Beowulf narrates datable historical events (such as the Geatish king Hygelac’s raid into Frisia) that place its action firmly in the early sixth century. This was an age of settlement,

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feud, and transition for the Germanic peoples. The Roman Empire had fallen to Germanic invaders in the relatively recent past (the traditional date is 476), but had been moribund for many years before its final dissolution. Its deterioration created something of a power vacuum, which allowed the various Germanic peoples to move into areas formerly under Roman sovereignty. Franks, Goths, Danes, Frisians, Angles, and many other groups struggled for dominance in a Europe newly vulnerable to conquest. Opportunities for wealth—whether by trade or plunder—were great, leading to the intensification of traditional rivalries among these people, and the emergence of new ones. Complicating this scenario was the longstanding practice of the blood-feud, which dictated that an injury done to one’s family required compensation, either in blood or money. Time made no difference; ancient grudges could flare into open warfare at a moment’s notice, and the subsequent bloodshed prepared the way for new feuds. This never-ending cycle of violence is portrayed in great detail in Beowulf.

The modern distinction between historical truth and the fictions of myth and imaginative literature does not necessarily apply to works like Beowulf. For the Germanic peoples of the early Middle Ages, their history and legends were inseparable, and possessed similar qualities of truth, in that they provided a sense of national origin and identity. It was for them less important to place their foundational myths in a specific time and place than it was to show how these stories contributed to their notion of collective worth and significance. The events of Beowulf take place in history, but also in the mythic past, where magic, legendary characters, and founders of nations all operate together in a time that is simply long ago—or “once upon a time,” in the classic language of folklore. The royal genealogies of the Germanic peoples usually include both pagan gods and figures from biblical history; for example, the Langfethgatal, a twelfth-century listing of Denmark’s kings, includes legendary and semi-legendary figures—among them, Japheth (a son of Noah), a number of Greek gods and heroes, and the chief Germanic god, Odin (Garmonsway and Simpson, pp. 119-20). Historical works of this age usually begin with the creation of the world; this is not simply in order to begin at the beginning, but to situate recent events within a larger context that emphasizes issues of origin and destiny. Beowulf begins with an account of the founding of the Danish royal line by Scyld Scefing, a quasi-legendary figure; such mythic origins strengthen the dynastic legitimacy of Hrothgar. Likewise, the classic figure of Germanic myth, Wayland the Smith, is mentioned in Beowulf not because he is important in any historical sense, but because he was an armorer and sword-maker of magical skill, and linking his name to the weapons in the poem gives them a transcendent antiquity that they would not otherwise possess. The poet is not attempting to portray realistic, historical characters of the past any more than Virgil tries to paint a historically accurate picture of the Bronze Age in the Aeneid, or Shakespeare classical Rome in Julius Caesar. The historical setting of Beowulf is, more than anything else, a venue for heroic action. What is important about this time for the poet is the presence of legendary figures from the ancient past, a past in which heroes could still perform superhuman feats, where monsters still walked the earth, and Christianity had not yet come to lighten the bleak spirit of the Germanic peoples.

Beowulf proceeds nonlinearly: the central story of Beowulf and his battles Page 35  |  Top of Articlewith monsters is told from beginning to end, but at many points a future event is anticipated or a past event recounted (like the “flashback” technique in cinema). The chronologically displaced narrative then serves as a commentary on the present action. Moreover, while the story of Beowulf and his heroism is the core of the poem, the tale contains multiple—often lengthy—digressions, involving kings, warriors, and battles whose relation to the basic story is often only symbolic. For example, a brief account is given of the wicked Danish king Heremod, not because he plays a part in Beowulf’s tale, but because of the contrast he provides to the poem’s exemplary kings Hrothgar, and, later, Beowulf himself.

The poem begins with the funeral of Scyld (“Shield”) Scefing, great-grandfather of Hrothgar and founder of the Danish dynasty. Hrothgar’s own rule is so successful that he decides to build a “great mead hall / meant to be a wonder of the world forever” (Beowulf, lines 69-70), and so Heorot is built—a great hall befitting the glory of an illustrious king.

With the account of its construction, however, comes a prophecy of its ultimate fate: “The hall towered, / its gables wide and awaiting / a barbarous burning” in a war between the Danes and Hrothgar’s son-in-law (Beowulf, lines 81-83). Its present danger, though, is in the form of a “grim demon” named Grendel, who has been disturbed by the sounds of singing and merriment emanating from it (Beowulf, line 100). “[H]aunting the marches, marauding round the heath / and the desolate fens,” this monstrous outcast descends from Cain, the first murderer (Beowulf, lines 102-104). Infuriated by the sounds of human happiness, he breaks into Heorot one night: “greedy and grim, he grabbed thirty men / … and rushed to his lair / … blundering back with the butchered corpses” (Beowulf 122-25). The Danes consider various plans, and even sacrifice to their pagan gods, to the narrator’s evident displeasure. Their efforts are in vain. The attacks continue every night for 12 years.

Across the sea, in the homeland of the Geats (probably on the southern end of modern-day Sweden), a great warrior in the retinue of King Hygelac hears of the slaughter and decides to help. Beowulf assembles a group of 15 men, and

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they sail to Denmark. Beowulf’s offer of assistance is accepted, and that evening there is a feast in his honor. Night falls, and the Geats await Grendel. Beowulf puts aside his sword and removes his armor, declaring that he will fight the monster unarmed. Suddenly Grendel bursts in: seizing a man, the monster “bolted down his blood / and gorged on him lumps” (Beowulf, lines 741-42). Grendel then encounters Beowulf. After a mighty struggle that rocks Heorot, Beowulf rips off the monster’s arm. Grendel flees to his lair at the bottom of the lake, where he drowns.

The next day everyone rejoices, and Beowulf hangs up Grendel’s arm in the hall. A court minstrel praises Beowulf, and sings an old song of the legendary Sigemund and his battle with a dragon. He also mentions Heremod, a Danish king of a dynasty prior to Hrothgar’s, who was cruel and greedy, and brought death to his people. Hrothgar orders Heorot to be newly decorated, and a great feast is given. At the feast, a minstrel sings about the events at Finnsburh, a famous incident from the Danes’ past.

Wealhtheow, Hrothgar’s wife and queen of the Danes, mentions to her husband that she is aware of his inclination to adopt Beowulf as his son. She gently advises against this, and points out that he already has a son and heir in Hrethric. She then presents Beowulf with a valuable gold collar, which the narrator tells us will be worn by Hygelac on his fatal raid into Frisia. The entertainment over, everyone retires for the night. Beowulf does not sleep in the main hall, but in another building.

Later that evening, Grendel’s “grief-racked and ravenous” mother breaks into Heorot, retrieves Grendel’s arm, and carries off Aeschere, Hrothgar’s beloved friend (Beowulf, line 1278). Beowulf promises to avenge Aeschere’s death. A party of Danes and Geats ride to the lake where the creature lives: “the overhanging bank / is a maze of tree-roots mirrored in its surface. / At night there, something uncanny happens: / the water burns” (Beowulf, lines 1363-66). Along the way, they find Aeschere’s head. This time Beowulf arms himself fully, putting on a helmet and chain mail, and borrowing an ancient and noble sword. Beowulf dives into the serpent-infested depths, and swims downward for most of the day before meeting Grendel’s mother. She seizes him, and only his chain mail prevents her from clawing him to death. Dragged down to her underwater dwelling, Beowulf finds himself in a fire-lit hall. He draws his sword, and swings at her to no avail; the sword cannot harm her. She tries to stab him, but is again foiled by his armor. He sees among her treasures a marvelous sword. He “took a firm hold of the hilt and swung / the blade in an arc, a resolute blow / that bit deep into her neck-bone / and severed it entirely” (Beowulf, lines 1564-67). Finding Grendel’s body nearby, he cuts off his head, whereupon the blade of the sword melts away. He swims to the surface, taking with him the hilt of the sword and Grendel’s head. At the shore only the Geats remain; the Danes have all returned home in despair. On the journey back to Heorot the head of Grendel is borne on a spear-point, a burden requiring the strength of four men.

Once back at Heorot, Beowulf presents Hrothgar with the sword hilt. The king, realizing that Beowulf will probably one day rule the Geats, gives him advice on the proper conduct of a ruler. Be good and generous to your people, he urges, and warns Beowulf against the pride and greed that consumed Heremod:

Beowulf receives many valuable gifts, then departs with the Geats amid a flurry of mutual promises to render aid as needed in the future.

Upon his return to Geatland, Beowulf gives King Hygelac the treasure he received from Hrothgar, and recounts his adventures. He makes a prophecy, taking up a thread dropped earlier in the narrator’s account of the building of Heorot. Hrothgar will give his daughter Freawaru in marriage to the Heathobard prince Ingeld. This attempt at making peace between the Danes and Heathobards, who are longtime enemies, will fail, and Denmark will be engulfed in war. Hygelac rewards Beowulf handsomely for his bravery. The queenly graces of his wife, Hygd, are noted, and compared to the wickedness of the infamous Queen Modthrytho, who was made to behave properly only by being married to the great King Offa.

The narrative now begins to cover a great deal of time very quickly. The fates of Hygelac and his son Heardred are briefly alluded to—Hygelac is killed while raiding Frisia, and Heardred is killed by the Swedish king Onela, an act that constitutes just one event in the long and bloody feud between Geats and Swedes. After Heardred’s death Beowulf assumes the kingship, and rules ably for 50 years, during which time it is only though his overwhelming prowess that the Geats avoid being decimated by the Swedes. The story of the long feud between the Swedish and Geatish kingdoms is told in fragments (and not in chronological order) throughout the final third of the poem. The following paragraph is a summary of the story’s main points.

Haethcyn, son of the Geatish king Hrethel, accidentally kills his elder brother Herebeald. King Hrethel dies of grief, and Haethcyn becomes monarch. The Swedes now view the Geats as vulnerable, a people with a new and untried ruler. Othere and Onela, sons of the Swedish king Ongentheow, attack the Geats. King Haethcyn and his younger brother, Hygelac, retaliate by attacking Ongentheow in Sweden. Haethcyn, Ongentheow, and Othere are killed, whereupon Onela becomes king of the Swedes. Meanwhile, Hygelac ascends to the Geatish throne and rashly invades Frisia. He is killed, but Beowulf (who had accompanied him) escapes. Hygelac’s widow, Hygd, offers the Geatish kingship to Beowulf, believing that her son Heardred is not worthy of the throne. Beowulf refuses, and Heardred becomes king. Meanwhile, in Sweden, Othere’s sons, Eanmund and Eadgils, rebel against their uncle, King Onela. The rebels flee to Geatland and obtain sanctuary with Heardred. Refusing to tolerate this, Onela invades and kills Heardred. Onela then permits Beowulf to assume the throne of the Geats and returns to Sweden. His Swedish foe Eanmund has been killed by a Geatish faction, but the brother, Eadgils, with the assistance of an army provided by Beowulf, survives to invade Sweden and kill Onela.

Eadgils now sits on the Swedish throne, but is no friend to the Geats, since his brother Eanmund died not only in Geatland, but at the hands of a kinsman of Beowulf. At this point, the only Page 38  |  Top of Articlething keeping the Geats from the Swedish menace is the might of Beowulf. Now an old man, he is suddenly confronted with a new threat: a dragon has begun to fly about the land of the Geats, spewing fire from above. A thief has stolen a cup from an ancient mound of buried treasure that the dragon regards as his. The treasure, speculates the narrator in one of the poem’s most famous passages (generally known as the “Lay of the Last Survivor”), must have been hidden by the last member of a once-glorious race, who, rather than see the treasure of his people scattered and plundered, buried it underground: “Now earth, hold what earls once held / and heroes can no more; … / I am left with nobody / to bear a sword or burnish plated goblets” (Beowulf, lines 2247-53).

The dragon, who hoards his treasure, is driven to murderous rage by the loss of the cup. “The hoard-guardian / scorched the ground as he scoured and hunted / for the trespasser” (Beowulf, lines 2294-96). Among the burned dwellings is Beowulfs royal hall. Knowing that a wooden shield will not work against a fire-breathing dragon, Beowulf has a large iron shield specially forged, and journeys to the dragon’s cave in the company of 11 warriors and (to show the way) the thief who had provoked the dragon’s wrath. Announcing that he will fight the dragon alone, Beowulf enters the stone-arched gateway of the dragon’s lair. He calls a challenge to the dragon and readies himself for battle. The dragon blasts him with fire, and Beowulfs shield barely protects him. By this time everyone outside has fled in terror except for Wiglaf, who bears the sword and armor of the dead Eanmund, given to his father Weohstan by Onela. Remembering his vows of loyalty to Beowulf, Wiglaf rushes to his side. Beowulf strikes the dragon’s skull with his sword, but the sword snaps from the force of the blow. Once more the dragon breathes fire, and this time sinks its fangs into Beowulf’s neck. Wiglaf takes advantage of this opportunity to plunge his own sword into the dragon’s belly. Severely wounded, the monster is no longer a match for Beowulf, who stabs it to death. Beowulf knows that he has purchased victory with his life; he feels poison bubbling in his veins. Expressing regret that he has no son to whom he can leave his armor, and happiness that he has ruled well, he asks Wiglaf to bring the dragon’s treasure to him. This done, he gazes sadly upon it, although he is glad that at the end he is able to bestow such wealth on his people. He bids farewell to Wiglaf, and dies.

Wiglaf emerges from the cave, and the cowardly warriors slink back from the forest. After rebuking them, Wiglaf sends a messenger back to the Geatish encampment to announce the death of the dragon—and the king. The messenger’s speech also relays the last details of the Geat-Swede hostilities, along with a dire prophecy of Swedish aggression now that Beowulf is no more. The messenger notes other dangers, too; the Frisians and their Frankish allies will remember Hygelac’s raid, and will probably attack as well. Beowulf is cremated on an elaborate funeral pyre, decked with armor and helmets. He and the remains of the pyre are entombed with treasure in a great barrow on the coastland. At the poem’s end the Geats say that “of all the kings upon the earth / he was the man most gracious and fair-minded, / kindest to his people and keenest to win fame” (Beowulf, lines 3180-82).

The society depicted in Beowulf is an essentially military one, with each kingdom dedicated to consolidating and expanding its king’s hegemony. Integral to this system was a series of highly personal relationships between the king and each of his men. These warriors (also called retainers, thanes, or earls) derived benefits from being in a king’s retinue—they could be given weapons, armor, and precious objects, but perhaps more importantly they received a sense of lordship and community. There was no one more wretched in Anglo-Saxon society than an outcast, a man without a lord and a band of fellow warriors; in fact, the word “wretch” derives from the Old English word wrecca, meaning “outcast” or “exile.” In return, a retainer was expected to render helpful advice and exhibit absolute loyalty to his lord; cowardice and treachery were the ultimate sins. The lord, on the other hand, was expected to protect his men from their enemies, and to generously share the spoils of war. The essence of the evil king Heremod’s wickedness was that he did neither: he kept his treasure to himself, and killed Danish warriors in his own hall. For this, he himself became a friendless exile, and was ultimately killed by his enemies.

However, if retainers were bound to defend their lords to the death, lords did not necessarily see their kingship as an obligation to prefer their peoples’ interests to their own. The kings in Beowulf maintain a personal sense of bravery, autonomy, and destiny often apart from the welfare of their kingdoms, and it is at times difficult to determine how the poet wished his readers to evaluate them in this context. For example, Hygelac’s raid into Frisia was clearly rash; the Page 39  |  Top of Articlenarrator tells us “[f]ate swept him away / because of his proud need to provoke / a feud with the Frisians,” and the consequences for the Geats were dire indeed (Beowulf, 1206-1208). But pride was one of the proper attributes of a noble king, and there is less criticism (explicit or implied) of Hygelac in the poem than one might expect, given the circumstances of his failed expedition. Beowulf too must be judged in light of this standard. His response to the dragon’s attack on his people and kingdom will be an exclusively personal one; he views the dragon’s aggression as an affront to him as an individual, and resolves to fight alone. But he is able to defeat the dragon only with help, and Wiglaf’s assistance comes too late to save the king’s life. Clearly Beowulf’s death will be even more catastrophic for the Geats than that of Hygelac; there is a strong implication that they will be overrun by the Swedes and Frisians, and annihilated. Wiglaf has fulfilled his obligation to Beowulf, but has Beowulf fulfilled his obligation to the Geats? Is the reader meant to fault Beowulf for seeking personal glory at the cost of the Geats’ welfare? These questions are fundamental to any understanding of the poem. It must be noted, too, that the final word in the text (lofgeornost) is applied to the dead hero, and means “keenest to win fame.”

The pagan society depicted in Beowulf, like the Christian society in which the author lived, was based on a system of mutual obligation between lord and retainer. The Anglo-Saxon world that produced Beowulf was Christianized, but retained many of the elements of the society depicted in the poem; a Christian retainer in eighth (or eleventh-) century England was bound to a Christian lord by the same code of conduct, and could expect the same benefits from his lord, as a pagan retainer in the poem. Works such as the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (a year-to-year history of England maintained by monastic chroniclers from the fifth until the early twelfth century), the History of the English Church and People (731) by the English monk Bede, the ninth-century Life of King Alfred by Asser, and others all bear witness to the preeminence of this idealized code among the English before and after their conversion. For the Beowulf poet, Christianity was an imperative not because it changed the character and behavior of the people in any essential way, but because Christ was the true Lord—a Christian maintained fidelity to his religion for the same reason that he owed complete fidelity to his king. Christian observance was an obligation imposed by the truth of the faith, and by the oath of allegiance taken at baptism. Paganism was wrong because the pagan gods were wicked, and a retainer was under no obligation to serve a wicked lord. Falling back into pagan observance after baptism was worse still; rather than simply following an evil lord, the lapsed Christian was guilty of treachery. Thus, Christianity among the Anglo-Saxons exhibited the same social economy that knitted together pagan society. Lordship, and the obligations imposed by it on lord and retainer, were still fundamental—the difference was that a Christian now had to exhibit loyalty to two lords, one in heaven and one on earth.

The union between the new religion and the old heroic code was not always seamless, however. Christianity emphasized qualities of other-worldliness, humility, and detachment from earthly riches and honor, and nothing could run more counter to traditional Germanic values. A pagan lord was expected to be strong, domineering, and wealthy from years of plundering the lands of his neighbors. Insults were avenged with breathtaking violence, and feuds were carried over from generation to generation by the hatred of sons for their fathers’ enemies. Christian missionaries in Anglo-Saxon England converted pagan kings, but were less successful in quelling paganism’s violent and acquisitive tendencies. And it seems that the newly-converted English retained an appetite for the old pagan tales as well. There were exceptions; Bede writes in his History of the early-seventh-century English king Oswald, who was both a mighty lord and an exemplary Christian: “Although he wielded supreme power, Oswald was always wonderfully humble, kindly, and generous to the poor and strangers” (Bede, p. 147). For the most part, though, the Christian ideal was more professed than practiced. This tension is exhibited in Beowulf in a number of ways. The Danes practice idolatry when confronted by Grendel, but the narrator’s criticism is brief; they presumably do not know any better, and their offense is one of ignorance rather than wickedness. Grendel is said to have descended from Cain, the primordial murderer; his wickedness is thus given a specifically biblical context, with the clear implication that he is to be judged by Christian standards. Beowulf, too, operates within a Christian system of values, albeit primarily on the symbolic level. It is perhaps no accident that as he approaches the dragon’s lair, he is accompanied by 12 men—the number of Christ’s apostles. His descent into the fiery dragon’s lair has also been Page 40  |  Top of Articlelikened to Christ’s descent into Hell—the period between Jesus’s death and resurrection when he is said to have released the Jewish patriarchs from their bondage. One should not attempt to push these parallels too far, however; Beowulf is not an allegory, and Beowulf is not Christ. The extent to which his death mirrors Christ’s passion should be viewed as a poetic illustration of his extraordinary virtue, but the areas in which he falls short may represent the flaws of the old heroic code. He sacrifices himself for his people, true—but his death brings only their destruction. The dragon is dead, but the Swedes and Frisians are massing on the borders. The Beowulf poet presented pagan heroism at its best, but he makes it clear that it is insufficient.

The story of Beowulf is told nowhere else. There are no earlier (or later) versions of the Beowulf story, and indeed no references at all to Beowulf and his fights with the monsters, apart from a few tantalizing but frustrating texts like the charter (931) of King Aethelstan, which defines the boundaries for a land grant thus: “from there north over the hill … to the fence of Beowa’s patch … then to the long meadow, and from there to Grendel’s Mere” (Garmonsway and Simpson, p. 301). There are also references in other documents to such places as “Grendel’s Gate,” “Grendel’s Mire,” “Grendel’s Pit,” and the like. The existence of such texts hints that the Beowulf story (or some version of it) was well-known enough in Anglo-Saxon times to engender place names. The story as we have it may be of purely English origin, despite its Scandinavian subject.

Characters from the poem other than Beowulf appear frequently in Germanic literature. References to the members of the Danish royal family (Heremod, Scyld, Beowulf [the son of Scyld], Healfdane, Hrothgar, Hrothulf, Halga, and Hrethric) abound in Old Norse literature of the tenth through thirteenth centuries; also found are references to the Swedish, Geatish, Heathobard, Angle (or English), Frisian, and Gothic characters who populate Beowulf. For example, the seventh-century Old English poem “Widsith” contains a brief account of Hrothgar and his nephew Hrothulf (called Hrothwulf here):

This text supports the hint given in Beowulf that Hrothulf will eventually betray the Danes; he and Hrothgar kept peace “very long,” the implication being that this peace eventually ended. It is clear that the Beowulf poet was placing his story in the midst of a well-defined context of history and legend.

Other aspects of the poem are reflected elsewhere as well. Wayland the Smith—whom Beowulf credits with making his mailshirt—was a legendary armorer of magical ability, and was as familiar to the Anglo-Saxons as was Hercules to the ancient Greeks. The legendary adventures of Sigemund and the Waelsings (or Volsungs) appear extensively in Old Norse literature, and a stone carving (c. 1000) found in England illustrates a scene from the story. The story of Sigemund and his sister is one of the best known in Germanic legend, and it is entirely appropriate that it be recited at Heorot by Hrothgar’s minstrel. We find descriptions of pagan funerals like Beowulf’s in the writings of the sixth-century historian Jordanes, who describes the funeral of Attila the Hun; in The Travels of ibn Fadlan, the memoir of a tenth-century Arab traveler who lived for a while among a group of Swedes; and in a number of thirteenth-century Danish and Icelandic texts.

As mentioned, the Beowulf poet was probably a churchman, acquainted with the Roman classics and the writings of the Church fathers. Echoes of Virgil’s Aeneid, Boethius’s The Consolation of Philosophy, St. Paul’s letters, and certain theological writings of St. Augustine of Hippo have all been heard in Beowulf; these texts would have been included in any monastic library in Anglo-Saxon England, and it is reasonable to suppose that the Beowulf poet had read them. Another important text is the early eighth-century History of the English Church and People, by the Venerable Bede, a monk of the monastery of Jarrow. It describes the religious and political history of the English from the Roman occupation to Bede’s own day, paying special attention to the process of conversion undergone by England’s various pagan rulers. England was divided into a number of small kingdoms in those days, and so there were many to convert. Important to Beowulf are the descriptions of how these men, despite their apparently sincere conversions, remained tied to the ancient Germanic codes of conduct. However, reflections of these works in Beowulf are merely echoes, not sources per se; the poet does not use this material directly. Rather, there is more of a sense of common ground, of Page 41  |  Top of Articlethematic congruity, between portions of Beowulf and certain Roman and Christian texts.

After the collapse of the Roman Empire, Britannia, a former Roman province, suffered incursions from the Germanic peoples. Britannia was later called “England” after the Angles, who, together with the Saxons, settled the area in the fifth century. It is their Anglo-Saxon culture and language (also called “Old English”) that produced Beowulf. The Angles and Saxons were pagan, but Christianity had existed in England since the first century C.E. and the new rulers of England did not succeed in exterminating it entirely. Roman civilization and urban life was effectively obliterated in England, but Christian communities survived in outlying villages and monasteries. This older Celtic form of English Christianity was gradually absorbed by the newer Roman Christianity instituted by St. Augustine of Canterbury (d. 605), who is traditionally credited with reintroducing Christianity to England by converting Ethelbert, king of Kent, in 597. By the end of the seventh century the rulers and inhabitants of England were overwhelmingly Christian. In 664 the Synod of Whitby united the various independent English Churches under Roman observance, and from then until the Reformation the Church in England was one with the rest of Latin Christendom. England was a major European center of Christian and classical learning, and its missionaries and scholars traveled throughout Europe, converting pagans, establishing monasteries and schools, and disseminating literate culture. The English churchman Alcuin (735-804) inspired what is now known as the “Carolingian Renaissance,” setting up a number of important libraries and schools in France for the Holy Roman Emperor Charlemagne, and serving as his official adviser on religious and educational issues. The oldest manuscript of the Latin Bible is of English provenance, probably copied c. 690-700 at Jarrow, and many important early liturgical books came from English monasteries as well. The theological, homiletic, rhetorical, and scientific writings of churchmen such as Bede, Aldhelm, and Alcuin were known throughout the West, and their authority was regarded to be little inferior to that of the Church fathers themselves. Despite its thoroughgoing Christianity, however, England was a society very much in tune with its Germanic roots. Bede was the most prominent churchman of his day, and wrote in Latin, but on his deathbed he composed his “Death Song” in traditional Old English alliterative verse. Aldhelm wrote highly ornate and complex Latin poetry, but was said to have composed Old English verse of equal quality; none has survived. English monks were forever being warned to avoid the pagan epic poems that they obviously loved so much. But if there was a tension within these churchmen, it was a relatively benign one; Christianity had been established for so long that the old poems were more of a possible distraction than a spiritual danger. It was in many ways a golden age, but one that was soon to come to an end.

The Scandinavian peoples of what are now Denmark, Sweden, and Norway had been great seafarers and traders since the height of the Roman Empire, but for reasons that are still unclear, in the late eighth century they exploded into western Europe, in wave after wave of brutal aggression. These campaigns continued, off and on, for more than 200 years. At the time, the chroniclers of their depredations usually called them Danes or Northmen, but we now know them as Vikings. (The term “Vikings” properly refers just to the raiders, not to all Northmen.)

The Vikings first attacked England in 793, sacking the monastery at Lindisfarne. A second attack in 875 was even worse, and the monks all fled or were killed. The Vikings attacked at will throughout England and France, killing all who opposed them, taking captives to be sold into slavery, despoiling churches and monasteries, and burning towns. Monasteries, parishes, and dioceses throughout England were depopulated, and many ceased to exist. England had periods of respite, most prominently during the reign of King Alfred the Great (849-99), but after his death the Vikings returned many times. In fact, the final series of Danish invasions culminated in the installation of a Danish king on the English throne. By this time, however, the Danes were a different people. King Cnut (or Canute) reigned from 1016-1035, and he was generally quite popular, though not at first; as warlike as his Danish ancestors, he invaded England and plundered several cities before subduing most of northern England. The English king Ethelred fought him ably in the south, but died in 1016, and Cnut was elected king by the witena gemot (a body of nobles and counselors). Parts of England remained loyal to Edmund, the son of Page 42  |  Top of ArticleEthelred, but a few months later Edmund too died, and Cnut ruled unchallenged. He was not English, and so had no vested interest in favoring one English lord over another, and managed to remain above—and even dampen—their continual feuding. He was an able defender of the realm, and just in his administration. He also was a devout Christian; he endowed many monasteries, secured the possessions of the English Church, and even went on a pilgrimage to Rome. It was probably in his reign that the Beowulf manuscript was written, and the presence of a Dane on the English throne may explain why a poem with so much Danish content was produced in England at this time.

What happened to the Beowulf manuscript between the time of its creation and the early seventeenth century is anybody’s guess. It was acquired by Sir Robert Cotton at about this time, and in 1705 it was read (if barely understood) by Humfrey Wanley, an assistant librarian at the Bodleian library at Oxford. The Danish scholar Jonsson Thorkelin made a translation of Beowulf into Latin in 1815, and this introduced the poem to Europe as a whole. In the nineteenth century, advances in philology allowed the language of the poem to be understood better than before, and scholars were able to situate it within a specific cultural and linguistic context. Early criticism of Beowulf tended to see it as a composite poem, with a mixture of Christian and pagan elements; thus, in 1887 F. A. Blackburn could confidently write, “It is admitted by all critics that the Beowulf [sic] is essentially a heathen poem; that its materials are drawn from tales composed before the conversion of the Angles and Saxons to Christianity; and that there was a time when these tales were repeated without the Christian reflections and allusions that are found in the poem that has reached us” (Blackburn, p. 205).

Things began to change in the twentieth century, as more sensitive and nuanced readings began to emerge. The most influential of these early attempts was made by J.R.R. Tolkien, now best known as the author of The Lord of the Rings, but throughout his life a first-rank scholar of medieval Germanic literature and philology. In his famous essay “Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics,” he argued that the poem should be read as a poem, not as a mirror of racial nostalgia, not as a disfigured artifact from the mythic past, and not, in short, as anything other than the sophisticated creation of a gifted poet. “Beowulf,” he writes, “has been used as a quarry of fact and fancy far more assiduously than it has been studied as a work of art” (Tolkien, p. 246). Since the publication of Tolkien’s essay, his advice has generally been heeded, though the number of books and articles on the poem has reached staggering proportions, and readings have been proposed from across the ideological spectrum. The dating controversy is still unsettled, and the extent to which the poem’s Christian content determines its meaning is still energetically debated.

Recently the poem has enjoyed a new translation by the Nobel-laureate Irish poet Seamus Heaney (used for the purposes of this entry). His version, which was given the Whitbread Award in Great Britain, uses a powerfully spare diction and vocabulary in an effort to mirror the plain-spoken quality of the Old English original. Critics have for the most part been lavish in their praise, seeing Heaney’s simple language as an artful means of bringing to the forefront the poem’s structural and thematic complexities, while retaining its original vigor.