Читать книгу Children's Stories in English Literature: From Taliesin to Shakespeare - Henrietta Christian Wright - Страница 6

The invaders, the fair-haired races from across the sea, who had come to drive the Britons from their homes, had also their songs, fierce and warlike as best pleased their savage natures, and well fitted to kindle in their hearts that wild enthusiasm that made them such terrible enemies in battle. Never could the harpers sing a song too fierce for these war-loving Saxons, who believed that only those who died in battle might find entrance to the hall of Odin, their chief god, and the feasts of the heroes in Valhalla.

Best liked of all these songs was that of Beowulf, the hero whose brave deeds were known to all the races living on the borders of the North Sea. And this is the story:

Hrothgar, King of the Danes, determined to build a palace that should be forever renowned for its magnificence. So he sent all over the world for the most skilled workmen, and they came from the North and the East and the South, and in time the palace arose, stately and beautiful, and was named Heorot, from the stags' antlers which adorned the eastern and western gables. And its great mead-hall, the largest in the world, was famed among the nations for its size and splendor. Its arched roof was adorned with beautiful carvings, and its walls were hung with costly tapestry, and golden veils on which were curiously enwrought the sieges and wars of ancient times. At the upper end of the hall was the raised seat of the chief, carved in strange patterns, studded with jewels, and hung with webs of spun gold; and at the lower end stood a table which held the drinking-horns and gold and silver goblets used at the royal feasts. Through the centre of the hall, from end to end, stretched the stone hearths, on which blazed the mighty fires, and on either side of the hearths were the tables and benches for the people, the chief's "hearth-sharers." Lofty columns and pillars, carved and twined with chains of linked gold, supported the roof, and the floors were of polished wood and inlaid with rare designs. And Hrothgar was well satisfied with his beautiful palace, and ordered feasts to be held continually in the great mead-hall, where he sat in his lofty seat with his wife and nobles by his side, and listened to the songs, and distributed rings and rich gifts to all who were worthy of honor.

But evil days fell upon Heorot. One night, after a great feast, the mead-hall was entered by Grendel, the grim dragon who dwelt in the dismal fens, and was at enmity with all the races of men. The hall was full of sleeping warriors, and the hungry monster carried off thirty of Hrothgar's bravest thanes, and bore them to his den, and devoured them with greedy joy. Great was the lamentation in Heorot when the morning light disclosed the work of Grendel, and the sorrow-stricken chieftains tracked the blood-stained course of the monster to the fastnesses of the fens, and tried in vain to catch sight of their lost companions. But Grendel only mocked at their sorrow and returned to Heorot the next night, and resumed his deadly work; and despairing fear fell upon the heart of Hrothgar and his thanes, for they well knew that to war against Grendel was all in vain, for him could neither steel nor iron injure, as his scaly coat was more impenetrable than the strongest armor, and his breath was as poison to all who came near him.

Wherefore there was wailing in Hrothgar's palace night after night, for Grendel held grim sway in the mead-hall, and for twelve long years wrought sorrow in the gold-decked halls of Heorot. And the hall of feasting was deserted, and there was woe all over the land.

And the tale of distress was carried to all the neighboring kingdoms, and came to the ears of Beowulf, the Goth, bravest of Scandinavian warriors, who had in his right arm the strength of thirty men. And his heart grieved over the sorrows of Hrothgar, and he resolved if possible to free him from his enemy. So he ordered a ship to be built, and choosing fifteen of his bravest warriors, sailed away for the land of the Danes. The good ship bore them over the waters like a bird, its foam-wreathed prow glistening, and its deck filled with brave watchers; and on the second day they saw the shining cliffs and broad seanesses of Denmark.

As they sprang out on the shore they were met by the warden of the coast, who learning their errand, conducted them over the stone-paved roads until they saw the shining walls of Heorot, and then returned to the coast to guard the ship during their absence.

Beowulf and his companions entered the palace, their coats of mail glistening and their armor clanging as they traversed the long hall, and being exceedingly weary with their journey, set up their gilded shields and bucklers against the walls, piled up their long spears, and threw their war shirts in a ring on the mead benches. Then Beowulf sent Wulfgar, the king's chamberlain, to demand audience of Hrothgar, which was readily granted, for the hero's fame and nobility were well known. Then Beowulf and his warriors entered the presence of the great chief, wearing their linked war-shirts and helmets, but leaving their arms piled in the hall; and Beowulf greeted the king courteously, and also the queen and the great nobles, and said: "Hail, Hrothgar! Beowulf am I, thane and kinsman to Hygelac the Goth. Hither have I come, hearing of thy evil case, to do battle with Grendel. Oh, Prince of the bright Danes, refuse not my boon, but grant that I and my earls may fight the hero-devouring monster. Unarmed will we meet him, for he cares not for the weapons of men, and if I conquer, then will there be joy in these halls; but if I fall, send my war-shirt—wrought by the noted Weland—back to Hygelac, that he may know of my death, and that all in vain we followed the swan's path to the coasts of the Ring-Danes."

And Hrothgar answered: "Shame and sorrow have ruled long in Heorot, O Beowulf, and if thou wilt rid the land of this dreaded curse, then indeed shall praise and honor be thine from the chief of the bright Danes."

Then there was feasting and merry-making that night in the great mead-hall, and Wealtheow the queen, clad in gold-embroidered garments, bore to the guests costly jewelled goblets, and passed to and fro with her maidens distributing gifts to the heroes. And when the feast was over, one by one the Ring-Danes withdrew from the hall and left Beowulf and his companions alone; and the Goths lay down to rest with anxious hearts, scarce expecting ever to see again their country and friends.

Then through the darkness came Grendel, creeping from the misty moors, and laughed as he entered the great mead-hall and saw the sleeping warriors. Quick as thought he seized one of the thanes, tore him limb from limb, drank his blood, and devoured him hand and foot. Then he stepped to where Beowulf lay, and seized the hero in his baleful grasp. But the Goth was awake and ready for the foe, and seized Grendel with such a grip of iron that the monster trembled with fear, for never before had he felt the strength of such a hand, and he dreaded lest his hour had come at last, and would have been glad to creep away again to the fens and leave Heorot in peace. But Beowulf held him with his mighty strength, and the two joined in deadly combat. The great hall trembled under the fierce blows, and would have fallen had it not been firmly held together by its cunningly wrought bands of iron. The gold-adorned mead-benches were overturned, and the ale ran in streams over the floor. But Beowulf ceased not till he had given Grendel his death-wound, and the monster had fled to his den to die, leaving one of his hands behind him in the hall, and staining all the moors with the blood from his wounds.

Then there was joy in Heorot, and the glad news spread far and wide, and Hrothgar's thanes came riding quickly to the palace to survey the scene of the conflict. And all gazed with wonder at the wreck of the mighty hall, of which not a part was uninjured excepting the roof, and every thane felt himself honored at being permitted to see Beowulf, the hero of the fight. And then the whole company followed the track of Grendel over the noisome fens till they came to the lonely mere, and saw the surge dyed with blood and the shores shrouded with gray, poisonous vapors, and knew that the dreaded monster had crept thither to die, and that he would trouble them no more.

Then the cunning smiths set to work and forged new bands of iron, and repaired the mead-hall, which was soon made fresh by the willing hands of men and maidens, and shone at sunset as fair and beautiful as ever, hung anew with golden webs, and with its gold-adorned mead-benches waiting for the heroes. And that night the king gave a feast in honor of Beowulf, and songs were sung and mead drunk in honor of the Goth, and the king made him beautiful presents, a golden flag with jewelled standard, a helmet with the figure of the boar flashing its jewelled eyes from the crest, a coat of mail whose links were of rarest workmanship, and a sword of priceless value. And there were brought into the court eight steeds of noble size, and on one of them was a cunningly wrought saddle, blazing with gold and gems, and these also Hrothgar gave to Beowulf, and Wealtheow brought to him a cloak embroidered with gold, and a gold neck-ring of such size that it was a marvel to all beholders, and said, "Hail, Beowulf! wear this cloak and this ring in honor of thy victory, and in token of our abiding friendship, and mayst thou be a friend to this house forever! for the praise of thy deed shall spread throughout all time, even as the waters gird all over the earth the windy walls of the land." And the feast lasted long into the night, and when it was over the warriors placed their shields, and war-shirts, and helmets, and spears at their heads and lay down to rest, fearing no evil.

But scarcely had the great hall become quiet, when, from the deadly streams that guarded the fens, came the sea-wolf, Grendel's mother, to avenge her son, and entering the hall, seized Æschere, the king's dearest thane, and bore him quickly away to her den. Now, again, there was anguish in Heorot, but again Beowulf offered himself as a champion, and sought the refuge of the wolf under the shadow of the hills, where black mists hung over the down-rushing streams, and a magic fire gleamed at night above the flood wherein swam dragons and serpents. And he entered the loathsome flood and sank down to the sea-wolf's dwelling, and, seizing an old sword which he saw gleaming there, forged by giants, and greater than any other man might bear, struck the murderess with the mighty brand, and slew her. The place was full of gold and gems and war weapons of strange workmanship; but Beowulf bore away only the rich sword hilt and the head of Grendel, and so rose up again to the surface of the waters and swam to the land, and was joyfully welcomed by the warriors who had feared his death.

Then there was more rejoicing in the halls of Hrothgar, and when Beowulf finally sailed away again to his own land, his good ship could scarcely bear the weight of the treasure that Hrothgar had given him, and every man bore with him a priceless heirloom that would win him an honorable position at the court of Hygelac. And when the watchers on the coast of Norway saw the ship of Beowulf appear with its gilded boar's head flashing from the prow, they sent word in haste to the court, and the king made ready to receive the hero royally, and he was loaded with honors, and his praises were sung throughout the length and breadth of all Scandinavia.

And then the old story relates other adventures of Beowulf, and tells how he finally succeeded to the kingdom and ruled fifty years wisely, well-beloved by the people; and how he died at last, while trying to free the land from a demon who ravaged it, and so kept his bright renown to the end.

Although the story of Beowulf is, so far as its incidents are considered, a Scandinavian legend, it is, considered as literature, an English poem, and, if we except the Paraphrase of Caedmon (about which we shall hear in the next chapter, and which was written about the same time, probably), the oldest poem in the English language. It is, as a poem, not Scandinavian but English, because it is written in the language formed after the Saxons had been long in Britain and had mixed with those of the Britons whom they did not drive into Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, and because not only the language but the scene of it is English. So far as we know, the story was never written at all before the Saxons came to Britain, and the poem is English literature in somewhat the same way (though of course by no means to the same degree) that Shakespeare's "Hamlet," for example, is English literature, though its story is taken from old Danish chronicle. All the Britons had not been driven out by the invaders, and the new race was in part British, although chiefly Anglo-Saxon, of course. And the influence of the old British songs and of the new country into which the Saxons had come, was really what gave its form and its scene to the old story retold and made into a true poem. All the scenery of the poem is English, and anyone can now find along the coast of Yorkshire the places described in it, while the country in Denmark, where the incidents of the story are supposed to have happened, is very different. It is these things as well as its early date which give the poem of Beowulf so much importance as a monument of early English literature.

The Saxons had other songs celebrating their victories over the Britons, and their adventures in the chase, and from these as well as from Beowulf we learn that, even in those early days, they held courage and brave deeds in highest honor, and valued the power of self-sacrifice. And whether we catch a glimpse of the old Britons with their tattooed bodies and floating hair rushing to battle, or wandering over the fens, or standing in solemn awe in the shadows of the deep forests where the Druids kept their treasures, guarded only by the sacredness of the place—or whether we see the conquering Saxon in his lordly hall, with his gleemen singing before him, and his earls drinking great draughts of ale, it is all a part of the same wonderful picture in which we see the England of former days, when tribe was pitted against tribe and race against race in contest for the land which each claimed so fiercely for his own.