One of the most confusing aspects of Beowulf, to me, is the conflict between the events in the poem and era in which the copy from the Nowell Codex was written. Likely copied by a Christian monk c. 1000 AD, Beowulf recounts the tale of a Scandinavian hero, and yet there are non-Scandinavian motifs throughout. Reading a Christian-coded copy of a traditionally Scandinavian tale can mess with one’s head, and so some contextualization and comparison to a popular figure may help.
An illuminating read, Karl Seigfried’s essay Beowulf: History, Legend, and Mythology covers a lot of analytic ground concerning the Medieval poem. The section that interested me the most, “Thor and the Ungrateful Dead,” compares the hero Beowulf to the Norse god Thor. Like Thor, Beowulf fights many monsters but is not ultimately killed by a monster: he dies by poison. Both figures are heroes that were culturally of high regard and yet perhaps victims of pride. Thor, if anyone watched the first Marvel movie (it has a special place in my heart - let me be delusional), was not always Odin’s perfect son. He liked to do things his own way and rely on his own strength. Similarly, Beowulf insisted on fighting with his bare hands until he was physically unable to turn away a sword and help.
(Source: wikipedia.com)
This mythological comparison that Seigfried makes helps contextualize the Anglo-Saxon poem in the historical and cultural period the poem takes place in while offering interesting post-mortem thoughts on the two heroes. Stories of Thor likely changed over time to fit particular tribes’ and cultures’ beliefs and ways of understanding; the modern understanding of Thor is after all closer to Stan Lee’s comic version of the handsome hero than the original mythological figure. Perhaps this comparison can help us think of Beowulf the poem and its eponymous character through Medieval eyes, Christian-coding and all, and how our current perception might be influenced.
Speaking of Thor, reading Beowulf brought to mind tales of Thor and his warriors, celebrating their latest victory over mead. Besides mead, what is a key element to festivities? Music! Bards, poets, and the like were the bearers of history, and readers of Beowulf come across such people right after Beowulf’s defeat of Grendel and the following celebration at Heorot, the famous mead-hall. First, while riding in what seems to be a “victory lap,” Beowulf’s praises are proclaimed:
…Meanwhile, a thane Of the king’s household, a carrier of tales, A traditional singer deeply schooled In the lore of the past, linked a new theme To a strict meter. The man started To recite with skill, rehearsing Beowulf’s triumphs and feats in well-fashioned lines, Entwining his words. (ll. 866-873)
(Source: dwarvenglory.wordpress.com)
The term “thane” refers to a high-ranking warrior or land-holding servant of a chief or king. It is interesting that a thane takes the role of a bard or skald (a Scandinavian bard tasked with singing about history) to sing Beowulf’s accomplishments. Preservation of history and loyalty are important Medieval themes, as can be deduced by the lines “A traditional singer deeply schooled / In the lore of the past,” so different classes of people might have been tasked with learning such songs. Later, back at Heorot, a poet, or more likely a skald, joins the revelry:
They sang then and played to please the hero, Words and music for their warrior prince, Harp tunes and tales of adventure: There were high times on the hall benches, And the king’s poet performed his part… (ll. 1062-1066)
Tolkien’s essay Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics helps explain Old English versification. He explains that Old English meter is best understood as a balance of “phonetic weight,” and one should try not to look for rhythmic patterns like modern poetry readers are used to. To Tolkien, poems like Beowulf are “more like masonry than music,” and the building blocks of each half-line register as “all most nearly harmony” (135). As a classical pianist, I really appreciate Tolkien’s description of Medieval poetry as somewhat harmonic as music in the time that Beowulf was copied was modal; major and minor tonalities did not exist yet. Modal music is a perfect way to think about the ecological layer of Beowulf. A modern listener’s ear may find such music uncomfortable, but it has a timeless, vast feel to it. I recommend listening to Vaughn Williams’ “Fantasia on a theme of Thomas Tallis;” Gregorian chants are also a great route.
What are your thoughts? Does delving into Scandinavian history and mythology help keep the content of the poem separate from its copier? Is Old English really that disjunct, or is there a kind of beauty and musical quality that modern readers miss because of our predisposed ears?
I leave you with a musing of Tolkien that may help tie the historical, fantastical, and musical elements of Beowulf together in an ecological framework:
“If the funeral of Beowulf moved once like the echo of an ancient dirge, far-off and hopeless, it is to us as a memory brought over the hills, an echo of an echo” (138).
Very creative juxtaposition... something to "marvel" at!
To answer the second of your closing questions, I think it's rather impossible to untether the content of Beowulf from its copier, insofar that the copier themself was immersed in (or at least familiar with) the Scandinavian tradition to which you refer. Nonetheless, I absolutely love your post, especially your contextualization of Beowulf (the hero) in, like Thor, a both mythological and post-modern light. Your marriage of musical history and ecology is also well-placed and is certainly a lens I had failed to consider at such length before. Interestingly, I think such an approach invites the modern reader to appreciate Beowulf (the poem) for its original purposes: to inspire, to entertain, and to move its audience (all aspects I associate with "true" music). By contrast, I believe modern literary analysis often orients us, the readers, toward more technical, more semantic interpretations. I think this technical conflict is perhaps, in part, the source of such "disjunct," as you put it — by hyper-fixating on and resolving one aspect of the poem's framework, we necessarily distance ourselves from and obscure another.