Beowulf digresses from tale to tale, allowing sub-plots and intricate retellings to occur. This reliving of events is significant, but it causes the story to splinter off into peaceweavers and the deaths of a noblewoman’s family. In the end, it comes full circle, returning exactly to the ideas it had in the beginning. “We have heard of the glory of bygone days/ of the folk-kings of the spear-Danes, / how those noble lords did lofty deeds” (Ln. 1-3). These lines show we begin with a culture that already has its established traditions, folklore and war stories, and heroes, and so has developed cultural pride. The Danes seem tribal, with their social codes of loyal unity, and have names like subcultures within the tribe, sometimes referring to the region of origin (“West-Danes”), a practice to which they adhere (“Ring Danes”), or a description that could refer to the physical or the character (“Bright-Danes”). This is the audience’s first introduction to a culture, and even the modern reader can appreciate the sense of civic pride that emanates from these words.
We begin with the story with the story of the last great king, and we are told very little. He was powerful both locally and abroad, he had a son (who will later be of extreme importance), and he died. His “dear comrades” brought his body to a boat fully loaded with tribute, and in an elaborate aquatic funeral, “let the waves have him” (Ln. 29, 48). This is not some meaningless ritual; they are adhering to his specific wishes for such a burial. They do so out of respect for their ruler, but also out of love, as they “gave him to the Deep with grieving spirits, / mournful in mind” (Ln.49-50). That they “gave” implies a giving up, a relinquishing, and they do so with great, genuine emotion. No stoicism here. But the idea of presenting or even bequeathing the “Deep” with someone so important must have been daunting, as the word deep suggests something that is without bottom or unfathomable, and the capitalization adds emphasis. The “Deep” is the ultimate mystery, and his people are happy to encourage him to take one last chance for more lofty deeds. They have also been left with a new king, the son, well-regarded in his own right.
When Beowulf himself dies at the end, the story redoubles onto itself, repeating the similar scenes which opened the book. Now the son, who was a boy when we began, is being given over to the deep by his people “with heavy spirits/ they mourned their despair, the death of their lord” (Ln. 3146-9). Even if we had not read the book which is full of the specific tales of derring-do, we would know from these lines that this is the funeral of a beloved and benevolent ruler. The final lines reiterate this, “they said that he was of all the kings of the world/ the mildest of men and the most gentle, / the kindest to his folk and the most eager for fame” (Ln. 3180-3). There is a sense of sarcasm in calling the killer of monsters gentle and mild, which may be an attempt at levity on the part of the author or be the truth, that there was rarely any need for him to be so bloodthirsty again. It is interesting that he is called kind because it establishes the idea that being generous and compassionate also fall under the category of lofty deeds. Lastly is his enthusiasm for renown, in which all of his aforementioned qualities are combined to make him famous. The story ends on this note, possibly because the author wants to acknowledge that conceit in him after completing such an epic tale. But is it that this has been Beowulf’s goal all along, to be as good as his father was? Has he been doing all of this just to become distinctive? It is successful, and Beowulf’s fame has endured. Still, he is not the only one who is preserved and portrayed for posterity. His people, by adoption or birth, are also shown, their lives and misfortunes, even if ever so briefly. Even in the last section, as the Geats prepare the body for the pyre, an individual is singled out, given immortality and importance, as “a sorrowful song sang the Geatish woman, / with hair bound up” (Ln.3149-50). The field narrows from the king to the people to one woman mourning, and this accomplishes the task of presenting the lofty deeds of the ordinary as well as the extraordinary. It is this minor digression that aids the full circle, so that instead of the story ending as it began, with the death of a king and the beginning of his son’s rule, it ends with the people, represented by a woman, who is arguably the least valued in that culture, mourning and paying their respects. What began as a story of high ranked and rarified others ends as a tale of encouragement, inspiring us all to slay dragons. Beowulf inspires us to believe that fame and glory can be for everyone.
2 comments:
I definitely agree that these sub-plots of ulterior stories prove necessary in the telling of Beowulf. They are also associated with the main story and achieve immortality.
There is an association to this legacy felt by the Geat people, but it is interesting to end with the elder Geat woman. Not only are we ending the story with a less important character, but she is unnamed. The anonymity helps this posting's point as well, because the person is not concretized, except that her hair is bound up. This lady could be anyone, which ties to the point in the posting of glory being for everyone.
This is a really good note on which to bid farewell to Beowulf: by mapping out some of the poem's recursive structure, the way in which it "redoubles on itself," which is such a crucial part of its effect. I also really like your reading of the final scene around Beowulf's pyre, wherein "[t]he field narrows from the king to the people to one woman mourning." The point that this subtly but precisely shifts the poetic focus from heroic others to figures who are much more like "ourselves" is a critical one for our course.
I'm not sure how much I would interpret this modulation of focus as a sign of encouragement and empowerment, though. I read the poet's empathetic attentiveness to the grief of the Geats, and in particular the one Geatish woman, as more of an implicit judgement on Beowulf and a sign of the consequences of his decisions. Beowulf has continued to act as a "rarefied other," a monster-killing aeglaeca, even as an aged king who should be "shepherd of his people." Kings can't just divorce themselves from their followers and subjects and go charging into the breach; they have broader responsibilities. As Wiglaf says, "Often many earls must suffer misery / through the will of one man" (3077-3078). By othering himself to fight his final monster, Beowulf has simultaneously saved his people and doomed them. This in no way denies or invalidates the eulogies that the woman and the warriors (and the poet) sing to him, but it does give an extra wrench to the sudden tight focus on these figures.
The poem leaves the Geats in the same situation as the Danes at its opening: in "dire distress..., lordless" (15) - another way in which everything comes full circle. Does this also mean that it leaves us with hope for the coming of another King Scyld? Has Beowulf, in some sense, left the opportunity for another such redemptive intervention from outside? By sacrificing himself and leaving no heir behind, has he given some form of providence room to work? Structurally, with our return to the beginning, it's possible, but we have nothing beyond structure to go for. Moreover, Scyld only saved the Danes by "seiz[ing] the mead-benches / of many tribes" (4-5) - that is, only by doing what Grendel himself did. The poet seems to imply that it will take better than this to really break the cycle.
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