Frederick M. Biggs

The Politics of Succession in "Beowulf" and Anglo-Saxon England

This is an essay about change and the perception of change. There can have been few more fraught moments for Anglo-Saxon kingdoms than the transitions fol lowing the end of one rule and the establishing of the next; yet since a variety of traditions must have been used both to guide and to explain the outcomes, the historical record as a whole suggests a gradual evolution in the rules governing succession rather than a sharp break or a series of disruptions. This essay argues that Beowulf provides a different perspective on the issue because the poet iden tifies a cause, the arrival of Christianity in England, for a significant change and explores the strengths and weaknesses of what he perceives to be two opposing views, the older Germanic assumptions about eligibility for the throne and the newer Christian ideals. While I have begun to show that his concern with this topic can be found throughout he work,1 it seems appropriate that it may perhaps be seen most clearly in Beowulfs most obviously transitional section, fitt 31 (lines 2144-2220),2 a section in which Beowulf appears to become a Geatish king not once but twice. This fitt plays a pivotal role in the work, concluding as it does the main char acters exploits among the Danes and beginning the events that will lead to the end of his fifty-year reign over the Geats. Indeed, it is not only the fitt structure of the poem as a whole but also its own structure that suggests the poet joins the material for some purpose: it opens with Beowulf passing the treasure he has received from the Danish king Hrothgar to the Geatish king Hygelac and con cludes with the theft of treasure from the dragon, whom he will die fighting and with whose hoard he will be buried. Yet some of its material seems genuinely puzzling, an impression increased by the damage to folio 179r on which the fitt

Beowulf and some fictions of the Geatish succession

Having just killed the dragon, and with death ‘ungemete neah’ (2728b; ‘exceedingly near’), Beowulf begins to speak, remarking first on his lack of a son: Nu ic suna minum syllan wolde guðgewædu, þær me gifeðe swa ænig yrfeweard æfter wurde lice gelenge. (2729–2732a) The language here seems almost neutral, but at least two of the terms are suggestive. The ‘guðgewædu’ (‘war-garments’) that he wishes to leave to his son recall most notably the elaborate gifts of weapons and horses – including the saddle that the king used in battle (1037b–1043) – that Hrothgar had given him following the fight with Grendel, implicating him, as John M. Hill and Stephanie Hollis have argued, in the Danish succession. Similarly, in using ‘yrfeweard’ (‘guardian of an inheritance’), he calls attention to the kings role in protecting the tribes wealth, although the poet may expect the audience to hear more in the compound since ‘weard’ appears often in the final part of the poem in descriptions of the dragon. Thus, even though Beowulf does not mention this failing again, his remark draws together a theme not only signficant in the Geatish section of the poem, but also present from the opening descriptions of Scylds reign: part of a kings responsibility is to see that the succession is secure in a son.

Hondscioh and Æschere in Beowulf

This essay has two parts. The first argues that the Beowulf-poet contrasts what we learn about the deaths of Hondscioh and Æschere in order to distinguish within his fiction between the importance of kin loyalties to their people: Hondsciohs death appears not to matter to the Geats while Æscheres does to the Danes. In this distinction the poet recognizes the strengths of kin ties. The second examines how both characters focus attention on the problems, caused by failed kin relationships, looming in the Danish court, Ingelds burning of Heorot and Hrothulfs seizing of the throne following Hrothgars death. These overlapping and sometimes conflicting concerns reveal a poet reshaping the Scandinavian past through fiction to explore a theme central to understanding a significant issue of his own day, the role of kin structure in succession.

Domino in domino dominorum: Bede and John of Beverley

Abstract The distinctive phrase, domino in domino dominorum, shared by the salutations in the prefatory letter of Bedes revised metrical Vita Cuthberti and in the letter sent by Hwaetbert with his former abbot Ceolfrith to Rome, reflects an unexpected historical connection among Bedes revision, Ceolfriths departure and, more tentatively, the abdication of John of Beverley of the bishopric of York. While only Ceolfriths journey has been dated to 716, I argue that Bede was revising his poem in anticipation of this event, but under the false assumption that it would be John of Beverley who would lead the party. The salutation, drawn from one of Augustine of Hippos letters, supports this claim by identifying, after the opening phrase that would be appropriate for a bishop, John as a priest, a playful conjunction of terms used by Bede to call attention to the bishop of Yorks changing status. This opening, then, was in Bedes mind when the need for a letter from Hwaetbert to Pope Gregory II arose. Bedes revision and, probably, some discussion of Johns retirement can be dated to 716.

Finding the Right Words: Isidore's "Synonyma" in Anglo-Saxon England (review)

attempts to begin wrapping up the book as a whole result in some verbatim repetition of earlier passages (as in pp. 88 and 123). The aura of conclusion at the close of this chapter, and in the thoughtful “Epilogue,” is slightly marred by generalization (surely Geoffrey of Monmouth doesn’t really deserve to appear in a list of those who “searched for the truth about their world” [p. 127]?). This is a fast-moving field, and Hingst occasionally overstates the extent to which scholarship has “neglected” particular aspects of her study. The bibliography shows some surprising omissions (Michelle R. Warren’s 2000 History on the Edge comes to mind); some, however, may be the result of long book-production times (several works published in 2007, such as Carl Watkins’ History and the Supernatural in Medieval England, George Garnett’s Conquered England, and my own Fiction and History in England, would have been highly relevant). Further, some works do appear in the bibliography but are only noted in miserly fashion despite their precise relevance to the discussion—Emily Albu’s Normans in Their Histories (2001) and Nick Webber’s Evolution of Norman Identity (2005) suffer particularly in this regard, as though they were references added late to a chapter without being properly assimilated. Much more frustrating, however, and no doubt no fault of the author at all, is the presentation of endnotes rather than footnotes. This is all the more annoying in a study of this kind because all citations within the main text are in translation, and because the use of the short title system in the notes means that one needs a third finger in the bibliography before any secondary reference is found. Finally, it is strange in such a generally well-produced book to find even a small number of typographical errors, including “Giscard” for “Guiscard” (p. 30), “though” for “through” (p. 54), “featly” for “fealty” (p. 65), and “lay” for “lie” (p. 104). None of these details detracts from the value of The Written World, which is a real pleasure to read. It is a part of the book’s appeal that one is constantly provoked into pondering the degree to which Hingst’s interpretations of Orderic do or do not map onto one’s own readings, both of him and of numerous other twelfthcentury authors. This is a consistently intelligent, thought-provoking, beautifullywritten book, and a valuable contribution to the field. Laura Ashe Worcester College, Oxford

Ælfric's Mark, Other Things, and Apostolic Authority

ÆLFRIC’S sermon on Mark in his Lives of Saints demonstrates strikingly that even after most if not all of the sources for a work in this genre have been identified, it is still necessary to consider why the author has brought together his material as he has. Here the sources for the two parts of the sermon are both so different and so differently handled that one might, were it not for the manuscript evidence and an explicit comment by Ælfric, consider it two works rather than one. Closely following the Passio Sancti Marci, its first 103 lines retell the saint’s martyrdom; the remaining 122 take their structure and some of their content from Jerome’s preface to his commentary on Matthew, yet change many individual details. Indeed, it has never