Old English Poetics: The Aesthetics of the Familiar in Anglo-Saxon England

Old English Poetics THE AESTHETICS OF THE FAMILIAR IN ANGLO-SAXON ENGLAND

The form and style of Old English poetry, which remained highly stable from the fifth to the eleventh centuries, confront the modern reader with several very basic critical challenges. Its deep conventionality is at odds with modern aesthetic values and notions of authorship. Moreover, the style of Old English poetry resists historicization – a particular problem in a critical environment increasingly engaged with the ideological significance of texts situated in specific historical contexts. This study addresses these challenges in order to offer an historicized approach to Old English poetics, paying particular attention to its use of formulas and verbal repetition via a close analysis of the rich language of treasure to be found in Old English verse. Rather than representing poets as conduits of tradition, Old English Poetics innovatively conceptualizes poets as actively controlling and maintaining poetic convention. Dr ELIZABETH M. TYLER teaches in the Department of English and the Centre for Medieval Studies, University of York.

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Old English Poetics THE AESTHETICS OF THE FAMILIAR IN ANGLO-SAXON ENGLAND

Elizabeth M. Tyler

YORK MEDIEVAL PRESS

© Elizabeth M. Tyler 2006 The right of Elizabeth M. Tyler to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 All rights reserved. Except as permitted under current legislation no part of this work may be photocopied, stored in a retrieval system, published, performed in public, adapted, broadcast, transmitted, recorded or reproduced in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the copyright owner First published 2006 A York Medieval Press publication in association with The Boydell Press an imprint of Boydell & Brewer Ltd PO Box 9 Woodbridge Suffolk IP12 3DF UK and of Boydell & Brewer Inc. 668 Mt Hope Avenue Rochester NY 14620 USA website: www.boydellandbrewer.com and with the Centre for Medieval Studies, University of York ISBN 1 903153 20 4

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Typeset by Pru Harrison, Hacheston, Suffolk

Printed in Great Britain by Antony Rowe Ltd, Chippenham, Wiltshire

CONTENTS Acknowledgments

ix

Abbreviations

xi

A Note on Translation

xv

List of Collocations

xvi

Introduction 1

Treasure and Old English Verse

2

The Collocation of Words for Treasure in Old English Verse

1 9 38

Maðm 40; Hord 52; Gestreon 73; Sinc 77; Frætwe 89 3

Formulas and the Aesthetics of the Familiar

101

4

Verbal Repetition and the Aesthetics of the Familiar

123

5

Poetics and the Past: Traditional Style at the Turn of the Millennium 157

Bibliography

173

Indexes Index of Words Index of Poems Index of Modern Scholars General Index

185 187 188 190

The Truisms His father gave him a box of truisms Shaped like a coffin, then his father died; The truisms remained on the mantelpiece As wooden as the playbox they had been packed in Or that other his father skulked inside. Then he left home, left the truisms behind him Still on the mantelpiece, met love, met war, Sordor, disappointment, defeat, betrayal, Till through disbeliefs he arrived at a house He could not remember seeing before, And he walked straight in; it was where he had come from And something told him the way to behave. He raised his hand and blessed his home; The truisms flew and perched on his shoulders And a tall tree sprouted from his father’s grave. Louis MacNeice

vii

For my mother and my father, Kathleen Reed and Richard Tyler

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS This book began as an Oxford University doctoral thesis, and I am grateful to my supervisors Eric Stanley and Malcolm Godden for their guidance, thoughtful criticism and intellectual generosity. I have been fortunate to write this book in the stimulating and supportive environment of the Centre for Medieval Studies at the University of York, and many colleagues (past and present) deserve my warm thanks, especially Katy Cubitt, Louise Harrison, Mark Ormrod, Alastair Minnis, Felicity Riddy and most recently Jocelyn Wogan-Browne. Joanna Huntington provided invaluable editorial help. I owe a particular debt to my colleagues and friends, Nicola McDonald and Matthew Townend, who have generously read and discussed this work at different stages and who, over the years, have taught me much about medieval literature. Colleagues in the Department of English have also provided support, especially Derek Attridge, who kindly allowed me an extra term of research leave to complete this book, and Hugh Haughton, with whom I have enjoyed talking about, and lecturing on, Seamus Heaney’s Beowulf and who, in the final stages of preparing this book, helpfully provided me with bibliography. I am also grateful to Hugh for pointing me in the direction of Louis MacNeice’s ‘The Truisims’. (Faber and Faber kindly granted permission for the inclusion of MacNeice’s poem at the beginning of this book.) I have learned much about Old English poetry too from talking with my postcolonial colleague and friend Laura Chrisman, to whom I am also grateful for insisting that we play Bach sonatas (when I thought I didn’t have time) and for help with the final draft. Amongst the wider community of Anglo-Saxonists, I owe warm thanks, for various kinds of help, offered at various stages of this project, to Toni Healey, Joyce Hill, Roy Liuzza, Hal Momma, Christine Rauer, Jane Roberts, Jane Toswell and Elaine Treharne. The thesis, on which the first two chapters draw, was completed before the Fontes Anglo-Saxonici project, and I have relied on much of my own earlier work, using editions and other scholarship, to identify relevant sources, but I have also drawn on this excellent resource in completing my work. The completion of this project owes much to the patience of Caroline Palmer at Boydell & Brewer. Good friends and family have provided sustenance of many kinds and I am happy to thank Pippa Ensor, Elizabeth Gatland, Ellen Joyce, Amanda Lillie, Nicola McDonald (again!), Poppy Nash, Celia Quartermain, Andrew Wray and especially my brother Samuel Tyler. My sons, Ben and Hugh, have ix

Acknowledgments shown boundless patience and good humor (even when they had to be quiet in the library on weekends). Finally, this book is dedicated to my parents, Kathleen Reed and Richard Tyler, who taught me the pleasures of books, learning and poetry. Elizabeth M. Tyler York

x

ABBREVIATIONS And ASE ASPR BAR BB Beo BM ChrI ChrII ChrIII CPPref Dan DEdw Deo DOE DR EETS EHR El ELH EMS ES Ex Exh FAp Fort GDPref GenA GenB Gifts Guth Hb HmFgI HmFgII Inst JDI JDII JEGP

Andreas Anglo-Saxon England Anglo-Saxon Poetic Records British Archaeological Reports The Battle of Brunanburh Beowulf The Battle of Maldon Christ I Christ II Christ III The Metrical Preface to the Pastoral Care Daniel The Death of Edward Deor Dictionary of Old English The Dream of the Rood Early English Text Society English Historical Review Elene English Literary History Early Medieval Studies English Studies Exodus An Exhortation to Christian Living Fates of the Apostles The Fortunes of Men The Metrical Preface to Wærferth’s Translation of Gregory’s Dialogues Genesis A Genesis B The Gifts of Men Guthlac The Husband’s Message The Homiletic Fragment I The Homiletic Fragment II Instructions for Christians Judgment Day I Judgment Day II Journal of English and Germanic Philology xi

Abbreviations Jud Jul KtHy LdR MÆ MB Meno MP MxI MxII Neophil NM NQ OrW Pan Part Ph PL PMLA PP PPs PQ Ps50 RES Rid Rim Rsg Ruin SBI SBII Sea Settimane SN SP SS Th TRHS TSL TSLL UTQ Vng VSLÅ Wan

Judith Juliana Kentish Hymn The Leiden Riddle Medium Ævum The Meters of Boethius The Menologium Modern Philology Maxims I Maxims II Neophilologus Neuphilologische Mitteilungen Notes and Queries The Order of the World The Panther The Partridge The Phoenix Patrologiae Cursus Completus: Series Latina Publications of the Modern Language Association Past and Present The Paris Psalter Philological Quarterly Psalm 50 Review of English Studies Riddle The Riming Poem Resignation The Ruin Soul and Body I Soul and Body II The Seafarer Settimane di studio del Centro italiano di studi sull’ alto medioevo (Spoleto) Studia Neophilologica Studies in Philology Solomon and Saturn Thureth Transactions of the Royal Historical Society Tennessee Studies in Literature Texas Studies in Literature and Language University of Toronto Quarterly Vainglory Vetenskaps-societeten i Lund Årsbok The Wanderer xii

Abbreviations Wh Wid WldA WldB XSt

The Whale Widsith Waldere A Waldere B Christ and Satan

xiii

A NOTE ON TRANSLATION All of the Old English translations offered here are my own, though I have, of course, consulted editions and other translations. My translations are offered to aid the reader unfamiliar with Old English. In translating, I try to remain close to the original, especially when translating words associated with treasure. As a general rule, I gloss a word or phrase only the first time it appears in the subsection of a chapter. In offering glosses for Old English words such as ferhð, hyge, mod and sefa, it is not possible to convey the semantic complexity of these Old English terms which can simultaneously denote the mind, the spirit and the soul, as well as other concepts, which we distinguish in Modern English. I have used the modern term which I considered best suited to the particular context, but readers should beware that other meanings remain present. Where they exist, I have used published translations for Latin quotations. Biblical translations are taken from the Douay version, although I have modernized the English.

xv

LIST OF COLLOCATIONS AND A NOTE ON CROSS REFERENCING Chapter Two presents close analysis of word collocations associated with five words for treasure: maðm, hord, gestreon, sinc and frætwe. Discussions of the collocations associated with each word are ordered alphabetically. Thus, for example, the collocation of bearm and maðm is considered first and followed by benc and maðm and then bycgan, feorh and maðm and so forth, through the alphabet. When discussing hord, I first considered collocations associated with the topos of the mind as a hoard, and then other collocations of hord. The ordering within each of these sections is alphabetical. Throughout Chapters Three and Four, and also to a lesser extent Chapter One, there are frequent references to the material presented in Chapter Two. These references take the form of a footnote which indicates which collocation is being referred to. Thus, if the material being discussed draws on the discussion of the collocation of fæger/fægre and frætwe and the collocation of weorðian, weorðlic, weorðung and sinc, the footnote will read: ‘See fæger/fægre and frætwe and weorðian, weorðlic, weorðung and sinc.’ If the cross-reference is in Chapter One, I also indicate that I am referring ahead to Chapter Two; thus a cross-reference footnote in Chapter One takes the form: ‘See ch. 2, fæger/fægre and frætwe and weorðian, weorðlic, weorðung and sinc.’ with maðm Bearm and maðm 40 Benc and maðm 41 Bycgan, feorh and maðm 43 Deore and maðm 44 Gold and maðm 45 Hieran and maðm 48 Hord and maðm 48 Manig/menigu and maðm 49 Mearh and maðm 49 Sellan and maðm 51

with gestreon Broðor and gestreon 73 Eorðe and gestreon 74 -gestreon compounds 75 with sinc Brytta and sinc 77 Drincan and sinc 80 Giefa and sinc 81 Sel and sinc 83 Sele, sæl and sinc 83 Seolfor and sinc 85 Suð and sinc 86 Sweord and sinc 87 Weorðian, weorðlic, weorðung and sinc 88

with hord Breost and hord 52 Word and hord 56 Bindan, bend and hord 61 Heorte, hyge/hycgan and hord Lucan and hord 66 Hæleð and hord 68 Heah and hord 69 Rice and hord 70 Weard and hord 71

63

with frætwe Æðel- and frætwe 89 Bearm and frætwe 91 Beorht and frætwe 92 Blican and frætwe 92 Fæger/fægre and frætwe 93 Land, eorð, folde and frætwe 97

xvi

INTRODUCTION The object of this study is the stability of the stylistic conventions of Old English poetry. As is indicated by the continuities between continental Germanic and Anglo-Saxon vernacular verse, the form and style of Old English poetry took shape before the movement of Germanic speaking peoples to Britain. It continued to be used up to and beyond the death of Edward the Confessor: that is, it lasted for well over six hundred years. We tend to overlook the significance of this stability when we think ahistorically of a single Anglo-Saxon period extending from the fifth to the eleventh century. The distorting effect of the periodization of Anglo-Saxon history, however, becomes more obvious when we consider that a similar time span in the history of the area of Gaul which was to become modern France is divided up into five different periods: Late Antiquity, Merovingian, Carolingian, post-Carolingian and Capetian. These five periods indicate much more fully the major social, political, economic and cultural changes which took place in the early medieval period throughout Europe, than does the notion of Anglo-Saxon England. Over the course of this long Anglo-Saxon period, Old English poetry both adapted to and assimilated the conversion to Christianity, the introduction of writing, and the emergence of a united English kingdom, whilst simultaneously maintaining its traditional style. A continental comparison is again illuminating. In contrast to Old English, Old High German poetry did not maintain an alliterative form and style as it accommodated itself to parallel historical change, but rather, from at least Otfrid’s ninth-century Evangelienbuch, rhyme was adopted in religious verse and subsequently used to praise the defeat of the Vikings by Louis III, represented as God’s champion, in the Ludwigslied.1 Given its long durability in the face of major historical changes, the stability of Old English poetic convention needs to be viewed as remarkable, surprising even. This formal and stylistic stability confronts the modern reader of Old English poetry with several very basic critical challenges. First, the style of a poetry so deeply rooted in convention is at odds with modern aesthetic expectations. Moreover, because of the position of Old English verse as the earliest poetry in English, aspects of the conventionality of its style can seem simplistic, even primitive.2 Second and adding to its remoteness, the poet who works within such a conventional poetics cannot be accessed though

1 2

Bostock 1976, pp. 190–212 and 239–48 and Haug 1997, pp. 25–45 and 55–6. Ruth Finnegan 1977, pp. 3 and 30–51.

1

Old English Poetics modern notions of a poem as the work of an author. And finally, the style of Old English poetry resists historicization: this is a particular problem in a critical environment increasingly engaged with the ideological significance of texts situated in specific historical contexts. As a result of the coming together of these factors, the study of the style of Old English poetry, once a mainstay of Old English scholarship, has become largely sidelined. In order to study the stylistic conventions of Old English poetry, I will develop the idea of the ‘aesthetics of the familiar’ and then consider how to historicize this aesthetics in Anglo-Saxon England. I will begin by explaining my terms. By stylistic conventions, I simply mean those features of Old English verse which recur throughout the corpus, and which, although they may be responses to form, are not themselves, like alliteration and rhythm, formal requirements of the verse; examples include formulas, Parallelstellen, alliterative pairs, variation, apposition, verbal repetition within a poem, kennings, compounding. In coining the phrase ‘aesthetics of the familiar’, I have chosen the term ‘familiar’ because it does not imply either a favorable or pejorative value judgment, in contrast, for instance, to the term conventional. I will use the terms ‘convention’, ‘conventional’ and ‘conventionality’, without any negative connotation, to refer to stylistic features which occur across the Old English corpus. The ‘aesthetics of the familiar’ holds together both what is familiar because conventional and what becomes familiar because it recurs within an individual poem. The ‘familiar’ does not, however, hold together the ordinary and the well-known. In a linguistic context, by ordinary, I mean syntactic structures, phrases and expressions which also occur, as far as we can gauge from the written record, in everyday language as opposed to those structures, phrases and expressions which are well-known in and special to poetry. Conventions are not ordinary, but rather, well-known.3 Finally, in choosing the term ‘aesthetics’, I have tried to indicate my concern for both the artistic and social dimensions of style. ‘Aesthetics’ underscores the delight in language and its complexity which so much poetry, including Old English poetry, displays. But aesthetics also brings to mind questions not just of artistry in the abstract, but of the human perceptions of what is beautiful, what is tasteful, and in this context what is appropriate to and distinctive about poetry.4 The connection between social values and artistry will be a major concern of this study. By using the phrase ‘in Anglo-Saxon England’ in my title, I have tried to indicate my aim to bring an historical, as well as social, dimension to my study of style. In thinking about the dating of Old English verse, it is important to recognize that the undateable nature of so much Old English verse is, in part, a consequence of its style – of the stability of Old English poetic

3 4

Ruth Finnegan 1977, p. 110. Bourdieu 1984.

2

Introduction convention.5 The study of the history and of style of Old English poetry thus have an odd relationship. Conventionality lends Old English verse a timeless quality which discourages attempts to approach its style historically. However, this reaction muddles the difficulty of dating the poetry by linguistic means with the timelessness of the style of the verse. As a result of this confusion, we have generally not considered the timelessness of the style as an interesting historical phenomenon, created and maintained by specific people at specific points in history. Timelessness is not simply an impediment to dating but is a feature of the conventional style of Old English verse which can be considered historically, as well as aesthetically and socially. Examining the artistic, social and historical dimensions of the aesthetics of the familiar will require an assessment of and engagement with the role of tradition in the composition of Old English verse. Scholars working within what can be broadly termed Oral Formulaic, Formalist (especially New Critical) and Reception schools have all contributed to our understanding of Old English verse and its traditionality.6 Despite the absence of any consensus about the relationship between the formulaic and the oral or about the specific degree of the orality of individual Old English poems, Oral Formulaic Theory has shaped scholarly perception of the inescapably oral nature of Old English verse and has taught that these poems cannot be read as modern written texts. Oral Formulaic Theory has also, influentially, emphasized tradition, evident especially in the use of formulas, as more instrumental in the composition of Old English poetry than poets. As traditional, the poetry is seen to perform roles which are conservative, socially cohesive and rooted in communal rather than individual experience. One outcome of Oral Formulaic Theory’s often comparativist methodology has been a keener awareness of the social, rather than historical, aspects of tradition.7 In contrast, work within a Formalist mold, while accepting the importance of formulas and orality to Old English verse, has been centrally concerned to demonstrate the capacity for conventional formulaic poetry to be original – as Stanley Greenfield writes: ‘originality in the handling of conventional formulas may be defined as the degree of tension achieved between the inherited body of meanings in which a particular formula participates and the specific meaning of that formula in its individual context’.8 New Critical rejection of authorial intention as a legitimate subject for critical attention, 5

On the difficulty of dating Old English poetry, see: Liuzza 1994; Amos 1980; and many of the contributions to Chase 1981. For a dissenting view, see: Fulk 1992. For a survey of the study of the style of Old English poetry, see: Calder 1979. 6 I am using the term ‘Oral Formulaic Theory’ broadly to designate work which is indebted to the studies of Milman Parry and Albert B. Lord. For an overview of work in this tradition, see: Foley 1988; for an overview of the application of Oral Formulaic Theory to Old English, see: Olsen 1986 and 1988, and more recently Orchard 1997. 7 For further discussion, see ch. 3, pp. 121–22. 8 Greenfield 1955, p. 205.

3

Old English Poetics alongside its focus on each poem as a verbal icon, rather than a text with a context, has affected our understanding of the nature of tradition: with concern for originality within tradition not entailing regard for poetic tradition as a historical or social phenomenon. Reception Theory, with its focus on the active role readers play in determining the meaning of a text, has been central to one of the most significant developments in the study of medieval literature: the broad recognition that modern notions of author and authorship are anachronistic when applied to medieval texts. Specifically in the area of Old English, reception studies have proven especially productive in exploring a poetry in which the distinction between poet and tradition constantly threatens to break down. Highly conventional poetry which relies on its audiences’ familiarity with tradition has proven conducive to a reception-orientated reading which emphasizes that tradition is not located in a poet alone, but in a wider community. Old English poems have emerged as the result of an accretive process rather than the product of a poet composing at a single time and place. This accretion can be the result of successive oral versions of a text, and of scribes altering, in some cases formulaically, successive written versions of poems. Even the poems of Cynewulf – who not only identifies himself as poet but inscribes his name in his poems – now appear to be composite works; that is, even authored Old English poetry reveals itself as the product of a process rather than a moment.9 It is important to note the compatibility of composition as a process with creativity, originality and excellence – an aspect of the poetry that has especially been brought into view by the work of Carol Pasternack. All three critical approaches – Oral Formulaic, Formalist, and Reception – and especially their coming together, represent the role of the poet as highly contingent; such a representation has consequences for how tradition, and its role in the composition of Old English poetry, are conceptualized. As Pasternack, who places her work at the convergence of Oral Formulaic and Reception Theory, and whose readings of individual poems also reveal the influence of Formalist close reading, writes: ‘Instead of implying an author, Old English verse implies tradition.’10 Viewed from this perspective, tradition becomes an agent in itself, and one which is, by its nature, conservative and communal.11 But traditions are created and maintained by groups of people; they do not have a life of their own. Ruth Finnegan has trenchantly explored how such a view of the role of tradition in oral poetry rests on

9

Liuzza 1988 and 1994; O’Brien O’Keeffe 1990; Pasternack 1995, esp. pp. 1–32 and 147–200; and Head 1997, esp. 1–15. For Cynewulf, see: Donoghue 1987, p. 115 (cited by Liuzza 1994 and Pasternack 1995, pp. 93–4). 10 Pasternack 1995, p. 19. 11 Pasternack, however, emphasizes that while poetic ‘language announces the conservatism of the text, it does not require the reader to conform to a certain interpretation’ (Pasternack 1995, p. 20).

4

Introduction romantic notions of non-Western and early poetry as primitive, while with specific reference to Anglo-Saxon England, the work of Eric Stanley, Alan Frantzen and Roberta Frank should alert us to the role a desire for origins plays in critical perception of poetry as driven by conservative tradition.12 In this study, I will argue that the distinctive conventionality of Old English verse was sustained by the active choice of poets to use convention, rather than by being generated by tradition: the poetics of Old English verse did not have a momentum of its own which existed outside the structures of society. In order to understand the conventionality of Old English poetry – its aesthetics of the familiar – we need to conceive of convention as actively maintained by poets. Such an approach calls for a shift in critical attention away from tradition, audience and reception and back towards poets and composition, in line with recent critical efforts to acknowledge that we read texts with an expectation that they were authored with a purpose. Returning to the poet and composition must not, of course, simply reinstate the intentional fallacy or an anachronistic notion of a single author for highly oral medieval vernacular poems or deny the central role of audiences in the interpretation of texts. In trying to approach Old English poetic composition, the work of Peter Rabinowitz is especially helpful because he formulates his notion of reading for an author’s meaning in terms of conventions shared by author and reader. His subject is not authorial intention, but rather he explores reading as part of the audience the author expected – thus his return to the author is enriched by reception-orientated reading. As Rabinowitz writes: The notion of the authorial audience is clearly tied to authorial intention, but it gets around some of the problems that have traditionally hampered the discussion of intention by treating it as a matter of social convention rather than individual psychology. In other words, my perspective allows us to treat the reader’s attempt to read as the author intended, not as a search for the author’s private psyche, but rather at the joining of a particular social/interpretative community; that is, the acceptance of the author’s invitation to read in a particular socially constructed way that is shared by the author and his or her expected readers.13

This model cannot of course be applied directly to reading Old English poems which are the product of a very different kind of literary culture than Rabinowitz imagines for the nineteenth- and twentieth-century novel, but it

12

Ruth Finnegan 1977, esp. pp. 30–65; Stanley 1975; Frantzen 1990; and Frank 1993. Pasternack sees the openness of Old English poems to diverse interpretation by the reader as a brake on this conservativeness (Pasternack 1995, p. 20), but this projects an overly post-structuralist view of the polysemy of texts onto Old English poems and their interpretative contexts. For further discussion see below, ch. 4, pp. 124, 146–50 and 151. 13 Rabinowitz 1987, p. 22.

5

Old English Poetics can provide a starting point in allowing us to see that the conventionality of Old English verse can be considered from a composition, poet-centered, vantage point. Given my concern for poetics and history, Rabinowitz’s model is also attractive because he conceptualizes conventions as having social and political, as well as literary, meaning. As accretive and oral (in many different ways), Old English poems present particular problems to those who want to read with the poet in view. For Old English poetry, the dividing line between composition and reception is indistinct, and that indistinctness is a basic aspect of its nature. However, where reception-orientated criticism has portrayed the scribe who alters a poem formulaically as he copies, and/or a listener who hears a poem and reshapes it when he subsequently recites it, as types of active readers, I simply want to emphasize the degree to which such a scribe or reciter is participating in the ongoing composition of the poem, and to classify him or her as successive poets rather than as readers. From this perspective even if a poem is composed over several centuries, it remains the product of poets deploying conventions rather than of tradition itself. Shifting towards the poet and away from a view of tradition as a disembodied abstraction (which is nonetheless an agent) has the potential to inform our understanding of both the artistry and the historicity of the style of Old English verse and, to an extent, allows these two dimensions of the verse to be related. When we approach the stability of poetic convention mechanically, as self-perpetuating, we can easily neglect the dynamism of the relationship between ideas, language and verse form. Stylistic conventions do not simply enable a struggling poet to put ideas into language and verse form. Rather conventions become a part of language, and a vibrant link between language and form. Conventions, then, like other language can be a source of ideas, and of poetry, rather than simply a vehicle. Any number of studies could be cited to illustrate that Anglo-Saxon poets were fully open to the creative potential of language as a source of perception. Here I just take for example Fred Robinson’s Beowulf and the Appositive Style which brings into view how a poet, or perhaps a succession of poets, found in poetic diction and style a resource with which to explore and conceptualize the complexity of the relationship of the Christian present and the pagan past.14 However, the understanding of two features of Old English poetic style which lie at the center of an aesthetics of the familiar – formulas and the repetition of words and phrases within a poem – often seems to slip away from an expectation that language and ideas are dialogic. While critics have often seen sophistication in the use of formulaic language and in the use of verbal repetition, I will argue that attempts to consider the definition of the formula and the nature of verbal repetition in Old English poetry often rest on expectations of simplicity in early poetry and its relationship to tradition. 14

Robinson 1985.

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Introduction Both intellectually and practically, it is hard to historicize poems which lack dates and locations, and which we understand as the outcome of a long process, the stages of which we cannot identify.15 But this situation does not call for the acceptance of a model which gives tradition an active role in the composition of poetry. Rather we need to recognize that the stability of Old English poetic convention and the related invisibility of Old English poets is a striking historical phenomenon which must be accounted for rather than simply assumed. This conventionality is a consequence of the roles assigned to Old English poetry, the contexts in which it was cultivated, especially in a written form, and social expectations of poetry – at specific times, in specific places and by specific people, even if they are unknown to us. It is not always possible, nor desirable to approach the style of Old English verse historically. In this study, I begin and end by looking at both history and style together, while in the central chapters I step back from history to focus on style. But throughout, it always remains my intention to develop a model for the style of Old English poetry which can be examined historically – hence in my final chapter, I return, through a discussion of The Battle of Maldon, to consider how the aesthetics of the familiar functioned in late Anglo-Saxon England. Even though the corpus of surviving verse, at some 30,000 lines, is small, the style of Old English verse is a large topic, especially if it is to be considered historically. To combine range with depth of analysis will require successive stages of focusing. In order to develop a picture of the aesthetic values of Anglo-Saxon poets and audiences, the scope of this study cannot be narrowed by selecting a group of poems. Part of the aim of this study, and its concern for the nature and extent of convention, is to place well-known poems, such as Beowulf, The Wanderer, Genesis B, Exodus and The Dream of the Rood, in a wider aesthetic context. My first stage of focusing, in Chapter One, simultaneously lays the foundation for style to be considered across the corpus, and for its study to be historicized. When selecting a theme which would allow me to include a wide range of Old English poems in my study of style, I deliberately chose treasure because it can be historicized in the context of the social, political, economic and artistic changes which mark the long Anglo-Saxon period. Although we cannot provide secure dates for most Old English poems, we can have a sense of how the treasure represented in these poems relates to the material culture of Anglo-Saxon England at specific points during this period of history. In addition, when looking at dateable late Old English poems, we can directly compare the material culture of the poetry to that of the archaeological and written record. The representation of treasure in Old English poetry emerges as not only fixed, and thus conven15

There has, of course, been much excellent historicized study of Old English poetry, especially tenth-century political poetry (including readings of Beowulf in this context), see for example: Frank 1982; Niles 1993; and Thormann 1997. Howe’s work on Beowulf and migration myths should also be noted here (Howe 1989).

7

Old English Poetics tional, but also archaic – that is rooted in a world which predates the written poetry which has come down to us. After providing an overview of the conventionality of the treasure of Old English poetry, Chapter Two concludes by selecting five widely used words associated with treasure: maðm (treasure), hord (hoard), gestreon (possessions), sinc (treasure) and frætwe (ornament). The aim in making a selection is to allow semantics – that is the distinct meanings and associations of these words – to be studied together with and as a part of style, in subsequent chapters. In Chapter Two, I continue to narrow the focus of my study, to allow for depth, by identifying and analyzing the collocations associated with these five words for treasure. Collocation, defined simply as the tendency of words to appear together, is a useful tool for approaching the style of Old English poetry because it draws attention to and sets side-by-side both features which have been considered as evidence of constraints and restrictions on the Old English poet (e.g., formulas and Parallelstellen) and stylistic features which have been considered as evidence of artistic skill (e.g., envelope patterns and various types of wordplay). The picture which emerges from using collocation as a lens is many-sided, and to capture that complexity, in two subsequent chapters, Chapters Four and Five, I focus on two types of repetition – the formula and verbal repetition – and their interplay. The formula allows for the consideration of what is familiar because it is part of the poetic tradition, while verbal repetition involves what becomes familiar by virtue of being repeated within a poem. In looking at both kinds of repetition, the distinction between the ordinary and the familiar will become clearer, as we consider first different kinds of formulas and then how some verbal repetition occupies the foreground of a poem, while some falls into the background. The interplay of formulas and verbal repetition will reveal, time and time again, the delight poets took in the conventions of Old English poetry. Importantly, because collocation, and then the focus on formulas and verbal repetition and their interplay, encompasses such potentially disparate stylistic features, this study will provide new perspectives on the interaction of secular Germanic oral culture and ecclesiastical Latin literary culture. The final chapter brings history and style back together by drawing on the previous chapters to examine the ideology behind the conventional representation of treasure in The Battle of Maldon. This last chapter is not simply the final stage in a progressive narrowing of focus. Rather it is an opening out to explore the social and political meaning, amidst the fast-paced changes which mark the turn of the millennium in Anglo-Saxon England, of a poetics rooted in an aesthetics of the familiar: What did this aesthetics mean?What work could it be made to do as the Anglo-Saxon faced conquest by the Danes? There are opportunities to historicize the study of Old English poetics, and they need to be both found and taken if we are to understand the stability of Old English poetic convention and thus the style of the poetry itself.

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CHAPTER ONE

Treasure and Old English Verse

Treasure appears widely in Old English verse, with very few poems not mentioning treasure in one form or another. In verse with a secular theme, from Beowulf to The Battle of Maldon, and even at the very end of the poetic tradition, in the Chronicle poem commemorating the death of Edward the Confessor, treasure is especially found in the context of gift-giving. In secular and religious verse alike, treasure, as a symbol for wealth, occurs in connection with transience. The topos of ‘the Just’ storing up more permanent treasure for themselves in Heaven (itself frequently described in terms of treasure) by doing good works and especially by giving alms appears widely in religious verse. As the critical interest in the moral connotations of treasure in Beowulf attests, treasure is a theme and image of central importance for the interpretation of Old English verse.1 This chapter will begin with a general exploration of the implication of the prevalence of treasure in verse for the nature of Old English poetics. I will then introduce an historical dimension by contrasting the representation of gold and silver and treasure-giving kings in Old English poetry with their representation in Old English prose and Anglo-Latin prose and verse. Finally, I will focus on the semantic fields and usage patterns of five key terms for treasure (maðm, hord, sinc, gestreon and frætwe). This move from a macro- to a micro-view will allow for the exploration of the mulitlayered conventionality of the treasure of Old English poetry.

A macro-view of treasure A pleasure in the description of treasure is one of the most widespread features of Old English verse, and is shared by secular and religious verse alike. The splendor of the treasure in Beowulf, which is conspicuous throughout the poem, is evident when the poet mixes lines describing the treasure with which Hrothgar rewarded Beowulf for his defeat of Grendel with lines explaining the treasure’s lineage and significance. He writes: Forgeaf þa Beowulfe bearn Healfdenes segen gyldenne sigores to leane; 1

See for example: Anderson 1977; Cherniss 1972, pp. 81–99; Condern 1973; Donahue 1975; Goldsmith 1970, pp. 92–6; Greenfield 1974; and Leisi 1953.

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Old English Poetics hroden hildecumbor, helm ond byrnan, mære maðþumsweord manige gesawon beforan beorn beran. Beowulf geþah ful on flette; no he þære feohgyfte for sceotendum scamigan ðorfte. Ne gefrægn ic freondlicor feower madmas golde gegyrede gummanna fela in ealobence oðrum gesellan. Ymb þæs helmes hrof heafodbeorge wirum bewunden walu utan heold, þæt him fela laf frecne ne meahton scurheard sceþðan, þonne scyldfreca ongean gramum gangan scolde. Heht ða eorla hleo eahta mearas fætedhleore on flet teon, in under eoderas. Þara anum stod sadol searwum fah, since gewurþad; þæt wæs hildesetl heahcyninges, ðonne sweorda gelac sunu Healfdenes efnan wolde. Næfre on ore læg widcuþes wig, ðonne walu feollon. Ond ða Beowulfe bega gehwæþres eodor Ingwina onweald geteah, wicga ond wæpna, het hine wel brucan. Swa manlice mære þeoden, hordweard hæleþa, heaþoræsas geald mearum ond madmum, swa hy næfre man lyhð, se þe secgan wile soð æfter rihte. (Beo 1020–49) (Then the son of Healfdene gave Beowulf the golden banner as a reward for victory; many saw the ornamented battle-banner, helmet and byrnie, the illustrious treasure-sword borne before the man. Beowulf received the filled cup in the hall; he did not need to feel ashamed of that treasure-gift before the warriors. I have not heard of many men, with more friendship, give to another man four treasures, worked with gold, on the ale-bench. Around the crest of the helmet, as head-protection, the rim, wound with wires, guarded from without, so that the file-sharpened swords, hardened in battle, might not harm him terribly, when the shield-warrior had to go against the hostile one. The protector of the nobles commanded that eight horses, with ornamented head-gear, be led into the hall, into the enclosure. A skillfully decorated saddle, ornamented with treasure, sat on one of them; that had been the battle-seat of the high-king, when the son of Healfdene had wanted to engage in the play of swords. Never had the warrior of wide renown failed at the front, when the slain fell in battle. And then the prince of the Ingwines gave possession of both of them to Beowulf, horses and weapons, commanded that he use them well. So manfully the illustrious prince, hoard-guardian of the heroes, repaid the storms of battle with horses and treasures, so that a man, who wishes rightfully to speak the truth, will never find fault with them.)

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Treasure and Old English Verse The length of this passage and the level of detail it displays underscores the importance of treasure within the poem, while the extensive and varied language for treasure, which includes formulas and other linguistic conventions, points more broadly to the centrality of treasure within the corpus as a whole. The Old English Phoenix, so literary and clerical, ending as it does in a macaronic verse, stands as evidence that this fondness for lingering descriptions of treasure extended beyond secular verse. While the Late Antique Latin original suggests the depiction of the bird, whose beauty is compared to precious stones and gold, as like treasure (Ph 291–313), the much amplified account of the groves of Paradise in terms of treasure is the poet’s own. The Phoenix poet writes: Sindon þa bearwas bledum gehongne, wlitigum wæstmum, þær no waniað o, halge under heofonum, holtes frætwe. Ne feallað þær on foldan fealwe blostman, wudubeama wlite, ac þær wrætlice on þam treowum symle telgan gehladene, ofett edniwe, in ealle tid on þam græswonge grene stondaþ, gehroden hyhtlice haliges meahtum, beorhtast bearwa. (Ph 71–80) (The groves are hung with leaves, with beautiful fruits; there the ornaments of the forest, holy under the heavens, never fade. Nor do fallow blossoms, the beauty of the trees, fall to the ground there, but there the branches on the trees, always splendidly laden, the fruit renewed, through all time stand green on the grassy plain, the brightest of groves, joyfully adorned, through the powers of the holy one.)

The Latin has only: Hic genus arboreum procero stipite surgens Non lapsura solo mitia poma gerit. (Riese 1906, p. 92, ll. 29–30) A species of tree rises upwards here with a lofty trunk and bears ripe fruit which never falls to the ground (Calder/Allen 1976, p. 115).

Many words in the Old English excerpt are associated, though not exclusively, with treasure, especially jewelry: frætwe, gehroden, gehong, wlitig, wlite and wrætlice. Furthermore, just a few lines later fyrngeweorc (ancient work) (Ph 84) denotes the whole of Paradise.2 Lactantius’ poem conveys the beauty of Paradise and of the bird, but it is the author of the Old English Phoenix who conceives of this beauty almost exclusively in terms of treasure, thus showing that he shares with the Beowulf poet a common aesthetics – both enjoy 2

In Beowulf, ancient geweorc (work) repeatedly refers to treasure; for example, the cup

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Old English Poetics drawn-out and densely-textured descriptions of treasure. Furthermore in neither poem is treasure simply gratuitous embellishment; in Beowulf and The Phoenix alike, treasure is integrated into the thematic concerns of the poem. These passages from Beowulf and The Phoenix are not isolated, but rather provide the most lavish examples of treasure in secular and religious contexts and indicate its potential for thematic development. The corpus includes numerous further instances of treasure. The poet of Genesis A makes a passing reference to treasure by adding the following lines to an Old Testament genealogy: Geared gumum

Longe siððan gold brittade. (GenA 1180–1)

(Long afterwards Jared dispensed gold to men.)

Treasure occurs as part of a possible plea for remuneration in Widsith: Mid Þyringum ic wæs ond mid Þrowendum, ond mid Burgendum, þær ic beag geþah; me þær Guðhere forgeaf glædlicne maþþum songes to leane. (Wid 64–7) (I was among the Thuringians and among the Throwendas and among the Burgundians where I received a ring; there Guthere gave me shining treasure as a reward for a song.)

The descriptions of material objects in The Riddles often refer to treasure; the sword of Riddle 20 describes itself: Þonne ic sinc wege þurh hlutterne dæg, hondweorc smiþa, gold ofer geardas. . . . . .Cyning mec gyrweð since ond seolfre ond mec on sele weorþað. (Rid20 6–10) (Then I wear treasure during the bright day, handwork of smiths, gold across the courtyards. The king ornaments me with treasure and silver and honors me in the hall.)

There are gnomic pronouncements on the importance of gift-giving:

hord in streonum bidan, gifstol gegierwed stondan, hwonne hine guman gedælen. Gifre biþ se þam golde onfehð, guma þæs on heahsetle geneah;

stolen from the dragon’s hoard is fyrngeweorc (ancient work) (Beo 2286), and the golden hilt taken from Grendel’s mother’s lair and presented to Hrothgar is ‘enta ærgeweorc’ (ancient work of giants) (Beo 1679).

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Treasure and Old English Verse lean sceal, gif we leogan nellað,

þam þe us þas lisse geteode. (MxI 69–70)

(the hoard must wait in the treasury, the gift-stool stand prepared, until men distribute it. Eager is he who receives gold, the man on the throne has enough of it; reward must, if we do not wish to lie, [be given] to him who furnished us with these favors.)

The poet of Christ and Satan depicts the gates of Heaven as ornamented with treasure: Þær is geat gylden

gimmum gefrætewod.

(XSt 647)

(There the golden gate is ornamented with gems.)

But treasure is not all about riches or ornamentation. Beowulf’s request that Hrothgar send his treasure back to Hygelac should he die in the fight with Grendel’s mother makes no reference to material benefit: Mæg þonne on þæm golde ongitan Geata dryhten, geseon sunu Hrædles, þonne he on þæt sinc starað, þæt ic gumcystum godne funde beaga bryttan, breac þonne moste. (Beo 1484–7) (May the lord of the Geats, the son of Hrethel see, perceive in this gold, when he looks on the treasure, that I found a giver of rings, good in manly virtues, and enjoyed [him], while I was able.)

In Beowulf wealth in the form of treasure is seen to reflect the moral worth of its giver and its recipient.3 Depictions of treasure in Old English verse are not all, however, morally positive, or even neutral. The conversion to Christianity brought with it complex attitudes towards wealth, as is evident when the Gospel of Matthew uses the language of treasure in the Sermon on the Mount. Jesus preaches: nolite thesaurizare vobis thesauros in terra ubi erugo et tinea demolitur ubi fures effodiunt et furantur. Thesaurizate autem vobis thesauros in caelo ubi neque erugo neque tinea demolitur et ubi fures non effodiunt nec furantur. Ubi enim est thesaurus tuus ibi est et cor tuum. (Mt. 6:19–21) (Lay not up for yourselves treasures on earth, where the rust and moth consume and where thieves break through and steal. But lay up for yourselves treasures in Heaven, where neither the rust not the moth consume, and where thieves do not break through nor steal. For where your treasure is, there is your heart also.)

The Gospel’s radical teaching about the value of poverty drew different responses as the Church became institutionalized within the Roman Empire; 3

Leisi 1953.

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Old English Poetics Anglo-Saxon England inherited this conflict. The rejection of wealth and the taking on of poverty became monastic ideals which powerfully influenced the whole Church, while more moderate views taught that sin lay with the love of wealth, rather than with the possession of wealth itself. Wealth given to support or embellish the Church and wealth given as alms to the poor was praised as properly used.4 All of these positions on wealth find their place in Old English poetry, in which biblical injunctions against wealth come together with the place of treasure in verse to produce many passages in which treasure is detailed in order to be condemned as worldly. In The Meters of Boethius, the poet brings Boethian attitudes towards wealth into Old English verse: Hwæt bið ðæm welegan woruldgitsere on his mode ðe bet, þeah he micel age goldes and gimma and gooda gehwæs, æhta unrim, and him mon erigen scyle æghwelce dæg æcera ðusend, ðeah ðes middangeard and þis manna cyn sy under sunnan suð, west and east his anwalde eall underðieded? Ne mot he þara hyrsta hionane lædan of ðisse worulde wuhte þon mare, hordgestreona, ðonne he hiðer brohte. (MB 14.1–11) (What is better, in his mind, for the wealthy coveter of worldly things, although he has much gold and gems and every good thing, countless possessions, and a thousand acres must be plowed every day for him, although this middle-earth and this family of men under the sun, south, west, and east, are completely subjected to his power? He cannot take hence, out of this world, any more of the ornaments, of the hoard-treasures, than he brought hither.)

Treasure often stands as an image of transience, as in The Ruin: þær iu beorn monig glædmod ond goldbeorht gleoma gefrætwed, wlonc ond wingal wighyrstum scan; seah on sinc, on sylfor, on searogimmas, on ead, on æht, on eorcanstan. (Ruin 32–6) (There, of old, many a happy and gold-bright man, splendidly ornamented, proud and flushed with wine, shone in war-gear; looked on treasure, on silver, on well-wrought gems, on riches, on possessions, on a precious stone.)

More sobering still, the Judgment Day sequence in Christ III includes the 4

On late antique and early medieval ecclesiastical attitudes to wealth, see: Newhauser 2000 and also Janes 1998.

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Treasure and Old English Verse destruction of treasure – a conventional image made all the sharper by its association here with sin:5 Seoþeð swearta leg synne on fordonum, ond goldfrætwe gleda forswelgað, eall ærgestreon eþelcyninga. (ChrIII 994–6) (The dark flame will afflict the ones corrupted by sin, and embers swallow up the gold ornaments, all the ancient treasure of the kings of the land.)

In these and many other religious instances, treasure has not been excised or ignored; it remains a part of the poetry but it has been converted to a didactic Christian message. Religious verse also includes many examples of treasure which carry no negative moral connotations. Less than 100 lines later in Christ III, treasure has cast off its earlier damning connotations as the Just present their souls to God in Heaven: berað breosta hord fore bearn godes, feores frætwe. Wile fæder eahtan hu gesunde suna sawle bringen of þam eðle þe hi on lifdon. (ChrIII 1072–5) (They will bear the breasts’ hoards, the ornaments of life, before the Son of God. The Father will determine how sound are the souls his sons may bring from that homeland where they lived.)

And the wisdom of Gregory the Great is said to be searoðonca hord (hoard of wise thoughts) (CPPref 7). Distinctively in religious verse and without parallel in secular verse, treasure is used figuratively to describe God and holy people or concepts such as Christ’s virtue. No hero is ever denoted as a treasure, nor are any secular or military values such as courage. For example, in The Homiletic Fragment II, Mary, in whose breast the Holy Spirit is said to dwell at the Annunciation, is referred to as a hordfæt (hord-chest) (HmFgII 18). Noah’s ark is twice a treasure, once as simply a hord (GenA 1439) and once as maðmahord (hoard of treasures) (Ex 368). For Cynewulf, Christ’s virtue is a goldhord (gold-hoard) (ChrII 787) and the poet of The Order of the World describes God, the Creator, as a guardian of treasure: Hwæt, on frymþe gescop fæder ælmihtig, heah hordes weard, heofon ond eorðan, sæs sidne grund, sweotule gesceafte.

(OrW 38–40)

(Lo, in the beginning the Almighty Father, the high guardian of the

5

For other examples of the destruction of treasure on Judgment Day see: ChrII 807 and Ph 508.

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Old English Poetics hord, created Heaven and earth, the wide expanse of the sea, visible Creation.)

The images of the earth at Creation and of Paradise as treasure appear elsewhere in Old English verse. The Latin says only that the heavens are the work of God’s hands: initio terram tu fundasti Domine et opera manuum tuarum sunt caeli.

(Ps101.26)

(In the beginning, O Lord, you established the earth: and the heavens are the works of your hands.)

But the versifier of The Paris Psalter perceives the earth as treasure or an ornament: Æt fruman þu, drihten, geworhtest eorþan frætwe and upheofen; þæt is heahgeweorc handa þinra.

(PPs 101.22)

(In the beginning you, Lord, made the ornaments of the earth and Heaven; that is the excellent work of your hands.)

As in secular poetry, treasure carries positive associations and connotations in religious contexts. The attitude towards hoarded treasure illustrates most sharply the dovetailing of secular and religious values. The poet of Solomon and Saturn condemns not treasure as such but its hiding: Lytle hwile leaf beoð grene; ðonne hie eft fealewiað, feallað on eorðan and forweorniað, weorðað to duste. Swa ðonne gefeallað ða ðe fyrena ær lange læstað, lifiað him in mane, hydað heahgestreon.

(SS 314–19)

(For a while the leaves are green; then they fade again, fall to the earth and decay, turn to dust. So then will fall, those who before serve sin for a long time, live in wickedness, hide treasure.)

Treasure remains fundamentally positive, and the issue is what one does with treasure, not with any intrinsic evil in treasure. A similar position is apparent in Beowulf.6 Hrothgar, in his ‘Sermon’, holds up the hoarder Heremod as an anti-exemplum: nallas on gylp seleð fædde beagas, ond he þa forðgesceaft forgyteð ond forgymeð, þæs þe him ær god sealde, wuldres waldend, weorðmynda dæl. Hit on endestæf eft gelimpeð 6

See for examples: Condern 1973 and Leyerle 1967, p. 13. Greenfield argues that the

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Treasure and Old English Verse þæt se lichoma læne gedreoseð, fæge gefealleð; fehð oþer to, se þe unmurnlice madmas dæleþ, eorles ærgestreon, egesan ne gymeð.

(Beo 1749–57)

(Not at all does he give ornamented rings boastfully, and then forget and neglect providence, because God, the Ruler of glory, already gave him a portion of honor. At the end it happens again, that the transient body decays, falls doomed; another one takes over, one who, without mourning, shares out the treasures, the ancient property of the nobleman, does not care for fear.)

The dragon’s hoard in Beowulf stands as a particularly apt image for useless treasure. The poet underscores the uselessness of treasure separated from such social functions as gift-giving when he describes the dragon’s hoard. The hoard is not the glittering treasure of Heorot or of Hrothgar’s gifts to Beowulf, but, rather, it is decayed. Wiglaf finds many a helmet, eald ond omig (old and rusty) (Beo 2763), and ancient cups hyrstum behrorene (deprived of ornaments) (Beo 2762). The adjective feormendleas (without a polisher) (Beo 2761) is especially telling – treasure without a polisher, treasure separated from society becomes dull. The Beowulf poet states explicitly: Þa wæs gesyne þæt se sið ne ðah þam ðe unrihte inne gehydde wræte under wealle.

(Beo 3058–60)7

(Then was it clear, that the journey did not profit him who wrongfully hid ornaments inside, under the wall.)

For the Beowulf poet, treasure properly used is given and received, so that it fosters the bonds which hold society together; it is in terms of the rendering useless of treasure that he recounts the betrayal of Beowulf by his retainers: Þæt, la, mæg secgan se ðe wyle soð specan þæt se mondryhten se eow ða maðmas geaf, eoredgeatwe, þe ge þær on standað, þonne he on ealubence oft gesealde healsittendum helm ond byrnan, þeoden his þegnum, swylce he þrydlicost ower feor oððe neah findan meahte, þæt he genunga guðgewædu wraðe forwurpe, ða hyne wig beget.

(Beo 2864–72)

(Lo, he may say, he who wishes to speak the truth, that the lord who gave you those treasures, the war equipment in which you stand hoard has too many meanings in the poem for its significance to be solvable; but among the associations he admits is that of uselessness (Greenfield 1974). 7 See also the ‘Lament of the Last Survivor’ (Beo 2231–70) and the poet’s comment on the treasure buried with Beowulf (Beo 3166–8).

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Old English Poetics there – when on the ale-bench he often gave helmet and burnie to those sitting in the hall, a lord to his thegns, the most splendid he could find anywhere, far or near – that he completely and utterly threw the war accoutrements away, once war befell him.)

For the Instructions for Christians poet, treasure properly used is given to the poor as alms; he says: Nis þæt þearfan hand þæt ðe þince her, ac hit is madmceoste Godes ælmihtiges.

(Inst 188–9)

(That is not the hand of the poor, as it seems to you here, rather it is the from treasure chest of God Almighty.)

The condemnation of hoarded treasure and praise of alms-giving underscore the interplay and convergence of the sensibilities of secular and religious verse. This brief survey of Old English poetic representations of treasure makes two points. First, treasure is almost ubiquitous across the corpus, whether mentioned simply in passing or developed for thematic purpose. This prevalence is of consequence for our understanding of an Anglo-Saxon ars poetica since it suggests that treasure was not simply a common motif but rather part of the fabric of poetic discourse in a manner analogous to stylistic phenomena such as formulas, variation and kennings: it is itself a convention of subject matter. Second, instances of treasure cannot be categorized as either Christian or secular Germanic; and this too is of importance for our conceptualization of Old English poetics. Treasure shows us surviving verse from Anglo-Saxon England drawing on both Christian and Germanic traditions to fuse together religious and secular values. Much of the power of treasure as an image in Old English verse is predicated both on its familiarity and on this fusion of potentially conflicting values: treasure is so common that it can fade into the background of a poem as a convention which attracts little notice, but equally, because its meaning is complex and multilayered, poets often use treasure to explore the central concerns of their poems.

Gold and silver The morality of wealth shows us treasure at the heart of the integration of Christian and Germanic values in Old English verse. Looking at the representation of gold and silver also offers insight into Old English poetics by revealing the deeply archaic character of poetic treasure, which thus suggests that the conventional treasure of Old English verse had its beginnings before the Conversion period. Roberta Frank, in her penetrating discussion of Beowulf and Sutton Hoo as an ‘odd couple’, points out that while the Sutton Hoo burial contained many silver items, alongside its more famous gold pieces, silver is never mentioned in the poem, though gold is, of course and in 18

Treasure and Old English Verse contrast, abundant.8 ‘The material culture of Beowulf is’, Frank writes, ‘the conventional apparatus of heroic poetry.’9 This dearth of silver is, however, a much wider phenomenon in Old English verse – silver occurs only twenty-eight times in the corpus of some 30,000 lines while gold occurs 184 times.10 The representation of gold and silver in poetry (religious and historical, as well as legendary, and early as well as late) illustrates how archaic notions of treasure are embedded in Old English poetics.11 Outside of Old English verse, in Old English prose and in Anglo-Latin prose and verse, references to silver are plentiful in texts as diverse as documents such as wills, charters and law codes, religious works such as homilies, Alfredian translations, and saints’ lives and poetry. Bede recounts that, during an Easter feast, Oswald broke up a silver dish to dispense as alms.12 In Boethius’ De Consolatione Philosophiae, Philosophy says: Et esset . . . infiniti stuporis omnibusque horribilius monstris, si, uti tu aestimas, in tanti velut patrisfamilias dispositissima domo vilia vasa colerentur, pretiosa sordescerent. (Tester 1973, p. 314) (It would indeed be a matter of boundless wonder more dreadful than any evil omens if, as you think, as it were in the most well arranged house of so great a master the worthless vessels were cherished while the precious ones were allowed to get filthy.) (Tester 1973, p. 315)

The paterfamilias of the Latin version becomes a king in the Old English version and the ‘vasa. . .pretiosa’ are detailed as gold and silver: Gif hit swa is swa ðu sægest, ðonne is þæt egeslicre ðonne ænig oðer broga, 7 is endeleas wundor, ðæm gelicost ðe on sumes cyninges hirede sien gyldenu fatu 7 selfrenu forsewen, 7 treowenu mon weorðige. (Sedgefield 1899, p. 104) (If it is as you say, then is that more horrible than any other terror, and it is an endless wonder, most like golden and silver vessels being scorned in the household of a certain king, and wooden ones being valued.)

For the translator of Boethius it seems a natural assumption that the dishes used at the royal table, simply denoted as ‘precious’ in the Latin, would be made of gold and silver. Ælfric’s homilies include numerous references to silver. For example he comments on the nature of precious metals and gems: ‘Gold and seolfor and deorwurðe stanas beoð on fyre afandode. ac hi ne beoð 8 9 10

Frank 1992, p. 55. Frank 1992, p. 53. Instances of silver in Old English verse: GenA 1769, 2720, 2732, Dan 60, XSt 577, And 338, SBI 58, DR 77, El 1025, SBII 55, Rid14 2, Rid20 10, Rid55 4, Ruin 35, Rid67 15, PPs 65.9, 67.13, 67.27, 104.32, 113.12, 118.72, 134.15, MB 21.21, SS 31, 64, 143, 375, Inst 122. 11 See: Tyler 1996a and 2006 for further discussion of the stylistic and lexical conventions associated with gold and silver in Old English verse. 12 Colgrave/Mynors 1969, p. 230.

19

Old English Poetics swa ðeah mid ðam fyre fornumene’ (gold and silver and precious stones are tested in fire. But they are not, however, destroyed by the fire).13 The charter recording Leofric’s donation to Exeter Cathedral includes ‘butan oðrum litlum silfrenum swurrodum. . .7 .V. silfrene caliceas. . .7 .I. silfren pipe. . .7 .I. silfren storcylle mid silfrenum storsticcan’ (in addition to other little silver crosses worn on the neck. . .and five silver chalices. . .and one silver pipe. . .and one silver censer with a silver incense spoon), but does not make mention of gold.14 While there are gold and gilded objects in the wills, these are far outnumbered by references to silver objects and coins.15 Anglo-Latin verse shares with Old English verse a love of lavish descriptions of treasure but does not eschew reference to silver. Alcuin describes with relish and pleasure the treasured ornament that successive generations of Northumbrian kings had donated to the cathedral at York. His descriptions of the gifts of King Oswald and the work of Archbishop Æthelbert bring gold and silver together: Nec minus interea vario ornamenta decore addidit ecclesiis, Fidei fervore repletus. Namque ubi bellipotens sumpsit baptismatis undam Eduuin rex, praesul grandem construxerat aram, texit et argento, gemmis simul undique et auro, atque dicavit eam sancti sub nomine Pauli doctoris mundi, nimium quem doctor amabat. Hoc altare farum supra suspenderat altum, qui tenet ordinibus tria grandia vasa novenis, et sublime crucis vexillum erexit ad aram et totum texit pretiosis valde metallis. Omnia magna satis, pulchro molimine structa, argentique meri compensant pondera multa. Ast altare aliud fecit, vestivit et illud argento puro, pretiosis atque lapillis, martyribusque crucique simul dedicaverat ipsum. Iussit ut obrizo non parvi ponderis auro ampulla maior fieret, qua vina sacerdos funderet in calicem, solemnia sacra celebrans. (Godman 1982, p. 118, ll. 1488–1506) (He also endowed the churches with ornaments of varied beauty, filled with zeal for the Faith. In the spot where Edwin, the warrior king, was baptized the bishop raised a great altar and covered it with gold, silver, and jewels, dedicating it in the name of St. Paul, 13 14 15

Godden 1979, pp. 342–3, ll. 245–6. Robertson 1956, p. 226, ll. 22–32. Whitelock 1930.

20

Treasure and Old English Verse the universal teacher, whom he loved with all his heart. High above this altar he hung a chandelier, which held three great vessels, each with nine tiers. At the altar he erected the noble standard of the cross covering it entirely with most precious metals. It was all on a grand scale and built on a lovely design, weighing many pounds in pure silver. He erected another altar and covered it too with pure silver and precious stones, dedicating it both to the martyrs and to the Cross. He ordered a large cruet to be made in pure gold and of great weight, from which the priest celebrating holy mass could pour wine into the chalice.) (Godman 1982, p. 119, ll. 1488–1506)

Here, as elsewhere in the poem, Alcuin, like other Anglo-Latin poets, does not avoid silver. Bringing in the archaeological alongside the written record suggests that there is a strongly archaic aspect to Old English poetry’s preoccupation with gold. After 700, the predominant precious metal in England was silver, whereas gold, while present, was increasingly rare. From the end of the seventh century, the supply of gold in Western Europe markedly decreased, and most surviving jewelry after this date, even the most obviously high status pieces such as the Fuller disc brooch, were made of silver. Furthermore, silver became more and more important with the development of a sophisticated monetary economy whose primary unit was the penny.16 Comparison with vernacular and Latin prose, with Latin verse and the archeological record suggests that the predominance of gold and the avoidance of silver in Old English verse amounts to a poetic convention. Although silver was the primary precious metal in Anglo-Saxon England, in vernacular verse religious and secular poets alike avoid it. Rarely is silver given in the hall; never does it appear in Heaven. Even the poet of the late Battle of Maldon, in which the Vikings demand gold, not silver, knows what is expected of verse as clearly as did the Beowulf poet. The material culture of Old English 16

For a fuller discussion of the representation of gold and silver in the archaeological, prose and poetic records, see: Tyler 1996a, pp. 6–8 and Tyler 2006. Scholars disagree regarding the nature of display in late Anglo-Saxon England. Key points include the extent to which silver replaced gold as the metal of display in late Anglo-Saxon England, whether the scarcity of archaeological finds of gold reflects the reality of the period, and whether patterns of display had changed, particularly in response to the Church’s teaching on wealth. See: Wilson 1964, p. 10; Hinton 1974, pp. 171–80; Hinton 1978, pp. 135–58; Hinton 1990, pp. 52 and 61; Brooks 1978, pp. 86–7 and 96–7; Dodwell 1982, pp. 24–43 and 118–215; and Keynes 1991, pp. 101–2. For a recent discussion of the shift of display towards textiles, food consumption and ecclesiastical donation in late Anglo-Saxon England, see: Fleming 2001. For my purpose here, the central point remains that the shift towards silver as a metal of display does not register in the poetic corpus.

21

Old English Poetics verse indicates that into the eleventh century, poets maintained archaic poetic conventions, and that they did this across the corpus, regardless of subject matter.

Kings as treasure-givers Thus far the discussion has been focused on the place in Old English verse of objects or materials considered to be treasure; a look at the social and political functions of treasure also contributes to an understanding of how Old English poets handled treasure. The evolution over the six hundred years of Anglo-Saxon history from the rulership of small areas by war-leaders who rewarded their followers with treasure acquired as plunder, to the rulership of England by one king whose revenues derived from sources such as taxation and control of the silver coinage, and who interacted with his subjects through a nascent administrative bureaucracy, takes kings far away from the ring-givers and hoard-guardians of verse, despite the fact that such figures appear even in late Old English verse.17 The Battle of Brunanburh from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle for 937 describes King Æthelstan as a beahgifa (ringgiver) (BB 2) and depicts his role as protector of his kingdom in terms of the defense of treasure. He and his brother Edmund: wiþ laþra gehwæne hord and hamas.

land ealgodon, (BB 9–10)

(against each of the hostile ones, they protected land, hoard and homes.)

This view has much in common with the Beowulf poet’s vision of sixthcentury kingship. Unable to trust her own sons with the kingdom, Hygd offers it to Beowulf: þær him Hygd gebead hord ond rice, beagas ond bregostol, bearne ne truwode þæt he wið ælfylcum eþelstolas healdan cuðe, ða wæs Hygelac dead.

(Beo 2369–72)

(there Hygd offered him hoard and kingdom, rings and throne, she did not trust her son, that he could hold the ancestral thrones against the enemies, now that Hygelac was dead.)

The similarity between Beowulf and Brunanburh, in both of which control of the nation’s hoard becomes almost a shorthand for kingship, suggests a 17

These developments have been studied and discussed by a number of historians, see especially: Abels 1988; J. Campbell 1986a, 1986b, 1986c; Claude 1973; Grierson 1959; Grierson 1961; Hollister 1978; Loyn 1957; Loyn 1984; Madicott 1989; Nelson 1986; Sawyer 1965; Sawyer 1977; Spufford 1988; and Wormald 1979.

22

Treasure and Old English Verse convention – an impression which is strengthened by comparing the verse and prose accounts of Alfred’s reign. The Metrical Preface to Wærferth’s Translation of Gregory’s Dialogues portrays Alfred as a ring-giver: and eac swa his beahgifan, þe him ðas bysene forgeaf, þæt is se selesða sinc[..] brytta, Ælfryd mid Englum, ealra cyninga þara þe he sið oððe ær fore secgan hyrde, oððe he iorðcyninga ær ænigne gefrugne. (GDPref 23–7) (and likewise with his ring-giver, who gave him this exemplar, he is the best of givers of treasure, Alfred of the English, of all the kings whom he heard tell of at any time, or any of the earth-kings he had asked about.)

This poem, which appears in a manuscript of the eleventh century, is either contemporary with or later than the text it accompanies. While Asser’s portrait of Alfred emphasizes his generosity, especially to strangers, and records Alfred’s gift of treasure to Guthrum on the occasion of the latter’s baptism,18 and it is likely that the treasury comprised a chest, or chests, which accompanied the king in the charge of a royal official,19 Alfred cannot be described as a simple treasure-giver, the beahgifa or sinces brytta (giver of treasure) of The Metrical Preface. Alfred’s will testifies that by the end of his life, he was a remarkably wealthy man leaving behind him 486,000 silver pennies.20 Such wealth, as well as Asser’s detailed account of Alfred’s allocation of his funds, is evidence of a developing treasury. Asser describes at some length and with interest how Alfred divided up, among secular and ecclesiastical interests, the tax revenue which came to fiscus every year.21 Some organization would have been necessary to keep the revenues and expenditures straight and the Alfredian translation of Boethius suggests that just such organization was familiar. Boethius writes: Atqui praetura magna olim potestas nunc inane nomen et senatorii census gravis sarcina; si quis populi quondam curasset annonam, magnus habebatur, nunc ea praefectura quid abiectius? (Tester 1973, p. 248) (The praetorship was once an office of great power, now it is an empty name and a heavy burden on the resources of the Senatorial order. Once, when a man had charge of the public corn-dole, he was held to be great; now is there anything lower than that prefectship? (Tester 1973, p. 249)

18 19 20 21

Stevenson 1904, pp. 46–7, 59–60 and 67. Keynes/Lapidge 1983, pp. 273–4, n. 246. Madicott 1989, p. 4. Stevenson 1904, pp. 85–9.

23

Old English Poetics The Alfredian translator expands this and removes the unfamiliar praefectura substituting the, presumably, familiar figures of heretogan, domeras, maðmhirdas and wisestan witan: Hit wæs gio giond ealle Romana mearce þæt heretogan 7 domeras, 7 þa maðmhirdas þe þæt fioh hioldon þe mon þam ferdmonnum on geare sellan sceolde, 7 þa wisestan witan, hæfdon mæstne weorðscipe; nu þonne oðer twega, oððe þara nan nis, oððe hi nænne weorþscipe nabbað, gif hiora ænig is. (Sedgefield 1899, p. 64) (Formerly it was within the boundary of the Romans, that war-leaders and judges, and the treasure-keepers, who held the money with which the armymen should have been paid yearly, and the wisest counselors, had the most honor; now either there are no such men, or, if there are, they are not held in honor.)

In the process of translation, a definition of a maðmhyrde (treasure-keeper, treasurer) as one who controls the fioh (money, treasure or wealth) used to pay the army is provided. Alfred’s life provides more information concerning Alfred’s expenditure than his sources of revenue, but land taxes (in kind), customary dues on kings’ estates, the profits of the judicial process and coinage, which Alfred manipulated and controlled just as his predecessors had done, were all sources of wealth. Much of this must have been paid in coin or bullion, as the laws suggest, for Alfred to have accumulated such a hoard of coins.22 The picture of a king receiving treasure as plunder from his retainers, which he then dispensed, is hardly sufficient and underscores that the portrayal of Alfred as a ring-giver, in The Metrical Preface, is a typically poetic convention. A striking picture emerges of the changing material culture and function of treasure in Anglo-Saxon England contrasted with the static portrayal of treasure in Old English verse, which appears to be governed more by archaic poetic convention than reality. The archaic element is of great importance since it suggests that treasure, like such formal features as alliteration and meter, became a part of Old English poetics when verse was oral, and the world and concerns of the Germanic aristocratic warrior gave rise to the poetic tradition we term heroic. However, as we have seen in reviewing instances of treasure, longstanding conventions could accommodate changing circumstances: the introduction of Christianity and the development of a single English kingdom, for instance. This accommodation is indicative of the strength of treasure as a poetic convention which was maintained in the face of the enormous religious, social, political and, economic changes which occurred over the course of six hundred years of Anglo-Saxon history.

22

Loyn 1984, p. 67 and Madicott 1989.

24

Treasure and Old English Verse

The vocabulary of treasure The rich and diverse vocabulary for treasure is also a source of insight into the nature of Old English poetic convention. This vocabulary can be divided up into several categories, including: (1) words which denote treasure as a precious object or group of objects: for example, maðm (treasure) and sinc (treasure) and various compounds such as sincgestreon (treasure-possessions), (2) more general words which can be applied to, or include, treasure but whose meanings are broader than simply treasure; among these words are terms for wealth, prosperity, possessions, rewards, hoards, gifts and ornaments, such as wela (wealth), ead (riches), gestreon (possessions), hord (hoard), frætwe (ornament), hryst (ornament), giefu (gift), (3) words for specific precious objects and substances – in this group are included terms for gold, silver, precious gems, jewelry, money and rings, and (4) words for objects which are sometimes, but not necessarily, precious; in this category are found, for example, books, cups and dishes, and clasps. These categories are fairly broadly defined and often overlap with each other but give some insight into the range and variety of words, both simplex and compound, which can be used to denote, describe or detail treasure. A further feature of this lexis calls for comment: many of the terms in the lexical field for treasure are restricted to poetry, thus highlighting, again, the gap between the role of treasure in Anglo-Saxon society and its elevated place in Old English verse.23 In what follows I will look closely at five words for treasure (maðm, hord, sinc, gestreon and frætwe) with a twofold aim. The first is to explore further, and in more detail, the poetics of treasure in Old English verse and the second is to lay the foundation for the following chapter which will consider the style of Old English poetry by looking at word collocations associated with these five words. In selecting these words, I have tried to reflect something of the variety of the lexis of treasure which extends from precious object into more ordinary possessions and ornamentation. Although I have not singled out words for precious material, such as gold, seolfor, or any terms for gemstones, at this point, because their semantic fields lack complexity, their collocation with the five selected words will be considered in the next chapter.24 Maðm Maðm occurs seventy-two times in a range of Old English verse including secular and religious, as well as early and late poems; it does not appear, however, in the Chronicle poems or The Battle of Maldon. Fifty-nine occur23 24

J. Roberts and Kay 1995, p. 640. I would have liked to include the word feoh here but too few of its poetic occurrences denoted movable wealth, other than cattle, and it was thus excluded.

25

Old English Poetics rences of maðm are as a simplex or as the second element of a compound. All of the sixteen appearances of maðm in the singular could refer to single objects of treasure rather than groups of objects of treasure, and in cases where the object denoted by maðm is identifiable, the object is always singular. In the majority of its occurrences, that is in over forty instances, maðm occurs in the plural and describes a number of treasures. The use of maðm to designate an object of treasure rather than a group of treasures distinguishes it from sinc, gestreon, and hord. A consideration of its fifty-nine appearances as a simplex or as the second element of a compound shows that often references to maðm include little further elaboration which might indicate more precisely what the treasure is.25 It is thus frequently deployed as a general term for treasure. More often, however, it is possible to identify the referent of maðm more specifically and thus to gain a fuller notion of its semantics. For example, in the following passage from Beowulf, maðm can be identified as the sword Hrunting: ða wæs forma sið deorum madme, þæt his dom alæg.

(Beo 1527–8)26

(That was the first time for the precious treasure, that its fame failed.)

This category also includes less precisely identifiable instances of maðm. For example, references to the contents of the dragon’s hoard in Beowulf, which the audience knows to include war equipment, jewelry, cups, etc. are included. In close to a third of all its occurrences and in most of the occurrences where we can determine what the term denotes, maðm and its compounds are likely to refer solely to war equipment, as it does in Waldere: Ne murn ðu for ði mece; gifeðe to geoce.

ðe wearð maðma cyst (WldA 24–5)27

(Do not be anxious about your sword; the best of treasures was granted to you as support.)

The centrality of armor and weaponry to the semantic field of maðm cannot be attributed to their being decorated, since many are not so described. By contrast, in prose there is no discernible association of maðm with weapons. This pattern cannot be solely attributed to the religious preoccupations of much Old English prose, since it extends to the Chronicle and the charters. The difference between poetic and prose maðm is perhaps most clearly

25 26

See for examples: GenB 409, El 1258, Gifts 60, Wid 4, Beo 472, 1784, 2236. See for examples: Ex 586, Rid55 13, Beo 36, 41, 1027, 1482, 2166, 2640, 2865, Jud 318, 329, 340, WldA 24. 27 See for examples: Rid55 13, Beo 1027, 1902, 2865, Jud 329.

26

Treasure and Old English Verse evident in the use of the word to describe the Phoenix and the Cross in prose, but not in poetry.28 Gift-giving is the main context associated with maðm, with almost half of its appearances occurring in this context.29 Of the words considered in this chapter, only sinc is given anywhere near as often as maðm. The great bulk of this treasure is given to bind a king and followers together, but Judith receives plundered Assyrian maðm from her followers and women give maðmas in the hall. Maðm occurs less frequently in religious contexts than the other words for treasure considered here.30 Most of the treasures designated as maðm in these contexts are associated with transience or are otherwise morally condemned, as it is in the Seafarer: Þeah þe græf wille golde stregan broþor his geborenum, byrgan be deadum, maþmum mislicum þæt hine mid wille, ne mæg þære sawle þe biþ synna ful gold to geoce for godes egsan, þonne he hit ær hydeð þenden he her leofað.

(Sea 97–102)

(Although a brother may wish to strew the grave with gold for his kinsman, to bury [him] among the dead with various treasures – which he wishes him [to have] – gold, when he hides it before while he lives here, cannot help the soul that is full of sin, before the anger of God.)

In contrast in prose, maðm, while often transient, is also found in heaven, as well as being used to denote the vessels of the Jewish Temple and church treasure.31 Positively depicted maðm is limited to the only two figurative instances of the word in poetry: Noah’s ark as maðmhorda mæst (greatest of treasurehoards) (Ex 368) and possibly when the alms-seeking hand is associated with the madmceost Godes ælmihtiges (the treasure-chest of God Almighty) (Inst 188–9). The limited use of maðm in religious verse, as well as the low number of occurrences in The Riddles, may account for its limited figurative use. This interpretation is, however, belied by the more frequent figurative use of the word in prose. It seems more likely that maðm was used distinctively in verse, both secular (with its emphasis on weaponry) and religious. Hord Hord appears 112 times in Old English verse, across a range of poems, in terms of date and subject matter, with a cluster of occurrences in The Riddles. 28 29

Skeat 1881–1900, II, p. 144, l. 5 and Warner 1917, 192.17, p. 147, l. 21. See for examples: GenB 409, El 1258, Wid 4, MxI 154, Beo 385, 472, 1027, 1301, 1482, 1860, 1902, 2173, 2640, WldB 6. 30 See for examples: Ex 368, El 1258, Jul 36, Sea 99, Inst 189. 31 For prose examples see: Morris 1868, pp. 296–304, l. 140; Hecht 1900–7, p. 102, l. 14; and Robertson 1956, p. 248.

27

Old English Poetics Of those appearances, forty-seven are simplices and fifty-nine are compounds (hord is the first element in forty-two cases and the second element in seventeen cases). Hord can denote both the contained and the container; that is, when the referent is precious, both treasure and treasury. However, in most cases, it is difficult or impossible to make a distinction between the two meanings of hord. The meaning of hord as both treasure and repository of treasure distinguishes it from maðm, gestreon, sinc, and frætwe which refer only to the treasures (or possessions and ornaments) themselves. In roughly half of its occurrences as a simplex or as the second, and determining, element in a compound, hord refers to literal treasure; in these instances it appears virtually always to refer to a plural number of objects or to a container of multiple objects. For example, when Beowulf tells Wiglaf to find the dragon’s treasure, the poet tells us: Nu ðu lungre geong hord sceawian under harne stan, Wiglaf leofa, nu se wyrm ligeð, swefeð sare wund, since bereafod.

(Beo 2743–6)32

(Now go quickly to look at the hord, under the grey stone, dear Wiglaf, now that the dragon lies dead, sleeps sorely wounded, deprived of treasure.)

This usage distinguishes it from maðm and frætwe but is in line with sinc and gestreon, which are used in the singular to describe a collection of treasures. Hord is not as closely associated with precious objects as is maðm. In over half its occurrences, while hord is often used in contexts where its contents are not identifiable, its referents could be precious objects.33 There are many references, accounting for just under half of its appearances, to hoards which are neither precious objects nor their containers.34 Among these instances, hord is used to refer to both objects and more abstract concepts, for example: wind (PPs 134.8), ink (Rid93 28),35 the Cross (El 790), Creation (OrW 39), female genitals (Rid91 9), Christ’s virtue (ChrII 787). Instances of hord for the mind, the soul, the life spirit, and the body are also widespread, occurring more than forty times, as for example when the versifier of The Paris Psalter uses the term heortan hordcofa (PPs 118.2). A consideration of the use of the word goldhord offers some insight into how 32

See for examples: Dan 2, MaxI 67, 204, Beo 894, 2212, 2284, 2369, 2547, 2744, 2799, 3126, BB 10. 33 See for examples: GenA 2007, Ex 35, 512, Dan 2, 674, And 1114, Jul 22, MxI 67, Beo 887, 921, 1198, 1852, 2245, 2270, 2293, 2509, 2768, 2831, 3056, 3164, MB 14.11, BB 10. 34 See for examples: GenA 1608, And 172, 316, 601, 671, 1182, SBI 103, HmFgI 6, ChrIII 1047, 1055, 1072, GuthB 944, 956, 1029, 1144, 1266, Ph 221, Wan 14, Sea 55, Vng 3, Wid 1, Fort 34, OrW 19, SBII 97, Rid42 11, HmFgII 3, Beo 259, 1719, 2422, 2792, PPs 77.49, MB 6.1, WldB 22, Ps50 71, CPPref 7. 35 Williamson 1977, p. 393.

28

Treasure and Old English Verse central literal treasure was to the semantic field of hord. Goldhord occurs in the opening lines of Daniel where it refers straightforwardly to the prosperity enjoyed by the Hebrews in Jerusalem (Dan 2). In Elene, goldhord (El 790) describes the place where the Cross is hidden, and hord (El 1091) refers to the nails with which Christ was crucified. While these relics might easily be understood as precious, even though the material from which they were made is not actually costly, they cannot be said to belong literally in a goldhord. In The Paris Psalter, the versifier writes of a goldhord of wind (PPs 134.8). Although goldhord translates the Latin word thesaurus, (which need not refer to precious objects), and even if it were possible to include hoarded winds under the definition of a literal hoard, they certainly do not belong in a goldhord. Goldhord (ChrII 787) is also applied to Christ’s virtue. The compounding of gold with hord and its application to objects which are not gold and to abstract concepts, suggests that, although it is not always possible to determine whether a given occurrence of hord is literal or metaphoric, there remains a strong and distinctively figurative element involved in many instances of its use. This pattern of figurative usage, which is also found in prose instances of the word, lends hord a polysemy which made it attractive to the riddlers, who repeatedly use the term in wordplay, including double entendre.36 Not surprisingly hoards are frequently found in the context of guarding, holding, and locking, rather than, as is the case with maðm, of gift-giving. Almost a quarter of its instances, including both literal and figurative examples, occur in this context.37 However, the most distinctive and widespread use of hord in Old English verse is to denote the mind, the soul, the life spirit, or the body (often in circumstances involving speaking, sin or wisdom).38 These instances include both compound and simplex occurrences of hord, for example, breosthord (breast-hoard), lichord (body-hoard), modhord (mindhoard), sawlhord (soul-hoard), sawle hord (hoard of the soul) and balaniða hord (hoard of malice). Similar apparently figurative uses of hord are found in a wide range of prose texts (including a charter) in which wisdom, the mind and the heart are all denoted by or associated with the term.39 The use of goldhord to translate thesaurus in the Old English translation of Alcuin’s treatise on the vices and virtues reminds us that many instances of the mind, heart or wisdom denoted as a hord find their source in Latin terminology.40 36 37

See for examples: Rid31 21, Rid42 11, Rid84 23, 54, Rid91 9. See for examples: HmFgI 6, Jul 22, 43, Wan 14, OrW 39, HmFgII 3, Rid91 9, Beo 921, 1047, 2212, 2344, 3004, BB 10. 38 See for examples: GenA 1608, And 172, SBI 103, HmFgI 6, ChrIII 1047, GuthB 944, Ph 221, Wan 14, Sea 55, Vng 3, Wid 1, OrW 19, Rid42 11, Beo 1719, PPs 118.2, MB 6.1, Ps50 71, CPPref 7. 39 See for prose examples: Godden 1979, pp. 53–4, ll. 45–7; Bethurum 1957, p. 193, ll. 33–6; Warner 1917, p. 138, ll. 8–12 and p. 100, l. 9; Gonser 1909, ch. 20, l. 166; Yerkes 1984, 16v, l. 18; Robertson 1956, p. 56, l. 2. 40 Alcuin writes: ‘Thesaurus desiderabilis in corde hominis, compunctionis dulcedo’

29

Old English Poetics Often it is difficult to identify the specific referents of each of these instances of hord used for body or some spiritual aspect. While the body and the soul are certainly separate entities and there is a spirit, a mortal life force, associated with the body, the relationship between the mind and the soul, the mind and the body, and the mind and this spirit are not always clear. The situation is further complicated because the heart or the breast was understood to be the location of both the mind and the soul, and, like the terms mod, sefa, hyge, and ferhð, heorte and breost, are not just locations but also faculties.41 A final layer of complexity is added because hord can denote both the contained and the container, hence it is not readily apparent whether compounds such as breosthord, lichord and sawlhord denote, on the one hand, the body or, on the other, the mind, spirit or soul. Context is fundamental to determining the specific meaning of hord, which in many instances remains ambiguous.42 The uncertainty surrounding the use and the meaning of hord in connection with the soul, mind and body, points to the way the Anglo-Saxon vernacular tradition was ‘unsystematised’ by ‘conscious philosophical enquiry’, rather than a lack of precision in the way poets deployed poetic convention.43 Moreover, the frequency of references to the mind, the body, the soul, etc. as hord does not reduce it to a convenient convention, and perhaps even a dead metaphor, which supplies the Old English poets with a useful synonym. Many of these instances of hord are accompanied by other language which we have seen associated with a hord when used literally.44 Hord appears in religious contexts in almost a third of its appearances: this is comparable to appearances of sinc, although less frequent than gestreon and frætwe and more frequent than maðm.45 Although hord in religious poems can carry with it negative moral connotations, such as the miser and his hoard, or the hoards of sin, it is, in contrast to maðm, more frequently associated with God and holy people. Christ’s virtue is referred to as a goldhord (ChrII 787). Noah’s ark with its passengers is twice referred to as a hoard – once in Genesis A, where it is simply hord (GenA 1439), and as maðmhord (treasure-hoard) (Ex 368) in Exodus; and God himself is hordes weard (guardian of the hoard) (OrW 39). Similar patterns of use are seen in prose, where there is a repeated juxtaposing (often with allusion to Christ’s teaching in the Gospels) of transient

41 42 43 44 45

(desirable treasure in the heart of a man, sweetness of compunction) (PL 101, 621) which is rendered into Old English as: ‘þæt is swyðe wilsumlic goldhord on mannes heorte, seo swetnysse þære onbryrdnysse þæs mannes sawle’ (that is a very delightful gold-hoard in a man’s heart, the sweetness of the compunction of a man’s soul) (Warner 1917, p. 100, ll. 8–10). Soland 1979, Godden 1985, North 1991. See ch. 2, breost and hord. North 1991, p. 63. See for examples: And 172, ChrIII 1047, 1055, Wan 14, Rid42 11, HmFgII 3. See for examples: GenA 1608, Dan 2, SBI 103, HmFgI 6, El 790, ChrIII 1055, GuthB 956, 1266, Ph 221, SBII 97, HmFgII 3, 18, PPs 77.49, 118.2, Ps50 28, 151.

30

Treasure and Old English Verse earthly treasure and true heavenly treasure, both of which are denoted by the term hord, and reference to saints and other holy people as hoards is also common in prose.46 Gestreon The word gestreon or its compounds appears sixty-five times across the corpus of Old English verse. Gestreon is a general word for acquired wealth or possessions which is frequently applied to treasure. Gestreon appears nineteen times as a simplex, one time without the prefix ge and most often, forty-five times, as compound where it is always the second or determining element. Like hord, gestreon is a collective noun; there are no instances where it clearly denotes a single object. In many poetic occurrences, the referent of the noun is obviously treasure (that is a precious object) – either the context makes this clear or it is compounded with another word for treasure.47 However, there are numerous instances where, while it is possible that treasure is meant or included, its referents could just as well be more mundane.48 In most of its references to treasure, gestreon is used in a general way; that is the poet does not elaborate on what comprises the gestreon. What elaboration there is, is usually limited to general terms such as gold, frætwe and hyrst (ornament).49 Even in cases where there appears to be further specification, this is often enumeration rather than variation. Only rarely can we tell with any certainty more precisely what a given gestreon denotes.50 This use of gestreon as a general term for otherwise unspecified objects, some of which might be precious, forms part of the word’s meaning. Like sinc and maðm, gestreon is used figuratively only occasionally: for souls in Elene, for Christ and Andreas in Andreas, and perhaps in its application to vegetation in The Phoenix.51 A similar pattern of usage is evident in prose, where its appearance in an extended sense, often in association with souls, is limited.52 Bearngestreon (child-possession, procreation of children) in Riddle 20, seems likely to involve a figurative element as well as play on the

46

47 48 49 50 51 52

For earthly and heavenly treasure, see for examples: Clemoes 1997, p. 208, l. 61; Godden 1979, p. 63, ll. 104–10; and Scragg 1992, p. 224, ll. 63–6. For saints and holy people, see for examples: Skeat 1881–1900, I, p. 444, l. 54; Napier 1883, p. 251, l. 7; and Assmann 1889, p. 136, l. 683. See for examples: Ex 588, Dan 61, 65, 703, 756, And 1114, 1656, ChrIII 996, Jul 22, 42, Beo 44, 1092, 1381, 1458, 1757, 1920, 2037, 2302, 3166, MB 8.58, 14.11, SS 32, Inst 120. See for examples: GenA 1071, 1075, 1621, 1879, 2718, FAp 83, GuthA 70, 78, Gifts 31, Inst 40. See for examples: Dan 61, 65, Jul 42, Beo 1092, 1381, 1920, 2302, 3166, MB 14.11, Inst 120. See for examples: Dan 703, 756, And 362, El 910, Ph 255, Beo 1458, 2037. El 910, And 362, Ph 255, 506. See for examples: Miller 1890–91, p. 94, l. 26, and Kotzor 1981, July 27, l. 8.

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Old English Poetics association of the word gestreon with the procreation of children.53 This connection to procreation contributes to the repetition of gestreon in the genealogical sections of Genesis A, where the poet expands the ‘et A genuit B’ (and A begat B) of the Vulgate by describing how B succeeded A and came into his treasure or possessions.54 In prose gestreon, often with the word bearn (child), is used in the context of procreation and also in the contexts of the passing of possessions from one generation to the next and ancestral possessions.55 The most striking theme associated with gestreon is that of possessions as transitory; in explicitly Christian contexts, this is because they lead men away from God. This use of gestreon, which accounts for over a quarter of the word’s appearances, is especially evident in religious verse and Beowulf, particularly in the lines preceding the ‘Lament of the Last Survivor’.56 The transient connotations of gestreon overlap with an emphasis on its worldliness (both in the sense of materialism and in a more neutral sense of being of this world).57 These negative connotations make the word especially attractive to religious poets. In prose, a similar picture emerges: gestreon, which is very often said to be worldly or earthly, needs to be used ethically, especially by being given to the poor and the Church.58 However, gestreon is not inherently corrupt: worldly gestreon is described as in opposition to eternal gestreon which one should be aiming to earn in Heaven.59 The negative connotations of gestreon, which are stronger than those for other words discussed in this chapter, are best explained by the word’s semantic field which extends to the concepts of gain and acquisition rather than just property. The alliterative rank of gestreon is low. The number of words with which gestreon can possibly alliterate is limited since they must begin with ‘st’ rather than simply ‘s’. Gestreon appears as a simplex in nineteen of its sixty-three appearances, a much lower figure than we find for other treasure words. In only one of these nineteen instances does gestreon alliterate, and in any case it is extraneous since in Daniel line 61 the poet does not need the second accented syllable of the first half-line to alliterate. In fact, in twelve of its nineteen appearances gestreon occupies the final stress of the verse line, and thus cannot alliterate. The commonness of gestreon at the end of a line may

53

54 55 56 57 58 59

Rid20 27. For discussion of double entendre in the riddle see: Davidson 1962, pp. 153–54, Kay 1968, Williamson 1977, pp. 193–99, Gleißner 1984, pp. 342–48, Pinsker/Ziegler 1985, pp. 184–89. See for examples: GenA 1071, 1075 and Genesis 4.18. See for examples: Clemoes 1997, p. 255, l. 211; Godden 1979, p. 343, l. 264; Skeat 1881–1900, I, p. 212, l. 43; and Endter 1922, p. 37, l. 4. See for examples: GenA 1208, And 1656, FAp 83, ChrII 812, ChrIII 996, GuthA 70, 78, Beo 1757, 2240, 3166, MB 8.58, 14:11, SS 32, Inst 40. See below, ch. 2, eorþe and gestreon and -gestreon compounds. See for examples: Clemoes 1997, p. 363, l. 245 and p. 479, l. 87; Bethurum 1957, p. 135, l. 19; Napier 1883, p. 260, l. 19; Scragg 1992, p. 52, l. 5; and Miller 1890–1, p. 68, l. 21. See for examples: Godden 1979, p. 214, l. 42 and Robertson 1956, p. 16, l. 21.

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Treasure and Old English Verse suggest the usefulness of having a word for treasure with a low alliterative rank – as useful, for metrical purposes, as having a range of terms beginning with different letters which can denote treasure.60 Sinc The word sinc appears seventy-eight times in Old English verse – in fortyseven cases as a simplex, twenty-nine as the first element in a compound and in two cases as the second element in a compound – across the full range of the poetic corpus. Sinc does not occur in prose. Treasure lies at the center of the meaning of sinc: it does not denote objects which cannot be precious, as the poet of Maxims II tells us: ‘sinc byð deorost’ (treasure is most precious) (MxII 10). In register, sinc lies close to maðm and like maðm, sinc frequently occurs in the context of gift-giving; however, unlike the latter, sinc only rarely denotes a single object of treasure rather than a group of treasures.61 Waldere B illustrates this collective sense of sinc. Theodoric thought of sending ‘sinc micel / maðma’ (a great treasure of treasures) (WldB 5–6), along with a sword, to Widia. Here a singular sinc is comprised of plural maþmas. When the referents of sinc are considered, the word continues to distinguish itself from maðm. While the specific object or objects being denoted by maðm could frequently be determined, this is not the case for sinc which is used as a more general term. Of its forty-seven simplex appearances and two appearances as a second element in a compound, only rarely can we make a reasonable guess as to what specific treasure sinc denotes. The contrast with maðm continues when the relationship of sinc to weapons and armor is taken into account. Only rarely does sinc refer to a group of treasures some of which can be identified as war equipment, for example both the gifts given to Beowulf by Hrothgar (Beo 1485) and the dragon’s hoard (Beo 2746) are called sinc. In sharp contrast to maðm, I found no instances where sinc as a simplex or as the second element in a compound refers solely to war equipment. Thus, while there are groups of treasure denoted by sinc which may contain war equipment, a group of treasures solely composed of war equipment is not called sinc. Although sinc is not used as a simplex to denote war equipment, it is used frequently to refer to the ornamentation on a piece of war equipment. Ornamentation is central to the semantic field of sinc, accounting for about a quarter of its appearances; many of the objects described as

60

On alliterative rank, with particular focus on poetic qualities of words with high alliterative frequency, see Cronan 1986. 61 The only plural instance of sinc involves textual emendation (Beo 2428). I have found only three instances of sinc denoting a single object: two are atypical riddling occurrences and one is in an emendation (Rid48 4, Rid55 4, and Beo 2023). For gift-giving and sinc, see for examples: GenA 1857, 2728, And 1509, El 194, ChrI 460, GuthB 1352, Wan 25, 34, Beo 81, 607, 1012, 1226, 2311, 2884, Jud 30, MB 1.50, WldB 5, BM 278, GDPref 24.

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Old English Poetics sinc-decorated are weapons, armor or other objects associated with battle.62 The distinct usages of maðm and sinc with regard to war equipment and decoration indicate that although the two words are of a similar register, they cannot be regarded as alliterative synonyms. Verse consistently maintains the fine distinctions in semantic fields of words because poets know these distinctions, despite the fact that, as is the case with sinc, some words are restricted to verse and their semantic fields can only have been known from the verse tradition and not from general use. Sinc occurs in religious contexts much more frequently than did maðm. The portrayal of sinc in a negative light, when attached to the themes of transience and worldliness, is balanced fairly equally by sinc in positive religious contexts. Christ himself is a sincgiefa (treasure-giver) (ChrII 460) and religious objects such as the Cross in The Dream of the Rood (DR 23) are decorated with sinc. In Christ I, the poet writes that the door of Heaven: deoran since

eal wæs gebunden duru ormæte.

(ChrI 308–9)63

(the huge door was all bound with precious treasure.)

In contrast, maðm was only used positively in religious contexts when its use was figurative (and this accounted for only two instances, both as first elements of a compound, of the word).64 The virtual absence of figurative appearances is common also to sinc; this absence of a figurative dimension to sinc is underscored by its three appearances in The Riddles where the term, unlike hord, does not appear to attract wordplay.65 Frætwe Frætwe appears sixty times in Old English verse. Goldfrætwe (ChrIII 995) is its only compound occurrence. Related noun formations such as frætwung and frætwednes, both meaning ‘ornament’, do not occur in verse. The verb +frætw(i)an ‘to ornament’ (hereafter frætwan) appears thirty-one times in contexts closely related to those of frætwe. The noun and verb occur across the range of Old English poems.66 Frætwe is used only in the plural and although

62 63 64 65

66

See for examples: And 1673, DR 23, ChrI 309, Rid20 10, Hb 14, Beo 167, 1038, 1450, 1615, 2231, 2300. See for examples: GenA 2666, And 1656, GuthB 1352, MB 21.21. See above, p. 27. Cynewulf calls Elene a sincgim (treasure-gem) (El 264) and the hlafordes gifu (gift of the lord) (El 265). Gim, with which sinc is here compounded, often occurs figuratively, which may well account for the use of sincgim. Sinc in The Riddles: Rid14 15, Rid20 10, Rid67 15. I have included discussion of frætwan as well as frætwe because many of the conventional associations of the terms become more evident when they are considered together. For frætwe closely linked with treasure see for examples: GenB 443, Dan 66,

34

Treasure and Old English Verse it can refer to both a plural and singular number of objects, it is much more commonly used for more than one item.67 Ornamentation and beauty lie at the center of the meaning of frætwe, but the term is regularly applied to or associated with precious objects, often war equipment. Poets, though rarely prose writers, repeatedly use the term frætwe for natural phenomena, in some cases with a strong figurative element and/or suggestion of preciousness.68 For example, the poet of The Phoenix uses similes to describe the bird’s eyes and bill as like gems; his use of frætwe a few lines later for the bird’s feathers may be a continuation not only of the language of treasure but also of the use of metaphor.69 In other instances in the same poem, when the term frætwe is applied to the bird or vegetation, the object so denoted is said to be, in some way, extraordinary.70 Later, the frætwe of the narrative section are revealed as having a symbolic or allegorical meaning in the significatio section of the poem.71 The cluster of instances of frætwe (and frætwan) in The Riddles also points to the figurative potential of the word, which attracted obfuscating wordplay.72 Like gestreon, frætwe is common in religious poems and contexts. Frætwe frequently appears in connection with the earth or the land, denoted as eorþe, land and folde.73 These instances include, but extend beyond, some of the references to vegetation earlier discussed. Ornaments of the earth can include man-made phenomena and also carry the negative connotations of ‘worldliness’ and ‘temporality’, as gestreon did when used with terms for the earth or world.74 The transience of frætwe, often in texts following a Latin source, is a common motif in homiletic, as well as other religious prose.75 In verse, these worldly frætwe tend to find themselves destroyed on Judgment Day – a context which also accounts for other instances of frætwe, not associated with

67 68

69 70 71 72 73 74 75

And 337, ChrIII 995, Rid40 46, Beo 37, 214, 1207, 2503, 2784, 3133, MxII 27; for frætwan, see for examples: XSt 647, Rid31 2, Rid35 10, Ruin 33, Jud 171. Grimm 1912, pp. 113–14. See for examples: (vegetation) GenA 215, Ph 73, 257, Pan 48, Beo 96, Meno 207; (fur) Pan 29; (feathers or wings) El 742, Ph 309, Rid7 6. This list includes frætwan. For prose instances (all vegetation), see for examples: Skeat 1881–1900, II, p. 202, l. 190; Morris 1874–80, p. 7; Hecht 1900–7, p. 318, l. 30; and Baker and Lapidge 1995, p. 74, l. 314. Ph 300–9. See for example: Ph 330, 335. See ch. 2: æþel- and frætwe; blican and frætwe; fæger/fægre and frætwe; and land, eorþe, folde and frætwe. For a similar use of frætwe, see: Pan 48. Rid7 6, Rid13 10, Rid14 7, 11, Rid28 6, Rid31 2, 20, Rid32 2, Rid35 10/LdR 10, Rid40 46, Rid53 8, Rid61 8. This list includes frætwan. See ch. 2: land, eorþe, folde and frætwe. See above, p. 32. See for examples: Godden 1979, p. 270, ll. 82–3; Skeat 1881–1900, I, p. 436, l. 56; Napier 1883, p. 262, l. 22; Morris 1874–80, p. 99; and Miller 1890–1, p. 224, l. 23.

35

Old English Poetics terms for the earth.76 The association with Judgment Day features particularly in Cynewulfian signatures and The Phoenix, a poem which has been attributed to the school of Cynewulf. Transience is, moreover, only associated with frætwe in the context of Judgment Day, while frætwe, including those referred to as earthly, are also typical in Paradise and Creation, and Heaven is said to be a hall which God frætweð for the saved.77 These contexts are found particularly in The Phoenix, but also in The Paris Psalter, and when the verb frætwan is considered, in Genesis A and Beowulf. In prose too, Heaven is often ornamented with frætwe; Latin sources are central in this case, especially since the book of Revelation (21:15–27) depicts the heavenly city as heavily ornamented with gems and precious metals after Judgment Day.78 Finally, souls, often explicitly those of the Just, are repeatedly said to be frætwe or gefrætwed.79 This is mirrored by a frequent association of just souls with frætwe in prose. In a similar vein, there is repeated praise for those who have ornamented themselves in this life by living virtuously and by giving alms; there are as well frequent homilectic injunctions calling on people to live life in this manner.80 The overriding impression of frætwe in religious contexts does not remain that of moral corruption: the transient and sinful ornaments of this world are matched by the eternal ornaments and rewards of Heaven.

Conclusion This chapter began with an overview of the place of treasure in Old English verse. The main point which emerged was that treasure was so widespread in Old English verse that it needed to be considered as a poetic convention. Comparison with the representation of treasure in prose sources and the archaeological record emphasized, as well, the archaic nature of this conventionality, which appears to date back to the oral origins of Old English verse. Despite the pronounced archaicness of poetic treasure, poets were able to accommodate it to Christian themes, suggesting both the strength of the convention – it could not simply be set aside – and the ability of poets to transform conventions so that new directions were expressed in familiar 76 77

See for examples: El 1270, ChrII 805, ChrIII 995, Ph 508. For frætwan, see: Ph 274. See for examples: GenA 215, Ph 73, 150, 200, 257, JDI 92, Beo 96, PPs 101.22. For biblical source, see ch. 2: land, eorþe, folde and frætwe. 78 For Heaven, see for examples: Napier 1883, p. 265, n. 6 and Bazire and Cross 1989, p. 53, ll. 130 and 134–5. For Creation, see the Old English Genesis translation, discussed in ch. 2: land, eorþe, folde and frætwe. I have not found frætwe/frætwan in prose descriptions of Paradise. 79 For souls and similar contexts see for examples: XSt 307, SBI 137, ChrIII 1073, 1635, GuthA 806, GuthB 1059, Ph 585, 610, Rsg 72, JDII 277. 80 See for examples: Godden 1979, p. 183, l. 107; Bethurum 1957, p. 178, l. 58; Morris 1874–80, p. 95; and Scragg 1992, p. 285, l. 133.

36

Treasure and Old English Verse terms. To begin to examine the nature of those familiar terms in more depth, five words for treasure were looked at in detail. Although the language of treasure available to the Old English poet was extensive, it was not a flat convention made up of interchangeable terms which had lost their specificity of meaning over time and in response to the requirements of verse form: these words cannot be described as alliterative synonyms; rather, their patterns of usage indicate that they carry distinct denotations, connotations, associations and figurative possibilities. This distinctiveness is most striking when maðm and sinc are compared: although they are similar in register, poets used them for different kinds of treasure (both in terms of denotation and connotation), found in different contexts. Strikingly, poets were able to maintain the semantic precision of sinc despite its restriction to poetry: that is, the poetic convention was preserved even when it was not supported by everyday language. Similarly, the different prose and verse uses of maðm indicates the strength of poetic convention. Strong conventions can, however, be flexible and the use of maðm, hord, gestreon, sinc and frætwe indicate some of the strategies poets employed to adapt their traditional poetics to Christianity: first, treasure was readily condemned as an example of transitory wealth and second, and of more consequence for the nature of Old English poetics, some words for treasure, notably hord and frætwe, were used figuratively in religious contexts in a way which brought new vitality to what was potentially simply familiar in a tired way.

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CHAPTER TWO

The Collocation of Words for Treasure in Old English Verse

This chapter presents a detailed analysis of word collocations associated with maðm, hord, gestreon, sinc, and frætwe. Collocation, defined simply as the tendency of words to appear together, encompasses stylistic features, such as the formula, which have been seen as constraints on the control the Old English poet could exert over word choice and other kinds of verbal repetition which have more often been seen as indications of inventiveness. Defined in this way, collocation is an heuristic tool which allows a range of stylistic aspects of Old English poetry to be studied in relation, rather than in opposition to, or separated from, each other. It also allows both formulas and other kinds of verbal repetitions to be considered in their larger lexical context. For the formula, a contextual approach means being able to see the range of ways the lexical elements of a formula occur together, so for example, the formula landes frætwe (ornaments of the land) can be considered alongside other semantic and syntactic constructions which include the terms land and frætwe. Meanwhile, when looking at other verbal repetition, we can, for instance, see whether words which are used within rhetorical patterns in one poem are used similarly in other poems. As a consequence of these contextual and relational dimensions, a study of collocation can provide new insight into the nature of the conventionality of Old English verse. In taking collocation as an heuristic tool, rather than the object of my study, my approach differs from earlier work by Randolph Quirk. Quirk, whose aim was to redress the oral-formulaic emphasis on the restrictiveness of convention in Old English poetry, defined collocation in terms of ‘lexical congruity’ rather than the repeated occurrence together of two words. What Quirk’s notion of lexical congruity does not address is that incongruous words, such as sæl (hall) and sorh (sorrow), can also habitually collocate.1 But while I have used repetition to identify collocations, my approach differs too from the statistical one used by corpus linguists, who have generally used collocation as a way to study semantics and syntax rather than style.2

1 2

Quirk 1963. Firth 1951, pp. 194–214; Firth 1957, pp. 179–81; Sinclair 1966 and 1991; Lyons 1977, vol. 1, pp. 261–5; and Palmer 1981, pp. 75–9.

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Collocation of Words for Treasure By restricting my study to five key words for treasure in my analysis of word collocations, I will be able to draw on the material presented in the previous chapter in order to integrate the study of style and semantics. Verbal repetition, formulas, and alliterative pairs, for example, can be more fully understood when the semantic fields of the words involved, as well as their connotations and associations, are taken into account. My concern with meanings of words also extends to the cultural significance of treasure; thus the consideration of style and meaning together will contribute to the aim of considering the poetics of Old English verse historically. In what follows, I present discussion of a selection of collocations associated with maðm, hord, gestreon, sinc and frætwe. Selection was necessary to allow for detailed literary discussion of the collocations. In making a selection, I have tried to present a range of examples in order to facilitate comparison. Thus, I have included collocations which occur frequently, as well as those which do not; words whose frequent collocation could be explained straightforwardly in terms of their semantic fields alongside instances of collocations whose impetus was more complex. Alliterative and nonalliterative collocations have both been considered. Amongst the collocations are nouns, verbs, adjectives, and adverbs and I have specifically included some instances of semantically light words such as heah (high) and manig (many), but I have not included pronouns or particles. I have aimed to consider collocations whose elements readily establish formulas, and examples of words which often occur together but not as formulas. In the interests of developing a comparative framework, I have, where relevant, aimed to provide some material from prose. In an effort to present detailed discussion of as many collocations as possible, I have kept reference to secondary material to a minimum. In order to identify collocations, I combined use of the Dictionary of Old English (DOE) corpus with a thorough reading of the Old English corpus itself. Given the nature of the DOE database, the range within which a collocation could be searched for could not be specified in terms of numbers of lines, but was restricted to within the space of a sentence as edited in The Anglo-Saxon Poetic Records (ASPR). This practical decision to use the DOE corpus has, of course, serious drawbacks. Not only is a sentence as edited in the ASPR a changeable and inaccurate unit – one editor’s full stop is another editor’s semi-colon, for example – but scholars have become increasingly aware that the sense units of Old English verse do not translate well into modern punctuation.3 The method used to find the collocations may thus be especially insensitive to the ways Anglo-Saxon poets signaled the beginnings and endings of sense units, such as verse paragraphs. Some of the problems created by use of DOE database were addressed by looking more broadly at

3

Mitchell 1980.

39

Old English Poetics each of the passages containing one of the words for treasure studied here. In particular, when an ASPR sentence began with or ended at the caesura, I included the full metrical line so as not to exclude alliterative pairs or possible full-line formulas. In the final analysis, this study is determinedly not statistical; rather it treats collocation as a literary critical tool for finding those features of the verse which might shed light on the nature of its conventionality. And in any case, statistics would be unreliable, since we do not know the degree to which, or in what manner, the surviving corpus is representative of the verse of Anglo-Saxon England. A study of the collocation of a select group of words, in this case words for treasure, does not provide a map or overview of the style of the individual poems which make up the corpus; rather, it compares small parts of poems with each other. Occasionally, when the language of treasure is thematically and rhetorically central to a poem, its collocations may offer insight into the overall style and meaning of a poem. But a poem in which treasure-language is incidental or minor will remain peripheral in this study, even though it may be especially relevant to a consideration of style. In effect, a study of the collocations of words for treasure shines a shaft of light through many Old English poems and sets side by side the ways in which they handle the language of treasure. The following analysis of collocations is divided into five sections (one for each of the words for treasure considered), each section is ordered alphabetically. Synthesizing discussion of the material is offered in subsequent chapters.

The Collocations of Maðm BEARM and MAÐM Bearm (breast, bosom) and maðm collocate on four occasions, all in Beowulf: Beo 36, 36, 2190, 2403. Bearm appears ten times in Beowulf, in eight instances, bearm collocates with some form of treasure either in the arms of a person or in a ship.4 The frequent, almost exclusive, collocation of bearm with treasure, variously denoted, is largely restricted to Beowulf, outside of which bearm appears together with treasure, in the form of a sword (MxII, 25) only once, though on several occasions other types of objects are given into the bearm of someone. The use of bearm in a description of the loading of a ship also appears once in Exodus (Ex 375). The collocation is in some cases connected to a formulaic system attested by the half-lines ‘him on bearme læg’ (on his breast lay) (Beo 40) and ‘him to bearme cwom’ (came to his breast) (Beo 2404). The verb licgan (to lie) or the similar verbs, alecgan (to put, to lay down) and 4

Beo 21, 35, 40, 214, 896, 1137, 1144, 2194, 2404, 2775. The remaining Beowulf appearance of bearm describes the earth, which appears in five further instances in Old English verse.

40

Collocation of Words for Treasure: Maðm lecgan (to lay), appear with bearm on three occasions.5 The half-line, ‘on bearm scipes’ (in the bosom of the ship) (Beo 35, Ex 375) appears to be a formula which is part of the same formulaic system as ‘on bearm nacan’ (into the bosom of the ship) (Beo 214). The clause on bearm scipes also appears in the half-line ‘bær on bearm scipes’ (carried on the ship) (Beo 896). The maðm and bearm collocation in Beowulf participates in a number of lexical conventions, some of which can be described in terms of the formula. The Beowulf poet uses the collocation as part of a smaller passage which occurs within the lines describing the lavish treasure of Scyld Scefing’s funeral. Lines 34–42, which show especially dense verbal repetition, focus closely on Scyld and his treasure as it is being loaded onto the boat. Most of these repetitions apply both to Scyld and to his treasure. Sounds recur when the poet tells us that Scyld’s men aledon (laid) (Beo 34) him in the boat and that the treasure was ‘gelæded’ (brought) (Beo 37) to the boat. Scyld is placed ‘on bearm scipes’ (Beo 35) while the treasure lay ‘him on bearme’ (Beo 40). The repetitions extend beyond the parallel of Scyld and the treasure. Maðm appears twice with a word describing its abundance – madma fela (many treasures) (Beo 36) are taken to the ship and madma mænigo (a multitude of treasures) (Beo 41) lie on Scyld. The treasure given to Scyld is said to come of feorwegum (from faraway) (Beo 37) and we are told that it will feor gewitan (go faraway) (Beo 42) with him. The verbal repetition extends, though less densely, throughout the entire section (Beo 26–50) depicting Scyld’s funeral. Again, most notable are those applied to both Scyld and the treasure. Scyld is a þeoden (lord) (Beo 34) and his treasure is þeodgestreon (the people’s treasure) (Beo 44). In the opening lines of the section Scyld gewat (departed) (Beo 26), while further on, the treasure is said to gewitan (to depart) (Beo 42) with Scyld. Several other repetitions also mark the passage; the verb beran (to bear) describes both Scyld’s companions taking him to the boat (ætbæron (they bore) (Beo 28)) and the sea taking the boat (beran Beo 48). Feran (to go) (Beo 27), applied to the movements of Scyld, is echoed by the related noun fær (vessel) (Beo 33) applied to the ship carrying Scyld away. The repetitions of bearm, feor (far), madma, and manig/fela (many) pivot around two and a half lines of text (Beo 38a–41a) introduced by the expression ‘ne hyrde ic’ (I have not heard) (Beo 38) and followed by a detailed listing of the treasure which is, previously and subsequently, denoted in general terms. The poet uses these repetitions, made conspicuous by their density, to link Scyld and his treasure: thus, from the opening lines of his poem, he flags up the thematic importance of treasure. BENC and MAÐM Four passages in Beowulf share the collocation of maðm, benc (bench) (compounded twice with ealo (ale) and twice with meodu (mead)) and sellan 5

Beo 40, 2194, SS 433.

41

Old English Poetics (to give): Beowulf 1027, 1050, 1900, 2862. The impetus behind the collocation of these words obviously lies in the bench in the hall as a location of gift-giving. Some parts of the collocation fulfil the requirements for even the strictest definition of a formula. The half-line phrase on meodubence (on the mead-bench), which appears at Beowulf line 1902, also occurs in The Fortunes of Men (Fort 48); the half-line is, moreover, part of a formulaic system which includes in ealobence (on the ale-bench) (Beo 1029). The linguistically ordinary and expected combination of on and meodubenc appears more widely than as just a formulaic half-line. The substitution of ealo, on two occasions, for the more common meodu, appears to be a response to the requirement to alliterate. The collocation has other features, which, though they become conventional in Beowulf, cannot be linked to the demands of the verse form. Maðm and ealo/meodubenc do not occur together with any verb other than sellan, despite the Beowulf poet’s use of a wide variety of verbs to express the giving of treasure.6 Further verbal parallels link three of the occurrences of this triple collocation, with lines 1050ff. and 1900ff. being the most nearly identical. The lines read: Ða gyt æghwylcum eorla drihten þara þe mid Beowulfe brimlade teah on þære medubence maþðum gesealde, yrfelafe. (Beo 1050–3) (Furthermore the lord of the noblemen, gave treasure, an heirloom, to each one of those, on the mead-benches, who took the sea-journey with Beowulf.)

and He þæm batwearde bunden golde swurd gesealde, þæt he syðþan wæs on meodubence maþme þy weorþra, yrfelafe. (Beo 1900–3) (He gave a sword bound with gold to the boat-guardian, so that afterwards he was, on the mead-bench, the more esteemed on account of the treasure, the heirloom.)

In both cases, benc combines with meodu and the resulting compound alliterates and appears in the same line with maðm. Moreover, in both cases, yrfelaf (heirloom) varies, and occurs directly after, maðm. Although its components are common enough in Beowulf, the compound yrfelaf occurs only in these two passages and in both cases, yrfelaf varies maðm. The formula mearum and

6

At Beo 1027 and 1050 sellan takes maðm as its direct object while at Beo 1900 and 2862 maðm and the direct objects of sellan have the same referent. See further: sellan and maðm.

42

Collocation of Words for Treasure: Maðm maðmum (with horses and with treasures) also appears in connection with the maðm, benc, sellan and yrfelaf collocation. Immediately before this account of the giving of gifts to Beowulf’s companions at lines 1050ff., the poet sums up the gifts Beowulf himself has just received with this formula, mearum ond madmum (Beo 1048). Almost nine hundred lines later the poet uses mearum ond maðmum (Beo 1898) in his description of the loading of Beowulf’s treasure onto his ship; two lines later the collocation of meodubenc, maðm, sellan and yrfelaf recurs, as the poet’s attention switches to the golden sword which Beowulf gives to the boat guard. This collocation of eight words, maðm (two times), benc, sellan, yrfe (heritage), laf (remnant), mearh and meodu occurs in two similar passages where there has been a move from one instance of treasure-giving to another. In the absence of a compelling narrative link between the two passages, these lexical repetitions, which are separated by some nine hundred lines, seem best interpreted as the result of a poet using similar language for similar circumstances. Maðm, ealubenc and sellan recur together over nine hundred lines later as Wiglaf launches his rebuke. This is a memorable passage, made poignant by the bringing together of such traditional images as the hall, treasure-giving, homeland and bonds of loyalty. Within this framework, it is the repetition of these images, rather than the repetition of specific lexis, which emphasizes the retainers’ rejection of established values in their betrayal of Beowulf. The verbal repetition, coming so many lines later and involving no distinctive use of language, does not create the link between this and earlier episodes within the poem, rather it is the by-product of the conscious re-use of traditional imagery. Within the lines Beowulf 1020–1054, which detail the gift-giving following the defeat of Grendel, maðm (four times), benc, sellan, gold all recur in a passage where repetition, while creating coherence, appears to be the result of an extended focus on treasure rather than a carefully structured verse paragraph. BYCGAN, FEORH and MAÐM Although bycgan (to buy) and feorh (life) each collocate with maðm on only two occasions, they occur together and are joined by hord both times; hence in Beowulf the fourway collocation of maðm, feorh, bycgan and hord appears twice: at 2799 and 3010. The five appearances of bycgan, within Beowulf, always involve death and the surrender of life or a body part. At lines 2799ff. the sentence is simple: Beowulf says that he bebohte (sold) his feorhlegu (life) for a maðma hord (hoard of treasures). From line 3010, the messenger proclaims that the maðma hord was gecea[po]d (purchased) and ‘sylfes feore/ beagas [geboh]te’ (rings bought with his own life).7 The contexts of these two

7

Assuming that the widely accepted textual emendation [geboh]te is correct.

43

Old English Poetics passages are similar. In the first, Beowulf tells Wiglaf that he has fulfilled the need of the people in giving his life for them. He then goes on to describe the pyre which will burn in his memory. In the second, the messenger informs the Geats that the treasure Beowulf bought with his life will burn on his funeral pyre. These repeated appearances of the collocation may entail an intentional verbal parallel and/or the use similar language to describe similar circumstances; regardless, this repetition is very effective, occurring just over two hundred lines apart and functioning to sharpen the tragedy of Beowulf’s death by underscoring the confounding of Beowulf’s hopes that the treasure will help the Geats. Furthermore, the repeated use of bycgan in Old English verse to describe Christ’s death to redeem mankind suggests that the language of these lines was highly resonant and thus brought into the foreground.8 The memorable nature of this repeated collocation is further underscored because it fits into a poetic technique which involved making not direct parallels between Beowulf and Christ, but using Christian imagery (such as the presence of the twelve mourners at Beowulf’s funeral, and his earlier abandonment by his men) to link the two implicitly rather than explicitly.9 DEORE and MAÐM The collocation of deore (precious) and maðm occurs four times, three times in Beowulf (1522, 2231, 3126) and once in Judith (313). The two words always collocate in the formulaic half-line deore maðmas (precious treasures) (with only inflectional variation). Although the semantic connection of deore and maðm is readily apparent, the two words do not collocate outside of the half-line formula, and thus the collocation, despite its ordinariness, is highly formulaic. The deore maðmas formula is a simple linguistic formation, however deore (as opposed to deorwyðe (precious)) is rare in prose. The close association of the formula with Beowulf should also be noted. In ‘The Lament of the Last Survivor’ the collocation of maðm and deore points to the interplay between the formula, the need for alliteration, and artistry. The collocation occurs in the introduction to ‘The Lament’, a passage which has received considerable critical attention as an essential digression which sets the tone for the second part of the poem.10 Although modern punctuation separates the two words with a full stop in this passage, deore appears on the same line and alliterates with deað (death) (Beo 2236). The number of verbal repetitions are not especially dense in this passage, yet deað appears three times: (1) alliterating with deore (Beo 2236) and referring to the death of the survivor’s kin; (2) in ‘The Lament’ itself (and coupled with fornam (took away) as at Beo 2236), again referring to the death of the 8 9 10

For examples, see: ChrI 259, ChrIII 1462, SBI 30, SBII 27, KtHy 26. Goldsmith 1970. Bonjour 1950, pp. 68–9.

44

Collocation of Words for Treasure: Maðm survivor’s kin (Beo 2249); and (3) in the lines immediately after ‘The Lament’ referring to the inevitable death of the survivor himself (Beo 2269). The lines preceding and following ‘The Lament’ are even more closely linked than the repetition of deað suggests. The lines 2236–9, which include the word deað, explain the fate of the kinsman of the last survivor and contain five verbal parallels with the lines 2267–9 (immediately following ‘The Lament’) which tell how the survivor’s grief lasts until his own death. Lines 2267–70 are the last lines devoted to the survivor before the poet’s attention moves to the dragon. By using the same language to describe the death of the survivor and of his kin the poet not only pulls the passage (‘The Lament’ and the lines before and after it) together into a unit, of the type Bartlett calls an envelope, but also makes a conceptual link between the common fate of the last survivor and his kin. While deore maðmas (Beo 2236) does not repeat within this unit, its appearance alliterating with deað suggests that, although the formula provided a useful half-line that fulfilled the poet’s need for a ‘d’, the poet’s need for a ‘d’ was caused by his repetition of deað. Thus, we can see the Beowulf poet composing with one eye on the line and one eye on a larger pattern. A similar picture emerges in Judith, a late Anglo-Saxon poem notable for its particularly frequent verbal repetition.11 The formula dyre madmas (Jud 318) occurs in a passage which chronicles the capture of the Assyrian treasure by the Bethulians in three distinct parts, in each of which the poet catalogues, lingers over and describes the treasure. First, at the defeat of the Assyrians, their armor and weapons become the booty of the Bethulians (Jud 314–18). Second, the Bethulians carry this booty back to their city (Jud 325–30) and third, the Bethulians give Holofernes’ war gear and other treasures to Judith (Jud 334–41). At first glance, this passage appears to be an example of a poet’s amplification of a description of treasure leading him almost inevitably to repeat lexis as he describes the same items three times within twenty-eight lines. However, a clear pattern, which structures the passage and moves it forward, emerges. Little word-for-word repetition appears in lines 316–18 and 327–9, save for helm (helmet) and swyrd (sword). Against this not strikingly dense repetition, the appearances of maðm (Jud 318, 329, 340), including the formula dyre maðmas, three times and always as the end of each of the descriptions of treasure, stands out. Hence, the formulaic collocation deore and maðm participates in the larger structure of the poem. GOLD and MAÐM Gold (gold) (or its adjectival form gylden (golden)) collocates very frequently with maðm: El 1256, Gifts 58, Sea 97, 97, MxI 154, Rid55 7, Beo 1020, 1027, 1050, 1900, 2101, 2190, 2413, 2747, 2756, 3010, 3014, Jud 323, 334, MB 21.20, WldB 4.

11

Tyler 1992.

45

Old English Poetics Although the semantic connection between the two terms is clear, the frequency of the collocation of maðm and gold stands out as part of the widespread abundance of gold in Old English verse, an abundance which contrasts with a dearth of silver and marks the verse as archaic. The collocation of gold and maðm is far less Beowulf-bound than many we have thus far examined with eleven of its appearances in Beowulf; the remaining ten occur across a wide range of verse. The combination of the apparent archaicness of the gold and maðm collocation and its prevalence in a wide range of verse suggests that there were established and conventional ways of discussing treasure in Old English verse which continued undiminished even in such late poems as Judith. This, despite the fact that, as far as can be ascertained from the surviving corpus, gold and maðm are strikingly not linked by any formulaic associations: no half-line containing the two terms recurs. The conventional link of gold and maðm then is maintained and perpetuated not because it makes it easier to fulfill the metrical and alliterative requirements of the line, which is so often given credit for exerting a strong conservative force on Old English verse; rather the evidence points to there being traditional ways of describing treasure in verse throughout the Anglo-Saxon period.12 Despite the variety of situations which produce the collocation of gold and maðm, a general pattern can be seen behind many of the instances of the collocation. Maðm and gold often appear together in ‘thin’ references, that is when treasure is simply mentioned, rather than as one of many objects in a long listing of treasure.13 The use of maðm and gold in situations where the poet desires to make the most basic reference to treasure is evident in Maxims I: ‘Maþþum oþres weorð,/ gold mon sceal gifan’ (one treasure enriches another,/ gold must be given) (MxI 154–5). It is as though maðm and gold call each other up in such circumstances, and yet they do not combine in a formulaic manner. The appearance of the collocation of maðm and gold in The Meters of Boethius provides an opportunity to examine closely how the versifier of the Old English prose Boethius worked. In Meter 21, in the context of a discussion of mankind’s search for true happiness, the poet writes that worldly treasure, rather than providing light, blinds us in the face of soðra gesælða (true happiness) (MB 21.25). The Latin original locates that treasure as the product of the golden sands of the river Tagus and of the rutilant (ruddy-glowing) banks of the river Hermus and of the Indus with its emeralds and other gems.14 These references to presumably unfamiliar rivers are removed, first in the Old English prose version: ‘þa gyldenan stanas, 7 þa seolfrenan, 7 ælces cynnes gimmas, 7 eall þes andwearda wela’ (golden 12

On the archaic representation of gold in Old English poetry, see above, ch. 1, pp. 18–22. 13 See for example: Beo 2103 and 2413. 14 Tester 1973, pp. 286–7.

46

Collocation of Words for Treasure: Maðm stones and silver ones and gems of every kind and all this present wealth) blind the eye to true happiness.15 In order to get this into verse, the poet separates the gold and silver and has them refer to different objects writing gylden maðm (golden treasure) (MB 21.20) and sylofren sincstan (silver treasure-stones) (MB 21.21) which takes him further from the original Latin, in which gold and rutilant referred to the banks and bed of the river, but which relies on established conventions of Old English verse – the association of gold and maðm and the alliterative pair of sinc and seolfor.16 In the passage from Judith, where, as previously discussed, there is a three-fold repetition of maðm, gold appears twice, although the syntactical relationships between the gold object and the maðm are different in both cases. In each, an object is described as decorated with gold in a phrase which involves gold in the dative dependent on a past participle: golde gefrætewod (ornamented with gold) (Jud 328) and ‘gerenode readum golde’ (adorned with red gold) (Jud 338). Alone, the repetition of gold in Judith would attract little attention, but it does form part of a dense network of tightly woven verbal repetitions.17 Maðm and gold appear together twice in the space of eight lines in Beowulf. The messenger tells the Geats of Beowulf’s death and of the fate of the treasure. He first describes the treasure as maðma hord (hoard of treasures) (Beo 3011), gold unrime (countless gold) (Beo 3012) and beagas (rings) (Beo 3014) bought by Beowulf with his life, and explains that it will all burn on the pyre; he then goes on to say that nobles will not wear maððum (Beo 3016), no maiden will wear a hringweorðung (ring-adornment) (Beo 3017) and all will, deprived of gold (Beo 3108), go into exile. This verbal parallel virtually encapsulates within eight lines one of the central tragedies of the second part of Beowulf – in the destruction of the very treasure which Beowulf thought his death had gained for his people – and shows the Beowulf poet using repetition in a controlled and purposeful manner to contribute to meaning. In contrast, the repetitions of gold and maðm within the passage extending from 1020 to 1057 are more easily attributable simply to a sustained focus on treasure.18 Despite its apparently archaic and conventional nature, the connection of maðm and gold is not maintained by any formula or other linguistic structure, indeed the words appear together on the same line only two times (Beo 2413 and MB 21.20). The nature of the collocation challenges established understandings of formulas as survivals from earlier oral verse and challenges the intimate link of oral and formulaic. The link between the two terms of the collocation must be semantic. The denoting of treasure as gold appears to be a way of praising the treasure and indicating that it is outstanding or special. 15 16 17 18

Sedgefield 1899, p. 89. See seolfor and sinc. On translation techniques evident in The Meters see: Griffith 1984. See deore and maðm. See benc and maðm.

47

Old English Poetics Yet the collocation appears to be too ordinary, rather than conventional, to attract the attention of poets, and hence its repetitions do not tend to occupy the foreground of a poem or passage. A very similar picture emerges from a consideration of the collocation of gold with the other words for treasure. HIERAN and MAÐM Maðm and hieran (to hear) collocate five times, all in Beowulf: Beo 36, 36, 1197, 2163, 2172. A range of expressions which include the phrase ic with some form of hieran occur widely both in the poem and in the corpus. The association of maðm with these expressions is part of a larger phenomenon, identified by Ward Parks, for treasure to collocate with phrases including ic hyrde (I heard) in some form. This pattern is closely associated with Beowulf occurring there on at least eleven occasions, while it occurs outside of this poem only twice. The concentration in Beowulf underscores further the attention given to the particular thematic significance of treasure in this poem. Parks notes that formulas including ic and hieran often occur ‘at moments of foregrounding’ and this is certainly the case in Beowulf, when the treasure is designated as maðm.19 Each of these instances, moreover, also takes on an important role in structuring the passage in which it occurs. Parks has argued that the use of ‘I heard’ formulas casts the narrator as one who passes on tradition; the conjunction of treasure with this understanding of the role of the poet does not simply mark treasure as a traditional element of poetry, though it does do that.20 But also, because the narrator indicates that he has not heard of better treasure, presumably in other stories he has been told, the conjunction represents treasure as part of a continuing tradition of poetic discourse which ties together past and present. HORD and MAÐM Maðm and hord, two words with overlapping semantic fields, collocate on eleven occasions, eight of which are in Beowulf, appearing in a variety of contexts and with a wide range of relationships between the two words: Ex 366, And 1112, Wid 1, Beo 1046, 1197, 1896, 2777, 2788, 2799, 3010, 3126. The varied contexts in which we find the collocation of maðm and hord contribute to the absence of formulas and other conventional expressions linking the terms.21 That the phrase maðma hord (hoard of treasures) occurs only in the two passages in which Beowulf purchases the dragon’s treasure with his life further underscores the closeness of the parallel.22 The collocation of maðm and hord appears three times within the space of 19 20 21

Parks 1987, p. 60. I have discarded Parks’ example h25. Parks 1987, p. 47. The unusual metaphorical use of maðm, when compounded with hord, to denote Noah’s ark has been discussed, see above, ch. 1, pp. 27 and 30. 22 See bycgan, feorh and maðm.

48

Collocation of Words for Treasure: Maðm twenty lines extending from Beowulf 2779 to 2799. A larger rhetorical pattern, such as an envelope, defined by verbal repetition and a logical unit, does not seem to account for this repetition. The passage, which includes Wiglaf passing by the dead dragon, maðma mundbora (protector of treasures) (Beo 2779), as he comes out of the barrow, his return to Beowulf with the treasure, and Beowulf’s speech of thanksgiving for the treasure, illustrates the important role subject matter plays in verbal repetition. The lines also illustrate the high tolerance that Old English verse, including Beowulf, shows for verbal repetition, much of which, rather than drawing attention to itself, falls into the background. Meanwhile, the collocation of maðm and hord in Andreas provides further evidence of the way maðm and hord regularly call each other up. Two features stand out when we consider the collocation of maðm and hord. First, there seems to be a dearth of formulaic and highly conventional language surrounding the collocation. At the same time, the collocation is not used rhetorically as a defining element in larger patterns and units. Language which is ordinary, like the frequent collocation of maðm and gold, rather than conventional, does not appear to attract the attention of poets. MANIG/MENIGU and MAÐM Maðm collocates on ten occasions with forms of manig (many) and menigu (multitude): Beo 36, 36, 1020, 1612, 1855, 2101, 2141, 2756, WldB 4, Th 5. The two words are linked by a range of syntactical relationships and alliterate in all but two cases (in which the two words are not syntactically associated). In two instances, the half-line madma mænigo (multitude of treasures) is formed (Beo 41, 2143); the half-line madma manega from Thureth is similar. Manig is, of course, a common word and similar dependent genitive constructions occur throughout poetry and prose, although it is more ordinary to find manig agreeing with the noun it accompanies. Whether such an everyday expression as the Beowulf half-lines can be called formulas or whether these instances are better understood as separate phenomena depends on one’s notion of the formula. MEARH and MAÐM Maðm appears in collocation with mearh (horse) on seven occasions, in six of which the two elements form an alliterative pair; enumeration often fosters the collocation: Wan 92, MxI 83, Hb 43, Beo 1046, 1896, 2163, 2163. There is a clear and specific contextual pull between horses and weapons. Four of the seven instances of the collocation occur as the formula mearum and maðmum (with horses and with treasures) (MaxI 83, Beo 1046, 1896, and 2163) and one in the half-line ne meara ne maðma (not of horses or of treasures) (Hb 45). The formula shows remarkable stability, with mearh as the first element in all instances, even though the formula would scan the same regardless of the order of its elements and provide the same alliteration. The collocation and 49

Old English Poetics formula are less Beowulf-restricted than many thus far considered. When looking at gold and maðm and hord and maðm, it was noted that these terms, while frequent collocates, were not linked in formulaic expressions. In contrast mearh, which like hord and gold is contextually associated with maðm, but unlike hord and gold does not overlap semantically with maðm, repeatedly occurs in formulas with maðm. Alliteration is obviously a factor in mearh and maðm formulas, but the absence of formulas linking hord and hyge (mind) and hord and heorte (heart) (words with overlapping semantic fields when hord is used for the mind) indicates semantics also plays a key role in formation of formulas.23 The importance of alliteration extends to two alliterative triples: maðm and mearh with meodu (mead) and with mago (kinsman). In two cases, a compound beginning with meodu completes the line begun by the mearh and maðm collocation: in Maxims I ‘mearum ond maþmum, meodorædenne’ (with horses and with treasures, at mead-drinking) (MxI 87), and in The Husband’s Message ‘ne meara ne maðma ne meododreama’ (not of horses, nor of treasures, nor of mead-joys) (Hb 45). Like horses and treasure, mead is found in the Anglo-Saxon hall. The collocation of maðm and meodu on the same line is as widespread, though not so formulaic, as that of maðm and mearh.24 Similarly kinship also goes with treasure and horses: the alliterative triple including mago appears in The Wanderer but mago collocates, often alliterating, with maðm on other occasions, all in Beowulf.25 The formulas associated with the alliterative pair of maðm and mearh are thus part of a larger complex of linguistic conventions fostered by verse form. The maðm and mearh alliterative pair is conspicuous in two passages marked by rhetorical patterning. In The Husband’s Message, the horse and treasure form part of the series ‘ne meara ne maðma ne meododreama’ (Hb 45). This series is short and could have arisen as much from a stylizing of the normal speech patterns of Old English as from the influence of the Latin rhetorical tradition.26 The appearance of the collocation mearh and maðm in The Wanderer, where the pull between the two elements, which is fostered by alliteration, but not maintained by the formulaic, places the formulaic link of the two words into the context of a wider lexical convention. This established lexical convention clearly interacts with the influence of Latin rhetoric, likely via the Old English homiletic tradition, on Old English poetry.27 Maðm and mearh appear as an alliterative pair in the often commented upon ubi sunt passage in which the poet asks ‘Hwær cwom mearg? Hwær cwom mago? Hwær cwom maþþumgyfa?’ (Where has the horse gone? Where has the

23 24

See hyge, heorte and maðm. The collocation of maðm and meodu occurs six times and always alliterate. El 1256, Fort 58, MxI 83, Hb 43, Beo 1050, 1900. 25 Beo 1480, 1866, 2141, 2756. 26 Bonner 1976. 27 See for example: Cross 1956.

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Collocation of Words for Treasure: Maðm kinsman gone? Where has the treasure-giver gone?) (Wan 92). ‘Hwær cwom’ (where have gone) and ‘hwær syndon’ (where are) passages feature widely in Old English homilies, as for example: ‘Hwær com þisse worlde wela? hwær com þissere eorðan fægernys?’ (Where has the wealth of this world gone? Where has the beauty of this earth gone?) and ‘Hwær synt þa cyningas þe geo wæron. 7 þa welegan þisse weorolde. Hwær is nu heora gold 7 heora hrægelgefrætwodnes?’ (Where are the kings who were here before, and the wealth of this world? Where is their gold now and their clothingornamentation?)28 Here the poet brings together a homiletic rhetorical pattern with the world of the Anglo-Saxon artistocracy, incapsulated in a perhaps long established set of alliterative pairs; and we find a conjunction of highly conventional, rather than simply ordinary, language with artistically crafted, rather than verse-form driven, lines, suggesting that conventions, when played with, drew attention to themselves rather than becoming part of the background. SELLAN and MAÐM Initially, the eleven collocations of maðm and sellan (to give) would seem to merit little comment: Beo 1027, 1050, 1480, 1866, 1900, 2141, 2172, 2190, 2490, 2862, 2989. Sellan, a very common verb, quite obviously pairs with maðm in the context of gift-giving. Yet, there are distinctive patterns associated with the collocation’s usage. The verb sellan only collocates with maðm in Beowulf; even noting the centrality of treasure-giving to the poem, the restricted collocation stands out since treasure is often given in other poems. Sellan and maðm appear together in the same line only three times, although in seven instances, sellan refers directly to maðm. The closest thing to a formula linking maðm and sellan is the alliteration of maðm with me (me) as the direct object of sellan in a relative clause, but the full lines cannot be described as formulaic, or only as loosely so: ‘swylce þu ða madmas þe þu me sealdest’ (likewise you the treasure, which you gave me) (Beo 1482) and ‘Ic him þa maðmas, þe he me sealde’ (I [to him] the treasures, which he gave me) (Beo 2490). Despite the minimal role which formulas play in pulling maðm and sellan together, the diction surrounding the collocation is often strikingly conventional. The collocation of benc, either an ale- or mead-bench, with maðm has already been discussed, and the use of the verb sellan to describe the giving of treasure on the bench noted.29 These instances account for four of the eleven appearances of the collocation of maðm and sellan – a significant proportion. Two further instances of maðm and sellan also occur in passages of notable parallelism in Beowulf. Immediately following Hrothgar’s farewell speech to Beowulf, the poet tells his audience:

28 29

Napier 1883, p. 148, l. 33 – p. 149, l. 1 and Thorpe 1840, II, p. 396. See benc and maðm.

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Old English Poetics Ða git him eorla hleo inne gesealde, mago Healfdenes, maþmas XII. (Beo 1866–7) (Furthermore, the protector of the nobles, the kinsman of Healfdene, gave him twelve treasures inside [the hall].)

And almost three hundred lines later, Beowulf tells Hygelac about his fight with Grendel’s mother, insisting that he was not a doomed man: ac me eorla hleo eft gesealde maðma menigeo, maga Healfdenes.

(Beo 2142–43)

(But the protector of the nobles, the kinsman of Healfdene, again gave me many treasures.)

Nothing indicates that the Beowulf poet was using the repetitions within these lines to draw a parallel between the two instances of treasure-giving, since, although one occurs in Beowulf’s retelling, the two do not refer to the same occasion. Rather we have evidence for the way the Beowulf poet shows a tolerance for background verbal repetition in using similar language in similar contexts without an eye to larger thematic or rhetorical considerations. As a result, six of the eleven appearances of the maðm and sellan collocation occur in Beowulf passages marked by overlapping lexis, even though sellan is a very common verb and we would not expect to find it in such restricted contexts. Again it appears, and this time in a context where the two elements of the collocation do not alliterate, that the Beowulf poet had a cache of passages, which might contain formulas, but which extend beyond the line and thus cannot be called formulaic, which may be individual to himself.

The Collocations of Hord Collocations which relate to a hoard as the mind, the body or the soul or the spirit are dealt with first, beginning with those words which compound with hord, and then considering the others. Collocations of hord not related to the mind, the body or the soul are dealt with at the end. In glossing words, such as ferhð, hyge, mod and sefa, I have not aimed to convey the semantic complexity of these terms but simply to offer a guide to the reader.30 BREOST and HORD Breost (breast) and hord collocate on seven occasions, in a wide range of poems: GenA 1606, ChrIII 1069, GuthB 942, Sea 53, Rim 45, Beo 1716, 2788. In all instances, hord is used figuratively to denote the concepts mind, body, soul,

30

See above, p. xv.

52

Collocations of Words for Treasure: Hord thoughts and possibly life-spirit.31 In four instances the compound breosthord (breast-hoard) appears (GuthB 942, Sea 53, Beo 1716, 2788); in Christ III and Genesis A, breost as a genitive plural depends on hord, breosta hord (hoard of the breast); and in The Riming Poem, brondhord (flame-treasure) and breost occur on the same line. While the construction breosta hord clearly refers to the soul in its two occurrences, the possible ways of construing breosthord depend on whether it is a container (body) or contained (soul, mind, or spirit).32 In Beowulf the compound refers once to some sort of life spirit (Beo 1719) and once to the body (Beo 2792). Clearly the same word has different meanings in different contexts and each instance of a x-hord compound must be considered individually. The Guthlac B poet exploits the ambiguity of a range of x-hord compounds for thematic ends, repeatedly using them in his extended account of the saint’s death. The first appearance is that of breosthord: Wæs þam bancofan æfter nihtglome neah geþrungen, breosthord onboren. Wæs se bliþa gæst fus on forðweg. (GuthB 942–45)33 (Throughout the gloom of night, his bone-coffer was closely oppressed, his breast-hoard was plundered. His joyous spirit was eager for the way forward.)

Cogent arguments for the translation of breosthord, in this passage, as ‘soul’ and as ‘body’ and also possibly as ‘mind’ or ‘spirit’ can be put forth depending on whether breosthord is read as the vessel, that is the body or breast, which holds the soul, or the mind or the spirit, or as the treasure of the breast, that is the soul, or the mind or the spirit.34 Bancofa and breosthord, which are governed here by different, although overlapping, syntactical structures, are 31

There are other similar collocations, often forming compounds, which also appear widely throughout the corpus, including for example: hord with: feorh, flæsc, lic, mod and sawl. 32 See above, ch. 1, pp. 28 and 30. Feorhhord, lichord, modhord, and sawlhord present similar interpretative difficulties. 33 The syntax of this sentence is confusing and some editors have assumed a missing line between 942 and 943. Krapp and Dobbie write: ‘The subject of Wæs. . .geþrungen is carried over from adl, l. 940’ (Krapp/Dobbie 1936, p. 267). However, in light of their punctuation, see lines quoted above, this seems odd. ‘Wæs þam bancofan. . .geþrungen’ is an impersonal construction and ‘wæs. . .breosthord onboren’ is not, although it depends on the same wæs (see J. Roberts 1979, pp. 164–5, notes to ll. 942b–4a). Onboren then agrees with breosthord while geþrungen does not agree with ‘þam bancofan’. Participles after wesan do not, however, always show agreement with the subject (Mitchell/Robinson 2001, §187 (d)); it seems unnecessary, then, to posit any missing lines, but the syntax will contribute to the difficulty in interpreting breosthord in this passage. 34 For breosthord as soul, see: J. Roberts 1979, p. 165 note to l. 956 and glossary.

53

Old English Poetics not in strict variation; however, they are similar compounds, both combining a part of the body with a word which can denote a container, which gives weight to interpreting them as sharing the same referent. Bancofa, where cofa unlike hord does not denote both container and contained but just the former, is more easily construed and clearly refers to the body. Context also favors a reading of breosthord as body. We can detect some hints that the mind of Guthlac needed encouragement in his illness (as at lines 959–61), however, the overriding tone of the section in which breosthord occurs is of Guthlac’s resilience in the face of death. For example, God’s strengthening of Guthlac’s mind seems to have been effective since the poet goes on to write: Næs he forht seþeah, ne seo adlþracu egle on mode, ne deaðgedal, ac him dryhtnes lof born in breostum, brondhat lufu sigorfæst in sefan, seo him sara gehwylc symle forswiðde. Næs him sorgcearu on þas lænan tid, þeah his lic ond gæst hyra somwiste, sinhiwan tu, deore gedælden. (GuthB 961–69) (Yet, he was not afraid, neither was the force of disease nor the separation of death hateful to his mind, but praise of the Lord burned in his breast, in his spirit, fire-hot love – which always overcame his every pain – victory-fast. Nor was there, for him, sorrowful anxiety, in this transitory time, although his body and soul, the two, a married couple, had cruelly separated their precious life together.)

In view of the immediately surrounding lines, it is difficult to see how Guthlac’s soul could be said to be ‘plundered, carried off, diminished’ when the lines describing the breosthord are preceded and followed by expressions of the soul’s vitality in its eagerness for death: ‘Wæs se bliþa gæst/ fus on forðweg’ (his joyous spirit was eager for the way forward) (GuthB 944–5). It is much easier to see the body as diminished. This less common use of breosthord for the body is mirrored by the poet’s similar use of the terms lichord (body-hoard) and feorhhord (life-hoard).35 Terms for the mind, the soul and the body, including the -hord compounds, recur frequently in Guthlac B – not surprisingly given that the saint’s death is the poem’s subject. But the poet uses these terms carefully to convey Guthlac’s perception of his death as a happy separation of his soul from a body which is no more than a container, and to contrast this with his servant’s distress that Guthlac’s soul should give up his body.36

35 36

GuthB 956, 1029, 1144. Rosier 1970, pp. 84–8 and Bjork 1985, pp. 90–1 and 93.

54

Collocations of Words for Treasure: Hord The hord and breost collocation of The Riming Poem presents, in line with the whole poem, an interpretative puzzle. The poet writes: brondhord geblowen, flyhtum toflowen.

Scriþeð nu deop in feore breostum in forgrowen, (Rim 45–47)

(A fire-hord, blown, slides now deep faraway, fully grown in the breast, flown down in flight.)

There is general critical agreement that brondhord (fire-hord) denotes metaphorical treasure and refers to the mind. Macrae-Gibson suggests, as well, that reference to physical treasure is so frequent in the poem that a connection between literal and metaphorical treasure cannot be ruled out here; that is, that there is a connection between the cessation of treasure-giving and the state of the speaker’s mind.37 The collocation of brondhord with breost offers insight into the compositional technique of this unusual poem. Although the need to fulfill the requirements of rhyme, as well as of alliteration and meter, pulls the poem away from conventional diction and formulas, the poet used those conventions as a starting point, here beginning with the compound breosthord, and its association with the mind, but modifying it in line with the demands of the rhyme. The collocation of breost and hord offers evidence for the way in which words can call each other up with little regard for context.38 In some instances of the collocation of hord and breost we can find no indication that poets used breosthord or breosta hord with an eye to anything larger than the line. The collocation occurs in passages in both Genesis A and Beowulf which include references to literal treasure but in which there is no apparent wordplay on, or thematic relationship between, literal and metaphorical treasure. In a Beowulf passage full of treasure language, the hero’s dying words break through his breosthord. And, in a genealogical passage, which fleshes out considerably the bare list of names found in the Bible, the Genesis A poet describes the succession of generations in terms of death and the passing on of worldly goods. The terms for these possessions include ead (riches) (GenA 1602), botlgestreon (household goods) (GenA 1621) and beorht wela (bright wealth) (GenA 1603). It is in this context that the poet describes the death of Japheth as: He wæs selfa til, heold a rice, eðeldreamas, blæd mid bearnum, oðþæt breosta hord, gast ellorfus gangan sceolde to godes dome. (GenA 1606–10) 37 38

Macrae-Gibson 1983, pp. 48–50. This is also a feature of the collocations of feorh and hord.

55

Old English Poetics (He was himself good, held always the kingdom, the joys of a homeland, prosperity among children, until the hoard of the breast, the soul, eager to be elsewhere, had to go to the judgment of God.)

In contrast, the poet of Christ III brings the metaphor behind breosta hord (ChrIII 1072) to life by varying it with feores frætwe (ornaments of life) (ChrIII 1073) in an image which extends back to encompass two earlier references to men being unable to hide the hoard of their heortan geþohtas (thoughts of the heart) (ChrIII 1047, 1055) from God on Judgment Day. Similar care in choice of diction is evident also in The Seafarer and Guthlac B.39 For example, much of The Seafarer focuses on the state of the seafarer’s mind contrasted with that of an untroubled land dweller, hence terms for the mind are naturally abundant and repeated; but, just at the point of the mens absentia cogitans passage (Sea 53–64),40 the poet distinguishes between the location of the mind and the mind itself, and it is here that breosthord (Sea 55), echoed by hreþerloca (heart-enclosure) (Sea 58), occurs. Only here and not elsewhere in the poem does the poet draw a sharp distinction between the mind and its location; a distinction which contributes to the meaning of the passage in which the seafarer hopes to escape sorrow by letting his mind fly free from his body. The collocation of breost and hord illustrates something of the stylistic variety of Old English poetry. In Beowulf and Genesis A, breost and hord occur in the context of other treasure language which seems simply to have triggered their appearance – there seems to be no rhetorical or thematic design influencing this choice of language. However, in four religious poems from the Exeter Book, Christ III, Guthlac B, The Seafarer and The Riming Poem the collocation of hord and breost are fully integrated into the thematic and artisitic concerns of the poems. While all Anglo-Saxon poets appear to inherit not just a word-hoard, but other larger conventions, they show considerable diversity in the way they control or are controlled by that conventionality. WORD and HORD Word (word) and hord collocate with each other fourteen times: And 167, 315, 601, 669, HmFgI 3, Vng 3, Wid 1, OrW 17, Rid84 54, 54, Beo 258, 2788, MB 6.1, Ps50 26. Although the compound wordhord (word-hoard) accounts for seven of these occurrences and hordword (hoard-word) for one, the association of the two elements has a wider currency expressed in a variety of syntactic and morphological relationships. All instances of the collocation underscore the inherent connection between speaking and mental activity suggesting that the conventional linking of hord with speaking is best understood as an offshoot of the mind-hoard topos; this interpretation is supported by the

39 40

For further discussion of the Guthlac B passage, see: lucan and hord. Clemoes 1969.

56

Collocations of Words for Treasure: Hord frequent overlap of the collocation of hord and word with terms associated with wisdom such as wis- and wit-.41 Wordhord is the most common of the -hord compounds, and it is possible that rhyme plays a role in the attraction of the two elements, a comment which also applies to hordword. As with all the other x-hord compounds, wordhord can be interpreted either as a container or as contained; when the former, the mind is the likely referent, and when the later, a collection of words. The usage of the term wordhord is highly formulaic with six of its seven occurrences appearing in the formulaic system, wordhord on-x, which occurs widely in Old English verse.42 However, only rarely does the formula appear to have become a dead metaphor. In Beowulf, the presence of the formula draws attention to the importance of the wisdom which Beowulf brings to Hrothgar. When Beowulf identifies himself to the coastguard and explains why he has come, the poet introduces his speech with these words: Him se yldesta ondswarode, werodes wisa, wordhord onleac.

(Beo 258–9)

(The eldest one, the leader of the troop, answered him, unlocked his word-hoard.)

The speech focuses not on Beowulf’s strength but on his wisdom, which the coastguard recognizes when he replies: Æghwæþres sceal scearp scyldwiga gescad witan, worda ond worca, se þe wel þenceð.

(Beo 287–9)

(The sharp shield-warrior must understand the difference between each thing, words and deeds, he who thinks well.)

Similarly, in the opening line of Widsith it is hard not to see the poet bringing the dead metaphor to life when he announces that Widsith, who makes his living by being rewarded with treasure for his poetry, wordhord onleac (unlocked his word-hoard) (Wid 1). The Andreas poet responds distinctively to the formula. He uses the formula once in lines in which he plays on Andreas’s poverty (And 316); then later in the poem, the half-line fits in with an emphasis on speaking and wisdom (And 601). Both instances fit into a larger picture with the poet being fond both of hord compounds and varia-

41

See for examples: (Wit-) And 315, 669, Vng 3, OrW 17, Ps50 26; ( Wis-) And 315, OrW 17, Beo 258, MB 6.1. 42 X stands for forms of lucan (to lock), and once of wreon (to cover, close). And 315, 601, Vng 3, Wid 1, Beo 258, MB 6.1. OrW 17 occurs outside of the system. For discussion of the x-hord onleac formulaic system, see: lucan and hord.

57

Old English Poetics tions on the x-hord onleac formula: a fondness which accounts for the two other instances of the collocation of word and hord in the poem.43 The poet of Vainglory varies the established formula wordhord onleac in line with the thematic preoccupations of his poem. The wise man of the poem: Wordhord onwreah witgan larum beorn boca gleaw, bodan ærcwide, þæt ic soðlice siþþan meahte ongitan bi þam gealdre godes agen bearn, wilgest on wicum, ond þone wacran swa some, scyldum bescyredne, on gescead witan.

(Vng 3–8)

(Through the teachings of the wise one, the man learned in books uncovered the word-hoard, the earlier saying of the prophet, so that I afterwards could truly recognize, by means of that song, God’s own son, a welcome guest in dwelling places, and in like manner distinguish the weaker one, deprived through his sins.)

The half-line wordhord onwreah was not simply a convenient way to express ‘he said’. Indeed, it appears not to mean this at all, as my translation aims to indicate. The verb onwreon is generally used to describe the revelation of theological truth either about God or about how life ought to be led; its occurrence here stands firmly within the association of the verb with theological truth. The poet of Vainglory has skillfully combined onwreon with the wordhord onleac formulaic system in a manner which shows him building on the inherited word-hoard but also controlling that diction. Although the poem is straightforwardly didactic, the poet’s inventive response to poetic diction is evident throughout, especially in his use of compounds (some of which are hapax legomena), which synthesize lexis for the mind with lexis for warfare more commonly found in heroic poetry.44 The only appearance of wordhord apart from the conventional wordhord on-x system occurs in The Order of the World. Wordhordes cræft (art of the word-hoard) takes part in a larger framework in which coming to understand Creation is described in terms of solving, or at least pondering, a riddle. The poet states that it is readily apparent to wera cneorissum (families of men) (OrW 7): þæt geara iu, gliwes cræfte, mid gieddingum guman oft wrecan, rincas rædfæste; cuþon ryht sprecan, þæt a fricgende fira cynnes ond secgende searoruna gespon

43 44

For fuller discussion of these passages from Andreas, see lucan and hord. See for examples: facensearu (Vng 27), hinderhoc (Vng 34), hygegar (Vng 34) and inwitflan (Vng 37).

58

Collocations of Words for Treasure: Hord a gemyndge mæst monna wiston. Forþon scyle ascian, se þe on elne leofað, deophydig mon, dygelra gesceafta, bewritan in gewitte wordhordes cræft, fæstnian ferðsefan, þencan forð teala; ne sceal þæs aþreotan þegn modigne, þæt he wislice woruld fulgonge. (OrW 11–22) (what long ago, in the art of pleasure, with songs, men, well-advised warriors, often pronounced; they could speak the truth, so that by always asking and saying and remembering, most men, most of mankind, came to know the web of mysteries. Therefore he who lives in courage, the deeply-thoughtful man, should seek the secrets of Creation, inscribe in his intellect the art of the word-hoard, fasten his mind, ponder well; the bold thegn must not become weary of it, that he wisely know the world fully.)

Through asking, speaking and remembering, men come to understand searoruna gespon (web of mysteries) (OrW 15), and the deophydig mon (deeplythoughtful man) (OrW 18) is called on to contemplate not simply created things but the dygelra gesceafta (secrets of Creation) (OrW 18). We have not just a notion of using poetry to convey the mysteries of God’s Creation but a paralleling of the finding of God in Creation with the solving of riddles. Creation, as well as other natural phenomena, is, of course, the subject not only of Latin but also of Old English riddles. The poet of The Order of the World may have coined the compound wordhord for himself, but it is also worth noting, as will be discussed further below, that the riddlers often broke up the elements of established formulas, and thus this poet’s response to conventional language also suggests the riddling nature of his composition.45 Despite the poor condition of the manuscript, we can see that the poet of Riddle 84 (water) shows a playful attitude towards conventional poetic language, when he calls on his audience: Hordword onhlid, hæleþum ge[.... ........] wreoh, wordum geopena, hu mislic sy mægen þara cy[...] (Rid84 54–6) (Unclose the hoard-words, to men. . .disclose, open with words how various the power of . . . may be.)

Reversing the elements of the familiar compound wordhord and replacing onlucan with onhlidan (to open, unclose) the poet breaks up an old formula to call not only for a solution to be articulated, but, as the strong connection of hord with the mind suggests, also to be figured out. These closing lines, in a riddle full of verbal repetitions, echo words from the beginning of the poem:

45

Contrast N. D. Isaacs’ reading of the passage in which he implies a parallel between the poet composing verse and God making Creation (Isaacs 1968, pp. 71–82).

59

Old English Poetics Nænig oþrum mæg wlite ond wisan wordum gecyþan, hu mislic biþ mægen þara cynna, fyrn forðgesceaft. (Rid84 6–9) (No one can make known to another with words the form and manner, how various the power of the kin is, the ancient creation.)

If successive editors are correct and cynna (Rid84 56) is the poem’s last word, then the entire final line virtually repeats line 8. The meaning of these two passages, which seem to be almost mirror images of each other, is not, however, the same. Rather than calling for a solution, the earlier passage comments on the impossibility of man describing the nature of the riddled creature and perhaps by extension all of Creation. The last lines ask not for a solution – the solution ‘water’ is obvious – but for an explanation of ‘hu myslic sy mægen þara cy[nna]’ (Rid84 56): just what the earlier lines declared impossible. This verbal envelope, like the fractured formula, brings the riddle, with its strong interest in Creation, into agreement with The Order of the World which presented Creation as a ponderable but unsolvable riddle and insisted on the role of ‘wordhordes cræft’ in its contemplation. The instance of the use of the wordhord on-x system which stands out from the others is, oddly, its least interesting occurrence. The relevant lines from The Meters of Boethius read: Ða se wisdom eft wordhord onleac, sang soðcwidas, and þus selfa cwæð.

(MB 6.1–2)

(Then Wisdom again unlocked his word-hoard, sang true songs, and thus spoke himself.)

However, the meter is not one which addresses the nature of wisdom, as so much of the text does, but is rather a short meditation on the transience of beauty in nature. This flat use of the formulaic system distinguishes it from its other appearances, and may suggest that the versifier purposefully avoided using convention to add layers of meaning to his poem.46 The collocation of word and hord allows us to chart a range of responses to conventional language. Word and hord call each other up repeatedly, often coming together as part of a formula, wordhord onleac. But generally, the formula captured the attention of other poets. Some revived its figurative association with treasure and others reworked the established formula, pulling it out of the background, in order to alert their audiences to the need for wisdom in contemplating God and his Creation.

46

See Griffith 1984 for a thorough study of translation techniques of The Meters and their use of traditional poetic diction.

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Collocations of Words for Treasure: Hord BINDAN, BEND and HORD Hord collocates twice with the noun bend (bond) and twice with the verb bindan (to bind) always in association with the topos of the mind as a hoard: GuthB 954, Wan 11, Rid42 11, HmFgII 2. Although hord and bend or bindan might seem an obvious linguistic combination, outside of verse, they appear together only in the Blickling Homily on the Annunciation.47 These four passages are closely related linguistically. In addition to hord and bend, the terms cofa (coffer)48, fæst (fast),49 loc (lock),50 healdan (to hold),51 and hyge/ hycgan (mind/to think)52 all repeat, sometimes in all four poems under consideration. On two occasions hyge, healdan and hord form an alliterating triplet.53 The passages are not, however, marked by formulaic language, the closest half-lines are hygefæste heold (mind-fast held) (Rid42 14) and hyge fæste bind (bind fast the mind) (HmFgII 3) which can be described as products of the same formulaic system. These lexical parallels illustrate that formulas are not the only way in which Old English poetry perpetuated the conventional association of specific words with a concept. In all appearances of the collocation, poets extend the image of the mind as a hoard. The convention catches the Guthlac B poet’s sharp eye for bringing to life or subverting an otherwise dead metaphor as he couples lichord with the phrase inbendum fæst (fast with inner-chains) (GuthB 955). The Wanderer and The Homiletic Fragment II closely parallel each other: Ic to soþe wat þæt biþ in eorle indryhten þeaw, þæt he his ferðlocan fæste binde, healde his hordcofan, hycge swa he wille.

(Wan 11–14)

(I know as truth that it is a noble custom in a warrior, that he bind fast his mind-enclosure, hold his hoard-coffer, think as he will.)

and Gefeoh nu on ferðe ond to frofre geþeoh dryhtne þinum, ond þinne dom arær, heald hordlocan, hyge fæste bind, mid modsefan. (HmFgII 1–4) (Rejoice now in mind, and as consolation prosper with your Lord, and raise up your glory, hold your hoard-enclosure, bind fast your thought, with your mind.) 47 48 49 50 51 52 53

See below, note 54. bancofa: GuthB 954; hordcofa: Wan 14. fæst: GuthB 955, Wan 13, Rid42 14, HmFgII 3. onlocen: GuthB 956; ferðloca: Wan 13; hordloca: HmFgII 3. healdan: Wan 14, Rid42 14, HmFgII 3. hyge/hycgan: Wan 14, Rid42 14, HmFgII 3. Wan 14, HmFgII 3.

61

Old English Poetics Not only are the instructions the same in both of these sets of lines, with a number of verbal parallels present, the two passages share a further context, since in both poems the transience of the temporal world prompts the injunction to hold fast the mind. In the Homiletic Fragment II, the answer to transience is explicit: An is geleafa, an lifgende, an is fulwiht, an fæder ece.

(HmFgII 8–9)

(One is the faith, one the living one, one is baptism, one the eternal Father.)

The repetition of mod and hord, later, when hordfæt (hoard-chest) (HmFgII 18) designates Mary’s womb, in which the Holy Spirit and Christ child are found, both creates a verse paragraph defining the beginning and end of the poem and underscores the importance of faith in God rather than the transient.54 The Wanderer is a less direct poem, whose rhetorical sophistication includes the repetition of bind linking the exile’s mental state with the weather and landscape.55 But the message is the same. The first speaker’s agonized experience of transience is answered by the poem’s concluding assertion that stability is found in the fæder (father). The technique of The Homiletic Fragment II contrasts sharply with the indirectness of The Wanderer, yet the poets of both poems extend the image of the mind as a hordloca, and use hord and other terms as elements in verse paragraphs, which work on the level of both style and meaning. At the end of Riddle 42 the collocation occurs as part of two hapax legomena in a puzzling invitation to solve the riddle:56 Hwylc þæs hordgates cægan cræfte þa clamme onleac þe þa rædellan wið rynemenn hygefæste heold heortan bewrigene orþoncbendum? (Rid42 11–15) (Literal translation: Who, with the help of a key, has opened the lock of the treasury door which mind-fast had protected the riddle, concealed in the heart with cunning bonds, against the riddlesolvers.)

54

Krapp and Dobbie consider the poem to be a fragment; the verse paragraph suggests otherwise (Krapp/Dobbie 1936, p. lxiv). The language of the poem can be compared to that of the Blickling Annunciation homily: ‘þa wæs gesended þæt goldhord þæs mægen-þrymmes on þone bend þæs clænan innoðes’ (then the gold-hoard of majesty was sent into the bond of the pure womb) (Morris 1874–80, p. 9). 55 Wan 13, 18, 24, 40, 57, 102. Irving 1967, pp. 160–1. 56 For a full explanation of the textual and interpretative difficulties of these lines, see: Gleißner 1984, pp. 271–83; Pinsker/Ziegler, 1985; pp. 255–6; and Williamson 1977, p. 277.

62

Collocations of Words for Treasure: Hord (More figurative translation: Who, with the help of a key, has opened the lock of the mind’s door (presumably of the Riddler) which mind-fast had protected the riddle, concealed in the heart with intellectual bonds, against the riddle-solvers.)57

Hordgeat (treasury-door) and orþoncbend (cunning bond) both involve wordplay on the conventional language of the mind as hoard. In typical riddling fashion, the poet has relied on a convention to coin something new and potentially confusing; this is part of the way riddles simultaneously hide their solutions and call on their audiences to solve them.58 The riddler is clearly suffused with the conventions of Old English verse: first, to be able to subvert them indicates a thorough knowledge; and second, it is only in light of the mind-hoard topos that these lines can be understood, and so the poet can be said to rely on convention to convey meaning. Thus we have evidence of an analytical awareness of the formulaic nature of the diction of the Old English poetic tradition.59 In all four instances of the hord and bend collocation, conventionality has called forth poetic artistry.60 The poets do not simply absentmindedly fill out their verse lines with whatever words hord called up, but rather their skillful manipulations of inherited conventions places the image of the mind as a hoard in the foreground of their poems. HEORTE, HYGE/HYCGAN and HORD Hord frequently collocates with both heorte (heart) and hyge (mind) (and related adjective, verb and onomastic terms): both words alliterate with hord and can denote the mind; they are discussed together here because the

57

These translations of lines 11a–15b of Riddle 42 takes hwylc as an interrogative, as has Mackie following Tupper, and I have agreed with Krapp and Dobbie, Gleißner and Pinsker and Ziegler that hwylc refers to the listeners rather than the rune letters. My second, or metaphorical, translation incorporates Gleißner’s suggestion regarding the connection of the language of this passage to the language of the mind. I have not, however, accepted his suggestion that hordgates be taken as dependent on cægan. He translates the first lines: ‘Wer hat mit der Macht des Verstandestürschlüssels die Fessel aufgeschlossen?’ (Gleißner 1984 p. 281). This interpretation is unnecessary to support his argument that the poet is writing about the mind here and, as he himself acknowledges, runs counter to the more obvious reading, that hordgates depends on þa clamme, accepted by all other editors and translators (Gleißner 1984, p. 282). 58 I have agreed with Gleißner’s interpretation that in light of its association with such words as heorte and hygefæst, it is likely that there is wordplay on the idea of the mind involved in the poet’s use of orþoncbend. Gleißner, seeing orþoncbend as a comment on the nature of riddles, suggests that orþoncbend be read as ‘die Zusammenfassung der beiden Momente des Rationalen und des Geheimnisvollen in einem Wort’ (Gleißner 1984, p. 282). 59 Stanley 1995. See word and hord. 60 A similar high incidence of rhetorical patterning can be seen when hord and fæst collocate.

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Old English Poetics patterns of their usage are similar. Heorte (and related terms) appears with hord seven times: HmFgI 3, ChrIII 1047, 1053, GuthB 1141, Rid42 11, Beo 2593, PPs 118.2. Hyge collocates with hord on fourteen occasions: And 315, ChrIII 1053, Jul 41, Wan 11, MxI 203, OrW 17, Rid42 11, HmFgII 1, Beo 258, 918, 2200, 2367, 2367, 2949.61 In each case some instances involve the collocation of the mind or heart with a literal treasure hoard, but more commonly, the collocation is part of the mind-hoard topos. In six instances heorte and hord appear together on the same line and are an alliterative pair; hyge and hord are an alliterative pair less often, in four instances. Neither set of collocations establishes a formula. Attention to the association of hord with hyge and heorte brings to light both wordplay, some of it involving verbal repetition, and the tolerance of Old English poetry for verbal repetition which falls into the background. In some cases it is hard to be certain whether or not a particular instance of verbal repetition would have attracted notice, and whether or not there is play on the polysemy of hord. For example, in Maxims I, hyge repeats in the final two lines of the poem, alliterating the second time with hyge, and, moreover ahycgan (to think out) occurs just two lines earlier. Gearo sceal guðbord, gar on sceafte, ecg on sweorde ond ord spere, hyge heardum men. Helm sceal cenum, ond a þæs heanan hyge hord unginnost.

(MxI 201–4)

(The battle-shield must be ready, the spear on the shaft, the edge on the sword, and the point on the spear, the mind in a strong man. The helmet must [be ready] for the brave man and always for the mind of the lowly one the narrowest hoard.)

The poet who pulled together the material presented in Maxims I may have placed these lines purposefully, using the repetition of hyge to mark the end of his poem. But although the mention of the mind may have triggered his use of hord for treasure, the treasure here seems to remain literal, rather than contributing to a final flourish. In the opening section of Juliana hord occurs once (Jul 22) while the verb hycgan occurs twice (ll. 29 and 34); then Cynewulf gives us: Heo þæs beornes lufan fæste wiðhogde, þeah þe feohgestreon under hordlocan, hyrsta unrim æhte ofer eorþan. (Jul 41–4) (She was firmly set against the man’s love, although he possessed money-treasure in hoard-strongholds, countless ornaments, throughout the earth.) 61

Four of these instances are the names Hygelac and Hygd in Beowulf, which, in these instances, show no signs of wordplay involving the name and hord.

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Collocations of Words for Treasure: Hord Juliana’s fastly held mind is juxtaposed to the wealth of Helisius’ hoard, and there seems to be wordplay involving conventional denotation of the mind as a hoard. But, while Juliana’s spiritual purity contrasts with her suitor’s wealth, the poet does not develop the theme of the opposition between spiritual and worldly wealth (as for instance Ælfric does in recounting Agnes’ rejection of wealthy suitor in preference to treasure of Heaven).62 As a consequence, the wordplay, which if present is slight, does not distinguish the repetitions of hord and hycgan from the other lexical repetitions which surround them. Thus the repetitions seem best interpreted as in the background – arising as a result of the poet’s focus on spiritual state of Juliana and the wealth of Heliseus, rather than as standing out from the other lexical repetitions which surround them. Similarly in The Order of the World some repetitions seem more noticeable than others. The poet brings the image of the mind as a hoard to life by combining it, twice, with language of hiding and fastening (OrW 17–20 and 37–39); he associates hord first with the mind which seeks to understand God’s Creation and second, with Creation itself when he denotes God as hordes weard (guardian of the hord). Thus the poet brings some repetitions to the fore (such as fæst (fast), cræft (art, skill) and hord) but leaves others including four instances of hyge in the background. The sense that the association of hord with hyge or heorte is simply a consequence of alliteration and the use of hord for the mind and does not have a further layer which attracts the attention of poets is confirmed in looking at Guthlac B and Riddle 42 where there is wordplay, but no question of repetition. In Guthlac B the collocation of hord and heorte gets caught up in lines of sparkling wordplay in which the poet visualizes the body of Guthlac unlocked by arrows which act as keys, but heorte is not a central element in this image.63 Likewise, hord, heorte and hyge all appear in the final lines of Riddle 42, but unlike terms such as orþoncbend (cunning bond) and hordgeat (treasury-door), neither heorte not hyge contributes to the puzzling nature of the challenge posed to one who might solve the riddle.64 The exception to the pattern of hyge and heorte repetitions which occur in the vicinity of hord not coming into the foreground is in Christ III. The repetition of hord and heortan geþohtas (thoughts of the heart) (ChrIII 1047, 1055) within eight lines is part of a consistently developed image in this section of the poem. First the poet insists twice that the hord and heortan geþohtas cannot be hidden on Judgment Day – here using language of literal hidden hoards to enliven his metaphorical hoard. And then he recounts how the Just present their breosta hord (hoard of the breast) (ChrIII 1072) to God. In this passage hord refers both to thoughts and, here, the soul. The presence of the allitera-

62 63 64

Skeat 1881–1900, I, pp. 170–2, ll. 25–39. See lucan and hord. See bindan, bend and hord.

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Old English Poetics tive pair, the use of the formula heortan geþohtas, and the thematic development, which involves some wordplay, combine to make this repetition more noticeable than those discussed in the previous paragraph. The appearance together of hord, heorte and hyge seems more the result of verse form and, when hord denotes the mind, obvious semantic associations, bringing the words together again and again, rather than any established conventions or any formulaic link. In contrast maðm and mearh (horse) whose semantic fields are complementary, but not overlapping, do appear as a formula when they alliterate. The ordinariness of the collocation of hord with hyge and heorte does not attract the attention of poets, who simply let the alliterative pairs and repetitions associated with the terms become part of the background. LUCAN and HORD The verb lucan (to lock) collocates with hord ten times in Old English: And 167, 315, 601, GuthB 954, 1025, 1141, Wid 1, Rid42 11, Beo 258, MB 6.1. These instances account for ten of the seventeen appearances of onlucan (to unlock) in verse. Only in Riddle 42, where the riddler pulls apart the elements of an expected formula to hide his solution, does the collocation occur apart from the x-hord onleac (unlocked the x-hoard) formulaic system (where x is a noun of one syllable and onlucan can be variously inflected).65 X-hord onleac is among the best attested formulaic systems of Old English verse, appearing in a range of secular and religious poetry extending from the philosophical translation of The Meters of Boethius to Beowulf. Often, however, the conventionality of the half-line appears to have caught the attention of the poet.66 In Widsith the formula is appropriate to the opening line of a poem in which the speaker seeks patronage for his verse. In both Andreas and Guthlac B the system occurs three times in ways which contribute to the distinctive poetic styles of these two poems. The Andreas poet uses hord compounds six times in the course of his poem; in three instances the x-hord onleac system is used, and on a fourth (And 671), the poet modifies the system.67 When the system first appears, the prime impetus seems to be alliterative. The poet coins the term modhord (mind-hoard) in describing how God spoke to Andreas, urging him to rescue the apostle Matthew from the cannibalistic Mermedonians: ‘meotud mancynnes, modhord onleac’ (the Measurer of mankind, he unlocked his mind-hoard) (And 172). But as the poem continues, it becomes clear that the poet has woven the system into the thematic concerns of his poem. The half-line wordhord onleac introduces lines in which Andreas ‘wis on gewitte’

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See bindan, bend and hord. See word and hord. And 172, 316, 601, 671, 1114, 1182.

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Collocations of Words for Treasure: Hord (wise in mind) (And 316) castigates the sailor (whose identity as Christ has not yet been revealed to him) for refusing to take him to Mermedonia. In the exchange, using treasure language, the sailor ridicules Andreas for his poverty while Andreas, in return, criticizes the sailor’s wealth. Later the half-line reappears (And 601), this time with an emphasis on the link between speaking and wisdom, in a passage in which Andreas, himself said to be wise, comes to recognize the wisdom of Christ, still disguised as a sailor. When, as part of this passage, Andreas condemns the chief priest for lying about Jesus, the poet writes: Huscworde ongan þurh inwitðanc ealdorsacerd herme hyspan, hordlocan onspeon, wroht webbade. (And 669–2) (With an insulting word, the high priest began, through evil thought, to mock with harm, he revealed his hoard-enclosure, wove an accusation.)

In using the image of a hoard being unlocked for the chief priest speaking, but pointedly avoiding the x-hord onleac system, the poet uses his control of convention to highlight the spiritual distance between the priest and Christ and his disciple. The Guthlac B poet’s use of x-hord onleac fits into his emphasis on Guthlac’s death as a positive event which frees the soul from the body.68 The first two instances involve the close repetition of a full line and a half, within 75 lines: lichord onlocen. sarum gesohte.

Leomu hefegedon, (GuthB 956–7)

(body-hoard unlocked. Limbs grew heavy, attacked by pain.)

and lichord onleac. Leomu hefegiað, sarum gesohte. (GuthB 1029–30) (unlocked the body-hoard. Limbs grow heavy, sought by pain.)

The related half-line breosthord onboren (breast-hoard plundered) (GuthB 944) also occurred earlier in the first passage. In the first case, the addition of the half-line inbendum fæst (fast with inner-chains) (GuthB 955) shows that the poet had a very physical image of the expression; a picture he makes even more visual when he again uses the x-hord onleac system, this time in the mixed metaphor of the arrows of disease working as keys to free the saint from his body: 68

See breost and hord.

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Old English Poetics Com se seofeða dæg ældum ondweard, þæs þe him in gesonc, hat, heortan neah, hildescurum flacor flanþracu, feorhhord onleac, searocægum gesoht. (GuthB 1141–5) (The seventh day came into existence for men since, with showers of darts, the flying-arrow attack sank into him, hot, near the heart, unlocked the life-hoard, sought with cunning keys.)

The Guthlac B poet’s handling of x-hord onleac stands a common convention on its head as he breaks expectations in two ways. First, he changes the usual context of the system, using it for the body rather than the mind in a poem in which the contrast between the body and the soul or mind is central to the poem’s theme. Second, he takes a potentially dead metaphor, used to express the notion ‘he said’ and brings it, along with other treasure language, alive when he applies it to the body. The conjunction of wordplay with what appears to modern literary sensibilities as clumsy extended verbal repetition in close proximity offers insight into the aesthetic sensibilities of Anglo-Saxon poets. The line and a half occurs first in the narrator’s account of the onset of Guthlac’s illness, while the second occurs when Guthlac recounts his illness – in terms of a release of the soul from the body – to his grieving servant. In other words, both passages recount precisely the same event, not just the illness in general, which will be mentioned again and again in the poem, but the initial attack of the illness. It is difficult to know whether to read the repetition as an instance of similar circumstances calling up similar language, as we saw repeatedly in more widely separated repetitions in Beowulf, or as part of a rhetorical design which structures the passage.69 But, regardless, because the lines display the striking verbal wit of the Guthlac B poet, this repetition would not have faded into the background. Rather the redundancy would have been readily apparent to the audience and suggests a high tolerance for verbal repetition in the foreground, as well as in the background, in Old English poetry. HÆLEÐ and HORD Hæleþ (man, hero) and hord collocate twelve times, of which eight form alliterating pairs, in Old English verse: Ex 506, Dan 65, Rid84 21, 54, Beo 465, 904, 1046, 1197, 1845, 2221, 2244, 2999.70 Hæleþ is a common and widely appearing poetic term for ‘man’ which has a high alliterative rank. The high rate of alliterative pairs amongst its collocations and the relative infrequency of the term’s collocation with other words for treasure indicate alliterative usefulness is a strong factor in the coming together of hæleþ and hord.71 69 70 71

See benc and maðm. Non-alliterating instances are: Dan 65, Beo 2221, 2244, 2999. On alliterative rank, poetic diction and poetic style, see: Cronan 1986.

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Collocations of Words for Treasure: Hord Notably, eight of the collocation’s twelve appearances occur in Beowulf with a further two in one riddle, one in Exodus and one in Daniel. Of the eight instances in Beowulf, five alliterate but, more importantly, four establish a formulaic system, which does not occur outside of Beowulf: hord-x hæleþa (hoard-x of men). Hordweard hæleþa (hoard-guardian of men) (Beo 1047 and 1852) occurs twice, referring first to Hrothgar and then to Beowulf; hordmaððum hæleþa (hoard-treasure of men) (Beo 1198) and hordburh hæleþa (hoard-city of men) (Beo 467), which both scan as hordweard hæleþa, flesh out the formulaic system. The restriction of this system to Beowulf points to the potential distinctiveness of the diction of individual poets. There does not appear to be a contextual element in the system nor in the formula hordweard hæleþa. The Beowulf instances of the formulas and alliterative pair do not appear to be used for clear rhetorical effect.72 In Riddle 84, the poet repeats the alliterative pair, which first appears to describe water as a mother ‘hordum gehroden, hæleþum dyre’ (adorned with hoards, precious to men) (Rid84 23), and then occurs again in the final lines of the poem which play on the mind as a hoard to call on the audience to contemplate the solution. The poet may be using this repetition to tie his ending into the body of his riddle, and as we have seen, The Riddles often stand apart from other Old English poems in their treatment of formulas and other linguistic conventions.73 In general then, the collocation of hord and hæleþa in an alliterative pair, as well as in the formulaic system hord-x hæleþa and the formula hordweard hæleþa, seems useful to poets primarily as an aid in fulfilling the requirements of verse form. The absence of the combination from verbal repetition which can be understood as in the foreground of a poem and from wordplay suggests that they attracted little notice. A similar picture will emerge when we look at heah (high) with hord. HEAH and HORD Heah (high) and hord collocate in eleven instances in a wide range of Old English verse: GenA 1438, 1438, Dan 671, ChrII 785, OrW 38, Rid11 8, Beo 918, 2200, 2302, 2767, 3084. The fact that eight of these alliterate, and heah appears much less frequently with other treasure words indicates that alliteration is a strong factor in this collocation.74 Heah is a small and common word, of high alliterative rank, and would thus be useful for fulfilling the requirements of verse form.75 The words appear together in a wide variety of semantic, morphological and syntactical situations, and in no case is a formulaic relationship established between the two elements. Such a pattern suggests the 72 73 74 75

For further discussion of hordweard, see: weard and hord. See word and hord; bindan, bend, and hord; and lucan and hord. The nine instances of heah and gestreon include four instances of heahgestreon. Contrast with Cronan’s focus on high alliterative frequency of poetic vocabulary, see: Cronan 1986.

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Old English Poetics way Old English poets filled out their verse lines by producing a common collocation which was independently generated rather than specifically rooted in the poetic tradition. RICE and HORD Rice (rule, power, kingdom) and hord collocate six times in Old English verse, a figure in line with those for most of the other treasure words: GenA 1606, Beo 465, 904, 1845, 2367, 2999. The consistent contexts in which hord and rice appear offer a contrast to the collocation of rice with other treasure words, as does the similarity of grammatical and semantic relationship between the two words in many of its instances. In the five instances of the collocation which occurs in Beowulf, the context of the collocation is kingship at the point when one leader succeeds another as when, for example, Hygd urges Beowulf to succeed her husband: þær him Hygd gebead hord ond rice, beagas ond bregostol, bearne ne truwode þæt he wið ælfylcum eþelstolas healdan cuðe, ða wæs Hygelac dead.

(Beo 2369–72)

(there Hygd offered him hoard and kingdom, rings and throne, she did not trust her son, that he could hold the ancestral thrones against the enemies, now that Hygelac was dead.)

The five passages from Beowulf also show close lexical as well as contextual and syntactical similarities. Hord and rice are elements in an enumeration three times, and once in a variation. The verb healdan (to hold) appears in all five passages, governing hord and rice three times, rice once, eþelstolas (ancestral thrones) once. The formulaic half-line þa wæs x dead (then was x dead) where x represents a three syllable personal name beginning with ‘h’ occurs twice. On two occasions the formula hord and rice (hord and kingdom) appears. Controlling of treasure and kingdom become almost a shorthand for kingship in Beowulf. The one occurrence of hord and rice in Genesis A appears in a genealogical section describing the death of successive generations of Jewish leaders, a context virtually identical to the Beowulf instances of the collocation. The poet writes: He wæs selfa til, heold a rice, eðeldreamas, blæd mid bearnum, oðþæt breosta hord, gast ellorfus gangan sceolde to godes dome. (GenA 1606–10) (He was himself good, held always the kingdom, the joys of a homeland, prosperity among children, until the hoard of the breast, the soul, eager to be elsewhere, had to go to the judgment of God.)

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Collocations of Words for Treasure: Hord But there is a difference: hord refers not to a king’s treasure, but to the soul. This overlapping of two conventions associated with hord raises a point. The reference to rice, which is often linked with treasure, may have triggered the use of hord for the soul. This usage would be similar to other cases identified where the use of hord for the mind or the soul occurs in the context of a description of literal treasure, for example when Beowulf utters his dying words.76 The presence of the half-line hord and hamas (hoard and homes) (BB 10) in a similar context in Brunanburh suggests that the poet was following a conventional pattern in joining hord and rice, while the restriction to Beowulf of the collocation, when both hord and rice are held by a king, points to the centrality of treasure to the Beowulf poet’s notions of kingship. The existence of wellestablished poetic conventions may have encouraged poets to create their own conventions. WEARD and HORD Hord and weard (guardian) collocates seventeen times in Old English verse, including two instances of the verb weardian (to guard): Ex 33, 506, Dan 65, And 601, Jul 19, Sea 53, OrW 38, Beo 918, 1046, 1845, 2208, 2293, 2302, 2554, 2593, 3126, BB 5. At the core, semantics provides the source for the collocation and explains the contrast with the much lower figures for other treasure words since guarding and protecting are integral to having a hord. The collocation is governed by a number of semantic relationships. At the center of those instances where hord and weard are closely linked are nine instances of the epithet hordweard (hoard-guardian), of which six appear in Beowulf.77 In Exodus and Daniel, hordweard appears in the plural, referring to a group of people, either Egyptians or Jews, while in Beowulf the epithet occurs in the singular, denoting either a king or the dragon. The cluster of instances of hordweard in Beowulf can readily be explained by reference to the subject matter of the poem. Within the poem, context does not appear to play a large role in calling up the epithet, although the Beowulf poet does cease to use hordweard for king before he takes up hordweard for the dragon. In the two instances where the epithet is used for a king in Beowulf, it occurs as part of the formula hordweard hæleþa (hoard-guardian of men) (Beo 1047, 1852), generated by the more widely attested formulaic system hord-x hæleþa (hoard-x of men).78 Each instance of the formula remains stylistically in the background of the passages in which they occur. The four instances in which hordweard refers to the dragon, though not formulaic, are more interesting. Hordweard occurs twice, within nine lines, as the dragon searches for the thief in a passage extending from 2293b to 2311b. Many of the repetitions 76 77 78

See breost and hord. Ex 35, 512, Dan 65, Beo 1047, 1852, 2293, 2302, 2554, 2593. See hæleþ and hord.

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Old English Poetics in this passage arise simply from the subject matter, but others have a clearer structural function. The use of hordweard to denote the dragon seeking out whoever disturbed his sleep (Beo 2293), and then nine lines later (Beo 2302) to denote the dragon waiting for evening to seek his revenge, not only punctuates the passage by dividing it into two almost equal sections, but also firmly connects the breaching of the hoard with the dragon’s attacks.79 This passage, with its two instances of hordweard adding structure amidst more mundane repetitions, points up the unstable and dynamic relationship between repetitiveness and deliberate verbal repetition in Old English verse; the two can exist side by side and are not clearly distinct phenomena. Later there is clear evidence for a verse paragraph in the account of Beowulf’s first single-handed attempt to defeat the dragon. We learn of Beowulf’s difficulties in even approaching the hoard because of the tremendous heat of the dragon. Then he lets out a yell which arouses the dragon: ‘Hete wæs onhrered, hordweard oncniow/ mannes reorde’ (hostility was aroused, the hoard-guardian recognized the voice of a man) (Beo 2554–5). The poet then goes on to the fight in which Beowulf’s sword fails and his death again is foreshadowed. The description of Beowulf’s lone battle against the dragon ends with the lines in which the dragon renews his attack: Hyrte hyne hordweard (hreðer æðme weoll) niwan stefne; nearo ðrowode, fyre befongen, se ðe ær folce weold. (Beo 2593–5) (Anew, the hoard-guardian took heart (his breast welled with breath); he suffered distress, enveloped by fire, he who before had ruled his people.)

The poet then switches his attention to the flight of Beowulf’s companions, as he introduces the only loyal retainer, Wiglaf, and it is seventy-three lines before the description of the battle with the dragon resumes at line 2669. The

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The repetition of sare (sorely) (Beo 2295 and 2311) takes on an even clearer structural and thematic significance. The thief’s incursion is said to have sare geteode (sorely assigned) the dragon and the passage ends with the foreboding allusion to Beowulf’s death as the result of the dragon’s attack: Wæs se fruma egeslic leodum on lande, swa hyt lungre wearð on hyra sincgifan sare geendod. (Beo 2309–11) (The beginning was terrifying for the people in the land, just as it soon ended painfully for their treasure-giver.) The repetition serves to juxtapose and link the seemingly trivial disturbing of the dragon with the tragic outcome of the poem. The two instances of sare occurring at the beginning and end of the passage are also key to marking the lines 2293b–2311b as a verse paragraph, which is also defined by the preceding gnomic statement and also possibly by the beginning of a new fitt at line 2312.

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Collocations of Words for Treasure: Hord repeated presence of hordweard for the dragon in passages of rhetorical interest may well indicate that in denoting the dragon with a term earlier reserved for kings, the poet is using the epithet with an irony which brings it into the foreground of the poem. Hordweard, this time as part of the formula, hordwearda hryre (destruction of the hoard-guardians), occurs towards the beginning and end of Exodus. The formula appears first when the destruction of the Egyptians is depicted in terms of the loss of wealth and hall-joy (Ex 35) and then recurs when the slaughter of the Egyptians in the Red Sea is called hordwearda hryre (Ex 512), just before the Jews pick up the treasure of the slaughtered Egyptians from the banks of the Red Sea. The poet has created a thematic envelope around his poem, beginning and ending it by portraying the destruction of the Egyptians in terms of a separation from treasure, and it is not difficult to imagine that his audience would have been aware of this recurring image. The question arises of whether to regard the two appearances of this formula as a deliberate verbal repetition, or to regard them as a case of similar circumstances calling up similar language. Although we cannot determine the impetus for this repetition, we can note the convergence of poetic design with formulaic language, which may push the verbal repetition into the foreground.

The Collocations of Gestreon Because of the lack of variety in the treatment of gestreon, I will not examine many instances of its collocation in detail. Rather, I will choose some typical examples, and provide parallels in the footnotes. Discussion will begin with two words, broðor (brother) and eorþe (earth) which collocate, but do not compound, with gestreon. I will then consider all together, a range of instances of the x-gestreonx formulaic system. BROÐOR and GESTREON Broðor (brother) collocates twice with gestreon: GenA 1069, 1619. In both cases, broðor is part of the half-line broðrum sinum (with his brothers). Both instances of this half-line collocation with gestreon appear in genealogical sections where worldly goods are passed from one generation to the next, as well as distributed to brothers. The word order noun + possessive adjective is common in verse but does not occur in prose. However, the very commonness of the possessive adjective and noun construction (which occurs with broðor three more times in Genesis A: 984, 1008, 1012) points away from the half-line being an established formula rather than the result of syntactic pattern allowed in verse scanning alike in many instances of its occurrence.

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Old English Poetics EORÐE and GESTREON Eorðe (earth) and gestreon collocate with each other sixteen times in a wide range of Old English verse, where it is found in varied contexts: GenA 1203, 1873, 2139, 2139, Dan 661, 753, ChrII 811, Ph 503, Jul 41, 99, Gifts 30, Hb 43, Beo 2231, 3163, MB 8.58, Inst 117. Only gold collocates with gestreon as frequently. Eorþe collocates with gestreon much more often than it appears with other treasure lexis, largely as a result of its connection with notions of worldliness and transience, though the acquired and tangible nature of gestreon also plays a part, as does the use of gestreon to refer to vegetation.80 The high frequency of this collocation makes the absence of formulaic language linking the terms all the more apparent. The eorþe collocation tends to overlap with the collocation of gestreon and woruld (world) on obvious semantic grounds, but this overlap does not involve a formulaic system.81 The absence of formulas linking eorþe and gestreon is underscored by the three instances of woruldgestreon (world-treasure), in an inflected form, filling up an entire half-line.82 Although the collocation is frequent, and in some places one or both elements repeats within a passage, the collocation is only rarely used by poets with an eye for rhetorical effect. For example, in Christ II, Juliana, and The Gifts of Men, the repetitions associated with gestreon and eorþe fade into the background. The instance in Meter 8 underscores the tolerance of Old English verse for verbal repetition. The Latin original is not marked by verbal repetition, but the Old English meter of fifty-nine lines uses eorþe six times and woruld six times. On the one hand, this use of eorþe and woruld is part of the meter’s focus on worldliness which the repetition may underscore. On the other hand, eorþe repeats, though not as frequently, in the prose version of this meter, suggesting the importance of subject matter in its repetition. Moreover, as comparison with other meters shows, woruld is a favorite filler for the poet of the Meters.83 Consequently, it is difficult to determine whether these repetitions occupy the foreground or the background of the meter. The frequent appearance of eorþe (in one instance collocating with gestreon) in The Phoenix results from the focus on nature in Paradise. The collocation is used aptly when the poet describes the destruction of eorðan æhtgestreon (possessions-treasure of the earth) (Ph 506) on Judgment Day in a passage which insists on the natural quality of these treasures of the earth with eorþe alliterating with æpplede gold (appled gold). Earlier in the poem, woruldgestreon (Ph 255) was used metaphorically for ‘bounty of the earth’ and in particular ‘fruit’. There are some marked similarities in the language of the two passages. Besides the linking of both instances of gestreon to the world or the 80 81 82 83

See above, ch. 1, p. 32. For woruldgestreon, see the -gestreon compounds section below. GenA 1177, 2718, Gifts 31. Griffith 1984, p. 140.

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Collocations of Words for Treasure: Gestreon earth, in both passages, gestreon is varied with a phrase meaning ornament or treasure of the earth: foldan frætwe (ornaments of the earth) (Ph 257) and londes frætwe (ornaments of the land) (Ph 508). The earlier happy associations of gestreon with the bounty of the earth or the world make its destruction on Judgment Day a more powerful image of transience. However, gestreon occurs only in these two instance in The Phoenix and its recurrence here is subordinate to the developed repetitions of frætwe.84 The two words woruld and eorþe, but especially the latter, repeat as a result of subject matter but appear to be too common or general for poets to use them as lynchpins in larger rhetorical patterns, nor do poets find them attractive for wordplay. The collocation of the two words appears to be ordinary rather than conventional. -GESTREON COMPOUNDS Gestreon forms compounds with a wide range of terms; the comments here are based on examination of all the gestreon compounds, and especially those with the first element: æht (possessions), ær (early), botl (house), heah (high), hord, sinc, þeod (people) and woruld (world). In many cases, the compounding functions, by joining it to another word for treasure, or emphasizing its age, quality or association with a particular people, to raise the status of gestreon from simply a possession to treasure. In other cases, as with æht, the compound is more of a tautology, while, when gestreon is compounded with woruld, transience, comes to the fore. Ingersoll treats most of the terms which compound with gestreon as intensifying prefixes; however, close examination shows clearly that the resulting compounds retain a semantic specificity which draws on both elements. For example, gestreon repeatedly collocates with terms which indicate that it refers to the possessions of a group of people, for example in the compound folcgestreon (people-treasure) (GenA 1981) or the expression Israela gestreon (treasure of the Israelites) (Dan 703 and 756). This pattern of usage includes the compound þeodgestreon (peopletreasure) in Beowulf (44 and 1218).85 In both these Beowulf instances, gestreon is not simply better treasure for being compounded with þeod, but the treasure of a specific group of people. In the opening section of the poem, the poet tells us that Scyld Scefing was not provided with any lesser þeodgestreon when sent out in a ship after his death than that with which he arrived as an unknown infant. The treasure of the two different peoples who send Scyld out at the beginning and end of his life were both spectacular and the noun is especially appropriate given the opening section’s emphasis on the glory of the Danish þeodcyningas (people-kings) (Beo 2). Later, þeodgestreon (Beo 1218) denotes the hrægl (clothing) (Beo 1217) which Wealhtheow gives to Beowulf. 84

See æðel- and frætwe; blican and frætwe; fæger/fægre and frætwe; and land, eorþe, folde and frætwe. 85 This assumes that the editorial emendation at line 1218 is correct.

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Old English Poetics In light of her pleas that Beowulf remain loyal to her sons and not attempt to overthrow them, it is fitting that her gift is not just any treasure but treasure associated with her people. Interpreting the intensifying function of gestreoncompounding as primary levels off Old English poetic diction so that verse form, rather than meaning, is the more important factor in word choice.86 A similar picture emerges from consideration of other gestreon compounds: thematic concerns appear alongside alliteration as an impetus in their formation. When inflected, many gestreon compounds repeatedly fill up entire halflines, thus establishing a formulaic system x-gestreon-x (where x is a noun or adjective of one or two syllables, and gestreon is inflected). The system is especially common in, but not restricted to, Beowulf and Genesis A. The formulas produced by this formulaic system share little in the way of contextual or thematic overlapping which cannot be attributed to the semantic fields of the two elements of the compound. Given that the formulas are produced by a system which is based on inflecting a multi-syllable word which very commonly compounds, it seems likely that many instances are the result of individual coinings rather than recourse to conventional diction in the form of an established formula. The very ordinariness of the gestreon-compound formulas is also suggested when we look at instances where these compounds are involved in verbal repetition. Only rarely do we find them in the foreground of a passage, as the repetitions in Juliana illustrates. Hordgestreon (hoard-treasure) (Jul 22) and feohgestreon (money-treasure) (Jul 42 and 102), once filling a full half-line, recur in the opening section of the poem. The use of gestreon for Heliseus’ treasure brings appropriately negative moral connotations. These repetitions do not, however, contribute to the structure of the passage, rather they form part of the background in an extended concentration on the wealth of the man who wishes to marry the vowed virgin Juliana. Exceptions to the tendency of gestreon-compounds to occupy the background occur in Beowulf, whose poet is particularly fond of gestreon-compounds, which occur fourteen times (all but once as half-line formulas). We have already looked at the aptness of þeodgestreon at lines 44 and 1218. Later, in the run-up to the ‘Lament of the Last Survivor’, the poet’s use of three gestreon-compounds within twelve lines helps to structure the passage and to lay emphasis on the transitory nature of earthly wealth, especially in the form of buried treasure. Thus, when looking at compounds of gestreon and especially the nature of their formulas, we find again that language which appears ordinary rather than conventional, tends not to attract the attention of poets.

86

See Ingersoll 1978, esp. pp. 128, 140 and 142 and also Hoops 1932, p. 20. For discussion of the semantic specificity of compounds in Beowulf see: Brady 1979 and 1982.

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Collocations of Words for Treasure: Sinc

The Collocations of Sinc BRYTTA and SINC The nouns sinc and brytta (giver) collocate with each other on ten occasions with an additional three instances of the collocation of sinc and the verb bryttian (to give): GenA 1724 (verb), 1857, 2727 El 194, Wan 17, Beo 607, 1168, 1484 (verb), 1920, 2069, 2379 (verb), Jud 28, GDPref 16.87 When sinc and brytta occur together, they always form the epithet sinces brytta (treasure-giver). In nine of these ten instances, the formulaic epithet stands alone in a half-line and is the product of the common formulaic system in which lif (life), morðor (violent crime), synn (sin), and tir (glory), as well as gold (gold), beag (ring) and other words appear in the genitive dependent on brytta. The absence of maðm from the formulaic system underscores the semantic differentiation between maðm and sinc. In Judith, the epithet occurs in the hypermetric half-line: swiðmod sinces brytta (stout-minded giver of treasure) (Jud 30). Although the epithet always designates a king or other leader (rather than a subordinate giving treasure to his lord), there does not appear to be any contextual aspect to its use beyond that demanded by the meaning of sinc and brytta. The wide range, both in terms of subject matter and date, of poems in which the formula occurs, suggests that sinces brytta and the system of which it is a part were a long established poetic convention which carried heroic association. The distinctive treatment of the conventional epithet across the corpus points to the individual ways in which poets responded to the traditional diction of Old English verse. Sinces brytta and the related expression beaga brytta (giver of rings) are especially common in Beowulf, where they appear on seven occasions; Beowulf accounts for all three of the instances of beaga brytta in the corpus.88 Alliteration plays a key role in which form of the system is used. For example, gold, beagas and sinc all seem to have the same general referent and to function interchangeably in the lines: Mæg þonne on þæm golde ongitan Geata dryhten, geseon sunu Hrædles, þonne he on þæt sinc starað, þæt ic gumcystum godne funde beaga bryttan, breac þonne moste. (Beo 1484–87) (May the lord of the Geats, the son of Hrethel, see, perceive in this gold, when he looks on the treasure, that I have found a giver of rings, good in manly virtues, and enjoyed [him], while I was able.)

In the opening lines of the poem, the repetition of the phrase on bearm(e) (on

87 88

Accepting emendation of GDPref 16 but not of GenA 2642. Beaga brytta: Beo 35, 352, 1487. Sinces brytta: Beo 607, 1170, 1922, 2071.

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Old English Poetics the breast) is a key element in the careful (thematic) structuring of the passage.89 Beaga brytta, which is not itself central to the rhetorical design of the passage, appears to be chosen to alliterate on ‘b’, and thus because it supports the stucturally and thematically important repetitions of bearm. Within Beowulf, both epithets are restricted to kings (Scyld Scefing, Hrothgar and Hygelac) and only used when treasure is present, thus illustrating the way within Beowulf epithets are true to the situation though not specific to the person; in contrast in Homeric verse epithets are specific to the person but not necessarily true to the circumstance.90 However, neither expression is present in the second part of the poem, and thus Beowulf is never said to be a sinces brytta. This absence of instances of sinces brytta after Beowulf returns to rule his own kingdom recalls the shift in referent of hordweard (hoard-guardian) from king in the first part of the poem to dragon in the second.91 Later in the poem, there are close resemblances between two lines, each containing sinces brytta alliterating with sæl (joy). The poet describes Hrothgar’s relief at Beowulf’s promise to defeat Grendel with the line: ‘þa wæs on salum sinces brytta’ (then the giver of treasure was joyful) (Beo 607); he then reverses the elements of the line when over five hundred lines later, after Grendel is killed, Wealhtheow tells Hrothgar: ‘sinces brytta! Þu on sælum wes’ (giver of treasure! Be joyful) (Beo 1170). Both instances of the collocation occur during banquets; although the first passage describes the banqueting and the second passage is a speech of Wealhtheow’s made during a banquet, there are correspondences between the two. In the first, Hrothgar is said to be happy because of his confidence in Beowulf, and then immediately Wealhtheow comes forth with a cup of ale which she gives to the king and the men on the benches. In the second passage, Wealhtheow, in her first appearance since the previous banquet, comes forward and tells Hrothgar, sinces brytta, to accept the ale cup and to be happy; she then urges him to speak kind words to the Geats for cleansing Heorot. Both passages end in an analogous manner, with Hrothgar retiring to sleep and the other men bedding down in the hall before the attack of Grendel or his mother. While these two passages are closely paralleled within the episodic structure of Beowulf, it is difficult to see the lexical repetition in these two lines, separated by more than five hundred lines, as a key element in the structuring of the poem; rather similar circumstances have again encouraged the poet to use similar, conventional language. The sense that a convention wider than Beowulf lies behind the repetitions in these passages is suggested by the verbatim repetition of ‘þa wæs on sælum sinces brytta’ (then the giver of treasure was joyful) (El 194) in Elene. Although the two instances of sinces brytta do not seem to repeat as part of a deliberate rhetorical strategy, the Beowulf poet does deploy the epithet with 89 90 91

See bearm and maðm. Whallon 1965 and 1969 (esp. p. 114) and Fry 1968b. See weard and hord.

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Collocations of Words for Treasure: Sinc considerable control, dropping it in the second half of the poem, when Beowulf’s treasure-giving fails to ensure the loyalty of his followers. The poet of Judith places sinces brytta, along with the related expressions morðres brytta (giver of violent crime) and tires brytta (giver of glory), prominently in the foreground of his poem. These epithets all occur as part of hypermetric lines, rather than as the more familiar full half-line formulas. First, the poet refers to Holofernes as ‘swiðmod sinces brytta’ (stout-minded giver of treasure) (Jud 30) and then as morðres brytta in the half-line ‘geheawan þysne morðres brytta’ (to cut-down this giver of violent crime) (Jud 90). Just three lines later God is said to be ‘torhtmod tires brytta’ (bright-minded giver of glory) (Jud 93). These hypermetric lines are echoed towards the end of the poem when the poet explains that the treasure that Holofernes had hoarded, ‘eal þæt se rinca baldor/ swiðmod sinces ahte’ (all that the prince of warriors, stout-minded possessed of treasure, had) (Jud 338–9), is given to Judith as a reward. The wider currency of the formulaic system which generated lines 30 and 93 is attested by the only other instance of brytta in a hypermetric line: ‘gamolferhð goldes brytta’ (aged giver of gold) (GenA 2868) from Genesis A. In all instances a term for the state of the mind is combined with a brytta epithet formed from the same system. Within Judith, these repetitions of brytta, which fit into a larger rhetorical strategy which is heavily reliant on verbal repetition, function very effectively to juxtapose God and Holofernes and to represent Judith as God’s champion.92 The tone with which the poet deploys brytta is also central. Where the Beowulf poet only uses sinces brytta when it is strictly appropriate, the Judith poet responds to the expression’s conventionality by inverting it to highlight Holofernes’ niggardliness: at his banquet, which lacks all the decorum of a Beowulfian feast, he gives no gifts, though he is presented as sinces brytta. The different handling of language by the two poets underscores the irony that adheres to the description of Holofernes’ drunken banquet. And that irony in turn is only possible because the expression is traditional. Conventionality (in its inversion), meter, and repetition all combine to highlight the poet’s use of brytta epithets in Judith. Poets also seem to be aware of the traditionality of heroic language in Elene, The Wanderer and The Metrical Preface to the Old English translation of Gregory’s Dialogues. In Elene, Cynewulf applies sinces brytta to Constantine in a section of the poem that casts him as a traditional Germanic warrior and which also includes the ‘Beasts of Battle’. In The Wanderer, the poet’s choice of the heroic idiom is of thematic significance, rather than simply default. He denotes the Wanderer’s lost lord with highly conventional language: goldwine (gold-friend) (Wan 22 and 35) as well as sinces brytta evoke the world of the hall in deeply emotional terms and allude simultaneously to the Wanderer’s need for the Lord. The resulting poem combines the language and imagery of heroic verse with that of the Old English homily in a distinctive fashion 92

Tyler 1992.

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Old English Poetics which elevates the stability of Heaven over the transience of this world, while nonetheless powerfully acknowledging the value of the temporal. The poet’s attitude towards the secular world, described in terms of heroic verse, is not touched by the irony of Judith or the scathing rejection which characterizes Vainglory. He deploys traditional language, like sinces brytta, to say that this world need not to be condemned but rather transcended. The Metrical Preface marks the beginning of Old English poetry about contemporary leaders and events which will appear in a more fully developed form in The Battle of Brunanburh. In a highly political move, the poet uses the most traditional language, including sinc[..] brytta (GDPref 24) and beahgifa (ring-giver) (GDPref 23), to normalize and legitimize his depiction of Alfred as the king of all the English. While the poets of Elene, Judith, and The Wanderer were concerned to keep the heroic associations of sinces brytta alive, the Genesis A poet’s use of the term is flat. First, the two repetitions of sinces brytta seem to operate in a way analogous to the repeated lines containing the epithet in Beowulf. The repetitions of sinces brytta occur, close to nine hundred lines apart, in almost identical circumstances. In both cases, following the Bible, the poem recounts that Abraham falsely tells a foreign king that Sarah is his sister; when the lie is revealed, the king sends Abraham away with his wife and treasure. The necessity of having to tell almost the same story twice, rather than deliberate rhetorical strategy, prompts the poet to use similar language. Furthermore, in neither case can the epithet’s use be said to be apt in the ways we have seen in other poems. Rather the poet has flattened out the expression so that it loses some of its specific meaning and is emptied of its heroic resonances. Pharaoh is not a treasure-giver in these episodes, which do not take place in the hall: he is simply a leader. This is not, however, unthinking, dull verse. On the contrary, it indicates the poet’s efforts to produce a close verse translation of his biblical source which, while stripping away the heroic associations of sinces brytta, simultaneously attests to their strength; they would not have been removed if that did not have resonance. DRINCAN and SINC Sinc and drincan (to drink) collocate with each other on three occasions, all in The Riddles: Rid20 9, Rid55 1, Rid67 13. In all three cases, drincan appears as part of a formula referring to the hall as the place where men drink. Two versions of the formula are syntactically and metrically alike but varied lexically by the substitution of different terms for man: ‘þær guman druncon’ (where men drank) (Rid67 14) and ‘þær hæleð druncon’ (where men drank) (Rid55 1). In the third appearance of drincan in a riddle, the half-line, although related to the above formula, differs: ‘þær hy meodu drincað’ (where they drink mead) (Rid20 12) scans as a Sievers type C with the first lift resolved (as do the other two), and shares some lexical elements with them, but does not follow the same syntactical pattern. The þær guman druncon formulaic system 80

Collocations of Words for Treasure: Sinc appears on a further four occasions; only the one occurrence in Beowulf is not in The Riddles: Rid14 12, Rid56 11, Rid63 3, Beo 1648. Only the instance in Beowulf is not linked with treasure. The occurrence of the system in Riddle 56 points to the centrality of formulaic diction to the art of riddling in Old English poetry. The poet intentionally misleads in the final lines of Riddle 56 by subverting the expected contextual element of the formula, when he writes: Ic lafe geseah minum hlaforde, þær hæleð druncon, þara flana geweorc, on flet beran.

(Rid56 10–11)

(I saw the remnant, work of the spears, carried to my lord on the floor, where men drank.)

The hint of treasure, if the reference to laf (remnant) is misconstrued as a sword, only disappears when the web and loom solution is known, since the reference to laf could be mistaken for a sword.93 If the association of the formulaic system with treasure had a wide currency within the Old English poetic tradition and was known to poet and audience alike, the poet relies on its conventionality to hide his solution. Conversely, if, as is suggested by the use of the system in Beowulf, the association with treasure is limited to The Riddles, we see the poet drawing on the way some formulaic systems in Old English have contextual or thematic components to create one for this otherwise less complex expression. This treatment of formulaic language has two important implications. First, this approach to formulaic language rests on audience familiarity with other riddles and perhaps not just other riddles in a wider riddling tradition, but riddles closely related to this one. In this vein, it is worth noticing that the half-line þær hæleð druncon occurs, with treasure, in the riddle immediately preceding this one. Second, the riddler(s), and perhaps also the audience, displays an abstract and conscious awareness of how poetic convention works to make meaning within the Old English tradition. GIEFA and SINC Sinc and giefa (giver) collocate on eight occasions in a wide range of Old English verse: ChrI 458, GuthB 1351, Beo 1011, 1337, 2309, MB 1.49, BM 277, GDPref 16. The semantic link between the two words explains their collocation. In seven instances, the words occur as the compound sincgiefa (treasuregiver). Giefa only appears in verse as the second element of a compound; the first element is often a word for treasure or wealth. In the one case where sinc and giefa collocate but do not compound, giefa compounds with beag (ring)

93

Williamson 1977, p. 305.

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Old English Poetics and the resulting word has the same referent as ‘sinc[..] brytta’ (giver of treasure) (GDPref 24). Although the epithet occurs in both secular and religious poetry, strikingly, it never appears out of context. Treasure-givers in Beowulf and The Battle of Maldon deserve no further comment; however, sincgiefa is also appropriately used in its religious appearances. The use of sincgeofa in Christ I is not empty of heroic resonance. In the same few lines where the poet uses the epithet, he also describes Christ as þeoden (prince) (ChrI 457) and hlaford (lord) (ChrI 461), and his disciples as his þegna gedryht (company of thegns) (ChrI 457) and his hæleð (men) (ChrI 461). Likewise, the word sincgeofa retains its heroic overtones when it describes Boethius. The first meter of The Meters of Boethius provides the historical background to Boethius’s writing of the De consolatione philosophiae. In recounting the sack of Rome by the Goths, the poet applies the traditional heroic style associated with Beowulf: a style in which sincgeofa is not out of context.94 Sincgeofa does not appear in the remaining chapters of The Meters, in which the heroic style, no longer suitable to the material, is abandoned. The poet of Guthlac B was at ease with the traditional diction of Old English verse.95 In lines which owe little to Felix’s Life of Guthlac, the poet emphasizes the grief Guthlac’s servant experiences at his master’s death, even though he knows he has gone to Heaven. When he informs Guthlac’s sister of the death, the lines are redolent of The Wanderer, thus sharpening the sense that he does not fully comprehend the meaning of the saint’s death: Ellen biþ selast þam þe oftost sceal dreogan dryhtenbealu, deope behycgan þroht þeodengedal, þonne seo þrag cymeð, wefen wyrdstafum. Þæt wat se þe sceal aswæman sarigferð, wat his sincgiefan holdne biheledne. (GuthB 1348–53) Courage is best for him who must most often experience loss of a lord, think deeply about the hard death of a master, when the time comes, woven by fate’s decrees. He knows that who must, sad in spirit, grieve; he knows his gracious treasure-giver is buried.

In a manner similar to that found in The Wanderer, the poet of Guthlac B uses heroic diction to advance the theme of his poem. The patterns of usage for sincgiefa in religious verse indicates that it is not only in Beowulf that epithets are context specific, rather this is a wider phenomenon of Old English verse.96 The effective and controlled deployment

94 95 96

Griffth 1984, pp. 183–5. J. Roberts 1979, p. 57. See brytta and sinc.

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Collocations of Words for Treasure: Sinc of the language of treasure-giving in religious verse also reveals that Old English poets were conscious of the register and connotations of heroic diction: they could use it when they wished, and avoid it when they did not. SEL and SINC Sel (good) and sinc collocate with each other on eight occasions: And 1508, MxI 125, Beo 1011, 1197, 2190, 2379, MB 1.49, GDPref 16. While the semantic connection of ‘good’, ‘better’ and ‘best’ with treasure would seem clear, only three times does sel refer directly to sinc. Alliteration, which accounts for six of the eight instances of the collocation is the stronger link, highlighting the pressure of verse form on word choice. The two words are much more likely to come together when they alliterate, regardless of referents, than when they do not. Although sel and sinc are a useful alliterating pair they do not seem to form part of more rigid or stable formulaic conventions. On one hand, given the general nature of sel, and its frequency, the absence of convention is not surprising since the two elements could easily recur together. However, it is also worth noting that formulas do not appear to be generated by such common alliterative pairs, although such formulas would presumably have been useful for rapid composition: ordinariness and conventionality again appear to be different qualities. SELE, SÆL and SINC Sele (hall) and sinc collocate on ten occasions, and in addition the semantically similar and morphologically related word sæl, also meaning hall, collocates with sinc on four occasions: sele: GenA 1857, Ex 33, And 1654, Wan 17, 34, Rim 16, 30, Rid20 9, Beo 80, 1080 and sæl: GenA 2405, And 1654, 1672, Beo 166. The obvious contextual link between treasure and hall as well as the alliterative usefulness no doubt encourages the collocation, which appears widely in Old English verse. With the exception of sele hlifade (the hall towered) (Beo 81) and salo hlifian (halls tower) (GenA 2405), none of the collocations can be described in terms of a formula. However, as well as these two instances, a notable number of lines share double collocations: seledream (hall-joy) and sinc,97 secg (man), sinc and sele,98 brytta (giver), sinc and sele,99 and niht (night), sinc and sele/sæl.100 Despite the frequency of the collocation, Old English poets had considerable scope for innovation and control in how they used it – only twice do we find a sele adorned with sinc. Syntax, compounding, and, more importantly, sense contribute to the variety in the ways the words appear together. Several instances of the sinc and sele collocation being repeated within 97 98 99 100

Ex 36 and And 1656. And 1656 and Wan 34. GenA 1857 and Wan 25. And 1673 and Beo 167.

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Old English Poetics close proximity stand out. In The Wanderer, in which the importance of rhetorical verbal repetition has already been noted, the sele and sinc collocation appears at lines 25 and 34: in the first instance referring to the seeking of a new hall and treasure-giver, and in the second to the Wanderer’s memories of past hall companions and treasure-giving. This repetition fits in with the frequent alternation between past and present in the poem. In Andreas, the two collocations of sele and sinc occur within lines in which God seems to throw the saint’s own words back to him when he asks to leave Mermedonia.101 Andreas, Sægde his fusne hige, þæt he þa goldburg ofgifan wolde, secga seledream ond sincgestreon, beorht beagselu, ond him brimþisan æt sæs faroðe secan wolde. (And 1654–8) (He said his mind [was] eager, that he wanted to give-up the gold-city, the hall-joy of men and the treasure-possessions, the bright ring-hall, and he wanted to look for his ship at the shore of the sea.)

God tells him of the people’s distress and orders him to stay: Is him fus hyge gað geomriende, geohðo mænað weras wif samod. . . ... Wuna in þære winbyrig, wigendra hleo, salu sinchroden, seofon nihta fyrst. (And 1664–73) (Their mind is mournful, they go about grieving, lament sorrow, men and women together. . . Remain in the wine-city, protector of warriors, in the treasure-adorned halls, for seven nights.)

Further verbal echoes occur in the surrounding lines. At the same time as the sinc and sele repetition appears to participate in wordplay, the occurrence of sele and sæl in consecutive lines in the first passage quoted, suggests the general tolerance of Old English verse for repetition which does not attract attention. Poets handled the common collocation of sinc and sele/sæl in ways which show them looking beyond the alliterative and metrical requirements of an individual line. The variety of uses for the collocation of sinc and sele/sæl offers evidence for alliteratively useful and contextually related word pairs in Old English, which are not maintained by formulas and which could be applied by Anglo-Saxon poets for rhetorical effect.

101

This verbal repetition might support Bjork’s reading of Andreas. He argues that: ‘In Andreas the use of common formulas and diction verbally link God, Christ, and Andreas, and typologically connect the last two’ (Bjork 1985, p. 114).

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Collocations of Words for Treasure: Sinc SEOLFOR and SINC Seolfor (silver) and sinc collocate with each other on nine occasions in a group of poems dominated by riddles and translations: GenA 2727, Dan 58, XSt 573, Rid20 9, Rid55 1, Ruin 31, Rid 67 13, PPs 67.27, MB 21.20. This figure is less than half of the twenty-one collocations of gold and sinc, reflecting the many fewer instances of silver compared with gold in Old English verse and underscoring the archaic nature of poetic treasure.102 The fact that in eight of the collocation’s appearances seolfor and sinc appear on the same line, coupled with the total absence of any instances of the collocation of seolfor and maðm, indicates that verse form, alliteration, is a strong factor in this collocation. The evident alliterative usefulness of the seolfor and sinc collocation is regularized by convention, which accounts for six of the collocation’s nine instances. On three occasions (Dan 58, Rid20 9, Rid67 13) the two elements of the collocation create the formula since and seolfre (with treasure and silver). But the simple ‘and’ construction is very common and the half-line need not be formulaic, in the sense of being either a pre-fabricated unit or the product of a formulaic system, at all. Furthermore, the two riddles appear to be closely related, as they share other diction and linguistic expressions including the þær guman druncon (where men drank) system. More remarkable are the conventional (though on the evidence of the surviving corpus not formulaic) relationships between sinc, searo (skill), and seolfor, which form a triple alliterative collocation on three occasions (Rid55 1, Ruin 31, MB 21.20), two of which involve a quadruple collocation including gimmas (gems) (Ruin 31 and MB 21.20). None of the three lines scan alike, nor do the elements appear in similar syntactic or ordinal relationships, yet the double collocation accounts for half of the appearances of searo with sinc, and the triple collocation for two-thirds of the appearances of gimmas with sinc.103 In looking at The Meters of Boethius and The Paris Psalter, we can see how poets used established conventions in moving from Old English prose and Latin into Old English verse. Although the original Latin verse speaks only of gold and not silver, silver appears in the prose intermediary stage, as do gems, but when versifying, the poet of The Meters adds searo and sinc to supply the alliteration. The Latin psalter mentions argentum (silver), while The Paris Psalter versifier uses the sinc and seolfor alliterative pair to complete his line.104 Apart from its occurence in the ‘on. . .on. . .on. . .’ series in The Ruin, the collocation of sinc and seolfor does not appear to form part of any patterns established by rhetorical verbal repetitions or as part of another rhetorical

102

See above, ch. 1, pp. 18–22 and Tyler 2006 (where sinc and seolfor are discussed further). 103 Searo and sinc alliterate together at: Rid55 1, Ruin 31, Beo 1037, 1197, 2764, MB 21.20. Sinc and gimmas collocate at: El 264, Rim 30, Ruin 31, MB 21.20. 104 On translation and The Paris Psalter, see: Griffith 1984 and 1991; Toswell 1994 and 1996; on The Meters and The Paris Psalter, see: Griffith 1984.

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Old English Poetics design. Because mention of silver is unusual in Old English verse, it had the potential to attract the attention of poets and audiences alike. However, poets do not seem to draw attention to it, perhaps preferring to leave such unpoetic treasure in the background of their poems. SUÐ and SINC Suð (south, southern) and sinc collocate only twice, both times as an alliterative pair and both times in the same passage of Genesis A: GenA 2013 and 2089. The passage describes the attack of the Northmen on Lot and his Southmen, and their subsequent rescue as Abraham leads an army to defeat the Northmen. The first instance of the collocation occurs after the battle between the North and Southmen, when Lot, his possessions and his people are taken into captivity: We þæt soð magon secgan furður, hwelc siððan wearð æfter þæm gehnæste herewulfa sið, þara þe læddon Loth and leoda god, suðmonna sinc, sigore gulpon.

(GenA 2013–17)

(We may speak the truth further, what afterwards, after the battle, was the fate of the battle-wolves, those who took Lot and the goods of the people, the treasure of the southern men, boasted in victory.)

The poet’s focus immediately switches when he describes the news of the defeat reaching Abraham, who then gathers an army together, engages the Northmen in battle, and puts them to flight. The entire episode ends with lines recounting how Abraham brings Lot, his treasure and his people home again: Abraham ferede suðmonna eft sinc and bryda, æðelinga bearn, oðle nior, mægeð heora magum. Næfre mon ealra lifigendra her lytle werede þon wurðlicor wigsið ateah, þara þe wið swa miclum mægene geræsde.

(GenA 2089–95)

(Abraham brought back the treasure and brides of the southern men, the children of princes, nearer home, the maidens to their kinsmen. Of all those living here, never has one with so little a troop – of those which attacked such a great host – set out on a more worthy warjourney.)

The fighting and restitution of Lot now over, the poet turns to describe the news reaching the Sodomites. Verbal repetition and manuscript layout come together in this passage. The first instance of suðmon (southern man) and sinc occurs precisely on the last line of fitt xxviii; the next fitt is numbered xxviiii 86

Collocations of Words for Treasure: Sinc and indicated by a large capital letter in the manuscript.105 Similarly, suðmon and sinc occur at the end of this fitt, with only the comment about Abraham’s feat never again being paralleled intervening between the fitt’s end and the beginning of the next one which, although it lacks a fitt number, does begin with a large capital. Furthermore, lines 2013–17, containing suðmon and sinc, do not add any new information, nor are they based on the biblical text, but simply recapitulate the events of the fitt. The language of the biblical account of this episode may suggest a possible source for the poet’s use of lexical repetition in his references to Lot’s possessions. The Bible uses the term substantia (substance, property) for Lot’s goods (Gen. 14:12 and Gen. 14:16) in both cases. In Genesis A the poet renders the first substantia as æht (possessions) (GenA 2012) but then immediately as sinc (GenA 2017) in the lines coming at the end of the fitt. Likewise he renders the second instance of substantia as sinc (GenA 2089). While 83 lines separate the two instances of sinc and suðmon, only two verses separate the two instances of substantia in the Bible, which may be the source of the repetition of sinc. The divergence between the two accounts also provides insights into the Genesis A poet’s conception of his narrative. Chapter 14 in the Bible involves two battles, that against Lot and that led by Abraham against Lot’s oppressors; after each, the fate of Lot and his goods is mentioned. Both battles are recounted matter-of-factly and with virtually no detail. By contrast, the battle sections in Genesis A are much expanded, and reveal the Old English poetic fondness for lingering and detailed battle scenes. The two instances of the suðmon and sinc collocation from Genesis A illustrate something of the complexity of verbal repetition in Old English verse. Here it involves an interplay between a Latin source, the conventional poetic treatment of battle scenes, and the common feature of lexical repetition appearing in similar contexts, which does not allow us to dismiss the possibility that similar language has been triggered by similar circumstances rather than being a component of a larger rhetorical design. SWEORD and SINC Sweord (sword) and sinc collocate on seven occasions of which four alliterate: MxI 125, Beo 1037, 1615, 2190, 2884, Jud 334, WldA 28. There is no evidence for the association of the collocation with a formula or other established expression, and the common association of both sinc and sweord with gift-giving is sufficient to account for their appearance together. The absence of conventional expressions linking the two words, as well as the low alliteration rate, is likely related to the semantic field of sinc. Sinc does not refer to weapons, which might discourage its collocation with sweord.106 Indeed, in all four

105 106

Gollancz 1927. See ch. 1, pp. 33–39.

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Old English Poetics instances of the alliteration of sinc and sweord the subtle semantic field of sinc is maintained: it never denotes the sword even in late Old English verse such as Judith. For example, the Beowulf poet writes: ond þa hilt somod since fage. Sweord ær gemealt, forbarn brodenmæl. (Beo 1614–16) the hilt as well, ornamented with treasure. The sword had melted, the woven ornament burned up.

The collocation of sinc and sweord provides evidence for the perpetuation of conservative features of poetic diction, here the distinct semantic fields of various treasure words, other than the formula. WEORÐIAN, WEORÐLIC, WEORÐUNG and SINC Weorþ- (worth), as an element in several words, and sinc collocate on ten occasions: And 270, 474, 474, El 1217, 1217, Rid20 9, Beo 1037, 1080, 1443, BM 277. Its usage shows that the collocation is connected with, and even generated by, the frequent association of sinc with decoration. Although maðm collocates with weorþ- six times, this never results in the sense of an object being decorated with maðm. All five instances of sinc and weorþ- collocating to indicate decoration can be interpreted as formulas. The formula since gewurþad (adorned with treasure), which fits into a larger formulaic system of two syllable words in the dative + weorþian as a past participle, occurs twice in Beowulf (Beo 1037 and 1443). The compound sincweoþung (treasure-ornament), which occurs three times, always inflected and taking up the entire half-line, accounts for all of the compound instances of sinc and weorþung (ornament) (And 270, 474, El 1217). This compound fits in with the wider phenomenon of weorþung compounds, many of which denote jewelry; weorþung occurs as a simplex only once in verse (ChrIII 1136). The chief impetus behind both sets of formulas seems to be the ornament component of the semantic field of sinc. The construction dative + gewurþad (without the preposition mid) does not occur in prose, suggesting that it is a poetic formula rather than an ordinary linguistic idiom. Two instances of sincweorþung occur in identical lines in Andreas. Wolde ic þe biddan, þeh ic þe beaga lyt, sincweorðunga, syllan meahte (And 271–2) (I wanted to ask you, although I could give you little in the way of rings, of treasure-ornaments)

recurs some two hundred lines later: eorl unforcuð,

Ic wille þe, anre nu gena

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Collocations of Words for Treasure: Sinc bene biddan, þeah ic þe beaga lyt, sincweorðunga, syllan mihte, fætedsinces. (And 474–78) I want to ask you, now, honorable noble, yet one request, although I could give you little in the way of rings, of treasure-ornaments, of plated treasure.

The immediate contexts of the echoes show similarities, as the ‘anre nu gena’ (now yet one more) of line 475 suggests, since in both cases Andreas is seeking a favor from Christ disguised as a helmsman. But beyond this there seems little connection between the two instances, and Andreas’ dismay at not being able to offer treasure seems more appropriate in the first instance, when he seeks passage, than in the second when he wants Christ to explain his sailing skills. It is possible that the Andreas poet repeats these lines to structure his long account of the sea journey to Mermedonia or to pick up on the theme, explored elsewhere in the poem, of Andreas’ material poverty but spiritual wealth.

The Collocations of Frætwe ÆÐEL- and FRÆTWE Frætwe and frætwan (hereafter referred to collectively as frætwe) collocate eleven times with the adjective æþele (noble) or with the related nouns æþelu (nobility) and æþeling (atheling, prince) in religious verse and Beowulf: Dan 703, El 1197, ChrII 517, GuthB 1278, Ph 90, 199, 583, Pan 44, Beo 1920, 2501, PPs 143.15. The link of æþele and frætwe is accounted for by the semantic association, widely attested, of treasure and nobility, both social and moral, as well as the high frequency of æþel- in the corpus. Despite their frequent occurrence together, they are not joined by any formulaic convention, although both words are often elements in other formulas. In Guthlac B, the five repetitions of æþel- within thirty-six lines, create a verse paragraph and accentuate the saint’s fitness for Heaven. The first of these five describes the sun, se æþela glæm (the noble radiance) (GuthB 1278), setting as Guthlac awaits his death and thus leaving the londes frætwe (ornaments of the land) (GuthB 1282) shrouded in darkness. But Guthlac does not wait in darkness, rather: æþele ymb æþelne, scan scirwered.

Wuldres scima, ondlonge niht (GuthB 1286–8)

(A radiance of glory, noble around the noble one, shone the whole night, clothed with brightness.)

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Old English Poetics This second æþel- denotes Guthlac and the striking repetition of a word not just within a line, but within a half-line, ties Guthlac closely to the light from Heaven. Just before dying, the saint receives the eucharist and is renewed ‘þy æþelan gyfle’ (with the noble food) (GuthB 1301). After Guthlac dies and is taken to Heaven, the last appearance of æþel- occurs when his hermitage is bathed by a very bright light which is described as ‘sunnan beorhtra,/ æþeltungla wlite’ (brighter than the sun/ the beauty of the noble stars) (GuthB 1313–14). These instances of æþel- all appear within a passage which associates Guthlac with extraordinary light, and indeed the first and last instance of the adjective are key to defining this passage. They both refer to the sun, but in each case in a way which minimizes or negates the radiance of the sun in favor of a light shining directly from Heaven. This dulling of the sun’s brightness, of natural light, serves to enhance and to emphasize the glorious nature of Guthlac’s parting from the earth. The repetitions of æþel- in The Physiologus and The Phoenix are less obviously in the foreground of the poem. The Physiologus is comprised of three parts: The Panther, The Whale and The Partridge. The Physiologus opens with the generalizing statement that the world is full of creatures who are both unrimu (countless) and æþelu (Pan 2) and closes with an exhortation which occurs at the end of The Partridge: Uton we þy geornor gode oliccan, firene feogan, friþes earnian, duguðe to dryhtne, þenden us dæg scine, þæt swa æþelne eardwica cyst in wuldres wlite wunian motan. Finit. (Part 12–16) (Let us the more eagerly please God, hate sin, earn peace, benefit from the Lord, while the day shines for us, so that we may dwell in the best of homes, so noble, in the beauty of glory. Finit.)

Within this large envelope there is a smaller envelope which encloses The Panther: the æþelu of line 2 is echoed in the final half-line of the poem when æþele stenc (noble scent) (Pan 74) refers to the gifts given to mankind by God. Within these two interlocking envelops, æþel- occurs once more in the description of the scent of the Panther’s breath as ‘eallum æþelicra eorþan frætwum’ (more noble than all the ornaments of the earth) (Pan 48); this instance of æþel- fits into the overall structure of the poem.107 These repetitions seem a straightforward use of verbal repetition to mark the beginning and end of a poem, but it remains open to question whether or not the poet could have relied on the audience to notice them, given the high frequency of æþel- in the poetic corpus and also within individual poems. Given the frag-

107

On the unity of the three poems which make up The Physiologus, see: Squires 1988, p. 23.

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Collocations of Words for Treasure: Frætwe mentary nature of The Partridge, it cannot be said whether æþel- occurs within its body, rather than simply in the ending which encloses the full Physiologus. The word is certainly absent from The Whale, the middle section of The Physiologus, reminding us that the poet does not consistently draw attention to this word or use it to weave all three parts of his poem together. The underlying question is whether or not widely separated repetitions of single words would have been foregrounded. The Phoenix, which shares stylistic affinities with The Physiologus, also has the word æþel- in its opening lines, and then goes on to repeat the word a further twenty times.108 Within The Phoenix, repetitions of frætwe, which occur fourteen times, play a central role in the thematic development of the poem.109 In contrast, the instances of æþel-, although more frequent, remain inconspicuous, illustrating that simple repetition is not sufficient to bring a word to prominence within a poem. The contrasts between the repetition of æþel- (in each case associated with frætwe) in The Phoenix, The Physiologus, and Guthlac B, make the point that simple repetition of a word does not bring it into the foreground of a poem. The word is most common, but least pronounced, in The Phoenix. Rather for repetition to be effective, thematically or structurally, it must be made prominent by the poet. BEARM and FRÆTWE Bearm (breast, bosom) and frætwe collocate three times, all in Beowulf: Beo 36, 211, 893. In Beowulf, bearm is closely associated with treasure.110 As has been discussed, in the opening lines of the poem, frætwe occurs, as a detail, in the carefully designed lines which involve identifying Scyld with his treasure and his boat as the poet describes Scyld as a beaga brytta (giver of rings) placed ‘on bearm scipes’ (in the bosom of the ship) (Beo 35) and then how many treasures ‘him on bearme læg’ (on his breast lay) (Beo 40).111 Within the main body of the poem, frætwe and bearm are closely linked in two passages. First, Beowulf’s men load his ship in preparation for the journey to Denmark: secgas bæron on bearm nacan beorhte frætwe, guðsearo geatolic. (Beo 213–15) (the men bore bright treasures, splendid armor, into the bosom of the ship.)

Then, more than six hundred lines later, Sigemund loads his ship with the spoils he has taken from the defeated dragon’s hoard: 108

Both The Phoenix and the poems of The Physiologus are structured around a narratio followed by a significatio, and share imagery. 109 Calder 1972 and Tyler 1996b. 110 See bearm and maðm. 111 See bearm and maðm.

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Old English Poetics

bær on bearm scipes Wælses eafera.

sæbat gehleod, beorhte frætwa, (Beo 895–7)

(the son of Wæls loaded the sea-boat, bore bright treasures into the bosom of the ship.)

In both passages, frætwe, as part of the half-line formula beorhte frætwe (bright treasures) is the object of the same verb, beran (to bear). The formula beorhte frætwe alliterates in each case with bearm. Both lines preceding that containing bearm and frætwe alliterate on ‘s’. Despite these lexical similarities, there is no evidence that the poet was purposefully juxtaposing the two passages; rather, we have another instance from Beowulf where similar circumstances have called up similar language. BEORHT and FRÆTWE Beorht (bright) collocates with frætwe and frætwan eighteen times: Dan 703, El 88, 88, ChrII 506, 517, ChrIII 1634, GuthA 796, Ph 234, Pan 19, 19, Rid14 3, Ruin 31, 31, Beo 90, 211, 893, Jud 323, Meno 202. While the semantic link of the two elements is obvious, it should be pointed out that beorht collocates much more frequently with frætwe than with maðm, sinc, hord and gestreon. Such variation in frequency of collocation suggests that appearance and beauty is a stronger component of the semantic field of frætwe than of other treasure words, despite the strong link of sinc with ornamentation. The collocation includes a wide range of relationships between frætwe and beorht, as well as overlapping with a number of established formulas; on four occasions beorht and frætwe establish a formula themselves: beorhte frætwe (bright treasures).112 As the range of poems and a closer look at the specific passages suggest, there is little in the way of shared contexts among these formulas or instances of the collocation, reflecting perhaps the very basicness and wide applicability of the connection between the two words. The strongest convention behind the collocation of beorht and frætwe appears to be the spiritual and moral connotation of brightness. BLICAN and FRÆTWE Frætwe collocates with the verb blican (to shine) on five occasions: ChrII 506, 517, Ph 90, Jul 563, Pan 19. In every case, the two words take part in the formula frætwum blican (to shine with ornaments) or frætwum bliceð (shines with ornaments). The poems in which the formula occurs are a tightly knit group: both Christ II and Juliana were signed by Cynewulf, with whose school The Phoenix has long been associated. The appearance of the formula in both

112

Dan 710, ChrIII 1635, Beo 214, 896. At Daniel 710 beorhte frætwe does not fulfill the alliteration of the line, consequently some editors have accepted the emendation ‘torhte frætwe’.

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Collocations of Words for Treasure: Frætwe The Phoenix and The Panther further underscores the stylistic similarities between the two poems. The formula refers twice to Christ (ChrII 506 and 517), once to the sun (Ph 90), once to angels (Jul 563) and once to the Panther. This range may seem so wide as to prohibit any contextual facet to the formula, but its use in The Phoenix where the sun is a symbol for Christ indicates otherwise. Blican appears four times in The Phoenix, three times directly describing the sun (Ph 95, 115, 186) and including the formula frætwum blican; the fourth instance (Ph 599) occurs in a metaphor describing the good works of the Just shining like the sun. The use of frætwum blican for the sun in the first part of the poem thus represents an early hint as to the significatio of the sun worshipped by the Phoenix. The Panther who is said to frætwum blican is an allegorical representation of Christ. Only in Juliana is the formula not linked in any way to Christ. The loss of a page of the manuscript just before the mention of the angel means that we cannot assess whether the poet was using the formula to link the angel to Christ, perhaps as his messenger or agent. In The Phoenix, the formula, which is part of any extended play on the word frætwe, is carefully woven into the overall design of the poem. In contrast, in Christ II, where it more directly refers to Christ, the formula occurs twice in a passage, extending from lines 491 to 529, which is dense with verbal echoes which do no more than to create cohesion. FÆGER/ FÆGRE and FRÆTWE Frætwe and frætwan collocate with the adjective fæger (fair) and the adverb fægre (beautifully) seventeen times in the corpus of Old English verse: XSt 305, SBI 132, El 739, ChrI 506, Ph 234, 266, 322, 322, 583, 605, Pan 19, Rid28 1, Rid40 46, Rid53 3, Beo 2989, JDII 272, Th 1. There are obvious semantic and alliterative reasons for the collocation which are emphasized by the contrast with some other words for treasure, of which only hord and gestreon, occur (each only twice) with fæger. Of the thirteen instances where fæger and frætwe alliterate, in six they appear in the same half-line, and in seven they are on separate sides of the cæsura, indicating that fæger and frætwe form a useful alliterative pair even when not so rigidly associated as in a formula. Six instance of the fæger and frætwe collocation appear in The Phoenix, but it would be mistaken to interpret this as the particular alliterative solution of one poet, since fæger appears twenty times in the poem to whose theme Calder has argued beauty is central.113 Rather in The Phoenix we see a more complex convergence of a useful alliterative pair, thematic concerns and the use of verbal repetition which will be discussed below. Four instances of the collocation appear in the formula fægre gefrætwed (beautifully ornamented) (XSt 307, SBI 137, Ph 274, 585) with the related half-lines fægere frætuað (he

113

Calder 1972.

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Old English Poetics will adorn beautifully) (JDII 277) and fægrum frætwum (with fair ornaments) (Ph 610) each appearing once. That the contexts in which the collocation and the alliterative pair appear are wide ranging is not surprising given the general nature of the link between ornament and beauty. However, the contexts become much more specific when just the six formulaic instances, or more loosely the six instances in which both elements occur in the same half-line, are considered. These six are limited to explicitly religious poems, The Phoenix, Soul and Body I, Christ and Satan and Judgment Day II. Five of these six instances refer to Heaven or existence after death, largely, though not exclusively, on Judgment Day. In Soul and Body I the blessed soul, addressing the body, comes ‘fægere gefrætewod’ (SBI 137) from Heaven. In Judgment Day II God similarly ‘fægere frætuað’ (JDII 277) the blessed. Here the Old English lines in which the half-line occurs: þær a andweard ealle weorðaþ and fehþ and geblyssað fæder ætsomne, wuldraþ and wel hylt, fægere frætuað and freolice lufað and on heofonsetle hean geregnað.

(JDII 274–8)

(there, always present, the Father will honor and accept and make them happy all together, glory and hold them well, ornament them beautifully and love them freely and set them on the high seat of Heaven.)

translate fairly closely the Latin: Semper adest præsens, cunctos fovet, implet, honorat, Glorificat, servat, veneratur, diligit, ornat, Collocat Altithrona, lætosque in sede polorum. (Lumby 1876, p. 26, ll. 139–41) (God is always present. He cherishes, fulfills and honors all. He glorifies, preserves, esteems, loves, adorns and places the happy on heaven’s high throne.) (Calder/Allen 1976, p. 212)

The notion of the Just being ornamented in Heaven clearly finds its source in Christian Latin writings, but the expression fægre gefrætwed, and its conventional association with Judgment Day, has a wider currency in Old English verse, which the poet of the late Judgment Day II can call on in the process of rendering Latin verse into Old English verse. Fæger and frætwe call each other up in Old English prose no doubt because of their complementary semantic fields. On several occasions, especially in the alliterative prose of Ælfric, they show the association with Judgment Day. In describing the fate of the grass of the fields, which is here today but tomorrow burns up in the oven, Ælfric writes that God ‘fægre frætewað’ 94

Collocations of Words for Treasure: Frætwe (adorns beautifully) the grass where the Latin had ‘Deus. . .vestit’ (God. . . .clothes) (Mt. 6:30).114 Ælfric also writes that on the ‘micclan dæge’ (great day) through God’s mercy, the blessed souls are ‘gefretewode mid fægerum lichaman’ (ornamented with beautiful bodies) where the Latin has them putting on a stola (robe).115 The Old English Martyrology is even closer to the poetic usage. When Maximus, following the orders of Almachius, executes Valerian and Tibertius for their Christian faith, ‘he gesawe heora sawla gongan ut of þæm lichoman fægre gefretwade, ond. . . he gesawe godes englas swa scinende swa sunne’ (he saw their souls go out of their bodies, beautifully ornamented, and he saw. . .the angels of God shining like the sun).116 This paraphrases the more complex Latin from the Passion of St Cecilia, in which Maximus tells Almachius: ‘Vidi angelos Dei fulgentes sicut sol in hora qua verberati sunt gladio et egredientes animas eorum de corporibus quasi virgenes de thalamo’ (I saw the angels of God shining like the sun at the time when they were beaten with a sword and their spirits were leaving their bodies, just like virgins from a bedchamber).117 The most closely linked appearances of the formula are in The Phoenix and Christ and Satan. Towards the end of The Phoenix, the poet explains how saved souls are like the marvelous bird: somod siþiaþ sawla mid lice, fægre gefrætwed, fugle gelicast, in eadwelum æþelum stencum, þær seo soþfæste sunne lihteð wlitig ofer weoredum in wuldres byrig.

(Ph 584–8)

(Souls will journey together with body, ornamented fairly, most like the bird, amidst noble scents, into blessedness, where the faithful sun shines, beautiful over the hosts in the city of glory.)

While in Christ and Satan, saved men are said to be like the sun: Soðfæste men, sunnan gelice, fægre gefrætewod in heora fæder rice scinað in sceldbyrig.

(XSt 306–8)

(Faithful men, like the sun, beautifully ornamented, will shine in their Father’s kingdom, in the city of refuge.)

The context of each passage is the blessed existence of the Just in Heaven, and both use a simile which is expressed by gelice/gelicast (like/most like). In both instances, soðfæst (faithful) alliterates with sunne (sun); the formula fægre

114 115 116 117

Godden 1979, p. 268, l. 17, for the source, see Godden 2000, p. 602. Pope 1967, p. 428, l. 248, for text and source. Kotzor 1981, April 14, l. 5. Delehaye 1936, p. 214.

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Old English Poetics gefrætwed appears and all is said to take place in a byrig (city) The overlap between these two passages points to how conventional descriptions of the saved in Heaven had become in Old English religious verse. Yet, despite these similarities, Christ and Satan is a translation of the Vulgate: ‘tunc iusti fulgebunt sicut sol in regno Patris eorum’ (then the just will shine like the sun in the kingdom of the Father) (Mt. 13:43), which suggests the simile of the saved shining like the sun.118 The Phoenix, with its similar context and lexis, actually means something different – with the truthful living in a Heaven which is bright with sunshine rather than being like the sun themselves. The parallel lexis of The Phoenix and Christ and Satan is indicative of the way translators can remain true to their source and nonetheless integrate their verse into the conventional diction of the Old English poetic tradition. It is worth noting as well the similarity between these two poetic passages, especially The Phoenix, and the lines from The Martyrology. Although in The Martyrology it is angels, not the souls of just men, who shine like the sun, just a few lines after describing Maximus’s vision and how he is subsequently executed by Almachius for converting to Christianity, the Latin goes on to refer to the legend of the Phoenix, when Cecilia has the bird carved onto Maximus’s own tomb after his martyrdom.119 The convergence of fæger, frætwe, the blessed after death, and the Phoenix, may simply be chance, but it may also suggest that the writer of the Old English Martyrology was influenced by poetic convention. The presence of the formulaic half-line fægere gefrætewod in the final section of Soul and Body I, the section not found in Soul and Body II, carries implications for the relationship between these two poems. There is no scholarly consensus as to whether lines 127–66, and whatever lines have been lost after them, have been added to Soul and Body I by a second poet or whether such a section, in which the soul addresses a body which will ultimately be saved because of the good life it led, is missing from Soul and Body II.120 The damned soul section, which is common to both poems, is marked by verbal repetition, which is continued into the blessed soul section. These repetitions, which include words, half-lines and a full line, function to integrate and interrelate the two sections of the poem both thematically and structurally. It is within this context that the use of ‘fægere gefrætewod’ to describe the saved soul returning to the good body must be understood, with the poet’s picking up on the damned soul’s earlier and furious remark to its former body:

118 119

Robert Finnegan 1977, p. 104. Et iussit ut in sarcofago eius sculperetur phoenix, ad indicium fidei eius, quia resurrectionem se inventurum ad phoenicis exemplum suscepit (Delehaye 1936, p. 214). 120 Ferguson 1970 and Orton 1979a and 1979b.

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Collocations of Words for Treasure: Frætwe Ne magon þe nu heonon adon hyrsta þa readan ne gold ne seolfor ne þinra goda nan, ne þinre bryde beag ne þin boldwela, ne nan þara goda þe ðu iu ahtest.

(SBI 57–60)

(Nor may the red ornaments now take you away from here, neither gold, nor silver, nor any of your goods, nor your bride’s ring, nor your splendid dwelling, nor any of the goods which you formerly owned.)

In the only two places in the poem which refer to treasure, the good soul is associated with treasure which carries a positive moral connotation, and the bad body with treasure which carries a negative moral connotation. If the long version of the Soul and Body poem was composed as a unity, then the repetitions of words and subject matter allow us to see the poet’s rhetorical strategy at work. If, however, the poem is not a unity, we have something potentially more interesting: evidence that one poet could recognize and continue another poet’s rhetorical strategy based on repetitions and continue it. In either case, we find a convergence of the formula fægere gefrætewod, used in its most conventional context, that of a saved soul, with the stylistic design of a poem. The only divergence from the pattern of frætwe and fæger associated with the Just on Judgment Day occurs with the application of the formula, fægre gefrætwed, to the relics of ash and bone, wælreaf (spoil of the slain), remaining after the fire. The Phoenix wraps this remnant in herbs and takes it back with him to his eadig eþellond (blessed native land) (Ph 279) – Paradise. This use of the formula raises the question of the allegorical meaning of the wælreaf. Later in the significatio section of the poem, the poet explicitly links the wælreaf with the body and soul fægre gefrætwed (Ph 585), when he expounds on its symbolic significance as the body, purified by fires of Judgment Day and brought by the soul to the heavenly City. This repetition of the formula, fægre gefrætwed, for both the symbol and for what it symbolizes, mirrors the poet’s use of the formula frætwum blican (to shine with ornaments), which other poets use for Christ, to the sun which is later revealed to represent Christ.121 The distinctive style of The Phoenix is marked by a coming together of allusion to the conventional associations of established formulas and verbal repetition; the result is a richly textured poem whose multi-layered symbolism is rooted in a both carefully controlled and a highly imaginative use of the conventions of Old English religious poetry. LAND, EORÐE, FOLDE and FRÆTWE Frætwe and other related verbs and nouns appear eighty-nine times in verse. A large proportion of those eighty-nine, twenty-three in all, collocate with one or more of three words for land: folde (earth), land (land) or eorþe (earth); 121

See blican and frætwe.

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Old English Poetics eorþe: ChrII 804, Ph 199, 331, 503, Pan 44, Rid53 3, Beo 90, PPs 101.22; folde: GenA 212, GuthA 796, Ph 253, Rid7 6, Rid28 1, Beo 90, Meno 202 and land: El 1269, GuthB 1278, Ph 116, 147, 503, 503, Rid13 9, Beo 90, 2913, 2989.122 In twelve of those instances there is a clear syntactic and semantic link between the two words, for example, The Phoenix poet describes how the ‘lond beoð gefrætwad’ (land is ornamented) (Ph 116) when the sun shines. Nine of these occurrences fall into the pattern frætwe with folde, eorþe or land as a dependent genitive singular which creates a formulaic system, examples of which include: The Paris Psalter versifier describing God making eorþan frætwe (ornaments of the earth) (PPs 101.22) at Creation and The Guthlac B poet telling his audience how night fell on the londes frætwa (ornaments of the land) (GuthB 1282) after the sun set. This consideration of the collocations of terms for land and frætwe also reveals that there are strong contextual ties among the instances where the two terms are closely linked. Most instances refer to nature. Only in the two Cynewulf ‘signatures’ does the collocation not refer exclusively to natural phenomena; rather in these instances eorþe and land may also carry connotations of ‘worldly’ or ‘temporal’.123 Further, more specific contexts can be identified. The collocation occurs in descriptions of Creation in its appearance in The Paris Psalter, Beowulf and Genesis A, although this last might be more precisely considered as a description of newly created Paradise. Other appearances in the context of Paradise are the first three in The Phoenix.124 Poetic descriptions of Creation and Paradise are common in Old English and can become set pieces with which many stock phrases, including landes frætwe, are associated. Yet within this set framework, there is scope for variety. In The Paris Psalter, God made ‘eorþan frætwe and upheofen’ (the ornaments of the earth and Heaven) (PPs 101.22); in Beowulf God gefrætwade (Beo 96) the earth with leaves and branches; in Genesis A the earth was gefrætwod (GenA 215) with fruits despite the absence of rain; and in the first appearance in The Phoenix, which occurs shortly after the account of Creation, the rising sun causes the lond to be gefrætwad (Ph 116). Comparison of this widespread poetic convention with representations of frætwe in prose points to the distinctiveness of Old English poetic diction. The Bible is the source of the image of the earth being ornamented at Creation with the Vulgate describing the completion of Creation: ‘igitur perfecti sunt caeli et terra et omnis ornatus eorum’ (then the heavens and earth were completed and all their ornamentation) (Gen. 2:1). The Old English Heptateuch renders this verse: ‘Eornostlice ða wæron fulfremode heofonas 7 eorðe 7 eall heora frætewung’ (indeed then the heavens and the earth were 122

Twenty-five instance are listed here because frætwe occurs with both folde and land in Beo 90 and with both eorþe and land in Ph 503. 123 See ch. 1, pp. 35–36. 124 See ch. 1, p. 36.

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Collocations of Words for Treasure: Frætwe completed and all their ornamentation) collocating eorþe and frætewung.125 But this is not picked up on elsewhere in Old English prose, where frætwe or frætwan do not occur in the context of Creation. St John’s vision of the heavenly City in the Book of Revelation as a sponsa ornata (bride ornamented) (Rev. 21:1) becomes ‘seo wæs fram Gode gefrætewod’ (it was ornamented by God) but otherwise frætwe are not common in Old English representations of Paradise and thus do not appear in this context with terms for the land or earth.126 The various expressions for the ornamentation of the land seem to be at once highly conventional in Old English poetry, but not a feature of ordinary language. The remaining chief context associated with the collocation is the destruction of Judgment Day – the antithesis of Creation – which accounts for the two Cynewulf ‘signatures’, and also the last appearance in The Phoenix. Cynewulf describes how ‘landes frætwe/ gewitaþ under wolcnum winde geliccost’ (El 1270–1) (the ornaments of the land/ will depart under the skies, most like the wind) and ‘biþ se . W. scæcen/ eorþan frætwa’ (the joy of the ornaments of the earth will pass away) (ChrII 804–5) on Judgment Day. In The Phoenix the fire of Judgment Day ‘grædig swelgeð/ londes frætwe’ (will, greedy, swallow the ornaments of the land) (Ph 507–8). Frætwe are commonly destroyed on Judgment Day, in Old English verse and prose alike; however, it is only in poetry that the formula landes frætwe or its variants appear, reinforcing the sense that the conventions associated with these terms are markedly poetic in nature. The presence of descriptions of ornamented land so widely in Old English verse provides an opportunity to compare the response of a range of poets to convention. In Genesis A and in The Paris Psalter, the context and use of the formula appears as mundane as the rest of the poem. That is, the convention is used in a soberly straightforward fashion to refer to Creation, without the poet using style to attract attention to it or to say more than is explicitly stated.127 The poet of Guthlac B responds in a contrasting manner; in a move which now seems typical of this poet’s style, there is an inversion of the expected contexts. Rather than the glittering paradisal sunshine of The Phoenix at line 116 or of Beowulf at line 96, as Guthlac dies the sun goes down and ‘þrong niht ofer tiht/ londes frætwa’ (night fell over the expanse of the ornaments of the earth) (GuthB 1281–2). This inversion calls attention to itself and is fully integrated into the poet’s thematic program at this point, lending further emphasis to the heavenly light which shines for Guthlac.128 There is an element of the kind of wordplay we have come to associate with the poet 125 126 127

Crawford 1922, p. 85 and see ch. 1, p. 36. Bazire and Cross 1989, p. 53, l. 130. On translation and The Paris Psalter, see: Griffith 1984 and 1991; and Toswell 1994 and 1996. 128 See æðel- and frætwe.

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Old English Poetics of Guthlac B in The Menologium where, rather than a Paradise-like spring such as we saw in The Phoenix, we find winter when ‘us wunian ne moton wangas grene,/ foldan frætuwe’ (green fields, the ornaments of the land, cannot remain for us) (Meno 206–7). In The Phoenix the four repetitions of the collocation of land and frætwe fit into and form a major part of the series of repetitions of frætwe. In the first occurrence, the poet describes how the ‘lond beoð gefrætwad’ (land is ornamented) (Ph 116) when the sun shines in Paradise. Later the bird is said to be able to use the londes frætwa (Ph 150) he finds there. The resurrection of the Phoenix from the fire is compared to the way the sun awakens the foldan frætwe (Ph 257) in the spring. Towards the end of the poem, when the symbolism is explicated, londes frætwe (Ph 508) are destroyed on Judgment Day. The poet’s use of the formula landes frætwe in both his description of Judgment Day and of Paradise weaves the poem together. Furthermore, if the happy association of Paradise and Creation with landes frætwe was a widespread convention with which both poets and audiences were familiar, then the destruction of such frætwe at the Last Judgment becomes an especially sharp symbol for the transience of all earthly wealth and happiness. The Phoenix poet certainly achieves such a sharpness by using the collocation in both contexts, by using verbal repetition to make conventions come alive. The Beowulf occurrence of an ornamented Creation is especially striking, and illustrates the poet’s intimate familiarity with the conventions of religious verse. In the ‘Song of Creation’, Hrothgar’s scop sings in Heorot of how, at Creation, God ‘gefrætwade foldan sceatas/ leomum ond leafum’ (ornamented the corners of the earth with branches and leaves) (Beo 96–7). The poet, whose concerns are apparently with the secular world, knows in exactly which religious context the collocation of land and frætwe belongs. But it is not simply a question of knowing the convention. Literary critics have long observed a paralleling of the ‘Song of Creation’ with the account of the building of Heorot (67–81) only twenty lines earlier.129 The building is itself a treasure; the poet uses the term frætwe when he describes how: ‘Ða ic wide gefrægn weorc gebannan/ manigre mægþe. . ./ folcstede frætwan’ (then, as I have heard, the work was widely announced to many people. . . to adorn the folkstead) (Beo 74–6). Using verbal repetition, the poet skillfully, but without suggestion of irony, juxtaposes the conventions of secular and religious poetry. Such a juxtaposition is typical of what Fred Robinson has called the ‘appositive style’ of Beowulf, which the poet exploits to express the ambiguous situation of the Danes and Geats – much admired ancestors who, although pagan, lived as part of God’s providential plan.130 The Beowulf poet can handle a poetic convention with considerable rhetorical skill to convey one of the central paradoxes of his poem. 129 130

See for example: Taylor 1966, pp. 120–3. Robinson 1985.

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CHAPTER THREE

Formulas and the Aesthetics of the Familiar

The notion of the formula is foundational to our understanding of Old English poetics and to the way we read Old English poetry. Both its definition and its implications for the aesthetic concerns of Old English poets have been long debated.1 My aim in this chapter lies not with the conventionality or originality of Old English poetry – which is often at issue in discussions of the formula; rather I intend to problematize the notion that we can define the formula, and then, from this perspective, to consider Old English poetic aesthetics. Collocation allows the formula to be looked at from a range of perspectives, particularly the semantic, the lexical, the syntactic, the metric, the contextual and, of special interest here, the stylistic. Style is a component absent from definitions of the formula, in part because an assumption of utilitarian function has often been a starting point. Meter will not be addressed in a separate section but its consideration will inevitably run throughout the discussion which follows. By drawing on the material presented in the previous chapter, which provides detailed study of specific formulas, I will argue that we need to think in terms of a range of kinds of formulas which overlap with, and often cannot be separated from, other kinds of more stylistically driven verbal repetitions, on the one hand, and patterns found in everyday linguistic expression, on the other. These aspects are thrown into high relief by a study of collocation, which continually places formulas in a wider linguistic context. The absence of a definition of the formula will emerge as more fundamental than simply being the product of scholarly disagreement. Attempts to find a definition of the formula suppress the complexity involved in the formulaicity of Old English verse. There is a great variety of opinion on the nature of the Old English formula. And scholars have approached the formula giving varying emphasis to its metrical, syntactic, semantic and lexical dimensions.2 The most widely accepted definition of the Old English formula, that put forward by Fry in a seminal study, is one which potentially allows all of these factors

1

For a survey of research on the formula, see: Foley 1988 and for specific discussion of the formula in Old English: Olsen 1986 and 1988. 2 For key examples of different approaches to definition of the formula, see: Magoun 1953; Quirk 1963; Cassidy 1965; Fry 1967; Watts 1969, p. 90; Niles 1981; and Riedinger 1985.

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Old English Poetics to come into play by viewing the formula as the product of a system. Concerned to reject ideas of the formula as defined by verbatim repetition, Fry developed the concept of a system as: a group of half-lines, usually loosely related metrically and semantically, which are related in form by the identical relative placement of two elements, one a variable word or element of a compound usually supplying the alliteration, and the other a constant word or element of a compound, with approximately the same distribution of non-stressed elements.

And then defined the formula as: a group of words, one half-line in length, which shows evidence of being the direct product of a formulaic system.3

In what follows, I will use Fry’s influential definition of the formula as a base line. Few uses of the term ‘formula’ in current literary studies do not go back to Fry’s definition and its subsequent refinements by Niles and most recently Riedinger.4 But the inability of this most flexible of definitions to encompass the complexity of the formulaic language of Old English poetry will become steadily more evident as we proceed. Much divergence in definitions of the formula also arises from the fundamental question of whether we are trying to define the oral formula as used by a poet composing extemporaneously in Old English, or whether we are trying to describe and classify the formulas of the extent Old English poetic corpus.5 This problem is evident in looking at the formula and system as defined by Fry and as applied by subsequent scholars in their analyses of Old English poetry. For example, from the opening of his article, Fry places his work within the oral-formulaic tradition, and the ‘learning process undertaken by the oral-formulaic poet’ informs his understanding of how systems work.6 But he sees the definition of the oral formula as applicable to written poetry and uses written poetry as a source of oral formulas: ‘the essential pattern of the system does not vary and may be analyzed from the texts which survive’.7 Fry is not isolated, but rather typical, in his mixing of oral and written evidence and in his blurring of the difference between a composition and a reception definition of a formula. Indeed, this has become typical of the study of Old English formulaic diction. Typical also is his expectation that the system of formulaic composition remained stable over a long period 3 4

5 6 7

Fry 1967, pp. 203 and 204. As an indication of the widespread influence of Fry’s model, see the introductory discussions in Greenfield and Calder 1986, p. 125 and Orchard 1997, p. 108. See also Niles’ more rigorous reformulation of Fry’s model (Niles 1981) and Riedinger’s refinements (Riedinger 1985). Rogers 1966, esp. p. 91 and Reichl 1989, esp. p. 42. Fry 1967, p. 201. Fry 1967, p. 202.

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Formulas and the Aesthetics of the Familiar of time and is thus applicable to a wide variety of the poems which have survived in manuscript. As we shall see, such approaches make it especially difficult to understand the interaction of the formula and style. In what follows, I draw on my analysis of the word collocations. Footnotes refer the reader to the relevant alphabetized section in the previous chapter.

Semantic The semantic field of each member of a formula and the relationship between these semantic fields has attracted little comment in discussions of the formula.8 Many formulas bring together words which have complementary semantic fields. The formula since gewurþad (adorned with treasure), part of a formulaic system, joins sinc, which has a strong association with ornamentation, with the verb weorþian, which includes ‘to adorn’ in its semantic field.9 The two elements of the deore maðmas (precious treasures) formula similarly share an obvious semantic affinity, as do hord and weard (guardian).10 Complementary semantic fields do not, of course, insure that words will combine in a formula, as the absence of formulas linking the frequent collocates eorþe (earth) and gestreon underscores.11 Some words are linked more by context than meaning. Maðm and mearh (horse) are both given as gifts, control of a hord and a rice (kingdom) are both central to the exercise of kingship; the elements of each of these sets of words collocate with each other as well as appearing together in formulas.12 In contrast, there are also formulas which involve words whose semantic fields show little in the way of obvious connection; take, for examples, the association between mod (or ferhð) – both terms for the mind – and brytta in the formulaic system which generates ‘swiðmod sinces brytta’, ‘torhtmod tires brytta’ and ‘gamolferhð goldes brytta’.13 These formulas, which do not join semantically related words, may be maintained by a stronger convention than those whose semantic affinities allow them to recur independently of poetic tradition. But overlapping semantic fields do not necessarily encourage formulas; indeed, this study suggests that, especially when two nouns are involved, overlapping semantic fields may discourage the establishment of formulas.14 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

An exception is Watts who touches on the issue of there being a range of semantic relationships between the elements of different formulas (Watts 1969, pp. 81ff.). See weorþian, weorþlic, weorþung and sinc. See deore and maðm and weard and hord. See eorþe and gestreon. See mearh and maðm and rice and hord. See brytta and sinc. By overlapping I mean words, especially nouns, which, although not synonyms, can be used to denote the same object.

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Old English Poetics Treasure words often collocate with each other but only rarely occur together in a formula.15 The collocation of gold with the five treasure words of this study offers the sharpest example. Gold and various treasure words occur in a wide variety of syntactical relationships but never in a formula.16 The emphasis on gold in Old English verse reflects its archaic vision of treasure, and yet it is virtually absent from formulaic expressions, calling into question the expectation that many formulas are survivals from earlier oral verse. The absence of formulas linking many semantically related words also raises the question of utility. Many of the collocations of two words for treasure occur in the extended descriptions of treasure which are a prominent feature of Old English verse, a context in which one might have expected that formulas linking treasure words would be useful; however, they appear to be avoided. The pattern of semantically overlapping words not creating formulas is not limited to words for treasure but occurs more widely. For example, hord (denoting the ‘mind’ or ‘spirit’) often alliterates with hyge (mind) and heorte (heart) but never as a formula.17 Finally, some formulas include an element of little semantic weight. For example, manig (many) and maðm collocate frequently and create the formula madma mænigo (multitude of treasures) and related half-lines. But manig has a very light or widely applicable semantic field.18 Similarly, the possessive sin (his) combines with broðor in the formula broðrum sinum (with his brothers). These combinations should be regarded as less conventional and more prone to arise spontaneously (even when, as is the case with broðrum sinum, the syntax is distinctively poetic) without reference to inherited poetic diction than formulas which bind together words of greater semantic weight.19 Words with little semantic weight do not, however, consistently tend to occur in formulas: heah (high) and hord and sel (good) and sinc, for instance, often appear as alliterative pairs, but never as formulas.20 Despite the diversity of semantic relationships amongst the elements of a formula, and the potential role that that plays in whether two words will spontaneously recur in a formulaic expression or whether they only do so when held together by convention, semantic fields have been little considered in discussions of the definition of the formula.

15

16

17 18 19 20

See gold and maðm and hord and maðm. Similar patterns are observable in the collocations of laf (remnant) and maðm, hord and gestreon, and beag (ring) and sinc: these are not discussed in ch. 2. Seolfor (silver) and sinc are an exception to this pattern. See gold and maðm. The only formula, which links gold and one of the five words for treasure considered in this study, entailed a verb form rather than a noun: golde gefrætewod (ornamented with gold) occurs twice in Judith (Jud 171, 328). See heorte, hyge/hycgan and hord. See manig/menigu and maðm. See broðor and gestreon. See heah and hord and sel and sinc.

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Formulas and the Aesthetics of the Familiar

Lexical Formulas and formulaic systems occur in a variety of lexical contexts.21 First, many widely attested and seemingly rigid formulas are actually one manifestation of a broader and looser attraction between its terms. Beorht (bright) and frætwe establish the formula beorhte frætwe (bright treasures).22 This formula is part of a wider collocation of these two words, which is evident in both verse and prose, and is largely accounted for by the inclusion of beauty in the semantic field of frætwe. Woruldgestreona (world-treasure), which is one instance of a widespread formulaic system, occurs three times but woruld (world) and gestreon collocate twelve times, seemingly drawn together by the importance of worldliness to the semantic field of gestreon.23 In a more complex example, the system illustrated by the formulas eorðan frætwe (ornaments of the earth), foldan frætwe (ornaments of the earth) and landes frætwe (ornaments of the land) shows lexical and semantic affinities, though not always syntactic, with a variety of expressions found in verse.24 Second, there are, in contrast, a number of formulas which account for all or nearly all the instances of two words collocating. These formulas are less common than the first type. The formulaic system x-hord onleac (unlocked x-hoard) occurs nine times accounting for all but one of the ten instances of the collocation of onlucan (to unlock) and hord; that sole exception appears in Riddle 42, in a passage marked by wordplay.25 Maðm and deore (precious) collocate four times and always appear as the formula deore maðmas (precious treasures) (with only inflectional variations).26 Likewise, frætwe and blican (to shine) collocate five times always in the formula frætwum blican (with only inflectional variations).27 Deore (as a simplex) and blican are both rare in prose, which may suggest that there is something distinctively poetic about the high rate at which these words occur in formulas. The absence of formulas associated with some of the most frequent collocations, for example æþel- (noble) and frætwe, suggests too that formulas would stand out; they

21

22 23 24 25 26 27

Quirk 1963 and Conner 1972 consider the lexical context of formula. Gardner looks at some formulas in Beowulf within their larger lexical contexts. He notes how words which appear together in formulas also appear together in a variety of other relationships. He interprets instances of this phenomenon as examples of poets deliberately repeating together words which are more commonly joined in traditional formulas (Gardner 1973). See beorht and frætwe. GenA 1175, 1619, 1873, 2139, 2717, And 299, GuthA 70, Ph 253, Gifts 30, MB 8.58, 14.9, Inst 117. For discussion see the section on -gestreon compounds in ch. 2. See land, eorþe, folde and frætwe. See lucan and hord. See deore and maðm. See blican and frætwe.

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Old English Poetics were not such an ordinary feature of Old English verse that they are likely to have gone unnoticed by the Anglo-Saxons themselves.28 Chance, of course, plays an unquantifiable role in the contrast between formulas with and without a lexical context. Yet the contrast remains, although it has not generally been taken into account in assessing the relationship of a formulaic expression to the inherited word-hoard. Potentially, the conventionality of a formula which lacks a lexical context differs both in degree and type from formulas which are comprised of elements which occur together in other relationships in verse and prose, perhaps even recurring as the same expression in prose. If a formula has a widespread lexical context, and particularly if that context is also attested in prose, it may be (1) less formulaic than a formula whose elements only appear together formulaically and (2) more likely to arise spontaneously because it is part of a linguistic pattern familiar from ordinary speech.29 Such lexically contextualized formulas with prose parallels are not less conventional however; indeed, they may be more so, but that conventionality is not of a poetic nature. A related issue also remains. Is a linguistic expression which occurs in prose to be considered a formula when it occurs in poetry? Expressions common in ordinary speech can of course fit in with the rhythmic patterns of verse, especially since Old English meter is closely related to the rhythms of speech.30 Looking at the lexical context of formulas also brings to light half-lines which are lexically identical or closely related while being syntactically distinct. For example, frætwe and its related verbs and nouns collocate with the adjective fæger (fair) and the adverb fægre (beautifully) seventeen times. Four instances of the collocation establish the formula fægre gefrætwed (beautifully ornamented). The collocation also occurs in the half-lines fægere frætuað (adorn beautifully) and fægrum frætwum (with fair ornaments), each of which is metrically identical and attested only once. The two elements in these half-lines remain in the same order and the half-lines are of the same Sievers type as the formula fægre gefrætwed.31 While these six instances of the collocation cannot all be the same formula (unless syntax is discounted), they are more closely related than being two elements of an alliterative pair and indeed are more closely related than some expressions which can be described as products of the same system (for example, hordweard hæleþa (hoard-guardian of men), hordmaððum hæleþa (hoard-treasure of men), and hordburh hæleþa (hoard-city of men)).32

28 29

See æþel- and frætwe. See below, notes 73, 74, 77, 79 and 80, for bibliographic references to relationship of the formula to everyday linguistic patterns. 30 See below, note 78. 31 See fæger/fægre and frætwe. This close relationship is further underscored by the thematic link amongst these expressions which will be discussed below. 32 See hæleþa and hord.

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Formulas and the Aesthetics of the Familiar Alliterative pairs, one type of collocation, also provide further lexical perspective on the formula. Alliterative pairs are two alliterating words which occur on the same line; they can be included in formulas. Like many formulas, they are useful for supplying alliteration, but, unlike the formula, they have no rhythmical dimension. Many formulas are composed of two elements much more commonly found together as alliterative pairs. Sinc and seolfor (silver) collocate nine times, and in eight cases they form an alliterative pair, while in only three instances do they appear in the formula since and seolfre (with treasure and with silver).33 Fæger/fægre and frætwe occur as an alliterative pair and in formulas. Other formulas comprised of alliterating elements are not at all, or only rarely, part of a looser alliterative pair.34 Fæge and feorhhord (life-hoard) collocate only in the formula fæges feorhhord (life-hoard of the one doomed-to-death), and feoh (money) and frætwe only in the half-line feoh and frætwa (money and ornaments).35 Both formulas occur only twice, and this type of formula, with two alliterating elements which do not also occur as an alliterative pair, appears to be much rarer than formulas composed of elements which also appear together more loosely in an alliterative pair. There are also instances where an alliterative pair never occurs as a formula; the most pronounced example I have found is that of the collocation of sinc with sele and sæl, two distinct but similar words, both meaning ‘hall’. Sinc and sele collocate eleven times, nine of which alliterate, while sinc and sæl collocate three times and alliterate two times.36 Despite this high rate of collocation and alliteration, the terms never occur together in a formula. Heah (high) and hord occur as an alliterative pair in eight of their eleven occurrences without ever producing a formula.37 In these three categories (an alliterative pair which is sometimes a formula, a formula with no related alliterative pairs and an alliterative pair which never occurs as a formula) chance is a factor. Alliterative pairs which sometimes form a formula are the most common type, suggesting that the presence of an alliterative pair encourages the production of formulas, and that this factor should also be taken into account in assessing the conventionality of a formula. The three relationships between a formula and an alliterative pair, which parallel those found between formulas and collocations more generally, also suggest a variety of possible factors involved in the creation of a formula, which definitions of the formula do not encompass. These three distinctions have implications for the relationship of the formula to the inherited word-hoard, suggesting that by focusing too narrowly on the formulaic

33 34 35

See seolfor and sinc. See fæger/fægre and frætwe. Fæges feorhhord occurs at And 1182 and Ph 221. Feoh and frætwa occurs at Gen 2130 and Dan 66. 36 See sele, sæl and sinc. 37 See heah and hord.

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Old English Poetics system, we have often taken the formula out of its lexical context and furthermore that the definition of the formula as the product of a system cannot adequately account for the lexical context of a formula.

Syntax Formulas occur in many different syntactic units: noun + noun, adjective + noun, inflected compound, prepositional phrase, conjugated verb + infinitive and noun + verb to list only a few. While the possibility of syntactically defined formulas has been considered, discussions of formulas and formulaic systems have not generally taken into account the relative frequency of the syntactic construction involved, or whether a construction is limited to poetic texts.38 Indeed, in Fry’s discussion, syntax becomes inconsequential, as he often includes within one system a range of syntactical constructions.39 Syntax, especially taken together with semantic and lexical factors, is an important element when considering whether a recurring half-line is a part of the traditional word-hoard or if it is simply an ordinary idiomatic expression found also in prose, and which, when used in verse, can be the backbone of metrically and rhythmically stable half-lines. We may want to consider madma mænigo (multitude of treasures) which occurs twice in Beowulf as a less formulaic expression than many others, because even though the construction fills up an entire half-line, the combination of the semantically light menigu (multitude) with a noun in genitive plural is found through poetry and also in prose.40 The construction noun + noun is found in prose and verse alike, but the words involved often have more semantic specificity making the resulting expressions less common, so for example hord and rice (hoard and kingdom) does not occur in prose.41 Formulas which are made up of inflected compound words which fill an entire half-line should also be considered here.42 For example, a number of compounds with gestreon as their second element both fall into this syntactical pattern and can be described as the product of a formulaic system. However, many of these compounds are not restricted to the poetic corpus, and thus the boundary between the formula and everyday language, even when rhythm is considered, proves itself to be permeable. The general absence of these gestreon compounds from passages marked by wordplay

38 39

Cassidy 1965. An exception is Griffith 1988, see further below, p. 119. Fry 1967. Niles’ modification of Fry emphasizes the importance of syntax (Niles 1981, p. 396). 40 See manig/menigu and maðm. 41 See rice and hord. 42 In discussing Homeric verse, Russo considers formulas comprised of a single term to be a distinct, less formulaic type (Russo 1976, p. 36).

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Formulas and the Aesthetics of the Familiar (especially that involving verbal repetition) may also indicate that these expressions did not attract the attention of the poet, suggesting they were more ordinary than conventional in a poetic sense.43 Some syntactical constructions which are common to poetry are rare or absent in prose, and formulas which involve these constructions need to be distinguished in their formulaicity from those based on syntactical patterns found in prose. Take for example the half-line broðrum sinum (with his brothers) which reverses the usual everyday syntactical pattern of the possessive preceding the noun it modifies. So the half-line, when it occurs in poetry, whilst common is not everyday.44 Similarly, the half-line since gewurþad (adorned with treasure) is based on a syntactical construction, dative + weorþian (as a past participle), which is not found in prose.45 The question of whether half-lines produced from these poetic syntactic patterns should be considered as the products of formulaic systems (with the system being the syntactic pattern) or whether they should be seen as arising independently of traditional word-hoard remains, and of course, the semantics of the words involved also needs to be factored in.

Thematic formulas Some formulas carry with them associations which cannot be attributed solely to the semantic fields of the words from which they are comprised. Riedinger has recently labeled such expressions ‘thematic formulas’ and called attention to their widespread presence in Old English verse.46 Looking at word collocations allows the thematic formula to be considered within a wider context, from which it emerges that themes may be more often associated with the lexical items which make up the formula rather than specifically with a particular formula, at least in some cases. In looking at collocations around the five words for treasure studied here, several thematic formulas appear to cluster around the word frætwe. The formula frætwum blican (to shine with ornaments) combines two terms which would seem self-evidently to belong together, yet they only appear together as part of this formula which, in at least four of its five appearances, refers to Christ. This very stable thematic formula does not, however, appear to be the norm, and in this instance it should be noted that frætwum blican occurs in poems signed by Cynewulf or ascribed to his school.47 When we look at the

43 44 45 46 47

This absence may be the result, as well, of a general lack of poetic interest in gestreon (see ch. 1, pp. 31–33 and the gestreon section of ch. 2). See broðor and gestreon. See weorðian, weorðlic, weorðung and sinc. Riedinger 1985, pp. 297ff. See blican and frætwe.

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Old English Poetics formulaic system landes frætwe (ornaments of the land) (where eorþe (earth) and folde (earth) can substitute for land) we find a thematic association of the system with Creation, Paradise and Judgment Day. However, this thematic association extends out to include the collocation of words for land with both noun and verb forms of frætwe rather than just the system.48 All six instances of a group of formulas comprised of fægre gefrætwed (ornamented beautifully), fægere frætuað (adorn beautifully) and fægrum frætwum (with fair ornaments) all occur in the context of life after death, usually Judgment Day, in a range of poems which cannot be ascribed to a single school. Especially when their close contextual link is taken into account these half-lines appear to be more closely related and conventional than even some identical formulas. But the thematic component of these half-lines is associated not with a formula, but with the alliterative pair of fæger (fair) and frætwe (both words in various forms): it appears we have not a thematic formula, but a thematic alliterative pair. Furthermore, there is evidence that the thematic associations of the alliterative pair are not maintained specifically by poetic tradition, since they occur also in prose texts.49 Finally, when I looked at language for treasure, thematic formulas did not emerge as a common feature of poetic diction. Indeed, apart from the association of a number of ic hyrde (I heard) formulas with treasure-giving, I did not identify any further themes or contexts consistently associated with formulas.50 Of the five words for treasure I considered, only frætwe occurrs in formulas with a thematic context, and in most cases that thematic context is associated with frætwe or a frætwe collocation or alliterative pair, suggesting that themes are more likely to be associated with specific words and combinations than with formulas. Formulas with a thematic component, even if that component is not associated solely with the formula, do, however, appear to be special rather than typical. The prominence with which they are used in wordplay suggests that they drew attention to themselves.

Aesthetics and the formula Discussions about aesthetics and the formula have generally been focused around the relationship of conventionality and originality. It has become a truism of the criticism of Old English poetry that originality, individuality and poetic excellence must be seen in terms of how traditional elements, conventions, are handled, rather than in the rejection of convention. Thus the formula and poetic artistry are not incompatible, both because the formula can be used to fulfill aesthetic aims and/or because the formula 48 49 50

See land, eorþe, folde and frætwe. See fæger/fægre and frætwe. See hieran and maðm.

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Formulas and the Aesthetics of the Familiar can exist in poems alongside features, such as deliberate verbal repetition, which are seen as literary.51 My concern here, however, lies with how matters of style impact, not on how we understand implications of the use of formulas, but on how we conceptualize the definition of a formula. It has become customary throughout literary study to consider style from the perspective of reception. On the whole, this is a wise critical move, which has not simply recognized and then side-stepped the impossibility of knowing a poet’s intention, but reshaped critical views of authorship, and the role of readers or listeners in the production of meaning. For the study of Old English, reception approaches have proven especially important in the development of the notion of the Old English poem as a process, rather than the product of a single poet working at a particular time.52 However, stylistic concerns were certainly an aspect of composition, and if we do not consider style from that perspective too, we risk misrepresenting the formulaic character of Old English verse.53 Attempts to define the formula from an oral-formulaic perspective have explicitly stated that aesthetic concerns cannot be a factor in their use. If a formula is repeated for stylistic or structural effect, it is not a formula but a repetition. The prime function of the formula must be utilitarian rather than aesthetic, with its utility lying in its ability to facilitate the movement of an idea into verse. Early on in discussions about the definition of the formula, Milman Parry conceptualized style and utility as mutually exclusive: The formula in the Homeric poems may be defined as a group of words which is regularly employed under the same metrical conditions to express a given essential idea. The essential part of the idea is that which remains after one has counted out everything in the expression which is purely for the sake of style. . . The word group is employed regularly when the poet uses it without second thought as the natural means of getting his idea into verse.54

This view of the place of style has informed the understanding of Old English

51

Greenfield’s work is key here, see: Greenfield 1955, 1963, 1967a, and 1967b. Also important are: Brodeur 1959; J. J. Campbell 1966; Benson 1966 and Fry 1968a. Foley’s ‘Literary Art and Oral Tradition in Old English and Serbian Poetry’ sums up work on the aesthetic possibilities of formulaic verse. He sees formulas as compatible with artistry, but this does not inform his understanding of the definition of a formula. Moreover, for him the formula remains an oral and traditional feature, whereas literary art is associated with conscious verbal design evident in such features as deliberate verbal repetition (Foley 1983). 52 See intro, pp. 4 and 5–6. 53 See intro, p. 6. In considering style and composition, I diverge from Rogers whose 1966 critique of scholarship on the Old English formula has influenced my own discussion and is otherwise incisive. 54 Parry 1930, p. 80. Emphasis indicated by use of bold is my own. Italics are Parry’s own.

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Old English Poetics formula not only in Francis P. Magoun’s discredited identification of the formula with orality, but in subsequent studies of the formula which were more alert to the specific requirements of the Old English poetic form as well as the content and possible contexts of the poetry.55 In his discussion of the definition of the Old English formula and the formulaic system, Fry quotes Parry on the counting out of style and notes that ‘all would agree’ with Parry’s approach.56 Albert Lord, in an overview of work on the oral traditional formula, forcefully reasserted the incompatibility of style and the formula. Drawing an apparently clear distinction between the formula and the repetition, he wrote: The formula ‘helps the poet in his verse-making’. It is primarily for that reason that it is repeated. The ‘repetition’, on the other hand, is a phrase repeated to call attention to a previous occurrence, for an aesthetic or other purpose. Formulas do not point to other uses of themselves; they do not recall other occurrences. It might be said that they embody all previous occurrences, and therefore, not any one other single occurrence.57

When a formula is used for stylistic effect, it ceases to be a formula and becomes a repetition. Lord went on to emphasize that our understanding of the formula and oral-traditional poetry has been impaired by the effacement of this distinction. This effacement has been characteristic of studies of Old English verse: Fry’s definition of the formula has been widely used by those who do see poets deploying formulas for aesthetic reasons. On the one hand, the notion of the formula as the product of a system has been used in studies which illustrate a poet’s aesthetic control of formulaic language.58 Even Fry himself admits aesthetics as an impetus to the use of formulas, despite his counting out of style, earlier in the same article. Discussing the practice of the ‘experienced composer’, Fry writes: If none of these formulas fits his particular metrical, alliterative, semantic or aesthetic requirements at a given place . . . he will produce a new formula . . . from some system he has learned.59

On the other hand, half-lines, which clearly have an aesthetic component, when they are viewed within the context of the passage in which they occur, have been offered as examples of formulas by those working within an oral

55 56

Magoun 1953. Fry 1967, p. 196. Niles emphasizes utility and does not consider style as a stimulus to the use of formulas (Niles 1981, esp. p. 396). Reichl also works within a conceptual framework which opposes style and utility (Reichl 1989, p. 49). 57 Lord 1986, pp. 491–2. Italics are Lord’s own. 58 See for example: Riedinger 1985. 59 Fry 1967, p. 203.

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Formulas and the Aesthetics of the Familiar traditional approach to the definition, if not the use, of the formula.60 This blurring of the distinction between a formula and a repetition is not simply the result of a lack of conceptual rigor, but rather it is rooted in the nature of Old English verse. Old English verse is not so much transitional between an oral and a written culture. The notion of transition works teleologically to imply a steady move from orality to literacy, rather than capturing the complexity of the relationship between different kinds (and degrees) of written poetry and different kinds (and degrees) of oral poetry, whose methods of composition were open to influencing each other. Further layers are added to this complexity by the accretive composition of Old English poems which could involve the continued influence and counter influence of oral on written and vice versa. Thus the poetry that has survived is suspended between orality and literacy in ways we find hard to conceptualize, or even imagine, with each poem potentially representing a distinct negotiation of these two modes of communication. As a result, the formula is a highly complex phenomenon, which is difficult to encompass within a single definition, especially if orality and/or utility are an explicit or assumed element of the definition.61 The formulaic system x-hord onleac (unlocked x-hoard) provides specific illustration of the complexity involved in considering the relationship of aesthetic concerns to the production of formulas from systems in Old English verse. In The Meters of Boethius the system appears once in its most common form of wordhord onleac (unlocked the word-hoard) and appears to function as a convenient way to say ‘he said’. The half-line does not appear to be integrated into a larger stylistic pattern nor is there any evidence of wordplay. In Widsith, in contrast, the formula appears to be involved in wordplay on wordhord (word-hoard) as the source of the scop’s wealth. Should these identical half-lines which occur in two very different poems be considered different phenomena because style plays a greater and more evident role in production of one than the other?62

60

Arguments could be made for an aesthetic component to many of the formulas listed in Niles 1981 and Riedinger 1985. 61 Ruth Finnegan’s insistence on the plurality of oral poetry (including written poetry composed for oral delivery and written poetry influenced by oral poetics) provides a notably useful perspective on possible variety of Old English poems which might be considered as oral in character. Finnegan argues that this variety contributes to the impossibility of defining the formula and specifically raises the question: ‘Does it [the term ‘formula’] really add to our understanding of the style or process of composition in a given piece to name certain repeated patterns of words, sounds or meanings as “formulae”?’ See: Ruth Finnegan 1977, pp. 52–87, quotation comes from p. 71. Fry 1967, does not claim that Old English verse is oral, however, he retains the notion of utility which had been a feature of oral-formulaic definitions of the formula. On accretive poetry see above, introduction, pp. 4 and 6. 62 See lucan and hord and word and hord.

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Old English Poetics Style is also a strong factor when we look at the use of the larger formulaic system, x-hord onleac. In Andreas and especially in Guthlac B, the system appears to have been deployed with a sense of the capacity for style to advance meaning. In Andreas, we can see both formal and thematic concerns at work. Formal concerns appear to be to the fore when the poet uses the system to produce the formula modhord onleac (unlocked the mind-hoard) to describe God, who is denoted as meotud (Measurer), speaking to Andreas. But later style and theme intrude when, on two occasions, the poet uses the formulaic system at its most conventional, in the half-line wordhord onleac. Each instance involves wordplay which weaves the lexical items which make up the formula into the larger thematic concerns of the passage – the formula is not simply ‘he said’. Within one poem then, a single formulaic system can be used to meet formal utilitarian as well as aesthetic needs. Within this vein, the handling of the formula in Guthlac B is also instructive. The poet uses the system to produce two new half-lines: lichord onleac/onlocen (unlocked the body-hoard) and feorhhord onleac (unlocked the life-hoard).63 Both compounds are cleverly coined, and are part of an extended metaphor of the body as a treasure-chest assailed by the keys of illness. The meaning of the passages in which the poet used the system is moreover only fully available to an audience who is familiar with the poetic convention which he inverts. Amidst all this wit, the variation of feorh (life) for lic (body) also alerts us to the formal demands of Old English verse and how the poet could at once respond to them and innovate within tradition. Finally, the radical treatment of components of the x-hord onleac system in the closing lines of Riddle 84 also provides insight into the conjunction of formulaic language and style. Here the poet has fractured the expected formula in a way which suggests a self-conscious and analytical awareness of an inherited poetic tradition which continues to flourish. The poet relies on his audience’s familiarity with the conventional form and meaning of the formula which he presents in broken pieces. This is not a poet struggling to recreate the poetic tradition in a highly artificial manner, but working creatively within it – attesting to the living nature of the tradition in perhaps its most literary and least traditional form.64 The various instances of the formulaic system x-hord onleac arise as a result of formal, thematic and stylistic stimuli, and of the interaction of these stimuli. The same factors are also widely evident when we look at other formulas or formulaic systems examined in the previous chapter: take, for instance, the repetition of various formulas containing the term frætwe in The Phoenix where formulaic language is repeated across the two parts of the poem as the poet develops the symbolic meaning of the bird’s death and

63 64

Some of this discussion of Guthlac B also draws on breost and hord. See lucan and hord and word and hord.

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Formulas and the Aesthetics of the Familiar rebirth.65 The use of the þær guman druncon (where men drank) formulaic system in several of The Riddles provides more evidence of self-conscious playing with tradition in order to hide a solution.66 Likewise, style and a self-awareness of tradition stands behind the heavily ironic repetition of formulaic expressions involving brytta (giver) in Judith.67 An aesthetics which not only values but relies on poets’ and audiences’ familiarity with convention informs a whole range of responses to inherited poetic diction: from the bland use of wordhord onleac in The Meters of Boethius to the dazzle of Guthlac B and The Riddles. All of these instances in which we can identify stylistic aspects in the generation of a formulaic expression point to the same very basic question. Do two identical half-lines, one produced primarily in response to formal impetuses and the other produced in response to aesthetic impetuses, represent the same phenomenon and can they be said to be the same formula? Obviously, in any given instance of a formula we cannot identify with certainty the reasons a poet employed specific words, but the question remains an important one at a theoretical level. According to a rigorous oraltraditional view, those instances in which a formulaic half-line is generated for aesthetic reasons are not actually formulas, but rather repetitions. But this rigor draws attention to the intellectual problem inherent in applying a definition of the formula and system which is derived from orally improvised poetry to Old English poetry. It can neither account for the composition of individual poems nor adequately describe and classify the formulaic language of the Old English poems which come down to us. Definitions of the formula which include no aesthetic component cannot account for the potential fluidity of the relationship not just between the more oral and the more written surviving Old English poetry but also between the poetry of the manuscripts and the oral poetry which may have continued to flourish alongside it. While it may, in theory, be possible to devise a definition of the formula which suits a particular tradition of extemporaneously composed oral poetry at a specific moment in its development, it is not possible to devise one which can encompass all surviving Old English poems, with their divergent degrees of orality and varying dates of composition: to do so reduces the diversity of Old English poetry.68 On a logical level, it does not make sense to apply a definition of the formula which was originally conceived of as a way of accounting for the composition of improvised oral poetry to the Old English poetry found in manuscripts. On the level of understanding the aesthetic values of Old English verse, a definition of the formula

65 66 67 68

See blican and frætwe; fæger/fægre and frætwe; land, eorþe, folde and frætwe. See drincan and sinc. See brytta and sinc. On the necessity of tradition-dependent conceptualizations of the formula, see: Foley 1981a.

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Old English Poetics which has its roots in Oral Formulaic Theory will inevitably obscure from view the way utilitarian formulas and other kinds of formulaic repetitions are so intimately related that they can often not be distinguished. The formulaic inheritance of Old English poetry licensed an aesthetics which took pleasure in the familiar – and that desire for the familiar became a stylistic imperative: it is not just that the relationship of form and style is fluid, but that it is blurry and undefinable and that captures something of the reality of the formulaic nature of Old English verse. Notions of the formula which are rooted in utility and/or orality have proven tremendously productive tools for looking at Old English poetry, but they are limited when used as a framework for understanding the repetition of identical and related half-lines across the corpus.

Defining the formula and the aesthetics of the familiar In the previous section, my focus lay with the challenge of understanding the stylistic component of formulas. To conclude, I want to broaden discussion to the consideration of the immense diversity of types of formulas within both the context of the relationship between the formulaic language of poetry, and the patterns of non-poetic linguistic expression. In looking at formulas within their semantic, lexical, syntactic, thematic and stylistic contexts, their diversity emerged at every turn. It is not simply that definitions for the formula can be, and have been, offered which emphasize any one of these aspects. Rather even when one approaches the formula, for instance, as a lexical phenomenon, many different types of formulas appear, including those comprised of elements which also occur as alliterative pairs, of elements which also collocate in prose, and so forth. Similar variety occurs on semantic, syntactic, thematic and stylistic levels. Karl Reichl has recently suggested that a single definition cannot be devised for the formula and that we need to think in terms of a spectrum of different types of formulas which extends from the rigid formula across to the variable formula. This notion of a range of different formulas (which has been explored more fully for Homeric verse) is an important contribution to our understanding of the Old English formula, especially because it draws attention to different degrees of formulaicity amongst different repeating half-line expressions. Degree was an aspect of formulaic language which emerged as an important variant again and again when we looked at formulaic half-lines within their wider semantic, lexical, syntactic, thematic and stylistic contexts. Of particular consequence is the notion that some formulas are more formulaic than others; that is, that their conventionality is maintained more by poetic tradition than by ordinary linguistic patterns.69 69

Reichl 1989. For Homeric verse, see Russo 1976.

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Formulas and the Aesthetics of the Familiar Reichl’s approach is not, however, unproblematic. The notion of a spectrum, or continuum, must be carefully applied so that it describes variation within a type of formula rather than lumping together different kinds of formulas which cannot be understood as varying from each other only in degree. This problem warns us to be careful not to place on a continuum formulas which are defined in terms of form, and those defined in terms of function. Similarly, the notion of a spectrum cannot reconcile or encompass within one model definitions of the formula which emphasize, for example, syntax, or meter, or lexical content as the key element. Thus we need to retain a notion of a diversity of kinds of formulas, and admit degree of formulaicity as a dimension which exists within, rather than across, individual categories of formula. This does not of course prevent comparisons of degrees of formulaicity being made across categories of formulas, as long as these diverse formulas are not put on a single continuum.70 It is more useful to use the notion of a continuum to explain the relationship of specific poetic formulas to similar expressions in prose than as a way of understanding the relationship of different types of poetic formulas. The different degrees and kinds of formulaicity identified for different formulas, and even indeed for different instances of the same formula (or same half-line), raises the larger question of the relationship of the formulaic language of poetry to the recurrent patterns of ordinary linguistic expression. Throughout the discussion of particular collocations and formulas in Chapter Two and of specific aspects of the formula earlier in this chapter, I drew attention to formulas which did not appear to be wholly distinct from semantic, lexical, syntactic and stylistic patterns found outside of the poetic record. Before beginning to consider this issue more fully, the absence of speakers of Old English must be flagged up. Just as the study of the oral formula has been made problematic by the absence of an Anglo-Saxon oral poet, the question of what ordinary spoken Old English was like is also problematic, since we can only access this through written Old English. Written and spoken forms of a language do not necessarily correspond directly; moreover, the gap between written and spoken English was made greater by the development over the course of the tenth and eleventh centuries of a standardized form of written English, based on the norms of late West Saxon.71 However, the varieties of Old English prose which survive allow us to see that formulaic expression is not exclusively a feature of poetry, though formulaic language is particularly intensified and stylized in poetic contexts. Indeed, Andy Orchard’s recent innovative work on Wulfstan’s prose style, and the extension of this approach to other Old English prose by scholars working within the Anglo-Saxon Formulary project, makes the formulaic

70 71

Wray 2002, pp. 62–5. Gneuss 1972; Clanchy 1993, p. 211; and Hofstetter 1988.

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Old English Poetics character of much Old English prose abundantly clear. As this project continues, we will have a remarkably different context in which to consider the distinctiveness of the Old English poetic formula.72 That said, the central question here is not whether the Anglo-Saxons used formulas in the composition of prose, but rather two not unrelated issues. First, what are the relationships of formulas, poetic or prosaic, to prefabricated segments found in ordinary language, including, but not limited to syntactic phenomena such as phrasal verbs, prepositional phrases, and less tight construction such as noun+noun, adverb + past participle, as well as to more complex phenomena such as idioms and clichés. Second, the obverse question, to what extent can these segments of everyday language be understood as formulaic? The first issue has been seen as relevant to the understanding of poetic formulas, by, for instance, both H. L. Rogers and John Niles, despite their opposed views of the formula. Discussing what he terms the ‘copulative alliterative phrase’ which fills a whole half-line, Rogers writes: There is, however, nothing ‘formulaic’ about the syntax of these phrases. Expression made up of noun and noun are not all formulas, though all the many formulas like ord ond ecg do fit the ‘recurring morphemic and relational frame’. So, of course, do a host of non-poetic expressions; the English language is full of them, and it is only when they become habitual, conventional, and stylized that we call them formulas. Everything depends upon the degree of stylization; for in a very general sense, language as a whole is ‘formulaic’. When we pick on this or that feature in a poem, and find that it belongs to a certain grammatical pattern, we may have done no more than discover a simple linguistic fact.73

Meanwhile, in his refinement of Fry’s concept of formula and system, Niles, referring to Lord and working from the oral-formulaic model of which Rogers is so critical, acknowledges that: The difference between the language of oral poetry and the language of everyday speech is solely one of degree: ‘the former is of the same kind as the latter, but it is more intensive and specialized because of the added limitations of form’. To Lord . . . a formula is not a fixed phrase . . . It is a ‘living phenomenon of metrical language’.74

However, this recognition of widespread formulaicity has not generated sustained discussion or systematic study of the relationship of specific poetic formulas to patterns of non-poetic language, although there has been some preliminary exploration of the subject for Homeric verse.75 Indeed, Niles

72 73 74 75

Orchard 1992 and 2003b. Rogers 1966, p. 100. Niles 1981, p. 400. See for examples: Russo 1976, pp. 46–7 and Kiparsky 1976, pp. 73–92.

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Formulas and the Aesthetics of the Familiar himself does not bring this factor into play in any of his discussions of specific systems, many of which might be described as ordinary linguistic patterns which would have the same rhythm in verse and prose. For example, the compound word ymbsittend-ra/-an (those dwelling around, neighbors), which is identified as part of a formulaic system, could be said to be simply an instance of the very common syntactical construction infinitive (2–3 syllables) + an inflected past tense form of sculan, evident in healdan scolde (had to hold) expression, which occurs in prose as well as poetry.76 An important exception to this neglect of the relationship between poetic formulas and more widespread linguistic expressions is Mark Griffith’s 1988 article, ‘Poetic Language and the Formula in Old English Poetry’. Griffith draws a key distinction between formulas which are specifically poetic in their syntactical, metrical and lexical characteristics and those which are structured around linguistic patterns also found in prose.77 A range of studies which investigated relationships between formulas of Old English poetry and linguistic patterns of prose would allow us to see more clearly the diversity of the Old English formula, and to evaluate the degree of formulaicity involved in different formulas. As the quotation from Niles suggests, meter is the crucial component in distinguishing half-line poetic formulas from ordinary linguistic expressions. However, it is possible to over-emphasize not the degree to which meter is central to poetic formulas, but the degree to which it prevents the consideration of continuities between poetic formulas and everyday langauge. Rhythm is not exclusive to poetry; many fixed expressions and other linguistic constructions which occur in ordinary language can fulfill the alliterative and rhythmic requirements of Old English verse form – as the prose parallels for the examples quoted from Niles in the previous paragraph illustrate. The absence of a clear dividing line between general linguistic expression and formula is all the more important to consider because the accentuation of Old English verse is rooted in the rhythms of everyday speech, and is particularly flexible because the number of unaccentuated syllables may vary; thus many linguistic expressions common in prose would scan properly when included in verse. The distinctive prose styles of Ælfric and Wulfstan testify to the adaptability of poetic rhythmic patterns to prose, facilitated by the closeness between poetic and speech rhythm.78 Part of the reason why the relationship between the poetic formula and 76

Napier 1883, p. 276, l. 13 and Liebermann 1889, section 13. See also healdan sceolden: Sweet 1871–2, p. 409, l. 19 and Bately 1986, p. 56. 77 Griffith 1988. This article came to my attention in the final stages of preparing this study. See also: Griffith 1984, pp. 211–12. Momma’s discussion of the difference between prose and verse syntax does not address the definition of the formula, see Momma 1997, esp. pp. 190–92. 78 McIntosh 1949; Bliss 1962; Rogers 1966, pp. 95–6; Pope 1967–8, I, pp. 105–36; and Kerling 1982. On meter and ordinary language in Homeric verse, see: Russo 1976, pp. 46–7.

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Old English Poetics ordinary linguistic pattern has not been explored for Old English relates to larger issues in the study of linguistics. It has been generally recognized that language is formulaic; that is that language users employ a wide range of fixed expressions. However, this insight into language has been sidelined by the ascendence of Chomsky’s theories of syntax which emphasize that creativity is evident in the open choice of lexical items. However, over the last twenty years, a shift in the study of language has radically changed the context in which the relationship of poetic formulas to more general linguistic patterns can be considered. This shift has centered on the development of the notion that language users select not individual words but prefabricated phrases: in effect, that all language is deeply formulaic. Not only have prefabricated phrases come to be seen as an extremely common linguistic feature, but more importantly, the use of these phrases, which are variously termed formulas, formulaic language, formulaic sequences, (and so on) has come to be seen as ‘predominat[ing] in normal language processing’. Thus formulas are no longer described as a minor linguistic feature, as compared with grammar, but elevated to being at least as important as grammar in the explanation of how meaning arises in the production of language. Many of the terms in which the debate about the formulaic nature of language has been carried out are familiar from the study of formulaic poetry. Prefabricated units have been studied in terms of both their form and their function. Emphasis has been placed on their usefulness to speakers who are enabled to produce fluent speech rapidly. The compatibility of formulaic language with creativity and novelty has also been explored, and the desire of linguists to see and account for novelty has been credited with impairing the ability to recognize the fundamental formulaicity of all language. As with the Old English poetic formula, it has proven difficult to define the prefabricated phrase of everyday language, and the phenomenon of formulaic language has been studied from many different theoretical perspectives. On one level, this lack of unity has created confusion, which has in turn impeded efforts to develop coherent models in response to open-choice theories of language use. But on another level, this confusion underscores the diversity of different kinds of formulas, a diversity which cannot be encompassed by a single definition because they are not a single linguistic phenomenon.79 Future work on Old English formula needs to be carried out within this larger framework of the broad understanding of language as formulaic. Although, as we have seen, the formulaic nature of language in general has been related to the Old English formula, this recognition has not shaped the 79

The material for this and the previous paragraph has been drawn from Sinclair 1991, pp. 110–12; Singleton 2000, pp. 55–6; and Wray 2002 (where the quotation appears at p. 101). See also Peters 1983 for a psycholinguistic approach to use of prefabricated linguistic units. Conner relates the grammar of Old English poetic diction to that of ordinary speech, but he uses a Chomsky-based model of language processing (Conner 1972).

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Formulas and the Aesthetics of the Familiar debate about how we conceptualize the poetic formula or understand its implications for the originality and artistry of poetry.80 However, the question of how artistry and formulaic composition can coincide is not an issue particular to Old English poetry. And studies which argue that the Old English poet exercised control over individual words (rather than over formulas), and/or which present formulaic composition as a distinctively poetic mode, or which seek to define the poetic formula, all take as a starting point the notion that open choice is the norm for language users and thus they misrepresent the nature of the poetic formula.81 The assumption that the formulas of oral poetry and early poetry are definable and the slowness of scholars to recognize the more general formulacity of language processing are interrelated phenomena. That interrelation is evident in Alison Wray’s choice of words when she writes that the formulaicity of language has been an ‘embarrassment for certain modern theories of linguistics’.82 Embarrassment at formulaicity means that it is easier to attribute this quality to our own culture’s early poetry (by which I mean the early poetries of the Western European literary tradition) and to the poetry of contemporary developing societies, who are less dependent on literacy, than to our own poetry. There is an expectation of simplicity entailed in the supposition that the formula should be a definable rather than complex, multifaceted, and changing aspect of verse composition, and especially in the notion that utility is a central feature of its definition. There is serious condescension involved in imagining that even a strictly oral formula has a solely utilitarian, rather than a complementary aesthetic, function. Likewise, the association of formulaic poetry with the conservative preservation of communal identity and tradition is also problematic.83 Post-medieval poetry, and most especially poetry written since the Romantics, evinces a desire to make poetic language distinctive by a mannered avoidance of the formulaic, rather than by, as in Old English, a mannered embracing of the formulaic. This avoidance is evident in anxiety about the cliché which tends to appear in modern poetry only if subverted or when relegated to the verse of greeting cards.84 Thus, in a way, Modern

80

81 82 83 84

Apart from Quirk’s distinctive, and insufficiently influential, definition of the formula as: ‘a habitual collocation, metrically defined, and . . . thus a stylization of something which is fundamental to linguistic expression, namely the expectation that a sequence of words will show lexical congruity, together with (and as a condition of) lexical and grammatical complementarity’ (Quirk 1963, pp. 150–1). For argument which juxtaposes open-choice and formulaic language processing, see: Creed 1959, 1961; Cassidy 1965; and Greenfield 1967a. Wray 2002, p. 4. See above, intro, pp. 4–5. See Christopher Ricks’ call for a recognition of the creative potential of the cliché in his review of Anton Zijderveld’s On Clichés: The Supersedure of Meaning by Function in Modernity. Ricks writes: ‘The artistic gracing of clichés, or their imaginative redemp-

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Old English Poetics English poetry is as marked in its relationship to formulaic language as is Old English poetry. And, moreover, while modern literary poetry avoids the formulaic, other modes of discourse, for example, the language of politics and the law, are highly formulaic.85 Hence there can be no easy association of formulaic language with simplicity or utility of composition or with the preservation of tradition. Highly formulaic poetic language had to be maintained; it was not simply reiterated and thus its use represents a choice, rather than being an inevitable feature of a poetry which had only just thrown off its oral formation. As will be explored in the final chapter, Anglo-Saxon poets chose to maintain the conventions of formulaic poetry into the eleventh century even when other forms of verse had emerged. The juxtaposition within the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle of prose and verse historiography, and the presence there of both classical and non-classical Old English poetry, highlights choice by pointing to the existence of other discursive modes. Old English poets chose to maintain an aesthetics which took pleasure in seeking out the familiar, in contrast to the aesthetics of the defamiliar which governs the style of so much modern poetry; each is a reaction – one no more sophisticated than the other – to the formulaic nature of linguistic expression. Our contemporary suspicion of the cliché and our wider unease with the formulaicity of language have shaped our efforts to understand the form and function of the formula and its places within Old English poetry’s aesthetics of the familiar.

tion, coarsens here [in Zijderveld’s argument] into a replacing of tyranny-by-clichés with tyranny-over-clichés. Clichés are to be attacked. An oppressive campaign and not likely to issue in any heartfelt play of mind, whether in ordinary life or in extraordinary literature. But it is heartfelt play of mind which the best writers elicit from a vigilant – not beady-eyed – engagement with clichés. There is a continual creation of delight from the opportunities presented by the countless clichés of the times, clichés which are not to be scorned or expelled (your writing will only become haughty and outré), and not to be truckled to, but which are to be imaginatively, wittily, touchingly cooperated with. Clichés invite you not to think – but you may always decline the invitation, and what could better invite a thinking man to think?’ (Ricks 1984, pp. 360–1). 85 Sinclair 1991, p. 114.

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CHAPTER FOUR

Verbal Repetition and the Aesthetics of the Familiar

The notion of the formula focuses attention on shared language which repeats across the corpus of Old English verse. As half-line units, formulas have a strong metrical component. The aspect of Old English poetic style which is referred to as verbal repetition, in contrast, focuses attention on the repetition of words within individual poems – both within discrete passages and across entire poems. Such repetitions of words and phrases do not necessarily entail the repetition of a rhythmic pattern. Verbal repetition and formulas do, however, overlap. On the simplest level, this overlap can be as a result of a word, which recurs in a poem, appearing, on occasion, within a formula, and thus tying a formula into a larger scheme of verbal repetition throughout a poem. On a more conceptual level, there is the strict oralformulaic view that a half-line which is repeated for stylistic, rather than utilitarian, reasons is not a formula but a verbal repetition. Formulas which repeat verbatim within a poem will be of interest in this chapter, as they were in the previous chapter. On an aesthetic level too, formulas and verbal repetition are closely related features of Old English verse; they are both rooted in an aesthetics which takes pleasure in the familiar and which creates familiarity by repetition. Verbal repetition is a prominent feature of the style of Old English poetry, with virtually all Old English poems being marked by what are, to modern sensibilities, frequent and dense repetitions of lexis.1 But like that other characteristic feature of Old English poetry, variation, verbal repetition is not required by the verse form, as are alliteration and meter, nor is it even a direct consequence of and response to the constraints of verse form, as many would see the formula. Verbal repetition has thus been treated as a feature of the style rather than of the form of Old English verse. The fondness Anglo-Saxon poets show for variation further underscores the striking nature of verbal repetition in Old English verse. While Anglo-Saxon poets were accustomed

1

Work which considers verbal repetition conceptually and as a characteristic of Old English verse includes: Beaty 1934; Bartlett 1935; Frank 1972; Gardner 1973; Kintgen 1974 and 1977; Hieatt 1975 and 1987; Rosier 1977; Cornell 1981; Pasternack 1995 (especially ch. 6); Tyler 1996b; and Orchard 2003a, pp. 78–85.

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Old English Poetics to refer to the same object or concept with different terms – variation – often for pronounced artistic effect, they show, at the same time, no reluctance to use the same word, repeatedly in close proximity. For some, verbal repetition is a marker of Old English verse’s descent from oral poetry, while for others it is evidence of the literary nature of Old English verse and a feature which is particularly open to artistic development.2 Regardless of whether it is seen as an oral or literary inheritance, especially since the publication of Adeline Bartlett’s seminal study, The Larger Rhetorical Patterns in Anglo-Saxon Poetry in 1935, attentiveness to verbal repetition has become a customary feature both of the study of the style of Old English poetry and of the interpretation of individual poems. That poets used verbal repetition to highlight themes and to structure their poems is now well established. Bartlett’s notion of the envelope pattern, although it does not require the presence of lexical repetition, has been influential in shaping the interpretation of verbal repetition, as have her discussions of incremental and parallel patterns.3 Repetitions of words, and groups of words, across longer poems have also been seen to link passages even when they are separated by many lines.4 Verbal repetition has also been shown to attract highly sophisticated theological wordplay.5 Most recently, Pasternack has developed, from a reception perspective, the approaches to verbal repetition first suggested by Bartlett’s study. She has emphasized that the structures created by verbal repetition are open to audience interpretation because they ‘do not limit the play of meaning by directing the audience one way or the other – they simply bring together in the audience’s minds the terms and the scenes or statements in which they are embedded’.6 My focus in this chapter will lie not with further discussion of the thematic and structural possibilities offered by verbal repetition (though this will have

2

3 4

5 6

For example, contrast Niles 1992, esp. p. 372 and Foley 1983, esp. pp. 208–10. Some have interpreted instances of verbal repetition as examples of the influence of the Latin rhetorical tradition on Old English poetry, see esp. the work of J. J. Campbell (1966, 1967, 1978). Bonner, in response to Campbell, stresses that patterns in Old English verse could arise from native oral poetics as well as from the influence of Latin rhetoric (Bonner 1976). Pasternack sees ‘ornamented language of Old English poetry’ (which includes repetition) as indicating that it was meant to be ‘heard and remembered’ and underscores that effective oral communication is also an impetus for the use of patterned language in the Latin rhetorical tradition (Pasternack 1995, pp. 61–2). Finnegan offers an extensive critique of the association of repetition (including verbal) with orality (Ruth Finnegan 1977, pp. 88–133, esp. 126–33). Bartlett 1935, chs. 2, 3 and 4. For some examples of studies which include significant analyses of verbal repetition in their interpretation of specific poems see: Greenfield 1954; Huppé 1943 and 1970; Isaacs 1968; Hieatt 1971, 1975 and 1980; Hamilton 1972; Kahrl 1972; Tyler 1992; and Stevanovitch 1996. Frank 1972. Pasternack 1995, esp. p. 163.

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Verbal Repetition and the Aesthetics of the Familiar some bearing on matters), but rather with a different, and thus far largely neglected, question. If verbal repetition is ubiquitous, and many poems and passages within poems do show multiple repetitions of multiple words, how can poets use verbal repetition to make meaning? When a poetics permits the lavish repetition of words, how are some repetitions foregrounded as significant while others fall into the background? The question of why some repetitions remain in the background and some move into the foreground of a poem is a difficult one to answer for two interrelated reasons. First, there is the difficulty of determining whether the repetition of a particular word is intentional or accidental, and second, there is modern aesthetic distaste for verbal repetition, especially in poetry. The difficulty of distinguishing intention from accident, whilst recognized, has not received sustained discussion. Authorial intention is, of course, a problematic goal for the interpretation of any text. Moreover, in the study of verbal repetition, the orality and conventionality of Old English poetry and the accretive nature of many individual poems, as well as the anachronism of modern notions of ‘author’ when applied to medieval texts, makes authorial intention a distinctively problematic aim in the study of Old English poetry.7 From the start, Bartlett anticipates that some will think that ‘too much stress is laid on verbal echoes’ in the passages she discusses. She argues that logic and the convergence of verbal repetition with a sense unit are sufficient to separate deliberate from accidental repetition. She continues: All echoes to which attention is especially directed in these passages have something to do with maintaining the Envelope scheme, with reinforcing the repetition or contrast of ideas . . . I believe that poetic detail is almost never accidental and that Anglo-Saxon verse is genuine poetry, written by men who knew what they were doing.8

More recently, C. B. Hieatt has raised the issue of intentionality, only to dismiss, without citing or really answering, those who ‘have their doubts about the intentionality of many of the verbal repetitions in Old English poetry which I have been identifying as “envelope patterns” over the years’.9 New Criticism, of course, eschews the concept of authorial intention; however, its practice of close reading, with attentiveness to detail, tends to entail a view of all repetitions as significant. However, often the sheer number of verbal repetitions in a passage or a poem presents a challenge to reading in this way, as Kintgen implicitly acknowledges when he writes in his discussion of The Dream of the Rood: 7 8 9

See above, introduction, pp. 3–4 and 5. Bartlett 1935, p. 17. Hieatt 1975, pp. 256–7, and 1987, p. 246. Hieatt’s work is strongly influenced by Bartlett’s but it is nonetheless much less sensitive to the need for verbal repetition to coincide with an obvious sense unit.

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Old English Poetics Echoes are so frequent in the poem – there are more than 150 even when the distance between elements is limited to ten lines – that I cannot treat them all; rather one echoic set is offered as an example of their function.10

Kintgen, like Old English scholarship in general, has neglected the question of the distinction between which verbal repetitions occupy the background and which the foreground of a poem. One response to the difficulty of intentionality is to consider verbal repetition not in terms of conscious design but of its effectiveness. For example, Thomas Gardner, discussing an instance of verbal repetition, writes: ‘The probable effect of such a figure of rhetoric is obvious, and it was no doubt deliberately sought after.’11 In other words, effectiveness is a sign of deliberateness. This, of course, problematically conflates success with intention, but just as the unconscious can be effective, the conscious can be ineffective. In looking at effectiveness, in the context of the high density of verbal repetitions in Old English verse, we also need to ask what would have been effective in the original oral and/or aural context of the poetry: that is we need to allow reception to shape our understanding of effectiveness. What would have been noticed as effective verbal repetition by a listening audience may not coincide with what the modern critics recognize as effective. Letting reception shape our understanding and our evaluation of effective verbal repetition is difficult. There is a mismatch between our analytical reading, with its attentiveness to all verbal repetition, and what we are trying to assess: what verbal repetition would have been central to the meaning of text as deduced by an audience listening for content in didactic and/or entertaining contexts. Even an audience alert to the capacity for style to carry meaning, as many Anglo-Saxon audiences certainly were, would not process verbal repetition in the way the modern critic does, conscientiously noting each instance and then working to find a significant pattern. On one level, this careful close reading attempts to compensate for our lack of familiarity with the conventions of Old English verse. But on another level, for all of its delicacy, this way of reading is a clumsy way to interpret verbal repetition unless we think conceptually about which kinds of repetition attracted the attention of Anglo-Saxon audiences and which remained in the background. If, however, we are not simply going to replace over-reading of verbal repetition with under-reading of verbal repetition, we will need to think theoretically about which repetitions would have caught the attention of the audience. Not all details of any texts are equally notable or significant, and for Old English verse this is especially true for verbal repetition, given its frequency – if they were all equally meaningful, the poetry would have become uninterpretable in the context of its initial aural reception.12 In look10 11 12

Kintgen 1974, p. 214. Gardner 1973, p. 119. Hieatt’s work on envelopes in Beowulf, which is supported by an elaborate diagram,

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Verbal Repetition and the Aesthetics of the Familiar ing at verbal repetition I would like to use what Peter Rabinowitz terms ‘rules of notice’ as a starting point. Rabinowitz’s ‘rules of notice’ are rooted in an understanding that for a text to communicate successfully, there must be a ‘hierarchical organization of details’.13 Working from ‘rules of notice’ allows a shift in critical attention to the issue of what verbal repetition occupies the foreground of an Old English poem and what remains in the background, and further to the issue of the relationship between the foreground and background in a poetry marked by the frequent repetition of words. In my own earlier work, which was aimed at examining effective verbal repetition, I was concerned with this issue of foreground and background, and with thinking theoretically about the operation of verbal repetition in Old English poetry. I suggested that the convergence of verbal repetition with a convention such as a thematic formula, an established alliterative pair, or with wordplay, served to draw repetition to the attention of the audience. In a sense, I considered these kinds of convergences as examples of ‘rules of notice’.14 However, by insisting on focusing on effectiveness and on the need to exclude the poet, as a way of dealing with the problem of conscious design and intention, I reduced the insight which the study of verbal repetition can offer us into the composition of Old English poetry. In addressing this problem, Rabinowitz’s ‘rules of notice’ are again helpful; he writes: ‘since the attention of the author is not directed equally to all details in a text, then neither should the attention of the authorial audience be. The reader trying to recover authorial intention, should, rather, try to duplicate the angle of the author’s attention.’ Focusing on the ‘rules of notice’ draws on Reception Theory while simultaneously returning to poets and the processes of composition as a legitimate subject of inquiry. The way some repetitions are foregrounded, while others escape notice, imposes some limitations on the meanings of a poem, directing our attention, as the attention of the original audiences was directed, not to uncovering many potential interpretations of a poem but rather to the poet’s or poets’ meaning (I say poets here to indicate that I view many poems as the product of the successive interventions of multiple poets). The audience is not constructed as one which understood a text to be incomplete without their own creative interpretation, but rather one which, led by ‘rules of notice’, was intent on listening for the poet’s message. This is not to argue that there is one uncoverable and authorial meaning to a text, but to acknowledge that audiences are generally led by a desire to know what the author meant.15 Three important qualifications or refinements need to be added to this is a striking example of an interpretation of verbal repetition which does not attempt to consider the noticeablity of particular repetitions (Hieatt 1975). 13 Rabinowitz 1987, p. 53. 14 Tyler 1996b. 15 Rabinowitz 1987, pp. 47–75, quotation from p. 51. See above, introduction, pp. 5–6.

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Old English Poetics notion of ‘rules of notice’. First, a poet’s or poets’ meanings can be complex, ambiguous and hard to interpret. One of the aspects of repetition I want to consider is the way poets could make complex meaning with verbal repetition by relying on these ‘rules of notice’. Second, these ‘rules of notice’ are less rules and more expectations, shared by both poet and audience, about how poets make meaning – an understanding which is indebted to reception approaches to the interpretation of texts because it underscores the very active role audiences play in construing a text. Here, I use the verb ‘construe’ advisedly (and with Rabinowitz) to emphasize that the audience was aiming to discover what the author meant (however elusive) rather than to create the text. Hence, focusing on which verbal repetitions are in the background and which are in the foreground reflects my concern to represent poets as not only actively in control of their texts, but also, within the particular parameters of Old English verse, actively in control of tradition. Third, the diversity of Old English poetry must also be taken into account. Verbal repetition which was effective in short meditative religious lyrics would not have worked in the same fashion in a long poem intended to be delivered orally in a setting which did not encourage reflection. We can expect poets to deploy verbal repetition with sensitivity to their audiences. The variety of Old English poems and the potential variety of Anglo-Saxon audiences indicate that we should not conceive of ‘rules of notice’ as a rigid set of expectations which applies in the same way to all Old English poems, but rather as flexible and responsive to different kinds of poems and different contexts, let alone different for poets of differing abilities. The flexibility of verbal repetition contributes to the way a diverse body of poetry can participate in a single aesthetics of the familiar. The aesthetics of modern poetry also impact on our ability to discuss verbal repetition and to interpret how poets use it to make meaning in Old English.16 As Derek Attridge writes: But to say something and then say it again, in exactly the same words, is to transgress the dictates of good style and good sense; the very phenomenon [repetition] often regarded as the distinctive feature of poetic discourse becomes, in its purest form [immediate exact repetition of verbal material], a mark of poetic collapse.17

Our modern poetic language displays an aversion not so much to verbal repetition, but to verbal repetition which does not foreground itself. As a result, verbal repetition tends to be used sparingly and with prominence and, we assume, intentionality. A further consequence of the reservation of verbal repetition for prominence is that poets often seek out alternative words in 16

See Wills for discussion of how aesthetics of modern poetry impairs our understanding of the dynamics of repetition in Classical Latin verse (Wills 1996, pp. 473–7). 17 Attridge 1994, pp. 69–81, quotation from p. 70.

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Verbal Repetition and the Aesthetics of the Familiar order to avoid reusing the same word, something Old English poets appear to have felt no compulsion to do. This interlinked prominence and avoidance of verbal repetition in Modern English verse is as characteristic as its ubiquity in Old English verse. In trying to think about the place of repetition in Old English poetics, it is worth recognizing that in a sense, Modern and Old English poetry are equally, though oppositely, marked by verbal repetition. Although repetition (on many levels, including: rhythmic, semantic, syntactic, and lexical) is a defining feature of all poetic language, it operates very differently in Old and Modern English poetry.18 Our experience of postmedieval poetry, and especially of modern poetry, conditions our reading of Old English: crucially, we lack a category, other than the pejorative ones of repetitiousness and repetitiveness, for verbal repetition which in Old English simply falls into the background. Repetition which remains in the background does not need to be accidental, nor is it necessarily ineffective; rather it is doing something which our own sense of poetics does not readily allow us to see. The aesthetic values of modern poetry can make it difficult for us to perceive the aesthetics of the familiar which governs Old English poetry. Jeffery Wills’ discussion of the consequences of the competing aesthetic values of modern and Classical Latin poetics, in the epilogue to his study Repetition in Latin Poetry: Figures of Allusion, further underscores how our culturally specific response to repetition shapes our reading of Old English verse. Wills examines verbal repetition in Classical Latin poetry to argue that it is both more prominent and more figured than has hitherto been recognized. According to Wills, recognition of its place in Classical Latin poetry has been hampered by the critical inclination to see repetition as a failing or unconscious, because it is at odds with our notions of good poetics. And because of the supposed sophistication of Classical Latin poetry and its key position in the canon of the Western European literary tradition, there has also been a concomitant tendency to minimize its use of repetition – this move offers a sharp contrast to critical responses to Old English verse, where repetition is emphasized because this early poetry is seen, especially in its orality, as very different from our own. Here we can find parallels with the expectations that formulaic language is somehow primitive which were discussed in the previous chapter.19 In interpreting Classical Latin verse, Wills introduces the notion of figured and unfigured repetition: repetition we see as effective is figured, repetition we see as unconscious is unfigured. But by unfigured he does not mean repetition which is ineffective, but rather repetition whose purpose the modern scholar cannot figure out, that is cannot perceive. Although this opposition of figured-unfigured is not entirely appropriate for Old English verse (whose more frequent repetitions need to be conceptualized

18 19

Ruth Finnegan 1977, p. 90 and pp. 127–33. See above, ch. 3, p. 121 and Ruth Finnegan 1977, pp. 126–33.

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Old English Poetics within a framework of orality/aurality), it provides a useful perspective on its repetitions and the need to set aside the aesthetics of modern poetics. While much of the verbal repetition of Old English verse, which we see as repetitious, may have been figured for the original poet and audience, as Wills argues was the case for Classical Latin poetry, much of it may also have been unfigured without being repetitious. Repetitious indicates that a repetition of language is noticeable, whereas much Old English repetition may not have been repetitious because it was simply an unremarkable part of the background. I want to explore the ways in which Old English repetition was figured, even when that figuring may not be apparent to us. But where Wills focuses on the capacity of literary allusions (which have previously been missed by scholars) to figure repetition, I will focus on capacity of convention to foreground repetition. At the same time, however, I also want to draw equal attention to what is not so much unfigured by us as modern readers, but which the aesthetics of Old English poetry allowed to remain unfigured. I also want to consider the particular relationship between these two categories of repetition in Old English poetic tradition.20 The place of repetition in Classical Latin poetics also forces us to reexamine the context in which verbal repetition continued to be a feature of Old English verse once it had encountered writing and in various degrees had become a literate production. The written verse to which Old English poets were exposed did not come in a form which avoided straightforward verbal repetition: in this regard what is true for Classical verse is even more true for the biblical and Late Antique verse which were both known in Anglo-Saxon England.21 The poetry of the Bible, which the Anglo-Saxons knew in a written Latin form, was marked by verbal repetition for the same reason as Old English poetry – its originally oral character. Thus the Anglo-Saxons encountered an authoritative written tradition of verse which displayed verbal repetition.22 Even more striking is the prominence of verbal repetition in Late Antique verse (including biblical epic – a genre the Anglo-Saxons developed in Old English). As Michael Roberts writes, its aesthetics is rooted in a ‘pronounced taste for effects of repetition and variation’ which manifests itself in a poetry which is highly patterned from the level of the word up to larger structures, and includes the use of envelope patterns, love of detail, episodic construction of narratives, parts dominating

20 21

Wills 1996, esp. pp. 473–7. A sense of the knowledge of Late Antique poets in Anglo-Saxon England can be gained by checking for relevant poet’s names (including, for example: Arator, Ausonius, Claudius Marius Victorius, Cyrpianus Gallus, Dracontius, Fortunatus, Juvencus, Lactantius, Prudentius, Sedulius, Sidonius Apollinaris) in Gneuss 2001 and on Fontes Anglo-Saxonici. 22 Alter 1985, esp. chs. 1, 3 and 5. On verbal repetition in The Paris Psalter and its Latin source see Griffith 1991, p. 182.

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Verbal Repetition and the Aesthetics of the Familiar over the wholes, reliance on juxtaposition and contrast rather than logical connections to make meaning, and its distinctive treatment of poetic allusion. The aesthetic values behind these stylistic features are, of course, out of step with modern sensibilities, and the study of Late Antique verse, like that of Old English verse, has suffered from this disjunction in standards of taste.23 Many of the elements Roberts identifies as features of Late Antique poetic style are those often attributed to oral poetry; more specifically, these elements have been considered typical of Old English verse.24 Indeed, the terms in which Roberts describes the style of Late Antique verse are familiar from Robinson’s explication of the style of Old English poetry in his Beowulf and the Appositive Style.25 The Anglo-Saxons may have experienced significant points of contact between the aesthetic values of their poetic tradition and those of the biblical, Classical and Late Antique verse introduced, with literacy, by the Church. The verbal repetition which marks Old English verse was thus not maintained in a context where repetition was associated solely with oral poetry; rather the continued centrality of repetition to Old English poetics can be seen as a response to both native oral poetic tradition and literate Latin poetic tradition. The indivisibility of oral and written thus becomes a striking feature of Old English poetic style, and complicates the interpretation of verbal repetition: it is at once, as many have argued, an indication of the poetry’s orality (both past and present), whilst being an indication, as others have argued, of its literate nature. The same aesthetics encompass both aspects of Old English verse, thus lending a familiarity to aspects of the poetics of different kinds of Latin verse which are then more readily able to be assimilated. From within this framework which recognizes that modern practice and taste regarding verbal repetition diverge distinctively not only from that of Old English, but also from biblical, Classical and Late Antique Latin poetry, I want to turn now to the discussion of specific instances of verbal repetition in Old English verse. My aim is two-fold: to explore the diversity of verbal repetition in terms of both its forms and functions, and also to focus on what the ambiguities involved in interpreting any particular instance of verbal repetition as in the foreground or the background reveals about the nature of Old English poetics and its aesthetic values. A study of word collocations proves 23 24 25

M. Roberts 1989, quotation from p. xi. See for example: Niles 1992. Robinson 1985. I do not mean to imply here that there is any direct correspondence between the aesthetic values of Old English and Late Antique poetry. Verbal repetition remains more common in Old English than in Late Antique poetry; however, it is markedly more common in the latter than it is in Modern English poetry or Classical Latin poetry. Roberts notes that Late Antique Christian poets participated in an aesthetics of the ‘jeweled style’, with an exception being writers of New Testament (but not Old Testament) biblical epic (M. Roberts 1989, pp. 122–47).

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Old English Poetics a particularly productive vantage point from which to examine verbal repetition, because it does not aim to identify only those repetitions which can be described as effective, but rather it sets side-by-side a range of kinds of repetitions and allows us to consider their interconnections, which emerge as understandable within an aesthetics of the familiar. Finally, a caveat is needed before turning to the poetry itself. Interpreting an instance of verbal repetition as in the foreground or in the background is always a matter of literary judgment (as would also be the case if we were examining categories such as deliberate or effective), and others may find that they consider examples I cite as falling into the background, as belonging in the foreground (and vice versa), or that I have substituted under-reading for over-reading. This level of subjectivity is always the case with literary analysis, and although a study of collocation involves lists and numbers, interpreting collocations constitutes literary study. My position remains, however, that some of the abundant verbal repetition of Old English poetry must have remained in the background for the poetry to be meaningful, and that when we point to a repetition as meaningful, we must have grounds for seeing it as in the foreground.

Verbal repetition in the foreground Verbal repetition, in a diversity of forms, occurs in the foreground in poems across the corpus. There are distinctions to be drawn between words or groups of words which recur within a single passage, or which define a passage by marking out its beginning and end (envelopes), or which link contiguous passages, on the one hand, and words or groups of words which recur, like beads on a string, at intervals (sometimes widely separated) throughout a poem, on the other hand. To begin, let us consider repetitions which occur within close proximity, that is within a passage. The double use of æþel- (noble) in line 1287 of Guthlac B applied first to heavenly light and then to Guthlac himself would have attracted attention on several counts. Repetition within a line, though not rare, is unusual, and this repetition, moreover, fits in with three other instances of æþel- in the same passage, which emphasize the poet’s thematic concern to make clear that Guthlac is among the Just.26 At the beginning of Beowulf, the poet uses style to progress the meaning of his poem when he uses dense lexical repetitions to identify Scyld Scefing with his treasure, a connection he does not make explicitly but rather through style. The position of the passage at the beginning of the poem may also have ensured that the poet could rely on his listening audience to be particularly attentive to the

26

See æþel- and frætwe.

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Verbal Repetition and the Aesthetics of the Familiar repetitions in this passage.27 Once the main body of his story begins, the Beowulf poet continues to rely on verbal repetition to make connections which he does not overtly express. Later the repetition of the verb frætwan, first describing Hrothgar’s call to his people to decorate his hall, and then just twenty lines later applied, using conventional religious language, to God decorating the earth at Creation, powerfully juxtaposes those two events, with convention contributing to the foregrounding of this repetition.28 In Andreas the repetition of the alliterative pair sinc and sele/sæl (hall) within sixteen lines comes into the foreground because it is part of a passage in which God throws Andreas’s words back at him as he rejects the saint’s plea to quit the luxury of Mermedonia.29 A distinctive and much discussed subtype of verbal repetition is the envelope pattern.30 Some obvious examples of this pattern can be found defining the boundaries of entire poems as well as of passages within longer poems. The repetition of mod (mind) and hord, at the beginning and end of the short poem Homiletic Fragment II creates a neat verbal envelope which helps to define the structure of this poem. The carefully balanced repetition links Mary and the person addressed by the poem in a way which underscores the poem’s message that Christ is the source of salvation.31 Within The Phoenix, an envelope appears to be demarcated by repetition of the frætwe and fæger (fair) alliterative pair along with soðfæst (faithful) at the beginning and end of a passage which portrays the experience of the blessed in Heaven.32 The unity of the three poems which make up The Physiologus is flagged with an envelope established by the repetition of the word æþel- at the beginning of The Panther and at the end of The Partridge. This envelope interlocks with a smaller one which uses the repetition æþel- to enclose The Panther.33 The passage in Beowulf known as the ‘Lament of the Last Survivor’ does not show dense verbal repetitions, which helps to foreground those which are present, including an envelope: five words, which occur in the lines which tell that death claimed all the kinsmen of the last survivor, repeat in the lines which immediately follow the bereft man’s own words.34 Verbal repetition also occurs in the form of a string of words that repeat through a poem. In looking at these strings, in the context of a poetics that tolerates verbal repetition, we need to ask what would bring these repetitions to the attention of an audience and what would allow the audience to connect

27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34

See bearm and maðm. See land, eorþe, folde and frætwe. See sele, sæl and sinc. See above, pp. 124–26. See bindan, bend and hord. See fæger/fægre and frætwe. See æþel- and frætwe. See deore and maðm.

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Old English Poetics those that are widely separated. It is not sufficient simply to show that a word repeats, especially in a long poem, and to attach significance to its repetition. The fourteen appearances of frætwe in The Phoenix are an example of such a long string of instances of a word, some of which clearly occupy the foreground of the poem. The way the poet plays with the conventional thematic associations of the alliterative pair frætwe and fæger and the formula frætwum blican (to shine with ornaments) to allude to the symbolic meaning of the bird before he fully explains its significance, draws the polysemous word frætwe out from the many other words which repeat across this poem.35 Similarly, in Guthlac B, across some three hundred lines, the poet uses a x-hord compound five times to denote the saint’s body. In itself, this repetition would not guarantee notice, but the first four instances all involve imaginative reworkings of the x-hord onleac formula system which detach it from its usual association with speaking to represent Guthlac’s death as the welcome release of his soul. The final instance of hord appears in the unusual half-line greothord gnorað (grit-hoard mourns) (GuthB 1266) uttered by Guthlac as he announces his imminent death to his servant. Greothord underscores the worthlessness of the body in comparison to the soul and ends the string of x-hord compounds in a highly noticeable manner, by stepping away from the x-hord onleac formula which by now the audience may have expected. Amongst these x-hord onleac repetitions in Guthlac B there are two in particular which strike the modern reader as repetitive: the recurrence of a full line and a half at lines 956–7 and 1029–30. Whether this repetition is accidental or intentional cannot be determined. However, given the inversion of convention involved, it is unlikely to have gone unnoticed, underscoring the different aesthetic values of Modern and Old English poetry.36 Widely separated clusters of repeating words and phrases can also come into the foreground of a poem, especially, for example, in the repetition of maðm, hord, feorh (life) and bycgan (to buy) at lines 2799–800 and 3011–14 in Beowulf. This cluster first appears when Beowulf tells Wiglaf that he has bought the treasure with his life for the advantage of his people and then gives instructions for his pyre. The cluster recurs roughly two hundred lines later when the messenger informs the Geats that the treasure Beowulf bought with his life will burn with him on the pyre. Not only does the very appositeness of this repetition, which serves to intensify the tragedy of Beowulf’s death, draw it into the foreground, the poet’s use of language, more commonly used in poetry to describe Christ’s death to redeem mankind, assures that this repetition would have attracted notice, and indeed it also, in paralleling Beowulf and Christ, adds layers of meaning and reference which the poet does not set out explicitly.37 More often, however, as will be discussed 35 36 37

See blican and frætwe; fæger/fægre and frætwe; and land, eorþe, folde and frætwe. See breost and hord; word and hord; and lucan and hord. See bycgan, feorh and maðm.

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Verbal Repetition and the Aesthetics of the Familiar below, these repeating clusters either fall into the background or are difficult to interpret. Comparing some instances of verbal repetition within The Wanderer, The Dream of the Rood and Judith, three poems which show dense lexical repetitions, underscores its potential variety. The poet of the Wanderer wraps his poem in an envelope by referring to the ar (mercy) of God at the beginning and end. Within this envelope, there are further envelopes, strings and parallels created by repeating lexis. The poet draws the conventional representation of the mind or spirit as a hoard into the foreground when he repeats bindan (to bind) or bend (bond), which he applies first to the mind as a hoard, a further five times. The repetition points to the metaphorical nature of the Wanderer’s journey as he crosses waves and earth which are said to be bound with cold. In this elusive poem, without a plot and whose sections relate to each other obliquely, style, including repetition (very few instances of which seem to fall into the background) is central both to meaning and structure. In such a context, even repetition, such as that of the common alliterative pair sinc and sele (hall), whose recurrence within nines lines might seem simply redundant, alerts the audience to the poet’s tightly woven texture and the need to attend to style if any sense is to be made of the poem.38 Verbal repetition operates in a similar fashion in The Dream of the Rood, which has a strong plot, but whose meaning is radically conveyed through the poet’s lavish but carefully controlled use of verbal repetitions. These repetitions, inter alia, identify the suffering Cross and the triumphant Christ, thus preventing the poem from, heretically, representing the human and divine natures of Christ as separate. A reader who attended only to the plot of this poem would have gotten the message dangerously wrong.39 The repetitions in Judith, such as the threefold recurrence of brytta (giver), offer contrast. Brytta occurs first ironically and, thus memorably, applied to Holofernes, who presides over a banquet, swiðmod sinces brytta (stout-minded giver of treasure), where no treasure is given. Some sixty lines later, the poet more aptly denotes Holofernes with the unusual variation morðres brytta (giver of violent crime) and then immediately underscores Holofernes’ status as God’s enemy by referring to God, just three lines later, with the half-line torhtmod tires brytta (bright-minded giver of glory). The poet’s play on conventions bring these repetitions into the foreground of the poem, where they, like many of the poem’s other repetitions, support and nuance a message already made explicit in the poem. That is, unlike The Dream of the Rood and The Wanderer, the poet of Judith could rely on his audience to understand the basic meaning of his message even if they had not attended care38

See bindan, bend and hord and sele, sæl and sinc. On the style of The Wanderer see Dunning and Bliss 1969, pp. 78–94 and most recently Pasternack’s perceptive study (Pasternack 1995, pp. 33–59). 39 Woolf 1958; Burrow 1959; and Hieatt 1971.

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Old English Poetics fully to his use of verbal repetition.40 The ‘rules of notice’ for verbal repetition operate differently in a poem which draws structure from its plot than in one in which absence of a plot makes repetition a major vehicle for meaning. A number of factors seem to be involved in bringing verbal repetition into the foreground of a poem. Apart from those instances where sheer density gave impact to repetitions, instances where verbal repetition attracted notice were characterized by a striking convergence of convention with repeated language. Alliterative pairs, established collocations, formulas, and formulaic systems served to highlight verbal repetition. Very often, these conventions included a thematic dimension (such as we see associated with expressions involving the polysemous frætwe and with -hord used metaphorically for the mind, spirit, or the body), which in some cases was inverted or otherwise played with and in some cases, as in Beowulf, used with an appropriateness which brings together many layers of the poem, both explicit and implicit. Poets relied on the familiarity of language, and its associations and connotations, to attract notice to verbal repetition. Looking to verbal repetition which falls into the background of a poem and also repetition which it is difficult to assign to either the foreground or the background will allow this view of verbal repetition to be developed further.

Verbal repetition in the background The category of background repetition is difficult to discuss: while we may accept that many repetitions in Old English verse are best understood this way, when it comes to discussing individual examples, the attentive reader can always come up with an interpretation which allows a verbal repetition to play a central part in the design of a poem. Of course all verbal repetition, whether in the foreground or the background, contributes to a poem’s meaning, but not all verbal repetition attracts attention to itself. Here the aim will be to illustrate the range of types of verbal repetition which stay in the background of a poem. Instances in which different terms for treasure repeat within a passage provide examples of words which appear to recur simply as a result of subject matter: the poet’s focus on a description of treasure brought particular words to mind and there was no aesthetic imperative to avoid repeating them. For example, in the lines which recount Beowulf’s treasure-laden departure from the Danish kingdom, his journey across the sea, and his return to Hygelac (Beo 1880–1924), gold and sinc occur three times, while maðm and gestreon each occur twice. While it is important to the structure of this transition passage that treasure is described at Beowulf’s departure and at his arrival in the land of the Geats, the repetitions of these words do not 40

Tyler 1992.

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Verbal Repetition and the Aesthetics of the Familiar carry or make that structure; that is, verbal repetition is a consequence of the structure of this passage and does not attract attention to itself. Similarly, at the end of Judith, there is an extensive description of the Bethulians offering looted treasure to Judith. Within that passage, the repetitions of maðm (3), swyrd (sword) (3), helm (helmet) (3), byrne (byrnie) (2), gold (2) do not stand out from the repetitions of other non-treasure words which also mark this passage.41 Similarly, though not involving words for treasure, we see in The Gifts of Men many repetitions of folde (earth), molde (soil, land), middangeard (middle earth), woruld (world), land (land) and eorþe (earth) for semantic rather than artistic reasons.42 In Andreas, within the passage marked by foregrounded repetitions which show God using Andreas’ own words to reject his plea to return home, we also find repetition which becomes part of the background when the poet follows seledream (hall-joy) with beagsel (ring-hall) in the very next line. Particularly since the second instance is an unstressed syllable, the poet’s repetition of sele (hall) within two lines underscores the tolerance for verbal repetition in Old English poetry.43 In several instances hyge (mind) or related words are repeated with little effect. For example, within the repetitive syntactic structure of Maxims I, hyge recurs in successive lines and the related verb ahycgan (to think out) also occurs in a passage which blends literal and metaphorical treasure – weapons and the mind: Drugon wæpna gewin wide geond eorþan, ahogodan ond ahyrdon heoro sliþendne. Gearo sceal guðbord, gar on sceafte, ecg on sweorde ond ord spere, hyge heardum men. Helm sceal cenum, ond a þæs heanan hyge hord unginnost. (MxI 199–204) (They suffered the strife of weapons, widely throughout the earth, they devised and hardened the wounding sword. The battle-shield must be ready, the spear on the shaft, the edge on the sword, and the point on the spear, the mind in the strong man. The helmet must [be ready] for the brave man and always for the mind of the lowly one the narrowest hoard.)

But the poet does not appear to be making a point with this lexical repetition, unless perhaps there is an effort to signal the poem’s ending. Hyge and related words are dense in passages from The Order of the World and Juliana where they seem to recur as a result of subject matter, the poet’s focus on mental activity, rather than coming into the foreground to structure the passage or forward its meaning.44 41 42 43 44

See deore and maðm and gold and maðm. See eorþe and gestreon. See sele, sæl and sinc. See heorte, hyge/hycgan and hord.

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Old English Poetics Some verbal repetitions take the form of the recurrence of a cluster of words and/or phrases within a poem. Although treasure is obviously central to the meaning of Beowulf, and thus a study such as this one which looks at treasure language will be likely to find verbal repetition which occupies the foreground, there are examples of clusters of repetitions from the poem that cannot confidently be interpreted as such. For example, two sets of very similar passages in Beowulf (Beo 1050ff./1900ff. and 1866ff./2141ff.), which are built around a combination of alliterative pairs, formulas and thematic formulas, do not seem to create any paralleling of the events recounted by their use of similar language. In the first set, maðm, meodubenc (mead-bench), sellan (to give) and yrfelaf (heirloom) recur in two passages over eight hundred lines apart: the first passage being Hrothgar’s rewarding of Beowulf’s followers after Grendel’s death and the second Beowulf’s rewarding of the shoreguard on his departure. In the second set, where the distance between the two passages is much less, the words and phrases maðm, sellan, mago/maga (son) Healfdenes, and eorla hleo (protector of nobles), which come together in Hrothgar’s giving of gifts to Beowulf on his departure, reappear in Beowulf’s account to Hygelac of how Hrothgar rewarded him for slaying Grendel’s mother.45 While it is certainly possible to offer a reading of these repetitions which would grant them thematic significance, I would suggest that this is over-reading and that it is unlikely that the poet would have relied on his audience to notice these repetitions; rather these repetitions are examples of the poet using similar language in similar circumstances. They are more a byproduct of the poet’s design, with its repeated accounts of splendid giftgiving, than lynchpins of its design. As such, they fall into the background because they do not ask to be processed as repetitions with specific reference back to the passage where they previously occurred. Arguing that similar circumstances are the impetus behind a set of repetitions, does not, of course, imply that such repetitions had no effect on the meaning of poem. Both instances just discussed involve the use of poetic conventions which in each instance would have been registered as familiar by the poet’s audience and thus contributed to the sense that the poem was rooted in a traditional poetics. This appearance of traditionality becomes an important part of the meaning of the poem when, during Beowulf’s reign, treasure-giving fails to create the social bonds which the first half of the poem idealizes. The poet powerfully taps into that sense of traditionality when he recounts Wiglaf’s rebuke of the men who abandoned Beowulf by telling them that their leader threw away the treasure which he earlier gave them on the ale-bench. The words maðm, sellan, and benc (bench) recur together here, but their repetition (over eight hundred lines after their last co-occurrence) does not, in itself, attract notice by specifically recalling those instances of treasure-giving in the poem which used the same language. Rather, the poet 45

See benc and maðm and sellan and maðm.

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Verbal Repetition and the Aesthetics of the Familiar gives the traditional nature of the image of treasure-giving a sharpness when he employs it at this point of emotional desperation in the poem. The verbal repetition, which occurs when the image of treasure given on the mead or ale bench is used, and reused, is incidental (unmarked rather than accidental), and the poet would not have relied on it, rather than the image, to convey his meaning. Verbal repetition is not a structuring principle in this instance – it is hard to see how it would have been noticed and remembered as significant in the context of all the other repeated lexis in the passages and across the poem – but its presence does give insight in how rooted in traditional imagery and its repetition Beowulf is.46 Examples of such repeated clusters appear outside of Beowulf as well. In religious poetry too the coming together of linguistic convention and a recurring thematic concern results in lexical repetition. For example, in Christ III, the conventional association of frætwe with the soul, contributes to similarities between lines, almost six hundred lines apart, which describe souls being born before Christ at the Last Judgment.47 In Andreas, the exact repetition, within just over two hundred lines, of . . .biddan, þeh (þeah) ic þe beaga lyt, sincweorðunga, syllan meahte (mihte) (And 271–4 and 476–7) (to ask, although I could give you little in the way of rings, of treasure-ornaments)

may have propelled these lines into the foreground of the poem. However, there is little in these lines that can be described as distinctive. There is no thematic convention attached to this language which is either used appropriately or subverted, and the repetition does not create an apt juxtaposition. Thus these lines seem to be more part of the background and evidence for the ability of the audience to tune out repetition which does not catch their attention.48 Looking at instances of repetition which seem most readily interpretable as part of the background of a poem highlights the importance of subject matter in generating repetitions. In short passages and poems, this may result 46

See benc and maðm and sellan and maðm. For a further example of a repeated cluster in Beowulf, see bearm and maðm. 47 In the first instance they: berað breosta hord fore bearn godes, feores frætwe. (ChrIII 1072–3) (will bear hoards of the breast, ornaments of life, before the Son of God.) Later in the poem: þonne þa gecorenan fore Crist berað beorhte frætwe. (ChrIII 1634–5) (then the chosen will bear bright ornaments before Christ.) 48 See weordian, weorðlic, weorðung and sinc.

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Old English Poetics in the frequent re-use of words and phrases, where modern aesthetic values would dictate the search for an alternative expression. The existence of background repetitions in these passages does not prevent other repetitions from entering the foreground and becoming important carriers of meaning. Hence we see both types of repetition not only existing in the same poem, but also within the same passage – simultaneously marked and unmarked. Where more widely separated clusters of repeated lexis are concerned, only exceptionally (and this exceptionalism usually entails some sort of wordplay) are the verbal repetitions themselves responsible for creating a parallel between two episodes. Rather repetition was often the outcome of a thematic parallel as similar circumstances called up similar language. An aesthetics of the familiar allows a variety of fore- and background repetitions to co-exist.

Ambiguity and verbal repetition In many instances, it is very difficult to assign a verbal repetition confidently to the foreground or the background of a poem. An examination of some of these instances allows us to consider more fully how closely related both types of repetitions are and further underscores how the divergent aesthetic values of modern and medieval poetry complicate the interpretation of Old English poetry. Envelope patterns can be elusive, and even Bartlett herself acknowledged that her discussion of this particular rhetorical pattern might be met with skepticism.49 While Bartlett’s definition is clear – verbal repetition must coincide with a sense unit to be an envelope – it is less clear whether envelopes are really such a straightforward structuring device used by poets and perceived by audiences or whether they are a natural consequence of subject matter being reiterated before a poet changes direction and moves on to a different topic.50 For example, in the eighth of The Meters of Boethius, repetition of eorþe (earth) twice at the beginning and once at the end of Wisdom’s speech might be interpreted as demarcating a section within the poem. However, eorþe occurs six times throughout this meter, as does woruld (world), in a manner which suggests that it is simply a question of subject matter leading to the repetition of key words.51 Likewise in Beowulf, the collocation of maðm and gold repeats at the beginning and end of the long passage which describes Hrothgar’s giving gifts to Beowulf after he kills Grendel, but maðm occurs twice more within the passage, which is dense with repeated lexis.52 The coming together of subject matter and verbal repetition signal the 49 50 51 52

Bartlett 1935, p. 30. See above, pp. 124–26. See eorþe and gestreon. See gold and maðm.

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Verbal Repetition and the Aesthetics of the Familiar cohesion of this passage, but the unity of the passage does not depend on the repetitions and would have been maintained without them drawing attention to themselves, or if, in the style of modern poetry, variant words had been sought out to avoid repetition. Envelopes can also be defined by widely separated words or phrases, and here the question of how to understand them becomes more acute, as we see in Exodus. The formula hordwearda hryre (destruction of the hoard-guardians) occurs at line 35 and then again at line 512 almost eighty lines from the end. Do we see here similar circumstances calling up similar language, with this half-line coming into the poet’s mind when slaughter of the Egyptians is represented in terms of their loss of wealth? Or does the poet use the repetition to draw a parallel between events at the beginning and end of his poem? It is difficult to know whether this repetition lies in the foreground of the poem – with the poet expecting that his audience would notice the envelope and assign it thematic import – or whether it would have remained in the background.53 The fact that so much repetition does remain unmarked in Old English can make these distinctions difficult to draw. An identifiable envelope may be present, but whether it should be considered a larger rhetorical pattern, that is as in the foreground, is harder to determine. Strings of a single word repeated in a long poem can pose similar issues. While it is clear that they exist, it is harder to say that they are part of the design of a poem. For example, four of the eleven instances of gestreon in Genesis A appear in genealogical passages: at lines 1071, 1075, 1208 and 1621; in addition the related verb strynan (to acquire) appears repeatedly in this context. The association of gestreon both with wealth and with procreation make it especially suited to this context.54 Within this group, some repetitions are close enough to be noticeable and such repetitions, in some cases separated by only a few lines, do add to a sense of a succession of generations following one after the other. By the same token, these repetitions, partly because they involve everyday linguistic expressions, do not establish a set of expectations which allow them to be remembered over four hundred lines later when the word recurs in a similar context. The repetitions are not foregrounded in a way which calls on the audience to relate these disparate passages. Treasure repeats in Genesis A, but these repetitions largely fall into the background in a manner consonant with the thematic concerns of the poem, to which treasure, though a conventional feature of Old English poetry, is not central. Within Beowulf, there are similar strings of words. The compound word hordweard (hoard-guardian) occurs six times in Beowulf – a rate easily attributable to the place of hoarded treasure within the poem. And indeed, the first

53 54

See weard and hord. See ch. 1, pp. 31–33.

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Old English Poetics two occurrences separated by just over eight hundred lines appear to remain in the background: the common formula hordweard hæleþa (hoard-guardian of men) repeats without any apparent play on convention as the compound is used, as it is elsewhere in the corpus, to denote a person who guards treasure. Moreover, this formula is part of a larger system within Beowulf, hord-x hæleþa (hoard-x of men), which draws on the hord/hæleþ (man) alliterative pair and which appears not to have a thematic or contextual component. The system recurs at intervals that suggest that its repetition is unmarked. However, in the second half of the poem, hordweard is now used four times, but unusually, to refer to the dragon, as the proper order of society in which kings protect treasure becomes inverted and ultimately collapses. Do these later unusual uses of hordweard stand in the foreground of the poem, not just as individual unusual applications of the term, but as repetitions which call on the listener or reader to relate later to earlier instances?55 Attention to strings of repeated single words, such as Stanley Kahrl’s study of repetitions of fæhð (feud), treat such repetitions as deliberate and as readily apparent to the poem’s audience.56 But while the theme of feuds is certainly obvious in Beowulf, it is not clear that the repetitions of fæhð, amidst all the other repeating lexis in the poem, are a part of the poem’s rhetorical design rather than a consequence of the poet’s return, again and again, to the subject of feuding. This way of reading verbal repetition can alert us to a thematic concern of the poet; however, it seems unlikely that we would not have already noticed the theme without attending to verbal repetition. As modern readers of old poems we need to be careful not mistakenly to equate what for us is a useful heuristic tool with a structural device used by the poet. The presence of convention, such as the metaphorical use of hord for the soul or mind, can also blur the distinction between marked and unmarked verbal repetition. For example, when Wiglaf brings treasure out of the dragon’s hoard and presents it to Beowulf, who in turn thanks God, the passage, naturally, includes many words for treasure, including three instances of hord. One of these describes Beowulf’s speaking as ‘wordes ord/ breosthord þurhbræc’ (the point of the word broke through his breast-hoard) (Beo 2791–2). The breosthord image may be an instance of literal treasure triggering more metaphorical treasure, and of little notice. Alternatively, the image may underscore the poignancy of Beowulf’s death, and thus the repetition of hord would become more prominent.57 And, of course, as we will explore more fully in looking closely at The Phoenix, these two possibilities are not mutually exclusive. The connotations and associations of a word, not initially chosen for its place within a larger design of verbal repetition, may in turn both suggest thematic possibilities to a poet and lend prominence to a 55 56 57

See hæleþ and hord and weard and hord. Kahrl 1972. See breost and hord.

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Verbal Repetition and the Aesthetics of the Familiar repetition. Moreover because treasure lies at the heart of Beowulf, repetitions of treasure language may demand an audience’s attention as they concentrate on determining its significance. However, and potentially equally, the poet’s focus on treasure, along with his inclination to linger over its detail, entails greater use of language for treasure, which would become uninterpretable if it was all in the foreground of the poem. Critical desire for the art of the Beowulf poet to be sophisticated and subtle further complicates the picture because it can easily lead us to over-read verbal repetition within the poem – which in another poem we would view as repetitious. The poet’s use and re-use of the convention of the mind as a hord in Andreas provides an opportunity to explore further the challenges verbal repetitions present to the modern reader. All four instances can be interpreted as connected to the common half-line, wordhord onleac (unlocked the word-hoard). When these instances are looked at in relation to each other, it is difficult to see how, even if they are foregrounded in their immediate context by some wordplay, each instance of hord impacts on the others to mark out the repetition as significant. Would the variation of mod (mind) for word at line 172 attract the attention of an audience accustomed to variation within formulaic systems? Or would they not have noticed it, and the other instances of the system in the poem, for precisely the same reason? Does the way wordhord fits in with the literal wealth under discussion at line 316 and the way both wordhord at line 601 and hordloca (hoard-enclosure) at line 671 fit in with a wider focus on the mind at these points in the poem constitute wordplay that would allow the audience to notice and connect these repetitions and variations of wordhord onleac? Or has mention of wealth and then the mention of wisdom triggered the poet’s use hord for the mind?58 Within Andreas there is some value attributed to treasure as a symbol representing the lure of the material world from which the saint tries to escape. But while treasure repeats in the poem, it does not lie at the center of the poem’s meaning. In contrast, in Beowulf, the repetitions of treasure language more often contribute to and are noticeable because of the poet’s extended exploration of the symbolic value of treasure. Comparing repetition of treasure in Beowulf to repetition of treasure in Andreas might fairly be said to be comparing apples with oranges, with the former necessarily being more in the poem’s foreground and artistically handled because treasure is of such consequence in the poem. To conclude this section on verbal repetition, I will return to The Phoenix, which raises some of the same questions which emerge in comparing treatment of repeated lexis in Beowulf and Andreas, but from within a single poem. Repetitions of frætwe are key elements in how the poet draws his multilayered poem together, and, as such, many instances of the word are obviously in the foreground of the poem, both within the immediate context of their surrounding 58

See word and hord and lucan and hord.

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Old English Poetics lines and also as part of a series of repetitions. However, not all fourteen instances of frætwe work equally within this series, and indeed, some may even fall into the background, and thus present us with an opportunity to consider some of complexities of verbal repetition. Although the repetition of frætwe has attracted critical attention as a ‘leitmotif’, it is by no means the most common word in the poem; for example, wyn- (joy) occurs twenty-six times and æþel- (noble) twenty-one times.59 Moreover, both words, but especially wyn-, occur more consistently throughout the poem. Wyn- recurs with a distinctly noticeable density in the opening passage of the poem and its repetitions carry on almost to the final lines, when the poet reminds his audience of the narratio-significatio structure of his poem by describing the herbs which the Phoenix takes with him as he longs for the fire in which he will be reborn and the good deeds of the Just who long for Heaven as wynsum (joyful) (Ph 653 and 659). In contrast, while the poet’s repetitions of frætwe in alliterative pairs and formulas fit in with and contribute to the narratiosignificatio structure, there are gaps in the strand of frætwe repetitions. These repetitions do not start until line 73; they end sixty-seven lines from the end, and they are absent from a section of 173 lines in the middle.60 Nor do all occurrences of frætwe fit unambiguously into the narratiosignificatio pattern. Frætwe appears first in the half-line holtes frætwe (ornaments of the forest) (Ph 73). While in this instance frætwe draws on its conventional association with Paradise, this detail tends to get lost amidst the many with which the poet paints a portrait of the groves as unchanging and the use of the word outside expressions such as eorþan frætwe (ornaments of the earth) or fægre gefrætwed (beautifully ornamented) means that here frætwe does not necessarily call up images of Creation, Paradise or Judgment Day. Furthermore, it seems doubtful whether the poet could have relied on his audience to remember this first instance, which does not involve creative use of conventions associated with frætwe, when, more than twenty lines later, he alludes to Christ by using the frætwum blican (to shine with ornaments) formula for the sun. Can a repetition be drawn into a string retrospectively? Or does this require a subsequent reading of or listening to the poem? Later, the poet’s application of frætwe to the Phoenix, as he is carved in marble by men wishing to make him more widely known, ties what could be a digression into the body of the poem. But at the same time, the fact that in these lines, frætwe does not participate in a thematic convention and it alliterates with fugla cynn (family of birds) just as it did five lines earlier, when frætwe appeared in the half-line frætwe fægran (beautiful ornaments) which evoked Creation and Judgment, raises questions about the impetus for its repetition. 59

For ‘leitmotif’, see: Calder 1972. For an unsympathetic view of verbal repetition in The Phoenix as verbose, see: Blake 1990, pp. 25–6. 60 Tyler 1996b. Discussion of The Phoenix draws on material presented under æþel- and frætwe; blican and frætwe; fæger/fægre and frætwe; and land, eorþe, folde and frætwe.

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Verbal Repetition and the Aesthetics of the Familiar Perhaps this repetition was generated by a convenient alliterative solution remaining in the mind of the poet, which thus reminds us that prominent and noticeable verbal repetition can be generated by the influence of verse form on word choice even in a context where artistic design is obviously an overriding concern. The polysemy of frætwe itself and the thematic conventions associated with the word do bring it, especially in some formulas and alliterative pairs, more fully into the foreground of the poem than æþel- and wyn-. Within The Phoenix, as in other Old English poems, different kinds of verbal repetition exist side-by-side: for example the dense repetition of wyn- in the poem’s opening section works differently than the strand of repetitions of frætwe that wind through the poem; thus early on wyn- is a more prominent word than frætwe, but the balance shifts once the poet activates the conventional associations of frætwe. Background repetition is a feature of even those poems, like The Phoenix and Beowulf, which engage most creatively with the place of verbal repetition in the aesthetics of Old English verse. Foreground and background repetitions exist within the same passages, and the repetition of a particular word or phrase can move from the background to the foreground and vice versa. Because the same aesthetic allows for all of this repetition, ‘rules of notice’ become essential for it be able to carry meaning. Beyond the issue of foreground and background, discussing the reference to frætwe in the marble carving of the Phoenix as an example of the influence of verse form on word choice is not a return to a view of verse form as constricting the word choice of the Old English poet. Similarly, considering the possibility that the first instance of frætwe in The Phoenix might stand outside the string of repetitions which pulls narratio and significatio together does not return to a view of verbal repetition as the product of either intention or accident. Rather the feature of Old English poetry which emerges strongly in looking at verbal repetition and especially at its convergence with conventional, sometimes formulaic language, is the capacity for language to be a source of ideas. Here we can only ask questions – because the intention of the poet is finally unknowable – but those questions can contribute to our understanding of composition within the Old English poetic tradition. Did the conventional association of frætwum blican with Christ, when applied to the sun, suggest to the poet the possibility of weaving frætwe repetitions prominently throughout the two parts of his poem? While it might seem most obvious to us that the poet had a plan to use repetitions of frætwe as a major stylistic device to develop the structure and theme of his poem, some factors in its use suggest otherwise: the patchy occurrences of the word, with the first instance perhaps standing outside the design, the disappearance of the word well before the end of the poem, and the absence of ornament as a leitmotif in the Latin original (although that poem shows an abundance of verbal repetition typical of Late Antique poetry) might suggest that the idea for dazzling repetitions of frætwe began with the application of frætwum blican to the sun. This movement from language to design alerts us not to a poet led by conven145

Old English Poetics tion and formula but to the dynamic relationship between language and ideas which can characterize Old English formulaic poetry, in which poets draw ideas from language as well as using language to express ideas.

Vital limits Approaching verbal repetition through ‘rules of notice’ simultaneously highlights the dynamism of the relationship, between language and ideas, which fed the vitality of Old English poetry, and the limits to the meanings generated by verbal repetition: limits which allowed the poetry to be interpretable and ultimately orthodox – whether in religious or political terms. The poet of The Phoenix responds to the polysemy of frætwe, and through verbal repetition, enhances and extends this polysemy. Other poets use similar techniques to add further layers of meaning, reference and connotation to the language of their poems, as each subsequent use of a word or phrase potentially builds on and refigures earlier uses. We see this building up of polysemy in Beowulf, when, at the outset of the poem, the poet uses elaborate verbal repetitions to identify Scyld with his treasure and thus brings the symbolic value of treasure to the forefront.61 Much later in the poem, the triple repetition of gestreon-compounds in the run-up to the ‘Lament of Last Survivor’ relentlessly and ominously reminds us of the worldliness and transience of the treasure for which Beowulf will sacrifice his life.62 Verbal repetition moves The Homiletic Fragment II from being a one-dimensional snippet of an exhortation (as the editorial title implies) to being a meditative piece with theological depth.63 But not all verbal repetitions catch the attention of the audience, and likewise not every repetition calls out to be interpreted. Attention to clearly foregrounded verbal repetition also shows us poets using the vitality they find in language and style to forward specific meanings within the boundaries of what is theologically and politically acceptable. In The Phoenix, verbal repetition transforms the exotic bird into the risen Christ. The demanding complexity of The Wanderer, partially sustained by densely repeating lexis, is firmly contained within a repetition of ar (mercy) which leaves no room for doubt about the poem’s ultimate meaning – God alone is the answer: frofre to fæder on heofonum,

Wel bið þam þe him are seceð, þær us eal seo fæstnung stondeð. (Wan 114–15)64

(Well it is for him who seeks mercy, consolation from the Father in Heaven, where for us all stability exists.) 61 62 63 64

See bearm and maðm. See -gestreon compounds. See bindan, bend and hord. See bindan, bend and hord and brytta and sinc.

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Verbal Repetition and the Aesthetics of the Familiar The paradoxical but orthodox nature of Christ as fully human and fully divine is not made at all ambiguous, but rather clarified by verbal repetitions in The Dream of the Rood: where the poem read without attention to style, threatens to lapse into a heretical separation of Christ’s divinity and humanity, verbal repetition brings it squarely within the bounds of Church doctrine.65 Verbal repetition underscores the spiritual nature of the battle between Judith and Holofernes – God’s champion and the Devil’s retainer – in a poem which otherwise might seem in danger of lingering too long over the attractions of female sexuality, material wealth and violence.66 Similar examples of the capacity for verbal repetition, both to add layers of meaning and for that meaning to be carefully circumscribed, is evident in the political realm. Although they use the language and imagery of treasure, the poems of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle are not marked by repetitions of the words for treasure considered in detail in this study, so they have not thus far been central to discussion. However they do, in their use of formulaic language and verbal repetition, participate fully in the aesthetics of the familiar which characterizes the style of Old English poetry. The repetitions of æþel- in the first and last of the classical Old English poems contained in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle shows verbal repetition in the service of newly created political orthodoxy. From its opening line, The Battle of Brunanburh inaugurates play on the first element of the victorious King Æthelstan’s name, using it to bind tightly together the military might of king and brother: bravery is geæþele (inborn) (BB 7) in both Æþelstan (BB 1) and his brother Edmund æþeling (ætheling) (BB 3). Later, the poet creates a clear envelope, by repeating æþel- in his last mention of Athelstan and Edmund – ‘cyning and æþeling’ (king and ætheling) (BB 58). Within this envelope, West Saxon hegemonic ambition is allied to the will of God, when the sun, denoted first as ‘godes condel beorht’ (God’s bright candle) (BB 15) is said to be ‘sio æþele gesceaft’ (the noble creature) (BB 16).67 Verbal repetition has harnessed polysemy to the engines of political propaganda as it does again in the Chronicle poem which laments the death of King Edward. Æþel- is the most prominent of the repetitions in The Death of Edward, a poem which is carefully structured around a set of controlled and balanced lexical repetitions.68 Repetition of æþel- (six times in thirty-four lines) is key to 65 66 67

See above, p. 135. See deore and maðm and gold and maðm. Tyler 1992. On onomastic wordplay in Old English verse, see: Robinson 1968. For discussion of the style of The Battle of Brunanburh including comment on the repetitions of æþel-, see: Frese 1986; Thormann 1994; and Bredehoft 2001, ch. 4. 68 For example: freolic (free) (DEdw 6, 22), wintra gerimes, weolan britnode (of number of winters, he dispensed wealth) (DEdw 7) and wintra gerimes, welan brytnodon (of number of winters, they dispensed wealth) (DEdw 21), and the repetition of cyning at the end of the first and last half-lines of the poem. For some discussion of the poem, see: Bredehoft 2001, ch. 4.

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Old English Poetics the poem’s celebration of Edward’s reign as a glorious restoration of West Saxon dynasty after the period of Danish rule. Edward is the byre Æðelredes (child of Æthelred) (DEdw 10) and an æþele king (noble king) (DEdw13) who wandered as an exile when Cnut defeated the kynn Æðelredes (kin of Æthelred) (DEdw18). But Edward, se æðela (the noble one) (DEdw 24), raised in Normandy, returned and ruled until death took him æþele (DEdw 27) from earth to Heaven. Crucially the last instance of æþel- is central to the poet’s designation of Harold, an æþele eorl (noble earl) (DEdw 31), as Edward’s rightful heir. Within both these chronicle poems, verbal repetition adds layers of meaning by tying new rulers to their West Saxon dynasty and the dynasty to God, but it does not allow any room for dissenting views or interpretations. Both poets use verbal repetition to drive home, rather than negotiate, the supremacy of the West Saxon political vision, in Brunanburh at the moment of its dawn and in The Death of Edward at the point of its collapse, its setting.69 Generations of poets who composed for Anglo-Saxon Chronicle evidently saw in verbal repetition a way to develop and forward a very single minded viewpoint – one which rolled over the political complexity of tenthand eleventh-century Anglo-Saxon England, with its history of regional separatism, conquest, and foreign-raised kings, to produce and reproduce an authorized myth of a united English kingdom. These poems – like other political verse of the tenth and eleventh centuries – use the aesthetics of the familiar, and the place of verbal repetition within it, not to perpetuate conservative tradition, but rather to reshape radically the political destiny of England – in 937 by imagining the kings of Wessex as the kings of Angles and Saxons and in 1065 by imagining Harold (not a scion of the House of Wessex) as throne-worthy. In this they use repetition to create tradition, or the impression of tradition, but they are not themselves traditional. In contrast to the straightforward poems of the Chronicle, the poem which is most difficult to fit into a view of poets using foregrounded verbal repetition to create but also carefully control complex meaning is Beowulf. The reasons for this are multiple and involve almost every aspect of the poem which emerges, again and again, as atypical of the written vernacular poetry of Anglo-Saxon England. In terms of form and content, Beowulf is unusual in being a long narrative poem which recounts events of the legendary continental German past. Only Genesis A compares in length, but as a religious poem which follows its biblical source faithfully, it provides little insight into the style of Beowulf. Other poems which deal with this legendary past are either too fragmentary (Waldere and The Finnsburh Fragment) or too generically different (Deor and Widsith) to allow us any comparanda for the repetitions of Beowulf. All of these poems are short, while the most elusive of the 69

As both poems are preserved in manuscripts C and D of the Chronicle, there is the strong possibility that the poet of The Death of Edward read The Battle of Brunanburh, and consciously imitated – repeated – its word play on æþel-.

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Verbal Repetition and the Aesthetics of the Familiar Beowulfian repetitions are those that were widely separated. Not only is Beowulf a poem about the legendary past, unlike any other Old English poem, it deals directly and extensively with paganism, an anxious subject at any point in the Anglo-Saxon period. If accretive texts challenge modern ways of reading, with their expectations of author, date, provenance and stylistic coherence, Beowulf presents the ultimate challenge: its archetype appears to date back to the middle of the eighth century, but its final form suggests that words, phrases and whole passages have been changed or interpolated in a process of composition which continued until the Cotton Vittelius A. XV manuscript was produced c.1000.70 The manuscript context of this continually moving text mirrors this accretive process: from an early stage in its transmission Beowulf appears to have been linked with The Letter of Alexander to Aristotle and The Wonders of the East, and then at a later stage joined by The Life of St Christopher and Judith. This addition of explicitly Christian material provides an overtly didactic interpretative framework for the poem and for the meaning its style conveyed. But even when so joined, its manuscript context still distinguishes Beowulf from the other surviving poems of Anglo-Saxon England. These other poems come down to us in manuscripts which can be much more closely identified with concerns and preoccupations of the ascendent reformed monasticism of the second half of the tenth and early part of the eleventh centuries than can Beowulf.71 Ambiguity is not just the result of Beowulf’s nature but rather does seem built into this poem whose poet and successive poets (who could also be characterized as contributors or simply scribes) brilliantly exploit the potential for the appositive style of Old English poetry to explore, but not resolve, the relationship between the paganism of the Danes and Geats and their evident nobility.72 The style of Beowulf, including its use of verbal repetition, allows extraordinary complexity and evasion in dealing with the distressing problem of the salvation of the pagans. But ultimately the poem’s style suggests that its meaning does not escape the controlling function of verbal repetition. Among the most predominant repetitions of treasure language in Beowulf are those which participate fully in the conventions of religious poetry. Close to the beginning of the poem, the scop sings of how God gefrætwade his Creation – just as we find it in The Phoenix, The Paris Psalter, and Genesis A, and the Old English translation of the Hexateuch. Repetition ties this potential digression into the body of the poem, juxtaposing Creation to Hrothgar’s newly built hall, reminding the audience of a truth larger than the admirability of pagan Danes.73 At the end of the poem, the poet twice 70 71

Lapidge 2000. For recent discussion and review of scholarship on the contents of the Beowulf manuscript, including an argument that Beowulf and The Letter were joined at an early stage, see Orchard 2003a, pp. 22–39. 72 Robinson 1985. 73 See land, eorþe, folde and frætwe.

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Old English Poetics uses language more familiar from descriptions of Christ’s redemption of mankind when he recounts how Beowulf bought (bebohte/gebohte (sold/ bought)) the maðm of the dragon with his feorh (life). Given the futility of Beowulf’s sacrifice, with the treasure being buried with Beowulf’s ashes, rather than being used to make peace with the warring peoples who threaten to destroy the Geats, it is hard to read the allusions to Christ’s redeeming sacrifice as anything other then damning: the poem does not parallel Beowulf with Christ, rather it makes the alternative to Beowulf clear.74 Ultimately, it is the capacity of verbal repetition to both add depth and set limits which makes it such a central part of the style of Old English poetry. And these two aspects are interlinked: the limiting function of verbal repetition allows the poetry to play a vital role in a society which did not use poetry or value the written word because these modes encouraged the exploration the slipperiness of language or invited the audience to participate creatively in making meaning, but rather because written poetry could be used to forward the religious and political agendas current in the elite contexts which produced and used manuscripts.

The aesthetics of the familiar and the dynamics of tradition Both formulaic language and verbal repetition are rooted in an aesthetics which grows out of, but also values, maintains and creates the familiar. Formulaic expressions, which involve both the use of inherited diction and the creation of new conventions, make language and ideas familiar by repeating them, diachronically, across the corpus of Old English verse. Verbal repetition works synchronically to make language and ideas familiar within a poem. This emphasis on familiarity can appear to efface the part of the poet in the composition of verse. Modern readers of Old English poetry find it difficult not to think of verbal repetition as purely repetitive and thus as an indication of a poet who is not attentive to the texture of his own poem. Formulaic repetition can seem to privilege the place of convention and tradition over originality and the individuality. And on some level – when we look at Old English poetry from the perspective of modern poetry, whose aesthetic values, forms, contexts, and purposes are so very different from those of medieval poetry – these characterizations are true. If there is an area of common ground, it is a very basic one – medieval and modern poetry share a love for the creative possibilities inherent in the language of poetry and an awareness of its potential for multi-valence; as Seamus Heaney writes: The movement is from delight to wisdom and not vice versa. The felicity of a cadence, the chain reaction of a rhyme, the pleasuring of an etymology, such 74

See bycgan, feorh and maðm.

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Verbal Repetition and the Aesthetics of the Familiar things can proceed happily and as it were autistically, in an area of mental operations cordoned off by and from the critical sense. Indeed, if one recalls W. H. Auden’s famous trinity of poetic faculties – making, judging, and knowing – the making faculty seems in this light to have a kind of free pass that enables it to range beyond the jurisdiction of the other two.75

Heaney’s sense of the two-way relationship between ideas and language is as insightfully applied to old poetry as to new poetry. But because its aesthetics are so counter to our own, when language leads to ideas in Old English poetry, we tend to think in terms of accident and of tradition replacing the poet rather than admitting that a complex and vibrant relationship between form, language and ideas shapes Old English poetry too. This complexity is fundamental to the sophisticated and varied ways Old English poets sought to use tradition to make meaning. Modern and Old English poetry, however, respond very differently to the potential for the multi-valence of poetic language. Reader-response approaches are able to capture the way modern poetry can acknowledge and even celebrate the capacity for the openness of language to engage the individual reader in the process of creating a poem anew each time it is read. While these same critical perspectives (when brought together with a recognition of the orality of Old English verse) have enabled the conceptualizing of composition of Old English poems as process rather than event – one of the most important insights into Old English verse to emerge in the last decades of twentieth century – such perspectives have been less successful in helping us to see more clearly the relationship between poets and tradition.76 Emphasis on the creative role played by audiences of a poetry as evidently conventional as Old English verse can lead to an understanding of tradition not as an abstraction, but as a force independent of the poets who composed within it. This view rests in part on the expectation that repetition, both synchronic and diachronic, is a marker of traditionality. Here in a conclusion which brings together this chapter with the previous one, I will focus specifically on the convergence of verbal repetition and formulaic language in a range of types of poems to argue that the rich interplay of these two different kinds of repetition plays a key role in allowing the aesthetics of Old English verse to be at once rooted in convention and dynamic. This dynamism rests on a complex two-way relationship between language and ideas and on the ability of poets to make choices about how they use tradition. As discussed at the outset of this study, treasure is virtually ubiquitous in Old English verse – it is itself a conventional aspect of the poetry’s aesthetics of the familiar. Focusing on the language of treasure to look at the interplay of verbal repetition and formulaic language will inevitably privilege the intersection of artistry and conventionality in those poems in which treasure 75 76

Heaney 1995, p. 5. See introduction, p. 4.

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Old English Poetics is thematically significant, such as The Phoenix and Beowulf, at the expense of those poems in which it is present but not central, such as Genesis A or even Exodus. If the aim here were to compare the poetic art of these poems, a different kind of study would be needed, one which was attuned to the distinctive thematic concerns of each poem. However, looking at one theme across a range of poems does allow us to compare how and in what contexts a poet brings the convention of treasure into the foreground of a poem with how and in what contexts a poem leaves treasure in the background – both responses to treasure represent a choice and show us poets controlling rather than being controlled by tradition. Treasure is obviously at the center of Beowulf: neither the conventionality nor repetitions of its language of treasure need to be gauged for this to be recognized.77 But attention to the recurrence across the poem of conventional language associated with treasure does bring two aspects to the fore. First, the repetitions of language for treasure in the poem, both in the foreground and in the background, not only draw on the inherited diction of Old English poetry, but they build these conventions into the poem. By repeatedly using the same language to describe treasure and its social function, the poets who took part in the composition of Beowulf drew on but also amplified the traditionality of treasure-giving and of the conventionality of the language of treasure-giving. This repetition of convention serves to idealize tradition, in this case the expectation that treasure-giving fosters social bonds. But in the second part of the poem, that idealization is shattered when treasure-giving so dramatically fails and in the final scene Beowulf is buried with his treasure: ‘eldum swa unnyt, swa h[it ær]or wæs’ (as useless to men, as it was before) (Beo 3168). The highly conventional language of Wiglaf’s rebuke, familiar from earlier in the poem, drives home the sense that Beowulf’s men have not only betrayed him but also the traditions which maintained the fabric of society. The poet emerges as one who composes within tradition in order to comment on tradition. Second, the poem’s openness to the conventions of religious verse and its representation of treasure bears on how the poets of Anglo-Saxon England used and perceived tradition. Although we cannot say whether conventional religious language associated with treasure was part of the poem from its inception or whether it was added by subsequent poets during its long composition, the newness of religious convention, when compared to conventions rooted in describing the heroic world, becomes part of the meaning of the poem.78 Implicitly, the failed and transient treasure of the old heroic world is apposed to the treasure of Heaven: 77 78

For earlier comment on treasure of Beowulf, see ch. 1, esp. pp. 9–12, 13, 16–17 and 22. Different points can be offered for the inception of Beowulf: when stories first began to circulate about the legendary figures who appear in the poem, when it became a written text, when the Grendel material was joined to the dragon material, and so on. More radically we can say that in some ways its composition stretches back to the

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Verbal Repetition and the Aesthetics of the Familiar the appositional style of the poem leaves the audience to complete the meaning of this juxtaposition, but there can only be one answer. Unnyt (useless), although not common in Old English poetry, recurs again and again in the homilies, and when it is joined with treasure, the meaning is clear – as we find in the Vercelli homilies: In þam dæge þa hleoðriendan ligeas forbærnaþ þæne blodgemengdan [middan]geard 7 þa þe nu her syndon on myclum gylpe 7 on unnyttre gesyhðe goldes 7 seolfres 7 godwebbes 7 woggestreona. (Scragg 1992, p. 52, ll. 2–5)79 (On that day noisy flames will burn up the blood-mingled earth and those who here now make great boasts and useless display of gold and silver and fine cloth and ill-gotten gain.)

The poem, as it repeats and interlocks traditional heroic and Christian treasure, weaves the changing of traditions into its meaning. The result is not the product of a poet (or succession of poets at different points in the poem’s compositional history) unaware that he is composing within a traditional framework rather he actively repeats conventions and juxtaposes them to offer a critique of the old ways.80 The representation of treasure in religious poetry provides ample evidence of the way that an aesthetics which rests on the familiar encourages the creation of new conventions which then become part of the stability of Old English poetry. This is not tradition perpetuating itself, but rather we see here poets intervening to create new conventions, so that conventionality is not synonymous with stagnance. For example, the convergence of verbal repetition with formulaic conventions in Guthlac B and The Phoenix shows convention eliciting powerful poetry as poets move back and forth between new ideas and familiar language to explore and teach Christian doctrine. In parts of The Wanderer, it is the conventions of secular poetry which verbal repetition brings to the fore. The poet is not, however, enclosed within his traditional medium; he is at once deeply imbued with its conventions and able to look at that tradition from the outside, hence his use of convention insists that varying points at which the secular and religious conventions it uses were established. 79 The occurrence of unnyt amidst the despair of Beowulf’s funeral is not the first in the poem. Earlier, Beowulf tells Hrothgar how he heard that Grendel had rendered his hall – the very hall that was earlier gefrætwed like Creation – idel ond unnyt (idle and useless) (Beo 413). The homiletic connotations of unnyt ond idel hang over Hrothgar’s hall here: it is not just useless because Grendel’s terror has emptied it, because treasure-giving no longer takes place there, but because it has been superseded by the truths of Christianity. 80 It is difficult to find language which allows us to focus on poets of an accretive poem. I have deliberately avoided the solution of shifting emphasis to how the poem represents and understands tradition – because the poem does not do this, the poet does.

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Old English Poetics God transcends the pleasures of the secular world. The irony with which the Judith poet repeats and extends the formulaic system based around sinces brytta (giver of treasure) shows a similarly discerning relationship to tradition. Where Old High German poets turned from alliterative to rhyming verse with the conversion to Christianity, Old English poets chose to maintain the established system.81 The rich interaction of synchronic and diachronic repetition allows religious poets to maintain traditional form and language, but also to look in on tradition. This enables the new Christian poetry to feed back into legendary poetry, like Beowulf, and thus the entire tradition is made richer. In common with the poets of Guthlac B and The Phoenix, the riddlers responded to formulaic conventions, and the themes associated with them, with wordplay. But in The Riddles it is less a convergence of formulas and verbal repetition and more the fracturing of formulas which alerts us to the knowingness with which Old English poets worked within their inherited poetic tradition. The riddlers also reveal an awareness of the way repetition creates convention. Across the collection of riddles, frætwe is used repeatedly to describe feathers and other natural coverings. But because frætwe also appears for treasure it remains useful for hiding solutions. With the repetition of the þær guman druncon (where men drank) formulaic system in association with treasure, we may see a riddler or several riddlers, establishing a convention that is then subverted to hide the solution. Both fractured formulas and the creation of conventions within the corpus of riddles shows us a group of poets who worked firmly within an aesthetics of the familiar, but in a way which required that their audiences were as aware of tradition as they were.82 Treasure may have been ubiquitous in Old English verse, but it was, frequently, not obvious: that is, not brought into the foreground of a poem. Curiously, poems where treasure fades into the background, and perhaps strikes the modern reader as merely repetitious, underscore the control poets exerted over the poetics of Old English verse and their consciousness of the tradition within which they composed. The poet of the Meters of Boethius is conversant with the formulaic conventions of the secular treasure of Old English verse. He alliterates sinc with sylfor (silver) and searo (skill). He knows the formula wordhord onleac (unlocked the word-hoard) but, whereas in Beowulf and Andreas the poet used verbal repetition to weave the half-line into the wider concerns of his passage, here the poet leaves wordhord onleac as a dead metaphor, expressing no more than ‘he said’. He uses the sinc-sylforsearo alliterative triple simply to get the silver of the prose into verse. The flatness of convention here suggests that the poet was aware of the potential

81 82

See introduction, p. 1. See ch. 1, p. 35 and word and hord; bindan, bend and hord; and drincan and sinc.

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Verbal Repetition and the Aesthetics of the Familiar meaning of using the form and diction of heroic poetry. In his first meter, which does not translate a meter of Boethius but rather sets the scene by explaining who Boethius was, he admits the language and imagery of heroic poetry which proves appropriate for depicting Boethius as a sincgeofa (treasure-giver) in Theodoric the Goth’s Italy. He then abandons this now inappropriate language as soon as he turns to the task of translating Boethius’ philosophical poetry into Old English poetry. The right use of wealth is a Boethian concern which appears strongly in the Old English Meters, but the poet does not allow an interplay of formulaic convention and verbal repetition to push treasure, with all of its heroic connotations, into the foreground of his poem – wealth, not treasure, is at stake.83 Similarly, when we turn to look at biblical translation, the absence of interplay between convention and verbal repetition, which contributes to the flatness of this poetry, alerts us to the control poets could impose on their verse tradition. In The Paris Psalter we encounter a poet who is deeply imbued with the conventions of Old English poetry, such as the language of Creation, but who strains to exclude the heroic so that he can render his biblical source more faithfully. Even his use of verbal repetition, which tends to originate with the repetitions of his source, illustrates his desire to remain close to his biblical authority.84 The poet carefully contains the potential polysemy of formulaic language by not letting it interact with verbal repetition. Thus, in contrast to The Phoenix, he leaves treasure, represented with conventional language, firmly in the background of his poem. This awareness of the tradition may have accelerated in late Anglo-Saxon England, but it is present too in earlier Old English poetry. The poet of Genesis A, a poem generally accepted as early, keeps close to his biblical source without excluding the heroic, and thus the biblical past is partly absorbed into the more familiar world of heroic poetry.85 But this remains a very local phenomenon which does not threaten to take over the poem as a whole. Looking at the interplay of verbal repetition with the traditional language of treasures suggests how the poet manages this – even though it may offend our modern sensibilities. Treasure is there, and it repeats, but it is kept local and in the background so that it does not, in a Beowulfian fashion, become an overarching theme connecting separate sections as the poem develops momentum. Close biblical translation points to the awareness of tradition and its meaning displayed by poets, while the exuberance and heroism of Exodus importantly remind us that there were alternative ways of approaching the Bible in Old English verse. The notion of an aesthetics of the familiar standing at the heart of Old 83

See word and hord; lucan and hord; giefa and sinc; and seolfor and sinc. On The Meters see: Griffith 1984. 84 Griffith 1984 and 1991 and land, eorþe, folde and frætwe. 85 See breost and hord; -gestreon compounds; and brytta and sinc. Doane 1979, pp. 36–7.

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Old English Poetics English poetics does not represent convention as a force which subsumed poets into poetic tradition. Old English poems were drawn tightly together by their use of shared conventions, and the poetry was open to accretive composition, as successive poets and scribes continued to participate in the process of composition. But, at the same time, poets controlled and maintained convention. Rather than acting as simple conduits of tradition, they were keenly aware of the complex and dynamic relationships between ideas, language and form: a point sharply made by considering how poets as diverse as the Beowulf poet and the psalter versifier purposefully handled the conventional language of treasure. Poets did not simply reproduce the conventions of heroic verse, unable to conceive of poetry as anything else; rather they were able to reshape tradition to new ends which included both austere biblical verse and legendary poetry, like Beowulf, enriched by the intermingling of new and old.

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CHAPTER FIVE

Poetics and the Past: Traditional Style at the Turn of the First Millennium

The stability of Old English poetic convention over a long period of time is evident in different aspects of the style of the poetry which have been considered in the previous chapters: the ubiquitous presence of archaic treasure, the carefully maintained semantic distinctions which differentiate the lexis of treasure, the complexity of the formulaic nature of the verse, and the place of verbal repetition within poems. Each one of these features contributes to an aesthetics marked by its preference – drive even – for the familiar and by a capacity to make the new quickly familiar. The interaction of these features, however, could also make the familiar startlingly new, illustrating that the familiar should not be understood as conventional, in our modern, pejorative understanding of this word. Looking at conventions associated with treasure across the Old English corpus did not impose a homogeneity on the verse. Rather a striking stylistic variety emerged in poems, such as Beowulf, Guthlac B, The Riddles, The Phoenix, Genesis A and The Paris Psalter, which nonetheless remain tightly connected by shared convention. The fineness of poetic convention, which cannot be reduced to the simple reiteration of prefabricated half-lines, coupled with this stylistic diversity, underscores that tradition was deployed and maintained with awareness and purposefulness. The richness of Old English poetic convention thus brings us to the importance of people and poets, as well as audiences, in maintaining the distinctive unity of Old English poetic form and content. People, of course, always exist in specific times and places, and it is people, not form or tradition, who maintain the timeless aspects of Old English verse, and thus poetics, however archaic and conventional, is always part of history.1 History, however, poses very real difficulties for the study of Old English poetics. In part because of the exceptional stylistic stability of Old English poetics, individual Old English poems are difficult to date and thus hard to fit into a chronological framework. As a result of their accretive nature, many poems do not have a single date or place of composition. They can be said to resist dating, not simply because scholars have been unable to determine 1

An earlier version of this chapter appears in Narrative and History in the Early Medieval West ed. by Elizabeth M. Tyler and Ross Balzaretti (Turnhout, 2006).

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Old English Poetics their dates, but because resistance to dating is part of their meaning. Beowulf overtly claims the timelessness of the verse tradition, when in its opening lines it announces that it is a story about long ago and far away.2 Widsith, with its fiction that its eponymous scop has composed poetry in courts as far apart in time as those of Alexander the Great and Theodoric the Goth, and with the openness of its structure to the addition of material in the tenth century, incorporates timelessness into both its content and form.3 The compiler (or compilers) of the Exeter Book, by bringing together verse about the Germanic past, the Roman past, the Christian past, with poetry which explores the eternal mysteries of the Christian faith, likewise signals the way poetry exists apart from a chronological framework. Thus the poetry itself alerts us that Anglo-Saxon poets and audiences were aware of its timeless qualities which in turn suggests that this feature was a central part of the attraction and meaning of the Old English poetic tradition. The difficulty of historicizing Old English poems and Old English poetics is thus a problem which demands an historical approach. The political poetry of the tenth and eleventh century, which recounts events and people known from other sources, can be historicized. Recent work has opened up to view the social and political ideologies of Old English secular poetry in late Anglo-Saxon England. Here, by focusing on The Battle of Maldon, I want to bring this ideological work to bear on our understanding of the traditional style of Old English verse. Drawing on the earlier chapters of this book, I will use the representation of treasure in the poem as a starting point for a consideration of how timeless poetic conventions might have worked around the turn of the first millennium. Especially in the work of Roberta Frank and John Niles, the tenth and early eleventh centuries have emerged as a critical period for secular Old English verse. First, beginning with The Battle of Brunanburh, recorded in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle for 937, we see the distinctive use of Old English poetry, perhaps under the influence of Old Norse skaldic praise poetry, to commemorate contemporary history. This new subject matter marks a sea-change in the use of secular Old English verse which appears to have been previously restricted to recounting continental and Scandinavian legendary figures dating from the Age of Migration. As the successors of Alfred the Great crafted a unified English kingdom which included both once independent kingdoms like Mercia and Northumbria and areas of Danish settlement, poetry became overtly political – deployed to legitimize West Saxon hegemony by representing this expansion in terms familiar from poetry like Beowulf.4 2 3 4

On the past in Beowulf see: Frank 1982 and Robinson 1985. J. Hill 1984. On the role and politicization of secular Old English poetry in the tenth century, including its relationship with skaldic verse, see: Frank 1987; Niles 1987 and 1993; Irvine 1994, pp. 451–60; Thormann 1997; and Townend 2000.

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Poetics and the Past What we learn by historicizing the poetic style of Maldon has the potential to shape our understanding of the style of Old English verse more broadly. The late tenth and early eleventh centuries are in fact a critical time for virtually all Old English poetry, both secular and religious. Most Old English poetry is recorded in manuscripts from this period and even if one accepts an early date for Beowulf and other legendary verse, the question of what the poetry was doing – and I mean that verb actively – in late Anglo-Saxon England remains. The question is not just why Old English verse was so assiduously preserved around the year 1000, but what this poetry taught, what could be learned from this poetry, how poetry could be used to explore the relationship between the present and the past. Although the accretive nature of individual poems, and the conventionality of the poetic tradition more generally encourages us to think of Old English verse as the product of an Anglo-Saxon England which changed little from the fifth to the eleventh centuries, this composite Anglo-Saxon England is a fiction which impedes our ability to understand Old English verse. There is a vast difference between the unified England of the tenth century, governed by a nascent bureaucracy which involved the sophisticated use of a monetary economy, and early Anglo-Saxon England, where kingship was only emerging and personal bonds, often fostered by gift-giving, between a lord and his men were fundamental to the control of small territories.5 Focusing on the late tenth and early eleventh centuries will give a much better understanding of Old English poetics, both in aesthetic and social terms, than if we think in terms of an imaginary Anglo-Saxon England that never existed. The Battle of Maldon stands out as a poetic version of an event which was recounted across the discourses current in late Anglo-Saxon England: the Chronicle, the Vita Oswaldi, charters, wills, homilies, and legal writing all mention the battle or its protagonists, thus this poem can be situated within the politics of Æthelred’s reign. Late Anglo-Saxon England also saw the appearance in written form, of poems which in one way or another did not conform to norms of classical Old English verse. The preservation of much of this non-classical verse within the versions of the Chronicle makes it evident that there was an affinity between such verse and political commentary. The decision of the poet of The Battle of Maldon to compose classical Old English verse at the end of the tenth or the beginning of the eleventh century, when other, less strict, forms of verse were emerging in English, and when other non-poetic discourses were also available for the recording of history, was a conscious choice, not dictated solely by tradition. The conventionality of Old English poetics would not have been perpetuated unless it had a value, 5

James Campbell, in particular, has been responsible for developing a maximalist view of the late Anglo-Saxon state as sophisticated polity: see the essays collected in his The Anglo-Saxon State (J. Campbell 2000a). And see above, introduction, pp. 22–24.

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Old English Poetics unless society (some particular part of society, a group of people) had a stake in it and a use for it.6

Tradition and innovation: The Battle of Maldon By 991 and the battle at Maldon, the now established West Saxon domination of a united England, was, in the face of Viking raids, newly precarious. The fragmentary The Battle of Maldon recounts the defeat of Byrhtnoth, ealdorman of Essex and his men, at Maldon while defending England. Byrhtnoth fights as the man of King Æthelred (reigned 978–1016); the poet emphasizes this relationship with wordplay on æðel- (noble) when Byrhtnoth is first wounded: Forlet þa drenga sum daroð of handa, fleogan of folman, þæt se to forð gewat þurh ðone æþelan Æþelredes þegen. (BM 149–51) (Then one of the warriors let a spear fly from his hands, from his palms, so that it went through Æthelred’s noble thegn too deeply.)

The unusual repetition æðel- within a single line ties Byrhtnoth closely to his king. This move recalls the punning of The Battle of Brunanburh and anticipates the punning of The Death of Edward, suggesting the presence of a poetic convention which had currency beyond the Chronicle.7 Fighting for his West Saxon king, Byrhtnoth leads an army which, though fighting in Essex, is not just local, but includes Mercians, men of Danish descent and a Northumbrian hostage. These are the provinces, loyal to the West Saxons, in battle against a Viking enemy who threatens the stability of the whole English kingdom. While the English are carefully named, with attention given to details of lineage and place of origin, the Vikings, who demand tribute and then deal a heavy defeat to the English when this is refused, are nameless and, at points, hardly human, described as wælwulfas (slaughter-wolves) (BM 96). Commemorating an event and a hero known from other sources, Maldon is a poem which invites, and has received, historicist attention: earlier concern with whether or not the poem could be considered historically accurate, has been superseded by work which draws attention to the poem’s political and social ideology.8 We have come to see the poem as appealing to the past to legitimize West Saxon domination of a united English kingdom. Here I want to build on 6

7 8

On classical and non-classical forms of verse in late Anglo-Saxon England, see: A. Campbell 1938, pp. 32–3; McIntosh 1949; Fulk 1992, pp. 251–68; and most recently Bredehoft 2001, pp. 72–118. See above, pp. 147–48. See esp.: Niles 1994. Although my conclusions about Maldon disagree with those offered by Niles in this article, my reading of the poem builds on and is indebted to his alertness to the poem’s social and political engagement.

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Poetics and the Past this work, but return to the level of form and style. Looking closely at the language of treasure shows that the Maldon poet has adapted the conventions of the timeless poetics of Old English verse with bold innovation to negotiate political and social change: his timelessness was far from static. Treasure was highly contested in late Anglo-Saxon England – as Anglo-Saxons and Scandinavians struggled to gain control of England’s wealth and as increased social mobility eroded distinctions of rank – and the poet responds to its heightened symbolic and real value by weaving it into the meaning of his poem.9 The result is a poem which appeals to tradition in order to examine and raise questions about the social fabric of late Anglo-Saxon England. The sharp contrast between the culture of treasure found in the poem and the strictly monetary concerns of the Chronicle offers a way into the Maldon poet’s adaptation of his traditional poetics to the needs of very uncertain times. The versions C, D and E of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle recount the battle at Maldon in terms which make clear that, in its aftermath, the Vikings were bought off with silver coins: Her wæs Gypeswic gehergod, 7 æfter þam swiðe raðe wæs Brihtnoð ealdorman ofslegen æt Mældune; 7 on þam geare man gerædde þæt man geald ærest gafol denescum mannum, for ðam miclan brogan þe hi worhtan be ðam særiman; þæt wæs ærest .x. þusend punda; þæne ræd gerædde ærest Syric arcebisceop. (O’Brien O’Keeffe 2001, p. 86) (In this year Ipswich was harried, and very soon after that Ealdorman Byrhtnoth was slain at Maldon; and in that year, it was first decided to pay tribute to the Danish men, on account of the great terror which they wrought along the coast; that was first 10,000 pounds; Archbishop Sigeric first advised that policy.)

Viking hoards of the period are composed almost entirely of coin or hack silver (silver cut up into pieces the weight of coins), with only small quantities of gold, reflecting the flourishing monetary economy of late Anglo-Saxon England.10 In contrast, the poet of Maldon imagines the events of 991 to have taken place in a society where gold was still exchanged. When the poet recounts that the Viking messenger demands that the raiders be bought off with gold, he tells us: Me sendon to þe sæmen snelle, heton ðe secgan þæt þu most sendan raðe beagas wið gebeorge; and eow betere is þæt ge þisne garræs mid gafole forgyldon, þon we swa hearde hilde dælon. Ne þurfe we us spillan, gif ge spedaþ to þam; 9

Both the struggle for control of wealth and the issue of social mobility are discussed further below. 10 Blackburn 1991, pp. 164–5.

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Old English Poetics we willað wið þam golde grið fæstnian. Gyf þu þat gerædest, þe her ricost eart, þæt þu þine leoda lysan wille, syllan sæmannum on hyra sylfra dom feoh wið freode, and niman frið æt us, we willaþ mid þam sceattum us to scype gangan, on flot feran, and eow friþes healdan. (BM, 29–41) (Bold seamen sent me to you, commanded me to tell you that you should quickly send rings for peace; and it will be better for you that you buy off this battle with tribute than that we share in such fierce battle. It is not necessary for us to kill each other, if you are rich enough for that; we wish to establish peace in return for gold. If you, who are most powerful here, decide on that, that you wish to redeem your people, to give to the seamen, according to their own assessment, money for friendship and to take peace from us, we will take ourselves to our ships with the sceattas, set out to sea and keep peace with you.)

The language of treasure in these lines deserves attention. By staging the demand for tribute as a one-to-one exchange between Byrhtnoth and the Viking messenger, and by placing heavy emphasis on Byrhtnoth’s relationship with his people and his need to protect them, the poet recalls an older culture of treasure, where gift-giving and tribute created social obligations within and between communities. Furthermore, the language used to denote the content of the demanded tribute is also skillfully handled. The poet of Maldon, a late poem, knows that gold, rather than the much more common silver (which he never mentions), is the stuff of poetry.11 An archaic poetic convention determines what the poet says and he represents the present in a timeless manner which would have been visibly distinct from the material culture of late Anglo-Saxon England. But the material realities of the 990s are not forgotten. In the prose of the period, feoh and sceatt generally denote coins, and so by using these terms, the poet can refer to coins without mentioning silver. In verse, while feoh and sceatt do refer to coins, they can be used as more general terms for treasure. Thus the poet has chosen flexible words to balance and link present realities with an imagined past. The alliteration of gold with grið (truce, peace) across the caesura, as the Viking offers peace for treasure, encapsulates the skill with which the poet controls his traditional poetics and brings us to the heart of how he makes new meaning with archaic convention. While gold is traditional, grið, from the Old Norse, meaning ‘truce’ and more broadly ‘peace’, appears in poetry only in this instance in Maldon.12 The poet has deftly put this Old Norse loan word, 11

Hence it is unwise to rely on The Battle of Maldon as evidence for the continued circulation of gold in late Anglo-Saxon England; see for instance: Blackburn 1991, p. 165; and Keynes 1991, pp. 101–2; and see above, ch. 1, pp. 18–22. 12 For the meaning of grið, see: Fell 1982–3, pp. 86–92 and Wormald 1999a, p. 327.

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Poetics and the Past along with other Scandinavian words and idioms, into the mouth of the Viking messenger in what Fred Robinson has acutely identified as the ‘first literary use of dialect in English’.13 But the Maldon poet’s use of the word is more topical than simply getting a Norse word in an appropriately Viking mouth, and the choice of grið along with gold reveals a poet taking part in contemporary debates about paying tribute. In the context of the last decade of the tenth century or the beginning of the eleventh century, the culture of treasure in the poem could not be simply left as a lifeless archaism, peripheral to the poem’s meaning. The Vikings came to England in search of treasure, hence, both inside and outside the poem, the politics of paying tribute was hotly disputed.14 The year 991 clearly marked a critical point in the debate over tribute: the Chronicle writer flags up 991 as the year in which tribute was first paid to the Vikings, although it was paid earlier.15 Outside of Maldon, in legal writing, charters, homilies and the Chronicle, grið first occurs in a lawcode of King Edmund (reigned 939–46), but it does not appear regularly until the last decade of the tenth century and then becomes more common in eleventh-century texts.16 In the Chronicle account of Æthelred’s reign, grið is frequently used in the context of negotiations with the Vikings, and with the not only dishonourable but also unsuccessful practise of buying the Vikings off with tribute. The Chronicle for 983–1016 which covers most of Æthelred’s reign (978–1016) was written retrospectively as a unit sometime between 1016 and 1023. Its account is pessimistically coloured by the knowledge that the Danes succeeded in conquering the English kingdom and that paying tribute was futile.17 The entry for 1011 puts the case against paying tribute forcefully: Ealle þas ungesælða us gelumpon þuruh unrædas þæt mon nolde him a timan gafol beodon oþþe wið gefeohtan. Ac þonne hi mæst to yfele gedon hæfdon, þonne nam mon frið 7 grið wið hi, 7 naþelæs for eallum þissum griðe 7 gafole hi ferdon æghweder flocmælum 7 heregodon ure earme folc, 7 hi rypton and slogon. (O’Brien O’Keeffe 2001, p. 95) (All these misfortunes happened to us through the foolish policies that it was not desired to offer them tribute or to fight against them in time. But when they had done the most harm, then peace and truce were made with them, and nonetheless, despite all this truce and tribute, they went everywhere in armed bands and ravaged our miserable people, and they plundered and killed them.) 14 13

Robinson 1993, pp. 122–4. On the importance of tribute in Maldon, see: Scattergood 1984 and Niles 1994, pp. 89–90, 95–6 and 100. 15 Robinson 1993, pp. 127–8 and Niles 1994, p. 96. 16 A full list of instances of grið in its various spellings can be found by consulting the on-line Dictionary of Old English Old English Corpus (http://ets.umdl.umich.edu/ o/oec/). 17 Keynes 1978, pp. 229–35.

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Old English Poetics The lexical similarities this passage shares with the Viking messenger’s speech in Maldon are clear: grið and frið call each other up, fighting and gafol (tribute) are juxtaposed, and the whole question of what is good ræd (advice) appears in both.18 Wordplay on ræd, which extends throughout the poem, confirms the Maldon poet’s preoccupation with the policy of paying tribute. Just before showing us the exchange between Byrhtnoth and the messenger, the poet describes how Byrhtnoth rad and rædde (rode and instructed) (BM 18), amidst his men, emboldening them for the battle ahead. Then the Viking messenger calls on Byrhtnoth to gerædan (decide on) (BM 36) tribute rather than battle, a demand the anræd (resolute) (BM 44) ealdorman rejects. It is then with heavy irony that later in the poem the poet again denotes Byrhtnoth as anræd (BM 132) at just the point when he sustains his first wound in an encounter which will end in his death. Not paying tribute is associated with the morally positive quality of anræd and yet the poet then associates this probity with defeat. The poet clearly sees that the result of not paying tribute is defeat, but that does not make him a supporter of buying off the Vikings. The Maldon poet deploys his poetic style, here the repetition of ræd, to develop his negative view of the much contested policy of paying tribute to the Vikings. Contemporary punning on ræd, in the context of disquiet about Æthelred’s rule, assures that the repetitions of ræd in Maldon are firmly in the foreground of the poem.19 The coupling of the archaic gold with the recently borrowed grið juxtaposes the glory of the heroic past with the grimness of the present which importantly allows us to see Old English verse, and its long established conventions, in active dialogue with other discourses in the debate about tribute, rather than as naively representing Byrthnoth and his men as warriors from a fondly imagined heroic past.20 There is another strand to the poet’s use of grið which brings the poem’s topicality and its use of the past into sharper focus. The term draws attention to the poet’s social as well as political agenda. Scholars have for some time recognized that Maldon is concerned with social hierarchy. Explicit references to social rank in the terms eorl (nobleman), eoldorman (earl, nobleman of highest rank), þegen (thegn, nobleman) and ceorl (freeman) all serve to represent society as a pyramid with Æthelred at the top. This concern for social hierarchy is woven into the structure of the poem; the speeches made after the death of Byrhtnoth are carefully assigned according to rank from the nobleman Ælfwine, who speaks at length, down to the Dunnere the ceorl, 18 19

On grið and frið, see further below, pp. 165–66. On the wider currency of punning on the ræd element in Æthlred’s name, as part of criticism of his reign, see: Clayton 2000. 20 For other views of the poem’s intervention in the debate on tribute see Niles, who interprets the poem as supporting ‘Æthelred’s policy of accommodation’ which is thus pro-tribute, and Scattergood, who sees the poem as critical of the payment of tribute: Niles 1994, esp. p. 90 and Scattergood 1984. Niles furthermore argues that the poem does not take an ironic view of Byrthnoth or Æthelred (p. 91).

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Poetics and the Past who gets only two lines.21 The use of the term grið highlights that the poem is not simply representing social hierarchy in an anachronistically idealized manner; rather the poem also addresses acute concern that this hierarchy was under threat both from internal and external pressures. Outside of its appearances in the Chronicle, in texts from the end of the tenth and the beginning of the eleventh century, grið is strongly associated with legal and homiletic texts written by Wulfstan, Archbishop of York and advisor to Æthelred, or with texts whose language shows the influence of Wulfstan’s characteristic prose style and social agenda.22 In Wulfstan’s writings, the word occurs in passages emphasizing the value of social order and hierarchy: God’s authority should be maintained by both kings and bishops, with all those under them respecting their rank in a divinely ordained social order. In his Institutes of Polity, where he sets down most systematically his vision of an ideal social order, he writes: And riht is, þæt ælc cyrice sy on Godes griðe ond on ealles cristenes folces; and þæt cyricgrið stande æghwær binnan wagum and gehalgodes cynincges handgrið efen unwemme. Forðam ælc cyricgrið is Cristes agen grið, and ælc cristen man ah mycle þearfe, þæt he on þam griðe mycle mæþe wite.23 (Jost 1959, p. 140) (And it is right that every church be under the protection of God and of all Christian people; and that church-sanctuary stand everywhere within its walls and be just as inviolate as the security of a consecrated king. Because every church-sanctuary is Christ’s own sanctuary and every Christian has great need that he observe great respect for that sanctuary.)

The repetition and compounding of the term grið emphasizes Wulfstan’s views of the interdependence which belongs at the heart of a social hierarchy which begins with God and extends down to each Christian. Grið is not simply a term for a truce; rather it brings with it connotations of peace grounded in a hierarchical social order – a subject of great concern to the poet of The Battle of Maldon. Although the association of social hierarchy with grið represents Wulfstan’s own usage, we may perhaps be warranted in seeing some interaction between the language of Maldon and the distinctive rhetoric of Wulfstan. For the reign of Æthelred, apart from two instances in the Chronicle (C, D and E, s.a. 1011 and 1016), the collocation of grið and frið (peace) is limited to Maldon and Wulfstan’s legal and homiletic prose, where 21

For comments on the importance of social hierarchy in The Battle of Maldon see, for example: Doane 1979, pp. 54–5; Busse and Holtei 1981; Williams 1992, pp. 42–4; Gillingham 1995, p. 146; and J. Campbell, 2000c, p. 38. Busse and Holtei argue that the poem takes a positive view of social mobility and the rise of the thegn. 22 See note 24 below for Thomas Bredehoft’s suggestion that a Wulfstanian influence can be seen in the Chronicle entry for 1011. 23 Wulfstan repeats these words, and very similar ones, in his lawcodes and homilies.

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Old English Poetics the two words often rhyme.24 This linguistic convergence between Maldon and Wulfstan’s works underscores the poem’s topicality and engagement with current social issues. At the end of the tenth century and beginning of the eleventh, the social order represented by the term grið was under pressure. The social mobility brought about by the emergence of an increasingly wealthy, landed, thegnly class, able to profit from commerce and the administrative needs of a large kingdom, was accelerated at the end of the tenth century by Viking attacks. The militarization of society required to defend England enabled members of lower social ranks to use their military skill to rise socially.25 Furthermore, as Wulfstan depicts in his famous Sermo Lupi, Viking social patterns were disrupting established English social hierarchies from within: Ðeah þræla hwilc hlaforde ætleape 7 of cristendome to wicinge wurðe, 7 hit æfter þam eft gewurðe þæt wæpengewrixl wurðe gemæne þegne 7 þræle, gif þræl þone þegen fullice afille, licge ægilde ealre his mægðe; and gif se þegen þone þræl þe he ær ahte fullice afille, gilde þegengilde. (Bethurum 1957, pp. 263–4, ll. 98–103) (Though any slave escapes from his lord and, departing from Christendom, becomes a Viking, and after that it happens that a hostile encounter takes place between the thegn and the slave, if the slave slays the thegn, he will lie dead without compensation for all of his family; and if the thegn slays the slave, whom he owned before, he will pay the price of a thegn.)

Wulfstan expresses the view that the Vikings were not only the cause of social instablity, they were also its effect: the Vikings were God’s punishment for social disorder.26 Maldon’s concern with the preservation of a rigid social order fits into this framework of Vikings as punishment; viewed from this perspective, the social conservatism of the poem is not simply idealized poetic nostalgia but rather an alert and informed intervention into political debate about how to deal with the Vikings. In this respect, it is worth noting that the poet is interested in the social status of the Vikings, whom he explicitly places at the bottom of any hierarchy. As Byrhtnoth steps into battle, he is an eorl opposing a mere ceorl: ‘eode swa anræd eorl to þam ceorle’ (thus resolute the nobleman went to the ceorl) (BM 132). Later the Viking who deals Byrhtnoth his death blow is denoted as a dreng (BM 149), a Norse word for warrior, newly

24

See: Bredehoft 2001, pp. 106–10 for the suggestions that the poem or rhythmical prose at the end of the Chronicle entry for 1011 may be Wulfstan’s work or Wulfstanian. Perhaps the collocation of grið and frið at the beginning of the entry also suggests his influence. 25 J. Campbell 2000b; Gillingham 1995, pp. 136–7; Wormald 1999a, pp. 461–2; and Fleming 2001. 26 Wormald 1999b, pp. 244–5.

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Poetics and the Past brought into poetry and used here appropriately for a Scandinavian. However, borrowed into English, the word comes to mean ‘a lower class of freeman’: the poet makes the point that a Scandinavian warrior amounts to little, even if he threatens to destroy a whole social order.27 Like the use of grið, the use of dreng shows us a poet who is able both to extend the vocabulary of poetry and to draw the full semantic range of a new word into the meaning of his poem, as he stretches an old poetic form to explore a new world order and the threat posed to it by Scandinavian invaders. Treasure also plays a part in the poem’s representation of social status. To finish discussion of Maldon, I want to look at the interaction of the poem’s social concerns with its conventional attention to treasure in order to develop further a picture of the active and examined place of a timeless poetics in late Anglo-Saxon England. Despite the decreased importance of jewelry as a marker of aristocratic status in tenth- and eleventh-century England, treasure remains key to the poet’s delineation of Byrhtnoth’s elite role in society.28 Byrhtnoth’s defiant refusal to allow the Vikings ‘swa softe sinc gegangan’ (to obtain treasure so easily) (BM 59) casts him as a guardian of treasure, and after his death, the poet also uses reference to treasure to define his role when loyal Edward avenges his sincgiefa (treasure-giver). The Byrhtnoth of Maldon would have been at home in Hrothgar’s hall, although other written sources of the period make it evident that Byrhtnoth was fully participant in the sophisticated administrative politics of late Anglo-Saxon England.29 This timeless poetic representation of Byrhtnoth is far from inert, however. Rather, the poet brings convention to life by putting treasure at the centre of his account of Byrhtnoth’s death in battle: Eode þa gesyrwed secg to þam eorle; he wolde þæs beornes beagas gefecgan, reaf and hringas, and gerenod swurd. Þa Byrhtnoð bræd bill of sceðe, brad and bruneccg, and on þa byrnan sloh. To raþe hine gelette lidmanna sum, þa he þæs eorles earm amryde. Feoll þa to foldan fealohilte swurd; ne mihte he gehealdan heardne mece, wæpnes wealdan. (BM 159–68) (The armed warrior then went to the nobleman; he wanted to carry off the rings of the warrior, the armor and the rings, and the ornamented sword. Then Byrhtnoth drew his sword from its scabbard, broad and bright-edged, and struck the mail corslet. Too quickly one 27 28

For dreng from Old Norse and in Middle English see: Scragg 1981, p. 77. On the changing role of display in Anglo-Saxon culture, see above, ch. 1, p. 21, esp. note 16. 29 Scragg 1981, pp. 8–20 gives a sense of the range of sources documenting Byrhtnoth’s life and the Battle of Maldon.

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Old English Poetics of the seamen prevented him, when he wounded the arm of the nobleman. The fallow-hilted sword fell then to the ground: he could not hold the fierce sword, control the weapon.)

This passage contributes to the way treasure defines Byrhtnoth as an idealized symbol of Æthelred’s England. To begin, treasure is not everywhere in the poem, but carefully associated with Byrhtnoth who is the only figure described as bearing or wearing treasure. Thus the poet marks out his superior social status, and the reference to him as a sincgiefa underscores that his death threatens the stability of the entire social order. Just as abundant silver coinage attracted the Vikings to England, a desire for easy plunder draws the Viking warrior to the wounded, but still fighting, earl, whose rings, armor and ornamented sword are specifically detailed. Attention is focused on Byrthnoth’s sword, brad and bruneccg (broad and bright-edged), as he fends off and kills his first attacker. Attention remains with Byrhtnoth’s sword, whose ornament is again noted, as the poet expresses the earl’s death as an inability to wield his sword which falls to the ground. The term used for the ornament of the fallen sword highlights just how skillfully the poet is using images of treasure in these lines. Fealohilte (yellow-hilted) is a unique compound and this unusual use of fealo, meaning both ‘yellow’ and ‘fallow’, and associated in Old English verse with decay, brings a figurative level to the description of the sword which binds together treasure and the social order it represents, with decay at the moment of Byrhtnoth’s death.30 Importantly, the association of fealo with yellow calls to mind gold rather than silver and keeps the archaic and imaginary aspect of the poem’s treasure in the forefront. The alliteration of feolohilte with feoll (fell) and foldan (land), meanwhile, takes us back to the beginning of the poem and leaves us in no doubt that the poet is using treasure as a shorthand for a well-ordered social hierarchy. Foldan and feallan alliterated earlier in the lines in which Byrhtnoth boldly proclaimed the he would defend: eþel þysne, Æþelredes eard, ealdres mines, folc and foldan. Feallan sceolon hæþene æt hilde. (BM 52–5) (this native land, the homeland of Æthelred, the people and land of my lord. The heathen shall fall in battle.)

There is a bitter irony, then, when the sword ‘feoll þa to foldan’ (fell then to the ground) instead of the heathen and when folde becomes simply the ground rather than Æthelred’s land. This irony reinforces that created by the repetition of anræd for Byrhtnoth as he bravely defies the Viking messenger and then as he enters into the combat in which he is killed. This heavy irony 30

On fealo and decay, see: Scragg 1981, p, 78.

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Poetics and the Past suggests that although the poet is drawn to the nostalgia offered by poetry, he does not find in it solutions for England’s present troubles.31 Although the poem does not condone tribute, it also acknowledges that ultimately guarding the nation’s treasure in battle rather than paying tribute did not work, and Byrhtnoth, arrayed in treasure as a true nobleman, cannot defend his lord’s land from the heathens. There seems to me to be less of a celebration of the battle of Maldon as a moral victory for the English, as has often been suggested, than despair that maintaining traditional social structures and nostalgia for an imagined heroic past and values offers, or offered, no protection against the Viking onslaught.32 The ‘offers’ or ‘offered’ of the final sentence of the last paragraph raises the question of the date of Maldon which must be addressed before we can return to the question of the poem’s view of nostalgia. In comparison to most Old English verse, the date of Maldon can be identified precisely: it was composed at the end of the tenth century or the beginning of the eleventh century. However, in the context of interpreting how the poem intervenes in debates about the Vikings and Æthelred’s response, this seemingly narrow date range becomes frustratingly imprecise. Readings of the poem depend greatly on whether it is seen as composed in the midst of Viking raids on Æthelred’s kingdom or as composed after the Danish Conquest of 1016. Here it is worth noting that the affinities between Maldon and the Chronicle makes the date more rather than less difficult to determine given the Chronicle’s post-1016 composition.33 Does the poet share the chronicler’s benefit of hindsight? Does he know that neither resistance nor tribute will succeed? Is his subject the single defeat at Maldon or the final defeat which brought Cnut to the English throne? Does the poem suggest rejecting heroic values as a solution or is the poem a Beowulf-like lament for the passing of a people, with the English, after 1016, taking the place of the lost Geats?34 These questions bring us back to the timelessness of Old English poetics and to the way the poetry resists dating and to how that resistance is part of its meaning and attraction. Timelessness impedes efforts to decode Maldon – we can simply lay out how the poem’s meaning may have changed before and after the events of 1016. Furthermore, like earlier Old English poems, Maldon may well have been accretive: if the version we have was composed before the Danish conquest, it could have attracted changes after 1016.35 The potential timelessness of Maldon, which is 31 32 33 34 35

See above, note 20 for Niles’ view that the poem does not represent Byrhtnoth ironically. On Maldon as moral victory, see for example: Greenfield and Calder 1986, pp. 149–54. See above, p. 163. For a comparison of the English on the eve of the Danish conquest with the Geats in Beowulf, see: Kellogg 1993, pp. 153–4. Since we have only an eighteenth-century transcription of the poem, the manuscript offers no help here.

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Old English Poetics characteristic of Old English poetry, may account for its survival as well as its composition and does not impede our ability to see what work the poem may have done after the Danish conquest: if the poem was composed shortly after 991, its timeless poetics ensured that it could take on new meanings, as well as emendations, additions and alterations, after 1016. Either way, Maldon illustrates that old (and potentially dated) poems, like old poetics, were not static in late Anglo-Saxon England: both could be used to negotiate the relationship of past and present. In thinking about the role of timeless poetics and poems in late AngloSaxon England, it is worth returning (having considered the poem’s date) to look more closely at the nature of its nostalgia through a brief comparison with Wulfstan and The Battle of Brunanburh. Maldon shares with Wulfstan an intense desire for an earlier stability of social structures – such as that expressed by Wulfstan at the beginning of Geþyncðu, a compilation on status: Hwilum wæs, þæt leod 7 lagu for be geþingðum; 7 þa wæron þeodwitan wurðscipes wurðe, ælc be his mæðe, ge eorl ge ceorl, ge þegen ge þeoden.36 (Liebermann 1903–16, I, p. 456) (It once was that people and law went by dignities, and, then, councillors of the people were worthy of respect, each according to his status, whether noble or ceorl, thegn or lord.)

But where Wulfstan saw recovery of social stability as a way of regaining God’s favour and thus defeating the Vikings, attention to language and wordplay shows us the poet of Maldon drawn to conservatism but ultimately without any confidence that a return to the past would be, or could have been, effective. Unlike Wulfstan, the poem does not place much faith in a return to earlier social structures – which the poet validates but locates in an imagined past which he represents as passed, unrecoverable and ineffective. The poet’s view of the past has implications too for his view of the role of heroic poetry about contemporary events in late Anglo-Saxon England. Here comparison with The Battle of Brunanburh is illustrative. Where Brunanburh used heroic poetry to legitimate expanding West Saxon hegemony by presenting it as an extension of the traditional, Maldon, in contrast, critiques that use of poetry suggesting that longing for the imagined England of poetry was not the future. The poet’s tight and expert control of conventional language in Maldon illustrates that Old English poetry was a living tradition for him and that he was aware that timeless poetry was an ideologically charged space, which brought with it a political and social conservatism. His ability to combine old conventions with linguistic innovation, exemplified in his use of Old Norse

36

This passage is discussed by Patrick Wormald, see: Wormald 1999a, pp. 393–4 and 461.

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Poetics and the Past vocabulary and the connections of his verse with the language and concerns of the Chronicle and Wulfstan, brings convention to life. The result is a poem in which the inherent conservatism of Old English verse is an active force, whose vision of the relationship of past and present is, in turn, actively scrutinized. The fragmentary state of the poem prevents us from seeing what the poet may have considered the best response to the Vikings to have been, and the difficulty of interpreting Beowulf warns us that it is unwise to read Old English verse with such straightforward expectations. But it remains evident that the poet does not offer nostalgia as a refuge or an embracing of the past as the way forward.

Conclusion Bringing together close reading with an ideologically oriented approach to Old English verse shows us that late Anglo-Saxon poetry remained a linguistically sophisticated and flexible medium whose conventions were not used unthinkingly, simply because they were a part of the form. Tradition and convention were part and parcel of Old English verse – not only did they govern what was said in the verse, and how it was said, but these qualities were integral to why late Anglo-Saxons continued to compose verse in its classical form. In composing and preserving classical Old English poetry, be it about contemporary events or legendary heroes, the Anglo-Saxons were making a choice, they were relating to the past in a deliberate fashion: one which both learned from the world portrayed by the timeless poetics of their verse tradition and which critiqued that world. Traditional poetics thus remained alive because it played a vital role in shaping the Anglo-Saxon relationship with the past. It is precisely because Old English verse is archaic, rooted in the past, that it is alive and vigorous into the eleventh century. Although only a few poems are open to historicization in the way The Battle of Maldon is, we nonetheless need models for the composition of Old English poetry which do not exclude history by ascribing agency to tradition rather than poets. The active critique of tradition, which is so evident in The Battle of Maldon, does not set this poem apart from other Old English verse. Across a range of poems, both religious and secular, both early and late, both canonized and excluded by modern aesthetic values, poets displayed an awareness of the conventionality of the tradition within which they composed. When we set different poems of the corpus alongside each other, the diversity of poets’ responses to tradition is plain to see: the dazzle of The Phoenix, the contrived flatness of The Paris Psalter, and the sad respect for the heroic world shown in Beowulf are all responses to tradition. This comparative move is not an anachronistic modern lens through which to view Old English poetry: the compiler of the Exeter Book made a similar move, as did the compiler of Junius 11 when he juxtaposed (in Genesis A, Genesis B and 171

Old English Poetics Exodus) three radically different views of how to integrate an inherited poetics and the demands of biblical translation. The very stability of the Old English poetic style, in the face of the enormous social and political changes which marked the long Anglo-Saxon period, both called forth and required that awareness of tradition, which is everywhere evident: when poets redirected heroic convention to Christian themes, when they created new, Christian, conventions, when they adapted Old English verse to Boethian philosophy, when they broke formulas apart to challenge audiences to use their knowledge of conventions to find solutions to riddles, when they suppressed both heroic language and verbal repetition to keep their translations as close as possible to the Bible, when they deployed convention to support political ambition, when they used old conventions to negotiate social mobility and conquest, and even when, nostalgically, they used poetic convention to mourn the death of the last Anglo-Saxon king. This catalogue flags up the extraordinary diversity which exists within a poetic corpus which is tightly unified by shared poetic conventions and shared aesthetic values. The stability of poetic convention amidst the movement of history brings us back to the aesthetics of the familiar, which can both assimilate the new and allow the old to change, because it rests on a two-way relationship between language and ideas: dynamic poetry is created in the space between words (including poetic conventions) and ideas.

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INDEX OF WORDS æht 14, 74, 75, 87 ær 12, 15, 16, 17, 23, 27, 58, 72, 75, 88, 152, 161, 166 æþel- 35, 75, 86, 89–91, 95, 99, 105–6, 132, 133, 144, 145, 147–48, 160 beag 12, 13, 16, 22, 23, 43, 47, 70, 77–78, 81–82, 84, 88–89, 91, 97, 104, 137, 139, 161, 167 bearm 40–41, 77–78, 91–92, 133, 139, 146 benc 10, 17, 41–43, 47, 51, 68, 138, 139 bend see bindan beorht 10, 14, 84, 92, 105 bindan/bend 27, 61–63, 65, 66, 67, 69, 97, 133, 135, 146, 154 blican 35, 75, 92–93, 97, 105, 109, 115, 134, 144, 145 botl 55, 75 breost 15, 29, 30, 52–56, 65, 67, 70, 71, 114, 134, 139, 142, 155 broðor 27, 73, 104, 109 brytta 13, 23, 77–80, 82, 83, 91, 103, 115, 135, 146, 147, 154, 155 bycgan 43–44, 48, 134, 150

giefa 22, 23, 34, 50, 72, 80, 81–83, 167, 168 gold 10, 12, 13, 14, 15, 19, 25, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 34, 42, 43, 45–48, 50, 51, 62, 74, 77, 79, 84, 85, 97, 103, 104, 136, 137, 140, 147, 153, 161–3, 164 (see also gylden and gold) grið 161–67, 170–71 gylden 9, 13, 19, 45, 46, 47, 161 (see also gold and gold)

deore 19, 26, 33, 34, 44–45, 47, 54, 103, 105, 133, 137, 147 dreng 160, 166–67, 170–71 drincan 80–81, 85, 115, 154 eorðe 15, 16, 32, 35, 36, 51, 64, 73, 74–75, 90, 97–100, 103, 105, 110, 115, 133, 134, 137, 140, 144, 149, 155 fæge 17, 107 fæger/fægre 35, 51, 75, 93–97, 106, 107, 110, 115, 133, 134, 144 fealo see fealohilte fealohilte 167, 168 feoh 10, 24, 25, 61, 64, 76, 107, 162 feorh 15, 43–44, 48, 53, 54, 55, 56, 68, 107, 114, 134, 139, 150 folde 11, 35, 36, 47, 75, 97–100, 105, 110, 115, 133, 134, 137, 144, 149, 155, 167, 168

frætwe 8, 9, 11, 13, 14, 15, 16, 25, 28, 30, 31, 34, 35–36, 37, 38, 39, 47, 51, 56, 75, 89–100, 104, 105–106, 107, 109–110, 114–15, 132, 133–34, 136, 139, 143–46, 149, 153, 154, 155 frætwednes see frætwe (ge)frætw(i)an see frætwe frætwung see frætwe

hæleþ 10, 59, 68–69, 71, 80, 81, 106, 142 heah 10, 12, 15, 16, 39, 69, 75, 94, 104, 107 heorte 28, 30, 50, 56, 62, 63–66, 68, 104, 137 hieran 23, 41, 48, 110, 137 hord 8, 9, 10, 12, 14, 15, 16, 22, 25, 26, 27–31, 34, 37, 38, 39, 43, 47, 48, 49, 50, 52–73, 75, 76, 78, 92, 93, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 113–14, 115, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 139, 141–2, 143, 146, 154, 155 hycgan see hyge hyge/hycgan 30, 50, 52, 58, 59, 61, 62, 63–66, 82, 84, 104, 137 (See also Hygd and Hygelac) land 22, 35, 36, 38, 72, 75, 89, 97–100, 105, 110, 115, 133, 134, 137, 144, 149, 155, 168 lucan 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 62, 65, 66–68, 69, 105, 113–14, 115, 134, 143, 154, 155 manig/menigu 10, 39, 41, 49, 52, 100, 104, 108 maðm 8, 9, 10, 12, 15, 17, 18, 24, 25–27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 33–34, 37, 38, 39, 40–52, 66, 68, 69, 77, 78, 85, 88, 91, 92, 103, 104,

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Index of Words maðm cont. 105, 106, 108, 110, 133, 134, 136, 137, 138, 139, 140, 146, 147, 150 mearh 10, 43, 49–51, 66, 103 menigu see manig morðor 77, 79, 135 ræd 50, 58, 62, 161, 163, 164, 166, 168 gerædan see ræd rice 22, 55, 70–71, 103, 108, 161 sæl 12, 38, 83–84, 107, 133, 135, 137 sceatt 162 sel 83, 104 sele 12, 83–84, 107, 133, 135, 137 sellan 10, 16, 24, 41–42, 43, 51–52, 88–89, 138, 139 seolfor 12, 14, 19, 25, 43, 46, 47, 85–86, 97, 104, 107, 153, 154 (see also silver) sinc 8, 9, 10, 12, 13, 14, 23, 25, 26, 27, 28, 30, 31, 33–34, 37, 38, 39, 47, 72, 75, 77–89, 92, 93, 103, 104, 107, 109, 115,

133, 135, 136, 139, 146, 154, 155, 167, 168 (ge)streon 8, 9, 12, 14, 15, 16, 17, 25, 26, 28, 30, 31–33, 35, 37, 38, 39, 41, 55, 64, 69, 73–76, 84, 92, 93, 103, 104, 105, 108–9, 136, 137, 140, 141, 146, 153, 155 suð 14, 86–87 tir 77, 79, 103, 135 þeod 41, 75, 76, 170 weard 10, 15, 30, 42, 65, 69, 71–73, 78, 103, 106, 141–42 weardian see weard weorþ 10, 12, 16, 19, 24, 42, 46, 47, 86, 88–89, 94, 103, 109, 139, 166, 170 weorþian see weorþ weorþlic see weorþ weorþung see weorþ word 56–63, 66, 67, 113–14, 115, 134, 142, 143, 154 woruld 14, 51, 59, 74–75, 105, 137, 140

186

INDEX OF POEMS Andreas 31, 49, 57, 58, 64, 66–67, 71, 83, 84, 88–89, 114, 133, 137, 139, 143, 154 Anglo-Saxon Chronicle poems (see also individual poems) 25, 122, 147–48, 159 Battle of Brunanburh 22, 71, 80, 147, 148, 158, 160, 170 Battle of Maldon 7, 8, 9, 21, 25, 81, 82, 158–59, 160–64, 165–71 Beowulf 6, 7, 9–12, 13, 16–19, 21, 22, 26, 28, 32, 33, 36, 40–53, 55–57, 64, 66, 68, 69, 70, 71–72, 74, 75–76, 77–79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 87, 88, 89, 91–92, 93, 98, 99, 100, 105, 108, 126, 131, 132–33, 134, 136, 138–39, 140–43, 145, 146, 148–50, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157–58, 159, 167, 169, 171 Christ I 34, 81, 82, 93 Christ II 15, 28, 29, 30, 34, 69, 74, 89, 92, 93, 98, 99 Christ III 14–15, 34, 52, 53, 56, 64, 65, 88, 92, 139 Christ and Satan 13, 85, 93, 95–96 Daniel 29, 32, 68, 69, 71, 74, 75, 85, 89, 92 Death of Edward 1, 9, 147–48, 160 Deor 148 Dream of the Rood 7, 34, 125–26, 135, 147 Elene 28, 29, 31, 34, 45, 77, 78, 79, 80, 88–89, 92, 93, 98, 99 Exodus 7, 15, 27, 30, 40, 41, 48, 68, 69, 71, 73, 83, 141, 152, 155, 171 Finnsburh Fragment 148 Fortunes of Men 42 Genesis A 12, 15, 30, 32, 36, 52, 53, 55–56, 69, 70, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 79, 80, 83, 85, 86–87, 98, 99, 141, 148, 149, 152, 155, 157, 171 Genesis B 7, 171 Gifts of Men 45, 74, 137 Guthlac A 92, 98

Guthlac B 52–54, 56, 61, 64, 65, 66, 67–68, 81, 82, 89–91, 98, 99–100, 114, 115, 132, 134, 153, 154, 157 Homiletic Fragment I 56, 64 Homiletic Fragment II 15, 61–62, 64, 133, 146 Husband’s Message 49, 50, 74 Instructions for Christians 18, 27, 74 Judgment Day II 93–94 Judith 27, 44, 45, 46, 47, 77, 79, 80, 87, 88, 92, 115, 135–36, 137, 147, 154 Juliana 64–65, 71, 74, 76, 92, 93, 137 Maxims I 12–13, 45, 46, 49, 50, 64, 83, 87, 137 Maxims II 33, 40 Menologium 92, 98, 100 Meters of Boethius 14, 45, 46, 47, 56, 60, 66, 74, 81, 82, 83, 85, 113, 115, 140, 154–55, 172 Metrical Preface . . . to Gregory’s Dialogues 23, 24, 77, 79, 80, 81–82, 83 Order of the World 15–16, 28, 30, 56, 58–60, 64, 65, 69, 71, 137 Panther 89, 90, 92, 93, 98, 133 Paris Psalter 16, 28, 29, 36, 64, 85, 89, 98, 99, 130, 149, 155, 156, 157, 171 Partridge 90–91, 133 Phoenix 11–12, 15, 31, 35, 36, 74, 75, 89, 90–91, 92–94, 95–96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 114, 133–34, 142–46, 149, 152, 153, 154, 155, 157, 171 Physiologus 89, 90–91, 133 Psalm 50 56 Riddles (see also individual riddles) 27, 34, 58–60–69, 80–81, 115, 154, 157, 172 Riddle 7 98 Riddle 11 69 Riddle 13 98 Riddle 14 81, 92

187

Index of Poems Riddle 20 12, 31, 80–81, 83, 85, 88 Riddle 28 93, 98 Riddle 40 93 Riddle 42 61, 62–63, 64, 65, 66, 105 Riddle 53 93, 98 Riddle 55 45, 80–81, 85 Riddle 56 81 Riddle 63 81 Riddle 67 80–81, 85 Riddle 84 56, 59–60, 68, 69, 114 Riddle 91 28 Riddle 93 28 Riming Poem 52, 53, 55, 56, 83 Ruin 14, 85, 92

Seafarer 27, 45, 52, 53, 56, 71 Solomon and Saturn 16 Soul and Body I 93, 94, 97 Soul and Body II 93, 96–97 Thureth 49, 93 Vainglory 56, 58, 80 Waldere 26, 33, 45, 49, 87, 148 Wanderer 7, 49, 50–51, 61–62, 64, 77, 79–80, 82, 83, 84, 135, 146, 153 Whale 90–91 Widsith 12, 48, 56, 57, 66, 113, 148, 158

INDEX OF MODERN SCHOLARS Abels, R. 22 Alter, R. 130 Amos, A. 3 Anderson, E. 9 Attridge, D. 128 Bartlett, A. 45, 123–25, 140 Beaty, J. 123 Benson, L. 111 Bjork, R. 54, 84 Blackburn, M. 161, 162 Blake, N. 144 Bliss, A. 119, 135 Bonjour, A. 44 Bonner, J. 50, 124 Bostock, J. 1 Bourdieu, P. 2 Brady, C. 76 Bredehoft, T. 147, 159–60, 165, 166 Brodeur, A. 111 Brooks, N. 21 Burrow, J. 135 Busse, W. 165 Calder, D. 3, 91, 93, 102, 144, 169 Campbell, A. 159–60 Campbell, J. 22, 159, 165, 166 Campbell, J.J. 111, 124 Cassidy, F. 101, 108, 121 Chase, C. 3 Cherniss, M. 9 Chomsky, N. 120

Clanchy, M. 117 Claude, D. 22 Clayton, M. 164 Cleomoes, P. 56 Condern, E. 9, 16 Conner, P. 105, 120 Cornell, M. 123 Creed, R. 121 Cronan, D. 33, 68, 69 Cross, J. 27 Davidson, H. 32 Doane, A. 155, 165 Dobbie, E. 53, 62 Dodwell, C. 21 Donahue, C. 9 Donoghue, D. 4 Dunning, T.P. 135 Fell, C. 162 Ferguson, M. 96 Finnegan, R. 1, 2, 4–5, 113, 124, 129 Finnegan, R.E. 96 Firth, J. 38 Fleming, R. 21, 166 Foley, J. 3, 101, 111, 124 Frank, R. 5, 7, 18–19, 123, 124, 158 Frantzen, A. 5 Frese, D. 147 Fry, D. 78, 101–3, 108, 111, 112, 113, 118 Fulk, R. 3, 159–60

188

Index of Modern Scholars Gardner, T. 105, 123, 126 Gillingham, J. 165, 166 Gleißner, R. 32, 62, 63 Godden, M. 30, 95 Goldsmith, M. 9, 44 Gollancz, I. 87 Greenfield, S. 3, 9, 16, 17, 102, 111, 121, 124, 169 Gneuss, H. 117, 130 Grierson, P. 22 Griffith, M. 47, 60, 74, 82, 85, 99, 108, 119, 130, 155 Hamilton, D. 124 Haug, W. 1 Head, P. 4 Heaney, S. 150, 151 Hieatt, C. 123, 124, 125, 126, 135 Hinton, D. 21 Hofstetter, W. 117 Hollister, C. W. 22 Holtei, R. 165 Howe, N. 7 Hoops, J. 76 Huppé, B. 124 Ingersoll, S. 75, 76 Irvine, M. 158 Isaacs, N. 59, 124 Janes, D. 14 Kahrl, S. 124, 142 Kay, C. 25 Kay, D. 32 Kerling, J. 119 Kellogg, R. 169 Keynes, S. 21, 23, 162, 163 Kintgen, E. 123, 125–26 Kiparsky, P. 118 Krapp, G. 53, 62 Lapidge, M. 23, 149 Leisi, E. 9 Leyerle, J. 16 Liuzza, R. 3, 4 Lord, A. 3, 112, 118 Loyn, H. 22, 24 Lyons, J. 38 Mackie, W. 62 Macrae-Gibson, D. 55 Madicott, J. 22, 23, 24

Magoun, F. 101, 111 McIntosh, A. 119, 159–60 Mitchell, B. 39, 53 Nelson, J. 22 Newhauser, R. 14 Niles, J. 7, 101, 102, 108, 112, 113, 118–19, 124, 131, 158, 160, 163, 164, 169 North, R. 30 O’Brien O’Keeffe, K. 4 Olsen, A. 3, 101 Orchard, A. 3, 102, 117–18, 123, 149 Orton, P. 96 Palmer, F. 38 Parks, W. 48 Parry, M. 3, 111–12 Pasternack, C. 4, 5, 123, 124, 135 Peters, A. 120 Pinsker, H. 32, 62 Pope, J. 95, 119 Quirk, R. 38, 101, 105, 121 Rabinowitz, P. 5-6, 127–28 Reichl, K. 102, 112, 116–17 Ricks, C. 121–22 Riedinger, A. 101, 102, 109, 112, 113 Roberts, J. 25, 53, 82 Roberts, M. 130–31 Robinson, F. 6, 53, 100, 131, 147, 149, 158, 162–63 Rogers, H. 102, 111, 118, 119 Rosier, J. 54, 123 Russo, J. 108, 116, 118, 119 Sawyer, P. 22 Scattergood, J. 163, 164 Scragg, D. 167, 168 Singleton, D. 120 Sinclair, J. 38, 120, 122 Soland, M. 30 Spufford, P. 22 Squires, A. 90 Stanley, E. 5, 63 Stevanovitch, C. 124 Taylor, P. 100 Thormann, J. 7, 147, 158 Toswell, M. 85, 99 Townend, M. 158 Tupper, F 62

189

Index of Modern Scholars Tyler, E. 19, 21, 45, 79, 85, 91, 123, 124, 127, 136, 144, 147 Watts, A. 101, 103 Whallon, W. 78 Williams, A. 165 Williamson, C. 28, 32, 62, 81 Wills, J. 128, 129–30

Wilson, D. 21 Woolf, R. 135 Wormald, P. 22, 162, 166, 170 Wray, A. 117, 120, 121 Ziegler, W. 32, 62 Zijderveld, A. 121–22

GENERAL INDEX Abraham 80, 86–87 Ælfric 19–20, 65, 94–95, 119 Æthelstan (king) 22, 147 Æthelred II (king) 148, 159, 160, 163, 164, 165, 168, 169 aesthetics 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 11, 68, 101, 151, 153, 154, 155, 157, 159, 172; and the formula 110–16, 121, 122, 123, 147, 150, 154, 157; and verbal repetition 123, 128–132, 134, 136, 139–40, 145, 147, 148, 150, 151, 157; modern 1, 122, 125, 128–31, 134, 140, 143, 150, 151, 154, 155, 171; of Biblical poetry 130–31; of Classical poetry 129–31; of Late Antique poetry 130–31 Agnes 65 Alcuin: De virtutibus et vitiis 29–30; York poem 20–21 Alfred (king) 23–24, 80, 158 Alfredian translations 19 allegory 35, 93, 97 alliteration 1, 2, 24, 32–33, 34, 37, 39, 42, 44–45, 46, 49–50, 51, 52, 55, 63, 64, 65, 66, 68–69, 74, 76, 77, 78, 83–84, 85, 87–88, 92, 94, 95, 102, 104, 107, 112, 118, 119, 123, 144, 145, 153, 154, 162, 168 (see also alliterative pairs and alliterative rank) alliterative pairs (and triplets) 2, 39, 40, 47, 49–50, 51, 61, 64, 65, 66, 68–69, 83–84, 85–86, 93–94, 104, 106, 107, 110, 116, 127, 133, 134, 135, 136, 138, 142, 144, 145, 154 alliterative rank 32–33, 68–69 alms 9, 14, 18, 19, 27, 32, 36 Andreas 31, 57, 66–67, 84, 89, 114, 133, 137

angels 93, 95, 96 Anglo-Saxon Chronicle 9, 22, 25, 26, 122, 147–48, 158, 159, 160, 161, 163, 165, 166, 169, 171 Anglo-Saxon England 14, 18, 21, 40, 130, 148, 149, 152, 155; early 22, 159; late 8, 21, 22, 148, 158–59, 160–72; unification 148, 158, 159, 160 (see also historicism and periodization) Anglo-Saxon Poetic Records 39–40 apposition 2, 6, 100, 131, 149, 153 archaeological record 7, 21, 36 archaism 8, 18–19, 21, 22, 24, 36, 46, 47, 85, 104, 157, 162, 164, 168, 171 artistry 2, 3, 6, 7, 8, 44, 51, 63, 110, 111, 121, 124, 137, 143, 145, 151 Asser: Vita Ælfredi 23–24 aurality 126, 130 authorship 1–2, 4, 5, 111, 125, 148 (see also authorial intention) authorial intention 3–4, 5, 44, 125–28, 134, 145 (see also authorship) >Beasts of Battle= 79 Bede: Historia ecclesiastica 19; De die iudicii 94 Beowulf 9, 10, 13, 17, 22, 28, 33, 42, 43–44, 47, 48, 49, 51, 52, 57, 69, 70, 71, 72, 75–76, 78–79, 91, 134, 136, 138, 140, 142, 146, 150, 152, 153 (see also Beowulf) Blickling homilies 61, 62 Beowulf manuscript 149 Bible 14, 36, 55, 155, 172; Biblical epic 130, 131; Biblical poetry 130–31; Genesis 80, 87, 98 148, 155; Genesis (Old English) 98–99, 149;

190

General Index Matthew 13, 95, 96; Psalms 16, 85, 155; Revelation 36, 99 (see also translation) body (see mind-body-soul-spirit as a hoard) Boethius: De consolatione philosophiae 11, 14, 19, 23–24, 46–47, 74, 82, 85, 154–55, 172; Old English version 19, 23–24, 46–47, 74, 85, 154–55 Byhrtferth: Vita Oswaldi 159 Byrhtnoth 160, 162, 164, 166, 167–69

Danes 8, 75, 91, 100, 136, 148, 149, 158, 160, 161, 163, 169–70 dating (of Old English poetry) 2–3, 7–8, 27, 36, 77, 102–3, 115, 149, 155, 157, 158, 159, 169, 170 Dictionary of Old English ix, 39–40, 163 double entendre 29 dragons 12, 17, 26, 28, 33, 45, 48, 49, 71–73, 78, 91–92, 142, 150, 152

Cecilia 95, 96 charters 19, 20, 26, 29, 159, 163 Christ 15, 28, 29, 30, 31, 34, 44, 62, 67, 82, 84, 89, 93, 97, 109, 133, 134, 135, 139, 144, 145, 146, 147, 150, 165 classical Old English verse 122, 147, 159, 171 (see also non-classical Old English verse) cliché 118, 121–22 coins (see money) collocation 8, 25, 38–100, 101, 103–107, 109–10, 116, 117, 121, 131–32, 136, 140, 165, 166 composition (poetic) 3, 4, 5–6, 7, 55, 59, 83, 97, 102, 111, 112, 113, 115–16, 121, 122, 127, 145, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 156, 157, 158, 159, 169, 170, 171 compounds 2, 25, 26, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 41, 42, 48, 50, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 66, 73, 74, 75–76, 81–82, 83, 88, 102, 105, 108, 114, 119, 134, 141–42, 146, 155, 165, 168 conservatism 3, 4, 5, 46, 88, 121, 148, 166, 170–71 convention 1–8, 9, 11, 15, 18–19, 21–24, 25, 30, 34, 36–37, 38, 40, 41, 42, 46, 47, 48–49, 50, 51, 55, 56, 58, 59, 60, 61, 63, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 71, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 81, 83, 85, 87, 89, 92, 94, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 103, 104, 106, 107, 109, 110, 114, 115, 116, 118, 122, 125, 126, 127, 130, 133, 134, 135, 136, 138, 139, 141, 142, 143, 144, 145, 149, 150–56, 157, 158, 159, 160–62, 164, 167, 169, 170–72 corpus linguistics 38 Creation 16, 28, 36, 58–60, 65, 98, 99, 100–107, 110, 133, 144, 149, 153, 155 Cynewulf 4, 15, 34, 36, 64–65, 79, 92, 98, 99, 109

Edmund (king) 22, 147, 163 Edward the Confessor (king) 1, 9, 147–8 enumeration 31, 49, 70 envelope patterns 8, 45, 49, 60, 62, 72, 73, 89–90, 124, 125, 126, 130, 132, 133, 135, 140–41, 147 epithet 71–73, 77–80 everyday language 2, 37, 42, 47, 49, 50, 66, 75, 76, 88, 99, 101, 106, 108–9, 116–19, 120, 122, 141 Exeter Book 56, 158, 171 Felix, Vita S. Guthlaci 82 figurative language 15, 27, 28–29, 30, 31, 34, 35, 37, 52–53, 60, 63, 64, 65, 71, 93, 95–96, 126, 129, 130 (see also allegory, metaphor, simile, symbol) fitts 72, 86–87 Fontes Anglo-Saxonici ix, 130 formalism 3–4 (see also New Criticism) formulas 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 11, 18, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44–45, 46, 47, 48–50, 51–52, 55, 56–58, 59–60, 61, 63, 64–67, 69, 70, 71, 73, 74, 76, 77, 79, 80–81, 83, 84, 85, 87, 88, 89, 92–98, 99, 100, 101–22, 123, 127, 129, 134, 136, 138, 141, 142, 144, 145, 146, 147, 150–55, 157, 172; definition 6, 42, 101–4, 107–8, 111–13, 115–22; in everyday language 119–22; thematic 109–10, 116, 127, 134, 136, 138, 145 (see also formulaic system) formulaic system 40, 41, 42, 57–58, 60, 61, 66–68, 69, 71, 73, 74, 76, 77, 79, 80–81, 85, 88, 98, 101–2, 103, 105, 106, 107–9, 110, 112–16, 118, 119, 134, 136, 142, 143, 154 Fuller disc brooch 21 Geats 13, 44, 47, 77, 78, 100, 134, 136, 149, 150, 169 genealogy 12, 32, 55, 70–71, 73, 141 Germanic influence 1, 8, 18, 24, 79, 148, 158

191

General Index gift-giving 9, 10, 12, 13, 14, 17, 21, 22–24, 27, 29, 33, 34, 40, 41, 42, 43, 45, 46, 51–52, 55, 72, 75, 77–80, 81–83, 84, 87, 88–89, 90, 91, 103, 110, 115, 135, 138–39, 140, 152, 153, 154 155, 159, 162, 167, 168 (see also alms and giefa) God 1, 15–16, 18, 27, 30, 32, 36, 54, 55, 56, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 65, 66, 70, 79, 84, 90, 94, 95, 96, 98, 99, 100, 114, 133, 135, 137, 139, 142, 146, 147, 148–9, 153–54, 165, 166, 170 gold 9, 11, 13, 18–22, 25, 27, 28–29, 31, 85, 104, 161–62, 164, 168 Grendel 9, 12, 43, 78, 138, 140, 152, 153 Grendel=s mother 12, 13, 52, 78, 138 guarding 10, 15, 22, 29, 43, 57, 138, 142, 167, 169 (see also weard) Guthlac 54, 65, 67–68, 82, 89–90, 99, 132, 134 hall 10, 12, 18, 21, 27, 36, 38, 42, 43, 50, 73, 78, 79, 80, 84, 133, 149, 153, 167 (see also Heorot, sæl and sele) hapax legomena 58, 62 Harold Godwineson (king) 148 Heaven 9, 11, 13, 15, 16, 21, 27, 31, 34, 36, 65, 80, 82, 89–90, 94, 95–96, 97, 98, 99, 132, 133, 144, 146, 148, 153 Heorot 17, 78, 100 heroic poetry 19, 24, 58, 77, 79, 80, 82–83, 152–56, 164, 169, 170, 172 historicism (and the study of the style of Old English poetry) 1, 2–3, 4, 5, 6, 7–8, 9, 22, 24, 39, 148, 152, 155, 157–59, 160–62, 167, 170, 171 hoards 16, 17, 18, 22, 24, 25, 26, 33, 79, 91, 106, 107, 108, 109, 135, 141, 161 (see also hord) Holofernes 45, 79, 135, 147 homilies (Old English) 19, 35, 36, 50–51, 79, 99, 153, 159, 163 (see also individual homily collections and homilists) Homeric verse 78, 108, 111, 116, 118, 119 Hrothgar 9, 12, 13, 16, 17, 33, 51, 57, 69, 78, 100, 133, 138, 140, 149, 153, 167 Hygd 22, 64, 70 Hygelac 13, 22, 52, 64, 70, 78, 136, 138 hypermetric lines 77, 79

idioms 79, 88, 108, 118, 162 irony 73, 79, 80, 100, 115, 135, 154, 164, 168, 169 Judgment Day 14–15, 35–36, 56, 65, 70, 74–75, 94–97, 99, 100, 110, 139, 144 Junius manuscript 86–87, 171 kennings 2, 18 kings 1, 9, 10, 12, 15, 19, 20, 22–24, 27, 51, 56, 70–73, 75, 77–80, 95, 103, 108, 136, 142, 147–48, 158, 159, 160, 163, 165, 166, 169, 172 Lactantius: De ave phoenice 11, 130, 145 Latin 8, 29, 35, 36, 50–51, 59, 87, 94, 124; Anglo-Latin 9, 19, 21; Anglo-Latin poetry 20–21; Biblical poetry 130–131; Classical poetry 128, 129–31; Late Antique poetry 11, 130–31, 145 (see individual authors and texts) law codes 19, 24, 159, 163, 165, 170 (see also Wulfstan) Leofric (bishop of Exeter) 20 Letter of Alexander to Aristotle 149 Life of St Christopher 149 literacy 1, 7, 8, 102, 113, 115, 117, 121, 130, 131, 148, 150, 152, 159 loan words (see dreng and grið) Ludwigslied 1 MacNeice, Louis vii Maldon, Battle of 159–71 (see also Battle of Maldon) manuscripts (of Old English poetry) 23, 59, 93, 103, 115, 148, 149, 150, 159, 169; layout 86–87 Mary 15, 62, 133 metaphor 29, 30, 35, 48, 55, 56, 57, 61, 62, 65, 67, 68, 74, 93, 114, 135, 136, 137, 142, 154 meter 24, 33, 40, 46, 49, 55, 69, 73, 79, 80, 84, 85, 101, 102, 106, 108, 111, 112, 117, 118, 119, 121, 123, 129 (see also hypermetric lines) mind-body-soul-spirit as a hoard 28–30, 52–68, 70, 71, 104, 114, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 142, 143 Modern English poetry 2, 121–22, 125, 128–31, 134, 141, 150, 151 (see also aesthetics, modern, and Auden, Heaney, MacNeice)

192

General Index money 20, 21, 22, 24, 25, 159, 161–62, 168 (see also feoh and sceatt) natural phenomena (including feathers, vegetation) 11, 16, 31, 35, 36, 51, 59, 74–75, 90, 97–100, 105, 110, 133, 137, 144, 154 New Criticism 3–4, 125 non-classical Old English verse 122, 159, 171 (see also classical Old English verse) nostalgia 166, 169–71, 172 Old English Martyrology 95, 96 Old High German 1, 154 Old Norse 158, 162–63, 166–67, 170–71 (see also skaldic verse) Oral Formulaic Theory 3, 4, 38, 102, 111–13, 115–118, 121, 123 orality 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 24, 36, 47, 102, 104, 111–13, 115–18, 121, 122, 124, 125, 126, 128, 129, 130, 131, 151 originality 3–4, 38, 58, 83, 101, 110, 114 120–21, 150, 160–71 ornamentation 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 17, 20, 26, 33–36, 47, 56, 75, 88, 89–100, 105, 106, 133, 139, 145, 167, 168 (see frætwe) Oswald (king) 19, 20 Otfrid: Evangelienbuch 1 paganism 6, 100, 149, 168, 169 Paradise 11, 16, 36, 74, 97, 98, 99, 100, 110, 144 Parallelstellen 2, 8 periodization (of Anglo-Saxon history) 1, 22, 24, 159, 172 (see also Anglo-Saxon England) phoenix 96 (see also Phoenix) polysemy 5, 29, 64, 134, 136, 145, 146, 147, 155 prose (Old English) 9, 19, 21, 23, 26, 27, 29, 30–31, 32, 33, 35, 36, 37, 39, 44, 49, 73, 88, 94, 98–99, 105, 106, 108, 109, 110, 116, 117–18, 119, 162, 163 (see also charters, homilies, law codes, wills and individual writers and texts) reception 3, 4, 5, 6, 102, 111, 124, 126–28, 151 rhyme 1, 55, 57, 150, 154, 166 rhythm 2, 106, 107, 108, 118, 119, 123, 129, 166

>rules of notice= 127–28, 136, 145, 146 Scandinavian (see Old Norse and Vikings) Scyld Scefing 41, 75, 78, 91, 132, 146 semantics 3, 8, 9, 25–37, 38, 39, 44, 46, 47, 48, 50, 52, 53, 66, 69, 70, 71, 74, 75–76, 77, 80, 81, 83, 87–93, 94, 97, 98, 101, 102, 103–4, 105, 107, 108, 109, 112, 113, 116, 117, 129, 137, 153, 157, 167 Sigemund 91–92 silver 9, 14, 18–22, 23, 25, 46, 47, 161–62, 168 (see also seolfor) similar language in similar circumstances 43, 44, 52, 68, 73, 78, 80, 87, 92, 138, 140, 141 (see also triggering) simile 35, 95, 96 skaldic verse 158 social contexts (of Old English poetry) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5–6, 7, 8, 24, 158, 159, 160 social order 161, 164–70, 172 soul 15, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 36, 52, 53, 54, 56, 65, 67, 68, 70, 71, 94–97, 134, 139, 142 (see also mind-body-soul-spirit as a hoard) spirit (see mind-body-soul-spirit as a hoard) style 1–3, 6, 7, 8, 25, 38, 39, 40, 62, 66, 68, 82, 97, 99, 100, 101, 103, 111–16, 123, 124, 126, 128, 131, 132, 135, 146, 147, 148, 149, 150, 153, 157, 158, 160–61, 164, 172 sun 14, 89, 90, 93, 95–96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 144, 145, 147 Sutton Hoo 18–19 symbolism 9, 35, 93, 97, 100, 114, 134, 143, 146, 161, 168 syntax 2, 38, 47, 49, 53–54, 56, 69, 70, 73, 80, 83, 85, 98, 101, 104, 105, 106, 108–9, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 129, 137 tradition 1, 3–8, 9, 18, 24, 30, 34, 37, 43, 46, 48, 60, 63, 69, 70, 77, 79, 80, 81, 82, 96, 103, 105, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 114, 115, 116, 122, 128, 130, 131, 138–39, 145, 148, 150–56, 157–59, 160, 161, 162, 169, 170–72 transience 9, 13–15, 17, 27, 30–31, 32, 34, 35–36, 37, 54, 60, 62, 74–75, 76, 80, 97, 100, 146, 152–53

193

General Index translation 19, 23, 29, 36, 47, 60, 66, 79, 80, 85, 94, 96, 99, 149, 154–55, 172 (see also individual texts) treasure 7, 8, 9–37, 132, 134, 135, 136, 138–9, 141–43, 146, 147, 149, 150, 151–56, 157, 158, 160–2, 163, 167–68, 169 (see also gold, hoards, money, silver, tribute, wealth; frætwe, gold, hord, maðm, seolfor, sinc, gestreon) treasure-giving (see gift-giving) tribute 160–64, 169 triggering 56, 64, 71, 87, 142, 143 (see also similar language in similar circumstances) variation 2, 18, 31, 54, 70, 114, 123–24, 130, 135, 143 verbal repetition (non-formulaic) 2, 6, 8, 32, 38, 39, 41, 42–43, 44–45, 47, 48–49, 51–52, 56, 57–58, 59–60, 62, 64–68, 69, 70, 71–73, 74–75, 76, 77–78, 79, 80, 83–84, 85, 86–87, 89–92, 93, 96–97, 100, 101, 109, 111, 112–13, 114, 115–16, 123–56, 157, 160, 164, 165, 168, 172; ambiguous 131–32, 140–46; background 8, 18, 49, 52, 64, 65, 66, 68, 71, 74, 76, 125–30, 131–32, 135, 136–40, 141, 142, 144, 145, 152, 154, 155; foreground 8, 44, 48, 65, 68, 73, 74, 76, 79, 90, 91, 125–28, 130, 131–36, 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143, 145, 146, 148, 152, 154, 155, 164; in Biblical poetry 130–31; in Classical Latin

poetry 129–31; in Late Antique poetry 130–31, 145; in Modern English poetry 128–29 (see also envelope patterns) Vercelli homilies 153 Vikings 1, 21, 160–71 (see also Danes) Wealhtheow 75–76, 78 wealth 9, 13–15, 18, 21, 23, 24, 25, 31, 37, 47, 51, 55, 65, 76, 81, 89, 100, 113, 141, 143, 147, 155, 161, 166 (see also alms, hoards, money, transience, treasure, tribute, worldliness) weapons 10, 17, 26, 27, 33, 34, 35, 45, 49, 87–88, 91, 137, 167, 168 West Saxons 147–48, 158, 160, 170; dialect 117 Widsith 57 (see also Widsith) Wiglaf 17, 28, 43–44, 49, 72, 134, 138, 142, 152 wills 19, 20, 159 Wonders of the East 149 worldliness 14, 32, 34, 35–36, 37, 46–47, 55, 65, 73, 74–75, 97, 98, 105, 143, 146 wordplay 8, 29, 31–32, 34, 35, 55, 57, 59, 61, 63, 64–68, 69, 75, 84, 93, 99–100, 105, 108–9, 110, 113, 114, 124, 127, 140, 143, 147, 148, 154, 160, 164, 170 Wulfstan: homilies 117, 119, 165–66, 171; Institutes of Polity 165–66; lawcodes 165–66; Sermo Lupi 166; Geþyncðu 170

194

YORK MEDIEVAL PRESS: PUBLICATIONS

God’s Words, Women’s Voices: The Discernment of Spirits in the Writing of Late-Medieval Women Visionaries, Rosalyn Voaden (1999) Pilgrimage Explored, ed. J. Stopford (1999) Piety, Fraternity and Power: Religious Gilds in Late Medieval Yorkshire 1389–1547, David J. F. Crouch (2000) Courts and Regions in Medieval Europe, ed. Sarah Rees Jones, Richard Marks and A. J. Minnis (2000) Treasure in the Medieval West, ed. Elizabeth M. Tyler (2000) Nunneries, Learning and Spirituality in Late Medieval English Society: The Dominican Priory of Dartford, Paul Lee (2000) Prophecy and Public Affairs in Later Medieval England, Lesley A. Coote (2000) The Problem of Labour in Fourteenth-Century England, ed. James Bothwell, P. J. P. Goldberg and W. M. Ormrod (2000) New Directions in later Medieval Manuscript Studies: Essays from the 1998 Harvard Conference, ed. Derek Pearsall (2000) Cistercians, Heresy and Crusadse in Occitania, 1145–1229: Preaching in the Lord’s Vineyard, Beverly Mayne Kienzle (2001) Guilds and the Parish Community in Late Medieval East Anglia, c. 1470–1550, Ken Farnhill (2001) The Age of Edward III, ed. J. S. Bothwell (2001) Time in the Medieval World, ed. Chris Humphrey and W. M. Ormrod (2001) The Cross Goes North: Processes of Conversion in Northern Europe, AD 300–1300, ed. Martin Carver (2002) Henry IV: The Establishment of the Regime, 1399–1406, ed. Gwilym Dodd and Douglas Biggs (2003) Youth in the Middle Ages, ed. P. J. P Goldberg and Felicity Riddy (2004) The Idea of the Castle in Medieval England, Abigail Wheatley (2004) Rites of Passage: Cultures of Transition in the Fourteenth Century, ed. Nicola F. McDonald and W.M. Ormrod (2004) Creating the Monastic Past in Medieval Flanders, Karine Ugé (2005) St William of York, Christopher Norton (2006) Medieval Obscenities, ed. Nicola F. McDonald (2006)

The Reign of Edward II: New Perspectives, ed. Gwilym Dodd and Anthony Musson (2006) York Studies in Medieval Theology I

Medieval Theology and the Natural Body, ed. Peter Biller and A. J. Minnis (1997)

II

Handling Sin: Confession in the Middle Ages, ed. Peter Biller and A. J. Minnis (1998)

III Religion and Medicine in the Middle Ages, ed. Peter Biller and Joseph Ziegler (2001) IV Texts and the Repression of Medieval Heresy, ed. Caterina Bruschi and Peter Biller (2002) York Manuscripts Conference Manuscripts and Readers in Fifteenth-Century England: The Literary Implications of Manuscript Study, ed. Derek Pearsall (1983) [Proceedings of the 1981 York Manuscripts Conference] Manuscripts and Texts: Editorial Problems in Later Middle English Literature, ed. Derek Pearsall (1987) [Proceedings of the 1985 York Manuscripts Conference] Latin and Vernacular: Studies in Late-Medieval Texts and Manuscripts, ed. A. J. Minnis (1989) [Proceedings of the 1987 York Manuscripts Conference] Regionalism in Late-Medieval Manuscripts and Texts: Essays celebrating the publication of ‘A Linguistic Atlas of Late Mediaeval English’, ed. Felicity Riddy (1991) [Proceedings of the 1989 York Manuscripts Conference] Late-Medieval Religious Texts and their Transmission: Essays in Honour of A. I. Doyle, ed. A. J. Minnis (1994) [Proceedings of the 1991 York Manuscripts Conference] Prestige, Authority and Power in Late Medieval Manuscripts and Texts, ed. Felicity Riddy (2000) [Proceedings of the 1994 York Manuscripts Conference] Middle English Poetry: Texts and Traditions. Essays in Honour of Derek Pearsall, ed. A. J. Minnis (2001) [Proceedings of the 1996 York Manuscripts Conference]