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An Introduction to Allusions in Beowulf

volsunga-saga

The Oxford English Dictionary defines allusion as “an implied, indirect, or passing reference to a person or thing” or “any reference to someone or something”. When it comes to literature, however, it becomes a difficult task to avoid accidentally falling into affective and intentional fallacies when exploring whether or not certain words, phrases, or narratives are meant by the author to be distinct and relevant allusions to particular people or events. In works such as Beowulf, moreover, the task of pointing out allusions and understanding their meaning becomes even more difficult due to the obscurity of their context and cultural situations. Nevertheless, what I aim to explore are some allusions to elements present in Old Norse literature which are readily available to us in the text:  elements which we may assume to have been passed down to Beowulf’s author(s) through the culture of the Danelaw.

The Scyldings

One of the most notable of these allusions is that of the Scyldings. A prominent family not only in Beowulf, their stories also appear in Snorra Edda (Snorri Sturluson’s Prose Edda) and Hrólfs saga kraka (The Saga of King Hrolf Kraki). In the Edda, Skjöldur (Scyld Scefing), the founder of the Skjöldungar (Scyldings), is portrayed as a descendant of the god Óðinn himself. The legends of his descendants are recorded in Beowulf and Hrólfs saga kraka. Being slightly different in perspective to Beowulf, the focus of Hrólfs saga kraka is more so on Hroðgar’s nephew Hrólfur than on himself. Both narratives however include a troll-like being terrorising the halls at nightfall and a hero that comes and eradicates such threats.

Eotenas ond ylfe and gígantas

J.R.R. Tolkien notes in lines 112-113 the author’s use of two culturally different etymological sources to describe the race of Grendel and the descendants of Cain. On the one hand, Tolkien observes the use of gígantas in line 113 as a word borrowed from the Latin version of the Bible. On the other hand, he marks the words eotenas and ylfe in line 112 as distinctly Norse, coming from the words jötnar (giants) and álfar (elves). These words not only depict the author’s blending of pagan and Christian elements into the story of Beowulf, but as cultural allusions they furthermore offer a twofold perspective on Grendel’s background as a fiend – that is, he not only is an enemy of the Christians, being a descendant of Cain and the giants, but also at the sight of the pagan heroes he is considered an outcast of the Norse gods and humanity.

Wæls and Sigemund

The bard in Hroðgar’s hall recounts the story of Sigemund the dragon-slayer in lines 883-915 as words of praise, encouragement, and admonition to Beowulf. Similar narratives can be found in the Snorra Edda and the Völsunga Saga where Völsungur’s (Wæl’s) descendant Sigurður slays a dragon and takes possession of a treasure hoard. Placing these narratives in the context of Beowulf allows its author to portray ironies foreshadowing Beowulf’s death, but also comparative praise, as Sigurður is and will ever be remembered in Northern legend as Fáfnisbani –  the slayer of the dragon Fáfnir – after his death.

Thus allusions such as these allow us to understand more comprehensively the story of Beowulf. They give the text particular shades which reflect dramatic ironies that are not always obvious when the allusions are missed. And although many of these allusions and possibly the text itself are rendered obscure to us as modern audiences, their importance to the Anglo-Saxon audience as antiquarian reflections and contemporary innovations should never be understated, wont as the Anglo-Saxons would have been to do so.

 

 

Works Consulted:

Heaney, Seamus. Beowulf. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2000. Print.

Tolkien, J.R.R. Beowulf: A Translation and Commentary. Ed. Christopher Tolkien. London:        Harper Collins Publishers, 2014. Print.

— . The Monsters and the Critics and Other Essays. Ed. Christopher Tolkien. London:                  George Allen & Unwin Publishers, 1983. Print.

 

 

 

 

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OLD ENGLISH ELEGIAC LOSS AND SELF-IDENTITY IN “THE WANDERER” AND “THE SEAFARER”

plato.jpgIn this essay I argue that the Old English elegies “The Wanderer” and “The Seafarer” demonstrate the instability and fragility of Anglo-Saxon society. The reason for such instability is that the members of the un-Christian Anglo-Saxon society have no knowledge of God nor subsequently could they have any relationship with him. My analogies are based primarily on Plato’s “Myth of the Cave” from Book 7 of The Republic, and shall be furthermore expounded upon with Plotinus’ writing “On the Intellectual Beauty”. After discussing the essential content of Plato’s myth and the relationship thereof with Plotinus’ work, I shall apply them both as filters for my interpretation first to “The Wanderer”, and then to “The Seafarer”.

Plato’s “Myth of the Cave” demonstrates an individual’s release from ignorance into a profound experience upon seeing the very image of  God, whom he calls the True, Good, and Beautiful, and whom Plotinus, in his work, calls the “One”. This encounter with God allows the individual to receive enlightenment, where, being thus released from ignorance, he is given the opportunity to contemplate God as he is (Plato 280). And being enlightened by such an experience, he can no longer see the “shadows which he formerly saw”, but rather only the realities of the world outside the cave (Plato 280). It also gives the individual a “perfect self-identity”, as he “forms a multiple unity with the God silently present” (117). This enlightenment causes an individual’s separation[1] from society, as it “upholds some beings, and they see; the lower are dazzled and turn away, unfit to gaze upon that sun” (Plotinus 117). Moreover, it causes the individual to reflect upon his alienation and the state of his fellow-prisoners who are left in the cave, pitying therefore their condition as members of an unenlightened society (Plato 281). Plato explains as well that “those who attain to this beatific vision are unwilling to descend to human affairs; for their souls are ever hastening into the upper world where they desire to dwell” (282). It is this beatific vision that is the profound experience – the conversion point – of the individuals exemplified in Plato’s and Plotinus’ works.

The individual’s conversion point prompts the individual to a journey to reach what Plotinus terms as “the Beauty There” (117), the place of the True, the Good, and the Beautiful in Plato’s universe, the residence of God, which is heaven. The journey is, however, not only a spiritual undertaking towards the ideal paradise, but it is, more importantly for the individual, a quest for ultimate self-identity. Plotinus implies that nearness to God allows an individual to see an image of himself in the light of a “better beauty” (Plotinus 117). The individual then would exhibit a desire to set upon a journey to reconcile his image of a better beauty with the reality upon which it is based, a reality which is in the same realm as God, which is the Beauty There. This reconciliation allows the “two [to] become one”, a unity which, in Christian terms, brings together the individual’s soul and God’s own being (Plotinus 117). This, following Plato’s and Plotinus’ works, is thus the objective of the Christian journey, a journey which, upon completion, gives the individual a perfect form of self-identity to be found only in his union with God.

The foundation built upon an individual’s union with God and the journey for such a unity are precisely what concern(s) the author(s) of both “The Wanderer” and “The Seafarer”. According to Crossley-Holland, both poems are chiefly concerned with the topic of loss (46). It is through the loss of the essential elements of their Anglo-Saxon societies that the speakers in the poems mark their alienation from their comitatus. This loss and alienation of the speakers evolves in the poems into a loss of their identity. Sharma suggests that “identity is always correlative to a cultural world” (611). Removing the individual from his society would thus be taking away his identity. The poems present this problem of identity and attempt to show the solution by having the speakers base the foundation of their identities not on their society but entirely on God.

In “The Wanderer” there is a longing to find a “ground for a self threatened by fragmentation and an abject loss of coherence on account of cultural upheaval” (Sharma 612). The cultural upheaval is experienced by the speaker of the poem through the “death of kinsmen” (line 7), his removal from his homeland (20), and his deprivation of the essential elements that make up his Anglo-Saxon heroic society, elements such as a hall and “a lord of rings” (25). All of these aspects of Anglo-Saxon culture that are specified in the poem point out to the speaker’s identity as an archetypal warrior of his society. And so his “loss of heroic culture”, as Sharma puts it, results in a loss of heroic identity (612). Indeed, the speaker laments over the complete ruin of his heroic society. He contemplates on “how the time has passed / …as if it never was” (95-96), how “that happy time is no more” (36), and, in lines 92-95, voices out his nostalgia for an atmosphere reflective of his heroic society; for ultimately the speaker stands as the last man of the Heroic Age, being placed in the poem in a “‘fiction’ of the apocalypse” (Green 502) as the Anglo-Saxons would have imagined it. Therefore such is the threat to the speaker’s self-identity that, due to the decline of the Anglo-Saxon heroic world, he experiences an “anxiety of meaninglessness”[2], an anxiety that makes him yearn for a sense stability for his identity.

This sense of stability he cannot find in his society but in God. In a world where kinsmen “fade on their way” (54), where the “middle-earth / from day to day dwindles and fails” (62-63), a world where “all is wretchedness in the realm of earth” (104), and almost everything is fleeting (108-109), the speaker turns to God for relief (1-2). It is in Him where “eal seo fæstnung stondeð” (115). In finding God, the speaker, as Plotinus explains it, “sinks into a perfect self-identity” (117). Through such a kind of self-awareness, the speaker “will learn how to achieve disillusionment, to move from destructive grief to healthy negativity” which is a kind of “melancholy logic” (Champion 195). This healthy negativity manifests itself in the form of the poem, the elegy recited by the speaker, which becomes the remedy, the bote (line 113) of the “good man” (112) for his grief. Where the “memories of kinsmen” (51) fail to bring him consolation, God offers the speaker the experience he needs to attain wisdom, for “no one is wise without his share of winters” (64). It is wisdom that allows the speaker in “The Wanderer”, being a figure representative of the released prisoners in Plato’s Cave, to reflect on his enlightened state and compare it to the state of those still left to “observe the passing shadows” (Plato 281).  Thus, being identified in the last segment of the poem as “snottor on mode”, he is consequently described as one who is “sundor æt rune” (111). The speaker, sundered in his stage of wisdom, and given a perspective through which he can contrast his condition with that of his foregone heroic comitatus, mourns the fleetingness and passing-away of their heroic society through a series of repetitions of “hwær” (92-93), “eala” (94-95), and “læne” (108-109). His final remark in the poem serves to emphasise his “frofre” (115) in the steadfastness of God that is in stark contrast with the venerating lamentation that makes up most of his speech.

In “The Seafarer” there is a more apparent sense of immediacy expressed by the speaker to undertake a journey towards the “Beauty There”. He states his dissatisfaction with earthly life, saying, “Forþon me hatran sind / dryhtnes dreamas þonne þis deade lif, / læne on londe” (64-66). He is described by Greenfield as “an aspiring peregrinus, a voluntary exile who will relinquish earthly pleasures for the greater joys of Heaven” (15). At first, the speaker perceives his journey in the sea to be “a time of hardship” (3), a “wræccan lastum” (15), and furthermore describes himself to have “harboured bitter sorrow” (4), being a “sea-weary man” (12) who is “careworn and cut off from [his] kinsmen” (14). But his perspective on his sea-voyages changes beginning on line 33, marked by the word “nu” and a subsequent change of tense from the past to the present, where he is forthwith “stirred” (34) by his “heart’s longings / …to undertake a journey” (36-37). It is a “journey”, Calder explains, “to find the heavenly land” (272). Which journey is prompted by the speaker’s attempt to “locate [his life] in a meaningless present” (Green 506).

Indeed, the speaker is attempting to find a sense of belonging in a world where the “days of great glory / …are gone forever” (81-82) and “his former friends, / the sons of princes, have been placed in the earth” (93-94). And, as the speaker in “The Wanderer”, the speaker in “The Seafarer” endeavors to find his “perfect self-identity” in God. The chief catalyst that threatens to trap permanently the speaker in a meaningless present is the loss of his lord, whereupon there will no longer be a “protector-kinsman for his wretched spirit to travel toward” (Empric 25). His reaction to the threat, as exhibited in the word-play on the word “dryhten” in lines 41 and 43, is to shift his focus from earthly to spiritual pursuits (Greenfield 19-20). No longer does he need to rely on an earthly dryhten to give him a sense of self-identity; he realizes that “the splendours of this earth will [not] survive for ever” (66-67). Instead he looks to God and His “ecan eadignesse” (120) for permanent stability.

Upon thus being able to contemplate and unify their identity with God – the Sun in Plato’s myth – the speakers of both poems shift their speech from something that reflects the personal to something that ponders on the universal[3]. Their unification with God elevates the speakers to a place of greater vision and enlightenment, the place outside Plato’s Cave, whereupon they may contemplate not only their own condition, but also, in a new light, that of their un-Christianised comitatus. It is with this transcendent understanding that they gain the wisdom to talk about the instability of their society that is deprived of the knowledge of God. And it is also with such an understanding that they share in the poems the final mutual advice that invites their audience to find their perfect self-identification in God.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bibliography:

 

Primary sources:

 

Plato. Book VII, The Republic. Plato: Selected Dialogues. Trans. Benjamin Jowett.           Pennsylvania: The Franklin Centre, 1983. 279-282. Print.

 

Plotinus. “On the Intellectual Beauty”. The Critical Tradition: Classic Texts and                Contemporary Trends. Ed. David H. Richter. Bedford/ St. Martin’s, 2007. 111      -119. Print.

 

“The Wanderer”. The Norton Anthology of English Literature. Ed. Stephen Greenblatt.      W.W. Norton & Company, 2013. 107-110. Print.

 

“The Wanderer”. The Old English Elegies: A Critical Edition and Genre Study. Ed.            Anne L. Klinck. Montreal & Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1992.       75-78. Print.

 

“The Seafarer”. The Old English Elegies: A Critical Edition and Genre Study. Ed. Anne    L. Klinck. Montreal & Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1992. 79   -83. Print.

 

 

 

 

Secondary sources:

 

Beaston, Lawrence. “The Wanderer’s Courage”. Neophilologus, 2005. Vol. 89: 119-          137. Online.

 

Calder, Daniel G. “Setting and Mode in ‘The Seafarer’ and ‘The Wanderer’.                      Neuphilologische Mitteilungen, 1971. Vol. 72 No. 2: 264-275. Online.

 

Champion, Margaret Gunnarsdóttir. “From Plaint to Praise: Language as Cure in ‘The       Wanderer’”. Studia Neophilologica, 2008. Vol. 69 No. 2: 187-202. Online.

 

Empric, Julienne H. “’The Seafarer’: An Experience in Displacement”. Notre Dame           English Journal. University of Notre Dame, 1972. Vol. 7 No. 2: 23-33. Online.

 

Green, Martin. “Man, Time, and Apocalypse in ‘The Wanderer’, ‘The Seafarer’, and          ‘Beowulf’”. The Journal of English and Germanic Philology. University of        Illinois Press, 1975. Vol. 74 No. 4: 502-518. Online.

 

Greenfield, Stanley B. “Attitudes and Values in ‘The Seafarer’. Studies in Philology.         University of North Carolina Press, 1954. Vol. 51 No. 1: 15-20. Online.

 

“The Seafarer”. The Anglo-Saxon World: An Anthology. Ed. Kevin Crossley-Holland.        Oxford: University of Oxford Press, 2009. 53-56. Print.

Sharma, Manish. “Heroic Subject and Cultural Substance in The Wanderer”.                      Neophilologus, 2012. Vol 96: 611-629. Online.

[1] Perhaps elevation would be a better term. An individual’s enlightenment causes him to see himself in a better state than that of the prisoners in the cave (Plato 281).

[2] ‘The anxiety of meaninglessness…is anxiety about the loss of an ultimate concern, of a meaning which gives meaning to all meanings’ (Beaston 126)

[3] See Sharma 621, Champion 197, and Empric 23.

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Beowulf and the Aristotelian Tragic Hero

hwaet

In this paper I argue that the titular character of Beowulf is, in accordance with Aristotle’s perspective, a tragic hero. I will apply Aristotle’s ideas from the Poetics into the plot and characterisation of Beowulf. I will first look into the definition of a tragedy in Chapter 6, and proceed to examine the idea of the tragic hero in Chapter 13. Therefrom I will work with the overall plot and structure of Beowulf, then direct my attention specifically towards the character Beowulf. My essay and criticism draw ideas from the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, Robert Emmett Finnegan, Seamus Heaney, Arthur Brodeur, Frederick Klaeber, et al. I will also take to consideration the culture and ideals of the Anglo-Saxon audience to which the author of Beowulf wrote, observing how they might identify with the hero and the circumstances that affect him.

In setting the ground for us to expound on Aristotle’s idea of a tragic hero, it is of chief import to know and understand first the definition of a tragedy. Aristotle explains the essence of a tragedy in Chapter 6 of his Poetics:

Tragedy is…an imitation of a noble and complete action, having the proper magnitude; it employs language that has been artistically enhanced by each of the kinds of linguistic adornment, applied separately in the various parts of the play; it is presented in dramatic, not narrative form, and achieves, through the representation of pitiable and fearful incidents, the catharsis of such pitiable and fearful incidents.

…In addition to the arguments already given, the most important factors by means of which tragedy exerts an influence on the soul are the parts of the plot, the reversal and recognition[1].

In Chapter 13, we have the definition of a tragic hero, defined thus: “This would be a person who is neither perfect in virtue and justice, nor one who falls into misfortune through vice and depravity; but rather, one who succumbs through some miscalculation”. We are then equipped with the proper elements of tragedy: the catharsis, reversal, recognition, and suffering – and the hero who succumbs because of Hamartia.

Trying to incorporate Aristotelian ideas into Beowulf presents us with a minor, solvable problem. It is uncertain whether the author of Beowulf, whoever he may be, had any knowledge of Aristotle’s Poetics. Although he was most likely a cleric (O’Donohue 11), knowledgeable in Latin[2], possessing “a considerable learning in native lays and traditions” (Tolkien, Monsters and the Critics 26-27), and thus was a learned man. In any case, there is no evidence in the text that he was interested in purposely trying to assimilate Aristotelian ideals into his work. This does not mean, however, that they are not present in Beowulf. Rather, being elegiac in tone, we can find it rife with elements of a tragedy.

How, then, is Beowulf a tragedy? As an “imitation of a noble and complete action, having the proper magnitude”, the story depicts the actions of King Hrothgar, Ruler of the Danes, descendant of the Shieldings[3], and, more importantly, those of Beowulf, Géata dryhten, Ruler of the Geats (l. 2576). In style, it is written in Old English alliterative verse, abounding with kennings such as hron-ráde (10) and different names for mythological creatures such as eotenas, ylfe, orcneas, gígantas (112-113); “a product of thought and deep emotion” (Tolkien, Monsters and the Critics 20). Beowulf, moreover, depicts plenty of pitiable and fearful events (and the catharses of such) regarding the Danish and Geatish people.

We hear first of the desolation caused by Grendel’s gúð-cræft (127). What had started as a celebration of God’s creation actually brought about the attention of Grendel:

…sé þe in þrýstrum bád,

þæt hé dógora gehwám    dréam gehýrde

hlúdne in healle (87-89).

Grendel’s “powers of destruction were plain” (Heaney 127) “as dawn brightened” (Heaney 126). Thus we are presented with the story’s first example of peripeteia, anagnorisis, and consequently of suffering. Hrothgar himself admits to believing

…þæt ic mé ænigne

under swegles begong                  gesacan ne tealde.

Hwæt mé þæs on éple                  edwenden cwóm

gyrn æfter gomne,                        seoþðan Grendel wearð,

eald-gewinna,                               ingenga mín (1772-1774).

Herein comes Beowulf, our tragic hero; and along with him, the audiences’ realisation of what is meant to be a foreknown beleaguering of Hrothgar’s hall by Grendel. Hrothgar and Heorot do not appear only in Beowulf, but in a few other sources as well, most noteworthy of which is Widsith. R.W. Chambers remarks: “The chief value of the references to Heorot in Widsith lies in their correcting the impressions which we get from Beowulf” (79). By this he meant that “the poet meant Beowulf to stand out in contrast to the masters of Heorot, a house of heroes second to none in all northern story, but tainted by incest and the murder of kin[4]” (84).

We are thus given a very ironic picture of Heorot, which is furthermore intensified with the introduction of Unferth in the story. Unferth, whose name means Unpeace or Quarrel (Tolkien, Beowulf 209), is guilty of sifjaslit[5], the murder of kinsmen. “Þéah ðú þínum bróðrum tó banan wurde, / héafod-mægum” (587-588). And yet he is one of Hrothgar’s trusted men, his þyle.Being accused of sifjaslit was not something to be taken lightly in Anglo-Saxon and Scandinavian societies. The death of the beloved god Baldr was caused by the betrayal of Loki, his kin. This triggered the events which would eventually lead to Ragnarök.

The same grievous offence is charged against Grendel’s clan, where God himself made them outcasts and set a curse upon their kin (ll. 107-114). It comes as no surprise, then, that a monster representative of kin-slaying would lay waste to a tribe whose roots are tainted with the same sin. Only a hero endowed with módgan mægnes, Metodes hyldo (670) would reasonably be able to defeat Grendel. The only reason why Beowulf won the battle, as the poet puts it, was because God’s favour was upon him – Beowulf’s might was a gift from God:

…hwæþre hé gemunde                 mægnes strenge,

gim-fæste gife,                             ðe him God scealde,

ond him tó An-waldan                 áre gelýfde,

frófre ond fultum (1270-1273).

It is the same favour that grants Beowulf victory in his battle against Grendel’s mother. Hrunting, Unferth’s sword, offers him no offensive nor defensive prowess against her. As Robert Emmett Finnegan puts it, “the defenses Beowulf’s society affords him against the evils of the mere are insufficient for victory….Even so, the poet attributes the hero’s ultimate salvation to God” (49). Beowulf himself exclaims:

Ic þæt unsófte                  ealdre gedíge,

wigge under wætere,       weorc genéþde

earfoðlíceæ                       ætrihte wæs

gúð getwæfed,                 nymðe mec God scylde (1555-1558).

And so Beowulf lives many years thereafter to become king of the Geats, where we “find the young proud Beowulf so much like Hrothgar so soon as the Link or Interlude of his return home is over (Tolkien, Beowulf 312). But it is in his rule here as king of the Geats where we will see his final and tragic encounter with the dragon.

Upon hearing about the dragon, Beowulf became “restless hastening toward death: the fate very nigh indeed that was to assail that aged one, to attack the guarded soul within and sunder life from body – not for long thereafter was the spirit of the prince in flesh entrammelled” (Tolkien, Beowulf 84). He had erstwhile not known how he would die (Tolkien, Beowulf 102), and so he “disdained with a host and mighty army to go against that creature flying far abroad. For himself he did not fear the contest, nor account as anything the valour of the serpent, nor his might and courage” (Tolkien, Beowulf 81-82). Too late does he realise that “the defences he brings against the beast are essentially those of his society, and are therefore essentially flawed” (Finnegan, 54).

Moreover, the blessing of God, which was present in Beowulf’s battle against Grendel and his mother, is alarmingly absent in his fight against the dragon. It may well be that it was not the “Almighty’s will” (Heaney 192). Or it may be wyrd that goes ever as it must (Tolkien, Beowulf, 243)[6].

Where, then, can we find Beowulf’s hamartia? “Is Beowulf’s decision to fight the dragon imprudent?”… “Wiglaf criticises Beowulf’s retaliation, and the retainers, Wiglaf testifies, tried to dissuade Beowulf from the attack” (Gwara 243). “Should the hero have accepted help?” (Gwara 267) Perhaps he should have, as Hrothgar would have advised (1771-1784). Had he more retainers with him when he fought the dragon, the outcome would of course be vastly different. However, the poet comments: “Appointed was it that the prince proven of old should find now the end of his fleeting days, of life in this world” (Tolkien, Beowulf 81). Finnegan explains his situation:

…as the hero becomes increasingly entrammeled in the meshes of the society of which he is a part, the victory becomes harder, as in the struggle with Grendel’s mother, until it finally becomes impossible. With the failure of the best of men of his time to overcome the dragon, the society which he as king represents is judged and found wanting (54).

Beowulf’s pagan society is ultimately found defenceless without the help of God. As the poet has lamented in lines 183-186:

Wa bíð þæm ðe sceal

þurh slíðe níð                    sáwle bescúfan

in fýres fæþm,                  frófre ne wénan,

wihte gewendan!

A more positive yet similar expression may be found in the last lines of The Wanderer:

Wel bið þam þe him are seceð,

Frofre to fæder on heofonum,     þærus eal seo fæstnung stondeð.

Beowulf as a Northern hero trusted in his own might, not in God’s power – nor could he, for he knew not God. Thus to be simply himself, the ideal hero, would yet be lacking, and the ideals and the values which he represents, though noble, are “found wanting”. And though this be so, the poet deals with the characters with reverence, and not with condemnation, as he epitaphs Beowulf with

manna mildust      ond mon-ðwærust,

leodum líðost       one lof-geornost (3181-3182).

[1] In Chapter 11 of the Poetics, Aristotle furthermore says, “these are the two parts of the plot, reversal and recognition, and there is also a third part, suffering”; a statement which we will add to his definition.

[2] See Tolkien’s Beowulf: A Translation and Commentary, p. 162

[3] The Shieldings (Skjöldungs) themselves are descended from the Norse god Odin (Sturluson, Prose Edda 7).

[4] “Equally with the poet of Widsith, the poet of Beowulf cannot mention Hrothulf and Hrothgar together without foreboding evil” (Chambers 83).

[5] See Snorri Sturlusson’s “Gylfaginning”, Chapter 51.

[6] Gæð á wyrd swá hío scel (l. 455)

Works cited:

 

Chambers, R.W. Widsith: A Study in Old English Heroic Legend. Cambridge: University Press, 1912. Print.

Finnegan, Robert Emmett. Beowulf at the Mere (and elsewhere). Winnipeg: University of  Manitoba Press, 1978. Print.

Gwara, Scott. Heroic Identity in the World of Beowulf. Leiden: Koninklijke Brill NV, 2008.

Heaney, Seamus. Beowulf. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2000. Print.

O’Donohue, Heather. English Poetry and Old Norse Myth. Oxford: Oxford University Press,

  1. Print.

Tolkien, J.R.R. Beowulf: A Translation and Commentary. Ed. Christopher Tolkien. London:         Harper Collins Publishers, 2014. Print.

Tolkien, J.R.R. The Monsters and the Critics and Other Essays. Ed. Christopher Tolkien.   London: George Allen & Unwin Publishers, 1983. Print.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Works Consulted:

  1. and E. Keary. The Heroes of Asgard. New York: Mayflower Books, 1979. Print.

Anlezark, Daniel. Myths, Legends, and Heroes. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2011.

Print.

Bloom, Harold. Bloom’s Modern Critical Interpretations: Beowulf, Updated Edition. New             York: Infobase Publishing, 2007.

Brodeur, Arthur. The Art of Beowulf. Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1969.    Print.

—. The Prose Edda. New York: American Scandinavian Foundation, 1916. Print.

Byock, Jesse. The Prose Edda. London: Penguin Books, 2005. Print.

Chambers, R.W. Widsith: A Study in Old English Heroic Legend. Cambridge: University Press, 1912. Print.

Crossley- Holland, Kevin. The Anglo-Saxon World: An Anthology. Oxford: Oxford

University Press, 2009. Print.

Dougherty, Martin. Vikings. London: Amber Books, 2013. Print.

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