Scyld Scefing: the eponymous founder of the royal Danish house, the Scyldings. ‘Scefing’ probably means ‘son of Scef’, although if, as the poem tells us, he arrived miraculously from nowhere to save the Danish nation, set adrift in a boat like Moses in the bulrushes, it is perhaps surprising that his father should be commemorated in his name. A tenth-century Anglo-Saxon chronicle traces the genealogy of the kings of Anglo-Saxon Wessex (King Alfred’s line) back to Scef, the father of Scyld; this Scef is said to arrive unknown, by boat, at a land called Scani, rather as Scyld does here. ‘Scefing’ could also mean ‘of the sheaf, and a later, twelfth-century English chronicle tells the story of Sceldius, the son of Scef, who was driven ashore on an island called Scandza with a sheaf of corn lying beside him in the oarless boat; ‘for this reason he was given the name Sceaf’. The two name elements, ‘scyld’ and ‘sceaf, shield and sheaf, together represent the two most important aspects of early kingship—defence of the realm and a fruitful harvest each year. Whatever the relationship between the poem and these two chronicles, the founder of the Danes has an impressive and appealing mythic status. Old Norse historical tradition traces the Danish kings (the Skjöldungs) back to one Scioldus, the son of Odin, but neither Skjöldunga saga nor Saxo Grammaticus’s History of the Danes mentions the boat or the sheaf of corn. (See G. N. Garmonsway and J. Simpson, Beowulf and its Analogues (London, 1968).)
Beow: the manuscript of the poem both here and at line 53 reads ‘Beowulf. It is conceivable that this early Danish king had the same name as the hero of the poem, but far more likely that the scribe wrote the name Beowulf by mistake, because the hero was uppermost in his mind. Anglo-Saxon genealogies record Beaw as the son of Scyld; it is also significant, given the sheaf connection, that ‘beaw’ is related to words for barley in Germanic languages.
There in harbour . . . were gathered there: archaeologists have excavated a number of ship burials in Britain and Scandinavia—most famously at Sutton Hoo, Oseberg, and Gokstad. The burial of a vehicle—a ship, in the grandest graves—is one of the standard features of the burials of aristocratic men in pagan Scandinavia. But Scyld Scefing is not buried with the ship; rather, his dead body, accompanied by treasures and war-gear, is sent out to sea in one, a practice which could, of course, hardly leave archaeological remains, but which does form a satisfying parallel to his mysterious arrival in Denmark; see n. below. In the Latin Life of St Gildas, the dying saint gives instructions that his body should be set in a boat and its destination be left to God’s providence, a remarkable parallel to Scyld, who has also decreed the form of his own funeral. (See A. Cameron, ‘Saint Gildas and Scyld Scefing’, Neuphilologische Mitteilungen, 70 (1969), 240-6.) St Gildas’s end recalls the ascetic practice of Celtic monks, peregrini, who, in dedicating their lives to God, set off in oarless, rudderless boats as a dramatic gesture of absolute submission to God’s will. Scyld’s funeral, then, may combine a suggestion of pagan burial with an air of Christian asceticism.
no less magnificent: the treasure with which the Danes send off Scyld’s body is in fact wonderfully more magnificent than that with which he arrived, since he came destitute to the Danes. This is a good example of understatement for rhetorical effect, popular in Old English poetry but odd-sounding to modern readers.
Mighty men . . . cannot say who received that cargo: Scyld’s arrival from and departure into the unknown recalls the famous story in Bede’s Ecclesiastical History (II. 13), in which a crucial failure in pagan teaching is pointed out by reference to the simile of the sparrow in the mead-hall: the bird flies into the hall from a wintry outer darkness, has a few moments of light, warmth, and calm, and then flies out again into unknowable chaos. This is how human life appears to the pagan, while Christian teaching offers some understanding of an eternal context and a life after death. On a larger scale, the image may be said to reflect the shape and sense of the whole poem, which begins and ends with a funeral, its brightly lit characters playing their parts between unknown origins and a dark and dreaded future.
Yrse . . . Swedish king: the manuscript is defective here, and the name of Healfdene’s daughter, and part of her husband’s name, are missing. Old Norse sources link Yrse with the Danish royal house, and tell of her marriage to a Swedish king.
The hall towered high . . . deeds of deadly enmity: Hrothgar’s daughter is to marry Ingeld, the son of Froda, a king of the Heathobards who have been at war with the Danes. The hope is that the alliance will heal the hostility between them. But Beowulf predicts later in the poem that the father-in-law (Hrothgar) and the son-in-law (Ingeld) will not be reconciled for long, and the warning here is that the feud will end with the burning down of Heorot. The feud is also referred to in the Old English poem Widsith, though there is no mention there of Heorot being destroyed by fire.
He who could tell. . . base crimes: the hall-poet’s song about Creation is distinctly biblical in tone and diction (see especially Genesis 1: 2) and recalls Cædmon’s Hymn, a brief Old English Creation poem quoted by Bede and celebrated as the first use of Old English poetic form for Christian subject matter. These associations create the impression of Heorot as a kind of Eden, a paradise without sin or sorrow before Grendel appears.
He could no longer . . . feel God’s love: in the original poem, these lines follow the poet’s account of Grendel’s terrifying occupation of Heorot (see p. 7). Bringing them forward to this point in the poem improves the coherence of the narrative.
In him all evil-doers . . . their deserts: that Cain was the ancestor of a race of monsters was a widespread medieval tradition, deriving from early commentaries on Genesis 4: 2 and 4, and from ancient Jewish writings such as the Book of Enoch. These monsters were often portrayed as cannibalistic giants, and some, according to tradition, survived the Flood to continue the race of Cain. (See R. Mellinkoff, ‘Cain’s Monstrous Progeny in Beowulf. Parts I and II’, in Anglo-Saxon England, vols. 8 (1979) and 9 (1981).)
hall-warden: it is fiercely ironic to call Grendel Heorot’s ‘hall-warden’, since, although he is a regular visitor to the hall, he does not guard it but in fact represents its greatest threat. The retainers who should guard the hall have been frightened off, leaving him as the only one to get gratification from the hall—not rings and praise, but freshly killed Danes to eat.
wergild: literally, ‘man-payment’, compensation for murder, paid to the victim’s family as an alternative to a revenge killing.
shrithe: Crossley-Holland’s own word, derived from the original Old English verb ‘scriðan’ and used throughout the poem for the terrifying and unnatural wanderings of Grendel and the dragon.
they offered sacrifices . . . the glorious Ruler: apart from this one reference, the poet makes no explicit mention of his characters’ paganism, although he and his audience would have been quite clear that the Danes could not have been Christians. That Beowulf and Hrothgar make frequent pious reference to one Almighty God (and monotheism is not a characteristic of what we can piece together of Germanic paganism) and the identification of Grendel as a hellish monster give the impression that the Danes and Beowulf are natural allies of Christianity. The Danes’ sacrifices disturb the elegant poise of the poem’s ethical world, and even though the practice of dismissing explicitly Christian references in the poem as later interpolations has now gone out of fashion, some critics still feel that this passage does not belong in the ‘original’ poem. But idolatry is, in the Old Testament, a vice especially associated with the pre-Christian descendants of the righteous Noah.
Warriors!. . . the cause of your coming: the coastguard’s confident challenge, and Beowulf’s courteous reply, are in stark contrast to the account in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle when in 787 an Anglo-Saxon official rode down to the Dorset shore to greet a boatload of Scandinavians and was killed on the spot.
The boar crest . . . grim warriors: in Old Norse mythology, the boar was sacred to the god Freyr, and helmets decorated with boar images have been found in Britain and Scandinavia, for example at Sutton Hoo. Some helmets depict warriors wearing boar-crested helmets, and the poet may be imagining ancient war-gear rather than describing current fashions.
You must have come. . . high ambition: Beowulf’s father, on the other hand, did come to Hrothgar as an exile—as the sons of Ohthere are said to take refuge with Hygelac’s son, later in the poem.
a prince of the Vandals: Wulfgar’s people may be the widely scattered tribe we know as Vandals, or may be Vendels, from North Jutland, known from Widsith as Wenlas.
Weland: like Daedalus and Vulcan in classical mythology, in Germanic tradition Weland was a celebrated smith, hamstrung and enslaved. As we learn (rather allusively) from the Old English poem Deor, Weland took revenge by seducing his captor’s daughter and killing his two little sons; the story is vividly told in the Old Norse poem Völundarkviða, and depicted on one panel of the Franks Casket, an early eighth-century whalebone casket elaborately decorated with runes, and a mixture of Christian and Germanic iconography.
Wylfings: these may be the Wulfings mentioned in Widsith, and an attempt has been made to link them to the Wuffing dynasty in East Anglia alluded to by Bede. Ecgtheow and Heatholaf are not known elsewhere.
Ecgtheow swore oaths to me: the poet may mean either that Ecgtheow swore to keep the peace, or that he swore allegiance to Hrothgar.
Unferth: it has been suggested that Unferth’s name, which may be translated as ‘non-peace’ (’strife’), or ‘non-mind’ (’folly’), is symbolic, reflecting Unferth’s role and status in the poem (which is analogous to that of Laodamas in the Odyssey). The poet does not seem to use many symbolic names, but Beowulf (bee-wolf, or bear) and Wealhtheow (foreign slave) are both significant examples.
Breca: the name Breca is related to the Modern English word ‘breaker’, which has led some critics to read the contest as having its origins in a myth of a struggle against the elements. The nineteenth-century critic Karl Müllenhof saw the whole poem in these terms, identifying Beowulf’s opponents as personifications of the destructive North Sea. This view is long outmoded, but it is suggestive that the name of Breca’s tribe, the Brandings, relates to a Norwegian word for waves.
shores of the Heathoreams: since the Heathoreams lived in southern Norway, this would have been an epic contest indeed (Beowulf ends up in the land of the Lapps). Critics not happy with heroic overstatement have preferred to understand a (hardly more plausible) rowing contest.
Are you the Beowulf. . . watches of the night: such a hostile reception from Unferth (for which Hrothgar does not apologize, even though it contrasts so markedly with his own generous welcome to Beowulf) may be explained by reference to the Germanic tradition of flyting, in which a guest is verbally challenged and must prove his worth in return. (See Carol Clover, ‘The Germanic Context of the Unferp Episode’, Speculum, 55 (1980), 444-68.)
Truly . . . worn out by my venture: Beowulf’s own account of the contest has close parallels with his fight with Grendel’s mother later on in the poem: hostile sea-creatures, protective armour, submission to fate, a light heralding victory, and eventual triumph. It also comprises one of the poem’s several ‘revised versions’ of previously told material—for instance, Beowulf’s re-telling of his reception at Heorot.
you slew . . . your own close kinsmen: Unferth as a fratricide is firmly linked to Cain, and thus by extension to Grendel and his mother. That Unferth is first pictured sitting at Hrothgar’s feet may signify deep-seated trouble at the heart of the Danish court.
It was said . . . a hall-guard: it is of course God who has sent Beowulf to guard Heorot.
Despite his fame . . . He should think fitting: Grendel’s subhuman status is reflected in his ignorance of weapons; Beowulf magnanimously refuses to take advantage of him. But there is a disturbing undercurrent to Beowulf’s history of fighting without weapons: we learn much later in the poem that he crushes Dæghrefn to death in a bear-hug.
so strong a grip: the power of Beowulf’s grip has already been commented on by Hrothgar.
no man could wreck . . . greedy tongues of flame: another oblique allusion to the eventual destruction of Heorot.
no war-sword . . . battle-blade: that Grendel turns out to be invulnerable to weapons reflects rather oddly on what Beowulf has said about his ignorance of them, but it does serve to explain why Beowulf’s companions are not able to come to his aid.
After that deadly encounter . . . accomplished: there is a clear analogue to Beowulf’s fight with Grendel in the later Old Norse Grettir’s saga.
Sigemund, the son of Wæls: in the Old Norse version of this material (chiefly Völsunga saga —the story of the Völsungs—and some Eddaic poems) Sigmundr is the son of Völsungr (Wæls) but it is his son Sigurdr who kills the dragon. Sigmundr sleeps with his sister Signý—thus ensuring no dilution of the family line—and their son is Sinfjötli, Fitela in Old English. We cannot know for certain whether the Beowulf poet knew of this incestuous birth. Hrothgar’s poet’s recitation about Sigemund is usually believed to reflect flatteringly on Beowulf, setting him alongside the great heroes of Germanic legend and alluding proleptically to his own dragon fight. But it is also possible that Beowulf emerges from the comparison as a finer hero than the exile Sigemund (see n. to p. 13).
he impaled . . . the dragon was slain: according to Völsunga saga and the poetic sources on which it is based, Sigurðr kills the dragon Fafnir by digging a pit, crouching in it, and spearing the dragon’s soft underbelly as the creature slithers its way to a water-hole. These differences in detail are especially significant in relation to the later account of Beowulf’s own dragon fight, which is a bold confrontation rather than a cunning plan.
Heremod’s prowess . . . done to death: at first, it seems that Heremod is introduced as one of Sigemund’s illustrious predecessors, heroically killed fighting monsters. But the poet goes on to characterize Heremod as a notoriously bad king, who, unlike Beowulf, gets worse as he goes on. In Anglo-Saxon genealogies, Heremod precedes Scyld; perhaps we should see his disastrous reign as precipitating the Danes’ leaderless crisis, from which Scyld rescues them. This brief passage may be seen as lying at the centre of a network of favourable and unfavourable comparisons between kings in the poem: there is also an implicit parallel to Hrothgar (who has failed to protect the Danes against Grendel, as Heremod also failed them) and an explicit comparison with Beowulf, ‘loved by all who knew him’.
There is a parallel to Heremod’s evil conduct in Saxo’s History, attributed however to a figure called Hlotherus.
after the banquet: feasting in the hall is here a metaphor for life itself: the sleep after the feasting is a prefiguring of death. (See also n. to p. 3.)
Heorot was packed . . . wrongful deeds: this picture of conviviality is dramatically undermined by the reference to the future enmity amongst the Danes. Hrothgar and Hrothulf, uncle and nephew, seem to have a model relationship—as between Beowulf and Hygelac—but it is possible that the ‘wrongful deeds’ referred to by the poet indicate that Hrothulf will prove treacherous to Hrothgar.
Hrothgar gave Beowulf. . . and a corslet: one might have expected Hrothgar to hand his father’s war-gear on to one of his own sons, rather than to Beowulf the Geat. Later in the poem Beowulf explains that although Heorogar, Hrothgar’s elder brother, inherited the war-gear—and indeed the Danish throne, which it seems to symbolize—from their father Healfdene, he did not then pass it on to his son Heoroweard. Instead, Hrothgar came into possession of both war-gear and throne (see n. to p. 72). It is tempting to envisage Hrothgar’s other nephew Hrothulf resentfully watching here as Hrothgar presents these symbolic heirlooms to Beowulf, and with them, perhaps, Hrothulf’s own chance of succession—Wealhtheow certainly comes to understand that Hrothgar is planning to make Beowulf his heir (see n. to p. 40).
He sang of Finn’s troop . . . the Frisian slain: see the Introduction for a fuller discussion of the story of Finnsburh and its relation to The Fight at Finnsburh. It is not clear from either of the two accounts (which themselves do not correspond in every detail) how or why the fighting began.
Hildeburh, indeed. . . stricken with grief: the poet’s cryptic remark about Hildeburh and the honour of the Jutes could be understood in two ways: that she could not recommend their honour because they were treacherous would be a standard Old English understatement; on the other hand, if they did indeed behave honourably, fighting loyally for one side, then the resulting bloodshed was still a tragedy for Hildeburh. If, as seems likely (see n. to p. 37), there were Jutes on both sides of the conflict, there are a number of hypotheses one could formulate about their treachery, but because the episode is told so allusively in Beowulf it is impossible to work out the origins of the conflict.
that Finn should . . . with the Jutes: it is hard to believe that Finn would force the surviving Danes to share a hall with their opponents in the battle, so it has been argued that the poet is referring here to Jutes who fought with Hnæf and his men, perhaps including Hengest, who is now leading the Danes. This Jutish Hengest has been identified with the Hengistus whom Bede and other early historians name as one of the leaders of the Germanic tribes who arrived in England in AD 449. The tribes in question are said to be Angles, Saxons, and Jutes; the Jutes settle in Kent and Hengest is mentioned in the Kentish royal genealogy.
although they . . . lordless men to do: the clearest statements in Old English literature about the dishonour of serving the slayer of one’s lord are in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle entry for 755—commonly anthologized as ‘Cynewulf and Cyneheard’ and in The Battle of Maldon. In both instances the retainers choose death in battle rather than that particular disgrace, and some scholars trace this sentiment back to what Tacitus says in his Germania about the behaviour of the Germanic tribes, though whether the Germania can usefully illuminate Old English literary traditions has been much disputed.
images of boars: see n. to p. 11.
Then Hildeburh asked . . . Hnæf’s pyre: the especially close relationship in Germanic societies between a man and his sister’s son is here poignantly reflected as Hnæf and Hildeburh’s son are united in death on the same funeral pyre.
The ravenous flames . . . finest men departed: the flames of the funeral pyre which is the inevitable outcome of heroic conflict greedily swallow warriors in terms very reminiscent of those in which Grendel is described devouring innocent Danes. The explicit moral is that the funeral pyre makes no distinction between Danes and Frisians; the implicit point is that warriors killed upholding heroic principles end up the same as those humiliatingly eaten by monsters.
Then winter was over . . . the Jutes: the lyrical description of spring bringing physical and spiritual release to the pent-up warriors is abruptly undercut; the coming of spring in fact precipitates the last bloody battle, for Hengest, having been incited by Hunlafing, now wants revenge more than freedom, and the better weather allows Danish reinforcements to help him put the revenge into practice.
They sailed . . . her own people: Hildeburh’s return to Denmark—to ‘her own people’—prefigures one of the poem’s more shadowy allusions, the recapture of the Swedish king Ongentheow’s elderly wife from Hæthcyn the Geat. Both women are victims of war, and Hildeburh’s silence, especially following her bereavements, leaves unanswered the question of whether she herself felt her return to be a homecoming.
Then Wealhtheow . . . in a feud: the poet not only makes another ominous allusion to possible hostility between Hrothgar and Hrothulf, and to the murderous Unferth at the heart of Heorot, but also sets Wealhtheow’s ceremonial entry in an unpropitious context.
but leave this land. . . for you to die: It is easy to understand Wealhtheow’s careful corrective to Hrothgar’s provocative generosity in offering to adopt Beowulf as his son, not only because she and Hrothgar have sons of their own who might expect to inherit, but also because Hrothgar’s nephew Hrothulf might also be a contender for the throne. It is however hard to decide whether Hrothgar’s offer to Beowulf is rash, or whether Hrothgar is long-headedly seeking to stabilize the situation by establishing Beowulf as a powerful future king. As we may infer from later Norse sources, the ensuing power-struggle in the next generation of Danes was indeed a bloody one (see n. to p. 72).
I am convinced . . . when he was a boy: again, Wealhtheow’s anxiety may be detected here, as if she has a presentiment of what we—poet and audience—may suspect to be the case: that Hrothulf will turn against his uncle Hrothgar. Some critics, though, have preferred to see Wealhtheow as a confident, authoritative figure who wisely, rather than anxiously, sees the dangers of the situation and pointedly (even if fruitlessly) instructs the men on proper conduct. When Beowulf returns to Geatland, he faces a parallel situation: after Hygelac’s death, he is offered the kingdom, but chooses to support Hygelac’s young sons rather than rule himself, just as Wealhtheow obliquely recommends Hrothulf to do.
the most handsome collar. . . a feud with the Frisians: the glamour and grandeur of this necklace, especially in its association with the mythical Brosing necklace, in Norse tradition one of the goddess Freyja’s treasures, is grimly undermined by the poet’s allusion to its future: ransacked by unknown Frankish warriors when Hygelac is killed on a reckless raid. What becomes of treasure after the glorious ritual of its being given and received is one of the poem’s darker themes. The story of Hama, who is alluded to in Widsith, is told in the Old Norse Piðreks saga, in which a character called Heimir pits himself against Ermenaric but after twenty years enters a monastery—’chose long-lasting gain’, as the Beowulf-poet says of Hama. His treasures and war-gear are bequeathed to the monastery, a sharply pointed contrast to the fate of the Danish necklace (see Garmonsway and Simpson, Beowulf and its Analogues).
they had not tasted. . . take his rest: this is another example of the poet’s characteristic undermining of apparent peace, concord, and conviviality at Heorot.
Many spirits . . . her son’s death: this brief resume of Beowulf’s victory over Grendel makes Grendel’s mother’s motivation—revenge—vividly clear. In much heroic literature, revenge is seen as a necessary and even laudable duty to one’s kin; here we have a double distortion of the ideal: the avenger is monstrous rather than human, and female rather than male.
The terror she caused. . . opposed to a man: in the original, the poet claims that the terror Grendel’s mother inspires is as much less as the terror a woman warrior inspires compared with that of a man in battle. This has often been seen as a curious lapse on the part of the author, since Beowulf’s fight with Grendel’s mother is considerably more terrifying and challenging than his victory over Grendel. But perhaps the poet’s understatement is at work here: a female warrior might be taken as an awe-inspiring perversion of the norm—like an Amazon, in fact—so that the terror would indeed be greater rather than less.
men do not know . . . mysterious spirits: Grendel’s unknown and unknowable immediate ancestry (to Hrothgar and the Danes, if not to the Christian poet) marks him off from human society—even Scyld, who arrives and departs so mysteriously, is the son of Scef (see n. to p. 2) and Hrothgar first identifies Beowulf as the son of Ecgtheow.
These two live . . . the heavens weep: this description of the home of Grendel and his mother bears a strong resemblance to St Paul’s vision of Hell— the apocryphal Visio Sancti Pauli —which is recounted in an Anglo-Saxon sermon, Blickling Homily XVI. Exactly how the poem relates to these two versions of St Paul’s vision has been debated, but influence from Christian conceptions of the topography of Hell is plain. (See Charles Wright, The Irish Tradition in Old English Literature (Cambridge, 1993).)
Better each man . . . deeply mourn: it is harder to accept this precept uncritically when we know that it is precisely the ethic which has motivated Grendel’s mother.
he who may . . . this world: this sentiment is expressed very clearly in The Seafarer.
in the morning . . . sail-road: the association of sorrow and morning time is conventional in Old English poetry, normally in connection with human misery being felt most acutely then. This is especially vividly expressed in The Wanderer.
A full day elapsed . . . bottom of the lake: critics have struggled with the improbability of Beowulf’s descent lasting one whole day; some have translated ‘a short time elapsed’ in place of ‘a full day’. But there is of course a basic implausibility in the idea of a fully armed and helmeted warrior swimming at all—and his opponent is in any case a creature of the imagination.
some loathsome hall. . . could not touch him: the monster fight in the analogous Old Norse Grettir’s saga takes place in the damp cave behind a waterfall, a fully naturalistic setting which still requires a bold underwater swimming feat from the hero. But it is hard to say whether the (much later) Grettir’s saga has rationalized the underwater hall in the poem, or whether the poet has imperfectly remembered a setting which the author of the saga has reproduced more clearly.
for the first time . . . failed to live up to its name: it has been argued that Unferth deliberately and maliciously lent Beowulf a defective sword, but the poet here seems to stress the sword’s excellence hitherto.
an invincible sword . . . quick of combat: there are examples in Old Norse literature of supernatural creatures who can only be overcome by their own weapons—for example, the giant in Hrólfs saga Gautrekssonar—and in the Old Testament, David decapitates Goliath with Goliath’s own sword (1 Samuel 17: 51).
it seemed certain . . . the sea-wolf had destroyed him: it is not clear why the Scyldings and the Geats should jump to the pessimistic conclusion that it is Beowulf’s blood, rather than the monster’s, which comes into view, but this is also a feature of the monster fight in Grettir’s saga. Perhaps the pessimistic assumption simply emphasizes the magnitude of the hero’s task, enhancing his success.
the ninth hour came: the ninth hour is about mid-afternoon. Since Christ died on the cross at the ninth hour, and the watching of the soldiers recalls the vigil at the Garden of Gethsemane, some critics have built a Beowulf/Christ allegory around these lines, with Grendel’s mother’s lair as an entrance to Hell, and the journey to and from its depths as a resurrection motif. The poet does seem to play with Christian topoi in a way which may seem strange or even tasteless to a modern reader: when he goes to fight the dragon, for instance, Beowulf has eleven companions.
Then the battle-sword . . . the true Lord: the bold juxtaposition of supernatural event—the corrosiveness of Grendel’s blood melting the sword blade —and natural transformation—God’s control over the seasons as when the ice of winter is melted in spring—is very striking here.
On it was engraved. . .first been made: the decoration of this ancestral sword depicts the history of the race of Cain, the phrase ‘the origins of strife’ perhaps referring to the killing of Abel by Cain, or the wickedness amongst men which provoked God to instigate the Flood. It was customary to engrave the name of the owner (or maker) on swords.
Heremod. . . Scyldings: see n. to p. 31 on Heremod. Ecgwala is not known elsewhere; it is possible to discern a faint parallel in the relationship between Heremod and the sons of Ecgwala on the one hand, and Hrothulf and the sons of Hrothgar on the other, but the allusion is not detailed enough to make any more of it.
This land’s grizzled guardian . . . many treasures: this speech is commonly referred to by critics as ‘Hrothgar’s sermon’. Its wisdom—the advice of an old man to a younger hero—is a masterly example of the poet’s ability to develop a set of ethics which is neither anachronistically Christian nor simply secular heroic. Its tone is, if anything, Boethian, especially in what is said about transience, pride, and foresight, and this is fitting given that Boethius himself was a Roman philosopher who was greatly admired by the Christian Middle Ages; The Consolation of Philosophy was translated by King Alfred the Great.
the black raven gaily proclaimed sunrise: widely throughout Old English and Old Norse literature, and even within Beowulf itself, the raven is a bird which feeds on corpses and thus often presages death in battle. The raven here, however, functions like a lark. Perhaps this deliberately reflects the radical transformation Beowulf has brought about for the Danes—or perhaps the ominous associations of the raven are still lurking in the image. That the Frankish warrior killed by Beowulf was called Dæghrefn (’day-raven’) is a curious coincidence.
Should Hrethric. . . warmly welcomed: Beowulf’s invitation to Hrethric may be more than simple hospitality; Beowulf may be delicately indicating that Hrethric will be welcome if he ever needs to take refuge with the Geats.
Hygd, his queen . . . between the two seas: Hygd is dramatically contrasted with Thryth, who, in feminist terms, violently repudiates the male gaze, but is then mysteriously tamed by her marriage to Offa. This Offa, the king of the continental Angles, is represented in Anglo-Saxon tradition as an ancestor of the eighth-century Offa of Mercia—one of the few links with Anglo-Saxon England in the poem. The thirteenth-century English work The Lives of the Two Offas not only makes this connection but also tells the story of the once wicked Drida, whom Offa marries, but in fact fails to rehabilitate. (See Garmonsway and Simpson, Beowulf and its Analogues.) In Saxo’s History of the Danes there is a similarly hazardous queen, Herminthruda; both Drida and -thruda are related in form to Thryth, although this is not an unusual element in Germanic names, and the woman who is dangerous to woo is a familiar folk-tale figure.
Ongentheow’s slayer. Hygelac is (indirectly) the slayer of Ongentheow later in the poem, in the tangled history of the Swedish-Geatish feuds which form the background to Beowulf’s reign in Geatland.
peace-weaver: the term may be applied metaphorically to any woman in Old English literature, but perhaps here we are to understand that Wealhtheow herself (whose name seems to mean ‘foreign slave’) has been married to Hrothgar as a pledge of peace—just as Freawaru is to be.
A huge unearthly glove swung at his side: the glove was not mentioned in the primary account of the fight with Grendel, although we need not expect that and Beowulf’s resume to be identical in every detail. It is odd, however, that the name of Grendel’s first Geatish victim, Hondscio, which is also first mentioned in this passage, is a kenning for glove (literally, hand-shoe). In Old Norse mythology, the giant Skrymir has a huge glove—so monstrously big, in fact, that the god Thor and his companions rather comically camp out in it overnight.
as the shadows lengthened . . . the call of the past: Beowulf’s version of the entertainment in Heorot may represent the impression it would make on a young hero; the poet offers his readers a poignant association of old age, elegy, and darkness.
He, Heorogar . . . he loved him: the fate of the next generation of Scylding cousins—Freawaru, Hrothgar’s daughter; his sons Hrethric and Hrothmund; his nephews Hrothulf, the son of Halga, and Heoroweard, the son of his elder brother Heorogar—is ominously alluded to throughout the poem. We have heard Beowulf’s plainly spoken prediction about Freawaru, and dark hints about Hrothulf’s treachery—hints borne out by later Norse sources telling of the murder of Hroerekr (Hrethric) by Hrólfr (Hrothulf). These sources also relate the killing of Hrólfr/Hrothulf by Hjörvarðr, whose name is cognate with Heoroweard (see Garmonsway and Simpson, Beowulf and its Analogues). Such violence is a predictable outcome of the dynastic situation set out so clearly in Beowulf: Hrothgar has inherited his brother’s throne, so that his sons, his nephews, and his son-in-law will all be contenders for the succession. It is not surprising that what must have been a notorious power-struggle is relatively well represented in Norse tradition; uniquely, Beowulf is set in the preceding generation, at a time when the conflict is foreseeable, and apparently inescapable. Hrothgar’s failed attempt to hand over the throne to Beowulf (see n. to p. 40) may be read as one of those dramatic moments which might have changed the course of history.
Hygd wore that collar: it is perhaps inconsistent that Hygelac was said earlier in the poem (see n. to p. 40) to have worn the necklet on a Frankish raid.
He had been despised . . . glorious man: the convention of the unexpected rise to eminence of an unpromising youth, familiar from fairy-tales as the triumph of the youngest or silliest son, is widespread in Germanic tradition.
when Hygelac lay dead . . . Beowulf’s hands: it is often remarked that the poet moves with great rapidity over more than fifty years, but equally striking is his stark juxtaposition of Hygelac’s prime, represented by the munificent treasure-giving in the hall, with his—and his sons’—violent deaths. The poet is concerned primarily with the contrasts of success and failure, endings and beginnings, death and life.
a dragon began to terrify the Geats: a dragon is a monster which belongs to Christian, classical, and Germanic tradition—an awe-inspiring and terrifying embodiment of evil.
Hold now . . . this human race: this elegiac passage—sometimes anthologized as ‘The Lay of the Last Survivor’—is very similar in sentiment and verbal detail to other elegiac poems in the Old English tradition, notably The Wanderer and The Seafarer. The idealized picture of heroic life in the hall seems to represent the past—especially the heroic past—of the Anglo-Saxons as a whole. The interment of the gold is a vivid image of closure and finality, and here prefigures Beowulf’s funeral at which gold is buried along with the hero—as useless to men henceforth as it was before it was mined. The ‘Last Survivor’ ’s invocation is very like a funeral oration. Structurally, this is another parallel to the image of the sparrow in the hall (see n. to p. 3): brightness bounded on both sides by unfathomable darkness. In Christian terms, there is also an echo of the parable of the talents (Matthew 25: 14-30); the gold is useless to the dragon, who finds it only to hoard it, while in flourishing human societies the gold is fruitfully used to develop and cement concord and loyalty in treasure-giving rituals.
the wanderer carried . . . for a bond of peace: the theft of the cup is a more complex act than at first appears: the thief steals it as a peace offering to his (unnamed) lord, which might be thought to mitigate the crime a little.
his heart surged with dark fears: this picture of an anxious, guilt-ridden Beowulf stands in contrast to his youthful certainty and confidence in Denmark.
The eminent prince . . . life in this world: foreshadowing Beowulf’s death not only darkens the mood, but also increases the tension: the poet lets his audience know that a momentous event is about to take place.
Then the giver of gold. . . vile mother: the poet may here be suggesting that Beowulf is over-confident, and has underestimated his opponent.
he declined . . . the Geats himself: Beowulf’s loyalty to the late Hygelac, and his admirable refusal to take advantage of his death by assuming the Geatish throne, contrasts with the internecine struggles of the generation of Scyldings after Hrothgar.
Two exiles . . . gold-givers in Sweden: the sons of Ohthere, Eanmund and Eadgils, in rebelling against their uncle Onela, offer another variation on the range of uncle/nephew relationships in the poem. Onela pursues his nephews to Geatland and kills Hygelac’s son Heardred for harbouring them. The poet’s allusive narrative technique means that we are never actually told that Onela killed his nephew Eanmund; we learn instead that Eadgils avenges his brother’s death on Onela, with Beowulf’s help.
A death-bed. . . could not be requited: the bereaved father, Hrethel, is powerless to act: he cannot avenge the death of one son by killing the other, and he cannot exact wergild —compensation for murder—from himself for himself. This accidental killing has an interesting parallel in Norse mythology: the god Baldr (whose name relates to Herebeald) is unwittingly shot with an arrow by the blind god Höðr (whose name relates to Hæthcyn), and there is also an echo of the ancient Jewish tradition—widely taken up in medieval literature and iconography—that Cain was himself killed by an accidental shot from a blind descendant, Lamech, six generations later.
In the same way. . . from the gallows: Beowulf here imagines another dilemma of powerlessness, for a son who is executed as a criminal also cannot be avenged. The story of Hrethel’s loss, and this hypothetical situation imagined by Beowulf, may mirror Beowulf’s own dilemma: if he fails to rise to the dragon’s challenge, he compromises his reputation as a hero and a leader of his people, and fails to protect them from the dragon; if he takes on the dragon he risks his life and thus the security of his kingdom.
it was my battle-grip. . . silenced his heartbeat: Beowulf’s killing of Dæghrefn with his bare hands is an eerie echo of the fight with Grendel, when Beowulf refused to take advantage over his opponent by using weapons. It also bears out the literal meaning of Beowulf’s name—bee-wolf, or bear—in its vivid evocation of Dæghrefn being crushed to death in Beowulf’s savage grip.
And Beowulf’s companions . . . scared for their own lives: although Beowulf is determined to take on the dragon alone, and instructs his men to watch from a distance, it seems to be expected that they will come to his aid if he gets into difficulties, rather than fleeing as cowards.
his ancient sword . . . Ohthere’s son: the history of Wiglaf’s sword recalls the feud between the Swedes and the Geats, when Eanmund and Eadgils rebelled against their uncle Onela and took refuge with Hygelac’s son Heardred. As the poet (rather obliquely) explains in the lines following, Wiglaf’s father Weohstan fought on Onela’s side, and killed Eanmund for him; the sword in question was his reward. Since Beowulf later helped Eadgils in his revenge against Onela, it is ironic that Wiglaf uses the sword in his loyal support.
It was Onela . . . brother’s son: that Onela rewards his nephew’s killer is a grim variant on the uncle/nephew theme in the poem.
I think . . . trappings of war. Wiglaf’s speech, apparently unheeded or even unheard by his companions, is very similar to the exhortations to courage and loyalty made in The Battle of Maldon.
And let it be known . . . saltspray: Beowulf’s funeral mound provides an oblique echo to Scyld’s ship burial: the final image is of the expanse of the waves, and the prospect of travelling great distances by sea.
our family, the Wægmundings: this is the first indication we have had that Beowulf is of Wægmunding stock.
His slayer lay . . . cave-dragon: it is sombrely fitting that the dragon as well as Beowulf should be killed in this momentous encounter. The power of a hero who faces an opponent so overwhelming that both are killed is evident also in Old Norse accounts of Ragnarök, the last battle of the gods, as Thor and the World Serpent fall together.
No more did he fly . . . proud of his possessions: the dragon is not the loathsome slithering creature of Old Norse tradition, but a magnificent flying beast which delights in its own grandeur.
everyone remembers . . . in Ravenswood: the poet has recounted earlier how the Geatish warrior Eofor killed Ongentheow, the old Swedish patriarch, in revenge for the killing of Hæthcyn. But here he delves even further back in time to the origins of the feud: Hæthcyn, it emerges, has attacked the Swedes first, and apparently abducted Ongentheow’s queen—not, presumably, in order to force a marriage, for the queen is seen as a pathetic character, old, and humiliated by being stripped of her aristocratic jewellery. We now see the Geats as a belligerent, provocative tribe, and remember Hygelac’s fatal, reckless attack on the Franks, who are ready to pay back the Geats as soon as an opportunity arises—as too, as the messenger predicts, are the Swedes.
swore that. .. as sport for birds: Norse sources characterize sacrifice to Odin as involving stabbing and hanging together, so that Ongentheow’s savage taunts may indicate his intention to sacrifice the Geatish warriors.
Then grey-haired Ongentheow. . . as Eofor willed it: the battle at Ravenswood follows a familiar Germanic pattern of unexpected reversal, as the tables are turned on an apparently secure situation. Ongentheow triumphantly besieges the Geats, but finds himself ambushed when Hygelac arrives. Good examples of the pattern occur in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle entry for 755 (‘Cynewulf and Cyneheard’), in the Old English poem fudith, and in the Old Norse Hrafnkels saga. It is indeed just after the Danes and Geats have celebrated the demise of Grendel, and fallen into a complacent post-feasting sleep, that they are horribly surprised by Grendel’s mother.
lay under a curse: the curse on the gold is mentioned rather late here; in Norse tradition, the treasure which Sigurðr recovered from the dragon was cursed, a motif powerfully elaborated in Wagner’s Ring Cycle.
It is impossible to reconstruct with any clarity or certainty what may have preceded the opening of this fragment, but it seems likely that one of the warriors has been listing possible explanations for a light which has been glimpsed, the fragment beginning just as he gets to the third of them, and that Hnæf goes on to discount the suggestions in turn. The wider context seems to be one of a night attack on Hnæf and his men. These warriors are usually understood to be inside a hall (see n. to p. 106) although the dawn, a dragon, and hall-gables burning are all suggestive of a light seen outdoors, and from some distance away. Since the episode in Beowulf begins after Hnæf’s death, it cannot be used to explain the events alluded to here.
this enmity of people: the enmity may be a reference to a feud between the two sides which has already been made clear.
Sigeferth and Eaha . . . their footsteps: the actions of the first four named warriors surely indicate that they (and Hengest) are defending a hall from the inside. Guthlaf is mentioned as a Danish warrior in the Beowulf episode; his companion there is Oslaf, whose name is probably a variant of Ordlaf here. The phrase ‘Hengest himself’ must indicate that Hengest has already been singled out as a figure of some significance amongst Hnæf’s men.
When he saw this. . . set upon his death: if Sigeferth and his companions are indeed inside the hall, we must assume that Guthere and Garulf are part of the attacking force outside.
Then the din of battle broke out in the hall: confusingly, the impression given here is that the fighting takes place inside the hall, rather than in the door-way, as one might expect.
Garulf the son of Guthlaf: Garulf is attacking the hall, and therefore presumably one of Finn’s men; Guthlaf has already been mentioned as one of those inside the hall, defending. It may be that one of the memorable tragedies of the Finn story was that father and son found themselves on opposing sides; if there were indeed Jutes on both sides (see n. to p. 37) this would not be impossible. In the Old High German heroic lay Hilde-brandslied father and son are ranged against one another in battle, and in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle entry for 755 (‘Cynewulf and Cyneheard’) there are said to be relatives of the attackers amongst a troop of defenders. The poet of The Battle of Maldon points out that as well as a warrior called Godric who loyally fights to the bitter end, there was also a Godric who fled from the fight, but such coincidence of names is less likely in the present case given that the name Guthlaf only occurs in this one context.
it seemed as if all Finnsburh were in flames: both here, and in the reference to the gables burning, the dramatic image of a hall burning down (to be the fate of Heorot, according to the poet of Beowulf) is evoked.
a wounded man . . . their wounds: since Garulf, outside the hall, is said to be the first of many to fall, it is likely that this wounded man is one of those inside, who fought on for five days without loss. The guardian of the people who questions him would then be Hnæf, who is defending. But some scholars have taken ‘guardian of the people’ to refer to Finn, who would then be enquiring of one of his own front-line warriors how either the others in the vanguard, or the Danes inside the hall, were bearing up.