charge of oferhygd with an exasperatingly delicate proviso: a secret incantation which may or may not operate and which God may or may not have lifted could implicate Beowulf in recklessness.155 I do not think that the terms of the curse entail much obscurity. In the article cited above on “goldhwæte,” John Tanke plausibly suggests that the dragon’s tumulus was probably a hallowed site, an ancient “hearg” filled with accumulated oblations: “the barrow where Beowulf met his death was no ordinary tomb, but rather an ancient shrine or cenotaph, and its hoard a sacrificial offering.”156 The explicit terms of the curse, Tanke contends, call for the perpetrator to be “synnum scildig” (“guilty of crimes,” 3071b) because of the plundering, “hergum geheaðerod” (“confined in shrines,” 3072a) as a literal punishment because he would be “firm in hellish bonds” (“hellbendum fæst,” 3072b). The criminal would be “wommum gewitnad” or “cruelly wracked” (3073a) because he would be trapped, paralyzed, or dead, in or near the barrow: swa hit oð domes dæg þeodnas mære þæt se secg wære hergum geheaðerod, wommum gewitnad,

diope benemdon þa ðæt þær dydon, synnum scildig, hellbendum fæst, se ðone wong strude. (3069a–73b)

So the famous princes who put it there solemnly declared that until doomsday the man would be guilty in sin, confined in shrines, firm in hellish bonds, cruelly punished, who would plunder that place.

154 John Tanke draws parallels between the hoard and sacrificial offerings deposited in sacred barrows depicted in Scandinavian writings (373–5). He solves the problem between a single depositor and multiple procurers by reference to rune stones erected by multiple generations (374). 155 Recent critics have tried to dispel the curse in avoidance of Beowulf ’s presumed damnation, as Doig; Tripp, “Lifting the Curse.” To my mind, some special pleading can be found in Niles, Beowulf: The Poem and its Tradition 93: “The ‘heathen’ curse that is set on the treasure is couched in wholly Christian terms.” How can “hergum geheaðerod” be “wholly Christian”? 156 Tanke 376.

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In Tanke’s view, the expression “hellbendum fæst” (3072b), formerly thought to invoke damnation, points to “hellish bonds” (otherworldly bonds, Óðinn’s bonds of paralysis), not “bonds of hell” in any Christian sense. Two readings are possible. First, as Tanke proposes, anyone trying to take the gold would never escape the precincts of the “hearg.” They would be magically fettered and die in some unstated way, through starvation, ravening beasts, or seizure and hanging.157 Although this strikes me as the obvious reading, all of these locutions could simply describe death, with “hergum geheaðerod” characterizing one’s death at the tumulus, or else pagan inhumation at a shrine. In either case, the curse is no mere prohibition, “a spell aimed at ‘preventing entry to the hoard,’ ”158 but a dire bewitchment inflicted on a potential plunderer. The narrator seems to imply that it operates in Beowulf ’s case. Alan Bliss has argued that “swa” in 3066a correlates with “swa” in 3069a, and since “diope benemdon” means “solemnly declared,” the passage as a whole ought to be translated as correlative: “when Beowulf went to meet the guardian of the barrow . . . it happened to him just as the glorious chieftains who had put the treasure there had solemnly decreed it, that. . . .”159 While the correlative is undoubtedly correct, a problem lies in its precise meaning. Although Bliss’s argument has largely been accepted, an alternative possibility may be just as likely. J. F. Doig has proposed that what

157 Ibid. 373. Tanke provides some illuminating parallels from Scandinavian sources and from the Vita s. Wilfridi, but perhaps the best one comes from Abbo of Fleury’s Passio s. Eadmundi. In Ælfric’s Old English translation eight thieves come to plunder Edmund’s tomb. They try to enter “through cræft” (“mid cræfte,” Skeat, Lives of Saints, 328.201), but “the holy man miraculously bound them, each man as he stood laboring with his tools, such that none of them could commit that criminal act or leave the place, and they stood so until dawn” (“se halga wer hi wundorlice geband ælcne swa he stod strutigende mid tole þæt heora nan ne mihte þæt morð gefremman ne hi þanon astyrian ac stodon swa oð mergen. . . .” [328.207–10]). 158 Tripp, “Lifting the Curse” 2, citing Doig 5. Doig translates the verse “hergum geheaðerod” as “kept captive in the shrines of false gods” (4). By this supposititious reading “shrines” as “shrines of false gods,” Doig concludes that “only a Christian could take such a hostile attitude to the earlier religion” (ibid.). Imagining that Beowulf is virtually Christian, Doig thinks that “there is a hoard guarded by a spell, which cannot hold out Beowulf or his emissaries because he enjoys the favor of God” (5). Beowulf, he postulates, died from “the inevitable dangers of treasure dedicated by heathen men” (ibid.), but not from the effects of a curse. 159 Bliss 47–8, 43–4, and 59 (for the translation) resp. Bruce Mitchell accepts Bliss’s reading of these lines up to this point (“Damnation of Beowulf ?”). In Cooke’s reading, “Swa hit . . . benemdon” (3069a–b) “signal[s] the beginning of a new train of thought” (213) rather than being a correlative with “swa” in 3066a.

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Beowulf suffers at the barrow simply resembles the “consequences” of meddling with “heathen offerings that had received a solemn ritual dedication.”160 I disagree with many of Doig’s propositions, but his understanding of what other critics legitimately call a curse suggests to me a different approach, that Beowulf might simply endure effects resembling those imagined by the “þeodnas mære.” The Old English construction “swa . . . swa” is not only correlative as an adverbial conjunction, but also comparative, expressing a simile “like (the men had solemnly declared).” This position reflects the curious phrasing, “swa wæs Biowulfe . . . swa . . . benemdon” (“so it was for Beowulf just like they had declared”). Treating the passage that Bliss analyzes above as a “consequence” different from Doig’s, it might be possible to compare the intended effect of an ancient curse to what Beowulf experiences, and translate: “. . . what happened to Beowulf was just like the glorious chieftains had once solemnly decreed.” In other words, the poet suggests that the “curse” may not have caused Beowulf ’s death, but that Beowulf had died in a way anticipated in its terms. I find this view attractive as part of the intentional ambiguity surrounding the curse. On the one hand, it operated just as the princes had planned. On the other hand, it could be discounted as circumstantial, for the “glorious princes” who laid up the hoard could not likely have foreseen a dragon as the instrument of their chastisement. Nor would any magical paralysis have influenced Beowulf ’s determination “not to flee a single footstep from the barrow’s guardian” (“Nelle ic beorges weard//oferfleon fotes trem,” 2524b–5a). In just this way the effects of a curse do not comfortably explain the complication of Beowulf ’s broken sword. This possibility that the curse may not operate in Beowulf ’s case may also explain the incongruity that Beowulf ’s death seems to invalidate the curse. Beowulf ’s death may not result from the curse at all, but from his duel with the dragon. In other words, God intervenes to lift the curse. The function of the curse in Beowulf (if the curse actually operates in the poem) could be said to expose Beowulf ’s cupidity, but it seems more obviously the unknown variable in Beowulf ’s potential oferhygd. Beowulf may have assessed his chances against the dragon, but he could never have contemplated such a malevolent spell. The curse therefore tempers the accusation of oferhygd by ascribing Beowulf ’s death to a powerful

160

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enchantment that would, to a Christian audience, betray idolatry. Yet the poet debates whether God could have lifted this curse. In a final passage describing it, he remarks that no man could reach (“hrinan”) the dragon’s gold unless the “true king of victories” allowed his agent “to reveal [openian] the hoard”: . . . þæt ðam hringsele hrinan ne moste gumena ænig, nefne god sylfa, sigora soðcyning sealde þam ðe he wolde —he is manna gehyld— hord openian, efne swa hwylcum manna swa him gemet ðuhte. (3053a–7b) . . . that no man could reach the ring-hall, unless god himself, true king of victories (he is the protector of men), allowed him whom he wished—only such a man as seemed fit to him—to reveal the hoard.

This passage has always been the subject of much controversy, mostly because of semantic problems associated with OE openian “to open.” OE openian literally means “open,” but its figurative sense is “disclose” or even “make available.” OE hrinan means “to reach or touch,” and the expression “reach the ring-hall” seems in some sense to vary “hord openian.” Since Beowulf did not “reach” the ring-hall and did not literally reveal the treasure, some critics have denied that he “opened” the hoard. By this argument, Wiglaf, the dragon, or the thief have been proposed as having “reached” and “revealed” the treasure-mound.161 The thief is a special case, since the curse apparently did not operate on him: he used “dyrnan cræfte” (“a secret power,” 2290a)—probably magical means or plain cunning—to gain a single cup. Nor would the dragon have opened the hoard simply by lying on it, I think. Yet Wiglaf remains an obvious candidate as the one who both “reached” and “revealed” the hoard, first as a retainer fighting side-by-side with Beowulf, and second as the man who openly despoiled the barrow. This solution has the advantage of context, for the poet’s remarks about “opening” the hoard follow on the removal of the treasure that Beowulf ’s retainers undertake. Yet Beowulf, too, may have “opened” the hoard. The poet records an explicit stipulation of the curse, that it afflicts anyone who “would 161 In ignorance of Bliss’s argument, outlined above. I doubt that the thief could be said to “open” the hoard. The dragon, by contrast, did not “plunder” the treasure at all. Although said to “hord reafian” or “rifle the hoard” (2773b), Wiglaf carried the riches off quite safely, unless one thinks that the curse afflicted all the Geats.

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plunder the place” (“se ðone wong strude,” 3073b). The noun is deliberately elusive: not the hoard but its vicinity.162 The question of intent seems uncomplicated: Beowulf intends to claim the “offerings.”163 By this line of reasoning the curse (if operative) prevents Beowulf from “reaching” the barrow, although he arguably “reached” its precincts and “revealed” the hoard by killing the dragon. Since Wiglaf does not suffer any consequences from plundering the hoard, we could assume that, if the curse is operative, it falls on Beowulf. Beowulf ’s death would therefore imply that the “true king of victories” allowed Beowulf to open the hoard, but not to enjoy it. Taking this optimistic view of Beowulf ’s fight, many readers will conclude that Beowulf ’s death was sacrificial.164 Sensing that death from old age was inevitable, Beowulf traded his life for a vast treasury meant for his people. Edward B. Irving, Jr. proposes just this interpretation of the spell, “if the Christian God had not intervened to cancel its operation, we have no reason to assume it would not have continued to be efficacious.”165 He considers Beowulf ’s actions the “God-assisted defeat of a heathen power,” and alleges that “ending the curse would then be a beneficial side-effect of Beowulf ’s victory, like the cleansing of the polluted hall and mere in Denmark.”166 If this were true, Wiglaf ’s decision to entomb the riches with Beowulf certainly frustrates the intended “sacrifice” but may signify the Geats’ highest respect for his rightful ownership of the treasure.167 Although I find no justification for Irving’s more speculative assumptions (“victory”?), one has to conclude that, in lifting the curse, God would allow the hoard to be plundered. That fact seems indisputable. In some sense, then, the curse is indeed dispelled. Critics like Irving have always tried to settle ambiguities in the wording of the curse by tackling the linguistic issues, largely because the spell’s consequences for Beowulf seem impenetrable. I would say they are deliberately impenetrable. For example, one could legitimately 162 Tanke makes the same case for OE wong: “The worth of the hoard is transferred, metonymically, to the barrow as a whole” (374). 163 Pace Niles, Beowulf: The Poem and its Tradition 220: “His primary purpose is to kill the dragon, not to win the hoard”; Klaeber, Beowulf xxii: he “undertakes the venture primarily to save his people”; Irving, Rereading Beowulf 127: “Surely in no literal sense does Beowulf move eagerly toward the gold. He is not raiding and looting some enemy hoard but defending his own honor and his people’s lives.” 164 As Irving, Rereading Beowulf 123. 165 Ibid. 166 Ibid. 167 Niles, Beowulf: The Poem and its Tradition 222.

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claim, as John Tanke does, that Beowulf falls victim to the curse and suffers a death resulting from divine judgment: “. . . we are allowed to take comfort in the ascription of earthly justice to the will of God, forgetting, perhaps, that his will inevitably includes our experience of injustice as well.”168 In other words, God does not lift the curse. Tanke draws this conclusion first because he firmly believes in Beowulf ’s virtue, and second because he accepts Bliss’s argument that the curse operates against Beowulf and could not therefore have been lifted, for Beowulf at least. If the curse were not lifted and Beowulf dies because of it, we could justifiably accept Beowulf ’s death as unjust on Tanke’s terms—i.e. from the perspective of mortals. We might equally assert, then, that Beowulf ’s death was sacrificial and simply appears unjust in this Augustinian sense, the ironic impression of God’s epithet “manna gehyld” or “protector of men.” These claims would make Beowulf Christ-like.169 Yet I do not think this needs to be true, even in Tanke’s scenario. Throughout the poem God favors Beowulf with glory and life. Death seems an unlikely kind of divine indemnity, and in light of Beowulf ’s uncertain motivation, any positive reading of the dragon fight must discount the potential for oferhygd. If the curse actually works in the fatalistic world of Beowulf, Beowulf ’s death more than likely results from a repeal or limitation of God’s favor. Only if Beowulf were unequivocally righteous could we call his death unjust—unless we admitted the ostensible Christian mystery Tanke has foreseen in God’s dispensation of justice. As I have said earlier, however, Beowulf ’s certain righteousness can only be affirmed by understanding the dragon as Evil. Acknowledging what Tanke does not—that Beowulf may be wrong in facing the dragon—the opposite conclusion is also possible: God punishes Beowulf by not lifting the curse and thereby letting him die. We might then theorize that Beowulf ’s death terminates the curse—that it afflicts only one person and then dissipates on its own. If this were not true, and if we accept that the hoard is indeed “reached” and “opened,” a further implication of Tanke’s reasoning would be that Wiglaf opens it through God’s indulgence. The position is defensible, although I would still be inclined to think that Beowulf ’s death stemmed from God’s

Tanke 363–4 and 378. Apparently in reaction to the dragon fight, Bazelmans notes “[the poet] portrays a development in Beowulf that results ultimately in a form of unselfish behaviour which, in the absence of Christ’s message, we would not expect of him. This does not make Beowulf a Christ figure, but he is, like Abraham and Job, a figura of Christ” (94). 168 169

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authority, if not his intervention. Logically emerging from the foregoing discussion is a duality of attitude towards the curse on the gold, for Beowulf ’s death could be explained as Christian “self-sacrifice” or punishment. As I see it, exactly the same conclusion could be drawn if one determines that God chooses Beowulf to open the hoard. Since the hoard is “reached” and “opened,” it seems we must accept that the curse is somehow annulled, fully for Beowulf or Wiglaf, or partially for Beowulf. As I have already argued, Beowulf may also have “reached” and “opened” the hoard, inasmuch as he penetrated the “wong” and killed its guardian. Because I differ in my view of the lines on which Tanke bases his solution to the curse, I would rather say that God’s will here embraces what looks more like punishment than self-sacrifice. What has never yet been acknowledged in Beowulf ’s death is how carefully balanced between righteousness and oferhygd his venture appears to be. The curse makes Beowulf ’s “heroic greed” (the lust for treasure as the reward for glory) the cause of his death, for which reason God might not protect Beowulf in the divine role of “manna gehyld.” Yet it might be said that God, acting as the protector of other men, partially lifts the curse and permits Beowulf to “open” the hoard. In this event, God bestows victory over the dragon and allows the hoard to be plundered, though Beowulf ’s death qualifies the achievement. This argument differs little in outcome from the one in which Beowulf ’s death either voids the curse, or else God voids it for Wiglaf. The relevance of the curse lies in its potential as a punishment for Beowulf ’s behavior, an unforeseen contingency bringing death to the reckless. This polarized discourse over Beowulf ’s virtue ultimately reflects the contrived ambiguity of Beowulf ’s motivation, selfless or arrogant: he was either justified or unjustified in attacking the dragon, either rewarded or punished. One other view of the curse must be explored here. I have already suggested that Beowulf ’s fate may only resemble the curse declared by the ancient princes. In this event, it could be argued that God lifts the curse and that Beowulf ’s death could simply be ascribed to the operation of fate in the dragon fight. Beowulf finds himself at no supernatural disadvantage. This explanation makes sense—and in fact may make the most sense—because so many factors influence Beowulf ’s death: the very existence of the dragon as Beowulf ’s adversary, the alleged cowardice of his men, the shattering of Nægling. One wonders what kind of spell could direct fate so thoroughly as to entail all the influences leading to Beowulf ’s demise. This position would be relevant to

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the outcome of the dragon fight because Beowulf ’s death could be deemed neither a punishment nor a grace but merely the execution of wyrd. The Christian God invoked in lines 3054b–7b (describing the divine intervention that could annul the curse) would then stand removed from the ken of mortals, or of mortal narrators. We could not securely attribute Beowulf ’s death to God’s will, but we could perhaps understand why Beowulf could be thought to “open” the hoard. If God had revoked the curse, he would also have countermanded the corresponding provision protecting the hoard from looters. By these terms, we need not posit any contingencies that the curse only operates once or that God allows Beowulf to die in exchange for rescinding the spell. What still nags, however, is the possibility that oferhygd caused Beowulf ’s death, which resulted either from heroic greed or from the duty implied in “eorlscipe.” Because of the complexity of the preceding argument surrounding the curse, it might be worthwhile to lay out once more the conceptual contradictions that I envision in the cursed treasure. First, the evidence suggests that Beowulf may or may not have encountered a curse which inflicts death on anyone intending to seize the hoard. The interpretation depends on our reading of causation in the lines, “it happened to Beowulf just as the men solemnly swore it would.” To say that the curse operates against Beowulf invokes God’s intervention in its consequences. The curse functions to prevent access to the hoard by bringing about a potential looter’s death. Because the hoard is “reached” and “opened,” it seems plausible, if not likely, that the curse is somehow annulled, either for Wiglaf or for Beowulf. If God does not lift the curse for Beowulf, it could still be said that Beowulf sacrifices his life for his nation by killing the dragon and opening the hoard. In this scenario God would not deliberately intervene to dispel the curse and would therefore suborn Beowulf ’s death. The view could make Beowulf a kind of savior in an enactment of the Crucifixion—an especially potent notion if one regards the dragon as the Devil, or Evil. In light of Beowulf ’s potential oferhygd, however, it is equally possible that God punishes Beowulf by not lifting the curse. In this event, the curse could automatically disappear once Beowulf dies, or else God could dispel it for another agent, Wiglaf. If God’s agent were Beowulf, however, and if God eases the stipulation of the curse that denies entry to the hoard, Beowulf ’s death could be deemed a punishment tempered by mercy. In this case, Beowulf ’s unresolved equivocal motivation would explain the ambiguity of this “punishment.” Finally, if God had actually

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lifted the curse, which only looks like it engendered Beowulf ’s death, then we must conclude that Beowulf could be punished or rewarded, depending purely on his motivation in the engagement. God only takes the curse out of play, but the narrator has retained the same battery of complications that undermines Beowulf ’s confidence. The enactment or dissolution of the heathen curse might explain why Beowulf dies, but the poet does not allow Beowulf ’s motivation to be ascertainable from any single explanation. We have already seen that the “cowardly” retainers may have contributed to Beowulf ’s death. Wiglaf ’s remarks at least impugn them. Furthermore, when Beowulf ’s sword Nægling splinters, yet another explanation for Beowulf ’s death may be invoked. Rather than succumbing to the effects of a “curse,” Beowulf may be thought to have died merely because his weapon failed. However, even this disaster has both positive and negative valences. On the one hand, Beowulf ’s strength overmastered his sword—as the poet confirms in lines 2684b–6a—and no weapon could therefore have aided him.170 Weapons inhibit the deployment of Beowulf ’s full strength, as he confesses: Nolde ic sweord beran, wæpen to wyrme, gif ic wiste hu wið ðam aglæcean elles meahte gylpe wiðgripan . . . (2518b–21a) I would not want to bear a sword—a weapon against the dragon—if I knew how else I could grapple with my foe and fulfil my boast.

One has to wonder why Beowulf handicapped himself by facing an enemy that required his use of a sword. We could conclude that Beowulf was either reckless or somehow sacrificial. On the other hand, the sword’s inadequacy may have had nothing to do with Beowulf ’s death. Beowulf may have mistakenly swung at the dragon’s thick skull, a fact suggesting that he might have been unprepared, and incautious, in fighting the dragon.171 In deference to the wisdom articulated in

170 See the eccentric conclusion of Taylor Culbert: “The sword lets Beowulf down . . . it betrays its own nature and violates its reputation for durability . . . if the responsibility for [Beowulf ’s] death is placed upon the sword, there is no hint of weakness or inadequacy on his part” (19). 171 For a summary of these two positions, see Keller 223. Kenneth Sisam has preempted criticism: “[The dragon] exposed his invulnerable skull and back while manœuvring so that his fiery breath prevented an attack on his vulnerable underparts.

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The Wanderer, one has to ask whether Beowulf “readily knew” that he could handle the dragon, especially when he “scorned its war-strength.” Both incriminating and exculpatory aspects of Beowulf ’s judgment reside in the shattering of Nægling, which arguably circumvents the curse as the sole cause of Beowulf ’s death. As I have already proposed, the men who deeply solemnized the hoard could not likely have foreseen the enactment of their curse through a dragon’s ire or the shattering of a sword. The matter of Nægling is intentionally cryptic, then, another source of textual richness that exposes the ambiguity of Beowulf ’s motivation in the dragon fight. Its disintegration would not resolve Beowulf ’s potential oferhygd, but the sword must be accounted for in hypotheses of Beowulf ’s judgment. Oferhygd entails an unconscious recklessness that, in turn, engenders defeat as one overestimates the chances for success. Failure and especially death automatically condemn one’s actions as reckless. So it goes for all vainglorious, powerful men, that they continue to behave as if invincible because of secular status or personal strength—and risk unaccountable perils, like the drowned giants had done. The moment always comes when the tyrant takes a calculated risk with an incalculable eventuality, and dies from it. Beowulf, too, might have misjudged his encounter with the dragon. In light of this argument, it may occur to some why both Beowulf and the dragon have to die, a curious infringement on the hero’s honor. A man who kills his enemy could not be called reckless, since killing one’s enemy defines heroic prowess. In my view, the double death—of Beowulf and the dragon—confirms the poet’s exploration of Beowulf ’s ambivalent motivation. Had the dragon lived and Beowulf died, Beowulf would have been reckless by the conceptual definition. Had Beowulf lived and the dragon died, his survival would have justified the choice to fight. The Geatish retainers, including Wiglaf, would then have been legitimately impugned as utter cowards—though, depending on the circumstances, they might not have needed to fight at all.172 The double death, however, confirms nothing by leaving open the possibility that Beowulf died from venal glory-seeking that, to him, had the appearance of righteousness. The position explains why the curse is so disjunctive and supremely relevant. It is the single unknowable, Beowulf wasted two sword-strokes, not because he was ignorant [Baird, “Happy Hurt”], but because he could not get at the softer parts” (“Beowulf ’s Fight” 138). 172 The view of Malone, “Beowulf the Headstrong.”

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unguessable, and arguably unfair contingency that influences (at least potentially) the outcome of the dragon fight.173 If heathen magic caused Beowulf ’s death, his innocence would be conclusive, except of course for upholding what we already know, that Beowulf wanted the treasure. That is why readers are expected to determine whether, and how, the curse might function, and likewise whether, and how, God might intervene in the dragon episode. As I have shown, however, nothing conclusive could be proved, nor am I sure that any argument is superior to another. The poet has provided all the necessary details so that his audience can decide of its own accord whether Beowulf is guilty of oferhygd. Native Parallels to the Dragon Fight For these reasons I think that the final question John Niles poses about Beowulf may be the ultimate question derivative of the other three: “Is the hero defeated, and does he die in vain?” Niles denies that Beowulf died in vain. With a few exceptions, he has made a strong case for the favorable bias towards Beowulf ’s “sacrifice.” In fact, we recognize most of the arguments backing Beowulf ’s virtue which I laid out above: “winning the gold is incidental”; “since the Geats deposit the dragon’s gold in the dead king’s barrow in lieu of tribal treasures, from a purely pragmatic standpoint they are spared having to make a great material sacrifice at their king’s funeral”; “one should not judge his success [as king of the Geats] by the events of a single last day”; “the Geats’ cowardice serves as an open invitation to invade the realm”; “Beowulf ends his mature life . . . with acts of splendid and uncompromising devotion to a code of conduct that places the good of others above oneself.”174 Nowhere in Niles’s analysis does blame stick to Beowulf for anything, and one cringes especially to hear the clamorous disapproval of the retainer’s “failure to act by the heroic ideal.”175 Yet I have made the poet’s case for the opposite readings of these same incidents and values, in the expression of Beowulf ’s potential for reckless self-confidence. It cannot be doubted, for example, that the dragon’s treasure may be

173 On the possibility that the curse resembles the one afflicting Grettir and that it may be a central feature of a theoretical archetype, see Orchard, Pride and Prodigies 146. 174 Niles, Beowulf: The Poem and its Tradition 244–6. 175 Ibid. 247.

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Beowulf ’s primary objective, whatever reasons he may have for desiring it. Although Beowulf ’s reign was exemplary, Beowulf is indeed being judged “by the events of a single last day.” In stalwart defense of his position, Niles makes it seem that the dragon fight should not compromise Beowulf ’s fifty years of kingship. The suggestion is never made, and should not be entertained, for the poet concentrates solely on Beowulf ’s immediate decisions, whether they were sound or flawed. On balance, Beowulf ’s behavior is uncertainly righteous in the dragon fight, although accusations of arrogance, recklessness, or over-confidence can only be leveled, never proven. In other words, Beowulf is not necessarily arrogant, but he is potentially and unknowably arrogant, despite his conviction, earnest soul-searching, and conspicuous piety. Without the literary contexts that illuminate the conventions of oferhygd, Beowulf ’s death cannot be understood or evaluated. It would otherwise seem strategically sacrificial, wise, and glorious, or at least due to the cowardice of frightened retainers, a broken sword, or an ancient curse. Yet the motivation for Beowulf ’s choice to fight the dragon is hardly transparent, and the stakes could not be higher: national survival competes against the king’s vacillating conviction. Beowulf ’s long meditation on Herebeald and Hæðcyn and on an old anonymous “ceorl” reveals conscience, I sense, but not incentive. Perhaps readers will resist my views of the dragon fight as “modern” or even outrageous, but I have an independent verification of them in two sources. The first can be found in an anonymous Vita S. Oswini written in a twelfth or thirteenth-century script and currently bound with the Old English Martyrology, London, BL MS Cotton Julius A. x.176 In 1985 Colin Chase noted a Beowulfian parallel in the amplified explanation of Oswine’s military disbandment during his hopeless campaign against King Oswiu.177 According to the vita, King Oswine declined to

176 The anonymous author probably wrote the vita ca. 1111 at Tynemouth, since Oswine’s remains were translated in 1110; see Raine viii. The material may derive from an Anglo-Saxon tradition, for heroic expressions like “melius est nobis mori in bello quam apud uulgus domini desertores in prouerbio cantitari” resembles proverbs in Beowulf and elsewhere (i.e. “Deað bið sella//eorla gehwylcum/þonne edwitlif,” 2890b–1b). 177 Chase, “The Hero’s Pride.” Bede simply records that Oswine disbanded his army to await a better chance for victory (Colgrave and Mynors 257: “Siquidem congregato contra inuicem exercitu, cum uideret se Osuini cum illo, qui plures habebat auxiliarios, non posse bello confligere, ratus est utilius tunc demissa intentione bellandi seruare se ad tempora meliora”; “Each raised an army against the other but Oswine, realizing that he could not fight against an enemy with far greater resources, considered it wiser to give up the idea of war and wait for better times.”)

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fight because, he says, “I would prefer to die than that so many fine men should be endangered for my sake.”178 Continuing to address his warband (“suorum circundatus acie”), he pronounces, “that is a cruel and disloyal man who would try to destroy many for his sake when he is unable to avert the judgment of God.”179 The context of Oswine’s declaration concisely expresses the same ambivalence towards martial glory that I theorize for Beowulf: Praeclarus itaque Deoque acceptus Rex Oswinus, sciens quod uim ui repellere omnes leges omniaque iura permittunt, suorum circundatus acie, loco qui Wilfaresdun dicitur ei obuius uenit. Sanctissimus autem Rex Oswinus, uidens suos cum aduersariis unanimiter uolentes non solum contendere uerum etiam pro suo rege paratus occumbere, uoluens in animo discriminis horrendum facinus seque solum homicidii hinc inde passim committendi in causa esse, suis potius quam sibi parcendo pie consulens, sic eos alloquitur: ‘Congratulor, quidem, o fidissimi principes et strenuissimi milites, uestre militie et probitati, et gratias ago bone erga me uestre uoluntati. Sed absit a me ut me solius causa belli discrimen periculose quidem omnes incurratis, qui me quamquam iure dominum, pauperem tamen et exulem, regem uobis constitutistis. Malo itaque, sicut hactenus, ubi ubi cum paucis uel solus exulare. Immo potius diligo mori, quam uos tot et tales mei solius causa contingat quoquomodo periclitari. Impius, enim, et inhumanus est, qui cum Dei iudicium nullo modo possit auertere, plures sui causa conatur euertere.’180 The renowned and divinely favoured King Oswine, knowing that every law and right allow the meeting of force with force, and surrounded by his own troops, went to meet him [Oswiu] at a place called Wilfaresdun. But King Oswine, the holiest of men, though he was aware that all his followers were not only willing to fight the enemy, but even prepared to lay down their lives for their king, began to reflect on the cold-blooded evil to which this crisis had given rise and that he alone was the reason for the commission of so much manslaughter, near and far, and becoming sincerely concerned rather to spare his men than himself, addresses them in the following words: ‘O faithful thanes and valiant soldiers, I am very grateful to you for your service to me in war and for your honour, and I give you thanks for your goodwill toward me. But far be it from me that

178 “Immo potius diligo mori, quam uos tot et tales mei solius causa contingat quoquomodo periclitari” (Chase, “The Hero’s Pride” 192 note 9). The translations are Chase’s, except when I am citing passages that Chase does not quote. Transcriptions are taken from Chase’s article but have been checked against the edition by Raine 1835. 179 “Impius, enim, et inhumanus est, qui cum Dei iudicium nullo modo possit auertere, plures sui causa conatur euertere” (Chase, “The Hero’s Pride” 192 note 9; Raine 8). 180 Ibid.; Raine 7–8.

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you should meet the hazard of war only for my sake, after you made me your king at a time when I was a poor exile. I prefer to return to exile with a few of my followers, as I did once, or even by myself. In fact, I would prefer to die than that so many fine men should be endangered for my sake. For that is a cruel and disloyal man who would try to destroy many for his sake when he is unable to avert the judgment of God.’

Oswine decides to face exile and save his army rather than expose them to irrational risk for his own glory, and his decision owes as much to Christian mercy as to royal responsibility. It illustrates the anti-heroic, the typically forgone choice of Anglo-Saxon warriors. Struck by the “darker implications of Beowulf ’s decision to fight the dragon alone,” Chase recalled Leyerle’s position on the “fatal contradiction” implicit in the competing roles of hero and king: “a harsh and unrecognized error in judgment which confuses a military ethic with an ethic of sovereignty.”181 Chase slightly exaggerated the relevance of this important parallel. I have been arguing that Beowulf did not directly engage his comitatus in an unwinnable battle. Instead, he enlisted their service in obligation of (unlikely) revenge—the “ideal of men dying for their lord.” In these terms Beowulf ’s claim that the dragon venture was not “monnes gemet” recalls Oswine’s later remarks that his own death was sacrificial: O fidissimi milites, uestrae quidem probitati congratulor, quantum uos fortes in bello et strenuissimos persaepe reperi, et nichil est in uobis tarditatis aut ignauiae quod possit aut debeat reprehendi. Sed uos hostis non persequitur. Ego sum causa discriminis. Expedit ergo ut unus moriatur pro populo, quam ut populus tantae multitudinis deleatur pro uno.182 O most faithful warriors, indeed I do salute your integrity as much as I so often found in you, strong and ablest in battle, and there is no malingering or dishonor which you could or should be accused of. But the enemy does not pursue you. I am the cause of his persecution. Therefore, it’s fitting that one man alone die for many, than a nation of such numbers be exterminated for a single man.

The Christian overtones could not be called subtle. Oswine’s strategy is the choice of martyrdom, just as Beowulf ’s decision to fight the dragon could be deemed sacrificial. The vita exemplifies how “heroism” could be read as a kind of martyrdom, an interpretation so often attended

181 182

Chase, “The Hero’s Pride” 190. Raine 8.

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by Beowulf critics. In these terms the Christ-like parallels of Beowulf ’s dragon adventure recall the sacrifice of Christian martyrs. One component of the Oswine narrative that Chase did not regard was the “ideal of men dying with their lord.” Not only are Oswine’s retainers said to be ready to die for him (“pro suo rege paratus occumbere”), but they actually demand the honor in a direct appeal to the king’s heroic conscience: O rex insignis, regis nomine dignus, nobis indignis, petimus, esto benignus. Numquid nos ignauos aut degeneres aliquando repperisti, an apparuimus alicubi in conflictu bellico tardiores? Hostium profecto cuneos securi persepe penetrauimus. Liceat ergo nobis cum hostibus instantis certaminis inire conflictum, et in ore gladii peruersae aetatis rimari uiscera ferro. Si fortasse nobis in pugna sinistre cesserit, melius est nobis mori in bello quam apud uulgus domini desertores in prouerbio cantitari.183 O remarkable king, O king worthy of the name of a king, we beg you to be kind to us, though we are unworthy. Was there some time when we proved cowards or disgraces to our families, or did you find us too slow somewhere in going to battle? In fact, many a time we passed unscathed through the enemy lines. So we want you to let us fight against the enemy in this battle that is approaching, and to take the auspices of these evil times with iron, on the point of the sword. If things should go badly for us in the fight, it is better that we die in battle than become a byword for deserters among our people.

The curious expression “in ore gladii peruersae aetatis rimari uiscera ferro” which Chase has rendered “to take the auspices of these evil times with iron, on the point of the sword” invokes the unknown fated outcome of the battle and exactly parallels the uncertainty confronting Beowulf. “Reading the viscera” refers to predicting the future in an animal’s entrails, and reading the future with iron could only mean throwing oneself open to destiny, win or lose. As Chase acknowledged, Oswine’s choice reflects the decision that Hroðgar makes but which Beowulf does not. In all respects the passage complicates Beowulf ’s resolution and validates the fear expressed by his retainers, even though Oswine’s men hope to die for their king. Since Oswine’s men swear to die for him in the face of certain defeat, or at least unlikely victory, the narrative seems to invoke the prominent Germanic ethic of “men dying with their lord” in terms similar to Beowulf. Only Maldon has ever been said to invoke the same 183

Chase, “The Hero’s Pride” 192 note 12; Raine 8.

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ideal, and Maldon is the other parallel to the reading of Beowulf I am proposing. In fact, Maldon is a far superior analogue than the late medieval Vita s. Oswini. For the most part, I have refrained from drawing parallels between the dragon fight in Beowulf and Maldon, but both texts share the same narrative typology, as well as the analysis of a supreme motivational complexity and of competing social obligations. Differences there are, of course: “ofermod,” for example, unequivocally afflicts Byrhtnoð, while Beowulf ’s own motivation is disputed. But both works agree closely in general outline and attitude, as well as in specific constituents: Byrhtnoð’s advanced age, his faceless, demonic enemy, his choice of fighting or ransoming, the cowardice of his retainers, the nested complications of Byrhtnoð’s decision, the insistence on the hero’s virtue in the face of potential disgrace. Beowulf and Maldon could be said to evaluate the contentious relationship between leadership and heroism in exactly the same terms. In making this claim, I do not assume that the Maldon poet knew Beowulf, only that both relied on what must have been a representative idiom. Byrhtnoð and Beowulf were judged by universal standards of leadership contested in Old English heroic verse. In the following pages I analyze Maldon just as I did the dragon fight of Beowulf, as prefiguring the psychological liabilities attached to power in the failure of excellence.

CHAPTER FIVE

KING BEOWULF AND EALDORMONN BYRHTNOÐ When writing about The Battle of Maldon, George Clark warned against “analogical error,” or comparing Maldon “by conscious analogy or unconscious assimilation with other literary texts.”1 Made to support a heterodox reading of Maldon that contradicted a prevailing interpretation, this extravagant protest alienated the poem from its heroic corollaries: The Song of Roland, for example, or Niebelungenlied. Few today would seriously credit the “analogical error” that Clark sensed in Maldon criticism, and many would in fact argue for (and have argued for) the most congruent parallels. Here I propose an analogue in Beowulf ’s dragon fight. For most readers the accusation of Beowulf ’s potential oferhygd will recall Byrhtnoð’s ofermod in Maldon, even though the words are etymologically (but not morphologically) distinct. Not only are the mental categories identical, I will argue, but the mises-en-scène of both works correspond in analogical detail. Simply put, Maldon replicates the dragon fight in Beowulf. While critics past and present have compared Maldon and Beowulf,2 J. R. R. Tolkien alone made a convincing case for a generic affinity. Unfortunately, his oft-cited study of ofermod which confirms Byrhtnoð’s rashness, is mostly disregarded in favor of positions that make the ealdormonn sound less culpable.3 Some of these opposing positions are implausibly flamboyant. The Christian allegorists like W. F. Bolton or, most recently, Richard Hillman propose that Byrhtnoð represents a type of Christ, either (for Bolton) a reflection of Christ in the wilderness or

“Heroic Poem” 56. Sophus Bugge proposed parallels between Beowulf and Maldon in his Studien über das Beowulfepos, but these were rebutted by Phillpotts in “Danish Affinities.” On some mostly trivial comparisons, see Bessinger 31. My own views concern genre rather than lexicon. 3 “Homecoming.” One senses that the common view of Tolkien’s idiosyncratic essay is that espoused by Doane: “For all their authority and charm, Tolkien’s remarks on Maldon amount to little more than this [that Byrhtnoth was ‘playing it down, in order to depict Germanic heroism with the more purity’]” (42 note 8), where Doane is quoting Cecily Clark, “Byrhtnoth and Roland” 292). 1 2

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(for Hillman) Christ on the cross.4 Bolton’s remarks that “[Byrhtnoð] was called upon to show his strength by undertaking an exploit of foolish and irrelevant hazard” imparts the tangled logic of the Christological argument.5 The poet’s criticism of Byrhtnoð’s ofermod gets reinterpreted as the human view of self-sacrifice. Furthermore, most studies like these focus on the hero-as-saint, but none effectively addresses that Byrhtnoð’s “sacrifice” imperiled his own men. One immediately sees in these propositions the corresponding portrayal of Beowulf as savior, or (in triggering the heathen curse) Beowulf in forfeit of his life to end the dragon’s wrath. Regardless of multiple incongruities, Beowulf ’s dragon fight and Byrhtnoð’s defense can be profitably compared, the former exemplifying a conceivable noble failure, the latter a certain one. Considering what few heroic poems survive from the whole Anglo-Saxon period, two of them fragmentary (“Waldere” and “Finnsburg”), this conclusion would seem remarkable. It seems more natural to assume that Maldon exemplifies the “heroic code” tout pûr, as so many have alleged. Edward B. Irving, Jr. once summarized the attitude of his day: “. . . this fragment of medieval journalism . . . has often been placed beside Tacitus’s Germania as the classic statement, the pure essence, of the Germanic heroic ideal.”6 The “pure essence” could signify two conditions: 1. the unyielding defense of a defenseless position, and implacable courage in defiance of death; 2. making an appalling, if righteous or dutiful choice, of two ignoble alternatives. Bertha Phillpotts elucidated the ideal in a famous article from 1929: “Fame is for the man who has the courage to choose: whether he chooses resistance to the uttermost against hopeless physical odds, knowing that his death is ordained, or whether he chooses one course rather than another of two that are hateful to him, and makes something magnificent of it by a single-minded pursuit of it.”7 In both senses Irving’s generous assessment is true. Byrhtnoð decides to fight, not disengage, and the retainers to avenge, not flee. But Phillpotts described heroes acting alone, not lords and retainers on whose lives the welfare of a nation depended. By these terms, the “pure essence” of Germanic heroism that Irving attributes to Maldon

4 Bolton, “Wilderness”; Hillman, “Defeat and Victory.” On others who have held similar views, see the remarks in Bolton 481 and Hillmann 385–6. 5 Bolton, “Wilderness” 483. 6 “Heroic Style” 458. 7 Phillpotts, “Wyrd and Providence” 6.

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becomes highly distorted, as Leyerle has pointed out. In fact, Maldon illustrates the precise circumstances of men dying in vengeance for a slain lord who doomed them through ofermod. To characterize the poem as the “pure essence” of Germanic heroism one would have to ignore the specific tension motivated by these circumstances, which are not of the retainers’ choosing. Nevertheless, two conditions in my account of Maldon will need defending: “dying for one’s slain lord,” and “doomed through ofermod.” In all of Maldon criticism one could not have picked more divisive pronouncements, although they are contentious for quite different reasons. Men Willing to Die for Their Lord: A Context of Recklessness While dying with one’s slain lord is mentioned prominently in Tacitus’s Germania,8 it has seemed unimaginable to some critics that the custom could have survived even as a literary convention from the first century to the tenth. In fact, Rosemary Woolf has argued that the “ideal of men dying with their lord” demonstrates the uniqueness of Maldon, and following Bertha Phillpotts,9 concluded that the author had been influenced by “Bjarkamál” or a late text similar in outlook, perhaps even written in Old English.10 She states, “this idea [of men dying with their lord] was not an ancient and traditional commonplace of Old English heroic poetry but was new and strange.”11 Woolf ’s statement camouflages the scarcity of vernacular heroic verse, which has often been augmented by historical narrative.12 Historian Steven Fanning endorses

8 Fehrle and Hünnerkopf 29 (xiv): “iam vero infame in omnem vitam ac probrosum superstitem principi suo ex acie recessisse”; see Woolf, “Ideal” 64. A useful discussion of the Germania can be found in Toswell, who affirms Woolf ’s position and offers at the same time the view that dying for one’s lord “is not just a natural urge to aid or avenge a fallen comrade . . . it is a noble ideal” (499). In fact, the martial context of “dying with one’s lord” is often the desperate moment, and Toswell shows that even the Romans believed in the same institution. 9 Phillpotts, “Danish Affinities.” 10 “Ideal” 78–81. 11 Ibid. 81. 12 Among the most convincing illustrations comes from Eddius Stephanus’s Vita s. Wilfridi, which records Bishop Wilfrid’s defense against a pagan militia in Sussex. Because Wilfrid was a war-leader, it seems logical that his “sodales” constitute a warband of sorts and that their pledge “that none should turn his back upon another in flight, but that they would either win death with honor, or life with victory” (“inito consilio et pacto, ut nullus ab alio in fugam terga verteret, sed aut mortem cum laude aut vitam

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Woolf’s view and opines “it is difficult actually to find examples of the behavior of the Tacitean comitatus.”13 By “Tacitean,” Fanning means the comitatus actually described in the Germania and unromanticized in the scholarship, for which “to have retreated from battle when the king is dead (trans. “superstitem principi suo,” lit. “a survivor to one’s leader”) is offensive and disgraceful for one’s entire life.”14 Yet Tacitus does not state that a retainer had to die for his lord, only that it was a disgrace to survive him in retreat. Surviving the lord’s death in victory presumably does not bring disgrace. The ethic Tacitus imparts is not suicide, therefore, but suicidal loyalty that might ultimately win a battle or earn vengeance for a fallen king. Furthermore, Phillpotts has already demonstrated that Germanic heroism demands the “righteous” hateful choice (almost universally vengeance, which is often a dire sacrifice) even in the face of death. Running away in battle earns shame for men who have entered the lord’s service because they chose defeat. Phillpotts defines the ideal: “The quality of a man is not known until he is sore beset.”15 Woolf, Fanning, and others have warped the context of Tacitus’s statement, so that the ideal of “men dying with their lord” sounds more like suicide undertaken simply to avoid shame than valor expressed to consummate a sacred obligation. I intend to dispute Woolf’s findings in the spirit of Joseph Harris’s reflection: “The argument that the Maldon author intertwined the ‘ideal’ with other features of a heroic ethos in order to naturalize it is overingenious: in fact it is so intertwined because it exists only as part of a larger tradicum triumpho . . . habere mererentur,” in Colgrave, Bishop Wilfrid 26–7). This conflict against a vastly superior force invokes the ethic of “men willing to die for their lord” in Tacitus’s terms: men who refuse to flee and intend to die with honor. Adopting Woolf ’s contextual bias, Fanning suggests that “these are not retainers determined not to survive their leader in battle, but a group of clerics and armed men provided by the king of Northumbria supporting each other and ready to seek victory or death (and holy martyrdom)” (20). These sodales may be clerics, but they are also fighters under Wilfrid’s direction. The “praiseworthy death” sought in the engagement cannot be divorced from the heroic context (as “martyrdom”), and the real potential for flight bespeaks the trope of “men dying with their lord.” 13 Fanning 24. 14 Ibid. 31. Translating Tacitus’s remarks “iam vero infame in omnem vitam ac probrosum superstitem principi suo ex acie recessisse,” Fanning has either translated “recessisse” as “survive” or omitted it entirely: “lifelong ill-repute and shame would be in store for warriors who survived a fallen chief in battle.” But “recessisse” means “to have retreated,” and the passage ought to be translated as Woolf gives it: “To survive the leader and retreat from the battlefield is a lifelong disgrace and infamy” (“Ideal” 63 note 1). 15 “Wyrd and Providence” 5.

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tional package.”16 The “larger traditional package” is admittedly quite hard to discern in texts earlier than Maldon, but at the very least the ancient tradition of “men dying with their lord” cannot be ruled out as a catalyst of the Maldon ethic. Woolf’s article has come to dominate perceptions of heroic behavior in Maldon. For example, one distinguished scholar writing for an audience of students has recently declared that “loyalty unto death seems not to have been the rule either in literature or in life.”17 Furthermore, Roberta Frank reinforces the conclusion that the Maldon code is heterodox in Old English, and she gathers a range of parallels from sagas, Skaldic verse, and chansons de geste to make the case that Scandinavian, if not Skaldic, conventions influenced the Maldon poet. In fact, Frank defends a twelfth-century date for “Bjarkamál,” theorizing that the Maldon poet was not looking back to ninth-century notions of comitatus loyalty but projecting Scandinavian treatments of it that emerge in eleventh-century Skaldic sources.18 Her argument coincides so naturally with the idiosyncratic Scandinavianisms of Maldon that Scandinavian influence on the motif of “men dying with their lord” in Maldon would seem certain—if not for the nagging absence of a comparable ethic in Old English heroic verse.19 Others whom Frank mentions at the outset of her article have made the case for the continuity of Germanic tradition in Anglo-Saxon literature,20 and this is my own position. Woolf ’s ideal of men dying with their lord in Maldon is hard but not impossible to establish for earlier native texts. Woolf’s treatment of “men dying with their lord” distorts the convention, since she actually identifies it as (I paraphrase) men who willingly die with fallen lords to avoid the shame of surviving them. She then proceeds to challenge the evidence for this very specific position. First, her notice of the ideal among Roman and Byzantine historianethnographers (Caesar, Sallust, Plutarch, Valerius Maximus, Servius,

“Love and Death” 96–7. O’Brien O’Keeffe, “Heroic Values” 122. 18 “Anachronism or Nouvelle Vague” 106: “Maldon . . . peers, not backward through the mists to Germania, but just around the corner, to an eleventh-century Europe.” Frank does not mention the death of Stremwold at the battle of Watchet (s.a. 988 in the Chronicle), as reported in the Life of St. Oswald (Lapidge, “The Life of St Oswald” 52, 55 note 11). 19 On the language, see “Anachronism or Nouvelle Vague” in the passage cited below; North, “Getting to Know the General” 5–7; Robinson, “Maldon Poet’s Artistry.” 20 “Anachronism or Nouvelle Vague” 95–6. 16 17

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Ammianus Marcellinus, Agathias) presumes that all of them, excepting Caesar, could have derived their knowledge of “men dying with their lord” from Sallust’s description of barbarian Celts in Hispania. For this reason, and because Tacitus depicted a “primitive Utopia,” Woolf proposed it as “quite possible” that Tacitus “borrowed this heroic ideal from Caesar and Sallust.”21 In other words, even the convention we observe in Maldon might not be authentically Germanic. A second objection Woolf raises against the verisimilitude of the Tacitean ideal issues from the level of proof she demands for it. The ideal cannot simply be asserted as mere fanatical loyalty or desperation; a freely chosen death has to be imputed to the avoidance of a shameful survival. For example, Caesar recounted how Adiatunnus, Aquitanian war-leader of the Soldurii, recklessly stormed a Roman siege, and after Adiatunnus died, how his men fought to the death: “neque adhuc hominum memoria repertus est quisquam, qui eo interfecto, cuius se amicitiae devovisset, mori recusaret.” Woolf rejects this vignette as a prototype of the Tacitean ethic by calling it a “less spectacular and more practical [act] of loyalty”: “. . . the custom, though admired as brave, was primarily seen as part of the fanatical and alien conduct of the barbarians and it is given a sacrificial colouring, the followers’ refusal to outlive their lord being in part or in whole an act of self-immolation.”22 A specious claim for “self-immolation” has supplanted “men dying with their lord,” and the willingness to face death (“mori recusaret”) has bled into the embrace of death. Woolf uses the same strategy towards another plausible example of the ideal from Agathias’ sixth-century continuation of Procopius’ Historia Gothorum. Fulcaris, war-leader of the Germanic Eruli, is characterized by “foolish impetuosity,” yet his men willingly (“ἐθελοντες”) sacrifice themselves after he has been slain.23 Woolf remarks, “it could mean no more than that in a situation where flight was impossible some fought so bravely that they seemed to welcome death whilst others were killed as they tried to escape; alternatively, however, it may show the application to a particular event of Caesar’s account of the deaths of the Soldurii, some of whom were, like their leader, violently killed,

21 22 23

“Ideal” 64. Ibid. Ibid. 65–6.

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whilst others killed themselves.”24 While this sixth-century account looks exactly like Maldon in outline, Woolf disregards that “fighting bravely” and “welcoming death” amount to the same thing in the face of desperation. Furthermore, Caesar does not describe suicide among the Soldurii but heroic and therefore ostensibly sacrificial action. Woolf demands a contrived standard from the sources, that men die suicidally with their fallen lord by choice and not circumstance, and only to escape the shame of survival, and not furthermore as the glamorization of fanatical barbarians. No text is safe from this skepticism. In expression of the ideal of men dying with their lord in the Heliand, Woolf remarks, “Thomas speaks of the good name that the apostles will gain if they accompany Christ to Jerusalem”: thuoloian mid ûsson thiodne: that he mid is frâhon samad dôie mid im thar an duome. folgon im te thero ferdi: uuihtes uuirðig, dôian mid ûson drohtine. guod uuord for gumon.

ac uuita im uuonian mid, that ist thegnes cust, fasto gistande, Duan ûs alla sô, ni lâtan ûse fera uuið thiu neba uui an them uuerode mid im, Than lêbot ûs thoh duom after,

Let us stay with him and suffer with our lord. That is the retainer’s obligation, that he together with his lord stand fast and die with him there in glory. Let us do as much, follow him on the road. Let us value our lives as worthy of nothing unless we travel with him and die with our lord. Then our glory will live afterwards, our reputation among men.

Woolf implies that the motivation for dying with Christ is mere “good name,” but suicidal loyalty entails collateral suffering, avoidance of which brings shame and acceptance of which confers the glory of reputation. Wiglaf expresses the notion when the retainers fail to join Beowulf in the dragon fight. In Heliand, however, the motivation for loyalty lies strictly in shame, possibly because the Crucifixion would preempt “vengeance.” One has to realize that Christ’s apostles are not a warband in any strict sense. Woolf’s conviction that the ideal of men dying with their lord cannot be found in Germanic sources independent of Maldon becomes a yardstick for other Old English texts thought to illustrate the ethic. For Woolf the 24

Ibid. 66.

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755 Chronicle entry “Cynewulf and Cyneheard” exclusively emphasizes that “death is preferable to ignobly entering the service of the murderer of the lord.”25 Elaborating on Woolf’s conclusion, Steven Fanning makes three claims about “Cynewulf and Cyneheard”: 1. “While the first group of Cynewulf’s retainers are reported to have fought to the death, their alternative was to switch their loyalties to the slayer of their lord, not the avoidance of the shame attached to surviving one’s lord on the field of battle”; 2. “Cynewulf’s death while in the company of his mistress certainly cannot be construed as the kind of death whose survival would bring shame to his retainers”; 3. “the main group of retainers would not have been charged with abandoning their lord since they were not with him when he died nor were they in a life and death situation.”26 In the first instance (Woolf’s exact case), a distinction between dying with one’s lord and serving the killer of one’s lord simply cannot be drawn, even if the passage suggests that Cynewulf ’s men would be made to follow Cyneheard.27 Against Fanning’s second charge, retainers owed their lives to the king regardless of his actions, foolish or not. The very fact that Cynewulf was “on wifcyþþe” made his retainers’ resolve all the more ennobling. The surprise, the indefensible quarters, and Cynewulf’s impulsive lunge against Cyneheard reveal Cynewulf ’s caliber. His men have much to emulate. Finally, nothing in the literature suggests that one’s men have to be fighting side by side with their lord in order to avenge him, or to be in a “life or death situation.” An abiding shame would doubtless attach itself to Cynewulf ’s men if they had accepted Cyneheard’s payoff. These arguments strike me as desperate attempts to erase Woolf’s ethic of “men dying with their lord” from the episode, but the critics are not treating the Chronicle text impartially. In fact, the retainers’ behavior in “Cynewulf and Cyneheard” could be motivated by the ideal of men dying with their lord. A problem with Woolf’s formulation of the Maldon ideal emerges in the theory of “effective vengeance,” drafted in reaction to the Finnsburh digression in Beowulf and to the alleged implausibility of comitatus social organization and warfare. Woolf reasons that men without obligations of family or estates comprised the comitatus. These retainers could

Ibid. 70. Fanning 22. 27 This claim is only substantiated by the “symmetry” of the two offers. Cyneheard knows that killing these men would antagonize their kinsmen, who will inevitably turn up in support of the dead Cynewulf. 25 26

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realistically sacrifice themselves, but men with family and lands could not—and should not. Their “withdrawal” from battle would allow them the chance to avenge their slain prince later. Therefore, dying with one’s lord not only forecloses effective vengeance but also creates social anarchy and military collapse as one’s leaders are pointlessly slaughtered. This position does not hold for Old English literature, and may not be realistic. Sometimes men who “withdraw” from battle are hunted down and massacred, their nation plundered. Ongenðeow’s action against the remnants of Hæðcyn’s army at Ravenswood makes the point in Beowulf. Just because men cut and run does not mean they escape. Furthermore, the possibility that men in the comitatus have no spouses or lands is contradicted linguistically, for the geoguð (“youth”) are theoretically the sons of the duguð (“the doughty”), and even Beowulf’s men own lands and towns. Woolf thinks that these facts in Beowulf are anachronistic, and that the conclusion of Beowulf does not describe a comitatus system. Having defined the comitatus, she thinks that “Beowulf, when king, does not have a comitatus” because he draws his men in the dragon fight from the “here,” whose constituents own lands.28 In fact, Beowulf conscripts fighters from the entire force because he identifies those most interested in glory, and some members of the dragon expedition probably came from his comitatus, identified in later lines: corðre (3121a), heorðgeneatas (3179b).29 Instead of saying that Beowulf has no comitatus because his men own lands, we should contend that Beowulf’s retinue could own lands. For this reason it is no impediment to assume that the ideal of men dying with their lord would be socially anachronistic in Maldon. Woolf ’s concept of “effective vengeance” in military expeditions cannot invalidate the shame imputed to retreat or surrender. As I have already argued in my reading of the Finnsburh digression, Hengest does not choose “effective vengeance.” Finn would have to be a fool not to foresee the reprisal that Woolf thinks is planned for him. Joining Finn shames the Danes, not only (or exclusively) because they are following their lord’s killer but also because they survived a battle in which he fell. In all events, their motivation is revenge for Hnæf and redemption of the moral taint earned by serving Finn instead of killing him. “Ideal” 68. On a theorized system of food-renders, see Evans, Lords of Battle 123–6. 29 While OE corþer can designate the comitatus, it may simply mean “host,” too; see Stanley, “Old English Corþer, Corþor.” 28

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Shame indeed! In justification of “effective vengeance” Woolf also recalls Beowulf’s deeds in requital for Hygelac in Frisia. She claims that no shame followed Beowulf for leaving Hygelac dead. Killing Dæghrefn and carrying back thirty mailcoats was “effective vengeance” and not the suicidal loyalty of men dying with their lord. In fact, the suicidal loyalty that Beowulf displays in taking vengeance for Hygelac arguably represents the Maldon ideal. Beowulf was obviously willing to die in vengeance for his fallen lord, but his revenge succeeded: he crushed Dæghrefn and killed “thirty” other men, the figure used in Beowulf for a great number. I have already argued that Beowulf indirectly asks his own men to do as much for him when he recounts this story of vengeance. These two examples, Finnsburh and Hygelac’s Frisian raid, exemplify the artificiality of Woolf’s standard, for Tacitus makes the point that men need not die with their lord but that it is a perpetual disgrace to survive one’s lord through retreat. The generous terms Hengest negotiates and Beowulf ’s revenge and plunder represent the conditions under which one could be said to prevail when one’s lord lies dead. Of course, in Finnsburh, the Danes still find it intolerable to serve Finn, and their ambush must mean that even Finn’s bounty does not satisfy the obligation for vengeance. Woolf applies the logic of “effective vengeance” to Maldon, speaking of a “strategic withdrawal from the fight coupled with the hope of fighting another day.”30 She claims that “the possibility of retreat on foot to the safety of the wood is made clear by desertion of the cowards: the decision to stay and fight is manifestly one that is freely taken.”31 Why, then, does Byrhtnoð drive the horses off ? Not to prevent retreat, according to Woolf! Woolf seems to think that no shame should realistically dog a man who survived his lord through flight, even when the retainers in Beowulf face exile and death because of their “desertion.” In fact, “bravery” in the face of peril—even “certain death,” as Woolf has it—is the expected action. The dragon fight in Beowulf makes sense only in light of this ideal—men willing to die in vengeance for their fallen lord rather than facing shame through retreat. The motivation underlying the ideal of “men dying with their lord” is one that Woolf considers and rejects. Tacitus supplied his own bland

30 31

“Ideal” 70. Ibid. 71 note 1.

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interpretation of the ethic, suggesting that it arose from mere duty: “To defend and protect the king and to consign their foremost deeds to his glory is their sworn duty.”32 Vengeance and the glory of securing it, however, seem far more likely motivations. In his Historia Langobardorum Paulus Diaconus describes the vengeance of a dwarf for the death of Godebertus—even though the dwarf knows he will be killed, and does lose his life.33 Since vengeance stands out as a dwarf ’s imperative, Godebertus’s retainers would conceivably be more driven. Godebertus, too, is admired for the loyalty he inspired in his followers. Yet Woolf conjectures that a retainer’s vengeance should be directed specifically at his lord’s killer, even in battle, but where no single killer is identified, vengeance is displaced and the ideal putatively unmotivated. How can it be doubted, however, that retainers would want to take vengeance for a fallen lord, and that vengeance in battle would mean achieving some measurable victory, even if success constituted multiple killings in exchange for one’s own life? Beowulf kills Dæghrefn and thirty other men in retaliation for Hygelac’s death, and the Danes take vengeance for Hnæf on Finn and his Frisians. Lines 207–8 in Maldon imply that the retainers fight entirely for revenge: “hi woldon þa ealle/oðer twega,//lif forlætan/oððe leofne gewrecan” (“they all wanted one of two things, to give up their lives or avenge the dear man,” i.e. “avenge Byrhtnoð or die trying”). Soon afterwards Leofsunu speaks of avenging his lord (“ac wille . . . //wrecan on gewinne/minne winedrihten,” 247b–8b), and Dunnere commands the men to avenge Byrhtnoð: “bæd þæt beorna gehwylc/Byrhtnoð wræce” (257a–b). Eadweard the Tall is said to have honorably avenged his treasure-giver on the seamen: “oðþæt he his sincgyfan/on þam sæmannum//wurðlice wrec” (278a–9a). Because no Viking leader has been identified, it would be impossible for the troops to focus their assault. Instead, they try to kill as many invaders as possible. Nevertheless, in determining that vengeance should be directed against the lord’s killer and not an army, Woolf believes that the poet has “blurred the historically distinct claims of vengeance and dying with one’s lord.”34 But history has never yielded any “distinct” claims of motivation for dying with one’s lord. Woolf seems to have substituted her own notion Woolf, “Ideal” 75: “. . . illum defendere, tueri, sua quoque fortia facta gloriae eius adsignare praecipuum sacramentum est.” 33 Waitz 176: “multis eum ictuum vulneribus occiderunt.” 34 “Ideal” 76. 32

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that shame motivates suicide, although shame in failing loyally to avenge a fallen lord sounds like a plausible, and historical, motivation of the convention. Instead of concluding that suicidal loyalty could be enacted in vengeance, Woolf rejects the motivation for the ideal stated in Maldon. Woolf is convinced that the Battle of Maldon could not have been won once the Vikings crossed the Pante, but she fails to consider that Godric’s flight sabotaged the enterprise. In other words, the retainers might have won had they all shown the right kind of suicidal loyalty. This is exactly the ethic that Bertha Phillpotts identified in her article on “Wyrd and Providence.” Furthermore, it describes exactly what happens in Beowulf, when Wiglaf helps Beowulf fight the dragon. Although Wiglaf expects to die alongside Beowulf, he survives what he deemed a hopeless situation. Retainers who are willing to die for their lord can avenge their lord’s death through victory or merely by random killing. Since retainers earn praise by being loyal to the king, “consigning one’s foremost deeds to the king’s glory” could plausibly entail “suicidal” attempts at vengeance. Therefore, to capture the principle that Tacitus reports, the formulation “men dying with their lord” ought to be rephrased as “men willing to die for their lord in vengeance.” Even in Beowulf, one expects the retainers to fight suicidally against the dragon (“loyalty unto death”), although Wiglaf presumes that Beowulf will die. In fact, Wiglaf anticipates that he himself will die, but the prospect does not keep him from displaying the “loyalty unto death” that Tacitus describes. Sometimes one dies and sometimes not. The contexts of such battles rate no mention in the critical discussion, yet they strike me as the most important features of the ideal. In Caesar’s De bello gallico Adiatunnus attempts the desperate act of breaking the Roman siege, and Agathias’ Historia Gothorum actually records how Fulcaris impetuously raced into battle at the front of his men. In Heliand, Jesus enters Jerusalem expecting to be executed there. In Maldon Byrhtnoð commits ofermod, and Beowulf fights his dragon. Elsewhere in Arnórr Þorðarson’s drápa or “panegyric” on Haraldr harðráði, who died at Stamford Bridge, Roberta Frank observed a close parallel to Byrhtnoð’s ofermod: The king’s carefree uppganga ‘landing’ (Maldon 87: upganga) is described in stanza 12; his ofrausn ‘rash magnificence’ . . . the approximate cause of his fall and that of so many others, is mentioned in stanza 13; stanza 14 praises the king’s courage and swordplay; his death in battle is reported in the first half of stanza 15, while the second half concludes:

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heldr kuru meir ens milda mildings, an grið vildi, of folksnaran fylki falla liðsmenn allir. All the warriors of the generous ruler chose rather to fall around the battle-swift king than to accept peace. . . . The half stanza is very much in the idiom of Maldon (cf. grið, 35; lidmenn, 99, 164; ceosan, 113; even folc ‘battle,’ 259), but this time with the vikings as good losers.35

OIcel ofrausn can be translated “over-boldness, presumption,”36 and while not obviously negative, it could be said to resemble OE ofermod. Arnórr’s drápa evokes the situation of a reckless king whose surviving warband rejects terms that would save them from annihilation. The ideal of men dying with their lord identifies the desperation of heroic action in these settings, which do not emphasize battles gone wrong or the accidental deaths of luckless kings. All of them immortalize reckless belligerence ennobled by loyal defense. Perhaps because the king’s own deeds were reckless, the retainers’ impulse is to achieve the highest duty in risking his own life for vengeance or victory. Although rationalized as revenge, the ideal of men dying with their lord betrays a precise literary context in which reckless or desperate acts may be won or ennobled by a sacrificial death. A retainer’s pledge of loyalty reified in gift exchange finds its supreme dignity in such moments of discipline, even though the war-leader may have recklessly endangered himself and his men, or even the nation. So my argument stands with Beowulf, that in the most “daring” action which could lead to death, he expects his men to intervene and uphold the ethic of “men willing to die with their lord” in attempted vengeance. The dragon fight in Beowulf cannot be understood without invoking this particular value. Yet Beowulf and Maldon expose the central conflict of the ideal, as it was observed in Henry V: BATES: . . . we know enough if we know we are the King’s subjects. If his cause be wrong, our obedience to the King wipes the crime of it out of us.

35 36

“Anachronism or Nouvelle Vague?” 102. Cleasby and Vigfusson s.v.

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chapter five WILLIAMS: But if the cause be not good, the King himself hath a heavy reckoning to make . . . Now if these men do not die well it will be a black matter for the King, that led them to it, who to disobey were against all proportion of subjection.37

Are the monarch’s soldiers responsible for their own souls, or does that responsibility lie with the monarch? The Shakespearean parallel, I might add, describes the same conflict between ambition and restraint explored in Beowulf. In fact, both texts share more than the ideal of men dying with their lord, as I shall consider in subsequent pages. My hypothesis portends that Maldon and Beowulf ’s dragon fight have the same literary typology, that they express virtually identical perspectives on the values of heroism and responsible leadership. Beowulf’s Doppelgänger While Beowulf is a king, Byrhtnoð is the regional “ealdormonn,” not a king per se but a surrogate responsible for administering and defending a huge territory.38 As much as Byrhtnoð is King Æþelred’s legate, we should think of him neither as a bureaucrat nor officer, for the poet depicts him in heroic terms as the war-leader (“eorl”) of a comitatus.39 Like Beowulf, Byrhtnoð is quite old by the time of the battle, and the poet describes him as a “har hilderinc” (“hoary battle-warrior,” 169a), a detail confirmed in at least one Latin source.40 Like Beowulf, Byrhtnoð goes to face a spectacular foe at the end of his life. He has led a party to meet the Vikings, as pernicious an enemy as could be imagined in a pseudo-historical poem like Maldon. It has been pointed out on multiple occasions that, with the exception of the haughty messenger, the Vikings resemble a faceless pagan mob,41 although the Viking leaders (probably Norwegians) can be named from extant documents.42 Not simply a local threat, this confederation of pirates intended to ravage the

King Henry V, ed. Craik 4.1.131–5; 143–6. Hart. 39 On the equivalence of OE eorl, OIcel jarl and OE ealdormonn see McKinnell, “On the Date.” Much has been written on this, especially in McKinnell and Cecily Clark, “On Dating The Battle of Maldon.” 40 Lapidge, “Life of St Oswald” 55. 41 Britton 85–7; Swanton, “Literary Caveat” 443; Clark, “Heroic Poem” 58. 42 North, “Getting to Know the General” 2, but an objection to one identification has been made in E. V. Gordon 30–1. 37 38

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entire coast, if the Chronicle is any guide to the poem’s mise-en-scène. It reports—not without confusion—that the Maldon Vikings had already sacked Folkestone, Sandwich, and Ipswich.43 The Vikings’ primary aim is extortion, predicated on the English avoiding violence, but what the invaders cannot get by threat, they will gain in warfare. Bradley D. Ryner has lately explored the threat of war that the Vikings convey as an implicit formulation of “exchange.” He makes the important point that “þonne we swa hearde/hilde dælon” (33a-b) is often thought to mean that the Vikings and English will “share battle,” when in fact the Vikings intend to “distribute battle” unless their demands are met.44 Ryner states, The messenger’s proposition that both sides should “hilde dælon” contrasts to his earlier proposition that the English should “sendan . . . beagas wið gebeorge” (“send . . . gold rings in return for [peace]”). In both models, the English and Vikings join in an agreement. In the first model, they join in peace. In the second, they join in war. In the former, the English must give up tribute while the Vikings must give up nothing more than the prospect of taking more treasure in battle. In the latter, the English and the Vikings must both give up a certain number of lives on the battlefield in exchange for whatever they can take from it.45

In other words, the Viking messenger does not offer to settle the matter of supremacy generously by inviting battle and letting the outcome be decided. He says that the Vikings will attack if they do not get the ransom they demand (“dispensing battle”), and his implication is clear. By promising to inflict violence as the alternative to ransom, he expects the English to quail. English defiance is not encouraged. The messenger’s blunt intimidation yet has a coy dimension meant to erode Byrhtnoð’s support. Byrhtnoð’s troops are traditionally divided into two groups: trustworthy thanes (conceived as a “comitatus” in literary terms) and the local levies or fyrd. As frequently observed, the Viking messenger tries to corrupt these competing loyalties.46 At first using the second person singular, he says that Byrhtnoð (“you”) should send “tribute” to the Vikings (30b–1a). Thereafter he switches into the plural: it is better for “you”—the assembled fyrd and retainers—to avoid 43 Keynes 88; confusion in the Chronicle dating is discussed by Bately, “The AngloSaxon Chronicle.” 44 “Exchanging Battle” 267. 45 Ibid. 267–8. 46 On this exchange see Clark, “Heroic Poem” 64–5 and Robinson, “God, Death and Loyalty” 116.

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war (31b–3b). He remarks, that “we need not destroy ourselves” (“ne þurfe we us spillan,” 34a) if “you” (again the plural) “spedaþ to þam” (34b) or “succeed in this.” At this moment, the envoy reverts to the second-person singular and addresses Byrhtnoð: Gyf þu þat gerædest, þæt þu þine leoda

þe her ricost eart, lysan wille . . . (36a–7b)

If you who are the most powerful [or: richest] here should determine that you will deliver your people . . .

As defined by this herald, Byrhtnoð’s option to render the tribute is tied directly to the salvation of his people, his troops, and the entire nation. Byrhtnoð has been rhetorically isolated from the fighters for which he is responsible, and Fred C. Robinson interprets the gambit as a test of loyalty which the English fulfill.47 The test of loyalty that Robinson conjectures should be situated in the context of Byrhtnoð’s ofermod as a reflection of Beowulf ’s alleged oferhygd. The Viking’s public alienation of the leader’s goals from those of his men resembles the suspicions surrounding Beowulf’s dragon-fight, which Beowulf’s retinue resists. The lord and his retinue are at odds, in fact or in theory. In Maldon the English may not be able to defeat the invader; they seem unprepared. At the opening of the poem, Byrhtnoð “trims” his men, telling them “how” to stand and hold their ground, and exhorting them to brandish their shields properly (17a–21b). The verb “tæhte” (18b) almost certainly means “instructed” or “advised,” not simply “told.” From this evidence some critics have deduced that Byrhtnoð attends his men and offers last-minute advice. Yet the focus on instructing the men “how they should stand and hold their ground” (19a–b) implies their sloppy deportment. This fyrd is no troop of seasoned veterans.48 The retainers seem equally unqualified. When Byrhtnoð orders them to drive their mounts away (2a–3a), he obviously expects panic. Furthermore, Offa’s kinsman has brought a hawk, which he lets fly to the woods after learning that “the earl would not suffer shame” (“þæt se eorl nolde/yrhðo geþolian,” 6a–b). The gesture shows either resolution or insouciance, since the hawk is not recoverable, but one wonders why it was brought in the first place and why it had not been released

47 48

Robinson, “God, Death and Loyalty” 116–17. See Samouce; Hill, “Heroic Ethic” 292.

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sooner.49 The poet’s comment that Byrhtnoð would not suffer “yrhðo” probably means that he does not intend to earn shame by negotiating or retreating.50 Although they do not show it, Byrhtnoð’s men could be tempted to think that the “ricost” man among them—their ealdormonn—could save their lives in a potentially desperate situation. And why not? Vast Danegeld would be paid just after the Maldon defeat, on the advice of archbishop Sigeric.51 At this point, then, the poet invites us not only to admire the troops’ loyalty but also to establish in theory the competing ambitions of war-leader and subaltern. The audience is invited to reflect on Byrhtnoð’s decision to engage the Vikings before he is afflicted by ofermod, and to assess his motivation as potentially selfish “heroic glory” versus security of the folc. Yet my expression “security of the folc” has multiple complications for Byrhtnoð’s decision. The demanded ransom may not offer security at all, or may grant it for a time. The Vikings would possibly take the silver and disappear to another part of the mainland, or go home and return to bleed Essex again in a few years, or (perhaps more likely) stay and fight anyhow. Whether they intend any of these alternatives is not clear, but they do pose a threat in situ. For Byrhtnoð or for another Anglo-Saxon leader the threat of attack still remains, certain and immediate, possible but near, or probable but distant. Buying off an attack would simply amount to a postponement, as much as it safeguards Byrhtnoð’s levy. It would be like allowing the dragon to continue its flights of terror. One might want to bear the danger when the repercussions of facing it and losing are just as bad, or worse. The ambiguity of the Viking threat and the competence of the militia are highly relevant to the way Maldon should be read as an exploration of ofermod and a critique of heroic judgment—not, I should add, as a vindication of the heroic code. Of course, the Vikings do not invade Essex because a treasure of theirs has been stolen, but the general circumstances of their threat resemble the dragon’s. If the Geats allowed the dragon to live, a less capable king than Beowulf would have to confront its hostility. Beowulf can intervene now, or someone

49 In contrast to the arguments of Clark (“Heroic Poem” 62) and Blake (“Genesis” 127–8), Valentine reasons that releasing the hawk was an “unbidden” act of resolution (“Offa’s The Battle of Maldon” 7). 50 For a different interpretation of “yrhðo geþolian,” see North, “Getting to Know the General” 6. 51 Keynes 91.

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else can intervene later. The détente would be shameful and perilous. The same may be said of Byrhtnoð: the old ealdormonn can fight now, or perhaps another royal legate could try and repulse the Vikings, in Essex or elsewhere. His détente with the Vikings would be shameful and perilous, too. Byrhtnoð’s Fatal Mistake and its Consequences The ransom demand is rejected, and the fight is engaged. However, attacking the Vikings is subject to considerable risks, as much or more for Byrhtnoð’s men as for him. It seems clear, however, that the Viking threat cannot be crushed without taking these risks.52 The question emerges whether Byrhtnoð sacrificed victory out of reckless pride, the implication of the famous ofermod crux. The battle turns when Byrhtnoð “for his ofermode” (89b) lets the Vikings control too much land (90a–b) on his side of the causeway. In an important article from 1976, Helmut Gneuss summarized six proposed interpretations of ofermod: 1. “pride”; 2. “overconfidence”; 3a. “recklessness”; 3b. “over-courage”; 4. “great courage”; 5. “magnanimity.”53 The first four of these are negative, the last two positive. Gneuss reasoned that “ofermod” could be “great” mod but not “excessive” mod, and that the term essentially described “pride.” One has no reason to doubt the philology behind Gneuss’s conclusion, but an examination of three instances of the noun ofermod might reveal something more specific about the nature of “pride” implicit in the term. In Genesis B Lucifer the “engel ofermodes” or “angel of pride” (272a) imagines that through his own might he can challenge God’s supremacy. He finds it doubtful that he would ever be God’s underling (“geongra”): “cwæð him tweo þuhte//þæt he gode wolde/geongra weorðan” (276b–7b). While the motivation sounds much like pride or arrogance, the result is clearly overconfidence or recklessness in challenging God’s supreme power.54 This sounds much

52 On Byrhtnoð’s defensive strategy, see Samouce. Samouce argues an historical position and concludes that Byrhtnoð gave up a “cheap victory” by not attacking “at the time of crossing” (134). Samouce considers this eventuality to be a matter of honor. 53 “Byrhtnoð’s ofermod Once Again” 150. 54 George Clark reached this conclusion as well in “Hero of Maldon” 280–1, but he modifies this finding to support Byrhtnoð’s humility! Elsewhere he alleges, “Lucifer’s ofermod, his unqualified self-confidence . . . runs blindly into destruction, and does not

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like a description of the “arrogant” man in the late Old English poem “Instructions for Christians”:55 Ac se ðe sylfne for his ofermode,

to swiðe ahefð he bið earm for Gode. (130)

He who exalts himself too greatly out of ofermod will be wretched before God.

Here OE ofermod seems to engender vanity. Finally, the gloss cotvrnvs] ofermod from an eleventh-century manuscript presents a strange case. Gneuss says that “medieval glossaries and dictionaries of medieval Latin leave no doubt that cot(h)urnus could be employed in the sense of ‘superbia’, and this would also explain the use of ofermod in our OE glossary.”56 Yet Isidore explains that the coturnus—a special boot—was worn by tragedians, the figures in classical drama who fall from high status to low, either through overconfidence or the experience of an unexpected reversal.57 The semantic evidence of OE ofermod and related vocables suggests to me that Byrhtnoð acted on account of “arrogance,” which promotes over-confidence, the delusional recklessness of Lucifer, the engel ofermodes in Genesis B, or the blind error of a tragic king. Hence, while Gneuss claims that there is no proof that ofermod means “recklessness,”58 having the trait of ofermod yields recklessness as the consequence of arrogance or false superiority.59 In this respect, OE ofermod clearly resembles oferhygd as defined in Vainglory, where an inferior man exalts himself over his betters. It evokes the context of Daniel, too. Blinded by oferhygd, neither Nebuchadnezzar nor Belshazzar could foresee any casual punishment for their impiety. I do not intend to be “literal” in my view of Byrhtnoð’s “ofermod,” since it ought to represent a trait similar to the one Hroðgar describes in his sermon, a characteristic

truly parallel Byrhtnoth’s ofermod. Defeat and death do not catch Byrhtnoth unprepared and overconfidently counting on victory . . .” (“Heroic Poem” 70). 55 Rosier, “ ‘Instructions for Christians.’ ” 56 “Byrhtnoð’s ofermod Once Again” 155. 57 Lindsay 19.34.5. 58 “Byrhtnoð’s ofermod Once Again” 157. 59 By this reasoning, every attestation of ofermod and oferhygd in the Old English glossed psalters could be translated “unrighteous or reckless overconfidence” as much as “pride,” which strikes me only as the most convenient euphemism in Modern English for a complex heroic fault; see Schabram, table following 140.

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failing of benighted kings.60 In fact, Byrhtnoð’s success in defending the causeway (the Vikings are slaughtered in numbers) explains why he felt confident enough to engage the Vikings hand to hand. His determination not to suffer “yrhðo” could quite possibly represent a precondition for ofermod. This “overconfidence” corresponds to “pride” in Gneuss’s analysis, and to oferhygd in Beowulf. Even the Liber Eliensis (1169 × 1174) seems to describe Byrhtnoð’s ofermod as recklessness in the Beowulfian sense of not expecting defeat: “in audaciam concitatus . . . spe victoriae et nimia ductus animositate.”61 Byrhtnoð was led to “audacia” by his unfounded expectation of victory and excessive (“nimia”) zeal. Byrhtnoð’s “expectation of victory” seems unfounded because of the few men he commanded, according to the Ely chronicler: “cum paucis bellatoribus . . . iter ad bellum suscepit.”62 One has trouble entertaining much, if any, approval in this account. What act did Byrhtnoð commit out of “arrogance”? The poet does not hedge: Byrhtnoð lets the Vikings have “too much land.”63 Byrhtnoð wrongly thought he could defeat the Vikings en masse. A decision based on ofermod such as this would not entail calculated risk, as some critics have proposed. “Byrhtnoth knows,” states George Clark, “that his opportunity to defeat the enemy depends on his willingness to risk defeat in a pitched battle on his side of the ford.”64 On the contrary, Byrhtnoð’s ofermod implies that, supremely confident of winning, he would foresee neither his own death nor his army’s defeat. Has Byrhtnoð forgotten how ill-prepared his men seemed when he “trimmed” them, or does he think that they will meet the threat in a moment of desperation? Surprisingly, the position that Byrhtnoð betrays “arrogance” and therefore reckless overconfidence has still been subjected to

60 T. A. Shippey has concluded that a clever alternation of indicative and subjunctive forms “seems . . . to destroy the argument that sinful immoderation is to be recognised in Byrhtnoth” in the Viking parley (“Boar and Badger” 230). The decisiveness that Shippey attributes to Byrhtnoð’s wit may also be a symptom of over-confidence. 61 Kennedy 64; but see also North, “Getting to Know the General” 7–8: “Nimia animositas is probably a translation of ofermod, and yet in the Liber Eliensis it seems to have no negative sense and conforms with the hyperbole surrounding. That is to say, later generations may have perceived ofermod in Maldon 89 not as blame, but as a virtue in keeping with heroic style.” The Liber Eliensis is edited by E. Blake. 62 Kennedy 64. 63 In fact, many critics take the view that granting “landes to fela” means that Byrhtnoð mistakenly let the Vikings cross the “brycg”; see Swanton, “Literary Caveat” 445. 64 “Heroic Poem” 68.

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some equivocation. Calling ofermod “pride,” the editors of one textbook downplay it as “national pride and manly defiance.”65 Even Gneuss thinks it improper that the accusation of ofermod was unavoidable because Byrhtnoð did not have enough troops to carry out his (desperate) plan. He then appeals to an historically-based argument on the numbers of troops in each force.66 Another reading accepts Byrhtnoð’s ofermod as damning but makes it a literary trope that Byrhtnoð foolishly enacts as a consequence of his aristocratic social milieu.67 Yet another suggests that Byrhtnoð wanted to draw the Norsemen away from Northey, which was probably inhabited and vulnerable.68 George Clark suggests that the poet “[devised] a context forcing ofermod into an honorific sense,”69 similar to the proposition by Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe that “the realm of the heroic lies apart from the mundane, and the poem locates the nobility of the English precisely in their excess.”70 Among the cleverest prevarications is by N. F. Blake, who compares Byrhtnoð to St. Edmund, in Ælfric’s version of the saint’s vita.71 For Blake, ofermod establishes Edmund’s defiance: “Edmund acts cynelice as Byrhtnoth does mid ofermode.”72 Blake’s position evokes the context of self-sacrifice imagined for Beowulf if God does not lift the heathen curse. In Maldon ofermod causes Byrhtnoð to misjudge his own circumstances in a specific way: he acted heroically rather than strategically, a point implicitly raised in the preceding quotation by O’Brien O’Keeffe, that “the realm of the heroic lies apart from the mundane.” After inviting the Vikings over the causeway, Byrhtnoð utters a final remark: “God Mitchell and Robinson, Guide to Old English 245. “Byrhtnoð’s ofermod Once Again” 161: “If this [i.e. 550 men], or perhaps a rather smaller figure, is representative of the strength of the Anglo-Saxon fighting force at Maldon, then it seems quite possible that Byrhtnoð’s men were in a very difficult, if not desperate position as soon as the Vikings had been allowed to cross the brycg, and our poet’s ofermod becomes understandable, even though the ealdorman may have seriously hoped to be able to defeat the Vikings and thus to prevent them from further attacks.” Ofermod, I think, is neither rational nor conscious. In light of Gneuss’s remarks, it is worth recording O’Brien O’Keeffe’s view that “there is no indication in the poem that the English were outnumbered in the battle. Quite the contrary, Byrhtnoth’s concluding words to the Vikings, ‘god ana wat//hwa þære wælstowe/wealdan mote’ (94b–5b: ‘God alone knows who will control the place of slaughter’) suggests a perception that both sides were even” (“Heroic Values” 119). 67 Thomas D. Hill, “Heroic Ethic.” 68 Robinson, “Maldon Poet’s Artistry” 129–30. 69 “Hero of Maldon” 277. 70 “Heroic Values” 123. 71 “The Battle of Maldon.” 72 Ibid. 340. 65 66

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alone knows who will control the battlefield” (“god ana wat//hwa þære wælstowe/wealdan mote,” 94b–5b). The expression in Maldon of “god ana wat . . .” has been thought a “mere formula for acknowledging an uncertainty.”73 Alternatively, Byrhtnoð pits his Christianity against Viking heathenism when he appeals to God’s dispensation in battle. In 1969 Morton W. Bloomfield suggested that Byrhtnoð’s resignation to God’s will could be seen in terms of medieval ordeal—specifically trial by combat—as “a tempting of God.”74 Bloomfield makes a case for Byrhtnoð’s arrogant expectation that God would honor his Christianity but concludes that “there is an ambiguity of mood.”75 It might be humble or arrogant to let God decide the outcome of a battle, but in Maldon the creator seems to have sided with the pagans. One suspects that “god ana wat . . .” conveys more than the mere wish for God’s intercession. Bloomfield’s theory suffers from a lack of evidence, a failing which he conscientiously reports,76 but one of his remarks suggests to me how the notion of iudicium dei applies to Maldon: “it is not a battle of champions, but of armies against each other.”77 Just like the social condition of oferhygd explored in the Heremod digression in Beowulf, Byrhtnoð is guilty of ofermod because he behaves like a warrior staking his own life and the survival of his nation on personal glory. The utterance that “god alone knows . . .” sounds much like Beowulf ’s “swa unc wyrd geteoð//metod manna gehwæs” (“just as fate ordains for us two [Beowulf and the dragon], the Measurer of each man,” 2526b–7a); or like the remarks Beowulf makes just before meeting Grendel: . . . ond siþðan witig god on swa hwæþere hond, halig Dryhten mærðo deme, swa him gemet þince. (685b–7b)

73 Robinson, “God, Death and Loyalty” 112. Approximately ten parallels to the expression “god ana wat” suggest the mystery of fate or the secrecy of knowledge, and at least four examples of “meotud ana wat” from Maxims I and Maxims II express this sentiment gnomically. Maxims I 29 approaches the mood of Byrhtnoð’s exclamation: “Meotud ana wat//hwær se cwealm cymeð” (“The Measurer alone knows where death will come,” 29b–30a). Elsewhere Maxims II affirms that only the Lord knows one’s destiny: “Is seo forðgesceaft//digol and dyrne;/drihten ana wat,//nergende fæder” (“Destiny is mysterious and secret; the Lord alone knows it, the redeeming father,” 61b–3a). On this formula, see Cavill, Maxims 53–6. 74 “Trial by Combat” 547. 75 Ibid. 558. 76 Ibid. 558–9. 77 Ibid. 558.

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. . . and afterwards let wise God, the holy Lord, dispense glory on whichever side that seems fitting to him.

Or like the remarks Beowulf makes just before fighting Grendel’s mother: dom gewyrce,

Ic me mid Hruntinge oþðe mec deað nimeð. (1490b–1b)

I will either achieve glory with Hrunting, or death will take me.

The Vita S. Oswini records the same perverse defiance of fate and arrogant expectation of God’s sanction in the utter hopelessness of the engagement with King Oswiu. When Oswine’s men demand “to take the auspices of these evil times with iron, on the point of the sword,” they insist on just this kind of futile encounter. Therefore, Byrhtnoð’s Germanic iudicium dei reflects the attitude of the glory-seeking warrior, for whom single combat reaps glory. The ealdormonn’s reckless expectation that God will decide the English fate confirms Byrhtnoð’s corresponding indifference to his troops’ vulnerability. It also recalls the passage discussed above in which Oswine’s men beg “to take the auspices of these evil times with iron, on the point of the sword.” Oswine’s comitatus, in other words, justifies the encounter in the face of desperate odds by an appeal to God’s judgment. J. R. R. Tolkien argued famously that Byrhtnoð risked his men’s lives unnecessarily because of pride, and I think this argument deserves some further reflection.78 Tolkien treats Byrhtnoð’s ofermod (translated “overmastering pride”) as a self-conscious “chivalric” irresponsibility, in which “honour was in itself a motive.”79 Calling Byrhtnoð “too foolish to be heroic,” Tolkien later labeled ofermod a “defect of character,” yet his comparison of Byrhtnoð’s behavior to Beowulf’s should have suggested how “chivalry” coincides with heroic (over)confidence. Beowulf himself was fastidious in fighting Grendel on Grendel’s own terms: without arms or armor. Notwithstanding this trivial proviso, my own argument follows Tolkien’s, although Tolkien alleged that Beowulf jeopardized his own subordinates only by losing his life. In fact, Tolkien found his best corresponding example of reckless leadership in Hygelac:

78 “Homecoming” 13–18. Other critics have followed at least this part of Tolkien’s claim, e.g. Thomas D. Hill, “Heroic Ethic” 293: “Byrhtnoth’s gesture is a magnificent one; and if it were not for the fact that more was at stake than Byrhtnoth’s own life and reputation, it would have been an admirable one.” 79 “Homecoming” 15.

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chapter five In Beowulf we have only a legend of ‘excess’ in a chief. The case of Beorhtnoth is still more pointed even as a story; but it is also drawn from real life by a contemporary author. Here we have Hygelac behaving like young Beowulf: making a ‘sporting fight’ on level terms; but at other people’s expense. In his situation he was not a subordinate, but the authority to be obeyed on the spot; and he was responsible for all the men under him, not throw away their lives except with one object, the defense of the realm from an implacable foe. He says himself that it is his purpose to defend the realm of Æthelred, the people, and the land (52–3). It was heroic for him and his men to fight, to annihilation if necessary, in the attempt to destroy or hold off the invaders. It was wholly unfitting that he should treat a desperate battle with this sole real object as a sporting match, to the ruin of his purpose and duty.80

Tolkien acknowledged Byrhtnoð’s responsibility to his men and established, I think, a significant purpose of Maldon, to record the decisive valor of the men who stayed to fight: “in their situation heroism was superb.”81 Just as Wiglaf stands with Beowulf in the face of certain annihilation (as he sees it), Byrhtnoð’s retainers will fall alongside their lord. A leader’s ofermod can beget nobility in his subalterns. G. C. Britton—one of the few critics heeding Tolkien—also concluded that heroic glory does not suit war-leaders like Byrhtnoð, who should be responsible for the troops under their command. He elaborated on Tolkien’s comparison of Byrhtnoð to Beowulf: Byrhtnoð has his own duty as a leader towards his men, as well as his duty as a hero towards his own honour . . . As Professor Tolkien has shown, a true dilemma faces a leader in a situation such as this—such a dilemma as faces Beowulf when the dragon is ravaging his land. Is he to act according to his heroic nature and tackle the dragon, thus leaving his people leaderless? Or is he to act as a leader, and subordinate his own inclinations and opportunity for glory to his duty as a leader?82

“Duty as a leader,” one imagines, should in part consist of an assessment of an army’s capabilities. Yet N. F. Blake excuses Byrhtnoð as typically “heroic”: We must remember that heroes are not ordinary men. Judged by the standards of rational human behaviour, their gestures are stupid and they provoke comments of apparent criticism . . . Rational human behaviour

Ibid. Ibid. 16. 82 Britton 87. Britton (and Tolkien) propose that Byrhtnoð’s choice is a decision, but the poet seems to think it was not reflected on. 80 81

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does not provide the appropriate standard to judge by. Heroes are greater than the rest of mankind and behave in a way that seems outrageous and excessive to us.83

The attitude in these lines seems to be registered in a critical consensus that Anglo-Saxon “heroes” cannot be judged. Criticism of Byrhtnoð’s ofermod, Blake reasons, betrays “despairing admiration,”84 and others have since shared the same view. Like Blake, Roberta Frank concludes that Byrhtnoð’s ofermod simply expresses a prevalent heroic fault, and she compares Byrhtnoð’s behavior to that of Hamðir, Odysseus, Roland, Achilles, Igor, and Beowulf: Sometimes, as in The Battle of Maldon, the poet himself represents shared collective wisdom, pointing out what is exorbitant, contrary-to-rule, and dangerous in his hero’s make-up . . . Byrhtnoð’s conduct is excessive and blameworthy only if our standard is life and common sense.85

Irrational acts are compatible with heroism generally—at least for warriors prone to the ambition of wreccan—but in a war-leader at a time of national calamity “life and common sense” should be paramount. The missile barrage at the brycg, with strong defenders stationed the landing, reflects the calculated, “common sense” defense that Byrhtnoð rejects. Men die on account of his rejection. Yet based on the view of a general heroic fault, Frank ventures that Byrhtnoð’s men, as all subalterns, “[derive] their light and power from their captains.”86 In other words, Byrhtnoð’s heroic fault ennobled his men by enabling their own heroism. These terms explicitly challenge Tolkien’s reflection that Maldon lionizes the subaltern (whom Frank calls “the little man”)87 whose obedience opposes their lord’s wilfulness. I think it unlikely that Frank’s position on Maldon reflects the poem’s complexity, its inexplicable tension between what O’Brien O’Keeffe calls the “individual heroic ethic (in pursuit of valour and reputation whatever the cost) and the requirement for prudent aggression from an established army.”88 Warriors “tempt fate” to gain glory; they go up against odds that defy reason—even if they do ultimately overcome foes like Grendel. Generals should not contemplate the same handicap, 83 84 85 86 87 88

“Genesis” 124. Ibid. 125. “Battle of Maldon and Heroic Literature” 204. Ibid. Ibid. O’Brien O’Keeffe, “Heroic Values” 122.

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and Byrhtnoð’s supreme gamble relays his irresponsibility. The defeat at Maldon could not be called glorious, nor could Byrhtnoð be excused on account of ofermod. Even so, heroic literature like Maldon looks to explain the lost engagement or the death of a prominent war-leader in the enactment of its values. In this function, the situation in Maldon is much like that of the dragon fight in Beowulf, right down to the behavior of the retainers. Of course, Beowulf both won and lost his own fight, and this outcome complicates the question of his oferhygd. As I have discussed, the Beowulf poet so carefully manages the evidence of Beowulf’s potential oferhygd that one cannot affirm Beowulf’s negligence. Yet Beowulf ’s death is confirmed once his sword is broken and his body seared by fire (“sceolde ofer willan/wic eardian//elles hwergen,” 2589a–90a), and the retinue surely sees what the audience should: this battle is lost, the king as good as dead. Wiglaf therefore acts “suicidally” in spite of his own fear, and in acknowledgment of his lord’s straits. He expects to die alongside Beowulf: Ic wat geare, þæt næron ealdgewyrht, þæt he ana scyle Geata duguðe gnorn þrowian, gesigan æt sæcce; (2656b–9a) I know for certain that his former deeds were not such that he alone among the hosts of the Geats should suffer sorrow, fall in battle.

The depiction of Byrhtnoð differs in that his death confirms his ofermod, which, along with the defeat of his forces, may yet have been instigated by Viking treachery. To my knowledge, the custom of “men willing to die for their lords” has never been applied to Beowulf ’s duel with the dragon, largely because Beowulf is not literally dead. Nevertheless, an overlooked parallel to Beowulf’s predicament may be found in one of Alexander the Great’s adventures, as narrated in the Old English Orosius. Orosius’s laconic account has been considerably expanded and refocused in heroic terms. On this occasion Alexander has penetrated—recklessly, perhaps—what seems to be an abandoned fortification.89 The inhabitants appear and surround him:

89 The dimension of heroic adventurism is implicit in the expression “hrædlice þone weall self oferclom” (“he quickly scaled the wall alone”; Bately, Orosius 9–10).

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Ac þa him þæt folc swiðost anþrang, þa gestop he to anes wealles byge 7 hiene ðær awerede. 7 swa eall þæt folc wearð mid him anum agæled þæt hie þæs wealles nane gieman ne dydon, oð Alexandres þegnas toemnes him þone weall abræcon 7 þær in comon. Ðær wearð Alexander þurhscoten mid anre flan underneoðan oþer breost. Nyte we nu hwæðer sie swiþor to wundrianne, þe þæt, hu he ana wið ealle þa burgware hiene awerede, þe eft þa him fultum com, hu he þurh þæt folc geþrang þæt he ðone ilcan ofslog þe hiene ær þurhsceat, þe eft þara þegna angin þa hie untweogendlice wendon þæt heora hlaford wære on heora feonda gewealde, oððe cuca oððe dead, þæt hie swaþeah noldon þæs weallgebreces geswican, þæt hie heora hlaford ne gewræcen, þeh þe hie hiene meðigne on cneowum sittende metten.90 But when the people completely surrounded him, he gained the corner of a certain wall and there defended himself. In this way all the people were preoccupied with him alone so that none of them paid attention to the wall until Alexander’s thanes breached it alongside them and so entered there. There Alexander had been shot with a single arrow under his left breast. We do not know which is a greater miracle: how he alone defended himself against all the inhabitants; or, when help reached him, how he managed to kill, in that press of people, the very man who had shot him; or the action of his thanes who fully expected that their lord was either alive or dead at the mercy of his enemies, but nonetheless did not intend to fail in their assault on the wall and thereby fail to avenge their lord—although they found him exhausted and crouched on his knees.

One instantly recognizes parallels with Byrhtnoð in Alexander’s retaliation against the enemy who wounded him, but because Alexander is not literally dead, the passage has not been thought to illustrate the custom of “men dying with their lord.” Yet this scenario exactly describes the dragon fight in Beowulf. Cornered in a potentially reckless encounter, the wounded Beowulf receives aid from a loyal thane who fully believes that his king is fatally injured. Beowulf does not need to be dead, only imperiled in a situation that might ensure his death. Alexander’s thanes resolve to take desperate action in the face of either prospect, their lord’s certain or anticipated death, which is suggested by the wound in his breast. Storming the breach to “rescue” Alexander, even when

90 Bately, Orosius 73.14–27 (emending an þrang > anþrang). The expression “on heora feonda gewealde” parallels the description of Heremod’s death in Beowulf 903a. As discussed above (72 note 40), the phrase may simply mean that Heremod died. The Orosius context perhaps supports a third interpretation. In Alexander’s circumstances, to be “in the power of one’s enemies” means to be imperiled, “at their mercy.” That Heremod’s men “betrayed” him (“forð forlacen,” 903b) could suggest that they did not come to his rescue in a crisis he caused by reckless action.

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they cannot verify his condition from their vantage point, is explicitly characterized as vengeance (“gewræcen”)—the motivation of “men dying with their lord.” The Alexander passage requires a definitional re-alignment of heroic action in support of a lord who is, first, possibly reckless and, second, not yet deceased but gravely endangered. Just as Beowulf expects his men to “rescue” him when they perceive some unspoken peril, Alexander expects his men to reach him, alive, dying, or dead. The thanes bring vengeance. Viking Subtlety and Poetic Misdirection As in Beowulf, one looks to mitigate Byrhtnoð’s ofermod, nowadays thought to be a benign heroic peccadillo. The circumstances of Byrhtnoð’s bad judgment need to be contemplated with detachment from its disastrous effects, for Byrhtnoð’s culpability seems to endanger his men but not to destroy the English force. As T. A. Shippey has pointed out, with exemplary implications for Beowulf’s own liability, “the [Maldon] poet regarded Byrhtnoth with exaggerated favour.”91 Viking guile, emphasized by the verb lytegian, mitigates Byrhtnoð’s decision to let the Vikings cross the Pante. Much has been written on the lytegian crux. The Vikings perceive that they have been trapped on the causeway and are being slaughtered by missile weapons and by the men Byrhtnoð has stationed at the approach. They seem to inveigle Byrhtnoð: . . . ongunnon lytegian þa bædon þæt hi upgangan ofer þone ford faran,

laðe gystas, agan moston, feþan lædan. (86a–8b)

Then the hated invaders began to use guile, asked that they might have a landing, travel over the ford, and lead their infantry.

At this moment Byrhtnoð grants the Vikings “too much land” (“landes to fela,” 90a), a situation attributed to “ofermod.” It seems an odd conjunction of motivation, to imply that Byrhtnoð was tricked but that he was also susceptible to “ofermod.” I do not sense that lytegian is semantically problematic, however, for the poet felt obliged to invent some debatable exoneration of Byrhtnoð’s gullibility.92 In 1974 J. E. “Boar and Badger” 231. George Clark treats the ambiguity of the Vikings’ feint as an exoneration of Byrhtnoð in “Heroic Poem” 53–4. 91

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Cross thoroughly studied the sense of the OE hapax legomenon lytegian and related vocables, and he concluded that the term nearly always has a negative sense but nothing like “deceive.”93 In fact, the rare verb portends that Byrhtnoð did not need to acknowledge the Viking “dissimulation”: they began “to use guile” but not “to deceive.” The verb leaves hanging the question of whether Byrhtnoð was deceived by such guile. Most now agree that the Vikings charged Byrhtnoð with cowardice, probably by failing to meet them in open battle.94 Richard North has lately proposed that “lytegian” may involve accusations of effeminacy, perhaps an alleged Christian weakness, and that Byrhtnoð’s pride is wounded as a result.95 From what we could deduce about such Viking groups and the straits of the Maldon Vikings, charging Byrhtnoð with cowardice would plausibly have created a situation which engendered “ofermod” and subsequent recklessness. In the poet’s idiom, the insult would have embarrassed Byrhtnoð’s dignity, and he has already decided not to suffer “yrhðo.”96 This reading of the Viking ploy would accuse Byrhtnoð of ofermod, since he “acknowledges” and acts on the dissimulation. Yet it could also be said that ofermod alone did not undo Byrhtnoð. Byrhtnoð would never have succumbed to the Vikings had they not unfairly targeted his heroic dignity. In other words, the Vikings attempted to trick Byrhtnoð, and their cheap stunt, however freely chosen, is one way of diminishing Byrhtnoð’s culpability for the English defeat. The opposing positions on the Viking guile are represented by J. R. R. Tolkien and N. F. Blake. Tolkien reasoned that Byrhtnoð never consciously acknowledged that his actions would jeopardize the English national defense. He called Byrhtnoð’s motivation a “defect of character . . . not only formed by nature, but moulded also by ‘aristocratic tradition’, enshrined in tales and verse of poets now lost save for echoes.”97 In these terms Byrhtnoð would not have recognized that his heroic virtue was being exploited but acted more or less unthinkingly.98 The position grants Byrhtnoð the same moral blindness that “Mainly on Philology” 236–40. Elliott, “Byrhtnoth and Hildebrand” 59. My own views are identical to those expressed in Battaglia 248: “The Vikings got Byrhtnoth to do something which his ordinary good sense had already told him he should not do.” 95 “Getting to Know the General” 9–10. 96 Hill, “Heroic Ethic” 294. 97 “Homecoming” 15. 98 Cross, “Mainly on Philology” 243; Elliott, “Byrhtnoth and Hildebrand” 59. 93

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characterizes Beowulfian oferhygd, for the ealdormonn never concedes that his decision entails disastrous consequences for his troops, and for the nation as a whole. By contrast, N. F. Blake conjectures that Byrhtnoð recognized the Viking ‘deception’ but consciously chose to act on heroic principles.99 In an examination of “Atlakviða” Blake remarks that Guðrún’s warning to Gunnarr of Atli’s treachery actually necessitates Gunnarr’s death. Gunnarr cannot stay away in the face of a known threat without risking his honor, even though he knows that death awaits him.100 Blake says, Treachery is the natural lifestyle of people like this. But the heroes are not deceived by it. They see through it, yet accept the terms or the proposal offered. They have to for their honor . . .101

This intriguing premise has parallels in Niebelungenlied, too. Blake’s view, I think, perfectly clarifies the opposing attitude (explained above), in which Byrhtnoð falls for the Viking taunts. In choosing “honor” he also elected death, for himself if not for his men. It is important to understand, however, that nothing in Maldon actually resolves Byrhtnoð’s attitude to the Viking ploy. Even if Blake’s position explained Byrhtnoð’s behavior, Gunnarr and the Burgundian princes in “Atlakviða” come alone, not with an army. Only in the later Chanson de Roland and Niebelungenlied do Germanic war leaders sacrifice armies—even kingdoms—to their heroic vanities. The “self-sacrifice” in these texts and in Maldon resembles oferhygd in Beowulf, where blindness to the responsibility for one’s troops appears to stem from self-regard, feelings of invincibility, and bellicosity. Despite his honorable intentions, Byrhtnoð could exhibit these traits in some culpable degree. In Blake’s reading of the lytegian crux, the heroic overlaps the virtuous as it does in certain readings of Beowulf ’s dragon fight, and one cannot be confident of Byrhtnoð’s innocence, either. And yet I shall show why a position censorious of Byrhtnoð also cannot excuse the English defeat! The Viking guile in Maldon is often mentioned in exasperation as an indecipherable conundrum, interpretations of which would clarify “Genesis” 125. Ibid. 101 Ibid.; further to this claim see Thomas D. Hill, “Foreseen Wolf.” Hill alleges, “the wolf is not dangerous if he is foreseen . . . it is only if one is unaware that the wolf is a threat . . . If [Gunnar and Hogni] were expecting treachery there would be no tragedy. There might have been a battle, but there would have been no treachery” (676–7). It strikes me that Guðrún’s extreme grief belies this reading and confirms Blake’s. 99

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Byrhtnoð’s behavior. In some respects, the lytegian crux answers to the curse on the gold in Beowulf, or to Beowulf’s broken sword, or to any of the other nested contingencies that contribute to Beowulf ’s death and exonerate him from oferhygd. Byrhtnoð’s death can be attributed to ofermod, admittedly, but ofermod may have been exploited, or in fact generated, by the Vikings in defiance of righteousness. Like the ancient curse, the Vikings’ cunning erodes confidence in any unreflective solutions to the poet’s deliberate textual incongruities, beginning with ofermod. Fair contends with fear in Byrhtnoð’s mind, but the poet will not solve his own riddle. In fact, he continues to confound it, just like the Beowulf poet has done in the dragon episode. According to North, Byrhtnoð’s Christianity may have caused the accusations of cowardice that constitute the Viking guile.102 In fact, Byrhtnoð’s Christianity may be a mitigating factor in his ofermod. Byrhtnoð’s loss at Maldon presumably reflects God’s will, but his final prayer may or may not acknowledge guilt.103 After thanking the Ruler for “worldly joys,” he expresses the “greatest need” for the Measurer to grant him “(a) good”—that his soul might travel into the Lord’s keeping (173a–9a). Following this comes the peculiar expression, “Ic eom frymdi to þe//þæt hi helsceaðan/hynan ne moton” (“I am beseeching you that hell-scathers [devils] are not able to touch it,” 179b–80b). Following Morton W. Bloomfield,104 Fred C. Robinson explains this petition as a “specific allusion to the judicium particulare—a literal, physical struggle between devils and angels for possession of the soul as it leaves the body of a dying man.”105 Robinson goes on to propose that the uncertainty of Byrhtnoð’s salvation “de-Christianizes the cosmic setting of Maldon and in so doing helps to create the conditions necessary for a heroic narrative.”106 In other words, negating the prospect of Christian salvation restores the quality of “grim and terribly meaningful heroic

See also Mills 25, citing Elliott, “Byrhtnoth and Hildebrand” 58–9. Cecily Clark, “Byrhtnoth and Roland” 289: “Byrhtnoth . . . never shows concern for his men’s fate, spiritual or temporal, nor even awareness that it is his ofermod that has been their death.” Bernard F. Huppé once claimed Byrhtnoð’s utterance as a martyr’s prayer (Doctrine and Poetry 237–8), but J. E. Cross showed how the poem’s secularism could be mistakenly construed as martyrdom in “Oswald and Byrhtnoth.” Cross discusses Byrhtnoð’s prayer as a variant of the commendatio animae (104–6) but concludes that it is “selfish, though human” (106). 104 “Patristics and Old English Literature” 38. 105 “God, Death and Loyalty” 108. 106 Ibid. 102 103

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sacrifice for heroic ideals.”107 One might also ask, however, whether Byrhtnoð seeks forgiveness, in acknowledgment of ofermod or some other fault. The ealdormonn might understand in his present condition why fiends would have purchase on his soul. Yet George Clark’s alternative explanation for this curious ambiguity satisfies the condition of ofermod as a moral benightedness like oferhygd: “The hero’s last words indicate no remorse at his decision to undertake the battle, no sense of guilt at having permitted the Vikings to cross the Pante.”108 While Clark believes that Byrhtnoð’s prayer implies a free conscience, just the opposite may be true: Byrhtnoð may believe he has done nothing wrong. We do not learn the disposition of Byrhtnoð’s soul, however—a situation parallel to the ambiguous external judgment of Beowulf’s own death, the meaning of the “curse,” and the indefiniteness of line 3155b, “Heofon rece swealg” (“Heaven swallowed the smoke”). Has Beowulf earned some kind of divine compassion, or is his soul merely dispersed in the “sky,” the primary sense of OE heofon? The imputation of oferhygd to Beowulf must be unresolved in these spiritual terms, otherwise the exoneration would justify Beowulf’s behavior in the dragon fight. The Outcome of Battle and the Judgment of History Byrhtnoð’s death at the hands of the Vikings conjures an important paradox reflecting Beowulf’s own death in the dragon fight: why would the Christian God betray Byrhtnoð and give pagan Vikings the victory? We could assume that Byrhtnoð is somehow punished for expressing ofermod, but the lytegian crux precludes certainty. Byrhtnoð may have died sacrificially, hoping that desperation would have roused his men to exceptional heroism that put an end to Viking aggression. He may not have been wrong in judging his men, as I shall explore momentarily. Alternatively, the Christian God may have allowed Byrhtnoð to die as a punishment for his arrogance or over-confidence, comparable to sins condemned in millennial sermons. If this stance were true, Byrhtnoð may still have been benighted, since the lytegian crux necessitates the

107 Ibid. 107. Relevant to the present discussion is John Edward Damon’s percipient comparison of Byrhtnoð to saintly ealdormen. Damon stresses Byrhtnoð’s status as an “almost-saint” and remarks: “Byrhtnoth represents an early example of the linkage between death in battle and sanctity, despite his failure to achieve sainthood” (198). 108 “Hero of Maldon” 265.

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ambiguity of his motivation. As in Beowulf, any condemnation of Byrhtnoð would impugn his behavior and foreclose ambiguities central to the audience’s judgment. Correspondingly, to have depicted Byhrtnoð’s salvation would have voided the accusation of ofermod, when the Maldon poet intended perfect indeterminacy. One should be led to wonder how Byrhtnoð’s ofermod could be doubted. In fact, while the poet accuses Byrhtnoð of ofermod, the extenuating circumstances he invents (the strategy of self-defense, the Viking deceit, questions of honor and duty, possible Christian deliverance) could absolve the ealdormonn of damnation. Inseparable from the arguments pro and con of Byrhtnoð’s ofermod are the actions of his retainers; some flee while others fight. The flight of retainers upon their lord’s death seems a key determinant of ofermod or oferhygd, but as I shall argue, Byrhtnoð’s death does not necessarily cause the English defeat.109 In Beowulf only Beowulf ’s nephew Wiglaf comes forward to aid Beowulf, who is not dead but certainly going to die—or so the onlookers think. The “cowardice” of the retainers—the best that could be found—is grounds for the recklessness of Beowulf ’s mission and affirmation of Wiglaf’s merit, his love of Beowulf or his desire for glory. In other words, the retreat of one’s best men could indicate how badly a leader has miscalculated the risk of his mission. Both in Beowulf and in Maldon, then, a thane would be expected to avenge his lord’s death even when that death resulted from his lord’s disastrous overconfidence. Sworn oaths compel service, including retribution, and vengeance is a supreme heroic duty.110 Godric, Godwine, Godwig, and members of the Anglo-Saxon host at Maldon therefore earned shame for their cowardice, even though they would have sacrificed themselves in killing perhaps one or two invaders—or none at all. Ælfwine, Byrhtnoð’s kinsman (224a), reminds the troops of this (anachronistic) heroic obligation, just as Wiglaf, Beowulf’s kinsman, was the first retainer to speak

See George Clark, “History, Poetry and Truth” 81–2. Byrhtnoð dies when a spear pierces his body, but a “hyse unweaxen” or “young lad” named Wulfmær pulls out the spear and, casting it back, kills the man who threw it (149–58). This revenge does not suffice, apparently. When Beowulf fights Dæghrefn in vengeance for Hygelac’s death, we are told that Beowulf transported thirty mailcoats back to Geatland. Not only did Dæghrefn need to die but a great number had to as well. Vengeance needs to be exacted on a number of men equivalent to the status of the slain. 109 110

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up in support of Beowulf.111 As many have observed, Ælfwine’s speech sounds much like Wiglaf’s: Gemunu þa mæla þonne we on bence hæleð on healle, nu mæg cunnian

þe we oft æt meodo spræcon, beot ahofon, ymbe heard gewinn; hwa cene sy. (212a–15b)

Remember the times when we often spoke over mead, when we raised a boast about hard battle on the bench, heroes in the hall. Now we will learn who is keen.

The Maldon poet pretends that this courage is obligated through exchanges made in a fictitious “mead-hall” and solemnized by oaths of the sort one encounters in Beowulf. Some retainers rush out to avenge Byrhtnoð through sacrificial loyalty, and the intensity of their courage magnifies their potential for valor—and remembrance.112 In the Germanic heroic tradition, defiance of death amplifies a warrior’s resolve, ultimately defining his identity, and Byrhtwold’s famous lines attest that a desperate battle can ennoble men: Hige sceal þe heardra, mod sceal þe mare,

heorte þe cenre, þe ure mægen lytlað. (312a–13b)

Spirit must be the harder, heart the keener, courage the greater, the more our strength declines.

The obsolete sentiment of these verses reflects Wiglaf’s observation that he performed “beyond [his] ability” (“ofer min gemet,” 2879a) when he fought the dragon. While Tolkien noted that “[the heorðwerod’s] heroism was superb . . . their duty was unimpaired by the error of their master,” I would claim that Byrhtnoð’s “error” actually enhanced their heroism. Since the retainers’ suicidal loyalty is praised in Maldon, one would think that the “disgrace” of Odda’s sons Godric, Godwine, and Godwig would be condemned. Yet the poet seems coy in expressing their “cowardice.” He notes that Byrhtnoð’s body was hacked to pieces and says bluntly that Ælfnoð and Wulfmær (who had been fighting

111 On the problematic identity of Ælfwine, consult Locherbie-Cameron, “Men Named in the Poem” 241–2 and “Ælfwine’s Kinsmen” 486–7. Earlier LocherbieCameron had proposed highly plausible reasons why the deaths of Byrhtnoð’s kin are especially significant (“Sister’s Son”). 112 On byldan (“embolden”), see Irving, “Heroic Style” 466.

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alongside Byrhtnoð) were “cut down,” too (“heowan,” 181a). These killings seem like pointless butchery. Immediately afterwards the poet remarks that “men who did not want to be there bowed out of the battle”: “Hi bugon þa fram beaduwe/þe þær beon noldon,” 185a–b. The expression “who did not want to be there” verges on trite, but blandness characterizes most of the narrator’s observations about the “cowards’ retreat.” Godric, we learn, was “first in flight” (“ærest on fleame,” 186b) and “abandoned the good man” (“þone godan forlet,” 187b). Somewhat later the narrator announces that Godric’s brothers Godwine and Godwig “did not care for war, departed from the battle and sought the woods, fled to the fastness and protected their lives.”113 This language does not register the scorn one would expect for deserters in Germanic heroic verse, possibly because the poet sets Byrhtnoð’s recklessness against the cowardice of Odda’s sons.114 Yes, some men saved their lives by fleeing to the woods, but their flight seems only mildly offensive—not despicably shameless. As in Beowulf, the “retainers” who bow out of the fight earn the greatest scorn from the men they serve with (Wiglaf, in Beowulf ), the ones who stayed and lost their lives. The Maldon poet understands that Godric and his kin could be partially exonerated under the special circumstances of their lord’s ofermod. His subdued reproaches temper the harsher criticism leveled by characters in the poem. What cannot be exonerated, however, is Godric’s escape on Byrhtnoð’s stolen horse, an action that makes the English forces think that Byrhtnoð himself has fled. The remaining retainers condemn Odda’s sons for the consequences of the theft: Us Godric hæfð, earh Oddan bearn, ealle beswicene. Wende þæs formoni man, þa he on meare rad, on wlancan þam wicge, þæt wære hit ure hlaford; forþan wearð her on felda folc totwæmed, scyldburh tobrocen. (237b–42a)

113 Godwine ond Godwig, guþe ne gymdon, ac wendon fram þam wige and þone wudu sohton, flugon on þam fæsten and hyre feore burgon . . . (192a–4b) 114 Not to mention Swanton’s observations that Byrhtnoð and his man Offa expected cowardice (“Literary Caveat” 448); see also George Clark, “Heroic Poem” 63. On fighting for a reckless lord, see Robinson, “Maldon Poet’s Artistry” 129 note 22. George Clark has made the case that Godric and his brothers may have fled treasonously because of their Scandinavian background (“History, Poetry and Truth” 81).

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chapter five Godric, the wretched son of Odda, has betrayed us all. When he rode on that horse, on that proud steed, very many men would have thought that it was our lord, for which reason the people were divided here on the field, the shield-wall smashed.

The argument has stood for years that Byrhtnoð’s fall precipitated the general disaster at Maldon. In one influential paper from 1979 George Clark wrote, “Offa subsequently hammers the point home, declaring that when Byrhtnoth fell many men fled, so many that the flight betrayed, scattered, and defeated the English army.”115 The statement is too telegraphic. Godric and his two brothers fled, but the others did not follow until after Godric rode off on Byrhtnoð’s horse. These consequences, possibly unforeseen by Godric, compromised meaningful vengeance for Byrhtnoð and caused the general rout. Without the theft of the horse, one might conclude that Godric’s escape might not have mattered in the engagement. Most importantly for the Maldon poet, Godric’s theft might excuse Byrhtnoð’s ofermod as incidental to the defeat. The poet can accuse Byrhtnoð of a vice that befalls kings in Old English verse, since he appears to excuse that vice as inconsequential to the aftermath of Byrhtnoð’s fall. It could be said, then, that Godric’s shameful deed occasioned the betrayal redeemed by the suicidal loyalty of Byrhtnoð’s remaining thanes. If not for the parallels between Beowulf and Maldon that I propose, John M. Hill’s ingenious explanation of transcendent loyalty in Maldon might convincingly explain the retainers’ suicidal vengeance in the face of Byrhtnoð’s ofermod. Hill proposes that the retainers in Maldon fight to the death because loyalty to one’s lord has, by the time of the poem, been broadened and transferred to an abstraction of lordship—an institutionalized entity: “[Byrhtnoð’s retainers] collectively internalize an injunction whereby the dead [Byrhtnoð] is allowed to be everything to them, while they, in an evolving group action, eventually assume a new ideal, a transcendent group ego, one might say.”116 Hill calls this “a politically inspired, Christian transvaluation of retainer loyalty from a secular to a transcendental plane.”117 Obligation is fungible in this

115 “Hero of Maldon” 258. Ryner proposes that the theft of the horse may be viewed as a “demonstration of [Godric’s] venality and ingratitude” (274), given that Byrhtnoð bestows horses and gear on his men. In this case, seizing an unearned reward reverses the lord-retainer relationship and implies arrogance. 116 Warrior Ethic 127. 117 Ibid. 112.

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theoretical kind of thaneship: for Hill, the retainer owes obedience and service to an idealized proxy, for which reason the death of one’s lord engenders the immediate, communal embrace of his fate. For the idea to be viable, Hill must grant Rosemary Woolf ’s position (with Roberta Frank’s provisos) on the scarce depictions of men dying with their lord in Old English literature, and he would probably discount Wiglaf ’s aid to Beowulf as not obviously “suicidal” (since Wiglaf survives): “In Old English poetry, except for The Battle of Maldon, we find no expressions of suicidal revenge.”118 Nor is Beowulf literally dead at the moment Wiglaf reaches him, although I cannot imagine that anyone could mistake the poet’s words conceding Beowulf ’s death. Finally, we do not have (as Hill makes plain) a treatment of retainer-lord loyalty in “Cynewulf and Cyneheard” like that in Maldon, in which a war-leader has committed his troops irresponsibly.119 The differences between Hill’s argument and my own hark back to the historical-versus-literary debate that frames Maldon criticism. Hill professes a contemporary, historically engaged Maldon in which “AngloSaxon heroic poetry and its past complexities will come to an end.”120 In part, the phrase “past complexities” subsumes the lord-retainer relationship. I envisage a poem saturated instead by heroic archaism–in fact, by a literary paradigm staging the death of an aged lord given to ofermod and the vengeance exacted for him by loyal thanes. A degree of archaism in Maldon should be unsurprising. Critics like Elizabeth S. Sklar still assume that the poem “is essentially conservative in theme,” if not perhaps in this theme.121 In my view, the dragon fight in Beowulf comprises the sole parallel to Maldon and explains Byrhtnoð’s ofermod as well as the behavior of the retainers. If Beowulf can be copied ca. 1000, one could reason that Anglo-Saxon literary tropes had not vanished and that they were “historical” to the Maldon era. By these terms, Maldon extends the Old English literary environment as an authentic example of dubious heroism, contested obligation, and righteous loyalty. The debate over starkly contradictory opinions in Maldon criticism imitates the effect of reading Maldon as dialectical. Both the Beowulf and Maldon poets expect their situational complexities to be analyzed, the

Ibid. The issue for Hill is different in “Cynewulf and Cyneheard.” He perceives legitimacy and regicide as extraordinary motives for suicidal loyalty. 120 Warrior Ethic 141. 121 “Rhymed Formulas” 409. 118

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motivations of their characters surveilled. Arguments for and against a leader’s potential defect embrace deliberate, irresolvable contingencies challenging the reach of the heroic idiom: the extent of a subaltern’s duty relative to the war-leader’s ambition. W. G. Busse and R. Holtei remark that “heroism in Maldon is not communicated through the literary type of the heroic superman, but rather through members of the thegn class.”122 As in Beowulf, subalterns in Maldon gain a group identity and a political will thought to be neglected in earlier heroic verse. Busse and Holtei have emphasized this dimension of the poem and in context with Byrhtnoð’s ofermod: [The text] makes thegns the true heroes of Maldon and thus lets them fulfil the standards propagated in the text; further, it makes thegns the judges of behavior complying with the standards, and finally it puts thegnly conduct into words.123

Busse and Holtei make the point that when the defense of England fell to a newly emergent class of thanes, expectations of their behavior could be expressed in literature like Maldon. I hold the more complex view that Maldon explores the utmost limit of thaneship relative to the possible recklessness of leadership. In spite of the flawed individuals in the poem, the social institutions are themselves upheld. Maldon could be deemed a poem of celebration, especially for the thanes who died fulfilling a heroic duty. If an audience intended to celebrate, rather than disparage, Byrhtnoð’s heroism, a margin of compromise might be found in the earl’s ostentatious defiance and adherence to “honor.” The lytegian crux and Godric’s theft might ease any negative judgments of grandiosity and negligent leadership. But Maldon interrogates more than it celebrates. It questions what men owe to an illustrious but failed leader for past generosity, whether glory can be earned in situations defying reason, and whether loyalty can be exploited, inadvertently or not. By these terms heroic works like Maldon and Beowulf show themselves to be undomesticated, their heroes subject to withering judgments, and their institutions laid bare to a subaltern gaze. The discomfort readers have felt in Maldon (and endeavored “Historical, Heroic and Political Poem” 189. Ibid. 192. Exactly this dimension of subaltern identity is explored in Ryner’s work, although the theoretical position is one of agency: “each of the warriors who vows to avenge Byrhtnoth’s death is afforded the chance to articulate his own subjectivity” (274). Ryner imagines an exchange of identity between Viking and Englishman as a negotiation of value for material objects. 122 123

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to pacify) derives from the mature heroic genre given to exploring the psychology of leadership and disgrace. Duty may be enough for transcendence among mortals, but most men hope to live. Maldon and Beowulf’s dragon fight could therefore be said to explore the intersection between one’s human capacity and glory as an act of will.

CONCLUSION Why was Beowulf composed? If the poem could be said to have a theme, it might be the obligations attending excellence and the temptation of power, both personal and civic. Beowulf depicts how self-restraint directed by social responsibility should always balance power, so that arrogance will not distort one’s promise. Power and glory are seductive, always tempting one’s willa. This warning against arrogance seems directed at leaders of all stripes, but especially to warrior-kings who have the most to gain in hazardous campaigns: land, wealth, glory. In keeping with the poem’s emphasis on heroism versus kingship, this account of social perfectability recalls Schücking’s opinion that Beowulf is a Fürstenspiegel.1 To an aristocratic audience, the kind inhabiting a royal compound in the eighth century, the poem delivers a political message, showing that individuals belong to groups and that an independent actor can compromise the group’s well-being. In other words, responsibility to the warband, tribe, or nation entails responsibility for the warband, tribe, or nation. The king (and warrior) should not therefore show presumption when his followers cannot support his leadership without a crippling disadvantage. The problem abides in the definition of presumption, which must reflect some kind of self-inquiry as moral “wisdom.” The political message of Beowulf implies that the boundary between appropriate and excessive action must be gauged by the exercise of “humility.” One’s power has to be exercised in acknowledgment of ece ræd, a term for fatalistic moral virtue, and one’s battles waged against God’s enemies, or in self-defense. Beowulfian Kingship in the Eighth Century The issues of Beowulfian kingship that I highlight throughout this book compliment the poem’s eighth-century context so well that one can imagine King Beowulf in Bede’s monastic terms as a kind of secular

1

184.

“Wann entstand der Beowulf ?” 399; the view was later endorsed in Heusler

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bishop.2 A sacral kingship has been theorized prior to the Migration era,3 but historians have concurred that Migration-era Germanic kingship entailed power-sharing that made politician soldiers (militarily successful representatives of dominant tribes) into kings, loosely defined. Relying partly on Tacitus’s Germania, M. J. Swanton has explored this “horizontal” brand of kingship, in which Germanic peoples averse to reges elect duces instead.4 From Swanton’s perspective, national leaders in early Germanic times ruled tribes, not territories,5 and their power was based less on birthright than on prowess.6 This same framework held for the earliest Anglo-Saxon kingdoms, which witnessed (in theory) the instability associated with shared power: exile, murder, coups d’état, civil war. Quarrying multiple Insular and continental sources, Swanton holds that at the beginning of the eighth century Christianity was influencing notions of kingship, which emerged as hierarchized or “vertical” by the century’s end. In these terms he implies “Roman organizational influence, demanding, like its theology, authoritarian direction from above.”7 The primary change involved attitudes towards heroic “pride”: The basic conflict seems to have been one between old and new concepts as to the appropriate form of humility before the source of one’s power, formerly considered to be invested in the people and now, spiritually at least, in God.8

“Humility” earned God’s special protection by implying the king’s Christian moral behavior, the wages of divine favor. In Swanton’s scheme the Beowulf poet transplanted these relatively novel sentiments of Christian kingship into a sixth-century setting. While Heorot resembles the Germanic hall, and Hroðgar’s government seems equally ancient, the multitude of Christian allusions and assorted pieties of rulership are traceable to the king’s eighth-century function as “vicarius Dei.” Swanton therefore alleges that Beowulf expresses superbia against the Wallace-Hadrill 73. Chaney 7–120. 4 Crisis and Development 16–19, esp. 18: “We have here a form of paradox at the heart of heroic society: that of leadership without power, that of the king who, while reigning, did not rule”; and 36: “The king is not the autocratic maintainer of subjects’ rights which derive from himself, but the defender, protector, helm hleo, of a public peace.” 5 Ibid. 26. 6 Ibid. 39–40. 7 Ibid. 46. 8 Ibid. 42. 2 3

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dragon, a presumption of personal authority. Rather than trusting “God” for victory, Beowulf relies on his own warfare, to the detriment of royal humilitas. The historical context Swanton theorizes for this reading validates the question of kingly responsibility I have raised in the dragon fight. Swanton’s critique of Beowulf represents the latest of many relating the poem to eighth-century theories of Anglo-Saxon kingship. Certainly the most influential effort remains Levin L. Schücking’s “The Ideal of Kingship in Beowulf,” probably because the short work was translated from German into English, and the translation circulated in the popular Anthology of Beowulf Criticism. Interestingly, Schücking offered no date for Beowulf but argued strenuously for its Augustinian view of Beowulf as a rex iustus or “righteous king.”9 Assimilating the terminology from authors he believed to be influenced by Augustinian kingship, specifically Gregory the Great, Pseudo-Cyprian, Sedulius Scottus, and Hincmar of Rheims, Schücking emphasized service in repression of superbia or “pride,” Christian obedience to God’s will, and the virtues of generosity, benevolence, sacrifice, popularity, responsibility, sympathy, prudence, and wisdom as mensura or sobrietas—“temperance,” in other words. Schücking’s authorities implicitly date his Beowulf to the Carolingian period, and while the attributes of a “rex iustus” look impressively Beowulfian, they hardly limn “a gentle prince of peace of Augustinian coinage.”10 Yet in contradistinction to an undefined, and possibly undefinable, Germanic lordship, Schücking derives the virtues he calls Augustinian from Ruodlieb, Waltharius (and “Waldere”), and Chanson de Roland as much as from Beowulf. His proposition that pagan kingship in Beowulf reflects Christianity could make sense in Fred C. Robinson’s terms, but one wonders whether “Augustinian” kingship is valid for the poem. Furthermore, Schücking reads Beowulf as an affirmation of ideal kingship, rather than an exploration of it, as I do. Regardless of the details, however, the ideals of Christian kingship were in the air in eighth-century England, an appealing coincidence given the poem’s probable date. J. M. Wallace-Hadrill confirmed Schücking’s view of Beowulfian kingship and placed Beowulf in the court of Offa.11 Coincidentally, Wallace-Hadrill’s work may be said to

9 10 11

“Ideal of Kingship” 39. Ibid. 43. Early Germanic Kingship 120–3.

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have back-dated Schücking’s premise a generation earlier, to the Age of Bede, since Bede arguably derived political concepts of kingship from Gregory the Great’s Cura pastoralis, an “Augustinian” source. The Cura pastoralis offers two felicitous dogmas of Beowulfian kingship: “the first was that the moral quality of the ruler was what counted; and the second was that rule of any kind was a professional occupation, calling for special aptitudes, training and constant self-examination.”12 In my reading of Beowulf these provisions evoke Beowulf ’s own moral virtue as justification of his courage, Hroðgar’s effective training, and the “self-examination” Beowulf practices in defense against oferhygd. Bede’s historical “reges humiles”—Sigebert, Anna, Oswine—earn martyrdom at the hands of pagan enemies (Penda and Oswiu),13 as Beowulf seems to do in the dragon fight, if one overemphasized the “paganism” of the curse and ignored Beowulf ’s own heathenism. The parallel is inexact, I realize, but it illustrates the moral humility of Beowulf’s own resolution, the courage by which his deeds are justified as just short of excessive. If Beowulf belongs in the eighth century, its cultural milieu practically birthed monastic kingship, not only in the numbers of monk-kings but also in the philosophies promulgated about Christian kingship. To Alcuin, Wallace-Hadrill explains, Edwin was “rex pius, largus in omnes, and patriae pater; sanctissimus Oswald, also patriae tutator, is moribus egregius, pauperibus largus, iudiciis verax, hostibus horribilis, the benefactor of churches, and the worker of miracles. Oswiu is invictus bellis, and also pius, omnibus aequus.”14 Such royal virtue derived from sapientia, the explicit wisdom afforded by Christian teachings, but the translation “wisdom” may impersonate the warrior discretion of OE snyttru. Derivative generalities like these could be made to elucidate Beowulf ’s own rule, and the judgment of his Geats that: . . . wyruldcyninga manna mildest ond monðwærust, leodum liðost. (3180b–82a) . . . among kings of this world he was the mildest of men, the gentlest and the kindest to his people.

12 13 14

Ibid. 74. Wallace-Hadrill 85–6. Ibid. 87.

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The impulse to attribute to Beowulf the Bedan qualities of a Christian king obviously derive from this final judgment, both arguably “antiheroic” in outlook and authoritative in esteem.15 Beowulf’s Exceptionality and the Blessings of Power The foregoing studies demonstrate that benevolent, God-centered kingship in Beowulf may indeed be rooted in eighth-century political theory. But I prefer to read the poem as a literary work in which interactions and conflicts transact relative status—an emphasis, in other words, on the growth of Beowulf’s imagined political identity. Beowulf has promise. The poem opens by recalling ideal kingship in the rule of Scyld and his descendants. The plot soon discovers the problem of national decline, however, when Hroðgar’s war with Grendel materializes. Like Scyld, who emerges from nowhere as a blessing to his nation, Beowulf arrives at Heorot. He is a blessing largely because he restores Danish power by vanquishing Grendel and Grendel’s mother. In fatalistic terms his strength and feats of arms are God-sent, for anyone having such endowments is “blessed,” as Hroðgar acknowledges: efne swa hwylc mægþa æfter gumcynnum, þæt hyre ealdmetod bearngebyrdo. (942b–46a)

Hwæt, þæt secgan mæg swa ðone magan cende gyf heo gyt lyfað, este wære

Indeed, any young woman who births such a man among men may say, if she yet lives, that the ancient Measurer was generous to her in her child-bearing.

And, quite similarly: Þæt, la, mæg secgan se þe soð ond riht fremeð on folce, feor eal gemon, eald eþelweard, þæt ðes eorl wære geboren betera. (1700a–1703a)

Swanton theorizes that OE milde “has now [by ca. 766, in the Ecgberht coronation ordo] come to refer explicitly to that attribute of the ideal king that can only be considered in a non-reciprocal sense, the quality of mercy or indulgence” (Crisis and Development 63–4). 15

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conclusion He who keeps virtue and righteousness among the people and remembers everything far back in time, an old guardian of the kingdom, can say that this nobleman was born better.

Even in the “sermon” we learn that one’s birth is a condition of greatness, a blessing of potential that one can direct towards virtue or vice. In the world of the poem God the Father is the omniscient judge of righteousness, watching how Hroðgar, Beowulf and others use the gift of better birth. Beowulf centers precisely on the fulfilment of a heroic aptitude, because political leadership rests on the cultivation of personal values or character. It is supremely important to realize in Beowulf that ideal “heroism” has limitations imposed by warrior virtues that have gone largely unexplored. When critics discuss ostensibly heroic virtues in the poem—what is riht (“righteous”) or soð (“eternally true”)—they often evaluate them according to Christian precepts, especially as explored in Patristic writings. As I have suggested, however, the inherited heroic values mix with inherited Christian ones in Beowulf, but the resulting composite needs to be perceived as heroic and pagan. This distinctive outlook, which Fred C. Robinson has explicated with intelligence, forms the standard for ethical judgments made on Beowulf ’s heroism. The alleged Christian affinities of Beowulf have been overemphasized, for the poet has used Christianity to sanitize his heroism—to restrict, in other words, the most distasteful aspects of heroic behavior: violence, arrogance, and ignorance of Providence as the catalyst of Fate. The pagans in the world of Beowulf look surprisingly Christian, and appealingly virtuous despite their “indecent” heathenism. Mindful of such anachronistic virtues, the poem presents a clear model of ethical betterment. God’s est or “generosity” implicit in a warrior’s birth has to be guided by the right principles for the warrior to achieve his forðgesceaft or “promise.” OE forðgesceaft implies the “destiny” of one’s potential, as measured ultimately by the attainment of glory. Glory in the abstract entails all the heroic conventions commonly invoked for a “heroic code,” but the prospect of ece ræd or “eternal counsel,” which governs right action in Beowulf, always orients the pursuit of glory in acknowledgment of heroic virtue. “Right action” necessitates restraint, and the degree of one’s heroic temperance is determined by self-judgment. In choosing right action, a warrior has to judge not only whether he can achieve his ambition but also whether the deed is worth the risk. We need only invoke certain “wisdom” passages that advocate

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self-knowledge to know that restraint in pursuit of riht was a prized virtue that recognized ece ræd or “eternal counsel.” Precisely for this reason, so much wisdom poetry in Old English advises men to eschew arrogance or behaviors that lead to it: drunkenness, lust, greed, and indifference to one’s elders or superiors. These behaviors can lead to misfortune, or outright disaster. But when a warrior exhibits the right amount of restraint relative to risk, motivation, and capacity, he could, when successful in his right action, be said to express ellen “courage” and gain glory. These terms make courage sound theoretical, but I do not intend for this abstraction to supplant the complex materiality of behavior, even in literature. The Beowulf poet has contemplated the effects of extreme action, which confounds the implicit sociological and ethical calculations normally used to measure glory. In this gambit he challenges heroic expectations associated with prudence and asks how one judges behaviors of extraordinary magnitude.16 Beowulf’s actions are situated on the margin of acceptable behavior because of his exceptionality. To some onlookers in Beowulf ’s world, Beowulf’s temperament as a “hero” approximates that of a wrecca or “exile”—certainly not that of an ordinary rank-and-file soldier in a king’s militia. As I have explained in Chapter 1, wreccan comprise distinct social identities in two categories. Traditionally, wreccan have been viewed as voluntary “exiles,” as in The Seafarer, or accidental “exiles” who have lost their lords in war, as in The Wanderer. The sense “exile” is the root meaning of the term, but in most cases it characterizes an aristocratic or high-born warrior of irascible temperament. Relatively unexplored is the kind of warrior who voluntarily or involuntarily joins a foreign warband. Many wreccan populate Beowulf—Hengest, Heremod, Sigemund, Eanmund, Eadgils, and in all probability Hunferð and Ecgþeow—and they express an ambition associated with other such archetypes: Lucifer and Cain. To enhance their own prestige, wreccan and fighters like them consistently display extreme violence, even against social superiors. Arrogance is their defining attribute. Beowulf himself is frequently compared to these men because his status is ambiguous: he has left his own lord Hygelac to undertake a venture on behalf of a foreign king. Since Wulfgar senses that Beowulf has not come out of However, Fred C. Robinson (“Elements of the Marvellous”) has made a convincing case that Beowulf is not “superhuman” like his enemies; he is simply a “heroic man.” 16

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“wræcsið” or “exile,” Beowulf cannot be said to be a wrecca. I make no claim of the sort, but I do allege that Beowulf parallels other wreccan mentioned in the poem and is often compared to them. The comparison justifies the anxiety felt for Beowulf’s motivation. Beowulf ’s superhuman prowess, the exceptionality he embodies, generates the ambivalence centered on his motivation. Beowulf ’s motivation comprises the poem’s subject simply because his ambition determines whether he has the potential for arrogance that characterizes most wreccan. The poet explores the nature of exceptional heroism, and the potential for heroic arrogance. Can Beowulf, in other words, restrain the violent disposition that underlies glory in heroic societies like that in Beowulf ? A native term that perfectly illustrates the ambivalence of heroic glory is OE wlenco, which has two senses: “pride” and “dignity.” “Pride” is excessive. The warrior should learn how to suppress this excess, which could lead to disaster. Whether Beowulf expresses excess, therefore, or whether he expresses an appropriate degree of action in all his encounters represents the poet’s focus. The implicit goal, I have argued, is to illustrate how Beowulf’s potential for arrogance can be mastered in favor of his potential for responsible kingship. This fundamental ambivalence evokes the tension in Beowulfian kingship between the king’s “glory” and his duty as the nation’s protector. When a man of exceptional heroic stature becomes a king, his ambition must be must be set aside in favor of responsibility to his people. The movement between allegation and justification creates the poem’s uncertainty, and this doubt reflects a conscious strategy to explore the difference between impetuosity and courage. I have called this strategy “contrapuntal.” We are invited, as it were, to observe how powerful and aspiring men like Beowulf could be endangered by their own supreme promise, and how they might learn to recognize what is riht or righteous in contemplation of ece ræd, the Germanic “counsel” of moral probity. Reading Beowulf is a matter of judging whether, or to what extent, Beowulf achieved his predicted destiny, and evidence for his success or inadequacy is encoded in the poem’s episodes. My focus on the digressions (four of which could be characterized as gidd ) explains one component of the poem’s contrapuntalism, for the implicit comparison made between the episodes and events in the poem invite deliberation. In other words, Beowulf’s feats, motivations, and attitudes are analyzed by reflection on “historical” (legendary) comparanda. I am suggesting that the poet invites a critical appraisal of Beowulf ’s

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virtue when he is compared to Sigemund, Heremod, Hengest, Fremu, Hygelac, and others. In other instances my analysis of the digressions enables me to explore the poet’s focalization, the “local context” in which his comparisons function. All of the digressions, I theorize, respond to incidents immediately occurring or having just occurred in the speaker’s level of narration. Beowulf is almost always the subject of these narrative parallels. This episodic alternation between event and commentary not only models internal reflection but also heightens the dramatic irony. The audience possesses intelligence about the monsters, and sometimes about Beowulf’s motivation, that the characters cannot share. The limitation impairs the characters’ authority in judging Beowulf’s deeds, a benightedness actually extended to the audience in the dragon fight. The tacit contrapuntalism of Beowulf takes the form of coordinating antithetical perspectives on heroism and responsible kingship, in which charges and countercharges issue in succession. The watchman’s speech and Hunferð’s flyting exemplify this dispute over Beowulf ’s motivation. Beowulf’s presumptuous appearance on the Danish shore alarms the watchman. Beowulf has not asked permission to disembark, and the watchman’s own interrogation reflects his unease over Beowulf ’s breach of political decorum. The episode begins in doubt and continues in distrust, but it ends in the apparent affirmation of Beowulf ’s prudence. In this case, the watchman believes that Beowulf has exhibited humility; presumably his impertinent advance resulted from naïve earnestness. By contrast, Hunferð’s accusation of arrogance impugns Beowulf’s judgment, but Beowulf’s riposte alleges youthful exuberance and courage. Who is right? The conventions of the “flyting” mean that Beowulf should respond in kind, with equally cutting remarks, but I have demonstrated that the winner of this contest should not be thought “moderate.” On the contrary, the winning debater typically qualifies as the most aggressive. By these terms, Beowulf’s victory could be said to compromise our expectation of his wisdom. The narrator suggests that Hunferð has earned the Danes’ respect. Has he earned Beowulf’s slander, too? Favorable assessments of Beowulf are accompanied by unfavorable or suspicious ones. Beowulf offends the Danish hosts when he recites his heroic résumé and vows to trounce Grendel with his bare hands. The Danes have tried for years to kill Grendel, but they have settled for a détente in which no one gets killed. Beowulf sounds reckless. He has all the hallmarks of a man willing to endanger others, Danes

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and Geats alike. Yet in keeping with the argument against Beowulf ’s potential arrogance, Hroðgar asserts a different, politically mature, way to view Beowulf’s statement. Invoking Ecgþeow’s feud with the Wylfings, Hroðgar re-directs Beowulf’s grandiosity towards reciprocity. He suggests that Beowulf is simply paying back Hroðgar for past generosity towards Ecgþeow. That such a debt could be carried from a previous generation seems unprecedented, but Hroðgar is simply rescuing Beowulf from condescension. The implicit arrogance emerges in the Hunferð flyting. How Beowulf is judged depends significantly on the poem’s dual audience, its internal and external perspectives. The Christian AngloSaxon audience knows Grendel’s lineage, but the characters do not. We wrongly transfer our consciousness to them. This differential knowledge, not to mention the narrator’s occasional insights into Beowulf’s thoughts, engender complex dramatic ironies. For example, an Anglo-Saxon audience understanding Grendel’s Old Testament lineage respects the moral validation for Beowulf’s possible recklessness towards God’s enemy. To the pagan characters in the poem, however, Grendel is undeniably malicious, but they do not imagine him as God’s enemy. He is God’s scourge. When Beowulf promises to fight Grendel with his bare hands and correspondingly neglects to recognize the Danish efforts, his intentions sound arrogant to the Danes. In these terms Beowulf’s motivation in the Grendel fight reflects a key ambivalence as potentially arrogant or potentially sacrificial. Attached to the Grendel fight therefore are all the other accounts of the ambivalent motivation imputed to Beowulf: the coast-warden’s speech, Hroðgar’s support for Beowulf’s intervention, the Hunferð episode, Hondscioh’s death, the Sigemund and Heremod digressions. Each of these incidents evaluates Beowulf’s motivation, his possible generosity or his possible recklessness. Plenty of evidence, of course, favors Beowulf ’s generosity in the Grendel fight, and just as much supports his humility. Critics like John D. Niles have made a strong case: “the fight with Grendel is the young Beowulf’s first great test, and he meets it with extraordinary vigor.”17 One might also conclude, however, that the encounter tests recklessness, and Beowulf ’s exceptional strength is no virtue in itself, if not

17

Beowulf 178.

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used for the right reasons. God-given strength, as Hroðgar observes in his sermon, may be corrupted by ambition. The diversity of authority in Beowulf accounts for the poem’s ambivalence, but even the intradiegetic narrators inconsistently diagnose Beowulf’s motivation. Some even justify their right to judge Beowulf ’s behavior. Hroðgar is Beowulf’s staunch defender, alongside subalterns like the coast-warden or Wulfgar. Just after the fight with Grendel’s mother, Hroðgar validates his support for Beowulf in verses 1700a–3a, quote above (p. 355). He remarks that a man like himself who has done righteous deeds among his people (“se þe soð ond riht//fremeð on folce,” 1700b–1a), and who recalls the distant past (“feor eal gemon,” 1701b), has the right to judge Beowulf’s excellence, that he was “born better” (“þæt ðes eorl wære//geboren betera!” 1702b–3a). This claim not only endorses the ambivalence of Beowulf ’s heroism as eligible for judgment but also conceives the authority for judgment as arbitrary. Because Hroðgar is thought to have done righteous deeds, he claims the right to judge Beowulf’s deeds. His experience gives him authority, as The Wanderer contends: . . . ne mæg weorþan wis wer, in woruldrice. (64b–5a)18

ær he age wintra dæl

. . . a man cannot be considered wise before he has had his share of years in the world.

Hroðgar’s support of Beowulf acknowledges the position of his subordinates as well. After all, his decision allowing Beowulf to fight Grendel facilitated Æschere’s death. As a king, he must take credit for an old friend’s grisly dismemberment in expectation of a future deliverance. His men have trusted him, but their trust may have been compromised. In some sense Beowulf’s supreme luck against Grendel’s mother and Hroðgar’s premature departure from Grendel’s mere magnify the issue of responsibility—and barely credit Hroðgar with the trust he claims for himself. Hroðgar trusts Beowulf, but subalterns like Hunferð, the anonymous poet of the Sigemund-Heremod digression, and Healgamen the Finnsburh scop fear Beowulf’s future kingship. As I have argued throughout this book, negative evaluations of Beowulf ’s motivation

18

I have adopted Fulk’s lineation in Pope and Fulk 96.

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occur largely in the poem’s digressions, and characters in the poem probably understand their own judgment as speculative. For example, the Danish shore watchman has to decide whether Beowulf has come raiding or whether he intends to face Grendel, as stated. The interrogation itself highlights “moral” judgment, the topic of much wisdom verse, as a heroic duty. This subaltern perspective reflects comitatus rivalry, in which individual acts of “heroism” may endanger oneself or the group. The warband fighters who lost the most in Hroðgar’s war with Grendel face losing even more by Beowulf ’s challenge, not Hroðgar or arguably even Beowulf. Hondscioh and Æschere, in fact, were just the sort of casualties the warband feared. The Subaltern Speaks: The Case of the Riddles The subaltern perspective has rarely been studied in Old English heroic verse, mostly because heroic action has not been thought open to serious equivocation. Even in Maldon, when Byrhtnoð’s behavior imperils his entire force, his ofermod ironically validates the heroism of his retainers. Yet the men’s courage in “dying with their lord” is seldom separated from its unavoidable obligation: “unavoidable” because escaping such a compulsory death means unendurable shame worse than dying. Few critics have sought to expose the subaltern’s political and military vulnerability, but one prominent exception is Edward B. Irving, Jr., who penned a short article on “Heroic Experience in the Old English Riddles” in 1994. Irving entertained certain Old English riddles metaphorically, in many cases exemplifying the situation of the subaltern, as in these lines from the “Shield Riddle” (Riddle 5 [3]): Ic eom anhaga bille gebennad, ecgum werig. frecne feohtan. þæt me geoc cyme ær ic mid ældum

iserne wund, beadoweorca sæd, Oft ic wig seo, Frofre ne wene, guðgewinnes, eal forwurðe . . . (1a–6b)

I am solitary, wounded by iron, maimed by sword, sated by deeds of war, weary of blades. I often see battle, fierce conflict. I expect no comfort—that any relief of warfare might come for me before I might perish entirely among men . . .

Irving identified the shield as a metonym for shield-bearer, a warrior facing unrelieved pounding, and he compared the shield’s ordeal to

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“the experience of the enlisted man, nameless and forgotten in ditch or foxhole.”19 In Beowulf the “forgotten” might have been Hondscioh, had Hroðgar not honored him, but the “nameless” could be any retainer in the dragon fight except Wiglaf, or the “byre” in the Heaðobard digression of Beowulf. Hondscioh dies because of Beowulf’s oath, and the Heaðobard lad, baited by the “eald æscwiga,” suffers exile for his part in the old warrior’s plot. Like a shield, they take a beating in defense of their companion, who achieves his aims at their expense. In addition to the “Shield Riddle” Irving went on to identify the “Anchor” and “Badger/Fox” riddles as descriptive of a subaltern experience. The “Badger/Fox Riddle” is a less successful comparison,20 but Irving’s reading of the “Anchor Riddle” seems convincing, sometimes in ways not even touched on. Irving compared the anchor’s increasing tenacity as it becomes more motionless to a stationary shield which suffers more blows the more it stands still.21 The better comparison might be to the subalterns in Maldon, who become more resolute the more desperate the engagement gets. One has to agree with Irving that the inanimate could serve as an analogue of subaltern experience. The “Storm”, “Sword”, and “Bow” riddles describe the experience of violence or defensive warfare, whereas “draftee” and related riddles (“Spear,” “Ram,” “Flail,” “Ox,” “Gold,” “Inkhorn”) illustrate reluctant conscription in which happiness is converted to misery through power or violence. None of these quite resembles the “Shield” or “Anchor” riddles, which recall Maldon and Dream of the Rood as prototypes of a subaltern experience, even if in Dream of the Rood that experience is foreclosed because the rood cannot take action.22 Irving proposed in ensuing remarks on the “Shield Riddle” that only the ludic tone of riddles sanctioned a poet’s treatment of the subaltern: The anonymous soldier fights doggedly in his assigned trap until death, and by doing so provides one limited but persuasive definition of war: it is the experiencing of meaningless suffering and death. Yet any poet who would introduce such a theme into a heroic poem would run a risk of challenging the fundamental values of heroic behavior. The Beowulf-poet

“Heroic Experience” 200. Shippey holds a similar view in “Boar and Badger” and proposes that the boar describes one kind of heroic attitude; see below, pp. 366–70. 21 “Heroic Experience” 202. 22 Ibid. 206 (where, however, Dream of the Rood is called a draftee poem); Hill, Warrior Ethic 124. 19 20

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conclusion does not give us the story of any sweating and dying peasant among the troops at the battle of Ravenswood.

Yet I have found that this theme can be treated quite seriously, too. Irving likewise pointed out that Ajax in the Iliad could represent the Shield: stolid, dependable, and defensive. Another Homeric Shield character might be Thersites, who questions the kings’ prerogatives when the soldiers are told to cut and run but are simultaneously whipped back into formation by Odysseus. Even Homer can raise criticisms of selfish power that underlie responsible leadership. Far from absent in Beowulf, a similar criticism is voiced against kingship, even potentially against Beowulf, though described as “monna mildust/ond monðwærust,//leodum liðost” (‘the mildest, gentlest and most compliant of men,” 3181a–2a). The multivalent attitudes occasioned by internal and external perspectives constitute only one source of narrative complexity in Beowulf. Another derives from the treatment of Beowulf as a static character. In many studies the “hero” arises fully credentialed as a virtuous figure, and evidence drawn from contexts throughout the poem is elsewhere used to challenge apparent contradictions. In my view, the prospect of a static Beowulf has led quite a few critics to misconstrue aspects of Hunferð’s challenge, the anonymous soldier’s story of Sigemund and Heremod, and especially Hroðgar’s sermon. If Beowulf were consistently virtuous, there would be little reason to fault him as arrogant, to mistrust his leadership, or to warn him against oferhygd. Walling off our own external perspective, we should imagine how the Danes at Heorot would have reacted to Beowulf. At least some of them suspect him of presumption, or indifference to the lives of the “retainers” who accompany him. Beowulf’s deeds yet lie in the future, and before and after the Grendel fight every opportunity is taken to challenge his potential egotism and bend his behavior towards ece ræd. The characters’ situational blindness legitimates the criticisms made against Beowulf: the Danes exercise the same speculative judgment as the coast-warden. They must approach an unfamiliar figure whose strength elevates him above all men, and determine whether humility will blunt his ambition. The polemic that accompanies this judgment shows just how close Beowulf comes to the limit of acceptable behavior. The prospect of kingship likewise complicates Beowulf’s speeches and fights. Where Hroðgar sees a king, his men see an ambitious soldier. Although the Danes judge Beowulf’s responsibility and prudence, their

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findings will differ depending on their expectations of Beowulf ’s status. The difference will mean that conduct acceptable for solitary wreccan seeking glory against monsters is unconscionable for troop leaders. These circumstances may explain, for example, the Sigemund-Heremod digression, in which Beowulf is confirmed as a great warrior but a disastrous king. Grendel’s death proves Beowulf ’s prowess but not his humility or prudence. The movement I have alleged for Beowulf begins with two assumptions. One, made by the coast-warden, presumes Beowulf’s humility, at least in his ambition to fight Grendel. The second, made by Hunferð, presumes Beowulf’s boastful arrogance, especially in the Breca episode and in the Grendel challenge. Beowulf ’s daring is then confirmed in the Grendel fight, but his humility is not. Beowulf ’s glory will mount, some Danes believe, but it will not be tempered by any esteem held for others. For this reason Healgamen the scop recites the poem of Finnsburh, and Hroðgar warns Beowulf against oferhygd. They are reacting to Beowulf’s potential, his reaction to an ineffable destiny or forðgesceaft, as much as his power. This edginess dissipates when Beowulf comes home, but Beowulf’s confidence never leaves the reader’s mind as a source of jeopardy. I have argued that the Fremu digression reveals Beowulf ’s changed demeanor, but his address to Hygelac and the consignment of Hroðgar’s gifts disclose how effectively Beowulf manages his ambition. The dragon fight will, however, re-open the issue of Beowulf’s self-mastery in its emphasis on oferhygd. Many of the ideas I have proposed for the first half of Beowulf can be confirmed in the dragon fight, which explores the responsibilities attending kingship. The dragon episode, I suggest, functions somewhat like a riddle in posing but never resolving the possibility of Beowulf ’s arrogance, his potential for heroic excess. Other Old English poems are also fixated on heroic excess, arguably the failing of Germanic heroes at large, and, despite a paucity of evidence, the cardinal failing of wreccan, too. I have made the case for Maldon, that Byrhtnoð’s excessive confidence in allowing the Vikings to cross the Pante corresponds to Beowulf’s own potential oferhygd in the dragon fight. Many critics will disagree with so bold a statement as this, inasmuch as there are only five heroic poems in the Old English corpus. I intend to pursue the question of heroic excess separately, but because identifying this aspect of heroic behavior makes Beowulf’s own confrontation less idiosyncratic, it seems justifiable to sketch how excessive behavior may be represented elsewhere but overlooked.

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conclusion The Demise of Heroes but Not of Heroism

In an ingenious article on Maldon with reference to the “Cynewulf and Cyneheard” episode from the 755 Chronicle and to Waldere, T. A. Shippey has alleged that Anglo-Saxon heroic attitudes accommodated two styles of fighting: the boar (rush out and attack) and badger (dig in and wear down).23 Read from my own perspective, however, these texts confront the prospect of recklessness. Although Shippey’s antitheses seem perfectly feasible, the conservative badger represents the defensible position, the violent boar an extreme. The texts suggest as much in their depictions of heroic deaths, consistently self-inflicted through hazardous action that has the appearance of valiant action. When, for example, Cynewulf rushes out from his defensive position in the doorway to attack Cyneheard, he is slain after grievously wounding his enemy: . . . he on þa duru eode, 7 þa unheanlice hine werede, oþ he on þone æþeling locude, 7 þa ut ræsde on hine, 7 hine miclum gewundode. 7 hie alle on þone Cyning wærun feohtende oþ þæt hie hine ofslægenne hæfdon.24 . . . he [Cynewulf ] went to the door and defended himself without disgrace until he beheld the prince [Cyneheard], at which time he [Cynewulf ] rushed him [Cyneheard] and wounded him severely. They all then fell to fighting around the king until they slew him.

Shippey concludes that this scene is fictional, and goes on to state that “those who passed on the story of Cynewulf took a certain delight in the king’s sudden decision that life counted for nothing against the furious hatred he felt for his ambusher . . . some Anglo-Saxons . . . admired impetuous courage.”25 In my view, however, the chronicler invites his readers to evaluate Cynewulf’s potential rashness. He states specifically that Cynewulf fought “unheanlice” (“unshamefully”) in the doorway. The terminology reflects the situational ambivalence, for affirming Cynewulf’s “boldness” would contradict the evidence of his death. In other words, he should not be accused of cowardice for this defensive strategy but of something else entirely. The same polysemy characterizes the usage of “unforhte” in Maldon 79b, which describes the defiance of

23 24 25

“Boar and Badger.” Plummer and Earle 48 (emending un heanlice > unheanlice). “Boar and Badger” 222.

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Ælfere and Maccus just before their deaths. Being “unafraid” differs from being “confident” or “bold” in contexts of inevitable downfall, and all of Byrhtnoð’s retainers are so classified when they are described as “unearge”: Þa ðær wendon forð unearge men

wlance þegenas, efston georne. (205a–6b)

Proud thanes issued forth, uncowardly men eagerly hastened.

This usage is widespread. Adjectives for “brave” formulated with unplus a term having the opposite sense of the target portray the ambivalence of heroic action in the face of certain death. Byrhtnoð’s men are not “brave” in any ordinary way but neither are they “cowardly.” Implicit in the adjective “wlance,” their liminal motivation expresses doubt, either supreme heroic action or reckless defiance. Cynewulf’s death ultimately reflects the ambiguity attending supreme heroic action. By rushing out naked, he seems to have acted recklessly, not only in losing his own life but the lives of his retinue who died for him. At the same time, he came very close to killing his enemy by giving him a great wound (“miclum gewundode”). To what circumstance could we credit this exceedingly slim margin of defeat? Simply because he was “on wifcyþþe” (“seeing a woman”) and therefore undressed and without his bodyguard? “Cynewulf and Cyneheard” evokes many of the situational ironies explored in Beowulf’s dragon fight. I proposed in Chapter 5 that the retainers’ refusal to accept Cyneheard’s terms constituted “dying with one’s lord,” a sacrifice which typically accompanies a leader’s recklessness. Cynewulf ’s exploit ultimately reverberates through the Chronicle’s history, for Wessex, which had managed in Cuthred (d. 752) to secure autonomy from Mercia, seems to have lost its quasi-independence after Cynewulf ’s death (he reigned 31 years). Offa of Mercia came to power soon afterwards. Notwithstanding the key issue of legitimacy, this bald episode asks questions like the Beowulf poet’s. Was it reckless for Cynewulf to have ventured to Merton in the first place, or with such a small retinue? If Cynewulf could wound Cyneheard, could he not also have killed him? Did Cynewulf’s men fail him, then, because they were not present to defend their king? If Cyneheard is killed, as happens later in the episode, does Cynewulf’s death actually matter? Why does the legitimate king die, even though his attacker’s ancestry is tainted by wrongdoing and his ambush is desperate? Cynewulf’s death exemplifies a king’s potential

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recklessness and resonates with Beowulf’s own downfall. “Cynewulf and Cyneheard,” Hroðgar’s sermon, the Bonifatian letter I adduce, and parallels in “Daniel” corroborate the prominent literary treatment of a king’s heroic excess in eighth-century England. The behavior was a matter of serious debate, not mere admiration. An uncertain recklessness also characterizes Waldere’s behavior in the Old English poem “Waldere.” Shippey explains that Hildegyð’s speech in Waldere A should probably come “after several enemy warriors have been killed, but before the greatest of them, Hagena, is drawn reluctantly into the action.”26 In this context Hildegyð repudiates what appears to be Waldere’s excessive heroic action and advocates practical defense, badger-style: Nalles ic ðe, wine min, ðy ic ðe gesawe ðurh edwitscype wig forbugan lice beorgan, ðinne byrnhomon ac ðu symle furðor mæl ofer mearce, þæt ðu to fyrenlice æt ðam ætstealle, wigrædenne. (12a–22a)

wordum cide, æt ðam sweordplegan æniges monnes oððe on weal fleon, ðeah þe laðra fela billum heowun; feohtan sohtest ðy ic ðe metod ondred, feohtan sohtest oðres monnes

Not at all do I criticize you with words, that I saw you flee another man in battle through cowardice or retreat from the (shield-)wall to protect your life, though many foes had hewn your mailcoat with their swords. In fact, you ever sought to fight further forward, a prospect beyond your capacity. For this reason I fear what has been ordained for you, that you would too audaciously seek to fight another man’s strategy in the vanguard.27

Hildegyð asserts that Waldere is no coward: she has never seen him flee, even when his mailcoat was hacked to bits by many foes. Having made the case for Waldere’s courage, Hildegyð disclaims any imputation of cowardice in the advice she gives. She fears that Waldere might act “to fyrenlice” (“too audaciously”) in abandoning his protected defile.

Ibid. 223. I am indebted to Shippey on a number of counts in this translation; see ibid., pp. 222–3. My translation “audaciously” for OE fyrenlice acknowledges that heroic deeds should often be regarded as liminal: “audacious” verging on “reckless”; see DOE s.v. firenlice sense 2 (“rashly, violently,” for this passage only). 26 27

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She suspects that Waldere’s success in killing a host of enemies (both in the current mêlée and in the past battles she alludes to) would tempt him to a “prospect beyond his capacity” (“mæl ofer mearce,” 19a), and she contemplates that Attila’s strategy is to tempt Waldere’s heroic vanity—his warrior confidence. Joyce Hill has offered four possible interpretations of OE mæl in the phrase “mæl ofer mearce,”28 but the sense “appointed time” is most likely correct. The word mældæg in Genesis A 2341b signifies “appointed day,” a meaning one could extend in the Waldere A context to “occasion” or “opportunity.”29 Because “mæl ofer mearce” varies “furðor feohtan sohtest” (“sought to fight further,” 18a–b), we could guess that OE mæl somehow describes this circumstance. Now, as Shippey contends, seeking to fight “further” implies fighting beyond a physical boundary, for which reason he also thinks that “ofer mearce” means outside the protected cranny where Waldere defends himself. OE mearc often describes a physical boundary. In fact, Hildegyð mentions that Waldere always seeks to fight further, beyond the shield-wall. While OE mearc may designate physical emplacement, it has the figurative sense “limit,” and since OE mæl is as likely to mean “occasion” as “designated time,” the phrase may confront Waldere’s recklessness. He consistently sought opportunities beyond normal limits, past his measure, and Hildegyð therefore fears what has been measured out (“metod,” 19b) for him. The expression “æt ðam ætstealle” (21a), which I have translated “in the vanguard,” may also imply Waldere’s partiality for impulsive action. OE ætsteall in similar context is attested in Guðlac A, where it is often rendered “station.”30 This “station” may refer to the place of action, where the king’s standard is set or where the fighting is most desperate.31 The odds in Waldere’s current situation must be quite different from those in his former engagements, in spite of his stature. They make Waldere’s ordinary reaction reckless, not “audacious” but “too audacious” (“to fyrenlice”). According to Hildegyð, yielding to his customary impulse to be in the “ætsteall” would not be heroic:

Minor Heroic Poems 44. Ibid. 30 Roberts, Guthlac Poems 135 (note to line 179): “him to ætstealle/ærest arærde// Cristes rode” (“At the vanguard he first raised Christ’s rood,” 179a–80a). 31 Shook 6; at the cross (i.e. the position of a battle-standard) Guðlac the warrior “overcame many perils” (“þær se cempa oferwon//frecnessa fela,” 180b–81a). 28 29

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conclusion þæt ðu scealt aninga lif forleosan agan mid eldum . . . (8a–11a)

. . . nu is se dæg cumen oðer twega, oððe langne dom

The day has now come that you must from here on achieve one of two things, either lose your life or gain long-lasting glory among men.

Waldere’s boar-conduct would earn no glory in these terms. On the contrary, it would be excessive, and probably fatal, in exactly the way I have anticipated for Beowulf. Hildegyð foresees Waldere’s potential to be too eager for glory because his past successes have made him over-confident. In “Waldere” Hildegyð urges heroic “moderation,” but the evaluation of Waldere’s heroic death does not lie solely in the poem’s diegesis. Such judgment also functions at the level of audience, suggesting that listeners and readers actually appraised heroic deeds as excessive. A hero’s death in particular invites analysis, but Germanic heroic literature often judges action against ethical motivation. Regarding the Germanic focus on “failure, defeat, disaster,” Bertha S. Philpotts proposes that “there is something more in this interest in defeat than the mere poetic value of a lost battle against overwhelming odds.”32 She describes a “choice between two evils,” either “yielding” or “resisting,”33 and resistance in this dichotomy would confer fame. I have argued throughout this book that choice also necessitates evaluation, and that resistance would not automatically be exalted in Beowulf. In my view, the implicit tension between two evil choices requires that resistance be justified, not simply acclaimed. Signý in the Volsung legend exemplifies the stress that I envision in Beowulf. In committing incest, betraying her husband, killing her own sons, and immolating herself, she chose vengeance and gains “fame” of a sort. The story does not end with admiration for—or astonishment at—Signý’s choice, however. It continues with the audience’s justification for her choice: what makes her resistance admirable, and should human beings be willing to exchange their dignity for revenge? Of course, any concession to virtue in Beowulf invokes the Christian outlook theorized for the poem, since “yielding” to one’s fate implies the weakness associated with defeat. Action, I have said, typically dominates choice in the warrior’s ideology.

32 33

Philpotts 4. Ibid. 5.

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Beowulf vexes the admiration for resistance that Phillpotts outlines in her article on wyrd and providence. Social obligation opposes violence or, at least, the dépense characterizing do-or-die resistance. On the one hand, heroic “resistance” of the sort encountered in the Grendel fight conflicts with national and warband politics at Heorot. Beowulf’s “resistance” there defies Danish chagrin and the threat of renewed violence. On the other hand, the dragon fight frustrates violence in consideration of kingly responsibility, another kind of social obligation. Judgments made about these actions must reflect complexities and doubts contrived by the poet. He has not made a facile poem about the generosity and brilliance of heroic action but one that contemplates the motivations and effects of choice. The poet invites this judgment, especially in the dragon fight, where I have tried to calculate all the contingencies of Beowulf’s choice. My goal in Chapter 4 is to show how unforeseen outcomes of Beowulf’s dragon fight complicate his choice, which is itself based on limited understanding occasioned by a potentially improper motivation. The incident dramatizes the problem that resistance to one’s “fate” equals a famous death, but it does not altogether impugn the system of belief underlying resistance or capitulation. Beowulf is never ironic in these terms. Post-Marxist critics have often summarized the Beowulf poet’s overall outlook as challenging a social orthodoxy, most often a “heroic code” of some sort. Readings that protest heroism typify much Feminist criticism of Beowulf. In a recent book on queenship in Old English literature, Stacy S. Klein remarks that “the Beowulf poet mobilizes feminine voices to prescribe a new model of heroism premised on turning the violent energies of heroic self-assertion inward and waging battles against one’s inner voices rather than against human foes.”34 I have argued, however, that heroism valued the same arts of “wisdom” that Klein attributes to the poem’s female characters and to Hroðgar (because of his age and consequent “feminine” traits). In Beowulf ’s case, the “inner voices” confirm moderation, the restraint of political expertise. Interestingly, Klein interprets the dragon’s treasure as a token of vacant heroism: “the equation of Beowulf’s life with a treasure that is ultimately deemed useless indicts his adherence to a heroic ethos of vengeance and violence which is shown, in the end, to reduce the

34

Ruling Women 89.

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value of the warrior’s life to nothing.”35 Yet the quotient missing in this “equation” is glory or reputation. Like all warriors, Beowulf does not trade his life for “useless” treasure but for the enduring honor signified by material reward. Nevertheless, the Beowulf poet does not explore whether it is admirable to exchange one’s life for glory, but whether Beowulf responsibly gave up his life, and earned glory, in the dragon fight. The poet affirms heroism as righteous action but questions the limits of action for great men like Beowulf, especially when they must also be responsible for men of lesser capacities. John Leyerle’s article, “Beowulf the Hero and the King,” advocated a similar reading, but he concluded that heroism doomed Beowulf, who could only express the soldier’s faith in action. Conceiving heroism as a cultural liability, this subtle opinion re-figured Beowulf into a social commentary rebuking the conduct of kings and ironizing heroism. While I have affirmed many of Leyerle’s arguments in these pages, I have not concluded that the poet criticizes heroism per se. On the contrary, Beowulf chooses to fight the dragon, and while heroism might influence him to choose action, only by understanding his motivation can we determine whether his choice was righteous. Germanic kings are not doomed because they choose action, nor are they doomed because they have no choice but action. They might be afflicted by oferhygd. The issue of oferhygd, and the related fault of excessive wlenco, constitute my final point about the judgment of Beowulf ’s deeds. OE oferhygd is often rendered by the Christian reflex “pride,” an offensive and damnable vice for all churchmen. But because Beowulf ’s life and deeds are celebrated at the conclusion of the poem, Anglo-Saxonists hesitate to credit him with pride. I have made the case, however, that Beowulf ’s behavior at the end of his life should not impugn the success of his long reign. He has earned the Geats’ culminating accolades: manna mildest leodum liðost

. . . wyruldcyninga ond monðwærust, ond lofgeornost (3180b–82b)

. . . among the kings in this world he was the mildest of men, the gentlest, the kindest to his people and the most desirous of praise.

The same appreciation holds for Waldere, Cynewulf, and Byrhtnoð, all of whom had long and eminent careers. Furthermore, oferhygd alone

35

Ibid. 96.

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would not entail one’s personal destruction. As a matter of misjudgment, it is attended by other failings attributable to unforeseeable consequences like the men in one’s charge, the topography, or one’s weapons. Every case of excessive behavior also involves amelioration of some kind, and the Anglo-Saxons enjoyed discovering how these “extenuating circumstances” could relieve blame. In Beowulf ’s case the dragon’s death, the broken sword, and the secret curse mitigate his potential oferhygd. In my view, critics have misunderstood two aspects of what I call the “oferhygd complex,” and these particulars also resolve why Beowulf can be honored at the end of the poem. First, a king afflicted by oferhygd does not know that he has succumbed. He follows the “perverse, wondrous commands of an evil spirit” in complete ignorance of any sin, and may, in fact, think of his deeds as righteous. The king, for whom prosperity and self-defense ought to be enough, has simply lost his moral faculties and commits deeds contrary to ece ræd and in defiance of his forðgesceaft (“destiny”) and dom (“reputation”). Second, the social calamity represented by the tyrant’s ambition evokes pity, one reason why the language of accusation in Hroðgar’s sermon is so mild. In other words, the response to the subtle psychic temptation of oferhygd reveals sympathy for men who succumb to it, not outright condemnation. Hroðgar conveys just this kind of indulgent grief in reaction to Heremod’s fall: the tyrant “forgets and neglects” his promise. The Geats react to Beowulf’s own death with a mixture of pity, disappointment, and alarm (for their future), not the outright abuse that might be expected if Beowulf had yielded to superbia. This ostensible sympathy, alongside the multiple vindications I outlined above, explains why the close of Beowulf expresses respect and dignity for Beowulf’s accomplishments. Although the audience has registered the ambivalence of this conditional tribute, Beowulf has been a good king.

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INDEX OF PASSAGES CITED FROM OLD ENGLISH VERSE TEXTS

Cited by verse line(s): page reference(s). Andreas 307–14: 14 note 53 317–20: 197 note 57 516: 189 note 30 613–14: 72 note 40 1003: 109 note 163 1136: 195 1381: 78 note 47 1427–8: 70 note 36 1619: 72 note 40 Battle of Maldon 2–3: 326 6: 326 17–21: 326 18: 326 19: 326 30: 325 31–3: 326 33: 325 34: 326 36–7: 326 79: 366 86–8: 338 89–90: 328 90: 338 94–5: 331 note 66, 332 149–58: 343 note 110 169: 324 173–9: 341 179–80: 341 181: 345 185: 345 186–7: 345 192–3: 345 note 113 205–6: 367 207–8: 321 212–15: 344 220–3: 161 224: 343 237–42: 345 247–8: 321 249–51: 161

257: 321 278–9: 321 312–13: 344 Beowulf 6: 212 8: 211 14: 66, 292 15–16: 66 20–4: 44 50–2: 220 58: 196 61: 147 note 31 64–5: 211 105: 18 113–15: 190 note 31 118: 87 note 74 120–5: 190 142: 18 144: 18 168–9: 80 170: 80, 244 178: 212 184–5: 107 note 158 196: 29 204: 282 216: 82 250: 101 251: 232 267–82: 105–6 276–7: 212 278: 130 280–5: 106 287–91: 100, 102 311: 217 note 102 331: 24 338–9: 17, 24, 76 341: 24 348: 15 366–7: 15 349: 15 350: 15 379–81: 29 388–9: 205

398

index of passages cited from old english verse texts

Beowulf, cont’d. 420–1: 95 421: 71 421–2: 95 423: 71 424–32: 82 429: 73 note 41 434: 95 note 124 457: 112 459–61: 17, 75 462: 75 478–9: 114 note 175 480: 109 480–3: 132 503–5: 108 507: 124 508: 24, 41 508–12: 114 509: 41 511: 114 512: 41, 125 513–15: 125 note 213 517: 126 520–3: 114 523–4: 126 526–7: 95, 98 530–1: 109, 110 532: 113 note 174 537: 115 539: 115, 125 540–1: 115 542–3: 113 note 174 572–3: 29, 192, 267 583–6: 115 587: 127 588: 77, 106 589: 98 609–10: 115 629: 196 679–80: 83 680: 41 685–7: 332 721: 18 736–8: 83 738: 189 770: 18 783–8: 212 801–5: 83 807–8: 72 note 40 826: 85 868–9: 61 870–1: 61 note 3 876: 65, 68 879: 65

882: 68 883–4: 62 885: 65 888–9: 69 889: 65 894–5: 70 895: 65 898–902: 73 902: 164 902–4: 72 903: 45 904–5: 70 907–8: 70, 232 910–12: 115 911: 232 915: 210 942–6: 178, 355 946–9: 178 951–3: 45, 132 958–60: 189 996: 284 1014–19: 148 1017–18: 150 1018–19: 150 1020: 137 note 3 1055–7: 86 1064: 137 1065: 139–40 1066–7: 139 1068: 139, 152 note 46 1069: 137 1071–2: 152 1073–4: 137 note 4 1076: 137 note 4 1080–1: 153 1082–3: 152 1086: 157 1087–8: 165 1089–94: 154 1095: 143, 154, 164 1096: 143 note 18 1096–7: 156 1098–1101: 156 1099: 157 1102: 152 1102–3: 153, 162 1104–6: 156, 175 1106: 232 1107–8: 154 1125–7: 158 1127–33: 167 1128–9: 167 1129: 168, 177 1130: 167, 168 note 114 1137–8: 158

index of passages cited from old english verse texts Beowulf, cont’d. 1137–9: 169–70 1140–1: 170 1145: 172 1146: 152 1146–50: 159 1147: 152 1150–1: 170 1155: 165 1159–60: 140 1165–6: 87 note 75 1166: 91, 124 1167–8: 127 1180–2: 149 1184–5: 147 1184–7: 149 1185–7: 150 1198: 143 note 19, 217 1199–1200: 217 1200–1: 214 1202–7: 24 note 74 1206: 24, 52, 71, 288 1207–8: 217 1220: 172 1231: 148 note 34 1233–5: 151 1259: 171 note 128 1260: 212 1264: 194 1275: 18 1278: 114 note 177 1282–4: 29 1292–6: 258 1304: 184 note 10 1305: 164 note 96 1307: 196 1325–6: 147 1330: 235 1343: 195 1352: 18 1384–5: 267 1429: 114 note 177 1456: 87 note 75 1467: 109 1470–1: 130 1485: 284 1489: 16, 98 1490–1: 333 1558: 192 1562: 192 1564: 196 1657–8: 193 1661–3: 193

1688–93: 183 1689: 190 1691: 188 1691–2: 184 1691–3: 186, 192 1693–4: 184 1694–8: 183 1698: 181 1700–3: 355, 361 1703: 188 1704: 112 1705–6: 188 1709: 233 1709–24: 181 1711–12: 71 note 39, 189, 194, 230 1713–14: 67, 71 note 39 1715: 194 1716–17: 194 1718–19: 194, 196 1719–20: 67, 195–6 1721–2: 195 1722–4: 62 1724–7: 188 note 28 1724–34: 223 1724–57: 197, 208–9 1730–3: 197 1735–8: 198 1739: 214 1740: 193 1741–2: 199 1744: 210 1747: 203, 219 1748: 210 1749: 199, 211 1750–2: 211 1755–7: 288 1758–60: 257 1759: 213 1760: 203, 218 1764: 192 1769–73: 199 note 60 1772–3: 218 1773–4: 199 1781: 284 1807–12: 234 1826–35: 235–6 1827: 212, 235 1842–3: 233 1866: 171 1926–7: 228 1929–31: 229 1931–2: 229 1933–4: 230, 232

399

400

index of passages cited from old english verse texts

Beowulf, cont’d. 1938: 232 1939: 232 1940: 230 1950–1: 232 1951–3: 232 1961: 233, 292 1972: 73 note 41 2025: 145 note 24 2032: 111, 144 note 21 2034: 144 note 21 2036: 144 note 21 2037: 144 2040: 144 2042: 145, 171 note 128 2047: 112 2053: 145 2054: 144 note 21 2056: 146 2059: 144 note 21 2063: 143 2065–6: 143, 232 2069: 143 note 18 2076–80: 234 2080 : 234–5 2082: 235 2093: 212 2093–4: 235 2105: 140 2105–14: 141 2108: 140 2113: 171 note 125 2119: 114 note 177 2152–4: 179 2152–7: 236 2155: 137 note 3 2158–62: 236 2166–9: 238 2180: 196 2181: 238 2183–9: 20 2194: 174–5 2196–9: 238 note 150 2221–4: 250 2223: 264 note 80, 293 2231–70: 74, 265 2236: 293 2243: 266 2256: 266 2262–3: 266 2265–6: 72 note 40 2267–8: 266 2273: 251

2278: 212 2281–2: 250 2288: 251 2290: 297 2294–5: 251 2305–6: 251 2314–15: 249 2322–3: 251 2329–31: 255 2331: 256 2335–6: 254 2337: 73 note 41 2337–41: 257 2345: 51 2345–51: 254 2349: 255 2354–99: 260 2379–84: 16 2391: 172 2397–8: 255 note 52 2403–4: 213 2404: 279–80 2419–23: 258 2435–67: 259–60 2444–62: 201 2450–9: 266 2472–8: 272 note 89 2472–83: 272 note 89 2475–6: 272 note 89 2478: 271 2484–5: 271 2488–9: 171 note 128 2489: 271 2490–3: 273 2490–2509: 271 2509: 279 2511–12: 255 2511–14: 52 2512–14: 285 2514–15: 257 2518–21: 302 2524–5: 296 2526–7: 332 2527–8: 255 2529–35: 268 2532–5: 268 2535–6: 279 2554–5: 251 2581: 196 2589–90: 336 2598–9: 274 note 94 2599–2601: 276 2625–7: 264 2638: 268

index of passages cited from old english verse texts Beowulf, cont’d. 2639: 246 2640: 268 2642–4: 268 2642–6: 244 2650: 212 2650–2: 273 2653–6: 273 2656–9: 275, 336 2684–6: 302 2736: 212 2736–9: 155 2738: 288 2743–51: 279 2747–9: 282 2749: 284 2764–6: 280 2766: 51 2780: 212 2794–2800: 286 2796: 284 2833: 24 2842–5: 279 2848–9: 274 2850–1: 274 2863: 273 2869–70: 273 2873: 268 2878–9: 276 2879: 344 2884–90: 289 note 143 2890–1: 267, 305 note 176 2907: 264 2910–13: 289 note 143 2922–7: 272 note 89 2926–7: 271 2937: 71 2999–3000: 289 3019: 289 3028–30: 290 3051: 293 note 153 3053–7: 297, 301 3058–60: 286 3059: 171, 250 3060–1: 283 3066: 283, 295 3067: 51, 288 3069: 155, 295 3069–73: 294 3070: 293 3071–3: 294 3072: 295 3073: 298 3074–5: 281

3077–8: 50, 243–4 3078: 278 3083: 246 3085: 244 3110: 264 3121: 319 3126: 168 3152–5: 190, 289 3154–5: 212 3155: 342 3167–8: 287 3179: 319 3180–2: 36, 81, 354, 372 3181–2: 364 3182: 179 Christ A 363: 204 Christ B 485: 194 756–65: 204 768: 204 770: 205 779: 197, 204 833–6: 212 Christ C 1267: 195 1627: 225 Christ and Satan 119–24: 78 186: 78 Daniel 19: 225 22–4: 225 23: 256 25: 224 29–30: 224 32: 224 53: 222 56: 223 96: 222 100: 222 102–3: 222 106–7: 223 110–15: 223 161: 222

401

402

index of passages cited from old english verse texts

Daniel, cont’d.

Exodus

185–7: 225 187: 226, 256 209: 223 240: 170, 258 241: 223 268: 222 297: 222 299: 225 note 449: 222 488–91: 270 489: 203 note 494: 222 528: 222 565–6: 223 589–91: 226 605: 222 609: 225 611: 225 650–1: 225 668: 223 677: 203 note 684: 226 686: 226 694: 226 713: 211

note 57

Finnsburg Fragment 123 71, 222

24–5: 16, 75 32: 165 Fortunes of Men 16: 194 26: 72 note 40 51–7: 110 80–1: 92 Genesis A

71

Death of Edward 16–21: 74 note 42 Deor 21–7: 67 note 29 22–3: 217 24–5: 71, 217 30: 197 note 58 31–4: 188 note 28 40: 197 note 58 Edgar (A-S Chronicle poem) 1–2: 224 note 121 Elene 386–93: 78 431–2: 219 560: 219 561–2: 219 855–6: 107

144: 211 211–13: 71 529–30: 216 532–3: 203 note 71

18–19: 211 24: 216 30: 216 36–7: 78 44: 216 47: 211 56: 195 81: 195 878–9: 70 note 36 979–81: 77 1026–7: 71 1033: 77 1051: 77 1097: 77 1523–8: 190 1673: 24, 269, 276 1673–8: 276 1675–8: 269 1939–41: 216 2237–43: 229 note 129 2240: 229 2341: 369 2565: 190 Genesis B

note 47 note 106 note 106 note 158

272: 328 276–7: 328 293: 196 296: 196

index of passages cited from old english verse texts Gifts of Men 18–26: 198 26: 221 41: 176 note 140 Guðlac A 32: 256 34: 256 52–5: 96 56–9: 96 60–1: 96 109–10: 79 127–32: 206 167–9: 206 179–80: 369 note 30 180–1: 369 note 31 186: 206 note 75 208: 24 386–9: 270 809: 213 Guðlac B 991–2: 107 note 158 Instructions for Christians 130: 329 Judgment Day I 14: 211 16–17: 211 Juliana 16: 194 225–88: 205 351: 78 438: 72 note 40 483–90: 111 Kentish Psalm 52: 218 note 105 152–4: 213 Maxims I 4: 91 29–30: 332 note 73 37: 112

58–9: 37 60–1: 205 144–5: 112 146–7: 112 172–3: 74 192–200: 190 Maxims II 18: 218 note 105 23–9: 175 note 136 61–2: 218 note 105, 332 note 73 Menologium 125: 195 Meters of Boethius 1.22–25: 153 note 48 9.34–38: 219 note 107 Order of the World 3: 218 13: 202, 256 18–21: 202 27–30: 270 Paris Psalter 54.23: 196 note 51 58.2: 196 note 51 118.60: 211 138: 20, 196 note 51 142.11: 202 note 70 Precepts 17–18: 112 30–1: 112 34: 109 45–51: 99 47: 213 48: 98 54–6: 32, 200 57–8: 96 note 126, 219 67–8: 219 68–70: 219 78–82: 216 81–2: 216 86–7: 32 90: 112 93–4: 219

403

404

index of passages cited from old english verse texts

Riddle 5 (3) 1–6: 362 Rune Poem 1–3: 34 Seafarer 68–71: 198 109–12: 99 111–12: 31, 269 Solomon and Saturn 225–9: 193 388–90: 201 440–1: 202 Vainglory 1: 98 8: 197 14–15: 96 16–18: 171 18–19: 110 19–20: 96 21–22: 96 22–3: 97 23: 79, 95, 97 23–7: 205 24–5: 97, 205 26–7: 111 28–9: 79 28–31: 97 31: 79 33–4: 78 33–44: 238 34–5: 197 35: 197, 210 37–8: 206 40–1: 110 41: 110

43: 79, 203 44–9: 107 48: 79 49: 79 52–6: 107 55: 79 57–66: 79 58: 79 61: 79 Waldere A 8–11: 370 A 12–22: 368 A 18: 369 A 19: 369 A 21: 369 B 25–6: 202 note 70 Wanderer 64–5: 361 65–72: 31, 93–4 68: 199 Widsið 25: 114 27: 138 29: 137 note 4 33: 217 note 100 45–9: 147 note 32 65: 188 122: 217 124: 143 note 19 128–9: 216–17 129–30: 217 Wife’s Lament 1: 62 note 5 5: 74 note 42 10: 74 note 42 38: 74 note 42

INDEX OF OLD ENGLISH WORDS, AFFIXES, AND COLLOCATIONS DISCUSSED

abreotan 194 note 48 “agen dom” 65 note 23 ahlænan 107 aldorbana ¤ ealdorbana aldorcearu ¤ ealdorcearu alicgan + on 174 alwalda 6 ana 194, 225 “an dom” 65 note 23 “anes willan” 51, 243, 246 æfter 159 æfþonc(a), æfþanc(a) ælmihtig 6 ænlic 231–2 ætsteall 369 ætwitan 161 æþeling 13

111

-bealu 157 note 67, 195 bealunið 213, 257 benemnan 155 beodgeneat 67 betera 188 “gebiged” 107 blodreow 196 bolgenmod 194, 211, 223 breosthord 196 breotan 194 byre 145, 262 note 71, 263–4, 268 ceas, ceast 154 note 54 cempa 13, 14, 145 corþer 96, 319 note 29 cwiðan 141 cyning 14, 38 “dalum gedæled” 96, 99 deaðcwalu 190 dēlen (ME) 96 dol 245 dolgilp 114 note 175 dollic 245 dolsceaða 114 note 175 dom 13 don + on 174

dreamleas 225 drincan (druncen) 109 dryht 35 dryhtbearn 144 dryhten 6, 14 *dugan 98 duguð 35, 42, 319 “eafoð ond ellen” 63 “eal unhlitme” 168–9 “ealde riht” 256 ealdgesegen 61 note 3 ealdorbana 77 ealdorcearu 70, 85 ealdormonn 55, 324 eaxlgestealla 67 “ece drihten” 5 “ece ræd” 182, 214, 220, 224–5, 256 ecg 172 ecghete 198 edwenden 33 egesa 212, 218, 288 ellen 23, 80 ellendæd 65 ende 197 endelean 226 engel 7 eorl 14, 324 note 39 eorlscipe 268–9 “eorðan dreamas” 224 Eote 163 eoten 65 note 23, 72 note 40, 152, 163–6, 172 eotenisc 163 note 90 eotonweard, eotenweard 163 note 90 est 283–4 fah (fag) 27 fæge 33 fægen 94 note 120 “fæhðe ond fyrene” 64–5, 81 fæðelas 89 (ge)feran 188–9 ferhþ 196 flett 157

406 index of old english words, affixes, & collocations discussed flitan 154 flitm 154 flod 192 note 44 folcræden 176 forht 94 forlacan 72 note 40 forsendan 72 note 40 “forð forlacan” 72 note 40 forðgesceaft 218 note 105, 332 note 73, 356 forþringan 153 frasian 226 freca 14 frecne 189 fremde 188, 225 frioðuwær 155 frofor 35 fyren 59, 65, 210–11 fyrenlice 368 fyrenþearf 66, 115 (ge)gangan 279 note 105 gæst, gist 27, 158 “geare cunne” 93 gearwor 282, 283 note 121 “geatisc meowle” 289–90 geoguð 319 gidd 38, 61–2, 79, 139–41, 181, 188, 231, 266 gigant 163 note 90, 192 gist, gæst 27, 158 glæd 149 gladian 145 gligmonn 88 gneað 228 god 6 “god ana wat . . .” 332 “god ælmihtig” 5 *goldhwatu 282–3 gramhydig 211 gretan 80 note 52 guma 14 gumstol 233 gyman 218 hæftmece 98 hælend 7 hæle 13 hæleð 13 hæðen 7 handbana 235 heafodmæg 77 hean 20

heaþodeor 142 gehedan 108 gehegan 108 heofon 342 heorðgeneat 46 higeþrym 205 note 74 higian 280 hildedeor 141 hleotan 168 note 112 hliet 168 note 112 hnah 132, 228 hold 43, 101–2 hraful 212 hremig 145 heðer 210 hrinan 297 *hwatu 283, 290 note 148 hyran 116 inne 170–1 inwitsorh 197, 201 lacan 72 note 40 landræden 176 langung 225 lemman 70 note 33 leodbealu 195, 230, 232 lifcearu 70 note 33 lifgesceaft 233 lof 13 lofgeorn 1 note 2 lofgeornost 1, 27, 50, 179 lytegian 338–42 mæl 369 mænan 161 mæst (micel) 244 note 20, 245 mearc 369 gemet 99 “gemet monnes” 269, 276 metod 6 milde 355 note 15 missan (OIcel missa) 259 note 59 mod 23 modsefa 15 modþryðo 229 mondream 42, 194–5, 225, 241 monn 14, 269 monwise 216 note 97 morþor 157, 259 note 62 morþ(or)bealu 157 gemot 170 (ge)munan 145, 171

index of old english words, affixes, & collocations discussed 407 muðbona 234 myndgian 145, 171 note 127

sund 124–5 swiðferhð 908

nefa 65 nefne, nemne 281 note 111 nergend 7 “ne to forht ne to fægen” 94–5

tæcan 326 to 127 “to fægen” 200 torngemot 170, 173

oferhigian 280 oferhogian 254 oferhycgan 254 oferhygd 36, 37, 38, 40, 43, 49, 51, 54, 69, 181–227 ofermod 54, 328–30 oferswiðan 218 ofþyncan 111, 144 “on bearm” 175 “on feonda geweald” 72 note 40, 337 note 90 onhohsnian 233 onwendan 276 note 100 openian 297–8 ordbana 77

“þæt wæs . . .” (poetic formula) (ge)þearfian 153 þeccan 113 þegn 14 ðeod 162 þeodbealu 195 ðeodenlease 162 þeodscipe 216 “ðing gehegan” 82 note 58 þrym 205 note 74 þurhteon 173 þyle 15, 40, 59, 87–92

ræd 216 rædfæst 202, 225 reon 125 ricsian (rixian) 247 riht 202 note 70 rixian ¤ ricsian sawol 210 scadan 156 note 65 gescead (witan) 102–5 (ge)sceawian 282–3 scond 88 scop 4, 92 note 110 scyld 197 searo- 156 note 64, 214 note 91 searonið 288 “selfes dome” 65 note 23 sinræden 176 sið 14 note 54, 70–1, 269 gesið 14, 35 snottor 218 snyttru 31, 181, 188, 218 sorhcearu 196 “sorhfullne sið” 114, 124, 189 sorhwylm 45 spelboda 87 spell 61 starian 284 gestealla 35

184

unearh 367 “unflitme” 154 unfrom 20 “ungemedemad” 97 note 134, 110, 205 unheanlice 356 “unhlitme” ¤ “eal unhlitme” unræd 216 unriht 224 unsnyttru 197 waldend, wealdend 6 warnung 201–2 wæfre 170, 258, 270 wælfag 168 wælfus 258 note 56 wælfyll 189–90, 212 wær 78 wea 71 wealaf 152 “wean on wenum” 71 weorc, wræc 195 note 49, 244 weorðmynd 211 wic 246–7 wiga 14 wilgesið 44, 82 willa 30, 225, 244 wilsið 82 winburg 96 note 126 wlenco 17, 23, 29, 33, 49, 181, 205 note 74, 271, 358 wlonc 24, 367

408 index of old english words, affixes, & collocations discussed wong 298 note 162 wordsnottor 88 “worda ond worca” 102 “wordum wrixlan” 61 note 4 woroldræden 176 wræc ¤ weorc “wræc adreogan” 51 wræcmæcg 15

wræcsið 17 wrecan 16 wrecca 12, 15–18, 21–2, 25, 32, 38, 65 wrixlan 61 note 4 wyrd 6, 33 yrhðu

327, 339

INDEX OF LATIN AND GREEK WORDS AND COLLOCATIONS DISCUSSED

ainos (Gk.) 39 apatheia (Gk) 199 ate, Ate (Gk.) 57, 209–10 beneficium

67

cantor 88 cot(h)urnus 329 daimon (Gk.) 210 discretio 96 discerno 96 exprobro 161 note 80 extermino 194 note 48 gigas

163, 190 note 31, 191

heros (Gk.) 13 histrio 89 imperfectum 20 insectatio 154 note 54 iocista 88 ioculator 88

luxuria

209

mimus 88 musicus 88 nepos

65

orator

87

pantomimus 88 paradeigma (Gk.) 39–40 parasitus 88 prodigus 1 note 2 rhetorica 87 ridiculosus 88 ridiculus 88 scurra 88 “subtilis inpostor” superbia 181–2

88

thymos (Gk.) 23, 209–10 tolerabilior 67 note 26

INDEX OF OLD ICELANDIC TERMS DISCUSSED

deila

níð 117 níðingverk

96

þula 91 þulr 89–91 fimbulþulr hvöt jarl

ofrausn 91

290 324

mannjafnaðr 117 missa 259 note 59 muna 171 note 128

77 note 46

323

senna 117 note 181 skap 92 note 110 skapdeildarmaðr 97 skauð 118 note 187

GENERAL INDEX

NOTE: Old Icelandic words are alphabetized as Old English. Abbo (of Fleury) Passio s. Eadmundi 295 note 157; Old English version (Ælfric) 331 Abel 190 Achilles (Iliad) 22, 39–40, 57 Aethicus Ister (Cosmographia) 64 note 18 Agathias (continuation of Procopius, Historia Gothorum) 316 Ajax (Iliad) 39 Alcuin (of York) 10, 89, 191, 241, 354 Aldhelm (of Malmesbury) 2 note 6, 203; Prosa de uirginitate 74 note 42, 87 note 76, 87 note 77, 88 note 81, 154 note 54, 252 note 42; Carmen de uirginitate 88; Epistola ad Heahfridum 88; De metris 89 Alexander the Great 11–12, 336–7 Altus Prosator 191 ambiguity 1, 2, 12–13, 16, 22–8, 38, 49–50, 58, 60–1, 76, 116, 210, 227, 239, 257, 259, 267, 284, 303; of Grettir 19, 21 analogy (intradiegetic) 186, 231, 264; of gidd 38–40, 142, 146–51, 178–80, 237, 264–5 Andreas 14 note 53, 70 note 36, 72 note 40, 78 note 47, 109 note 163, 189 note 30, 195, 197 note 57 angels 188, 195, 211; fall of 79, 182, 291 Arnórr Þorðarson 322–3 Asser Vita Alfredi Regis 207 note 78 Atlakviða 340 Attila (the Hun, OE Ætla) 217 augury 90, 169, 223, 226, 272, 308 Augustine (St.) 104, 353 Ælfric (of Eynsham) 103, 105 note 155, 202 note 70, 295 note 157, 331 Æschere 29, 85, 132–3, 146, 231, 258, 361 Æþelred (k. of England) 324 Æþilwald (k. of Mercia) 207–9 Babel (tower) 24, 225 Baldr and Höðr 259

Battle of Maldon 54, 57, 161, 275, 308–9, 311–49, 362–3, 366; analogues 311; Byrhtnoð 54–5, 311–12, 324, 328, 331, 333–6, 340–3, 346, 362, 372; Christian allegory 311–12; Christianity 332, 341; lytegian crux 338–42; ofermod 311, 328–40, 362; retainers 322, 325, 343–6; revenge 321; theme 347; Vikings 321 Beasts of Battle 290, 295 Bede (the Venerable) 15, 138, 163, 351–2, 354 Belshazzar 36, 182, 226–7, 291, 329 Beow 44, 292 Beowulf (Christian) allegory 9, 251–3, 299, 301; anachronism 5; analogues 19, 21, 116–23, 251–2, 259, 305–9, 311; audience 2, 4, 6, 10, 42, 46, 68, 137–9, 149, 184, 230, 351, 364; Æschere 29, 85, 132–3, 146, 231, 258, 361; boasting 40–1, 83, 93, 95, 100, 110–11, 114–15, 124, 126; Breca 35, 41, 80, 95, 98, 113–15, 124, 126; Cain 3–4, 6, 11, 14 note 53, 46, 51, 66, 71, 77, 83, 106, 190, 249–50, 357; Christian language 5, 7, 256; Christianity vs. paganism 1, 3–6, 10, 42, 183–4, 294 note 155, 300, 332, 354, 356; coast-warden 61, 100–6, 234, 238, 359, 361–2; community 6; contrapuntalism 358–9; date 2, 3, 4 note 15, 221, 353; Dæghrefn 34, 272–3, 291, 320, 343 note 110; digressions 18, 26, 37–42, 49, 57, 62, 77, 133, 135–80, 230, 259–67, 358; dragon 50–3, 69, 85, 155, 189, 243, 247–55, 264, 277–81, 283–8, 293–5, 302–3; dragon fight 24, 26, 48, 53, 182, 239, 260 note 66, 263, 273, 305, 311, 341, 365; drunkenness 32, 109, 112, 132, 224 note 120; Eanmund and Eadgils 15–16, 73 note 41, 75, 143 note 19, 255, 291–2; Ecgþeow 17, 75, 131,

412

general index

360; Eofor 271, 273; Eomer 292; exchange 16, 44, 67, 76, 137, 148–9, 155, 157, 178–9, 214, 236–7, 246, 273–4, 323; Feminist criticism 371; Finnsburh digression 38–9, 135–80, 319, 365; Freawaru 142, 144; Fremu 39–40, 45, 49, 228–35, 292; Frisian Raid 8, 24, 50, 52, 71, 218, 255, 260 note 66, 273, 288, 290–1, 333–4, 357; Geats 8, 20, 25, 41, 48–9, 65 note 21, 147, 289–90, 274, 293; genre 1, 311; “gomela ceorl” digression 201, 260–7, 272, 305; Grendel 6, 12, 17–18, 40–1, 45, 47–8, 68, 79, 82–4, 95, 112, 145, 165, 182, 194, 196, 203, 241–2, 247–8, 250, 252–5, 332, 355, 359, 365; Grendel’s mother 29, 146, 150, 182, 242, 252, 254–5; Hama 143 note 19, 214, 216, 218, 224; Hæðcyn 71, 128, 151, 157 note 67, 264–5, 271; Healgamen 92 note 110, 139–40, 361, 365; Heaðobard digression 142–6, 173, 177, 180, 235, 263–4, 363; Heaþolaf 17; Hengest 16, 18, 39, 73 note 41, 75, 135–6, 142–3, 148, 151–63, 166–7, 172–4, 175–7, 227, 319; Heorot 17; Herebeald 128, 151; Herebeald-Hæðcyn digression 259–61, 272, 305; Heremod 18, 35, 38–9, 45, 49, 59, 62, 66, 73, 75, 77, 80, 83, 114–15, 164, 181, 188, 192, 194, 196, 210, 217, 222, 225–6, 228, 232, 238, 240, 246, 255–6, 291; historical setting 2 note 6, 6–8; Hondscioh 41, 49, 83–4, 132, 231, 234, 363; Hreðel 17 note 59, 19, 30, 36, 38, 48, 53, 57, 193, 203, 260, 264; Hroðgar 4–5, 17–18, 37, 45, 47, 115, 137, 178–9, 193, 221, 227, 237, 247, 292, 355, 360, 371 221, 227; Hroðgar’s “sermon” 38, 49, 70–3, 78 note 48, 181–221, 227, 239, 255, 257, 329–30, 356, 360, 364, 373; Hroþulf 132, 264; Hrunting (sword) 98, 130; Hunferð 15–17, 21, 26, 35, 37, 40–1, 57, 59, 61, 77, 86–7, 89, 92, 95, 98, 106, 109–9, 111, 127–8, 130, 133, 234, 361, 364; Hunferð digression 86–100, 107–116, 248, 364; Hunlafing 172–3, 175–6; Hygd 39, 228; Hygelac 2 note 6, 19, 39, 49, 82

note 59, 236, 255; intradiegesis 260–7, 359; irony 6, 18, 62, 98, 111–12, 145, 148, 150, 272, 359, 371–2; “Last Survivor” 74, 266, 281, 293; manuscript 2, 347; meter 1, 3, 69, 114 note 177, 140 note 12, 156 note 65; names 2 note 6; Nægling 300, 302; Offa I (k. of the Angles) 39, 49; Offa-Fremu digression 228–33; Ohthere 16 note 58; Onela 15–16, 75, 255, 291; Ongenðeow 65 note 21, 75, 271; orality 2; origin 2–3; polysemy 6–7, 27; Ravenswood (battle) 271–2; scribal composition 2 note 5, 3, 5; Scyld Scefing 211–12, 220, 285, 292, 355; Sigemund 18, 29, 34, 39, 59, 73, 75, 80, 86, 189, 210, 252, 285; Sigemund-Heremod digression 59, 61–6, 85, 133, 151, 194, 361, 364–5; slave 250, 297; structure 48, 197, 226, 239–41; Swedish-Geatish Wars 65 note 21, 260, 271, 290–1; thematic unity 8, 53, 239–41, 351; thief 250, 297; Wealhþeow 132, 142, 147–50, 172, 179–80, 214, 264, 272; Weohstan 292; Wiglaf 5 note 18, 37, 42, 50–1, 54, 243, 246, 264, 268, 273, 275, 285, 292, 300–1, 343, 363; Wulfgar 15–17, 76, 81, 181, 205, 361; Wylfings 17, 75, 235 Beowulf age 292; arrogance 10, 23, 29, 35, 39–40, 98, 100–1, 133, 221, 242, 277, 332; choice 54–6, 178, 214–16, 241, 267, 314, 323, 340, 370–2; conscience 257–8, 266–7, 282, 291; cultural background 10, 25; death 240, 296, 301–2; education 228, 234; exceptionality 18, 23, 25, 34, 57, 76–7, 81, 188, 213, 356–7; heroism 2, 8–9; homecoming 227–8, 239, 241; Hroðgar’s heir 132; “inglorious youth” 19–20, 115, 238; kingship 2, 18, 34, 42, 44, 48, 305; lack of heir 292; liminality 34, 364; lordship 16, 35, 42, 44, 46, 69, 85, 225, 239, 324, 326, 346–7, 351, 353; monstrosity 11 note 46, 17, 18; motivation 1–2, 10, 12–14 note 53, 19, 25, 28–9, 56, 86, 111, 182, 210, 239, 242, 248, 255–7, 270, 278, 285, 292, 302, 305, 332, 358–60, 365;

general index Nægling 300; potential wrecca 18, 21, 25, 35, 58–9, 66, 73–4, 76, 83, 133, 178, 237–8, 357–8; pride 24, 29, 31–2, 51, 54, 60, 78, 182, 191, 203 note 72, 222, 242, 277–8, 328, 333, 352–3, 372–3; piety 4, 288, 301; recklessness 13, 24, 29, 32, 34–5, 37, 40–1, 43, 53, 83, 95, 113–14, 126, 133, 193, 244, 246, 254, 257, 278, 290–2, 294, 304–5; sacrifice 258, 269, 287, 312, 331; storyteller 258–67; virtue 4–5, 8–9, 20, 23, 29, 38, 42, 48, 51–3, 57–8, 101, 185, 257–8, 301, 305, 354, 356, 360 Beowulf and the Appositive Style (Robinson) 5–8, 47 bible 107, 190–1, 222–3, 251–2, 252, 299 note 169 Bjarkamál 147 note 30, 313 boasting 40–1, 83, 93, 95, 100, 110–11, 114–15, 124, 126 Book of Enoch (apocryphal) 190 note 34 booty sacrifice 288 note 140 Boniface 207–9, 368 Bragi (Hákonarmál) 63 Breca 35, 41, 80, 95, 98, 113–15, 124, 126; kingship 114 Brosinga mene 217 Byrhtnoð 54–5, 311, 346, 362, 372; age 324; ambiguity 334, 343; conscience 342; generalship 328 note 52, 335–6; ofermod 311, 328–40, 362; pride 333; rank 311, 324; sacrificial death 312, 331, 340–2 Cain 3–4, 6, 11, 14 note 53, 46, 51, 66, 71, 77, 83, 106, 190, 249–50, 357 Cassian Collationes 191 Chanson de Roland ¤ Song of Roland chansons de geste 315 choice 54–6, 178, 214–16, 241, 267, 314, 323, 340, 370–2 Christianity 182, 184, 187, 190–1, 192 note 41, 202, 212, 352–3 Christopher (St.) 11 coast-warden 61, 100, 234, 238, 359, 361–2; his maxim 101–6 comitatus ¤ warband conscience 210, 257–8, 266–7, 305, 342

413

Consolatio philosophiae (Old English) 256 contrapuntalism 26, 41, 52, 61 Cosmographia (Aethicus Ister) 64 note 18 creation story 4 Crucifixion 301 curse 22, 55, 214 note 91, 281, 293–304, 341, 354 Cursive Minuscule 3 Cynewulf (A-S poet) 204 Cynewulf and Cyneheard (A-S Chronicle) 67 note 29, 162, 318, 347, 366–7, 372 Danegeld 327 Danes 68, 124 Daniel 182, 221–7, 269, 291, 329, 368; date 221; structure 226 Dante (Alighieri) 166 Dæghrefn 34, 272–3, 291, 320, 343 note 110 Deor 45, 71, 291 Deor (poet) 67 note 29, 231 Devil (cf. Lucifer) 3, 78–9, 165, 182, 204, 208, 211, 222, 251, 253, 291, 301, 329; devil’s darts 197–213, 220, 257, 357 Dicts of Cato 177 digressions 18, 26, 37–42, 49, 57, 62, 77, 133, 135–80, 230, 259–67, 358 divination ¤ augury draconitas 50, 250 dragon 50–3, 69, 85, 155, 189, 243, 247–54, 283, 302–3; animal 249–50, 302–3; barrow 293–4; and Battle of Maldon 311; cup 250, 255, 264, 279, 284; sentient 250–1, 253; treasure 277–81, 285–8, 29 dragon fight 24, 26, 48, 239, 260 note 66, 263, 273, 305, 365; ambiguity of 53, 182, 341 drápur 54 Dream of the Rood 363 drunkenness 32, 109, 112, 132, 224 note 120 duguð ¤ warband Eanmund 15–16, 73 note 41, 75, 143 note 19, 292; Eanmund’s sword 292 Eadgils 15–16, 75, 255, 291–2 Ecgþeow 17, 75, 131, 360 Eddius Stephanus (Vita S. Wilfridi) 295 note 157, 313 Egbert (k. of Kent) 260 note 63

414

general index

Eiriksmál (Eyvindr Finnson “Skáldaspillir”) 63–4 elegy 93 Eofor 271, 273 Eomer 292 Ermanaric (OE Eormenric, OIcel Erminrekr) 45, 67 note 29, 71, 214, 216–17, 291; Erminrekr 214–15 erfidrápur 289 erfikvæði 290 Ericus “Disertus” 117, 200 erlebte Rede 192 evil (Evil) 32, 40, 67, 71, 78, 89, 98–9, 102–4, 106, 190, 248–52 excess ¤ immoderation exchange 16, 44, 67, 76, 137, 148–9, 155, 157, 178–9, 214, 236–7, 246, 273–4, 323; in Maldon 325, 344 Exeter Book 74 exile 16, 18–19, 31 Fáfnismál 91 Fagrskinna 63 note 16 fame ¤ glory Fatalism 28–9, 33, 47, 70, 74, 185, 257 fate 9, 14 note 53, 22, 27, 29, 185, 192, 201, 203, 223, 244, 300–1, 322, 333, 347, 356, 365 father(hood) 32 Felix Vita S. Guthlaci 88 note 87 feud 6, 17, 36, 46, 65 note 20, 75, 142, 146, 162, 184–6, 191, 213, 242, 250, 260 note 66, 288 Finnsburh digression 38–9, 135–80, 319, 365; summary 139 Finnsburg Fragment 16, 136, 153, 312 Fitela (OIcel Sinfjötli) 59, 69, 70 note 32; Sinfjötli 65, 128 Flood (biblical) 3, 6, 183, 187, 191, 218; non-biblical 192 flyting 26, 40, 60–1, 92 note 115, 116–28 folk-tale 84 folly 14 note 53, 33, 41, 52, 60, 71, 78, 81, 94, 188–90, 193–4, 197, 199, 209, 218, 224, 243–6, 257 Franks 34 fratricide 67, 127–8 Freawaru 142, 144 Fremu 39–40, 45, 49, 228–35, 292

friendship 111–12, 128 note 226 Fürstenspiegel 238 Gautreks Saga 22, 44, 91 note 106 Geats (tribe, nation) 8, 20, 25, 41, 48, 65 note 21, 274, extermination of 49, 147, 289–90, 293 genealogies 66, 90 generosity 35, 44–5, 57, 185, 217, 232 note 140, 233, 235, 237, 284, 287 Genesis 12, 185 Genesis A 182 Geoffrey (of Monmouth) Historia regum Brittaniae 169 Germania (Tacitus) 42–3, 54, 84 note 67, 273, 312–14, 320, 352 Gesta Danorum (Saxo Grammaticus) ¤ Historia Danorum (Saxo Grammaticus) giants 6, 172, 174–5, 184, 188, 194, 203, 218, 225–6, 240, 303; (tyrants of Genesis) 12, 95, 163 gidd 38–41, 61–2, 70, 79, 139–44, 146–51, 194, 237, 266, 358–9 gift-giving ¤ exchange Gildas (Sapiens) De excidio Brittaniae 168–9 Gíslis Saga 122 Glámr (Grettir’s Saga) 12, 47 Glastonbury 217 note 102 glory 19, 23, 25, 34, 36, 43, 54, 58, 70, 73, 75–7, 86, 133, 144, 181, 235, 268, 278, 280, 288–9, 303, 336, 349, 351, 365, 370, 372 glossaries 88, 154 note 54, 176 note 140 glosses 87–8, 90, 154 note 54, 329 God (god) 48, 86, 90, 107, 133, 184–6, 191, 193, 199, 220, 232 note 140, 248, 253, 283, 298–99, 301, 304, 328, 332–3, 355; Scandinavian 22, 44, 90–1, 119–20, 165, 259, 295 “gomela ceorl” (digression) 201, 260–7, 272, 305 greed (heroic) 67, 70, 284–8, 304 Gregory (the Great) Cura pastoralis 354 Grendel 6, 12, 17–18, 40–1, 45, 47–8, 68, 79, 82–4, 95, 112, 145, 165, 182, 194, 196, 203, 241–2, 247–8, 250, 252–5, 332, 355, 359, 365; sword 6 Grendel’s mother 29, 146, 150, 182, 242, 252, 254–5 Grettir’s Saga 11, 19–21, 46

general index Grettir (Ásmundarson) 11–12, 19–21, 46–7, 97, 304 note 173 Guðlac 15, 24, 206, 210–11 Guðrúnarqviða II 97 Hafliði (Grettir’s Saga) 20 Hákonarmál 63–4, 289 Hama (OIcel Heimir) 143 note 19, 214, 216, 218, 224; Heimir 215 Hárbarðsljóð 117, 119 Haustlöng (Þjóðólfr of Hvínir) 63, 165–6 Hávamál 31 note 83, 90, 93, 110 note 165, 112 Hæðcyn 71, 128, 151, 157 note 67, 264–5, 271 Healgamen (name of Hroðgar’s scop) 92 note 110, 139–40, 361, 365 Heaðobard digression 142–6, 173, 177, 180, 235, 263–4, 363; summary 142 Heaþolaf 17 Heimskringla 120 Helgaqviða Hiörvarðzsonar 96 Heliand (Old Saxon) 65 note 21, 317 hell 106–7, 208, 225 Hengest 16, 18, 39, 73 note 41, 75, 135–6, 142–3, 148, 151–62, 166–7, 172–4, 175–7, 227, 319; nationality 158, 163 Heorot 17 Heptateuch (Old English) Deuteronomy 104 note 153 Hercules 11 Herebeald 128, 151 Herebeald-Hæðcyn digression 259–61, 272, 305 Heremod (OIcel Hermóðr) 18, 35, 38–9, 45, 49, 59, 62, 73, 75, 77, 80, 83, 114–15, 164, 181, 188, 192, 194, 196, 210, 217, 222, 225–6, 228, 232, 238, 240, 246, 255–6, 291; Hermóðr 63; meaning of name 66 Hero, Germanic (definition of ) 13, 31, 47–8, 57, 64, 160, 267, 285, 312, 334–5, 365 Hildebrandslied 214 note 86 Hildeburh (Finnsburh digression) 136 Historia Brittonum (“Nennius”) 138, 163, 168 Historia Danorum (Saxo Grammaticus) 66–7, 77 note 76, 147, 164, 200

415

Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum (Bede) 15, 138, 163; Old English translation 104 Historia Gothorum (Agathias, continuation of Procopius) 316 Historia Langobardorum (Paulus Diaconus) 321 Hnæf 75 homilies 24, 79 note 50, 105, 153 note 48, 197, 202 note 70, 203, 215 note 96, 342 Hondscioh 41, 49, 83–4, 132, 231, 234, 363 Hreðel 17 note 59, 19, 38, 260, 264 Hroðgar 4, 17–18, 37, 47, 193, 237, 355; adoption of Beowulf 137, 178–9, 237, 292; age 247; counselor to Beowulf 30, 36, 48, 53, 57, 193, 203, 221, 227; diplomacy 45, 115, 360; passivity 5, 371; “sermon” 38, 49, 70–3, 78 note 48, 181–221, 227, 239, 255, 257, 329–30, 356, 360, 364, 373 Hroþulf 132, 264 Hrunting (sword) 98, 130 Humblus (Historia Danorum) 67 humility ¤ moderation Hunferð 15–17, 21, 26, 35, 37, 40–1, 57, 59, 89, 95, 98, 234, 361, 364; etymology of name 87; jealousy 108–9, 111, 133; kin-killing 61, 77, 86, 106, 127–8; “morale officer” 92, 109, 130 Hunferð digression 86–100, 107–116, 248, 364 Hunlaf 172 note 129, 174–5 Hunlafing 172–3, 175–6 hvöt 290 Hygd 39, 228 Hygelac 2 note 6, 19, 39, 49, 82 note 59, 236, 255; Frisian Raid 8, 24, 50, 52, 71, 218, 255, 260 note 66, 273, 288, 290–1, 333–4, 357 Hyndluljóð 63 Iliad 16, 38 note 89, 39–40, 57, 209–10, 364 immoderation 13, 16, 32–4, 36–7, 45, 53, 57, 59, 69, 71, 78, 95, 114, 122, 200, 210, 239, 243, 255, 270, 278, 359, 365, 368–70, 373 implicature 115 Indeterminacy of Beowulf (Köberl) 26, 55

416

general index

intemperance ¤ immoderation Israel 222 iudicium dei 332 iudicium particulare 341 Iugurtha (Orosius) 67 note 29 Jutes

39, 65 note 23, 135, 152, 162–6

Kaluza’s Law 3 Kent 163 kingship 16, 18, 23, 36, 42–4, 48, 58, 60, 114, 182, 194, 197, 211, 217, 238, 240–1, 246, 268, 292, 306–7, 351, 358; Augustinian 353; historical (eighth-century) 351–5; sacral 352 kinship 74, 76, 85, 106, 132, 276, 292, 343 Lang feðgatal 147 note 30 “Last Survivor” 74, 266, 281, 293 law 256, 259, 262–4 leadership ¤ lordship Leyerle, John (“Beowulf the Hero and the King”) 240, 242, 372 Liber Eliensis 330 Liber monstrorum 2 note 6, 11, 166 Liber scintillarum 90 Liber Vitae Dunelmensis (of Durham) 2 note 6 liminality 16–18, 23, 25, 34, 127, 244 note 19, 364, 367–8 Lokasenna 110 note 165, 118 Loki 118–19 lordship 16, 35, 42, 44, 46, 69, 85, 225, 239, 324, 326, 346–7, 351, 353 Lother(us) (Historia Danorum) 66–7, 72, 77 loyalty 43–4, 49, 76, 79, 101, 116, 178, 246, 275, 322, 343, 347 Lucifer 66, 79 magic 295, 304 Magnússona Saga 119–20 Maldon ¤ Battle of Maldon martyrdom 308 maxims ¤ wisdom literature Maxims I 90, 92 Maxims II 92 Meleager (Iliad ) 39–40 memory 219–20, 224, 271 “Men Dying with their Lord” (Ideal of ) ¤ “Men Willing to Die for their Lord in Vengeance”

“Men Willing to Die for their Lord in Vengeance” 54, 158, 273, 313–24, 336, 338, 362, 367 mercenary (warrior) 14, 60, 76, 148, 159, 162 Migration, Anglo-Saxon 138 Mildryð (St.) 260 note 63 mind 30, 170, 196–213, 216 note 98 moderation 30–2, 46, 60, 109–10, 188, 198, 220, 227, 356–7, 371; humility 60, 104–6, 192, 202 note 70, 206, 213, 257, 351, 353, 360, 365; reticence 20, 93–4, 98, 200, 219 Modþryð(o) ¤ Fremu morality 2–3, 7–8, 10, 12–13, 30, 42, 45–50, 52, 55–6, 60, 66, 77, 81, 86, 90, 99–100, 102–3, 120, 122–3, 125, 131, 155, 181, 192, 209, 220, 352; discerning morality 103, 120, 123, 183 note 4, 218, 227, 288; in Old Icelandic sources 90 note 101, 117, 120 murder 71 note 39, 77 note 46, 107, 122, 128, 142, 145, 148, 157, 190, 195, 250, 259–60, 263 Nægling (sword) 300, 302 Nebuchadnezzar 36, 182, 222–6, 255, 269, 291, 329 “Nennius” (Historia Brittonum) 138, 163, 168 Nero (emperor) 219 note 107, 250 note 55 Niebelungenlied 311, 340 Niles, John D. (Beowulf: The Poem and its Tradition) 241–3, 249 note 34, 267–7, 277–8, 289 note 143, 304–5, 360 Nimrod (the Hunter) 191 Njál’s Saga 4 note 15, 121–3 Norna-Gests Þáttr 91–2 Nowell Codex 11 oath 139, 154–8, 160, 162, 166, 174, 180, 274, 276, 313 note 12, 323 Oddrúnargráttr 97 Odysseus (Iliad ) 39 Odyssey 14 note 53 oferhygd (complex) 36–7, 40, 43, 45, 49, 51, 69, 97, 100, 191, 218, 220–1, 239–40, 246, 254–9, 267–9, 278, 285, 291, 294, 303–5, 364, 372–3 ofermod 311, 322, 327, 330

general index Offa (k. of Mercia) 229, 353, 367 Offa I (k. of the Angles) 39, 49 Offa-Fremu digression 228–33 Ohthere 16 note 58 Old English Martyrology 72 note 40, 305 Onela 15–16, 75, 255, 291 Ongenðeow 65 note 21, 75, 271 Order of the World 225 Orosius (Historia adversus paganos) 67 note 29; Old English version 336–7 Örvar-Odds Saga 118 Osred (I, k. of Northumbria) 67 note 29 Oswine (k. of Deira) 15 Óðinn Eddic verse 119–20; Gautreks Saga 22, 44; magical bonds 295; þulr 91; wisdom literature 90 paganism (Germanic) 354 paleography 281 note 111 Panther 252 Passio s. Eadmundi (Abbo of Fleury) 295 note 157 Patroclus (Iliad) 16, 57 Paulus Diaconus (Historia Langobardorum) 321 Peleus (Iliad) 16 Philip (the Presbyter) 191 Phoenix (Iliad) 16, 39 piracy 75, 101 place-names 2 note 6 politics 35–7, 39, 44–5, 48, 56, 67, 71, 77, 220, 225, 233–4, 237, 239, 292, 346, 351–2, 355–6, 359, 371 “Precarious Peace” 142, 146, 148, 150 Precepts 32, 40, 60, 92, 100, 105, 109, 197, 200, 245 pride 24, 29, 31–2, 51, 54, 60, 78, 182, 191, 203 note 72, 222, 242, 277–8, 328, 333, 352–3, 372–3 prophecy ¤ augury “proverbiousness” 93, 98, 100, 106 providence 33, 47–48 queenship

9, 228–34

Ragnarsdrápa 63 Ravenswood (battle) 271–2 reciprocity ¤ exchange recklessness ¤ immoderation Reginsmál 91 retainer(s) 14, 16–17 note 59 reticence ¤ moderation

417

revenge 135–6, 147, 150–1, 158, 161–2, 165–6, 169–72, 175–6, 180, 183–4, 192, 194, 226, 235, 260 note 66, 262–3, 265–6, 271, 273, 277, 320–2, 338 Riddle 42 (Exeter Book) 186 Riddle 59 (Exeter Book) 186 note 20 Riddles (Old English) 186, 362–3 Riming Poem 217 note 102 risk 24, 28–30, 35–7, 41, 48, 50, 94, 181, 246, 289, 303, 328 Rök Stone 166 Ruin 217 note 102 Rule of Chrodegang 104 Rune Poem 196 note 52 runes 6, 7 note 28, 90–1, 294 note 154; inscription on sword 182–4, 186 Ruodlieb 353 Ruthwell Cross 203 note 71 sagas (Icelandic) 4, 11–12, 19–22, 44, 46–7, 91 note 106, 118–23, 315 saint’s life (cf. vita) 252 Sallust 315–16 Sapientia et Fortitudo 9 Satan ¤ Devil Saxo (Grammaticus) 66–7, 69, 77 note 46, 147, 164, 200 Scondia Illustrata (Messenius) 164 scop (poet) 59, 134, 137, 150, 178–9 Scyld Scefing 211–12, 220, 285, 292, 355 Seafarer 60, 74, 220, 357 self-judgment 65, 70 Shakespeare, William (Henry V ) 323–4 Sigebryht (A-S Chronicle) 67 note 29 Sigeferþ (Finnsburg Fragment) 75 Sigemund (OIcel Sigmundr) 18, 29, 34, 39, 59, 73, 75, 80, 86, 189, 210, 252, 285; Sigmundr 63 Sigemund-Heremod digression 59, 61–6, 85, 133, 151, 194, 361, 364–5; in A-S England 64 Sigeric (archbishop of Canterbury) 327 Siggeir 65, 74, 76, 128 Sigurðardrápa 63 Signý 65, 128, 370 sin 32, 67, 78, 167, 182, 204, 216, 222, 226, 291, 356, 373 Sinfötli ¤ Fitela Skaldic verse 289, 315 Skáldskaparmál 165

418

general index

Skeggi (Grettir’s Saga) 19 Skjoldunga Saga 172 note 129 Snorri (Grettir’s Saga) 47 Solomon and Saturn 183 note 6, 201, 203 Song of Roland 311, 340, 353 soul 99, 256 speech 15, 17, 40, 48, 61 note 3, 68, 90, 92, 96, 98–100, 102, 110, 116–29, 121–4, 137, 156, 183 note 4, 187; of the coastwarden 100–6; taunting 175; of the messenger 289–90, 292–3; in Maldon 344 spell (magical) 83, 90–1, 214 note 91 Speratus (b. of Leicester) ¤ Unuuona (Speratus), b. of Leicester Starkaðr (Gautreks Saga) 22–3, 44, 77 note 46, 91 note 106 status 13–14 Stoicism 200 subaltern voice 42–5, 54, 57, 69, 73, 79, 84, 131, 177–8, 246, 248, 274, 288, 322, 324–5, 327, 348, 361–5 superbia ¤ pride Swedish-Geatish Wars 65 note 21, 260, 271, 290–1 thief 250, 264 Tolkien, J. R. R. 8, 163, 241, 249 note 34, 311, 333–4 tragedy (drama) 329 treasure 16, 70, 137, 155, 236–7, 273, 285–8, 371; dragon’s 277–80, 285–8, 304 truth 122, 126 Þeodric (Theodoric, OIcel Þiðrekr) 256; Þiðrekr 215 Þiðreks Saga af Bern 214–15, 217 note 100 Þjóðólfr (of Hvínir) Haustlöng 63, 165–6 Þórr 22, 44, 117, 166 þyle (OIcel þulr) role of 59, 87, 100, 130; þulr 89–92; teacher 91 Unuuona (Speratus), b. of Leicester 10, 89 Vafþrúðnismál 91 Vainglory 32, 40, 60, 92, 100, 105, 111, 329 Valhalla (OIcel Valhöll) 63–4

vengeance ¤ revenge Vercelli homily 103 Victory 33, 52, 123 Vikings 321, 324–5, 348 note 123 violence 15, 17, 24, 30, 59, 65, 67, 76, 86, 117, 151, 156, 170, 172–4, 180, 190–1, 194–5, 223, 233, 251, 356, 371; in Battle of Maldon 325; of Grettir 21, 47 Vita S. Guthlaci (Felix) 88 note 87 Vita S. Oswini 305–8, 333 Vita S. Samsonis 252 Vita S. Wilfridi (Eddius Stephanus) 295 note 157, 313 Vitae duarum Offarum 229 Vikings 54; deception 55, 338 Volsung legend (Völsunga Saga) 59, 65, 81, 128, 370 Vortigern 39 Waldere (cf. Waltharius) 34, 312, 366, 368–70 Waltharius (cf. Waldere) 353 Wanderer 60, 74, 303, 357 warband 2 note 6, 15, 35, 42–5, 57, 70, 82, 85, 129–30, 136, 159, 161, 182, 230, 239, 246, 248, 274, 302, 306, 313, 351; Battle of Maldon 322, 324, 343; Grendel as retainer 80; Irish parallels 129 warfare 212–3 warrior cult 63, 92, 117 Wealhþeow 132, 142, 147–50, 172, 179–80, 214, 264, 272 weapons 63, 143–4, 178–9, 236–7, 257, 263, 292, 302 Wendels (Vandals) 15 Weohstan 292 wergild 17, 259, 265, 286 note 132 Widsið 91 Wife’s Lament 74 Wiglaf 5 note 18, 37, 42, 50–1, 54, 243, 246, 264, 268, 273, 275, 285, 292, 300–1, 343, 363 wisdom 30–1, 33, 36, 48, 60, 85–6, 118, 185, 188, 199, 201, 224, 234, 245, 270, 277, 302–3, 335, 354, 356–7, 361; parental (cf. Hroðgar, “sermon”) 197 wisdom literature 59, 92, 95, 105, 112, 201, 220, 270, 356, 361; coast-guard’s maxim 101–6; maxims 90; Old Icelandic analogues 89–90, 112, 123

general index wlenco 23–4, 191, 199, 224, 226, 272–3 wrecca 12, 15–18, 21–2, 25, 32, 34, 40, 45, 66, 73–81, 136, 169, 178, 230, 335, 356–7, 365 Wulfgar 15–17, 76, 81, 181, 205, 361

419

Wulfstan (of York) 79 note 50, 153 note 48; Sermo de baptismo 94; De septiformi spiritu 105; Institutes of Polity 245 Wylfings 17, 75, 235