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.
YORK MEDIEVAL PRESS
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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
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and of Boydell & Brewer Inc.
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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.
6
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.
8
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.
9
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.)
10
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
11
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).
12
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.
13
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.
14
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.
15
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
16
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).
17
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.
31
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.
32
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.
33
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.
37
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.
38
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.
50
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.
51
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.
60
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.
63
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.
64
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.
65
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’
65
66
67
See bindan, bend and hord.
See word and hord.
And 172, 316, 601, 671, 1114, 1182.
66
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.
67
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.
68
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.
69
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.)
70
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.
71
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
79
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.
72
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.
73
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.
74
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.
75
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.
76
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.
77
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.
78
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.
79
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.
81
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.
82
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.
83
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).
84
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.
85
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.
87
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
88
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.
93
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’
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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.
97
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.
99
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.
100
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.
101
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.
102
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.
103
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.
104
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.
105
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.
106
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.
107
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).
108
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.
109
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.
113
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.
115
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.
117
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.
122
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.
124
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.
125
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,
126
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.
127
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.
129
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.
130
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.
135
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.
136
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.
138
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.
139
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.
140
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.
141
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.
143
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.
144
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.
146
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.
149
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.
150
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.
151
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
152
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.
155
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.
156
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.
163
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.
165
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.
166
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.
167
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.
168
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.
169
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.
170
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.
172
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———. 1999a. The Making of English Law: King Alfred to the Twelfth Century, vol. 1,
Legislation and its Limits. Oxford.
———. 1999b. ‘Archbishop Wulfstan and the Holiness of Society’. In his Legal
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pp. 225–51.
Wray, Alison. 2002. Formulaic Language and the Lexicon. Cambridge.
Yerkes, David, ed. 1984. The Old English Life of Machutus. Toronto.
Zijderveld, Anton C. 1979. On Clichés: The Supersedure of Meaning by Function in
Modernity. London.
183
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,
185
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
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III Religion and Medicine in the Middle Ages, ed. Peter Biller and Joseph Ziegler
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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]