Chapter 11

THE SECONDARY POETRY.

How still the legendary lay O'er poet's bosom holds its sway.

MARMION.

Between the Primary and the Secondary Poetry we must acknowledge a wide borderland of transition. Some poetical works lying in this interval we have already found occasion to notice, and have given them such space as we could afford. We have spoken of the Cædmon, and of the poetical Psalter; and with these I must group the "Judith," a noble fragment, which is found in the Cotton Library in the same manuscript volume with the Beowulf. This fragment preserves 350 long lines at the close of a poem which appears--by the numbering of the Cantos--to have been of about four times that length. This remnant contains what would naturally have been the most vigorous and stirring parts of the poem: the riotous drinking of Holofernes, the trenchant act of Judith, her return with her maid to Bethulia, their enthusiastic reception, the muster for battle, the anticipation of carnage by the birds and beasts of prey, the destruction of the invading host.

The poetry which is distinctly Secondary is contained--the best specimens of it--in two famous books, that of Exeter, and that of Vercelli; and in both of these books it is largely connected with the name of a single poet, Cynewulf. Here is at once an indication of the secondary poetry; not merely that we have a poet's name, for we also entitle poems by Cædmon's name; but that the poet himself supplies us with his name, and has left it--vailed and enigmatic--for posterity to decipher.

Curiously and fancifully did Cynewulf interweave into the lines of his verse the Runes which spelt his name; and it needed the skill of Kemble to explain it to us. There are three of the extant poems in which he has thus left his mark, namely two in the Exeter book and one in the Vercelli book. In two cases out of the three this ingenious contrivance is at the close of the poem. In the Vercelli book it occurs in the Elene, the last of the poems in the manuscript, and Mr. Kemble remarked that it was "apparently intended as a tail-piece to the whole book."[131] This naturally suggests the inference, which indeed is generally accepted, that all the poems in the Vercelli book are by Cynewulf.

But when a like inference is drawn for the Exeter book, inasmuch as the same Runic device is there found in two pieces, that therefore the book is simply a volume of Cynewulf's poems, there seems less reason to acquiesce. That a large part of the book is Cynewulf's poetry will be generally thought probable. The first thirty-two leaves of the manuscript, which correspond to the first 103 pages in Thorpe's edition, contain a series of pieces which are really parts of one whole, as was shown by Professor Dietrich, of Marburg;[132] and, as one of these connected pieces has Cynewulf's Runic mark, it seems to follow that the whole "Christian Epic" is by him. Again in the middle of the volume from the 65th to the 75th leaf there is the poem of St. Juliana with the Runes of Cynewulf's name at its close, and this is therefore undoubtedly his. This brings us to Mr. Thorpe's 286th page. The four pieces which lie between the above, more especially two of them, St. Guthlac and the Phœnix, may well be his. But from the close of St. Juliana (Thorpe, p. 286) the pieces become shorter and more miscellaneous, exhibiting greater diversity both of subject and of quality, being altogether such as to suggest that they have been collected from various sources and are of different ages. So that on this view the volume might be interpreted as containing (1) Poems by Cynewulf; and (2) a miscellaneous collection. Thus Cynewulf's part would close with "St. Juliana," which ends with the Runic device, like the Elene closing his poems in the Vercelli book.[133] About the person of this poet nothing is known, beyond what the poems themselves may seem to convey. His date has been variously estimated from the 8th to the 11th century. The latter is the more probable. If we look at his matter, we observe its great affinity with the hagiology of the tenth century, the high pitch at which the poetry of the Holy Rood has arrived, and the expansion given to the subject of the Day of Judgment. If we consider his language and manner, we remark the facility and copious flow of his poetic diction, but with a something that suggests the retentive mind of the student; his cumulation of old heroic phraseology not unlike the romantic poetry of Scott, joined occasionally with a departure from old poetic usage which seems like a slip on the part of an accomplished imitator.[134] Occasionally he has a Latin word of novel introduction.

All these signs forbid an early date, but they agree well with Kemble's view of the time and person of Cynewulf. He proposed to identify our poet with that Kenulphus who in 982 became abbot of Peterborough, and in 1006 became (after Ælfheah) bishop of Winchester. To this prelate Ælfric dedicated his Life of St. Æthelwold, and he is praised by Hugo Candidus as a great emender of books, a famous teacher, to whom (as to another Solomon) men of all ranks and orders flocked for instruction, and whom the abbey regretted to lose when after fourteen years of his presidency he was carried off to the see of Winchester by violence rather than by election.[135]

The Canto in the "Christian Epic" in which the Cynewulf-Runes appear, is on the near approach of Domesday. This piece closes with a prolonged and detailed Simile, such as occurs only in the later poetry. Life is a perilous voyage, but there is a heavenly port and a heavenly pilot:--

Nu is thon gelicost swa we on laguflode ofor cald wæter ceolum lithan geond sidne sæ sund hengestum flod wudu fergen.

Now it is likest to that as if on liquid flood over cold water in keels we navigated through the vast sea with ocean-horses ferried the floating wood.

Is thæt frecne stream ytha ofermæta the we her onlacath geond thas wacan woruld windge holmas ofer deop gelad.

A frightful surge it is of waves immense that here we toss upon through this uncertain world-- windy quarters over a deep passage.

Wæs se drohtath strong ær thon we to londe geliden hæfdon ofer hreone hrycg-- tha us help bicwom thæt us to hælo hythe gelædde Godes gæst sunu:

It was discipline strong ere we to the land had sailed (if at all) o'er the rough swell-- when help to us came, so that us into safety portwards did guide God's heavenly Son:

And us giefe sealde thæt we oncnawan magun ofer ceoles bord hwær we sælan sceolon sund hengestas ealde yth mearas ancrum fæste.

And he gave us the gift that we may espy from aboard o' the ship, place where we shall bind the steeds of the sea, old amblers of water, with anchors fast.

Utan us to thære hythe hyht stathelian tha us gerymde rodera waldend halge on heahthum the he heofnum astag.

Let us in that port our confidence plant, which for us laid open the Lord of the skies, (holy port in the heights) when he went up to heaven.

The grandest of the allegorical pieces is that on the Phœnix. Of the pedigree of the fable we have already spoken; as also of the Latin poem which the Anglo-Saxon poet followed. It is rather an adaptation than a translation, and it has a second part in which the allegory is explained. At the close there is a playful alternation of Latin and Saxon half-lines, which does not at all lessen the probability that the poet may have been the ingenious Cynewulf.

Hafað us alysed lucis auctor, þæt we motun her merueri, god dædum begietan gaudia in celo, þær we motun maxima regna secan, and gesittan sedibus altis, lifgan in lisse lucis et pacis, agan eardinga alma letitiæ, brucan blæd daga;-- blandem et mitem geseon sigora frean sine fine, and him lof singan laude perenne, eadge mid englum alleluia.

Us hath a-loosed the author of light, that we may here worthily merit, with good deeds obtain delights in the sky, where we may be able magnificent realms to seek, and to sit in heavenly seats, live in fruition of light and of peace, have habitations happy and glad, brook genial days:-- gentle and kind see Victory's Prince for ever and ever, and praise to him sing, perennial praise, happy angels among Alleluia!

Of the other allegorical pieces the Whale was derived from the book Physiologus, and probably the Panther also. The whale is used as a similitude of delusive security. The story reappears in the Arabian Nights, where it is the chief incident in the first voyage of Sindbad. The monster lies on the sea like an island, and deludes the unsuspecting mariner.

Is þæs hiw gelic hreofum stane, swylce worie bi wædes ofre sond beorgum ymbseald sæ ryrica mæst,[136] swa þæt wenaþ wæg liþende, þæt hy on ealond sum eagum wliten; and þonne gehydaþ heah stefn scipu to þam únlonde oncyr rapum; setlað sæ mearas sundes æt ende.[137]

In look it is like to a stony land, with the eddying whirl of the waves on the bank, with sandheaps surrounded a mighty sea-reef; so they wearily ween who ride on the wave, that some island it is they see with their eyes; and so they do fasten the high figure-heads to a land that no land is with anchor belayed; sea-horses they settle no farther to sail.

When they have lighted their fires, and are getting comfortable, then all goes down. This is an apologue of misplaced confidence in things earthly.

But the great and absorbing subject of poetry in this age is Hagiography. We still see the old discredited apocryphal literature in occasional use, but it retires before the more approved medium of popular edification, the Lives and Miracles of the Saints. These offer material very apt for poetical treatment. Even the Homilies, when on the lives of Saints, are often clothed in the poetic garb.

In the Exeter book there are two of this class of poems; St. Guthlac and St. Juliana. In St. Juliana, a characteristic passage is that in which the tempter visits her in the guise of an angel of light, advising her to yield and to sacrifice to the gods. At her prayer, the fiend is reduced to his own shape, reminding us of a famous passage in Milton. St. Guthlac is distressed by fiends, and among the trials to which he is exposed, one is this, that he sees in vision the evil life of a disorderly monastery. When he has endured his trials, and he returns to his chosen retreat, the welcome of the birds is very charming.

But the greatest pieces of this sort are the two in the Vercelli book; the Andreas and the Elene.

In the Andreas we have an ancient legend which is now known only in Greek, but which no doubt lay before the Anglo-Saxon poet in a Latin version. In this story Matthew is imprisoned in Mirmedonia, and he is encouraged by the hope that Andrew shall come to his aid. Andrew is wonderfully conveyed to Mirmedonia, where he arrives at a time of famine, and he finds the people casting lots who shall be slain for the others' food. On the intervention of Andrew the devil comes on the scene and suggests that he is the cause of their troubles. Then follows a long series of tortures to which the saint is subjected. When his endurance has been put to extreme proof, the word of deliverance comes to him and he puts forth miraculous power. He calls for a flood, and it comes and sweeps the cruel persecutors away. But the whole ends in a general conversion, and the drowned are restored to life. He is escorted to his ship and has a happy voyage back to Achaia like the return of any hero crowned with success. Here we are reminded of the return of Beowulf; and widely different as the two poems are, they have not only points of similarity but also a certain likeness of type. There is, however, this great dissimilarity, that in the Andreas the poet stops to speak of himself and of his inadequate performance, but still he will give us a little more. The most novel and extraordinary part is the voyage of Andrew to Mirmedonia. The ship-master is a Divine person, and the instructive conversation which the saint addresses to him, is exceedingly well managed, for while it verges on the humorous, it is perfectly reverent; a strong contrast with the free use of such situations in the later mediæval drama. Another feature which calls for notice is the sarcasm with which the drowning people are told there is plenty of drink for them now.

The "Elene" opens with the outbreak of barbarian war, and Constantine in camp on the Danube, frightened at the multitude of the Huns. In a dream of the night he sees an angel who shows him the Cross, and tells him that with this "beacon" he shall overcome the foe. II. Comforted by his dream, he had a cross made like that of the vision, and under this ensign he was victorious. Then he assembles his wise men to inquire of them who the god was that this sign belonged to? No one knew, until some christened folk, who (according to this poet) were then very few, gave the required information. Constantine is baptised by Silvester. III. Zealous to recover the true Cross, he sends his mother, Elene, with a great equipment to Judea. IV. She proclaims an assembly, and 3,000 come together, and she requires of them to choose those who can answer whatever questions she may ask. V. They select 500 for that purpose. When they are come to the queen, she addresses a chiding speech to them about their blindness in rejecting Him who came according to prophecy; but she does not reveal her aim. Afterwards, the Jews in consternation discuss among themselves what the imperial lady can mean. At length one Judas divines that she wants the Cross which is hidden, and which it is of the greatest consequence to keep from discovery; for his grandfather Zacheus, when a-dying, told his son, the speaker's father, that whenever that Cross was found the power of the Jews would end. VI. The speaker further said that his father told him the history of the Saviour's life, and how his son Stephen had believed in him and had been stoned. The speaker was a boy when his father told him this, and seems to have thus learnt about his brother Stephen for the first time.[138] VII. When they are summoned into the imperial presence they all profess to know nothing about the subject of her inquiry, they had never heard of such a thing before! She threatens. Then they select Judas as a wise man who knows more than the rest, and they leave him as a hostage. VIII. The queen will know where the Rood is. Judas pleads that it all happened so long ago that he knows nothing about it. She says it was not so long ago as the Trojan war, and yet people know about that. When he persists, she orders him to be imprisoned and kept without food. He endures for six days, but on the seventh he yields. IX. Released from prison he leads the way to Calvary. He utters a fervent supplication in Hebrew, in which he pleads that He who in the famous times of old revealed to Moses the bones of Joseph would make known by a sign the place of the Rood, vowing to believe in Christ if his prayer is granted. X. A steam rises from the ground. There they dig, and at a depth of twenty feet three crosses are found. Which is the holy Rood? A dead man is carried by; Judas brings the corpse in contact with the crosses one after another, and the touch of the third restores life. XI. Satan laments that he has suffered a new defeat, which is all the harder as the agent is "Judas," a name so friendly to him before! He threatens a persecuting king who shall make the newly-converted man renounce his faith. Judas returns a spirited answer, and Helena rejoices to hear the new convert rise superior to the Wicked one. XII. The report spreads, to the joy of Christians and the confusion of the Jews. The queen sends an embassy to the emperor at Rome with the happy tidings. The greatest curiosity was displayed in the cities on their road. Constantine, in his exaltation, sent them quickly back to Helena with instructions to build a church in their united names on the sacred spot of the discovery. The queen gathered from every side the most highly-skilled builders for the church; and she caused the holy Rood to be studded with gold and jewels, and then firmly secured in a chest of silver:--

Tha seo cwen bebeád cræftum getŷde sundor âsecean tha selestan tha the wrætlicost wyrcan cuthon stân-gefôgum on tham stede-wange girwan Godes tempel swa hire gasta weard reórd of roderum . Heo tha rôde heht golde beweorcean and gimcynnum mid tham æthelestum eorcnanstânum besettan searocræftum; and tha in seolfren fæt locum belûcan . Thær thæt lifes treó sêlest sigebeáma siththan wunode æthelu anbroce .

Then the queen bade of craftsmen deft at large to seek the skilfullest, the most curious and cunning to work structures of stone;-- upon that chosen site God's temple to grace as the Guarder of souls gave her rede from on high. She the Rood hight with gold to inlay and the glory of gems, with the most prized of precious stones to set with high art;-- and in a silver chest secure enlock:-- so there the Tree of life dearest of trophies thenceforward dwelt; fabric of honour.

XIII. Helena sends for Eusebius, "bishop of Rome," and he, at her bidding, makes Judas bishop in Jerusalem, and changes his name to Cyriacus. Then she inquires after the nails of the crucifixion, and, at the prayer of Cyriacus, their hiding-place is revealed. When the nails were brought to the queen she wept aloud, and the fountain of her tears flowed over her cheeks and down upon the jewels of her apparel. XIV. She seeks guidance by oracle as to the disposal of the nails. She is directed to make of them rings for the bridle of the chief of earthly kings. He who rides to war with such a bridle should be invincible; and a prophecy to that effect is quoted! Helena obeys, and sends the bridle over sea to Constantine,--"no contemptible gift!" Helena assembles the chief men of the Jews, bids them submit to Cyriacus, and keep up the anniversary of the Finding of the Cross. Finally, for those who keep the day is proclaimed a benediction so unmeasured and profuse as to leave behind it an air in which the solemn evaporates in the histrionic.

Here more than in any other piece of Anglo-Saxon poetry we feel near the mediæval drama. Almost every canto is like a scene; and little adaptation would be required to put it upon the stage. The narrative at the beginning is like a prologue, and then after the close of the piece we have an epilogue, in which the author speaks about himself, and weaves his name with Runes into the verses in the manner already described.

The briefest fragment in the Vercelli book is about False Friendship; and it contains a long-drawn simile in which the bee is rather hardly treated.

Anlice beoð swa þa beon berað buton ætsomne; arlicne anleofan and ætterne tægel habbað on hindan; hunig on muðe wynsume wist: hwilum wundiað sare mid swice þonne se sæl cymeð. Swa beoð gelice þa leasan men, þa þe mid tungan treowa gehatað fægerum wordum, facenlice þencað; þonne hie æt nehstan nearwe beswicað: habbað on gehatum hunig smæccas, smeðne sib cwide; and in siofan innan þurh deofles cræft dyrne wunde.

Likened they are to the bees who bear both at one time, food for a king's table, and venomous tail have in reserve; honey in mouth, delectable food: in due time they wound sorely and slyly when the season is come. Such are they like, the leasing men, those who with tongue give assurance of troth with fair-spoken words, false in their thought; then do they at length shrewdly betray: in profession they have the perfume of honey, smooth gossip so sweet; and in their souls purpose, with devilish craft, a stab in the dark.

The "Runic Poem"[139] is a string of epigrams on the characters of the Runic alphabet, beginning with F, U, Þ, O, R, C, according to that primitive order, whence that alphabet was called the "Futhorc." Each of these characters has a name with a meaning, mostly of some well-known familiar thing, apt subject for epigram.

When learned men began to look at the Runes with an eye of erudite curiosity, they often ranged them in the A, B, C order of the Roman alphabet; hence it gives the Rune poem some air of antiquity that it runs in the old Futhorc order. And, indeed, some of the versicles may perhaps be ancient; that is, they may possibly date from a time when Runes were still in practical use. But certainly much of this chaplet of versicles must be regarded as late and dilettante work. The Rune names are not all clearly authentic; for example, "Eoh" is rather dubious; but the poet treats the name as meaning Yew, and gives us an interesting little epigram on the Yew-tree:--

EOH bith utan unsmethe treow heard hrusan fæst hyrde fyres wyrtrumum underwrethed wynan on æthle.

YEW is outwardly unpolished tree; hard and ground-fast, guardian of fire; with roots underwattled the home of the Want.[140]

The Riddles are mostly after Simphosius and Aldhelm;[141] but some are aboriginal. The form is mostly that of the epigram, only instead of having the name of the subject at the head of the piece as with epigrams, these little poems end with a question what the subject is. These Riddles are found in the Exeter book in three batches; Grein has drawn them all together, and made eighty-nine of them. That on the Book-Moth, of which the Latin has been given above, p. 88, is unriddled by the translator:--

Moððe word fiæt; me þæt þuhte wrætlicu wyrd þa ic þæt wundor gefrægn; þæt se wyrm forswealg wera gied sumes þeof in þystro þrymfæstne cwide and þæs strangan staðol. Stælgiest ne wæs wihte þy gleawra þe he þam wordum swealg.

Moth words devoured; to me it seemed a weird event when I the wonder learnt; that the worm swallowed sentence of man (thief in the dark) document sure, binding and all. The burglar was never a whit the more wise for the words he had gulped.

Toward the end of the period, the poetic form becomes much diluted. The poetic diction wanes, so does the figured style and the parallel structure; and what remains is an alliterative rhythmical prose, which, from the nature of the subjects treated, appears to have been very taking for the ear of the people. Of this sort is the Lay of King Abgar, which Professor Stephens assigns to the reign of Cnut. The Abgar legend is in Eusebius (died 340) "History," i. 13. Abgar, king of Edessa, being sick, wrote a letter to the Saviour (it being the time of His earthly ministry) praying him to come and heal him, and adding, that if, as he hears, the Jews seek to persecute Him, his city of Edessa, though a little one, is stately, and sufficient for both.

... and ic wolde the biddan thæt thu gemedemige the sylfne thæt thu siðige to me and mine untrumnysse gehæle for than the ic eom yfele gahæfd. Me is eac gesæd thæt tha Judeiscan syrwiath and runiath him betwynan hu hi the berædan magon, and ic hæbbe ane burh, the unc bam genihtsumath.

... and I would thee pray, that thou condescend to come unto me, and my infirmity cure, for I am in evil case. To me is eke said that the Jews are plotting and rowning together how they may destroy thee; and I have a burgh large enough for us both.[142]

The impression which this secondary poetry leaves is, that the old ancestral form could no longer furnish an adequate poetry for the growing mind of the nation. In contrast with the expanding prose, it seems to shrink and fade before our eyes. Its only means of enlargement seems to be in forgetting its own traditions and assimilating itself to the prose. Moreover, we have traces of various tentative sallies; one poet trying rhymes,[143] another trying hexameters,[144] which reminds us of the efforts and essays of the unsatisfied poetic genius in the middle of the sixteenth century. The Benedictine revival had drawn off the interest from the old native themes of song to subjects less fitted for poetry, or with which the poetry of the time was not yet skilled to deal. The old poetry fitted the old heroic themes with which it had grown up; and now it throve better on apocryphal and legendary fables than on the verities of the faith which were rather beyond its strength. In the new zeal the old vein of poetry was lost or neglected, and its place was not yet appropriately filled.

For this want a provision was already making in the south. A fresh spirit of poetry had risen in the region where Roman and Arabic fancy met, and, after kindling France, was coming to England on the wings of the French language. With the new romances came new models of poetic form. A long struggle ensued between the native garb of English poetry and that of the French. Both lived together until the fourteenth century, when the victory of the French form was finally determined in Chaucer; and France set the fashion in poetry to England, as it did generally to modern Europe.

FOOTNOTES:

[131] In Wright's "Biographia Literaria," Anglo-Saxon Period, p. 502, _seq._, these three Runic passages are collected and translated. In Bosworth's "Anglo-Saxon Dictionary," ed. Toller, v. Cynewulf; the Runic passage is quoted from the Elene, and translated. This poet's Runic device affects us somewhat as when, at the end of a volume of Coleridge's poems, we come upon his epitaph, written by himself:--

"Stop, Christian passer-by!--Stop, child of God! And read with gentle breast. Beneath this sod A poet lies, or that which once seem'd he-- Oh, lift one thought in prayer for S.T.C.!"

[132] In Haupt's "Zeitschrift," ix.

[133] We have already seen in the chapter on the West Saxon laws, that a bookmaker of the Saxon period appended the laws of Ine to the laws of Alfred, as if he found it natural to treat the old material as an appendix to the new.--But there is also something on the other side. In the after part of the Exeter book there are three batches of riddles, and the first riddle of the first series (Thorpe, p. 380), is a charade upon the name of Cynewulf, as was shown by Heinrich Leo. This has naturally led to the surmise that Cynewulf has had more to do with the riddles than simply to preface them in his own honour.

[134] Thus:--"ofer ealne yrmenne grund." Juliana _init._; and in the same poem we find "bealdor" used of a woman!

[135] All this is marred by William of Malmesbury, who represents him as having trafficked for this promotion, and as having been cut off before he had long enjoyed it. And yet the two pictures are not incompatible. The poetry sets before us a poet of the most splendid gifts, but I know nothing that indicates a superiority of character. Indeed, the comparison with Solomon suggests a moral type to which the known and supposed writings of Cynewulf aptly correspond.

[136] "Dorsum immane mari summo." Æneid i.

[137] Milton has set this to his own deep music:--

"Him haply slumb'ring on the Norway foam, The pilot of some small night-founder'd skiff Deeming some island, oft, as seaman tell, With fixed anchor...."

[138] The reader will not stumble at a few historical inaccuracies in a narrative where a speaker in Helena's time is a brother of the protomartyr.

[139] Kemble, "Runes of the Anglo-Saxons," pp. 13-19. Grein, vol. ii., p. 351; and literary notice at p. 413.

[140] It may not be known to all readers, that this is an English word; and historically, perhaps, the best English name, for the mole (talpa). Along the Elbe it appears in a form nearer to that of the text: "Win worp oder Wind-worp, _der Maulwurf_." Bremisch-Niedersachsisches Wörterbuch.

[141] See Prof. Dietrich in Haupt's "Zeitschrift," xi.

[142] Prof. Stephens, "Tvende Olde-Engelske Digte," Kiobenhavn, 1853.

[143] "The Riming Poem," Cod. Exon. ed. Thorpe, p. 352.

[144] Stubbs, "St. Dunstan," Preface.