The Narrative and Descriptive Influence of Latin Hagiography on Beowulf

By

Malcolm Alexander Fleck

A thesis submitted in conformity with the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in Medieval Studies

Centre for Medieval Studies University of Toronto

© Copyright by Malcolm Alexander Fleck 2019

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The Narrative and Descriptive Influence of Latin Hagiography on Beowulf

Malcolm Alexander Fleck

Doctor of Philosophy in Medieval Studies

Centre for Medieval Studies

University of Toronto

2019

Abstract The search for sources of elements in Beowulf has provided significant insight into the poem’s

literary context, thematic makeup, and historical setting. While much value has been derived

from identifying Norse and Old English analogues, less attention has been paid to Latin texts. If

we accept that the Beowulf-poet was literate, Latinate, and possibly monastic, the influence of

Latin literature—particularly hagiography—emerges as a distinct probability.

This dissertation suggests that the influence of hagiography manifests itself in similarities of

narrative and description, and examines two common depictions found in both saints’ lives and

Beowulf: sea journeys and the hostile wilderness. Through schematizing these scenes, it

establishes a set of conventions underlying their depiction and compares them to their analogous

scenes in Beowulf.

The voyages of seafaring saints can typically be articulated into overarching narrative

components comprising a call to action, a commission and blessing, a procession to the shore

and boarding, a voyage aboard ship, an arrival sequence, disembarking, and an onshore meeting,

each component featuring remarkably durable elements. Beowulf’s two sea journeys echo the

structural components of these vitae closely, and their corresponding elements tend to reflect

those alignments found in hagiography.

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Though less tied to narrative structure, sacred hermits’ wilderness homes typically depict a

robust complement of primary elements: trees, water, mountainous stone, a route, hostile

wildlife, fables about the region, negative descriptors, and fabricated space. Readers of Beowulf

will be familiar with these elements as they appear throughout Hrothgar’s description of

Grendel’s mere and its subsequent appearance in the text.

From these observations, it appears that the Beowulf-poet was incorporating the narrative and

descriptive tendencies conventional to Latin hagiography into the Old English poem in spite of

divergent subject-matter. These findings serve to reinforce the value of examining the Latinate

literary culture of Anglo-Saxon England and its influence on Beowulf. Some compelling

analogues within specific vitae suggest that further inquiry into their individual influence on the

poem will be rewarded. However, this dissertation most clearly demonstrates the continuing

value of seeking sources for elements of Beowulf in the wider conventions of hagiography.

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Acknowledgements

I am fortunate enough to have two families. I was born into one and the other has evolved

around me through happy accidents of life. Each of these people brings something unique and

elemental to my experience: support and encouragement from my mother, fascination and

delight from Colin, wisdom and fortitude from Vonnell, passion and ingenuity from Jaime,

constancy and perspective from John, and from my partner Rachelle I receive enduring patience,

strength, compassion, and hope for the future. From all of you I draw the joy that is my most

sustaining resource.

Throughout my years at the University of Toronto, I have had two homes: The Dictionary of

Old English and the Centre for Medieval studies. For the better part of a decade, the faculty, my

coworkers, the dedicated staff, and my fellow students have all given me a consistent sense of

belonging, purpose, and community. I deeply value the knowledge and direction I have

received, along with the joy of knowing such a passionate, interesting, lovely group of

likeminded people. The time I spent here was equal parts challenge and enjoyment, and I

wouldn’t trade the experience for the world.

Finally, many thanks are owed to my wise and encouraging advisors: David Townsend, Toni

Healey, Ian McDougall, and Andy Orchard. Your guidance has been instrumental in completing

this chapter of my life, and I will always be grateful for the support and optimism you’ve

provided. It’s been a privilege and a pleasure to learn from those I admire, and whose company

has been so consistently delightful.

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Introduction ............................................................................................................... 1

1.1: Latin Learning ...................................................................................................................... 3

1.2: Old English Lore ................................................................................................................ 15

1.3: Methodology ...................................................................................................................... 24

Chapter 2: Saintly Sea Journeys ............................................................................................... 40

2.1: A Basis for Comparison ..................................................................................................... 41

2.1.1: The Many Lives of Patrick .......................................................................................... 43

2.1.2: Boniface, Maritime Martyr ......................................................................................... 51

2.1.3: Samsonian Sojourns .................................................................................................... 55

2.1.4: Columban to the Continent ......................................................................................... 64

2.2: Sea Journeys in Schema ..................................................................................................... 67

2.2.1: Call to Action .............................................................................................................. 67

2.2.2: Commission and Blessings ......................................................................................... 68

2.2.3: Procession to the Shore and Boarding ........................................................................ 69

2.2.4: The Voyage Aboard Ship ............................................................................................ 71

2.2.5: The Arrival .................................................................................................................. 76

2.2.6: Disembarking .............................................................................................................. 77

2.3: Elements in Isolation .......................................................................................................... 80

Chapter 3: Saintly Seafaring, Secular Type-scene ................................................................ 105

3.1: Away to Denmark ............................................................................................................ 108

3.1.1: Call to Action ............................................................................................................ 108

3.1.2: Commission and Blessing ......................................................................................... 109

3.1.3: Procession to the Shore and Boarding ...................................................................... 113

3.1.4: The Voyage Aboard Ship .......................................................................................... 121

3.1.5: The Arrival ................................................................................................................ 127

3.1.6: Disembarking ........................................................................................................... 134

3.2: Home to Geatland ............................................................................................................ 139

3.2.1: Call to Action ............................................................................................................ 139

3.2.2: Commission and Blessing ......................................................................................... 140

3.2.3: Procession to the Shore and Boarding ...................................................................... 143

3.2.4: The Voyage Aboard Ship .......................................................................................... 149

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3.2.5: The Arrival ................................................................................................................ 153

3.2.6: Disembarking ........................................................................................................... 154

Chapter 4: Saints Gone Wild ................................................................................................... 160

4.1: A Basis for Comparison ................................................................................................... 160

4.1.1: Cyprian’s Wilderness Exile....................................................................................... 164

4.1.2: St. Anthony the Archetype ........................................................................................ 166

4.1.3: Paul, the First Hieronymian Hermit .......................................................................... 170

4.1.4: Hilarion’s Hermitage ................................................................................................. 176

4.1.5: Columban in the Western European Wilderness ...................................................... 180

4.1.6: Guthlac’s Intertextual Island ..................................................................................... 183

4.1.7: Gall’s Valley ............................................................................................................. 191

4.2: Wilderness in Schema ...................................................................................................... 197

4.2.1: Mountainous Terrain ................................................................................................. 198

4.2.2: Water ......................................................................................................................... 199

4.2.3: Trees .......................................................................................................................... 199

4.2.4: Route ......................................................................................................................... 200

4.2.5: Wildlife ..................................................................................................................... 202

4.2.6: Fables ........................................................................................................................ 203

4.2.7: Negative Descriptors ................................................................................................. 204

4.2.8: Fabricated Space ....................................................................................................... 205

Chapter 5: Eremites and Grendel’s Mere .............................................................................. 208

5.1: Hrothgar’s Foreboding ..................................................................................................... 210

5.2: The Journey to the Mere .................................................................................................. 221

5.3: Hidden Homes ................................................................................................................. 231

5.4: Wyrm in the Wild ............................................................................................................ 236

5.5: Water and Sky .................................................................................................................. 239

5.6: Matrices of Influence ....................................................................................................... 245

Chapter 6: Conclusions and Connections .............................................................................. 252

Bibliography .............................................................................................................................. 259

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List of Tables

Table 2.1 ...................................................................................................................................... 75

Table 2.2 ...................................................................................................................................... 79

Table 2.3 .................................................................................................................................... 103

Table 3.1 .................................................................................................................................... 138

Table 3.2 .................................................................................................................................... 158

Table 4.1 .................................................................................................................................... 206

Table 5.1 .................................................................................................................................... 220

Table 5.2 .................................................................................................................................... 229

Table 5.3 .................................................................................................................................... 244

1

Chapter 1 Introduction

In the last half-century, one opinion about Beowulf has become increasingly popular: the party

responsible for its composition was a member of the learned, literate, Latinate Christian

community—possibly a monk.1 Richard North, working from a rich history of scholarship on

the possible Christian Latinity of the Beowulf-poet, sees the poem’s historiographical elements,

numerous biblical echoes, liturgical language, and wide-ranging use of Latin material as

“monastic tendencies.”2 If this claim can be accepted, it would be unsurprising if the Beowulf-

poet were exposed to a great deal of hagiographic material through homilies, sermons, and

saints’ lives proper.3 As Thomas Hill observes, hagiographical material was a common

component of Anglo-Saxon spiritual and literary life in the context of regular or secular

worship, having been read in private or public as part of the liturgy of the Mass, festivals of

saints, and as part of the daily order of monastic observance.4 An Anglo-Saxon poet—especially

one with a monastic background—would consequently be well-equipped to include narrative

details from these sources in his own work.

It is the objective of this dissertation to explore the extent to which hagiography influenced the

Beowulf-poet in how he chose to depict narrative scenes. While the general tone and overall plot

1 For a convenient overview of the scholarship surrounding a Latinate and possibly monastic Beowulf-poet, see

Robert E. Bjork and Anita Obermeier, “Date, Author, Provenance, Audiences,” in A “Beowulf” Handbook ed.

Robert E. Bjork and John D. Niles (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1997), 13–17, 29. Also see Charles

Donahue, “Beowulf and Christian Tradition: A Reconsideration from a Celtic Stance,” Traditio 21 (Jan 1965): 73;

Michael Lapidge, “Beowulf, Aldhelm, the Liber monstrorum, and Wessex,” Studi Medievali 23, no. 1 (June 1982):

156–62, 188–91; John D. Niles, “Toward an Anglo-Saxon Oral Poetics,” in De Gustibus: Essays for Alain Renoir,

ed. John D. Niles (New York: Garland, 1992), 359; Craig Davis, “Beowulf” and the Demise of Germanic Legend

(New York: Garland, 1996), 161; Paul Cavill, “Christianity and Theology in Beowulf,” in The Christian Tradition

in Anglo-Saxon England: Approaches to Current Scholarship and Teaching, ed. Paul Cavill (Woodbridge: D.S.

Brewer, 2004), 15–39. 2 Richard North, The Origins of “Beowulf”: From Vergil to Wiglaf (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 66–

99. 3 See Thomas N. Hall, “Latin Sermons for Saints in Early English Homiliaries and Legendaries,” in The Old

English Homily: Precedent, Practice, and Appropriation, ed. Aaron J. Kleist (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007), 227–31. 4 Thomas D. Hill, “Imago Dei: Genre, Symbolism, and Anglo-Saxon Hagiography,” in Holy Men and Holy

Women: Old English Prose Saints’ Lives and Their Contexts, ed. Paul Szarmach (Albany: State University of New

York Press, 1996), 36–7

2

of the poem is entirely different from most saints’ lives, they certainly share a great many

commonplace scenes, including sea journeys, verbal altercations, violent encounters,

otherworldly locales, and funerals. While these commonplaces appear across any number of

narratives, the ubiquity of saints’ lives in the literary circle of a hypothetically monastic

Beowulf-poet represents a likely source of specific influence. If Beowulf’s author was in fact

such a poet, analogues to scenes in hagiographical narratives might be profitably traced.

This dissertation examines two such categories of scene in Beowulf, specifically sea journeys

and the hostile wilderness. It traces their correspondence with similar scenes occurring in saints’

lives that definitely or feasibly predate Beowulf, and argues for the narrative influence that

hagiography would inevitably have on the poem were it produced in a monastic setting. The

similarities I explore strongly suggest that the Beowulf-poet was taking part in a widely varied,

highly porous, hybridized literary culture containing both Germanic legend and Latin

hagiography in its contextual matrix. The outcome of this argument is twofold: first, it further

extracts Beowulf from the nativist, vaguely nationalist mode of criticism that isolates it from the

Latin tradition as a whole, especially the decidedly less “heroic” genre of the saint’s life;

second, it utilizes the poem’s similarities to these texts to more firmly locate it within the

literary history of Anglo-Saxon England, thereby shedding potential light on both its

composition and potential audiences.

Before beginning in earnest, I must undertake a review of literary-historical approaches to

Beowulf and their relationship to my work, with a brief survey of the often antagonistic schools

of thought relating to Anglo-Latinity and Oral-Formulaic Theory. They may be easier to

reconcile—if only from a functional perspective—than has been widely acknowledged.

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1.1 Latin Learning

The acknowledgement of Anglo-Latinity as a fundamental component of Old English literature

has taken great leaps in the last century.5 It is no longer fashionable to nativize Old English

poetry and isolate it from the overarching trends in Latin scholarship and literature that were

taking place throughout early medieval Europe.

Beowulf has inspired a more intense scholarly response than any other poem in the surviving

Old English corpus. It was not until the study of the poem had advanced a great deal that Latin

texts were seriously considered as possible influences. The earliest attempts to find sources and

analogues looked to the Norse tradition. This is unsurprising, considering the number of explicit

references to Scandinavian figures such as Sigemund, Heremod, and the Scyldings, as well as

Beowulf’s narrative similarities to Grettis saga and the Fornaldarsögur.6 In spite of Magnús

Fjalldal’s gloomy assertions about the long history of pursuing Norse analogues,7 these texts

will in all likelihood continue to be fruitfully studied, especially in light of the growing

awareness of cultural contact between Nordic and Anglo-Saxon neighbours in the period

following the Viking invasions.8

5 See especially Michael Lapidge, “Aldhelm’s Latin Poetry and Old English Verse,” Comparative Literature 31,

no. 3 (Summer 1979): 209–11; Michael Lapidge, Anglo-Latin Literature, 900–1066 (London: Hambledon, 1993);

Michael Lapidge, Anglo-Latin Literature, 600–899 (London: Hambledon, 1996); Andy Orchard, A Critical

Companion to “Beowulf” (Woodbridge: D.S. Brewer, 2003), 130–68; Christopher Abram “Aldhelm and the Two

Cultures of Anglo-Saxon Poetry,” Literature Compass 4 (2007): 1359; Patrick McBrine, Biblical Epics in Late

Antiquity and Anglo-Saxon England (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2017), 210–346; Rebecca Stephenson

and Emily V. Thornbury, “Introduction,” in Latinity and Identity in Anglo-Saxon Culture, eds. Rebecca Stephenson

and Emily V. Thornbury (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2016), 3–17. 6 For overviews of the Norse analogues, see Orchard, Critical Companion, 98–129, and a contrarian but

nevertheless helpful review of opinions in Magnús Fjalldal, “Beowulf and the Old Norse Two-Troll Analogues,”

Neophilologus 97 (2013): 541–53. One of the more significant collections of mainly Norse material pertaining to

characters in Beowulf, and in some ways the culmination of a century of Scandinavian source-work, is represented

by G.N. Garmonsway and Jacqueline Simpson, “Beowulf” and Its Analogues (London: J.M. Dent & Sons, 1968). 7 Fjalldal, “Two-Troll Analogues,” 548. 8 Kathryn Powell, “Meditating on Men and Monsters: A Reconsideration of the Thematic unity of the Beowulf

Manuscript,” Review of English Studies 57, no. 228 (Feb 2006): 7–12.

4

Similarly, attempts to identify the influence of vernacular Celtic analogues have produced some

fruitful results and further avenues for inquiry,9 although examinations of Irish texts have been

much more inclined to include Latinate scholarly texts in their purview.10 The search for Celtic

analogues may be the more potentially productive of the two approaches, since the scholarly

communities in Anglo-Saxon England and Ireland seem to have had a great deal of interaction.11

In spite of the early popularity of studies relating to the influence of Norse and Celtic vernacular

literatures on Old English poetry, we are on much more solid ground with Latin texts for the

simple reason that they dominate the early insular manuscript-record, and therefore give us a

solid base of texts that we can access for analogous details.12 It is this area of scholarship that

provides the precedent for my own engagement with Latin literature as an influence on the Old

English poem. A brief review of the scholarship surrounding Latin literature will be productive.

Vergil came to prominence quite early in the attempts to discover Latin analogues to Beowulf,

and continues to attract the attention of source scholars.13 This fact is unsurprising, considering

the classical grounding of many early philologists. More to the point, it is becoming increasingly

9 See Gerald Bonner, “Ireland and Rome: The Double Inheritance of Christian Northumbria,” in Saints, Scholars,

and Heroes: Studies in Medieval Culture in Honour of Charles W. Jones, eds. Margot H. King and Wesley M.

Stevens (Collegeville: Hill Monastic Manuscript Library, Saint John’s Abbey and University, 1979), 101–116;

Martin Puhvel, “Beowulf” and Celtic Tradition (Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1979); Charles D.

Wright, The Irish Tradition in Old English Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993). 10 See Lapidge, “Beowulf, Aldhelm,” 168–73. Both Puhvel and Wright also treat Hiberno-Latin influence in great

detail. 11 Wright, “Irish Tradition,” 33. 12 See Helmut Gneuss and Michael Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts: A Bibliographical Handlist of Manuscripts

and Manuscript Fragments Written or Owned in England up to 1100 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2014).

Cf. N.R. Ker, Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Anglo-Saxon (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1957). 13 A nuanced look at the history of this idea, accounting for the composite nature of literary influence in a learned

setting, takes place in Daniel Anlezark, “Poisoned Places: The Avernian Tradition in Old English Poetry,” Anglo-

Saxon England 36 (Dec 2007) 103–26. Good examples of this effort include North, Origins of Beowulf, 80–87;

Tom Burns Haber, A Comparative Study of “The Beowulf” and “The Aeneid” (New York: Hafner, 1931); Richard

J. Schrader, “Beowulf’s Obsequies and the Roman Epic,” Comparative Literature 24 (Jan 1972): 237–59;

Theodore M. Andersson, Early Epic Scenery: Homer, Vergil, and the Medieval Legacy (Ithaca: Cornell University

Press, 1976), 145–59; Friedrich Klaeber, “Aeneis und Beowulf,” Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen und

Literaturen 126 (1911), 40-48, 339-59. Alain Renoir gives much less credence to the idea of direct influence,

pointing out many inconsistencies of representation between the two texts in “The Terror of the Dark Waters: A

Note on Virgilian and Beowulfian Techniques,” in The Learned and The Lewed, ed. Larry D. Benson (Harvard:

Harvard University Press, 1974), 147–60.

5

clear from educational tracts by the likes of scholar-poets like Aldhelm and Bede that Vergil

appears to have been known in their circles and utilized for pedagogical purposes.14 Vergil’s

relevance for Latinate Anglo-Saxon scholars will continue to attract attention, although direct

analogues to his work in Beowulf appear to be restricted to a smattering of vague parallels and

minor verbal collocations.15

On the less poetic side of early Beowulfian source-work, analogues for the poem’s historic

personages were sought among histories and chronicles of Anglo-Saxon England’s neighbours,

partly as an effort to date the events of the poem with precision.16 The connection of Gregory of

Tours’s Chlochilaicus, found in his 6th-century Historia Francorum, to Beowulf’s Geatish king

Hygelac was one early and important development.17 Saxo Grammaticus’s early-13th-century

Gesta Danorum has also been successfully mined for details about the Scandinavian royal

houses, and seems to represent a fairly close counterpart to the action in Beowulf, supported in

some cases by histories and sagas.18

These texts also offer some difficulty with respect to source-work. Gregory of Tours’s 6th-

century Historia Francorum certainly antedates Beowulf.19 However, although it may provide

insight into the poem’s historical and narrative ambiguities, it is relatively light on detail at the

level of the individual scene.20 So while it is entirely possible that the Beowulf-poet drew

historical details from the Historia, it is not quite so useful for the study of analogous narrative

elements.

14 Michael Lapidge, “Bede the Poet,” in Anglo-Latin Literature, 600–899 (London: Hambledon Press, 1996), 333;

Andy Orchard, The Poetic Art of Aldhelm (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 130–5. 15 Orchard, Critical Companion, 133. 16 See Fulk et al., eds. Klaeber’s Beowulf and the Fight at Finnsburh (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008),

li–lxvii; Leonard Neidorf, ed., The Dating of “Beowulf”: A Reassessment (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2014) for

reviews of this scholarship. 17 See John D. Niles, “Myth and History,” in A “Beowulf” Handbook, 224–29; Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf,

li. 18 See Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, lii–lviii. 19 See Walter Goffart, The Narrators of Barbarian History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988), 112–234. 20 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, li; Tom Shippey, “The Case of Beowulf,” European Studies 26 (2008): 233.

6

A different problem affects the Norse material, both in Latin and the vernacular. There are a

great number of scholars who see the poem as a product of the later Anglo-Saxon period, some

as late as the early 11th century.21 Even with this possible late date, only a few Eddic pieces

among the Icelandic works could possibly predate the Anglo-Saxon poem, and Saxo’s Gesta is a

product of the late 12th century or early 13th.22 Although these texts might point to earlier

traditions of story and structure, and though they might illuminate the background of characters

mentioned in Beowulf, providing compelling analogues, they cannot represent sources for

specific scenes in the poem. That is not to say that they lack value for the study of Old English

poetry, but in a search for the actual source of a particular element in a scene—rather than

simply an analogue—we must look elsewhere.23

As the 20th century progressed, the focus on the poem’s possible Latin influences became more

centred on shared concepts than verbal parallels. J.R.R. Tolkien’s defense of the poem’s

structural ingenuity and thematic unity doubtlessly encouraged scholars to untangle the poem’s

larger meaning.24 Meanwhile, continuing advances in the knowledge surrounding Latinate

culture and scholasticism gave scholars a clearer picture of the intellectual scene that would

inform the lettered Anglo-Saxon, particularly patristic exegesis.25

21 Naturally, see Colin Chase, ed., The Dating of “Beowulf” (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1981), the

source of a great many late-date arguments, its updated reprint, especially Nicholas Howe, “The Uses of

Uncertainty: On the Dating of Beowulf,” in The Dating of “Beowulf”, ed. Colin Chase (Toronto: University Press,

1997), 213–20, as well as Roberta Frank, “A Scandal in Toronto: The Dating of “Beowulf” a Quarter-century On,”

Speculum 82, no. 4 (2007): 843–64. Although entering the debate is not my objective here, convenient reviews of

the scholarly trends can be found in Robert E. Bjork and Anita Obermeier, “Date, Author Provenance,” 18–28; Fulk

et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, clxiii–clxxx. Most recently, see Neidorf, ed., Dating Reassessment. For an 11th-

century date, see Kevin Kiernan, “The Eleventh-Century Origin of Beowulf and the Beowulf Manuscript,” in

Dating, ed. Chase, 9–22. 22 For a helpful reference, see Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 294–307. 23 For the importance of this distinction, see below, pp. 31–32 24 J.R.R. Tolkien, “Beowulf”: The Monsters and the Critics (London: Oxford University Press, 1936). 25 A convenient review of the copious scholarship around a Christian worldview as it is expressed in Beowulf can

be found in Orchard, Critical Companion, 131.

7

This attempt to compare Beowulf to the canonical scholarly texts of its time, described as the

exegetical school of literary criticism, has stimulated a great deal of speculation and creative

interpretation.26 However, a coherent typological structure in the poem is difficult to establish.27

For this reason, attempts to apply such readings to the text have met with resistance. The failure

of the allegorical approach to the poem lies in the fact that the text itself does not seem to

present a unified typological argument linked in some way with the life of Christ, but rather a

study of a hero who behaves perfectly with respect to his own cultural standards. There may

also be elements of ironic social commentary in the poem.28 If that is the case, a Christological

protagonist would hardly be the appropriate vehicle for a critique of a society’s cultural ideals.

Still, the exegetical approach might nevertheless provide an insight into the mental gymnastics

that an Anglo-Saxon—especially a lettered, Christian cleric—would be capable of performing in

order to create or consume a finely crafted but ideologically problematic poem.29 Ultimately,

this mode of criticism may be more valuable for what it can teach us about an audience’s

affective response to individual elements of Beowulf than for its insight into the deeper meaning

of the poem itself.

While the fervor for all-encompassing exegetical readings of Beowulf seems to have cooled in

more recent decades, scholars have been eager to trace the definitely biblical, apocryphal, or

homiletic elements in the poem and to locate their sources with security. This process inspires

more confidence than the exegetical approach for the fact that it does not necessarily require a

26 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, cxxv. 27 Edward B. Irving, “The Nature of Christianity in Beowulf,” Anglo-Saxon England 13 (Nov 1983): 7–11. 28 See Helen Damico, Beowulf and the Grendel-Kin: Politics and Poetry in Eleventh-Century England

(Morgantown: West Virginia University Press, 2015), 17–40; David Williams, Cain and Beowulf: A Study in

Secular Allegory (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1981), 10. 29 An excellent treatment of allegory as a mode of reception and thought as opposed to one of deliberately encoded

composition can be found in Margaret Goldsmith, The Mode and Meaning of “Beowulf” (London: The Athlone

Press, 1970): 66–76. Also see Dorothy Whitelock, The Audience of “Beowulf” (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1951);

Christopher Cain, “Beowulf, the Old Testament, and the regula fidei,” Renascence: Essays on Values in Literature

49, no. 4 (Summer 1997): 227–40.

8

coherent allegorical macrostructure for the poem, but implicitly recognizes that a learned

Beowulf-poet would possess a range of Christian materials from which he might draw relevant

inspiration. Considering the piecemeal, highly creative use of biblical or apocryphal elements in

the poem, this approach seems highly appropriate.

There are three passages in the poem relating to the antediluvian activities of the Christian God

and his enemies in the world: first, the song of creation that Hrothgar’s scop sings in Heorot;

second, Grendel’s descent from Cain; and third, the description of the giant sword-hilt recovered

from Grendel’s mere.30 However, these moments are not simply lifted wholesale from the Bible.

While the scop’s song does treat the Christian creation-story, and its elements—land and water,

heavenly lights, plants, animals, mankind—do seem to correspond roughly with that creation as

it is expressed in Genesis, this is no simple adaptation of the canonical text. For example, the

elements are not in the precise, biblical order. Moreover, this passage seems to take part in a

specifically Germanic poetic tradition.31 Clearly, the poet is engaging not only his biblical

knowledge but a system of vernacular artifice and his own creativity to craft a striking moment

in his poem.

The scop’s creation song has not inspired the same kind of scholarly intrigue as Grendel’s

genealogy and the description of the giant sword-hilt, since both represent significant

augmentations to Genesis’s account of the antediluvian world. This area of study has been

greatly supported by the growing awareness of the nuanced early-medieval perspective on the

30 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 90b–98 (the scop’s song), 102–14 (Grendel’s descent), 1687–98a (the

sword hilt). 31 A very reasonable discussion of this is Constance Hieatt, “Cædmon in Context: Transforming the Formula,” The

Journal of English and Germanic Philology 84, no. 4 (Oct 1985): 485–97.

9

texts that have been retroactively polarized into canonical or apocryphal categories, as well as

the increasingly apparent connection between Anglo-Latin and Hiberno-Latin culture.32

Apocryphal accounts of Old Testament material, especially the Noachic tradition and the Book

of Enoch, have captured the attention of many scholars.33 The task of ascertaining the precise

circulation of these texts,34 as well as their credibility in a scholarly community deeply

concerned with orthodoxy, is ongoing and continues to be fruitful, but at this point their

influence on Beowulf remains relatively unconfirmed.35 Moreover, some aspects of antediluvian

sacred history in Beowulf that do not correspond exactly with the Bible itself may be

extrapolations of phrases used in more orthodox sources such as Bede and Isidore.36

The identification of Irish influence on Anglo-Saxon culture represents another fairly recent

trend in scholarship treating Old English literature, and perhaps a more promising avenue for

understanding the quasi-biblical components of Beowulf. The parallels that can be found in Irish

reference-works such as the Sex aetates mundi, for example, line up quite nicely with some

elements of Beowulf.37 It should be remembered that The Wonders of the East, an Old English

32 See Joyce Hill, “The Apocrypha in Anglo-Saxon England: The Challenge of Changing Distinctions,” in

Apocryphal Texts and Traditions in Anglo-Saxon England, eds. Kathryn Powell and Donald Scragg (Cambridge:

D.S. Brewer, 2003), 165–68. A significant number of apocryphal texts, several of which have been suggested as

parallels for elements in Beowulf, has only fairly recently become available in Frederick M. Biggs, Sources of

Anglo-Saxon Literary Culture: The Apocrypha (Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications, 2007). 33 See especially R.E. Kaske, “Beowulf and the Book of Enoch,” Speculum 46, no. 3 (June 1971): 421–31; Nilo

Peltola, “Grendel’s Descent from Cain Reconsidered,” Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 73 (1972): 284–91; Ruth

Mellinkoff, “Cain’s Monstrous Progeny in Beowulf: Part I, Noachic Tradition,” Anglo-Saxon England 80 (Dec

1979): 143–62; Ruth Mellinkoff, “Cain’s Monstrous Progeny in Beowulf: Part II, Post-Diluvian Survival,” Anglo-

Saxon England 81 (Nov 1980): 183–97; Johann Köberl, “The Magic Sword in Beowulf,” Neophilologus 71 (1987):

124–25, Williams, Cain and Beowulf, 20–36; Daniel Anlezark, “Grendel and the Book of Wisdom,” Notes and

Queries 53, no. 3 (Sept 2006): 262–69. 34 See Frederick M. Biggs, “An Introduction and Overview of Recent Work,” in Apocryphal Texts and Traditions

in Anglo-Saxon England, eds. Kathryn Powell and Donald G. Scragg (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2003), 5. 35 Andy Orchard, Pride and Prodigies: Studies in the Monsters of the Beowulf-Manuscript (Toronto: University of

Toronto Press, 1995), 58. 36 See Daniel Anlezark, Water and Fire: The Myth of the Flood in Anglo-Saxon England (Manchester: Manchester

University Press, 2006), 101–37. 37 Orchard, Pride and Prodigies, 66–77.

10

text related to the Liber Monstrorum,38 itself a Latin text that may be of Irish or West-Saxon

provenance, shares a manuscript with Beowulf.39 The degree to which all of these texts draw on

Isidore and other patristic sources would likely soothe the piety of any orthodox Anglo-Saxon in

a way that more dubious apocryphal material might not.40

While the debates continue about the influence of biblical, apocryphal, and encyclopedic

materials on the antediluvian recollections in Beowulf, observations have been made about a

number of smaller verbal echoes of scripture. Of course, comparisons have been drawn between

Hrothgar’s praise of Beowulf by means of his mother and a similar statement about Christ in

Luke 11:27.41 While this connection is admittedly “rather strained,”42 I suspect that the

functional liturgical literacy of even the most unschooled cleric—or layperson for that matter—

could hardly fail to make at least some connection between the biblical and poetic passages.43 It

is probably too strong to assert some typological connection between Christ and Beowulf here,

in spite of a catalogue of biblical elements that can be identified throughout the poem.44 Perhaps

this passage was meant only as a highly evocative, laudatory commonplace that would gain

potency from its similarity to a biblical verse.

Other biblical sources have been suggested for passages including the pagan backsliding of the

Danes after Grendel’s depredations,45 one of the most arresting phrases in the poem, “him seo

38 Orchard, Pride and Prodigies, 87. 39 Lapidge, “Beowulf, Aldhelm,” 165–67. 40 Orchard, Pride and Prodigies, 86. 41 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 942b–46a. The most reasonable perspective on this passage is presented in

Daniel F. Pigg, “Cultural Markers in Beowulf: A Re-evaluation of the Relationship between Beowulf and Christ,”

Neophilologus 74, no. 4 (Oct 1990): 604. 42 Orchard, Critical Companion, 147. 43 James E. Cross’s notion of dissemination, a series of phrases or ideas that would become commonplaces through

both their original manifestation and ubiquitous commentary on it, could very well apply to the kind of functional

literacy that would insure that certain passages would resonate more widely than their immediate context. See

Cross, The Literate Anglo-Saxon: On Sources and Disseminations (London: Oxford University Press, 1972), 3–4. 44 See Friedrich Klaeber, The Christian Elements in “Beowulf”, trans. Paul Battles (Kalamazoo: The Medieval

Institute, 1996). 45 Anlezark, “Grendel and Wisdom,” 264–65.

11

wen gelah” (that expectation deceived him),46 and the well-established parallel between

Beowulf’s eulogy and the description of Moses in Numbers 12:3.47 Moreover, Andy Orchard

has suggested larger narrative and thematic parallels with Old Testament figures, such as King

David and Samson.48 Some of these biblical elements might have entered into the Beowulf-

poet’s literary consciousness by means of vernacular, homiletic mediation.49 Or he might have

taken these elements directly from the Bible or other Latinate material.

A debate about one element of the poem, the famous description of Grendel’s mere and its

relationship to vernacular poetics, homiletics, and Latin Apocrypha, is a perfect example of the

complications inherent in source-work pertaining to Beowulf.50 The poet’s fantastical

description of the mere clearly borrows elements from the Visio Pauli tradition, and shares them

with “Blickling Homily XVI.” Many connections and directions of influence between these

texts have been suggested.51 Daniel Anlezark acknowledges a number of yet other sources that

might have influenced the passage.52 In this case, as for any constellation of biblical,

apocryphal, and homiletic elements, the scholarly apparatus for understanding the sources and

disseminations of biblical and apocryphal material in Anglo-Saxon England continues to

46 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 2323b. See Margeret Goldsmith’s arguments in William Whallon,

Goldsmith, and Charles T. Donahue, “Allegorical, Typological, or Neither? Three Short Papers on the Allegorical

Approach to Beowulf and a Discussion,” Anglo-Saxon England 2 (1973): 291. 47 See Gernot Wieland, “Manna Mildost: Moses and Beowulf,” Pacific Coast Philology 23, nos. 1/2 (Nov 1988):

86–93; Charles D. Wright, “Moses: Manna Mildost,” Notes and Queries 31, no. 4 (Nov 1984): 440–43. 48 Orchard, Critical Companion, 142–47. 49 Orchard, Critical Companion, 151–52. 50 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1408–17a. A restrained summary of the arguments is offered in Orchard,

Critical Companion, 157–58. 51 See Carleton Brown, “Beowulf and the Blickling Homilies and Some Textual Notes,” PMLA 53, no. 4 (Nov

1937): 905–16; Rowland L. Collins, “‘Blickling Homily XVI’ and the Dating of Beowulf,” in Medieval Studies

Conference, Aachen, 1983: Language and Literature, eds. Wolf-Dietrich Bald and Horst Weinstock (Frankfurt: P.

Lang, 1983), 61–69; Wright, Irish Tradition, 136; John D. Niles, “Beowulf”: The Poem and Its Tradition

(Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993): 19; Matthew T. Hussey, “The Possible Relationship Between the

Beowulf and Blickling Manuscripts,” Notes and Queries 56, no. 1 (Feb 2009): 1–4; Valerie Heuchan, “All Things

to All Men: Representations of the Apostle Paul in Anglo-Saxon Literature,” (PhD diss., University of Toronto,

2010), 145–77. 52 Anlezark, “Poisoned Places,” 110–24.

12

increase in scope and clarity. I am confident that those relationships will become clearer as these

scholarly trends continue.

Similarly, as our understanding of the place held by Christian Latin poetry continues to develop,

it will be increasingly included in source-work on Beowulf. In fact, Andy Orchard has suggested

that a likely route of dissemination for elements of classical Latin may have been the Latin

Christian poets of the 4th to the 6th centuries, primarily Juvencus, Prudentius, Caelius Sedulius,

and Arator.53 Similarly, Anglo-Latin scholar-poets such as Aldhelm, Bede, and Alcuin are now

commonly included among the possible influences on vernacular poetic culture.54 In spite of the

probability of the Beowulf-poet having read a number of these authors, a great deal of work still

needs to be done, since scholars hoping to come to grips with Beowulf have often ignored the

Christian poets of late antiquity and early Anglo-Saxon England.

Hagiography has suffered from a similar lack of attention from Beowulf-scholars, although this

trend has changed somewhat in the last few decades.55 A small number of scholars have begun

to acknowledge the presence and importance of saints’ lives and their potential influence on the

poem. Bede’s largely hagiographical chronicle, the early-8th-century Historia ecclesiastica

gentis Anglorum, has been compared to Beowulf. Colin Chase, for example, recognizes

structural and thematic parallels between the stories of Bede’s saintly kings and Beowulf

himself.56 John C. McGalliard has taken a much wider look into Bede and found episodes that

correspond with nearly every aspect of heroic life as it is presented in the epic poem.57

53 Orchard, Critical Companion, 133; also see McBrine, Biblical Epics, 210–69. 54 An early attempt at suggesting Aldhelm as a source for passages in Beowulf is represented by Albert

Stanburrough Cook, “Aldhelm and the source of Beowulf 2523,” Modern Language Notes 40, no. 3 (Mar 1925):

137–143. See above, n. 5. 55 Orchard, Critical Companion, 149 provides a helpful review of the limited scholarship on this subject. 56 Colin Chase, “Beowulf, Bede, and St. Oswine: The Hero’s Pride in Old English Hagiography,” in The Anglo-

Saxons: Synthesis and Achievement, ed. J. Douglas Woods and David A. Pelteret (Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier

University Press, 1985), 37–48. 57 John C. McGalliard, “Beowulf and Bede,” in Life and Thought in the Early Middle Ages, ed. Robert S. Hoyt

(Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1967), 101–121.

13

Similarities like these are fascinating and very well could have arisen from a Beowulf-poet that

was reading Bede. They must be addressed with caution, however, since they are often broad in

nature and may have developed merely from shared subject matter about virtuous kings under

duress.

Apart from thematic and structural similarities, specifically imagistic and episodic details have

been observed that correspond to elements of Beowulf. Angus Cameron undertook a fairly early

comparison of Scyld Scefing’s funeral and that of the 6th-century Welshman Gildas as depicted

in his anonymous vita, which might have been composed as early as the 9th century.58 It is

certainly intriguing that both funerals involve being put to sea in a boat and an air of mystery

around that vessel’s destination. Beyond these minor details, however, the similarities between

the two episodes are relatively minor.

Perhaps the most important and encouraging work on Beowulf and its parallels with

hagiographic texts is that performed by Christine Rauer, who, in her exploration of parallels to

the poem, has sifted the evidence of dragon-fights from a wide array of texts, among which the

vitae provide the most compelling examples.59 One of Rauer’s most intriguing observations is

the similarity between the 6th-century St. Samson of Dol’s dragon-fights as they are presented in

two closely related texts, the Vita I S. Samsonis of the 8th century and Vita II S. Samsonis of the

9th, and Beowulf’s own battle.60

Although the saint has a number of encounters with dragons, one episode from the Vita II,

which departs substantially from the older Vita I, seems to share a number of elements with

Beowulf’s battle.61 Samson’s dragon menaces the land’s inhabitants and his smoky breath issues

58 Angus F. Cameron, “Saint Gildas and Scyld Scefing,” Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 70 (1969): 240–46. 59 Christine Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon: Parallels and Analogues (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2000) 89–124. 60 Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon, 89. 61 The episode is edited and translated in full in Appendix A of Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon, 158–59.

14

from his mountainous retreat.62 There is a certain reluctance among his men about the ailing,

aged Samson’s ability to defeat the dragon.63 Samson arms himself fittingly, “scutum fidei

accipiens, gladium spiritus sancti tenens” (taking up the shield of faith, holding the sword of the

holy spirit), and tells his fearful men to hang back before calling the dragon out and beginning

his confrontation.64 Here the similarities are suspended, since it would be obviously unbecoming

of a saint to engage in actual physical combat. However, this dragon does end his life in the sea,

as does Beowulf’s.65

The similarities are obvious, and while none of the other episodes in these vitae provide such

striking similarities to the fight in Beowulf, they contain elements that are not entirely

unparalleled in the Old English poem. In one encounter, Samson’s uncle conducts himself as a

faithful companion, desiring not to stay behind with the saint’s other followers while Samson

confronts the dragon.66 In another, the dragon inhabits a cave.67 In yet another, the dragon is

described by a king as “magnam partem de nostra terra devastans” (laying waste to a great

region of our land), and the saint requires a guide to lead him to the dragon’s home.68 Such a

glaringly apparent series of parallels surely seems to imply some kind of connection between

these two texts.

Without recapitulating Rauer’s entire argument, her work is vitally important for a number of

reasons. Aside from increasing our knowledge of Anglo-Breton cultural exchange in the early

medieval period, Rauer’s is the strongest argument for detailed narrative examination and

62 Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon, 158. 63 Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon, 158. 64 Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon, 158. 65 Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon, 158. 66 Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon, 152. 67 Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon, 154. 68 Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon, 156.

15

analysis of the connection between Beowulf and hagiographic texts.69 Her method of articulating

narrative details also provides a useful model for comparative literary analysis among disparate

sources. Throughout her articulation of the elements present in hagiographic dragon-fights, she

builds an index of the typical details and cites their presence in Beowulf, including such

moments as “the catastrophe,” “the dragon’s habitat,” and “summoning the dragon.”70

Such a simple-sounding process seems self-explanatory, but it is often absent in the more

telescopic, universalizing efforts of more structurally oriented or typologically interpretive

literary critics. Consequently, this method of articulation bridges a prominent and troublesome

gap between two largely exclusive parties in Old English scholarship, those scholars who focus

on Anglo-Latinity and the literate background behind Old English poetry, and those influenced

by the oral-formulaic or oral-traditional schools of thought. While Rauer’s efforts are firmly

couched in the probable Latinity of the Beowulf-poet, and she invests herself in the textual

history and circulation of his possible influences, she maintains a narratological acumen and

detail-oriented specificity that has been the province of the oral-traditional theorists and critics

for almost a century.71 In fact, her methodology resembles type-scene criticism, a mainstay of

late-20th-century oral-traditional critics, which is useful for comparative studies of narrative. It is

to this school that I now wish to turn.

1.2 Old English Lore

The opposition between scholars who study the Latinate, literate elements of Old English poetic

culture and the oral-formulaic school is long-standing.72 The history of this schism began with

69 Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon, 95–116. 70 Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon, 61–82. 71 See above, pp. 13–15. 72 An effective history of this movement can be found in Alexandra Hennessey Olsen, “Oral-Formulaic Research in

Old English Studies, I,” Oral Tradition 1, no. 3 (Oct 1986): 548–606 and Alexandra Hennessey Olsen, “Oral-

Formulaic Research in Old English Studies, II,” Oral Tradition 3, nos. 1–2 (Jan–May 1988): 138–90.

16

the adoption of Milman Parry and Albert Lord’s theory of oral composition for Old English

poetry by Francis P. Magoun.73 Magoun’s essential argument, following the research-methods

applied to modern oral singers, was that the density of formulaic phrases in a poem necessarily

implies oral composition.74 This notion led to a great deal of scholarly output in subsequent

years, much of it focussed on the scop, the romanticized figure of the Anglo-Saxon singer.75

This trend in scholarship, the purely oral-formulaic school, still has its proponents, but was

effectively refuted just over a decade later by Larry D. Benson, who challenged Magoun’s

reductive assertions and pointed to obviously literary texts, featuring explicit assertions of

literacy, that contain highly formulaic material. The work of the Old English poet Cynewulf is

an excellent example.76 Benson’s logical and methodological objections to Magoun have been

reiterated a number of times by the likes of Alain Renoir, Franz Bäuml, and Andy Orchard, to

the point that it has become unfashionable to suggest an unlettered singer might have composed

Beowulf as we have it.77

Despite the deflated support behind oral-formulaic theory’s exclusive focus on unlettered

composition, in the latter decades of the 20th century, orality still needs to be addressed with

respect to Old English poetry. References to the oral transmission of story abound in the poetry,

not least in the opening lines of Beowulf itself, featuring a gefrignan-formulation.78 Aside from

these signals of orality in the narrative voice, the action of the poem and the assertions of its

73 Francis P. Magoun, “Oral-Formulaic Character of Anglo-Saxon Narrative Poetry,” Speculum 28, no. 3 (July

1953): 446–67. 74 Magoun, “Oral-Formulaic Character,” 460. 75 A helpful review of the mass of scholarship can be found in Orchard, Critical Companion, 85. 76 Larry D. Benson, “The Literary Character of Anglo-Saxon Formulaic Poetry,” PMLA 81, no. 5 (Oct 1966): 334–

41. 77 Alain Renoir, “Oral Theme and Written Texts,” Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 77 (1976): 337–46; Franz H.

Bäuml, “The Theory of Oral-Formulaic Composition and the Written Medieval Text,” in Comparative Research on

Oral Traditions: A Memorial for Milman Parry, ed. John Miles Foley (Columbus: Slavica, 1987), 19–45; Andy

Orchard, “Looking for an Echo: The Search for Oral Tradition in Anglo-Saxon Literature,” Oral Tradition 18, no. 2

(Oct 2003) 225–27. 78 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf,” ll. 1–2.

17

own characters seem to point to some kind of oral tradition. Hrothgar’s hall is inaugurated with

a song of creation.79 Beowulf himself witnesses at least two songs sung by a Danish scop, and

goes on to describe these oral performances to his own king, Hygelac.80

Another example can be drawn from Bede. His depiction of the origins of Old English poetics in

the Historia ecclesiastica centres on the figure of Caedmon, the illiterate cowherd turned

singer.81 It represents a manifestation of the myth of oral composition, expressed during a period

in which formulaic but highly literate poetry was written.82 More recent scholarship on this

hybrid literature also suggests that despite written composition, the primary mode of poetic

consumption would have been through oral performance.83 This dynamic would help to account

for the affective orality, described as “vocality,” of poetic texts, while acknowledging the reality

of written composition.84

Finally, toward the end of the 20th century, the mainstream of the argument over orality seems to

have centred itself in such a way that very few scholars endorse the notion of oral composition.

Many scholars acknowledge the traditional oral poetics underlying the formal aspects of Old

English poetry, but insist on the written composition of hybrid texts, which may be designated

79 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 89b–98. 80 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 867b–913a and 1050–159a; 2107–9a. 81 Bede, Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People, ed. and trans. Bertram Colgrave and R.A.B. Mynors

(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969), 414–18. 82 See John D. Niles, “The Myth of the Anglo-Saxon Oral Poet,” Western Folklore 62, nos. 1/2 (Jan 2003): 7–61. 83 See Ursula Schaefer, “Hearing from Books: The Rise of Fictionality in Old English Literature,” in Vox Intexta:

Orality and Textuality in the Middle Ages, eds. Alger Nicholas Doane and Carol Braun Pasternack (Madison:

University of Wisconsin Press, 1991), 117–36; Ward Parks, “The Textualization of Orality in Literary Criticism,”

in Vox Intexta, 46–61; Mark C. Amodio, “Affective Criticism, Oral Poetics, and Beowulf’s Fight with the Dragon,”

Oral Tradition, 10, no. 1 (1995): 57; Andy Orchard, “Oral Tradition,” in Reading Old English Texts, ed. Katherine

O’Brien O’Keefe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 114. 84 See Schaefer, “Hearing from Books,” 117–18.

18

“oral-traditional” as opposed to the strictly “oral-formulaic” title that necessarily correlated

formulism with oral composition.85

Throughout this process of moderation among oral theorists and its eventual resolution into the

oral-traditional school, the business of developing the poetics of Old English literature was

greatly advanced by scholars working within the traditional framework. The identification of

traditional elements in their specific manifestations, most notably the identification of type-

scenes, took place with a great deal of energy almost from the outset of oral-formulaic criticism.

Type-scene study is perhaps the most useful tool developed by the oral-traditional school for use

in a project concerned with parsing narrative units and comparing them to scenes found in

analogous texts.

Donald Fry, an assiduous cataloguer of type-scenes, has developed the best definition for the

phenomenon. He describes a type-scene as “a recurring stereotyped presentation of conventional

details used to describe a certain narrative event, requiring neither verbatim repetition nor a

specific formula content.”86 Examples include the “Sea Voyage,” “Flyting,” and “Battle.”87

Each of these is a highly typical presentation of a certain narrative moment that tends to

maintain its essential details throughout a number of texts, suggesting a high level of

dissemination for a scene of that kind among Anglo-Saxon poets.

The “Sea Voyage” type-scene, for example, has been traced by Robert E. Diamond, Lee C.

Ramsey, and John Miles Foley. In 1961, Diamond pointed to the scene’s occurrence in Elene

85 See Bäuml, “Oral-Formulaic Composition,” 35–40; Alain Renoir, A Key to Old Poems: The Oral-Formulaic

Approach to the Interpretation of West-Germanic Verse (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press,

1988), 160; John Miles Foley, “Orality, Textuality, and Interpretation,” in Vox Intexta, 34–45; Niles, “Anglo-Saxon

Oral Poetics,” 359–77; Ward Parks, “The Traditional Narrator in Beowulf and Homer,” in De Gustibus, 456–79;

Joseph Harris, “Beowulf as Epic,” Oral Tradition 15, no. 1 (Mar 2000): 159–69. 86 Donald K. Fry, “Old English Formulaic Themes and Type-scenes,” Neophilologus 52, no. 1 (Sept 1968): 53. 87 For a more extensive list of type-scenes and the relevant articles for these particular occurrences, see John Miles

Foley, Traditional Oral Epic (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 331–32.

19

and Beowulf while tracing its formulaic resonance with other Old English poems.88 Ramsey

articulated the scene more fully, enunciating each of the components of Beowulf’s first sea

voyage from Geatland to Denmark.89 Foley’s treatment of the type-scene in Beowulf is the most

recent and concise. Examining both of the hero’s voyages, from Geatland to Denmark and back

again, he distils the type-scene into five major components: Beowulf leads his men to the ship;

the ship waits, moored; the men board the ship, carrying treasure; departure, voyage on the sea,

arrival; they moor the ship.90 The uniformity between the scenes as they are presented in both of

Beowulf’s journeys, as well as in Elene and Andreas, suggests a traditional mode of

representation for certain often-repeated and contextually specific scenes.91

Fry’s definition of the type-scene took place at a time when the various levels of formulaic

material were being articulated. Until Fry’s efforts, the terms “theme” and “type-scene” were

often used interchangeably.92 In his system of understanding, these two devices were the

primary traditional units of narrative above the verbal formula.93 The crux of the distinction

between the two literary concepts as defined by Fry is that the theme, “a recurring concatenation

of details and ideas, not restricted to a specific event, verbatim repetition, or certain formulas,

which forms an underlying structure for an action or description,” is a much less restrictive

device than a type-scene.94 It is essentially a cluster of details, usually highly formulaic in

diction, which may be employed in any number of narrative situations.

88 Robert E. Diamond, “Theme as Ornament in Anglo-Saxon Poetry,” Publications of the Modern Language

Association 76, no. 5 (Nov 1961): 463–67. The relevant passage can be found in “Elene,” in The Vercelli Book, ed. George Philip Krapp (London: Routledge, 1932), ll. 225–55. 89 Lee C. Ramsey, “The Sea Voyages in Beowulf,” Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 72 (Jan 1971): 55. 90 Foley, Traditional Oral Epic, 336–39 and the relevant passages in Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 205–

303a and 1880b–919. 91 See Diamond, “Theme as Ornament, 464; Ramsey, “Sea voyages,” 56; and the relevant passages in George

Philip Krapp, ed., “Andreas,” in The Vercelli Book, ed. George Philip Krapp, ll. 230–53 and 349–81, and George

Philip Krapp, ed., Elene, in Vercelli Book, ed., Krapp, ll. 212–75. 92 Fry, “Themes and Type-Scenes,” 49–52. 93 These definitions have continued to be useful. See Olsen, “Oral-Formulaic I,” 565–88. 94 Fry, “Themes and Type-Scenes,” 53.

20

An enormously popular example of a theme in Old English literature is represented by the

“Beasts of Battle,” in which carrion animals anticipate a conflict or gather in response to it,

often linked with some sense of national calamity.95 One example can be drawn from Beowulf,

during the scene in which Wiglaf predicts unpleasant things for the Geats in the absence of their

newly deceased warrior-king. He describes the privations that his nation will experience and the

warfare they will be forced to undergo, and he crowns his speech with this prediction:

Forðon sceall gar wesan

monig morgenceald mundum bewunden,

hæfen on handa, nalles hearpan sweg

wigend weccean, ac se wonna hrefn

fus ofer fægum fela reordian,

earne secgan hu him æt æte speow,

þenden he wið wulf wæl reafode.96

As much as this set of elements and imagistic details might appear under similar thematic

circumstances, they can be applied to any number of narrative situations. Type-scenes, on the

other hand, are necessarily situation-specific, and tend to be more rigid in terms of their order of

execution and specific elements, since they directly pertain to the elements involved in any one

narrative moment. So, while the “Beasts of Battle” might appear in any situation in which

warfare and national calamity are present, it would hardly be appropriate to include a “Sea

Voyage” or “Flyting” scene in any context other than a journey across the sea or a stylized

95 See Francis P. Magoun Jr., “The Theme of the Beasts of Battle in Anglo-Saxon Poetry,” Neuphilologische

Mitteilungen 56 (1955): 81–90; Andrien Bonjour, “Beowulf and the Beasts of Battle,” PMLA 72, no. 4 (Sept 1957):

563–73; Alain Renoir, “Judith and the Limits of Poetry,” English Studies 43 (1962): 145–55; Alain Renoir, “Christ

Ihesu’s Beasts of Battle: a Note on Oral-Formulaic Theme Survival,” Neophilologus, 60, no. 3 (June 1976): 455–

59; J.R. Hall, “Exodus 166b, Cwyldrof, 162–67, the Beasts of Battle,” Neophilologus 74, no. 1 (Jan 1990): 112–21;

M.S. Griffith, “Convention and Originality in the Old English ‘Beasts of Battle’ Typescene,” Anglo-Saxon England

22 (Dec 1993): 179–99; Thomas Honneger, “Form and Function: The Beasts of Battle Revisited,” English Studies

79, no. 4 (July 1998): 289–98. 96 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 3021b–27. “Therefore many a spear, cold in the morning, will be encircled

in grips, taken in hand, the harp’s song [will] not wake warriors at all, but the dark raven, eager over the doomed,

[will] speak many things, say to the eagle how he prospered in eating when he plundered a corpse with the wolf.” I

follow the editorial conventions of Fulk et al. with respect to orthography and signalling emendations, unless

marked otherwise. See Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, p. 2.

21

verbal altercation. As John Miles Foley observes, Fry’s distinction of a type-scene against a

theme relies on “precisely the presence or absence of a narrative context.”97

The importance of this distinction for my project is primarily that while a theme is broadly

formulaic and equated with the poetic notions peculiar to Northern European, Germanic poetry,

the type-scene is simply a common set of details associated with a certain action. It is inherently

less reliant on a specifically Germanic-poetic context and divorced from the absolute necessity

of a particular set of formulaic expressions. Therefore, if Anglo-Saxon literary culture was a

hybridized nexus of Anglo-Latin and Old English literatures, it stands to reason that a narrative

episode could be drawn from any available source. Hagiography would obviously provide a

prominent contributor to the source-pool for an Old English poem; type-scene study, with its

focus on the skeletal structure of an episode, provides a valuable tool for examining the contours

it shares with analogues.

In fact, if we return to Christine Rauer’s methodology with regard to the dragon episode, we see

very much the same kind of activity, simply with a narrative episode that has not been

articulated into an oral-traditional type-scene.98 She examines a number of similar dragon-fights,

determines their most common elements, and makes an argument for the highly typical nature of

that kind of scene as it compares to the episode in Beowulf. Considering the convincing

outcomes of Rauer’s work, adapting her methodology to other kinds of narrative episodes that

are present in both Beowulf and hagiography is a promising avenue.

Elinor Bartlett Teele’s dissertation represents another precedent for my work. She examines the

influence of Old English heroic poetry on the Old English riddle tradition, and therefore places

her research at the very centre of Old English literary hybridity. Her dissertation traces the

97 Foley, Traditional Oral Epic, 334. 98 See above, pp. 13–15.

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influence of the Latin enigma tradition, especially those enigmata that have companion-pieces

in Old English, and discusses the incorporation of heroic elements into the vernacular texts

through the introduction of “the structured roles of characters or the heroic rituals and motifs

revolving around these typical heroic settings.”99 Teele’s treatment of “Riddle 22, ‘Wagon of

Stars’” for example, describes the use of the highly stylized language of the “Sea Voyage” type-

scene as it manifests itself in the Old English riddle.100 While she does not posit a direct source,

several Latin precedents would likely have provided the raw material for this riddle, including

Aldhelm’s “Enigma 53, Arcturus,” pointing up the Old English riddler’s tendency toward

emphasizing aspects of the Latin material that can fit conveniently into the mold of stereotyped

narrative representations.101 If we take our cue from Teele, it is easy to imagine imagistic

elements or even narrative details lifted wholesale from Latin texts, refracted through the

thematic lens of Old English heroics, and made stylistically appropriate for vernacular heroic

representation. Her observations are compelling, and clearly this trend in scholarship needs to

continue.

One objection to the possible cross-pollination of Latinate narrative elements and Old English

traditional scenes might be that Latinate, literate material was transmitted primarily through

textual means and therefore took part in a more textual than oral mode of transmission. From

this point of view, Old English poets would be more likely to adopt and adapt phrases and

scenes from oral-traditional works as part of a diachronous flow than through a relatively

ossified, literary mode of transmission.102 In other words, an episode spoken aloud and steeped

in formulaic verbal expression would be more likely to embed itself in the oral-traditional poet’s

mind and emerge in his own composition than something he might read and appropriate in a 99 Elinor Bartlett Teele, “The Heroic Tradition in the Old English Riddles” (PhD Diss., University of Cambridge,

2004), 36. 100 Teele, “Heroic Tradition,” 54–7. 101 Teele, “Heroic Tradition,” 58–9. 102 Parks, “Textualization of Orality,” 56.

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different way. If, however, we accept the arguments of Ursula Schaefer, A.N. Doane, and Ward

Parks, who suppose that a great deal of narrative transmission—even of explicitly literate

texts—would have occurred through reading aloud and aural reception,103 it is not difficult to

imagine a Beowulf-poet acquiring the skeletal framework of narrative episodes during the course

of hearing hagiographic material read aloud, perhaps, as Thomas Hall suggests, as part of

readings associated with saints’ feast-days.104

It might also be objected that the formulaic nature of Old English poetic language would be a

better mnemonic vehicle than the straightforward Latin prose of most vitae. This objection

would certainly be applicable to formulaic diction and even to the theme, since that level of

traditional composition is more closely linked to the formula and seems intensely grounded in

Germanic poetic systems. However, according to Fry’s definition of the type-scene, the skeletal

structure of a scene rather than its formulaic content is the most important designator of a

manifestation of any such scene. Type-scenes are dependent on their “conventional detail”

rather than their “formula content.”105

Accordingly, any highly conventional narrative sequence to which the Beowulf-poet might be

regularly exposed—especially if it were to emerge in a number of texts in a similar form—could

provide effective source-material for his own scenes. Again, vitae are perfect candidates for this

kind of influence. A monastic Beowulf-poet would be repeatedly exposed to hagiographic

narratives. Vitae are also highly conventional with respect to narrative detail and would

therefore provide a sufficiently repetitive traditional basis to embed the structure of their

narrative episodes in a poet’s mind. And while these Latin texts would certainly not contain any

Old English formulaic diction, that is not the necessary basis for a type-scene so much as a set

103 See above, p. 17. 104 Hall, “Latin Sermons,” 227–28. 105 See above, p. 18–20; Fry, “Themes and Type-Scenes,” 53.

24

of similar narrative elements. When seen from this perspective, vitae seem to be very likely

candidates for episodic influence on Beowulf, and the study of type-scenes the perfect lens

through which to explore that influence. My own methodology is based in this observation.

1.3 Methodology

The methodology of my dissertation is conceptually simple, but requires thoroughness in terms

of establishing a possible data-set. This difficulty is largely determined by the mystery

surrounding the origins of Beowulf itself. Once I have determined reasonable parameters for the

hypothetical reality of Beowulf’s composition, however, my process is straightforward. I work

inward from a broad source-pool that encompasses the range of hagiographical texts available in

early Anglo-Saxon England, paring it down to texts containing narrative elements relevant to

analogous scenes in Beowulf, then comparing those with the Old English poem’s expressions of

those scenes. The structural narrative schemata established by oral-traditional scholars working

with type-scenes in Beowulf will become the framework on which I base my comparisons. The

core elements of each scene will be parsed, and specifics of detail and phraseology will be

interrogated with the intention of determining whether there are any meaningful similarities

between the hagiographical texts and Beowulf.

The extreme limit of texts available for my study is made up of those vitae with feasibly

demonstrable existence in Anglo-Saxon England early enough to conceivably influence the

Beowulf-poet. Establishing that existence is a challenging prospect. The first challenge is

deciding on a reasonable range of dates for the poem and therefore on a range of possible

literary antecedents. As any Beowulf-scholar knows, however, dating the text is a deeply

problematic proposition. Accepting the most extreme fringes of possible dates from the 7th

century to the 11th seems excessive, but every attempt to narrow the range of the poem’s

25

possible composition is met with stiff resistance and counterargument.106 While my own

objective is not to engage with the debate surrounding the date of Beowulf, this issue cannot be

ignored in any discussion of the poem, especially a discussion dealing with literary influence,

since one of the main parameters for positing narrative influence is the availability of an

analogous text at a certain place and date.

After 1981, it is impossible to address the poem’s age without recourse to that crucial resource,

The Dating of Beowulf. Nevertheless, none of the voices in the volume provides a definitive

answer to the question of the poem’s dating. From Peter Clemoes and John Pope, who side with

the older view of an early, 8th-century composition, through proponents of the 9th century such

as Colin Chase and Thomas Cable, into the 10th century with Roberta Frank, Alexander Murray,

and Walter Goffart, arriving at Kevin Kiernan’s 11th century, and interspersed with scholars the

likes of Rory McTurk, Ray Page, and Leonard Boyle who make no strong assertions but

highlight methodological problems and processes that should be regarded—or discarded—the

Beowulf-scholar is treated to a buffet of possible opinions.107 As Nicholas Howe implies in his

1997 epilogue to the updated collection, such wide-ranging speculation allows a reader to either

choose a date or maintain an “engaging (though somewhat obscurantist) skepticism.”108

106 Summarizing the issues surrounding the dating of Beowulf is too time-consuming to take up much space in this

section, but helpful summaries of the gradual narrowing of the poem’s possible date of composition can be found in

Bjork and Obermeier, “Date, Author, Provenance,” 13–34; Andy Orchard, Critical Companion, 5–7; Bjork et al.,

eds, Klaeber’s Beowulf, clxii–clxxx; Frank, “Scandal in Toronto,” 844–54. 107 See Peter Clemoes, “Style as the Criterion for Dating the Composition of Beowulf,” in Dating, ed. Chase, 173–

85; John C. Pope, “On the Date of Composition of Beowulf,” in Dating, ed. Chase, 187–95; Colin Chase, “Saints’

Lives, Royal Lives, and the Date of Beowulf,” in Dating, ed. Chase, 161–71; Thomas Cable, “Metrical Style as

Evidence for the Date of Beowulf,” in Dating, ed. Chase, 77–82; Roberta Frank, “Skaldic Verse and the Date of

Beowulf,” in Dating, ed. Chase, 123–39; Alexander Murray, “Beowulf, the Danish Invasions, and Royal

Genealogy,” in Dating, ed. Chase, 101–11; Walter Goffart, “Hetware and Hugas: Datable Anachronisms in

Beowulf,” in Dating, ed. Chase, 83–100; Kevin Kiernan, “Eleventh-Century Origin,” 9–21; Rory McTurk,

“Variation in Beowulf and the Poetic Edda: A Chronological Experiment,” in Dating, ed. Chase, 141–60; R.I. Page,

“The Audience of Beowulf and the Vikings,” in Dating, ed. Chase, 113–22; Leonard Boyle, “The Nowell Codex

and the Poem of Beowulf,” in Dating, ed. Chase, 23–32. Cf. Neidorf, ed., Dating Reassessment; see below, pp. 30–

31. 108 Howe, “Uses of Uncertainty,” 220.

26

Within the collection, the camps associated with each date-range have their more and less

effective proponents. For example, both Clemoes and Pope hold with an early date. Pope

attempts to base his conclusions on objective criteria and engages in textual criticism.109

Clemoes, on the other hand, elects to pursue style as his criterion. The problems with this

approach are obvious. If Beowulf is an archaizing text—a status that, considering the poem’s

treatment of Germanic legendary history, would apply at any time between the 8th and 11th

centuries—I seriously question the value of “a distinction between a ‘primitive’ way and

‘modern’ way of relating thought and expression.”110 Clemoes also suggests that the disparate

verbal styles of texts like Andreas, the Cynewulf poems, and Guthlac B are indicators of date

rather than their treatments of widely different subjects and bodies of source material.111 I would

argue that one could hardly expect to avoid “sensuous images of Christian spirituality” in a

poem about St. Andrew,112 or that the Old English word ellen would mean anything but “a

spiritedness, a toughness of spirit, in fighting” in a text about a legendary hero regardless of the

date of the poem.113

Within the 9th-century camp, I question Chase’s arrival at this date based on the heroics

“anomalous” in any other era, as even he admits contradictory examples within his limited pool

of texts.114 On the other hand, Cable’s metrical examination, though it works partially from a

speculative chronology, applies a rigorous and well-reasoned metrical analysis to the bulk of the

Old English corpus, assigning a loose date.115 He also displays sufficient tact to suggest a broad

109 Pope, “On the Date,” 188, and n. 6. 110 Clemoes, “Style as Criterion,” 174. 111 Clemoes, “Style as Criterion,” 177–9. 112 Clemoes, “Style as Criterion,” 179. 113 Clemoes, “Style as Criterion,” 177. 114 Chase, “Saints’ Lives,” 168–70. He admits that Wilfrid’s life, one of only a handful of vitae, contradicts his

other examples. 115 Cable, “Metrical Style,” 78–80.

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possible dating that he locates within the 9th century, but does not seem to exclude the 8th.116

These difficulties can be found in every camp in the volume, and it is neither my mandate nor

within my expertise to make a definite assertion about the poem’s date, so I will conclude my

discussion of the collection by simply stating that while The Dating of Beowulf represents a

pivotal moment in the poem’s discussion, it leaves me undecided.

At any rate, even the updated 1997 edition of the volume is two decades old. There have

naturally been many contributions since then, some with particularly convincing assertions. One

article from Michael Lapidge employs effective criteria for comparative dating: sound logic,

attention to literary history, and close examination of shared details between texts. In “Beowulf,

Aldhelm, the Liber monstrorum, and Wessex,” Lapidge makes much of elements shared

between Beowulf and the Liber monstrorum, a text which he dates to between 650 and 750, even

going so far as to suggest that Beowulf may have been the product of Wessex between the end of

the 7th century and the first quarter of the 8th.117 His article’s objective is to undermine the a

priori suppositions of scholars who assigned Beowulf’s composition to Bede’s Northumbria.118

He is also intent on assuring the reader that he does not claim to have solved the question of

Beowulf’s date, only to have done away with a traditional scholarly commonplace and propose a

viable alternative.119

He would not venture another opinion on the matter for almost two decades and “The Archetype

of Beowulf,” in which he discusses instances of “literal confusion” and how they might suggest

an archetype of the mid-8th century.120 Like any assertion about Beowulf, Lapidge’s work has

been challenged, most prominently by Eric Stanley and Roberta Frank, who raise the reasonable

116 Cable, “Metrical Style,” 80–82. 117 Lapidge, “Beowulf, Aldhelm,” 162–91. 118 Lapidge, “Beowulf, Aldhelm,” 151–55. 119 Lapidge, “Beowulf, Aldhelm,” 190–91. 120 Michael Lapidge, “The Archetype of Beowulf,” Anglo-Saxon England 29 (Jan 2000): 9, 34–36.

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objection that some of the errors that Lapidge observes can be found elsewhere in the poetic

corpus as well.121 Stanley’s criticism has been attacked in turn by George Clark, however, who

suggests that Lapidge’s particular matrix of literal errors are in fact characteristic of 8th-century

archetypes.122

Pursuing a different avenue, during the two decades between Lapidge’s insightful articles, R.D.

Fulk released his weighty examination of Old English meter, which contained within it a now-

famous assertion of Kaluza’s law as a criterion for dating Beowulf. While Fulk remains fairly

open to a date even before 685, the latest date he will allow is 725 if the poem was composed in

Mercia and 825 if it was produced in Northumbria.123 While Fulk relies to some degree on

relative dating and his assertions have been challenged since the book’s publication, his

conclusions make good sense and are grounded in a keen study of demonstrable metrical

observations.124 More recent reassessments of the Kaluza-criteria by Seiichi Suzuki and B.R.

Hutcheson, while softening Fulk’s pre-825 date-range, still place the poem’s composition in the

9th century at the latest.125 Notably, this date squares well with Thomas Cable’s earlier metrical

work in The Dating of Beowulf.126

The most recent major collection to address the controversy, The Dating of Beowulf: A

Reassessment, similarly points to an early Beowulf. Its editor, Leonard Neidorf, lends support to

121 Eric G. Stanley, “Paleographical and Textual Deep Waters: <a> for <u> and <u> for <a>, <d> for <ð> and <ð>

for <d> in Old English,” ANQ 15, no. 2 (Nov 2002): 66–68; Frank, “Scandal in Toronto,” 854–58. 122 George Clark, “The Date of Beowulf and the Arundel Psalter Gloss,” Modern Philology 106, no. 4 (May 2009):

683–85. 123 R.D. Fulk, A History of Old English Meter (Philedelphia: University of Philedelphia Press, 1992), 390. 124 For challenges to Fulk, see Seiichi Suzuki, “Preference Conditions for Resolution in the Meter of Beowulf:

Kaluza’s Law Reconsidered,” Modern Philology, 93, no. 3 (Feb 1996): 305–6; B.R. Hutcheson, “Kaluza’s Law, the

Dating of Beowulf, and the Old English Poetic Traditon,” Journal of English and Germanic Philology 103, no. 3

(Jul 2004): 297–322. 125 Hutcheson, “Kaluza’s Law,” 320–21. Note that he actually supports an 8th-century date (322, n. 57), though he

restricts himself to what he can demonstrate through the meter alone. 126 Cable, “Metrical Style,” 82.

29

Lapidge, Clark, and especially to Fulk in their early dating for the poem.127 Many of these

essays take up older arguments. Fulk is present to address counterclaims to his own earlier

work, and Clark returns to bolster his defense of Lapidge’s notion that the concentration of

specific literal confusions in Beowulf suggests an early date, while coming to the aid of Fulk’s

linguistic assertions.128 Meanwhile, Fulk’s philology is backed by the relative chronology

supported by Megan Hartman’s and Thomas Bredehoft’s metrical analyses.129

Other notable entries in the collection suggest an 8th-century date based on onomastics, place

name evidence, and semantics.130 Among these, Joseph Harris’s note on the place name

“Heruteu,” attached to a monastery flourishing until the mid-8th century, is perhaps the most

interesting and compelling new material in the collection.131 While attempts at dating in this

vein are rather less convincing to me than linguistic or metrical observations, when considered

as a group, an 8th-century date seems more and more likely.

One further entry deserves mention, that of Michael Drout and his colleagues, who have

produced a meta-analysis of dating studies over the past several decades, again pointing to an

early date.132 It must be noted that Christopher Abram cautions that Neidorf’s volume suffers

from the overtly unified conclusions of the essays selected by its early-dating editor, providing

127 Leonard Neidorf, “Introduction,” in The Dating of “Beowulf”: A Reassessment, ed. Leonard Neidorf

(Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2014), 9–13. 128 R.D. Fulk, “Beowulf and Language History,” in Dating Reassessment, ed. Neidorf, 19–36; George Clark,

“Scandals in Toronto: Kaluza’s Law and Transliteration Errors,” in Dating Reassessment, ed., Neidorf, 219–34. 129 Megan Hartman, “The Limits of Conservative Composition in Old English Poetry,” in Dating Reassessment, ed.

Neidorf, 79–96; Thomas Bredehoft, “The Date of Composition of Beowulf and the Evidence of Metrical

Evolution,” in Dating Reassessment, ed. Neidorf, 98–110. 130 See Leonard Neidorf, “Germanic Legend, Scribal Errors, and Cultural Change,” in Dating Reassessment, ed.,

Neidorf, 37–57; Joseph Harris, “A Note on the Other Heorot,” in Dating Reassessment, ed., Neidorf, 178–90;

Rafael J. Pascual, “Material Monsters and Semantic Shifts,” in Dating Reassessment, ed., Neidorf, 202–18. 131 Harris, “Other Heorot,” 188–90. 132 Michael D.C. Drout, Emily Bowman, and Phoebe Boyd, “‘Give the People What They Want’: Historiography

and Rhetorical History of the Dating of Beowulf Controversy,” in Dating Reassessment, ed., Neidorf, 174–77.

30

an image of scholarly consensus that does not truly reach beyond its pages.133 Nevertheless, I

admit I find the arguments laid out in the volume—and the overall push towards an early

Beowulf found in this collection—compelling.

Having suggested a fairly early terminus a quo of the 8th century for Beowulf’s composition, I

cannot ignore a later-dating perspective and return once again to Christine Rauer, whose work I

so deeply respect and to whose methodology I am indebted. As I have already mentioned, I find

her comparison of Beowulf’s fight with the dragon and those depicted in the Vita II Samsonis

thoroughly convincing.134 Her dating of that vita is reasonable, since its influence on Bili’s Vita

S. Machuti is apparent, and that text is datable between the years 866 and 872.135 If indeed one

were to posit literary influence of the Vita II on Beowulf, the 9th century cannot be excluded

from the possible range of dates. I can find no reason to object to her suggestion that the Vita II

Samsonis—or a component of his legend quite close to that text—might have had a direct

influence on Beowulf, and therefore that the Old English poem might have been composed in the

9th century.

Having pursued what I consider to be the most promising avenues of inquiry in the dating of

Beowulf—that is paleography, metrics, and demonstrable literary influence—I am most

convinced by Lapidge’s paleographical assertions and their attendant date of 750. As I cannot

claim the metrical expertise to verify the assertions of the debate between Fulk, Suzuki, and

Hutcheson, I am inclined to adopt a synthesis of their views, agreeing that on metrical grounds

the poem was likely composed not later than the 9th century. Meanwhile, considering Rauer’s

work on St. Samson in particular, I cannot assert that the poem was necessarily composed

before the mid-9th century, or possibly its third quarter, depending on how quickly influence 133 Christopher Abram, “Review of The Dating of ‘Beowulf’: A Reassessment, ed. Leonard Neidorf,” Saga-Book of

the Viking Society of Northern Research 39 (2015): 134–35. 134 See above, pp. 13–15. 135 Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon, 91.

31

from that vita might have disseminated into the Beowulf-poet’s literary circles. Therefore, in the

spirit of caution and on the basis of what I believe to be the best paleographical, metrical, and

literary-historical groundwork, I will allow for the possibility of either the 8th or 9th centuries as

possible origins for Beowulf, leaning toward a latest possible date around the last quarter of the

9th.

Having suggested a cautious chronological range of possible literary antecedents, it remains to

discuss the corpus of hagiographical material that would be available in Anglo-Saxon England

during the period of Beowulf’s likely composition. Fortunately, we are on slightly better footing

here, due to the diligent work of hagiographers and historians, especially those who have sought

to outline the literary culture of Anglo-Saxon England. Some of these scholars, though working

according to different methodologies than my own, have cited plausible connections between

hagiographical texts and Beowulf itself. A wide array of texts provides the hagiographical base

for this work.136 While it is beyond the scope of this chapter to articulate the entire corpus of

hagiography available in England during the 8th and 9th centuries, I will outline the general areas

from which my sample-texts will be drawn.

Before I describe the selection-criteria for my sample-texts, it is important to distinguish

between possible sources for Beowulf and parallels that represent only analogues. Rauer

thoughtfully distinguishes these two categories by means of simple but important criteria that

136 For some helpful treatments of the scope of hagiographical material available in early Anglo-Saxon England, see

J.D.A. Ogilvy, Books known to Anglo-Latin Writers (Cambridge: The Medieval Academy of America, 1936); W.F.

Bolton, A History of Anglo-Latin Literature, 597–1066 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1967); Michael

Lapidge, “The Anglo-Latin Background,” in A New Critical History of Old English Literature, ed. Daniel Calder

and Stanley Greenfield (New York: New York University Press, 1986), 5–37; Frederick M. Biggs et al., eds.,

Sources of Anglo-Saxon Literary Culture: A Trial Version (Binghamton: Center for Medieval and Early

Renaissance Studies, State University of New York at Binghamton, 1990); Frederick M. Biggs et al., eds., Sources

of Anglo-Saxon Literary Culture, Vol. 1: Abbo of Fleury, Abbo of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, and Acta Sanctorum

(Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications, 2001), 22–486; Joseph P. McGowan, “Anglo-Latin Prose,” in A

Companion to Anglo-Saxon Literature, ed. Philip Pulsiano and Elaine Treharne (Oxford: Blackwell, 2008), 303–9;

Mark Walker, ed. Britannica Latina: 2000 Years of British Latin (Stroud: History Press, 2009), 43–55; Rachel S.

Anderson, “Saints’ Legends,” in A History of Old English Literature, eds. Christopher Cain and R.D. Fulk (Oxford:

Wiley-Blackwell, 2013), 133–56.

32

can be summarized in this way: a source presents distinctive parallels with Beowulf, predates it,

and can be demonstrated to circulate in the same literary and historical context; an analogous

text would similarly reveal parallels, but could not be confirmed in terms of sufficient date or

presence in Anglo-Saxon England to have done so.137 Of course, because the possible dates for

Beowulf are relatively wide in temporal scope, possible sources for one scholar may only

represent analogues for another. However, for the period of composition I have allowed,

prominent texts that were circulating in and around the Beowulf-poet’s probable literary milieu

including the following.

First and foremost, the seminal hagiographies represent an important category, not only for their

presence and popularity in Western Europe, but also for the way in which they provide the

outline for most vitae that follow them, both structurally and in generating the character of

specific narrative events within the texts. Evagrius’s 4th-century Vita S. Antonii is foremost in

this group, since, as the Latin translation of Athanasius’s Greek text, it represents the real

beginning of hagiography in Western Europe.138 Its stamp can be seen throughout the breadth of

medieval hagiography—notably, on Bede’s 8th-century prose and poetic Vitae S. Cuthberti and

the 8th-century Vita S. Guthlaci by Felix.139

Similarly seminal texts include a relatively small core of patristic hagiographies, including

Jerome’s late-4th-century Vita S. Malchi, Vita S. Hilarionis, and most significantly his Vita S.

Pauli primi eremitae.140 Martin of Tours’s hagiographical material disseminated widely in all of

its manifestations, including Gregory of Tours’s 6th-century De virtutibus, Venantius

137 Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon, 9–11. 138 See Biggs et al., SASLC, Vol. 1, 85. 139 See Sarah Downey, “Intertextuality in the Lives of St. Guthlac” (PhD diss., University of Toronto, 2004), 33–

39. 140 See Stefan Rebenich, “Inventing an Ascetic Hero: Jerome’s Life of Paul the First Hermit,” in Jerome of Stridon:

His Life, Writings, and Legacy, eds. Andrew Cain and Josef Lössl (Surrey: Ashgate, 2009), 13–14; Downey,

“Intertextuality,” 39–45.

33

Fortunatus’s 6th-century verse vita, and of course the full complement of Sulpicius Severus’s

work on the subject, written during the late 4th and early 5th centuries.141 Other highly popular

early saints, such as Margaret, Juliana, Sylvester, Helena, and Clement, would also have been

highly visible in the Anglo-Saxon imagination. As Lapidge observes, however, many of these

saints may not have had a great deal of narrative material attached to them, being only venerated

as popular cult figures with some vague legend behind them.142

Perhaps the most convenient source of information on the vitae that would have been popular in

early Anglo-Saxon England, particularly during the dates to which I subscribe, are the late-7th-

century De virginitate of Aldhelm and Bede’s nearly contemporaneous Martyrology, although

neither text contains extended, conventional narrative scenes.143 The anonymous Old English

Martyrology, compiled in its final form before the end of the 9th century and influenced by

Bede, similarly provides a good reference for hagiographical popularity.144 Michael Lapidge has

suggested that the text derived from an 8th-century Latin compilation, a fact which—considering

the possible Latinity of a hypothetical Beowulf-poet—would widen its window of possible

influence on the poem.145 These are not, however, highly narrative pieces as much as catalogues

with glimmers of narrative detail or, in the case of Aldhelm, a bombastic literary exercise. They

do not, therefore, fit entirely well into my study. They are nevertheless good indicators of the

presence of traditions surrounding certain early saints in Anglo-Saxon England.

141 See Biggs et al., eds., SASLC, Vol. 1, 330–333. 142 Michael Lapidge, “The Saintly Life in Anglo-Saxon England,” in The Cambridge Companion to Old English

Literature, eds. Malcolm Godden and Michael Lapidge (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 247–54. 143 See Juliet Mullins, “Aldhelm’s Choice of Saints for his Prose De virginitate,” in Saints and Scholars: New

Perspectives on Anglo-Saxon Literature and Culture, ed. Stuart McWilliams (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2012), 33–

53. Thomas Head, ed., Medieval Hagiography: An Anthology (New York: Garland Publishing, 2000), 171–74. 144 See George Herzfeld, ed., An Old English Martyrology (Millwood: Klaus Reprints, 1973), xix–xxviii; Günter

Kotzor, “Anglo-Saxon Martyrologists at Work: Narrative Pattern and Prose Style in Bede and the Old English

Martyrology,” in Sources and Relations: Studies in Honour of J.E. Cross, eds. Marie Collins et al. (Leeds:

University of Leeds, School of English, 1985): 164–66; and especially the source-work and dating in Christine

Rauer, ed. and trans., The Old English Martyrology: Edition, Translation, and Commentary (Cambridge: D.S.

Brewer, 2013), 1–4. 145 Michael Lapidge, “Acca of Hexham and the Origin of the Old English Martyrology,” Analecta Bollandiana 123,

no. 1 (2005): 29–78.

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The native tradition of Anglo-Latin hagiography, touched upon above with respect to Bede’s

lives of Cuthbert and Felix’s Vita Guthlaci, provides another body of saintly narrative that could

conceivably influence Beowulf. I would contend that Bede’s 8th-century Historia ecclesiastica

gentis Anglorum falls within the definition of hagiography, especially considering the many

saints he treats that warranted their own, independent vitae. I also include his Historia abbatum,

written in the early 8th century.146

An approach that incorporates Anglo-Latin hagiography into the study of Beowulf has certainly

been hazarded before, though usually with a relatively narrow thematic or purposive focus.147

Aside from Bede’s vitae, there is a substantial corpus of early hagiography written by Anglo-

Saxons at home or abroad, by foreigners living in England, or about Anglo-Saxon saints.148

Prominent texts include the anonymous Anglo-Latin lives of Cuthbert from the late 7th century

and of Gregory the Great from the early 8th century, both of which were composed in England

and used by Bede in his own writing.149 There are the lives pertaining to Wilfrid written in the

early 8th century, Boniface in the mid-8th, Leoba in the early 9th, and Willibald in the later 8th.150

Alcuin’s late-8th-century writing also includes vitae, with prose and verse treatments of

Willibrord and a celebratory ode to York.151 Clearly there was no shortage of native

hagiographical figures depicted in vitae from which our hypothetical Beowulf-poet may well

have drawn inspiration.

146 Christopher Grocock and I.N. Wood, eds. and trans., Abbots of Wearmouth and Jarrow (Oxford: Clarendon

Press, 2013), xviii–xxi. 147 See, for example, Chase, “Saints’ Lives,” 162–69. 148 A convenient examination of Anglo-Latin hagiography during this period can be found in Joseph P. McGowan,

“An Introduction to the Corpus of Anglo-Latin Literature,” in A Companion to Anglo-Saxon Literature, eds. Philip

Pulsiano and Elaine Treharne (Oxford: Blackwell, 2008), 17–37; McGowan, “Anglo-Latin Prose,” 303–9. 149 McGowan, “Anglo-Latin Literature,” 26–27. 150 See McGowan, “Anglo-Latin Literature,” 28–31; McGowan, “Anglo-Latin Prose,” 307; Hugh Magennis,

“Audience(s), Reception, Literacy,” in Companion to Anglo-Saxon Literature, ed. Pulsiano and Treharne, 87. 151 McGowan, “Anglo-Latin Literature,” 35.

35

As I have mentioned above, it is becoming increasingly impossible to ignore Celtic influence on

Anglo-Saxon literature, including the influence of the large and quite early traditions

surrounding Irish saints.152 In spite of the distaste for Irish Easter practices depicted at such great

length in Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica, he cannot exclude the Irish from his grand, national

narrative.153 Among the Irish saints that Bede depicts are Aidan, Columba, and Fursey, the latter

two of whom have their own vitae.154 Adomnán’s late-7th-century Vita S. Columbae especially

seems to have enjoyed a great deal of popularity in both the insular world and the continental.155

There are also the massive bodies of literature pertaining to Patrick and Brigid, much of the

content extant before the 8th century.156 Columbanus and Gall too, were popular, to the extent

that their lives were written by continental authors celebrating their wide-ranging missionary

and foundational efforts, Columbanus’s vita in the 7th century and Gall’s in the 9th.157

Quite apart from the Irish saints, the Welsh and Cornish saints with their cross-channel

popularity and remarkably adventurous proselytization could hardly fail to influence the early

man of letters in Anglo-Saxon England. Many of these had the same appeal as the vitae of

Anglo-Saxon missionary saints, and since a number of them founded monasteries in Brittany

152 See Charles Donahue, “Beowulf, Ireland, and the Natural Good,” Traditio 7 (1949–51): 263–77; John Hennig,

“The Literary Tradition of Moses in Ireland,” Traditio 7 (1949–51): 233–61; Mullins, “Aldhelm’s Choice,” 41–5;

Puhvel, Celtic Tradition; Wright, “Moses,” 440–43; Wright, The Irish Tradition, esp. 53–212. 153 See especially Bede, Historia ecclesiastica, bk. 5. 154 See I.N. Wood, “The Irish in England and on the Continent in the Seventh Century: Part II,” Peritia 27 (2016):

200–203. 155 Alan Orr Anderson and Marjorie Ogilvie Anderson, ed. and trans., Adomnán’s Life of Columba (Oxford:

Clarendon Press, 1991), liv–lxv. 156 Patrick’s anonymous vitae suffer from the same dating issues as Beowulf, but the usual dating spectrum includes

a terminus a quo of the middle of the 7th century for the Vita secunda and Vita quarta and around 800 for the Vita

tertia, with the material by Muirchu and Tirechan composed in the 7th century and one copy by Muirchu written in

an insular hand of the 8th century. See Ludwig Bieler, ed., Four Latin Lives of St. Patrick: Colgan’s Vita secunda,

quarta, tertia and quinta (Dublin: The Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1971), 12–27; Ludwig Bieler ed. and

trans., The Patrician Texts in the Book of Armagh (Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1979), 2–43.

Brigid’s metrical vita dates from the 9th century, and the vita by one Cogitosus may have been as early as 670. See

Daniel M. Kissane, ed., “Vita metrica S. Brigidae: A Critical Edition with Introduction, Commentary, and

Indexes,” Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy 77.C (1977): 57, 66. 157 Kate Tristram, Columbanus: The Earliest Voice of Christian Ireland (Dublin: Columba Press, 2010), 12–15;

Johannes Duft, ed. and trans., Die Lebensgeschichten der heiligen Gallus und Otmar (Ostschweiz: Druck und

Verlag, 1988), 9–12.

36

and Gaul, their cults and traditions grew up adjacent to Anglo-Saxon England. These saints

include Machutus, whose vita by Bili was written in the 9th century and was popular enough to

warrant translation into Old English, and Samson, with his lives written in the 8th and 9th

centuries.158 Similarly notable is the 6th-century writer and historian Gildas, whose writings and

9th-century vita were doubtless known in Anglo-Saxon England, as evidenced not only by his

influence on Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica, but also in echoes detected within Beowulf itself.159

Finally, considering the close cultural intercourse of the Frankish and Anglo-Saxon kingdoms

over time, it would be foolish to ignore the influence of famous Gaulish saints and those from

approximate regions. Hilarius’s Vita S. Honorati and Constantius’s Vita S. Germani, for

example, were both written in the 5th century and would have been amply popular among the

Anglo-Saxons, the latter making an appearance in Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica.160 Vedast,

Richarius, and Benedict of Aniane represent popular Frankish Saints active from the 6th century

to the 9th. Both Richarius and Vedast had vitae written by Alcuin in the 8th century, and Vedast’s

seems to have functioned as a model sermon among the Anglo-Saxons, a fact that would point

strongly to his popularity and exemplary narrative structure.161

This list is by no means exhaustive, but rather represents the massive body of vitae available to

the comparative literary scholar. However, it only reveals the extreme outer reaches of my

possible data-pool. As I examine specific narrative contexts, those outer reaches become much

narrower by natural selective criteria based on the specific kinds of scenes that they share with

Beowulf. Moreover, the fairly recent but rich field of scholarship that attempts to locate Beowulf

158 David Yerkes, ed. The Old English Life of Machutus (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1984), xxvi; David

Yerkes, “The Provenance of the Unique Copy of the Old English Translation of Bili, Vita Sancti Machuti,”

Manuscripta 30, no. 2 (1986): 108; Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon, 89. 159 Colgrave and Mynors, eds. and trans., Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People, xxxi; for Beowulf,

see above, p. 13. 160 Bede, Historia ecclesiastica, xxxi. 161 Thomas N. Hall, “Latin Sermons,” 261–66.

37

within the wider literary culture of its time has already made great headway in identifying those

texts that were likely known by a hypothetical Beowulf-poet. Within the larger corpus of vitae

available to the Anglo-Saxons, those that have been visited and revisited by scholars of the

poem receive special attention in my study.

Again, the difficulty of placing Beowulf securely within literary history problematizes the

distinction between which of these texts might represent sources and which might only present

analogues. It is in fact more useful to see this study as an effort to understand the conventions of

hagiographic narrative during the time in which Beowulf was being written, amalgamating

analogues from a wide array of texts, then testing whether the poem’s scenes appear to adhere to

similar conventions. Isolating those analogues’ particular routes of transmission is a task for

further study, but if robust correspondence between the vitae and Beowulf is demonstrable, it

makes a strong case for hagiographic influence.

As to the scenes I address, one might not expect there to be a great deal of narrative overlap

between an ostensibly secular heroic poem and pointedly religious narratives. However, there

are many scenes that can be expected in a story treating any hero, saintly or secular. Travel—

and sea travel in particular—is a frequent inclusion in saintly narrative, particularly for

confessors or those who found monasteries in distant lands. Notable examples include Patrick,

Germanus, Willibrord, Andrew, Columba, and a host of others. It would not be surprising if the

instances of sea travel in these texts provided narrative material for the Beowulf-poet.

Another fairly common element of hagiographic narrative is an inhospitable natural

environment, one often populated by wild animals living amid rugged terrain. Guthlac’s island

in the fens of Crowland comes to mind immediately, but of course these sets of elements can be

found in some very early vitae, including Anthony’s life and Jerome’s Vita Pauli. The

38

analogous passages in Beowulf are obvious: Hrothgar’s relation of reports about Grendel’s Mere

and the actual journey to the site.

The four chapters that follow represent twinned pairs. The first chapter of each presents an

examination of one narrative scene, chapter 2 treating saintly sea journeys and chapter 4 the

wildernesses encountered in saints’ lives. Each of these scenes will then be compared with

analogous scenes in Beowulf in their paired chapter, Beowulf’s sea journeys in chapter 3 and

Grendel’s mere in chapter 5. The process of that comparison is relatively straightforward. In one

chapter I establish the general patterns that recur in hagiographical episodes, mapping the main

components of each sequence, noting the primary elements of those components, and paying

special attention to any repeated verbal collocations. This examination provides the

hagiographical foundation for my examination.

Once the parameters of a particular scene as it appears across a spectrum of vitae is established,

the next chapter presents a comparison with the analogous scenes in Beowulf. Fortunately, the

majority of the scenes I hope to compare have been addressed by oral-traditional scholars in

their attempts to articulate type-scenes.162 Their skeletal frameworks, frequently containing

formulaic elements as they recur in the various manifestation of these scenes throughout the Old

English corpus, provide convenient structural comparands for the scenes I will address. To

encapsulate the entirety of a narrative episode, more than one discrete type-scene may be

required. A hagiographical sea journey, for example, will often include depictions of the

preparations for the journey, the approach to the shore, the sailing itself, the arrival, and

encounters that occur at the destination. To cover the entirety of that sequence, more than one

162 See below, pp. 106–8, 208–9.

39

Old English theme or type-scene must be encapsulated in my comparison, in this case both Lee

Ramsay’s “Sea Voyage” and George Clark’s “The Traveller Recognizes his Goal.”163

Of course, one might argue that certain components of any narrative might be expected to recur,

regardless of convention. In the case of sea journeys, the modern reader expects discrete

depictions of loading the ship, setting out, making sail, landing, and disembarking. The corollary

to this expectation would be to deny that these components represent shared convention between

texts that happen to represent all of these things, and that the author was simply striving toward

a thorough description. However, I would argue that the pre-modern author was less likely to

follow our current-day novelistic impulse toward “complete” depiction, rather opting only to

represent those aspects of the journey that were most salient to his or her interests or—as I

believe—were most firmly rooted in convention.

Objections aside, these themes and type-scenes provide convenient structural outlines of the

scenes of sea voyaging as they appear in Beowulf, against which I may compare the most similar

scenes as they manifest in hagiography. Over and above Beowulf’s general resonance with

hagiographic conventions, I will also pay close attention to which vitae correspond best to

Beowulf based on the structural components that exist in both those vitae and the poem, the

order of those components, and any Old English poetic collocations that appear to resemble

Latin terms. If these closer similarities can be observed, it suggests that we might have a true

source for the poem, rather than just a point of intertextual correspondence determined by

exposure to a broad set of conventions. With this process in mind, I will now embark on the first

set of narrative elements to be addressed, corresponding to the first of my sample scenes found

in Beowulf: hagiographical sea journeys.

163 Ramsey, “Sea Voyages,” 55–56; George Clark, “The Traveler Recognizes His Goal: A Theme in Anglo-Saxon

Poetry,” Journal of English and Germanic Philology 64, no. 4 (Oct 1965): 647–48.

40

Chapter 2 Saintly Sea Journeys

It is not surprising that sea journeys should factor heavily into both a heroic tale and a

hagiographical narrative. A great number of saints, especially confessors, could not hope to

proselytize or combat heresy without travelling overseas. The metaphorical and biblical

possibilities underlying the image of the sea journey also provide the hagiographer with a wealth

of literary opportunities, from typological echoes of Christ calming the storm to the immensely

popular navigatio vitae trope that so often begins and ends medieval writings of different kinds

and is ultimately traceable to Psalm 106.1

My focus, however, is on depictions of relatively uneventful sea journeys as they manifest

themselves within the narrative, for the simple reason that the sea voyages in Beowulf to which I

compare these scenes—excluding his odd and somewhat surrealistic swimming-match with

Breca—are speedy and favourable.2 As such, the standard typological scene in which a saint

calms the waves of a storm is of no clear significance for comparison with Beowulf’s favourable

sea journeys. Moreover, the scenes I hope to examine are distinct narrative units within the

overall arc of the hagiographical text. They are not authorial meanderings, as is typically the

case of the navigatio vitae trope. To provide any useful comparands, they must also be fairly

sustained and substantial as scenes. As such, we can expect to witness actual details about a

saint’s journey, rather than a simple statement that a saint sailed from one place to another.

I will begin by isolating the hagiographical texts in which narrative sea journeys are most

prominent before proceeding to a schematization of the structural components, elements within

that structure, and verbal collocations associated with sea journeys. Once this schema is

1 See Andy Orchard, “The Word Made Flesh: Christianity and Oral Culture in Anglo-Saxon Verse,” Oral Tradition

24, no. 2 (Nov 2008). 2 Including the inception before and the reception after the journeys, see Fulk, et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll.

194–300, 1888–1924.

41

complete, I will use it as a model for comparison between the Old English poem’s sea journey

scenes and the body of similar scenes in the vitae.

2.1 A Basis for Comparison

The sea journey is relatively underrepresented in the foundational hagiographies, since the focus

of the very earliest vitae is on the desert fathers, most notable among them Anthony of Egypt.

Martin similarly remained landlocked for the extent of his life as he moved into increasing

entanglement with the Gallic church. We cannot look to these two vitae for the original model

of the seafaring saint as we can with the other common elements and narrative sequences that

have made their way from these texts into later lives.3 Instead, we must look slightly northward

and later in the life of the hagiographic corpus.

It seems obvious that the Irish, whose legendary record is full of mariners and whose apostle

Patrick came from across the sea, would have developed the hagiographical tradition with some

of the most notable seafaring saints.4 Foremost among these is St. Brendan. The quasi-

hagiographic Navigatio Brendani, probably written in the latter half of the 8th century,5 is filled

with sea journeys, but Brendan’s meandering voyages are of an entirely different character than

the discrete journeys we find in Beowulf.6 St. Patrick’s are more lengthily described. The most

extensive journey he undertakes is his post-consecration crossing to Ireland from the continent.7

Saints Columba and Columbanus belong in this group as well.

3 See Downey, “Intertextuality,” 33–51. 4 Carl Selmer, ed., Navigatio Sancti Brendani abbatis: From Early Latin Manuscripts (Notre Dame: Notre Dame

University Press, 1959), xxi–xxii. 5 W.R.J. Barron and Glyn S. Burgess, eds., The Voyage of Saint Brendan (Exeter: University of Exeter Press,

2000), 18. 6 See Giovanni Orlandi and Rossana E. Guglielmetti, eds., Navigatio Sancti Brendani: alla scoperta Dei segreti

meravigliosi del mondo (Florence: Fondazione Ezio Franceschini, 2014), 10–108. 7 For this episode, see Muirchú, “Vita S. Patricii,” in The Patrician Texts in the Book of Armagh, ed. and trans.

Ludwig Bieler (Dublin: The Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1979) 72–78.

42

Insular saints from Britain provide further examples of hagiographic sea journeys. The

missionary Boniface’s 8th-century vita contains treatments of seafaring, as does Alcuin’s 9th-

century Vita S. Willibrordi. Apart from the stories of the missionaries to the Germans, Hygeburg

of Heidenheim’s 8th-century Hodoeporicon Willibaldi, Stephen of Ripon’s 8th-century Vita S.

Wilfrithi, and numerous episodes in Bede’s early-8th-century Historia abbatum contain nautical

episodes.

Other, non-English insular figures, especially those Celtic saints associated with missions to the

continent and the establishment of Christianity in Brittany, engage in sea journeys throughout

their careers. St. Machutus’s 9th-century vita contains numerous journeys in the course of his

ascent to the episcopacy of Alet. His association with St. Brendan further secures him in this

fraternity of seafaring saints, and that Irishman’s tale no doubt furnished material for Bili of

Alet, the author of Machutus’s vita. In this composition I detect an echo of the practice

employed by Jerome, who dovetailed his Vita Pauli on the success of Athanasius’s Vita

Antonii.8 It was also necessary for St. Samson of Dol to travel across the English Channel as

depicted in both his 8th-century and 9th-century vitae.

While the mainstays of early hagiographical set-pieces, the vitae of Martin and Antony, are

largely devoid of nautical episodes, other early continental texts do contain sea journeys. Some

among these have notable ties to the insular world. Germanus undertakes two journeys to

Britain to combat Pelagianism in a 5th-century vita by Constantius.

From among the broad pool of all the vitae with possible influence on Beowulf, these texts

contain the most elaborate and descriptive depictions. Some describe sea journeys to a much

lesser degree, but contain the same verbal collocations as their lengthier analogues. I will first

8 See below, pp. 170–76.

43

dissect the longer, more elaborate scenes of sea travel to construct a more meaningful schema of

hagiographical seafaring, before turning to the shorter episodes—or those less approximate to

Beowulf in time and geography—to examine what elements were especially persistent. As far as

literary influence is concerned, I would venture to suggest that shared verbal collocations among

sea journeys of very different lengths point to the common literary heritage among

hagiographical texts, although finding the urtext of the saintly sea journey is beyond the scope

of this study. It will be observed from the more elaborate sea journeys that at the structural level,

these episodes break down into six essential components: I) call to action; II) commission and

blessing; III) procession to the shore and boarding; IV) voyage aboard ship; V) arrival; VI)

disembarking. Within each of these components, several subsidiary elements seem to recur,

which I will address as they emerge from my sample-texts.

The first texts I will treat are the various lives of Patrick, the Vita S. Bonifatii of Willibald, the

two lives of Samson, and Jonas of Bobbio’s Vita S. Columbani. Although the latter is the

earliest among these texts, it is something of a stylistic outlier. The rest, however, I will treat in

chronological order, beginning with Patrick’s vitae.

2.1.1 The Many Lives of Patrick

Among the vitae that depict the most extensive sea journeys are several lives of St. Patrick, the

apostle to the Irish. The textual history of his vita is extensive, spanning several texts with

varying degrees of interrelationship. Fortunately, these relationships have been treated at length

by Ludwig Bieler. The oldest extant life is that composed by Muirchú maccu Machtheni toward

the end of the 7th century.9 Bieler places its earliest manuscript, the Book of Armagh, toward the

beginning of the 9th century, and certainly before 845.10 While Muirchú’s vita is only extant in

9 Bieler, Book of Armagh, 1–2. 10 Bieler, Book of Armagh, 20.

44

three manuscript copies, there is a great deal of evidence to suggest that it circulated widely;

numerous manuscripts include re-workings or combinations of the text with other material.11

Michael Lapidge observes that one copy in an 8th-century or 9th-century manuscript, Vienna,

Österreichische Nationalbibliotek, lat. Ser. N. 3642, was apparently written in an Anglo-Saxon

scriptorium on the continent.12 James Cross has also suggested that the compiler of the 9th-

century Old English Martyrology may have known Muirchú.13

Another body of four mostly anonymous vitae, now identified by the name of their earliest

editor, John Colgan, represents a substantial expansion of the Patrick canon. These vitae largely

draw on Muirchú, and range widely in their possible dates of composition. Colgan’s Vita

secunda and Vita quarta appear to represent two recensions of one early text, composed

between the first half of the 8th century and the 11th, and are derived partly from Muirchú and

partly from other legendary sources.14 The Vita auctore Probo, Colgan’s Vita quinta, is more

substantially derived from Muirchú, whose text accounts for nearly four fifths of Probus’s.15 It

has the intriguing possibility of composition in England, although it could have been written on

the continent, and shares a similarly broad spectrum of possible dates reaching from the mid-9th

century to the 12th.16 The Vita tertia is the most well-represented Patrick-text, available across

Europe in numerous manuscript copies, and was likely composed in Ireland between around 800

and the early 12th century.17 It is, however, the least derived from Muirchú.

11 Bieler, Book of Armagh, 21–30. 12 Michael Lapidge, The Anglo-Saxon Library (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 164. 13 J.E. Cross, “The Influence of Irish Texts and Traditions on the ‘Old English Martyrology’," Proceedings of the

Royal Irish Academy, Section C: Archaeology, Celtic Studies, History, Linguistics, Literature 81.C (1981): 173–76;

Christine Rauer, “The Sources of the Old English Martyrology,” Anglo-Saxon England 32 (2003): 95. 14 Bieler, ed., Four Latin Lives, 12. 15 Bieler, ed., Four Latin Lives, 40. 16 Bieler, ed., Four Latin Lives, 39–40. 17 Bieler, ed., Four Latin Lives, 13–26.

45

Since the Vita secunda, Vita quarta, and Probus’s vita are most substantially based on

Muirchú—especially in the specific context of their sea journeys—collating their narrative

material is less of a momentous task than it might seem. Rather than collating several different

nautical episodes from many independent versions of the vita, I will begin with the sequences as

Muirchú presents them and point out significant structural or verbal differences as they arise in

the subsequent vitae. As the text least derived from Muirchú, the Vita tertia will account for the

most substantial of these differences, and I treat it independently.

The relevant episode in Muirchú’s vita is depicted in book 1, in chapters 9 and 11, with a

digression into a description of an Irish king’s trepidation at Patrick’s arrival intervening in

chapter 10. Patrick’s journey begins in Gaul, after his discipleship at the hands of Germanus of

Auxerre and his angelic call to evangelism by the angel Victoricus.18 The occasion for his actual

departure comes when the previous evangelist to the Irish, Palladius, fails to accomplish his

apostolic mandate and—adding injury to insult—perishes in Britain. Patrick then hears of his

death and decides to take up his angelically ordained mission.

Audita itaque morte sancti Paladii in Britannis, quia discipuli Paladii, id

est Augustinus et Benedictus et caeteri, redeuntes retulerant in Ebmoria

de morte eius, Patricius et qui cum eo erant declinauerunt iter ad quendam

mirabilem hominem summum aepiscopum Amathorege nomine in

propinquo loco habitantem.19

The passage focusses on the report of Paladius’s disciples as it reaches Patrick’s ear and

continues, depicting a preliminary journey to an appropriate episcopal authority, from whom

18 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 70.17–72.6. Vitae within Bieler editions will be cited by page and line number

(formatted <page-number.line-number>). A note on Latin orthography: I have elected to retain editorial

conventions with respect to non-standard orthography, following individual editors’ discretion unless noted

otherwise. 19 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 72.21–74.2. “And so, with the death of holy Paladius among the Britons having been

overheard, since the returning disciples of Paladius, that is Augustinus and Benedictus and the rest, had related

[news] concerning his death in Ebmoria, Patrick and those who were with him diverted their journey to a certain

admirable man, a very lofty bishop living in a nearby region, Amathorex in name.” Cf. Ludwig Bieler, ed., “Vita

secunda and quarta,” in Four Latin Lives, ed. Bieler, 78.27–79.6; Probus, “Vita auctore Probo,” in Four Latin

Lives, ed. Bieler, 197.30–35.

46

Patrick will seek a bishop’s rank for himself, along with appointment of his companions to the

lower clergy so that he can properly replace Palladius.20

Once the ordination takes place and all signs point to a happy outcome, they depart.

Tum acceptis benedictionibus perfectis omnibus secundum morem,

cantato etiam Patricio quasi specialiter et conuenienter hoc psalmistae

uorsu: “Tu es sacerdos in aeternum secundum ordinem Melchisedech,”

uenerabilis uiator paratam nauim in nomine sanctae Trinitatis ascendit et

peruenit Brittannias et omissis omnibus ambulandi anfractibus praeter

commone uiae officium—nemo enim dissidia quaerit Dominum—cum

omni uelocitate flatuque prospero mare nostrum contendit.21

The passage focusses first on the blessings and approval offered to Patrick, leading to his

association with Melchisedech, the idealized priest and typological prefiguration of Christ found

in Genesis.22 The boarding scene follows, with specific reference to the ship in its readied state,

the actual ascent onto the ship, and the journey itself in two stages—one to Britain and one into

the Irish Sea.

There follows a digression describing the situation that Patrick will encounter in Ireland. The

druids of King Loíguire of Tara speak a prophecy concerning the disruption that Christianity

will wreak in his kingdom.23 After this digression, the action returns to Patrick just as he

approaches Ireland.

Consummato igitur nauigio sancto perfectoque honerata nauis sancti cum

transmarinis mirabilibus spiritalibusque tessauris quasi in oportunum

20 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.2–5. Cf. Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 79.6–12; Probus, “Vita Patricii,”

197.35–198.2. 21 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.6–12. “Then, with all the blessings having been received [and] completed according

to custom, and with this verse of the psalmist sung, as though specially and fittingly for Patrick himself: ‘You are a

priest into eternity according to the order of Melchisedech,’ the venerable traveler mounted a ship prepared in the

name of the holy Trinity and arrived in Britain, and, with all detours from travelling removed except the ordinary

business of the road—since no one seeks the lord through separation [from him]—he attained our sea with all speed

and a favourable wind.” Cf. Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 79.13–24; Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 198.6–9.

Notably, the Vita quarta omits mention of Britain. See Bieler, ed., “Vita quarta,” 79.18–24, col. B. 22 See Genesis 14:17–24 and Hebrews 7:17. 23 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.13–76.18. Cf. Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 79.25–81.12; Probus, “Vita

Patricii,” 198.10–199.5.

47

portum in regiones Coolennorum, in portum apud nos clarum qui uocatur

hostium Dee dilata [read delata] est.24

Probus’s vita includes an expansion on the cargo, specifically identifying it as spiritual

armament, “id est cum armatura sanctae praedictionis” (that is, with the armour of holy

prophesy).25

Before he begins his evangelism in earnest, Patrick’s first concern is to redeem himself from his

earlier state of slavery in Ireland by offering his price of redemption to his former master and

adding the gospel as an extra prize. That slave-master, Miliucc, does not reside in the Cúalu

district but in the northern district of Bréne. Accordingly, the cohort reaches Inber Dee, then

changes course.

Ubi uissum est ei nihil perfectius esse quam ut semet ipsum primitus

redemeret; et inde appetens sinistrales fines ad illum hominem gentilem

Milcoin, apud quem quondam in captiuitate fuerat, portansque ei

geminum seruitutis praetium, terrenum utique et caeleste, ut de captiuitate

liberaret illum cui ante captiuus seruierat, ad anteriorem insolam, quae

eius nomine usque hodie nominatur, prurim nauis conuertit.26

Having moved on from Inber Dee, the end of the journey comprises a description of the landing

followed by a meeting onshore.

Tum deinde Brega Conalneosque fines nec non et fines Ulathorum in leuo

dimittens ad extremum in quoddam fretum quod est Brene se inmissit. Et

discenderunt in terram ad hostium Slain ille et qui cum eo erant in naui et

24 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 76.19–22. “Therefore, with the holy voyage completed and finished, the holy man’s

boat, loaded with foreign wonders and spiritual treasures, was brought into a suitable port in the regions of the

Cooles, into a port famous among us, which is called Inber Dee.” Cf. Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 81.13–

18, although the Vita quarta omits a substantial amount of material, specifically the phrases related to the ship’s

cargo; Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 199.6–9. 25 Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 199.7. 26 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 76.22–78.6. “In that place, nothing seemed to be better to him than that he first of all

should redeem himself, and hence, seeking leftward regions toward the pagan man Miliucc, with whom he had

once been in captivity, and carrying to him twice the price of his servitude—both earthly and celestial—so that he

might free him, whom he had previously served as a captive, from captivity, he turned the prow of the ship to the

previous island, which is called by his name up to this day.” Cf. Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 81.17–82.2;

Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 199.9–13.

48

absconderunt nauiculam et uenierunt aliquantulum in regionem ut

requiescerent ibi.27

With this landing, the sea voyage is effectively at an end. The rest of the journey is rather drawn

out, but easily summarized. A swineherd spots their party and alerts his master, one Dichú, who

first greets the foreigners with suspicion and distrust, but quickly converts to Christianity and

agrees to watch Patrick’s ship while the saint travels to see Miliucc, ultimately witnessing his

former owner’s self-immolation from a vantage on Slíab Miss.28

There is very little difference between Muirchú’s vita, the Vita secunda, and the Vita quarta in

this passage. Probus’s does diverge from Muirchú’s somewhat, but his text simply represents a

truncation of the earlier life, this time focussing on the action of walking onto the land:

“Cumque uenisset Patricius et qui cum eo erant ad interiorem insulam, quae eius nomine usque

hodie [Milcon] apellatur, absconderunt nauiculam et perrexerunt ambulantes in terra per

regionem.”29 Their rest onshore is only referenced in the sentence following, and serves as an

introduction to the swineherd’s spying rather than a climax to their journey as it does in the

other vitae.30 Still, these are only subtle differences, suggesting strong continuity between the

vitae based on Muirchú’s work. The Vita tertia, on the other hand, tells a different story.

Colgan’s Vita tertia provides a greatly altered account of Patrick’s journey, more inclined

toward miracle-tales than a naturalistic depiction. Although it is much less comparable to

Beowulf than the Muirchú-derived lives, I will address it briefly for the sake of completing our

27 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 78.6–11. “Then, afterward leaving Brega and the Conaille borders and even the borders

of the Ulaid on the left, at last he entered into a certain inlet, that is Bréne, and he and those who were with him in

the ship disembarked onto land at the mouth of Sláne, and they hid the craft and went a little way into the region so

that they could rest there.” Cf. Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 82.3–12; Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 199.14–16. 28 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 78.11–80.9; Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 82.12–84.3 and ff.; Probus, “Vita

Patricii,” 199.16–200.5. 29 Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 199.14–16. “And when Patrick and those who were with him came to the inner island

which is called Milcon up to the present day, they concealed their craft and proceeded through the region, walking

on the land.” 30 Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 199.16–19.

49

picture of Patrick’s vitae. The sea journey begins very briefly with the statement “tunc sanctus

Patricius ex imperio papae Celestini reuersus est ad hanc insulam.”31 It proceeds directly into a

miraculous story of a floating altar, unattested in the other vitae. A leper wishes to sail with

Patrick, but his companions protest that the ship will be overloaded.32 To make room, Patrick

throws his personal altar overboard, which miraculously floats and follows their ship for the six-

day journey in spite of a ring of demons around their vessel.33 The information that the journey

lasted six days is a notable addition to this version of the vita.

The voyage ends with the approach to Inber Dee, and here the language of the Vita tertia briefly

echoes that of Muirchú: “Consummata ergo sancta nauigatione tenuit Patricius quendam portum

qui dicitur Inber Dee in finibus Lagenorum.”34 The similarities end here, since a miracle-story

not unlike Jesus’s cursing of the fig tree breaks in.35 Patrick requests some fish from a band of

fishermen, but they refuse.36 The saint curses the river with non-productivity in perpetuity.37

This wonder is thematically duplicated when Patrick is ejected from the region of Anatcailtim,

curses it, and it is flooded by the sea.38

It is at this point that the Vita tertia describes the end of Patrick’s voyage within the domain of

Miliucc, his former master.

Patricius uero iterum reuersus est super mare et nauigauit ad aquilonalem

partem ad uirum illum Miliuc cum quo prius in seruitute fuit. Et cum ad

31 Bieler, ed., “Vita tertia,” 133.13–15. “Then holy Patrick returned to this island by the order of Pope Celestine.” 32 Bieler, ed., “Vita tertia,” 133.13–21. 33 Bieler, ed., “Vita tertia,” 133.22–134.12. 34 Bieler, ed., “Vita tertia,” 134.13–16. “Therefore, with the holy voyage completed, Patrick made a certain port in

the territory of the Logani, which is called Inber Dee.” 35 See Mark 11:12–14, Matthew 21:18–22. 36 Bieler, ed., “Vita tertia,” 134.16–19. 37 Bieler, ed., “Vita tertia,” 134.20–23. 38 Bieler, ed., “Vita tertia,” 135.1–8.

50

terram illam aquilonis appropinquasset, uidit illic multitudinem gentilium,

qui expectabant aduentum illius.39

This passage essentially parallels the end of Patrick’s sea journeys in the other vitae. However,

the reception Patrick receives is widely different in this version. The texts based on Muirchú

place the meeting with Dichú’s swineherd and Miliucc’s self-immolation directly after Patrick’s

landing in the region. In this version, however, Patrick is greeted by the people of Tara, the

subjects of Loíguire, who have been warned by their druids of his paradigm-shifting arrival.40

He is frostily received and quickly expelled from Tara,41 and only then makes his final, brief

journey to Inber Slan, described briefly only at its end: “Sanctus uero Patricius in aquilonali

parte descendit de mari et tenuit portum qui dicitur Inber Slan.”42 Finally, after a decidedly

harsher reception from Dichú and the locals than he receives in the Muirchú-derived vitae, he

begins his confessor’s work in earnest.43

The Vita tertia’s motion, interspersed as it is with miracula, hardly seems to be conceived by the

hagiographer as a single voyage like those of the other vitae or Beowulf. Conversely, the

Muirchú-derived vitae possess more thoroughly realized sea journeys, described relatively

completely from start to finish, and in fairly short order. Nevertheless, the Vita tertia author

does retain language from Muirchú, specifically the ablative close to the voyage: “Consummata

ergo sancta nauigatione” (with the holy voyage therefore completed).44

I will now briefly recapitulate the components of Patrick’s journey as it appears in its most

coherent form, expressed primarily through the Muirchú-derived vitae. First, there is a call to

39 Bieler, ed., “Vita tertia,” 135.9–16. “And Patrick again turned back onto the sea and sailed to the northern region,

to that man Miliucc, with whom he was formerly in servitude. And when he approached that land of the north, he

saw a great multitude of pagans who were awaiting his arrival.” 40 Bieler, ed., “Vita tertia,”135.16–136.9. 41 Bieler, ed., “Vita tertia,” 136.10–15. 42 Bieler, ed., “Vita tertia,” 136.16–18. “But holy Patrick disembarked from the sea in the Northern region, and

made the port which is called Inber Slan. 43 Bieler, ed., “Vita tertia,” 136.18–137.13ff. 44 Bieler, ed., “Vita tertia,” 134.13–14.

51

action signified by the reception of news about Palladius’s death and focussing specifically on

the aural reception of that information from witnesses coming across the sea.45 Patrick

immediately seeks the blessing of his superiors, during which process his fitness for the task at

hand is mentioned.46 With blessings given and rank conferred, he boards a ship that is described

in terms of its preparation for the journey, on which he then travels on a direct route to the Irish

sea with speed and a favourable wind.47 The ship reaches Inber Dee with a description of its

halted movement, its spiritual cargo, and the identification of the port.48 There, Patrick decides

to go first to his old Master Miliucc and truly terminate his voyage, during which final leg the

audience is treated to specific geographic cues.49 Finally, Patrick enters Bréne, makes his

landing, secures his ship, rests, moves inland, and is greeted with the initial suspicion and

eventual acceptance of Díchu and his swineherd, all with specific geographical pointers.50

2.1.2 Boniface, Maritime Martyr

Boniface, evangelist to the Frisians and Anglo-Saxon martyr, left not only a vita, but a series of

letters to prominent Anglo-Saxons and continental political figures. They have been identified

as influential both from an ecclesiastical and a literary standpoint, themselves participating in

wider currents of Anglo-Latin literary history including Aldhelm.51 His vita was composed by

45 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 72.21–3. Cf. Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 78.31–79.1; Probus, “Vita Patricii,”

197.30–32. 46 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 72.23–74.8. Cf. Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 79.2–18; Probus, “Vita Patricii,”

197.32–198.5. 47 Murichú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.9–12. Cf. Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 79.18–24; Probus, “Vita patricii,”

197.6–9. 48 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 76.19–22. Cf. Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 81.13–18; Probus, “Vita Patricii,”

199.6–12. 49 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii, 76.22–78.6. Cf. Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 81.18–82.8; Probus, “Vita

Patricii,” 199.9–14. 50 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 78.6–17. Cf. Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 82.8–83.3; Probus, “Vita Patricii,”

199.14–26. 51 See Andy Orchard, “Old Sources, New resources: Finding the Right Formula for Boniface,” Anglo-Saxon

England, 30 (Dec 2001): 15; Michael W. Herren, “Boniface’s Epistolary Prose Style: The Letters to the English,”

in Latinity and Identity in Anglo-Latin Literature, eds. Rebecca Stephenson and Emily V. Thornbury (Toronto:

University of Toronto Press, 2016), 19.

52

the Anglo-Saxon Willibald in Mainz about 760.52 While Boniface crosses over to the continent

on many travels, Willibald does not take pains to describe the majority of these journeys at

length. In fact, only one sea journey is described in any great detail. It is quite brief, but

contributes substantially to our picture of conventional sea journeys.

The occasion for this particular journey is Boniface’s restlessness to travel to Rome before

embarking on missionary endeavours among the continental Germans. Boniface had previously

undertaken this work, but gained no ground and accordingly returned to England to marshal

himself for another attempt.53 After a time at his native monastery, during which he is offered its

abbacy and declines, he is compelled to head back to the continent, and does so with his

bishop’s approval and letters of introduction.54 The journey occupies one passage.

Qui protinus quidem, valedicens fratribus, profectus est locumque per

longa terrarum spatia, qui iam praedicto dicitur nomine Lundenwich, voti

compus [read compos] adiit. Et celocis celeriter marginem scandens,

coepit ignotas maris temptare vias, trepudiantibusque nautis, inmensa

choro flante carbasa consurgebant, et pleno vento prosperoque cursu

hostia citius fluminis quod dicitur Cuent omni iam expertes periculi

naufragio aspiciunt et ad aridam sospites terram perveniunt; sed et castra

metati sunt in Cuentawich, donec superveniens se collegum multitudo

congregasset.55

This passage already displays several elements that resonate with the lives of Patrick, presenting

a surprisingly extensive description of a sea journey.

52 See Thomas Hall, “A Handlist of Anglo-Lation Hagiography through the Early Twelfth Century (from Theodore

of Tarsus to William of Malmesbury),” Old English Newsletter 45, no. 1 (2014): 6; Biggs et al., eds., SASLC, Vol.

1, 117; C.H. Talbot, ed. and trans. The Anglo-Saxon Missionaries in Germany (London: Sheed and Ward, 1954),

24; Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Library, 37–38. 53 Willibald, Vita Sancti Bonifatii archiepiscopi Moguntini, ed. Wilhelm Levison (Hannover: Hahnsche

Buchhandlung, 1977), 17.4–18.3. All references to Levison’s edition will be cited in the form <page-number.line-

number>. 54 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 18.13–20.9. 55 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.10–20. “So he immediately departed, blessing his brothers, and, holding to his vow,

he came through wide expanses of the country to the place which is called by the already aforementioned name,

Lundenwich. And, speedily mounting the gunwale of a swift [ship], he began to try the unknown paths of the sea,

and with sailors revelling, the enormous sails were billowing with the blowing chorus, and with a full wind and on

a favourable course they, free from the danger of any shipwreck, now more quickly spotted the mouth of the river

which is called Cuent, and safely came through to dry land. And they marked out a camp in Cuentawich until the

arriving group of his colleagues had gathered.”

53

Notable features of this journey include a farewell blessing to Boniface’s fellow monks,

followed by the procession to the shoreline and a hurried boarding of the ship.56 Willibald

highlights the potentially treacherous route through the sea, using the phrase “ignotas maris…

vias,” (the unknown ways of the sea). The high-spirited activity of the sailors is described

during the actual crossing, as is the speed with which the vessel moves by dint of favourable

winds. The wind seems to be a special focus, since it arises in both the description of the sails

and independently in the form of the chorus flans (blowing chorus) and the plenus ventus (full

wind). The latter description of this wind is conjoined to an assertion of the journey’s direct and

speedy course, the prosperus cursus (favourable course), at which point Willibald depicts the

party’s arrival at the river-mouth—a specific geographical location, the River Canche—by

making direct reference to the act of perceiving it in safety. At this point they mount the dry

land and make camp while they wait for the remainder of their party.

Some broad similarities between Boniface’s and Patrick’s vitae are readily apparent. First, both

men are called to missionary endeavours across the sea and, having received the blessing of

their superiors,57 are explicitly depicted boarding the ship.58 Beyond these structural similarities,

echoes appear in the words used to describe the journey itself, particularly with respect to words

for speed and wind. Although the Patrician texts lack the Bonifatian reference to sails, they do

possess the same words for the path through the ocean. Both Muirchú’s vita and Willibald’s

here refer to the path through the sea by means of the word via, or way.59 More significantly, the

rapid motion of the ship takes place for Patrick “cum omni uelocitate flatuque prospero” (with

all speed and a favourable wind) while Boniface’s ship travels “pleno vento prosperoque cursu”

56 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.10–13. 57 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 19.12–17; Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 72.21–74.8. For the sake of brevity, I will refer

exclusively to Muirchú’s seminal vita as I compare Boniface’s journey to Patrick’s. 58 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.14; Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.10. 59 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.14; Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.11.

54

(with a full wind and on a favourable course).60 Although the Patrician texts and the Vita

Bonifatii provide no strong verbal links at this point, the double pairing of ablative adjective-

noun pairs, featuring the inclusion in both cases of words for wind, speed, and specifically the

adjective prosperus (favourable), stands out.

The accounts largely diverge at this point in terms of content. No mention is made of Boniface’s

spiritual cargo as it was in Patrick’s vitae,61 and his arrival at the mouth of the Canche is

described in specifically visual terms by means of the verb aspicere (observe).62 Both accounts,

however, are careful to provide specific geographical names with respect to the region in which

the saint lands. The Vita Bonifatii depicts the men’s arrival at the mouth of a river “quod dicitur

Cuent” (which is called Cuent).63 Similarly, throughout Patrick’s successive stops on his way to

redeem himself from his former slavery, his vitae identify his geographical approaches by

name.64 Finally, although their landings are described differently, both saints pause with their

men for a rest once they have made land.65

Although they are not identical from either a structural or verbal point of view, Boniface’s and

Patrick’s lives clearly correspond in many respects. While a lack of specific verbal echoes

seems to exclude any claim of direct influence between the Muirchú-derived vitae and

Willibald’s life, these similarities do appear to point to a wider set of conventions in

hagiography, providing a useful starting-point for a schema of elements commonly included in

hagiographical sea journeys.

60 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.12; Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.15–16. 61 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 76.20. 62 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.18. 63 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.16–17. 64 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 76.22–78.9. 65 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.18–20; Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 78.10–11.

55

2.1.3 Samsonian Sojourns

Samson’s two vitae have been extensively and convincingly treated by Christine Rauer with

respect to their dragon-fights.66 Of the two vitae treating St. Samson, a Welshman and one of the

Celtic founder-saints of Brittany, she finds that the mid-9th-century Vita II Samsonis contains the

dragon-fight that corresponds most closely in structure to that found in Beowulf, and makes a

compelling argument for the presence of his literature and cult in England by the 9th century.67

She places rather less emphasis on the Vita I, in all likelihood written in the 8th century,68

observing that its similarities to the Old English poem with respect to their dragon-episodes

have been examined previously in articles by Alan Brown and Paul Sorrell.69 Beyond the

dragon-fights, however, two sea journeys occur in both the 8th and 9th-century vitae, which will

contribute to our structural examination of sea journeys in hagiography.

I begin with the anonymous Vita I Samsonis, the earlier of the two texts. The occasion for

Samson’s most extensively treated sea voyage is a return from Ireland, where he had been

ministering at the request of some prominent Irishmen who were passing through his home

abbey.70 His ministrations completed, he intends to return home. While he is eagerly awaiting

his opportunity to leave, he is ostensibly presented with just that, but rejects it in deference to

God’s plans.

Nam cum in arce Etri demoraretur, nauigationem sperans redeundi ad

Brittanniam, quodam die, ueniente recto uento ab aquilone, et naui iam

parata, uiris nauticis iter festine properantibus atque eum compellentibus

ut nauem confestim ascenderet, respondit sanctus Samson: “Opus prius

habemus Dei permissum faciendum quam nauigemus.” Viri autem nautici

ad offensionem prouocati, non sperare eum unanimes destinauerunt, atque

66 See above, pp. 13–15 67 Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon, 89–116. 68 Pierre Flobert, ed. and trans. La vie ancienne de Saint Samson de Dol (Paris: CNRS, 1997), 6. 69 Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon, 89, n. 1; Alan K. Brown, “The Firedrake in Beowulf,” Neophilologus 64, no. 3

(June 1980): 443–45; Paul Sorrell, “The Approach to the Dragon-Fight in Beowulf, Aldhelm, and the ‘Traditions

Folkloriques’ of Jacques le Goff,” Parergon 12.1 (June 1994): 64–67, 85. 70 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 200–2. Because Flobert offers no line-numbers in his edition, the Vita I will be cited

by page-number only.

56

uelum iam leuantibus, mansuete ipse sic ait: “Ite in pace, hodieque Deo

uolente reuertentes, in crastinum pariter nauigemus.”71

In the meantime, he lingers in order to rid an unfortunate abbot of demonic possession.72

After the exorcism, the journey proper begins. Samson starts with a blessing for his brothers in

Ireland before making the descent to his ship: “Benedictis ac firmatis in monastario fratribus

quousque abbatem illis secundum Dei uoluntatem mitteret, sanctus Samson obuiam naui quippe

Deo inluminatus abiit.”73 He proceeds to the shore with his companions to find that the ship,

which had previously departed under initially favourable winds, has been turned back by

contrary weather and has returned to Ireland.

Et factum est dum ad portum cum suis comitibus iret, inuenit nauem ea

hora portum tenentem ac de nauigio, uerso uento, reuertentem. Tum laeti

admodum ad inuicem coherentes, rem quae acta esset ex utraque parte

referentes, ea nocte inibi manserunt nauigationem futuram in mane

sperantes, quod ueritas postea probauit rei.74

After this night spent waiting for their favourable wind, the voyage begins at last,75 and is

depicted in one continuous sentence: “Nam erumpente post noctem luce recto uento iter

71 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 200–2. “For while he was delaying in the Citadel of Aetri, hoping for the voyage to

return him to Britain, on a certain day, with a favourable wind coming from the north and with the ship now

prepared, when the seamen were hastily hurrying and compelling him that he should quickly board the ship, holy

Samson responded: ‘We have a duty to obtain God’s permission before we travel.’ The seamen, however, provoked

to offense, unanimously determined that they would not wait for him, and with them now setting the sails, he

graciously said to them, ‘Go in peace, and with God desiring that you turn back today, let us sail together

tomorrow.’” 72 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202. 73 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202. “With the brothers having been blessed and settled in the monastery until he

might send an abbot to them according to the will of God, holy Samson, illuminated indeed by God, departed on his

way to the ship.” 74 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202–4. “And it happened that when he was going to the port with his companions, he

discovered the ship holding port in that hour and returning from the voyage on a contrary wind. Then, the greatly

joyous men, embracing each other by turns, relating the matter which had occurred on either side, remained there

that night, hoping for the coming voyage in the morning, which events afterwards proved true [lit. which truth

confirmed afterwords by means of event(s)].” 75 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204.

57

prosperum Deo gubernante perrexerunt atque illam isulam in qua ante habitauerat altera die

petierunt.”76

Before deconstructing the passage, it will be useful to examine the same episode as it is

represented in the later Vita II Samsonis. The structure is almost identical, but some variations in

content appear, suggesting a growth in the hagiographical conventions between the 8th-century

Vita I and the 9th-century Vita II. Again, the episode opens with preparations for the voyage.

Cumque ibi moraretur, quidam navigantes se parabant ad Britanniam

navigare, et ille propter intolerabilem adventantium hominum copiam,

patriam iterum relinquens navigare cum illis ad Britanniam, de qua

venerat, conabatur. Et cum dies apta ad navigandum advenisset, et ventus

opportunus esset, navigantes invitabant illum ut sine mora ad portum, ubi

navis totis instrumentis parata erat, properarent.77

At this point, the Vita II hagiographer diverges most significantly by putting words in the

mouths of his restless sailors, apparently intent on making this exchange a true dialogue rather

than simply a monologue for the saint.

Qui dicebant illi: “Navem paratam, ventumque aptum ac velum jam

extensum, et omnia instrumenta habemus parata; et si una hora tu moram

feceris, nos dimittentes te navigabimus.” At ille dixit: “Hodie opus est

nobis hic esse, et si vos non potestis nos expectasse, navigate in pace, et

crastina die, Deo auxiliante, de uno eodemque portu simul iterum

navigabimus.” Et illi direxerunt viam ad navigandum.78

76 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204. “And with the light erupting after the night, they pursued a favourable course on

the proper wind by God’s guidance, and on the second day found the island on which he had lived before. 77 F. Plaine, ed., “Vita antiqua Sancti Samsonis Dolensis episcopi,” Analecta Bollandiana 6 (1887): 102.5–12. I will

cite Plaine’s edition of the Vita II according to the format <page-number.line-number>. “And while he was

delaying there, some seafarers were preparing themselves to sail to Britain, and he, leaving his homeland on

account of the intolerable quantity of men arriving, was endeavouring to sail with them to Britain, from whence he

had come. And when the appropriate day for sailing had arrived and there was an opportune wind, those sailing

summoned him to hasten without delay to the port where the ship had been readied with all its instruments.” 78 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.12–18. “They were saying to him, ‘We have a prepared ship, and an

appropriate wind, and even the sails extended, and all the prepared instruments, and if you make delay by one hour,

we will sail, leaving you behind.’ And he said: ‘Today our task is to be here, and if you are not able to wait for us,

sail in peace, and the following day, with God helping, we will sail again together from one and the same port.’

And they directed their path to the journey.”

58

This passage comes across as a much more elaborate account, including both the narrator’s

description of the preparations and the sailors’, as well as a depiction of the sailors’ urgency to

leave balanced against Samson’s relaxation and reliance on God’s guidance.

The Vita II continues to the exorcism of a demon inhabiting the local abbot before returning to

the sea journey, just as the earlier life does.79 Once the demoniac is cured and Samson is ready

to depart, the episode continues in much the same way as the Vita I, but with minor verbal

departures. I quote this passage in full.

Deinde benedictis atque confirmatis fratribus sanctus Sanson, ad portum,

de quo præterita die navis discesserat, properavit. Et factum est, dum ad

portum cum suis comitibus perveniret, paratam navem portum tenentem

repperit. Tum læti admodum ad invicem, rem ut esset ex utraque parte

referentes, ea nocte ibi manserunt, navigationem futuram mane sperantes.

Erumpente autem post noctem luce, flante vento, iter prosperum, Deo

gubernante, pergentes illam insulam, in qua antea habitaverat, petierunt

altera die.80

The main components of the episode are Samson’s desire to travel as he delays in Ireland, with

specific geographic information given in the Vita I.81 The depiction of this desire is much more

extensive in the Vita II.82 Both texts then move on to describe the fitness of the day and the

weather, including specific reference to the wind and the urgency of the sailors, signified in both

cases by a form of the verb properare (to hurry). Here the Vita II exceeds the Vita I in content

by including earlier references to the preparations of the ship’s apparatus during the dialogue

between the sailors and Samson.83

79 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.18–35. 80 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.1–9. “Then, with the brothers having been blessed and encouraged, holy

Samson hastened to the port from which the ship had departed on the previous day. And it happened that, when he

was arriving at the port with his companions, he discovered the outfitted ship holding port. Then, greatly rejoicing

by turns, relating the matter as it had occurred on either side, they remained there that night, hoping for the coming

journey in the morning. And with the light breaking after the night, proceeding with a blowing wind on a

favourable journey, with God steering them, on the second day they reached the island on which he had lived

before.” 81 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 200. 82 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.5–8. 83 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.12–17.

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Aside from showing the sailors in a much more favourable light, the Vita II’s dialogue contains

some extra elements pertaining to the process of the voyage: the navis parata (prepared ship); a

reference to the ventus aptus (suitable wind) which recalls attention to both the narrator’s earlier

dies apta (suitable day) and the ventus opportunus (opportune wind); a reference to the velum

extensum (extended sail); and finally a recapitulation of the narrator’s reference to the ship’s

instruments having been prepared. Most of these elements are addressed in the Vita I as well,

but in the narrative voice rather than a dialogue.84

Finally, this preliminary episode terminates with the sailors’ departure, again more fully

described in the Vita II. In the earlier life, the sailors are simply depicted raising the sails as a

prelude to Samson’s farewell and his promise that they will meet again the next day, followed

by the ablative absolute “euntibus… illis” (with those [men] going), which leads into the

exorcism episode and makes no mention of the path to the ship.85 In the latter vita, however,

their motion toward the shore is explicitly narrated, “et illi direxerunt viam ad navigandum”

(and they directed their way to the voyage),86 after which the narrative introduces the necessity

of exorcism.87 It is clear from these shared elements that the Vita II hagiographer was intent on

emphasizing certain key elements relating to seafaring, specifically the sailor’s urgency and

their material readiness for the journey as it is represented by images of the sails, ship, wind, and

nautical gear.

Once Samson has dealt with the demoniac, the Vita II follows the Vita I somewhat more closely.

They both begin with the blessing of the brothers and the rush to the port from which the ship

84 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 200–2. 85 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202. 86 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.18. 87 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.18–23.

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departed, with mention in the Vita I of the hope for a new abbot to replace Samson.88 Then, as

Samson is depicted progressing to the port with his companions, the narrator describes the

prepared ship once again holding port, signified by the phrase parata navis portum tenens (the

readied ship holding port).89 In almost identical language, the two vitae describe the joyful

reunion between Samson and the abortive wayfarers, as well as their night spent on land.90 The

Vita II omits a statement contained in the Vita I, an assertion that the travellers’ hopes would be

fulfilled the following day.91 Finally, with that expectation fulfilled, the day dawns and they

undertake their journey with specific reference to the iter prosperum (favourable route), the

wind—“recto vento” (correct wind) in the Vita I and “flante vento” (blowing wind) in the Vita

II—God’s role as steersman, and the arrival at the island on which Samson once lived on the

second day of the journey.92

It seems that, in spite of some changes and omissions from the source-material on the part of the

Vita II, the hagiographer was intent on maintaining the core of the sea journey itself, much as it

was depicted in the Vita I. The bulk of the alterations occur in the preamble to the journey, while

the voyage itself is almost identical in terms of content in both vitae.

Similarities with the previous vitae are evident. First, all three bodies of material—the lives of

Patrick, the Vita Bonifatii, and Samson’s lives—contain an initial blessing of some kind: Patrick

has himself and his companions blessed and consecrated by a local bishop,93 Boniface receives

88 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.1–3. 89 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis, 103.3–4. 90 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.4–7. 91 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202–3. 92 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.7–9. For a comparable depiction of God’s role

as steersman—quite literally in that case—see Krapp, ed., Andreas ll. 244b–826. 93 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 72.23–74.8.

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the support of his bishop and blesses his English brothers in turn,94 and Samson closes his

ministrations to the Irish.95

Second, in each vita, the departure to the port is described, and in the case of both of Samson’s

vitae and the Vita quarta Patricii, the presence of companions during this process is evoked.96

Samson’s lives again differ from the previous lives in that they do not explicitly describe the

saint mounting the ship during the main part of the voyage, nor do they make specific reference

to cargo. They instead describe the outcome of the previous episode of abandonment by travel-

companions, a narrative component not found in the other texts. In both vitae, however, these

elements appear in the first part of the interaction with the sailors who abandon Samson. In the

Vita I, the sailors invite him specifically “ut nauem confestim ascenderet” (that he should board

the ship hastily),97 which expresses both the act of boarding and speed, the latter element

evoking the celeriter (speedily) of the Vita Bonifatii.98 It is here that we also receive the

information about the ship’s trappings, including reference to the navis parata (prepared ship) as

it appears in Patrick’s vitae,99 the sail, the wind, and in the case of the Vita II, the ship’s

instruments, each of these elements described by both the narrator and the sailors in the latter

vita.100

As Samson and his men approach the ship, the navis parata makes another appearance in the

Vita II.101 After the pleasantries with the crew, we finally arrive at the voyage. The references to

the morning light’s breaking in Samson’s vitae are unique among the lives surveyed so far, but

its focus on the flans ventus (blowing wind), the iter prosperum (favourable journey), the use of

94 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 19.15–20.10. 95 Flobert ed., Vie ancienne, 202; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.1. 96 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.3–4; Bieler, ed., “Vita quarta,” 79.20, col. b. 97 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 200. 98 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.10. 99 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.9. 100 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 200; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.8–17. 101 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.4.

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the ablative “Deo gubernante” (with God steering), and the addition of geographic material with

respect to the destination of the journey seem to be material common to the other lives I have

examined.102 While the Samsonian material neglects to name the particular location at which the

saint arrives, as the Patrician and Bonifatian material does, it is described as an insula “in qua

ante habitauerat” (on which he had previously resided).103 Over and above these vitae, it

includes the temporal information about arriving “altera die” (on the second day).104 All in all,

Samson’s hagiographer seems to have been actively participating in a highly conventional

tradition of writing hagiographical sea journeys.

One further—much briefer—seafaring episode takes place in both lives of Samson, occasioned

by the establishment of monastic stability in Cornwall and Samson’s desire to cross over to

Brittany. The journey begins with Samson’s commission of his cousin to the diaconate and the

ordering of the monastery. The Vita I’s account follows.

Recepto itaque suo consobrino, in principio nostri operis iam dicto, atque

diaconatus officio excepto ac monasterium illud perfecte constructum suo

patri praesulatui praecipiente, consummatisque uirtutibus quae in illa

regione per ipsum Deus fecit, nauigationem citra mare secundum suam

promissionem, Deo ducente, destinauit, comitantibus cum illo plerisque

monachis et maxime diacono illo de quo iam nos dixisse sufficit, prospero

cursu portum in Europa desideratum tenuerunt. Ac descendentibus illis de

naui, uiderunt tuguriolum non grande prope portum situm.105

The elements of this passage that resonate with its precursors are abundantly clear: a farewell

bestowal of favour, the depiction of God’s guidance, the mention of companions on the

102 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.7–9; Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 76.21–22, 78.6–

8; Williabald, “Vita Bonifatii,” 20.15–20. 103 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.9, in which text ante is replaced by antea. 104 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.9. 105 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 222. “Having therefore received his cousin, who was spoken of once in the beginning

of our work, and having been relieved from the office of deacon and instructing his superintendent father that the

monastery should be completely arranged, and with all the miracles completed which God worked through him in

that region, with God guiding (him), he arranged the voyage to this side of the sea according to his promise, and

with a great many monks joining with him, and most importantly that deacon about whom we have already

sufficiently spoken, they attained the desired port in Europe on a favourable course. And, while they were

descending from the ship, they saw a small cottage situated near the port.”

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journey—though they appear to be attached to the voyaging component—the collocation of a

word for the ship’s course and prosperus (favourable), and the ultimate identification of the

destination: Europe. This particular passage includes the disembarking scene. It continues with

an onshore greeting in the destination port, in this case by a local in dire need of the saint’s

miraculous services.106

The Vita II’s depiction of the same episode is almost identical up to the point at which the saint

arrives at the shore to embark. Aside from the additional detail that God is described as “duce ac

protectore” (as leader and protector), only small lexical choices separate the latter vita from the

former.107 The journey itself, however, is expanded to include additional details and some

familiar verbal collocations. After Samson has gone to the ship, the journey begins.

Comitantibus cum eo plerisque monachis et multis discupulis, vento

flante, velo pleno, die serenissima, mari placidissimo, portum in Europa

desideratum tenuit. In quo portu, qui dicitur Winnian, qui est in flumine

Gubioli, tuguriolum prope portum viderunt.108

The aspects of this passage that echo earlier accounts are obvious: the mention of companions,

this time slightly more extensive than the Vita I’s depiction; the ventus flans (blowing wind); the

use of the word plenus (full), this time to describe the ship’s sail; and finally, the visual

encounter with the destination port, this time named explicitly.

From this evidence, it certainly does appear as though the two versions of the Vita Samsonis

were intent on emulating the depictions of seafaring in other vitae. Pierre Flobert, the Vita I’s

latest editor, suggests that the life evokes neither St. Patrick nor St. Columban.109 Considering

the parallels with the lives of Patrick I have observed, this seems like an odd assertion. In any

106 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 222. 107 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 118.17. 108 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 118.18–22. “And with a great many monks and many disciples joining with him,

he attained the desired port in Europe with a gusting wind, a full sail, during a most serene day, on a most placid

sea. In this port, which is called Winnian, which is on the river Gubiol, he saw a cottage near the port.” 109 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 29.

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case, these seafaring episodes are compellingly similar to the other lives I have examined. If, in

spite of Flobert’s protestations, we can identify parallels between Patrick’s and Samson’s

Vitae—as it appears we very well can—it will be similarly profitable to compare the lives of

Samson with the Vita S. Columbani.

2.1.4 Columban to the Continent

Columban’s own missionary journey to the continent, ultimately ending with the foundation of

Luxeuil and Bobbio, contains an extended description of a sea voyage. The saint’s life was

composed in the years approaching the mid-7th century by Jonas, a monk at Bobbio who arrived

at the monastery shortly after Columban’s death.110 To judge from the number of extant

manuscripts, the vita was immensely popular throughout Europe and the insular world,111 and

possibly known by Bede.112

Columban’s most extensively depicted sea journey occurs when he desires to cross over and

evangelize Gaul after a time at his home monastery of Bangor.113 He does not, at first, receive

the blessing of his superior Congall, but the older man eventually relents and offers Columban

his benediction.114

Vocatumque eum [read vocato eo], tristem licet sibi, tamen aliis utilem

sententiam depromit, se et pacis vinculum et solaminis supplimentum

comitesque itineris, quos religio claros reddebat, largiturum. Collecto

sane fratrum coetu, omnium orationum suffragium postulat, ut venturo

itinere solamen largitor pietates [read pietatis] tribuat.115

110 Tristram, Columbanus, 12–15. 111 Jonas, Ionae vitae Columbani, Vedastis, Iohannis, ed. Bruno Krusch (Hannover: Brepols, 1905), 58; Jonas de

Bobbio, Vie de Saint Columban et de ses disciples, trans. Adalbert de Vogué (Bégrolles-en-Mauges: Abbaye de

Bellefontaine, 1988), ix–xi; Alexander O’Hara, “The Vita Columbani in Merovingian Gaul,” Early Medieval

Europe 17, no. 2 (2009): 126–27. 112 J.M. Wallace-Hadrill, Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People: A Historical Commentary (Oxford:

Clarendon Press, 1988), xxxiii. 113 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 158.15–159.15 (I will cite Krusch’s edition in the format <page-number.line-number>). 114 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 159.15–24. 115 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 159.24–160.5. “And with [Columban] having been called, [the abbot] declares to him that he,

though sad, will nevertheless grant good will to others, and the bond of peace, and the strength of solace, and

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This passage presents a rather lengthy blessing that extends into a request for communal

support, as well as the selection of a party of companions. It also contains the detail of Congall’s

reluctance to see Columban depart, a trait he shares with the brothers at Boniface’s monastery.

The journey begins immediately after this blessing, and again contains many of the hallmarks

we have come to expect from conventional hagiographical sea voyages.

Vicensimum ergo aetatis annum agens, arrepto itinere, cum duodecim

comitibus Christo duce ad litus maris accedent. Ibi omipotentis

misericordiam prestolantur, ut, si suae voluntatis inhereat, concoepti

consilii effectus perficiatur, agnoscuntque secum clementis iudicis

voluntatem adesse, carinamque ingressi, dubias per freta ingrediuntur vias

mitemque salum, prosperantibus zepherorum flabris, pernici cursu ad

Brittanicos perveniunt sinus. Paulisper ibidem morantes, vires resumunt

ancipitique animo anxia cordis consilia trutinantur.116

This passage contains largely the same structure as the previous examples, with similar elements

and comparable verbal collocations. When Columban sets out for his evangelistic adventures,

the saint’s journey to the shore is depicted first, with an accompanying focus on the number of

companions, unique among the examples cited so far in its numerical specificity. God’s

guidance is ascribed to Christ in this passage with the phrase “Christo duce” or (with Christ as a

leader) and, like the second sea voyage in both of Samson’s vitae, occurs during the approach to

the shore.117

The journey itself uniquely begins with a seeming moment of doubt, in which the hopeful

seafarers pause to reflect on whether they are, in fact, within God’s will. This element does not

companions for the journey whom sanctity rendered excellent. With a band of brothers safely assembled, he

requests the approbation of all prayers so that the dispenser of piety might grant solace on the coming journey.” 116 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.6–16. “Therefore, occupying his twentieth year of age, with the journey begun, they

descend to the shore of the sea with twelve companions [and] Christ as a leader. There they await the favour of the

all-powerful, so that if it should be within his will, the outcome of the plan undertaken might be accomplished, and

they ascertain that the merciful judge’s will is with them, and having embarked on the vessel, they enter the dubious

ways through the straits and, with the blasts of breezes favouring them, they come through the calm sea on a nimble

course to the coasts of Brittany. Delaying there a little, the men recover and with an uncertain spirit weigh the

careful counsels of the heart.” 117 Flobert ed., Vie ancienne, 222; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 118.117.

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take place in any of the other vitae. As before, the action of embarking is described, though it

lacks any notion of speed attached to the boarding.118 When the ship sets out, we encounter

some familiar elements in slightly altered forms: the dubiae viae (doubtful ways), described as

ignotae viae (unknown ways) in the Vita Bonifatii;119 a reference to the mite salum (mild sea)

that fulfils the same function as the Vita II Samsonis’s second journey’s “mari placidissimo”

(most placid sea);120 and at last the prosperantia zepherorum flabra (favouring gusts of zephyrs)

and pernix cursus (swift course), representing a more expansive treatment of the matrix of terms

for wind, the course of the ship, speed, and words related to prosperus (favourable).121

The arrival at the shore of Brittany is not geographically specific like the Patrician and

Bonifatian material or the second seafaring episode in the Vita II Samsonis.122 The rather vague

Britannicus sinus (Breton port) is much closer to the latter sea voyage in the Vita I Samsonis,

with its generalized arrival at the “portum in Europa desideratum” (the desired port in

Europe).123 Finally, the landing on shore is followed by a delay in order to rest and consider

plans, which is not dissimilar to Patrick’s and Boniface’s arrivals at their respective

destinations.124 This act is in decided opposition to the sea journeys in Samson’s lives, in which

the saint seems to launch directly into action at every turn.

Columban’s sea journey, among the earliest in my purview, is definitely an outlier among the

vitae I have examined with respect to its more expansive language and lexical choices. It does,

however, seem to enact the same patterns in both structure and content. Patrick’s vitae, the lives

118 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.9; Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.13. 119 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.13–14 120 Plaine, ed. “Vita Samsonis,” 118.19. 121 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.12; Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.16; Flobert, ed., “Vie ancienne,” 204, 222; Plaine,

ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.8. 122 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 76.21–22, 78.8; Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.16; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 118.20–

21. 123 Flobert, ed., “Vie ancienne,” 222. 124 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 78.10–11; Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.19–20.

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of Samson, the Vita Bonifatii, and the Vita Columbani were clearly participating in a set of

shared conventions. Whatever the exact relationship of these texts, such correspondence seems

hardly coincidental.

2.2 Sea Journeys in Schema

In an effort to unify the findings of this examination and open this information up to fruitful

comparison with Beowulf, I will schematize these episodes into the overall structural

components, major elements, and the specific verbal collocations that seem to run throughout

the tradition. As with any schematization, this process will necessarily be somewhat arbitrary.

However, while acknowledging the porosity of these components and the possibility of

“floating” elements—those that might exist in more than one narrative component—I believe

that these most elaborately expressed sea journeys can be safely divided into the six components

I have mentioned above: I) call to action; II) commission and blessings; III) procession to the

shore and boarding; IV) journey aboard ship; V) arrival; VI) disembarking. I will progress

through these components, their subsidiary elements, and verbal collocations, and highlight

those that are most interesting or prominent.125

2.2.1 Call to Action

The most clear-cut depiction of a direct call to action, in the form of receiving news about a

nation’s spiritual destitution, takes place in the lives of Patrick. Patrick receives news about the

death of Palladius, the abortive apostle to the Irish, from his companions, who have returned to

Gaul from across the sea carrying the news.126 Patrick is the only saint so far to respond to a

specific instance of need overseas, while the other figures have a much more internalized desire

125 For the results, see below, p. 79, Table 2.2. 126 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 72.21–23; Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 78.28–79.1; Probus, “Vita Patricii,”

197.30–32.

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to travel in service of God. Columban’s call comes in the form of an internal remembrance of

God’s command to Abraham that he leave his homeland.127 In his first voyage, Samson also

experiences an internal prompting,128 while his second is the result of the completion of his

work in the region, as signified by the phrases “consummatisque/impletisque virtutibus” (with

his miracles fulfilled/completed).129 This phrase constitutes another element that will appear

with some frequency in calls to action: a completed mission. Willibald uses a similar phrase,

“transcursis… virtutibus” (with his miracles passed through),130 to move the action of the Vita

Bonifatii forward, and goes on to describe Boniface’s longing to cross the sea again and

evangelize on the continent.131 Whether internal or external, each hagiographer is careful to

provide a justification for the saint’s departure. As such, it is best to consider two kinds of calls

to action, news from overseas and internal promptings.

2.2.2 Commission and Blessings

Every vita I have examined contains some form of blessing before the outset of the saint’s

journey. In the case of Patrick, this is an extensive process, including a journey to see a

neighboring bishop, the ordination of Patrick and his followers, and a blessing accompanied by

the singing of a psalm.132 Boniface’s blessings occur in two ways. First, he receives the

commission and blessing of his superior, Daniel, in the form of litterae commendationis, or a

letter of recommendation.133 Afterwards he is hindered by brothers sad to see him go and his

own misgivings about their vulnerability in his absence, but once his replacement is provided,

127 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 159.7–11. 128 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 200; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.5–8. 129 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 222; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 118.15. 130 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 18.8. 131 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 18.13–8. 132 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 72.23–74.8; Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 79.1–18; Probus, “Vita Patricii,”

197.32–198.5. 133 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 19.15–18.

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he blesses them and departs.134 Samson likewise blesses the brothers whom he leaves behind in

the first episodes of both vitae; in the latter episodes, he ordains his cousin and commends his

monastery into the hands of his father.135 Columban’s journey, like Patrick’s, includes his

superior’s blessing, and, like Boniface’s, is accompanied by reluctance to see the saint leave,

this time on the part of his abbot Congall.136

While in some cases it is the saint acting as the recipient of blessing, and in others as the patron

giving blessing, it seems as though a journey without some kind of well-wishing would be poor

form to a hagiographer. Finally, as a less ubiquitous element present in only the Vita Bonifatii

and Vita Columbani so far, there is a sadness at the saint’s departure and a reluctance to see him

leave, which accompany the blessing.137

2.2.3 Procession to the Shore and Boarding

This component is variable, but some elements appear fairly consistently. In the Patrician

material, we catch the strongest glimpse of two durable verbal elements: the navis parata or

outfitted ship, and the explicit action of climbing aboard.138 Only Probus’s Vita Patricii lacks

the use of the adjective paratus. It adds the adverb celeriter (quickly) to specify the speed and

apparent eagerness with which the saint embarks for the journey.139 The Vita quarta contains the

addition of a reference to the comites (companions) that accompany the saint.140

Each of these elements occurs in the remainder of the texts. The navis parata occurs in the first

seafaring episodes in both Samsonian vitae. In the Vita II, this collocation is tripled: it is

134 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 19.18–20.9. 135 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202 and Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.1–2; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 222 and

Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 118.12–14. 136 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 159.11–160.2. 137 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 18.13–20.9; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 159.24–160.5. 138 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.9; Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 79.18–21. 139 Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 198.6. 140 Bieler, ed., “Vita quarta,” 79.21, col. b.

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mentioned by the narrator before the sailors desert Samson, by the sailors themselves as they are

about to do so, and—in line with Patrick’s vitae—as he arrives at the port.141 In the Vita I, this

collocation only occurs once, in the narrator’s description of the altercation with the abandoning

companions, while paratus is not included in the actual procession to the ship.142 Boniface’s and

Columban’s lives merely make reference to the ship, while the latter seafaring episodes of the

lives of Samson omit it altogether.143 Accordingly, an explicit procession and boarding

component is found across all episodes with the exception of the latter journeys in the lives of

Samson.

The less frequent elements—references to the speed with which the travellers board the ship and

a reference to companions—nevertheless do recur with some regularity. In a close parallel to the

use of celeriter in Probus’s Vita Patricii, the Vita Bonifatii has a use of both the word and its

close relation in the phrase “celocis celeriter marginem scandens” (quickly mounting the

gunwale of the swift [ship]).144 This specific lexical choice is absent in the Samsonian material,

but the notion of speed is still present. In the first seafaring episode of the Vita I, it is again

displaced onto the initial incident with the sailors who hope to leave immediately and then

abandon the saint when he refuses to do so. Their actions are described in the phrase “uiris

nauticis iter festine properantibus” (with the nautical men quickly hastening to the journey) and

they assert that Samson should board “confestim” (immediately).145 In the case of the Vita II,

the sailors encourage him and his companions that “sine mora ad portum… properarent” (they

should hasten to the port without delay) during the preliminary, abortive boarding.146 The action

echoes these words in the actual approach to the ship, where the hagiographer includes the

141 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.11–12, 103.4. 142 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202. 143 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.13; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 11. 144 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.13. 145 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 200. 146 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.10–12.

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phrase “ad portum… properavit” (he hastened to the port).147 Only the latter seafaring episodes

in Samson’s vitae—which in any case lack the element of the approach to the ship—and the

Vita Columbani seem to omit references to speed as the saints head to their ships.

The last element I have observed, mainly associated with the boarding component, is the

mention of companions. It occurs in the Vita quarta Patricii, the first seafaring episode in both

lives of Samson, again in the second episode of both lives, and in the Vita Columbani, in which

the number of companions is specifically stated.148 The latter episode in the Samsonian vitae is

slightly more ambiguous than the other instances, since that specific episode lacks the

conventional approach to the shore. In both lives, the mention of companions seems to have

been displaced onto the voyage proper. Among the Patrician material, the companions are

absent in the boarding-scenes of the vitae of Muirchú, Probus, and the Vita secunda.149 In every

case where they are present, the term comites is used for the companions, except the second

episode in Samson’s lives, which describes them as comitantes or “accompanying,” a close

lexical similarity.150

2.2.4 The Voyage aboard Ship

The voyage itself is the most elaborate of these structural components. It goes without saying

that it is the most durable component in any vita that chooses to invest narrative space in the

voyage at all. The lexical material within this component also appears to be some of the most

resilient among the whole progression from outset to arrival. Again starting from the Patrician

material, we can see the model with some of its most common expressions, including references

147 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis, 103.2–3. 148 Bieler, ed., “Vita quarta,” 79.18–21, col. b; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202, 222; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,”

103.3, 118.18; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.7. 149 They are, however, mentioned in connection with the commission and blessing. See Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,”

74.2–5; Probus, “Vita Samsonis,” 199.1–2; Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda,” 79.1–12, col. a. 150 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 222; Plaine, ed. “Vita Samsonis,” 118.18

72

to the speed of the ship and the favorability of the wind.151 In two cases these elements are

accompanied by specific reference to the path through the sea using the word via (way).152 The

Patrician material is complicated by the fact that the sea journey is interrupted partway by a

digression about the king of Tara, but the structural component maintains its integrity by

resuming immediately after this narrative break.

The rather tangled verbal collocations for wind, speed, and the course through the ocean are

relatively flexible with respect to their possible combinations, but certain words seem to inhere

within this narrative component with great resilience. It seems simplest to discuss terms for

wind and their configurations with adjectival elements, then turn to terms for the ship’s course

and speed, with their attendant modifiers. Terms for wind occasionally attract the adjective

prosperus (favourable), as we can see from its Patrician collocation with flatus (a blowing).153

Probus’s vita displaces this collocation with the unique phrase prosperus fluctus (favourable tide

or wave).154

In the Vita Bonifatii, the wind is referenced twice, once as part of the description of the

billowing sails, once with the unique chorus flans (blowing chorus), and once during the course

of the ship’s movement with plenus ventus (full wind).155 The Vita II Samsonis echoes the

Bonifatian use of flans and ventus once during each of its voyages,156 and supplies the unique

occurrences of ventus opportunus and ventus aptus (opportune and suitable wind, respectively)

in the preliminary episodes with the sailors.157 Its second sea voyage also includes sailing

conditions, consisting of the dies serenissima (most serene day) and mare placidissimum (most

151 Muircú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.10–12; Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 79.19–24; Probus, “Vita Patricii,”

198.7–9. Probus’s text diverges from its related vitae by omitting reference to the wind. 152 Muircú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.10–12; Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 198.7–9. 153 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.12; Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 79.23–24. 154 Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 198.8 155 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.15–16. 156 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.7–8, 188.19. 157 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.9–10, 12.

73

placid sea), but is the only text to do so within this component.158 The earlier Samsonian vita’s

first voyage uses rectus ventus (proper wind) in both the main description and the preliminary

episode with the sailors.159 Only this vita’s second sea journey lacks any reference to the

favourable wind. Prosperans (favouring), a close lexical relation of prosperus, modifies the

more discursively heightened zepherorum flabra (gusts of zephyrs) in the Vita Columbani.160

The words for the course that the ship takes seem much more consistent. The most durable

collocations occur in texts outside of Patrick’s vitae. In the Vita Bonifatii, the terms are

prosperus cursus (favourable course).161 The Vita I Samsonis’s first seafaring episode uses the

phrase iter prosperum (favourable route) and the second episode, prosperus cursus, or

(favourable course).162 In the Vita II, the terms are identical in the first episode, but lacking in

the second.163 In the Vita Columbani, the lexical choice consists of pernix cursu (nimble

course).164 An alternate way of referring to the course through the sea, by means of the word via

(way), occurs with some regularity as well, as in Muirchú’s vita.165 It also occurs in the phrase

“coepit ignotas maris temptare vias” (he began to test the unknown ways of the sea) in the Vita

Bonifatii, the mystery and possible danger of which is also contained in the Vita Columbani’s

“dubias per freta… vias” (doubtful ways through the straits).166 Finally, the speed with which

the ship moves along its course, as signified by terms such as prosperus (favourable) and pernix

(quick), occurs also in the Patrician material, wherein the ship moves “cum omni velocitate”

158 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 118.19. 159 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 200, 204. 160 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.13. 161 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.16. 162 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204, 222. 163 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.8. 164 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.13. 165 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.11. 166 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.13–14; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.12.

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(with all velocity).167 The notion is even doubled in the Vita Bonifatii, which contains not only

the standard prosperus cursus (favourable course), but also the adverb citius (more quickly).168

The hagiographers often elect to depict the sails among the nautical elements. The Vita Bonifatii

ties wind and sail together in the clause “inmensa choro flante carbasa consurgebant” (the

immense linen [sails] were surging with a blowing chorus).169 In the narration of the voyage

proper, the second seafaring episode in the Vita II Samsonis contains the phrase “velo pleno”

(full sail).170 Elsewhere in the Samsonian material, the references to the sails are relegated to the

preliminary episode of the first sea voyage. The sailors are shown hoisting the sail as they

abandon Samson in the Vita I, and in the Vita II they assert the readiness to leave, since they

have “velum jam extensum” (now an extended sail), when they speak with Samson.171 Although

only two of the four references to sails treated so far occur within the sea voyage proper, it will

become apparent as I examine the remainder of my source-texts that both in collocation and in

their typical location, sails are best associated with this narrative component.172 As wind, course,

and sails are the most complicated set of collocations in my treatment of sea journeys, Table 2.1

will assist in breaking down their constituent parts, taking specific note of repeated lexical

material.

167 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.12; Bieler, ed. “Vita secunda,” 79.23, col. a; Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 198.7–8. 168 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.16. 169 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.15. Note the similar use of carbasus for sail in Aeneid III. See R.A.B. Mynors, ed.,

P. Vergili Maronis, Opera (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969), 3.57. 170 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 118.19. 171 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.13. 172 See below, pp. 80–102 and p. 103, Table 2.3.

75 Patrick Boniface Samson I.1 Samson II.1 Samson I.2 Samson II.2 Columban

Wind prosperus ventus

plenus, flans

ventus ventus flans ventus flans prosperans

Sails velum velum velum

plenum

Course or

Current

viae,

prosperus

(Probus)

cursus

prosperus,

viae

iter

prosperus

iter

prosperus

prosperus

cursus

viae, cursus

Table 2.1173

At this juncture, one more element deserves attention. This feature seems to fit the description

of a “floating” element in the sense that it maintains some durability in terms of its content and

verbal expression, but appears in different places within the overarching narrative of the sea

journey. God’s guidance can be found distributed between the procession to the shore and the

voyage proper, and therefore defies easy schematization. It is most clearly apparent in the first

voyages in the Vita I and Vita II Samsonis, in which the ablative phrase “Deo gubernante” (with

God steering) is inserted into the description of the voyage itself.174

Other instances of God’s guidance seem to be displaced onto the procession to the shore, and

maintain a position outside the core grammar of the sentence as an ablative absolute addition. In

the second seafaring episode from the Vita I, although there is no lengthy approach to the shore

sequence, as Samson takes action to fulfill his promise to minister on the continent, he does so

“Deo ducente” (with God leading).175 In the Vita II, he does so “Deo duce ac protectore” (with

God as leader and protector).176 Similarly, Columban begins the journey to the shore “Christo

duce” (with Christ as a leader), a phrase that corresponds with those found in the lives of

Samson.177

173 Green indicates vitae where the element in question is unequivocally present. Yellow indicates the presence of

the element, but outside of its most common structural component. 174 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.8. 175 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 222. 176 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 118.17. 177 Ionas, Ionae vitae, 160.7.

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2.2.5 The Arrival

One of the most common inclusions among the hagiographies is specific geographical material

associated with the saint’s arrival, provided in each of the vitae I have examined so far. Detailed

information about destinations is ubiquitous among these sample-texts, and includes both

geographical and topographical aspects. The lives of Patrick are the most extensive, containing

Patrick’s first arrival in Ireland and the brief secondary voyage to his ultimate destination. Aside

from the many place-names provided in these accounts, he docks first at a portum (port) and

hostium (river mouth), and second in a fretum (strait).178 Further extending their treatments,

Patrick’s hagiographers also include the unique detail that his ship is “honerata… cum

transmarinis mirabilibus spiritalibusque tessauris” (weighted down with wonders from overseas

and spiritual treasures) along with the later mention of the “seruitutis praetium, terrenum utique

et caeleste” (the price of his servitude, earthly and indeed heavenly), the spiritual and earthly

cargo he brings to Ireland.179 Probus’s vita qualifies the former reference with the biblical “id est

cum armatura sanctae praedicationis” (that is, with the armour of holy prophesy).180

The other vitae are more straightforward, but still articulate their saints’ destinations. Boniface

arrives at the mouth of the river Canche, while Samson’s first journey brings him to “illam

insulam, in qua ante habitauerat” (that island on which he had previously lived).181 One further

detail in his first journey is a reference to the duration of the trip, unique within this sample of

texts, which the hagiographers of both Samsonian vitae depict as ending “altera die” (on the

second day).182 In the second instance of travel in the Vita I, he arrives only at the vague

178 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 76.21–22, 78.8; Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 81.16–17, 82.7; Probus, “Vita

Patricii,” 199.7–8 (lacking hostium). 179 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 76.19–20, 78.4. Cf. Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 81.13–15 col. a, 25–27 col.

a/b.; 199.6–7, 12. 180 Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 199.7. 181 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.16; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204. Cf. Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.9–10. 182 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.9.

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“portum in Europa desideratum” (the desired port in Europe).183 This information is more

specific in the Vita II, as the description continues to name the port as “Winnian, qui est in

flumine Gubioli” (Winnian, which is on the river of Gubiol).184 Columban’s journey ends “ad

Brittanicos… sinus” (at Brittany’s bays).185 The interest in the landscape in which these

seafarers land was clearly present for the hagiographer.

2.2.6 Disembarking

The procedure of disembarking frequently begins with the establishment of a base-camp or a

rest-stop, or otherwise pausing to regroup once the party lands. In Patrick’s lives, this action

occurs only once Patrick has reached his ultimate destination in Miliucc’s territory, at which

point they secure the ship, concealing it so that they can go inland to rest.186 In the Vita secunda

and Vita quarta, the fact that they do so specifically to rest their weary limbs is added.187

Boniface and his followers actually make camp, whereas Columban and his men only delay for

a short time to rest.188

The final portion of the disembarkation often includes an immediate meeting onshore, which

helps to propel the plot forward into the next narrative phase. The most jarring and apparently

belligerent encounter on the shore is the account of Dichú’s swineherd in the Vita Patricii, who

is depicted observing Patrick’s men and suspecting that they are “fures aut latrones” (thieves or

brigands).189 This meeting leads to a succession of encounters up the ranks, from the swineherd

to Dichú, and eventually to Miliucc, whom Patrick does not get the chance to meet as a result of

183 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 222. 184 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 118.20–21. 185 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.13–14. 186 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 78.9–11; Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 8–11; Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 199.15–

17. 187 Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 82.10–12. 188 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.18–19; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.14–15. 189 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 78.8–14; Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 12–17; Probus, “Vita Patricii,”

199.16–21.

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the man’s suicide.190 Both journeys in both lives of Samson launch directly into a meeting with

someone on shore. The first episode depicts Samson proceeding directly to his uncle’s

monastery, in which he is offered rest but declines it in favour of the wilderness.191 In the

second, he spots a small cottage and approaches it, meeting the wailing occupant whose wife is

possessed by a demon and occasions an exorcism.192

The point at which the saints and their followers either encounter someone on the shore or move

inland to carry out their purposes in the new country is the decisive narrative break between the

sea journey and the next episode in the story. It is often this moment that determines the saint’s

next action, and is a natural break from the act of travel. It therefore represents a logical

termination to my examination. A schema including all of those structural components,

elements, and verbal repetitions that can be found in more than one vita can be seen in Table

2.2.

190 See above, p. 48. 191 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.9–15. 192 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 222; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 118. 20–26.

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Table 2.2: Green boxes indicate texts that contain the element in question unequivocally. Yellow indicates the existence of the element, but

presented unconventionally, dubiously, or outside of its most common structural component.

Patrick Boniface Samson I.1 Samson II.1 Samson I.2 Samson II.2 Columban

Call to Action

Internal Promptings

Completed Mission

Commission and Blessing

Valedictions

Sadness of Loved Ones

Procession to the Shore and

Boarding

Outfitted Ship navis parata navis parata navis parata

Haste celeriter (Probus) celeriter

Companions comites (IV) comites comites comitantes comitantes comites

Voyage Aboard Ship

Wind prosperus ventus plenus, flans ventus ventus flans ventus flans prosperans

Sails velum velum velum plenum

Course or Current viae, prosperus

(Probus)

cursus prosperus,

viae

iter prosperus iter prosperus prosperus

cursus

viae, cursus

God’s Guidance (floating) deus

gubernans

deus

gubernans

deus ducens deus dux ac

protector

christus

dux

Arrival

Description of Destination portum, hostium hostia portum portum

Time of Arrival altera dies altera dies

Disembarking

Pausing Onshore

Meeting Onshore

80

These texts represent a relatively small sample-group structured by the extreme limits of

feasible availability to the Anglo-Saxons early enough to have influenced an 8th-century or 9th-

century Beowulf, and yet they provide tantalizing similarities that seem to suggest a network of

hagiographical literary influence that reached across great portions of Europe.193 This notion is

nothing new, considering the acknowledged influence of the canonical hagiographies of saints

like Martin and Anthony. There does seem to be a significant tradition of literary representation

underlying the depictions of sea voyaging in these texts, and other vitae display elements in line

with this suspicion. In the same way that the Samsonian material’s second sea voyages are much

compressed and yet retain some elements common to other vitae, several other lives contain

minor seafaring episodes that nevertheless reinforce the elements observed above. It will be

necessary to briefly treat these texts and their nautical elements to determine the level to which a

wider body of hagiography follows this model of representation.

2.3 Elements in Isolation

Within the wide array of vitae that were likely available in England during the time of Beowulf’s

composition, many of the narrative components I have examined emerge fairly regularly and

with distinct similarities to the saints’ lives above, though in many cases not with the same

density or breadth. Still, their appearances warrant treatment, since they point to patterns already

apparent in my primary sample-texts. Those elements that are represented to a lesser degree in

the four main texts treated above—the enumeration of the saint’s companions, for example—

take place with some regularity in the larger tradition, thereby warranting their inclusion in an

extended schema. With less emphasis on narrative continuity in each text, I will briefly proceed

through episodes as I have observed them in these secondary, less regularized instances of sea

travel.

193 See above, pp. 24–36.

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Constantius’s 5th-century Vita Germani, available to the Anglo-Saxons by the time of Aldhelm

and cited by Bede, contains one sea journey that constitutes a fine example of most elements

that manifest themselves in the previous sample-texts.194 In one respect it does not correspond

strictly to these episodes, since Germanus’s journey is not like the easy and favourable voyages

of the previous vitae I have examined. His is a dangerous journey beset by a demonic storm,

which the saint miraculously calms. Where this episode does correspond with the others,

however, there are some intriguing similarities.

Germanus’s call to action comes to him in Gaul, in the form of a deputation from Britain

informing him of the Pelagian heresy’s spread there. The emissaries put the information in terms

of an assault or occupation: “Eodem tempore ex Brittaniis directa legatio Gallicanis episcopis

nuntiavit, Pelagianam perversitatem in locis suis late populos occupasse et quam primum fidei

catholicae debere succurri.”195 A synod ensues, in which Germanus and Lupus are

commissioned to the task, blessed, and appraised as heroes of the faith, “eroes devotissimi”

(heroes most devoted).196 During the synod, they receive prayers as a blessing: “Omniumque

iudicio duo praeclara relegionis lumina universorum precibus ambiuntur.”197 The procession to

the shore is rather brief, but contains two hallmarks of the component in the other vitae.

Although there is no mention of the ship prepared for the voyage, the men are described

embarking on the ocean, although the voice is oddly made passive: “Itaque oceanum mare

194 See Biggs et al., eds., SASLC, Vol. 1, 232; Ogilvy, Books Known, 3; Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Library, 206; N.J.

Higham, “Constantius, St. Germanus and Fifth-century Britain,” Early Medieval Europe 22.2 (May 2014): 113–14. 195 Constantius, “Vita Germani episcopi Autissiodorensis,” in Monumenta Germaniae historica, scriptores rerum

Merovingicarum, ed. Wilhelm Levison 7, no. 1 (1920): 259.5–7. “At that time a legation from the Britons directed

to the Gallic bishops announced that the Pelagian perversion had widely overtaken the peoples in their regions, and

that they ought to be succored immediately in the Catholic faith.” Citations of the MGH will follow the format

<page-number.line-number>. 196 Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 259.7–12. 197 Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 259.8–9. “And by the decision of all, the two most famous lights of religion (ie.

Germanus and Lupus), are solicited by the prayers of everyone.”

82

Christo duce et auctore conscenditur.”198 This element notably contains the collocation “Christo

duce” (with Christ as a leader), this time augmented by a reference to his authority.

The journey itself diverges from the typical easy voyage, and therefore represents a more

extensive narrative unit.

Ac primum de sinu Gallico flabris lenibus navis in altum provecta deducitur,

donec ad aequor medium perveniret, ubi, porrectis in longum visibus, nihil aliud

quam caelum videretur et maria. Nec multum post occurrit in pelago relegionis

inimica vis daemonum, qui tantos ac tales viros pertendere ad recipiendam

populorum salutem lividis iniquitatibus inviderent. Obponunt pericula, procellas

concitant, caelum diemque nubium nocte subducunt et tenebrarum caliginem

maris atque aeris horrore congeminant. Ventorum furorem vela non sustinent, et

oceani moles fragilis cumba vix tolerat. Cedebant ministeria victa nautarum;

ferebatur navigium oratione, non viribus. Et casu dux ipse vel pontifex, fractus

corpore, lassitudine et sopore resolutus est. Tum vero, quasi repugnatore

cessante, tempestas excitata convaluit, et iam navigium superfusis fluctibus

mergebatur. Tum beatus Lupus omnesque turbati excitant seniorem, elementis

furentibus obponendum. Qui periculi inmanitate constantior Christum invocat,

increpat oceanum et procellis saevientibus causam relegionis obponit, statimque

adsumpto oleo, in nomine Trinitatis, levi aspergine fluctus saevientes obpressit.

Collegam commonet, hortatur universos, oratio uno ore et clamore profunditur.

Adest divinitas, fugantur inimici, tranquillitas serena subsequitur, venti e

contrario ad itineris ministeria vertuntur, navigium famulatrix unda prosequitur,

decursisque immensis spatiis, brevi optati litoris quiete potiuntur.199

The lenia flabra (gentle gusts) are mentioned along with greater winds once the demonic storm

begins, the power of which creates fear among the sailors and provides the opportunity to

198 Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 259.13. “Therefore the ocean is embarked upon with Christ as their leader and

supporter through the sea.” 199 Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 259.14–260.18. “And at first the ship, driven by light gusts, was guided from the

Gallic bay into the deep, until it reached the middle of the sea where, their vision having been extended at length,

nothing except the sky and sea appeared. Not long after, the hostile strength of the worship of demons, who, in their

foul iniquities, envied that they would press each and every man of their nations to receive salvation, opposed them

on the sea. They set dangers against [them], stir up storms, carry off the sky and the day in a night of clouds, and

double the mist of the sea’s and the air’s darkness with dread. The sails do not sustain the fury of the winds, and the

fragile boat scarcely tolerates the mass of the ocean. The crew of sailors, overcome, were giving up. The vessel was

being carried by prayer, not by skill. And by chance, the leader and priest himself, weakened in his body, was

relaxed in weariness and sleep. And then, as if its attacker was holding back, the roused storm grew stronger, and

now the vessel was being immersed by waves poured over [it]. Then blessed Lupus and all the agitated men woke

their superior to oppose the raging elements. He, firmer than the magnitude of the danger, calls on Christ, rebukes

the ocean, and places the defense of his rule against the raging gales, and immediately taking up oil, struck the

raging floods with a light sprinkle. He exhorts the crew, encourages all, [and] a prayer is poured out with one voice

and clamour. Divinity is present, the enemies are put to flight, a serene tranquility follows, the winds are turned

from an opponent into an aid to the journey, a servant wave pursues the vessel, and with the immense spaces passed

by, shortly they acquire the chosen shore in peace.”

83

mention the ship’s sails.200 Once the rough weather has miraculously abated, the serene

tranquility of the day, the winds—venti in this case—shifting “e contrario,” or from a contrary

direction, and the helpful current are all mentioned.201 The end of the voyage is brief and seems

to combine aspects of the arrival and disembarking components found in other vitae, though it

lacks any specific geographical or topographical information.

The clause “brevi optati litoris quiete potiuntur” (shortly they acquire the chosen shore in peace)

contains within it the landing and, in the optatum litus (desired shore), a faint parallel to the

portum desideratum (desired port), found in the second seafaring episodes of Samson’s vitae.202

Finally, although a discrete disembarking component is mostly lacking, the men are met

immediately on the shore by a multitude of expectant Britons, who provide the vehicle for

Germanus and Lupus to undertake their ministrations.203 Germanus’s vita represents one of the

earliest manifestations of this kind of hagiographical scene and influenced insular writers, one

among whom was Adomnán of Iona.

Adomnán’s Vita Columbae was written at the end of the 7th century—certainly early enough to

influence Beowulf—but there is no clear evidence of its presence in England, though it is not

unlikely.204 Aside from its debateable availability to the Anglo-Saxons, its sea journeys are also

problematic with respect to this sample-group, primarily for their brevity. Moreover, Columba

lived as a recluse on the island of Iona, and most of the journeys depicted in his life are

undertaken by acquaintances and servants of the saint. Still, these minor episodes maintain some

200 Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 259.15, 260.6–7. 201 Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 260.16–17. 202 Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 260.17. Cf. Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 222; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 118.20. 203 Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 260.18–19. 204 Hall, “Handlist,” 3–4; Wallace-Hadrill, Historical Commentary, 187–88; Vicky Gunn, Bede’s Historiae: Genre,

Rhetoric, and the Construction of Anglo-Saxon Church History (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2009), 68–74;

Anderson and Anderson, ed., Life of Columba, xli–xlii; Michael J. Enright, Prophecy and Kingship in the

Adomnán’s Life of St. Columba (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2013), 1. Calling Adomnan’s availability in England

into question are Biggs et al., eds., SASLC, Vol. 1, 148–49.

84

similarities to the model I have examined so far, reinforcing the conventional representation of

sea journeys that inhere within saints’ lives. Paired with the possibility of its circulation in

England, the vita is worth examination.

Six episodes warrant brief attention. The first represents a kind of prologual miraculum,

depicting an event that actually occurs after the death of the saint. It concerns Saint Fintán of

Taghmon, who wishes to join Columba’s community, which reflects an internal prompting to

travel as expressed in previous call to action components.205 First he seeks the permission of his

superior, Columb—not to be confused with Columba himself—which is granted. Unfortunately,

they learn from some travellers that Columba has already perished and left his successor

Baithéne in charge of his monastery. Fintán elects to travel to Iona to join the newly ordered

community, and his journey begins.206 The sendoff occurs, this time accompanied by a kiss and

a farewell from the superior, and is followed immediately by the preparations for the voyage and

the journey itself from motion to arrival, all in one sentence: “Tum deinde supra memoratum

Columbum osculatus et ei ualedicens nauigationem praeparat et sine morula ulla transnauigans

Iouam deuenit insulam.”207

The farewell, though not strictly a blessing, is depicted as a distinctive act of affectionate

valediction between Fintán and his superior. And while this passage lacks the navis parata

(prepared ship), the language does echo that of the other vitae by means of the term navigatio

(voyage) for the journey and the verb praeparare (to prepare). Similarly, the speed of the

voyage is described in terms of avoiding delay, a notion which is present in the second seafaring

205 See above, pp. 67–68. 206 For the entire narrative, see Adomnán, Life of Columba, 18–20 207 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 20. “Then, afterwards kissing the aforementioned Columb and bidding him

farewell, he prepared the journey, and sailing across without any delay arrived at the island of Iona.”

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episode of the Vita II Samsonis during the approach to the shore.208 The geographically specific

arrival also occurs in this one sentence, as the ship arrives at the island of Iona. After the ship is

on shore, Fintán’s meeting with the community of Iona occurs directly. Amid their hospitality,

he is asked “de gente et prouincia nomineque et conuersatione” (about his nation and his

province and his name and way of life), a path of inquiry unprecedented in any of the other vitae

I have examined.209

The Columban journeys tend toward brevity, but several include more of the specific verbal

elements that manifest themselves in other texts. The second that Adomnán depicts involves

Columba in his capacity as abbot sending one of the brothers from Iona—one Silnán—on a

mission to stop a pestiferous cloud from causing havoc on the mainland. While no one from

overseas brings the news of the disaster as in so many other vitae, the saint is still responding to

trouble across the water. He suggests that Silnán bring some holy bread to cure those affected by

the cloud.210 In short order, the preparations for the voyage are described and the saint offers his

blessing and encouragement to Silnán.211 The journey then begins, though it lacks the

conventional approach to the ship: “Silnanus uerbo obsequutus sancti, prospera et celeri

nauigatione auxiliante domino ad supra memoratam perueniens partem.”212

This is the real extent of the voyage’s depiction, occupying only a portion of a larger sentence.

Nevertheless, it contains elements found in the other vitae: a speedy voyage containing the use

of the adjective prosperus (favourable)—though not in combination with the wind or a word for

the course—and the arrival. Notably, however, Columba’s valedictions to Silnán before he

departs include the phrase “uentos habebis secundos et prosperos” (you will have agreeable and

208 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.12. 209 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 20. 210 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 98. 211 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 98–100. 212 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 100. “Silnán, obeying the saint’s command, arriving at the aforementioned region

on a favourable and rapid voyage, with the Lord assisting.”

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favourable winds), including the now-familiar collocation of ventus and prosperus, as well as

secundus, an adjective which will recur in similar contexts.213

The mention of God in the ablative as a helper is also present, though not as a dux (leader),

ducens (leading), or gubernator (steersman), but rather auxilians (assisting). Notably, an

approximation of this phrase with the more conventional deus (god) rather than dominus (lord)

is found in the preamble to the first seafaring episode of the Vita II Samsonis, and placed in the

mouth of Samson himself.214 The voyage terminates the arrival “ad supra memoratam…

partem” (at the region recounted above), which points to Columba’s earlier description of the

place, “ad illam… regionem quae dicitur Ard ceannachte” (at the district that is called Ard

Ceannacte).”215

Four notable sea journeys remain, the latter three of which are linked and take place in quick

succession, and all four of which occasion a miracle of calming contrary winds, a clear

typological echo of Christ calming the storm.216 The first is the product of the antagonistic

magician Broichan’s hostility when he calls on demons to stir up a storm, daring the saint to sail

against it. Adomnán here dutifully mentions the life of Germanus with its similar miracle of

calming a demonic storm, and makes a point of including details from that life in his own

episode.217 After Adomnán’s digression, Columba calls on Christ and boards the boat.

Cimbulamque ascendens nautis esitantibus ipse constantior factus uelum

contra uentum iubet subregi. Quo facto omni inspectante turba nauigium

flatus contra adversos mira uectum occurit uelocitate. Et post haut grande

interuallum uenti contrarii iteneris ministeria cum omnium ammiratione

213 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 100. 214 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.16–17. “Deo auxiliante” (with God assisting). 215 Admonán, Life of Columba, 100. 216 See Matthew 8:23–27; Mark 4:35–41; Luke 8:22–25. 217 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 145, n. 172.

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reuertuntur. Et sic per totam illam diem flabris lenibus secundis flantibus

beati cimba uiri obtatum prouecta ad portum pulsa est.218

The parallels with the Vita Germani are readily apparent. The voyage begins with the setting of

the sail, making use of the common term velum.219 Unsettled nautae (sailors) are used as a foil

to the saint himself.220 The wind is elaborately articulated as flabra lenia (gentle gusts),

augmented by the addition of the further modifiers secunda flantia (favourable [gusts]

blowing).221 Furthermore, in describing the changing winds, Adomnán echoes the language of

the Vita Germani almost verbatim, bringing wind and course together in the phrase “uenti

contrarii iteneris ministeria… reuertuntur” (the contrary winds are turned into attendants to the

journey).222 Finally, there is the arrival at the portum optatum (chosen port), co-opting the

adjective used in the earlier life.223

As far as its correspondence with the larger pattern of sea journeys, this episode obviously lacks

the call to action, commission and blessing, or disembarking sequence. It also takes place not as

part of a missionary or foundational quest overseas, but rather on Loch Ness as part of a contest

between God and profane magic. Still, the passage contains notable elements that correspond

nicely to those found in other texts.

The remaining opportunities for the saint to overcome contrary winds on the waves take place in

three parallel episodes, two in which sailors intend to ferry building-timbers across a body of

water, and one in which travellers attempt to reach Iona. In the first, the monastic community

218 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 144–6. “And he, ascending the boat, having been made more constant than the

hesitating sailors, orders the sail raised against the wind. With this done the vessel runs with the whole crowd

watching, carried against the contrary gusts with wonderful speed. And after no great interval, the contrary winds

are turned into aids of the journey amid the admiration of all. And thus through that whole day, the boat of the holy

man, driven by suitable gusts blowing favourably, was propelled to the desired port.” 219 Cf. Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 260.6. 220 Cf. Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 260.7. 221 Cf. Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 259.15. 222 Cf. Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 260.16–260.17: “Venti e contrario ad itineris ministeria vertuntur.” 223 Cf. Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 260.18: optatum litus (chosen shore).

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attains favourable winds by means of laying out the saint’s possessions on the altar amid psalms

and fasting.224 Adomnán, narrating in the first person and apparently present during this

incident, describes the episode.

Nam ea die qua nostri nautae omnibus praeparatis supra memoratarum

ligna materiarum propossuere scafis per mare et curucis trahere, uenti

praeteritis contrarii diebus subito in secundos conuersi sunt. Tum deinde

per longas et oblicas uias tota die prosperis flatibus deo propitio

famulantibus et plenis sine ulla retardatione uelis ad Iouam insulam omnis

illa naualis emigratio prospere peruenit.225

Although not appearing in the voyage proper, the sailors make an appearance during the

preparations for the expedition. The “prosperis flatibus” (favourable blasts)—actually “uentis”

(winds) in one manuscript—certainly evokes the wind’s depiction in other texts.226 The “Deo

propitio” (favourable God) in the ablative follows the grammatical pattern of God’s assistance,

if not the precise verbal content. The sails are described as plenus (full), another example of the

preference for that adjective in the context of seafaring. Speed is evoked in the adverb prospere

(favourable). The reference to the viae (ways) on which the ship travels and their status as

longae et oblicae (long and indirect) point toward the range and dubious nature of the path

through the waves, similar to the dubiae viae (dubious ways) found in Jonas’s Vita Columbani

and the ignotae viae (unknown ways) of the Vita Bonifatii.227

The assertion that the voyage occurs “sine ulla retardatione” (without any hindrance) recalls the

first journey in the Vita II Samsonis and the first journey in the Vita Columba, both including

224 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 174. 225 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 174. “So on the day in which our sailors, with all things having been prepared,

proposed to tow the beams for the aforementioned constructions with skiffs and curachs through the sea, the winds,

contrary on the previous days, were suddenly converted into favourable [ones]. So then that entire naval expedition

came favourably through wide and oblique ways to the island of Iona by means of favourable winds all day, with

God favourable to his servants, and with full sails devoid of any hindrance.” 226 British library MS Cotton Tiberius D.III, s. XII/XIII. See Adomnán, Life of Columba, 174, lvi. 227 Jonas, Ionae Vitae, 160.12; Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.13–14.

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iterations of phrases that can be rendered “without delay.”228 Lastly, the arrival is explicitly

expressed, and is accompanied by the geographically specific mention of the destination.

The second of these parallel sea calming episodes, the fifth voyage in the Vita Columbae, again

includes the towing of building materials on the open sea. This time, the winds change in the

middle of the task and place the sailors in danger. Adomnán and his companions complain to

Columba and the winds relent immediately.

Mirum dictu ecce fabonius uentus cessat contrarius, ulturnusque flat dicto

citius secundus. Iusi tum nautae antemnas crucis instar et uela protensis

subleuant rudentibus; prosperisque et lenibus flabris eadem die nostram

appetentes insulam sine ulla laboratione cum illis omnibus qui nauibus

inerant nostris cooperatoribus in lignorum euectione gaudentes

deuehimur.229

Again, many key components are present. The once contrary wind becomes a helpful one,

signaled by secundus (favourable). The sailors raise the sails with straining ropes onto the cross-

shaped yardarms. Even more conventionally, prosperus (favourable) describes the wind. The

“sine ulla laboratione” (without any labour) takes part in the larger pattern of negating hindrance

signified by the lack of any mora (delay), morula (brief delay), or retardatio (hindrance).230

Finally, the arrival includes a depiction of disembarking and unloading cargo in concert with the

rejoicing travel-companions.

The final journey in the Vita Columbae occurs directly after this episode, and is again

occasioned by a desire to travel hindered by the wind, after which there is a frustrated complaint

228 Cf. Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.10, “sine mora”; Adomnán, Life of Columba, 20, “sine morula ulla.” 229 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 176. “And—wonderful to say—the contrary wind Favonius ceases, and more

quickly than speech the favourable Vulturnus blows. Then, the sailors, as ordered, raise the yards in the image of

the cross along with the sails on tautened ropes. And with favourable and light winds on that day, reaching our

island without any labour, we disembark, rejoicing with all those who were in the boats, our partners in unloading

the timber.” 230 Cf. Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.10 (mora); Adomnán, Life of Columba, 20 (morula); Adomnán, Life of

Columba, 174 (retardatio).

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against the saint’s ability to influence the weather. Once the travellers have cried out in

frustration, the night passes and the next day reveals favourable conditions.

Post eandem transactam noctem diluculo mane consurgimus, et uidentes

cessasse contrarios flatus conscensis nauibus nullo flante uento in mare

progredimur. Et ecce statim post nos auster cardinalis qui et nothus inflat.

Tum proinde ouantes nautae uela subregunt. Sicque ea die talis sine

labore nostra tam festina nauigatio et tam prospera beato uiro donante deo

fuit, ut sicuti prius exobtauimus post horam diei tertiam ad Iouae portum

peruenientes insulae.231

This last iteration of the sea journey episode, like the others in the Vita Columbae, represents a

truncation of overall structure that nevertheless maintains significant similarities to my sample-

texts in terms of content and verbal material.

The Columban and Germanian episode of the rearranged winds is repeated. Once the party’s

success is assured, they proceed to the ocean. Here the phrase nullus flans ventus (no blowing

wind) occurs to signify that until the men are aboard, no wind picks up. Neither that phrase nor

the conventional flatus (gust) are attached to the voyage proper, but nevertheless repeat common

verbal collocations. The passage also contains a construction involving negated difficulty, the

assertion of a favourable journey using both festinus (swift) and the more frequently-used

prosperus (favourable), and the mention of God’s assistance in the ablative. Adomnán again

alters this last element using the participle donans (granting), and specifies that this divine

goodwill is directed “beato uiro” (to the blessed man, ie. Columba). Finally, there is the arrival

and its time, not unlike the altera dies (second day) in the lives of Samson.

The Vita Columbae is a clear example of the conventional inclusion of certain details in the core

components of seafaring episodes. In this case, with Adomnán’s tendency toward brevity of

231 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 176. “After that night passed, we rise at daybreak in the morning, and seeing that

the contrary winds had ceased, with the ships boarded, we proceed onto the sea with no wind blowing. And—oh!—

immediately the pivotal south wind that is also called Nothus blows behind us. So then the rejoicing sailors raise

the sails. And thus on that day, without our labour the voyage was so quick and so favourable by means of God

granting it to the blessed man, that just as we desired earlier, we arrived after the third hour of the day at the port of

the island of Iona.”

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action and exposition of morality, the priority seems to be depicting the central component, the

voyage itself. Within this component, we see certain elements common to the other vitae

durably included, often with synonymic or even identical verbal content.

St. Wilfrid, a 7th-century Anglo-Saxon exile-bishop, undertook several journeys over the course

of his various banishments from England. One journey is depicted in the Vita Wilfrithi, written

by Stephen of Ripon—known as Eddius Stephanus—between 709 and 730, and is occasioned

by a return not from exile but from receiving papal blessings in Rome.232 His vita is only found

in one fairly late manuscript from the end of the 11th century: London, British Library, Cotton

Vespasian D.vi.233 It is, however, cited in the 9th-century Old English Martyrology, so was

certainly in England by that time.234 For all its brevity, this episode represents one of the more

elaborate sea journeys among my shorter examples. It occupies only a few lines, but contains

most of the major components.

The journey begins after the death of Bishop Dalfinus, whose martyrdom at the hands of the

wicked queen Baldhild Wilfrid himself narrowly avoids, apparently as a result of his attractive

English appearance.235 He leaves after the bishop’s burial.

Tunc eo tempore sanctus Wilfrithus confessor, patre suo episcopo

honorifice sepulto, cum multiplici benedictione et reliquiarum sanctarum

auxilio navem ascendens, flante vento secundum desiderium nautarum, ad

regionem suam prospere in portum salutis pervenerunt.236

232 See Hall, “Handlist,” 5; Biggs et al., eds., SASLC, Vol. 1, 480; D.H. Farmer, “Saint Wilfrid,” in St. Wilfrid at

Hexham, ed. D.P. Kirby (Newcastle: Oriel Press, 1974), 38; Stephen of Ripon, The Life of Bishop Wilfrid, ed. and

trans. Bertram Colgrave (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1927), x. 233 Gneuss and Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, no. 390. 234 See Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Library, 236; Rauer, Old English Martyrology, 84–86. 235 See Eddius, Life of Wilfrid, 14. 236 Eddius, Life of Wilfrid, 14. “Then, in that time, with his father the bishop honourably buried, the holy confessor

Wilfred, boarding the ship with a manifold blessing and the help of holy relics, with the wind blowing according to

the desire of the sailors, arrived favourably at his own region in the port of safety.”

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The narrative immediately leaps into the activities of the court and the invitation to preach in the

presence of Aldfrith and Oswiu. It therefore lacks the typical landing and disembarking scenes.

The beginning of the episode, however, is highly typical.

While this journey lacks a call to action from overseas, blessings take place at the launch.

Wilfrid boards the ship, and there is a mention of the relics that will be carried with him, a faint

echo of the heavenly cargo in the Patrician lives, although in this case it does not occur in the

landing-sequence but the boarding.237 The journey aboard ship is highly conventional,

containing the flans ventus (blowing wind), a reference to speed in the form of an adverb

derived from the much-used adjective prosperus (favourable), and a reference to the sailors,

before leading into the arrival at the port. This time, the port is not qualified by the adjectives

desideratum (desired) or optatum (chosen), but by its quality of safety: salus.

After Wilfrid, we arrive at the texts being written contemporaneously with Bede’s most

extensive hagiographical output, the first third of the 8th century, in which he wrote both the

Historia ecclesiastica and the Historia abbatum.238 The Historia abbatum’s authorship by one

of Anglo-Saxon England’s most prominent named authors obviously confirms its insular

presence in the 8th century, although it is now only extant in one English manuscript: London,

British Library, Harley MS 3020, dating from between the 10th and 11th centuries.239 It was,

however, extensively circulated and cited.240

237 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 76.19–22; Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 81.13–18; Probus, “Vita Patricii,”

199.6–9 238 Bede, Historia ecclesiastica, xvii; Grocock and Wood, eds. and trans., Abbots of Wearmouth and Jarrow, xviii–

xxi. 239 Gneuss and Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, no. 433. 240 See Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Library, 234, 268.

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The Historia abbatum is by no means a clear-cut example of the genre of hagiography, but

among the exploits of the abbots Bede admires are several journeys to the continent.241 One such

journey, belonging to the abbot Ceolfrid II, represents a peculiar fit with the model I have

described, mainly insofar as it lacks an extensive treatment of the voyage itself, but adheres to

the pattern representing the approach to that journey. Moreover, the portion of the journey most

germane to my study actually concerns the crossing of a river, not the English Channel. It does,

however, contain many elements in common with true sea journeys in hagiography.

Ceolfrid II, after serving as abbot of Wearmouth-Jarrow for a time, desires to relinquish his post

in order to let his life come to an end in Rome. His monks are distraught and reluctant to see

him leave, not unlike the accounts of the sadness experienced by Boniface’s brothers and

Columbanus’s superior upon their departure.242 Their ceremonious sendoff is appropriate to

their sorrow, and rituals surround every part of Ceolfrid’s journey from the monastery. I will

pick up the account at the actual departure scene, which depicts the crossing on a river-ferry on

the way to the true sea voyage. It begins at his farewell valediction.

Veniunt ad litus; rursum osculo pacis inter lacrimas omnes dato genua

flectunt; dat orationem, ascendit nauem cum comitibus. Ascendunt et

diacones ecclesiae cereas ardentes et crucem ferentes auream, transiit

flumen, adorat crucem, ascendit equum, et abiit.243

The similarity to other texts in spite of its contextual difference is striking.

First, the blessings and kisses of peace that accompany the mourning as Ceolfrid boards are

conventional. The standard boarding occurs, as does the mention of Ceolfrid’s comites

241 See Gunn, Bede’s Historiae, 117. There was sufficient interest in Ceolfrid to have inspired an anonymous vita

previous to Bede’s Historia abbatum. See Simon Coates, “Ceolfrid: History, Hagiography and Memory in Seventh

and Eighth-century Wearmouth-Jarrow,” Journal of Medieval History 25, no. 2 (1999): 72. Its corresponding

episode is not sufficiently extensive to warrant attention here. 242 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 18.13–20.9; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 159.24–160.5. 243 Bede, Abbots, 64. “They come to the shore. With the kiss of peace again given among all the tears, they bend

their knees. He offers a prayer; he embarks upon the ship with his companions. And the deacons of the church

embark bearing burning candles and a golden cross. He crossed the river, worshipped [lit. ‘worships’] the cross,

mounted his horse, and departed.”

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(companions). Similar to Wilfrid’s journey, mention of the goods transported on the vessel—in

this case those signifying a sacred procession—takes place in conjunction with the loading of

the ship rather than its disembarking, as it occurs in the Patrician texts.244 Once the ship is

loaded, however, the crossing occurs in short order and diverges from the broader patterns at

work, although the saint is depicted mounting his horse on the far shore after a prayer.

Strangely, the actual crossing of the ocean is also elided. It does seem clear, however, that Bede

was intent on working within the pattern of farewell and departure established in previous

seafaring episodes. This impulse on Bede’s part becomes even more striking when his work is

compared with the nearly contemporaneous Vita S. Ceolfridi by an anonymous hagiographer,

which depicts a journey utterly unlike the one contained in the Historia abbatum.245

Another hagiographer, the Anglo-Saxon nun Hygeburg of Heidenheim, was one of the few

prominent female authors of the 8th century and wrote the Hodoeporicon Willibaldi between 776

and 786.246 Her text traces the Anglo-Saxon traveller Willibald’s journey to the Holy Land. As

such, it naturally contains sea journeys, one of which adheres to the hagiographical model on

which I base my schema.

Willibald’s journey grows from the seed of youthful interest in pilgrimage and is fulfilled when

he persuades his father and brother to accompany him across the sea.247 Once the time is

appropriate, they set out.

Et congrua estatis tempore prumpti [read prompti] ac parati, sumpturis

secum vitaeque stipendiis, cum collegum cetu comitantes ad loca

venerunt destinata que prisco dicitur vocabulo Hamel-ea-mutha, iuxta illa

244 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 76.19–22; Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda and quarta,” 81.13–18; Probus, “Vita Patricii,”

199.6–9; Eddius, Life of Wilfrid, 14. 245 Cf. the anonymous “Vita Ceolfridi,” in Abbots of Wearmouth and Jarrow, ed. and trans. Christopher Grocock

and I.N. Wood (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2013), 102–8. 246 Hall, “Handlist,” 6–7; Magennis, “Audience(s), Reception, Literacy,” 87; Fulk and Cain, A History, 9. 247 Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” ed. O. Holder-Egger, Monumenta Germaniae historica, scriptores 15, no. 1 (1887),

90.1–91.2. All references to the MGH edition of the Hodoeporicon will be given in the format <page-number.line-

number–page-number.line-number>.

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mercimonio que dicitur Ham-wih; et non multo transacto temporis

intercapidine et navigio parata [read parato], nautus ille cum classis

suoque nauclerio, naulo inpenso, circio flante, ponte pollente, remigiis

crepitantis, classis clamantibus, celocem ascenderunt.248

Hygeburg’s description begins with the approach to the shore, in which preparation is doubly

expressed, both in the fact that the travellers and the navigio (vessel) are described as paratus

(prepared). The notion of a hasty boarding is evoked, both in the ship’s description as celox

(swift), the prompti (eager) travellers, and the assertion that no great time passes before they

board the ship. The usual comites (companions) are omitted, but the notion of companionship is

created with the help of the derivative comitantes (accompanying) and the alliterative detail that

these men constitute a collegum coetus (company of associates). Moreover, the mention of

Willibald’s classis (division) at two points reinforces his companionship.

Meanwhile, the reference to Willibald as “nautus ille” (read nauta: “that sailor”) points to a

common element in the voyage component of sea journeys, the presence of sailors, although in

this case it is displaced onto the boarding process. Additional details include mention of the

necessities of travel that the men haul, the captain, the fare for the journey, the pounding sea, the

beating oars, and the men’s rejoicing. Hygeburg also interjects the detail of the circius flans

(blowing wind), a reference to wind that usually occurs later in the seafaring episode, but

maintains the vocabulary of other texts in the participle employed.

The voyage itself and the arrival share the same reliance on familiar elements.

Cumque, transmeatis maritimis fluctuum formidinibus periculosisque

pelagii pressuris, vastum per aequorum [read aequor] citato celocis cursu,

prosperis ventis, velata nave, tuti aridam viderunt terram, et statim

248 Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.3–7. “And with the time of the summer agreeing, the eager and prepared men,

taking with them the necessities of life, joining with a band of associates, came to the assigned regions which in the

ancient language are called Hamblemouth, next to that market which is called Hamwich. And with no great interval

of time passed over and the vessel prepared, that seafarer with the troops and his captain mounted the swift boat

with the fare paid, the northwest wind blowing, the water buffeting, the oars groaning, [and] the ranks exalting.”

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obantes de nave ascenderunt et illic castraverunt et tentoria fixerunt in

ripa fluminis que nuncupatur Sigone, iuxta urbe que vocatur Rotum.249

Here we are able to see several hallmarks of the voyage proper, including a reference to the

route of the ship, the cursus (course), attached to an adjective for speed, citatus (quick). In this

case, the adjective prosperus (favourable) is applied to the winds that drive the ship. Additional

elements seem to stem from Hygeburg’s impulse toward dynamism, such as the surging waves

and the image of the vast water they must cross. The ship is also described as velata, or veiled, a

reference to the sails.

On the arrival and landing, other details emerge, hinging on visual and salutary language. The

arida terra (dry land) spotted by the travelers resembles the phrase used for Boniface’s arrival

on the continent.250 Willibald’s arrival is also described in strictly visual terms by means of the

verb videre (to see). She refers to the men as “tuti,” which seems best imagined as the adjective

tutus (secure).251 This term further reinforces the similarities between her work and the Vita

Bonifatii, which, in the clause preceding the arrival on dry land, refers to the men as “expertes

periculi naufragio” (safe from the catastrophe of shipwreck) as they spot land, in that case using

the verb aspicere (to observe).252

Disembarking from the ship contains both standard elements and unconventional details.

Willibald ascends the shore as he ascended the ship, not unlike Ceolfrid II mounts his horse

upon arrival as he first mounted his vessel.253 They make camp after they descend from the ship

249 Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.8–11. “And when, with the maritime terrors of the floods and the treacherous

swells of the sea crossed over on the swift course of the ship through the vast ocean, with favourable winds on a

ship enshrouded [in sails], they safely saw dry land, they, immediately rejoicing, both descended from the ship and

there made camp, and pitched their tents on the shores of the river which is called the Seine, next to the town which

is called Rouen.” 250 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, l. 18. 251 “Tuti” could be interpreted as the past participle of tueri (to see). However, this reading would make the finite

verb of the clause, videre (to see), redundant. The adjective tutus seems entirely more likely. 252 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.16. 253 Bede, Abbots, 64.

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to rest themselves, much as in the Vita Bonifatii.254 The passage is also laden with specific

geographical and topographical information; the party lands on the shores of the Seine, near

Rouen.

Two texts from the 9th century remain for examination. First, Alcuin’s Vita Willibrordi, written

at the end of the 8th century or beginning of the 9th, presents another Anglo-Saxon missionary

and traveller.255 His account of Willibrord’s journey to Frisia is quite sparse and fragmented, but

worth examination for its detail. It begins with a call to action from overseas, deriving from the

paganism of the Frisians: “Audiuit in borealibus mundi partibus messem quidem multam esse

sed operarios paucos.”256 This passage resembles the kind of external call found in the lives of

Patrick.257

The sequence of events is relatively fragmentary, but nonetheless strikingly similar to the other

episodes. It lacks a commission and blessing in favour of a reference to a miraculous dream sent

to Alcuin’s mother earlier in the vita, but proceeds directly into the voyage itself:

“Adsumptisque secum duodecim fratribus, eo fidei feruore armatos quo et ipse, nauem

conscendit.”258 The mention of twelve companions—the same party-size as the Vita

Columbani—takes place.259 These companions cut rather martial figures by means of their faith,

254 See above, p. 54. 255 See Hall, “Handlist,” 8–9; Lapidge, “Anglo-Latin Background,” 24; also see Peter Godman, “The Anglo-Latin

‘Opus geminatum’: from Aldhelm to Alcuin,” Medium Ævum 50 (1981): 223; Bill Friesen, “The Opus geminatum

and Anglo-Saxon Literature,” Neophilologus (2011) 95: 123–144. 256 Alcuin, L’oeuvre hagiographique en prose d’Alcuin, ed. and trans. Christiane Veyrard-Cosme (Florence:

SISMEL Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2003), 44. “He heard that in northern parts of the world the harvest was great but

the workers were few.” 257 See above, p. 45–46. 258 Alcuin, L’oeuvre, 44. “And with twelve brothers having been taken up with him, armed with the fervour of the

faith with which he was also, he embarked on the ship.” 259 See above, p. 65; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.7.

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not unlike Probus’s depiction of Patrick on his landing.260 And, of course, Willibrord is depicted

boarding the ship.

After a brief excursus on the future martyrdom of these companions, Alcuin launches into the

description of the sea journey:

Igitur uiro Dei cum sociis, sicut praediximus, nauiganti, donec prospero

cursu ostia Hreni fluminis uela deposuit, ibique optata telluris statione

refocilati sunt et mox ad castellum Traiectum, quod in ipsa eiusdem

fluminis ripa situm est, peruenerunt.261

This passage is less elaborate than some of the other representations of a journey, but contains

the conventional detail of the prosperus cursus (favourable course). The voyage proper also

reiterates Willibrord’s accompaniment before proceeding in short order to the arrival. The

arrival element provides the specific geographical detail that they land at Utrecht, which is

further specified by optatus (chosen) as in the Germanian and Columban material.262 It is here,

as well, that Alcuin chooses to mention the sails, using the idea of taking them down as a stand-

in for arrival.

The last text in which I have observed these seafaring conventions is Bili of Alet’s Vita S.

Machuti, written between 866 and 872.263 The vita remains fully extant in only one English

manuscript and fragmentary in another: the 10th/11th-century London, British Library, Royal

13.A.x and the 11th-century Cotton Otho A.viii.264 It is, however, included in Rauer’s survey of

dragon analogues to Beowulf, and it is entirely possible that the popularity of Machutus’s

precursors, St. Brendan and the Celtic evangelists, would spark English interest in this figure.

Moreover, this vita is an excellent representative of the conventional details present across the

260 See above, p. 47; Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 199.7. 261 Alcuin, L’oeuvre, 44. “Therefore, as we said, with the man of God sailing with his associates until, after a

favourable course to the mouth of the river Rhine, he took down the sails, and there in the chosen part of the world

they were revived and soon arrived at the castle of Utrecht which is situated on the bank of that river.” 262 Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 259.14–260.18; Adomnán, Life of Columba, 146. 263 Yerkes, ed. Life of Machutus, xxvi; David Yerkes, “Provenance of the Unique Copy,” 108. 264 Gneuss and Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, no. 348 and 482; also see Biggs et al., SASLC, Vol. 1, 308.

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tradition of hagiographical sea journeys. In spite of the text’s relative lateness, I choose to

include it in my survey because, as will be seen, its level of correspondence with Beowulf is

surprisingly high.

As a companion of Brendan, Machutus undertakes several fantastical sea journeys, but the one

that engages to some degree with the pattern established above is his much more naturalistically

depicted journey to September Island on the way to Brittany, where he eventually joins the

ranks of Celtic evangelists to the Bretons. Bili’s narrative is intermittent and punctuated by

family drama and dialogue, but contains many of the elements traced so far. His call comes not

from a crisis overseas or the knowledge of a people in need of evangelism, but from hearing his

master’s treatment of Luke 14 and the necessity of cutting ties with family and homeland.265

Once this idea is firmly embedded in Machutus’s mind, it requires a substantial speech for him

to encourage his parents and master to relinquish him to his peregrinations, but once he secures

his superior’s support, the older man gives him permission to leave with a blessing.266

It is at this point that the seafaring party makes its way to the shore, accompanied by Machutus’s

farewells to his wailing parents.

At ille magistro omnibusque qui simul ibi adfuissent parentibusque suis

terrenis ualedicens ad mare cum contubernalis discipulis qui simul

educati fuissent cum eo numero triginta tribus perrexit. Tunc parentes

uidentes incassum esse eum quem deus elegerat retinere, osculantes eum

et quasi mortuum licet uiuum computantes, flentes eiulantesque usque ad

mare ut uiderent exitum rei perrexerunt.267

265 Bili, Life of Machutus, 30.14–22. 266 Bili, Life of Machutus, 30.14–32.11. Citations in Yerkes’s edition will be formatted <page-number.line-

number>. Yerkes has attempted to represent the manuscript’s punctuation in his edition, which I shall be adapting

to modern conventions. Otherwise, my orthography follows his exactly. 267 Bili, Life of Machutus, 32.11–34.19. “And he, bidding farewell to his master, and all who had been present there

at the same time, and his earthly parents, proceeded to the sea with his cohabitating students who had been educated

at the same time with him, 33 in number. Then his parents, seeing that it was useless to cling to him whom God had

chosen, kissing him and considering him as if dead though he was alive, proceeded to the sea weeping and wailing,

so that they might see the outcome of the affair.”

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In this description of the approach to the shore we can see the elements so common in this

component of the seafaring episode. As Machutus makes his way to the shore, his companions

are mentioned and the number is specified, not unlike the Vita Columbani and Vita

Willibrordi.268 In this case, however, comites (companions) is not used. The farewell is given in

terms of the participle valedicens (wishing well), and they kiss. The sorrow felt at Machutus’s

departure is also a commonplace among the vitae I have addressed, although both this element

and the kisses of farewell are more conventionally included in the commission and blessing

component.

The process of embarking is appended to the approach to the ship in what could be described as

a cinematic moment of visual appropriation, maintaining some familiar language.

Et cum illi parentes exploratoresque alii qui simul ut uiderent quomodo in

uasto equore pergerent uenerant super colinum starent, ecce nauis parata

in litore adstabat cum omnibus necessariis et uelum extensum in eo erat

nullusque in ea habitabat, preter deum qui omnia seruis suis disponit.

Tunc illi omnes qui uoluntarie peregrinationi se eligerent laudantes deum,

atque letaniam cantantes nauem introire.269

Here the procession and embarking depict a further component of sacred utterance, as the men

sing a litany and praise God while they enter the ship, as do Ceolfrid and his companions. More

conventional elements include the image of the navis preparata (prepared ship) standing on the

shore, while the men carry the elements necessary for travel. These necessaries take part in the

larger pattern of a reference to cargo in the boarding-phase, as is the case in the lives of Wilfrid,

Ceolfrid, and Willibald.270 Bili also echoes Hygeburg’s use of the collocation vastum aequor

268 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.6; Alcuin, L’oeuvre, 44. 269 Bili, Life of Machutus, 34.20–28. “And when those parents and the other explorers who had also come in order

that they might see how they were faring on the vast sea stood over that place—hark!—the readied ship was

standing on the shore with all the necessities, and the sail was extended over it, and no one was inhabiting it except

for God, who arranges all things for his servants. Then all those who voluntarily committed themselves to

pilgrimage, praising God and singing a litany, entered the ship.” 270 Eddius, Life of Wilfrid, 14; Bede, Abbots, 64; Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.3–4.

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(vast sea), though it is governed by a different preposition.271 An echo of the Vita II Samsonis’s

first episode occurs with the reference to the velum extensum (extended sail) as well.272

In spite of this episode’s maintenance of numerous elements and verbal collocations common to

other texts, its actual voyage component is almost absent, elided in favour of a discussion with

the ship’s navigator regarding Machutus’s Christian mission and the necessity of relying on

God. The action of the voyage is reduced to one clause, “nauis fortiter mare sulcabat” (the ship

was forcefully cleaving the sea), a detail which makes it an unusual comparand for the other

saints’ lives and ultimately Beowulf.273 Bili seems to have been much more concerned with the

issues of personal sacrifice surrounding the journey than its representation. He does, however,

include two interesting near-collocations with the preceding vitae. At one point, Machutus

asserts that “patriam brittonum experire cupimus, si deus omnipotens qui omnia gubernat,

prosperum nauigium dederit nobis.”274 The close association between deus (god) and the finite

verb gubernare (to steer) is strikingly similar to the participial use of the verb in prior

expressions of God’s guidance.275

The arrival at September Island occurs shortly after this discussion. It is depicted in one short

clause, and provides specific geographic information: “Illi igitur peruenerunt ad insulam que

uocatur September.”276 Bili here shifts perspective from Machutus and his party to a priest of the

island, one Festivus, who had been alerted to their imminent arrival the previous night. Three

elements in this story strike me as interesting.

271 Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.9. 272 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.13. 273 Bili, Life of Machutus, 36.11. 274 Bili, Life of Machutus, 34.5–7. “We wish to experience the homeland of the Bretons, if almighty God, who

governs all things, grants a favourable voyage to us.” 275 See above, p. 75; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.1–9 276 Bili, Life of Machutus, 36.12–13. “Therefore they arrived at the island which is called September.”

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In his dream, a voice tells Festivus, “Cratina die uidebis cum thesauro optimo nauem

uenientem.”277 This statement would seem to be an oblique inclusion of the image of cargo or

treasure associated with disembarking, and is associated with the character who will represent

the element of the meeting onshore. Similarly, the specification of the time at which the ship

will arrive calls to mind the “altera die” (second day) of the first episodes in both lives of

Samson, although the action has been relocated onto the priest on the shore, and is therefore not

a perfect match.278

After his dream, however, Festivus goes to the shore and looks out for the ship, presumably

waiting to greet the men on shore. It is at this point, however, that the narrative abruptly changes

course and digresses into Machutus’s first miracle on the island, the banishing of a dragon,

which he accomplishes by means of a foray onto land before he meets the islanders properly.279

Regardless of this diversion, a meeting onshore will occur as soon as Machutus lands, since the

inhabitants of the island are expecting him. After the dragon is defeated, this is precisely what

happens, as the local monks rush to greet him in adulation.280

Bili’s Vita Machuti constitutes the last text to include these conventional seafaring elements.

Each of the vitae containing minor seafaring episodes serves to complete the picture of the sea

journey as it appears in its more extensive treatments in the lives of Patrick, the Vita Bonifatii,

the lives of Samson, and the Vita Columbani, to the point that an extended schema is now

possible. Table 2.3 displays this updated schematization of the hagiographical sea journey.

277 Bili, Life of Machutus, 36.18–19. “On the next day you will see a ship coming with the best treasure.” 278 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.9. 279 Bili, Life of Machutus, 36.24–40.31. 280 Bili, Life of Machutus, 40.32–37.

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Table 2.3: Green boxes indicate texts that contain the element in question unequivocally. Yellow indicates the existence of the element, but

presented unconventionally, dubiously, or outside of its most common structural component.

Patrick Boniface Samson I.1 Samson II.1 Samson I.2 Samson II.2 Columban Germanus Columba 1 Columba 2 Columba 3 Columba 4 Columba 5 Columba 6 Wilfrid Ceolfrid Willibald Willibrord Machutus

Call to Action

Annunciation of

Need Overseas

Internal Promptings

Completed Mission

Commission and

Blessing

Valedictions

Sadness of Loved

Ones

Farewell Kisses

Procession to the

Shore and Boarding

Outfitted Ship navis parata navis

parata

navis

parata

“navigationem

praeparat”

navigium

paratum

navis parata

Haste celeriter

(Probus)

celeriter

Companions comites (IV) comites comites comitantes comitantes comites comites comitantes

Numbered

Cargo

Voyage Aboard

Ship

prosperus navigatio

prospera

prospere prosperum

navigium

Wind flatus

prosperus

ventus

plenus, flans

ventus ventus flans ventus flans flabra

prosperantia

venti, flabra

lenia

venti secundi

et prosperi

ventus, venti,

flabra lenia,

secunda flantia

venti secundi,

flatus prosperi

ventus, secundus,

flare, prospera et

lenia flabra

flatus,

ventus flans

ventus

flans

venti

prosperi,

flans

Sails velum velum

extensum

velum plenum vela velum vela plena vela vela velata vela velum

extensum

Course or Current viae, prosperus

fluctus

(Probus)

cursus

prosperus,

viae

iter

prosperus

iter

prosperus

prosperus

cursus

viae, cursus fluctus, iter iter viae cursus,

fluctus

cursus

prosperus

Lack of Hindrance “sine mora” “sine morula

ulla”

“sine ulla

retardatione”

“sine ulla

laboratione”

“sine labora

nostra”

Sailors

God’s Guidance

(floating)

deus

gubernans

deus

gubernans,

deus

auxilians

deus ducens deus dux ac

protector

christus dux christus dux dominus

auxilians

deus propitius deus

donans

“deus…

gubernat”

Arrival

Sighting

Destination

Description of

Destination

portum,

hostium

hostia, terra

arida

portum

desideratum

portum

desideratum

optatum portum optatum portum portum terra arida ostia

Time of Arrival altera dies altera dies crastina dies

Disembarking

Prayer or Rejoicing

Cargo

Pausing Onshore

Meeting Onshore

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Having suggested this framework, I will proceed to an examination of Beowulf’s sea journeys

and the comparison of their constituent components with their counterparts within the

hagiographies.

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Chapter 3: Saintly Seafaring, Secular Type-Scene

The previous chapter suggests that there were strong conventions underlying literary

representations of sea voyages in hagiography. I will now proceed to examine Beowulf’s

seafaring episodes and compare those elements that appear across the Old English poem and the

vitae. First, one aside: as Theodore Andersson and others have observed, the Beowulf-poet may

have been drawing on knowledge of Vergil’s Aeneid to construct his scenes.1 Andersson’s

comparative treatment of a number of scenes in the Latin epic—and its latter-day, Christian-epic

descendants as written by the likes of Juvencus and Sedulius—presents a number of interesting

parallels.2 However, the extent to which an Anglo-Saxon poet might be immersed in exposure to

Vergil is unknown, so the Aeneid provides only one possible well from which to draw

inspiration.3 I do regard that as an avenue of inquiry worth revisiting, but since the focus of my

work is the possible influence of hagiography, I will focus my attention elsewhere.

To return to my objective, the simplest way to determine the possible alignment between the

vitae and Beowulf is to schematize the latter text and compare its two major seafaring episodes

with those found in hagiography. Fortunately, the groundwork for this endeavor has been laid in

a number of articles participating in oral-traditional scholarship. This scholarship provides

convenient frameworks for type-scenes with attention to verbal detail, mostly with respect to

formulaic content shared between Old English texts. As such, I will acknowledge the work of

previous scholars while making my own observations.

1 See above, pp. 4–5. 2 See Andersson, Early Epic Scenery, 146–50 and above, pp. 11–12. 3 See Orchard, Critical Companion, 133 and above, p. 5.

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Three prominent and iterative treatments of the Old English sea journey type-scene have taken

place so far.4 These treatments display the necessarily arbitrary nature of the act of parsing

narrative content, as each scholar defines the boundaries of the scene’s structural components

differently. Still, their work represents a process analogous to my own, and their schemata in

many ways reflect mine. Robert Diamond’s first foray into articulating the scene focussed

mainly on formulaic verbal collocations as evidence of a body of traditional oral stock,

manifesting themselves most strongly in Elene and Beowulf, and he offers a brief recapitulation

of the structure of each of Beowulf’s seafaring episodes as he tracks their formulas.5

Diamond articulates the structure of the first episode into the following five elements: I)

annunciation of the voyage; II) voyagers approaching the shore; III) the loading and launching

of the ship; IV) the voyage itself; V) mooring the ship and going ashore. The second episode

consists of only four: I) readying of the ship; II) the voyage itself; III) the landing; IV) the

mooring of the ship by the harbour-guard. Lee Ramsey undertakes a similar project with respect

to Beowulf’s scenes alone, but his treatment is quite brief and does not add a great deal of

information to the scholarship.6

John Miles Foley’s treatment is the most codified, accounting for both an overarching

examination of the main components contained in the poem’s seafaring episodes and its verbal

detail, especially couching the latter in the context of Germanic poetical language.7 As Foley

sees it, there are five main components of the Beowulfian sea voyage, each with subsidiary

elements, the main components being codified by means of the letters A–E. His overarching

structure can be schematized in this way: A) Beowulf leads his men to the ship; B) the ship

4 See above, pp. 18–19. 5 Diamond, “Theme as Ornament,” 464–68. 6 Ramsey, “Sea Voyages,” 54–56. 7 Foley, Traditional, 336–44 and above, pp. 19–20.

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waits, moored; C) his men board the ship, carrying treasure; D) departure, voyage on the sea,

arrival; E) they moor the ship.8 Subsidiary elements that Foley observes include multiple

interactions with the coast-wardens that greet Beowulf, mentions of armour in both voyages,

and a prayer of thanks in the first.9

While I find Foley’s focus on these particular subsidiary elements somewhat arbitrary, he does

make the point that the type-scene is adaptable to context, an observation which could imply the

cross-generic possibilities of scene-sharing between Latin hagiography and Old English

poetry.10 Foley also takes up an examination of lexical material as it manifests itself between the

two iterations of the sea voyage scene.11 Combined with Diamond’s earlier examination, Foley

provides an excellent framework for unpacking these episodes from their structure down to their

verbal collocations.

It will first be noticed, however, that Foley’s structure does not account for anything beyond the

actual approach to the shore upon departure. I do not venture to call this an oversight, but within

the whole narrative arc of the journey, the initiation of the act of travel often begins well before

the trip to the shore and ends with the beginning of the following episode. In this way,

Diamond’s schematization rather than Foley’s most fully reflects my own, accounting for the

journey from its initial inspiration to its termination onshore. The Patrician material provides the

clearest example of this structure, since Patrick’s mission begins in earnest when he hears of

Palladius’s death, and ends with the meeting of the swineherd.12 Accordingly, I extend my

structuring of Beowulf’s sea journeys slightly farther than does Foley in an attempt to compare

them fruitfully to their hagiographic counterparts. I will now undertake a component-by-

8 Foley, Traditional, 338. 9 Foley, Traditional, 337–38. 10 See above, pp. 18–22. 11 Foley describes individual lexical elements as “morphs,” defined as “roots of words whose systemic context is

metrically (and therefore lexically and syntactically) highly variable.” See Foley, Traditional, 340. 12 See above, pp. 45–48.

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component analysis of the scenes as they manifest themselves in both journeys, taking note of

their correspondences with the most relevant vitae and paying special attention to any verbal

collocations that could conceivably represent calques of Latin phrases. Again, the structure can

be schematized into the following headings: I) call to action; II) commission and blessing; III)

procession to the shore and boarding; IV) voyage aboard ship; V) arrival; VI) disembarking.

3.1 Away to Denmark

3.1.1 Call to Action

The first voyage takes place once news of Grendel’s depredations in Denmark reaches Beowulf

in Geatland. As an introduction to the poem’s hero, the reader only becomes acquainted with

Beowulf as the news arrives, thereby pairing his entry into the text with the call to action: “Þæt

fram ham gefrægn Higelaces þegn / god mid Geatum, Grendles dæda.”13 This constitutes a

definite call to action, which inspires the hero to immediate motion. However, by necessity of

Beowulf’s first appearance and in the interest of a potent introduction of his character, the

narrator goes on to provide him with a celebratory description: “Se wæs moncynnes mægenes

strengest / on þæm dæge þysses lifes / æþele ond eacen.”14

This call to action clearly evokes those found in the lives of Patrick, Germanus, Silnán’s journey

in the Vita Columbae, and the Vita Willibrordi, in which news of trouble overseas inspires the

saint to travel.15 Notably, the Vita secunda and Vita quarta Patricii refer to the state of Patrick’s

13 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 194–95. “Hygelac’s retainer, a good man among the Geats, learned of

that, of Grendel’s deeds, from his home.” 14 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 196–98b. “He was the strongest in might among mankind on that day of

this life, noble and prodigious.” 15 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 72.21–23; Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 258.5–7; Adomnán, Life of Columba, 97–98;

Alcuin, L’oeuvre, 44.

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unconverted former master as a need to be liberated “de iugo diaboli” (from the devil’s yoke),16

a state of diabolical oppression, which accords well with the situation in Beowulf.

Beowulf is immediately appraised, as this passage represents his introduction into the text. Both

Patrick and Germanus are also praised highly during the initiation of their journeys—Patrick in

his commissioning scene where he is compared to Melchisedech and Germanus in the analogous

scene, when he and his companion are described as “eroes devotissimi” (heroes most devoted)

in keeping with the martial flavor of his undertaking.17 Although this description occurs as part

of a different element than the call to action, I am inclined to think that the introduction of a

saintly quest overseas is met with the urge to praise the saint’s fitness for the task, an urge that is

also present in Beowulf, where it is immediately inserted due to the hero’s abrupt introduction.

3.1.2 Commission and Blessing

Once the voyage’s importance and the worthiness of the poem’s hero are established, the poet is

all action, continuing in short order with Beowulf’s initiation of the journey and consultation

with his superiors. This is the section of the poem that both Diamond and Ramsay consider the

beginning of the sea journeying scene. Diamond describes this component as “the voyage is

announced (ll. 198b–200),” while Ramsay describes it more expansively: “Beowulf gives an

order to his men (198–99) and explains the purpose of his voyage (199–201).”18

I quote the passage in full.

Het him yðlidan

godne gegyrwan; cwæð, he guðcyning

ofer swanrade secean wolde,

mærne þeoden, þa him wæs manna þearf.

Ðone siðfæt him snotere ceorlas

lythwon logon, þeah he him leof wære;

16 Bieler, ed., “Vita secunda,” 81.27, col. a. Cf. “de diaboli iugo,” Bieler, ed., “Vita quarta,” 81.28, col. b. 17 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.6–8; Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 259.11. 18 Diamond, “Theme as Ornament,” 465; Ramsay, “Sea Voyages,” 55.

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hwetton hige(r)ofne, hæl sceawedon.19

Beowulf’s declaration of his intentions and command for a ship to be prepared initiates concern

in Hygelac, Beowulf’s king, the entire reality of which we are not fully acquainted with until

much later in the poem.20 At this point, however, the reader is aware only that the wise men of

his nation—apparently contrary to their king’s wishes—heartily endorse his plan. Furthermore,

they incite him to action as the use of hwettan (to urge) signifies and perform anticipatory or

ritualistic activity signified by the phrase “hæl sceawedon” (they examined omens).

This passage also serves to demonstrate the aforementioned, somewhat arbitrary nature of

efforts to schematize these scenes. While Foley does not begin his articulation until the actual

journey to the shore and cannot therefore be accused of overtly selective reading, both Diamond

and Ramsey move directly from the annunciation of the voyage to the upcoming journey to the

shore. This makes sense in light of these scholars’ primary goal, the comparison of this episode

with other Old English texts and their seafaring scenes. Since most of these do not contain a

corresponding council-scene as part of the immediate action—one notable exception being

Elene—it does make a certain sense to omit it from their schemata.21 Within my own project,

the scene with the Geatish council has analogues among the vitae, and therefore fits within an

articulation of this narrative sequence. Two of its elements, however, present interesting

challenges: the rituals surrounding Beowulf’s departure and the general attitude toward his

mission in Denmark.

19 “Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 198b–204. “He ordered a good wave-rider prepared for himself. He said

that he desired to seek out the war-king across the swan-road, the famous king, since there was a need of men on

his part. Wise men faulted that journey to him little, though he was beloved to them. They incited the one brave in

mind. They examined omens.” Beowulf himself later recounts their positive sentiment to Hrothgar’s court, echoing

the language of this passage with a repetition of the phrase “snotere ceorlas” (wise men): Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s

Beowulf, ll. 415–26a. 20 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1992b–98. 21 See Krapp, ed., “Elene,” ll. 194–211.

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To begin, the last action undertaken in the council before Beowulf’s departure is the

examination of omens. The phrase “hæl sceawedon” (they examined omens) has sparked

contention, however. While it would fit the valedictory tone found in many hagiographic

blessings if, as Christine Fell asserts, this phrase could be reliably translated “they wished him

luck,”22 Fred Robinson has sufficiently demolished that notion.23 If we were to accept

Sedgefield’s early emendation of “sceawedon” to “geeawedon,” an emendation even he does

not maintain in his later editions of the poem, and allow for Fell’s preference for interpreting

hæl as hælo, the phrase would yield the sense “they granted health/luck/safety.”24 Only a very

strained reading of this dubious emendation would provide the sense that Fell suggests. At any

rate, there does seem to be a ritualistic urge at work here, in the same vein as the blessings

offered to or by saints as they depart on their missions.

All of this activity represents Beowulf’s manifestation of the commission and blessing element,

found to varying degrees in a great many of the vitae, including Patrick’s, Boniface’s, both of

Samson’s voyages in the Vita I and II, Columban’s, Germanus’s, the Vita Columbae’s first and

second voyages, Wilfrid’s, Ceolfrid II’s, and Machutus’s.25 Beowulf echoes the sense of some

instances more closely, specifically those that depict a synod or council rather than an individual

interaction. The Vita Germani presents a synodal blessing, and the psalm-singing and

archiepiscopal seat of the lives of Patrick would seem to suggest a public, episcopal forum.26

22 C.E. Fell, “Paganism in Beowulf: A Semantic Fairy-Tale,” in Pagans and Christians, eds. T. Hofstra, L.A.J.R.

Houwen, and A.A. MacDonald (Groningen: Egbert Forsten, 1995), 28–33. 23 Fred C. Robinson, “The Language of Paganism in Beowulf: A Response to an Ill-Omened Essay,” Multilingua:

Journal of Cross-Cultural and Interlanguage Communication 18, nos. 2–3 (1999): 173–83. 24 W.J. Sedgefield, Beowulf: Edited with Introduction, Bibliography, Notes, Glossary, and Appendices

(Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1910), 204b. 25 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.5–8; Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.10–11; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202, 222; Plaine,

ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.1, 118.12–13; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 159.24–160.2; Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 259.7–9;

Adomnán, Life of Columba, 20; Eddius, Life of Wilfrid, 14; Bede, Abbots, 64; Bili, Life of Machutus, 32.11–15. 26 Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 259.7–12; Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 72.21–74.8.

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Ceolfrid II’s journey is also begun after a ceremonious sendoff from his bishop and monks.27

These episodes represent a strong precedent for communal support for a journey, an element

that is certainly included in Beowulf.

The second interpretive difficulty in this section is the general attitude among the Geats toward

Beowulf’s departure.28 As part of the commission and blessing, the suggestion that the Geats at

home have some consternation about the journey is implied by the phrase “þeah he him leof

wære” (though he was beloved to them). The logic of this statement, of course, is that the Geats

recognize the danger in the prospective quest and feel concern toward their beloved young hero.

This half-line may also represent an oblique reference to the information the reader receives

only on Beowulf’s return, when he speaks with Hygelac and the king discusses his earlier

concerns.

Ic ðæs modceare

sorhwylmum seað, siðe ne truwode

leofes mannes; ic ðe lange bæd

þæt ðu þone wælgæst wihte ne grette,

lete Suð-Dene sylfe geweorðan

guðe wið Grendel.29

This later passage acts to flesh out the reader’s understanding of the sentiments at home as

Beowulf is preparing to leave, and sheds light on the assertion that Beowulf’s elders and peers

did not denigrate his journey. Equipped with this information, it makes the situation seem as

though Hygelac’s court—and primarily Hygelac himself—is saddened and concerned by the

potential loss of the young Beowulf, but is forced by the heroic economy at work within the

poem to allow his departure.

27 Bede, Abbots, 64. 28 See Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, lxxxix. 29 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1992b–97a. “I seethed with concern in the soul, with surges of sorrow over

that [expedition]. I did not trust in my beloved man’s journey. I long begged you that you not approach the deadly

creature at all, [that you] let the South-Danes themselves make war against Grendel.”

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Of course, Hygelac’s expression of affectionate concern at Beowulf’s departure does not occur

for almost 1800 lines. However, I mention it because it seems to confirm the sense of

consternation among the Geats implicit in the half-line “þeah he him leof wære” (though he was

beloved to them). In any case, this element has appeared in the vitae belonging to Boniface,

Columban, Ceolfrid II, and Machutus.30 Beholden to the saints’ sense of duty, each of these

mourners eventually capitulates to the voyager’s desire to leave. It will be noted that their

concern is not nearly as restrained as the narrator presents the Geats’. Nevertheless, Hygelac’s

remembrance of events on Beowulf’s return, signified by such words as modcearu (grief in the

soul) and sorhwylm (surge of sorrow), does suggest that—on the part of Hygelac at least—it was

not such a dry-eyed or optimistic affair as the earlier commission and blessing scene would

suggest. It is much more like the harrowing departures from reluctant loved ones depicted in the

vitae.

3.1.3 Procession to the Shore and Boarding

The procession to the shore commences immediately after the council. It is at this point that my

schema enters the scope of Foley’s “Beowulf leads his men to the ship” and “the ship waits,

moored” components, the latter of which hardly seems to warrant more than subsidiary

schematization within the overall action.31 After their omission of the council with the Geats and

the choosing of companions, Diamond’s and Ramsay’s schemata take up the procession to the

shore, Diamond describing these elements as “the voyagers go to the shore (ll. 208–9)” and “the

ship is loaded and launched (ll. 210–16),” and Ramsay as “[Beowulf] leads his men to the ship

30 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 18.13–20.9; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 159.11–25; Bede, Abbots, 64; Bili, Life of Machutus,

32.11–34.19. 31 Foley, Traditional, 337–38.

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(207–9), which waits at the shore laden with treasures (210–15).”32 None of these treatments

provides much detail about the scene’s actual content, however.

In the framework of the vitae, the march to the shore, loading, and boarding all tend to occur in

short order, so I will examine Beowulf’s analogous components as one passage.

Hæfde se goda Geata leoda

cempan gecorone, þara þe he cenoste

findan mihte. Fiftyna sum

sundwudu sohte; secg wisade,

lagucræftig mon landgemyrcu.

Fyrst forð gewat; flota wæs on yðum,

bat under beorge.33

This passage represents the narrative component I have identified as the procession to the shore,

which encapsulates what Foley identifies as the presence of the moored ship.

Next, the men embark on the ship and the poet makes a point of describing the cargo brought

aboard, what Foley describes as “[Beowulf’s] men board the ship, carrying treasure.”34

Beornas gearwe

on stefn stigon. Streamas wundon,

sund wið sande. Secgas bæron

on bearm nacan beorhte frætwe,

guðsearo geatolic.35

Here, Diamond and Ramsey diverge from one another with respect to the action of boarding.

Ramsey describes this element as “the ship waits, laden with treasure,” clearly looking ahead to

the state of the ship later in the poem when Beowulf leaves Denmark since, in this case, the

loading of treasure and equipment clearly occurs after Beowulf’s men arrive at the ship.36 This

inaccuracy seems to represent an instance of forced articulation in an attempt to describe two

32 Diamond, “Theme as Ornament,” 465; Ramsay, “Sea Voyages,” 55. 33 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 205–11a. “The good man had chosen champions from the people of the

Geats, the bravest of those he could find. As one of fifteen he sought the water-wood. The man, the sea-wise man,

led the way to the land’s end. Time progressed onwards. The ship, the boat under the cliff, was on the waves.” 34 Foley, Traditional, 338. 35 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 211b–15a. “The warriors eagerly climbed onto the prow. Currents wound,

the water against the sand. Men bore bright treasure, wonderful war-armour, into the embrace of the ship.” 36 Ramsey, “Sea Voyages,” 55. See Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1896–99.

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scenes as rigidly similar when they show flexibility with how they manifest themselves.

Diamond, on the other hand, calls this element “the ship is loaded and launched.”37 He is, of

course, looking forward to the next half-line in which the men shove off.

My own articulation of the episode is much closer to Foley’s, who clearly sees a distinct

division between the movement to the shore, the boarding, and the voyage. I cannot fault

Diamond for his connection of the boarding and launching, since they are only separated by a

half-line break. Ramsey’s description is the only one with which I take issue, since it represents

a more overtly arbitrary attempt to force the poem into a structure. Bearing Foley’s and

Diamond’s articulations in mind, however, there are several similarities with hagiographical

representations of this element, which I will examine before continuing on to the crossing.

One of the more prominent inclusions in the hagiographical procession to the shore and

boarding component, the mention of companions, is amply apparent in this scene in the poem.

The mention of Beowulf’s “cempan gecorone” (chosen warriors) corresponds with the inclusion

of companions in the Vita quarta Patricii, both episodes in both lives of Samson, the Vita

Columbani, the Vita Germani, the episode surrounding Ceolfrid II, the Hodoeporicon

Willibaldi, Alcuin’s Vita Willibrordi, and with much more expansive language in the Vita

Machuti.38 The numerical specificity expressed in Beowulf echoes a much smaller pool of

comparable scenes, however: the lives of Columban and Willibrord feature twelve companions,

and the Vita Machuti features 33.39

Some texts mention companions in interesting ways when compared with Beowulf. First, the

Hodoeporicon Willibaldi’s description, “cum collegum cetu comitantes ad loca venerunt

37 Diamond, “Theme as Ornament,” 465. 38 Bieler, ed., “Vita quarta,” 79.20–21, col. b; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202, 222; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,”

103.3, 118.18; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.7; Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 259.7–12; Bede, Abbots, 64; Huneberc,

“Vita Willibaldi,” 110; Alcuin, L’oeuvre, 44; Bili, Life of Machutus, 32.11–34.28. 39 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.6; Alcuin, L’oeuvre, 44; Bili, Life of Machutus, 32.14–15.

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destinata” contains the conventional philological relation to comes, as well as extensive

alliteration.40 The use of collegae (associates), related as it is to Latin legere, one sense of which

is “to choose,” fits nicely with Beowulf’s chosen companions.41 Caution is necessary in

suggesting this link, however, since the etymologist Isidore relates the word to conligatio, or a

“binding together.”42 In spite of Isidore’s etymological fallibility, it is likely that a medieval

writer would have accepted his assertions. In any case, an analogous phrase can be found in the

Vita Columbani, when Columban travels to the shore and his followers are depicted as gathering

in the ablative absolute phrase “collecto sane fratrum coetu” (with a band of brothers safely

assembled).43

References to Machutus’s companions are spread throughout the description of his approach to

the journey, the most substantial occurring immediately after the valedictions with his master:

“Ad mare cum contubernalis discipulis qui simul educati fuissent cum eo numero triginta tribus

perrexit.”44 The men proceed, and further mention is made of the accompanying group

immediately before the boarding of the ship: “Tunc illi omnes qui uoluntarie peregrinationi se

eligerent laudantes deum, atque letaniam cantantes nauem introire.”45 Like Hygeburg, Bili

seems to have choice on his mind when treating Machutus’s companions, although I would not

venture to draw too close a comparison between the latter text and Beowulf, since Bili depicts

the elective impulse of the companions themselves, rather than the hero. Perhaps a better

comparison would be the way in which Machutus’s fellow travellers are depicted as choosing

40 Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 110. “Joining with a band of associates, they came to the assigned regions.” 41 See Robert Maltby, ed., A Lexicon of Ancient Latin Etymologies (Leeds: Francis Cairns, 1991), collega, lego2.

See also Angus Cameron, Ashley Crandell Amos, Antonette diPaolo Healey et al., eds., Dictionary of Old English:

A to H Online (Toronto: Dictionary of Old English Project, 2016), gecēosan, gecoren. 42 Isidore, Isidori Hispalensis episcopi etymologiarum sive originum libri XX, vol 1, ed. W.M. Lindsay (Oxford:

Clarendon Press, 1957), X.xlix. 43 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.3. 44 Bili, Life of Machutus, 32.13–15. “He proceeded to the sea with his cohabitating students, who had been educated

at the same time with him, 33 in number.” 45 Bili, Life of Machutus, 34.26–28. “Then all those who voluntarily committed themselves to pilgrimage, praising

God and singing a litany, entered the ship.”

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this peregrinatio (pilgrimage) voluntarie (willingly), a combination of words that evokes

Beowulf’s “weras on wilsið” (men on a willing journey), a phrase which will occur during the

voyage proper.46

There are several correspondences between the vitae and Beowulf’s treatments of the boarding

itself. The lives of Patrick contain the process in one line, including the much-used navis parata

(prepared ship) collocation, but include very little other than the actual mounting of the ship.47

This navis parata collocation is the most durable verbal detail in the procession and boarding. It

appears in some four texts, including Patrick’s lives, both of the first voyages in the lives of

Samson, and the Vita Machuti.48 Similar forms appear in further texts, including “navigio

parata” (read parato, “prepared ship”) in the Hodoeporicon Willibaldi and the phrase

“nauigationem praeparat” (he prepares a voyage) in the first seafaring episode in the Vita

Columbae.49

The navis parata collocation presents an intriguing cross-linguistic similarity to the diction

found in Beowulf. Although the Latin phrase uniformly takes place in the procession-element of

the vitae, an analogous detail appears preliminary to Beowulf’s commission and blessing by his

superiors. Before he takes counsel, the hero commands a boat be prepared and the poet uses the

phrase “yðlidan godne gegyrwan” ([ordered that] a good ship [be] prepared).50 Yðlida, found

only in Beowulf but with a similar construction in Andreas, is generally interpreted as “wave-

rider,” and can therefore be understood quite transparently to mean “ship.”51 In combination

with gegyrwan, this phrase could easily be seen as an Old English appropriation of the navis

46 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 216a. 47 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.9. 48 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.9; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 200; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.12, 103.3; Bili,

Life of Machutus, 34.22–23. 49 Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.5; Adomnán, “Life of Columba,” 20. 50 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 198b–99a. 51 T. Northcote Toller, ed., An Anglo-Saxon Dictionary, Based on the Manuscript Collections of the Late Joseph

Bosworth, Supplement (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1921), ӯþ-lida. See also Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 463.

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parata construct, especially considering the verbal variability of the details in the Hodoeporicon

and the Vita Columbae.

If we examine the gloss-record, we can see that gegyrwan and gyrwan, along with verbs related

to gearu, can be used to render derivatives of Latin parare (to prepare).52 In one case that I have

observed, since Old English lacks a passive infinitive, the active form of gegearwian is used to

render a passive Latin infinitive.53 By extrapolation, the phrase “het him yðlidan / godne

gegyrwan” can very well provide the sense “he ordered that a good wave-rider (ship) be

prepared for him/them.” Furthermore, gegyrwan cannot occupy an entire half-line on its own,

and so the adjective god (good), modifying the ship, seems to have been added by the necessity

of the poetic form. Disregarding the adjective, then, the phrase is left as “yðlidan gegyrwan,”

which could easily represent a calque for navis parata. Of course, the phrase does not occur

within the confines of the procession and boarding element, but at the outset of the commission

and blessing. If the Beowulf-poet had this Latin phrase in mind, he must have had a porous sense

of its belonging in any particular component of his own scene, a practice which is also

demonstrated in both Patrick’s and Samson’s relatively fragmented sea journeys.

Part of the challenge presented by the procession and boarding component—and by extension

one of the forcing factors behind my apparently arbitrary combination of these seemingly

discrete elements—is that their manifestations in the vitae are of varying size and frequently

place their elements rather erratically. The navis parata, for example, occurs in several different

52 See Cameron et al., eds., DOE, gegyrwan, esp. sense 1.b.iii; gyrwan, gegearwian, etc. For a specific example of

the gegyrwan/parare-pairing, see Andrew C. Kimmens, ed., The Stowe Psalter (Toronto: University of Toronto

Press, 1979), 7:13: “Buton ge gecyrred beoð sweord his ascæcð bogan his he aþenede & gegyred hine” rendering

“nisi conuersi fueritis gladium suum uibrabit arcum suum tetendit et parauit illum” (Unless you be converted, he

will brandish his sword. He has bent his bow and prepared it). 53 See Hans Hecht, ed., Übersetzung der Dialoge Gregors des Grossen über das Leben und die Wundertaten

Italienischer Väter und Über die Unsterblichkeit der Seelen (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft,

1965), 184.20–21: “Þa het he, þæt man þæt him gegearwode þæt he mihte þa niht þær inne gewunian;” rendering

Gregory the Great, Dialogues, ed. Adalbert de Vogué (Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1979), 270.7: “Eamque sibi

praeparari ad hospitandum iussit” (then he ordered that [place] be prepared for his lodging).

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contexts within this larger component, from a discussion of the journey, to the actual boarding,

to the first sight of the ship at the shore. In Beowulf it is no different, with the command that the

ship be prepared and the actual visualization of it waiting for the men occurring several lines

apart.

In the context of Beowulf’s single-sentence depiction of boarding, “beornas gearwe / on stefn

stigon” (the men eagerly mounted onto the prow), the Beowulf-poet’s use of the adjective gearu

(ready) to describe the men’s action is analogous to the vitae’s frequently speedy embarking.54

Several hagiographic scenes, including Probus’s depiction of Patrick’s voyage, Boniface’s, the

first episodes in both of Samson’s lives, and Willibald’s journey, include specific reference to

haste.55 The use of a word related to celer (quick) occurs twice. The Vita Bonifatii exemplifies

this dynamic most excessively, by employing the repetitive phrase “celocis celeriter marginem

scandens” (quickly mounting the gunwale of the swift ship), while Patrick’s life restrains itself

only to celeriter (quickly).56

It is interesting to note that the combination of celeriter and a word for boarding is similar to the

Beowulf-poet’s use of gearu in close proximity to the mounting of the prow. However, this

collocation is anything but ironclad. In spite of some semantic overlap with words signifying

speed or haste, gearu is much more identifiable with notions of preparedness.57 We do, in fact,

find the words promptus (eager) and paratus (prepared) to describe Willibald’s companions,

both of which are well within the semantic field of gearu, but these are not in terribly close

proximity to terms for boarding that Hygeburg employs when the saint embarks.58

54 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 211b–12. 55 Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 198.7–8; Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.13; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 200; Plaine, ed.,

“Vita Samsonis,” 102.12–17; Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.7. 56 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.13; Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 198.6. 57 See Cameron, et al., ed., DOE, gearu, senses 4.a and 8. 58 Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.3.

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In Beowulf, the next element to appear—strangely it seems, since the men have already

boarded—is loading the ship. Foley links the boarding and loading with the workaround title for

this element, “[Beowulf’s] men board the ship, carrying treasure,” in spite of the fact that

between the two actions there is the intervening description of the water: “Streamas wundon /

sund wið sande” (currents swirled, the water against the sand).59 Diamond seems closer to the

mark, describing the element as “the ship is loaded and launched,” although his system elides

the ship’s boarding.60 In any case, the loading of the ship occurs in Beowulf as “secgas bæron /

on bearm nacan beorhte frætwe / guðsearo geatolic,” and evokes details of the saints’ lives,

some of which contain rather martial language.61

Cargo at the outset of the voyage is mentioned in several texts, the Vita Wilfrithi, the Historia

abbatum when it treats Ceolfrid II, the Hodoeporicon Willibaldi, the Vita Machuti, and

obliquely in the Vita Willibrordi.62 Wilfrid’s vita makes mention of the relics which the saint

carries with him as he boards the ship. His loading and boarding is described in a simple

participial phrase, and his cargo appears to be the sacred relics relevant to his evangelism: “cum

multiplici benedictione et reliquiarum sanctarum auxilio navem ascendens.”63 It could be argued

that the phrase “reliquiarum sanctarum auxilio” (with the help of holy relics) might seem to

construe some kind of ritual involving relics as Wilfrid boards the ship, but considering the

saint’s status as confessor and founder, the overwhelming likelihood is that he brings these

relics along on the journey as tools for conversion and sanctification.

59 Foley, Traditional, 337–38; Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 212b–13a. 60 Diamond, “Theme as Ornament,” 465. 61 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 213b–15a. “Men bore bright treasure, wonderful war-armour, into the

embrace of the ship.” 62 Eddius, Life of Wilfrid, 14; Bede, Abbots, 64; Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.3–5; Bili, Life of Machutus, 34.23;

Alcuin, L’oeuvre, 44. 63 Eddius, Life of Wilfrid, 14. “Boarding the ship with a manifold blessing and the help of holy relics.”

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Willibrord’s life does not refer explicitly to loading and cargo, but Alcuin’s exegetical efforts

compel him to insert another element. The procession to the shore and boarding take place in

one brief sentence: “Adsumptisque secum duodecim fratribus, eo fidei feruore armatos quo et

ipse, nauem conscendit.”64 Paul’s “armour of God,” from his epistle to the Ephesians, is the

source for this familiar element.65 In this context, at the outset of an expedition intended to

provide aid for those in spiritual need, it helps to frame these men as spiritual warriors. Notably,

armament is foremost among the equipment loaded onto Beowulf’s ship, and we will see this

element repeated at the disembarking of both the heroic poem and some of the hagiographical

material.66

Ceolfrid II’s sea journey presents the least ambiguous loading element in conjunction with

boarding. Ceolfrid boards first, closely followed by his companions: “Ascendit navem cum

comitibus. Ascendunt et diacones ecclesiae cereas ardentes et crucem ferentes auream, transiit

flumen, adorat crucem, ascendit equum, et abiit.”67 This is a rather more elaborate boarding than

either of the previous lives’, including burning candles and golden cross. It is also interesting to

note that Ceolfrid boards the ship before the loading takes place, not unlike the order of the

action in Beowulf. Willibald’s and Machutus’s mentions of cargo are straightforward references

to the necessities of travel.68 In spite of these similarities, I see no evidence of verbal calquing.

3.1.4 The Voyage aboard Ship

The Beowulf-poet launches into the voyage directly after the ship is loaded. In the first sea

journey, what I have classified as the voyage proper is of a piece with the journey’s arrival

64 Alcuin, L’oeuvre, 44. “And with twelve brothers having been taken up with him, armed with the fervour of the

faith with which he was also, he embarked on the ship.” 65 See Ephesians 6:10–18. 66 See below, p. 135. 67 Bede, Abbots, 64. “He embarks upon the ship with his companions. And the deacons of the church embark

bearing burning candles and a golden cross. He crossed the river, worshipped [lit. worships] the cross, mounted his

horse, and departed.” 68 Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.3–5; Bili, Life of Machutus, 34.23.

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component, a passage that I will quote in full. Here my impulse matches Foley’s, Diamond’s,

and Ramsey’s, all of whom lump the departure, voyage on the sea, and arrival into one

structural component.69

Guman ut scufon,

weras on wilsið wudu bundenne.

Gewat þa ofer wægholm winde gefysed

flota famiheals fugle gelicost,

oð þæt ymb antid oþres dogores

wundenstefna gewaden hæfde,

þæt ða liðende land gesawon,

brimclifu blican, beorgas steape,

side sænæssas; þa was sund liden,

eoletes at ende.70

This passage contains two cruxes worth noting, both of which are germane to my discussion of

the arrival-element. First, however, I will discuss the main voyage aboard ship. It occupies only

four lines of text in the first sea journey, but is nevertheless laden with detail. Because this is the

shorter of the two voyages, there are only a limited number of points of comparison worth

treating.

The first sentence of the journey is devoted to the sailors’ actions in launching the ship. The men

are depicted as “weras on wilsið” (men on a willing journey). This apparently cheerful activity

around launching the wudu bunden (bound wood) points to an aspect of sea travel that is often

absent in the saints’ lives, men performing the concrete act of sailing a ship. It is not entirely

unsurprising that the sailors are often elided in the vitae while the saints’ companions tend to get

mentioned, since unlike the seafaring warriors who accompany Beowulf to Denmark, these

minor characters are monks or ecclesiastic figures of some stripe, uninvolved in the piloting of

the ship. The sailors, therefore, are somewhat superfluous mechanisms of propulsion and often

69 Foley, Traditional, 337–8; Diamond, “Theme as Ornament,” 465; Ramsey, “Sea Voyages,” 55. 70 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 215b–24a. “The men, the warriors, cast the bound wood off on a willing

journey. The foam-necked ship, most like a bird, impelled by the wind, departed over the undulating sea, until, at

the appropriate time of the second day, the winding-prowed [ship] had travelled so that the travellers saw the land,

the sea-cliffs shining, the steep hills, the wide promontories of the sea. Then the passage was crossed at the edge of

the water-confluence.”

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lack narrative relevance. Mention of sailors does appear from time to time, however, in a limited

fashion.

In the Vita Bonifatii, the sailors merit a brief mention, as they do in the Vita Wilfrithi and Vita

Germani.71 Willibald’s journey in the Hodoeporicon also mentions seamen, although it seems as

though he and his men are conflated with them somewhat, and the element is featured as part of

the boarding scene. Recast as a sailor, Willibald, his party, and the ship’s captain appear to be

described as “nautus ille cum classis suoque nauclerio” (that sailor with his band and his

captain).72 This recasting is similar to Beowulf’s characterization as a lagucræftig mon (a man

skilled on the sea) once his journey to the shore begins.73 Similarly, in the first sea voyage in

both lives of Samson, the sailors make an appearance as part of the preliminary story in which

they depart in haste without the saint, only to be driven back by contrary winds.74

More than one of Columba’s sea journeys contain mentions of the sailors, although their

appearance in the story is not always to be found during the voyage proper. The preparatory

scene in the vita’s fourth journey, in which the sailors receive a favourable wind in order to tow

building materials to Iona, contains a reference to sailors.75 In the vita’s third journey, Columba

embarks, and, once he is aboard, orders the voyage to commence by having the nautae

hesitantes (hesitating sailors) raise the sails against the contrary wind.76 Again they are pictured

setting sail as they set out on the voyage in the fifth journey,77 as they are in the final voyage,

there described as ovantes nautae (rejoicing sailors).78

71 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.14; Eddius, Life of Wilfrid, 14; Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 259.15, 260.7. 72 Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.5. 73 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 209a, and note, p. 130. 74 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 200; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.5–17. 75 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 174. 76 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 144. 77 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 176. 78 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 176.

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The lattermost journey provides not only a mention of the voyagers, but depicts their activity by

means of the participle ovans (rejoicing), a response appropriate to the miraculously cooperative

wind that they experience for the journey. This jubilant attitude toward a crucial journey with

which the weather is cooperative strikes me as an image similar to the wilsið (willing journey)

depicted in Beowulf. It is, of course, to be expected that in the case of a journey going well, a

degree of jubilation will occur. In any case, the presence of sailing men on a journey seems

important enough in naturalistic sea journeys to warrant inclusion in a good number of the vitae

and Beowulf itself.

The most complicated set of elements and collocations of the hagiographical record remains: the

variety of apparently conventional words for wind, course, and sails. The lattermost element

does not occur in Beowulf’s first sea journey. Wind and water, however, both find mention, as

they do among the saints’ lives. They warrant brief attention as discrete elements, corresponding

with the most frequent words for wind and water in the vitae.

I will begin with wind, since that element is only mentioned once in Beowulf, with explicit

reference to the ship’s propulsion. The relevant phrase, “winde gefysed” (impelled by wind),

reflects the hagiographical record inasmuch as vitae tend to depict the instrumentality of the

wind in moving the ship, usually in terms of an adjective/participle-noun pairing.79 Most often,

these come in the form of ventus (wind) or flatus (a blowing) in the ablative, modified by a

spectrum of words including secundus (favourable), rectus (correct), aptus (fitting), opportunus

(opportune), prosperus (favourable), or plenus (full). Specific references and collocations were

discussed at length in the previous chapter, but wind occurs in most of the vitae, including

Patrick’s, Boniface’s, Samson’s first voyage in the Vita I and the first and second voyages in the

79 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 217b.

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Vita II, Columban’s vita, Germanus’s, Columba’s second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth journeys,

Wilfrid’s life, and Willibald’s.80

The particular collocations available in the saints’ lives are not terribly relevant for comparison,

since the Old English phrase “winde gefysed” modifies the ship; the wind is not independent in

conjunction with an adjective, but rather an element subsidiary to the vessel’s status as a

propelled object. However, the wind’s relegation to an ablative agent of propulsion in the Latin

can be seen as analogous to its instrumental dative in the Old English. In other words, the

supportive propulsion of the wind, depicted in an ablative of means and dative of instrument

respectively, is an element shared between the vitae and Beowulf.

The reference to water as a course or current is an exceedingly persistent detail within the

hagiographic record, appearing in the lives of Patrick and Boniface, both of the Vita I

Samsonis’s episodes and the first in the Vita II, the Vita Columbani, the Vita Germani, the Vita

Columbae’s third and fourth journeys, the Hodoeporicon Willibaldi, and the Vita Willibrordi.81

The most frequent word used is cursus (course) in conjunction with prosperus (favourable), and

both can most often be found in the ablative. Within the very limited four lines of Beowulf’s

voyage proper, the water is mentioned only once in the form of the wægholm, or “wave-sea,” a

poetic term not comparable to the words related to course and lacking an adjectival element to

match prosperus (favourable).

The dynamism of the waves as it is expressed in Beowulf does seem to find expression in a

number of less frequent terms for aspects of water in the vitae. Fluctus (flow) is used in

80 See above, pp. 72–75 and Table 2.1; Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.12; Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.15–16;

Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.7–8, 188.19; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 13; Constantius,

“Vita Germani,” 259.15; Adomnán, Life of Columba, 100, 146, 174, 176; Eddius, Life of Wilfrid, 14; Huneberc,

“Vita Willibaldi,” 91.3–11. 81 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.11; Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.13–16; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204, 222; Plaine,

ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.7–8; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.12–13; Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 260.17; Adomnán,

Life of Columba, 144–46, 174; Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.8–11; Alcuin, L’oeuvre, 44.

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Probus’s Vita Patricii in place of cursus (course) and paired with the conventional prosperus

(favourable).82 Germanus’s vita depicts a much more active seascape, including depictions of

the “oceani moles” (mass [of waves] of the ocean) and a ship “superfusis fluctibus” (waves

poured over).83 Constantius, however, depicts Germanus’s voyage not as an easy and favourable

crossing, but as a stormy journey and an opportunity for a miraculous calming. In Willibald’s

journey, Hygeburg includes images of the surging sea. She includes the phrase “ponte

pollente,”84 which appears to be a corruption of “ponto pollente” (heaving sea), as well as an

approach to the arrival begun with the phrase “transmeatis maritimis fluctuum formidinibus

periculosisque pelagii pressuris.”85 Both Constantius and Hygeburg include phrases that would

account for the dithematic wægholm’s combination of elements representing waves and sea. The

oceani moles (mass [of waves] of the ocean) in the Vita Germani account for both the wave and

sea elements of Beowulf’s wægholm, as do the pelagii pressurae (heavings of the sea) of

Willibald’s journey.

While this particular Beowulfian voyage aboard ship contains only one reference to the water,

there are a number of places in which references crop up throughout the overarching journey. As

Foley observes, terms denoting water appear in a number of places throughout the entire scope

of the voyage, often as part of dithematic nouns.86 These include the dynamism-focussed terms

yþ- (wave), wæg- (wave) sund (movement through water), and stream (current), as well as the

more general sæ- and brim-, all denoting the sea. Of these units, most can be accounted for as

distinctive parts of a narrative element. For example, yþ appears first as a part of the compound

yðlidan, the “wave-rider,” which is the designation given to the ship Beowulf has ordered

82 Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 98.8. 83 Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 260.7, 260.10. 84 Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.7. 85 Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.8–9. “With the maritime terrors of the floods and the treacherous swells of the

sea crossed over.” 86 Foley, Traditional, 341.

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prepared.87 Brim is attached to the first visual feature of the landscape spotted on arrival, the

brimclifu or “sea-cliffs.”88

Sund, a semantically slippery word, is the most frequently occurring term associated with water

in this episode.89 It appears three times, once as part of the noun sundwudu (water-wood) during

the approach to the shore, once as part of a phrase to describe the end of the journey with the

clause “þa wæs sund liden” (then the passage was crossed), and once in the imagistic passage

that occurs after the boarding but before the loading: “Streamas wundon / sund wið sande”

(streams wound, current against the sand).90 The sundwudu and the sund fit fairly snugly into

the procession to the shore and the arrival elements respectively, but the instance that occurs in

apposition with streamas (currents) exists as a sort of abstract, imagistic moment amid the

action.

3.1.5 The Arrival

The process of arrival is actually depicted at greater length than the voyage aboard ship, much

of it occupied by appositive actions and descriptions. As I have already mentioned, the arrival

contains two troublesome cruxes that must be discussed before I conduct my comparison with

the vitae. First, the time at which land is sighted, “ymb antid,” has caused some debate. While

the Dictionary of Old English and most editors identify antid as “appropriate/appointed time,”91

it is possible that the word might rather be a calque for the Latin hora prima, although Antonette

87 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 198b–99a. 88 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 222a. 89 See Roberta Frank, “‘Mere’ and ‘Sund’: Two Sea-Changes in Beowulf,” in Modes of Interpretation in Old

English Literature, eds. Phyllis Rugg Brown et al. (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1986), 158–65; R.D.

Fulk, “Afloat in Semantic Space: Old English and the Nature of Beowulf’s Exploit with Breca,” The Journal of

English and Germanic Philology 104, no. 4 (Oct 2005): 456–72. 90 Respectively, see Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 208a, 223b, 212b–13a. 91 Cameron, et al., eds., DOE, ān-tīd.

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diPaolo Healey has pointed out that this reading is unlikely.92 Considering the comparable Old

English construct of nontid (ninth hour),93 I do not see the idea of an arrival at hora prima as an

impossibility, especially since another sea journey of sorts—Beowulf’s swimming-contest with

Breca—terminates at the break of day under similar circumstances to these.94 Both of these

scenes appear to participate in the “Hero on the Beach” type-scene as outlined by David

Crowne, which is typically associated with dawn.95

The second crux, the problematic eolet, garners even less agreement than antid. Again, to turn to

the DOE, “the likeliest explanation for eolet is that eo- = WS ēa ‘river’… and -let = WS

(ge)læte ‘junction’, hence, ‘sea’, literally ‘confluence of rivers, junction of waters; sea-way,

water-course.’”96 The notion of a confluence of waters would make imagistic sense if the

voyage were imagined to end at a river-mouth entering into the sea.97

None of the oral-traditional scholars cited so far articulate the arrival at the shore as a distinctive

element within the seafaring episode. While Diamond ignores it wholesale, Foley treats this

element as one with the departure and voyage.98 Ramsey, on the other hand, appends it to the

voyage, describing the entire component as “the men depart in the ship and sail until they can

observe the opposite shore,” before moving on to the mooring.99 Their division is

understandable, considering the grammatical continuity of the journey within one discrete

92 The hora prima interpretation manifests itself in early translations: C.W.M. Grein, trans., Beowulf (Kassel: Georg

H. Wigand, 1883), 219; William Emery Leonard, Beowulf: A New Verse Translation for Fireside and Classroom

(New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, 1923), 13. See Antonette diPaolo Healey, “Reasonable Doubt, Reasoned

Choice: The Letter A in the Dictionary of Old English,” in Studies in English Language and Literature: “Doubt

Wisely,” Papers in Honour of E.G. Stanley, eds. M.J. Toswell and E.M. Tyler (London: Routledge, 1996), 76–78. 93 Toller, Anglo-Saxon Dictionary, nōn-tīd. 94 See Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 131. 95 Crowne, “The Hero on the Beach,” Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 61, no. 4 (1960): 368. 96 Cameron et al., eds., DOE, eolet. 97 See R.M. Liuzza, ed., Beowulf, Second Edition (Peterborough: Broadview, 2013), l. 219; Fulk et al., eds.,

Klaeber’s Beowulf, 132. 98 Foley, Traditional, 338. 99 Ramsey, “Sea Voyages,” 55.

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grammatical unit. By necessity of comparison with the hagiographical sea journeys, however, I

elect to treat the arrival onshore as a discrete element.

Another oral-traditional commentator, George Clark, fleshes out a broader theme of arrival at

great length. He focusses on the sighting of land and arrival upon it more fully, defining the

theme: “The Traveller Recognizes his Goal.” He articulates this theme—really a kind of sub-

theme within a journeying type-scene—into four main elements: I) continued or completed

motion; II) a result clause including a reference to sight; III) a description of the destination-

landscape, usually towering cliffs; IV) occasional reference to the time of day, usually dawn.100

It should be noted that the lattermost of these does go well with the hora prima interpretation of

antid. He lists a great many Old English poems in which this theme occurs, including Andreas,

Genesis A, Judith, Solomon and Saturn, and Beowulf.101 Each of these details finds

representation in the hagiographical record as well, although the tone in the saints’ lives is often

quite a distance from that of Beowulf.

Beowulf’s arrival-sequence comprises a fairly extensive set of topographical descriptions,

framed in terms of the voyagers’ ability to see the emerging landscape. That emergence seems

to represent a kind of progressive apposition from the simple land (land), through the brimclifu

(sea cliffs), the beorgas steape (steep hills), and finally the side sænæssas (wide promontories

on the sea), to arrive at the edge or end of the eolet (confluence of waterways). Second, this

arrival is framed mostly in terms of visual appropriation on the part of the travellers, but is

clinched with the concise statement “þa wæs sund liden” (then the passage was crossed).

100 Clark, “Traveler,” 647–48. 101 Clark, “Traveler,” 648–58.

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All of the saints’ lives contain an arrival sequence in one form or another, with the exception of

Ceolfrid’s voyage in the Bede’s Historia abbatum.102

Very frequently the names of port towns or rivers appear, along with the landscape features

associated with them. Two of the more thorough examples of this practice can be found in the

elaborate arrival sequence in Patrick’s vitae and the second seafaring episode in the Vita II

Samsonis, which includes telescopic geographic specificity: “Portum in Europa desideratum

tenuit. In quo portu, qui dicitur Winnian, qui est in flumine Gubioli, tuguriolum prope portum

viderunt.”103 Alcuin presents a multi-stage arrival in the Vita Willibrordi, again with plentiful

geographic information: “donec prospero cursu ostia Hreni fluminis vela deposuit, ibique optata

telluris statione refocilati sunt et mox ad castellum Traiectum, quod in ipsa eiusdem fluminis

ripa situm est, pervenerunt.”104 Alcuin even includes the donec (until) to signal the shift between

motion and acquisition of target-landscape, signified in Old English by “oð þæt” (until), both

languages using the word to signal the transition from the phase of travel to arrival, as outlined

by Clark.105

Other hagiographic instances of landscape-description are more vague and present such limited

information as the Vita Columbani’s arrival at “Brittanicos… sinus” (bays of Brittany),106 or the

first seafaring episode in both lives of Samson, which refers to the saint’s arrival only at “illam

102 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 76.19–78.11; Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.15–19; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204, 222;

Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.9–10, 118.20; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.13–15; Constantius, “Vita Germani,”

260.18; Adomnán, Life of Columba, 20, 100, 145, 174, 176; Eddius, Life of Wilfrid, 14; Huneberc, “Vita

Willibaldi,” 91.8–11; Alcuin, L’oeuvre, 44; Bili, Life of Machutus, 36.12–13. 103 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 118.20–22. “He attained the desired port in Europe. In this port, which is called

Winnian, which is on the river Gubiol, he saw a cottage near the port.” For Patrick, see Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,”

74.12–76.22. 104 Alcuin, L’oeuvre, 44. “…until after a favourable course to the mouth of the river Rhine he took down the sails,

and there in the desired part of the world they were revived and soon arrived at the castle of Utrecht which is

situated on the bank of that river.” 105 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 219a. See Clark, “Traveler Recognizes,” 647. 106 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.14.

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insulam, in qua ante habitauerat” (that island in which he had previously resided).107 Similarly

light descriptions can be found in the Vita Bonifatii, the latter journey in Samson’s earlier life,

the Vita Germani, all journeys in the Vita Columbae, the Vita Wilfrithi, Hodoeporicon

Willibaldi, Vita Willibrordi, and Vita Machuti.108

None of these descriptors attain the affective potency of Beowulf’s dramatized rendering of the

Danish landscape, including the “brimclifu… beorgas steape, side sænæssas” (sea-cliffs… steep

hills, wide promontories on the sea).109 The Old English poet seems uninterested in specific

geographical location. The closest match seems to be Samson’s arrival at the sinus (bays) of

Brittany, similar to the bays that would be created by the promontories of Denmark’s shoreline,

signified by Beowulf’s sænæssas (promontories).

There is also the phrase “eoletes æt ende,” which occurs in conjunction with the arrival. If this

word can, in fact, be taken to mean a confluence of waters between a river and the sea,110 this

scene would appear to depict an arrival at the mouth of a river, a feature it shares in common

with the ostia (river-mouths) at which Patrick, Boniface, and Willibrord arrive.111 This

interpretation is, of course, based on a conjectural rendering of the disputed eolet, but is not

entirely unreasonable. In any case, it is not unsurprising that Beowulf’s dramatized rendering of

the landscape should outstrip those depicted in the saints’ lives and be rather less specific with

respect to place-names. It suffices to say that both the Old English poem and the vitae tend to

mention the landscape in which their heroes arrive.

107 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204. Cf. Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.8–9: “illam insulam, in qua antea

habitaverat.” 108 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.17–18; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 222; Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 259.14–

260.18; Adomnán, Life of Columba, 20, 100, 146, 174–76; Eddius, Life of Wilfrid, 14; Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,”

91.8–11; Alcuin, L’oeuvre, 44; Bili, Life of Machutus, 36.12–13. 109 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 223–24a. 110 See above, p. 128. 111 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 76.22; Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.16; Alcuin, L’oeuvre, 44.

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Both the vitae and Beowulf structure their arrivals in fundamentally similar ways, making

reference to both ceasing motion and the destination-landscape. Furthermore, there are some

interesting correspondences between a more limited number of vitae and Beowulf’s arrival-

scene as it is fits into Clark’s model: the time of arrival and particularly visual appropriation.

First, the disputed word antid—whether it should signify the “proper time” or “the first hour” of

the day—accounts for a time of arrival as a detail unique to this instance of sea travel in

Beowulf, fleshed out as “ymb antid oþres dogores” (around the proper time of the second

day).112 Three vitae make explicit reference to the time at which the saint arrives at the end of

his journey, one with respect to the hour and the others with respect to the day. The final journey

of the Vita Columbae features an arrival “post horam diei tertiam” (after the third hour of the

day).113 This accounts for both a specific time of arrival governed by a preposition and the

genitive mention of the day on which the arrival occurs. The day, however, lacks a modifier to

correspond with Beowulf’s oðer (second). Still, the correspondence is striking. The lives of

Samson’s treatments of the saint’s first sea journey, on the other hand, make reference to the

specific day of his arrival. In each case, the ablative phrase “altera die” (on the second day) is

used, a Latin collocation that corresponds perfectly with Beowulf’s oðer dæg (second day).114

Both Columba’s and Samson’s times of arrival present a model relatively close to that used in

Beowulf, but these are dependent on the times appropriate for their respective journeys—

Columba from the island of Slaine to Iona and Samson from Ireland to Wales. Similarly, the

Beowulf-poet presumably had a reasonable idea of the travel-time from Sweden to Denmark and

places the hero’s arrival on the second day. Accordingly, it cannot be seriously suggested that

the Beowulf-poet drew the inspiration for his actual timing from hagiography. However, the

112 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 219. 113 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 176. 114 Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.9. Also see above, pp. 101–2, and the

somewhat unorthodox mention of a time of arrival found in the Vita Machuti.

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impulse to include a time of arrival and even the language by which both the Latin and Old

English material articulate it are fairly similar.

Finally, the visual aspect of the arrival calls attention to another correspondence with

hagiography. I have observed this visual acquisition of the destination landscape in two of the

vitae within the scope of my study: first, it occurs in the Vita Bonifatii, in which the travellers

espy the mouth of the river at which they land by means of the verb aspicere (to observe);115

second, it appears in the Hodoeporicon Willibaldi. I revisit the latter passage in full.

Cumque, transmeatis maritimis fluctuum formidinibus periculosisque

pelagii pressuris, vastum per aequorum [read aequor] citato celocis cursu,

prosperis ventis, velata nave, tuti aridam viderunt terram, et statim

obantes de nave ascenderunt et illic castraverunt et tentoria fixerunt in

ripa fluminis que nuncupatur Sigone, iuxta urbe que vocatur Rotum.116

In this passage, we can see two of the elements at work in Clark’s definition of the theme. The

completed motion of the journey is encapsulated in the ablative “transmeatis” (crossed over),

and the visual acquisition of the landscape occurs in the phrase “tuti aridam viderunt terram”

(the safe [men] saw dry land).117 Videre (to see) is not strictly beholden to the model of motion

into result-clause that Clark describes. Still, the ablative absolute tenor of the introductory

participles in conjunction with a temporal subjunctive clause do create a fine sense of motion

and result in progressive time.

The arida terra (dry land) on which the travellers look is supplemented by a wider description

of the river, on the banks of which they later pitch their tents, and so the only aspect of Clark’s

theme that is substantially absent in Hygeburg’s text is the reference to the time at which the

115 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 17.16. 116 Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.8–10. “And when, with the maritime terrors of the floods and the treacherous

swells of the sea crossed over on the swift course of the ship through the vast ocean, with favourable winds on a

ship enshrouded [in sails], they safely saw dry land, they, immediately rejoicing, both descended from the ship and

there made camp, and pitched their tents on the shores of the river which is called the Seine, next to the town which

is called Rouen.” 117 See above, p. 96, n. 251.

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journey ends, although this is present in the lives of Samson and the Vita Columbae.118 As such,

it appears that almost every element Clark articulates can be found among saints’ lives.119

The particular focus on the towering cliffs that occurs in Beowulf’s physical description of the

landscape does seem to derive from an array of sources, I imagine partly from the Germanic

poetic stock from which an Anglo-Saxon poet might draw, but also—to revisit Andersson’s

work—from Latin poets, most likely those copying Vergil. Andersson’s observations about the

general shape of a Vergilian voyage, especially the reversal of perspective from observer to

destination in the midst of motion, is applicable to this scene in Beowulf.120 The dramatic

rendering of the cliffs in Beowulf seems especially comparable to scenes of arrival in the Aeneid,

but the Latin epic is not the whole story.121 The Beowulf-poet was in all likelihood drawing from

a host of resources, some of which were likely hagiographical. To flesh out the remainder of

these similarities, I will turn to the real termination of the voyage.

3.1.6 Disembarking

This disembarking-scene begins with haste.

Þanon up hraðe

Wedera leode on wang stigon,

sæwudu sældon, syrcan hrysedon,

guðgewædo; Gode þancedon

þæs þe him yþlade eaðe wurdon.122

118 See above, pp. 131–32. 119 Clark notes that many of these elements are also present in a number of other Latin texts, not least of these

Junvencus’s Liber in Genesin. See Clark, “Traveler Recognizes,” 650. This text represents another promising

avenue for unpacking similarities between Beowulf, hagiography, and wider Latin literature (see above, p. 12), but I

confine my study to vitae. 120 Andersson, Early Epic Scenery, 75. 121 Andersson, Early Epic Scenery, 148–50. 122 Fulk et al., eds. Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 224b–28. “From there the men of the Weathers quickly climbed up onto

the land, moored the sea-wood; they rattled their mail, their war-clothing. They thanked God that the wave-paths

had gone easy for them.”

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The speedy mounting of the shore and the jangling of the men’s armour are intuitive enough

inclusions in this passage, and create an envelope pattern with the echo of stigan (to mount) in

the boarding and the mention of the armour loaded onto the ship.123

While such martial accoutrements would seem out of place in the vitae, nods to the cargo

contained on the saints’ ships do occur. One of the most interesting can be found in Patrick’s

vitae. Muirchú’s text refers to the landing ship as “honerata nauis sancti cum transmarinis

mirabilibus spiritalibusque tessauris.”124 This reference to spiritual treasure is enhanced with

military underpinnings in Probus’s vita, when the later author specifies the nature of this cargo,

writing “id est cum armatura sanctae praedictionis” (that is, with the armour of holy

prophesy).125 This reference to armature aligns well with the guðgewædo (war clothing) found

in Beowulf, although it should be noted that it does not occur as part of either vita’s

disembarking component. A less fanciful reference to the cargo offloaded upon landing can be

found in the fifth journey of the Vita Columbae, an element which is unsurprising in that

instance because the episode in question depicts a miraculous cargo-haul.126 An unconventional

mention of the cargo during the treatment of the saint’s arrival also appears in the Vita

Machuti.127

The tying of the ship has no precise analogue in the vitae. Few of the hagiographers seem to

give any thought to the securing of the vessel. The closest any come are Patrick’s hagiographers,

who depict the party concealing their boat on their arrival at Inber Sláne.128 This naturalistic

123 See above, p. 114. 124 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 76.19–20. “The holy man’s boat, loaded with foreign wonders and spiritual treasures.” 125 Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 199.7. 126 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 176. 127 See above, p. 101–2 and Bili, Life of Machutus, 36.18–19. 128 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 78.10.

136

detail of mooring the ship, emphasized in all of the type-scene scholarship, seems to represent a

real divergence from the hagiographic record.129

One element that might surprise the casual reader of Beowulf is the gratitude offered to the

apparently Christian God once the men have landed onshore. Such an offhand and anachronistic

reference to an apparently monotheistic god in a poem that seems intent on denying an explicitly

Christian identity to its protagonist could be interpreted as another indicator of securely

Christian authorship for Beowulf.130 Surprisingly, the Old English poem seems more intent on

depicting specific gratitude to God on the completion of a voyage than the vitae addressed so

far.

The saints’ lives do seem to participate in what Clark designates as a general tone of gladness

throughout the theme he describes.131 Indeed, in the Vita Columbae’s fifth journey, the arrival

onshore is punctuated by the sailors’ rejoicing in the work of unloading.132 In a seemingly more

prayerful form of rejoicing, Willibald’s companions in the Hodoeporicon descend from the ship

“ovantes” (rejoicing).133 Ceolfrid’s micro-voyage also includes an act of thanksgiving on the

destination shore.134

This episode of sea journeying finally closes with the approach of the Danish coast-warden, who

spots the party as they bring their equipment ashore.

Þa of wealle geseah weard Scildinga,

se þe holmclifu healdan scolde,

beran ofer bolcan beorhte randas,

fyrdsearu fuslicu; hine fyrwyt bræc

129 See Foley, Traditional, 337–38; Ramsey, “Sea Voyages,” 55; Diamond, “Theme as Ornament,” 465. 130 For the debate over the poem’s ostensible secularity in spite of apparently Christian authorship, see above, p. 1. 131 Clark, “Traveler,” 647. 132 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 176. 133 Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 98.10. 134 Bede, Abbots, 64.

137

modgehygdum hwæt þa men wæron.135

This meeting propels the action forward into a dialogue about the men’s intention and their

eventual admittance to Hrothgar’s hall. The warden sees the men from atop the coastal cliffs and

provides another opportunity for the poet to focus on their war-gear. He is notable for his

diligence with respect to their origins.136

Again, only a few of the vitae contain immediate meetings with people onshore. The most

similar to Beowulf in content is that belonging to Patrick, in which Dichú’s swineherd watches

the men arrive and immediately ascribes potentially hostile intent to them, only to be converted

by Patrick’s words along with his master.137 Other meetings onshore with a less aggressive tone

do occur, however, in both voyages in Samson’s vitae, the Vita Germani, the Vita Columbae’s

first journey, and—in an unconventional form—the Vita Machuti.138

Table 3.1 represents a schematization of the scene as I have discussed it in Beowulf. Taken in

parallel with the earlier schemata, Table 3.1 provides a visual comparison of those elements the

Old English epic shares with the vitae and those it lacks. To get a more complete picture of

Beowulfian seafaring scenes and their resemblance to Latin vitae, however, I will proceed to a

comparative analysis of the poem’s second sea journey.

135 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 229–33. “Then the warden of the Shieldings who had to keep the sea-

cliffs, saw them from the bluff bearing bright shields from the deck, war-mail at the ready. Curiosity struck him in

the thoughts of his heart over who those men were.” 136 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 234–300. 137 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 78.11–80.9 138 Bieler, ed., “Vita tertia,” 135.9–16; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 222; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 118.22;

Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 260.17; Adomnán, Life of Columba, 20; Bili, Life of Machutus, 40.32–37.

138

Table 3.1: Green boxes indicate texts that contain the element in question unequivocally. Yellow indicates the existence of the element, but

presented unconventionally, dubiously, or outside of its most common structural component.

Beowulf Patrick Boniface Samson I.1 Samson

II.1

Samson I.2 Samson II.2 Columban Germanus Columba 1 Columba 2 Columba 3 Columba 4 Columba 5 Columba 6 Wilfrid Ceolfrid Willibald Willibrord Machutus

Call to Action

Annunciation of

Need Overseas

Internal

Promptings

Completed

Mission

Commission and

Blessing

Valedictions

Sadness of Loved

Ones

Farewell Kisses

Procession to the

Shore and

Boarding

Outfitted Ship “yðlidne godne

gegyrwan”

navis parata navis

parata

navis

parata

“navigationem

praeparat”

navigium

paratum

navis

parata

Haste “beornas gearwe…

stigon”

Cf.. celer-derivative

+ boarding

(Boniface, Patrick

[Probus])

celeriter

(Pro)

celeriter

Companions comites (Pat

IV)

comites comites comitantes comitantes comites comites comitantes

Numbered

Cargo

Voyage Aboard

Ship

prosperus navigatio

prospera

prospere prosperum

navigium

Wind flatus

prosperus

ventus

plenus,

flans

ventus ventus flans ventus flans flabra

prosperantia

venti,

flabra

lenia

venti

secundi et

prosperi

ventus, venti,

flabra lenia

secunda

flantia

venti secundi,

flatus prosperi

ventus, secundus,

flare, prospera et

lenia flabra

flatus,

ventus

flans

ventus

flans

prosperi

venti, flans

Sails velum velum

extensum

velum

plenum

vela velum vela plena vela vela velata vela velum

extensum

Course or

Current

wægholm

Cf. oceani moles

(Germanus)

pelagii pressurae,

“ponte pollente”

(Willibald)

viae,

prosperus

fluctus (Pro)

cursus

prosperus,

viae

iter

prosperus

iter

prosperus

prosperus

cursus

viae, cursus fluctus, iter iter viae cursus,

fluctus

cursus

prosperus

Lack of

Hindrance

“sine

mora”

“sine morula

ulla”

“sine ulla

retardatione”

“sine ulla

laboratione”

“sine

labora

nostra”

Sailors

God’s Guidance

(floating)

deus

gubernans

deus

gubernans,

deus

auxilians

deus ducens deus dux ac

protector

christus dux christus

dux

dominus

auxilians

deus propitius deus

donans

“deus…

gubernat”

Arrival

Sighting

Destination

“oð þæt… land

gesawon”

Cf.. “aridam viderunt

terram” (Willibald)

donec (Willibrord)

Description of

Destination

portum,

hostium

hostia, terra

arida

portum

desideratum

portum

desideratum

optatum portum

optatum

portum portum terra arida ostia

Time of Arrival “ymb antid oþres

dogores”

Cf. “post horam diei

tertiam” (Columba

6); “altera die”

(Samson I.1, II.1)

altera dies altera dies crastina

dies

Disembarking

Prayer or

Rejoicing

Cargo

Pausing Onshore

Meeting Onshore

139

3.2 Home to Geatland

The occasion for this latter episode is the hero’s triumph over Grendel and his mother, leading

to his subsequent return to Geatland. This passage will require less exhaustive reference to the

oral-traditional scholarship provided above, so I will only make reference to the work of Foley

and the others where it is especially interpretively relevant, or where this episode differs

substantially from the poem’s first voyage. Similarly, where elements at work in this second

journey are near-duplications of those in the first journey, the discussion may be pared down

accordingly. There are, however, some elements that are both unique to this journey and

significant for comparison with its hagiographical counterparts.

3.2.1 Call to Action

Since this passage reflects the necessity of returning home after a successful mission, it negates

the presence of any external call to action. The inception of the journey does, however, adhere

to two of the common elements among voyaging saints: the internal prompting to travel and the

completed mission. This prompting occurs well before the journey begins, on the morning after

the hall has celebrated the death of Grendel’s mother: “Nu we sæliðend secgan wyllað / feorran

cumene þæt we fundiaþ / Higelac secan.”139

In terms of hagiographical antecedents to an internal prompting before a journey begins, they

are more frequent than calls to action from overseas. They occur in the Vita Bonifatii, the first

journeys in both lives of Samson, the Vita Columbani, the Vita Columbae’s first journey, the

story of Ceolfrid II in the Historia abbatum, the Hodoeporicon Willibaldi, and the Vita

139 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1818–20a. “Now we seafarers, having come from far away, wish to say

that we are eager to seek Hygelac.”

140

Machuti.140 The occasion for travel based on a completed mission occurs in the Vita Bonifatii

and the latter journeys in both of Samson’s lives.141

3.2.2 Commission and Blessing

The action of the crossing back to Geatland does not begin in earnest until another series of

niceties have been exchanged. The scene that follows Beowulf’s urge to leave represents one of

the more touching interpersonal moments in the poem. It includes a pledge of support from

Beowulf and a speech by Hrothgar commending Beowulf for his explicitly God-given wisdom

and virtue, expressing his affection for the young hero, and asserting his fitness for the throne of

Geatland should that contingency become necessary; Hrothgar also confirms the peace that will

remain between the Geats and Danes.142

Quite apart from Hrothgar’s praise of Beowulf and the implications of the future strife for the

Geats, his valedictory speech can also be interpreted as ceremonially significant, coming as it

does as part of a scene involving gift-giving and mutual exchanges of national friendship.143

Þe þa wordcwydas wigtig drihten

on sefan sende; ne hyrde ic snotorlicor

on swa geongum feore guman þingian.

Þu eart mægenes strang ond on mode frod,

wis wordcwida.144

This speech provides a faint echo of the coast-warden’s exclamation upon Beowulf’s arrival in

Denmark, that “næfre ic maran geseah / eorlan ofer eorþan” (I never saw a greater man on the

140 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 18.13–20.9; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 159.7–11; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 200; Plaine, ed.,

“Vita Samsonis,” 102.5; Adomnán, Life of Columba, 20; Bede, Abbots, 64; Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi” 90.2–6;

Bili, Life of Machutus, 30.14–22. 141 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 18.8; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 222; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 118.15. 142 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1840–65. 143 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1855–69. 144 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1841–45a. “The wise lord sent those sayings into your heart. I have not

heard a man in such a young age so wisely conduct business. You are strong in might and wise in the mind, a wise

speaker of words.”

141

earth), thereby providing a sense of formulaic balance with the Geat’s first sea journey.145 These

lines also seem to take part in the pattern of sapientia and fortitudo (wisdom and strength) that

R.E. Kaske has observed throughout the poem, always within the context of episodic closure

and linked to Hrothgar’s famous sermon.146 As such, they maintain a benedictional tone to

accompany the celebratory and admonitory flare present in each of these speech-acts. Their

resonance with Beowulf’s introduction, “se wæs moncynnes mægenes strengest” (he was the

strongest in might among mankind), does suggest the poet’s focus on the significance of these

words.147

The real emotional crux of the parting appears after these speeches, in the narrative voice. After

Hrothgar has provided yet more material reward to the Geats, he expresses his emotions toward

Beowulf with more abandon.

Het [h]ine mid þæm lacum leode swæse

secean on gesyntum, snude eft cuman.

Gecyste þa cyning æþelum god,

þeoden Scyldinga ðegn bet[e]stan

ond be healse genam; hruron him tearas

blondenfeaxum. Him wæs bega wen

ealdum infrodum, oþres swiðor,

þæt h[i]e seoðða(n no) geseon moston,

modige on meþle. (W)æs him se man to þon leof

þæt he þone breostwylm forberan ne mehte,

ac him on hreþre hygebendum fæst

æfter deorum men dyrne langað

born wið blode.148

145 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 247b–48a. 146 R.E. Kaske, “Sapientia et Fortitudo as the Controlling Theme of Beowulf,” Studies in Philology 55, no. 3 (July

1958): 427–28. 147 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 196. See Ramsey, “Sea Voyages,” 54. 148 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1868–80a. “He commanded that he seek his dear people with those gifts

in prosperity, to come back soon. Then the king rich in nobility, the chieftain of the Shieldings, kissed the best

retainer and embraced him about the neck. Tears fell from the grey-haired [man]. For the old wise-man there was

the expectation of two things, but greater [expectation] of one: that the brave men would not be able to see each

other afterwards in council. That man was so beloved to him that he could not hold back the welling of the breast,

but in his heart, firm in the bonds of his mind, the suppressed longing for the dear man burned in his blood.”

142

The feature foremost in this passage is the sense of sorrow on the part of Hrothgar, culminating

in the expectation that the two men will never see each other again. There is also a strong sense

of ceremony implicit in the ritual gifting that takes place after Hrothgar’s speech and before the

final outpouring of emotion.

Although there are further courtesies to be exchanged with the coast-warden after Beowulf

leaves Hrothgar’s hall, this passage most thoroughly echoes the valedictory elements found in

the bulk of the vitae I have treated, including Patrick’s, Boniface’s, both of Samson’s voyages in

the Vita I and Vita II, Columban’s, Germanus’s, the Vita Columbae’s first and second voyages,

Wilfrid’s, Ceolfrid II’s, and Machutus’s.149 In this instance of parting blessings, the sorrow at

Beowulf’s departure is less ambiguously presented than in the previous sea journey. On

Beowulf’s departure from home, there was only the faint suggestion of misgivings in that the

Geatish council-members “ðone siðfæt him… lythwon logon, þeah he him leof wære.”150 In this

instance, however, Hrothgar’s affective response is explicit, featuring tears, embraces, fear of

loss, and an expression of his internal response to the parting. This element therefore takes part

in the pattern established by the Vita Bonifatii, Vita Columbani, Vita Machuti, and the Historia

abbatum’s treatment of Ceolfrid II.151

One element absent from the first sea journey is the physical farewell offered Beowulf by

Hrothgar. This expression of affection, specifically the kisses offered from the older man to the

younger, occurs in the first journey of the Vita Columbae, Ceolfrid’s journey in the Historia

abbatum, and the Vita Machuti. Of course, the recipient of the farewell kisses varies in each of

149 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.5–8; Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.10–11; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202, 222;

Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.1, 118.12–13; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 159.24–160.2; Constantius, “Vita Germani,”

259.7–9; Adomnán, Life of Columba, 20, 100; Eddius, Life of Wilfrid, 14; Bede, Abbots, 64; Bili, Life of Machutus,

32.11–15. 150 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 203–4. “Faulted that journey to him little, although he was beloved to

them.” 151 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 18.13–20.9; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 159.11–25; Bede, Abbots, 64; Bili, Life of Machutus,

32.11–34.19.

143

these instances. In the Vita Columbae’s parting between Fintán and his superior, it is actually

the young man kissing his superior farewell.152 At Ceolfrid II’s farewell, the description of the

kiss is given only in the ablative absolute phrase, “osculo pacis inter lacrimas omnes dato” (with

the kiss of peace having been given amidst all the tears), so that its direction is not certain.153 It

would, however, make more sense for Ceolfrid to be the agent of blessing in this case, since he

is the superior. This farewell is also accompanied by an outpouring of tears, which closely

reflects the situation with Beowulf and Hrothgar.

At Machutus’s parting, there are a number of features common to both the vita and Beowulf,

although it should be noted that the parting sorrow takes place during the procession to the shore

rather than the commission and blessing. His parents, unhappy about his departure, are

described as “osculantes eum et quasi mortuum licet uiuum computantes, flentes

eiulantesque.”154 Aside from the weeping and kisses directed from parental figures to their child,

this passage also makes a point of addressing the mortal concern for the saint’s safety. This

notion is present in the touching detail that Hrothgar does not expect to see Beowulf again. The

matrix of weeping, farewell kisses, and a sense of permanent loss is very much present in both

the Vita Machuti and Beowulf. One might expect a number of these elements in any leave-taking

scene, but the preponderance of common elements between these two texts is striking.

3.2.3 Procession to Shore and Boarding

Beowulf leaves Hrothgar’s hall immediately after the old man’s affections are spent. The

procession to the shore occupies a massive proportion of this second sea journey, largely

because it contains not only the elements common to the first seafaring episode, but it must also

152 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 20. 153 Bede, Abbots, 64. 154 Bili, Life of Machutus, 32.17–34.19. “Kissing him and considering him as if dead though he was alive, weeping

and wailing.”

144

provide closure for Beowulf’s initial interactions with the coast-warden and reiterative

valuations of the gifts given by Hrothgar. The scene continues.

Him Beowulf þanan,

guðrinc goldwlanc græsmoldan træd

since hremig; sægenga bad

age[n]dfrean, se þe on ancre rad.

Þa wæs on gange gifu Hroðgares

oft geæhted; þæt wæs an cyning

æghwæs orleahtre, oþ þæt hine yldo benam

mægenes wynnum, se þe oft manegum scod.

Cwom þa to flode felamodigra,

hægstealdra [heap], hringnet bæron,

locene leoðosyrcan. Landweard onfand

eftsið eorla, swa he ær dyde;

no he mid hearme of hliðes nosan

gæs(tas) grette, ac him togeanes rad,

cwæð þæt wilcuman Wedera leodum

scaþan scirhame to scipe foron.

Þa wæs on sande sægeap naca

hladen herewædum, hringedstefna

mearum ond maðmum; mæst hlifade

ofer Hroðgares hordgestreonum.

He þæm batwearde bunden golde

swurd gesealde, þæt he syðþan wæs

on meodubence maþme þy weorþra,

yrfelafe.155

This passage gives Beowulf an opportunity to display his munificence and demonstrate the

idealized social norms at work in the poem. Amidst the idealized etiquette, the elements at work

are similar to those found in the first sea journey’s procession to the shore.

155 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1880b–903a. “Beowulf, the warrior proud with gold, exalting in treasure,

walked from there on the grassy earth. The ship that rode on its anchor awaited its owner and lord. Then, on the

journey, Hrothgar’s gift was repeatedly praised. That was a king in every way without blame until age, which has

often done harm to many, deprived him of the pleasures of might. The crowd of young, very courageous [men]

came then to the flood. They bore ring-nets, hand-locked battle-shirts. The land-warden perceived the return-

journey of the men as he had done earlier. He greeted the guests from the hill’s ridge, not with harm, but he rode

towards them, said that they [would be] welcome among the people of the Weathers. The warriors in bright armour

travelled to the ship. Then the ring-prowed, sea-spacious ship on the sand was loaded with the clothing of war, with

horses and treasures. The mast towered over the treasures from Hrothgar’s hoard. He gave the boat-warden a sword

bound with gold, so that he was afterwards more esteemed on the mead-bench for that treasure, the remnant of

heirs.”

145

Within this extended procession, we see a number of elements of the component as it is found in

many of the vitae, the first of which is the prepared vessel. Immediately on setting out, the

reader is treated to the image of the ship waiting at anchor for its occupants, as observed by

Foley.156 The ship is depicted twice in this passage, first as it waits on the shore in lines 1882b–

83. The second appearance of the ship, in lines 1896–99, more closely reflects the detail-

arrangements of Ramsey and Diamond, who focus on the loading and cargo of the vessel.157

With respect to their correspondence with the earlier journey and those found in the vitae,

however, these depictions of the ship are not terribly close. Only in a broad sense of shared

elements does this passage reflect the instances of the prepared ship found in the lives of

Patrick, the Vita Bonifatii, the first episodes in both lives of Samson, the Vita Columbani and

Vita Machuti, the first episode of the Vita Columbae, and the Hodoeporicon Willibaldi; it lacks

the shared cross-lingual collocations I have suggested for the previous journey.158 Still, the

description of the loaded ship seems to represent a priority inclusion for the Beowulf-poet.

These paired mentions of the loaded ship bookend another element found across an array of

texts: companions. This element is found in both Beowulf’s earlier journey and the Vita quarta

Patricii, all of the episodes in the lives of Samson, the Vita Columbani, the Vita Germani,

Bede’s treatment of Ceolfrid II, the Hodoeporicon Willibaldi, Alcuin’s Vita Willibrordi, and the

Vita Machuti.159 In Beowulf, references to the companions on the journey to the shore can be

found in the genitive-plural “felamodigra” (greatly courageous) and “hægstealdra” (young),

which lack any singular noun to govern the verb “cwom” (came) in the manuscript, presumably

156 Foley, Traditional, 337. 157 Ramsey, “The Sea Voyage,” 55; Diamond, “Theme as Ornament,” 465. 158 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.9; Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.13; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 200; Plaine, ed., “Vita

Samsonis,” 102.12, 103.3; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 11; Adomnán, Life of Columba, 20; Bili, Life of Machutus, 34.22–3;

Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.5. For collocations, see Table 3.1 on page 138. 159 Bieler, ed., “Vita quarta,” 79.20–21, col. b; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202, 222; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,”

103.3, 118.18; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.7; Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 259.7–12; Bede, Abbots, 64; Huneberc,

“Vita Willibaldi,” 110; Alcuin, L’oeuvre,44; Bili, Life of Machutus, 32.11–34.28.

146

due to a case of eye-skip from line 1189’s “hægstealdra” to the following clause’s “hringnet”

(net of rings).160 Fulk et al.’s proposed heap (band) provides double alliteration as well as

feasible sense, and would account for eye-skip from one h-initial across to another.

While this construction is similar to the Hodoeporicon Willibaldi’s “collegum cetu” (company

of colleagues) and the Vita Columbani’s “fratrum coetu” (company of brothers) it lacks the

notion of “chosen companions” that the Hodoeporicon seems to share with Beowulf’s earlier sea

journey.161 Nor does the poet make specific reference to the number of companions here.

However, the depiction of the companions on the procession to the shore is an element shared

between the Old English poem and the vitae.

Once the party has encountered the coast-warden, the companions are depicted afresh, this time

as “scaþan scirhame” (warriors armoured brightly). Alcuin’s description of Willibrord’s

companions, described as “eo fidei feruore armatos” (armed with the fervor of their faith),

presents a similarly warlike image of companions on their way to the shore.162 The use of the

adjective scirham (armoured brightly) also points to another detail present across Beowulf’s two

journeys, the loading of armour and cargo.163 While the men are clearly clothed in armour, they

also “hringnet bæron / locene leoðosyrcan” (bore nets of rings, interlocked war-coats). After a

brief meeting with the coast-warden, in which he himself is gifted a sword out of the travellers’

rewards, a discrete loading scene occurs that provides a suitable closing of the envelope-pattern

opened at the earlier mention of the ship waiting at anchor: “Þa wæs on sande sægeap naca /

hladen herewædum, hringedstefna / mearum ond maðmum.”164

160 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1888–89b and apparatus. 161 See above, pp. 115–16. 162 Alcuin, L’oeuvre, 44. 163 See above, pp. 120–21. 164 Fulk et al., eds. Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1896–98a. “Then the ring-prowed, sea-spacious ship on the sand was

loaded with the clothing of war, with horses and treasures.”

147

Like Beowulf’s previous loading-scene, this one maintains a dual interest in the treasures and

armaments brought aboard in the form of battle-dress, horses, and treasure. All except the horses

find a parallel in the first voyage: the herewæda (battle-clothing) in the first journey’s guðsearo

(war-armour) and the maðmas in its frætwe, both rendered as “treasure.”165 Again, the Vita

Wilfrithi, the Vita Machuti, the Hodoeporicon Willibaldi, and the Historia abbatum’s treatment

of Ceolfrid II all explicitly depict the loading of cargo onto the ship, while the Vita Willibrordi’s

mention of the armour of faith as the men board evokes Beowulf’s embarking and loading more

obliquely.166

As the journey continues, the editors’ of Klaeber 4’s treatment of the text does not depict a

boarding scene as it occurs in the earlier episode, signified in that case by the verb stigan (to

mount). The loading only weakly suggests the action of boarding and is interrupted by

Beowulf’s gift-giving diversion. However, what follows this gifting-giving can—and has—been

interpreted as a boarding scene by some commentators, centred around the three half-lines:

“Gewat him on naca / drefan deop wæter, Dena land ofgeaf.”167

The reading of Klaeber 4, “gewat him on naca,” is necessitated by the metrically problematic

manuscript reading, “gewat him on nacan,” which provides no vocalic alliteration to match the

on-verse’s yrfelaf (heirloom) with its prepositional, unstressed on. They are in the majority in

treating this passage as though it should read “the ship departed on,” with on functioning

adverbially and carrying stress, and the reconstructed naca serving as the subject. However, this

emendation is not unanimously accepted. If “nacan” is taken as the accusative form of naca, this

half-line could be interpreted as Beowulf mounting the ship and moving directly into motion

165 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 213–15a. 166 Eddius, Life of Wilfrid, 14; Bili, Life of Machutus, 34.23; Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.3–5; Bede, Abbots, 64;

Alcuin, L’oeuvre, 44. 167 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1903b–4. “The ship moved on, stirring up the deep water. It shoved off

from the land of the Danes.”

148

across the water. A variant of this reading was offered in Walter Sedgefield’s and Ferdinand

Holthausen’s editions of the text, and is most recently championed by Eric Stanley.168

In a 1992 article, Stanley defends Sedgefield and Holthausen’s emendation of the line to “gewat

him [eft] on nacan” on metrical grounds, providing the sense “he went again onto the ship,” and

observes that while the opposite consensus is metrically more conventional, it is only marginally

so.169 Stanley observes that to satisfy the vocalic alliteration demanded by the on-verse’s yrfelaf

in the manuscript reading, metrical stress must fall on adverbial on, a rarity when the word

precedes a noun. Thus, the editorial addition eft (again) represents an appropriate vehicle for the

off-verse’s stress, and maintains the integrity of the manuscript reading’s “on nacan,” providing

the sense “he departed again onto the ship,” if the noun is assumed to be accusative, and “he

departed again upon the ship [i.e. atop the water]” if it is assumed to be dative.

Moreover, the wider context indicates that the lines may well fit this interpretation. In the

manuscript, the sentence runs “Gewat him on nacan / drefan deop wæter, Dena land ofgeaf.”170

Stanley points out that drefan (to stir up) is a verb typically reliant on a personal subject, a detail

which would suggest that Beowulf himself is the subject of this sentence, rather than the ship.171

If this reading can be trusted, it would suggest that the manuscript reading of “nacan” would

indeed be appropriate, with Beowulf himself as the subject and the ship as a prepositional

object.

168 See W.J. Sedgefield, ed., Beowulf (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1935), 56; Ferdinand Holthausen,

ed., Beowulf: nebst den kleineren Denkmälern der Heldensagen (Heidelberg: Heidelberg University Press, 1948),

61. 169 Eric Stanley, “Initial Clusters of Unstressed Syllables in Half-Lines of ‘Beowulf’,” in Words, Texts, and

Manuscripts: Studies in Anglo-Saxon Culture Presented to Helmut Gneuss on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth

Birthday, ed. Michael Korhammer (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1992), 276–77. 170 Fulk et al., eds. Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1903b–4. 171 Stanley, “Initial Clusters,” 279.

149

As I have mentioned, naca’s case is debatable. If it is dative, then regardless of our preference

for emendation, this passage elides the boarding component, since the line seems only to mean

“[Beowulf] departed again upon the ship, stirring the deep water.” If, as Stanley assumes, the

noun is instead in the accusative, “lines 1903–4 continue the account of Beowulf embarking on

his voyage: he enters the boat eft, ‘again,’ to move over the high sea.”172 In that case, this half-

line would represent a very brief manifestation of the boarding component of the sea journey. It

would therefore participate in a pattern of representation that tends to include a boarding scene

in a sea journey, represented by the vast majority of my sample-vitae, including the lives of

Patrick, the Vita Bonifatii, the first episode in both of Samson’s vitae, the Vita Columbani and

Vita Germani, the Vita Columbae’s third and sixth journeys, the Vita Wilfrithi, Ceolfrid II’s

material in the Historia abbatum, the Hodoeporicon Willibaldi, the Vita Willibrordi, and the

Vita Machuti.173

3.2.4 Voyage Aboard Ship

Regardless of the truth of the matter with respect to the troublesome instance of naca in l. 1903b,

the journey aboard ship begins here.

Gewat him [eft] on nacan

drefan deop wæter, Dena land ofgeaf.

Þa wæs be mæste merehrægla sum,

segl sale fæst; sundwudu þunede;

no þær wegflotan wind ofer yðum

siðes getwæfde; sægenga for,

fleat famigheals forð ofer yðe,

bundenstefna ofer brimstreamas,

þæt hie Geata clifu ongitan meahton,

cuþe næssas; ceol up geþrang,

172 Stanley, “Initial Clusters,” 279. 173 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.9; Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.13; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202; Plaine, ed., “Vita

Samsonis,” 102.12–103.7; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.8–11; Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 259.13; Adomnán, Life of

Columba, 144, 176; Eddius, Life of Wilfrid, 14; Bede, Abbots, 64; Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.3–7; Alcuin,

L’oeuvre, 44; Bili, Life of Machutus, 34.20–28.

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lyftgeswenced on lande stod.174

This passage takes the travellers quickly from shore to shore, with naturalistic references to the

sail, wind, and waves.

As is the case with Beowulf’s journey to Denmark, this depiction carries the action through the

voyage aboard ship and arrival elements without a strong syntactic break, following the pattern

observed by Clark, in which continued or completed motion transitions into the visual

appropriation of the destination, signaled by means of conjunctive oþ þæt (until) or þæt (to the

point that).175 First, I will treat this passage’s voyage aboard ship, which is much more detail-

laden than the earlier voyage to Denmark.

Like the first voyage, this one’s most amply expressed element comes in the form of references

to the dynamism of the water, as signified by the use of terms such as sund- (motion through

water), weg- (wave), yð (wave), and brimstream (sea-current). Like yð and weg-, -stream and

sund- present a sense of dynamism. As I have discussed above, however, they also carry the

semantic weight of “course” or “current,” thereby participating in the elements represented by

the use of terms such as cursus (course) and fluctus (flow) in many of the vitae with sea

journeys.176 Those that depict water in this way include the lives of Patrick and Boniface, both

episodes of the Vita I Samsonis and the first in the Vita II, the Vita Columbani and Vita

Germani, the Vita Columbae’s third and fourth journeys, and the Vita Willibaldi and Vita

174 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1903b–13. “He went again onto the ship, disturbing the deep water, left

the land of the Danes. Then there was a sea-cloth, a sail firm about the mast on a rope. The water-wood thundered.

The wind over the waves did not then part the wave-floating [vessel] from the journey. The ship travelled. The

foamy-necked, bound-stemmed [vessel] floated forth over the waves, over the sea-streams, so that they could

perceive the cliffs of the Geats, the familiar promontories. The ship, impelled by the wind, surged up; it stood on

the land.” 175 See Clark, “Traveller,” 647–48 and above, p. 134. This convention is partially the result of modern editorial

practices of punctuation. Cf. the passage as it appears in Bruce Mitchell and Susan Irvine, “Beowulf Repunctuated,”

Old English Newsletter: Subsidia 29 (2000): 1903b–13, where the entire journey is contained in one “sense unit”

(see p. 27). 176 See above, pp. 124–27.

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Willibrordi.177 Beowulf’s focus on waves is also similar to the Vita Germani and Hodoeporicon

Willibaldi, which take pains to depict a wavy, surging sea.178

The wind that drives the ship is also mentioned, this time rather more elaborately. Two

references to wind occur, although the latter takes place within the part of the journey I would

categorize as the arrival, when the ship is driven up on shore and described as lyftgeswenced.

Lyft’s participation in this dithematic participial adjective is clearly one of instrumentation: the

boat is “driven by the wind.” In this grammatical quality, lyftgeswenced is not unlike the earlier

reference to the ship as “winde gefysed” (impelled by wind) and therefore participates in the

instrumental presentation of wind as it occurs in many vitae, including the lives of Patrick, the

Vita Bonifatii, in the first seafaring episode in the Vita I Samsonis and both seafaring episodes in

the Vita II, the Vita Columbani, Vita Germani, all journeys except the first in the Vita

Columbae, the Vita Wilfrithi, and the Hodoeporicon Willibaldi.179

Prior to the ship being driven onshore, however, the poet mentions wind with characteristic

litotes as part of the voyage proper, when he declares “no þær wegflotan wind ofer yðum / siðes

getwæfde.”180 Aside from reinforcing the element of wind in the passage, I detect another

similarity to the vitae in this sentence. The assertion of speed based on a litotic negation of

hindrance takes part in the same fundamental structure as the “sine morula” (without delay)

found in Columba’s first voyage.”181 More in line with the expression in Beowulf, Columba’s

177 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.11; Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.13–16; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204, 222; Plaine,

ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.7–8; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.12–13; Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 260.17; Adomnán,

Life of Columba, 144–46, 174; Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.8–11; Alcuin, L’oeuvre, 44. 178 Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 260.7–10; Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.7–9. 179 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 217, “impelled by the wind.” See Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 74.11–12;

Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.15–16; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.7–8, 118.19;

Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.12; Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 259.15; Admonán, Life of Columba, 100, 144–45, 174,

176; Eddius, Life of Wilfrid, 14; Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.8–10. 180 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1907–8a. “The wind over the waves did not then part the wave-floating

(vessel) from the journey.” 181 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 20.

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fourth journey, in which a contrary wind is turned into a favourable one, the vita describes the

ship’s motion as “prosperis flatibus deo propitio famulantibus et plenis sine ulla retardatione

uelis.”182 The “sine ulla retardatione” (without any hindrance), close as it is to a reference to the

favourable wind, provides a strong precedent for the set of elements employed by the Beowulf-

poet for this journey. Other examples occur in the first voyage of the Vita II Samsonis—

although the instance appears in its preliminary episode—and Columba’s fifth and sixth sea

journeys.183

The Vita Columbae’s vela plena (full sails) in close proximity to a lack of hindrance points to

one more element of Beowulf’s depiction that is congruent with hagiography. In one form or

another, the mention of sails occurs in several vitae, including Boniface’s, the preamble to the

first episodes in the Vita I Samsonis and Vita II Samsonis, and the latter episode in the Vita II,

the Vita Germani, the Vita Columbae in the aforementioned fourth journey as well as its third,

fifth, and sixth, along with the Hodoeporicon Willibaldi, the Vita Willibrordi, and the

preliminary episode in the Vita Machuti.184 Most of these comprise rather limited depictions of

sails, simply mentioning their presence and leaving it at that. One, however, provides an

elaborate depiction of a sail fastened on ropes atop a mast, providing a closer match with

Beowulf’s “þa wæs be mæste merehrægla sum / segl sale fæst.”185

The fifth journey in the Vita Columbae contains the clause “iusi tum nautae antemnas crucis

instar et uela protensis subleuant rudentibus,” which includes not only the image of sails, but

182 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 174. “By means of favourable winds, with God favourable to his servants, and with

full sails devoid of any hindrance.” 183 Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.10–12; Adomnán, Life of Columba, 174–76. 184 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.15; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 200; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.1, 118.19;

Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 260.6; Adomnán, Life of Columba, 100, 144, 174, 176; Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,”

91.9–10; Alcuin, L’oeuvre, 44; and see Bili, Life of Machutus, 34.24. 185 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1905–6a. “Then there was a sea-cloth, a sail firm about the mast on a

rope.”

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also the fact that they are rigged to a mast by means of rope.186 Considering the sentence

immediately following this clause, which includes references to “prosperisque et lenibus flabris”

(favourable and gentle gusts) and even the phrase “sine ulla laboratione” (without any effort) a

convention similar to the “sine ulla retardatione” (without any hindrance) found in the Vita

Columba’s previous journey, this passage appears to provide several parallels with Beowulf in

close proximity with one another.187

While references to the fastening of sails and wind might be expected in any depiction of a sea

journey, the highly specific negation of hindrance across both texts is an added, compelling

similarity, though Columba’s fifth journey lacks any mention of the sea’s current or dynamism.

The focus of this passage is on the miraculous agreement of the wind with the desires of Iona’s

inhabitants, however, which may have placed it—along with the sails—higher on Adomnán list

of priorities with respect to necessary inclusions. Aside from a lack of any reference to the

watercourse, this passage seems to represent an especially compelling constellation of elements

shared with Beowulf.

3.2.5 Arrival

The arrival sequence contains many of the same elements as Beowulf’s first journey. It begins

mid-sentence as part of the voyage. The first element that becomes apparent is the visual

appropriation of the destination shore. This detail, observed by Clark,188 appears in both the Vita

Bonifatii and the Hodoeporicon Willibaldi.189 As before, the visual acquisition of the destination

is accompanied by a dramatic, appositive depiction of its features, apparently with care to repeat

186 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 176. “Then, the sailors, as ordered, raise the yards in the image of the cross along

with the sails on taughtened ropes.” 187 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 176. 188 Clark, “Traveller,” 647–48. 189 Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 17.16; Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.8–10.

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the earlier episode’s focus on the land (land), næssas (promontories), and clifu (cliffs).190 This

descriptive feature is shared with a wide array of vitae.191

Unlike the sea journey to Denmark, this instance lacks a defined time of arrival. The arrival-

sequence, present in the first episode and signified in this case by the assertion that the ship “on

lande stod” (stood on land) caps the journey.192 Of the elements observed in the arrival at the

end of the first sea journey in the poem—sighting the destination, description of its topography,

and a time of arrival—only the time of arrival seems to be missing here. Otherwise, the two

episodes are remarkably similar in both structure and diction, and therefore echo many of the

techniques enacted in the hagiographic record.

3.2.6 Disembarking

Finally, this journey ends on another meeting with a coast-warden, signified by a switch in

narrative perspective from the point of view of the travellers to the position of the man tasked

with guarding the harbour.

Hreþe wæs æt holme hyðweard geara,

se þe ær lange tid leofra manna

fus æt faroðe feor wlatode;

sælde to sande sidfæþme scip

oncerbendum fæst, þy læs him yþa ðrym

wudu wynsuman forwrecan meahte.

Het þa up beran æþelinga gestreon,

frætwe ond fætgold.193

190 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 221–24a. 191 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 76.19–78.11; Willibald, Vita Bonifatii, 20.15–19; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204, 222;

Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.9–10, 118.20; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 160.13–15; Constantius, “Vita Germani,”

260.18; Adomnán, Life of Columba, 20, 100, 145, 174–176; Eddius, Life of Wilfrid, 14; Huneberc, “Vita

Willibaldi,” 91.8–11; Alcuin, L’oeuvre, 44; Bili, Life of Machutus, 36.12–13. For parallels with Juvencus, see

above, p. 105 and n. 2. 192 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 1913b. 193 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1914–21a. “The harbour-warden who, eager at the sea, had looked

distantly for the beloved men for a long time before, was quickly ready at the ocean. He tied the wide-bosomed ship

to the sand, firm on the bonds of its anchor, the less the press of waves might destroy the joyful wood. He ordered

that the treasure of the nobles, the ornaments and decorated gold, be borne up.”

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As with the first journey’s landing and disembarking, the point of view shifts to the cliffs and

the reader’s gaze rests with the hyðweard (harbour-guard). This technique is precisely that of the

first journey, and shared with Patrick’s vitae, when Dichú’s swineherd spots the saint

disembarking.194 Unlike Beowulf’s first arrival in Denmark, this switch in perspective takes

place at the very moment the landing occurs, instead of after the men have given thanks and

disembarked in their war gear.

The perspectival switch does, however, signal another meeting onshore, an element also found

in the Muirchú-derived lives of Patrick, all seafaring episodes in the lives of Samson, the Vita

Germani, the first journey of the Vita Columbae, and the Vita Machuti in its somewhat

unorthodox form.195 The poet seems uninterested in depicting a dismount from the ship of any

kind. He does, however, seem thoroughly invested in presenting two elements of the landing:

securing the ship and unloading its treasure.

Securing the ship is minimally represented in the vitae, with Patrick as the only saint who deems

it necessary to hide his ship away.196 The focus on cargo at the arrival—in the case of Beowulf,

treasure and armament—is represented sparsely in the hagiography. It appears in both

Muirchú’s and Probus’s lives of Patrick, though not in the disembarking component proper, as

well as in the fifth journey of the Vita Columbae and in an outlier form in the Vita Machuti.197

One further element warrants attention. The immediate rejoicing upon Beowulf’s first landing

and present in the Vita Columbae’s fifth journey, the Historia abbatum, and the Hodoeporicon

194 See above, pp. 136–37; Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 78.11–80.9. 195 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 78.11–80.9; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 204, 222; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 103.9–

15, 118.22; Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 260.17; Adomnán, Life of Columba, 20; Bili, Life of Machutus, 40.32–37.

See above, pp. 136–37. 196 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 78.10. 197 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 76.19–20; Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 199.7; Adomnán, Life of Columba, 176. For

Machutus, see above, pp. 101–2 and Bili, Life of Machutus, 36.18–19.

156

Willibaldi does not have a readily apparent analogue in this landing episode.198 To observe an

image of thanksgiving at the conclusion of a journey in this instance, the reader must wait until

Beowulf has already reached his destination onshore, the poet has inserted the Modþryð

digression, and the young hero has met his king, Hygelac.199 This places the thanksgiving

element firmly outside of the disembarking sequence.

Not only does this rejoicing occur outside of the textual bounds of the journey, but it is placed in

the mouth of Hygelac, not one of the travellers. It takes place once Hygelac has stated his relief

at seeing Beowulf and expressed his initial consternation over the journey in the first place. At

the end of this speech, he states, “Gode ic þanc secge / þæs ðe ic ðe gesundne geseon moste.”200

Notably, this action provides an interesting parallel with Beowulf and Hrothgar’s fears that

“h[i]e seoðða(n no) geseon moston” (they might not see [each other] afterwards).201 These are

not the only terms that link the two kings. Hygelac himself uses the term sorhwylm (surge of

sorrow) to describe his concern for Beowulf, a seeming reference to Hrothgar’s breostwylm

(surge in the heart).202 His seething, expressed by the verb seoðan, is similar to the burning

(byrnan) of Hrothgar’s emotion.203

Accordingly, in spite of its position outside of the real action of the landing, Hygelac’s

thanksgiving, his joy at seeing Beowulf again, and his expressions of initial concern seem to

take part in an envelope pattern with terms used to launch the voyage. Moreover, the very same

phrase applied to the Danish coast-warden’s initial curiosity at the arrival of the Geats after

Beowulf’s first journey, “hyne fyrwet bræc” (curiosity struck him), is here used of Hygelac’s

198 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 176; Bede, Abbots, 64; Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 98.10. 199 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1914–98. 200 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1997b–98. “I say thanks to God because I am able to see you safe.” 201 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 1875. 202 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf ll. 1877, 1903. 203 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1880, 1993.

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interest in his retainer’s adventures.204 These parallels seem to point to the inclusion of

Hygelac’s meeting with Beowulf as an extension of the meeting on the beach, and therefore that

his gratitude towards god is an intentional parallel to the travellers’ thanksgiving when they

disembarked after the voyage to Denmark. Whether this proposition can be accepted or not, the

point remains that a thanksgiving occurs not long after the journey, which seems, at least in

Beowulf and several vitae, to be a matter of form.

An overview of my examination of this second sea journey can be seen in Table 3.2. When

compared to the previous seafaring episode, the most conspicuously absent details can be easily

seen. There are relatively few, and most seem to be dependent on the context of this particular

voyage. Clearly, the call to action’s annunciation of need overseas has no place in a return-

journey. Not all of these absences can be explained by context, however. For example, the

second journey’s procession to the shore and boarding contains no sense of speed. This might be

explained by the fact that the travellers are not heading off to tackle a crisis, but rather returning

home at their leisure.

204 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 232, 1985.

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Table 3.2: Green boxes indicate texts that contain the element in question unequivocally. Yellow indicates the existence of the element, but

presented unconventionally, dubiously, or outside of its most common structural component.

Beowulf Patrick Boniface Samson

I.1

Samson

II.1

Samson I.2 Samson II.2 Columban Germanus Columba 1 Columba 2 Columba 3 Columba 4 Columba 5 Columba

6

Wilfrid Ceolfrid Willibald Willibrord Machutus

Call to Action

Annunciation of

Need Overseas

Internal

Promptings

Completed

Mission

Commission

and Blessing

Valedictions

Sadness of

Loved Ones

Farewell Kisses

Procession to

the Shore and

Boarding

Outfitted Ship navis

parata

navis

parata

navis

parata

“navigationem

praeparat”

navigium

paratum

navis

parata

Haste celeriter

(Pro)

celeriter

Companions comites

(Pat IV)

comites comites comitantes comitantes comites comites comitantes

Numbered

Cargo

Voyage Aboard

Ship

prosperus navigatio

prospera

prospere prosperum

navigium

Wind flatus

prosperus

ventus

plenus,

flans

ventus ventus

flans

ventus flans flabra

prosperantia

venti,

flabra

lenia

venti

secundi et

prosperi

ventus,

venti, flabra

lenia

secunda

flantia

venti secundi,

flatus prosperi

ventus,

secundus, flare,

prospera et

lenia flabra

flatus,

ventus

flans

ventus

flans

prosperi

venti, flans

Sails “þa wæs be mæste merehrægla

sum segl sale fæst”

Cf. “tum… antemnas crucis

instar et uela protensis subleuant

rudentibus” (Columba 5)

velum velum

extensum

velum

plenum

vela velum vela plena vela vela velata vela velum

extensum

Course or

Current

viae,

prosperus

fluctus

(Pro)

cursus

prosperus,

viae

iter

prosperus

iter

prosperus

prosperus

cursus

viae, cursus fluctus,

iter

iter viae cursus,

fluctus

cursus

prosperus

Lack of

Hindrance

“no þær wegflotan wind ofer

yðum siðes getwæfde”

Cf. sine + mora-derivative

(Samson II.1, Columba 1)

sine +

retardatio/laboratio/labor

(Columba 4, 5, 6)

“sine

mora”

“sine morula

ulla”

“sine ulla

retardatione”

“sine ulla

laboratione”

“sine

labora

nostra”

Sailors

God’s Guidance

(floating)

deus

gubernans

deus

gubernans,

deus

auxilians

deus ducens deus dux ac

protector

christus dux christus

dux

dominus

auxilians

deus propitius deus

donans

“deus…

gubernat”

Arrival

Sighting

Destination

Description of

Destination

portum,

hostium

hostia,

terra arida

portum

desideratum

portum

desideratum

optatum portum

optatum

portum portum terra arida ostia

Time of Arrival altera dies altera dies crastina

dies

Disembarking

Prayer or

Rejoicing

Cargo

Pausing

Onshore

Meeting

Onshore

159

There are also elements corresponding to details of the vitae that appear in the second journey

but not the first. The kisses between Hrothgar and Beowulf are one example, as well as the

direct mention of sadness at the hero’s departure, a detail only implied in the first journey.

Comparison of tables 3.1 and 3.2 provides the complete picture, as well as the insight that for all

their differences, the two episodes are remarkably similar in terms of their shared elements.205

The nuances at work in each seem either based on context or artistic preference. It will be noted

that of all the details observed across the wide array of vitae examined, only two are not

represented in Beowulf at all: God’s guidance and a pause onshore upon disembarking.

My primary vitae, those belonging to Patrick, Boniface, Samson, and Columban, all seem to

have a high degree of correspondence with Beowulf, although the second journeys in both lives

of Samson share significantly less material with the old English poem. It is among those saints’

lives that have less structurally elaborate sea journeys that surprises occur. Both of Beowulf’s

sea journeys correspond particularly closely with the material belonging to Germanus,

Willibald, and Machutus. Though this base of texts is relatively narrow, being confined to

hagiographies available in Anglo-Saxon England during the likely period of Beowulf’s

composition, it seems to indicate a strong set of underlying conventions of seafaring in Western

European hagiography, of which the Beowulf-poet seems to have been well aware.206

In the two chapters that follow, I examine another set of hagiographical conventions shared by

Beowulf, this one less tied to narrative structure but equally typical in execution: the saintly

hermit’s wilderness.

205 See pages 138 and 158, tables 3.1 and 3.2 206 See above, pp. 24–36.

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Chapter 4 Saints Gone Wild

It is to one of the most dramatic sites of heroism in Beowulf that I will now turn: Grendel’s mere

and its surrounding environs. These too appear to take a number of cues from the hagiographic

record, in the form of the landscapes depicted in saintly wilderness retreats and hermitages. In

this chapter and the one that follows, I suggest that the Beowulf-poet may have acquired some of

the imagistic details included in Hrothgar’s depiction of the mere and the subsequent journey to

hunt down Grendel at home from hagiography.1 As I have discussed, the challenge of

disambiguating influence can be difficult. In the case of Grendel’s mere, the wide-ranging Visio

Pauli tradition looms large.2 Because hagiography is the focus of my study, and since several of

the seminal texts I treat maintain both temporal and cultural primacy over relevant versions of

that apocryphal text—mostly likely composed in Latin in the 6th century—I confine my study to

the vitae.3

4.1 A Basis for Comparison

Starting from the earliest depiction of the exile-saint in Pontius the Deacon’s 3rd-century Vita S.

Cypriani and the reclusive hermit-saint with Athanasius’s 4th-century depiction of St. Anthony,

the natural environment of a saint’s hermitage became a staple of hagiography.4 In many cases,

these hermitage-sites are characterized by their hostility. Anthony’s desert-retreats in particular

are anything but hospitable, and are in fact populated by demons who factor heavily into his

trials in the desert. This trend in demonic or otherworldly surroundings for a saint’s tribulation

or habitation continues down the Latin lineage of hermits, through Jerome’s late-4th-century Vita

1 See Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1345–76a and 1402b–31a, respectively. 2 See above, p. 11. 3 See Heuchen, “All Things to All Men,” 148. 4 See Michael P. Rewa, “Early Christian Life-Writing: Panegyric and Hagiography,” Biography 2, no. 1 (1979):

63–68, 73–6.

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Pauli and Vita Hilarionis, and into their successor-texts, such as the Vita Guthlaci, the Vita

Columbani, and the lives of Gall.5 These environments are less uniform than the depictions of

hagiographical sea journeys, since they are not strictly bound to narrative context. But as the

genre of the vita progressed and details accreted, by the likely time of Beowulf’s composition, a

number of details began to occur with some regularity.6

This lack of rigidity makes hagiographic depictions of nature much more difficult to compare to

the episodes involving Grendel’s mere than was the case with sea journeys. To establish a base

of texts for examination, my investigation takes note of any elements around saintly travels or

hermitage that reveal an environment including combinations of menacing natural elements,

which I in turn examine for their most consistently represented details. These overarching

elements include mountains, woods, treacherous water, caves, dangerous or monstrous wildlife,

and less naturalistic, otherworldly phenomena. In Beowulf, such phenomena can be seen most

clearly in the “fyr on flode” (fire on the water) in Hrothgar’s description of the mere, an element

that closely reflects eschatological homiletic prose,7 although the refusal of the hart pursued by

hounds to enter the water is certainly fanciful as well.8 Fantastical elements of the wilderness

are quite common in the vitae.

Unlike saintly sea journeys, depictions of the natural world in hagiography tend not to occur in

discrete episodes with a well-defined sequence of events. While the seafaring episodes are often

similarly structured, clustering certain elements within each structural component,

5 See Downey, “Intertextuality,” 25–65; Mary Clayton, “Hermits and the Contemplative Life in Anglo-Saxon

England,” in Holy Men and Holy Women: Old English Prose Saints’ Lives and Their Contexts, ed., Paul E.

Szarmach (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1996), 147–58; Maud Joynt, ed. and trans., The Life of St.

Gall, (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1927), 3. 6 For a discussion’s of Beowulf’s likely date of composition, see above, pp. 24–36. 7 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 1366a. See Orchard, Pride and Prodigies, 42–44. 8 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1368–72. See Anlezark, “Poisoned Places,” 110–124. Also see Haber,

“Beowulf” and “The Aeneid” 92–93; George Rigg, “Beowulf 1368–72: An Analogue,” Notes and Queries 29, no. 2

(1982): 102, which also contains a 13th-century analogue.

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hagiographers’ descriptions of hostile territory are often included in widely different narrative

contexts, though they occur most often when a saint travels through a wilderness or arrives at a

viable hermitage. In contrast, hagiographical seafaring scenes represent an overarching narrative

sequence dependent on context that tends to include a number of apparently stereotypical

elements within their larger components. Depictions of a hostile wilderness tend to be less

contextually dependent, but nevertheless include a number of common elements. In this

distinction, these two categories of scene are not dissimilar to Donald Fry’s distinction between

type-scene and theme, discussed above.9

To reiterate, Fry defines a type-scene as “a recurring stereotyped presentation of conventional

details used to describe a certain narrative event, requiring neither verbatim repetition nor a

specific formula content,” while he defines a theme as “a recurring concatenation of details and

ideas, not restricted to a specific event, verbatim repetition, or certain formulas, which forms an

underlying structure for an action or description.”10 The most well-known example is the

“Beasts of Battle,” a theme describing the anticipation of slaughter among carrion animals, often

accompanying ideas of national calamity.11 Divorced as it is from reliance on specific narrative

context and order, the wilderness as it appears in hagiography—and in fact in Beowulf—aligns

more closely with the latter definition. The undertaking is much simpler in this context as well,

since wilderness depictions are not quite so bound up in the narrative order dictated by a sea

journey with preparations, departure, travel, and arrival.

Accordingly, and in contrast to my previous chapters treating sea journeys, this chapter will not

work from the most complete manifestations of a narrative sequence, parsing that sequence’s

structure and noting elements that seem to resemble those found in Beowulf. Instead, I will

9 See above, pp. 18–20. 10 Fry, “Themes and Type-Scenes,” 53. 11 See above, pp. 19–20.

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proceed through hagiographical depictions of hostile environments available to the

Anglo-Saxons from the earliest to the latest, beginning among the earliest desert fathers,

including Cyprian, Anthony the Great, Paul the Hermit, and Hilarion, and proceeding through

continental and insular figures, including Columbanus, Guthlac, and Gall. As in the previous

chapters, I will construct a schema from the elements observed across several vitae, though it

will be rather less elaborate, accounting for the fact that these elements are not dependent on

specific narrative structures.

As a matter of semantics, I alter my schema from a hierarchy of overarching narrative

components, elements of those components, and verbal repetition within that context to one of

primary elements, subsidiary elements, and verbal repetitions. This change accounts for the

difference between narrative-focussed scenes—that is, sea journeys—and simply thematic

clusters of imagistic detail, as in Beowulf’s treatments of the wilderness. I have observed the

following primary elements: I) mountainous terrain; II) water; III) trees; IV) the route into the

wilderness; V) wildlife; VI) threatening fables about the area; VII) negative descriptors; VIII)

evidence of fabricated space or habitable structure. Again, recurrent subsidiary elements will

make themselves known as I progress through my sample texts.

Notably, one of the figures I will address in this chapter, Columbanus, was treated in my

examination of sea journeys.12 These increasingly strong correlations between his vita and

Beowulf, demonstrated in not one but two kinds of scene-presentation, would suggest even more

strongly that this text or a close relation would have been accessible to the Beowulf-poet. First, I

will proceed through the hagiographic wilderness episodes, schematizing their elements at the

12 See above, pp. 64–67.

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end of my examination. I begin with the earliest saint’s life in my purview, Pontius the Deacon’s

mid-3rd-century Vita Cypriani.13

4.1.1 Cyprian’s Wilderness Exile

This vita lacks the massive popularity and influence of Athanasius’s 4th-century Vita Antonii.14

Moreover, Pontius’s text has been described as more of an apologia than a proper vita.15

Nevertheless, it is a vehicle for hagiographical narrative and contains an exile to the wilderness.

It also influenced one of the most important early hagiographers; Jerome himself makes use of

the writings of Cyprian, and it would not be surprising if the saint’s early desert experiences as

depicted by Pontius contributed to Jerome’s own wilderness scenes, treated below.16 It is

therefore an early and useful starting point for my examination of the hagiographical wilderness.

In one passage, Pontius describes the state of Cyprian’s wilderness retreat.

Fingamus locum illum situ sordidum, squalidum visu, non salubres aquas

habentem, non amoenitatem viroris, non viciniam litoris, sed vasta rupe

silvarum inter inhospitas fauces desertae admodum solitudinis, avia

mundi parte submotum.17

Here, in perhaps the earliest example of a harsh environment in Latin hagiography, we can see a

number of hallmarks that will recur throughout the canon over the next several centuries.

13 See Biggs et al., SASLC, Vol. 1, 166. 14 See below, p. 166 and Joyce Hill, “The Context of Ælfric’s Saints’ Lives,” in Hagiography in Anglo-Saxon

England: Adopting and Adapting Saints’ Lives to Old English Prose, eds. Loredana Lazzari et al. (Barcelona:

Fédération internationale des instituts d'études médiévales, 2014), 14. 15 See Allen Brent, Cyprian and Roman Carthage (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 23. 16 See below, pp. 170–80. For Jerome’s knowledge of the Cyprian material, see Hugo Montgomery, “Pontius’ Vita

S. Cypriani and the Making of a Saint,” Symbolae Osloensis 71 (1996): 195; Paul B. Harvey, Jr., “Jerome

Dedicates his ‘Vita Hilarionis,’ Vigiliae Christianae 59, no. 3 (Aug 2005): 287. 17 Pontius the Deacon, “Vita Cypriani,” in Vita di Cypriano, Vita di Ambrogio, Vita di Agostino, ed. A.A.R.

Bastiaensen (Rome: Fondazione Lorenzo Valla, 1975), 11.31–35 (citations from Fondazione Lorenzo Valla texts

will be in the format <chapter-number.line-number>). “Let us imagine that site, sordid in placement, squalid in

appearance, not possessing healthful waters, nor the delight of vegetation, nor proximity to the shore, but isolated in

a pathless quarter of the world among the inhospitable jaws of a completely deserted solitude on a vast cliff of

woods [read ‘wooded cliff’].”

165

Aside from highly negative adjectives like sordidus (sordid), squalidus (squalid), and inhospitus

(unwelcoming), three elemental components stand out. First, the non salubres aquae makes

reference to the presence of “not wholesome” or perhaps “unwholesome” waters, while the

phrase non vicinia littoris (no proximity to the shore) seems to suggest that there is no

substantial body of water present. Nevertheless, concern for the presence of water, or perhaps

the suggestion that some putrid waters can be found nearby, is included.

Vegetation is also a primary concern. There is the statement that the place contains non

amoenitas viroris (no delight of vegetation). This description appears at odds with the presence

of woods atop a stony cliff, the vasta rupes silvarum (vast rock of woods). In any case, as an

element of the natural landscape, the state of the local flora is not to be ignored. Furthermore,

the woods atop the rock draw in yet another element: dramatic, mountainous formations of rock.

Herein we notice the completion of a triad that will frequently emerge throughout descriptions

of inhospitable environments in hagiography, the combination of water—in this case

unwholesome or absent—mountainous rock, and trees or vegetation.

Aside from this triad, one further element can be discerned in the passage, the avia mundi pars

(pathless part of the world). It is apparently included to signify the inaccessible aspects of this

landscape. Clearly, even this very early quasi-representative of the hagiographical genre has

provided a fine basis for our examination of these kinds of environments throughout the vitae

that succeed it, beginning with four primary elements: water, wood, stone, and inaccessibility.

Along with their durability as elements of the landscape, we will see other, remarkably

consistent details added as the hagiographic record matures.

166

4.1.2 St. Anthony the Archetype

St. Anthony’s mid-4th-century vita by Athanasius of Alexandria,18 written in Greek before

being transmitted into the Latin West around 370 by its translator Evagrius of Antioch, could be

argued as the real beginning of western Latin hagiography and the pattern for many lives,

particularly those treating hermits.19 In spite of the vita’s physical presence in only a single

English manuscript, the late-11th-century Worcester, Cathedral Library F.48,20 it demonstrably

influenced Felix’s Vita Guthlaci and several lives of St. Cuthbert, all of sufficient date and

provenance to have reached the Beowulf-poet.21 It is otherwise such a momentous text in the

history of hagiography that its knowledge in Anglo-Saxon England is without question.22

Although Anthony’s life is not particularly naturalistically elaborate when compared with other

vitae—being more narrative and exegetical than physically descriptive—there are two

wilderness depictions to examine.

The first is Anthony’s fortress, his initial refuge in the desert and a place inhabited by reptiles. It

is also one site in which he famously encounters demons. His arrival at and occupation of the

fortress is described in the following passage.

Magis ergo ac magis extendens propositum suum, perrexit cum impetu in

montem, et castra deserta propter longitudinem temporis et plena

repentium invenit trans flumen. In haec se transtulit et mansit in eis. Et

repentia quidem, quasi a flagello aliquo persequeruntur, recesserunt.”23

18 See B.R. Brennan, “Dating Athanasius’ Vita Antonii,” Vigiliae Christianae 30, no. 1 (1979), 52–54. 19 See Biggs et al., eds., SASLC, Vol. 1, 85. 20 See Gneuss and Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, no. 761. 21 See Downey, “Intertextuality,” 33–39; Hall, “Handlist,” 5–6; Joyce Hill, “The Soldier of Christ in Old English

Prose and Poetry,” Leeds Studies in English 12 (1980): 65; Paul Cavill, “Some Dynamics of Storytelling: Animals

in the Early ‘Lives’ of St Cuthbert,” Nottingham Medieval Studies 43 (1999): 4–5. 22 See the numerous citations of the vita by Anglo-Saxon authors in Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Library, 174–238. 23 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, ed. G.J.M Bartelink (Rome: Fondazione Lorenzo Valla, 1974), 12.8–14.

“Therefore, continuing in his purpose more and more, he came with haste into the mountain. And across a river he

found a fortress, deserted on account of the span of its age and full of creeping things. He crossed over into it and

remained in it. And indeed the creeping things, as though they were being pursued by many lashes, fled.”

167

Even this rather spare description maintains some of the elements described in the Vita

Cypriani, and introduces another.

First, the mountainous terrain, though sparsely described, is present, as is a source of water. In

addition to these lexical and descriptive features, Athanasius adds the element of unsettling

wildlife, the creeping things that occupy Anthony’s prospective home. These, of course, flee in

the face of the saint. Precursor inhabitants of a beastly or—as we will see—demonic nature are

another element that will occur throughout the genre.

There is no mention of foliage in this initial description of the mountain-scape, which sets

Anthony’s vita apart from Cyprian’s, and within this passage there is no reference to

inaccessibility. This inaccessibility element does, however, appear in the section treating

Anthony’s approach to the area, when the devil tries to turn the saint aside from his route by

placing a phantasmagoria of riches in the road before him. This attack has two phases. First, he

places a silver dish in his path and afterwards a quantity of gold, both of which the saint rejects,

rebuking his adversary.24

On rejecting the devil’s first trick in the form of the dish, Anthony’s reasoning is as follows.

Unde in deserto vasculum? Non est haec via trita, neque ambulantium

aliquorum vestigia videntur, a quibus dici posset. Proinde tantae

magnitudinis est ut nemo possit pertransire viam despecto eo. Deinde etsi

cecidisset ab aliquo, potuit ille qui perdidit requirendi reverti et invenire

eum. Locus enim desertum est.25

It is directly after this passage that Anthony finds his famously demon-ridden desert fortress.26

24 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 11.5–8. 25 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 11.11–17. “Whence in the desert came this vessel? This road is not well-worn, and

the tracks of no travellers appear, by whom it could be claimed. It is of such great magnitude that no one would be

able to pass along the road without seeing it. Therefore, if it had fallen from anyone, he who lost it would be able to

return to seek it and find it. For this place is deserted.” 26 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 13.1–29.

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The clause “neque ambulantium aliquorum vestigia videntur” (and no tracks of any wanderers

appear), a conceptual echo of the inaccessibility-element of obscurity present in the Vita

Cypriani, reinforces that element’s essential nature within the hagiographical representation of

wilderness locales.27 This threatening wilderness is only Anthony’s first hermitage.

In a pattern that makes itself known throughout the hagiographical record, once Anthony has

established himself, multitudes flock to the saint and make it impossible for him to enjoy his

solitude.28 This disturbance makes it necessary for Anthony to find a new refuge, and again he

retreats to a mountainous region in the desert. This one is not so inhospitable as the previous

region, but does contain many of the same wilderness elements.

His journey is described after a discussion with God leads him to an encounter with a divinely

appointed band of Arab travellers, whom he asks to join.29

Antonius itaque accedens appropinquabat illis, rogans eos introire cum

ipsis in desertum. At illi, quasi imperio Dei, libenter susceperunt eum.

Postquam ambulaverat tres dies et tres noctes cum ipsis, venit in montem

valde altum, et habebat quidem subtus aquam, limpidam, dulcem, valde

frigidam. Circa montes autem campus erat et arbores palmarum paucae,

neglectae in tempore.30

Although much less hostile an environment than his previous one, three of the hallmarks appear.

The mountains, water, and vegetation are described. A general sense of wildness and disrepair is

also present in the neglect with which the grove has been treated.

27 Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.4–5. 28 See, for example, p. 195 below; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” in Vita di Martino, Vita di Ilarione, In memoriam di

Paola, eds. A.A.R. Bastiaensen and Jan W. Smit (Rome: Fondazione Lorenzo Valla, 1975), 30.1–23. 29 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 49.8–22. 30 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 49.22–29. “Therefore, with Anthony agreeing, he approached them, asking them

that he might enter with them into the desert. And they, as though by the command of God, freely accepted him.

After he had travelled for three days and three nights with them, he came upon a very high mountain, and it even

had a clear, sweet, very cold spring underneath. Around the mountains there was a field and a few palm trees,

neglected at that time.”

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The explicit mention of the route’s inaccessibility is absent, although the three-day journey into

the desert to reach seclusion certainly suggests a remote destination. Neither is there immediate

mention of threatening wildlife. This element does appear once Anthony has established

himself, however. First, he plants a small crop of herbs. Desert beasts, drawn to the water used

for cultivation, molest his plants. This turn of events gives rise to what will become a stock

miracle, a saint’s ability divinely to command animals,31 when Anthony orders them to stop

their destructive behaviour and they comply.32

These beasts clearly do not compare with the demons against whom Anthony battled in his

earlier hermitage, but in short order the devil will catch up with him, sending demons and

hostile animals against the saint. This assault occurs in the next three episodes. First, Athanasius

describes how the brethren responsible for supplying Anthony with food would see the

pyrotechnic display of the saint battling against demons in the form of wild beasts.33 After

another episode in which the devil sends beasts against the saint and they are put off by his

stony resolve, an encounter with a demon, half-man and half donkey, occurs.34 This creature

interrupts Anthony’s basket weaving only to flee in the face of the saint’s faith and, in its haste,

experiences a fatal injury as the result of a fall.35

These episodes all come close on the heels of Anthony’s arrival at this mountain refuge and

seem not only to be a part of the effort to characterize the saint as a tenacious battler of demons,

but also to depict his chosen homes as the wild haunts of threatening beasts and demons. As

such, they constitute an expression similar to the threatening wildlife element displayed in the

earlier episode of the Vita Antonii.

31 See especially Columbanus and Gall below, pp. 181–83 and 203–9. 32 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 50.27–33. 33 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 51.5–21. 34 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 52.1–14. 35 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 53.1–13.

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Athanasius’s depictions of Anthony’s hermitages did much to set the scene for later

hagiographers with respect to their own treatments of the natural world. Many of these elements,

constituting what appears to be the base-model of wilderness depictions, will pervade a great

deal of the later hagiographic corpus. Within the patristic era, one towering figure’s work was

clearly in dialogue with Athanasius: St. Jerome’s.

4.1.3 Paul, the First Hieronymian Hermit

St. Jerome’s late-4th-century Vita Sancti Pauli primi eremitae represents another seminal

hagiographic work, as does his treatment of St. Hilarion, which I discuss below.36 Paul the

Hermit’s life is particularly interesting, because it clearly adopts aspects of Athanasius’s Vita

Antonii, and yet the latter author claims primacy for his hero among hermit-saints.37 The result

is a fascinating piece of literary re-appropriation, in which Anthony goes in search of Paul,

who—in the internal world of the text—was by Anthony’s time a semi-legendary figure

already.38 Like the Vita Antonii, the Vita Pauli was an important text for the literary

development of the eremitical saint’s life in Anglo-Saxon England,39 and remains extant in

three manuscripts there.40

The latest of these, Worcester Cathedral MS F. 48, seems to have been intended as an eremitical

amalgam, and contains the only extant Vita Antonii we have from Anglo-Saxon England.41 The

earliest of these three MSS, London, British Library, Cotton Caligula A.xv, was in England by

the 9th or 10th centuries but was mostly created in France in the 7th.42 Another English witness

found in Corpus Christi College Cambridge MS 389, though originating in the latter 10th

36 See below pp. 176–80. 37 Jerome, “Vita S. Pauli primi eremitae,” Patrologia Latina 23: cols. 17a–18a. 38 See Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 22a–25a. 39 See Biggs et al., eds., SASLC, Vol 1., 379–80; Downey, “Intertextuality,” 39–45; Clayton, “Hermits and the

Contemplative Life,” 147–58. 40 Biggs et al., SASLC, Vol. 1, 380–81. 41 See Gneuss and Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, no. 761. 42 See Gneuss and Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, no. 311.

171

century, also contains Felix’s Vita Guthlaci.43 Guthlac’s life has been demonstrated to share a

great deal of similarity with the Vita Pauli, so it seems as though compilers fascinated with the

eremitical life were at times abundantly present in early medieval England. Moreover, other

Anglo-Saxon authors, including Aldhelm, Bede, and the anonymous compiler of the Old

English Martyrology, quote the text.44

Not only are there fantastical elements in the depiction of Anthony’s wanderings on his journey

to find Paul’s hermitage, but Paul’s initial exile from the Thebaid, the original stimulus for his

flight to the wilderness, includes some interesting naturalistic elements. I will begin with this

depiction before moving on to Anthony’s fantastical wanderings. Paul’s flight to the desert

occurs immediately after a biblical prompting. I quote in full so as to include all of the passage’s

elements.

Quod ubi prudentissimus adolescens intellexit, ad montium deserta

confugiens, dum persecutionis finem praestolaretur. Necessitatem in

voluntatem vertit, ac paulatim progrediens, rursusque subsistens, atque

hoc idem saepius faciens, tamdem reperit saxeum montem, ad cujus

radices haud grandis spelunca, lapide claudebatur. Quo remoto (ut est

cupiditas hominum occulta cognoscere), avidius explorans, animadvertit

intus grande vestibulum, quod aperto desuper coelo, patulis diffusa ramis

vetus palma contexerat, fontem lucidissimum ostendens: cujus rivum

tantummodo foras erumpentem, statim modico foramine, eadem quae

genuerat, aquas terra sorbebat. Erant praeterea per exesum montem haud

pauca habitacula, in quibus scabrae jam incudes et mallei, quibus pecunia

signatur, visebantur. Hunc locum Aegyptiorum litterae ferunt, furtivam

monetae officinam fuisse, ea tempestate qua Cleopatrae junctus est

Antonius.45

43 See Gneuss and Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, no. 103. 44 See Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Library, 174–235; Rauer, Old English Martyrology, item 16 and note. 45 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 20b–21b. “When the very wise young man understood this [call to action], fleeing to

the desert places of the mountains, he awaited the end of the persecution. He turned necessity into pleasure, and

progressing a little at a time, and halting repeatedly, and doing this same thing rather often, at last he discovered a

stony mountain, at the roots of which a small cave was closed by a stone. This having been removed—since it is the

desire of men to know secret things—exploring more avidly, he observed a large entrance inside, which, being

opened upwards to the sky, an old palm spread with wide branches had covered, revealing a very clear fountain,

ejecting its stream outside only a little. The same ground that had generated the waters absorbed them immediately

into a small hole. Moreover, there were no few small cells throughout the stony mountain, in which rusty anvils and

hammers with which money is marked were now visible. Writings of the Egyptians relate that this place had been a

secret mint in the time when Antony was married to Cleopatra.”

172

There is a wealth of information in this passage, and apparently a great deal of ingenuity on the

part of Jerome.46

First, those aspects of the description that can be found in precursor-texts are the focus on the

stony mountain, references to foliage, and the presence of water. Notably, although the journey

is described, there is as yet no specific reference to the route or inaccessibility of the region.

Similarly, there is no wildlife that Paul must tame or contend against. In Anthony’s later journey

to Paul’s hermitage, however, we will observe these elements.47

Some new and fascinating elements are present in this passage, however. This is the first time

among the texts examined that the hermitage is most definitely a cave. Moreover, the water

springs from the ground only to return immediately to its underground course, further

contributing to the subterranean character of this environment. More fascinating still, the

chambers under the mountain, the rusted tools, and the historical detail of its status as a mint in

the far past represent extraneous but highly evocative elements of this landscape.

This revelation to the saint of an apparent habitation in an otherwise deserted place, complete

with the accoutrement of wealth and civilization, stands out as a particularly jarring detail,

especially considering the fact that other than its mention here, this aspect of Paul’s hermitage

never appears again. Jerome may be using this as an opportunity to flex his imaginative muscle

and outshine his hagiographic and historical precursors, adding an otherwise unattested aspect to

wilderness descriptions in hagiography.48

46 For Jerome’s sources, see Susan Weingarten, The Saint’s Saints: Hagiography and Geography in Jerome

(Leiden: Brill, 2005), 26–80. 47 See below, pp. 173–74. 48 On this element, see Virginia Burrus, “Queer Lives of Saints: Jerome’s Hagiography,” Journal of the History of

Sexuality 10, nos. 3–4 (Oct 2001): 453–54.

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Now Jerome enters the bulkiest portion of his enterprise, the story of Anthony’s discovery that

another man has already taken on the mantle of “first hermit,” and, as Jerome informs us, has

already occupied that role for 130 years!49 Anthony’s journey is long, wandering, and fraught

with marvels, so I will not supply it at length here. However, it supplements some of the

elements lacking in Jerome’s initial description of Paul’s wilderness hermitage.

The beginning of Anthony’s journey comprises two meetings with fantastic creatures, a

hippocentaur and a satyr, both of whom furnish him with assistance of some kind. He asks the

hippocentaur for directions to Paul’s home, and after the beast obliges, it flees across the

desert.50 In the following episode, Anthony finds a satyr that offers him dates before they

discuss the idolatrous worship offered to beasts of his kind, and the creature asks him to

intervene with God on its behalf.51

These two episodes imbue the journey to Paul’s home with an overall sense of the fantastic, and

also serve to underline the idea that the saint has no sense of where he must go. These

semi-demonic creatures in the wilderness clearly evoke the hybrid, devilish beings that beset

Anthony in the Vita Antonii, although Jerome seems intent on waxing exegetical through

dialogue between them and the saint.52 He also includes another intriguing morsel when he adds

the detail that a creature not unlike this was brought at one point to Alexandria and later packed

in salt for preservation.53

At last, Anthony approaches Paul’s hermitage and Jerome mentions more naturalistic wildlife,

as well as an evocation of the inaccessibility-element we have encountered in previous vitae.

The section begins, “Sed ut propositum persequar, Antonius coeptam regionem pergebat,

49 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 22a. 50 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 22b–23a. 51 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 23a–c. 52 See above, pp. 166–70. 53 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 24a.

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ferarum tantum vestigia intuens, et eremi latam vastitatem. Quid ageret, quo verteret gradum,

nesciebat.”54 Aside from any explicit reference to inaccessibility, the assertion that Anthony

does not know which way to turn points very strongly toward the unknowable and nearly

impassible routes depicted in the previous vitae. Similarly, the ferarum vestigia (tracks of

beasts) point to the creatures that inhabit the area around Paul’s home. Moreover, they recall the

obscurity of Anthony’s path through the wilderness in his own vita, marked as it is by the tracks

of no other travellers; here the obscurity is emphasized not by the absence of travellers’ tracks

but by the presence of only desert beasts’.55

Far from being represented only by their tracks, one of these beasts appears immediately after

Anthony’s loss of direction, and similar to the hippocentaur and satyr, it aids the saint.

Jam altera effluxerat dies. Restabat unum, ut deseri se a Christo non posse

confideret. Pernox secundas in oratione exegit tenebras: et dubia adhuc

luce, haud procul intuetur lupam sitis ardoribus anhelantem, ad radicem

montis irrepere. Quam secutus oculis, et juxta speluncam, cum fera

abiisset, accedens, intro coepit aspicere: nihil curiositate proficiente,

tenebris arcentibus visum.56

Here there is an encounter with a more mundane creature, a female wolf that lacks the more

savage character usually attributed to that animal, and which leads Anthony directly to Paul’s

home, accounting for the presence of naturalistic wildlife in the area.

It is the disappearance of the wolf and Anthony’s trust in scripture that leads him within the

cave.

54 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 24a. “But to pursue my intent, Anthony was proceeding through the region he’d

entered, seeing only the tracks of wild animals and the wide vastness of the wilderness. What he should do; where

he should turn his path, he did not know.” 55 Cf. above, p. 173; Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 11.11–17. 56 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 24a–24b. “Now another day had passed. One thing remained, to trust that he was not

able to be deserted by Christ. Waking all night, he wore away the second [night’s] shadows in prayer, even until the

morning twilight. Not far off, he sees that a wolf, panting with the torments of thirst, was creeping to the root of the

mountain. Following her with his eyes and proceeding close to the cave where the wild beast had disappeared, he

began to look inside, with his curiosity accomplishing nothing and the shadows repelling his sight.”

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Verum ut Scriptura ait, “perfecta dilectio foras mittit timorem,” suspenso

gradu et anhelitu temperato, callidus explorator ingressus, ac paulatim

progrediens, saepiusque subsistens sonum aure captabat. Tandem per

caecae noctis horrorem procul lumen intuitus, dum avidius properat,

offenso in lapidem pede, strepitum concitavit: post cujus sonitum beatus

Paulus ostium quod patebat occludens, sera obfirmavit.57

Aside from what might be interpreted as a somewhat cruel act of rejection on the part of Paul,

this passage highlights a moment of perception, in which Anthony plumbs the depths of the

cave, eventually to discern a light in the darkness, which signifies the older saint’s actual home.

This dark is described in terms of its horror, lending Jerome’s passage some of the negativity

inherent in Pontius’s description of Cyprian’s wilderness, described in the terms sordidus

(sordid), squalidus (squalid), and inhospitus (inhospitable).58

The discovery is an interesting parallel to Paul’s own arrival at the cave, which also includes the

perception of human-inhabited space as he explores its mysterious interior. Aside from that

element, the almost slapstick outcome of Anthony stubbing his toe on a stone and having the

door slammed in his face by Paul in an attempt to maintain his sacred privacy seem unique to

this passage. It all resolves happily, however, as Paul eventually relents and the two men share a

meal facilitated by a friendly raven, a reference to the biblical Elijah.59

In spite of the fact that it treads some common ground with previous texts, the Vita Pauli is

strange in character. Quite apart from the classical beasts that populate the desert, its dual

structure and the way in which it co-opts an already famous figure to the service of Paul’s story

displays great artistic imagination. Moreover, between the dual discoveries of the cave, first on

57 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 24b–25a. “But as scripture says, ‘Perfect love drives fear away.’ With a halting step

and bated breath, the eager explorer, entering in, progressing bit by bit and halting often, caught a sound with his

ear. At last, having perceived a light in the distance through the horror of the blind night, when he more avidly

hastened, his foot having struck a stone, he raised a cry. After his racket, blessed Paul, closing the door which was

standing open, fortified it with a bar.” 58 Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.31–35. 59 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 25a–25c; See 1 Kings 17. Note the depiction of this moment on one panel of the

Ruthwell Cross, originating in the early 8th century; see Pamela O’Neill, “‘A Pillar Curiously Engraven; With Some

Inscription upon It’: What is the Ruthwell Cross?” BAR British Series 397 (2005): 55.

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the part of Paul and second on the part of Anthony, Jerome reveals all of the elements we have

encountered above: a mountain, vegetation, the presence of water, the inaccessibility of the

route into the wilderness, and wildlife, demonic or otherwise. It adds some intriguing elements

as well, namely the specific cave-environment, complete with a fabricated interior and the

perception of hospitable space as the explorer investigates its depths. This is not the extent of

Jerome’s contribution to hagiographical depictions of the wilderness, however. His Vita

Hilarionis also contains passages useful for this discussion.

4.1.4 Hilarion’s Hermitage

The hermit Hilarion of Gaza also deserves attention for his time in the desert. His story was

written by Jerome toward the end of the 4th century and was transmitted into England fairly

early, though it is extant only in the relatively late Worcester Cathedral MS F.48, dating from

the 11th century and home to the Vita Antonii and a copy of the Vita Pauli.60 His story is not

unlike Anthony’s in that he seeks solitude, only to draw crowds by means of his holiness and be

forced in turn to move on to ever-greater seclusion.61 In fact, St. Anthony’s former home makes

an appearance in this vita; Hilarion visits the hermitage and strikes up a friendship with two of

the elder saint’s disciples, providing a temporary home for the saint and the first of the vita’s

two wilderness depictions.

As in the Vita Pauli, Jerome intertwines his chosen subjects with his hagiographic forerunners,

adapting Athanasius’s description of Anthony’s final hermitage, as well as aspects of his own

writing on Paul the Hermit’s cave.62 He describes Anthony’s former home in this passage.

Saxeus et siblimis mons per mille circiter passus ad radices suas aquas

exprimit, quarum alias arenae ebibunt, aliae ad inferiora delapsae

60 See Gneuss and Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, no. 761; Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Library, 174–241; Biggs et

al., eds., SASLC, Vol. 1, 251–52; Harvey, “Jerome Dedicates,” 286–87. 61 See above, p. 168. 62 See Weingarten, Saint’s Saints, 94–97.

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paulatim rivum efficiunt, super quem ex utraque ripa palmae

innumerabiles multum loco et amoenitatis et commodi tribuunt.63

This is certainly no far cry from Athanasius’s depiction, although it adds the detail that, like

Paul the hermit’s little spring, much of this water is absorbed directly back into the ground,

while the rest becomes a mountain stream. Jerome also adds the detail that Anthony’s efforts at

irrigation have developed the little spring into a pool for his gardening convenience.64

This inclusion does seem to demonstrate that the standard depiction of hagiographic

wildernesses was taking shape as an actively accretive tradition, highly influenced by early

vitae, as opposed to coincidentally similar depictions of nature. In adapting earlier material,

Jerome adds one further detail to the scene. Apart from the main cell, low on the mountain,

Hilarion maintains a loftier hideaway from the crowds that would gather below during his time

at Anthony’s former home: “Praeterea in sublimi montis vertice quasi per cochleam

ascendentibus et arduo valde nisu duae eiusdem mensurae cellulae visebantur.”65 In this

instance, the difficulty of the path expresses the inaccessibility of the route to this secondary

wilderness locale.

With that, I will leave this episode, since this Hieronymian throwback is certainly not the most

significant wilderness description in this vita. Hilarion has many wanderings throughout his life,

but his most dramatic encounter with the wilderness occurs in a mountainous region of Cyprus.

His home of two years having been constantly beset by those seeking miracles, he initially

63 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.3–7. “The rocky and high mountain, extending around a mile, exudes waters to its

spurs, some of which the sands absorb; the rest, falling bit by bit to lower regions, makes a stream, over which, on

either shore, innumerable palms bless the place with much of both charm and convenience.” Cf. Athanasius, Vita di

Antonio, 51.22–26; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 20b–21b. 64 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.9–14. 65 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.17–19. “Moreover, on the high peak of the mountain, by ascents as though through

a spiral and with very difficult exertion, two cells of the same measure could be visited.”

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wishes to go to Egypt.66 On the advice of his disciple Hesychius, however, he finds the

retirement he desires nearby.

Suasit, ut in ipsa magis insula ad secretiorem locum concederet. Quem

cum, diu lustrans omnia, reperisset, perduxit eum duodecim milibus a

mari, procul inter secretos asperosque montes et quo vix reptando

manibus genibusque posset ascendi. Qui introgressus contemplatus

quidem est terribilem valde et remotum locum arboribusque hinc inde

circumdatum, habentem etiam aquas de supercilio collis irriguas, et

hortulum peramoenum et pomaria plurima—quorum fructum numquam

in cibo sumpsit—sed et antiquissimi iuxta templi ruinam, ex quo, ut ipse

referebat et eius discipuli testantur, tam innumerabilium per noctes et dies

daemonum voces resonabant, ut exercitum crederes.67

This lengthy passage holds a great deal of interesting detail.

Again, we have the recurring elements of the rough, mountainous region. There is the standard

mention of trees, augmented by the abandoned orchards in the area. Water is not lacking either,

coming in the form of an apparent cascade from the heights of the mountain. To a modern

sensibility, this setting sounds somewhat less terrible than Jerome asserts, what with the area’s

gardens being described as peramoenus (thoroughly amenable) but the detail that follows

complicates such a reading. Demons haunt a nearby temple and nightly make a fierce racket.

They account for the presence of demonic inhabitants of the waste, as opposed to more

naturalistic ones. One can hardly avoid thinking of Anthony’s demon-infested hermitages when

reading this passage.68

66 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 30.1–23. 67 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.7–19. “[Hesychius] persuaded him that he should rather depart into a more secret

place on that island. Once he, searching all places a while, had discovered it, he led him twelve miles from the sea,

far off among the secret and rough mountains, and he could barely ascend to it by crawling on hands and knees. He,

entering, regarded it as a very terrible and remote place, and surrounded here and there by trees, having also waters

running down from the height of the hill, and a very pleasant garden and many orchards—whose fruit he never

consumed as food—but [it was] also next to the ruin of a most ancient temple from which, as he used to relate and

his disciples testify, the voices of such numberless demons would resonate throughout the nights and days, that you

would believe it was an army.” 68 See above, pp. 166–70

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The arduous route, necessitating a tough climb on hands and knees, also contributes to the

hostility of the environment, reinforcing the tendency to depict the road to a saintly wilderness

as difficult, not unlike Hilarion’s climb to the cells above Anthony’s former home, discussed

above.69 Similarly, the double use of forms of secretus (set apart), point to the obscurity of the

region. The specific distance of the journey represents an additional detail about Hilarion’s road

to the mountains, as though Jerome’s concern for historical morsels compels him to include

much more specific information about the site. So far in my study, he is the first to include such

specification.

One further description of the road takes place immediately after this passage, and adds yet

more characterization to Hilarion’s retreat. Jerome goes on to say that Hesychius, Hilarion’s

patron and the original scout for the location, often visits his teacher toward the end of the

saint’s life.

Habitavit ibi per annos quinque, et saepe invisente se Hesychio in hoc

extremo iam vitae suae tempore refocillatus est, quod propter asperitatem

difficultatemque loci et umbrarum, ut ferebatur vulgo, multitudinem aut

nullus, aut rarus ad se vel posset vel auderet ascendere.70

Quite apart from the extra adjectives attributed to the road up the mountain, this passage adds

that the place has a rumored reputation among its nearby inhabitants, that of a haunted outland

that few dare to approach. A hermitage’s evil reputation among the local population is another

component we have not seen before Jerome.

These passages taken together also reinforce the trend of depicting these sites of hermitage as

terrible or uninviting through the terminology surrounding them. In the first passage, the

harshness of the mountainous landscape manifests in the term asperus (harsh), and the region in

69 See above, pp. 176–77. 70 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.21–26. “He lived there for five years, and was bolstered even in the last season of

his life by Hesychius often looking in on him, because, on account of the harshness and difficulty of the place and

the multitude of ghosts, as was related by the people, either no one or few were either able or dared to climb up to

him.”

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general is described as secretus (secret), remotus (removed), and—most dramatically—terribilis

(terrible). Moreover, the second passage, featuring the popular fables about the area, refers to

the place’s asperitas (roughness) and difficultas (difficulty). Like the Vita Cypriani and, to a

lesser degree, the Vita Pauli, Hilarion’s life contains a wilderness characterized by

unpleasantness.71

Moving on from Jerome’s literary play, historical interest, and apparent innovation within the

genre of hagiography, my study leaves the early hagiographical fathers. They have, however,

very firmly established a number of conventions that will frequently recur. Indeed, the core

elements of mountains, trees, water, and wildlife will appear in almost every text I examine,

along with several of the lesser elements. To follow the course of influence, we will now pivot

our attention from the eastern Mediterranean and Africa to some of the European saints that

helped carry the eremitical lifestyle into Western Europe.

4.1.5 Columban in the Western European Wilderness

St. Columbanus, featured in my analysis of sea journeys in hagiography, also spent time in the

wild places of Gaul before moving on to found the monastery of Bobbio.72 In the course of the

travels depicted in Jonas’s mid-7th-century Vita Columbani, the saint associates with the

Merovingian royal family.73 During this time, King Sigibert offers him a place of his choosing

to establish a monastery, and he finds the site of a ruined fortress in the Vosges by the name of

Anegrates.74

The approach to the region is described in no great detail, but once Columbanus and his

followers inhabit the monastery, some important elements emerge in the episodes that take place

71 Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.31–35; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 25a. 72 See above, pp. 64–67. 73 For its dating and dissemination, see above, p. 64. 74 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 162.16–163.23.

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in the area.75 He seems to have been fond of wandering the wilderness as he reflects. One such

walk is described: “Evenit, ut per opaca saltus inter devia hisdem vir Dei deambularet.”76 The

forest and the obscure paths so amply represented in other vitae are here adjacent to his home,

and provide the setting for another common element: wildlife, in this case a pack of wolves.

Columbanus reflects on which would be more terrible, to be assaulted by humans or animals.

Just as he decides that the latter is preferable, a pack of twelve wolves appears and harries his

clothing, but he is protected by his faith and the wolves abandon their attack.77 As a hallmark of

the wilderness, we have encountered wolves before, in the Vita Pauli.78 This episode is paired

with an encounter with a band of marauders, featuring a similar outcome clearly intended to

display the saint’s unshakeable faith in the face of both man and beast.79 Jonas is not clear

about whether the attackers are in fact men or demonic phantasms of men intended to test the

saint.80 The wolves, however, seem to point to physical, naturalistic, and hostile creatures that

inhabit the region around the saint’s refuge.

Immediately after these encounters, Jonas describes another episode involving a wandering

Columbanus. This passage includes a great deal more of the detail we have come to associate

with saintly wildernesses. I quote the passage in full.

Rursumque secessit a cellula, longiorique via vasta heremi penetrans,

repperit saxum inmane preruptaque rupis latera, aspera scopulis terga,

avia hominibus, ibique conspicit concavum in caute sinum. Adgressusque

abdita perscrutare, repperit in interiore sinus ursi habitaculum ipsumque

interius residentem. Mitis ergo feram abire iubet: “Nec deinceps hos,”

75 See Jonas, Ionae vitae, 163.15–23. 76 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 166.13–14. “It happened that the man of God himself was walking about among the shades of

the forest among its remote ways.” 77 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 166.22–29. 78 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 24b. 79 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 166.29–167.7. 80 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.4–6.

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inquid, “repetes calles.” Abiit fera mitis nec prorsus est ausa repetare,

distabatque ab Anagrate locus plus minusve milibus septem.81

This lengthy passage completes the picture of the region, which was left fairly incomplete

during the narrative surrounding its occupation.

While the wooded nature of the area was depicted in the story of Columban’s strolling

ruminations and animal-attacks, this episode fleshes out two more elements at great length.

First, Jonas goes out of his way to reinforce the rocky, mountainous nature of this new retreat,

over and over again repeating words semantically linked to rockiness, such as saxum (rock),

scopulus (boulder), and cautis (rough stone), and adjectives related to protrusion or a dramatic

landscape, such as preruptus (steep) and inmanis (immense). Accordingly, this cell fits the trend

established in Jerome of specifically occupying a mountainous cave.

Second, since this episode centres on exploring the mountain, the path is described in detail.

Echoing the Vita Cypriani, his route through the wilderness is described by means of the term

avia (pathless).82 Moreover, like Hilarion’s refuge in Cyprus, Jonas elects to ascribe a length to

the road Columbanus must take to get to this cell, around seven miles from the larger

community at Anagrates.83

The threatening wildlife in this instance takes the form of a bear that inhabits the cell before

Columbanus. The bear provides the opportunity for a miracle similar to that of the wolf attack,

in which the saint’s strong faith gives him power over an animal, although there is no direct

81 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.6–15. “Again he left from his little cell, and penetrating into the vast wilderness on a

longer road, he found an enormous rock and steep flanks of stone, rough surfaces of rock, ways pathless to men,

and there he saw a hollow cavity in the cliff. And approaching to examine its secret parts, he found in the interior of

the cave the den of a bear, and that [bear] residing inside. So he mildly orders the beast to depart: ‘Do not,’ he said,

‘seek these mountain passes henceforth.’ The beast mildly departed and did not dare to return again, and the place

was more or less seven miles distant from Anagrates.” Cf. “The dragon’s habitat” as discussed in Rauer, Beowulf

and the Dragon, 65–66. 82 Cf. Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 30.5. 83 Cf. Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.7–10.

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attack on Columban’s person. As we will see, a cave-dwelling bear made mild by a saint’s

sanctity will occur again in the hagiographical record.84 In the meantime, however, Jonas was

clearly keen to depict Columban’s wilderness as one teeming with threat, manmade or natural.

Apart from the very common elements of wood, wildlife, obscure paths, and mountainous stone,

one prominent absence in this wilderness depiction is the mention of water. Still the overall

character of the passage, including several key elements discussed already, displays a real

continuity from the patristic era through the early Medieval period. As we move from the 7th to

the 8th century, we will see more echoes of the wilderness tradition in hagiography with another

insular figure, this time the native Anglo-Saxon saint, Guthlac of Crowland.

4.1.6 Guthlac’s Intertextual Island

The literary person of Guthlac has been studied a great deal, but much of that

research—including some focussed on oral-traditional themes and type-scenes—has centred on

his vernacular representations in the Old English poems Guthlac A and B, found in the

10th-century Exeter Book, and “Vercelli Homily XXIII,” part of the 10th-century poetry and

prose collection known as The Vercelli Book.85 His Latin life by Felix, the basis of the

vernacular poems and homilies, has received rather less attention. Written in the first half of the

8th century,86 the Latin vita represents an insular heir to the eremitic texts of the patristic era,

not least among which are the Vita Antonii and Vita Pauli.87 Guthlac’s status as an insular

figure with a strong Latinate, vernacular, and intertextual representation makes him one of the

more intriguing subjects of this study, and especially illuminating with respect to the concourse

84 See below, pp. 194–95. 85 See Downey, “Intertextuality,” 186, and Crowne, “Hero on the Beach,” 371; Alexandra Hennessey Olsen,

“Guthlac on the Beach,” Neophilologus 64, no. 2 (1980): 290–96. John Richardson presents a more sobering look

in “The Critic on the Beach,” Neophilologus 71, no. 1 (1987) 114–19. For Vercelli, see Samantha Zacher,

Preaching the Converted (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2009), 225–67. 86 See Biggs et al., eds., SASLC, Vol. 1, 245; Bertram Colgrave, ed., Felix’s Life of St. Guthlac (Cambridge:

Cambridge University Press, 1956), 15–19. 87 See Downey, “Intertextuality,” 33–45; Colgrave, ed., Life of Guthlac, 16–17.

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of Latin and Old English literary expression.88 Written in England, his vita circulated in

numerous manuscripts, no less than seven of which are still extant to one degree or another.89

One of these, the fragmentary London, British Library, MS Royal 4.A.xiv, originates from the

8th or 9th century, representing a fairly early witness.90 Another, which I have already

mentioned, still resides with a copy of the Vita Pauli in a manuscript of the 10th century.91

The site of Guthlac’s hermitage is Crowland, a swampland in eastern England that could hardly

be expected to mirror the rocky, mountainous terrain embodied in the previous vitae. As such, it

can be expected to reflect more of the mere and less of the mountain that appear in Grendel’s

home. Nonetheless, many of the aspects we have come to expect will appear in Felix’s vita,

pointing very strongly to a sense of shared literary convention among the hagiographers of

eremites, in spite of their divergent material.

Guthlac, having turned away from his worldly life to be instructed in monastic ways, has spent

two years at the monastery of Repton.92 Driven by a desire for even greater sanctity, he is

inspired by the tales of past hermits—quite obviously those addressed earlier in this chapter—to

seek out the wilderness, and learns that the region around Cambridge is sufficiently dismal for

his purposes.93 Felix provides the initial description of the region.

Est in meditullaneis Brittanniae partibus inmensae magnitudinis aterrima

palus, quae, a Grontae fluminis ripis incipiens, haud procul a castello

quem dicunt nomine Gronte, nunc stagnis, nunc flactris, interdum nigris

fusi vaporis laticibus, necnon et crebris insularum nemorumque

intervenientibus flexuosis rivigarum anfractibus, ab austro in aquilonem

mare tenus longissimo tractu protenditur. Igitur cum supradictus vir

beatae memoriae Guthlac illius vastissimi heremi inculta loca conperisset,

88 See Hall, “Handlist,” 5–6. 89 See Gneuss and Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, nos. 88, 103, 434.5, 456, 484, 781, and 804. 90 Gneuss and Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, no. 456. 91 See above, pp. 170–71; Gneuss and Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, no. 103. 92 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 84–86. 93 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 86.

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caelestibus auxiliis adiutus, rectissimo callis tramite tenus usque

perrexit.94

This preliminary description covers a number of the items commonly found in previous

iterations of the hostile wilderness.

Naturally, there is ample attention to the water that pervades this landscape, this time in stagnant

pools and bogs casting forth vapour. Not yet within my sample-texts has the water-feature in

one of these scenes been described in such intimidating language, by means of the terms

aterrimus (most dark) and niger (black), and further by the presence of a vaporous fume. It is

clearly intended to represent a landscape of terror. The mention of trees, another common

element, is present in the small copses clustered on the islands among the streams. These

descriptors also echo the Vita Cypriani’s, Vita Pauli’s, and Vita Hilarionis’s use of highly

negative terms to describe their saints’ areas of hermitage.95

Aside from these common elements, the road receives mention, although his passage to the

region outside the fens is described as rectissimus (very direct), as opposed to winding or

pathless, as we have seen in previous vitae. In fact, the crabbed waterways depicted in the

intervenientes flexuosi rivigarum anfractus (intervening, curved windings of streams) seem to

adopt the inaccessible and windingly difficult nature of the roads that we have already

encountered among other vitae, specifically the devia (remote ways) of Columbanus’s mountain

and the cochlea (spiral) on which Hilarion ascends.96 It seems that Felix has adapted the

94 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 86. “In the middle districts of Britain, there is a most terrible marsh of immense size

which, starting from the shores of the river Granta, not far from the camp which they call by the name Grontis, is

extended from the south to the northern sea down an exceedingly long tract, with waters at times in pools, at times

in bogs, sometimes black from an exuded vapour, and also with the winding curves of streams intervening,

crowded with islands and copses. Therefore, when the aforementioned man of blessed memory Guthlac had learned

of the uninhabited regions of this most vast wilderness, supported by divine assistance, he travelled all the way

there on the very direct route of the rough path.” 95 Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.31–35; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 25a; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.7–26. 96 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 166.13–14; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.17–19.

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watercourses that Guthlac must take to reach his eventual hermitage to fit the role of the route in

other saints’ less watery hermitages.

Before he can make his way into the fens, however, Guthlac requires a guide, whom he

discovers in the form of one Tatwine, a local familiar with the waters of the region. Guthlac’s

meeting with Tatwine occurs in the midst of his search for a home.

Contigit ergo, cum a proximantibus accolis illius solitudinis experientiam

sciscitaretur, illisque plurima ipsius spatiosi heremi inculta narrantibus,

ecce quidam de illic adstantibus nomine Tatwine se scisse aliam insulam

in abditis remotioris heremi partibus confitebatur, quam multi inhabitare

temtantes propter incognita heremi monstra et diversarum formarum

terrores reprobaverant.97

Felix here adds character and a sense of foreboding to the place in which Guthlac hopes to live

by means of an element witnessed before in the Vita Hilarionis, ghostly fables about the

wilderness.98 Similarly, the phrase “incognita heremi monstra” or (unknown monsters of the

waste) could be interpreted as associating the obscure creatures of the waste with the waste

itself, thereby pointing to notions of obscurity attached to previous saintly wildernesses,

including Cyprian’s, Anthony’s, Paul’s, and Columban’s.99

We have also seen fables surrounding the wilderness. In the case of Hilarion they served to keep

his refuge secure for the most part, since they inspired fear in those who wished to come and see

the saint.100 With Guthlac, however, they rather seem to offer a fitting challenge for the saint’s

bravery and sanctity, as well as an addition to the setting’s character. Moreover, aside from the

tales surrounding the region, they provide an example of yet another element found in many

97 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 88. “Thus it happened while he was seeking knowledge of that solitary place from nearby

neighbours, and with them telling him about the many wild places of that spacious desert, that a certain man among

those standing there, Tatwine by name, confessed that he knew of another island in hidden parts of the more remote

desert, which many people, having attempted to inhabit [it], had rejected on account of the unknown monsters [or

portents] of the desert and the terrors of diverse forms.” 98 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.21–26. 99 Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.35; Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 49.20–23; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 24a–b;

Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.9. 100 See above, pp. 178–80.

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previous vitae: hostile, demonic inhabitants occupying the saint’s chosen refuge, which will

figure into his narrative as it moves forward. Meanwhile, these terrores (terrors) contribute to

the overall sense of foreboding that pervades Guthlac’s entire experience of the saintly

wilderness.

Tatwine agrees to show him the place, and Felix describes their journey in short order, including

yet another description of the location.

Ipse enim imperiis viri annuens, arrepta piscatoria scafula, per invia lustra

inter atrae paludis margines Christo viatore ad praedictum locum usque

pervenit; Crugland dicitur, insula media in palude posita quae ante paucis

propter remotioris heremi solitudinem inculta vix nota habebatur. Nullus

hanc ante famulum Christi Guthlacum solus habitare colonus valebat,

propter videlicet illic demorantium fantasias demonum, in qua vir Dei

Guthlac, contempto hoste, caelesti auxilio adiutus, inter umbrosa

solitudinis nemora solus habitare coepit.101

Here we have yet more references to the trees and the grim nature of the waters encircling the

area, the wildness of the place as signified by terms such as remotior (rather remote), incultus

(uncultivated), vix notus (scarcely known), and umbrosus (shadowy), and a confirmation of its

nasty prior inhabitants—this time, demons rather than wolves or bears. Again, as in the case of

the “incognita heremi monstra” (unknown monsters of the waste), the use of vix notus (scarcely

known) attaches the idea of obscurity to Guthlac’s eventual hermitage rather than his route into

the wilderness.

The treatment of that route is also interesting, however. In the language used to describe

Guthlac’s journey with Tatwine, they travel “per invia lustra” (through impassable bogs), using

an adjective etymologically akin to the avia (pathless places) which signify obscurity for both

101 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 88. “So [Tatwine], assenting to the man’s commands, with a fisherman’s skiff having

been acquired, with Christ as a guide, came through the impassable bogs among the confines of the terrible swamp

up to the aforementioned place. It is called Crowland, an island placed in the middle of the swamp which,

uncultivated [and] scarcely known, was previously occupied by few on account of the solitude of the rather remote

desert. No settler before Guthlac, the servant of Christ, was able to dwell there alone on account of the

phantasmagoria of demons clearly lingering there, wherein the man of God Guthlac, with the enemy despised,

aided by heavenly assistance, began to live alone among the shadowy trees of the hermitage.”

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Cyprian’s and Columban’s wilderness destinations.102 This inaccessibility-element, as I have

described it, is here attached to the watery road taken to Guthlac’s island. Also note the phrase

“Christo viatore (with Christ as a traveller), which, considering the water route taken by

Guthlac, seems like a deliberate reference to the element of God’s guidance seen across many

hagiographical sea journeys.103 In any case, it seems that this element of hagiographical

wilderness depictions has been displaced from a path on land and attached to Guthlac’s

seemingly impassible route through the fen-channels as a similar means of emphasizing the

sheer solitude and potential danger of the space in which the hermit hopes to live.

One further recurrence appears in this passage: “Nullus hanc ante famulum Christi Guthlacum

solus habitare colonus valebat.”104 This piece of information is immediately linked to the

demons that inhabit the island, whom the reader learns are an effective deterrent against any

locals who might wish to visit Crowland, eschewed “propter videlicet illic demorantium

fantasias demonum.”105 This pattern of fabled infestation by supernatural beings, with the

subsequent effect of ensuring that no one is willing to inhabit the place, is similar in structure to

Jerome’s depiction of the refuge that Hilarion occupies: “Propter… umbrarum, ut ferebatur

vulgo, multitudinem aut nullus, aut rarus ad se vel posset vel auderet ascendere.”106 This

parallel, in which stories lead to an unwillingness or impossibility to approach or dwell in a

place, seems to represent yet another meaningful connection between the Vita Guthlaci and the

older tradition.

102 Pontius “Vita Cypriani,” 30.31–35; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.6–15. 103 See above, p. 75; Flobert, ed., Vie ancienne, 202, 222; Plaine, ed., “Vita Samsonis,” 102.8, 118.17; Ionas, Ionae

vitae, 160.7; Constantius, “Vita Germani,” 259.13; Adomnán, Life of Columba, 100, 174, 176; Bili, Life of

Machutus, 34.6–7. 104 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 88. “No settler before Guthlac, the servant of Christ, was able to inhabit this (island)

alone.” 105 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 88. “On account of the phantasmagoria of demons clearly lingering there.” 106 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.23–26. “On account of… the multitude of ghosts, as was related by the people,

either no one or few were either able or dared to climb up to him.” See above, p. 179.

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Upon examining these three phases of the wilderness description in Guthlac’s life, we can see

many of the elements previously encountered in the genre. There is ample reference to wood

and water, the hostile preexisting denizens of the site, and fabled warnings of supernatural

beings in the area. Moreover, the inaccessibility usually associated with the road into the

wilderness seems to have been consciously coopted into the description of the streams used to

reach the saint’s island.

The most conspicuous absence of a major element is the lack of any rocky or mountainous

feature in the landscape, which, in any case, would be difficult to reconcile with the marshy

surroundings of Crowland. Otherwise, it reinforces some of the lesser elements of other vitae,

including an echo of the ghostly fables leading to an absence of habitation found in the Vita

Hilarionis. Before moving on, however, I wish to examine one short passage that seems to be a

conscious extension of the imagery related to Guthlac’s hostile surroundings into a small

exegetical reflection.

Toward the beginning of this story, once Guthlac has initially surveyed his new home, returned

to his monastery, and spent time properly bidding his brothers farewell, he returns to the island

on the feast of St. Bartholomew.107 Now Felix waxes exegetical, comparing him to the Apostle

Paul and going on to say the following of Guthlac’s spiritual journey.

Sic et sanctae memoriae virum Guthlac de tumido aestuantis saeculi

gurgite, de obliquis mortalis aevi anfractibus, de atris vergentis mundi

faucibus ad perpetuae beatitudinis militiam, ad directi itineris callem, ad

veri luminis prospectum perduxit.108

Felix’s language, describing the trappings of the current world, are clearly modelled after the

story of how Guthlac occupies the wilderness.

107 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 88–90. 108 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 92. “So also he led Guthlac, the man of holy memory, out of the roiling abyss of this

seething age, from the wayward windings of the mortal age, from the dark jaws of the declining world to the army

of perpetual blessing, to the path of the direct journey, to the prospect of eternal life.”

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This digression echoes elements typical to saintly descriptions of a hostile environment, which

Guthlac himself has just entered. In particular, the obliqui anfractus (indirect windings) clearly

evoke the circuitous routes and obscure windings by which other saints must approach their

respective wildernesses.109 In the case of Guthlac, the word anfractus is itself an echo of the

initial wilderness description’s flexuosi anfractus (curved windings), though in this case the

word is used figuratively.110 The adjective ater (terrible), before used of the bog in which his

island rests, and the phrase directi itineris callis (the direct journey’s rough path), itself not far

from the rectissimus callis trames (the rough path’s most direct track) that Guthlac walks to get

to the fen-lands, functions to enhance the exegetical weight of this passage even as they

reinforce the earlier depictions of Guthlac’s fenland.111

More interest lies in the Vita Guthlaci for the study of Beowulf than simply this passage. There

is Guthlac’s warlike youth, which can profitably be compared to the roads to success undertaken

by the Scyldings in Beowulf’s opening lines, or the grave-robbed barrow Guthlac eventually

inhabits.112 However, for the sake of my study of wilderness depictions, the vita has exhausted

its usefulness. As an insular vehicle for eremetical material, it is an invaluable example of the

early Anglo-Saxon view of the subject, and represents a prime candidate for what the

Beowulf-poet could feasibly have been reading. For the final vitae treated in this chapter, I will

turn to the continent once more.

109 See Jonas, Ionae vitae, 166.13–14; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.17–19. 110 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 86. 111 See above, pp. 184–85; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 86. 112 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 92. Also see E.V. Thornbury, “Eald Enta Geweorc and the Relics of Empire: Revisiting

the Dragon’s Lair in Beowulf,” Quaestio: Selected Proceedings of the Cambridge Colloquium in Anglo-Saxon,

Norse, and Celtic 1 (2000): 82-92.

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4.1.7 Gall’s Valley

St. Gall’s life straddled the 6th and 7th centuries. An Irishman and companion of Columban on

his journey to the continent, he received extended treatment in the 9th century from two monks

of Reichenau: Wettinus, basing his work on an older life, and Walahfrid Strabo, revising

Wettinus.113 The life written by Walahfrid, though not extant in any manuscripts in England,

was apparently widely known, probably as a result of his status as a late-Carolingian

luminary.114 In Gall’s case, we have a double-witness to the course of events leading to his

occupation of the wilderness, with sufficient difference between them to warrant individual

study. Both Wettinus and Walahfrid are somewhat laconic compared to the previous

hagiographers treated in this chapter. As I will demonstrate in my next chapter, however, their

vitae are particularly resonant with Beowulf, and deserve close scrutiny.115 I will therefore

examine their parallel treatments of Gall’s hermitage simultaneously.

The reader first hears of Gall’s eventual home from the mouth of a visiting deacon, one

Hiltibod. Gall inquires to see if there might be a place in the nearby wilderness where he might

find a refuge.116 In Wettinus, Hiltibod responds by saying “Pater mi, est heremus iste asper et

aquosus, habens montes excelsos et angustas valles et bestias diversas, ursos plurimos et

luporum greges atque porcorum. Timeo, si induxero te illuc, ne forte inruant super te.”117

Walahfrid describes the deacon’s speech at greater length.

113 See Duft, ed., Gallus und Otmar, 9–12; Courtney T. Booker, “A New Prologue of Walafrid Strabo,” Viator 36,

no.1 85–86. 114 See Joynt, Life of St. Gall, 2–3; Samuel W. Collins, The Carolingian Debate over Sacred Space (New York:

Palgrave MacMillan, 2012), 60. 115 See below, pp. 230–31. 116 Wetti, “Vita Galli,” ed. Bruno Krusch, Monumenta Germaniae historica, scriptores rerum Merovincgiae 4

(Turnhout: Brepols Publishers, 1902): 262.13–16; Walahfrid Strabo, “Vita Galli,” ed. Bruno Krusch, Monumenta

Germaniae historica, scriptores rerum Merovincgiae 4 (Turnhout: Brepols Publishers, 1902): 291.32–33.

References to the MGH will be formatted <page-number.line-number>. 117 Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.17–19. “My father, there is a wilderness rough and watery, having high mountains and

steep valleys and diverse beasts, a great many bears and droves of wolves and pigs. I fear if I lead you there, they

may perhaps rush upon you.”

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Haec, o pater, solitudo aquis est infusa frequentibus, asperitate terribilis,

montibus plena praecelsis, angustis vallibus flexuosa, bestiis possessa

saevissimis; nam praeter cervos et innocuorum greges animalium ursos

gignit plurimos, apros innumerabiles, lupos numerum excedentes, rabie

singulares. Timeo igitur, ne si te illuc induxero, ab huiusmodi hostibus

devoreris.118

Although the latter passage is much longer and arguably more threatening, the fundamentals of

the description are nearly identical across both texts.

Like so many iterations of the hagiographical wilderness before them, both descriptions contain

references to the mountains and waters of the area, as well as extensive reference to the

threatening wildlife populating the mountains, notably the recurring wolves and—as in the Vita

Columbani—bears.119 The pigs are a peculiar inclusion in this catalogue of threatening

creatures, although they can’t fail to evoke the herd of pigs possessed after Christ’s exorcism of

a demoniac.120

In both versions of the vita, Hiltibod clearly wishes to depict the area as entirely threatening,

first through attention to the roughness of the mountains, signified as in other treatments of

rocky landscapes by the use of terms based on asper.121 Especially threatening language is

reserved for the area in Walahfrid’s passage, by means of terms such as terribilis (terrible) in

reference to the mountains’ roughness and saevissimus (most savage) with respect to the

wildlife. Finally, the winding valleys that surround the area seem to participate in the pattern of

difficult approaches or surroundings to a hermitage, as we have seen in different contexts in

118 Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.1–5. “This solitary place, oh father, is drenched by frequent waters, terrible in its

harshness, replete with excessively tall mountains, winding with steep valleys, occupied by the most savage beasts.

For besides the deer and herds of harmless animals, it gives rise to a great many bears, innumerable boars, wolves

beyond number, peerless in savagery. I therefore fear to lead you there, lest you be devoured by enemies of this

kind.” 119 See above, pp. 181–83; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.6–15. 120 See Matthew 8:30–37, Mark 5:1–21, Luke 8:27–38. 121 Cf. Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.7–19, 31.21–26; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.6–15.

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previous vitae.122 Walahfrid even echoes the use of flexuosus (winding) employed by Felix to

describe the approach to Crowland.123

These elements account for a great many details found across the bulk of wilderness depictions,

but this is only Hiltibod’s preliminary description. More is revealed once Gall convinces

Hiltibod to show him the place, calming fears about his physical safety by means of scripture.124

His disciple and he depart for the region the next day, pressing on without food until evening

approaches, when they arrive at the region in which the saint will find his refuge by the river

Petrosa. In Wettinus, the place is described rather briefly before Gall decides to cast his nets into

this stream, which teems with fish.

Ac demum pervenitur ad fluviolum nominatum Petrosa. Ibi ergo noctis

quies demonstratur, cum squamigeri gregis turba conspicitur. Nam

pervenitur ad cursum fluvioli de monte, ubi cavatur locus eius in rupe;

adportatum rete inmittitur ac pisciculi non pauci captantur.125

As before, Wettinus’s text contains some key elements inherent in the wilderness scene.

First, it depicts a river, the name of which belies its rocky situation. The mountain off of which

it flows and the place hollowed in the rock both echo the rugged, mountainous regions in which

many saints have dwelt up to this point. Wildlife inhabitants of the region also find

representation, in the form of the fish that churn up the stream and provide Gall and Hiltibod’s

evening meal.

As before, Walahfrid’s treatment of the same scene provides slightly more information.

Venerunt autem ad quendam fluviolum qui Steinaha nominatur;

ambulantesque per decursum ipsius, dum venissent ad rupem, de qua

122 Most notably, see Jonas, Ionae vitae, 166.13–14; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.17–19. 123 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 86. 124 Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.20–1; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.6–8. 125 Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.29–31. “And at last he is brought to the river called Petrosa. Therefore, the night’s rest

is suggested there, since the commotion of a scaly mass [of fish] is espied. For he is brought to the course of a little

stream from the mountain, where his place is hollowed into the rock. The net they carried is cast in and no few

small fish are captured.”

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idem cum impetu descendens gurgitem facit speciosum, viderunt ibi

plurimos pisces, et imponentes retia sua, coeperunt eos.126

The river is present, this time called by its Germanic name, featuring the element stein-,

prefiguring the rocky environment in the form of the rupes (rock), which is apparently quite

lofty since the water descends with significant force. Notably, the cave depicted in Wettinus’s

version of the vita is absent here. However, the fish that will become the saint’s meal make an

appearance.

Two elements in Walahfrid are additional to Wettinus’s depiction. First, the use of ambulans

(going about) to describe the men’s motion along the course of the river does seem to suggest a

sort of exploratory wandering akin to the tortuous paths undertaken by many other saints as they

gradually home in on their ultimate refuges. Second, they arrive at the place where an apparent

cascade descends into a pool, another element additional to Wettinus’s valley of Petrosa, and

one not seen in this particular configuration before.

It is here that Gall stakes his claim on a saintly refuge, and also that the area’s former residents,

both naturalistic and demonic, make further appearance. The first to appear is Gall’s

bear-servant.127 After the men have eaten and gone to bed and Gall has furtively risen again for

the sake of more prayer, this bear comes down from the mountain and begins eating the crumbs

from the men’s meal. In true saintly form, Gall commands the bear to bring him firewood

instead, but then sets the bear free and offers him a loaf of bread. The language of neither

depiction is particularly noteworthy, although Walahfrid, who had only used the term rupes

(rock) with respect to the rocky environment, here describes the bear’s arrival with the phrase

126 Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.29–31. “They came therefore to a certain stream which is called Steinaha, and

ambling about its cascade, when they had come to a cliff, from which the same [river], descending with force,

makes a magnificent pool, they saw there a great many fish, and casting their nets in, captured them.” 127 Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 263.1–17; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.32–293.21.

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“interea descendens ursus de monte” (meanwhile, a bear descending from the mountain),

restating the area’s mountainous nature.128

In addition to the naturalistic denizens of this location, these vitae do not neglect the

supernatural, nor Gall’s control over them.129 During the second day on the banks of the

Petrosa, the men again endeavor to catch a meal of fish, but are interrupted by two demons, “in

mulierum specie” in Wettinus and “in effigie mulierum” in Walahfrid (in the appearance of

women),130 who attack Hiltibod but are promptly put to flight by Gall.131 Again, the language

is unremarkable, although the story of the demon-women’s flight into the wilderness and their

wailing in the abandoned heights is an effective ghostly fable. It also fulfills the role of the

demonic inhabitants of a saint’s hermitage so well represented in previous vitae.132

One final encounter with the mountain’s wildlife, this time providing an explicit link between

the naturalistic and demonic, bears mention. Once the she-demons have been driven out of the

water, Gall and Hiltibod look for an ideal spot in the valley to set up their living. Wettinus

describes the place in one brief sentence: “His actis, lustraverunt vallem ac montem, viderunt

inter duos rivos silvam planiciemque desiderabilem ac locum ad cellam aedificandam

delectabilem.”133 Here, in addition to a reiteration of the waters that pervade the valley and its

mountainous situation, a grove is depicted.

Walahfrid’s prose again adds more detail to the account.

Igitur post discessum daemonum, dum fideles illi heremi dilectores

vallem lustrarent, videntes inter duos fluviolos multa desiderabilia, silvam

128 Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 293.15. 129 Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 263.22–264.6; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 293.27–31. 130 Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 263.27; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 293.35. 131 Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 263.27–28; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 293.35–294.12. 132 See Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 13.1–29; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.7–19; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.4–6;

Felix, Life of Guthlac, 88. 133 Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 264.7–8. “With these things accomplished, they roamed throughout the valley and the

mountain; between two streams they saw a grove and a lovely plain and a delightful place for constructing a cell.”

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speciosam, montes per girum, planitiem in medio, probaverunt locum ad

aedificandam cellam optimum esse.134

We see the mountains, waters, and trees. Additionally, the use of the term lustrare (to look

around) to denote the men’s wandering, along with gyrus (circuit or compass) does seem to

point to a winding, roundabout way of attaining the men’s final destination.

Here both authors illustrate the third miracle conducted by Gall in the valley, although it is only

mentioned retroactively. The area, which had been populated by a large number of serpents, is

free of reptiles from the time of Gall’s arrival on.135 Therefore, aside from providing the

opportunity for a miracle, this episode points to yet another inhabitant of this apparently very

populous valley: reptiles.

Walahfrid, moreover, explicitly links the serpents with the devil who has been driven from the

area that has now been sanctified by Gall. After describing their departure, he continues, “Nam,

diabolo inde expulso, dignum erat, ut animal, per quod hominem deceperat, habitationi cederet

sanctitatis.”136 Accordingly, we have depictions of naturalistic inhabitants of the region in the

form of the bear and plentiful fish, the demonic in the form of the she-demons in the water,

and—in the appearance of the serpent—an instance of naturalistic wildlife associated with the

demonic by means of exegesis. It will be noted that with the exception of the bear, a very similar

concatenation of natural, supernatural, and semi-supernatural creatures is found in Grendel’s

mere.137

134 Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 294.22–25. “Therefore, after the departure of the demons, when those beloved faithful

of the wilderness were wandering the valley, spotting between two streams many desirable things—a beautiful

copse, mountains throughout its circuit, a plain in its middle—they judged that place to be best for constructing a

cell.” 135 Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 264.10–11; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 294.27–28. 136 Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 295.29–31. “For, with the devil driven thence, it was fitting that the animal through

which he had deceived man should recede from the homestead of sanctity.” 137 See below, pp. 210, 221.

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This episode concludes Gall’s encounter with the wilderness and the discovery of his new

hermitage. It is somewhat less centralized than other accounts, in which many of the wilderness

descriptors are packed within one episode of travel or discovery. Still, these triplicate miracles

of command and saintly influence paired with the exploration of the region are very clearly part

of the same narrative-descriptive movement associated with the area around the river-valley.

Within that descriptive narrative in both Wettinus and Walahfrid, we see the most common

elements well-represented: mountainous terrain, water, and wood. The inhabitants of the region,

situated along the spectrum of demonic and naturalistic, are included by both authors. Like other

saintly wildernesses, Gall’s also features a cave. Only in Walahfrid, however, is there a

suggestion of the circuitous paths that Gall must wander to find his eventual home, and that is

only a suggestion. Moreover, Walahfrid is more intent on emphasizing the inhospitable or

terrifying nature of the wilderness as signified by generally negative adjectives, as so many of

my previous hagiographers have done.138 Accordingly, the bulk of elements associated with

saints’ chosen refuges finds expression in the Vita Galli.

4.2 Wilderness in Schema

Before moving on to my treatment of wilderness scenes in Beowulf and their comparison to

those found in hagiography, I will recapitulate the primary and subsidiary elements found in the

vitae. Again, because the depiction of natural surroundings is not inherently linked to a narrative

structure—as are sea journeys—this recapitulation will be rather more straightforward, as will

its accompanying schema. Again, the elements I have observed consist of the following: I)

mountainous terrain; II) water; III) trees; IV) the route into the wilderness; V) wildlife; VI)

138 See Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.31–35; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 25a; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.7–26;

Felix, Life of Guthlac, 86.

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threatening fables about the area; VII) negative descriptors; VIII) evidence of fabricated space

or habitable structure.

4.2.1 Mountainous Terrain

The terrain in most of these depictions is definitely stony, and with few exceptions explicitly

mountainous. Those that include specific reference to mountains are both hermitages in the Vita

Antonii, all of the wilderness depictions in the Vita Pauli and Vita Hilarionis, and both of the

lives of Gall; among these the Vita Pauli’s first wilderness, the Vita Hilarionis’s first, and Gall’s

lives depict the terrain as both mountainous and rocky.139 While Cyprian’s and Columban’s

lives eschew the explicit mention of mountains, they present a rocky, dramatic environment

probably best imagined as cliffs.140 Only Guthlac’s home is devoid of mountainous terrain, a

fact unsurprising considering his site in the fenlands. Felix was apparently less willing than the

Beowulf-poet to employ an incongruous medley of devices.141

In accordance with the primarily mountainous, rocky terrain, a logical subsidiary aspect of this

environment takes the form of the caves in which many of the saints live. The use of a cave for a

cell is not exclusive to the vitae in my purview, of course, but several of the sample-texts I have

treated record that in addition to the other set-piece elements of the saintly wilderness, the cave

is a popular choice for a hermit’s cell. Vitae that mention this element include the Vita Pauli’s

two wilderness depictions, the Vita Columbani, and the first life of Gall.142 Similarly, when

139 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 12.10, 49.26; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 21a, 24b; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.3,

31.10; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.17–18; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.1–3. 140 Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.34; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.7–10. 141 See Eric Stanley, “Old English Poetic Diction and the Interpretation of ‘The Wanderer,’ ‘The Seafarer’ and

‘The Penitent’s Prayer,” Anglia 73 (1955): 441. 142 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 21a, 24b; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.6–10; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.31.

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Hilarion seeks out Anthony’s former hermitage, he finds two cellulae (small cells) high up in

the mountain peaks of Cyprus, which might best be interpreted as caves.143

4.2.2 Water

After the rocky elements, water makes an appearance in nearly all of the hermitages as well,

including both of Anthony’s, the first description of Paul’s, both of Hilarion’s, and most

prominently in Guthlac’s and both of Gall’s.144 A lack of water is mentioned in the Vita

Cypriani in the form of the non salubres aquae (no healthy waters).145 In any case it is essential

enough to the amenability of a region that it bears mention even if it lacks actual presence. Only

in the Vita Columbani and the second wilderness depiction in the Vita Pauli is it totally absent

from the author’s description.

Two subsidiary elements of water’s presence occur. Congruent with its appearance in these

typically mountainous environments, it is frequently described as a cascade, as it is in both of

the Vita Hilarionis’s wilderness depictions and in both lives of Gall.146 Both of Jerome’s vitae

share the peculiar detail of water being exuded from a spring or stream only to be absorbed by

the ground immediately. The first wilderness depiction in the Vita Pauli and the first in the Vita

Hilarionis possess this element.147

4.2.3 Trees

The final among the most ubiquitous elements of the wilderness is the presence of trees. This

element is presented without exception in my sample-vitae, only failing to appear in the first

143 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.17–19. 144 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 12.11–12, 49.27–28; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 21a; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,”

21.4–6, 31.14; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 86–93; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.11, 262.29; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.1,

292.29–31. 145 Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.32–3. 146 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.3–7, 31.7–15; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.29–31; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.29–

31. 147 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 21a; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.3–5.

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wilderness depiction in the Vita Antonii and the second in the Vita Pauli. It is almost equally

divided between two modes of description: on the one hand, hagiographers use collective terms

for copses or groves, including silva, nemus, and saltus, as in the Vita Cypriani, Vita

Columbani, Vita Guthlaci, and both lives of Gall;148 on the other, there are terms based around

individual trees such as arbor and palma, as depicted in the second episode of the Vita Antonii,

the first of the Vita Pauli, and both in the Vita Hilarionis.149 Regardless of their specific mode

of representation, trees in some form are among the most durable elements of hagiographic

wilderness descriptions.

4.2.4 Route

After these primary elements, the most frequently deployed major details of these depictions are

the mention of the route the saint must travel in order to arrive at his destination and the

wilderness’s natural or supernatural inhabitants. These elements tend to vary in terms of their

constituent parts to a greater degree than those previous. The route into the wilderness is slightly

more persistent, so I will discuss it first.

The route the saint takes is wholly absent in the Vita Cypriani and the first wilderness in the Vita

Pauli, and lacks explicit mention in the lives of Gall. It is nevertheless present in some form in

all others. In the vitae I have discussed, the methods used to describe it, which I have heretofore

described with the term “inaccessibility,” seem to encompass two main categories: obscurity

and difficulty. Neither is necessarily exclusive. The avia (pathless places) of the Vita Columbani

characterize obscurity most succinctly, and the same term is found in the Vita Cypriani,

although in that case the term does not explicitly refer to Cyprian’s route, instead acting as a

148 Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.34; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 166.13; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 86; Wetti, “Vita Galli,”

264.7–8; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 294.22–24. 149 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 49.28–29; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 21a–b; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.6,

31.13–14.

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general signifier of the area’s obscurity.150 Obscurity is also expressed in various ways in the

first wilderness depicted in the Vita Antonii, the second in the Vita Pauli, the second in the Vita

Hilarionis, and the Vita Guthlaci.151

The element of difficulty accompanies both of Hilarion’s wilderness depictions and Guthlac’s

way through the fen.152 During Hiltibod’s preliminary description of Gall’s prospective home in

both of his vitae, references to the angustae valles (steep valleys) seem to point to difficulty of

access as well, Walahfrid going so far as to intensify the difficulty by means of the adjective

flexuosus (winding), although it must be noted that neither Wettinus nor Walahfrid specifically

use the adjective to describe the route.153

Some verbal material recurs with respect to these paths. The most common appears to be terms

derived from via (road) but featuring a negative prefix. The Vita Cypriani and Vita Columbani

both use avia (pathless) which seems to point to obscurity, while the Vita Guthlaci includes a

term related to difficulty: invius (impassable).154 The adjective flexuosus (winding) occurs

twice, once in the Vita Guthlaci and once in Walahfrid’s Vita Galli, and again points to the

difficulty of travelling in the wilderness.155

Another element is worth mentioning. In concert with the obscurity of the path leading into a

region, two of the vitae make mention of tracks, which the authors use to point to the site’s

abandonment. Athanasius does so in a straightforward manner. When Anthony walks in the

wilderness, he points out that “neque ambulantium aliquorum vestigia videntur” (and the tracks

150 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.9; Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.35. 151 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 11.11–17; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 24a; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.7–19;

Felix, Life of Guthlac, 88. 152 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.17–19, 31.10–11; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 88 153 Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.17–19; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.1–5. 154 Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 30.5; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.6–15; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 88. 155 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 86; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.3.

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of no other travelers appear).156 Jerome does so with somewhat more creativity, suggesting that

Anthony can follow only the tracks of desert beasts as he tries to make his way to Paul’s

hermitage.157

One further, fairly well-represented aspect of the routes through the wilderness as they find

expression in hagiography is the mention of the road’s specific length. That length can be

expressed in two ways. First, hagiographers may choose to speak in terms of travel-times, as in

the case of Anthony’s three-day journey in the second episode of the Vita Antonii,158 or the

detail that he arrives at Paul’s cell on the second day of his travels in the Vita Pauli.159

Alternatively, the author may provide an actual, measurable distance, as Jerome does for

Hilarion’s second refuge twelve miles from the sea, or Jonas for Columban’s way into the

wilderness, which we are told takes him seven miles from Anagrates.160

4.2.5 Wildlife

Like the inclusion of the route into the wilderness the saint inhabits, mention of the site’s

wildlife is quite common. Be it natural or supernatural, it seems to serve precisely the same

narrative function, underscoring the threat of a region and often allowing a display of the saint’s

unction by obeying his commands. Moreover, in some cases they are conflated, as in the case of

Anthony’s beastlike demons or the serpents Gall banishes from his mountaintop home. I have

chosen to treat both kinds of creatures as part of the same category as a result of their similarity

with regard to their narrative function.

156 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 11.12–13. 157 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 24a. 158 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 49.25–26. 159 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 24b. 160 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.9–1; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.6–15.

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Three of my sample-vitae depict both natural and supernatural creatures, as do both episodes in

the Vita Antonii, arguably the Vita Columbani, and both lives of Gall.161 In the second episode

of the Vita Pauli, the monstrous wildlife in the form of a centaur, hippocentaur, and satyr could

hardly be called naturalistic, and their history as false gods also comes into the story.162 The

wolf, raven, and unnamed fera (beasts) of this episode represent the natural as well.163 In

contrast to this blending of supernatural and natural wildlife, Hilarion in his latter refuge and

Guthlac on his island have only to deal with demons, and not marauding bears or wolves.164

The most frequently recurring natural creatures are wolves, found in the Vita Pauli, Vita

Columbani, and lives of Gall;165 reptiles, which occur in the Vita Antonii and lives of Gall;166

and bears, which can be found in the Vita Columbani and lives of Gall.167 Only Cyprian’s life

and the first wildernesses in the Vita Pauli and Vita Hilarionis lack this element.

4.2.6 Fables

One additional element that goes hand in hand with the demonic inhabitants of the saintly

wilderness is the reputation of that space, spread among the neighbouring peoples in the form of

fearful reports, not unlike ghost stories. These stories are typically associated with a region’s

abandonment by people. Reports of ghosts and demons appear in the second episode of

Hilarion’s vita and later in Guthlac’s.168 In both of Gall’s lives, Hiltibod attempts to dissuade

161 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 12.10–12, 52.1–4; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 166.13–167.6; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.30,

263.12, 263.27–264.6; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.29–31, 293.15, 293.35. For Columban, see above, p. 181. 162 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 23b–24a. 163 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 24a–b. 164 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.17–19; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 92–110. 165 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 24b; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 166.22–29; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.17–19; Walahfrid, “Vita

Galli,” 292.1–5. 166 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 12.11; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 264.10–11; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 294.27–28. 167 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.10–15; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 263.1–17; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.32–293.21. 168 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.17–19; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 88.

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Gall from taking up residence in the wilderness with similar stories, although these focus more

on the natural wildlife in the area, specifically boars, bears, and wolves.169

4.2.7 Negative Descriptors

In addition to all of these elements—and intertwined with them—is the overall negative

character attributed to the saintly wilderness. This aspect of nature as it is depicted in

hagiography is somewhat more troublesome than others, since it often relies on attributions of

terror or inhospitality to particular elements among those that tend to occur throughout the larger

depiction of the wilderness, such as the mountains or wildlife. It is often spread across a number

of different elements, thereby taking part in a larger project of designating a particular

wilderness as terrifying as a result of its constituent, hostile parts. As such, I have chosen to

designate negative adjectives or those denoting terror as their own element, rather than one

subsidiary to another.

This approach to negative descriptors occurs repeatedly throughout the bulk of my sample-texts,

including Cyprian’s, Hilarion’s second wilderness depiction, Columban’s, Guthlac’s, and both

lives of Gall, while a lone expression of landscape-terror occurs in the Vita Pauli, with respect

to the terror of the darkness Anthony attempts to penetrate as he approaches Paul’s hermitage.170

Asper (harsh) or a closely related term is the most frequently recurring negative descriptor,

occurring in the Vita Hilarionis’s second wilderness, the Vita Columbani, and both of Gall’s

vitae.171

169 Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.17–18; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.1–5. 170 Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.31–35; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.7–26; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.8; Felix, Life of

Guthlac, 86; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.17–19; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.1–5; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 25a. 171 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.8, 31.23; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.8; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.17; Walahfrid, “Vita

Galli,” 292.1.

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4.2.8 Fabricated Space

One further element remains, which is difficult to define and found only in a few texts. It does

seem notable however, and occurs quite early in the hagiographic record. This is the presence of

fabricated spaces, manufactured by humans and often in ruins, in the vicinity of the saint’s

hermitage—or indeed representing it. This element appears first in the Vita Antonii, in which the

saint finds his first wilderness home in a long-abandoned fortress, now the refuge of only

reptiles.172 Both Hieronymian vitae contain reference to previous human habitation. In the Vita

Pauli we have the ancient minting facility in the first description of Paul’s cave, and in the Vita

Hilarionis there is a ruined temple near the second wilderness.173 In both of the Vita Pauli’s

descriptions, the revelation of the subterranean space occurs via the seeker’s sudden and

unexpected perception of the space’s interior hospitability.174 Columban’s monastery is on the

site of a ruined fortress.175 Finally, Guthlac eventually finds his home next to a hollowed out

and grave-robbed tumulus, although that element occurs well outside the main episode of

wilderness description.176 It seems as though the ruin of a previous civilization was an

attractively eerie and significant inclusion for many hagiographers. Further, both instances of

fabricated space in the Vita Pauli are revealed by means of the perception of the character

discovering them rather than simple description on the part of the narrator.177

This concludes my examination of the hagiographical wilderness. A schematic depiction of the

common elements and their subsidiaries can be seen in Table 4.1.

172 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 12.10. 173 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 21a–b; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.16–17. 174 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 21a, 24b. 175 Jonas, Ionae vitae, 162.16–163.23. 176 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 92–94. 177 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 21a, 24b.

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Table 4.1: Green boxes indicate texts that contain the element in question unequivocally. Yellow indicates its existence, but presented

unconventionally, dubiously, or, in the case of a subsidiary element, outside of its most common primary element.

Cyprian Anthony 1 Anthony 2 Paul 1 Paul 2 Hilarion 1 Hilarion 2 Columban Guthlac Gall I Gall II

Mountainous Terrain

Stone

Cave

Water

Cascade

Departing Underground

Trees

Route

Inaccessibility

Obscurity avius avia

Difficulty invius, flexuosus angustae valles angustae valles, flexuosus

Length

Tracks

Wildlife

Natural

Supernatural

Fables

Negative Descriptors asper, asperitas asper asper asperitas

Fabricated Space

Perception of Interior Hospitality

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It is clear that very few repetitions of verbal material can be observed in these sample texts.

Other than some repetitions among terms referring to the obscurity of saints’ paths into the

wilderness and the harshness of their environments, recurring verbal material is almost absent.

Saintly wildernesses are nevertheless fairly uniform in terms of the elements they tend to

include, pointing to a strong set of conventions behind their literary construction. As I will

demonstrate in my next chapter, there is also a great deal of overlap between Beowulf’s

wilderness depictions and the vitae’s.

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Chapter 5 Eremites and Grendel’s Mere

Having established common hagiographical elements of the wilderness, I will now turn to an

examination of the two depictions of Grendel’s mere in Beowulf. The first occurs as part of a

dialogue between Beowulf and Hrothgar, in which the older man tells the younger how to hunt

down Grendel’s mother, who has just exacted revenge for her son on the Danish hall, carrying

off the retainer Æschere.1 The second description, offered by the narrator, occurs during the

actual journey to the mere.2 Each offers a slightly different perspective, working together to give

a perceptual and naturalistic view of the landscape, as well as conveying the sociocultural terror

at work among the Danes with respect to Grendel’s home.

Mine is certainly not the first attempt to wrestle with the source-material of the partially

naturalistic, somewhat otherworldly, and strangely disjointed landscape.3 Aside from the long

and venerable tradition of associating Grendel’s mere with elements found in the Norse sagas,4

the most often-cited attempt to parse this landscape is the discussion that has arisen from the

passages’ similarities to parts of Blickling Homily XVI’s and the Visio Pauli’s hell-scapes,5 in

which Charlie Wright sees evidence of Celtic influence.6 Beowulf was also included in Donald

Fry’s survey of what he calls the “Cliff of Death,” a theme that breaks down into the four chief

1 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1232–1309. 2 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1345–79. 3 For the disjointed nature of the landscape, see Richard Butts, “The Analogical Mere: Landscape and Terror in

Beowulf,” English Studies 68, no. 2 (1987): 113–21; Geoffrey Russom, “At the Centre of Beowulf,” in Myth in

Early Northwest Europe, ed. Stephen O. Glosecki (Tempe: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies,

2007), 227–37. 4 See above, p. 3; for a more restrained perspective bearing on this episode in particular, see Magnús Fjalldal, Long

Arm of Coincidence: The Frustrated Connection between “Beowulf” and “Grettis saga” (Toronto: University of

Toronto Press, 1998), 67–78. 5 See above, p. 11, and Brown, “Beowulf and the Blickling Homilies,” 905–16; Collins, “Blickling Homily XVI,”

61–69; Wright, Irish Tradition, 136; Niles, Beowulf, 19; Hussey, “The Possible Relationship,” 1–4; Peter Clemoes,

Interactions of Thought and Language in Old English Poetry (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 22–

26; Jennifer Neville, Representations of the Natural World in Old English Poetry (Cambridge: Cambridge

University Press, 1999, 60–75; Christopher Abram, “New Light on the Illumination of Grendel’s Mere,” Journal of

English and Germanic Philology 109, no. 2 (April 2010): 198–216. Antonette diPaolo Healey, ed., The Old English

Vision of St. Paul (Cambridge: Mediaeval Academy of America, 1978), 52, presents a fairly skeptical position. 6 Wright, Irish Tradition, 106–74. Also see Puhvel, Celtic Tradition, 86–138.

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elements of cliffs, serpents, darkness, and privation, occasionally featuring wolves and wind.7

Fry’s observations clearly include some overlap with my own hagiographic wilderness set-

pieces, which I will acknowledge as I examine the scenes in Beowulf. Others have observed

elements of more far-flung analogues to Grendel’s mere as well.8

Such a vast field of source-scholarship, looking in different directions but achieving compelling

conclusions, points to an apparently wide set of influences on the Old English poem, but may

not account for all of its material. It seems clear that the Beowulf-poet was undertaking an

intense imaginative effort in this case, drawing material from several different sources and

piecing it together to create a dramatic—if somewhat incoherent—landscape.

My objective is to determine which of these elements may have come from the poet’s

knowledge of the hagiographical tradition. As I did for Beowulf’s sea journeys, I will proceed

through both descriptions of Grendel’s mere, pointing out their similarities to analogous

wilderness scenes in hagiography, before schematizing that information visually. It will be

helpful to reiterate those elements of the hagiographical wilderness as I have identified them: I)

mountainous terrain; II) water; III) trees; IV) the route into the wilderness; V) wildlife; VI)

threatening fables about the area; VII) negative descriptors; VIII) evidence of fabricated space

and previous habitation. Since these elements are altogether less bound to narrative context than

sea journeys, they will not necessarily appear according to the order of my schema. I will

address them as they arise.

7 Donald K. Fry. "The Cliff of Death in Old English Poetry" in Comparative Research in Oral Traditions: A

Memorial for Milman Parry, ed. John Miles Foley (Columbus: Slavica, 1987), 215. 8 See, for example, Haber, “Beowulf” and “The Aeneid”, 83–87, 92–96; William Cooke, “Two Notes on Beowulf,”

(with Glances at Vafþruðnismál, Blickling Homily 16, and Andreas),” Medium Ævum 72, no. 2 (Fall 2003): 298–

300; Anlezark, “Poisoned Places,” 103–26; Marijane Osborn, “Manipulating Waterfalls: Mythic Places in Beowulf

and Grettissaga, Lawrence and Purnell,” in Myth in Early Northwest Europe, ed. Glosecki, 197–224.

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5.1 Hrothgar’s Foreboding

The first description of the mere is the more ominous and affective of the two. Once Grendel’s

mother has attacked Heorot and dragged Æschere away, Hrothgar calls Beowulf to his side and

apprises him of the situation.9 He provides the following description of the place, which I quote

in full.

Ic þæt londbuend, leode mine

selerædende secgan hyrde

þæt hie gesawon swylce twegen

micle mearcstapan moras healdan,

ellorgæstas. Ðæra oðer wæs,

þæs þe hie gewislicost gewitan meahton,

idese onlicnæs; oðer earmsceapen

on weres wæstmum wræclastas træd,

næfne he wæs mara þonne ænig man oðer;

þone on geardagum Grendel nemdo(n)

foldbuende; no hie fæder cunnon,

hwæþer him ænig wæs ær acenned

dyrnra gasta. Hie dygel lond

warigeað, wulfhleoþu, windige næssas

frecne fengelad, ðær fyrgenstream

under næssa genipu niþer gewiteð,

flod under foldan. Nis þæt feor heonon

milgemearces þæt se mere standeð;

ofer þæm hongiað hrinde bearwas,

wudu wyrtum fæst wæter oferhelmað.

Þær mæg nihta gehwæm niðwundor seon,

fyr on flode. No þæs frod leofað

gumena bearna þæt þone grund wite.

Ðeah þe hæðstapa hundum geswenced,

heorot hornum trum holtwudu sece,

feorran geflymed, ær he feorh seleð,

aldor on ofre, ær he in wille,

hafelan [beorgan]; nis þæt heoru stow.

Þonon yðgeblond up astigeð

won to wolcnum þonne wind styreþ

lað gewidru, oð þæt lyft ðrysmaþ [MS: drysmaþ],

roderas reotað.10

9 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1306b–44. 10 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1345–76a. “I have heard those dwelling in the land, my people,

counsellors in the hall, say that they have seen two such great border-walkers, alien creatures, inhabiting the moors.

One of those, about whom they were most certainly able to know, was in the likeness of a woman. The other, made

wretched, whom dwellers on earth called Grendel in the old days, trod the paths of exile in a man’s form, except he

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This lengthy passage contains some rather jarring and thematically interesting elements, many

of which have been discussed before.11

Among them, the micronarrative of the hart who refuses to enter the pool in defense of its life

has been convincingly discussed with respect to its similarities to classical texts, not least of

which is the Aeneid. Daniel Anlezark draws a tentative connection between the hart’s reluctance

to enter the pool in Beowulf lines 1367–71 with the poisoned places of the classical tradition,

carrying forward the earlier work of George Rigg, who traces the element of the hart refusing to

enter the pool.12 Departing from that tradition, Fry has observed that certain elements—in the

case of this passage, wind and its attendant lað gewidru (hateful weathers), wolves, and

darkness—appear as part of a larger tradition of early Germanic poetry strewn throughout this

passage, constituting a manifestation of the “Cliff of Death” and appearing elsewhere across

Judith, Christ and Satan, and The Wanderer.13

There is the curious niðwundor (dreadful wonder) of the fire on the water in lines 1365–66a,

which has been identified with hell-scapes and their attendant rivers of fire.14 Aside from these

features, there is the comparatively quite lengthy report of the more learned Danes’

was larger than any other man. They did not know his father, whether any secret creatures were born before him.

They occupy a hidden land, wolf-hills, windy promontories, the fearful path through the fens, where the mountain

stream departs down under the mists of the cliffs, a flood under the ground. It is not far from here in the measure by

miles that the mere stands. Over it hang icy trees; a wood firm in roots overshadows the water. There, each night,

one may see a dreadful wonder, a fire on the water. None among the sons of men live [who is] so wise that he

knows the bottom. Though the walker on the heaths, the hart mighty in its horns, afflicted by hounds, put far to

flight, should seek the wooded copse, it would sooner give up its spirit, its life on the shore, than it would guard its

head within. That is not a pleasant place. From there, the churning of the waves mounts up darkly to the clouds

when the wind stirs the hateful weathers, until they choke the sky; the heavens weep.” 11 I choose to focus on imagistic elements. For discussions of the mere’s thematic significance, see Hugh Magennis,

Images of Community in Old English Poetry (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 1996; Neville,

Representations, 59–61; Wieland, “Manna Mildost,” 89–91; Daniel Calder, “Setting and Ethos: The Pattern of

Measure and Limit in ‘Beowulf’,” Studies in Philology 69, no. 1 (Jan 1972): 21–28. 12 Anlezark, “Poisoned Places,” 110–124; Rigg, “Beowulf 1368–72,” 101–2; Rigg, “Beowulf 1368–72,” 102, which

also contains a 13th-century analogue. Also see Haber, “Beowulf” and “The Aeneid”, 92–93. 13 Fry, “Cliff of Death,” 215–219; Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1373–74, 1375a, 1358, and 1360. 14 See above, pp. 208–9. In Beowulf, the element wundor typically appears as a signifier of the marvelous. See

Orchard, Critical Companion, 27.

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understanding of the Grendel-kin’s behaviour, appearance, origins, and family in lines 1345–

57a.15

It is this discussion that leads into the concrete description of the mere, the dygol lond (secret

land), which represents the physically descriptive core of the passage in lines 1357a–64. In this

subsection of Hrothgar’s description, while the landscape maintains its generally inhospitable

character, it is entirely more naturalistic than fantastic. It also contains the three primary

elements so common in the hagiographies.

First, among the elements of stone, wood, and water, the mountainous stature of the region

makes itself known. Elements of the first poetic compounds to describe the region, -hliþ (cliff)

and fyrgen- (mountain),16 both point to a mountainous nature to the landscape, as do the næssas

(promontories) under which the waters of the pool eventually depart.17 Mountainous terrain

appears in nearly all of the relevant hagiographies, with the exception of the Vita Guthlaci.18

These references to mountains point immediately to another major element, the presence of

water, perhaps the most crucial detail in the passage, since the Grendel-kin’s dwelling lies under

the surface of the mountain-pool. Many elements speak to the water here, including the

dithematic word-elements fen- (fen) and -stream (stream), and the stand-alone terms flod

(flood), mere (pool), and wæter (water). Only the Vita Columbani lacks any mention of water

whatsoever, although it is only dubiously present in the Vita Cypriani and lacking in the second

15 See Norman E. Eliason, “Beowulf Notes,” Anglia 71 (1953): 451–52; Eric Stanley, “A Very Land-Fish,

Languagelesse, a Monster,” in Monsters and the Monstrous in Medieval Northwest Europe, eds. K.E. Olsen and

L.A.J.R. Houwen (Leuven: Peeters, 2001), 79–92. 16 The element fyrgen- is not certain in its rendering as “mountain.” See Cameron et al., eds., DOE, fyrgen- and

fyrgen-compounds. Regardless of its interpretation, however, the preponderance of words denoting dramatic,

mountainous terrain confirms this aspect of the landscape. 17 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1359b–61a. 18 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 12.10, 49.26; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 21a, 24b; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.3,

31.10; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.6–10; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.17–18, 262.31; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.1–3,

294.24.

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wilderness depiction in the Vita Pauli.19 All of the other wilderness regions possess this

element.20 Among these lives, both episodes in the Vita Hilarionis and both lives of Gall depict

their water in the form of a cascade, not unlike Beowulf.21

Furthermore, Jerome’s Vita Pauli and Vita Hilarionis present the intriguing detail of springs

which emerge and are absorbed into the same ground from which they were generated. In the

first episode of Paul’s vita, the saint discovers a spring with this notable quality: “Statim modico

foramine, eadem quae genuerat, aquas terra sorbebat.”22 In the Vita Hilarionis, Jerome partially

reuses the device when Hilarion visits St. Anthony’s former home: “Saxeus et sublimis mons…

ad radices suas aquas exprimit, quarum alias arenae ebibunt, aliae ad inferiora delapsae paulatim

rivum efficiunt.”23

Both of these configurations are similar to the water in Beowulf, which issues from a stream,

only to disappear “under næssa genipu niþer” (down under the promontories’ mists) to become a

“flod under foldan” (a flood under the earth).24 Presumably this element represents the

subterranean water-course that the hero must follow in order to reach Grendel’s home. The Vita

Hilarionis’s phrase “ad inferiora delapsae” (cascaded to lower parts) seems particularly close to

Beowulf’s “niþer gewiteð” (departs down).25 In any case, the appearance of a source and

subterranean exit for water appears in all three texts, and represents a striking parallel.

19 Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.32–33. 20 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 12.11–2, 49.27–8; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 21a; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.4–6,

31.14; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 86–93; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.11, 262.29; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.1, 292.29–

31. 21 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.3–7, 31.7–15; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.29–31; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.29–31. 22 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 21a. “The same ground that had generated the waters absorbed them immediately into

a small hole.” 23 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.3–6. “The rocky and high mountain… exudes waters to its spurs, some of which

the sands absorb; the rest, falling bit by bit to lower regions, make a stream.” 24 For this interpretation of the scene and connections to Blickling XVI, see Russom, “Centre of Beowulf,” 230–3. 25 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.3–7.

214

Rounding out the most frequent wilderness elements, the presence of trees occupies a prominent

place in the second part of this speech’s natural description subsection. While the approach

along the fen-paths in lines 1357b–61a seems to speak primarily to the mountains, the situation

around the pool in lines 1361b–64 is mostly described in terms of its water and trees. The frosty

trees provide a striking image in their position over the water into which Beowulf must enter,

and a fittingly foreboding home for a pair of monsters.26 Flora appears in every single saint’s

life I have examined, although it is not mentioned in the first wilderness depiction in the Vita

Antonii or the second in the Vita Pauli.27

Many minor elements shared between both Beowulf and the vitae make their presence felt

immediately and in direct correspondence with others. The area’s wildlife is one of these. Quite

apart from the general awareness of the presence of the fiendish ellorgæstas (foreign spirits)—

the fundamentally othered and supernatural Grendel and his mother—whom Hrothgar’s people

say hold the moors, and the fanciful story of the hart who will not enter the pool even at the peril

of his own life, the slopes are said to be populated by wolves, as implied in the compound

wulfhliþ (wolf-cliff). This passage therefore encapsulates both the purely demonic in the second

wilderness of the Vita Hilarionis and the Vita Guthlaci, and the blend of natural and

supernatural wildlife in both environments in the Vita Antonii, the second wilderness of the Vita

Pauli, the Vita Columbani, and both lives of Gall.28 Among these, wolves are the most frequent

26 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1363b–64a. 27 Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.34; Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 49.28–29; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” 21a–b; Jerome,

“Vita Hilarionis,” 21.6, 31.13–14; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 166.13; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 86; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 264.7–

8; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 294.22–24. 28 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.17–19; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 92–110; Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 12.10–12,

52.1–4; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 23b–24a, 24a–b; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 166.13–167.6; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.30,

263.12, 263.27–264.6; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.29–31, 293.15, 293.35.

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naturalistic wildlife-element in the vitae, appearing in Paul’s, Columbanus’s, and both of

Gall’s.29

Hrothgar relates his counselors’ understanding of the Grendel-kin, mentioning that Grendel’s

mother possesses “idese onlicnæs” (the likeness of a woman). I am immediately reminded of the

water-demons whom Hiltibod, the disciple of St. Gall, encounters in the mountain stream,

described in terms of their appearance “in mulierum specie” or “in effigie mulierum,” depending

on the version of the Vita Galli in which they appear, which may both be rendered “in the

appearance of women.”30 Of course, these vitae depict two female creatures instead of a male

and a female. Still, Grendel’s mother, depicted as a female creature with demonic overtones in a

watery environment, and described with this similarity of phrasing, recalls the creatures met on

the mountain by Gall and Hiltibod.31

Also treated in this passage is the route that must be taken to reach Grendel’s mere. In

Hrothgar’s description, it falls into both categories of inaccessibility I have articulated: obscurity

and difficulty.32 Difficulty is illustrated in the phrase frecne fengelad (treacherous path through

the fens). The vitae that reflect this quality of difficulty most clearly are both of Hilarion’s

wilderness depictions, Guthlac’s, and arguably both of Gall’s vitae.33 The obscurity of the path

is suggested by the wræclastas, the “paths of exile” that Hrothgar describes, and reflects those

routes into the wilderness described in the first wilderness depicted in the Vita Antonii, the

second in the Vita Pauli, the second in the Vita Hilarionis, the Vita Columbani, and the Vita

29 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 24b; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 166.22–29; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.17–19; Walahfrid, “Vita

Galli,” 292.1–5. 30 Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 263.27; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 293.35. 31 Grendel’s mother, however, is less explicitly depicted as demonic than her son. See Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s

Beowulf, lxxvii. 32 See above, pp. 200–1. 33 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.17–19, 31.10–11; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 86–88; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.17–19;

Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.1–5.

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Guthlaci.34 The Vita Cypriani uses the term avia to refer to the region, which is not directly

associated with Cyprian’s route into the wilderness but still conveys the obscurity of the area.35

As such, the Vita Cypriani and the first wilderness in the Vita Pauli appear to be the only lives

that lack a description of the route entirely.

There is, moreover, an earlier supplement to the obscurity in this description I would point

toward, occurring when Grendel was first mortally wounded and retreated home. The next

morning, the men tracked the bloody prints of their enemy, described as “laþes lastas” (enemy’s

tracks), “tirleases trode” (tracks of the one without victory), and “feorhlastas” (gory tracks).36

This passage is primarily necessary for Hrothgar to later tell Beowulf where he can find

Grendel’s mother, and for the sake of continuity. Earlier, after Grendel’s initial attacks on the

Danes, the poet stated that after Grendel’s attacks, “men ne cunnon / hwyder helrunan hwyrftum

scriþað” (men do not know where demons wander in their ramblings).37 Hrothgar could hardly

have known that Grendel’s place of retreat was the mere about which his selerædende (hall-

counsellors) have such fantastical stories unless his men had followed the bloody tracks.

Tracking Grendel’s footprints corresponds with one aspect of the Vita Pauli, unique among my

sample-texts, wherein Anthony sees only the tracks of beasts as he attempts to find a specific

region of wilderness. While Anthony is searching for Paul’s hermitage, he enters the desert:

“Antonius coeptam regionam pergebat, ferarum tantum vestigia intuens, et eremi latam

34 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 11.11–17; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 24a; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.7–19; Jonas,

Ionae vitae, 166.13–14, 167.6–15; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 86. Also note the appearance of wræclastas in The

Wanderer and The Seafarer. See “The Wanderer” in Eight Old English Poems: Third Edition, eds. John C. Pope

and R.D. Fulk (London: Norton, 2001), ll. 5, 32; “The Seafarer” in Eight Old English Poems, eds. Pope and Fulk, l.

57. 35 Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.35. 36 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 841a, 843, 846b. 37 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 162b–63. Tom Hill sees an echo of Psalm 11:9’s “in circuitu impii

ambulant,” (the impious walk about in circuits), a further link to Latinate material. See “Hyrftum Scriþað: Beowulf,

Line 163,” Medieval Studies 33 (1971): 379–81.

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vastitatem.”38 Aside from tracing the tracks of savage creatures, the eremi lata vastitas (wide

vastness of the desert) in which Anthony travels strongly evokes the language of the passage

that first treats Grendel’s path: “ferdon folctogan feorran ond nean / geond widwegas wundor

sceawian / laþes lastas.”39 Both texts maintain a close proximity of words signifying a wide

territory and following a hostile beast’s path through it. Considering the short length of the

passage in the Vita Pauli, a remarkable preponderance of words in Beowulf can be identified

with the saints’ life: the visual aspect of examining the tracks in intuens/sceawian; the tracks

themselves in vestigia/lastas; and finally, the lata vastitas (wide vastness) and the widwegas

(wide ways) paired with the adverbial “feorran ond nean” (from far and near).40 The mention of

tracks—in this case their absence—as a marker of the obscurity of a region also appears in the

Vita Antonii’s first wilderness.41

One further element of the route into the wilderness that appears in Hrothgar’s description is the

distance of the journey. This is one of the less frequent inclusions in hagiography. Nevertheless,

several saints’ lives give rather explicit expressions of their routes’ lengths in either distance or

duration of travel, including the second wilderness depictions in each of the Vita Antonii, Vita

Pauli, Vita Hilarionis, and the episode in the Vita Columbani.42 The Beowulf-poet, ever more

indistinct than the hagiographers, mentions distance only in loose terms, with Hrothgar saying

simply “nis þæt feor heonon / milgemearces þæt se mere standeð.”43 Milgemearc (measure by

miles), comprises not only the Germanic mearc in an echo of the passage’s earlier mearcstapan

38 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 24a. “Anthony was proceeding throughout the region he’d entered, seeing only the

tracks of wild animals and the wide vastness of the wilderness.” 39 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 839–41a. “Chiefs of the people came from far and wide, throughout wide

ways to see the wonder, the enemy’s tracks.” 40 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 24a. 41 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 11.12–13. 42 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 49.25–26; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 24b; Jerome, Vita Hilarion, 31.9–1; Jonas,

Ionae vitae, 167.6–15. 43 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1361b–2. “It is not far in the measure by miles that the mere stands.”

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(ones who walk the border), but also an evocation of the distance travelled to the mere by means

of the Latin loan-element mil-.44

Hrothgar’s description and the reports of the land’s inhabitants represent another element shared

between Beowulf and the hagiographies I have treated: the ghostly fables that circulate about the

wilderness into which the protagonist must venture. In the case of the Old English poem, this

element is compounded somewhat. Hrothgar’s report to Beowulf represents a foreboding tale in

itself. Moreover, his information comes second-hand from others, whose fables of the Grendel-

mere are appropriately foreboding to any who might venture there. Stories like these maintain

the sanctuary of Hilarion’s second retreat by keeping possible visitants at bay, and are the

initial—and obviously unsuccessful—deterrents against Guthlac’s and Gall’s journeys into the

wild.45 Of course, in the case of both Beowulf and the heroicized saints, these warning fables

have precisely the opposite effect.

In concert with the character of Hrothgar’s description as a ghostly fable, the preeminently

negative descriptors used across the span of this passage accord well with the hostile or

inhospitable nature of the wilderness passages in hagiography, as observed in the Vita Cypriani,

the second episode in the Vita Pauli, the second in the Vita Hilarionis, the Vita Columbani, the

Vita Guthlaci, and both lives of Gall.46 Quite aside from the use of the adjectives frecne

(treacherous) used to describe the road to the mere, lað (loathsome) to describe the weather, and

the unmistakably ominous character of the terrain, Hrothgar’s “nis þæt heoru stowe” (that is not

a pleasant place) provides a succinctly negative summary of the mere’s qualities.47 As this

comparison has established, there are several elements present in both Hrothgar’s description

44 See Alistair Campbell, Old English Grammar (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1962), 203, 209. 45 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.17–19; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 88; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.17–18; Walahfrid, “Vita

Galli,” 292.1–5. 46 Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.31–35; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 25a; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.7–26; Jonas,

Ionae vitae, 167.8; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 86; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.17–19; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.1–5. 47 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1372b.

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and the vitae, at times containing rather similar diction across the two languages. See Table 5.1

for a visual representation of this information. The picture will be more complete once the actual

journey to Grendel’s mere takes place and the hero sees the wilderness first-hand.

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Table 5.1: Green boxes indicate texts that contain the element in question unequivocally. Yellow indicates its existence, but presented

unconventionally, dubiously, or, in the case of a subsidiary element, outside of its most common primary element.

Beowulf Cyprian Anthony

1

Anthony

2

Paul

1

Paul

2

Hilarion

1

Hilarion 2 Columban Guthlac Gall I Gall II

Mountainous Terrain

Stone

Cave

Water

Cascade

Departing Underground “niþer gewiteð”

Cf. “ad inferiora delapsae” (Hilarion 1)

Trees

Route

Inaccessibility

Obscurity avius avia

Difficulty invius,

flexuosus

angustae

valles

angustae valles,

flexuosus

Length

Tracks “ferdon folctogan feorran ond nean / geond widwegas wundor

sceawian / laþes lastas”

Cf. “pergebat ferarum tantum vestigia intuens, et eremi latam

vastitatem (Paul 2)”

Wildlife

Natural

Supernatural “idese onlicnæs”

Cf. “in mulierum specie” (Gall I); “in effigie mulierum” (Gall II)

Fables

Negative Descriptors asper,

asperitas

asper asper asperitas

Fabricated Space

Perception of Interior

Hospitality

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5.2 The Journey to the Mere

Once Beowulf has heard Hrothgar’s description of the mere and offered his words of

encouragement, the old king’s spirits are revived and a party of Danes and Geats departs

immediately.48 In a lengthy passage, the poet describes the journey through the landscape in

stages, also pointing out many of the geographical features along the way.

Lastas wæron

æfter waldswaþum wide gesyne,

gang ofer grundas, [þær] gegnum for

ofer myrcan mor, magoþegna bær

þone selestan sawolleasne

þara þe mid Hroðgare ham eahtode.

Ofereode þa æþelinga bearn

steap stanhliðo, stige nearwe,

enge anpaðas, uncuð gelad,

neowle næssas, nicorhusa fela;

he feara sum beforan gengde

wisra monna wong sceawian,

oþ þæt he færinga fyrgenbeamas

ofer harne stan hleonian funde,

wynleasne wudu; wæter under stod

dreorig ond gedrefed. Denum eallum wæs,

winum Scyldinga, weorce on mode

to geþolianne, ðegne monegum,

oncyð eorla gehwæm, syðþan Æscheres

on þam holmclife hafelan metton.

Flod blode weol —folc to sægon—

hatan heolfre. Horn stundum song

fuslic (fyrd)leoð. Feþa eal gesæt.

Gesawon ða æfter wætere wyrmcynnes fela,

sellice sædracan sund cunnian,

swylce on næshleoðum nicras licgean,

ða on undernmæl oft bewitigað

sorhfulne sið on seglrade,

wyrmas ond wildeor. Hie on weg hruron,

bitere ond gebolgne.49

48 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1383–1402a. 49 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1402b–31a. “The tracks were widely visible along the forest-paths, the

path over the fields where she went directly over the dark moor, bore lifeless the best young retainer of those who

watched over the home with Hrothgar. The son of nobles then traversed the steep slopes of stone, the narrow trails,

the slim paths fit for one, the unknown way, the steep promontories, many homes of water-monsters. He went

before as one of a few wise men to see the place, until he suddenly found the mountain trees, the joyless wood,

towering over the hoary stone. Water stood underneath, gory and stirred up. For all the Danes, friends of the

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Here again we have the vast majority of the elements noted above, with some interesting

correspondences beside. Among them are Fry’s “Cliff of Death” hallmarks, this time in the form

of cliffs, serpents, and the notion of deprivation.50

First, the triad of mountains, water, and woods makes itself apparent almost immediately. In this

case, the woods are the first element the reader encounters with the lexical component wald- in

the compound waldswaþa (forest paths). A reference to the trees occurs in the compound

fyrgenbeamas, comprising the elements fyrgen- (mountain) and -beamas (trees), which is placed

in apposition with wynleas wudu (joyless wood).51 References to trees are found in every

hagiographical wilderness I have examined with the exception of the Vita Antonii’s first

wilderness episode and the Vita Pauli’s second.52 Moreover, both of Beowulf’s references to

trees evoke other common elements within the wilderness set-piece.

Fyrgenbeamas also points to that other common element, present in all the lives except the Vita

Guthlaci, the mountainous terrain of the region.53 References to this dramatic terrain are

scattered throughout the passage, encompassed by the phrases steap stanhliðo (steep slopes of

stone), neowle næssas (narrow promontories), the har stan (hoary stone) over which the trees

loom, the holmclif (sea cliff) on which the party finds Æschere’s head, and the næshliðo (slopes

of the promontory). The combined elements of fyrgenbeamas and har stan are interesting with

Scyldings, many thanes, there was distress to suffer in the mind, sorrow for each man, when they met with

Æschere’s head on the sea-cliff. The flood welled with blood—people looked on—with hot gore. Time and again,

the horn sang an eager song of the army. The company on foot all sat. Then they saw along the water many of the

race of serpents, monstrous sea-dragons plying the water, likewise on the promontory’s slopes, water-monsters

lying, serpents and wild beasts, which in the time of morning often oversee a sorrowful journey on the road of sails.

Bitter and enraged, they rushed away.” 50 Fry, “Cliff of Death,” 220–22. 51 For the interpretation of the element fyrgen, see above, p. 212, n. 16. 52 Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.34; Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 49.28–29; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” 21a–b; Jerome,

“Vita Hilarionis,” 21.6, 31.13–14; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 166.13; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 86; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 264.7–

8; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 294.22–4. 53 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 12.10, 49.26; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 21a, 24b; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.3,

31.10; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.6–10; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.17–18, 262.31; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.1–3,

294.24.

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respect to their similarity to the Vita Cypriani, in which the wilderness is situated in a “vasta

rupe silvarum,” best read as a “vast wooded cliff.”54 Apart from the Vita Cypriani, the emphasis

on the rocky nature of the environment appears in the first wilderness of the Vita Pauli, the first

in the Vita Hilarionis, the Vita Columbani, and both lives of Gall.55

Independently of its apparent correspondence with images in the Latin tradition, the phrase har

stan has been associated with Old English expressions of liminal zones between human and

otherworldly space, similarly appearing in Beowulf’s later fight with the dragon.56 In any case,

these texts are clearly at pains to associate the mountains and trees in particular, and to link them

with the difficulty and otherworldly danger of the region.

To round out the primary elements of the wilderness, the wæter (water) is obviously a prominent

feature of the passage, mentioned first after the trees which overhang it, just as Hrothgar had

described earlier. Subsequent mentions of water take the form of the terms holm- (sea) in

connection with the cliffs, the welling flod (flood), the apparently oceanic referent seglrad (sail-

road),57 weg (wave), two instances of sund (water),58 and holm (sea). The conturbation of the

water, here expressed by the participle gedrefed (churned up) and the verb weallan (to surge),

echoes Hrothgar’s fanciful description, in which the waters, stirred up by hateful weather, choke

the sky. Again, mention of water can be found in every sample-vita except the Vita Columbani,

although it is absent in the second wilderness in the Vita Pauli.59

54 Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.34. 55 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 21a; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.3; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.7–10; Wetti, “Vita Galli,”

262.17–18; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.1–3. 56 See Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 2553b; William Cooke, “Two Notes on Beowulf,” 297–301; Michael

Swisher, “Beyond the Hoar Stone,” Neophilologus 86, no. 1 (2002): 133–36. 57 For the confused nature of the watery landscape, see above, p. 208, n. 3, and especially Russom, “Centre of

Beowulf,” 228–33. 58 On the difficulty of this word, see above, p. 127, n. 89. 59 See Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.32–33; Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 12.11–12, 49.27–28; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,”

col. 21a; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.4–6, 31.14; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 86–93; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.11,

262.29; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.1, 292.29–31.

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Closely associated with the mountains and waters are references to the route into the wilderness

and the region’s wildlife. Of the two, the routes occur first and in ample supply. The poet again

presents the need to follow tracks to attain the wilderness—an apparent mark of obscurity—as

we observed when Hrothgar’s men first track the mortally wounded Grendel.60 The notion of

difficulty, which occurs in both of Hilarion’s wilderness depictions, Guthlac’s, and both lives of

Gall,61 is emphasized in Beowulf by use of the phrases stig nearo (narrow track) and enge anpað

(narrow path fit for one) to describe the trails that mount up the cliffs.62 The narrowness of these

paths as a mark of difficulty accords with Wettinus’s and Walahfrid’s use of the angustae valles

(steep valleys) in preliminary descriptions of St. Gall’s mountains.63

In apposition with these descriptors, the poet adds the phrase uncuð gelad (unknown way),

which participates in the obscurity aspect of the routes in several of the vitae, including

Cyprian’s—although Pontius attaches obscurity to the area as a whole and not specifically to the

route—Anthony’s first wilderness, Paul’s second, Hilarion’s second, Columban’s, and

Guthlac’s.64 Further, although Felix does not refer specifically to the obscurity of Guthlac’s path

into the fens itself, he does include the detail that the wilderness’s monstrous inhabitants are

incognita (unknown), and the region vix notus (scarcely known)—the reason the saint requires a

guide in the first place—both descriptors according well with the uncuð gelad (unknown path)

into Grendel’s mere.65 These elements have also been observed in the Old English Exodus.66

60 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1402b–7. 61 Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.17–19, 31.10–11; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 88; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.17–19;

Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.1–5. 62 A similar term, einstigi or “path fit for one,” occurs in a notable Norse analogue to this episode in Grettis saga,

during a story in which Grettir must slay a troublesome bear. See Guðni Jónsson, ed., Grettis saga Asmundarson

(Reykjavík: Hiđ Íslenzka fornritafélag, 1936), 82–88. 63 Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.17–19; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.1–5. 64 Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.35; Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 49.20–23; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 24a–b;

Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.7–19; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.9; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 86. 65 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 88. 66 See Orchard, Critical Companion, 166; George Philip Krapp ed., “Exodus,” in The Junius Manuscript, ed.,

George Philip Krapp (New York: Columbia University Press, 1931), l. 58.

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The lastas (tracks) in this passage again point to the obscurity attached to wilderness routes in

the vitae. In the Vita Pauli, they are signified by the ferarum vestigia (tracks of beasts) which

Anthony must follow to reach Paul’s cave, and also correspond with Hrothgar’s description of

the mere—featuring wræclastas (paths of exile)—and the surveys of the land after Grendel’s

defeat, in which men follow his tracks from Heorot to the monsters’ home.67 Tracks defining a

route into the wilderness were apparently an attractive element of the wilderness for the

Beowulf-poet.

The next substantial element at work is the wildlife that populates the area, and which the men

encounter when they arrive. In this instance, we get an entirely less abstract and fanciful

depiction than Hrothgar’s narrative of shadowy figures and hypothetical harts. Here we see

physical beings interacting with the physical world. These creatures, named successively as

wyrmcynnes fela (many of the race of serpents), sellice sædracan (wondrous sea-dragons),

nicras (sea-monsters), wyrmas (serpents), wildeor (wild beasts), and, in the case of the creature

who is killed and dragged ashore, a wundorlic wægbora (marvelous ruler of the waves) and a

gryrelic gist (terrible visitant).68

Notwithstanding the proximity in the manuscript of Beowulf to the Letter of Alexander to

Artistotle, it is difficult to imagine what the Anglo-Saxon reader or auditor might make of these

creatures. The hippopotami of the Alexandrine material hardly seem to fit these obviously

reptilian creatures.69 Ultimately, it seems unimportant. In spite of their very physical behaviour

and susceptibility to assault, these nicras are, like Grendel and his mother, more

expressionistically than physiologically articulated. Notably, the phrase gryrelic gist will be

67 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 24a; Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 839–43, 1352b. Also see above, pp. 216–17

and Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 11.12–13. 68 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1396–1401. 69 See Orchard, Pride and Prodigies, 41–42, n. 71, in which Orchard introduces the possibility that the phrase

“wyrmas ond wildeor,” may account for a variety of beasts in the water.

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closely echoed in the term gryregist (visitant of terror) later used of the dragon.70 One might

further extrapolate that a reptilian character to these creatures is emphasized even further by this

connection. Terms such as sellice and wundorlic seem to point to a marvelous or supernatural

character among these animals, and yet they are highly physical, able to be assaulted by

mundane weapons. As such, they seem to straddle both categories of wildlife, natural and

supernatural, as do creatures that occasionally appear in the vitae. In any case, such definitive

terms may be inadequate when attempting to define an Anglo-Saxon storyteller’s fantastic

creations.

Natural wildlife can be found in most of the vitae I have examined, including both of Anthony’s

refuges, Paul’s second wilderness description, Columban’s, and both of Gall’s vitae.71 The Vita

Antonii and Vita Galli in particular depict reptilian wildlife in the area, and the latter life

provides one interesting correspondence with Beowulf’s description of the beasts in the water.

First, Gall’s mountain retreat is apparently infested with snakes, which are said to be banished

after the saint’s advent.72 Quite aside from the mention of serpents and their departure, when the

saint and his attendant arrive on the mountain in Wettinus’s version of the story, they choose the

place for the night’s rest based on the activity of the fish in the water, “cum squamigeri gregis

turba conspicitur” (since the commotion of a scale-bearing school [of fish] is espied).73 This

squamiger grex (scale-bearing school) is, of course, composed of fish and not sea-monsters or

reptiles, although Paul Sorrell has observed that the adjective, as attested in Aldhelm, is

typically associable with serpents.74 However, this arrival at a body of water that is notable for

70 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 2560. Also see Orchard, Critical Companion, 193, n. 103. 71 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 12.10–12, 52.1–4; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 24a–b; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 166.13–

167.6; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.30, 263.12, 263.27–264.6; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.29–31, 293.15, 293.35. 72 Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 264.10–11; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 294.27–31. 73 Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.29–30. 74 Paul Sorrell, “Like a Duck to Water: Representations of Aquatic Animals in Early Anglo-Saxon Literature and

Art,” Leeds Studies in English 25 (1994): 36; R.E. Latham, Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources

(London: Oxford University Press, 2013): squamiger.

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the commotion of creatures within strikes me as similar to Grendel’s gedrefed (churned up)

pool, apparently agitated up by the abundant reptile-life plying the waves.

Similarly, the Beowulf-poet’s use of “bitere ond gebolgen” (bitter and enraged) for these

creatures accords well with Walahfrid’s use of saevissimus (most savage) and rabies (madness)

when Hiltibod provides the initial description of Gall’s eventual home and its wildlife.75 If a

supernatural character is also posited for Beowulf’s nicras, they correspond with those found in

both wildernesses of the Vita Antonii, the Vita Pauli’s second episode, the second episode in the

Vita Hilarionis, arguably in the Vita Columbani, the Vita Guthlaci, and both of Gall’s vitae.76

Once again, strewn across the passage are highly negative descriptors of the area’s natural

elements. Quite aside from the fact that the men’s journey to the mere is ultimately met with the

gory head of Aeschere, the woods are described as wynleas (joyless), the water dreorig (gory),

the monsters bitere or gryrelice (bitter or terrible), and attendants of many a sorhful (sorrowful)

journey. Again, the Beowulf-poet is expending a great deal of effort to ensure the reader

understands the grim nature of the place, and in this effort, he again echoes the Vita Cypriani,

the second episodes in the Vita Pauli and the Vita Hilarionis, the Vita Columbani, the Vita

Guthlaci, and the lives of Gall.77

This second appearance of Grendel’s mere contributes a great deal of character to the wilderness

in Beowulf. The route in particular is elaborated upon, and we get a different picture of the

wildlife that inhabit the region. Ultimately, it adds some welcome poetic foreboding to a region

75 Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.1–5. Note that the participle gebolgen is used in the poem only of monsters and

Beowulf himself. See Fulk et al., eds., Beowulf, ll. 723, (Grendel), 1431 (sea monsters), 1539 (Beowulf), 2220

(reconstructed, the dragon), 2401 (Beowulf), 2550 (Beowulf). 76 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 12.10–12, 52.1–4; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 23b–24a, 24a–b; Jerome, “Vita

Hilarionis,” 31.17–19; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 166.13–167.6; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 92–110 Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.30,

263.12, 263.27–264.6; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.29–31, 293.15, 293.35. 77 Pontius, “Vita Cypriani,” 11.31–5; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 25a; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.7–26; Jonas,

Ionae vitae, 167.8; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 86; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.17; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.1–5.

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already pregnant with literary terror. Between the two descriptions, Hrothgar’s and the poet’s,

all the major elements found across the vitae within my purview have been accounted for, as can

be seen in Tables 5.1 and 5.2.78

78 For Table 5.1, see above, p. 220.

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Table 5.2: Green boxes indicate texts that contain the element in question unequivocally. Yellow indicates its existence, but presented

unconventionally, dubiously, or, in the case of a subsidiary element, outside of its most common primary element.

Beowulf Cyprian Anthony

1

Anthony

2

Paul

1

Paul

2

Hilarion

1

Hilarion 2 Columban Guthlac Gall I Gall II

Mountainous Terrain “fyrgenbeamas ofer harne stan”

Cf. “vasta rupe sylvarum” (Cyprian)

Stone

Cave

Water

Cascade

Departing Underground

Trees

Route

Inaccessibility

Obscurity “uncuð gelad”

Cf. incognita, vix notus (Guth)

avius avia

Difficulty “stige nearwe / enge anpaðas… neowle

næssas”

Cf. angustas valles/angustis vallibus (Gall I,

Gall II)

invius,

flexuosus

angustae

valles

angustae valles,

flexuosus

Length

Tracks

Wildlife

Natural

Supernatural

Fables

Negative Descriptors asper,

asperitas

asper asper asperitas

Fabricated Space

Perception of Interior

Hospitality

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The strong correspondence between Beowulf and the Latin vitae is apparent in these tables. As I

have discussed above, the apparently conventional wilderness depictions in hagiography are less

bound by narrative structure than episodes of sea journeying, and I have therefore not

constructed this schematic comparison with Beowulf around the order of elements within the

narrative. However, one vita in my sample-group stands out not only for the analogous details it

shares with Beowulf, but for how those details unfold in the narrative context.

The Vita Galli’s narrative outline is strikingly analogous to Beowulf’s. After a warning

monologue that makes specific reference to the region’s treacherous terrain and wildlife,79 the

journey to the wilderness is depicted fairly briefly. I quote from Walahfrid’s more expansive

account of the journey.

Venerunt autem ad quendam fluviolum qui Steinaha nominatur;

ambulantesque per decursum ipsius, dum venissent ad rupem, de qua

idem cum impetu descendens gurgitem facit speciosum, viderunt ibi

plurimos pisces, et imponentes retia sua, coeperunt eos.80

Not unlike Beowulf’s journey to Grendel’s mere, this passage depicts the men making an

approach to the mountainous region, which we have already learned possesses difficult terrain,

and arriving at a roiling pool under a cascade, only to have an encounter with creatures in the

water. Moreover, the saint and his companion must face two demons, “in mulierum specie” in

Wettinus and “in effigie mulierum” in Walahfrid (in the appearance of women).81 As I have

noted, these she-demons strongly evoke Hrothgar’s description of Grendel’s mother, using the

phrase idese onlicnæs (in the appearance of a woman), a correspondence that further reinforces

these connections.82

79 Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.17–19; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.1–5. 80 Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 292.29–31. “They came, therefore, to a certain stream which is called Steinaha, and

ambling about its cascade, when they had come to a cliff, from which the same [river], descending with force,

makes a magnificent pool, they saw there a great many fish, and, casting their nets in, captured them.” 81 Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 263.27; Walahfrid, “Vita Galli,” 293.35. 82 See above, p. 215; Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 1351.

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While the fundamental structure of a storied region inspiring a saint to make his way into the

wild can also be found in the Vita Hilarionis and Vita Guthlaci, and a great many saints’ lives

share individual elements of the wilderness, nowhere else are they aligned so closely with a

specific narrative arc as in the lives of Gall. Accordingly, it appears to be one of the most

strongly analogous vitae to Beowulf with respect to its core depictions of the wilderness.

One further element of Grendel’s mere warrants attention, though it is not revealed until

Beowulf has made a speech and descended into the water. Although it does not emerge as part

of previous, discrete descriptions of this monstrous wilderness, it is such a crucial element of the

environment’s characterization that it cannot be left out of any discussion pertaining to the

subject. This element is the peculiar underwater cave in which Grendel and his mother actually

live. Within my group of sample texts, I believe the model of interior fabricated space that

Grendel’s cave apparently represents has been well established.

5.3 Hidden Homes

Immediately following the arrival at the mere, Beowulf prepares himself to descend into the

water, and after a speech to Hrothgar and the waiting Danes, he plunges in.83 A tumultuous

struggle with the creatures in the water, including Grendel’s mother, ensues and the hero finds

himself in a sub-aquatic cave, cut off from the water.84 Several vitae feature caves, including

both episodes in the Vita Pauli, a debatable instance in the first episode of the Vita Hilarionis,

the Vita Columbani, and Wettinus’s Vita Galli.85 However, this cave is peculiar in character, and

83 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1441b–95a. 84 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1495b–1512a. 85 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 21a, 24b; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 21.17–19; Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.6–10; Wetti,

“Vita Galli,” 262.31.

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provides some parallels with the vitae I have examined.86 The poet describes it first in terms of

perception.

Ða se eorl ongeat

þæt he [in] niðsele nathwylcum wæs,

þær him nænig wæter wihte ne sceþede,

ne him for hrofsele hrinan ne mehte

færgripe flodes; fyrleoht geseah,

blacne leoman beorhte scinan.87

We are given the information that, far from a mere natural formation, this is a true habitation

and repository of things created with artifice. Although it is monstrous in nature, this niðsele

(hostile hall) does seem to echo the comforts of a human hall through the presence of firelight

and precious objects such as treasure and a cunningly wrought ancient sword.88 The sword,

which Beowulf uses to kill Grendel and eventually presents to Hrothgar, is covered with

markings thematically relevant to Beowulf’s struggle with the Grendel-kin.89 It provides one of

the poem’s strange and compelling glimpses into the monstrous society in which Grendel and

his mother exist, adding a history to the contrast with human social norms that the poem’s

antagonists offer.90

Although the presence of this odd interior space has been effectively examined in light of the

Norse and Irish folkloric traditions involving watery trolls, I do detect similarities to elements

within the hagiography in the fabricated space and apparent hospitability of the structures in

which saintly hermits find themselves.91 First, at a very basic level, an encounter with some kind

86 See Abram, “New Light,” 208–16. The analogues to the Grendelkin’s cave in Norse literature has been

extensively treated. See Orchard, Pride and Prodigies, 161–64. Cf. Fjalldal, “Beowulf and the Two-Troll

Analogues,” 541–53. 87 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1512b–17. “Then the man perceived that he was in some kind of hostile

hall, where no water harmed him at all, nor might the sudden grasp of the flood touch him on account of the roofed

hall. He saw firelight, a brilliant gleam brightly shining.” 88 See Calder, “Setting and Ethos,” 21–28. 89 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1557–62, 1612–15a; Orchard, Critical Companion, 195–99; Alvin A. Lee,

Gold-Hall and Earth-Dragon: “Beowulf” as Metaphor (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1998), 185–86; also

see Hrothgar’s examination of the giant-sword’s hilt in ll. 1677–98a. 90 See Orchard, Critical Companion, 195–97. 91 See above, p. 3.

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of structure in the wilderness into which the saint ventures takes place in several vitae,

manifesting in Anthony’s first fortress, Paul’s discovery of his cave, a fortress adjacent to

Hilarion’s second wilderness, the site of another ruined fortress near Columban’s home, and

Guthlac’s mound.92

The mention of literal treasure in the context of this structure appears only in the Vita Guthlaci.

In Guthlac’s case, it comes in the description of the tumulus beside which he makes his eventual

home. This barrow, a roughly constructed turf mound apparently made in ancient times, has

been despoiled of any treasure by grave-robbers, and that is its extent in the narrative.93 The

notion of a subterranean construction in which treasure is present is, of course, central to

Beowulf’s latter half in the episode of the dragon’s barrow, but similarly seems to have been at

work in the depiction of Grendel’s lair.94

More extensive and interesting is the Vita Pauli. When the saint discovers his potential refuge at

the roots of the mountain, its entrance is closed by a stone, which he removes before entering:

“Avidius explorans, animadvertit intus grande vestibulum, quod aperto desuper coelo, patulis

diffusa ramis vetus palma contexerat.”95 In this scene, Paul enters an ostensibly natural

environment, and once inside perceives a structure conceived of in human architectural terms, a

vestibulum (entrance), roofed by the fronds of an ancient palm. Farther in, Paul becomes aware

that this is actually part of a complex used during the conflicts of Marc Antony and Cleopatra to

mint coins, and it contains ancient implements of those efforts.96

92 Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 12.10; Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 21a–b; Jerome, “Vita Hilarionis,” 31.16–17;

Jonas, Ionae vitae, 167.6–15; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 92–94. 93 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 92–94. 94 See Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 2231–86; Thornbury, “Eald Enta Geweorc,” 82–92. 95 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col 21a. “Exploring more avidly, he observed a large entrance inside, which, being opened

upwards to the sky, an old palm spread with wide branches had covered.” 96 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 20b–21b.

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Admittedly, Jerome’s description lacks the significant thematic clout, interwoven with the larger

themes of his text, that Grendel’s cave and the giant sword lend Beowulf. Nevertheless, the

appearance of a fabricated interior space and the perception of its apparent hospitability at the

moment of a character’s entrance into a significant wilderness is present in Beowulf’s descent

into the mere and the revelation of the Grendel-kin’s niðsele (dreadful hall). This aspect of the

wilderness also seems to be augmented by the presence of devices of ancient workmanship in

the cave, hearkening back to a time of elder conflict. In the case of Beowulf, it is old treasures

and weaponry, and in the Vita Pauli, the means for making coins during the wars of Antony and

Cleopatra. Both Jerome and the Beowulf-poet seem intent on a kind of historicizing literary play

here, though the Old English poem’s evocation of ancient strife seems much more significant to

its literary context.97

I notice one additional, minor point of interest, this time when Anthony seeks Paul out in his

desert hideaway.98 Again, it is associated with entering a cave and the perception of its homely

interior. When Anthony follows a she-wolf lured by a water-source into Paul’s cave, his own

perception of it as a liveable space is suddenly activated: “Tandem per caecae noctis horrorem

procul lumen intuitus.”99 Here the perception of light signifies the very same dawning awareness

on the incoming protagonist as in Beowulf, that the cave within is an inhabited place. In the case

of Anthony, of course, this means that he has found Paul, an inhabitant quite at odds with the

denizens of Grendel’s mere, and yet the language of perception is used to signify both. Beowulf

97 See Marijane Osborn, “The Great Feud: Scriptural History and Strife in Beowulf,” PMLA 93, no. 5 (Oct 1978):

977–78. 98 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” cols. 22a–25a. 99 Jerome, “Vita Pauli,” col. 24b. “At last, perceiving a light in the distance through the horror of the blind night…”

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“ongeat,” or perceived, that he was in some kind of cave.100 More similarly still, his realization

that the cave is inhabited comes from seeing light—specifically firelight.101

This element of prior, human or human-seeming fabricated space is one of the more fascinating

aspects of Beowulf’s treatment of monstrous natural settings. It clearly cannot be accounted for

only by hagiographical influence, as indeed any of these naturalistic elements cannot.

Christopher Abram, building on the work of Marijane Osborne, for example, acknowledges the

“two frames of reference” at work in the poem and its effect on the mere.102

Nevertheless, I find the process of a character peering into a presumably natural cave or hollow,

ultimately to perceive a space amenable to humans and associated with ancient craft or treasure,

interesting. In Beowulf, it is adapted into an apparently parodic inversion of the human hall.103 If

indeed it was a larger convention within the hagiographic record, it may very well have

provided part of the model that the Beowulf-poet adapted so effectively for this scene and its

thematic echo in the dragon fight.104

Regarding that dragon fight, it would be impossible to discuss wilderness depictions in Beowulf

without briefly addressing that other crucial depiction of monstrous wilderness in the poem, the

dragon’s lair. It will emerge that its depiction is somewhat less relevant to this discussion.

Nevertheless, there are some elements it shares with the wilderness as it appears in hagiography

and Grendel’s mere.

100 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 1512b. 101 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1516b–17. 102 Abram, “New Light,” 200; Osborn, “The Great Feud,” 973. 103 See Magennis, Images of Community, 132; Neville, Representations, 74–80; Calder, “Setting and Ethos,” 21–28. 104 See Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 2715b–19.

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5.4 Wyrm in the Wild

I have avoided addressing the dragon’s home primarily because—interwoven as it is with

reflective passages and historic digression—its elements are less homogenously depicted than

the two treatments of Grendel’s mere. Moreover, Christine Rauer and others have very

thoroughly covered its correspondence with hagiography and other Latin literature, to the point

that substantially retracing their steps would not be a profitable exercise in this study.105 Still,

some elements are shared in common between the Grendelkin’s and the dragon’s respective

homes, which I will discuss briefly here.

The most striking depictions of the dragon’s home come during Beowulf’s attack. While the

natural elements are incidental to the action, they are nonetheless present, and remarkably

similar to those of Grendel’s mere. He moves to attack “under stancleofu” (under cliffs of stone)

under which stanbogan (stone arches) appear in the cave.106 Out of this arch, a stream pours,

mingled with the fiery breath of the dragon in an obvious echo of Grendel’s “fyr on flode” (fire

on the water).107 Finally, in a very pointed reference to previous monstrous encounters within

the poem, Beowulf’s battle-cry explodes into the cave, “under harne stan” (under the hoary

stone).108 That is, however, the extent of the descriptors in this passage. It is nowhere near as

lengthy as the descriptive portion of Hrothgar’s preamble to the fight with Grendel,109 nor does

it provide a great many topographic details as does the extensively treated journey to the

mere.110

105 See James Carney, Studies in Irish History and Literature (Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies,

1955), 122–24; Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon, 52–86; Sorrell, “Approach,” 60–68; Calder, “Setting and Ethos,”

28–37; Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, xlv–xlvi. 106 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 2540a, 2545a. 107 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 2545b–49. Cf. l. 1366a. 108 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 2553b. Cf. ll. 887b, 1415a. 109 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1357b–66a. 110 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1408–21.

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Here, as in so many other wilderness descriptions, the poet depicts mountainous stone and

water. When the attack goes poorly for the human assailant and his retainer Wiglaf’s conscience

is pricked,111 the audience is alerted to that other among the three most common wilderness

elements, the presence of flora. The men wait and watch from the relative safety of a copse of

trees, a holt.112 Apart from these primary elements, there is not a great deal to correspond with

the lair of the Grendelkin. No winding paths are represented—although Beowulf does require a

guide to the dragon’s lair, suggesting an element of obscurity—nor are there ghostly fables

about the region told by the locals.113 Wildlife is present in the form of the dragon, but aside

from that creature, we are not treated to a wilderness characterized by sea monsters and wolves,

as we are at Grendel’s mere.

However, once Beowulf has successfully killed the dragon with the help of his young retainer

and become mortally wounded himself,114 there is one further element corresponding to other

depictions of the wilderness. He finds a vantage and surveys the area.

Ða se æðeling giong,

þæt he bi wealle wishycgende

gesæt on sesse; seah on enta geweorc

hu ða stanbogan stapulum fæste

ece eorðreced innan healde.115

Here the image of an internal structure, so fascinatingly accomplished in the case of the

Grendelkin’s cave, is again revealed.116 Both are described by means of the term reced

(building), the dragon’s barrow in the dithematic eorðreced (earth-building) and Grendel’s cave

111 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 2599b–608. 112 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 2598b. 113 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 2406–12a. 114 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 2669–715a. 115 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 2715b–19. “Then the nobleman moved so that he sat on a seat by a wall,

wisely reflecting. He looked upon the work of giants, how the enormous earthen structure within held the stone

arches firmly on pillars.” 116 See above, pp. 231–33.

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in the simplex.117 It is also similarly laden with treasure, to be subsequently retrieved by Wiglaf

for Beowulf’s benefit.118 Moreover, in an echo of the giant sword that decapitates Grendel

earlier in the poem, the architecture of the dragon’s barrow is described as enta geweorc (the

work of giants).119

Beowulf’s attack and his dying view—sparse as they are—give us our only sustained look at the

dragon’s lair. The poet seems much more intent on action, reflection, and digression than on

concrete description and conversation in this part of the poem.120 Still, it is interesting that

although the priority of this section seems not to rest on description, the elements of water, trees,

and mountainous stone are apparently so essential to the wilderness set-piece that they warrant

inclusion. The poet’s depiction of structured space within a wilderness lair, one of the more

fascinating elements found in both hagiography and Beowulf, provides an intriguing thematic

bridge to the earlier monster-fight. In the end, however, the dragon’s wilderness lacks the

coherent, discrete instances of representation that occur in the case of other natural locations.

It does, however, echo one aspect of Grendel’s mere: the presence of subterranean architecture

apparently designed and fit for habitation. In the earlier monster-fighting episode, this element is

found outside the descriptive scenes that most succinctly represent the Grendel-kin’s wilderness,

upon Beowulf’s descent into the mere and entry into Grendel’s home, but is nevertheless

essential to the character of the monstrous space. Clearly, the Beowulf-poet was intrigued by this

notion of fabricated space coopted by monsters.

There remains one point of interest to discuss. Unlike the element of subterranean architecture

and treasure, it is found within Hrothgar’s description of the Grendelkin’s wilderness proper. Its

117 Cf. Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1572b and 2719a. 118 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 2752–92a. 119 Cf. Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 1562b: “giganta geweorc.” 120 For the breakdown in interpersonal dynamics, see Orchard, Critical Companion, 261.

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presence in the hagiographical record is somewhat more difficult to isolate, however, and some

of its analogues appear outside the vitae I have discussed thus far. Therefore, it warrants

attention on its own. It is the interaction between water and sky, characteristic of the turbulent

weather surrounding Grendel’s mere.

5.5 Water and Sky

This last element occurs in Hrothgar’s description of the mere to Beowulf, in which he describes

the tumult of the waters in Grendel’s fantastical landscape. The relevant passage comes right at

the end of the king’s speech.

Þonon yðgeblond up astigeð

won to wolcnum þonne wind styreþ

lað gewidru, oð þæt lyft ðrysmaþ [MS: drysmaþ],

roderas reotað.121

The rest of this passage has been discussed at length above, but mainly with respect to those

highly naturalistic elements found in the vitae.

In this case, Hrothgar’s words seem to represent merely a fanciful bit of hyperbole in describing

awful weather rather than a truly otherworldly element like the fire burning on the water or, to a

lesser degree, the effect of Grendel’s mere on the hart.122 As such, it would not be unreasonable

to expect the appearance of an element like this in other potential source-texts like saints’ lives,

which, for all their miracle-stories and divine machinations, tend to remain fairly grounded in

their depictions of the wilderness.

Nowhere within the kinds of wilderness description scenes among the vitae that I have

examined is there an analogue quite like this element. Aside from the pool in which Wettinus’s

121 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1373–76a. “From there, the churning of the waves mounts up darkly to

the clouds when the wind stirs the hateful weathers, until they choke the sky; the heavens weep.” 122 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 1365–72a.

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Gall finds a “squamigeri gregis turba,” (commotion of a scale-bearing school [of fish]),123 there

is not a significant focus on the churning of hagiographical wilderness’s waters. We might

therefore assume that this element was either purely imaginative on the part of the Beowulf-poet

or was the result of another influential body of texts. I have, however, noticed similar elements

in two vitae, but these parallels occur outside of the bounds of the conventional hagiographical

wilderness depiction as it pertains to a saint’s hermitage. I will discuss this element as it occurs

in these two texts in chronological order.

The earliest life in which I detect a similarity is Muirchú’s Vita Patricii, which I have already

noted contains similarities to Beowulf with respect to Patrick’s sea journeys.124 I have noticed

another similarity, this time to Grendel’s mere, which occurs during a tribal confrontation just

after Patrick’s death. A dispute breaks out over the saint’s remains.125 Just as hostilities are

about to erupt between the tribes, God miraculously causes an inlet’s waters to rise up and

separate the peoples.

Sed fretum quoddam quod Collum Bouis uocatur merito Patricii, ne

sanguis effunderetur, et misericordia Dei, altis crispantibusque

intumescebat fluctibus et undarum uertices concaua rumpebant aëra et

dorsa in fluctibus tremula crispanti rissu et aliquando flauis uallibus in

certamine ruebant.126

The phrase “undarum uertices concaua rumpebant aëra” (the crests of the waves were striking

the hollow airs) in particular stands out. Muirchú describes the waves striking against the air,

although the language does not anticipate Beowulf’s in anything aside from image. Some

ambiguity arises around Beowulf’s manuscript reading of the passage, as well. If we accept the

emendation of drysmian (“to smother,” perhaps “to become smothered,” possibly “to darken”)

123 See above, p. 193; Wetti, “Vita Galli,” 262.29–31. 124 See Tables 3.1 and 3.2, pp. 138 and 158. 125 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 120.14–18. 126 Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 120.18–22. “But lest blood be shed, by the merit of Patrick and the mercy of God, a

certain inlet that is called Druimm Bó swelled with high and swirling currents, and the crests of the waves were

striking the hollow air, and the rippling ridges rushed in floods as though in a race, now in a curling surge and now

in hollow valleys.” See Bieler, ed., Book of Armagh, 212 for the interpretation of this passage.

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to ðrysman (to choke), the idea of the water assaulting the sky is reinforced.127 The impulse of

many editors is to emend the reading to ðrysman, as adopted by Fulk et al., and I see no reason

to question their choice.128 Regardless of an editor’s preference for ðrysman or drysmian, the

mere’s water, which “up astigeð / won to wolcnum” (darkly mounts up to the clouds) is

certainly depicted as rising up to the sky.

Among the other vitae belonging to Patrick, the Vita secunda, the Vita quarta and Probus’s vita

lack this language, although Probus does include the episode.129 The episode in the Vita tertia,

largely based on Muirchú’s narrative, describes the scene differently but reinforces the idea of

the waves surging to great heights: “Tunc maris fretum quod dicitur Muindain surrexit inter

duas plebes undis in altum tumescentibus.”130

The Vita Guthlaci has an even more fantastical episode, again set apart from any strictly

descriptive passage that treats his hermitage. In an echo of St. Anthony’s battle with demons,

Guthlac is battered and dragged to the hell-mouth, depictions of which constitute a notable

analogue for Grendel’s mere.131 Two passages strike me as especially relevant, the first of which

I quote here.

Horridis alarum stridoribus inter nubifera gelidi aeris spatia illum

subvectare coeperunt. Cum ergo ad ardua aeris culmina adventasset—

horrendum dictu!—ecce septentrionalis caeli plaga fuscis atrarum nubium

caliginibus nigrescere videbatur. Innumerabiles enim inmundorum

spirituum alas in obviam illis dehinc venire cerneres.132

127 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 1375; see R.D. Fulk, “Some Lexical Problems in the Interpretation and

Textual Criticism of Beowulf: Verses 414a, 845b, 986a, 1320a, 1375a,” Studia Neophilologica 77 (2005): 150–51.

Cf. Cameron, et al., eds., DOE, drysmian. 128 See Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, apparatus criticus for l. 1375. 129 Probus, “Vita Patricii,” 218.33–219.2. 130 Bieler, ed., Vita tertia, 187.3–5. “Then the inlet of the sea which is called Muindain surged up between the two

peoples with waves swelling up on high.” 131 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 100–2. 132 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 104. “They began to drag him through the overcast regions of the icy air amid the horrible

beating of their wings. And when he had arrived at the high summits of the sky—oh, horrifying to say!—the region

of the northern sky appeared to blacken with the dark shadows of black clouds, for thereupon you could see the

innumerable wings of unclean spirits coming upon them.”

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One major focus of this passage is the terrible weather, specifically the dark clouds that

accompany Guthlac’s captive journey to the hell-mouth. Even the legions of demons that come

from the north are first depicted as fuscae atrarum nubium caligines (dark shadows of black

clouds). Similarly, Felix writes that “septentrionalis caeli plaga fuscis atrarum nubium

caliginibus nigrescere videbatur” (the northern region of the sky appeared to blacken with the

shadows of dark clouds).133 Although this statement is in fact a depiction of a massive host of

demons blackening the sky, it evokes the dark, foreboding clouds found in Beowulf.134

Moreover, the frigid conditions are comparable to Hrothgar’s lað gewidru (hateful weathers),

which go hand in hand with the hrinde bearwas (icy trees) that overhang Grendel’s mere.135 The

scene is already fairly similar in character to the depiction of Grendel’s environs.

Once the party arrives at the gates of hell and Guthlac has suffered pangs at the torments he

witnesses inside, Felix again launches into a description of the place.

Non solum enim fluctuantium flammarum ignivomos gurgites illic

turgescere cerneres, immo etiam sulphurei glaciali grandine mixti

vortices, globosis sparginibus sidera paene tangentes videbantur.136

This description of the hell-mouth may contribute to our picture of Grendel’s mere substantially.

First, the combination of disparate elements, most notably ice and fire, calls attention to the “fyr

on flode” (fire on the water) that Hrothgar describes, although fire and water is not identical to

fire and ice.137 Still, the device of contrast is similar, especially considering the icy depiction of

Grendel’s mere with respect to the trees.

133 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 104. For the location of Hell in the north, see Healey, Old English Vision, 55–56. 134 Notably, if the manuscript reading of drysmian—discussed above (p. 252)—were to be maintained, instead of

the more plausible emendation to ðrysman, the sense of a darkening sky would possibly be present in Beowulf, and

match Guthlac more closely. However, that reading seems unlikely. See Cameron et al., eds., DOE, drysmian. 135 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 1363b. 136 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 104. “For not only could you discern the fire-breathing abysses of wavering flames

surging there, but the sulphurous storms mixed with frozen hail also appeared, almost touching the stars with

spraying drops.” 137 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 1366a.

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Moreover, the flying hail is yet another ideal fit for the image of lað gewidru (hateful weathers)

by any standard. The real point of interest, however, is the way in which this hateful weather is

described as “almost touching the stars.” Of course, this latter element seems to refer to the

weather rather than the water mounting up. But in the context of churning, conflicting elements

set against the sky in a hell-mouth environment, it is difficult to pass over this passage without

being reminded of Grendel’s mere.

Including these extra elements, I have amalgamated both descriptions of Grendel’s mere, the

main group of my hagiographical sample-texts, and the latter two elements—fabricated space

and water churned up to the sky—into Table 5.3, which accounts for all of the descriptors

discussed in this chapter. It can be clearly seen that when both of Beowulf’s wilderness

descriptions are accounted for, as well as a few elements found outside of the main depictions

but nevertheless treating the same wilderness, every single element of the conventional saintly

wilderness is present in Beowulf.

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Table 5.3: Green boxes indicate texts that contain the element in question unequivocally. Yellow indicates its existence, but presented

unconventionally, dubiously, or, in the case of a subsidiary element, outside of its most common primary element.

Beowulf Cyprian Antony

1

Antony

2

Paul

1

Paul

2

Hilarion

1

Hilarion 2 Columban Guthlac Gall I Gall II

Mountainous Terrain “fyrgenbeamas ofer harne stan”

Cf. “vasta rupe sylvarum” (Cyprian)

Stone

Cave

Water

Cascade

Departing Underground “niþer gewiteð”

Cf “ad inferiora delapsae” (Hilarion 1)

Conturbation “lyft ðrysmaþ”

“undarum uertices concaua rumpebant aëra” (Patrick)

Trees

Route

Inaccessibility

Obscurity “uncuð gelad”

Cf. incognita, vix notus (Guth)

avius avia

Difficulty “stige nearwe / enge anpaðas… neowle næssas”

Cf. angustas valles/angustis vallibus (Gall I, Gall II)

invius,

flexuosus

angustae

valles

angustae valles,

flexuosus

Length

Tracks “ferdon folctogan feorran ond nean / geond widwegas wundor

sceawian / laþes lastas”

Cf. “pergebat ferarum tantum vestigia intuens, et eremi latam

vastitatem (Paul 2)”

Wildlife

Natural

Supernatural “idese onlicnæs”

Cf. “in mulierum specie” (Gall I); “in effigie mulierum” (Gall II)

Fables

Negative Descriptors asper,

asperitas

asper asper asperitas

Fabricated Space

Perception of Interior

Hospitality

fyrleoht geseah

Cf. “lumen intuitus” (Paul 2)

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5.6 Matrices of Influence

While I find these sets of similarities—especially those similarities that are frequently

represented within the wider hagiographical record—between the scenes in Beowulf and the

vitae convincing, it is necessary to acknowledge that the texts I have proposed certainly share

their status as probable influences with a great many others. This is especially true with respect

to this instance of a natural, hostile landscape, apparently quite a popular subject for depiction in

many literary traditions. In the range of studies that address Grendel’s mere, there are

convincing links between Blickling Homily XVI and the Visio Pauli, along with Fry’s

observations regarding the larger Germanic convention of the “Cliff of Death.”138 These,

however, do not account for the more descriptive, naturalistic elements that may be found in

Beowulf and the vitae.

I have already mentioned the Old English Letter of Alexander to Aristotle above with respect to

its presence in the Beowulf-manuscript and its inclusion of water-monsters, there identified as

hippopotami.139 The episode in which Alexander’s men are assaulted by these creatures,

however, carries more similarities to Beowulf’s depiction of Grendel’s mere than simply this

lexical choice. The occasion for the episode is Alexander’s long, poorly watered march, during

which his army comes upon a river. In the Old English text, that encounter is depicted in this

way.

Þa ferdon we forð þy wege þe we ær ongunnon ða næs long to þon in

þæm westenne þæt we to sumre ea cwoman. On þære ea ofre stod hreod

& pintreow & abies þæt treowcyn ungemetlicre gryto & micelnysse þy

clyfe weox & wridode.140

138 See above, pp. 208–9. 139 See above, p. 225–26; Orchard, Pride and Prodigies, 41–42, n. 71. 140 Andy Orchard, ed., “The Letter of Alexander to Aristotle: Old English Text,” in Pride and Prodigies, 232. “Then

we went forth on the route which we had taken before, and it was not long before we came to a certain river in the

wilderness. On the bank of the river stood reeds and pines, and silver-fir trees of immense size and greatness grew

and flourished on the cliff.”

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The resonance of this passage with the analogous wilderness depictions in hagiography and

Beowulf is obvious: water and trees are explicitly depicted, and the trees stand atop a cliff, the

expression of mountainous rockiness found in many of my sample-texts.

The transmission of this passage into its somewhat loose Old English translation from its Latin

precursor provides points of interest.141 In Latin, the landscape is described in this way: “Nec

longe mihi in desertis locis flumen apparuit cuius ripas pedum sexagenum arundo uestiebat,

pinorum abietumque robora uincens grossitudine.”142 Significant omissions and one addition in

the Old English text stand out immediately. First, the Anglo-Saxon translator ignores the reeds’

depiction as enormous and taller than trees. He eschews giving them a specific height as well.

More significantly for our purposes, he adds the detail that the trees stand atop a cliff.

What to make of this apparently intentional addition is, of course, open to interpretation. One

might assume that the Letter’s Anglo-Saxon translator was participating in an Old English

poetic theme or type-scene that tended to include cliffs in addition to trees and water. No such

type-scene or theme has been specifically identified, and this scene contains none of the other

hallmarks of Fry’s “Cliff of Death”—serpents, darkness, deprivation, wolves, or wind.143 The

scene does align well with the trifecta of wood, water, and stone—here represented as cliffs—I

have observed in the overwhelming majority of hagiographical wildernesses and their

corresponding depictions in Beowulf. Moreover, the watery creatures that churn up the water,

attack men, and drag them to the bottom of the river bear a striking resemblance to the nicras’

behavior in Beowulf as well.

141 See Gerrit H.V. Bunt, Alexander the Great in the Literature of Medieval Britain (Groningen: Egbert Forsten,

1994), 16–18. 142 Orchard, ed., “The Letter of Alexander to Aristotle: Latin Text,” in Pride and Prodigies, 208. “And not long

after, a river appeared to me in the desert places, whose banks a reed of sixty feet enveloped, exceeding pine and

silver-fir trees in size.” 143 See above, pp. 208–9; Fry, “Cliff of Death,” 215.

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Since the Old English Letter is very likely a product of the late 9th century, it may be the case

that its translator was accessing the store of Old English poetic convention, of which Beowulf

was an early repository.144 Or perhaps he made an attempt to draw out more expansive literary

analogues from familiar hagiography than his source-material contained, including the full triad

of wood, water, and stone. In this effort, he may have been drawing on some of the same

sources as the Beowulf-poet.

If we accept the distinct probability that the Latin Epistola Alexandri was available before the

9th century, and considering the similarities between the behaviour of the creatures attacking

Alexander’s men in a watery wilderness and that of Beowulf’s nicras, it would not be impossible

that the Beowulf poet coopted some of this imagery, specifically that of the violent hippopotami

dragging men underwater, into his depiction of Grendel’s mere.145 The Beowulf-poet might then

have drawn the most prominent elements of his naturalistic landscape, the wood, water, and

cliffs—the lattermost absent from the Epistola—from a blend of hagiography and traditional

Old English poetic stock.

But from where did the Letter-translator draw his cliffs? There are, of course, numerous Old

English texts that contain Donald Fry’s “Cliff of Death” theme.146 Considering the translator’s

Latinate proclivities, however, the most likely source would seem to be hagiography, with its

frequent inclusion of wood, water, wildlife, and mountainous stone in wilderness scenes. More

intriguingly still, one wonders if the Anglo-Saxon translator might have drawn inspiration from

144 See Kenneth Sisam, Studies in the History of Old English Literature (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1953), 83–96;

Janet Bately, “Old English Prose Before and During the Reign of Alfred,” Anglo-Saxon England 17 (1988): 99;

Omar Khalaf, “The Old English Alexander's Letter to Aristotle: Monsters and Hybris in the Service of

Exemplarity,” English Studies 94.6 (2013): 666. 145 See Stanley Rypins, ed., Three Old English Prose Texts in Cotton Vitellius A.xv, (London: Published for the

Early English Texts Society by Humphrey Milford, Oxford University Press, 1924), xxxi–xxxiii; R.D. Fulk, ed. and

trans., The Beowulf Manuscript: Complete Texts and the Fight at Finnsburh (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,

2010), xiii. 146 See above, pp. 208–9, Fry, “Cliff of Death,” 215.

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Beowulf, which, as I contend, was itself a vehicle for conventional depictions borrowed from

hagiography. All speculation aside, this matrix of analogous features is fascinating and deserves

more attention.

Farther afield than the Beowulf-manuscript, another example can be found in the Historia

Apollonii regis Tyri. This Latin romance—inspiring an 11th-century Old English translation—is

found complete only in manuscripts from the 9th and 10th centuries, but has Greek roots reaching

probably to the 3rd century and was transmitted into Latin in the 5th.147 In the course of

Apollonius’s journeys, the 9th-century version tells of a shipwreck during the course of a voyage

as a result of bad weather, which is described in verse.148

Certa non certis cecidere

Concita tempestas rutilans inluminat orbem.

Aeolus imbrifero flatu turbata procellis

Corripit arva. Notus picea caligine tectus

Scinditque omne latus pelagi…

…revolumine murmurat Auster.

Volvitur hinc Boreas nec iam mare sufficit Euro,

Et freta disturbata sibi involvunt harenas

…et cum revocato a cardine ponto

Omnia miscentur. Pulsat mare sidera, caelum.

In sese glomeratur hiems pariterque morantur

Nubila, grando, nives, zephyri, freta, fulgida, nimbi.

Flamma volat vento, mugit mare conturbatum.

Hinc Nothus, hinc Borreas, hinc Africus horridus instat.

Ipse tridente suo Neptunus spargit harenas.

Triton terribilis cornu cantabat in undis.149

147 See G.A.A. Kortekaas, ed., The Story of Apollonius, King of Tyre: A Study of Its Greek Origin and an Edition of

the Two Oldest Latin Recensions (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 14, 100–1. References to Kortekaas’s edition will be given

in the form <chapter-number.line-number–chapter-number.line-number>. 148 For the date of this version, see G.A.A. Kortekaas, Commentary on the “Historia Apollinii regis Tyri” (Leiden:

Brill, 2007), 140–42. 149 Kortekaas, ed., Story of Apollonius, 11.6–21. “Certainties fell into uncertainties. The roused storm, flashing,

illuminates the world. Aeolus attacks [Neptune’s] agitated fields with a wind bearing rain in blasts. Nothus is

covered in a black shadow and rends every side of the ocean […] The South wind roars in wheeling. From here,

Boreas whirls and the sea cannot sustain Eurus, and the agitated straits roll themselves onto the sands. […] and all

things are mixed with the ocean, called back from the sky. The sea strikes the stars, the sky. The storm amasses

onto itself, and equally clouds, hail, snows, winds, seas, lightning, clouds linger. Flame flies in the wind; the

agitated sea bellows. Here Nothus, there Boreas, there horrible Africus approaches. Neptune himself splashes the

sands with his trident. Terrible Triton was bellowing in the waves with his horn.”

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Although laden with classical reference to a degree not regularly seen in hagiography, this

passage obviously shares several elements with other texts I have examined.

Most notably, the specific mention of the sea striking the sky resembles passages in Patrick’s

and Guthlac’s vitae, which themselves share the element of waves lashing the sky with

Beowulf.150 The flamma (flame) that the text presents as it flies through the wind, clearly meant

to be a depiction of lightning, seems to represent the same dynamic as Guthlac’s vision of hell,

in which fire and snow are blended in fantastical weather-patterns.151 And again, in Beowulf we

see unnatural elements of fire on the water amidst the icy trees around Grendel’s pool.152

Although the well-known Old English version of the Historia Apollonii from the 11th century is

almost certainly too late to have conceivably influenced Beowulf, it does suggest that there was

at least some insular interest in the legend, perhaps reaching much earlier into the Anglo-Saxon

period than our transmitted text. If it were present in England at the time, the Historia Apollonii

could equally be treated as a possible influence on Beowulf.

We might examine Beowulf’s wilderness elements with respect to another tradition as well:

classical heroic poetry in Latin. I have already mentioned the work of Theodore Andersson, who

took up the task of making comparisons between Beowulf’s scenes and those found in classical

epic.153 He devotes a chapter to both Beowulf’s sea journeys and Grendel’s mere, with some

convincing analogues in the Aeneid.154 However, he only points to a few similarities and, unlike

Tom Haber’s much earlier work, discounts the idea of phrasing as an influence.155 Rather, he

150 See above, pp. 239–43. 151 Felix, Life of Guthlac, 104. 152 Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, l. 1366a. 153 See above, pp. 4–5. 154 Andersson, Early Epic Scenery, 145–59. 155 Haber, “The Beowulf” and “The Aeneid,” 68–87.

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suggests that aspects of spatial management, perspective, and mood are used analogously in

both texts.156

Likewise, Anlezark points to the classical tradition, but this time filtered through the lens of

those poets that emulate its conventions in early medieval Christian epic. As I have briefly

alluded above, he first takes up the “Avernian” nature of the landscape, tracing it from Vergil,

Lucan, and Lucretius up through the Isidorian and Christian-heroic poetic traditions as

evidenced by Dracontius’s De laudibus Dei.157 I must say that the parallels Anlezark finds are

striking, and that the route of influence through the likes of Isidore and Dracontius seems

entirely plausible, especially in their depictions of the wilderness.158

It seems, then, that with respect to this aspect of Beowulf’s narrative, we are at the impasse of a

surfeit of possible sources to cover a rather limited body of material, with convincing evidence

for all possible influences. For my own part, I believe the case for influence is no stronger for

the classical or Christian-epic traditions than it is for hagiography. And, as I have asserted from

the outset, the case for the hypothetical Beowulf-poet’s literary—or perhaps auditory—habits

seems rather stronger for hagiography, considering its ubiquity and cultural relevance.159 In any

case, though any of the texts I have just recapitulated may be likely sources of influence, source-

work is not a zero-sum game, and hagiographical wildernesses seem to be a fruitful avenue for

continued comparison with Grendel’s mere.

Within my study, those saints’ lives that seem to share the most wilderness elements with

Grendel’s mere are Jerome’s Vita Pauli and Vita Hilarionis, with strong showings among the

Vita Columbani, Vita Guthlaci, and the lives of Gall, especially Walahfrid’s later version. As I

156 Andersson, Early Epic Scenery, 158–59. 157 See above, p. 211; Anlezark, “Poisoned Places,” 110–22. 158 For the spectrum of Latin authors available to the learned Anglo-Saxon, see Orchard, Poetic Art, 126–224. 159 See above, p. 22–24.

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have observed above, the lives of Gall have the distinction of sharing not only in a strong

preponderance of details analogous to Beowulf, but also in a similar overall narrative

structure.160 The rest of the vitae I have examined also share a significant amount of detail with

Beowulf, probably as a result of underlying currents of conventional representation within the

hagiographical genre. Ultimately, in the event that the Beowulf-poet was not specifically

familiar with the wilderness depictions in this particular array of sample-texts, the similarities

that I have observed demonstrate that he was very much aware of the currents of convention that

form their foundation.

160 See above, pp. 230–31.

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Chapter 6 Conclusions and Connections

In lieu of positing any direct connection between particular vitae and Beowulf, I believe this

dissertation has demonstrated two things. First, it has established patterns of representation that

seem to underlie a great many hagiographic depictions of sea journeys and the wilderness.

Although my objective has not been to map indebtedness within the Latin tradition, the

similarities among these depictions are self-evident, and point to a series of closely shared

literary conventions. Second, it has established that several vitae that were plausibly present in

Anglo-Saxon England by the time of Beowulf’s writing do seem to share a great many features

with that Old English poem.

If we assume that the Beowulf-poet was a Latin-literate cleric, it follows that these similarities

with hagiographic representations were not accidental, but rather the result of the influence of

his literary or auditory habits.1 From the similarities I have observed in this dissertation, those

habits seem in large part to have been composed of Latin hagiography. This effort has therefore

represented a kind of test or experiment that extends the work of those seeking analogues for

Beowulf in Latin hagiography, based partly on models laid out by the oral-traditional critics and

more recently appropriated by scholars like Christine Rauer.2

As a foray into a wide array of texts and an effort to bring together the constituent elements of

their apparently conventional representations of seafaring and the wilderness, the difficulty of

source versus analogue looms large.3 Even with an assumed compositional date for Beowulf in

the 8th or 9th century, we are left with uncertainty as to which texts among those that I have

selected could have provided a plausible source for the poem. As I discuss above, however, a

1 See above, pp. 1, 22–24. 2 See above, pp. 13–15. 3 See above, pp. 31–32; Rauer, Beowulf and the Dragon, 9–11.

253

more useful way of understanding my observations is to interpret these analogues as

representatives of a set of conventions running throughout the genre of hagiography.4

The strength of correspondence between Beowulf and these texts therefore points to the broad

influence of hagiography, regardless of the specific texts through which those conventions

would have passed from Latin to Old English. In other words, no one text is sufficiently

thorough in its analogues to be an indubitable source for scenes in Beowulf, and as a result of its

uncertain date and provenance, it is difficult to place texts absolutely within its literary milieu. I

therefore assert only that the body of hagiography of which my sample-texts are a part—much

of which is undoubtedly unavailable to us—provided the Beowulf-poet with a strong and

reiterative set of conventions from which to draw his imaginative material.

Nevertheless, some texts do indeed seem to show a high degree of correspondence with

Beowulf. Among the seafaring saints, there is a great deal of overlap between the poem and the

most thoroughly fleshed out sea journeys in hagiography that provide the core of my sample-

texts, including the Muirchú-derived lives of Patrick, the first voyaging episodes in the lives of

Samson, the Vita Columbani, the Vita Bonifatii, and some of the less extensive journeys as well,

including those of Germanus, Willibald, and Machutus.5 Those that are somewhat less broad in

their correspondence with Beowulf nevertheless provide details striking for their specificity.

Examples of the latter include the kisses of peace shared between the traveller and his

community in Columba’s, Ceolfrid’s, and Machutus’s lives,6 or the rejoicing on the shore upon

disembarking in the Vita Columbae and Hodoeporicon Willibaldi.7

4 See above, p. 37. 5 See above, p. 158, Table 3.2. 6 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 20; Bede, Abbots, 64; Bili, Life of Machutus, 32.17–34.19. 7 Adomnán, Life of Columba, 176; Huneberc, “Vita Willibaldi,” 91.10.

254

In the case of the wilderness depictions, by far the strongest correspondences with Beowulf take

place in the Vita Pauli and Vita Hilarionis, with many appearing in Columban’s, Guthlac’s, and

Gall’s lives, especially the later version.8 Moreover, the lives of Gall hold a special place among

my sample-texts, in that there is a remarkable alignment not only of shared elements, but overall

narrative outline, from initial descriptions of the haunted regions, through a journey ordered

similarly to that found in Beowulf, and culminating in similar types of wilderness encounters.9

Even those lives that do not seem to possess environments analogous to Grendel’s mere share

some elements that capture the attention, such as the image of water lapping against the sky in

the Vita Patricii, along with a more extensive wilderness comparand, the Vita Guthlaci.10

Among all of these texts, I find it especially significant that the Vita Columbani shares a

significant number of details not only with Beowulf’s seafaring scenes, but the descriptions of its

hostile wilderness.11

In spite of the compelling similarities between these vitae and Beowulf, the problem of dating

compels us to return to the distinction between source and analogue. The Vita Columbani is

extant in no Anglo-Saxon manuscript, and although it was possibly known by Bede, its presence

in England is not certain.12 Moreover, many of the texts most analogous to Beowulf, including

the bulk of Patrick’s vitae, the younger life of Samson, the Vita Machuti, and the lives of Gall,

are relatively late and therefore unlikely as possible sources to the scholars who date the poem

to the 8th century.13

In spite of the speculative presence of the bulk of the sample texts observed throughout this

study, there is very little concrete evidence for many of these vitae in Anglo-Saxon England left

8 See above, pp. 250–51. 9 See above, p. 230–31. 10 See above, pp. 239–43; Muirchú, “Vita Patricii,” 120.18–22; Felix, Life of Guthlac, 104. 11 See above, pp. 138, 158, Tables 3.1 and 3.2; pp. 220, 229, 244, Tables 5.1, 5.2, and 5.3. 12 See above, p 64; J.M. Wallace-Hadrill, Ecclesiastical History: Commentary, xxxiii. 13 See above, pp. 24–30, 43–44, 55, 98–99, 191.

255

to us. None of my sample-vitae exist in extant manuscripts that were of sufficiently early date to

have possibly been used by a Beowulf-poet of the 8th or 9th century, although many of the works

I have examined—especially the works of Bede and Felix—were certainly present early enough

to have done so. Interesting patterns can, however, be observed in the extant manuscript-record,

which may illuminate the practices of hagiographical compilers.

Worcester, Cathedral Library, F.48, an 11th-century manuscript from Worcester, is one example.

Although it is altogether too late to have been accessed by the Beowulf-poet, it contains the Vita

Antonii, the Vita Pauli, and the Vita Hilarionis.14 These three texts not only represent a

significant and closely linked trio of eremitical narratives, but also share a great many details

with Beowulf’s wilderness depictions.15 Similarly, the Vita Guthlaci and Vita Pauli travel

together in the 10th-century Canterbury manuscript, Cambridge, Corpus Christi College 389,

representing another compiler apparently interested in collating significant hermits.16 A slightly

later manuscript, Arras, Bibliothèque Municipale, 1029, originating from Canterbury in the 10th

or 11th century, contains four saints’ lives, those of saints Philibert, Dunstan, Cuthbert, and

Guthlac.17 Among this manuscript’s three Anglo-Saxon saints, two are hermits.

It may be that these manuscripts represent late examples of a trend of thematically linked

compendia. The Beowulf-manuscript itself seems to be one such compendium, focussed on the

dual themes of monstrosity and rulership rather than the eremitic life.18 If, however, earlier

compilers were equally inclined to include an array of similar eremetical vitae in their

manuscripts, it is entirely possible that such a manuscript would travel within the Beowulf-poet’s

literary sphere. This is admittedly a highly speculative point. However, further research into the

14 Gneuss and Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, no. 761. 15 Downey, “Intertextuality,” 22–45. 16 Gneuss and Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, 103. 17 Gneuss and Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, no. 781. 18 See Sisam, Studies, 96; Orchard, Pride and Prodigies, 26–27; Powell, “Men and Monsters,” 3–15.

256

textual histories behind late copies of my sample-vitae could address that speculation and point

to precursor-texts sharing earlier manuscript-contexts. That effort could help to establish more

likely sources for Beowulf based on concrete textual criticism and literary history.

Ultimately, these observations about our lack of certainty around textual availability in early

England reinforce the notion that finding the precise text the Beowulf-poet was reading by

identifying that which contains the most analogues may miss the point. At this juncture, rather

than identifying a particular source to which Beowulf might be indebted, identifying currents of

influence as they run throughout hagiography and into the adjacent literary circles may be a

more realistic and productive enterprise. In other words, our hypothetical Beowulf-poet would

be reading and hearing a great many hagiographical texts that share details and modes of

depiction, and would likely amalgamate the most consistently presented elements into his own

work. Therefore, the continuing identification of Latin literature’s availability in Anglo-Saxon

England alongside its textual history remains of utmost importance for the study of Beowulf.

The assertion that an Anglo-Saxon writer would have been exposed to some of the most popular

hagiographical figures is not groundbreaking. However, it does point us even more firmly in the

direction of a literate, bilingual, and very probably clerical Beowulf-poet. This poet appears to

have been writing an Old English poem couched in native traditions, stories, and formulae, but

narratively reliant on models derived from Latin literature, at least to some degree. Although

particular turns of phrase—in some cases defined by their specific narrative context—certainly

seem to originate from a native tradition,19 the poet apparently borrowed overarching scene-

structures and elements from models of literary representation that would arrive by means of

Latin hagiography. As such, while the Old English corpus certainly holds a great deal of value,

19 For seafaring, see especially Diamond, “Theme as Ornament,” 464–68 and Foley, Traditional, 336–44; for the

wilderness, see Fry, "Cliff of Death,” 215.

257

equally exciting directions for the future of studying Beowulf may be found in scouring the

hagiographic record.

If anything, this dissertation has demonstrated that two endeavours are crucially important for a

more complete understanding of a Latinate Beowulf-poet’s literary influences. First, cataloguing

efforts such as the Sources of Anglo-Saxon Literary Culture and the in-depth manuscript work

of Helmut Gneuss and Michael Lapidge represent an important focus for future work, especially

as they pertain to Latin texts available in Britain. Second, having increased our understanding of

specific Latin texts and the versions available in the Beowulf-poet’s likely literary milieu,

greater efforts should be undertaken to identify the Latin literary conventions specific to texts

certainly available in Anglo-Saxon England, and which a poet would be most likely to

incorporate into Beowulf. These efforts will serve to surpass the kind of study I have

undertaken—essentially identifying analogous conventional representations from a wide array

of hagiographies and comparing them to Beowulf—by identifying texts that were much more

certainly to be found within the Anglo-Saxon poet’s likely reading.

Efforts could also be extended to other kinds of scenes in Beowulf. Two come to mind. First, the

flyting that occurs between Beowulf and Unferth has been extensively treated for its ritualistic

significance in the Germanic tradition.20 Antagonistic verbal exchanges between saints and their

opponents are a common episode in saints’ lives as well, and frequently occur in a public setting

or political seat. One such altercation in Adomnán’s Vita Columbae is mentioned above, with

respect to a public contest between Columba and a profane magician.21

20 See Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 499–606; Carol J. Clover, “The Germanic Context of the Unferþ

Episode,” Speculum 55, no. 3 (July 1980): 444–68; Ward Parks, “Flyting and Fighting: Pathways in the Realization

of the Epic Contest,” Neophilologus 70, no. 2 (1986): 292–306; Ward Parks, “The Flyting Speech in Traditional

Heroic Narrative,” Neophilologus 71, no. 2 (1987): 285–95; Orchard, Critical Companion, 247–55. 21 See above, p. 86 and Adomnán, Life of Columba, 144.

258

The sequence of Beowulf’s death and funeral is another fascinating source for study.22 Like so

many other parts of the poem, it has been examined with respect to similarities with Germanic

tradition and classical epic.23 However, many saints’ lives also contain multi-stage deaths,

featuring deathbed exchanges with close companions and the ritualistic mourning of the

surrounding community. Not terribly far afield from this study, I detect similarities between

Beowulf and St. Anthony’s respective deaths and subsequent commemorations, as well as some

parallels with Bede’s Vita Cuthberti and how it depicts its eponymous hero’s last days.24

There are a great many aspects of the Old English poem that could be profitably compared to

hagiography. For now, however, this dissertation has suggested the ongoing utility of mining

saints’ lives for analogues to Beowulf. It demonstrates that Latin literature continues to represent

a promising avenue for advancing our study of the poem. If these kinds of efforts continue, they

cannot fail to provide more insight into Beowulf’s cultural context and the literary history behind

its creation.

22 See Fulk et al., eds., Klaeber’s Beowulf, ll. 2711b–3182. 23 See Schrader, “Beowulf’s Obsequies,” 243–58. However, cf. Martin Puhvel, “The Ride around Beowulf's

Barrow,” Folklore 94, no. 1 (1983): 108–12. See also Paul Beekman Taylor, “Snorri’s Analogue to Beowulf’s

Funeral,” Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Literaturen 201 (1964): 349–51. 24 See Athanasius, Vita di Antonio, 91.1–92.11; Bede, Two Lives of St. Cuthbert: A Life by an Anonymous Monk of

Lindisfarne and Bede's Prose Life, ed. and trans. Bertram Colgrave (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,

1940), 270–94.

259

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