Beowulf
Anonymous
Edited and Translated by R.M. Liuzza
2012
Editor's Preface
One question that many instructors of Beowulf must consider is whether to prioritize accessibility or accuracy. While translations such as the one done by Maria Dahvana Headley are often easier for students to read, they also take more liberties with translation decisions. (For more on this, turn to the Editor’s Preface for both Headley’s and Purvis’s translations.) More often than not, non-Old English scholars follow less strict translation guidelines which is necessarily a bad thing. Often these translations point out topics and themes that scholars neglect. But these translations also can obscure the original Old English text if the reader is not already familiar with it. In contrast, translations by scholars such as J.R.R. Tolkien and Stephen Mitchell tend to be more linguistically accurate, they can be difficult for a general audience to grasp.
R.M. Liuzza, an Old English scholar at the University of Tennessee, provides a translation that is a middle ground between accessibility and accuracy. Though less stylistically memorable than other translations, Liuzza creates a translation that bears in mind the linguistic and cultural contexts of Old English while also being manageable for those new to Beowulf. Additionally, Broadview Press made the wise decision to release a version of the translation that contains both the Old English and the translation. Even if one is unable to read Old English, anchoring a translation to the original text helps situate the audience in a reading environment that still acknowledges the original text. Creating a facing-page translation is a good solution for publishers and translators who are hoping to respect the original text but also create an accessible translation.
Though Liuzza does not provide as extensive translation notes as some scholars (most notable is J.R.R. Tolkien who had nearly 216 pages of commentary for his translation—we should note, however, that Tolkien did not publish his translation and instead his son, Christopher, did after Tolkien’s death), he does provide some comments on the original text as well as his own translation decisions. I have preserved those comments which are marked with an asterisk (*). My notes on Liuzza’s translation decisions are marked with numerical footnotes.
On his website, Liuzza has created a list of discussion questions for studying Beowulf, a bibliography for Beowulf resources (though it has not been updated in some time), and places to find Beowulf online. You can see those resources here.
To purchase the translation from Broadview Press, click here for the second edition translation and here for the facing-page translation.
For viewing of the TEI encoding click here. Please use Google Chrome to access it.
Amelia Lehosit, Editor, 2023
The Battle Between Grendel's Mother and Beowulf
XIX
They sank into sleep—one paid sorely
for his evening rest, as had often happened
when Grendel guarded that gold-hall
committed his wrongs until he came to his end,
died for his sins. It was soon all too clear,
obvious to all men, that an avenger still
lived on after that enemy for a long time
after that grim battle—Grendel's mother,
monstrous woman, remembered her misery,
she who dwelt in those dreadful waters,
the cold streams, ever since Cain
killed with his blade his only brother,
his father's kin; he fled bloodstained,
marked for murder, left the joys of men,
dwelled in the wasteland. From his awoke
many a fateful spirit—Grendel among them,
hateful accursed foe, who found at Heorot
a wakeful warrior waiting for battle.
When the great beast began to seize him,
he remembered his mighty strength,
and trusted the Almighty for mercy,
favor and support; thus he overcame the fiend,
subdued the hellish spirit. He went away wretched,
deprived of joy, to find his place of death,
mankind's foe. But his mother—greedy,
1grim-minded—still wanted to go.
She reached Heorot, where the Ring-Danes
slept throughout the building; a sudden upset
came to men, when Grendel's mother
broke into the hall. The horror was less
by as much a maiden's strength,
a woman's warfare is less than an armed man's
2when a bloodstained blade, its edges strong,
hammer-forged sword, slices through
the boar-image of a helmet opposite.
*Then in the hall was the hard edge drawn,
swords over seats, many a broad shield
raised in hands—none remembered his helmet
or broad mail-shirt when that terror seized them.
She came in haste and meant to hurry out,
save her life, when she was surprised there
but she quickly seized, fast in her clutches,
one nobleman when she went to the fens.
He was the dearest of heroes to Hrothgar
among his comrades between the two seas,
mighty shield-warrior, whom she snatched from his rest,
a glorious thane. Beowulf was not there,
but another place had been appointed
for the famous Geat after the treasure-giving.
Heorot was in an uproar—she took the famous hand,
covered in gore; care was renewed;
come again to those dwellings. That was no good exchange,
that those on both sides should have to bargain
with the lives of friends.
Then the wise old king,
grey-bearded warrior, was grieved at heart
when he learned that he was no longer lived—
the dearest of men, his chief thane, was dead.
Quickly Beowulf was fetched to the chambers,
victory-blessed man. Just before dawn
that noble champion came with his companions,
went with his men to where the old king waited
wondering whether the Almighty would ever
work a change after the tidings of woe.
Across the floor walked the worthy warrior
with his small troop—the hall-wood resounded—
and with his words he addressed the wise one,
lord of the Ingwines, asked him whether
the night had been agreeable, after his urgent summons.
XX
Hrothgar spoke, protector of the Scyldings:
"Ask not of joy! Sorrow is renewed
for the Danish people. Æschere is dead,
elder brother of Yrmenlaf,
my confidant, my counselor,
my shoulder-companion in every conflict
when we defended our heads when the footsoldiers clashed
and struck boar-helmets. As a nobleman should be,
always excellent, so Æschere was!
In Heorot he was slain by the hand
of a restless death-spirit; I do not know
where the ghoul went, gloating with its carcass,
rejoicing in its feast. She avenged that feud
in which you killed Grendel yesterday evening
in your violent way with a crushing vice-grip,
for he had diminished and destroyed my people
for far too long. He fell in battle,
it cost him his life, and now another has come,
a mighty evil maurauder who means to avenge
her kin, and too far has carried out her revenge,
as it may seem to many a thane
whose spirit groans for his treasure-giver,
a hard heart's distress—now that hand lies dead
which was wont to give you all good things.
I have heard countrymen and hall-counselors
among my people report this:
they have seen two such creatures,
great march-stalkers holding the moors,
alien spirits. The second of them,
as far as they could discern most clearly,
had the shape of a woman; the other, mishappen,
marched the exile's path in the form of a man,
except that he was larger than any other;
in bygone days he was called 'Grendel'
by the local folk. They knew no father,
whether before him had been begotten
any more mysterious spirits. That murky land
they hold, wolf-haunted slopes, windy headlands,
awful fenpaths, where the upland torrents
plunge downward under the dark crags,
the floor underground. it is not far hence
—measured in miles—that the mere stands;
over it hangs a grove hoar-frosted,
a firm-rooted wood looming over the water.
Every night one can see there an awesome wonder,
fire on the water. There lives none so wise
or so bold that he can fathom its abyss.
Though the heath-stepper beset by hounds,
the strong-horned hart, might seek the forest,
pursued from afar, he will sooner lose
his life on the shore than save his head
and go in the lake—it is no good place!
The clashing waves climb up from there
dark to the clouds, when the wind drives
the violent storms, until teh sky itself droops,
the heavens groan. Now once again all help
depends on your alone. You do not yet know
this fearful place, where you might find
the sinful creature—seek it if you dare!
I will reward you with ancient riches
for that feud, as I did before,
with twisted gold, if you return alive."
XXI
Beowulf spoke, son of Ecgtheow:
"Sorrow not, wise one! It is always better
to avenge one's friend than to mourn overmuch.
Each of us must await the end
of this world's life; let him who can
bring about fame before death—that is best
for the unliving man after he is gone.
Arise, kingdom's guard, let us quickly go
and inspect the path of Grendel's kin.
I promise you this: he
* will find no protection—
not in the belly of the earth nor the bottom of the sea,
nort he mountain groves—let him go where he will!
For today, you must endure patiently
all your woes, as I expect you will."
The old man leapt up, thanked the Lord,
the mighty God, for that man's speech.
Then for Hrothgar a horse was bridled
with plaited mane. The wise prince
rode in full array; footsoldiers marched
with shields at the ready. The tracks were seen
far and wide on the forest paths,
a trail through the woods, where she went forth
over the murky moor, bore the young man's
3lifeless body, the best of all those
who had held watch over Hrothgar's home.
The son of nobles crossed over
the steep stone cliffs, the constricted climb,
a narrow solitary path, a course unknown,
the towering headlands, home of sea-monsters.
He went before with just a few
wise men to see the way,
until suddenly he saw mountain-trees,
stunted and leanin gover gray stones,
a joyless wood; the water went under
trubid and dreary. TO all the Danes,
the men of the Scyldings, many a thane,
it was a sore pain at heart to suffer,
a grief to every early, when the seacliff
they came upon the head of Æschere.
The flood boiled with blood—the folk gazed on—
and hot gore. At times a horn sang
its eager war-song. The footsoldiers sat down.
They saw in the water many kinds of serpents,
strange sea-creatures testing the currents,
and on the sloping shores lay such monsters
as often attend in early morning
a sorrowful journey on the sail-road,
dragons and wild beasts. They rushed away
bitter, enraged; they heard the bright noise,
the sound of the battle-horn. A Geatish bowman
cut short the life of those of the swimmers
on the waves, when death took him away.
At once in the water he was assailed
with barbed hooks of boar-pikes,
violently attacked and dragged ashore,
the strange wave-roamer; the men inspected
this grisly visitor.
Beowulf geared up
in his warrior's clothing, cared not for his life.
The broad war-shirt, wove by hand,
cunningly made, had to test the mere—
it ken well how to protect his bone-house
so that a battle-grip might not hurt his breast
nor an angry malicious clutch touch his life.
The shining helmet protected his head,
set to stir up the sea's depths,
seek that troubled water, decorated with treasure,
encircled with a splendid band, as a weapon-smith
in days of old had crafted it with wonders,
set boar-images, so that afterwards
no blade or battle-sword might ever bite it.
Not the smallest of powerful supports was that
which Hrothgar's spokesman lent him at need;
that hilted sword was named Hrunting,
unique among ancient treasures—
its edge was iron, etched with poison stripes,
hardened with the blood of war; it had never failed
any man who grasped it in his hands in battle,
who dared to undertake a dreadful journey
into the very home of the foe—it was not the first time
that it had to perform a work of high courage.
Truly, the son of Ecglaf,
4 crafty in strength,
did not remember what he had said before,
drunk with wine, when he lent that weapon
to a better swordsman; he himself did not dare
to risk his life under the rushing waves,
perform a lordly act; for that he lost honor,
his fame for courage. Not so with the other,
when he had geared himself up for battle.
XXII
Beowulf spoke, son of Ecgtheow:
"Consider now, famous kinsman of Healfdene,
wise prince, now that I am eager to depart,
gold-friend to men, what we spoke of before:
if ever in your service I should
lose my life, that you would always be
like a father to me when I had gone forth.
Be a protector to my band of men,
my boon-companions, if battle should take me,
beloved Hrothgar, and send on to Hygelac
the fits of treasure which you had given me.
The lord of the Geats will understand by that gold,
the son of Hrethel will see by that treasure,
that I found a ring-giver who was good
in ancient customs, and while I could, enjoyed it.
And let Unferth have the ancient heirloom.
that well-known man have my wave-patterned sword,
hard-edged, splendid; with Hrunting I shall
win honor and fame, or death will take me!"
After these words the Wether-Geat man
hastened boldly, by no means wished to
stay for an answer; the surging sea received
the brave soldier. It was the space of a day
*before the could perceive the bottom.
Right away she who held that expanse of water,
bloodthirsty and fierce, for a hundred half-years,
grim and greedy, perceived that some man
was exploring from above the alien land.
She snatched at him, seized the warrior
in her savage clutches, but none the sooner
injured his sound body—the ring-mail encircled him,
so that he could not pierce that war-dress,
the locked coat of mail, with his hostile claws.
Then that she-wolf of the sea swam to the bottom,
and bore the prince of rings into her abode,
so that he might not—no matter how strong—
wield his weapons, but so many wonders
set upon him in the water, many a sea-beast
with battle-tusks tearing at his war shirt,
Then the earl perceived
that he was in some sort of battle-hall
where no water could harm him in any way,
and, for the hall's roof, he could not be reached
by the flood's sudden rush—he saw a fire-light,
a glowing blaze shining brightly.
Then the worthy man saw that water-witch,
a great mere-wife; he gave a mighty blow
with his battle-sword—he did not temper that stroke—
so that the ring-etched blade rang out on her head
a greedy battle-song. The guest
5 discovered then
that the battle-flame would not bite,
or wound her fatally—but the edge failed
the man in his need; it had endured many
hand-to-hand meetings, often sheared through helmets
fated war-garments. It was the first time
that the fame of that previous treasure had failed.
Again he was stalwart, not slow of zeal,
mindful of glory, that kinsman of Hygelac—
the angry challenger threw away that etched blade,
wrapped and ornamented, so that it lay on the earth,
strong, steel-edged. He trusted his strength,
the might of his handgrip—as a man should do
if by his warfare he thinks to win
long-lasting prase: he cares nothing for life.
The man of the War-Geats
6 grabbed by the shoulder
Grendel's mother—he had no regret for that feud;
battle-hardened, enraged, he swung her around,
his deadly foe, so she fell to the ground.
Quickly she gave him requittal for that
with a grim grasp, and grappled him to her—
weary, he stumbled, strongest of warriors,
of foot-soldiers, and took a fall.
She set upon her hall guest
*broad, bright-eyed; she would avenge her boy,
her only offspring. On his shoulders lay
the linked corselet; it defended his life,
prevented the entrance of point and blade.
There the song of Ecgtheow would have ended his life
under the wide ground, the Geatish champion,
had not his armored shirt offered him help,
the hard battle-net, and holy God
brought about war-victory—the wise Lord,
Ruler of the heavens, decided it rightly,
easily, once she stood up again.
XXIII
He saw among the armor a victorious blade,
ancient giant-sword in its edges,
worthy in battles; it was the best of weapons,
except that it was greater than any other man
might even bear into the play of battle,
good, adorned, the work of giants.
*The Scyldings' champion seized its linked hilt,
fierce and ferocious, drew the rink-marked sword
despairing of his life, struck in fury
so that it caught her hard in the neck,
broke her bone-rings; the blade cut through
the doomed flesh—she fell to the floor,
the sword was bloody, the soldier rejoiced.
The flames gleamed, a light glowed within
even as from heaven the firmament's candle
shines clearly. He looked around the chamber,
passed by the wall, hefted the weapon
hard by its hilt, that thane of Hygelac,
angry and resolute—nor was the edge useless
to that warrior, but he quickly wished
to pay back Grendel from the many battle-storms
which he had wrought on the West-Danes
much more often than on one occassion,
when Hrothgar's hall-companions
he slew in their beds, devoured sleeping
fifteen men of the Danish folk,
and made off with as many more,
a loathsome booty. He paid him back for that,
the fierce champion, for on a couch he saw
Grendel lying lifeless,
battle-weary from the wound he received
in combat at Heorot. His corpse burst open
when he was dealt a blow after death,
a hard sword-stroke, and his head chopped off.
Soon the wise troops saw it,
those who kept the watch on the water with Hrothgar—
all turbid were the waves, and troubled,
the sea stained with blood. The graybearded
elders spoke together about the good one,
said they did not expect that nobleman
would return, triumphant, to seek
the mighty prince; to many it seemed
that the sea-wolf had destroyed him.
The ninth hour came; the noble Scyldings
abandoned the headland, and home went
the gold-friend of men. The guests
*sick at heart, and stared into the mere;
they wished, but did not hope, that they would
see their lord himself.
Then the sword began,
that blade, to dissolve away in battle-icicles
from the war-blood; it was a great wonder
that it melted entirely, just like ice
when the Father loosens the frost's fetters,
unwraps the water's bonds—He wields power
over times and seasons; that is the true Maker.
The man of the Geats took no more precious treasures
from that place—though he saw many there—
than the head, and the hilt as well,
bright with gems; the blade had melted,
the ornamented sword burned up; so hot was the blood
of the poisonous alien spirit who died in there.
Soon he was simming who had survived the battle
the downfall of his enemies, dove up through the water;
the sea-currents were entirely cleansed,
the spacious regions, when the alien spirit
gave up life-days and this loaned world.
The defender of seafarers came to land,
swam stout-hearted; he rejoiced in his sea-booty,
the great burden which he brought with him.
That splendid troops of thanes went towards him,
thanked God, rejoiced in their prince,
that they might see him safe and sound.
Then from that bold man helmet and and byrnie
7were quickly unstrapped. Under the clouds
the mere stewed, stained with gore.
They went forth, followed the trail,
rejoicing in their hearts; they marched along the road,
the familiar path; proud as kings
they carried the head from the sea-cliff
with great trouble, even for two pairs
of stout-hearted men; four of them had to
bear, with some strain, on a battle-pole
Grendel's head to the gold-hall,
until presently fourteen proud
and battle-hardy Geats came to the hall,
warriors marching; the lord of those men,
mighty in the throng, trod the meadhall-plain.
Then the ruler of thanes entered there,
daring in actions, honored in fame,
battle-brave hero, to greet Hrothgar.
Liuzza's Notes
1. In fact Grendel's mother is a much more dangerous opponent for Beowulf; the point of these lines is not clear.
2. The hero does not note carefully enough the gender of Grendel's mother, or else the pronoun he refers to the OE magan "kinsman," a masculine noun.
3. Or it was daylight.
4. Or "attacked their adversary." The Old English word æglæcan may refer here to Beowulf or the sea-monsters.
5. Some translations read "sat down upon"; the meaning of OE ofsæt is disputed.
6. Old, highly praised weapons are often called "the work of giants"—whether this is meant to connect the swords to the giants "who fought against God" is not clear.
7. I.e., the Geats who had come to Heorot with Beowulf.
Footnotes
1. The decision to call Grendel's mother "greedy" is an interesting one that implies she was wrong to pursue revenge even though seeking revenge for one's kin was a standard practice.
2. When compared to Headley or Purvis's translation, these lines seem to mock Grendel's mother. This, however, is not the viewpoint of Liuzza but rather a correct translation of the Old English.
3. Æshcere is not a young man as he has been Hrothgar's right-hand man for many years which assumes that he is around the same age as Hrothgar who is old enough to assume a father role for Beowulf.
4. The son of Ecglaf is Unferth.
5. In comparison, Headley portrays Beowulf as an invader of the hall of Grendel's mother.
6. The use of guðgeata which translates to War-Geat is a significant change from weder geata which was used earlier in the section to label Beowulf.
7. Byrnie means a coat of mail (OED)
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Headley
Purvis
Morris