Anglo-Saxon Literature

by John Earle

THE POETRY

preserves many traces of heathendom. The unconscious relics of old mythology that are imbedded in the recurrent formulæ of the heroic diction is one of our strongest proofs that this diction was already matured in heathen times. A very prominent term is Wyrd = Destiny, Fate; which is the same as the Urðr of the Scandian mythology, one of the three fates, Urðr, Werðandi, Skuld = Past, Present, Future. In Wyrd, the whole of the attributes are included under one name; and it counts among the marks of affinity between the Heliand and our Anglo-Saxon literature, that the same thing is observed there also, though in a less distinct manner. In the “Beowulf” it is said:—“Wyrd often keeps alive the man who is not destined to die, if his courage is equal to the occasion.” Wyrd is said to weave, to prescribe, to ordain, to delude, to hurt. In Cædmon she is wælgrim = bloodthirsty. And the heathen association may still be felt, even when the name of Wyrd is displaced by a name of the Christian’s God, as in “Beowulf” where we read:—“The Lord gave him webs to speed in war.”[48] In the Heliand the attributes are less varied, the vaticination is wanting, and Wurð seems almost the same as Death.

But the old tradition of the three mysterious women lived on in this island. It is now best known to us through the German Fairy Tales, where we have the three spinning women. In the Middle Ages there was a remembrance of these mysterious visitants in a certain ceremony of spreading a table for three, whether for protection to the house at night, or to bring good luck to the children born in that house. In the Penitential of Baldwin, Bishop of Exeter (twelfth century), this superstition is noted, and the latter motive assigned.

The monks of Evesham kept up a tradition which traced the origin of their house to a vision of three beautiful maidens, in heavenly garments, sweetly singing. They were seen by a swineherd in the forest, when he was in search of a lost swine, and he went to Bishop Ecgwine and told him. The bishop arrived at the place, was favoured with the same vision, and founded the monastery there. The device on the abbey seal represented this vision.

A less pleasing vision of the Three Sisters is narrated by Wulfstan of Winchester, a poet of the tenth century, who has left us a Latin poem of the Miracles of St. Swithun. In it he tells how, coming back one evening towards Winchester, he was met by two hideous females, who commanded him to stop, but he ran away in terror; he was then met and stopped by a third, who struck him a blow from which he suffered for the remainder of his life; but the three women plunged into the river and disappeared.

The same three appear in Macbeth as the Weird Sisters; and it is probably from this connexion that weird has become an adjective for all that savours of heathenism.

A frequent word for battle and carnage is wæl, and the root idea of this word is choice, which may be illustrated from the German wählen—to choose. The heathen idea was that Woden chose those who should fall in battle to dwell with him in Walhalla, the Hall of the chosen. In the exercise of this choice, Woden acted by female messengers, called in the Norse mythology valkyrja, pl. valkyrjor.[49]

All superior works in metal, as swords, coats of mail, jewels, are the productions of Weland, the smith. His father is called Wudga, and his son is called Wada; and with this child on his shoulder Weland strides through water nine yards deep. This was matter of popular song down to Chaucer’s time:—

He songe, she playede, he told a tale of Wade.

“Troylus and Crescyde,” iii., 615.

He had by Beadohild another son, in German named Witeche, who inherited his father’s skill and renown. For his violence to Beadohild, Weland was lamed; but he made for himself a winged garment, wherewith he took his flight through the air. He is at once the Daidalos and the Hephaistos of the Greeks. The translator of the Boethian Metres has taken occasion to bring in this heathen god, whose cult (it seems) was still too active. In Metre ii., 7, where Boethius has the line—

Ubi nunc fidelis ossa Fabricii manent?

under colour of faber = smith, which the name Fabricius suggests, Weland is made a fruitful text:—

Hwær sind nu thæs wisan Welandes ban, thæs goldsmithes the wæs gio mærost? Forthy ic cwæth thæs wisan Welandes ban, forthy ængum ne mæg eorthbuendra, se craft losian the him Crist onlænth. Ne mæg mon æfre thy eth ænne wræccan his craftes beniman the mon oncerran mæg sunnan on swifan and thisne swiftan rodor of his riht ryne rinca ænig. Hwa wat nu thæs wisan Welandes ban, on hwelcum hi hlæwa hrusan theccen?

Where now are the bones of Weland the wise, that goldsmith so glorious of yore? Why name I the bones of Weland the wise, but to tell you the truth that none upon earth can e’er lose the craft that is lent him by Christ? Vain were it to try, e’en a vagabond man of his craft to bereave; as vain as to turn the sun in his course and the swift wheeling sky from his stated career— it cannot be done. Who now wots of the bones of Weland the wise, or which is the barrow that banks them?

One of the most striking points of contact between our relics of mythology and those of the Edda occurs in the “Beowulf,” where mention is made of the famous necklace of the Brosings (or, as Grimm would correct, Brisings).

In the Edda the goddess Freyja is the owner of a precious necklace, called Brîsinga men. She had acquired this jewel from the dwarfs, and she kept it in an inaccessible chamber, but, nevertheless, it was stolen from her by Loki. Therefore Loki is Brîsings thiofr, the thief of the Brising necklace; and Heimdallr fought with Loki for it. When Freyja is angry the heaving of this ornament betrays her emotion. When Thôrr, to get his hammer back, disguises himself as Freyja, he fails not to put on her famous necklace. From its mention in Anglo-Saxon poetry, Grimm would infer the familiarity of the Saxon race with the whole story.[50]

But what adds vastly to the interest of this legend is that we find it in Homer. It is essentially the same with the belt of Aphrodite (Hymn, l. 88). In Iliad xiv., 214, Aphrodite takes it off and lends it to Hêrê to charm Zeus withal. When we add that just above in the same context (Iliad xiv., 165) Hêrê also has a curiously contrived chamber, made for her by Hephaistos (Vulcan), the parallel is too close to be mistaken.