Beating out Land Limits (ll.2971-2981) [Old English]

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
A Mess of Actors
Land Buried Beneath Words
Closing

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Abstract

Wulf is laid low by Ongeontheow, who in turn is slain by Eofor.

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Translation

"'Yet the bold son of Wonred could not
against that aged man land a blow,
instead he afterward sheared the helm from his head,
so that Wulf should bow his bloodied head,
he fell to the ground; yet fate called not yet to him,
and he recovered himself, though he fully felt his wound.
The hardy thane of Hygelac then hoisted
his broad blade, as his brother lay there,
an antique edge of giant design, his stroke caught the          giant's helm,
through Ongeontheow's shield wall; then bowed that king,
the people's protector, he was struck through to his          soul.'"
(Beowulf ll.2971-2981)

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Recordings

I have a new (untested) microphone, so I will be able to record this week's translation and that from the last two weeks this weekend. Watch for these entries for widgets!

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A Mess of Actors

Okay, so we start to get into the conclusion of the messenger's tale of Ongeontheow and the Geats raid on the Swede's land. On the surface, this excerpt is straightforward, for the most part.

As has been the case before, the original Old English for this section uses no proper nouns - they're all just pronouns. It seems that this must have been the poet's solution to making action scenes vibrant without breaking patterns in things like sentence length.

After all, using nothing but pronouns and pronominal phrases to refer to the characters involved in the two fights in this passage is a way to show through language the chaos of such a scene. It's told with only three major players, but the lack of concrete names suggests a lack of concrete order, or any order whatsoever.

Blows are exchanged, but just whose doing what isn't necessarily 100% clear based on pronouns alone.

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Land Buried Beneath Words

However, digging deeper than the surface of this excerpt, and even the surface of words, the verb "Let," (l.2977) means many things. It can mean "to lift," "to lead," or "to make or beat the bounds of land."

Given that this word appears in a story about a raid, it may be the perfect context for "Let" to take on various meanings.

The simple interpretation of "Let," as "hoisted," or "raised," works but it still leaves us with something to wonder about. The messenger stated earlier that this raid on the Swedes was merely for treasure and plunder, but in a sense isn't raiding a place tantamount to an accelerated habitation?

All that gold dug out of the ground, all that coin exchanged, all of those crops eaten - and all at once rather than over the course of years and years. So, in a way, though the Geats set out with only treasure in mind, they definitely picked up more when Eofor slew Ongeontheow (announced with the use of "Let").

It should be fair to say that there's little better to do to create the limits of your land in one sense or other than to simply destroy the ones you need to move. Having defeated those in your way, you've very clearly opened your way up.

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Closing

Next week - the story of the Geats and Swedes begins to wrap up. Watch for it!

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Ongoing Ongeontheow (ll.2961-2970) [Old English]

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Teaching by Analogues?
Against Anger, About a Word
Closing



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Abstract

In the messenger's story, Ongeontheow is captured and attacks Wulf, son of Wonred, in self defense.

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Translation

"'There by the sword's edge Ongeontheow,
the grey-haired lord, was left to suffer at
Eofor's command alone. Angrily against him
Wulf son of Wonred reached with a weapon,
so that his sword swing struck, sending blood
forth from under his hair. Yet he was
not frightened, the old Scylfing,
he paid him back double for that blow,
turning a far worse death strike against that one,
after that the king turned thither.'"
(Beowulf ll.2961-2970)

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Recordings

I'm currently without a recording microphone, and so have no way to record these. However, I should be picking one up over the coming weekend.

Old English:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

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Teaching by Analogues?

As the messenger's story continues, so too does his focus on Ongeontheow. Here we see him, gray-haired, retaliate against one of the Geats who was too angry to wait for Eofor's decision.

Actually, it's a curious detail to add that Ongeontheow is "grey-haired" ("blonden-fexa" l.2962). Obviously we should take it to mean that he is an old man, but as such it's difficult to not think of Hrothgar, another old man encountered in the poem.

Or, to even think of Beowulf himself.

After all, the messenger must have a point for telling the story of the Ravenswood at such length. I mean, if he just wanted to remind everyone of their feud with the Swedes he could have cut things off with his statement about them not showing any mercy (l.2922-2923). Instead, he launches into a story that runs for 75 lines (ll.2923-2998), involves detailed descriptions of events, and focuses not on a Geat, but the chief of the Swedes.

Apart from using this story to get the Geats to recognize their current situation (as noted in last week's entry), Ongeontheow could be a stand in for Beowulf.

Perhaps the messenger is warning the Geats of the Swedes, but also, for some strange reason, he's trying to remind them of themselves. He's trying to show them how their own laziness and their own cowardice - represented by Wulf's inabiity to contain his anger - is what caused the trouble stirred by the dragon, just as the same lead to the death of Wulf (and of Beowulf).

But how could such an interpretation be backed up? Well, with the idea that the messenger like all of those bearing news and facts some might not like, needs to add a spin to what he says. His spin is to use a story that everyone can relate to but present it in a way that is different.

Or, perhaps everyone was familiar with Ongeontheow's actions from a poem or story the Geats told amongst themselves. As of now we can't really say for sure.

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Against Anger, About a Word

In a much more direct fashion, this excerpt from the messenger's story is clearly an admonition against anger, against acting when a passion is in you.

Instead, at least through implication, the messenger is telling the people that they must be cautious, just as Eofor was in deciding Ongeontheow's fate rather than just lashing out at him as Wulf did. Just as an army that has captured their opponent's leader must think things throw and step carefully into the future, so too must the Geats if they're to navigate the difficult, leaderless times that lay ahead of them.

For the Geats it is a time that is likely to be noisy with deathblows. A concept perhaps strange to us, but familiar to Anglo-Saxons since the Old English compound "wael-hlem," meaning "death-blow," literally translates to "carnage-sound."

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Closing

That's it for this week, but the messenger's story continues next week, as Eofor steps into the fray.

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Extending Lore on Love and Passion [12:60] (Latin)

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Repetition Leading to Implication
Word Woes: Overcome?
Closing

{Words upon words - some to be lost between languages. Image found on the blog Thoughts on Books."}

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Abstract

Isidore further expounds on the theory and lore of good animal husbandry.

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Translation

[60] "Then are those which have the heavy mares look at no animal of deformed appearance, such as dog-headed apes and gorillas, such faces are not made visible to those looking like they are pregnant. Truly this is natural for females that is if such is seen or if the mind conceives of it in the extreme heat of passion, that is conception, such will be in the children that they create. As a matter of fact, animals in the enjoyment of Venus transfer their outside to the inside, and they seize their fill of such a figure of their types in appropriate quality. Among animals those born of diverse kind are called two-kinded/mutts such as mules from mares and donkeys; hinny from horses and female donkeys; mongrels/half-breeds from boars and pigs; sheep-goat (tityrus) from ewes and he-goats; raidos [from ram + IE *ghaidos] (musmo) from she-goats and rams. On the other hand, these are truly the leaders of the herds."
(St. Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae 12:60)

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Recordings

Latin:

{Forthcoming}

Modern English:

{Forthcoming}

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Repetition Leading to Implication

While he repeats much of what was written in paragraphs 58 and 59 here, Isidore seems to be expanding to all women the reproductive lore from those paragraphs. Otherwise he would have gone with a different phrase than "...this is natural for females" ("Hanc enim feminarum esse naturam") to describe the practice of keeping ugly things away from pregnant women.

Unfortunately, this is just a matter of implication, since Isidore jumps right back to the animal after he has finished getting into some titillating descriptors (the "extreme heat of passion" ("in extremo voluptatis aestu") and the "enjoyment of Venus" (in usu Venerio) both being polite euphemisms for orgasm and sex respectively).

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Word Woes: Overcome?

When he settles back on animals, Isidore rounds off the first part of his book about animals with some of the different two-kinded and hybrid mixtures that people have come up with.

Now, either English breeders have been put to shame here, or Latin simply has a far greater depth of expression, since "burdo" translates easily enough into hinny, but "tityrus" and "musmo" remain untranslatable to varying degrees (as far as I can tell).

It's not as satisfying as a portmanteau of the two, but sheep-goat is the result of a sheep/goat cross-breeding, though these are apparently rare in nature (and referred to as geeps when created in labs). So sheep-goat is the closest translation of "tityrus" that English has to offer.

On the other hand, "musmo" is apparently entirely untranslatable, since even a satisfactory compound English name isn't available. Yet, if mules and hinnies are different based on the gender of the horse or donkey in the pairing, so too should the result of a she-goat and a ram and a ewe and a he-goat be different.

So, to remedy the untranslatable malady of "musmo," a little digging was done and the word "raidos" was created. It's a combination of "ram" and the reconstruction of the Proto-Indo-European word for sheep - *ghaidos. It sounds kind of like "Raiden," and so is appropriate, given the sentence that Isidore ends with: "...these are truly the leaders of the herds" ("Est autem dux gregis").

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Closing

This Thursday, Beowulf continues his speech, talking about his time as king and making a very curious statement.

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On Wiglaf's Weapons (Pt. 2) [ll.2620-2630] (Old English)

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Two Possibilities for "mid Geatum"
Medieval Shorthand?
A Curious Word
Closing

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Abstract

The story of Weohstan and the arms winds down here, and things move back to Wiglaf, as he is on the verge of breaking from the host to go help Beowulf.

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Translation

“He kept those adornments for many half-years,
sword and mail shirt, until his son could
perform heroic deeds as his late father did;
then he gave to him among the Geats war garbs
in countless number, when he departed from life,
old and on his way forth. Then was the first time
for the young warrior, to himself advance into
the battle onslaught with his noble lord. His spirit
did not melt away then, nor did his kinsman’s
heirloom fail in the conflict; this the serpent
discovered, after they had come together.”
(Beowulf ll.2620-2630)

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Recordings

Old English:



Modern English:



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Two Possibilities for "mid Geatum"

Just as with so many other sets of equipment in Beowulf, Wiglaf’s arms were passed onto him by his father. However, the poet/scribe also sees fit to add that these things were passed onto Wiglaf when father and son were “among the Geats,” (“mid Geatum” (l.2623)).

Since Weohstan had previously been in exile (as the poem made plain when describing his slaying of Eanmunde), this added detail is rather significant for one reason or another.

On the one hand, this detail suggests the importance of community. Possibly, even, this small prepositional phrase implies an underlying belief of the poet's/scribe’s that communal memory is better than individual memory. At the least, with the constant references to friendship, kin ties, and the sound of the raucous joy of groups in halls, a community is regarded as being better than being alone.

On the other hand, it might just be another detail. Something to add to the colour of the story and not really a thread that’s woven around or with something else in the poem as so many things are.

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Medieval Shorthand?

Actually, It’s easy to wonder then if the phrase “among the Geats” is shorthand for a more detailed setting. But the marker of community might just be setting enough for the sort of transitional act that passing on war garb is in Anglo-Saxon culture.

For there was a firm belief among the Anglo-Saxons that a person’s belongings carried a part of his or her essence even after he or she died. So, passing these things on is as much a passing on of the physical objects as it is of the memory held within them, the things they used to make their mark on the world.

To pass these weapons, these memories, on, within the structures of a community, to make it an event within that community and thus set it into that community's memory, would ensure that it definitely becomes entrenched there. It becomes as much a community act as a family act.

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A Curious Word

The other highlight of the passage is the original Old English verb used on line 2628: “gemealt.”

According to the Clark Hall & Merritt dictionary of Old English, the verb can be translated as “to consume by fire,” “melt,” “burn up,” “dissolve,” or “digest.” Since it’s referring to Wiglaf’s spirit, it seems most appropriate to go with melt. That way the words invoke an image of the young warrior envisioning his attack on the dragon and the aid that he’ll give his lord and having this vision stand firm rather than melting away (like a Jello mold in the heat of the sun).

{Possibly how Wiglaf imagines himself fighting the dragon. Image from Lady, That's My Skull}

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Closing

That’s all for this week, but check back next for Isidore’s continuing look at horses, and for Wiglaf’s stirring speech to his fellow thanes.

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While Beowulf Roasts, Wiglaf Breaks from the Host [ll.2593-2605] (Old English)

Abstract
Translation
Recordings
Heralding The Shift
Shiny Armor, but Shinier Lineage
What's in a Name
Closing

{A fresh faced Wiglaf, as played by Brendan Gleeson. Image from aveleyman.com.}

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Abstract

Things aren’t looking good for Beowulf, but though his men are fled, one has a change of heart that may see the dragon bled.

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Translation

"The hoard guard in himself took heart - his
breast by breathing heaved - he came out once again;
harsh straits were suffered, he was enveloped by fire,
he who had once ruled the people. Not any of the band
of comrades were with him then, the sons of nobility
stood about in martial virtues, but they fled into
the woods, their lives to save. Of them sorrow surged
in just one mind; he who thinks rightly may
never for anything turn away from kinship.
Wiglaf was his name, son of Weoxstan,
a beloved warrior, man of the Scylfings,
kinsmen of Aelfere; he saw his liege lord
under the battle mask suffering in the heat."
Beowulf ll.2593-2605

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Recordings

Old English:



English:



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Heralding The Shift

Beowulf’s getting roasted by the fire in this passage, and the dragon seems almost assuredly guaranteed a nice and toasty roasted Geat for a snack. No doubt he has a very old and fine wine somewhere in his hoard to go with just such a meal, but thanks to a change of heart, one of Beowulf's thanes is ready to help out his liege lord - and become the poem's primary perspective character.

Curiously, though, the action is halted for a quick description of our new hero. Though instead of going over his bulging biceps and shiny armor (that gets the narrative treatment in a few lines’ time), we’re treated to his pedigree.

Obviously this kind of description is set up by the preceding bit of gnomic wisdom: “he who thinks rightly may never for anything turn away from kinship” (“sibb ǣfre ne mæg/wiht onwendan þām ðe wēl þenceð” ll.2600-2601). However, what makes pedigree so important here?

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Shiny Armor, but Shinier Lineage

The best guess is that it falls in with an older way of thinking about the world. One that involves things like phrenology and eugenics, not all pretty stuff, but essentially the idea held here could be that because Wiglaf comes from good breeding he is one who “thinks rightly” (“wēl þenceð” l.2600). If such is the case, then this passage would set any listener or reader to this tale from hundreds of years ago to the expectation that this Wiglaf is going to solve everything, or at least be of assistance.

However, if Wiglaf is the only one who has his head on properly amongst the elite guard that Beowulf brought with him on his expedition, it also bodes ill for the Geats in general. For if only one of twelve trained warriors has the decency to disobey orders and help his liege lord in his hour of need despite being told otherwise, then such pedigrees as Wiglaf’s must be few and far between.

As a means of foreshadowing the waning power and prowess of the Geats between generations, and the implication that kin, when properly thinking, will help out kin, suggests that either terms like “Geat” are much broader than you might suspect, or that there’s a problem with breeding among the Geats.

Maybe something wicked has been happening in the beds and around the camps when the fires are out - Beowulf’s own marital and sexual situations are not mentioned. It's possible that the woman who weeps so bitterly by his grave (who could be Hygelac’s queen, Hygd; ll.3150-3155) is Beowulf's wife, but the latter situation is left un-noted, likely because of the contemporary sense of decorum.

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What's in a Name

A brief note on the name of the new perspective character in the poem is rather telling. It’s also much easier to look into the meaning of Wiglaf’s name than Beowulf’s name, since it’s a much more obvious compound word.

“Wīg” is Old English for “war,” “strife,” or “battle,” and “lāf” is Old English for “leaving,” or “heirloom.” Thus, Wiglaf is named for some kind of battle memento - maybe this name is one that the poet/scribe came up with after having conceived of the pedigree of Wiglaf’s arms. For his armor and his sword are all described as the spoils of a combat fought by Weohstan (ll.2610-2625).

However, if Wiglaf’s name is taken as a kenning, it could be interpreted in a different way.

If we take “wīglāf” as a kenning, then perhaps it refers to one who is the product of a broken marriage, or of a couple made of partners from rival or feuding families. In that way he’s much more literally an heirloom of some kind of strife, since perhaps he’s the child of rape or of some kind of passionate affair between star-crossed lovers who never after saw each other.

Of course, being an Anglo-Saxon poem, none of that is explicitly explained.

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Closing

Next week Isidore gets into the matter of the cud and of donkeys; and in Beowulf, Wiglaf can't hold back, just as the poet bursts into a (brief) digression.

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Swedish Retribution "from over wide water" [ll.2472-2483] (Old English)

Abstract
Translation
On Swedes and Geats
Compounding New Words
Closing

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Abstract

We get the history hard and fast in this week's passage of Beowulf (ll.2472-2483, Chapter XXXV).

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Translation

"'Then between Swedes and Geats was war and enmity;
from over wide water causing laments,
wall-hard warfare, after Hrethel had perished,
Ongeonðēow's sons to them came,
warlike; they would not free
those they held under sorrow's sway, and near Hrēosnahill
they oft launched voracious ambushes.
My close-kin avenged this,
feud and war-fire, as it is known,
though one of them bought the victory, at a hard price,
with his life; Haethcyn, Geatish lord,
was taken in the war's assailing.'"
(Beowulf ll.2472-2483)

{Approximation of the Hrēosnahill fight offered by a mural of the Battle of Maldon. From the Braintree collection of murals.}

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On Swedes and Geats

Questions bubble up like air in a flagon of ale upon reading this passage. Who was Ongeonðēow? What's important about Hrēosnahill? What liberties were taken with the translation?

Ongeonðēow [On-g'in-thou] was the king of the Swedes who launched an attack on the Geats to recover his daughter and his gold, both of which had been taken by the Geats on an earlier raid. He was famed as a powerful king, and two Geats (Eofor and Wulf) had to work together to defeat him (read more here). Though, as we'll see in next week's entry, Beowulf makes it sound like Hygelac himself lands the deathblow.

Hrēosnahill [Heh-res-na-hill] is where Hæðcyn had taken Ongeonðēow's daughter, and is apparently a real place (modern Swedish:"Ramshult"), as well as a place that is traditionally within Geatish territory. Go to this Wikipedia page for more info.

So, what's happening here is a little bit of old fashioned early medieval back and forth. The Geats stole Ongeonðēow's daughter and gold (according to Wikipedia), and now the Swedes are coming for rescue and revenge - which they (again, from Wikipedia) only half exact. The Swedes recover the woman, but not the gold.

Two liberties were taken in the above translation. In the third line (l.2474) "wall-hard warfare" is altered from the literal "hard warfare" since the alliteration makes it sound more Anglo-Saxon and "hard warfare" isn't as evocative as the original "here-nīð hearda."

The phrase "under sorrow's sway" was also altered from the literal "lamentation holding" since it doesn't have enough punch in Modern English. It also confuses the metaphor of being held under extreme emotion, which is clarified by "under sorrow's sway."

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Compounding New Words

The words "here-nīð," and "inwit-scearo" are both compound words worthy of elaboration.

The first combines the word for "predatory band, troop, army; war, devastation" ("here") and for "strife, enmity, attack, spite, affliction," ("nīð"). Literally, then, it could be rendered "war-strife" or "troop-enmity" and so warfare is a clear translation of it. The redundancy of a literal translation also makes the standard translation of the phrase more efficient than a literal rendering.

The word "inwit-scearo" on the other hand, is more worthy. The term is a mix of "inwit," meaning "evil, deceit, wicked, deceitful," and "scearo," a form of "scieran," meaning "to cleave, hew, cut; receive tonsure; abrupt."

Literally, the word could be rendered as "evil-cleave" or "abrupt-deceit" which sound like they could still be productive words among modern counterparts. "Evil-cleave" at least sounds like a technique in an RPG, while "abrupt-deceit" could be a spicier way to describe an ambush or surprise attack.

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Closing

To let me know what you think about these compound words (or this entry in general) just post a comment below. And feel free to follow this blog, I'll follow yours back.

Next week, Isidore elaborates on the workings of sheep and rams, and Beowulf tells of Hygelac's revenge, all the while bolstering his own warrior-like image.

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Of Sweaty Armpits and Family Sacrifices [12:7-9] (Latin)

Abstract
Translation
Some Words to Wonder About
Cows of the Violent Kine
Family and Sacrifices
Closing

Abstract

St. Isidore goes into further detail about pack animals and flocks in today's extract. And he reveals a thing or two about why sheep are so popular as sacrificial animals.

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Translation

"[7]The name 'pack animal' is derived from their pulling, that they do for our work, or the help they give us in carrying up things or with plowing. For oxen draw the two wheeled coach, and turn the stiff soil of the earth with the ploughshare; horses and donkeys carry loads, and humans, walking in their wake, guide their labour. And so pack animals are so called from those that are of help to men: truly they are animals of powerful greatness.

[8] Also, there are the cattle, whose weapons are attached, that is for war; or that make use of these horns. We understand other cattle to be oxen, for plowing, as if horned or that are equipped with horns. Moreover the cattle are distinguished from the flocks: for cattle are horses and oxen, flocks are truly she-goats and sheep.

[9] Sheep are a soft fleecy herd, with a defenceless body, a gentle spirit, and calling forth with its voice; it is not the oxen that a priest keeps near at hand for the mysteries, but the sheep that are killed for the sacrifice. From this they call them two pronged, those that have two higher teeth amongst eight, those are the ones that families offer exceedingly oft in their sacrifices."
(St. Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae 12:7-9)

Angel to Abraham: "You're doing it wrong."

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Some Words to Wonder About

These three sections at last get clear and close, dealing with things in a markedly medieval manner by looking at categories and clarifying just what those categories mean. Thankfully, it also seems to be going somewhere now. The pack animals are defined, as well as the cattle and the flocks. So Isidore's moving right along here.

As far as curious words go, "capra" ("she-goat," or "odour of armpits") is definitely the strangest in this passage. Particularly fascinating about this word is its standing as a pretty stark reminder of the lack of deodorant in the 7th century when Isidore was writing. Goats might've been kept by some throughout the city of Seville as well, making for an immediate and visceral olfactory sensation.

Though, in a society without indoor plumbing, one wonders why a she-goat of all things is paired with the "odour of armpits."

Speaking of which, when might that second meaning have became attached to the word? Did "capra" have these two meanings from the time it was first used as a word or did it pick up the meaning "odour of armpits" because people realized that armpits and she-goats at least have that in common? We may never know, but that's part of the fun.

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Cows of the Violent Kine

From Isidore's description, it sounds like cattle were more violent then, too, or at least more prone to actually using their horns. That's what their having horns and their being described in martial terms ("armis," meaning "arms, especially for melee combat") suggests.

It's also likely that the connection could be held among those who work with cattle as well as the learned who write of cattle, since both groups could have access to stories of bulls and their tempers.

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Family and Sacrifices

Isidore's mention of families in paragraph 9 ("gentiles") is also curious, since it seems almost like a promotional plug - 9/10 families sacrifice sheep with two teeth more prominent than the eight. So why is it there? Is family sacrifice still prevalent? Was it just something done for Easter?

The use of the semi-colon (yes, inserted after the fact, since original mss don't have punctuation aside from diacritics marking abbreviations and such) suggests that the two sentences are related, but why are those qualities important for a good sacrificial animal?

The soft fleecy-ness, the naturally defenseless body, and the gentle nature - as well as the voice that calls out ("oblatione" which in St. Isidore's Late Latin referred to a solemn offering) - all of them suggest some sort of inherent sacrificial function.

Soft means penetrable, offering little resistance to the knife, as does the defenceless body. And the gentle spirit suggests that the lamb wouldn't begrudge the knife.

But the voice that calls out - it could reference an idea that the sheep bleated out a prayer itself as it was being killed or incinerated. An animal uttering such a prayer in death would definitely be favoured for sacrifice, since that bleating could also have the sacrificer's own prayer projected upon it.

A petition sacrificed in that a way - burned up in the vessel of a living being rather than a piece of paper - would add power to that prayer. Possibly even in early Christian minds.

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Closing

If you've got your own ideas about what some of the subtext or connotations of Isidore's mention of "families" or structure mean let me know about it in a comment. And do follow this blog if you enjoy it - I'll be sure to follow yours if you have one.

Check back Thursday for the next section of Beowulf, wherein Beowulf tells of the strife between Swede and Geat - and the fall of a prominent man.

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Hreðel's Choice [ll.2460-2471] (Old English)

Abstract
Translation
A Religious Out
Another Crucial Phrase
A Word to Modernize
Closing

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Abstract

In this week's excerpt Beowulf finishes his retelling of Hreðel's reaction to Herebeald's death. The old king is conflicted and ultimately gives up all of his possessions and holdings to his remaining sons:

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Translation

"'Then he lays himself in his bed and, wailing a dirge,
is alone even with himself; to him it all seems too large,
the fields and the halls. Thus was the Geat lord's
heart sorrow after Herebeald
went into that far country; he knew not how he might
wreak his feud on the slayer;
nor could he hate that warrior,
despite his loathsome deed, though he loved him not.
Amidst that sorrow, that which sorely him concerned,
he gave up life's joys, chose God's light;
he left all to his sons, as any prosperous man does,
lands and towns, when he left off this life.'"
(Beowulf ll.2460-2471)

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A Religious Out

What more is there to say here? Hreðel's great sorrow is combined with the utter failure that he faces in the face of the social code of the feud.

He can't kill his own son. So he does what anyone in a bind did in those medieval days (and these modern ones as well), he turns to "God's light". However, the phrase "chose God's light," ("Godes lēoht gecēas" l.2469) is open to interpretation.

Hreðel might've gone and joined a monastery, maybe became an anchorite, or he might have just given up entirely and let his body waste away until he died. The phrase could also refer to a conversion, but that interpretation isn't likely given the history of the poem's transmission.

If Beowulf was written out by Christian monks as a way of preserving it/using it for teaching/propaganda, it seems odd that a conversion would cause a character to drop out of society as Hreðel, a king, does.

So, I think, that the phrase "chose God's light" refers to some great act of austerity (fasting, seclusion) that leads Hreðel, in his weakened state, to his death.

{Job also "chose God's light" it seems. A William Blake original.}

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Another Crucial Phrase

That's not the only sticky phrase in the mix, though.

Afterall, there is the phrase used to describe the old man of Beowulf's simile when he shuts himself in his room: "ān æfter ānum." I translate this as "alone even with himself" (l.2461). As I have it, the phrase might seem to be lacking sense, but it's based on the apparent meaning of a literal translation: "alone for the purpose of being alone."

My rendering is intended to have the same basic meaning as a literal translation but with fewer words. "Alone even with himself" demonstrates how the old man is alone and separated from his thoughts and feelings even when he is by himself; that's just how much his grief and sorrow consume him.

Other than those cruxes, the passage is pretty straightforward. It's even got a neat Old English word that Modern English should pick up and dust off.

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A Word to Modernize

This word is "gum-drēam" ("enjoyment of life"), definitely a favourite. It's a compounding of a word for "man" ("gumma") and "joy, mirth, music, singing" ("drēam"), certainly a curious combination.

Literally it would translate as "man-joy" or "man-mirth," a word that definitely wouldn't resonate as well in a world where "man" is very rarely used to represent all of humanity. But it's a cool word, and if, say, someone wanted to bring it back, "lifejoy" or "are-mirth" could work.

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Closing

If you've got your own take on how "gum-dream" could be modernized, or on what Hreðel's choosing "God's light" means let me know about it in a comment!

Next week, Isidore writes about animals for war and animals for sacrifice, and Beowulf relates how the Swedes and Geats met in the field of war and how a certain Geat doesn't return. Watch this blog for those entries next Tuesday and Thursday respectively!

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Read on for the Difference Between Herds and Heads of Animals! [12: 4-6] (Latin)

Introduction
Summary
Translation
Splitting Hairs
The Duality of "Cow"
Closing

{A sheep - certainly a heard animal. Image from the National Library of the Netherlands}

Introduction

Welcome back to St. Isidore of Seville's Etymologiae - specifically book 12, part I (about herd and pack animals).

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Summary

This week's entry sees St. Isidore explain quadruped herd animals before moving on to differentiate herd animals from working animals. Let's get straight to it!

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Translation

[4] "They are called quadrupeds that walk on four feet: which are similar to herd animals save that they are not under human care; such as hinds, deer, wild donkeys, and others. But this does not include beasts like lions; nor pack animals, such as those humans may/can use like cattle.

[5] "We call all those lacking human languages and likenesses herds. On the other hand, strictly speaking, the name of a herd of such animals as those that are or could be used for food is called by this animal's name alone, like sheep and pigs or those used for human convenience like horses and oxen.

[6] "The difference between herds and heads of animals: because beasts of burden gather in significance all such animals are called a herd, on the other hand heads of beasts are only those animals which graze, as do the sheep. But in general all that graze are called herd animals."
(St. Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae 12: 4-6)

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Splitting Hairs

Paragraphs [5] and [6] are definitely about splitting hairs. But that's Isidore's business here, to try to differentiate between things so finely that his words only differ in their inflection on the page, subtle differences only really visible in their conjugation.

The words that best exemplify this are "pecus, -oris," meaning "cattle, herd, flock; animal," and "pecus, -udis," meaning "sheep, herd of cattle, beast." Their genitive singular forms (the standard case for a dictionary headword) are clearly similar.

But what really makes their similarity muddying is that when Isidore is describing the difference between herds and heads of animals he only defines one of his two categories.

After all, he points out that herd animals "graze like sheep" ("eduntur, quasi pecuedes") and then just implies that those that don't are called by "heads of [animals]" (such as a head of cattle).

It might be something that's coming through as a result of translation, but it seems that Isidore is struggling to really make himself clear because he's making such fine distinctions. But before I read too far into this sense of struggle, onto the next word.

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The Duality of "Cow"

"Iuvenca, ae," meaning "heifer, girl." It's probable that this word had a specific connotation when Latin was still spoken across the Roman Empire, but it's still quite telling of Roman culture that the same word could refer to a girl and a heifer.

Perhaps this second meaning wasn't necessarily negative, but it's difficult to see it as anything other than an insult of one sort or another.

After all, such a connotation for "cow" is still present in Modern English; "cow" sometimes sits in for b@!$&h. See for yourself here.

Also, my Latin dictionary lacks the heavy distinction that I hope might be present between the words "cervi" and "dammae" both of which can mean deer (cervi can also mean "hind" but a hind is just a specific sort of deer). Maybe I need to get a better dictionary, or maybe I just need to turn to my readers for a bit of aid.

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Closing

If you've got a way to split apart the words that seem too close to me, or want me to translate more of Isidore per entry let me know about it in a comment.

And check back Thursday for Beowulf's wrapping up of Hrethel's woes in his informal history of the old king's sons.

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The End of an Epic (Simile) [Beowulf ll.2450-2459] (Old English)

Abstract
Translation
On Heirs and Reasons
Summary and Surmise
Some Potential New Words
Closing

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Abstract

Beowulf finishes his digression in this section and then returns to the specifics of Hreðel's situation after the death of Herebeald. Here, read for yourself.

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Translation

"'Relentlessly he is reminded each morning
of his son's demise; he does not care to wait
for another heir in his hall
since his firstborn has been fettered
by death's decree.
He looks with sorrowful soul into his son's chambers,
a joy-hall now desolate, the dwelling place of winds,
bereft of all joy; the riders are asleep,
the fighters are laid down in darkness; no harp sounds are
there, no men in the yard, as there once were.'"
(Beowulf ll.2450-2459)

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On Heirs and Reasons

Among the images used in the passage, I think that of the father who has no interest in producing another heir because his first born has been killed is the strongest. That image really speaks to the sort of despair and sense of futility that anyone within a hierarchical inheritance system would feel when, as the Old English word implies, one has lost their inheritance guardian ("yrfe-weard," ll.2453).

True, the man has his other sons to inherit his lands and property upon his death, but the death of the firstborn throws the identity of the heir into question. If mere birth order determines it then there could be a motive for the murder there.

Hæðcyn could have possibly killed his older brother to jump ahead in line, thus marking him as dishonourable and selfish and thus a bad king. If it was just an accident then might Hæðcyn also be a bad choice because he lacks control?

Yet simply handing the realm over to Hygelac and skipping Hæðcyn entirely would be a slight to him as the second eldest - and besides, who's to say that the two didn't conspire against Herebeald? The destruction of even a single link in the chain of inheritance throws the whole sequence into question.

And I think that's why Hreðel's sorrow is described in terms that are similar to those used for the last survivor's sorrow. Though he has sons and his line will continue, he may be the last one who can fully enjoy the legacy of his properties and lands.

In the Lay of the Last Survivor (ll.2247-66) the bitterness of being the last of a clan is described, and these lines are particularly relevant:


"'[...] the tried warriors passed elsewhere'" (l.2254)

"'[...] No harp joy,
no delight of musical instruments, nor any good hawk
flies through the hall, nor any swift mare
stomps in the courtyard.'" (ll.2262-65)


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Summary and Surmise

The first of these sections echoes the statement in line 2458 that the "fighters are laid down in darkness," after some verbal acrobatics. The word used for "elsewhere" in line 2254 ("ellor") is also used in a compound word meaning death (ellor-sīð) in reference to Herebeald.

The death of the fighters in line 2458 is sheerly communicated via metaphor, but the idea of death being some 'far country' could be present in the mention of 'darkness.' Darkness was a very strong marker of the Other, and death is a great Other as well.

The second section is more clearly related to Beowulf's description of Hreðel's sorrow in that the imagery is that of lack of music, emptiness in the hall, and silence in the yard.

Essentially, spaces that were once filled - the air with sound, the hall with feasting, and the yard with motion - are now lacking these qualities.

Just as the last survivor laments the loss of people who bear cups, polish armour, or use any of the treasures that he's returning to the earth, so too is the lack of what defines these spaces useful as an expression of mourning. One who is integral to the regular function of life and society has been lost.

Could there be more of a connection here? Does Beowulf perhaps look at the younger generation of Geats and think that he too is a last survivor? Is that why he uses similar imagery? Or was the poet/scribe just strapped for ideas?

{Image from Shopify.}

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Some Potential New Words

Narrowing my focus down to words that caught my eye, one that I would like to get back into everyday speech is "windgereste," "resting place of the winds," implying an empty or disused space. That whole phrase is a bit much (it'd take 26 characters out of any tweet!), so instead it could be introduced as wind-place, or wind-dwelling, or wind-home.

"Ellor-sīð" is also curious (meaning "journey elsewhere, death"), but ideas of death and dying are now so much broader than they were in the recorded West of the early middle ages. It's a broad term, but I'm not sure if it would work given the acknowledged breadth of current ideas of death.

"Yrfe-weard," mentioned near the top of this entry, could work on the same level as "windgereste," since inheritance still happens and wills can be sticky situations.

However, inheritances don't have the same general importance as they did then, since they aren't the only (near) surefire way to a life of comfort/success/wealth. Whether it'd fly or not, "surety-heir" could work since surety is basically a term for a very specific kind of guard, and it does have a nice flow.

What's your preference among those three compound words for a new English word? Let me know in a comment!

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Closing

Next week, come on back for the continuation of St. Isidore's entry on herd animals and beasts of burden, and for the completion of Hreðel's part in Beowulf's reminiscence.

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Naming the Things that Move [Etymologiae 12: 1-3] (Latin)

A First Impression
Translation
All About Isidore
An Opening and a Word
Latin Animals
Barbaric?
Closing

{St. Isidore at study. Image from mythfolklore.net.}

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First Impression

St. Isidore of Seville did not exactly organize his Etymologiae as I had expected. Rather than going animal by animal and offering a catalogue of facts, he instead set it out by category. That means that for the next few months I'll be working through his explanation of "Herd Animals and Beasts of Burden" ("De Pecoribus et Iumentis").

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Translation

Now, my translation. This is twice removed from the original text, since, it being prose rather than poetry, what's below is a revision of my (somewhat liberal) literal translation.

"I. The Herd Animals and Beasts of Burden
[1] "Adam first imparted names on all of the animals, calling each by name from its present state and alike to the condition in which it naturally served.
[2] "But Gentiles also gave to each animal names from their own languages. But it was not from the Latin nor from the Greek nor from any of the barbarous tongues, rather man imparted those names in that language which was used by all before the flood, which is called Hebrew.
[3] "In Latin these are called animals or living things, which are animated by life and moved by [the?] spirit."
(St. Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae 12:1-3)

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All About Isidore

But before I get into the first three verses of this book, a few words about St. Isidore, patron saint of the internet (according to Wikipedia), himself.

He was born sometime in the latter half of the sixth century and died in 636 AD. Not much is known of his ear;y life, but his parents died while he was still young and so he was raised by his older brother, Leander, who had been prepared for a life in the Church. Leander followed this path to the bishopric of Seville and Isidore did the same, succeeding his brother as bishop around 600 AD. Isidore is famed for his writing, which covers a variety of topics ranging from the theological to the physical.

If you want more information on Isidore, check out the Catholic Online and the Catholic Encyclopedia entries on him - but keep in mind these sites' biases.

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An Opening and a Word

Isidore begins book 12 of his Etymologiae with an explanation of how creatures were named. Of special interest here is the word "indidit" from "indere," meaning, in particular, to "impart, impose."

This word constitutes a translational fork.

On the one hand, Adam, or the more sweeping "man" imparted names to the animals, it was a benign act of giving of him/itself.

On the other, those names were imposed, meaning that there was a degree of coercion or force involved. Humanity either gave the names freely or stamped them onto the animals, branding them all with words that forever represent each animal.

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Latin Animals

And finally, things get rolling in verse three. Here the Latin words for animal and their meaning is given.

Quite straightforwardly.

So much so, in fact, that the original Latin is gloriously alliterative: "Latine autem animalia sive animantia dicta."

I do wonder, though, if "spiritu" is the capital 's' Spirit, or just a spirit or even just spirit. The redundancy in the original Latin offers a small clue.

Since "spiritu" is paired with "vita," which just means life, the most general meaning of "spiritu" seems like the best choice. So it must be "spirit," as in "school spirit," or in the sense of morale. The implication of using "spirit" is neat, too - that things are animated by a sense of purpose or basic drive.

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Barbaric?

Also curious is that Latin and Greek are practically counted amongst the barbarous tongues.

Latin was paramount in medieval education, and Greek, though lesser known during much of the middle ages, also held a fair amount of prestige. Placing them in in such close proximity with "barbarous tongues" that don't even get named definitely sets Hebrew up as something special.

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Closing

Check back here Thursday for the continuing image of the mourning old man in Beowulf. And if you've got a preference for which "spirit" to go with or whether "indidit" should be translated as "impose" or "impart" let me know in a comment.

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Quoth the Beowulf [ll.2441-2449] (Old English)

Abstract
The Passage in Brief
Ravens and Ruin?
The Passage's Words and a Modernization
Beowulf and the Raven
The Raven As Symbol of Sacrifice
Closing

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Abstract

Things take a turn in this passage (ll.2441-2449). Not from Hæðcyn's sorrowful act, but from Beowulf's direct retelling of his tale to his use of a peculiar simile.

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The Passage in Brief

On lines 2444-46 he compares Hreðel's sorrows to those of an old man who sees his young son hanging on the gallows ("'Swā bið geōmorlīc gomelum ceorle/to gebīdanne, þæt his byre rīde/giong on galgan.") He goes on to expand this image by explaining that the old man can only look on helplessly while the raven rejoices over his son's corpse ("hrefne tō hrōðre" l.2448).

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Ravens and Ruin?

What makes the image of a raven over Hæðcyn's corpse so striking is that it not only efficiently brings out Hreðel's sorrow, but the emotions evoked here resemble those in the "Lay of the Last Survivor."

This section of the poem (ll.2247-66) details how the one who originally left the dragon's hoard must have felt, being the last of his people. It describes the futility of treasure without people to use it and with whom it can be shared. But it also emphasizes the importance of community to the Anglo-Saxons.

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The Passage's Words and a Modernization

The language of this passage is fairly straightforward and strangely filled with words that don't seem to have changed much between then and now. "gefeoht" for "fight, strife," "linnan" for "to lie," "rīde" for "ride," "giong" for "young," "sārigne" for "sorrowful" "sunu" for "son," "hangað" for "to hang," "hrefne" for "raven," "helpe" for "help," and so on. As per coolness factor, one word stands out: "hyge-mēðe."

The last word in that previous paragraph is a combination of the words "hyge" for "heart, breast, mind" and "mēðe" for "tired, worn out, dejected, sad."

As far as modernizations go, "heart-sad" sounds both poetic and syrupy at the same time, but "mind-worn" could work for a modernization, I think. It could express a feeling of being so overwhelmed by a task or emotion that your mind is sore; just as a muscle feels sore after it's been worked out. "mind-tired" could also work, there'd be some internal rhyme that way.

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Beowulf and the Raven

Although it only gets cursory mention here, a little bit of explanation of the raven in Old English lit is in order since I think it plays a larger role here.

The raven is one of the three "Beasts of Battle" (along with the wolf and the eagle) and held many different meanings (check this site for a good deal of info). Just as they're regarded as bad luck, or ill omens by some today, so too were ravens regarded before the 11th century. But some also associated the raven with victory or sacrifice, and in Old English another word for raven is wælceasega ("chooser of the slain") linking the bird to the Valkyrie of Old Norse thought.

Aside from the raven in Beowulf's speech clearly being an ill-omen (Hreðel becomes despondent and the realm is soon threatened by war), I think that it can also be interpreted as a symbol of sacrifice.

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The Raven As Symbol of Sacrifice

Herebeald wasn't sacrificed in the same way that say, Iphigenia was (by Agamemnon, for a wind to get the Greeks to Troy), but his death could still be regarded as the sacrifice of an eldest son for lasting fame.

Sacrifice is also likely at the fore of Beowulf's mind at this point - perhaps it is even a cause of his being in such a heavy mood. He knows that he will die if he fights the dragon, but he also knows that doing so will win him fame, save his people, and land them a hefty amount of treasure.

All three of these things are necessary for a good king, as established by Beowulf's opening with Scyld Scēfing. He won a great amount of fame, and of treasure and was able to use both to increase his people's prosperity (ll.4-11).

The treasure also helped his son to forge bonds and obligations with warriors who would fight for his right to succeed his father upon his death (ll.20-24).

Within the situation that Beowulf describes, Herebeald can be read as a sacrifice not just for the fame of Hreðel, but also for the fame of Beowulf.

After all, if Herebeald had lived he may have ruled well and been loved by all, giving Hæðcyn and then Hygelac no reason to rule, and thus leaving Beowulf without a kingship from which to launch his own fame.

So Herebeald's death is also a sacrifice for the betterment of posterity - even if that eventually leads to the destruction of his people.

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Closing

Next time, Beowulf continues to expand his comparison, detailing how the old man regards nothing in the same light again.

If you've got a strong argument for "heart-sad," "mind-worn," or "mind-tired" as a new word; if there's anything about Beowulf that you want to ask; or if there's anything in the poem that you want to see given special attention, then please do leave a comment.

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The Third Verse of "Tempus Adest Floridum" (Latin)

Introduction
Translations
Words and Rhymes
Closing

Introduction

Seeing that it's Tuesday, it's time for the next installment of the song "Tempus Adest Floridum." So here are my translations of and thoughts on the third verse of the song.

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Translations

Here it is in its basic, literal translation:

This lovely creation shows you oh God,
Which also we entrust all deeds
O time therefore of great joy, which it pleases by laughter
Now renew the world, we are rightly renewed.

And then this is the smoother version:

This lovely creation shows you, oh God,
to whom we entrust deeds both bare and shod.
O time therefore of great joy, pleasing all by laughter.
Now we pray you renew the world as we too are e'er after.

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Words and Rhymes

For the most part this was very straight forward.

There were a few vocabulary issues, since I wasn't entirely sure about "libet" ("it pleases," an "impersonal" verb according to my dictionary), and "decet" (it becomes, suits, it is right, proper). But those were solved with a quick look in the dictionary.

Again, I confess that my memory for conjugations and declensions isn't excellent, and so there may be some issues with those, but for the most part I just followed my general rule. Use the context to figure out the word's function in the sentence or clause and then just translate the other words in the same conjugation in the same way.

Because the song rhymes in Latin, this generally means that words at the end of lines tend to be those that are the same in terms of conjugation. So I just trim those with the same scissors and everything ends up hunky dory.

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Closing

However, this little experiment is coming to its end. I just have one more verse and then the song will have been finished, and I'll be moving onto my next project. I'm not entirely sure what it will be, just yet, but I will be looking around my collections for something.

If you have any suggestions for my next Latin translation project please drop me a comment.

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The Second Verse of "Tempus Adest Floridum" (Latin)

Translations
Wrestling with Words
Liberties Taken
Closing

Translations

Alright, So here's the translated verse that I did today. First, in the original, and then in my more artful, more free translation.

The meadows are full of flowers, these begin appearing.
Where these are brought for all to see, plants with pleasure.
Grasses and shoots, put winter to rest.
In time the spring gets strong and increases.

The meadows are full of flowers, as they start appearing.
These are brought where all may see, plants their pleasure bringing.
Grasses, shoots both rising through, making winter turn in.
Spring growing strong in due time, bringing renewed bird din.

If you want a refresher on the original Latin song, check it out here.

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Wrestling with Words

So there it is, but it wasn't as easy as the first verse. This one had a few words that really threw me. "incunda" (which I take as a form of "incoho," meaning to begin, start upon, turn to) was especially tough since I don't really know how to fit it into the sentence. Nor am I entirely sure of its meaning. But, given the context, it seems to be the best fit.

The other two words that gave me trouble, "aspectu" (to look at/sight/catch sight of) and "delectu" (joy, take pleasure in, etc.), weren't so difficult to define, but instead were tough to place within the sentence. This difficulty arises for me because I'm not entirely familiar with all of the verb forms once things get as complicated as passives in tenses other than the past and simple present.

However, I am sure that they are verbs since there aren't any Latin nouns or adjectives that end with a "u" after being conjugated. There are "u" stem words, as there are in Anglo-Saxon, but those have "u" in the stem and do funny things with that. They don't tend to keep the "u" in anything but the nominative case. And besides all of that, the rules of one language tend not to apply to another in such a direct way.

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Liberties Taken

In any case, those discrepancies in tense make for a bit of an awkward translation which I've tried to smooth over in the dolled up version. This led me to a few liberties in my quest to come out with something that rhymes, and these are most noticeable in the last four lines.

Instead of winter just being "put to rest" I've changed it to winter being forced to "turn in." A kind of synonym for put to rest, but with more of a shift-worker kind of tone. And given the regularity of the seasons, it seems like that's appropriate since I'm working with a traditional personification of the seasons.

In the final couplet of the poem, I mixed it up a bit, and actually replaced the statement about the "increases" of spring with a line about the birds returning. This helps make the whole verse singable to the original melody and completes the rhyme pattern of ABCB for each four lines. I also think that the side by side combination of "bird" and "din" makes for a neat aural pun on the word "burden."

After all, spring is coming back and so work does need to resume in a medieval agrarian society: the land needs to be cleared of the debris that winter leaves behind, fields need to be tilled and planted, and animals need to be transitioned from winter treatment to summer treatment.

Winter was also no walk in the park for those in the past (and those still without indoor heating/plumbing or refrigeration today), but the workload was comparatively less field-based, or at the least more household-based.

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Closing

Of course, if you take issue with any of my generalizations here, or if you want to suggest an interpretation of one of the words with which I struggled feel free to do so in the comments.

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Beowulf - In Media Res [ll.2401-2409] (Old English)

Introduction
Background to the Project
Old English Appreciation
Section Summary
Two Words
Closing

Introduction

Today I'm breaking out the glittering armour, gift from the ring-giver, a tight-knit coat in the battle-storm.

Yep. Today's entry is the first about Beowulf.

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Background to the Project

It's a project that started in my third year of studying for my BA, though it didn't really take off until just after I had finished that degree. I'm using the bilingual edition of Seamus Heaney's translation that has the Anglo Saxon original on the left and the poet's translation on the right (an online version of the original can be found here).

Heaney's arrangement is great, but the running glossary in George Jack's student edition is even more helpful - when I borrowed it from the library for a graduate class I barely used my dictionary.

However, now that Jack's edition is back in Victoria and I'm over in Ontario, I make good use of my copy of the Fourth Edition of the Anglo-Saxon Dictionary as edited by Hall and Meritt. If I can't find a word in the dictionary then I'll usually look it up in the website Old English Made Easy's dictionary.

The weight of this project hasn't crushed me just yet, but it is something that has provided an ongoing struggle. Not just because of the size of the poem, but because its use of multiple adjectival clauses can really cloud sense and make things seem obtuse.

However, when things get grammatical, my Magic Sheet is never out of sight. This handy little chart from the English Faculty at the University of Virigina summarizes the declensions and conjugations of everything in Old English, so it's super useful.

So armed, I've been able to translate 5/6 of the poem over the years and once I'm finished my plan is to bring a consistent voice to the whole thing (possibly by re-writing), type it up, and try to get it published. A bold move perhaps, but this is something that I'm passionate about. Maybe it's just a bunch of barbarians hitting each other (and monsters) over the head with pointy sticks to some, but to me it's a piece of grand old art.

And it's something that's fun to translate.

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Old English Appreciation

Sure, the grammar can get sticky and there are points that scholars still contend to this day (was Beowulf swimming until nightfall to get to the bottom of the mire? Why does the Danish bard sing such a sad song after Beowulf's victory?). But there's a joie de vivre in the poet/scribes' language that isn't really present in a lot of Modern English.

And no, I'm not a snob. I think that Middle English (Chaucerian English) and Early Modern (Shakespearean English) are just as lovely. But when all of the grammarians stuck their fingers in the delicious hot pie that was English in the 17th and 18th centuries they sucked a lot of life out of it. They set it up to become a reliable and powerful lingua franca for all, but they made it a little bit dull in the process.

Now when somebody drops a consonant and replaces it with an apostrophe people are all up ins. And slang is slang. Before the grammarians came about (I'm looking at you Samuel Johnson) all of English (all the dialects) were pretty slang-laden. It's just the way that the language was.

And it was grand.

Not so great for national or international communication maybe, but the plays, treatises, and poems that remain are all excellent examples of what a language can do.

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Section Summary

Anyway, I don't want this entry to be fully derailed by a rant. Right now I'm working through the scene where Beowulf fights the dragon, so I'm really sticking to the story-telling principle of starting in media res.

But, true to most modern novels, I'm starting just where the action is picking up - Beowulf has just gotten his band of 11 fellow Geats together and has compelled the slave that brought him the dragon's cup to guide them the the lizard's lair.

All of this happens in lines 2401-2409.

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Two Words

Two words really struck me in section:

First, "gebolgen" on l. 2401. It reminds me of the "Gáe Bolga," the mysterious, foot-held spear that Cuchulain was trained in by the warrior woman Scáthach, and with which he killed his friend and rival Ferdiad in the Táin Bó Cuailnge.

The other word that caught my eye was "meldan," from l.2405. This one means finder according to Heaney. The dictionary definition is "tell, reveal, accuse" - but I'm guessing that Heaney let his translation lean on "cwom" (come) the combination of which with "tell, reveal, accuse" suggests a kind of giving - like coming with tales or news, things which are only useful if given.

Plus, a shiny cup from a whole pile of treasure would indeed be welcome news to any Geat (or Anglo-Saxon listener).

Though, I do admit that combining words in this way is kind of like trying to stretch a single ox hide over an acre of land.

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Closing

If you've got any suggestions/corrections for me, leave them in a comment. I'll be back next week with Beowulf's arrival at the cave.

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First Verse of "Tempus Adest Floridum" (Latin)

Introduction
Translations
Word Issues
Liberties Taken
Closing

Introduction

So this song, "Tempus Adest Floridum," is the origin of the tune for "Old King Wenceslas." However, as you'll notice from the title and from the song's content it has nothing to do with old King Wenceslas.

You can find the full song in its original Latin here.

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Translations

First my literal translation:

The time for flowers now is come, for the flowers rise up.
Spring in all things, the likeness/copy of nature.
This which ice had attacked, has recovered warmth.
We all see this weeping, by great work.

And my dolled up translation (with some rhyme):

The time for flowers now is come, for the flowers now arise.
All things now are of the spring, nature's likeness is in all eyes.
This which winter once had attacked, has regained its fire;
We all see winter's weeping, since spring has perspired.

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Word Issues

The issues that came up for me during this translation were relatively minor, just a few issues with words not being in my Collins Pocket Gem dictionary. The words in question?

"Vernales" (an adjective meaning "of Spring" was the worst); "Cerno" (ere, crevi, cretum; a verb meaning to see, discern, understand, perceive, etc.); and "fleo" (ere, evi, etum; a verb meaning to weep, cry, lament, mourn for) were close seconds since I had to twist things around to make good sense of it all.

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Liberties Taken

Obviously, I took some liberties with the second use of "hoc" ("this") to bring in Winter again, but I like the personification of the seasons to which this song gives rise.

It isn't direct personification, necessarily, but the conceit definitely helps to make the translation more fun. And, since the original image seems to be that of icicles dripping (hence weeping), making winter the weeper seems appropriate.

The conquest of spring also makes it a more joyous song, even if that joy is derived from conquest.

Though I must admit that a pop song about Spring coming in and ruining Winter's shit might be fun as well, the cycle of nature can be pretty brutal after all.

"Transpire" could also have worked as the final word of the verse, but I think that spring is generally a wet season, and "perspire" is a wetter word. It also implies that much more effort was used, and if a season is going to be made to weep I imagine that even another season is going to need to break a sweat.

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Closing

So that's verse one of "Tempus Adest Floridum." Expect verse two next week.

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