If we compare the poem with the other epics of its class, its most formidable competitors are the anonymous Judith and Cynewulf's Christ. But Judith, though unquestionably more brilliant, is but a fragment of 350 lines, and the Christ, in spite of its many beautiful passages, is entirely lacking in movement. The Andreas is complete, and, if we except the long dialogue of Andrew and the Lord at sea, moves steadily towards the end with considerable variety of action. If the characterization is crude, the descriptions are vivid, the speeches are often vigorous, and the treatment of nature is throughout charming. It seems to me eminently suited by its subject and manner to stand as an example of the Old English religious epic, an example of a form of literature with which every serious student of our English poetry should be familiar. For English literature does not begin with Chaucer. He who would understand it well must know it also in its purer English form before the coming of the Normans.
[Sidenote: The Argument.]
It only remains to give a brief synopsis of the poem. It has fallen to the lot of Matthew to preach the Gospel to the cannibal Mermedonians; they seize him and his company, binding him and casting him into prison, where he is to remain until his turn comes to be eaten (1-58). He prays to God for help, and the Lord sends Andrew to deliver him (59-234). Andrew and his disciples come to the seashore and find a bark with three seamen, who are in reality the Lord and His two angels. On learning that Andrew is a follower of Jesus, the shipmaster agrees to carry him to Mermedonia (234-359). A storm arises, at which the disciples of Andrew are greatly terrified; he reminds them how Christ stilled the tempest, and they fall asleep (360-464). A dialogue ensues, in which Andrew relates to the shipmaster many of Christ's miracles (465-817). He falls asleep, and is carried by the angels to Mermedonia. On awaking, he beholds the city, and his disciples sleeping beside him. They relate to him a vision which they had seen. The Lord appears and bids him enter the city, covering him with a cloud (818-989). He reaches the prison, the doors of which fly open at his touch, and rescues Matthew, whom he sends away with all his company (990-1057). The Mermedonians, confronted with famine, choose one of their number by lot to serve as food for the rest. He offers his son as a substitute, but, as the heathen are about to slay their victim, Andrew interposes and causes their weapons to melt away like wax (1058-1154). Instigated by the Devil, they seize Andrew, and for three days subject him to the most cruel torments (1155-1462). On the fourth the Lord comes to his prison and heals him of his wounds. Beside the prison wall Andrew sees a marble pillar, which, at his command, sends forth a great flood, destroying many of the people (1462-1575). Andrew takes pity upon them and causes the flood to cease. The mountain is cleft and swallows up the waters, together with fourteen of the worst of the heathen. The others are restored to life and baptized. After building a church and appointing a bishop, Andrew returns to Achaia, followed by the prayers of his new converts (1575-1722).
THE LEGEND OF ST. ANDREW
Lo! we have learned of Twelve in days gone by,
Who dwelt beneath the stars, in glory rich,
Thanes of the Lord, whose courage for the fight
Failed never, e'en when helmets crashed in war,
From that time when they portioned each his place,
As God himself declared to them by lot,
High King of heaven above. Renownèd men
Were they through all the earth, and leaders bold,
Brave in the battle, warriors of might,
When shield and hand the helmet did protect 10
Upon the field of fate. Of that brave band
Was Matthew one, who first among the Jews
Began to write the Gospel down in words
With wondrous power. To him did Holy God
Assign his lot upon that distant isle
Where never yet could any outland man
Enjoy a happy life or find a home.
Him did the murderous hands of bloody men
Upon the field of battle oft oppress
Right grievously. That country all about,
The folkstead of the men, was compassèd
With slaughter and with foemen's treachery, 20
That home of heroes. Dwellers in that land
Had neither bread nor water to enjoy,
But on the flesh and blood of stranger men,
Come from afar, that people made their feast.
This was their custom: every foreigner
Who visited that island from without
They seized as food—these famine-stricken men.
This was the cruel practice of that folk,
Mighty in wickedness, most savage foes: 30
With javelin points they poured upon the ground
The jewel of the head, the eyes' clear sight;
And after brewed for them a bitter draught—
These wizards by their magic—drink accursed,
Which led astray the wits of hapless men,
The heart within their breasts, until they grieved
No longer for the happiness of men;
Weary for food they fed on hay and grass.
When to this far-famed city Matthew came, 40
There rose great outcry through the sinful tribe,
That cursed throng of Mermedonians.
Soon as those servants of the Devil learned
The noble saint was come unto their land,
They marched against him, armed with javelins;
Under their linden-shields they went in haste,
Grim bearers of the lance, to meet the foe.
They bound his hands; with foeman's cunning skill
They made them fast—those warriors doomed to hell— 50
With swords they pierced the jewel of his head.
Yet in his heart he honored Heaven's King,
Though of the drink envenomed he had drunk,
Of virtue terrible; steadfast and glad,
With courage unabashed, he worshiped still
The Prince of glory, King of heaven above;
And from the prison rose his holy voice.
Within his noble breast the praise of Christ
Stood fast imprinted; weeping tears of woe,
With sorrowful voice of mourning he addressed 60
His Lord victorious, speaking thus in words:—
"Behold how these fierce strangers knit for me
A chain of mischief, an ensnaring net.
Ever have I been zealous in my heart
To do Thy will in all things; now in grief
The life of the dumb cattle I must lead.
Thou, Lord, alone, Creator of mankind,
Dost know the hidden thoughts of every heart.
O Prince of glory, if it be thy will 70
That with the sword's keen edge perfidious men
Put me at rest, I am prepared straightway
To suffer whatsoever Thou, my Lord,
Who givest bliss to that high angel-band,
Shalt send me as my portion in this world,
A homeless wanderer, O Lord of hosts.
In mercy grant to me, Almighty God,
Light in this life, lest, blinded in this town
By hostile swords, I needs must longer bear
Reviling words, the grievous calumny
Of slaughter-greedy men, of hated foes. 80
On Thee alone, Protector of the world,
I fix my mind, my heart's unfailing love;
So, Father of the angels, Lord of hosts,
Bright Giver of all bliss, to Thee I pray,
That Thou appoint me not among my foes,
Artificers of wrong forever damned,
The death most grievous on this earth of Thine."
After these words there came to his dark cell
A sacred sign all-glorious from heaven,
Like to the shining sun; then was it shown 90
That holy God was working aid for him.
The voice of Heaven's Majesty was heard,
The music of the glorious Lord's sweet words,
Wondrous beneath the skies. To His true thane
Brave in the fight, in dungeon harsh confined,
He promised help and comfort with clear voice:—
"Matthew, My peace on earth I give to thee;
Let not thy heart be troubled, neither mourn
Too much in mind; I will abide with thee,
And I will loose thee from these bonds that bind 100
Thy limbs, and loose all that great multitude
That dwells with thee in strait captivity.
To thee I open by My holy power
The meadow radiant of Paradise,
Brightest of splendors, dwelling-place most fair,
That home most blessèd, where thou mayst enjoy
Glory and bliss to everlasting life.
Suffer this people's cruelty; not long
Can faithless men afflict thee sinfully
With chains of torment by their crafty wiles.
Straight will I send unto this heathen town 110
Andrew to be thy comfort and defense;
He will release thee from thine enemies.
Thou hast not long to wait; in very truth
But seven and twenty days fulfil the time,
When, sorrow-laden, thou shalt go from hence,
Under God's care, with victory adorned."
The Holy One, Defense of all mankind,
The angels' Lord, departed to the land
High in the heavens—He is the King by right, 120
Steadfast He rules supreme in all the world.
Exalted high was Matthew at the voice
New-heard. The veil of darkness slipped away,
Vanished in haste; and straightway came the light,
The murmuring sound of early reddening dawn.
The host assembled; heathen warriors
Thronged in great crowds; their battle-armor sang;
Their spears they brandished, angry in their hearts,
Under the roof of shields; they fain would see
Whether those hapless men were yet alive,
Who fast in chains within their prison-walls 130
Had dwelt a while in comfortless abode,
And which one they might first for their repast
Rob of his life after the time ordained.
They had set down, those slaughter-greedy foes,
In runic characters and numerals
The death-day of those men, when they should serve
As food unto that famine-stricken tribe.
Then clamored loudly that cold-hearted brood;
Throng pressed on throng; their cruel counsellors
Recked not at all of mercy or of right.
Oft did their souls, led by the devil's lore, 140
Under the dusky shadows penetrate,
When in the might of beings ever-cursed
They put their trust. They found that holy man,
Prudent of mind, within his prison dark,
Awaiting bravely what the radiant King,
Creator of the angels, should vouchsafe.
Then was accomplished, all except three nights,
The appointed time, the season foreordained,
Which those fierce wolves of war had written down,
At end of which they planned to break his bones, 150
And, parting straight his body and his soul,
To portion out as food to old and young
The body of the slain, a welcome feast;
They cared not for the soul, those greedy men,
How after death the spirit's pilgrimage
Might be decreed. So every thirty nights
They held their feast; most fierce was their desire
To tear with bloody jaws the flesh of men 160
To be their food. Then He, who with strong might
Stablished this world, was mindful how that saint
Abode in misery 'mongst stranger men,
Fast bound in chains—that saint who for His sake
Had suffered from the Hebrews, had withstood
The magic incantations of the Jews.
Where in Achaia holy Andrew dwelt,
Guiding his people in the way of life, 170
A voice was heard from out the heavens above.
To him, that steadfast saint, the Lord of hosts,
Glory of kings, Creator of mankind,
Unlocked the treasure of His heart, and thus
In words He spake:—"Thou shalt go forth and bear
My peace, and journeying shalt fare where men,
Devourers of their kind, possess the land,
And hold their home secure by murderous might.
This is the custom of that multitude:
Within their land they spare no stranger's life,
But when those evil-doers chance to find
A helpless wight in Mermedonia, 180
Death must be dealt and cruel murder done.
I know that 'mongst those townsmen, fast in chains,
Thy brother dwells, that saint victorious.
It lacks but three nights of the time ordained,
When, midst that people, by the hard-gripped spear,
In struggle with the heathens, he must needs
Send forth his soul all ready to depart;
Unless thou come before the appointed time."
Straightway did Andrew answer him again:
"My Lord, how can I o'er the ocean deep 190
My course accomplish, to that distant shore,
As speedily as Thou, O King of glory,
Creator of the heavens, dost command?
That road thine angel can more easily
Traverse from heaven; he knows the watery ways,
The salt sea-streams, the wide path of the swan,
The battle of the surf against the shore,
The terror of the waters, and the tracks
Across the boundless land. These foreign men
Are not my trusty friends, nor do I know
In any wise the counsels of this folk; 200
To me the cold sea-highways are unknown."