Hero-Myths & Legends of the British Race
shadows of night and distance, but no man under heaven knoweth what
shore now holds the vanished Scyld. The descendants of Scyld ruled and
prospered till the days of his great-grandson Hrothgar, one of a
family of four, who can all be identified historically with various
Danish kings and princes.
Hrothgar's Hall
Hrothgar was a mighty warrior and conqueror, who won glory in battle,
and whose fame spread wide among men, so that nobly born warriors, his
kinsmen, were glad to serve as his bodyguard and to fight for him
loyally in strife. So great was Hrothgar's power that he longed for
some outward sign of the magnificence of his sway; he determined to
build a great hall, in which he could hold feasts and banquets, and
could entertain his warriors and thanes, and visitors from afar. The
hall rose speedily, vast, gloriously adorned, a great meeting-place
for men; for Hrothgar had summoned all his people to the work, and the
walls towered up high and majestic, ending in pinnacles and gables
resembling the antlers of a stag. At the great feast which Hrothgar
gave first in his new home the minstrels chanted the glory of the
hall, "Heorot," "The Hart," as the king named it; Hrothgar's desire
was well fulfilled, that he should build the most magnificent of
banquet-halls. Proud were the mighty warriors who feasted within it,
and proud the heart of the king, who from his high seat on the dais
saw his brave thanes carousing at the long tables below him, and the
lofty rafters of the hall rising black into the darkness.
Grendel
Day by day the feasting continued, until its noise and the festal joy
of its revellers aroused a mighty enemy, Grendel, the loathsome
fen-monster. This monstrous being, half-man, half-fiend, dwelt in the
fens near the hill on which Heorot stood. Terrible was he, dangerous
to men, of extraordinary strength, human in shape but gigantic of
stature, covered with a green horny skin, on which the sword would not
bite. His race, all sea-monsters, giants, goblins, and evil demons,
were offspring of Cain, outcasts from the mercy of the Most High,
hostile to the human race; and Grendel was one of mankind's most
bitter enemies; hence his hatred of the joyous shouts from Heorot, and
his determination to stop the feasting.
"This the dire mighty fiend, he who in darkness dwelt,
Suffered with hatred fierce, that every day and night
He heard the festal shouts loud in the lofty hall;
Sound of harp echoed there, and gleeman's sweet song.
Thus they lived joyously, fearing no angry foe
Until the hellish fiend wrought them great woe.
Grendel that ghost was called, grisly and terrible,
Who, hateful wanderer, dwelt in the moorlands,
The fens and wild fastnesses; the wretch for a while abode
In homes of the giant-race, since God had cast him out.
When night on the earth fell, Grendel departed
To visit the lofty hall, now that the warlike Danes
After the gladsome feast nightly slept in it.
A fair troop of warrior-thanes guarding it found he;
Heedlessly sleeping, they recked not of sorrow.
The demon of evil, the grim wight unholy,
With his fierce ravening, greedily grasped them,
Seized in their slumbering thirty right manly thanes;
Thence he withdrew again, proud of his lifeless prey,
Home to his hiding-place, bearing his booty,
In peace to devour it."
When dawn broke, and the Danes from their dwellings around the hall
entered Heorot, great was the lamentation, and dire the dismay, for
thirty noble champions had vanished, and the blood-stained tracks of
the monster showed but too well the fate that had overtaken them.
Hrothgar's grief was profound, for he had lost thirty of his dearly
loved bodyguard, and he himself was too old to wage a conflict against
the foe--a foe who repeated night by night his awful deeds, in
spite of all that valour could do to save the Danes from his terrible
enmity. At last no champion would face the monster, and the Danes, in
despair, deserted the glorious hall of which they had been so proud.
Useless stood the best of dwellings, for none dared remain in it, but
every evening the Danes left it after their feast, and slept
elsewhere. This affliction endured for twelve years, and all that time
the beautiful hall of Heorot stood empty when darkness was upon it. By
night the dire fiend visited it in search of prey, and in the morning
his footsteps showed that his deadly enmity was not yet appeased, but
that any effort to use the hall at night would bring down his fatal
wrath on the careless sleepers.
Far and wide spread the tidings of this terrible oppression, and many
champions came from afar to offer King Hrothgar their aid, but none
was heroic enough to conquer the monster, and many a mighty warrior
lost his life in a vain struggle against Grendel. At length even these
bold adventurers ceased to come; Grendel remained master of Heorot,
and the Danes settled down in misery under the bondage of a perpetual
nightly terror, while Hrothgar grew old in helpless longing for
strength to rescue his people from their foe.
Beowulf
Meanwhile there had come to manhood and full strength a hero destined
to make his name famous for mighty deeds of valour throughout the
whole of the Teutonic North. In the realm of the Geats (Goetaland, in
the south of Sweden) ruled King Hygelac, a mighty ruler who was
ambitious enough to aim at conquering his neighbours on the mainland
of Germany. His only sister, daughter of the dead king Hrethel, had
married a great noble, Ecgtheow, and they had one son, Beowulf, who
from the age of seven was brought up at the Geatish court. The boy was
a lad of great stature and handsome appearance, with fair locks and
gallant bearing; but he greatly disappointed his grandfather, King
Hrethel, by his sluggish character. Beowulf as a youth had been
despised by all for his sloth and his unwarlike disposition; his
good-nature and his rarely stirred wrath made others look upon him
with scorn, and the mighty stature to which he grew brought him
nothing but scoffs and sneers and insults in the banquet-hall when the
royal feasts were held. Yet wise men might have seen the promise of
great strength in his powerful sinews and his mighty hands, and the
signs of great force of character in the glance of his clear blue eyes
and the fierceness of his anger when he was once aroused. At least
once already Beowulf had distinguished himself in a great feat--a
swimming-match with a famous champion, Breca, who had been beaten in
the contest. For this and other victories, and for the bodily strength
which gave Beowulf's hand-grip the force of thirty men, the hero was
already famed when the news of Grendel's ravages reached Geatland.
Beowulf, eager to try his strength against the monster, and burning to
add to his fame, asked and obtained permission from his uncle, King
Hygelac, to seek the stricken Danish king and offer his help against
Grendel; then, choosing fourteen loyal comrades and kinsfolk, he took
a cheerful farewell of the Geatish royal family and sailed for
Denmark.
Thus it happened that one day the Warden of the Coast, riding on his
round along the Danish shores, saw from the white cliffs a strange
war-vessel running in to shore. Her banners were unknown to him, her
crew were strangers and all in war-array, and as the Warden watched
them they ran the ship into a small creek among the mountainous
cliffs, made her fast to a rock with stout cables, and then landed and
put themselves in readiness for a march. Though there were fifteen of
the strangers and the Warden was alone, he showed no hesitation, but,
riding boldly down into their midst, loudly demanded:
"What are ye warlike men wielding bright weapons,
Wearing grey corslets and boar-adorned helmets,
Who o'er the water-paths come with your foaming keel
Ploughing the ocean surge? I was appointed
Warden of Denmark's shores; watch hold I by the wave
That on this Danish coast no deadly enemy
Leading troops over sea should land to injure.
None have here landed yet more frankly coming
Than this fair company: and yet ye answer not
The password of warriors, and customs of kinsmen.
Ne'er have mine eyes beheld a mightier warrior,
An earl more lordly, than is he, the chief of you;
He is no common man; if looks belie him not,
He is a hero bold, worthily weaponed.
Anon must I know of you kindred and country,
Lest ye as spies should go free on our Danish soil.
Now ye men from afar, sailing the surging sea,
Have heard my earnest thought: best is a quick reply,
That I may swiftly know whence ye have hither come."
So the aged Warden sat on his horse, gazing attentively on the faces
of the fifteen strangers, but watching most carefully the countenance
of the leader; for the mighty stature, the clear glance of command,
the goodly armour, and the lordly air of Beowulf left no doubt as to
who was the chieftain of that little band. When the questions had been
asked the leader of the new-comers moved forward till his mighty
figure stood beside the Warden's horse, and as he gazed up into the
old man's eyes he answered: "We are warriors of the Geats, members of
King Hygelac's bodyguard. My father, well known among men of wisdom,
was named Ecgtheow, a wise counsellor who died full of years and
famous for his wisdom, leaving a memory dear to all good men."
"We come to seek thy king Healfdene's glorious son,
Thy nation's noble lord, with friendly mind.
Be thou a guardian good to us strangers here!
We have an errand grave to the great Danish king,
Nor will I hidden hold what I intend!
Thou canst tell if it is truth (as we lately heard)
That some dire enemy, deadly in evil deed,
Cometh in dark of night, sateth his secret hate,
Worketh through fearsome awe, slaughter and shame.
I can give Hrothgar bold counsel to conquer him,
How he with valiant mind Grendel may vanquish,
If he would ever lose torment of burning care,
If bliss shall bloom again and woe shall vanish."
The aged Warden replied: "Every bold warrior of noble mind must
recognise the distinction between words and deeds. I judge by thy
speech that you are all friends to our Danish king; therefore I bid
you go forward, in warlike array, and I myself will guide you to King
Hrothgar; I will also bid my men draw your vessel up the beach, and
make her fast with a barricade of oars against any high tide. Safe she
shall be until again she bears you to your own land. May your
expedition prove successful."
Thus speaking, he turned his horse's head and led the way up the steep
cliff paths, while the Geats followed him, resplendent in shining
armour, with boar-crests on their helmets, shields and spears in their
hands, and mighty swords hanging in their belts: a goodly band were
they, as they strode boldly after the Warden. Anon there appeared a
roughly trodden path, which soon became a stone-paved road, and the
way led on to where the great hall, Heorot, towered aloft, gleaming
white in the sun; very glorious it seemed, with its pinnacled gables
and its carved beams and rafters, and the Geats gazed at it with
admiration as the Warden of the Coast said: "Yonder stands our
monarch's hall, and your way lies clear before you. May the All-Father
keep you safe in the conflict! Now it is time for me to return; I go
to guard our shores from every foe."
Hrothgar and Beowulf