Paternal Legacy in Early English Literature Dissertation Presented In

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Paternal Legacy in Early English Literature

Dissertation

Presented in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree Doctor of Philosophy in the Graduate School of The Ohio State University

Erin Marie Szydloski Shaull

Graduate Program in English

The Ohio State University

2015

Dissertation Committee:

Christopher A. Jones, Advisor

Leslie Lockett

Karen Winstead

Erin Marie Szydloski Shaull

2015

Abstract

This dissertation argues that literature in Old English and early Middle English characterizes legacy-giving as a serious obligation of fatherhood and key paternal role. I contend that the father’s legacy in this cultural context can be understood to include property, heirlooms, wisdom, and kin ties. This project contributes to the emerging study of fatherhood, which has begun to examine fatherhood as a previously under-explored phenomenon that is both a cultural institution and a part of many men’s lived experiences. I examine Anglo-Saxon law-codes, Old English wisdom poetry, Beowulf, and the Middle English texts The Proverbs of Alfred and Layamon’s Brut in order to argue for the cultural importance of this fatherly role. I argue that many of the same cultural markers of Anglo-Saxon paternal legacy continue to be relevant after the Norman

Conquest, but that the Norman practice of strict patrilineal primogeniture alters certain aspects of fatherhood. While Old English literature prizes a relationship between father and son that includes an ongoing giving of self on the part of the father, early Middle

English literature prefers an ideal father who serves as a prototype for the son, dying just as the son reaches adulthood.

Acknowledgments

This dissertation was made possible by a support network to which I am deeply grateful. First and foremost, I would like to thank my adviser Dr. Christopher A. Jones who has been a formational influence on my dissertation and on my development as a scholar. He has been an invaluable resource, sounding board, and advocate throughout my doctoral program. I would also like to thank Dr. Leslie Lockett and Dr. Karen

Winstead, my other committee members, whose feedback has challenged me to sharpen my thinking, researching, and writing skills.

I owe a great debt of gratitude to my family. My husband Steven Shaull has been my staunchest supporter and has consistently made my work a priority. My parents

Dennis and Catherine Szydloski have always encouraged me to achieve my full potential and have supported the various academic decisions that have led me down the road to an

English Ph.D., even when they did not always understand those decisions. My brother

David Szydloski has been an eager listener, full of smart questions and warm encouragement. I have also been blessed with a supportive group of in-laws, who have cheered me on through the dissertation process.

Finally, I’d like to thank the many friends and colleagues who have provided camaraderie as well as intellectual, emotional, and sometimes logisitical support through

iii the doctoral program and the many life events along the way (including, but not limited to, a wedding, multiple moves, and a surgery). Without them, I would be a far less successful, far less stable woman than I am now.

Vita

2008...... B.A. English, Colgate University

2010...... M.A. English, The Ohio State University

2009 to 2014 ...... Graduate Teaching Associate, Department

of English, The Ohio State University

Fields of Study

Major Field: English

Table of Contents

Abstract……………………………………………………………………………………ii

Acknowledgements………………………………………………………………………iii

Vita…………………………………………………………………………………….…..v

Table of Contents…………………………………………………………………………vi

List of Tables…………………………………………………………………………….vii

List of Figures…………………………………………………………………………...viii

Introduction…………………………………………………………………………….….1

Chapter 1: Fatherhood in the Law……………………………………………...………..23

Chapter 2: Paternal Wisdom……………………………………………………………..85

Chapter 3: Failed Fatherhood in Beowulf…………………………………………..…..137

Chapter 4: Fatherhood after the Conquest…………………………………………..….191

Appendix A: Families and Feud in Beowulf………………………………………..…..248

Bibliography……………………………………………………………………………250

List of Tables

Table 1. Interactions between Geats and Swedes………………………………………249

vii

List of Figures

Figure 1. Hreðlings (Geats)…………………………………………………………….248

Figure 2. Scylfings (Swedes)………………………………………………………..…248

Figure 3. Scyldings (Danes)……………………………………………………………249

viii

Introduction

This dissertation came about as a response to recent movements in the academic fields that comprise gender studies. In part, it is a response to the current state of one of the ongoing missions of masculinity studies: to examine previously un- or under- examined aspects of men’s experiences. It is also a response to the now well-established study of motherhood: just as feminist criticism gave rise to masculinity studies out of a need to examine gender relationally, the study of motherhood calls for the study of fatherhood in order to examine gendered parenting relationally. Finally, this dissertation responds to the current state of the study of fatherhood, a subfield of masculinity studies.

This subfield is still in its early stages, and while there have been some forays into fatherhood in a medieval context, many aspects of medieval fatherhood have yet to be thoroughly explored. Since a study of all aspects of fatherhood for the entire medieval period, even narrowed geographically to England, is far too large for a dissertation, this project seeks to contribute to the current state of scholarship by addressing certain aspects of early medieval English fatherhood as represented in (primarily) literary texts. The dissertation will be focused on the paternal roles of legacy-giving and sharing of self.

That is to say, it will focus on ways in which fathers in early medieval English literature give of themselves to their children both during and after their lifetimes, not only in terms

1 of property and titles, but also in more abstract terms, such as wisdom and both family and personal identity.

Medieval Masculinities

Before proceeding, it will be useful to take stock of the relevant fields of study mentioned above, in order to articulate how this dissertation fits into the scholarly conversation. Masculinity studies started in the late eighties as a response to feminist criticism on the grounds that gender must be studied as relational; that, because the masculine was considered default, it had not been critically explored; and that while scholarship in history and literature had long overlooked women’s experiences and focused on men, that it had focused on a narrow range of powerful men, leaving many men’s experiences unexplored.1 The field of masculinity studies gained ground over the early nineties, and was embraced by scholars of the Middle Ages.

1 Thelma Fenster’s preface to the essay collection Medieval Masculinities (ed. Lees) makes the foundational argument for bringing masculinity studies into the study of the medieval. Regarding the need for masculinity studies—specifically for a study of multiple masculinities—Fenster notes that traditional histories, though the figures they discuss are consistently men, “obliterat[e] men as men” (emphasis Fenster’s) and obscure the diversity of the masculine lived experience (Fenster, “Why Men?,” x). Similar emphases on the importance of studying multiple masculinities and situating masculinity in its varied specific contexts are common in the introductions to monographs and collections on the subject. See Murray, “Introduction,” ix-xi; Hadley, “Introduction,” 2- 5; Karras, From Boys to Men, 1-3; Cullum, “Introduction,” 2-3; Stone, Morality and Masculinity, 15. In his essay on the study of masculinity in the more recent collection What is Masculinity? (ed. Arnold and Brady), John Tosh has called for masculinity studies to return to studies of specific underexplored masculine experiences (he gives the history of colonial emigration and the history of fatherhood as specific areas ripe for such study), arguing that masculinity studies has tended too far toward the theoretical and has lost touch with lived experience (Tosh, “The History of Masculinity,” 22-25). 2

Starting in the mid-nineties, medievalist scholars began to publish work on masculinity. Medieval Masculinities (1994), edited by Clare Lees, was the first of several essay collections on medieval masculinity studies to be published during the nineties. It contained JoAnn McNamara’s influential essay “The Herrenfrage: The Restructuring of the Gender System, 1050-1150,” which espoused the crisis theory, an approach to masculinity that remained popular throughout the nineties, and that looks for historical moments of social upheaval that challenge the contemporary masculine status quo. (In the case of McNamara’s essay, the crisis in question stems from urbanization and an increase in women taking on masculine political roles, both of which challenge the contemporary ideal of warrior masculinity.) The same collection includes Lees’s essay

“Men and Beowulf,” which argues for feminist readings of Beowulf to look beyond the female characters in the poem, and scrutinizes the men in the poem as well as the poem’s critical tradition. Other issues that crop up in this collection include embodiment

(Bullough, “On Being a Male in the Middle Ages”; Kinney, “The (Dis)Embodied Hero and the Signs of Manhood in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight”), marriage (Stuard,

“Burdens of Matrimony”; Chojnacki, “Subaltern Patriarchs”), and the masculine other

(Mirrer, “Representing ‘Other’ Men”).

Other essay collections followed. Becoming Male in the Middle Ages (1997), edited by Jeffrey Jerome Cohen and Bonnie Wheeler included essays on castration

(Irvine, “Abelard and (Re)Writing the Male Body”; Wheeler, “Origenary Fantasies”;

Ferroul, “Abelard’s Blissful Castration”; Wolfson, “Eunuchs Who Keep the Sabbath”), embodiment (Smith, “Body Doubles”; Cohen, “Gowther among the Dogs”),

3 transvestitism (Putter, “Transvestite Knights”; Sponsler “Outlaw Masculinities”), and sexuality (Goldstein, “Normative Heterosexuality”; Epp, “The Vicious Guise”; Frantzen,

“Where the Boys Are”). Conflicted Identities and Multiple Masculinities (1999), edited by Jacqueline Murray includes essays on celibacy (McGuire, “Jean Gerson”;

McLaughlin, “Secular and Spiritual Fatherhood”; Murray, “Mystical Castration) and sexuality (Bullough and Brewer, “Medieval Masculinity and Modern Interpretation”;

Jochens’s “Triangularity in the Pagan North”), as well essays that focus on masculinity within specific secular contexts (Taylor, “Chivalric Conversation and the Denial of Male

Fear”; Karras, “Separating the Men from the Goats: Masculinity, Civilization and

Identity Formation in the Medieval University”; Stuard, “Gravitas and Consumption”).

Masculinity in Medieval Europe, edited by Dawn Hadley includes essays on celibacy

(Leyser, “Masculinity in Flux”; Swanson, “Angels Incarnate”; Cullum, “Clergy,

Masculinity, and Transgression”), homosocial bonds (Ailes, “The Medieval Male

Couple”; Haseldine, “Love, Separation, and Male Friendship”), castration (Tougher,

“Images of Effeminate Men”), and tension between religious and secular models of masculinity (Nelson, “Monks, Secular Men, and Masculinity, ca. 900”). Holiness and

Masculinity (2004), edited by P.H. Cullum and Katherine J. Lewis is more narrowed in focus than the collections of the nineties, and the essays contained in it show some shifts within the field. While the familiar topic of castration does show up (Tougher, “Holy

Eunuchs!”), more attention is turned to masculinity in the context of political power, with two essays discussing monarchy (Lewis, “Edmund of East Anglia, Henry VI and Ideals of Kingly Masculinity”; Ormrod, “Monarchy, Martyrdom, and Masculinity”). The

4 theoretical frameworks have shifted some as well: one essay offers a productive Freudian reading of Beowulf and the vitae of two Anglo-Saxon martyr kings (Christie, “Self-

Mastery and Submission”), and the crisis theory espoused in the nineties has largely been replaced by its offshoot, the fragility model, which takes as its starting point the idea that masculinity is inherently fragile and must either be bolstered or become a source of deep anxiety. The fragility model is present in several essays in this collection (Pettit,

“Holiness and Masculinity in Aldhelm’s Opus geminatum de virginitate”; Murray,

“Masculinizing Religious Life”; Muir, “Bride or Bridegroom”). A recent essay collection, Castration and Culture in the Middle Ages (2013) is even more narrow in focus, exclusively featuring essays on issues surrounding castration. Essays on medieval masculinity have also appeared in collections on masculinity studies writ large. What is

Masculinity? (2011), edited by John H. Arnold and Sean Brady, includes several essays on medieval topics, including Christopher Fletcher’s “The Whig Interpretation of

Masculinity,” which suggests strength, steadfastness, and honor as markers of masculinity more important in the medieval world than sexual activity, Rachel Stone’s

“Masculinity without Conflict,” which examines the interplay of lay masculinity and holiness in the Carolingian Empire, and Rachel Moss’s “An Orchard, a Love Letter, and

Three Bastards,” which looks at medieval family letters for medieval understandings of hypermasculine adolescent behavior.

The field of medieval masculinities has produced several monographs in the

2000s and 2010s. Ruth Karras’s From Boys to Men (2003) is a study of rites of passage

(and the ideological frameworks that scaffold those rites of passage) among knights,

5 university students, and craft workers of the later Middle Ages in England, using both literary and historical sources. Isabel Davis’s Writing Masculinity in the Later Middle

Ages (2007) examines literary sources of late medieval England for discourse on masculine ethics of labor and domesticity. Derek Neal’s The Masculine Self in Late

Medieval England (2008) examines a mix of literary and historical texts from late medieval England to study “the most ordinary men accessible” (i.e. townspeople, gentry, and better-off peasants)2 from both a social and psychological level, with particular attention to valued masculine traits. Rachel Stone’s Morality and Masculinity in the

Carolingian Empire (2012) focuses on the writings of Carolingian moralists with respect to the behavior of noble laymen, and with particular attention to violence (hunting and warfare), marriage and sex, and the possession of land and wealth.

There are a number of trends worth noting in the scholarship. Crisis theory, which was prevalent in the nineties, has fallen out of favor, and has been explicitly rejected in some of the most recent scholarship, most notably by Rachel Stone and Derek

Neal in their monographs.3 The fragility model of masculinity, an offshoot of crisis theory, has been influential in the 2000s, and while less limiting than the crisis theory, may still provide too-easy answers to complex questions if not applied carefully. For example, Emma Pettit’s article “Holiness and Masculinity in Aldhelm’s Opus geminatum de virginitate” considers depictions of masculine and feminine holy acts from the saints’ lives in Aldhelm’s De virginitate and concludes that Aldhelm’s male saints display more agency and are more likely to use violence (e.g. against dragons) than Aldhelm’s female

2 Neal, The Masculine Self, 6. 3 Stone, Morality and Masculinity, 19-21; Neal, The Masculine Self, 6. 6 saints in order to reassure the male religious audience of their masculinity (the female religious audience, says Pettit, would need no reassurance).4 Pettit reaches this conclusion without attention to Aldhelm’s sources and without engaging with the broader traditions at play, such as that of the miles Christi.

Less common, but a perennially used approach to the study of masculinity is a model that is concerned primarily with questions of dominance and interprets masculine behavior from a standpoint assuming that all men are driven to dominate others. While considering masculine behavior in terms of dominance may be a helpful heuristic for many circumstances, it can be a very limiting approach if other possibilities for interpretation are not also considered. Another, slightly broader, heuristic that crops up throughout the scholarship is derived from the anthropological work of David Gilmore, and focuses on three basic masculine social roles: procreation, protection, and provision.

Gilmore’s work has identified these roles as key to manhood in a wide variety of societies, although he notes a few exceptions in locations where resources are plentiful and the environment is not threatening. Gilmore’s three roles provide a fairly broad and flexible framework that can be used alongside other models and has been very influential.

The primary weakness with Gilmore’s work is that it gives little attention to alternative masculinities within single societies. The most obvious difficulty, then, for scholars of medieval masculinity, is the question of how monks and celibate priests are to be understood within this framework, that is, whether and how they can be masculine while living a lifestyle that eschews physical violence and sex. Another difficulty, though less

4 Pettit, “Holiness and Masculinity,” 17-18. 7 obvious, is if and how the model may be applied not only to the oratores, but also to both the bellatores and the laboratores: Gilmore does not address class differences, and it is as yet unclear how well his model can manage the coexistence of an aristocratic masculinity and a laboring masculinity. Perhaps the work on medieval masculinity that is most indebted to Gilmore’s work is Rachel Stone’s Morality and Masculinity, which takes as its focus lay aristocratic masculinity, and thus does not face any complications on this front.

Of the recurring topics mentioned above, it is notable that castration has become more popular within medieval masculinity studies over the years. Castration and issues surrounding it were prominent in scholarship on the late antique period even in the early nineties, and, likely due to the greater presence of eunuchs in the Eastern Empire, scholars of medieval Byzantium have been quicker to take up the topic.5 The more recent works mentioned above include a number of essays on issues surrounding castration in

Western Europe, and many of them either discuss the use of castration as legal punishment or the Western Church’s negative view of self-castration. There are also some articles focusing on particular castrated men and their self-representation, the most popular of these men, of course, being Abelard. The similarity of the growth of this subfield within medieval masculinity to the recent growth of the subfield of fatherhood

(which I will outline below) suggests that medieval masculinity has established enough

5 Most of the essays contained in this collection concern late antiquity; the several essays that do cover the Middle Ages are strictly Byzantine and do not discuss Western Europe at all. 8 groundwork to begin deeper, more focused exploration of specific under-studied aspects of the masculine experience.

Medieval Motherhood

Turning now to the field of medieval motherhood, it may be beneficial to consider scholarship on spiritual motherhood separately from secular motherhood. It should be noted that this distinction is not always a clear one within the scholarship, as some scholars address both in the same work, and some address both kinds of motherhood as roles that can be performed by the same person at once. Nevertheless, by addressing them separately (and noting when scholars address both together), we may more easily see trends within the field.

The earliest work on medieval spiritual motherhood was done by Caroline Walker

Bynum. Bynum’s article “Jesus as Mother and Abbot as Mother” (1977) discusses the use of metaphors comparing both Jesus and abbots to mothers in twelfth century

Cistercian writings, with specific attentions to the bodily maternal functions of labor and nursing. A chapter based on this article is a focal part of her monograph Jesus as Mother

(1982). The monograph, like the article, focuses on metaphorical motherhood in high medieval Cistercian spirituality.

Clarissa Atkinson’s The Oldest Vocation: Christian Motherhood in the Middle

Ages (1991) traces the development of motherhood in the Christian West from the late antique period to the early modern period, considering motherhood both as institution and as personal experience. Several of the book’s chapters discuss spiritual motherhood,

9 examining issues such as Marian theology and the privileging of spiritual motherhood over biological motherhood due to the latter’s connection to sex.

The essay collection Medieval Mothering (1996), edited by John Carmi Parsons and Bonnie Wheeler, includes a number of essays that address spiritual motherhood.

These essays cover such topics as the authority of abbesses (Lifshitz, “Is Mother

Superior?”), maternal characters who are both biological and spiritual mothers to their children (Quattrin, “The Milk of Christ”), and characterizations of both Jesus and Joseph as maternal (Sheingorn, “Maternal Behavior of God”; Hale, “Joseph as Mother”;

McInerney, “In the Meyden’s Womb”; Sprung, “The Inverted Metaphor”). The essay collection Holiness and Masculinity (2004), mentioned above, also contains an essay on spiritual motherhood concerning the maternalization of men: Craun’s “Matronly Monks.”

Secular motherhood, including biological motherhood, has followed closely behind spiritual motherhood and has garnered more attention in the 2000s. Atkinson’s

The Oldest Vocation (1991), mentioned above, discusses secular as well as spiritual motherhood, with chapters focusing on medical attitudes toward issues related to motherhood (gender difference, conception, menstruation, and labor), the development of theology regarding the sanctity of family life and biological regeneration, and the influence of both the Reformation and the Counter-Reformation on early modern motherhood.

The essay collection Medieval Mothering (1996), mentioned above, contains many essays on secular motherhood. Some of these essays focus on specific biological mothers in medieval history (Chibnall, “The Empress Matilda”; LoPrete, “Adela of

Blois”; Shadis, “Berenguela of Castille’s Political Motherhood”). Others focus on the physicality of biological mothering (MacLehose, “Nurturing Danger”) or social patterns of motherhood (Newton, “Occlusion of Maternity”; Jochens, “Old Norse Mothering”;

Hanawalt, “Female Networks”; Rosenthal, “Looking for Grandmother”; Parsons,

“Pregnant Queen as Counselor”).

Mary Dockray-Miller’s monograph Motherhood and Mothering in Anglo-Saxon

England (2000) studies historical and literary motherhood in Anglo-Saxon England, with attention to maternal genealogies in convents,6 to women in or attached to the ruling house of Wessex, and to mothers in Beowulf. She applies a framework derived from the works of Judith Butler (Dockray-Miller applies Butler’s ideas of gender performativity to the role of mothering), Luce Irigaray (from whom Dockray-Miller takes the idea of maternal genealogies within patriarchal societies), and Sara Ruddick (from whom

Dockray-Miller derives her categories of mothering behavior: protecting, nurturing, and teaching).

The 2000s saw several more journal articles and book chapters on motherhood.

Becky Lee’s articles “A Company of Women and Men” (2002) and “Between a Rock and a Hard Place,” have explored two aspects of medieval mothering. “A Company of

Women and Men” looks at proof-of-age inquests for details (necessarily given by male testators, although sometimes relaying indirectly the testimony of midwives) surrounding

6 Although arguably some aspects of this chapter may be better categorized as “spiritual mothering” (Dockray-Miller does not make any such distinction herself), as it concerns mothering behaviors on the part of abbesses to the nuns under their supervision, her primary focus in this chapter concerns the passing of the office of abbess of certain convents within biological families. 11 the realities of childbirth. “Between a Rock and a Hard Place” addresses the role of the churching ceremony that ended a woman’s childbirth confinement in the negotiation of the difficult emotional and spiritual situation of married women in the Middle Ages, torn between the requirement that they “pay the marriage debt” and religious teaching that sexual activity was necessarily less holy than chastity. Stacy Klein’s chapter

“Centralizing Feminism in Anglo-Saxon Literary Studies” in Readings in Medieval

Texts: Interpreting Old and Middle English Literature (2005), edited by David F.

Johnson and Elaine Treharne, examines Cynewulf’s characterization of Helena in the Old

English Elene as a secular counterpart to the Virgin Mary and a more accessible exemplar for Anglo-Saxon mothers. Klein also argues that Cynewulf envisions motherhood as a flexible social role that can incorporate biological reproduction, spiritual motherhood, and artistic inspiration.

Let us now pause to consider trends within scholarship on motherhood. Although scholarship on secular and spiritual motherhood has often intertwined, it is interesting to note that spiritual motherhood was more of a presence in the scholarship early on, and that secular motherhood has become more prominent over time.

Many scholars have commented on the physicality of motherhood, although the most frequently discussed aspect of this is not pregnancy or labor but rather nursing, which is often exploited in medieval sources for symbolic meaning in spiritual contexts.

The physical act of nursing is, however, just one of many maternal behaviors and signifiers that have been applied to (or appropriated by?) men in the middle ages, and much scholarship on medieval motherhood has, accordingly, focused on men. This

12 attention to male application and appropriation of motherhood is representative of the field’s goal to uncover ways in which the historical and literary records have occluded or ignored the roles of mothers.

On the other hand, many scholars, including Mary Dockray-Miller in Motherhood and Mothering insist that motherhood is a performative role and can be carried out by any person, regardless of sex or gender. Dockray-Miller’s introduction explicitly separates the bodily functions of conception, pregnancy, labor, and nursing from the social role of motherhood, which is her focus. Not all scholars have been as keen to separate the physical and social aspects of motherhood, although several note and give some attention to the simultaneous existence of motherhood both as a social institution and as a lived personal experience.

Dockray-Miller is the only scholar of medieval motherhood who has laid out a clear set of universal motherly roles, which she adapts from the work of Sara Ruddick, a feminist philosopher whose book Maternal Thinking: Toward a Politics of Peace primarily concerns modern motherhood, but makes explicit claims of universality. The role of nurturing is widely acknowledged and discussed in the scholarship, although for

Dockray-Miller and Ruddick, the maternal role of nurturing is concerned with providing a child with an environment and resources needed to allow them to grow and develop

(rather than the biological act of nursing).7 The role of protection (which Ruddick also calls “preservation”) encompasses the soothing of hurts, protection from household dangers, and the solving of fears. Finally, the role of training (which Dockray-Miller calls

7 Ruddick, Maternal Thinking, 17. 13

“teaching” and uses to include instruction in “book-learning”) is, according to Ruddick, the bringing up of a child to be culturally acceptable, including the instilling of morals and values. 8 Dockray-Miller’s use of all three categories is somewhat looser than

Ruddick’s. Ruddick’s roles may serve as a useful jumping-off point for scholars of medieval motherhood, but should be applied skeptically until scholars produce adequate evidence to corroborate that these allegedly universal roles were also expected of medieval mothers. Dockray-Miller uses these roles with no given justification and expands them to suit her needs. While these roles give her a helpful framework by which to consider her evidence, I am not satisfied that her usage of them reflects specifically maternal roles in Anglo-Saxon England. The field would benefit from more work on this subject.

A final interesting point to keep in mind as we move on to the topic of fatherhood is that motherhood is rarely discussed as threatening. On the occasions when motherhood is threatening, it is typically restricted to contexts in which mothers are obstacles to their children’s entrance into adulthood,9 or in which the mother oversteps her bounds and takes on paternal authority.10

8 Ruddick, Maternal Thinking, 17. 9 Rachel Moss discusses several such literary mothers (Moss, Fatherhood and Its Representations, 63-69). 10 For example, Bevis’s mother in Bevis of Hampton, as discussed in Lim, “In the Name of the (Dead) Father,” 37. 14

Fatherhood

Just as feminist criticism gave rise to masculinity studies, the study of motherhood has called attention for the need for similar scholarly attention to fatherhood, both within medieval studies and in other periods. I will first address work that has been done thus far on medieval fatherhood, first addressing spiritual fatherhood and then secular. As with motherhood, these categories are not perfectly discrete, and my use of them here is simply a tool to aid the identification of general trends and should not be taken to suggest that the works listed necessarily fit only in one of these categories.

Afterwards, I will address some of the work that has been done on fatherhood in other periods.

Spiritual fatherhood received some attention in the late nineties. Michael Drout’s unpublished dissertation “Imitating Fathers” (1997) is primarily concerned with ways in which the Benedictine reformers influenced and used cultural conceptions of fatherhood in late Anglo-Saxon England. This includes the role of reformed monasteries in the writing and keeping of wills, the use of fatherhood as a model of monastic relationships, a reading of wisdom poems in a monastic context, and the role of influential scholars of

Anglo-Saxon studies as intellectual fathers. Even Drout’s chapter on Beowulf, the only chapter which is primarily secular in focus, is concerned not primarily with biological fatherhood, but with the idea that Anglo-Saxon succession is ideally a function of a potential successors’ deeds as much as his bloodline.11 Joseph Lynch touches on spiritual

11 Drout has published several articles from chapters of this dissertation, including two that play important roles in later chapters of this dissertation, but these individual articles 15 fatherhood in his monograph Christianizing Kinship (1998), which is primarily concerned with the creation of social bonds (especially godparenthood) via Christian sacraments of initiation in Anglo-Saxon England. Also pertaining to spiritual fatherhood is Megan McLaughlin’s article “Secular and Spiritual Fatherhood of the Eleventh

Century” (1999) from the essay collection Conflicted Identities and Multiple

Masculinities, mentioned above. While the article’s name may suggest that it addresses both secular and spiritual fatherhood equally, the argument focuses on the discourse on spiritual fatherhood in the writings of Peter Damian, in which spiritual fatherhood is established as important for celibate men and as superior to secular fatherhood. Melissa

Joy Bernstein’s unpublished dissertation “Concealment and Revelation: Fatherhood in the Literature of Anglo-Saxon England” (2004) touches on spiritual fatherhood in places, with one chapter exploring the allegorical association in Anglo-Saxon texts between the divine fatherhood of the first Person of the Trinity and biological fatherhood. Bernstein also has a chapter focusing on a reading of the transvestite saints Eugenia and Eufrasia as spiritual fathers in their monasteries and to their own biological fathers.

Secular fatherhood also began to be addressed in the late nineties, but has gained more traction in recent years. As mentioned, Michael Drout’s unpublished dissertation

(1996) contains some content related to secular fatherhood, primarily concerning succession in Beowulf and the use of wills. The essay collection Medieval Family Roles

(1996), edited by Cathy Jorgensen Itnyre, contains only one essay on fatherhood, Itnyre’s own “The Emotional Universe of Medieval Icelandic Fathers and Sons,” which addresses are not listed here as, separated from the whole, their focuses drift away from fatherhood per se. 16 description of the emotional aspects of father-son relationships in sagas. The aforementioned essay collection Masculinity in Medieval Europe (1999), edited by Dawn

Hadley, contains one essay on fatherhood, W.M. Aird’s “Frustrated Masculinity,” which discusses the strained relationship between William the Conqueror and his eldest son.

Melissa Joy Bernstein’s unpublished dissertation “Concealment and Revelation:

Fatherhood in the Literature of Anglo-Saxon England” (2004), in addition to the discussion of spiritual fatherhood mentioned above, also includes readings of Beowulf and Apollonius of Tyre in which she interprets kingship as allegory for fatherhood. There has been one monograph thus far on medieval fatherhood, Fatherhood and Its

Representations in Middle English Texts (2013) by Rachel Moss. Moss’s book focuses on fatherhood in gentry and mercantile families of late medieval England by reading family letters and romances. Her approach focuses on the position of the father within a strictly hierarchical family unit.

The study of fatherhood has recently become an area of interest in scholarship on other historical periods, as well. The important essay collection, What is Masculinity?

Historical Dynamics from Antiquity to the Contemporary World (2011) includes several essays on fatherhood from non-medieval perspectives. The introductory essay, “The

History of Masculinity” includes a section discussing the as yet underexplored subfield of fatherhood from a general masculinity studies approach. There are also several essays discussing fatherhood in specific historical periods (Bailey, “Masculinity and Fatherhood in England, c. 1760-1830”; Rutherdale, “Three Faces of Fatherhood as a Masculine

Category: Tyrants, Teachers, and Workaholics As ‘Responsible Family Men’ during

Canada’s Baby Boom”; Christie, “’Proper Government and Discipline’: Family Religion and Masculine Authority in Nineteenth-Century Canada”).

The study of fatherhood, then, is barely underway, and much ground remains to be broken. Spiritual fatherhood is sometimes discussed as a concept used to masculinize celibate clergy, sometimes fixating on the idea of spiritual fatherhood as a way to be fruitful without sexual activity. Fatherhood is often discussed in the context of authority, sometimes by analogy to other kinds of authority (divine, political, etc.). Unlike motherhood, fatherhood is frequently discussed as potentially threatening or as a source of tension, either from the risk of authority verging on authoritarian or from the tension between fathers and adult sons.

Paternal Legacy in Early Medieval England

This project, then, contributes to the emerging subfield of fatherhood, as part of the movement of masculinity studies to explore un- and under-examined aspects of the masculine experience. Precisely because the familial role of the father seems so familiar to the human experience, it has been taken for granted, just as gender went so long unexamined because of how closely it was intertwined with the human experience. This project also responds to the longer-established but ongoing study of motherhood, which will benefit from the study of fatherhood in order to examine these two social roles relationally. Scholars of motherhood have already identified one of the most difficult aspects of their subject, which is also true of fatherhood: in addition to a lived experience that many humans undertake, fatherhood and motherhood function in society as

18 institutions. Scholars of motherhood have attempted to define roles of motherhood, and there have been some attempts to do this for fatherhood already. Bernstein in her dissertation offers a working definition of fatherhood as “the process of raising, nurturing, educating, and caring for a child: often, though not necessarily, from the time of birth until adulthood.”12 This definition is not very satisfactory, partly because it is unclear what basis Bernstein has for ascribing these roles to fatherhood, and partly because it is unclear how this definition is meant to differ from motherhood.

While much work in Anglo-Saxon fatherhood has been primarily spiritual in focus, my project will focus on secular fatherhood. My work here is primarily focused on biological fatherhood, and the question of the extent to which biological paternity is an important factor in the culture’s understanding of the social role of fatherhood. I am not convinced that the study of fatherhood has done enough groundwork to establish specific paternal roles, although Gilmore’s masculine roles seem to me to be a good starting place to work from.

In order to narrow my focus, and thus be able to dig in deeply to the matter at hand, I have decided to concentrate on expectations for paternal behavior, with particular attention to the giving and sharing of self. “Legacy” is the closest Modern English word to express this function of fatherhood, and adequately expresses that this project is concerned with abstract as well as concrete gifts of the father. However, whereas

“legacy” may suggest only post-mortem gifts of the father, this dissertation is concerned with giving and sharing behaviors that occur both during and after the father’s lifetime,

12Bernstein, “Concealment and Revelation,” 7. 19 and my use of the word “legacy” should be understood to encompass both. I argue that this broad sense of “legacy” as the giving and sharing of self during and after a father’s lifetime, functions (at least in Anglo-Saxon England) as a significant social role expected of fathers.

Chapter 1 makes a thorough survey of Anglo-Saxon law concerning fatherhood in order to establish a baseline of cultural expectations for fathers, broken down categorically. The categories applied are paternal authority (including when that authority is trumped by other authorities), paternal obligation (including how obligations are met in the absence of a biological father), protection of the male ability to beget children, and paternal legacy (considered in terms of property, kinship ties, and rights and responsibilities). This chapter establishes the importance of paternal kin-ties in the legal system of Anglo-Saxon England.

Chapter 2 examines masculine and explicitly paternal instruction in the Old

English wisdom poems Precepts and Vainglory, arguing that such poems, particularly in the context of a pervasive conception of wisdom as masculine, indicate a cultural ideal and expectation that fathers and father figures should have ongoing instructive relationships with adolescent boys and young adult men in order to equip said young men to participate in the community in socially acceptable ways as adults. This argument is situated in the context of Mary Dockray-Miller’s and Sara Ruddick’s works on motherhood and their stance that training or teaching is a maternal role. The Alfredian corpus is briefly addressed here in the context of the Anglo-Saxon gendering of wisdom.

Similarly, hagiography is touched on in this chapter in the context of role reversal, in

20 which young saints sometimes serve as wise instructors to their own parents. However, the explicit and focused depiction of paternal instruction in Precepts, as well as the depiction of an ongoing chain of instruction of a similar kind in Vainglory makes these poems particularly fruitful for the consideration of the social role of the father as giver of wisdom in Anglo-Saxon England.

Chapter 3 turns to fatherhood in a heroic context, and argues that Beowulf is a poem very much concerned with fatherhood. This chapter argues that the poem sets up certain expectations for fatherly behavior, which several of the fathers presented fail at or are unable to live up to. The greater part of the chapter focuses on the enigmatic figure

Ecgþeow, Beowulf’s own father, who is dead by the start of the actions of the poem and is largely absent from the poem. In order to understand Beowulf’s own kinship ties, I use subtle textual evidence to argue that Ecgþeow is one of the Scylfings, the ruling house of the Swedes, and that Beowulf is the product of a failed peaceweaving marriage, a reading that sheds some light on the strange and complex interactions between the feuding Geats and Swedes. I also consider Beowulf’s conspicuous lack of any heirlooms of Ecgþeow’s, and use this context to reconsider the significance of weapons in the Grendel fight as representative of humanizing and civilizing social bonds. This chapter also addresses the poem’s concern with royal fathers who beget children too late in their reigns (Hroðgar, possibly Hygelac), leading to the danger of political instability on the occasion of succession, and with the problem of Beowulf’s own childlessness and heirlessness, when there is no one to whom he can give either his heirlooms or the responsibility of ruling

21 the Geats. This chapter addresses both the physical legacy of heirlooms and the abstract legacy of personal and communal identity.

Finally, Chapter 4 looks to early Post-Conquest England to address cultural shifts relating to paternal legacy associated with the Norman Conquest, which—significantly— brings to England the practice of strict patrilineal primogeniture. This chapter first examines The Proverbs of Alfred, the earliest Middle English instruction poem, as reflective of many of the same concerns as Precepts and Vainglory, albeit with a greater emphasis on the overlap between fatherly and lordly obligations. Then the chapter turns to the Arthurian section of Layamon’s Brut and considers the poem’s representations of

Uther as absent father and of Arthur as childless king. I argue that, while the idea of fatherhood is evoked by means of many of the same literary tools in both the Brut and

Beowulf, Layamon seems uninterested in problematizing or criticizing these situations.

In order to explain Layamon’s uncritical representation of these situations, I apply the arguments of Gary Lim and Rachel Moss regarding dead fathers in Middle English romances, which underscore the tension between fathers and adult eldest sons under a system of strict primogeniture, in which the son cannot fully take on his adult role until his father has died. This chapter considers legacies of wisdom, heirlooms, and identity in the context of Post-Conquest England.

Chapter 1: Fatherhood in the Law

Before proceeding to literary representations of fatherhood, let us begin with a look at a set of prescriptive texts: the Anglo-Saxon law codes. By addressing the ways in which fatherhood was legislated, we can begin to establish a framework for the performance of fatherhood in Anglo-Saxon England. We can identify acts considered requisite of fathers, outline the extent of paternal authority, and glimpse (often better than in literary texts) clear differences between conceptions of the roles and importance of paternity and maternity. The focus of this chapter will be restricted to Anglo-Saxon secular law. An exhaustive account of fathers and fatherhood in Anglo-Saxon prescriptive sources would, certainly, have to take account of canon law and penitentials as well. For practical reasons, however, those complex sources cannot be dealt with here

(although I hope to turn to them at a later date).

The Anglo-Saxon law codes are often studied in the context of other Germanic law codes of the early middle ages. Scholars tend to argue that the impetus for written law, and perhaps even the model, is Roman, whereas implementation and procedure are local and may be influenced by a Germanic people’s self-identity, political relations with other groups, and the actions of powerful individuals.13 The preexistence of a Germanic

13 Oliver, The Body Legal, 9-10; Wormald, “Lex Scripta,” 111-112. 23 oral legal tradition is assumed by many scholars, a belief that has its roots in Jakob

Grimm’s Rechtsaltertümer movement. Patrick Wormald has expressed skepticism regarding the existence of a common Germanic legal tradition predating written law, but the concept remains prevalent nevertheless.14

Scholars have tended to divide Germanic law codes into northern law codes

(including the English codes of Kent and Wessex) and southern.15 Among the northern law codes, the laws of Kent and Wessex have the most in common with those of Frisia, including similarities in the detailing of anatomy and the valuing of various body parts in personal injury laws. Lisi Oliver has noted that the Frisians, Kentish, and West Saxons share a linguistic sub-group as well as proximity to the North Sea. She has further posited that, given certain particularly strong parallels between the laws of Frisia and

Wessex, legally knowledgeable Frisians must have been in Alfred’s court and had some influence on legislation there.16

Having established some of the Germanic context of early English law, we may now address the history of English law itself. The first written English law comes from the court of Æþelberht in Kent. Since the Kentish laws survive only in the twelfth century Textus Roffensis manuscript, and since the rubric that attributes this particular law code to Æþelberht is certainly editorial, we are heavily reliant on the corroboration of

14 Wormald, The Making of English Law, xi, 11, 38-39. Wormald offers the alternative explanation that many or most elements common among the Germanic laws may be stripped-down remnants of Roman law, while acknowledging in general that local Germanic customs must have influenced legislation, and specifically that feud is clearly Germanic rather than Roman. 15 Wormald, The Making of English Law, 44; Oliver, The Body Legal, 235. 16 Oliver, The Body Legal, 235. 24

Bede, writing over a century after the law code was written, to confirm the attribution of this text to Æþelberht.17 Patrick Wormald has noted that the law code does seem to be as old as Æthelberht and may as well be his. Wormald suggests that the lack of any mention of Æþelberht (indeed, the lack of any prologue, where the legislating king is usually mentioned) can be attributed to the fact that northern Germanic law-making is not yet a function of kingship at this time, with the emphasis falling instead on the role of the witan.18

While the rubric of Æþelberht’s law code says that the legislation was produced by Æþelberht “in Augustines dæg,”19 the meaning and accuracy of this phrase have been questioned. It is often taken as referring to the time between the arrival of Augustine in

Canterbury and his death (597-604x610), but Lisi Oliver points out that it could mean while Augustine’s influence was felt, and thus extend after his death.20 It is also possible that the laws actually predate the arrival of Augustine’s mission. The first laws listed defend the clergy, and go back at least to Bede’s day, but seem to be a later addendum to the rest of Æþelberht’s law code, as they differ stylistically.21 Richardson and Sayles

17 Oliver, The Beginnings of English Law, 25; Wormald, The Making of English Law, 93. 18 Wormald, The Making of English Law, 94. 19 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:3. 20 Oliver, The Beginnings of English Law, 14. 21 Oliver, The Beginnings of English Law, 15; Richardson and Sayles, Law and Legislation, 3-4, 9. Richardson and Sayles also note the ranking of bishops above the king, and both sources note that the penalties given for crimes against the clergy are much larger than those suggested to Augustine by Pope Gregory the Great in correspondence, as indicators that these laws are unlikely to be as old as the rest of Æþelberht’s code. 25 have noted that, apart from this section, Æþelberht’s laws show no sign of Christianity, and that they could thus be dated to any time in Æþelberht’s reign.22

Æþelberht’s laws also show signs of orality, although it is unclear whether this means that they were composed orally and then later written down, or whether they were written initially but heavily influenced by an oral tradition. The structure of the laws follows a potentially mnemonic top-to-bottom ordering of laws (starting with offences against the church, then against the king and his household, then against eorls, then against ceorls, etc.), to include the literal top-to-bottom ordering of body parts in the personal injury laws. Some of the laws also show evidence of alliteration, and all are written with simple syntax, both of which could suggest either an oral origin or the influence of orality.23

Æþelberht’s law code was written in English, and all subsequent Anglo-Saxon law codes followed suit, whereas contemporary continental Germanic law codes were

22 Richardson and Sayles, Law and Legislation, 4, 7-9. Richardson and Sayles note the treatment of marriage in the laws as places where the legislation is decidedly uninfluenced by Christianity, accepting marriage as purchase, and marriage by capture, and providing guidelines for monetary compensation for separation and adultery. Richardson and Sayles also argue compellingly against the necessity of the arrival of the mission for the production of written law. They emphasize the role played by the Frankish Bishop Liudhard (present in England before Æþelberht) in establishing writing in English, and also note numismatic evidence suggesting that there was writing in English even before his arrival. Liudhard’s role and the numismatic evidence are not addressed by more recent scholars in the field. 23 Oliver, The Beginnings of English Law, 36-40; Wormald, “Inter Cetera Bona,” 969- 970; Wormald, The Making of English Law, 95-96. Wormald notes these traits as evidence that Æþelberht’s laws were in fact the recording of already existent custom rather than innovative legislation, although he suggests that the specific fine amounts listed could be innovations. 26 composed in Latin (though many incorporated some vernacular vocabulary).24 There is some debate as to why vernacular law sprung up in the laws of Anglo-Saxon England where it failed to do so in the laws of other Germanic peoples. Mary Richards has suggested that English was preferential because Latin lacked the vocabulary necessary to record English laws.25 Patrick Wormald has suggested the possibility that no individual at the time had sufficient knowledge of both Latin language and English law to successfully record English law in Latin writing.26

The extent of Roman and Christian influence on Æþelberht’s law code is also unclear. While Bede notes (but does not give details of) Roman influence, Patrick

Wormald has suggested that Bede was actually referring to Frankish influence, and Lisi

Oliver has suggested that the Roman influence may simply refer to the impetus to transition from oral to written law.27 As to Christian influence, as noted above, the only content in Æþelberht’s law code that shows clear sings of Christian influence is the segment pertaining to the clergy, and this seems to be a later addition. We have, then, only the suggestion of influence coming from Bede (over one hundred years after the fact), and while scholars have suggested that Augustine may have played an important role with regards to the impetus to write law, they have noted that the content and

24 Oliver, The Body Legal, 9. 25 Richards, “Anglo-Saxonism in the Old English Laws,” 43. Clearly, continental Germanic tribes would have faced similar problems and adapted to them, but Æþelberht may have chosen to use English rather than adapt. 26 Wormald, “Lex Scripta,” 115; Wormald, The Making of English Law, 101. 27 Wormald, The Making of English Law, 29, 97; Oliver, The Beginnings of English Law, 18. 27 language are Æþelberht’s.28 If early English legislation was influenced by Roman legislation, that influence seems to have been minimal.

Two other Kentish law codes, written after Æþelberht’s, survive. The first of these is associated with the king Hloþhære and his paternal nephew Eadric, who shared joint rule from 679 until Eadric rose against his uncle in 684, although the law code need not be confined to that period.29 The other is from the reign of Wihtred and has been dated to 695.30 The first surviving Old English law code to be promulgated outside of

Kent is that of Ine of Wessex, roughly a contemporary of Wihtred. At least one of Ine’s laws is echoed in Wihtred’s, which not only reveals influence, but also allows us to date

Ine’s laws to the beginning of his reign.31 However, it is not conclusive that the entirety of Ine’s law code is from this time, and Patrick Wormald has noted that what comes to us as a single legal document could in fact be an aggregation of six or seven legislative sessions, and that some of them could even be by Ine’s successors.32 Ine’s law code always follows Alfred’s in manuscripts, but there is no evidence that Alfred tampered with Ine’s text at all.33

28 Wormald, Lex Scripta,” 131; Oliver, The Beginnings of English Law, 17. Richardson and Sayles also note that Æþelberht himself may never have actually converted, citing the lack of any mention of this in Augustine’s letters to Rome as well as Æþelberht’s second marriage to a pagan woman who went on to marry his pagan son after Æþelberht died (Law and Legislation, 162-164). 29 Oliver, The Beginnings of English Law, 119-120. 30 Oliver, The Beginnings of English Law, 148. 31 Wormald, The Making of English Law, 103; Richardson and Sayles, Law and Legislation, 13. 32 Wormald, The Making of English Law, 105; Wormald, “Inter Cetera Bona”, 982. 33 Wormald, The Making of English Law, 103. 28

When Alfred legislates, he notes the influence of the Kentish laws, Ine’s law, and also makes a reference to the Mercian king Offa having produced a written law, which is curious since there is no extant law from Offa—the only surviving pre-Alfredian law codes are the Kentish laws and Ine.34 It is possible that Offa may have produced a now- lost law (although there are no references to such a law outside of Alfred’s prologue), or that Alfred is referring to a surviving Northumbrian document by papal legates, a part of which document does bear similarity to one of Alfred’s laws.35 Regardless of what text

Alfred is referring to, it is significant that he sees not only the West Saxon Ine’s laws, but also Kentish and (alleged) Mercian texts as part of a common English heritage and relevant to his own law-making.36 Alfred, and the other legislators who follow him, present their law-making as a renovation of existing law, in which they add, remove, or change existing policy as they see fit.37

Alfred’s legislation is curiously not mentioned in Asser’s life of Alfred. Patrick

Wormald has suggested that it is possible that the text, as it survives, is defective, or that

Asser wrote it before Alfred produced his law code. Asser’s life does describe Alfred personally judging disputed cases, as well as emphasizing the importance of justice to

Alfred’s ideal of kingship.38

34 Pollock and Maitland, The History of English Law, 13; Wormald, The Making of English Law, 106. 35 Wormald, The Making of English Law, 106-107. 36 Richards, “Anglo-Saxonism in the Old English Laws,” 48. 37 Wormald, “Lex Scripta,” 113. 38 Wormald, The Making of English Law, 119-121. Asser’s Life has been dated to 893. It is unclear when in Alfred’s reign (871-899) the law codes were written, in part because much of our knowledge of the details of his reign come from Asser’s Life. Liebermann’s 29

After Alfred, nearly every English king legislates.39 Indeed, the impact of Anglo-

Saxon law extends beyond Anglo-Saxon kings. Cnut participated in the tradition of

English legislation as part of his campaign to reinforce his authority and present himself as an English king.40 Cnut’s great code of 1020x1021 is the fullest single record of

Anglo-Saxon law, and is largely a codification of preexisting law issued under Cnut’s name.41 Since Archbishop Wulfstan drafted legislation for both Æþelred II and Cnut, there is much overlap and continuity between their legal documents.42 Even William of

Normandy seems to have been influenced by the Anglo-Saxon tradition of law, issuing ordnances in English as well as Latin, and offering Englishmen the option of trial by ordeal (an Anglo-Saxon custom) in addition to trial by combat (the Norman custom).43

Many of the laws examined in this chapter come from Alfred’s domboc, either from Alfred’s own legislation, the laws he adapted from Mosaic law, or from Ine’s legislation, which he appended to his own. Alfred’s son and heir Edward the Elder opened his first law code with a line referencing and acknowledging the continuing authority of the domboc. Indeed, the domboc’s transmission is a testament to its long- lived influence: the domboc is better preserved than any other Anglo-Saxon legal text, surviving in whole or in part in ten different manuscripts.44

editorial dating suggests a likely post-890 date “871 (nach 890?)-901” (Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze, 1:16). 39 Pollock and Maitland, The History of English Law, 20. 40 Richards, “Anglo-Saxonism in the Old English Laws,” 55. 41 Wormald, The Making of English Law, 345, 349. 42 Richards, “Anglo-Saxonism in the Old English Laws,” 54. 43 Richards, “Anglo-Saxonism in the Old English Law,” 56; Wormald, The Making of English Law, 398-402. 44 Wormald, The Making of English Law, 265, 286. 30

The laws present a number of challenges to those who wish to use them for historical or literary research. One of the most evident challenges is that the laws are not comprehensive, and some things go unstated.45 The laws were written in the context of a significant quantity of received custom and practice, and assume a reader who has that unwritten knowledge, and who will understand the full context of the often brief and cryptic written legal clauses. On a larger scale, it seems that the Anglo-Saxon legislator kings did not intend to construct a complete body of law in each law code, leaving gaps where we would expect laws, and where other Anglo-Saxon legislators sometimes made laws.46

It is also difficult for us to get at the historical reality of legal practice, as much of the surviving legal records come not from criminal cases, but from property transactions

(since criminal cases, once settled, have few ramifications for the future, but property can be squabbled over for generations).47 Additionally, most surviving legal records come from ecclesiastical depositories, and thus typically involve the church or specific clergymen, whereas we have fewer extant documents preserving information about legal cases amongst the laity.48

Perhaps the biggest challenge of working with the law is one that has been raised by Patrick Wormald regarding what the intended use(s) of the laws may have been (i.e. whether the laws were intended to be enforced legal documents, or for some other

45 Wormald, “Lex Scripta,” 113. 46 Pollock and Maitland, The History of English Law, 26; Pratt, The Political Thought of King Alfred, 216; Pratt, “Written Law and the Communication of Authority,” 335. 47 Oliver, The Body Legal, 26-27. Oliver has carefully outlined what we can reconstruct about early medieval Germanic legal process and procedure (The Body Legal, 26-71). 48 Wormald, The Making of English Law, 146. 31 purpose). Wormald acknowledges that many of the laws have prologues that list ostensible motives such as the promotion of peace and order and the redressing of injustice, but he asserts that what evidence can be mustered does not fully support such explanations.49

Part of this question hinges on the unlikelihood that copies of the laws would have been available for local officials, which unlikelihood has been noted by other scholars.50

Wormald himself challenges the idea that literacy could have been widespread enough among the laity—even laity in positions of authority—to make the use of such documents feasible even if they were more widely available than we guess, noting that the presence of writing in the vernacular may simply make it easier for documents to be read to the laity by clergy.51 He places great emphasis on the fact that no extant records of legal proceedings or judicial decisions include references to specific laws, as is seen in southern continental Germanic legal texts, which Wormald takes as evidence that law codes were not enforced, and not intended to be enforced. He also notes the fact that the

English law codes are frequently not comprehensive as evidence that their purpose may have been simply to have something down in writing with little thought of practical value.52 Regarding Alfred specifically, Wormald emphasizes the king’s moral and religious interest in sapientia, and claims that this interest, because moral and religious, could not also be pragmatic.53

49 Wormald, “Lex Scripta,” 105. 50 Oliver, The Body Legal, 32; Rio, Legal Practice, 80. 51 Wormald, “The Uses of Literacy,” 96, 104. 52 Wormald, “Lex Scripta,” 113-115. 53 Wormald, “The Uses of Literacy,” 107. 32

Simon Keynes has been a key figure in disputing Wormald’s argument, particularly as it concerns the laws of Alfred. Keynes notes evidence from Asser’s life indicating Alfred’s real and practical interest in law, including Alfred’s personal involvement as a judge in disputed cases and his requirement that various officials become literate and study certain texts in order to maintain their positions.54 While it is unclear which texts they were required to study, Keynes argues that these texts likely included the law codes, although they may not have had access to the codes at all times.55

He does not see the lack of references to specific laws in legal records as compelling evidence against the enforcement of laws, and offers the analogy of the old west law man, who must enforce written laws in a world where published copies are scarce, perhaps out of date or inaccurately copied, and thus must also rely on his own sense of justice in applying his formal legal knowledge.56 Keynes’s analogy also nicely indicates how a moral study in sapientia could be highly important for the practical application of law, since it posits a circumstance in which the discretion of the individual authority figure plays a large role. It is perhaps worth noting here that Mary Richards’s study of the manuscript contexts of the laws reveals a similar juxtaposition of the moral and the legal in two manuscripts associated with Archbishop Wulfstan, in which instructional texts addressing the duties of lay and ecclesiastical Christians appear along side legal texts.57 For more than one Anglo-Saxon legislator, then, legality and morality are

54 Keynes, “Royal Government,” 230. 55 Keynes, “Royal Government,” 231. 56 Keynes, “Royal Government,” 243-244. 57 Richards, “The Manuscript Contexts,” 176-177. 33 inseparable, but this does not mean that laws carry only a symbolic weight (after all, the moral texts in the Wulfstan manuscripts are not abstract meditations, but instructions).

Carole Hough has found evidence for the operationality of the laws in her study of naming and royal authority in the laws. Hough pays particular attention to stipulations for forfeiture of property or fines due to the king, and indeed argues that the financial benefit to the king is significant evidence that the laws were written to be enforced.58 For textual evidence of enforcement, Hough looks not to records of legal decisions, but to charter bounds and place names. She reads the abundance of compound place names starting with the element cyninges (king’s) as evidence of the legal forfeiture of property to the king, and thus as evidence that the laws were enforced.59

David Pratt has been a key voice in tempering the extremity of Wormald’s argument, acknowledging the symbolic or political valence of many of the law codes while stressing that said symbolic valence and possible operationality of the law need not be mutually exclusive.60 Pratt also emphasizes the need for flexibility on the part of scholars in understanding the role of written law and how it could function in conjunction with a concurrent oral and customary tradition (what seems to be meant when the written laws refer to folcriht).61

While it is important to note this debate over operationality, for the purposes of this chapter, it bears only slight weight. If the laws were enforced, as is the majority

58 Hough, “Naming and Royal Authority,” 208. 59 Hough, “Naming and Royal Authority,” 213-217. 60 Pratt, The Political Thought of King Alfred the Great, 215-217; Pratt, “Written Law and the Communication of Authority,” 333. 61 Pratt, The Political Thought of King Alfred the Great, 217; Pratt, “Written Law and the Communication of Authority,” 335. 34 stance, then they have real implications for the lives of fathers and their children and reflect, in a lived way, the values of Anglo-Saxon society. If they were not enforced, as

Wormald argues, then the lived reality is unclear, but the laws may still be presumed to bear some relation to social values (or else what basis could there be for them?), and the law codes exist as literature circulating amongst the elite. Wormald himself discusses law as literature: “To speak in such a context of law-codes as ‘literature’ is not to imply that they were exercises in creative imagination; but rather, that law-making in writing was a better expression of an image of society than of practical remedies for its discontents.”62

Before delving into the laws themselves, a few words are in order concerning the content and organization of the rest of the chapter. The categories into which I have organized the individual laws are imperfect and an invention of my own; they are not in any way derived from the law codes themselves. Some clauses do not fit perfectly or could be put in multiple categories (and some I mention in more than one category), but I have tried to fit them into a logical and productive scheme based on what we can learn from them, particularly in the context of questions asked in later chapters. Thus, there is an emphasis on the roles and behaviors culturally expected of fathers in Anglo-Saxon society, so far as can be determined from this body of texts. The categories used in this chapter are as follows: the protection and limitation of paternal authority, the stipulation of paternal obligations, the outlining of various forms of paternal legacy, the protection of potential paternity, and finally an exploration of notable gaps in the law codes.

62 Wormald, The Making of English Law, 431. 35

Note that a few of the laws in this chapter do not exclusively concern fathers: some apply to both parents, some apply to fathers as well as other men who serve as the legal guardians of women, and some are concerned less with the specific figures of father and mother and more with paternal and maternal kin groups. I have endeavored to highlight the limitations of using each law to learn about Anglo-Saxon fatherhood. While it is often difficult to make conclusions based on a single legal clause, I hope that the laws explored here can be studied together to reveal larger patterns regarding fatherhood

(even as it overlaps with other roles being legislated), and that those patterns can be fruitfully analyzed in order to better understand how the Anglo-Saxons understood the role of fathers in society.

Finally, in order to search out relevant laws to discuss in this chapter, I searched

Liebermann’s index to find laws that both explicitly and implicitly had to do with fathers or related figures. This meant not only searching for instances of fæder and its compounds, but other familial nouns, including modor, sunu, dohtor, cild, fæderenmæg, and medrenmæg, as well as words related to conception and rape, such as gestrienan and niedhæmed, and inheritance, such as ierfe. Not all instances of these key words proved relevant (not all rape laws address issues of paternity and ierfe often is used to refer to property rather than the more specific meaning of “inheritance,” for example). I would like to specifically mention two types of instances of key words found in the laws that I have decided not to address here. I will not be addressing the mentions of fæder and sunu where they are used to refer to the first and second persons of the Trinity. I will also not

36 be addressing these words where they appear as part of patronymics in lists of the names of counselors, as in VI As 10 and II Atr Pro.

Paternal Authority

In this section, I will be exploring the legal protection and limitation of paternal authority. In doing so, I hope to identify powers believed by Anglo-Saxon society to rightly belong to the father, and to clarify the relationship between paternal authority and other spheres of authority in Anglo-Saxon England.

The first two laws I will explore here come from the Introduction to Alfred’s laws, which consists of his adaptations from Mosaic law, starting with the Decalogue. Of these two, the first is the commandment: “Ara þinum fæder 7 þinre medder, ða þe

Dryhten sealde, þæt ðu sie þy leng libbende on eorþan” (Af Int 4).63 The inclusion of

Mosaic law in general and the Decalogue in particular may be largely symbolic, as parts

63 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:28. Translations are my own unless otherwise noted. I have consulted Dorothy Whitelock’s English translations when available and Liebermann’s (highly interpretive) German translations throughout, as well as Oliver’s English translations of the Kentish laws, and Hough’s translations of Æþelberht 78-81 and Alfred 8. “Honor your father and your mother, that thereby you may be long-living in the land which God gave you.” Cf. Exodus 20:12. My translation here follows the meaning of the passage in Exodus, but it should be noted that the Old English syntax is ambiguous, and that the word order may even encourage a reading in which the clause “which God gave you” is understood to modify fæder 7 modor (father and mother) rather than eorþan (land). The Quadripartitus Latin transaltion of the laws (written in the twelfth century) follows the Vulgate, in which the word order is less ambiguous: “Honora patrem tuum et matrem tuam, ut sis longeuus super terram quam dominus Deus tuus dabit tibi” (ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:29; Ed. Edgar, The Vulgate Bible, 382.) but all three Old English manuscripts that contain this law follow the misleading word order quoted above. While I doubt the confusion is intentional, we may wonder if the emphasis on the parents as God’s gift was sometimes read into the law either in addition to or to the exclusion of the original sense. 37 of it, such as the commandment to honor one’s father and mother, are quite open to interpretation and difficult to enforce. While the historical enforcement of Alfred’s adopted Mosaic laws, and this law in particular, may be questionable, their presence in

Alfred’s introduction indicates the great cultural significance that they had—although we may wonder whether Alfred saw Anglo-Saxon values represented in Mosaic law or simply wished to see more influence of divine law among his people.

The other relevant law from Alfred’s Introduction is far less abstract, and pertains specifically to fathers rather than to parents in general. This law concerns marriage following what may be seduction or rape: “Gif hwa fæmnan beswice unbeweddode 7 hire midslæpe, forgielde hie 7 hæbbe hi siððan him to wife. Gif ðære fæmnan fæder hie

ðonne sellan nelle, agife he ðæt feoh æfter þam weotuman” (Af Int 29).64 Here the father of the young woman in question has a degree of control over the penalty. While the standard course of action is for the perpetrator to pay a fine and marry the woman, the father may opt only to take the fine, retaining control over whom his daughter marries,

64 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:38. “If someone seduces an unmarried woman and sleeps with her, let him make restitution for her and afterward marry her. If the woman’s father does not then wish to give her, he [the seducer] shall give payment according to her dowry.” Cf. Exodus 22:16-17. Of course, pre-modern concepts of rape focus on the consent of the male guardian of the victim, and may also hinge on seizure or kidnapping of the woman. Several of the laws in this chapter concern pre-modern rape, although the circumstances they posit often leave vague whether the woman involved is imagined to be complicit or not, since she is not legally able to consent. I will attempt to address the issue of female consent to the extent that it is clear in the laws and to the extent that it is relevant to this discussion, but I will default to using the terms “rape” and “rapist” according to pre-modern standards, and thus may sometimes use such words in cases where the woman’s consent is present or unclear. In this particular case, the law could presumably be invoked whether the woman was willing or not. For more in-depth discussion of rape in Anglo-Saxon law codes, see the work of Carole Hough, especially “A Reappraisal of Æthelberht 84,” and “Alfred’s Domboc and the Language of Rape.” 38 and preventing the use of the law as a workaround for amorous suitors not in favor with their beloveds’ fathers. While this law sticks closely to its source in Exodus, it is an enforceable, pragmatic law that outlines specific consequences and reserves for the father specific powers. We need not throw Afred’s Introduction out as necessarily symbolic; indeed, Wormald notes that Alfred’s borrowing of Mosaic law is selective, omitting and adapting where appropriate. He also notes the apparent importance of Old Testament law to the legal culture of early medieval Europe; we need not be overly concerned to draw a line between that which is Mosaic and that which is Alfredian where Alfred is adopting

Moses’s law and making it his own.65

Several laws delineating paternal authority come from Alfred’s original legislation. A law on wergild yields interesting insight into paternity rights in cases of rape. Alfred 8 concerns a scenario so elaborate that we may suspect the legislation derives from an actual case:

Gif hwa nunnan of mynstere ut alæde butan kyninges lefnesse oððe biscepes, geselle hundtwelftig scill, healf cyninge, healf biscepe 7 þære cirican hlaforde, ðe ðone munuc age.

Gif hio leng libbe ðonne se ðe hie utlæde, nage hio his ierfes owiht.

Gif hio bearn gestriene, næbbe ðæt ðæs ierfes ðon mare ðe seo modor.

Gif hire bearn mon oflsea, gielde cyninge þara medrenmæge dæl; fædrenmægum hiora dæl mon agife. (Af 8 – 8,3).66

65 Wormald, The Making of English Law, 419-422. 66 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:54. “If someone carries off a nun out of a minster without the king’s leave or the bishop’s, let him give 120 shillings, half to the king, half to the bishop and the lord of the church that has jurisdiction over the nun. If she should live longer than he who carried her off, she shall not have any of his property. If she should bear a child, it shall not have any more of his property than the mother. If someone should kill the child, let him pay the maternal kin’s portion [of the wergild] to the king; 39

According to this law, when a man kidnaps a nun (or she runs away with him, as the case may be),67 neither she nor any child they have together may inherit. If their child is killed, however, the father’s kin does receive wergild. Neither illegitimacy, nor even rape, precludes the right of the father and his kin to wergild. In contrast, the mother’s religious vows do sever her blood ties, so that her family’s portion of the wergild passes to the king—presumably whether or not she is still alive at the time, since there is no clarification on that point.68 It is not clear whether the law is meant to set a default (i.e. if the father dies intestate, nothing passes to the child or its mother), or if the law goes so far as to forbid the father to will anything to them. Regardless, the blood-tie between father and child is recognized in the wergild.

Another Alfredian law concerns the authority of men over women in their charge, but includes some specific implications about the authority of fathers. The clause in question appears in sequence with other similar laws outlining circumstances in which a man may kill another and be exempt from legal culpability. The preceding laws detail circumstances of fighting to defend one’s lord or fighting to defend one’s kinsman; the law in question deals with catching another man in flagrante delicto with a woman under

let him give the paternal kin their portion.” Here as before, the woman’s consent is ambiguous—the law may apply to kidnappings or to runaways. 67 For a concise presentation of the disagreement among scholars over whether this law is intended specifically for cases where the nun was willing or unwilling, see Hough, “Alfred’s Domboc,” 3. 68 It would be interesting to see a law regulating the legal status of a child of a laywoman and a runaway monk, but there is none. Presumably, in such a case, the portion of the wergild due to the paternal kin would go to the king and the mother’s kin would get their normal share, the ties of blood being superseded by ecclesiastical authority, but again not by illegitimacy. 40 one’s authority: “7 mon mot feohtan orwige, gif he gemeteð oþerne æt his æwum wife, betynedum durum oððe under anre reon, oððe æt his dehter æwumborenre (oððe æt his swistær borenre) oððe æt his medder ðe wære to æwum wife forgifen his fæder” (Af

42,7).69 The law lists several specific female relations that fall under the law, including wives, daughters, sisters, and mothers, but stresses the importance of legal marriage, biological ties, and legitimate childbearing. Of particular concern here are that a father has a right to kill a man found sleeping with his daughter—but only if she is legitimate— and that a son may kill a man found sleeping with his mother—but only if his mother is his father’s lawful wife. The key to both caveats could simply be legitimacy, but the phrasing of the latter suggests perhaps that the son is being allowed to act in order to defend his father’s marriage rights (i.e. exclusive sexual access).

There is only one crime that fathers are specially protected against, and the law also applies to mothers. It is another of the Mosaic borrowings in Alfred’s Introduction, and concerns parental abuse: “Se ðe slea his fæder oððe his modor, se sceal deaðe sweltan” (Af Int 14).70 It is important to note that the law is not only protecting against parricide (for which we would expect a more explicit verb, such as ofslean), but apparently against any physical attack, and that the penalty for any such assault is death.

This could be of concern in situations where elderly parents live in the care of their adult children and may be considered vulnerable to abuse (although again, it is unclear to what

69 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:76. “And one may fight without liability, if he encounters another with his lawfully married wife, behind closed doors or under a roof, or with his legitimately born daughter (or with his biological sister) or with his mother who was given as a lawful wife to his father.” 70 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:30. “He who strikes his father or his mother must die.” Cf. Exodus 21:15. 41 extent Mosaic law accurately corresponds to Anglo-Saxon culture). Surely in an Anglo-

Saxon context, this law would resonate with the cultural taboo of kinslaying, which is so problematic because compensation would only hurt the same kin-group.71 That this law encompasses any kind of striking and specifies parents may suggest a particular cultural valuing of respect for elders in addition to the taboo against kinslaying.

There are also several laws that explicitly restrict the authority of fathers over their children. Two such laws concerning paternity and slavery come from Alfred’s

Introduction. The first concerns the limitations on the authority of slaves over their own children:

Þis sint ða domas þe ðu him settan scealt: Gif hwa gebycgge cristenne þeow, VI gear ðeowige he; ðy siofoðan beo he frioh orceapunga; mid swelce hrægle he ineode, mid swelce gange he ut. Gif he wif self hæbbe, gange hio ut mid him. Gif se hlaford him þonne wif sealde, sie hio 7 hire bearn þæs hlafordes. Gif se þeowa þonne cweðe: ‘Nelle ic from minum hlaford ne from minum wife ne from minum bearne ne from minum ierfe’, brenge hine þonne his hlaford to ðære dura þæs temples 7 þurhþyrlige his eare mid æle, to tacne he sie æfre siððan þeow. (Af Int 11)72

Here a freed (male) slave’s children remain the property of his master if their mother is also a slave given in marriage by the master, and in this circumstances, the only way the

71 Literary instances in which this taboo is invoked are Beowulf’s reprimand of Unferð and Hreðel’s death of grief over the death of his son Herebeald at the hands of his brother Hæþcyn, both found in Beowulf. 72 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:28. “These are the laws which you must set down for them: If someone buys a Christian slave, he shall serve for six years; the seventh year, he shall be free without payment; he shall leave with such clothing as he came with. If he has a wife of his own, she shall leave with him. If the master gave him a wife, she and her children shall belong to the master. If the slave then says: ‘I do not want to leave my master, nor my wife, nor my children, nor my inheritance,’ then his master shall bring him to the doors of the temple and pierce his ear with an awl, as a sign that he shall be a slave ever after.” Cf. Exodus 21:1-6. In Exodus, the law pertains to Hebrew slaves; here it is adapted to apply to Christians. 42 father can remain with his children is to remain a slave for life. It is unclear the extent to which Anglo-Saxon practices of slavery resembled Old Testament practices, or to which

Alfred’s adoption of Mosaic law may have changed Anglo-Saxon slavery, but this law poses a pragmatic advantage to slaveholders who would benefit from the incentivization of lifelong servitude.73 Whether enforced or not, this law reflects a prioritization of social class above biological fatherhood in certain circumstances. To put it another way, a father (nearly) always has legal rights over his children, except when both he and they belong to someone else: the master’s ownership of the children trumps the father’s authority over them.

The next law that restricts paternal authority is another Mosaic borrowing pertaining to slavery, albeit somewhat differently from the previous law. This law concerns a father’s right to sell his daughter into slavery:

Ðeah hwa gebycgge his dohtor on þeowenne, ne sie hio ealles swa ðeowu swa oðru mennenu: nage he hie ut on elðeodig folc to bebycggane. Ac gif he hire ne recce, se ðe hie bohte, læte hie freo on elðeodig folc. Gif he ðonne alefe his suna mid to hæmanne, do hiere gyfta: locige þæt hio hæbbe hrægl; 7 þæt weorð sie hiere mægðhades, þæt is se weotuma, agife he hire þone. Gif he hire þara nan ne do, þonne sie hio frioh. (Af Int 12)74

73 For a thorough examination of slavery in Anglo-Saxon England, see Pelteret, Slavery in Early Mediaeval England. Pelteret discusses slavery in the secular law codes on pages 81-101, and specifically addresses Af Int 11 and Af Int 12 (mentioned below) on pages 82-83. For details on manumission and the status of freedmen, see pages 140-163. 74 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:30. “If someone should sell his daughter into slavery, she shall not be as servile as other female slaves: he is not permitted to sell her to foreign people. But if he who bought her does not care for her, let him allow her to go free among foreign people. If he then allows his son to marry her, let him prepare their wedding ceremony: let him see that she has clothing; and let him give to her the price of her maidenhead, that is the dowry. If he does not do any of these things for her, then she shall be free.” Cf. Exodus 21:7-11. Note that modern translations follow the Hebrew more accurately in verse 7, which decrees that unlike the male slaves, female slaves are not freed after 7 years. The Vulgate (on which Alfred’s translation is based) 43

A father may sell his daughter into slavery, then, but not to foreign people. Such a law, albeit borrowed from Exodus, could address very real concerns in ninth century England, and indeed, through the remainder of the Anglo-Saxon period. An Englishman’s selling his daughter to Scandinavians may have had similar religious implications as an Old

Testament Hebrew man’s selling his daughter to foreigners, although by the ninth century some Scandinavians were already converting to Christianity (notably including Guðrum, who was baptized in 878 after his defeat by Alfred in the Battle of Edington). The original context of the law clearly represents an instance in which the father’s authority is trumped by religious authority, and if the law was indeed enforced in Anglo-Saxon

England, it would seem that the same logic is at work.

Another law restricting paternal authority can be found in the laws of Ine. This law concerns a father’s failure to claim a child: “Se ðe dearnenga bearn gestrieneð 7 gehileð, nah se his deaðes wer, ac his hlaford 7 se cyning” (Ine 27).75 This law seems to concern men who father illegitimate children but do not acknowledge those children as their own. Having failed to take on the duties of fatherhood, these men have no right to wergild if their children are killed, and instead the wergild goes to the local lord and to the king. Here the blood ties of fatherhood are trumped by father’s own failure to perform fatherhood on even the most basic level of acknowledging the child. The

mistranslates the Hebrew word for male slaves as ancillae (female slave), leading to a confusing contrast between the daughter sold into slavery and other female slaves. 75 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:100. “He who begets a child secretly and hides it does not have a right to the wergild, but rather his lord and king do.” One presumes (or at least hopes) that the child is not literally hidden away somewhere, but that the law refers to hiding the fact of the child’s paternity. 44 designation of the secular authority as recipient of the wergild may suggest that said authority is expected to take some level of interest in the child’s upbringing in the absence of a father.

Having brought these laws together, we may now address patterns. We may note that fathers usually have certain rights over their children, to include control over the sexual activity and marriage of daughters, respect and safety from their children, and wergild for their children. Some rights may be restricted by legitimacy, but not all

(wergild seems to function irrespective of legitimacy), and all rights seem to be restricted by acknowledgment (i.e. a biological father who does not acknowledge his child as his own has no rights over that child). While fatherhood among freemen seems to be largely undifferentiated, there are some restrictions regarding fathers who are slaves (or to be more precise, regarding fathers of children who are slaves, since a freeman who sells himself into slavery while already having a wife and children still retains an authority over them that is restricted for a man whose children are born into slavery). There are also religious restrictions on paternal authority, preventing the selling of one’s daughter into slavery among foreign peoples. Additionally, if we may cautiously extrapolate, religious vows trump blood ties entirely. A final point worth noting is that the prevalence of Mosaic laws regarding paternal authority may suggest that, at least after a certain point in Anglo-Saxon English history, the English cultural conceptions of fatherhood were tied to Old Testament representations of fatherhood (although, again, it is unclear if this was a matter of organically-developed similarity or conscious modeling, or whether Alfred merely wished to exert a biblical influence over the lives of his Anglo-Saxon subjects).

Paternal Obligations

Next we will examine duties that fathers are legally obligated to perform in

Anglo-Saxon England, and what provisions are made for children in the absence of fathers. Remarkably few duties are legally mandated of fathers, but quite a few laws imply parental as well as specifically paternal expectations by making provisions when the father or both parents are absent.

The first law that obligates a father occurs in the laws of Alfred, and concerns fathers of deaf or mute children: “Gif mon sie dumb oððe deaf geboren, þæt he ne mæge synna onsecggan ne geandettan, bete se fæder his misdæda” (Af 14).76 The full implications of this law are not totally clear. Christina Lee has taken this law as indication that disabled persons were not considered to have attained full adult status in

Anglo-Saxon England, and thus were tried as though they were minors.77 Karen Bruce

Wallace has recently argued in her unpublished dissertation that this law does not necessarily indicate such an extreme. Bruce Wallace particularly emphasizes the fact that the phrasing of the law singles out people who, in this time and place, would have been incapable of effective communication. She suggests that the law exists both as a pragmatic workaround and as protection for vulnerable individuals who could not

76 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:58. “If someone should be born mute or deaf, so that he cannot deny or confess crimes, the father shall atone for his misdeeds.” Whitelock favors “sin” for synn, rather than “crime” and the OE word can have either sense, which could change the understanding of the law. While the Anglo-Saxons do not seem to draw a hard line between moral and legal offenses, I use “crime” on the assumption that the atonement discussed here is temporal and legal (betan in the laws often indicates the paying of a fine), not spiritual—but it is an assumption, and the law itself is ambiguous. 77 Lee, “Body Talks,” 162. 46 participate in a trial, allowing the (presumably hearing) father to stand as proxy, and making him responsible for any fine or punishment.78 Whether the deaf required proxies in trials simply because they could not communicate for themselves or whether they were in all ways denied the full legal status of adulthood, the implications for the father’s role are similar. When an adult cannot advocate for himself, his father becomes his proxy by default, certainly as regards liability for fines and punishment, and presumably also as regards advocacy in the legal process. What the law leaves ambiguous (and would likely thus be left to the determination of the local officials, if not already established in unwritten custom) is what would happen in cases where the deaf individual’s father were absent or deceased. Since an absent or deceased father is likely to have been somewhat common, we may guess that this law was written in response to a specific case.

Ine’s law requires the prompt baptism of infants. Who is responsible is not stated outright in the law, but we may presume the obligation falls to the parents.79 The law states: “Cild binnan ðritegum nihta sie gefulwad; gif hit swa ne sie, XXX scill. gebete.

Gif hit ðonne sie dead butan fulwihte, gebete he hit mid eallum ðam ðe he age” (Ine 2-

78 Bruce Wallace, “Unhælu,” 269-271. Bruce Wallace goes on to address whether this law was an isolated and pragmatic way to deal with inability to communicate, or whether it is indicative of Anglo-Saxons believing (as some pre-modern cultures did) that congenital deafness was indicative of a lack of reason and/or developmental delay, but rejects the latter possibility based on hagiographical evidence involving capable, cognizant deaf characters. 79 There is a similar law in a later Northumbrian law for priests (Northu 10-10,1; Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:380-381). While the wording of the clause is also ambiguous as to the responsible party, many of the laws in this code, and all of the laws immediately surrounding this one, are concerned with offenses committed by priests, which may suggest that the priest is responsible rather than the parents, although since other offenses in this law code may be committed by laymen, the context does not necessitate this interpretation. 47

2,1).80 The law requires a fine for failing to baptize a child within a month of its birth, whether the child dies within that time or not, but if the child does die unbaptized because of negligence, then the somewhat ambiguous responsible party (who we cannot be entirely sure is the father, but who seems likely to be the father/the parents) is fined “all that he owns.” Clearly, the obligation to baptize was a grave one, and the severe penalty may be attributable to the timing of the law code a few decades after the Christianization of Wessex under Cenwealh (d. 672). The mandate of baptism with steep consequences may have served to ensure that a generation that may well have included reluctant or resistant Christians would give birth to a generation of born and bred Christians.

There are a number of laws in the codes that address how paternal obligations are to be met in the absence of a father or in the absence of both parents, with most of the laws pertaining to circumstances in which the father is deceased. Two such laws lay out how a child is to be cared for when the father has died, but the mother is still alive, one in the Kentish laws of Hloþhære and Eadric, and one in the laws of Ine. Hloþhære and

Eadric’s law states: “Gif ceorl acwyle be libbendum wife 7 bearne, riht is þæt hit, þæt bearn, medder folgige, 7 him mon an his fæderingmagum wilsumne berigean gefelle, his feoh to healdenne, oþ þæt he X wintra sie” (Hl 6).81 The child will live with his mother,

80 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:90. “A child is to be baptized within 30 days; if it is not, pay 30 shillings. If it then should die without baptism, let him pay for it with all that he owns.” This would seem to suggest all property, and not just liquid assets, but the full extent of the meaning is not entirely clear (for example, could a landowner continue to live on and work his land as a tenant farmer, owing the fruits of his labors to the king, or would he be evicted and forced to search for work and shelter elsewhere?). 81 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:10. Liebermann notes that gefelle is likely an error, and favors reading it as geselle, as I have done here. “If a man should die with a wife and child still living, it is right that the child should go with the mother, and one of his 48 but any property the child inherits from the father is to be controlled by a member of the father’s family until the child is old enough to take possession at ten years. Ine’s law is similar: “Gif ceorl 7 his wif bearn hæbben gemæne, 7 fere se ceorl forð, hæbbe sio modor hire bearn 7 fede: agife hire mon VI scill. to foster, cu on sumera, oxan on wintra; healden þa mægas þone frumstol, oð ðæt hit gewintred sie” (Ine 38).82 Here again the child is to live with the mother, and control of property (here more narrowly specified as the family home; whether other property was de facto handled in the same way or was subject to some other unwritten custom is unclear) falls to a kinsman until the child reaches the age of majority. Ine’s law does not specify which side of the family the responsible kinsman should be from, but a paternal kinsman is the most logical solution: given that the property now in trust was legally the father’s, it follows that the father’s family would maintain control until the child can properly inherit. It is unclear who is to provide the provisions to be given for the child’s upkeep in Ine’s law (the sentence uses the impersonal man in place of a clear subject, creating meaning equivalent to a modern passive construction); one possibility is for the local lord or the king to provide these things, another is the father’s kin, another is the community in which the mother and child are living. Interestingly, there are no laws concerning the fate of children whose mothers die but whose fathers remain alive—it apparently goes without saying that a motherless child remains in the care of his father. paternal kinsmen shall be appointed as a willing guardian to hold his property until he is ten years old.” 82 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:104-106. “If a man and his wife have a child together, and the man dies, the mother shall have her child and raise it: let her be given six shillings for its maintenance, a cow in the summer, an ox in the winter; the kinsmen shall hold the family home until [the child] is of age.” 49

Several other laws regarding the absence of fathers apply to cases in which both parents are absent or deceased. This includes one of the Mosaic borrowings in Alfred’s

Introduction: “Þa wuduwan 7 þa stiopcild ne sceððað ge, ne hie nawer deriað. Gif ge

þonne elles doð, hie cleopiað to me, 7 ic gehiere hie 7 ic eow þonne slea mid minum sweorde 7 ic gedo, þæt eowru wif beoð wydewan 7 eowru bearn beoð steopcild” (Af Int

34).83 As with some of the other laws from Exodus, this one sets up general moral parameters rather than specific legal ones. It also promises divine retribution rather than assigning temporal compensation to the offense. Another general law protecting orphans shows up significantly later in the period, in one of Æþelred’s law codes (albeit a code explicitly concerned with obedience to God): “7 þæt hy wydewan 7 steopcild to oft ne ahwænan, ac georne hy gladian” (VI Atr 47).84 The broadness of the law and the lack of an assigned penalty may draw enforceability into question, but the presence of this law in addition to the similar law in Alfred’s Introduction suggest either that communal concern for the welfare of widows and orphans was a strongly ingrained cultural value, or that the mistreatment of such vulnerable individuals was a rampant problem that needed correction (given the questionable enforceability of the laws and lack of clear legal parameters, I am inclined to suspect the former). Either way, the loss of the father as male protector is here recognized as a problem, and the community is asked to compensate for that loss.

83 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:38. “Do not oppress widows or orphans, nor in any way do them harm. If you do otherwise to them, they shall call out to me, and I shall hear them, and I shall strike you with my sword, and I will make your wife a widow and your child an orphan.” 84 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:258. “And that they not aggrieve widows and orphans too frequently, but eagerly gladden them.” 50

Alfred’s laws include one that deals with the care of children who have been given up by their parents: “Gif hwa oðrum his unmagan oðfæste, 7 he hine on ðære fæstinge forferie, getriowe hine facnes se ðe hine fede, gif hine hwa hwelces teo” (Af

17).85 If a child dies in the care of a guardian to whom it has been entrusted, and if any accusation of guilt concerning the death is brought against the guardian, then the guardian bears the burden of proof to clear himself of liability. The existence of such a law may indicate that children were perceived as often unsafe, or at least more vulnerable, when not in the care of their own parents. That the law applies specifically to non-parent guardians either indicates that parents were, by and large, assumed to behave in accordance with their children’s needs or that parents had rights over their children’s lives. This is not at all to say that Anglo-Saxon culture thought that fosterage situations were necessarily unhealthy or problematic; Beowulf’s recollection of good treatment by his maternal grandfather and foster-father Hreðel stands out as a literary counterexample.

Rather, the law could simply imply that fosterage situations may be more likely to be given to abuse or neglect than households where children are raise by their biological parents, since there are no parallel written laws concerning children dying in their parents’ care.

85 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:58. “If someone entrusts his dependent to another, and he were allow him to die under his guardianship, he who raised the child shall clear himself of guilt, if anyone accuses him of any.” I have followed The Dictionary of Old English: A to G in taking forferian to mean “to cause (someone acc.) to die, to let (someone acc.) die,” thus construing he in that clause as referring to the guardian. Whitelock notes the possibility of this reading but follows Liebermann in interpreting forferian as “to die” and construing the subject he as referring to the child. Note that unmaga can mean “orphan,” but the context here suggests that the child’s parents are still alive and are unable or unwilling to raise the child themselves. 51

Ine’s law code has a clause that guarantees certain provisions for foundlings: “To fundes cildes foster, ðy forman geare geselle VI scill., ðy æfterran XII, ðy ðriddan XXX, siððan be his wlite” (Ine 26).86 It is unclear what exactly is meant here by wlite, the factor by which the monetary value of the child’s upkeep is to be determined from the fourth year on. Perhaps a local official is intended to make this determination based on the child’s apparent health and constitution, although wlite usually carries a connotation of beauty, which may correspond to assumed social class. Regardless, the law establishes an obligation (presumably of the local lord or the king, although this is not explicitly specified) to pay for the upkeep of abandoned children. Interestingly, the law does not specify who is responsible for bringing up such children (the person who found the child? a volunteer from the community? the household of the local lord?), which could be subject to unwritten custom or be taken on a case by case basis, but the provision for financial support for the child indicates that abandoned children must be given homes and be provided for.

Cnut’s Great Code contains a law that addresses the obligation to leave a will that designates how one’s property is to be distributed among one’s heirs. The law prescribes what is to be done in cases where a man has failed to provide a will:

And gif hwa cwydeleas of þysum life gewite, si hit þurh his gymeleaste, si hit þurh færlicne deað, þonne ne teo se hlaford na mare on his æhta butan his rihtan heregeata.

86 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:100. “For the maintenance of a found child, give six shillings the first year, twelve the second, thirty the third, and afterward according to its appearance.” 52

Ac beo be his dihte seo æht gescyft swyðe rihte wife 7 cildum 7 nehmagum, ælcum be þære mæðe, þe him to gebyrige. (II Cn 70-70,1)87

When a man has fails to leave a will to dictate how his property is to be divided among those he leaves behind, that responsibility is then taken on by the man’s lord. The law mentions customary recipients who should be given their fair share (after the lord has taken what is due to him), namely the wife, child, and near kinsmen of the deceased, but the finer points of how the property is to be divided among them is left to the lord’s discretion. The distribution of property among one’s heirs is a way to ensure their livelihood after one’s death, and is particularly important for the widow and children, especially in cases where the children are still young. When a man fails to do this himself, the responsibility is transferred to his lord. It is unclear to what extent the lord is chosen due to his impartiality (whereas a kinsmen and potential heir would have a vested interest), or to supposed qualification due to his class and/or education, or even to his position as a male authority figure not unlike a father.

There were once thought to be Anglo-Saxon laws concerning the custody of children in cases of divorce. Æþelberht 78-81 have traditionally been read as divorce laws, their existence explained by their early date and presumed to reflect pagan custom.

However, Carole Hough has argued persuasively for the interpretation that these laws are not about divorce at all, but rather concern the inheritance of widows, determined by whether they remain with their children or choose to remarry. Hough’s argument is

87 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:356. “And if someone should depart from this life intestate, whether it be through his own carelessness or through unexpected death, then the lord should not take any more from his property, apart from his rightful heriot. But the wealth should be distributed according to the lord’s instruction very justly to the wife and children and near kinsmen, each by their degree, as pertains to them.” 53 sound not only with respect to her handling of the language, but also in the support of similar laws concerning widows elsewhere in the Anglo-Saxon laws, as well as in continental Germanic laws, whereas there are no parallels if the laws are read as concerning cases of divorce.88 If these laws do concern divorce, then Æþelberht 79 outlines the property that falls to the wife if she keeps the child, and Æþelberht 80 discusses the wife’s inheritance if the father wishes to maintain custody of the child

(which might suggest that the wife is the usual custodian, but that the father may override that custom if he chooses), but these readings are not as compelling as Hough’s interpretation.89

Taking a step back now to look at these laws as a whole, we can identify some significant obligations expected of Anglo-Saxon fathers. In addition to the explicit obligations to stand as proxy for one’s deaf and mute child and to baptize one’s children, fathers are responsible for their children’s financial welfare and personal safety.

Unfortunately, these laws do seem to be biased toward the basic sustenance and safety of children rather than more nuanced aspects of childcare, and thus, they do not give us any insight into expected roles in the raising and development of the child. In the absence of the father or of both parents, kinsmen, civil authorities, and/or the community may be called upon to fulfill duties normally belonging to the father, although Alfred 17 may raise questions about the suitability of substitutes acting in the place of biological parents.

88 Hough, “The Early Kentish ‘Divorce Laws,’” 19-34. Hough’s revised translation can be found on p. 34. 89 For the Old English text of the laws, see Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:8. For a traditional translation of the laws as concerning divorce, see Ed. Whitelock, English Historical Documents, 359. 54

Paternal Legacy

Perhaps one of the most important roles played by fathers in Anglo-Saxon England is the leaving of a legacy, which word I use here to include both physical property and abstract concepts that pass from father to child. In this section, I will examine three specific kinds of legacy that Anglo-Saxon fathers passed to their children based on the evidence of the laws: kin ties, property, and rights and responsibilities.

Kin Ties

Anglo-Saxon children received and retained ties to both paternal and maternal kin, so the ties to the kin-group were not a purely paternal affair.90 However, the laws include many clauses in which one side of the family or another is specified, or in which both are mentioned in specific ways (such as receiving specified portions of the wergild, etc.). In this way, the laws allow a rare glimpse at the differences between paternal and maternal kin in Anglo-Saxon society.

Most of the laws relevant to this purpose are laws concerning wergild. The first of these is from Alfred’s law code, and concerns wergild for an unborn child: “Gif mon wif mid bearne ofslea, þonne þæt bearn in hire sie, forgielde ðone wifman fullan gielde, 7

þæt bearn be ðæs fædrencnosles were healfan gelde” (Af 9).91 Someone who murders a

90 For a brief outline of the role of family in Anglo-Saxon law, see Pollock and Maitland, The History of English Law, 31-32. 91 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:54. “If someone kills a woman with child while the child is within her, let him pay for the woman the full compensation, and for the child half compensation according to the wergild of the father’s kin.” 55 pregnant woman pays not only her full wergild, but also a half wergild for the child that is lost, and the child’s wergild is reckoned based on the wergild due to members of the father’s kin-group. Thus, a child derives his wergild value solely based on his identity as a member of his father’s kin-group, with no reference to the mother’s kin. The distribution of this wergild is not specified, although it seems likely that the half-wergild for the unborn child should go not simply to the mother’s kin, but to the father’s as well.

Another set of Alfredian laws deals with cases in which a killer has either kin only on the mother’s side or no kin at all, and in which the victim has no kin:

Gif fæderenmæga mægleas mon gefeohte 7 mon ofslea, 7 þonne gif medrenmægas hæbbe, gielden ða þæs weres ðriddan dæl [7 ðriddan dæl þa gegildan, for ðriddan dæl] he fleo.

Gif he medrenmægas nage, gielden þa gegildan healfne, for healfne he fleo.

Gif mon swa geradne mon ofslea, gif he mægas nage, gielde mon healfne cyninge, healfne þam gegildan. (Af 27-28)92

Here the maternal kin is responsible for a third of the wergild to protect themselves against retaliation. It is interesting that in the absence of paternal kin to fund the wergild, the remaining two-thirds is split between the man himself (who seems to be expected to be unable to pay his third, based on the statement that he should flee) and his associates

92 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:66. “If someone without paternal kisnmen should fight and kill someone, and if he should have maternal kinsmen, those kinsmen shall pay a third part of the wergild [and his associates shall pay a third part; for the third part,] let him flee. If he has no maternal kinsman, the associates shall pay half, for half let him flee. If someone kills a man of this condition, if he has no kin, he is to pay half to the king, and half to the associates.” Dorothy Whitelock explains the breakdown of these fines in a note on her translation: “This shows that the payment of their proper share frees the kinsmen from the dangers of a vendetta, even if the whole wergild is not paid. The slayer himself remains exposed if his own third is unpaid.” Ed. Whitelock, English Historical Documents, 178, n. 3. 56 or gegyldan, here clearly indicating a group of people to which he belongs but to whom he is not related by blood. In the absence of any kin, this group is responsible for half the wergild (this same non-kin group of associates is mention in Alfred 28, in which they are eligible to receive half of a kinless man’s wergild if he is killed—the other half goes to the king). We may note several points of interest, then, from this law. First, that the money to pay wergild is expected to come from kin, and from kin on both sides of the killer’s family. Secondly, in the absence of paternal kin, maternal kin do not take on the entirety of the financial burden, and indeed, are responsible for less than half (although it does seem within the realm of possibility for wealthy maternal kin to foot more of the bill if they are so inclined). Thirdly, a partly or totally kinless man may develop an ersatz kin-group of associates (although the details of what makes up such a group and how it comes to be formed are unclear) that serves a legal (presumably in addition to a social) function—able to receive wergild and responsible for paying it—but that this group, at least on a legal level, is not a full substitution for real family (they pay and receive only half of what is not covered by family). Unfortunately, no laws indicate what would happen in a circumstance in which paternal kin were present but maternal kin were absent, so we cannot know whether the paternal kin would in such circumstances pay the full wergild or whether a portion would be left to be paid by the killer and/or his associates. However, there are several other laws concerning wergild that involve kin that may give us some more information.

Æþelstan’s laws issued at Grately (early 930s)93 contain a complex law, regarding the demand for wergild when the man’s death was brought about as a punshiment for theft, that includes specific roles for paternal and maternal kin:

Ond we cwædon: se ðe scyldunga bæde æt ofslagenum þeofe, ðæt he eode ðreora sum to, twegen on fæderenmaga 7 þridda on medren, 7 þone aþ syllen, ðæt hy on heora mæge nane þyfðe nysten, ðæt he his feores wyrðe nære for ðon gilte; 7 hy gan siððan XII sume 7 gescyldigen hine, swa hit ær gecweden wæs; 7 gif ðæs deadan mægas ðider cuman noldon to ðam andagan, gilde ælc ðe hit ær sprece CXX scll. (II As 11)94

Here we have the case of a man who has been killed for theft, whose kinsmen can plead for his innocence, which, once established, would give them the right to wergild for what would then be considered wrongful death. The first step in clearing the dead man’s name

93 Pratt, “Written Law,” 336. 94 Ed., Lierbermann, Gesetze 1:156. “And we have said: he who should seek payment for a slain thief should come forward, as one of three [i.e. with two others], two from the father’s kin and the third from the mother’s, and they shall give the oath, that they did not know of any theft commited by their kinsman for which guilt he deserved to forfeit his life; and they [ambiguous] shall then come forward in a group of twelve and prove him [the dead man] liable, as was said before; and if the kinsmen of the dead man will not come forth on the appointed day, each who spoke before [who brought forward the suit] is to pay 120 shillings.” The end of this law is confusing. Liebermann takes the ambiguous “they” in the group of twelve to mean the party who did the killing, who are coming forward to prove that the dead man was in fact a thief. Whitelock concedes this possibility, but is not willing to exclude the possibility that “they” could be the kinsmen, and that gescyldigan here means “liable to be paid for” rather than “liable for the crime of theft” (and thus that the oath of three kinsman is a preliminary oath to appoint a day for a larger group to gather for an oath to clear the dead man’s name and establish the right to wergild). Which reading is correct is moot for the purposes of this chapter. Whitelock takes the ðreora sum and XII sum as meaning “with three others” and “with twelve others” on the basis that after the ninth century, this idiom is no longer used precisely and thus does not always used in the literal sense of “one of three,” etc. that I have taken it to mean here (ed. Whitelock, English Historical Documents, 148, n.5, and 383, n. 3.). I have chosen to use to the more literal sense of the idioms for this law on the basis that the person requesting wergild is most likely to be a kinsman of the slain man and is thus likely to be one of the three giving the initial oath. I take it that the total of oath-givers should be three and not four due to the 2/3-1/3 split found in other wergild laws relating to the role of paternal and maternal kin, respectively. 58 is for three of his kinsmen, two from his paternal kin and one from his maternal kin, to make an oath establishing that, to their knowledge, the dead man was never a thief. As with the partially kinless killer, the maternal kin play a one-third part, and since the paternal kin are here present, they take the other two-thirds. There are no provisions for how this law would apply in cases where the victim did not have kin on one or both sides—whether “associates” would be able to play some role, or some other party, or whether the dead man’s alleged guilt would be beyond the ability of the legal system to question.

One other wergild law is pertinent to our purposes. It appears in an anonymous collection of laws governing wergild dated between 944-1060, and concerns the producing of family members for the pledging of wergild:

7 riht is, ðæt se slaga, siððan he weres beweddod hæbbe, finde ðærto wærborh, be þam ðe ðærto gebyrige: ðæt is æt twelfhyndum were gebyriað twelf men to werborge, VIII fæderenmægðe 7 IIII medrenmægðe. (Wer 3)95

Given that the family produces the funds to pay wergild, the perpetrator must not only personally swear to pay wergild, but produce sufficient family members to swear that the family will provide the funds to pay it. A 1200-man must produce twelve relatives, eight from his father’s side and four from his mother’s, to make this pledge. Here again, then, we see a division of the family in which one third portion is associated with the maternal

95 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:392. “And it is right that the killer, after he has pledged wergild, that he procure an oath for the payment of that wergild, accordingly as it pertains to him: that is, twelve men as security for a 1200 man, 8 paternal kinsmen and 4 maternal kinsmen.” The code specifies two classes of freemen: 1200-men and 200-men (i.e. men whose wergild is 1200 shillings—eorls—and men whose wergild is 200 shillings— ceorls). 59 kin-group and two-thirds with the paternal kin-group, suggesting that (at least legally and financially), a person was perceived as belonging twice as much to their father’s family as to their mother’s. It is not yet clear to me whether this belief reflected family social structures or beliefs about biology. Interestingly, the phrasing of the law suggests that in cases involving a 200-man, only 2 kinsmen must be produced, which would necessitate either a 50/50 split (perhaps more likely) or 100% representation by one side of the family.

Few laws apart from wergild laws discuss specifically paternal and/or maternal kin. Hloþhære and Eadric 6, mentioned above, does specify a paternal kinsman to serve as trustee for a child whose father has died until he reaches majority, but this may simply be a pragmatic response to the fact that the property in question comes from the father and is thus associated with his family.

Property

Property is, of course, the most tangible legacy a father can leave his children, with very practical repercussions, as it may provide a place to live, a lifestyle, and the means to marry, in addition to emotional repercussions in the cases of heirlooms and childhood homes. Only a few laws directly address inheritance, and many of them are from later codes, suggesting that inheritance may have been largely a matter of unwritten custom for much of the period.

Æþelberht’s “divorce laws,” mentioned above, do mention inheritance.

Æþelberht 80 states: “Gif ceorl agan wile: swa an bearn.”96 Whether this is understood to concern divorce or widowhood, the wife’s potential financial gain (alimony/inheritance) in either case is reduced (either because she will not be supporting the children or because she has a new husband to support her) to that of one of the children (among whom the property is equally distributed).97

Alfred’s laws concerning the (willing or unwilling) removal of a nun from her minster, discussed above, includes a clause stating that neither the woman nor any child born of such a union can inherit (Af 8,2).98 That the impossibility of inheritance in such a situation must be stated may indicate that some illegitimate children (and their mothers) could inherit, although by itself this law does not constitute very strong evidence for such a supposition. It does provide an example of a restriction on the right to bequeath property to one’s children, although it remains unclear whether the obstacle here is simple illegitimacy or is more specific, perhaps due to the taboo of the violation (willful or unwillful) of the nun’s vows of chastity, or perhaps related to the fact that in taking vows and entering the minster, the nun removed herself in perpetuity from the system of biological kinship.

Cnut’s Great Code, in its mission to provide a comprehensive system of laws, contains two relevant laws regarding inheritance. The first of these is II Cnut 70-70,1,

96 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:8. If the laws are about divorce, then it may be read: “If the man wishes to have [the children]: [the wife is to inherit] as a child.” If the laws are about widowhood, then it may be read: “If she wishes to take a [new] husband: [she inherits] as a child.” 97 Oliver, The Beginnings of English Law, 113. 98 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:54. 61 discussed above, which establishes a lord’s obligation to justly distribute an intestate man’s property. The law names the dead man’s wife, children, and near kinsmen as appropriate heirs, but does not discuss how much of the inheritance is to go to each of these. Such details are likely governed to some extent by custom, and here are ultimately given over to the lord’s authority.

The other relevant inheritance law from Cnut’s Great Code concerns the distribution of a man’s property following his death in military service to his lord: “And se man, þe on þam fyrdunge ætforan his hlaforde fealle, si hit innan lande, si hit of lande, beon ða heregeata forgyfene; 7 fon þa erfenuman to lande 7 to æhtan 7 scyftan hit swyðe rihte” (II Cn 78).99 Here the heriot, the property usually due to a lord after a man’s death, is waived due to the man’s service. In normal circumstances then, a man’s lord would receive a portion of the estate before it is divided among the man’s heirs (this is also mentioned in II Cnut 70-70,1). Unfortunately, this law does not provide specifics on how property is divided among heirs, simply stating that it is to be done so “swyðe rihte,” or very justly. What this does suggest is that the portioning of the inheritance among individuals may have been determined by the heirs themselves without a designated executor. It also stands as a testament to how ingrained inheritance practices must have been in the culture, since it is assumed that the just distribution of property among heirs is understood and requires no specification. It may be simply that property is to be distributed as equally as possible among heirs, or there may be specific customary

99 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:364. “And the man who falls before his lord on an expedition, whether within the land or outside of the land, he is forgiven the heriot; and the heirs shall succeed to the land and the possessions and shall allot it very justly.” 62 practices determining how property is to be doled out (since lands and heirlooms are not as easily divisible as liquid assets).

Though not strictly about inheritance, there is a law governing wergild with relevant implications. Another law from the anonymous code on wergild, this law designates the distribution of a wergild payment within the family that receives it:

“Healsfang gebyreð bearnum, broðrum 7 fæderan; ne gebyreð nanum mæge ðæt feoð bute ðam ðe sy binnon cneowe” (Wer 5).100 The law does not provide a specific breakdown, but does identify children, brothers, and paternal uncles of the victim as proper recipients of the bulk of the wergild and notes that no money is owed to family members more that one generation removed from the victim. Family wealth does not function as a unit, because the family is not a unit, as has been nicely stated by Pollock and Maitland: “We need not however regard the kindred as a defined body like a tribe or a clan […]. A father and son, or two half-brothers, would for the purposes of the blood- feud have some of their kindred in common, but by no means all.”101 The bulk of the wergild is divided among the individual’s closest relatives, and children are listed first.

In terms of wergild, at least, a man belongs first and foremost to his children, then his brothers, and then uncles on his father’s side. Interestingly, the victim’s father is unmentioned, although we cannot know if the writer is envisioning a scenario in which the man is an adult whose father is already dead and thus that this is an oversight, or

100 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:392. “A preferential share of the wergild is due to the children, brothers, and paternal uncles; the money is not due to any kinsman except those which are within one generation.” I have followed Liebermann’s note that “feoð” should be read as feoh. 101 Pollock and Maitland, The History of English Law, 32. 63 whether a surviving father would only be given a small share of the victim’s wergild. It would be counterintuitive for the father of a slain adolescent to be denied a significant portion of wergild, but the text is unclear.

Rights and Responsibilities

In addition to the transmission of property and identity in a kin-group, fathers can confer rights and responsibilities (including hereditary positions) to their children, and the laws touch on this kind of legacy in a few places. One of these has already been mentioned: Alfred 42,7 lists circumstances in which a man is not liable for killing another man found in flagrante delicto, to include when a son finds a man in bed with his mother—but only when that mother is his father’s “lawful wife.” Since bastards are not granted this freedom from liability, the son in this situation seems to be exempt because he is protecting his father’s marriage rights (indeed, the very first circumstance mentioned is that of a man who finds another man in bed with his wife).

A text known as Norðleoda laga (Laws of the North People), which Whitelock notes should be regarded, along with several other texts regarding status, as a private compilation rather than an official enactment,102 includes a clause describing the elevation of status over the course of generations by land acquisition: “And gif his sunu 7 his sunu sunu þæt geþeoð, þæt hi swa micel landes habban, siððan bið se ofsprinc

102 Ed. Whitelock, English Historical Documents, 431. The other texts in question are Geþyncðo, Mircna laga, Að, and Hadbot. Whitelock dates the compilation of these texts ca. 1002-1023. Liebermann dates Norðleoda laga ca. 920-954 (ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:458.) 64 gesiðcundes cynnes be twam þusendum” (Norðleod 11).103 Here we see a somewhat fluid class system, allowing a family to accumulate wealth and land, and thus, social rank. If a man works to accumulate a certain amount of property, he can give his son the status of a member of a higher class.

Edgar’s code issued at Wihtbordesstan (962-963), remarkable for its “homiletic” style and possibly drafted by Archbishop Dunstan,104 includes a clause that connects

Edgar’s authority as king to his father’s: “7 to ælcere byrig 7 on ælcere scire hæbbe ic mines cynescipes gerihta, swa min fæder hæfde; 7 mine þegnas hæbben heora scipe on minum timan, swa hy hæfdon on mines fæder” (IV Eg 2a).105 While this clause does not give a rationale of direct causality, it invokes a claim to the same degree and extent of authority as was enjoyed by Edgar’s father for no other apparent reason than his status as his father’s son. It also pledges continuity between their reigns regarding the rank of their thegns. The law states explicitly that which would typically be implicit, describing aspects of the kingship and social order being taken up by the son just as the father has left them.

Perhaps the strongest example of this kind of abstract legacy, however, comes from Cnut’s Great Code that requires heirs to stand trial for the crimes of their dead fathers: “7 þær se bonda sæt uncwydd 7 unbecrafod, sitte þæt wif 7 þa cild on þam ylcan

103 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:460. “And if his [a landless ceorl’s] son and his son’s son should prosper, so that they have so much land [five hides of land, cf. Norðleoda laga 9], then the offspring shall be of the gesiðcund rank, [with a wergild of] 2,000.” 104 Ed. Whitelock, English Historical Documents, 398. 105 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:208. “And in every borough and every shire I shall have my rights of royalty, as my father had; and my thegns shall have their rank in my time as they had in my father’s.” 65 unbesacen. And gif se bonda, ær he dead wære, beclypod, þonne andwyrdan þa yrfenuman, swa he sylf sceolde, þeah he lif hæfde” (II Cn 72-72,1).106 If a man is accused of a crime but dies before the case is settled, his heirs (identified in the previous clause as his wife and child) must take his place in determining the man’s guilt.

Presumably, they are also responsible for any consequences should he be found guilty. In most cases this would simply involve paying a fine, and since the heirs are inheriting the money that would have been used to pay the fine had the man lived a short while longer, this makes a certain amount of sense. However, in some cases, a man’s (adult) child may have to undergo an ordeal or even (in the most extreme cases, such as where the crime in question is treason) suffer capital punishment for a crime committed by the now-deceased father.

Although not strictly concerning legacy, both Ine and Cnut have laws regarding the extent to which a man’s guilt in matters of theft is or is not shared by other members of his household, to include his children. Ine’s laws on the matter are as follows:

Gif hwa stalie, swa his wif nyte 7 his bearn, geselle LX scill. to wite.

Gif he ðonne stalie on gewitnesse ealles his hiredes, gongen hie ealle on ðeowot.

X winter cniht mæg bion ðiefðe gewita. (Ine 7-7,2)107

106 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:358-360. “And where the head of a household dwelt undisputed and unquestioned, on the same property shall the wife and child dwell undisputed. And if the head of the household, before he died, was accused, then the heirs shall answer, as he himself would have had to, if he had lived.” 107 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:92. “If someone should steal, so that his wife and child do not know, let him give sixty shillings as a fine. If on the other hand he should steal with the knowledge of all his household, they shall all go into slavery. A ten year old boy may be an accomplice to theft.” 66

Here the liability of the household requires their knowledge (which suggests but does not necessarily entail approval or abetting), and children (or at least boys) are only liable from the age of ten onward. It is not clear what would happen if some household members were aware of the theft but others were not (would only the knowledgeable members be sold as slaves?), and there is no written provision for a household member who might become aware of the theft but disapprove (though this does not preclude the discretion of local authorities, particularly if the crime were to come to light because a family member spoke out).

Cnut’s Great Code has a set of laws on the same topic that bear some similarity, but with notable differences:

And gyf hwylc man forstolen þingc ham to his cotan bringe 7 he arasod wurðe, riht is, þæt he hæbbe þæt he aftereode.

7 butan hit under þæs wifes cæglocan gebroht wære, si heo clæne.

Ac þære cægean heo sceal weardian, þæt is hyre hordern 7 hyre cyste 7 hyre tege: gif hit under þyssa ænigum gebroht byð, þonne byð heo scyldig.

7 ne mæg nan wif hyre bondan forbeodan, þæt he ne mote into his coton gelogian þæt þæt he wylle.

Hit wæs ær þyson, þæt þæt cild, þe læg on cradele, þeah hit næfre metes ne abite, þæt þa gitseras letan efen scyldig 7 hit gewittig wære.

Ac ic hit forbeode hoenon forð eornostlice 7 swylce manege, þe Gode syndon swyðe laþe. (II Cn 76-76,3)108

108 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:362-364. “And if any man should bring a stolen thing home to his cottage and he is discovered, it is just that he should have that which he went after. And unless it was brought under his wife’s place of safe-keeping, she is innocent. But she shall keep the keys of these: that is, her storehouse, and her chest, and her coffer: if it is brought within any of these, then she is guilty. And no wife may forbid her husband to bring into his cottage what he wishes. It used to be before this, that a child who lay in the cradle, although it never partook of solid food, that misers would consider 67

Cnut gives very specific parameters for determining the guilt of the wife of a thief in

76,1, 76,1a, and 76,1b: she cannot stop her husband from bringing stolen goods into the house, but there are parts of the house that only she has access to, and if (and only if) the stolen goods are stored in one of those locations is she guilty. He has authority over most of the house, but specific areas are hers to control. Since these areas are highly secure— they are locked and only she has their keys—they seem like logical choices to store stolen goods if she is in on the theft, but she is under no marital obligation to act as an accomplice, and so her guilt can clearly be determined. It is not explicitly stated whether

(and by what evidence) any other household members may be considered guilty, but the possibility of shared guilt is implied by the explicit innocence of infants in II Cnut 76,2 and 76,3. II Cnut 76,2 alleges that prior to the enactment of this law, even infants were to be considered guilty in such cases, but the basis for this statement is unclear, since Ine’s laws (which, appended to Alfred’s laws, remained a relevant legal text and point of reference for later kings) clearly exempts children under ten years of age in such cases.

Cnut’s law may be referring to practices of corrupt enforcement of Ine’s law, where the entire family, including small children and infants, were sold into slavery in spite of the explicit exemption in Ine 7,2. even it [the child] guilty, as though it were capable of reason. But I strictly forbid this henceforth, and many such things, which are very hateful to God.” Whitelock takes II Cnut 76 to indicate that stolen goods are to be returned to the owner, who has tracked them down to the thief’s house. Since that clause has little bearing on the topic at hand, I have chosen to give a more ambiguous but more literal rendering. It seems clear that the thief is not permitted to keep the stolen goods, but it seems to me unclear whether they are returned to the original owner or given to the man who discovers the theft (in cases where these are not the same individual; of course, the victim of the theft has the most incentive to track down the thief). 68

There are many kinds of legacy for a father to leave to his children, then. The kin-ties that the father passes to his child serve not only a social function, but also a very real and practical legal function. While the mother also passes on kin-ties, and those kin- ties also serve a legal function, they are not legally required or expected to take a larger legal role in the absence of paternal kin than they would be required to do in the presence of paternal kin. While non-family “associates” may fill some of the role left in the absence of kin, they are not required or expected to make up the full difference. Paternal kin, on a legal level, are literally irreplaceable.

The legacy of property left to children seems to be deeply ingrained in unwritten custom, so that most laws regarding it are quite late in the period, and even then do not deal in the specifics that we could wish to find. It is clear that a man’s children are first among his heirs, although not alone among them. If a man dies intestate, it may fall to his lord to divide his property among his heirs.

Some rights and responsibility are inherited from the father. Notable among such rights are rights of class, including the ability for the rising of status over generations through the acquisition of property. Legal culpability can also be transmitted from father to child if a crime has not been tried prior to the perpetrator’s death, and a child can be considered complicit in theft committed by the still-living father under certain circumstances. There is a weaker legal distinction, then, between the father and child, than we as modern readers may expect. Although the two are not considered the same legal entity, the boundary between them is somewhat fluid.

Potential Paternity

Another way in which fatherhood was legislated in Anglo-Saxon England was through personal injury laws that governed male genitals. Both Æþelberht and Alfred have such laws in their codes, although there are no corresponding laws anywhere in the corpus concerning female genitals.109

Æþelberht’s law code has a series of clauses regarding genital injury of varying degrees: “Gif man gekyndelice lim awyrdeþ, þrym leudgeldum hine man forgelde. Gif he þurhstinð, VI scill’ gebete. Gif man inbestinð, VI scill’ gebete” (Abt 61-64,2).110

While the verb awyrdan in the first clause is ambiguous in severity,111 the size of the fine

109 Of course, a number of factors may contribute to the lack of legislation of female genitals, from the understanding or valuation of the role of these organs, to the possible difficulty for the technology and medical knowledge of the time in determining damage. While this difference in legislation may have implications for ideology, the externality of the male organs certainly makes them easier to legislate on a practical level than the mostly-internal female organs. Indeed, Lisi Oliver notes that the Germanic personal injury laws (including Anglo-Saxon laws) almost never address internal organs (Oliver, The Body Legal, 133). And of course, the lack of a written law does not mean that female genital mutilation was necessarily ineligible for prosecution. 110 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:7. “If someone injures the generative limb, let him pay three wergilds for it. If someone pierces it let him atone with six shillings. If someone penetrates it, let him atone with 6 shillings.” This law may apply to injuries to the penis and/or to the testicles. Annette Niederhellmann discusses in her monograph on medicine in early medieval law that the early medieval concept of castration encompassed a broad range of genital damage to the testicles or penis, and that this conceptual breadth can be attributed to the focus on the generative function of the genitals, so that anything that destroys that functionality constitutes castration, regardless of process, tools, or anatomic location (Niederhellmann, Arzt und Heilkunde, 142, 149-154). A few of the laws use clearer, more specific vocabulary, but even with regards to such laws, we cannot know how they were interpreted and applied. 111 The verb awyrdan can have a range of meanings. The Dictionary of Old English: A to G takes this usage to mean “to injure, afflict,” but other meanings include “to destroy, spoil,” and “to break” and notes that the phrase awyrded beon is used in medical texts to mean “to be putrid.” Eds. Cameron et al., Dictionary of Old English: A to G online, s.v. awyrdan. 70 suggests that this clause concerns damage beyond recovery or repair. Indeed, Lisi Oliver notes in her monograph on Germanic personal injury law that, as a general rule (and for obvious reasons), wounds that permanently incapacitate or disable are fined more heavily than wounds expected to heal.112 The second and third clauses refer to more specific injuries (piercing all the way through and penetrating but not fully piercing, respectively), which are fined equally and apparently expected not to impair genital function. The first clause, then, seems to apply to cases in which the genitals are damaged beyond function, rendering the victim unable to beget children. The loss of the potential for future lives

(lives which, among other things, would have eventually provided labor and elder care for the victim) may be why Æþelberht’s law prizes the integrity of the penis at three times the wergild, far higher than the penalty for any other personal injuries in the entire corpus of Germanic laws.

Alfred’s law code also has several clauses regarding genital injury, some of which are very similar to Æþelberht’s, albeit with significant differences regarding the fines.

The first such law of Alfred’s is as follows: ““Gif mon sie on þa herðan to ðam swiðe wund, þæt he ne mæge bearn gestrienan, gebete him ðæt mid LXXX scill” (Af 65).113”

The following law concerns arm injuries, after which the subject of genital injury is resumed: “Gif sio lendenbræde bið forslegen, þær sceal LX scill. to bote. Gif hio bið onbestungen, geselle XV scill. to bote. Gif hio bið ðurhðyrel, ðonne sceal ðær XXX scill.

112 Oliver, The Body Legal, 135. 113 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:84. “If someone is severely wounded in the testicles to the point that he cannot beget children, atone for that to him with 80 shillings.” The vocabulary here clearly specifies testicles, but it is unclear whether a man with a severely injured penis might not be compensated by the logic of this law. 71 to bote” (Af 67-67,2).114 It is not totally clear how to distinguish between Alfred 65, which awards 80 shillings of compensation (40% of a ceorl’s 200 shilling wergild) for damage that results in a loss of fertility, to Alfred 67, which awards only 60 shillings, but uses the verb forslean, which seems to indicate severe and irreparable damage (and thus, we might expect would include loss of fertility). Alfred 67 may apply to damage more severe that the penetrative and piercing wounds discussed in Alfred 67,1 and 67,2, respectively, yet not so severe as to necessarily cause a loss of fertility. It is possible that, in spite of Annette Niederhellmann’s arguments regarding the early medieval conceptions of castration, that the difference between the two laws is anatomical, as herðan in Alfred

65 does literally indicate testicles, but lendenbræda seems to refer to the loins in general rather than specifically to the penis. Additionally, the specification of loss of fertility in

Alfred 65 may undermine the idea of anatomical concern—if the penis is maimed beyond sexual function, a man is rendered just as infertile as if his testicles were damaged or removed. There would seem to be little purpose in a significantly smaller fine when the functional result is unchanged, and Lisi Oliver’s work on personal injury laws indicates a heavy emphasis on function.115 It seems most likely then, that Alfred 67 is intended to cover the range of genital injuries more severe than piercing but not so severe as to cause a loss of fertility.

Considering Alfred’s genital injury laws in the context of Æþelberht’s, the verb in

Alfred 67 (forslean) is much more clearly suggestive of irreparable damage than

114 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:84. “If the loins are destroyed, then there must be sixty shillings as the fine. If they are penetrated, give fifteen shillings as the fine. If they are pierced, then there must be thirty shillings as the fine.” 115 Oliver, The Body Legal, 135. 72

Æþelberht’s awyrdan, although the fine is significantly less. Alfred’s highest fine for genital injury (Alfred 65) is only 40% of the wergild, versus Æþelberht’s 300% wergild fine. Alfred’s 80 shilling fine in cases of loss of fertility is still equivalent to the maximum fine for a permanent arm injury and only slightly less than the maximum fine for a permanent leg injury, which at 50% of the wergild is the highest personal injury fine in Alfred’s law.116 Like Æþelberht’s law, Alfred’s law does include separate clauses for penetrative and piercing injuries, although here a completely piercing injury is fined twice as harshly as an injury that penetrates the skin but does not continue out the other side. Although the fine for permanent damage to the genitals may initially seem small in the context of Æþelberht’s fine, it is important to understand that it is still a very high fine in the context of Alfred’s other personal injury laws.

We may recall that Alfred’s law code also includes Alfred 9, discussed above, in which the wrongful death of a pregnant woman is penalized with her wergild plus half the wergild of the father’s kin: the fine for the loss of the unborn child is 50% of the wergild; in this context, to fine 40% of the wergild for the loss of the potential to beget children is a relatively small difference. On the other hand, considered as the loss of one child set against the loss of many possible children, Æþelberht’s fine may strike us as more just.

Both Æþelberht’s and Alfred’s fines are outliers in the context of the other early medieval Germanic laws, but both fit into a pattern of valuing genital function very highly. Genitals (always male) appear in many but not all of the Germanic law codes.

116 Oliver, The Body Legal, 134. 73

Where they do appear, they are almost always subject to higher fines than other body parts, and have a much higher average fine across the codes (112.5% of the wergild; for reference, the next highest average fine is for the permanent injury of a leg, at 36% of the wergild). While no other code penalizes genital injury as highly as Æþelberht’s, law codes from Frisia and Saxony penalize it at 100% of the wergild, and three other codes penalize it at 50% of the wergild. Of the Germanic law codes that include personal injury laws governing the genitals, only two penalize genital injury at less than 50% of the wergild: Alfred’s law (40%) and Alamannian law (10%).117

In most of these legal contexts then, permanent injury to the genitals is prized even above the loss of the use of a limb, which drastically reduces mobility and/or the ability to perform many kinds of manual labor. If we presume that the criteria for determining the penalties for other personal injuries were the same as for genital injury laws, then much of the early medieval Germanic world must have considered the ability to beget a child of equal or greater practical value as the abilities to walk without aid and to perform tasks of manual labor. What is not clear is whether and to what extent other criteria may have played a role in the consideration of genital injury. As mentioned above, it is possible that the loss of one or more hypothetical future children served as a contributing factor (indeed, it is suggested in Alfred 65, but not in any of Æþelberht’s laws on the subject). The effect of that same loss to the victim’s kin group, in addition to the individual victim, could also have contributed. It is also conceivable that the loss of sexual function and its non-generative corollaries (the social function of the ability to

117 Oliver, The Body Legal, 134-135. 74 consummate a marriage, the loss of opportunity for sexual enjoyment of the victim and of his wife, a personally and/or communally perceived diminishing of the victim’s masculinity) could contribute to the high value placed on genital function.

It is interesting that neither Æþelberht’s law nor Alfred’s makes distinctions about the age or marital status of the victim, nor does either make stipulations about victims that already have children or victims with no children yet. If the same penalty applies to all cases, this may discourage the idea that the generative function of the genitals plays a key role in their legal value. While it is possible that all cases would have been fined alike, Lisi Oliver has argued that the fines as written in the personal injury laws represent the maximum fine for such offenses, and that the local authorities would adjust the amount to suit the circumstances.118 If Oliver is right, then there may have been significant variation of penalities across cases (a young, soon-to-be married, childless man may merit a significantly larger fine than an elderly man with children and grandchildren). Unfortunately, the laws as written do not make this clear, and there are few surviving records of personal injury disputes to clarify.119

In addition to laws protecting genitals, there may be an Alfredian law prescribing castration as punishment, although it is difficult to say so with total certainty, as the understanding of the law hinges on a hapax legomenon: “Gif ðeowmon þeowne to

118 Oliver, The Body Legal, 51. 119 Oliver, The Body Legal, 26-27. Since a personal injury dispute, once settled, is unlikely to be reopened, the material and effort to create durable records was typically reserved for other kinds of legal matters, such as disputes over property borders. 75 nedhæmde genede, bete mid his eowende” (Af 25,1).120 The law seems to indicate that a slave (and only a slave; Alfred 25 gives a fine of 60 shillings as punishment for the same crime when commited by a freeman) who rapes a female slave is to be castrated as punishment. The sense of the law hinges on eowend meaning “testicles,” which is supported by the Latin Quadripartitus translation, where it is rendered as “testiculos.”

The logic of castrating a rapist also lends support to this reading, and it is possible that

“eowende” is a scribal error and that the scribe of the Quadripartitus knew the proper meaning and/or worked from an exemplar that had the correct word. What may give us pause is that castration as punishment is extremely rare in the entire corpus of early medieval Germanic law. Lisi Oliver notes only two laws in the early medieval Germanic legal corpus involving castration as punishment, one Frisian law, and one law from

Visigothic Spain.121 Mutilation, though not as prevalent a punishment in the Anglo-

Saxon laws as fines, does crop up repeatedly, often (particularly in earlier laws) with the possibility of “redemption” (i.e. the paying of a fine equivalent to the wergild value of the limb instead of loss of the limb).122 There are only 2 other instances in Alfred’s law code that prescribe mutilation as punishment: the cutting off of a hand as punishment for theft from a church (Af 6) and the cutting out of a tongue as punishment for slander (Af 32), and in both cases, the law states explicitly that the guilty party can pay a fine instead of

120 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:64. “If a slave should rape a female slave, let him atone with his testicles.” Both Liebermann and Whitelock translate the law as prescribing castration. 121 Oliver, The Body Legal, 173. Oliver curiously does not mention Alfred 25,1. 122 See O’Brien O’Keeffe, “Body and Law,” 215-218 for an in-depth discussion of the development of the use of mutilation as punishment in Anglo-Saxon law. 76 being mutilated.123 The Kentish law codes, which Alfred claims as an influence,124 do not use mutilation as punishment (although Wihtred does offer flogging as an alternative to a fine for certain crimes when committed by slaves).125 Ine 18 and 37 concern criminals who are repeatedly accused (Ine 37 specifies theft, but Ine 18 does not name a particular crime) and are finally caught in the act (Ine 37 also applies if the criminal is obviously guilty, even if not caught in the act). Both laws assign the punishment of the cutting off of the criminal’s hand or foot, and in neither case can the appendage be financially redeemed.126 After Alfred, Æþelstan decrees the cutting off of a hand as punishment for counterfeiting (II As 14,1).127 Æþelred makes vague stipulations that alternative punishments should be applied rather than the death penalty for thieves, and

Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe has noted that that the punishments applied seem to be punishments by mutilation.128 Cnut’s law offers more specific mutilations as punishment, fitting the mutilation to the crime, as with the cutting off of the ears and nose of an adulterous woman, rendering her undesirable and open to public shaming (II Cn 30-

30,1).129 Neither the extreme rarity of castration as punishment in Germanic law nor the relative infrequency of mutilation in early Anglo-Saxon law is damning evidence against reading Alfred 25,1 as prescribing castration, but it may be enough to prevent us from taking the translation of eowend as “testicles” as a certainty.

123 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:52, 66. 124 See note 34. 125 O’Brien O’Keeffe, “Body and Law,” 215. O’Brien O’Keeffe mentions Wihtred 10, 13, and 15 as examples of this policy. 126 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:96, 104. 127 Ed., Liebermann, Gesetze 1:158. 128 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:238. O’Brien O’Keeffe, “Body and Law,” 217. 129 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:332-334. 77

Male genital function is very highly valued in Anglo-Saxon personal injury laws.

Although it is not always clear what all of the factors at work are, the ability to beget children is clearly a factor at work in that valuation, and it is the only factor so much as suggested in any of the laws themselves. A man’s ability to produce children seems to be one of his most valued skills.

Absences in the Law

As modern readers of Anglo-Saxon law, we may wonder at the absence of certain types of laws that we would expect to see pertaining to fatherhood. Many things may be explained as likely having existed as part of the folcriht, or unwritten, oral laws and customs: presumably the niceties of adoption and fosterage were governed by such unwritten custom. Some absences may be more confusing or complex.

One such notable absence is that of infanticide (either by the father or by the mother). The only related law in the corpus concerns a father’s ox killing his child, borrowed from Exodus, in Alfred’s Introduction:

Gif oxa ofhnite wer oððe wif, þæt hie dead sien, sie he mid stanum ofworpod, 7 ne sie his flæsc eten; se hlaford bið unscyldig. Gif se oxa hnitol wære twan dagum ær oððe ðrim, 7 se hlaford hit wisse 7 hine inne betynan nolde, 7 he ðonne wer oððe wif ofsloge, sie he mid stanum ofworpod, 7 sie se hlaford ofslegen oððe forgolden, swa ðæt witan to ryhte finden. Sunu oððe dohtor gif he ofstinge, ðæs ilcan domes sie he wyrðe. Gif he ðonne ðeow oððe ðeowmennen ofstinge, geselle ðam hlaforde XXX scill. seolfres, 7 se oxa mid stanum ofworpod. (Af Int 21)130

130 Ed. Liebermann, Gesetze 1:32-34. “If an ox should gore a man or a woman, so that they die, he shall be stoned to death with stones, and his flesh shall not be eaten; the owner is not guilty. If the ox were given to butting for two or three days, and the owner knew this and did not wish to keep it in an enclosure, and he [the ox] then kills a man or a woman, he [the ox] shall be stoned to death with stones, and the owner shall be killed or 78

This law, which states that man who ox gores his son or daughter to death is to be judged the same as he would if the ox gored someone else to death (i.e. he is personally innocent unless the ox has a known habit and was not restrained properly; either way the ox is stoned to death), follows its analog in Exodus very closely. Considered in the context of the Anglo-Saxon perspective on kinslaying, this law may initially seem out of place in

Anglo-Saxon England, and we may be inclined to dismiss it as unlikely to be enforced.

However, it is possible that such a law could gain significant importance when imported into Anglo-Saxon culture, since it could establish a precedent that kinslaying is only kinslaying if performed personally.131 This is speculative, but is an important possibility to consider lest we dismiss the law too hastily.

Another notable absence is that of sexual abuse laws. While several laws govern rape (and/or willing but illicit fornication), other sex crimes are absent from the laws.

Kathryn Gravdal has written about medieval French approaches to incest that may be relevant to consider, noting a keen legal interest in demanding exogamy (peaking in the eleventh century), but a failure to address sex abuse within nuclear families in a legal context. She looks to literary texts for signs of cultural attitudes toward parent-child sex abuse, noting several tales of mother-son incest (sometimes due to ignorance of relation,

redeemed [i.e. pay a fine], as the witan determines is just. If he [the ox] should gore to death the son or the daughter [of the owner], he merits the same judgment [i.e. the same law applies]. If he [the ox] should gore to death a slave or female slave, give to the owner [of the slave] thirty shillings of silver, and the ox shall be stoned to death with stones.” Cf. Exodus 21:28-32. 131 We know that accidental kinslaying does still count as kinslaying through examples such as Hreðel’s sons Hæþcyn and Herebeald in Beowulf, where it is recounted that Hæþcyn accidentally kills his brother with an arrow. 79 sometimes as the willing seduction of the son by the mother) that culminate in arduous narratives of contrition, confession, and forgiveness, as well as three tales (all related) of father-daughter incest, in which the daughter is repulsed by her father’s advances, resists, and eventually undergoes hardships that Gravdal characterizes as penance. Gravdal concludes that fathers are legally incapable of or absolved from incest, and that, literarily, their sole function is to be forgiven. Gravdal’s argument is weakened by her small selection of literary sources, many of which are different iterations of the same narratives.

Additionally, the characterization of the daughters’ experiences in the father-daughter incest tales as penance is highly interpretive and problematic.132 Gravdal herself points out that the flight from the father’s advances serves to propel the daughter on a series of hardships and adventures in which she may assume a much more active role than is typically allotted to female leads in romances: the attempted seduction is her impetus to go out into the world.133 Without clear textual cues to indicate that her experiences are penitential, she ought to be read as a heroine in adversity, and her father is clearly a villain.

Megan McLaughlin has written in response to Gravdal’s argument, and has cast a broader geographic net in doing so, to the inclusion of some Anglo-Saxon sources.

McLaughlin notes that in some parts of medieval Europe, including England, sex offenses apart from rape where largely considered under the jurisdiction of the church, leading to the absence of such offenses in written secular law.134 She notes that father-

132 Gravdal, “Confessing Incests,” 281-290. 133 Gravdal, “Confessing Incests,” 286-287. 134 McLaughlin, “Abominable Mingling,” 29. 80 daughter incest is specifically present in most Anglo-Saxon penitentials, where it is severely punished, typically meriting 12 to 15 years of penance.135 Father-daughter incest is also sometimes covered specifically in canon law (although more frequently canonists discuss incest only generally): Peter Damian presents as common practice that fathers who sexually abuse their daughters are excommunicated and either imprisoned or exiled, and Bonizo of Sutri prescribes such fathers seven years of exile, lifelong penance, and banning from communion.136 McLaughlin notes that although much of the ink spilled by canonists on incest regards exogamous marriage, this is due to the fact that these canonists give most of their attention to gray areas rather than to issues understood to be clear-cut.137 She also provides two examples of secular legal cases where father- daughter incest was tried even though there were no written secular laws on the subject.

Both cases come from fifteenth century Venice, and both fathers were sentenced to prison

(one for two years, one for ten) followed by perpetual exile, and one was told that if he ever returned to Venice, he would be beheaded.138 From McLaughlin’s argument, then, we can know that father-daughter incest was addressed in England in a confessional setting,139 and we may entertain the possibility of such cases being tried in a secular

135 McLaughlin, “Abominable Mingling,” 27. 136 McLaughlin, “Abominable Mingling,” 27-28. 137 McLaughlin, “Abominable Mingling,” 29. 138 McLaughlin, “Abominable Mingling,” 29. The absence of such cases in the extant legal records from Anglo-Saxon England need not preclude that such cases could have been tried there, cf. above note 107. 139 The Anglo-Saxon penitentials do not explicitly address father-son incest, mother- daughter incest, or incest between siblings of the same sex, but they do also address sexual activity between members of the same sex elsewhere. Naturally, same-sex incest would still be considered a sin, and a confessor confronted with such a sin could assign a penance with reference to these related sins. 81 court, regardless of the lack of written laws, especially given our understanding that

Anglo-Saxon England had a tradition of oral law that functioned alongside the written laws. The absence of laws regarding paternal sexual abuse, then, need not lead us to assume that fathers had rights over their children’s bodies that extended so far as to grant them sexual liberties.

There is a surviving Old English text that includes a narrative instance of father- daughter incest, and that we may wish to briefly consider at this time. The Old English

Apollonius of Tyre opens with Antiochus, the king of Antioch, falling in love with and raping his daughter, a young women who has just reached marriageable age. Antiochus’s lust for his daughter and his acting on that lust are described with strongly reproachful language. His desire is “sarlicum” (4), and “unrihtre” (5) and is such that “he forgeat þa fæderlican arfæstnesse” (6).140 The action of the narrative moves on from Antiochus and his daughter with little resolution: the hero Apollonius arrives, seeking to marry the daughter, and correctly answers the riddle that Antiochus puts to suitors as a barrier.

However, to correctly solve the riddle is to discover Antiochus’s incest, so Antiochus responds by telling Apollonius that he is wrong and may have thirty days to come up with another answer. Apollonius sets sail for home, but on further reflection, concludes that his first solution to the riddle is the only one. He reasons (correctly) that Antiochus must wish to kill him, and flees, embarking on a series of adventures that comprise the remainder of the narrative action. Eventually Apollonius learns that Antiochus is dead, but it is unclear whether the daughter is still alive and whether she was ever saved from

140 Ed. Treharne, Old and Middle English, 234. “Grievous.” “Illegal.” “He forgot the duty proper to a father.” Translations are Treharne’s. 82 the abusive situation. Although it seems that Antiochus’s daughter is never given justice for her mistreatment, Antiochus is clearly painted as a villain, and his sexual relationship with his daughter is portrayed as deeply wrong. The Old English text does closely follow its Latin original, and this may give us some small pause in applying the cultural positions of the text to the Anglo-Saxons, but the strong disavowal of incest in the opening lines does resonate with the evidence produced by Megan McLaughlin. We may with some confidence state that the Anglo-Saxons found father-daughter incest morally unacceptable.

Conclusions

The laws can sketch out certain aspects of Anglo-Saxon fatherhood for us. We can know that to deprive an Anglo-Saxon man of his ability to beget children was one of the worst things you could do to him. We can know that Anglo-Saxon fathers had few restrictions on their authority over their children, but that when restrictions were placed, they were sometimes due to the superior authority of the Church and sometimes to the superior authority of a slaveowner. Legitimacy is an obstacle in certain circumstances, but in other cases blood alone is enough of a tie to have legal importance.

Perhaps where the laws are most illuminating for the consideration of fatherhood, however, are the places where they reveal expectations for paternal behavior, seen above in the sections concerning paternal obligation and legacy. We can find many laws pointing to the importance of a father’s role as provider, including the important duty of leaving a will for the appropriate distribution of property among his heirs. Many other

83 laws indicate the high importance of kin-ties (on both sides of the family) to participate fully in the legal system. In the absence of the father, his duties may be partially (but often imperfectly) fulfilled by kinsmen, community, and/or civil authority.

The laws cannot give a complete picture of Anglo-Saxon fatherhood. They can sometimes suggest but never state fully the social and emotional realities of family life in the presence and absence of the biological father. For the cultural conceptions of these we must look to other sources, literary sources, but we can address them now with firmer knowledge of some of the key roles of the Anglo-Saxon father. The instructive role of father figures in wisdom poetry can help us expand our understanding of paternal obligation and the role of the father in the socialization of his children. Then, in Beowulf, we can see clearer signs of anxieties suggested at in the laws regarding the absence of the father and the partial but imperfect ability of others to fill the paternal role.

Chapter 2: Paternal Wisdom

In her monograph Maternal Thinking, Sara Ruddick identifies three roles of mothering: protection or preservation, nourishment, and training.141 According to

Ruddick, these roles can be performed by any woman or man, but always constitute mothering.142 Ruddick elaborates on the training role as the bringing up of a child to be socially accepted, which encompasses instruction both in the basic social expectations of a culture as well as in culturally accepted morals.143

Ruddick writes about contemporary mothering, but makes explicit claims for the universality of her arguments, which are applied to the Anglo-Saxon period by Mary

Dockray-Miller in her book Motherhood and Mothering in Anglo-Saxon England.

Dockray-Miller prefers “teaching” to Ruddick’s “training,” and indeed, her discussion of this mothering role is limited almost exclusively to instances of formal education (often literally “book learning”).144

Ruddick’s schema may well bear some weight for Anglo-Saxon families, and

Dockray-Miller’s work sheds light on important relationships between women in Anglo-

141 Ruddick, Maternal Thinking, 17. 142 Ruddick, Maternal Thinking, 40-41. 143 Ruddick, Maternal Thinking, 108. 144 Patrick Wormald has also touched on the role of mothers in the instruction of literacy in Anglo-Saxon England (including Alfred’s mother) in “The Uses of Literacy in Anglo- Saxon England and Its Neighbors,” 98, 105. 85

Saxon England. However, in order to create a fuller picture of parenthood and instruction in the period, we must examine what role fathers had, or were imagined to have, in the instruction of their children. I will do so in this chapter by considering the role of the father in Old English wisdom literature, with particular attention to instruction poetry. I will examine the frame and structure of Precepts, Vainglory, and Hroðgar’s sermon in

Beowulf145 in order to identify a masculine literary ideal of instruction in wisdom in which an old, often paternal man instructs a young man. In order to situate this small group of poems in a wider cultural context, I will also consider how the masculine representation of wisdom and its transmission in these poems corresponds to the gendering of wisdom elsewhere in the corpus, particularly in Alfred’s translation of

Boethius and in the heroic fragment Judith. I will then look to the content of the instruction poems to spell out what lessons were considered suited to this kind of masculine instruction.

Wisdom Literature and the Instruction Poem

T.A. Shippey characterizes Old English wisdom poems as poems which are neither primarily narrative nor self-expressive, but which are instead focused on “the central concerns of human life—what it is; how it varies; how a man may hope to

145 Elaine Tuttle Hansen has made the case for reading Hroðgar’s sermon as wisdom literature and paternal instruction. While she maintains that this passage is not an interpolation and fits as an important part of the whole work, she does characterize it as the delivery of conventionally styled wisdom, complete within itself. (Hansen, “Hrothgar’s ‘sermon,’” 54-55.) Following her lead and for the purposes of this chapter, I will be treating this passage as a complete poem, albeit a poem within a poem. 86 succeed in it, and after it.”146 Michael Drout has studied wisdom poems in the context of memetics, presenting these poems as memes that encode cultural norms, but Drout also reminds us that we have no evidence that the wisdom poem was a recognized genre in

Anglo-Saxon England.147 Elaine Tuttle Hansen examines these Old English wisdom poems in the context of wisdom literature of other cultures, and (partly with the perspective of this global context) to break down the Old English wisdom poems into sub-genres, including maxims (which involve generalized directives), proverbs (which involve specific observations), fables, and instructions.148

The instruction sub-genre, which is prevalent in Old Irish and ancient Near

Eastern literatures, is present in only two Old English poems: Precepts, and Hroðgar’s sermon in Beowulf. Instruction poems, across cultures, involve a teacher-figure, often a father or foster-father, giving direct instruction to a son-pupil concerning right behavior.149 Precepts is famously one of the least-studied poems in the Old English corpus, often being dismissed for its overt didacticism and broad platitudes.150 It is the

146 Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 1. 147 Drout, How Tradition Works, 222-223. 148 Hansen, The Solomon Complex, 15-17. 149 Hansen, The Solomon Complex, 19-22; Henry, The Early English and Celtic Lyric, 104. Old Norse wisdom poetry is often considered as a close analogue to Old English wisdom poetry, and Carolyne Larrington has looked at certain Old English and Old Norse poems together on the basis that they share a goal of imparting wisdom (Larrington, A Store of Common Sense), but central to Hansen’s categorization is the presence of a frame that explicitly depicts teacher and pupil characters interacting. While I have not exclusively limited this chapter to the study of Old English poems that explicitly frame their wise messages in this way, such a frame is useful in considering the questions raised in this chapter, and the existence of this frame in wisdom poems across certain cultures is a noteworthy phenomenon. 150 This dismissal of wisdom literature has been criticized by both Shippey and Hansen as a presentist resistance to looking for the value these texts held for their contemporary 87 very same overt didacticism that grates on modern sensibilities, however, which makes

Precepts, Hroðgar’s sermon, and to some extent, Vainglory151 so useful in thinking about the practice of instruction in Anglo-Saxon England. These texts describe instances of instruction, however stylized or idealized, that can give us some sense of what was considered acceptable and desirable practice.

While these texts do allow a certain level of insight into cultural ideals of instruction, we must be careful to consider the limitations the texts present, as well. Due to the available sources, this chapter is primarily concerned with father-son instruction

(and instruction in which the relationship of the parties can be closely compared to that of a father and son), without recourse to any analogous sources that would allow father-son instruction to be compared to father-daughter instruction, mother-son instruction, or mother-daughter instruction. Mary Dockray-Miller’s work cannot fully serve to provide a maternal counterpart, since, as noted above, her arguments concerning teaching revolve around formal education—that is, the passing down of knowledge (i.e. book learning) as opposed to wisdom (in the context of this chapter, primarily self-conduct). The absence of women from these instructional poems is itself suggestive of the masculinization of wisdom in Anglo-Saxon England.

audiences. See Shippey, “Maxims in Old English Narrative,” 45-46; Shippey, Old English Verse, 61; and Hansen, The Solomon Complex, 3-4, 41-42. 151 Vainglory does not strictly fit the model of the instruction largely because it does not include a frame in which an instructor character is explicitly addressing a pupil character. I have chosen to work with Vainglory in addition to Precepts and Hroðgar’s sermon because of the speaker’s situation of his own advice in the context of a chain of older men instructing younger men, by which he himself was taught. 88

Before analyzing the texts, I will offer a brief overview of each text, in order to establish their content and context, since these texts (Precepts especially) are often less studied and thus less familiar, even to many in the field. Having established this foundation, I will move on to address the structure and function of the poems, and in particular the ways in which they contribute to and reflect a cultural understanding of teaching authority, as well as the way that these texts fit into the larger corpus with respect to wisdom and gender. Finally, I will address the content of the wise lessons being imparted in these texts in order to assess what ideas fall under the mantle of paternal wisdom.

The Poems

One of the most important texts for this chapter, yet one of the least studied poems in the corpus, is Precepts, a short poem explicitly depicting a father instructing his son. Precepts survives in the Exeter Book, a late tenth century manuscript containing many long and short Old English poems and riddles. Many of the poems in the Exeter

Book are religious or moral. The book also includes most of the surviving Old English wisdom poems and all of the elegies. The composition of Precepts has been dated to the eighth or early ninth century for metrical and linguistic reasons. Editors Krapp and

Dobbie have characterized the poem as having a definitely Christian worldview and suggest that the author was probably a cleric.152

152 Eds. Krapp and Dobbie, ASPR III, xliii. 89

There is some controversy concerning the location where the Exeter Book was composed. Patrick Conner has argued on orthographical grounds for composition in

Exeter between 950 and 970, before the monastery was reformed.153 Richard Gameson has argued for composition outside of Exeter, likely at Glastonbury, possibly at Crediton or Sherburne in the 960s or 970s. Gameson is resistant to the idea of composition at

Exeter due to hypotheses regarding the events of the reform of Exeter in 970 that would make it unlikely for a book like the Exeter Book to remain at the cathedral after the reform.154 Michael Drout favors Conner’s theory but suggests that, while the compiler of the Exeter Book may have been a pre-reform monk, he would likely have been somewhat familiar with and sympathetic to the ideas of the reform.155 Robert Butler rejects

Conner’s theory, noting that the orthographical data does not point exclusively to Exeter, and that Conner’s theory rests heavily on the idea that Leofric’s donation list, which identifies a book widely accepted to be the Exeter book as an acquisition made during

Leofric’s time at Exeter (1016-1072), is inaccurate. Butler cedes that the list may have omitted some items already present at Exeter when Leofric arrived, but argues that it is highly unlikely that the list would misidentify the texts that it does include, especially since Leofric himself likely either wrote or approved the document.156 Butler argues strongly for composition at Dunstan’s (reformed) Glastonbury, which would have been in a better position to spend resources on a large collection of vernacular poetry, and which would have tolerated the secular and occasionally bawdy texts along with the more pious

153 Conner, Anglo-Saxon Exeter, 33-45, 94. 154 Gameson, “The Origin of the Exeter Book,” 137, 166, 177-179. 155 Drout, How Tradition Works, 227-229. 156 Butler, “Glastonbury and the Early History of the Exeter Book,” 175, 178-181, 206. 90 poems in the manuscript.157 Brian O’Camb has noted that two Latin manuscripts containing Latin patristic texts survive that were written in the same distinctive hand as the Exeter Book, which lends weight to the possibility of composition in a reformed institution. O’Camb has also argued that Maxims I, another wisdom poem from the

Exeter Book, can be linked to the Benedictine Reform due to its use of several words associated with the Winchester vocabulary of Bishop Æþelwold.158

The explicit father-son relationship in Precepts makes the poem particularly significant for this chapter. Each instance of instruction within the poem is prefaced by a brief statement reiterating this frame of paternal instruction, with little other detail. As

Hansen has noted, the archetypical nature of the father and son characters suggests that they should be seen as representative figures rather than characters situated in a particular fictional context.159

The instruction in the poem is divided into ten numbered instances (“Ðriddan syþe,” “Feorþan syþe,” etc.). Scholars have typically drawn two conclusions from this structure. First, the poem suggests a process of teaching that takes place over an

157 Butler, “Glastonbury and the Early History of the Exeter Book,” 197-198, 207. Butler notes the influence of Irish monks at Glastonbury, especially during Dunstan’s youth there, which influence contributed to an environment that welcomed vernacular and secular poetry that Dunstan maintained during his abbacy. Butler suggests that this appreciation of secular poetry would be unusual at other reformed monasteries. 158 O’Camb, “Bishop Æþelwold,” 255, 257-268. While a monastic understanding of Maxims I may contribute to pinpointing the composition of the Exeter Book to a reformed institution such as Glastonbury, it does not mean that all of the poems in the book are monastic. The implications of a monastic setting for Precepts in particular will be explored later in this chapter. 159 Hansen, The Solomon Complex, 46. 91 extended period of time.160 The father does not impart all of his wisdom at once, but instructs his son multiple times throughout their relationship. The poem offers nothing to suggest how frequently these instructions occur, or how large a span of time within which they occur, but rather gives the reader an impression of an ongoing instructional relationship between father and son. The second conclusion scholars have drawn from the structure is that it invokes earlier listed (and especially numbered) works of wisdom or morality, particularly the Decalogue (given the ten instances of instruction in the poem).161 Michael Drout has also noted the twelve remissions of sin from the pentitentials as another numbered list that may be a touchstone for the structure of

Precepts. Drout places heavy significance on the numbering of the instructions as a sign of the influence of a textual (ultimately Latinate) tradition on Precepts, noting that if the poem were an “oral-traditional or oral-derived composition” that we would expect a strictly paratactic (and thus, un-numbered) list.162

The content of these instructions consists of items of advice largely concerning interpersonal relations and personal conduct, with the explicit purpose that the son “wel

þunge” (3).163 The first instruction expounds on two basic themes: the son’s relation to

God (and the devil), and his relation to his parents, elders, and teachers. The son is

160 Hansen, The Solomon Complex, 46. 161 Ashurst, “Old English Wisdom Poetry,” 130; Deskis, “The Gnomic Woman,” 136; Drout, How Tradition Works, 256; eds. Krapp and Dobbie, ASPR III, xlii; McEntire, “The Monastic Context of Old English Precepts,” 243. 162 Drout, How Tradition Works, 256. 163 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 48. “thrive well.” All translations are my own unless otherwise noted, but I have consulted Shippey’s translation. 92 encouraged to “Do a þætte duge” (4)164 and God will aid him in good deeds just as the devil (feond) encourages others in bad behavior. Then, echoing the fifth commandment, the father advises the son to love (freon) his father and mother, adding that the son should additionally love each of his kinsmen—on the condition that they also love God. The father goes on to add that his son should treat his elders and teachers with respect.

The second instruction tells the son neither to sin nor to condone sin, as both actions will result in divine punishment. The third instruction tells the son to choose his associates and advisors based on their goodness and wisdom rather than their status. The fourth instruction tells the son to be an honest and dependable friend. The fifth instruction is concerned with moderate behavior, including the importance of controlling oneself in the consumption of alcohol, in speech, and with women.

At this point, the instructions shift away from interpersonal relationships and become (even) more abstract. The sixth concerns the importance of wisdom in discerning between good and evil and an exhortation to always choose the good. The seventh concerns the wisdom of reflection and thoughtfulness, and again the importance of governing one’s speech. The eighth exhorts the son to be an eager and apt student of wisdom, to trust God, and to speak truthfully. The ninth instructs the son to adhere to ancient writings165 even though many around him may fail to do so. The tenth and final instruction again exhorts the son to avoid sin (with the mention that right behavior is

164 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 48. “Always do what would be appropriate.” 165 There are several theories about what specific writings, if any, this may refer to. These theories and their implications for our understanding of the poem will be explored later in this chapter. 93 rewarded by God), and to moderate his behavior, once again focused on controlling speech, though also including the guarding of thoughts. The specific concerns raised about speech in the tenth instruction include avoiding speaking in anger, and avoiding slander and flattery. With regard to thought, the son is encouraged not to think too harshly of other people.

In between each instruction is a return to the frame of the father addressing the son, often quite brief, but frequently including some small details about the father, primarily contributing to his general characterization as old, wise, kindly, and weighed down by a certain degree of concern. (Indeed, in the seventh instruction, he makes the point that a wise man frequently carries worry and concern with him, in contrast with the foolish man, who is happy but without thought for the future.) While Precepts offers the most literal example of father-son instruction in Old English poetry, the most famous example is the passage of Beowulf known as Hrothgar’s sermon, in which the old Danish king, having recently offered to adopt Beowulf as his own son, gives counsel to the young warrior.

Easily the best known text discussed in this chapter, Hroðgar’s sermon requires less in the way of introduction than the other texts. Elaine Tuttle Hansen has argued for its categorization as wisdom poetry, and more specifically, as an instruction. Hansen makes this argument partly on the basis of the introduction, which (in keeping with other descriptions throughout Beowulf) characterizes Hroðgar as a wise old man, and the fact

94 that he is speaking as a father to his son.166 She also takes into consideration the structure of the speech itself and the uses of different types of exempla, each followed by admonitory advice and gnomic observations.167 Moreover, it is not surprising to find this instance of wisdom literature within Beowulf, since the presence of gnomes throughout the poem is well attested.168 Beowulf clearly shows broad influence and awareness of wisdom literature.

The sermon opens with a brief introduction in which Hroðgar praises Beowulf, then proceeds to offer cautionary advice by way of the historical/legendary figure of the destructively power-mad king Heremod, a gnomic passage describing the folly of an arrogant man who becomes covetous and miserly, and finally a personal example explaining that Grendel’s coming served as a punishment for Hroðgar’s own pride in his prowess in battle and his belief that he could defeat any foe. Hroðgar explicitly encourages Beowulf to learn from these examples and avoid making the same mistakes.

The final text under consideration in this chapter is Vainglory, which does not fit

Hansen’s narrow model for the instruction subgenre of wisdom poetry, but nevertheless depicts the instruction of wisdom. Vainglory, like Precepts, comes to us in the Exeter

Book, and its composition has been dated to the late eighth or early ninth centuries.169

The poem is editorially titled Vainglory because of its didactic focus admonishing against

166 Hansen, “Hroðgar’s ‘Sermon,’” 61. Beowulf’s reaction to Hroðgar’s “adoption” is discussed in the next chapter. What matters for our purposes here is that Hroðgar sees himself as a father to Beowulf and is speaking from that understanding. 167 Hansen, “Hroðgar’s ‘Sermon,’” 62. 168 For the function of gnomes in Beowulf, see Malone, “Words of Wisdom in Beowulf;” Thayer, “Fractured Wisdom;” and Shippey, “Maxims in Old English Narrative,” 34. 169 Eds. Krapp and Dobbie, ASPR III, xlii. 95 that very vice; however, Jane Roberts has suggested that a better title would focus on the figure of the wise man himself, and has suggested The Wiseman, The Man of Wisdom, or

The Prophet.170

One of the most fascinating (and crucial, for the purposes of this chapter) features of Vainglory is its representation of a chain of instruction, culminating in the speaker’s instruction of the reader. The poem opens with a first person explanation of how the speaker learned the lessons about to be given from a wise man, who in turn learned from another man. Here is explicitly given what is only implied in poems like Precepts: at some point, every teacher was a student of another teacher. No act of instruction occurs in a void, but rather occurs as the continuation of a chain of students and teachers stretching back across history. Unlike in Precepts, there is no student character mentioned in the text of Vainglory, and yet this absence of a student allows for the involvement of the reader in a more immediate way: the reader receives the lesson directly, and perhaps implicitly becomes equipped or obligated to pass the lesson along.

170 Roberts, “The Exeter Book,” 318; Roberts, “A Man ‘Boca Gleaw,’” 120-121. Her emphasis on the wise man is partly to draw attention to similarities between Vainglory and two other Exeter Book poems: The Wanderer and The Seafarer. Many of the similarities Roberts discusses are editorial as much as they are interpretive and revolve around the addition of modern punctuation to clearly delineate what is spoken by the featured characters and what is framing matter not spoken by the characters, a division which is ambiguous in the original punctuation and which some, including Roberts, have argued should remain ambiguous in modern editions. Determining what should be considered direct discourse is further complicated by the presence of gnomic statements that describe the characters in third person (and thus feel like narration to a modern audience), but which, in Old English poetry, would not be unusual coming from the mouths of the characters themselves. Roberts also points out that Hroðgar’s sermon shares the same difficulty in its introduction, in which either the narrator or Hroðgar himself presents Hroðgar’s credentials for making his commentary in a gnomic statement about his age and experience. She notes that Hroðgar’s sermon strongly resembles Vainglory’s instructional focus. 96

The lesson of the poem, the speaker tells us, equips the student to discern between men who are godly and men who are not, and most of the text expands upon the behavior and consequences faced by the latter. The arrogant man is characterized as prone to immoderation, drunkenness (which leads to unguarded speech and violence), boastfulness, and cruelty, and the speaker warns us that such a man will be punished after death. The godly man, so the speaker says, is humble, loving, and amiable, and will be rewarded. The poem closes with a brief admonition to behave rightly and thus be rewarded, accompanied by a brief caveat, “gif me se witega ne leag” (81).171

Speaker, Audience, and Authority

A commonality in the instruction genre across cultures is the trope of the wise old man as instructor. In both Egyptian and Old Irish texts, the instructor is frequently a father, foster-father, or (male) teacher.172 This holds true for Old English poetry, as well.

The prevalence of the wise old man in Old English wisdom literature has been noted by

David Ashurst and Jordi Sánchez Márti.173 The speaker of Precepts is first identified as

171 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 56. “if the wise man did not deceive me.” Roberts has suggested that this line is included for the purposes of reminding the reader of the speaker’s place in the chain of instruction (Roberts, “A Man ‘Boca Gleaw,’” 128.). 172 For Egyptian texts, see McKane, Proverbs, 51, 67, 82, 92. For Old Irish, Henry, The Early English and Celtic Lyric, 104. In her dealing with the occurrence of the genre across cultures, Hansen is careful to state that she is not making and cannot make an argument about influence, but is simply noting the similarity (see The Solomon Complex, 7). To the extent that I refer to the Old Irish and Egyptian traditions, I am adopting the same approach. 173 Ashurst, “Old English Wisdom Poetry,” 135; Sánchez Márti, “From Youth to Old Age,” 112-113. Sánchez Márti describes the acquisition of wisdom as consisting of two stages, the first in which the young man is taught by the wise old man, the second in 97 both father and as wise man: “Ðus frod fæder freobearn lærde, / modsnottor mon, maga cystum eald, / wordum wisfæstum, þæt he wel þunge” (1-3).174 Later in the poem, the father is called “frod” (15, 53), “þoncsnottor” (21), “eald” (59, 77), “gomola,” (65), and

“eald uðwita” (66), all words and phrasing suggesting age or wisdom.175 Hroðgar is frequently described in similar language throughout Beowulf.176 The introductory passage of Hroðgar’s sermon includes the following gnomic statement clearly referring to

Hroðgar:

Þæt, la, mæg secgan se þe soð ond riht fremeð on folce, feor eal gemon, eald eþelweard, þæt ðes eorl wære geboren betera. (1700-1703a)177

which the young man applies the wisdom he has learned from his mentor and in turn gains more from his own experience. Sánchez Márti also notes the puer senex topos common to hagiography that turns the wise old man trope on its head: the child in these stories is wise by divine intervention and often stands in contrast—and often in dramatic opposition—to the foolish, pagan father. (Sánchez Márti, “From Youth to Old Age,” 117). 174 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 48. “Thus the old father, the wise man, grown old in good qualities, taught his noble son with sagacious words, that he might prosper.” 175 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 48-49. Frod is typically translated as “old” or “wise,” and Shippey has also suggested a connotation of “experienced” (see Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 127). Corey Zwikstra has argued for an understanding of frod as indicating the quality of being well-aged, i.e. a man who is frod benefits from years of experience and has grown stronger in mind with old age, not feebler (Zwikstra, “Wintrum Frod.”). Þancsnottor is another word meaning “wise.” Eald and gamol both mean “old.” Uðwita may be translated “sage” or “philosopher.” 176 Hansen, “Hroðgar’s ‘Sermon,’” 61. Hansen provides the following list of relevant modifiers used to describe Hroðgar: “snotor haleð (190b), snotor guma (1384a), snot(t)ra fengel (1475a and 2156a), and se snotera (snottra) (1313b and 1786b); he is also referred to as frod (279a, 1306b, 1724a and 2114a) and þone wisan (se wisa) (1318a and 1698b).” 177 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 57. “Lo, the old king [Hroðgar], he who does what is true and right among the people, who remembers all from far back, may say that this man [Beowulf] was born superior.” 98

Thus, Hroðgar is both generally characterized as wise and old, and specifically in the context of his sermon is described as an old, experienced king with a far-reaching memory. Although the speaker of Vainglory is never described, he does refer to his teacher as “frod wita” (1), an old or experienced wise man.178 Note that the father in

Precepts is characterized using the same vocabulary that is applied to Hroðgar (both when Hroðgar is and is not posturing as Beowulf’s father figure) and to the teacher of the speaker in Vainglory. Thus, while fathers are not necessarily always the ones giving this kind of instruction, this common characterization suggests an understanding that fathers participate in a similar role with respect to their sons as teachers to their pupils. They are all old,179 wise men trying to impart information to younger men about how a man should behave, for the benefit of said younger men.

Wisdom and Gender in the Old English Corpus

Based on the poems that are the focus of this chapter, Anglo-Saxon wisdom seems to be a highly masculinized concept. These texts present wisdom as matter taught by men to other men about men. When women are mentioned, it is only in the context of

178 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 54. 179 How old these wise men are is an interesting question, especially when it comes to biological fathers (I will discuss in my next chapter the perhaps problematic fact that while Hroðgar is speaking to Beowulf as a wise, old man, his own sons are too young to succeed him). Frod may be taken to mean “experienced” rather than “of advanced age,” but eald is less ambiguous, and the father of Precepts is described as both. While too large a discrepancy in age may be a problem if a son is too young when his father dies (especially when hereditary positions of power are involved), I am reluctant to read the relationships presented in these instructional situations as problematized. Of course, the age of the father can only be a problem in relation to the age of the son, which I will discuss later in this chapter. 99 how men should or should not behave with respect to women. Women do have a greater presence in some other wisdom poems, most notably Maxims I and II. Brian O’Camb has written about the depictions of women in the A and B sections of Maxims I and in

Precepts, and Susan Deskis about the depictions of women in both Maxims I and II and in Precepts.

Deskis dismisses the warning against women in Precepts180 as clearly representative of a misogynist Latin tradition, and focuses most of her energies on

Maxims I and II in search of a native Anglo-Saxon tradition of women and wisdom.181

She points out that the women discussed in the Maxims poems are discussed solely in relation to men, and that the poems depict women behaving both morally and immorally.

Of particular import to this chapter is her point that, while other early medieval gnomes

(specifically, Old Irish and Old Norse) present women as not to be trusted with secrets or counsel, Maxims I specifically notes that a noblewoman who is a good wife ought to counsel her husband and to keep his secrets.182 Deskis concludes that the Anglo-Saxon gnomic tradition involves the positive figure of the good and devoted wife in addition to negatively portrayed women (typically bad wives).183

180 Lines 34-42, discussed at length later in this chapter, list the love of women, drunkenness, and unguarded speech as things to avoid. The group seems to be formed around the idea of lapses in judgment. 181 Deskis, “The Gnomic Woman,” 136. 182 Deskis, “The Gnomic Woman,” 141-142. Of course, since this information is phrased prescriptively and not descriptively, it is not clear whether the poet expects that women often behave this way, but it at least suggests that they are capable of such behavior and that at least some perform it. 183 Deskis, “The Gnomic Woman,” 144-145. 100

In direct and explicit opposition to Deskis’s presentation of the Maxims poems as more authentically Germanic, O’Camb stresses that these poems can and should be read in the context of biblical Solomonic literature in general and the biblical book of Proverbs in particular.184 O’Camb sees an association between women and wisdom in the

Solomonic texts, both with regards to anecdotes of Solomon’s own wisdom that involve women (his testing by the Queen of Sheba in 3 Kings 10 and his judgment in the maternity suit of two prostitutes in 3 Kings 3), and to the personification of wisdom as a woman. He also notes that the same texts associate negative feminine behavior with temptation and moral failing in addition to associating positive feminine behavior (such as that of a faithful wife) with wisdom and good moral judgment.185 O’Camb reads the passages on women in Precepts and in the A and B sections of Maxims I as influenced by this Solomonic tradition: Precepts warns against the temptation of women, and Maxims I presents a wider array of female behavior, but tinged with corresponding associations, most notably the vignette of the Frisian wife, whose devotion and performance of weaving resemble the depiction of wisdom in Proverbs 31.186

Based on O’Camb and Deskis’s assessments of these poems, we may conclude that there is some room in the Old English wisdom tradition for women (whether the tradition comes by it through Germanic or biblical roots, or by some combination thereof), but that it is very limited. With only the exception of the description of the

184 O’Camb, “The Proverbs of Solomon,” 734-736. 185 O’Camb, “The Proverbs of Solomon,” 738-741. 186 O’Camb, “The Proverbs of Solomon,” 741-745. The vignette of the Frisian wife depicts the wife of a sea-faring Frisian preparing her home for her husband’s return from a voyage and then welcoming him and tending to him. 101 behavior of a good wife as counsel-giver in Maxims I, women are not actually discussed in a way that directly suggests that they themselves are wise, although it is possible that good women maybe be associated with wisdom allegorically. Moreover, as Deskis has pointed out, women are only present in wisdom literature in relation to men, not as individuals or agents.

The masculinization of wisdom is not limited to wisdom poetry. Another example that looms large in the Old English corpus is the presence of the character

Wisdom in Alfred’s translation of Boethius’s Consolation of Philosophy. Anne Payne has explored the changes between the Alfredian text and its source, focusing on the teaching characters of each. In the Old English text, Lady Philosophy is absent, and is replaced by the male teacher Wisdom. Latin philosophia is, of course, grammatically feminine. Old

English wisdom is grammatically masculine; however, it is worth noting that the character of Wisdom is also sometimes called Gesceadwisnes, from the feminine noun, but in spite of the availability of a feminine name, Wisdom is the name primarily used, and the character is referred to with the masculine pronoun.187 Interesting for the purposes of this chapter is not only this gendered shift, but what Payne sees as a shift in the relationships presented between the characters of the Consolation. The Alfredian

187 For fuller discussion of the choice of the name “Wisdom,” see Payne, King Alfred and Boethius, 113-122; and Cook, “Philosophy’s Metamorphosis,” 178-184. As Payne points out, there is no Old English word that directly translates philosophia, and Anglo-Saxon thought also lacked the ideological divide between philosophy and theology, giving Alfred a great amount of interpretive range in choosing not only a new name, but a new identity and a new dynamic for his mentor character. I do not wish to oversimplify this choice by focusing on the issue of gender, but the choice of a masculine instructor is telling in the context of the other texts explored here. 102 text, Payne argues, presents a much closer mentoring relationship, both figuratively and literally:

While Philosophy exists on a different plane, impervious to all assaults from things that might disturb Boethius, towering above him not only literally, but also symbolically, Wisdom stands on the same plane as the prisoner. More knowing than Mod, Wisdom is no more impervious than he to the difficulties of the world and lacks an authority that dispels all doubts. As a result, the relationship between the two Old English figures is closer than that of the two Latin figures.188

Worldly experience, including the experience of human suffering, seems to be an important component in creating an ideal mentor for an Anglo-Saxon reader. It is also interesting to note that the Old English text replaces the “teacher and student” metaphor of the Latin text with a metaphor of “parent and child” (although it should be noted that it is not specifically of “father and child”).189 Kimberly Cook has built on Payne’s work, and has offered some possible explanations for the gender change in Alfred’s translation.

Cook suggests that a masculine instructor might be preferable to an Anglo-Saxon audience because educated women (mostly nuns) were vastly outnumbered by educated men, as opposed to the culture in which Boethius wrote his Consolation, in which more lay women were educated, and which valued wise women. She also points out that

Alfred’s England had limited exposure to the classical tradition of female instructors from which Lady Philosophy descends (and which includes such figures as Reason,

Augustine’s interlocutor in his Soliloquies, and Nature in Claudian’s fifth century

188 Payne, King Alfred and Boethius, 116. 189 Payne, King Alfred and Boethius, 117. 103 panegyric On the Consulship of Stilicho),190 or to the classical tradition of wisdom as female.191 The change from Lady Philosophy to Wisdom could also have been driven by

Alfredian associations of wisdom with power and kingship, or by the patristic association of wisdom with Christ.192 While we will never know the reasons behind the decision to change Lady Philosophy to the masculine Wisdom, it seems clear that a male instructor was considered to be more fitting than a female one.

Also of note in considering the masculinization of wisdom in Anglo-Saxon culture is the Old English vocabulary of wisdom. The word frod is almost never used to describe a woman or women. Nearly all extant uses refer to individual men, groups of men, mankind as a whole, inanimate objects, or abstractions.193 The one notable exception is in Juliana, in which the heroine Juliana’s heart or ferhð is described as frod

(553).194 Similarly, wis is primarily used of men, objects, or abstractions, although there are some notable exceptions. In Beowulf, Hygelac’s young queen Hygd is described as

“wis” (1927),195 and Ælfric describes the queen of Sheba as “wis” (147) in Dedicatio ecclesiae (CH II.45).196 Additionally, the Winteney version of the Benedictine Rule contains five instances of wis referring to nuns (often the abbess), although it should be borne in mind that, since this is an adaptation of the Rule for women, it is simply taking

190 It is worth noting that in the Alfredian translation of Augustine’s Soliloquies, Augustine’s feminine Latin Ratio is always called by the feminine Old English name Gesceadwisnes. Neither Payne nor Cook address how this might affect our reading of Wisdom in Alfred’s translation of Boethius. 191 Cook, “Philosophy’s Metamorphosis into Wisdom,” 178-179. 192 Cook, “Philosophy’s Metamorphosis into Wisdom,” 181. 193 Eds. Cameron et al., Dictionary of Old English: A to G, s.v. frod. 194 Eds. Krapp and Dobbie, ASPR III, 128. 195 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 65. 196 Ed. Godden, CH II, 339. 104 instances where men were initially described as wis and changing the gender of the subjects.197 There are also several instances where wis is used to gloss the Latin sapiens when it modifies puella (glossed mæden).198 Since these are glossing Latin usage rather than occurring as spontaneous Old English usage, this does not bear significant weight for our purposes. These few examples are all the extant uses of wis to describe women or girls. There is one notable usage of the phrase wifes wisdom in the laws of Wihtræd: “Gif ceorl buton wifes wisdome deoflum gelde, he sie ealra his æhtan scyldig & healsfange”

(12).199 However, the context here clearly indicates a meaning of “knowledge” rather than “wisdom,” as the law goes on to discuss the penalty for both the man and his wife worshipping devils together. Snotor, another word meaning wise or clever, and its variants, although used more frequently to refer to men than women (and also sometimes used to refer to abstractions), is often used of holy women, most notably including instances in the aforementioned Winteney version of the Rule of Saint Benedict,200

Judith,201 and a number of Ælfrician homilies and saints lives.202 The usage of gleaw,

197 Ed. Schröer, Die Winteney-Version der Regula s. Benedicti, 41, 69, 71, 115, 137. 198 Ed. Förster, “Vom Fortleben antiker Sammellunare im Englischen und in anderen Volkssprachen,” §11, 27, 29. 199 Ed., Liebermann, Die Gesetze der Angelsachsen, 1:13. “If a man worships devils, without his wife’s knowledge, he shall be liable for all his possessions and a capital fine.” 200 Ed. Schröer, Die Winteney-Version der Regula s. Benedicti, 133. 201 Ed. Dobbie, ASPR IV, 100, 102. 202 Virgins CH II.44, lines 6, 12, 15, 32, 64, 102, 140, 148. (Ed. Godden, CH II, 327- 332.); referring to the Queen of Sheba, Dedicatio ecclesiae CH II.45, line 148 (Ed. Godden, CH II, 339.); Saint Agnes, lines 8, 98, 265 (Ed. Skeat, Ælfric’s Lives of Saints, vol. 1, 170, 176, 184.); Saint Agatha, line 2 (Ed. Skeat, Ælfric’s Lives of Saints, vol. 1, 194.); referring to Petronella, Saint Peter’s Chair, line 232 (Ed. Skeat, Ælfric’s Lives of Saints, vol. 1, 234.); Saint Cecilia, lines 29, 177 (Ed. Skeat, Ælfric’s Lives of Saints, vol. 2, 356, 366.); referring to Daria, Saints Chrysanthus and Daria, 83 (Ed. Skeat, Ælfric’s Lives of Saints, vol. 2, 382.). 105 meaning wise, skillful, or prudent, follows a similar trend as that of snotor, although is not used of women quite as frequently. In Juliana it is used once to describe the heroine,203 and Judith is described as gleaw (or with compounds involving gleaw) five times in the surviving text of Judith.204 It is also used once in a hagiography “The

Nativity of the Virgin Mary,” not to describe Mary herself, but in reference to a group of five women who watch her while she weaves and praise her “on gleaw” (538).205 There are also, as we have seen with some of the other “wise” words, three instances of gleaw describing women in the Winteney Rule of Saint Benedict.206 Although snotor and gleaw do seem to be applicable to women (at least in a holy context),207 and the imbalance of usage of these words in modifying men and women could simply reflect the greater presence of men in Old English texts. However, frod and wis, which are more prevalent than snotor and gleaw in the wisdom poems examined in this chapter, are far more one- sided.

Based on this brief survey of the semantic field, the character of Judith stands out as an unusually wise female character (although she is only gleaw and snotor, not frod or wis). Margaret Locherbie-Cameron has commented that Judith’s wisdom is appropriate insofar as it is an important trait among Anglo-Saxon warriors (e.g. Beowulf) and saints

(e.g. Guðlac). She also notes examples from the poem in which Judith’s wisdom is set up

203 Eds. Krapp and Dobbie. ASPR III, 116. 204 Ed. Dobbie, ASPR IV, 99, 100, 103, 104, 108. 205 Assmann, Angelsächsische Homilien und Heiligenleben, 132. “wisely.” 206 Ed. Schröer, Die Winteney-Version der Regula s. Benedicti, 67, 67, 133. 207 Of course, most women present in Anglo-Saxon texts are holy women, but Hygd, a pagan character in Beowulf is wis. 106 in contrast to Holofernes’s foolishness.208 Robert Kaske has discussed Judith’s wisdom in the context of the heroic trope of sapientia et fortitudo in Judith, following his work on the same trope in Beowulf. He has conjectured that while wisdom and fortitude together are characteristics of male heroes, it is possible that wisdom alone is appropriate for female heroes. He notes both Germanic attribution of prophetic powers to women and the portrayal of women in the Old Testament as possible sources for the idea that wisdom is appropriate to heroines.209 Kaske points out that Judith only possesses both sapientia et fortitudo in the Old English poem, although wisdom on its own is attributed to her in other Latin and vernacular sources, including the Vulgate Bible.210 Judith is exceptional among Anglo-Saxon depictions of women in that she is frequently identified as wise, but this is somewhat mitigated by the existence of a tradition of characterizing her in this way. It is surely remarkable that the poem Judith is heroic and that a woman is the hero, but the heroically wise Judith is the exception, not the rule. Anglo-Saxon wisdom does not unilaterally exclude women, but is heavily dominated by men.

The wise man, then, has credentials of age, experience, and (to some extent) gender. In Vainglory, at least, his authority is also justified by the fact that he was taught

208 Locherbie-Cameron, “Wisdom as Key to Heroism in Judith,” 71-72. 209 Kaske, “Sapientia et Fortitudo,” 15-17. While Juliana is portrayed as both wise and brave, these attributes are not mentioned as frequently or as symmetrically as Kaske requires to consider it a central theme of Juliana as he does with Judith, although both women seem to come by their courage through similar means: Juliana’s courage results from her Christian wisdom, and Judith’s is a special gift from God (Kaske, “Sapientia et Fortitudo,” 17, 21). 210 Kaske, “Sapientia et Fortitudo,” 19-21. The only other Old English source is Ælfric’s metrical homily on the book of Judith, in which she speaks with “wislicra worda” rather than being directly described as wise, and thus this instance was not listed in the sematic survey (ed. Assmann, Homily 9, 109.). In most of the instances that Kaske cites, Judith’s speech is what is being directly identified as wise, rather than Judith herself. 107 by a wise man, who in turn was taught by a wise man. While the chain of instruction is explicit in Vainglory, it is implicit elsewhere. The numbered list structure of Precepts, reminiscent of other texts on wisdom and morality, suggests that the father and son of the poem are participants in a larger tradition of wisdom. Moreover, paternal instruction per se invokes the idea of an instructional chain, since each father was once a son. Of course, realistically, not all sons can learn from their fathers, who may die before they can impart wisdom to their sons, who may choose never to be a presence in their sons’ lives, or who may not know that they have sons. Then again, the limitations of real life need not limit a literary ideal, which is free to posit generation upon generation of dutiful sons learning from sage fathers.

Poetic Instruction vs. Personal Instruction

Interestingly, in poems like Vainglory, the chain of instruction leads ultimately to the reader rather than a son or pupil within the poem, as is typical of instruction poems.

Indeed, the implication of the reader in the chain of instruction may be indirectly construed even when the wise instructor is addressing a character within the poem, as in the cases of Precepts and Hroðgar’s sermon, particularly in the case of Precepts, where neither character is fleshed out, but the son even less so than the father, who is at least marked with descriptive adjectives to identify him as wise. Carolyne Larrington has made the case for this with respect to Precepts, suggesting that “the poet of Precepts identifies himself with the father, just as we, the audience, are to assume the role of the

108 son.”211 The literary conceit of instructor and instruction becomes conflated with the real didactic relationship between poet and reader, who may then internalize and eventually pass on the wisdom of the poem. Surely this is one of the primary purposes of wisdom literature: to impart wisdom to the reader, who is in theory reading not for entertainment, but for education. Approaching the text in this way, the frame of instructor (and often, instructed) grounds the content of the texts in a fictional context of personal interaction

(the wisdom is put in the mouth of a fictional speaker rather than coming from a disembodied poet or copyist through the impersonal medium of the page, as is the case with some other wisdom poems, such as Maxims I and II).

If we continue to follow this approach, it will lead us to several points of inquiry.

Firstly, we may wonder how instruction poems fit into the lived practice of personal instruction. Does Precepts preempt real paternal instruction, or is it a guide to be used alongside real instruction (by the pupil and/or by the instructor)? As I will explore in greater detail in the next section, I think that the poem does not preempt personal instruction, since much of the content of Precepts is very general and thus cannot replace specific advice, but may rather provide a kind of blueprint of types of advice to give that allows a real father to supply specific content based on his own discretion or to fit his real son’s specific situation. A personal conversation with a wise individual who knows the pupil always has the benefit of the ability to tailor guidance to the individual situation.

That is to say, while any given father, or other figure of wisdom and authority, may not be as wise as any given poet who has recorded wisdom for posterity, the personal

211 Larrington, A Store of Common Sense, 147. 109 instruction, if available, always has at least one kind of edge over poetic wisdom, and thus, while it might be advisedly supplemented with wise readings, it is unlikely to be replaced by them.

The second point we might consider is whether (or to what extent) the representation of instruction in wisdom poetry is reflective of reality or, on the other hand, is addressing a failing in reality and is offering a prescriptive solution. In other words, do poets depict fathers instructing sons in wisdom because fathers often advise their sons in this way, or because such poets see a need for paternal instruction that is not being met? If the poem were intended to be descriptive of real relationships, we might expect more detail about the characters. If it were meant to provide a guide for an interaction that was nonexistent or foreign to the culture, we might expect some explicit explanation, justification, or praise for paternal instruction. Given that the poem straightforwardly and without ceremony frames the wise teachings in a conversation between a highly abstract father and son, given that the poem seems to represent an uncomplicatedly positive series of interactions between this father and son, and given the abstract and general nature of the content, we may suppose Precepts to model a kind of ideal and culturally accepted kind of interaction. While this does not mean that we can expect that all Anglo-Saxon fathers participated in conversations concerning self-conduct with their sons, or that the ones who did so were particularly wise or skilled teachers, we may surmise that this type of conversation was not unusual or unexpected between fathers and sons. Instruciton poems may have served to celebrate and/or to supplement real paternal instruction.

110

A third point that may result from this line of inquiry is whether the frame matter is of much import at all, if its purpose is ultimately to humanize what might otherwise be dry and distant content. Of course, the frame may have more than one purpose or effect on the poem, and the validity of one need not prevent the consideration of another. In the case of Precepts, the oft-bemoaned vagueness and generality of the content would suggest that the frame matters a great deal, and may in fact be an integral part of the poem. Hansen has suggested that the frame itself, as well as the list structure created by the frame, are highly significant to the poem, which she argues is a celebration of the act of organizing experience into a meaningful system.212 Even if the frame itself bore little substantive weight in the poem, it would be significant for our purposes that, in choosing a frame in which to depict instruction in wisdom, the poet landed on paternal instruction as an appropriate context.

Biological Fatherhood vs. Monastic Fatherhood

At this juncture, we must also consider the possible implications for the paternal instruction frame posed by the hypothesis that Precepts is a text that should be associated with the Tenth Century Benedictine Reform. As mentioned above, there is a case for associating the Exeter Book with the Benedictine Reform based on possibilities concerning the time and place of its composition, and Michael Drout has made the case that, even if the copyist was not a monk at a reformed monastery at the time of composition (that is, if the book was copied at Exeter pre-970), we might still reasonably

212 Hansen, The Solomon Complex, 46. 111 expect to find and recognize some of the reform’s ideas in the book. Drout has also noted that, while the poems contained in the Exeter Book may predate the book itself, it is significant that they were all selected to be copied into the book, and thus presumably reflect the ideas that the compiler wished to gather and propagate.213

A number of points concerning the structure and content of Precepts have been used to illustrate its appropriateness to the reform, and in some cases even to argue that the characters are meant not to represent a biological father and son, but a spiritual father and young monk.214 Yet none of these points are definitive, and each can be countered, often with reference to other extant work on the poem, leading Michael Drout, perhaps the scholar who has spent more time and energy on the question than any other, to determine that “it is impossible definitively to state that the interaction of father and son is intended to take place inside or outside a monastery.”215 I offer here a brief review of the points and counterpoints of this controversy.

One point in favor of a monastic understanding of the poem is that the father tells the son: "Fæder ond modor freo tu mid heortan” (9).216 The issue with this line is that the speaking father refers to the son’s father in third person rather than using a first person personal pronoun, which Sandra McEntire has understood to mean that the father is not

213 Drout, “Possible Instructional Effects,” 449. 214 McEntire, “The Monastic Context of Old English Precepts,” 248. McEntire suggests that the relationship between the characters of Precepts is a monastic relationship being compared to a biological one. While Drout is similarly engaged with the monastic implications of Precepts in both “Possible Instructional Effects” and How Tradition Works, he does not carry his arguments quite this far, and has a complicated understanding of the interplay between the monastic and secular valences of the poem. 215 Drout, How Tradition Works, 263. 216 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 48. “Love your father and mother with your heart.” 112 speaking of himself, but rather is a spiritual father referring to the young monk’s biological father.217 Drout acknowledges this curiosity, but is unclear of its significance, and, while entertaining the possibility of McEntire’s reading, offers a number of possible factors that could explain the word choice without requiring the father to be referring to another person. Drout’s mitigating factors include: alliterative and metrical constraints, the phrasing of the instruction as a reflex of the fifth commandment, and that the instructions in the poem could be pre-formed gnomic statements adapted into the frame.218

McEntire also notes monastic texts (specificially the Rule of Saint Benedict and

Pseudo-Basil’s “Admonitio ad Filium Spiritualem”) that, relying on the tradition of spiritual fatherhood, address the monastic reader as filius, or in Old English translations, bearn.219 Yet, as Elaine Hansen has noted, the instruction genre across cultures often features father (or foster-father) and son characters in secular (often political) contexts, and may thus be a common trope associated with the passing of wisdom not requiring the monastic explanation.220 And of course, the real world experience of father-son relationships could also be a touchstone here. The tradition of spiritual fatherhood may play a role in the poem, but it is not necessary to explain how such a father-son interaction could come to be the subject of poetry.

217 McEntire, “The Monastic Context of Old English Precepts,” 245. 218 Drout, How Tradition Works, 262. Drout does not offer a specific alliterative or metrical argument, but notes that such concerns could have played a role in the choice between first person and third person language. 219 McEntire, “The Monastic Context of Old English Precepts,” 244. 220 Hansen, “Precepts,” 3. Hansen, The Solomon Complex, 43. 113

Drout has commented that the advice concerning the avoidance of love of women seems too extreme for a secular context, and McEntire has suggested that the counsel to avoid “fremdre meowlan” (39)221 should be taken to refer to women outside the monk’s family, as this is also advised in Pseudo-Basil’s “Admonitio” and the Rule of Chrodegang

(the latter of which is a rule for canons, not monks).222 Susan Deskis has noted that the comments concerning women found in Precepts seem to fit the “unmitigated condemnation” of women present in the Latin tradition, in contrast to more balanced depictions of women found elsewhere in Old English wisdom literature.223 Deskis’s work suggests that Precepts is steeped in Latinity, which may add weight to a monastic reading. Brian O’Camb argues that Precepts is influenced by biblical Solomonic literature, and promotes a reading of “fremdre meowlan” as a reference to the strange women who seduce Solomon and cause him to turn away from God in 3 Kings 11, which could also support a literate and monastic reading.224 Yet Hansen has noted that instruction poems in other cultures frequently feature similar advice against women, which again casts some doubt concerning how necessary a monastic explanation may be.225 Drout has offered direct critique of McEntire’s argument about “strange women”

(that the poem is only advising against women unrelated to the monk), noting that the modifier “fremdre” (strange) is not applicable to the caution against the “wifes lufan”

221 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 48. “strange women.” 222 Drout, “Possible Instructional Effects,” 460; McEntire, “The Monastic Context of Old English Precepts,” 246. 223 Deskis, “The Gnomic Woman,” 135-136. 224 O’Camb, “The Proverbs of Solomon,” 740. 225 Hansen, “Precepts,” 4-5. 114

(38)226 in the previous line. Drout ultimately suggests that the advice against women can be explained by a monastic poet who inserts monastic ideas into his poem, even though the poem depicts the interaction of secular characters.227

McEntire also notes the monastic tones of the word þeodscype, which appears in the poem, as evidence of monasticism.228 McEntire’s point relies on T.A. Shippey’s assessment of the word in the notes on his edition of the poem in Poems of Wisdom and

Learning in Old English, where he asserts that the word refers to “a form of community life bound by strict rules.”229 Drout has pointed out that þeodscype is a common word, and after reviewing its usage throughout the corpus, has argued that the primary meaning of the word is secular, stating that it “seems to mean the discipline required of a people, particularly a military order or regime of service, thus by extension a discipline entered into voluntarily, perhaps for the purpose of learning.”230 He goes on to suggest that the poem may be playing on both secular and monastic meanings.231 Drout makes an additional point concerning vocabulary, noting that in two places the son is referred to as eafera: in the frame for the ninth instruction, we are told that the father “sægde eaforan worn” (66) and in the frame for the tenth instruction, he “ongon eaforan læran” (77).232

226 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 48. “love of a woman.” 227 Drout, How Tradition Works, 258-259. 228 McEntire, “The Monastic Context of Old English Precepts,” 247-248. Þeodscype appears in line 69b, in a passage discussed below (ll. 67-75) describing the state of world with regards to the study of holy writ, without which the þeodscype of men “idlað” (“grows hollow”). 229 Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 128 n.8. 230 Drout, How Tradition Works, 260-261. 231 Drout, How Tradition Works, 261. 232 Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 50. “said many things to his heir;” “began to teach his heir.” 115

Eafera may be translated as “son,” but primarily means “heir,” and would be inappropriate for a spiritual father to use of a young monk.233

Another point made by McEntire is that, since the poem is organizing experience of the world into a system, that system must fit into one of two models available to the

Anglo-Saxons, either political or monastic.234 If it is meant to be using the political model, she argues, then there are glaring gaps, since the poem offers no reference to rank or service to one’s lord.235 Following the same logic, however, the poem makes no reference to service to one’s abbot. Though obedience to the abbot could be read as implicit in the frame of the poem itself, such a reading sits uncomfortably on a poem concerned with explicit instruction.

The poem seems to show clear influence of a literate and perhaps Latinate culture, as noted above with reference to Susan Deskis’s assessment of the condemnation of women, and with reference to the structure of the poem as a numbered list. In addition to these is a passage in the poem concerning the importance of observing fyrngewritu

(ancient writings). McEntire argues that the passage is referring to scripture, but also to patristic writings and monastic rules.236 Drout acknowledges that fyrngewritu could indicate the Rule of Saint Benedict, but need not. He does note, however, that the

233 Drout, How Tradition Works, 263. 234 McEntire, “The Monastic Context of Old English Precepts,” 243. McEntire presents these as the only two paradigms available. While they are arguably the two paradigms that Anglo-Saxon literature presents to us most frequently, it is curious that there is no consideration of a familial or domestic model (or any other models at all; surely for some Anglo-Saxons an agricultural model of understanding the world would be more relevant than a political or monastic one). 235 McEntire, “The Monastic Context of Old English Precepts,” 243-244. 236 McEntire, “The Monastic Context of Old English Precepts,” 247. 116 writings the poet has in mind need not be monastic ones for fyrngewritu to lend weight to the argument for a monastic reading, since an emphasis on textual culture is applicable to monastic culture in a way that it is not to secular culture.237

In addition to cautions against women mentioned above, Precepts gives several points of counsel concerning self-conduct that have analogues in monastic literature.

Drout has noted the Rule of Saint Benedict as a possible source of the points in Precepts cautioning against idle or careless speech. However, he also points out that the Rule teaches silence where Precepts teaches prudent use of speech.238 Drout has identified multiple Anglo-Saxon monastic texts that warn against drunkenness, another behavior discouraged by Precepts. He cites Ælfric Bata’s Colloquy 11, penitentials, and the Rule of Saint Benedict as containing such warnings.239 Drunkenness is also portrayed in a negative light (and in a clearly secular context) in Vainglory, in which the arrogant man is noted to be “wine gewæged” (41a) while boasting inappropriately.240 Given the poem’s focus on self-control, excessive use of alcohol could simply be a natural sticking point.

However, a similar instance occurs in Beowulf, in which drunkenness connected to malicious speech is presented negatively when Beowulf responds to Unferð’s initial

237 Drout, “Possible Instructional Effects,” 462-463. 238 Drout, How Tradition Works, 260. 239 Drout, How Tradition Works, 259. Of course, The Exeter Book predates Ælfric Bata; Drout is proposing analogues, not sources. 240 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 54. Inappropriate boasting seems to be marked by malice, based on the lines that follow, which say that the man allows “word ut faran, / þræfte þringan þrymme gebyrmed, / æfestum onæled, oferhygda ful” (41b-43). “words to flow out, thronging with contentiousness, violently swelled with pride, inflamed with malice, full of pride.” 117 outburst by noting that Unferð has spoken while “beore druncen” (531).241 Finally,

McEntire mentions the father’s exhortation that the son’s love for his father and mother be subordinate to his love of God, which is analogous to a passage from Pseudo-Basil’s

“Admonitio.”242 Here again, while the message in the poem is appropriate for a monastic interpretation of the text, it is certainly also appropriate for a pious secular interpretation.

The end result of these points and counterpoints is that certain aspects of the poem are more fitting to a monastic interpretation of the father-son relationship presented in the poem while other aspects are more fitting to a secular interpretation, and many aspects of the poem are ambiguous or could easily apply to either. Indeed, the poem may be playing on the similarity of the two types of relationship and simultaneously invoking both. For our purposes here, it is enough that the language used in the poem describes a father-son relationship, regardless of the implications of a possible monastic context.

Even if the biological father-son relationship is primarily being used as a tool to explore the spiritual father-son relationship between an older and a younger monk, the mere fact of the biological relationship having been chosen as an appropriate touchstone would indicate a cultural acceptance of fathers as teachers of wisdom.

Words of Wisdom

We must finally turn to the content of the wisdom being taught in these poems in order to determine what kind of wisdom is appropriate for Anglo-Saxon fathers and fatherly male authority figures to teach their sons. Much of the content of the poems in

241 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 20. “drunk with beer.” 242 McEntire, “The Monastic Context of Old English Precepts,” 245. 118 question can be broken down into three basic categories: position in the world, moderate/moral behavior, and acquisition of wisdom.

It should be noted that a common complaint against Precepts by critics who read it as dull and overly didactic concerns the vagueness or generality of the father’s instruction in the poem. While this is, to some extent, an accurate observation (I maintain that we can glean important ideas from even the very general instructions), Hansen has offered an interesting counter-interpretation. She argues that the instruction is general because the purpose of the poem is not to pass along actual wisdom, but to celebrate both the act of organizing human experience into a meaningful system and the process of parental instruction.243 I am inclined to agree with Hansen to a certain extent: Precepts celebrates parental (I will go further and say paternal) instruction as a means of passing along wisdom, and cannot replace an actual ongoing relationship between a son/pupil and his father/mentor. Indeed, the importance of the ongoing instructional relationship between father and son in Precepts cannot be overstated. The father instructs the son on ten separate occasions, which suggests frequent, ongoing instruction that requires a stable relationship between father and son. However, the general instructions the father gives the son, as well as the few more specific instructions in the poem, can be taken as indicative of the kinds of wisdom that a father should teach his son—all the more so precisely because the poem depicts a general ideal. Thus, while the content of Precepts

243 Hansen, The Solomon Complex, 46. Although Hansen discusses Precepts and Hroðgar’s sermon together both as instruction poems and as poems representing a father or father figure’s instruction of a son, she frequently uses the word “parental” rather than “paternal.” 119 is often scant on practical details, it can give us a big picture perspective on what Anglo-

Saxon paternal instruction should cover.

The first several instructions within Precepts can be gathered into the category of position in the world (that is, how one should behave with regard to other people and beings), and they appear to be ordered hierarchically. The father opens his first instruction with a general exhortation for the son to behave rightly, and frames this exhortation with reference to the son’s position in relation to God and the devil:

Do a þætte duge, deag þin gewyrhtu. God þe biþ symle goda gehwylces frea ond fultum, feond þam oþrum wyrsan gewyrhta. (4-7a)244

The concept is simple: behave rightly, and God will be your good lord; those who behave badly serve and are abetted by the devil. Before he gives any advice about what behavior is good or bad, the father sets up the importance of good behavior and its implications for one’s relationship with the almighty.

From here, the father moves on to human relationships, starting with one’s parents:

Fæder ond modor freo tu mid heortan, maga gehwylcne, gif him sy meotud on lufan. Wes þu þinum yldrum arfæst symle, fægerwyrde, ond þe in ferðe læt þine lareowas leofe in mode, þa þec geornast to gode trymmen. (9-14)245

244 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 48. “Always do what would be right, and your deeds will avail you. God will always be a master and a help to you in good things, as the devil will be to others in bad deeds.” 245 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 48. “Love your father and mother with your heart, and each of your kinsmen, if they love God. Be always respectful and 120

Parents and kin are to be loved—provided this does not conflict with the primary duty to

God. In addition, other superiors (specifically elders and teachers) are to be revered.

Interestingly, the hierarchy of relationships presented in Precepts is not concerned with rank or politics. There is no mention of the duty owed a king or lord (or, conversely, to the men in one’s own service). Within humanity, blood ties, age, and wisdom create moral difference, at least for the Precepts poet, but rank does not. The poem also avoids commenting on behavior with respect to the law. While these absences (absence of lords, absence of law) are curious, we need not take them to have any sort of politically radical meaning. It is possible that the Precepts poet understands (human) law and wisdom to be separate spheres. It is also possible that, since laws come with clearly outlined earthly consequences, the poet does not see a need for special instruction to instill legal obedience. It is possible that the poet does see a need for legal instruction but expects such instruction to come from someone besides the father.

The second, third, and fourth instructions concern how a man should behave toward his peers. The second instruction focuses on friends (and kinsmen) who behave wrongly:

Ne freme firene, ne næfre freonde þinum mæge man ne geþafa, þy læs þec meotud oncunne, þæt þu sy wommes gewita. He þe mid wite gieldeð, swylce þam oþrum mid eadwelan. (17-20)246 agreeable of speech toward your elders, and keep your teachers fondly in your heart and in your mind, those who are most eager to strengthen you in good things.” 246 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 48. “Commit no transgressions, and never condone sin in your friend or kinsman, lest the Ruler reproach you for being an accomplice to iniquity. He will dole out punishment to you, just as he gives prosperity to others.” 121

Here the father instructs the son on the punishment that befalls men who sin by condoning the sins of those close to them, warning the son not to tolerate such behavior from his friends or kinsmen. If we are inclined to criticize the poem, we could complain that the father does not give any helpful advice on what the son should do in such a circumstance. But again, the poem represents and celebrates an archetypical paternal instruction. A real father might, at his own discretion, advise anything from distancing oneself from the sinful act being performed by one’s peers, to reproaching them for the act, to cutting ties with them entirely. A real father could also listen to particular circumstances his son has found himself in and give appropriately tailored advice. Our idealized, archetypical father and son cannot have this kind of specific exchange, and to account for all possibilities and give specific advice for all circumstances would make

Precepts a very different—and much, much longer—poem. Precepts sets up a blueprint, a structure by which to order human experience—one broad enough to be broadly applicable.

The third instruction, also concerned with relation to peers, regards the choosing of friends and confidantes, and also places an emphasis on their moral behavior:

Ne gewuna wyrsan, widan feore, ængum eahta, ac þu þe anne genim to gesprecan symle spella ond lara rædhycgende, sy ymb rice swa hit mæge. (23-26)247

247 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 48. “Don’t ever, in all your life, associate with anyone worse, not for any consideration, but always choose as an adviser for yourself someone who is resourceful in precepts and examples, whatever his status happens to be.” Translation is Shippey’s. For comments on the difficulty of this passage and other interpretations, see his note 3 on page 127. 122

Here the father advises the son to choose his associates based on their wisdom, and specifically mentions that the political authority (rice) of the person in question is immaterial. A good friend is a person who will be a good influence and offer sage counsel.248

The fourth instruction, the last one to deal with relation to friends, describes the obligations owed by a man to his friends: “Ne aswic sundorwine, ac a symle geheald / ryhtum gerisnum. Ræfn elne þis, þæt þu næfre fæcne weorðe freonde þinum” (29-31).249

The father instructs the son to be unfailingly faithful and honest to his friends. As before, the advice is utterly general where a real father could tailor his counsel based on his own thoughts and experience, and based on the specific and immediate needs of his real son.

Women come last in the hierarchy of types of people the son must learn how to properly relate to, and they are mentioned in the fifth instruction alongside instructions concerning the importance of moderation in drinking and speech (both of which will be discussed more later):

Druncen beorg þe ond dollic word, man on mode ond in muþe lyge, yrre ond æfeste, ond idese lufan. Forðon sceal æwiscmod oft siþian, se þe gewiteð in wifes lufan, fremdre meowlan. Þær bið a firena wen, laðlicre scome, long nið wið god, geotende gielp. Wes þu a giedda wis,

248 Of course, it is possible that the wisdom prerequisite may to a great or small extent equate to some degree of a class restriction, but certainly not all powerful men are wise, and some lowly men may be. 249 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 48. “Do not abandon your close friend, but always do that which is right and proper. Do this zealously, that you never become deceitful to your friend.” 123

wær wið willan, worda hyrde. (34-42)250

Women are treated as a danger insofar as they constitute a potential incitement to sin, and are grouped along with other occasions for unmeasured behavior such as drunkenness and unguarded speech. It is not explicit whether women are liabilities solely due to sexual sin, or if there is other foolish behavior that a man is at risk for if he is governed too much by his love for a woman. Given that love of a woman is mentioned alongside drunkenness and uncontrolled speech, these issues may be bound together as lapses in judgment, which would suggest that women are a danger not only because of their availability for sexual encounters, but rather that a man who is ruled by his affection for a woman may suffer lapses in judgment. Of course, this is merely suggested by the grouping of ideas, and is never explicit in the poem. As with previous instructions, the poet gives a general ideal where a real father might be expected to supply specifics. In contrast to the previous instruction regarding friends, there is no discussion of obligations a man may have to any women (barring the mention of the mother in the first instruction). The listing of women last of all kinds of people the poem deals with, combined with the overwhelmingly negative light they are mentioned in, reinforces the idea that Precepts, at least, is highly masculinist in its approach to wisdom.

Having outlined the relationships the son should have with God, his parents, his elders and teachers, his peers and friends, and finally, women, the father next instructs the

250 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 48. “Guard yourself against drunkenness and foolish words, sin in the heart and lies in the mouth, wrath and envy, and the love of women. For he who falls to loving a woman, a girl he does not know, often must depart ashamed. There one can always expect sin, hateful shame, long strife against God, and overwhelming arrogance. Always be wise of speech, cautious of your desires; guard your words.” 124 son on good behavior and the pursuit of wisdom. However, he does return to the son’s place in the world in the ninth instruction, where he discusses the position of the son with respect to the world of sinful people:

Nis nu fela folca þætte fyrngewritu healdan wille, ac him hyge brosnað, ellen colað, idlað þeodscype; ne habbað with for þæt, þeah hi wom don ofer meotudes bibod. Monig sceal ongieldan sawelsusles. Ac læt þinne sefan healdan forð fyrngewritu ond frean domas, þa þe her on mægðe gehwære men forlætaþ swiþor asigan, þonne him sy sylfum ryht. (67-75)251

The state of the world is presented here very pessimistically, with a universal decline in the observance of God’s teaching and scripture. The son is exhorted to live a godly and pious life in defiance of the impiousness of the world, with one more reminder that the sinful people described here will be punished, and that, conversely, to behave rightly is beneficial. Thus, Precepts gives a general but hierarchically ordered list of advice concerning a man’s place in the world, that is, how he ought to relate to others.

All three of the works under consideration deal with the next kind of wise content.

Moderate behavior, especially with regard to speech, drunkenness, pride, and abuse of power, is integral to the Anglo-Saxon concept of wisdom. In all three works, young men

251 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 50. “There are not many peoples who wish to observe the ancient writings, but rather their mind decays, their zeal cools, their discipline grows hollow; they do not care about it at all, although they do evil against the Ruler’s command. Many shall have to be punished with the torment of their souls. But let your mind henceforth keep the ancient writings and the Lord’s decrees, those which people here in this country and everywhere allow to decline, much more than would be good for them.” 125 are warned to guard against immoderate impulses, which, if acted upon, can lead not only to immoral behavior, but also to social conflict.

Both Precepts and Vainglory address immoderate speech. Precepts mentions the issue in three separate instructions. The first mention of immoderate speech in Precepts occurs in the fifth instruction, quoted above, where the son is told in particular to guard against foolish (dollic) words and against lies (lyge). The second mention occurs in the seventh instruction; after asserting that, unlike fools, a wise man is never totally carefree, as he is always considering his future, the father teaches the son of the importance of thinking before speaking: “Wærwyrde sceal wisfæst hæle / breostum hycgan, nales breahtme hlud” (57-58).252 Not only does this passage give the common sense advice that the son should think about what he wants to say before saying it, but also discourages speaking with too loud a voice. The final mention of immoderate speech in Precepts is in the tenth and final instruction:

Snyttra bruceþ þe fore sawle lufan warnað him wommas worda ond dæda on sefan symle, ond soþ fremeð […] Yrre ne læt þe æfre gewealdan, heah in hreþre, heoroworda grund wylme bismitan, ac him warnað þæt on geheortum hyge. […] Ne beo þu no to tælende, ne to tweospræce, ac beo leofwende, leoht on gehygdum ber breostcofan. (78-80, 83-86a, 90-93a)253

252 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 50. “A wise man must be wary of his words, must consider them in his mind, and must not cry out or be loud.” 253 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 50-52. “He makes good use of his wisdom who, for the love of his soul, always guards himself in his mind against sins of word and deed. […] Never allow anger to control you, rising high in your heart, nor let the abyss pollute you with a surge of hostile speech, but [the wise man] rather guards 126

This passage warns against harsh, violent language, and (as in earlier passages) against deceitful language. Speech should be honest, and its tone and content should be measured; to speak too harshly would constitute a loss of self-control, a ceding of agency to ones own negative emotions or impulses, or possibly to corruptive exterior forces.

Vainglory also contains several comments concerning immoderate speech in its characterization of the arrogant man. In the first of these, we are told: “breodað he ond bælceð, boð his sylfes / swiþor micle þonne se sella mon” (28-29).254 The speaker here warns of a different kind of immoderate speech than the kinds addressed in Precepts.

Rather than cautioning against harsh or deceitful words, this passage tells of immoderate boasting. The arrogant man speaks more highly of himself than is merited. Later in the poem, we hear of another type of immoderate speech committed by the arrogant man:

Siteþ symbelwlonc, searwum læteð wine gewæged word ut faran, þræfte þringan þrymme gebyrmed, æfestum onæled, oferhygda ful, niþum, nearowrencum. (40-44a)255

himself against that, the thoughts in his heart. […] Do not be too slanderous, nor too flattering, but rather be gracious, keep your spirit light in heart.” Note that I have followed Shippey in translating tælende and twispræce as slanderous and flattering, but they could also be translated as censorious and deceitful, respectively. That is, tælende indicates harsh words but does not necessarily indicate that they are untruthful. Similarly, twispræce indicates duplicitousness, but does not necessarily indicate falsely complimentary speech. Shippey provides some rationale for his choice of words in note 10 on page 128. 254 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 54. “He shouts and cries out, boasts about himself much more than the better man does.” 255Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 54-56. “He sits, elated with feasting, overcome by wine, he allows words to flow forth maliciously, pushing for a quarrel, swollen with grandeur, ignited by spite, hatred, and evil tricks, full of pride.” 127

This passage decries immoderate speech that is spiteful and violent in nature, although it presents a much more graphic and developed image of such speech than the passages in

Precepts provided. It also ties such careless speech to another locus of immoderation: drunkenness.

In addition to this passage from Vainglory, Precepts also cautions against immoderate drinking. The fifth instruction, quoted above, lists drunkenness alongside immoderate speech and excessive love for a woman as behaviors to avoid. Elsewhere in

Vainglory, the speaker warns that drunkenness may impede a man’s capacity for wisdom:

“Þæt mæg æghwylc mon eaþe geþencan, / se þe hine ne læteð […] on his dægrime drunken to rice” (9-12).256 Drunkenness, then, means loss of control. Vainglory shows and Precepts implies the connections between drunkenness and other kinds of bad behavior. At no point is drunkenness itself decried as sinful (the mention of sin in the

Precepts passage refer to sin on mode or in the mind); it is, rather, foolish behavior that leads to other foolish and/or sinful behavior because it interferes with judgment and self- control.

Also connected to immoderate speech is the issue of pride, which is central both to Vainglory and to Hroðgar’s sermon. The bulk of Vainglory, of course, describes a negative exemplar, the arrogant man, as part of a lesson against pride and in favor of humility. We have already seen one manifestation of pride in the behavior of the arrogant man in a passage quoted above (28-29), in which he boasts inappropriately.

Another passage quoted above (40-44a) makes a connection between his arrogance and

256 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 54. “This may be understood easily by any man, he who does not allow […] drunkenness to rule him during his lifetime.” 128 spiteful, peevish, or confrontational behavior. Elsewhere in the poem, his behavior is also connected to envy: “Bið þæt æfþonca eal gefylled / feondes fligepilum, facensearwum” (26-27).257 Interestingly, it is not clear whether his prideful behavior is caused by his envy (suggesting that the ultimate root is exterior temptation from the devil, based on this passage), or whether his pride is preexistent and has made him vulnerable to the diabolical temptation to envy. Vainglory, then, presents a variety of prideful behaviors to be avoided, many of which are interwoven with other kinds of bad behavior discussed in these poems.

Hroðgar’s sermon also takes pride (oferhygd) as its central theme. Hroðgar’s perspective on pride focuses largely on the ways that pride can lead to complacency and poor judgment. The hypothetical proud man whom Hroðgar describes in one section of his speech becomes vulnerable to an exterior temptation to avariciousness:

oð þæt him on innan oferhygda dæl weaxeð ond wridað; þonne se weard swefeð, sawele hyrde; bið se slæp to fæst, bisgum gebunden, bona swiðe neah, se þe of flanbogan fyrenum sceoteð. Þonne bið on hreþre under helm drepen biteran stræle —him bebeorgan ne con— wom wundorbebodum wergan gastes; þinceð him to lytel þæt he lange heold, gystað gromhydig, nallas on gylp seleð fætte beagas, ond he þa forðgesceaft forgyteð ond forgymeð, þæs þe him ær God sealde, wuldres waldend, weorðmynda dæl. (1740-1752)258

257 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 54. “He is entirely filled with the devil’s flying darts of envy, by evil wiles.” 258 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 59. “until a measure of pride grows and flourishes within him; then the guard sleeps, the guardian of the soul; the sleep is too sound, tied up with cares; the slayer is very near, he who shoots wickedly with his bow. [The man] is then struck in the breast under the helm with a sharp arrow—he does not know how to 129

In this passage, it is clear that pride has dampened the man’s moral core, making him susceptible to external temptations to other misdeeds (in this case, miserliness unbefitting a man of power). Pride causes another kind of problem in the next section of the speech, when Hroðgar recounts his own past folly. Hroðgar explains to Beowulf how his pride in his own prowess led to his troubles with Grendel:

Swa ic Hring-Dena hund missera weold under wolcnum ond hig wigge beleac manigum mægþa geond þysne middangeard, æscum ond ecgum, þæt ic me ænigne under swegles begong gesacan ne tealde. Hwæt, me þæs on eþle edwenden cwom, gyrn æfter gomene, seoþðan Grendel wearð, ealdgewinna, ingenga min. (1769-1776)259

Hroðgar explains how his past success in war led to a complacency that left him unprepared for the threat posed by the monstrous Grendel. Again, Hroðgar presents pride as a problem because it leads to other bad behavior.260 In both of these cases, the bad behavior caused by pride not only reflects poorly on the proud man in question, but has

protect himself—with the perverse and mysterious instructions of an evil spirit. What he long held seems to him too little; bitter-minded, he is avaricious; he by no means honorably gives ornamented rings, and he forgets and neglects his destiny, the portion of glories which God, Lord of Wonders, gave him previously.” 259 Ed. Fulk et al. Klaeber’s Beowulf, 60. “Thus I ruled the Ring-Danes under the heavens for half a hundred years, and through warfare protected them against many peoples throughout this earth with spears and swords, so that I did not take into consideration any adversary under the expanse of the sky. Lo, a reversal of fortune came to me in my native land, affliction after amusement, since Grendel, the old adversary, became my invader.” 260 Hroðgar does not share enough detail to show the reader a clear step-by-step connection between his pride and the situation with Grendel. However, since the scanty details as well as Hroðgar’s characterization as old and wise are consistent with the tropes of the instruction genre, this lack does not provide solid grounds for a skeptical reading of the speech. 130 consequences for the people around him: the arrogant man becomes a miser, denying his men the treasures owed by a good lord to his loyal thegns; Hroðgar is unable to stop

Grendel, who kills many men and whose presence prohibits the young warriors from sleeping in the mead hall at night.

The other figure whom Hroðgar discusses in his sermon exhibits yet another kind of immoderate behavior due to his pride: abuse of power. Hroðgar tells of the legendary

King Heremod, who (in addition to being miserly, like Hroðgar’s arrogant man) was given over to rage and violence, killing his own men: “breat bolgenmod beodgeneatas, / eaxlgesteallan, oþ þæt he ana hwearf, / mære þeoden mondreamum from” (1713-

1715).261 Later, Hroðgar goes on to expand on this brief narrative of the king’s violence:

Ðeah þe hine mihtig God mægenes wynnum, eafeþum stepte ofer ealle men, forð gefremede, hwæþere him on ferhþe greow breosthord blodreow, nallas beagas geaf Denum æfter dome; dreamleas gebad þæt he þæs gewinnes weorc þrowade, leodbealo longsum. (1716-1722a)262

The story is simple: Heremod rises to power (Hroðgar attributes this success to the divine), once in power, Heremod turns cruel, and ultimately, he suffers for his misdeeds.

In these passages, we are told that Heremod refuses to appropriately reward his men, and

261 Ed. Fulk et al. Klaeber’s Beowulf, 58. “enraged, he cut down his table-companions, his comrades in arms, until he departed alone, the famous king, from the pleasures of human life.” 262 Ed. Fulk et al. Klaeber’s Beowulf, 58. “Although mighty God advanced him over all men in powers and delights of strength, furthered him onward, yet his heart grew bloodthirsty in his spirit, by no means did he give rings to the Danes according to their glory; joyless, he lived to see that he would suffer the pain of that struggle, the long- lasting harm to the people.” 131 also that he kills his men, acts which ultimately lead not only to personal suffering, but communal suffering (leodbealu).

Across these three poems, then, we see a variety of immoderate behavior, often associated with poor judgment, loss of control (to external temptations or internal emotions), violence, and consequences that affect others (especially subordinates). One other important thread in the content of these poems regards the acquisition of wisdom, primarily through instruction. Instruction, apart from being the act embodied by all three poems as a method for the acquisition of wisdom, is also discussed directly in the poems, often as part of an exhortation to the student. In the eighth instruction of Precepts, the father encourages his son to be a competent student: “Leorna lare lærgedefe” (61).263

Hroðgar similarly exhorts Beowulf to learn from what Hroðgar is telling him: “Ðu þe lær be þon” (1722b).264 The speaker of Vainglory embodies a link in an instructional chain, which chain he describes to the reader, the next link in that chain. Not only do the instructors teach by instruction, but they call attention to the instruction/learning process.

In addition to instruction, Precepts mentions self-motivated learning (i.e. seeking out wisdom without the guidance of an instructor). In the first instruction, the father encourages the son, “Wene þec þy betran” (7b),265 and does so again in the eighth

263 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 50. “Learn what you are taught in a way that shows you apt for instruction.” Translation is Shippey’s. Lærgedefe is a difficult word, and another possible translation might be “Learn lore that is suitable for learning.” 264 Ed. Fulk et al. Klaeber’s Beowulf, 58. “Teach yourself from this.” 265 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 48. “Train yourself to do what is better.” 132 instruction, telling the son, “wene þec in wisdom” (62a).266 Although the father does not go into detail, this suggests that he envisions the son not only learning from his father as part of a sustained instructional relationship (always bearing in mind that Precepts makes clear that each instruction occurs on a separate occasion), but will continue to pursue wisdom on his own throughout his life.

Having laid out the details of the content of these poems, then, we can begin to look for patterns. The wisdom taught here (though often quite general) involves being mindful of one’s place in the world, avoiding any behavior that would compromise good judgment, prioritizing relationships with other like-minded men, speaking and acting in ways that are thoughtful and restrained, maintaining control over one’s emotions, fostering personal humility, and avoiding confrontation with and harm to others. The poems encourage moral behavior and denounce sin, and often frame these wise behaviors and their unwise counterparts in terms of morality. However, it is notable that these wise behaviors are often plainly social behaviors, and even sins that might initially seem, on a moral level, only to hold consequences for the offender, are shown to ultimately have consequences that affect those around the offender. Pride is never denounced simply for being pride, but because of what it leads to: lapses in judgment, and temptations to spite, envy, obnoxious words, and cruel actions. A man who follows all of this advice will avoid alienating or harming his community, will gain a reputation for level-headedness and solid decision-making skills, and will be trusted to consider others before himself. In short, this sounds very much like Sara Ruddick’s concept of the goal of “training,” which

266 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 50. “Train yourself in wisdom.” 133 encompasses both socially accepted morals and basic social expectations. Ruddick asserts training to be a mother’s role (remembering that Ruddick writes about contemporary motherhood, but also makes bold claims for universality), but here it is taken to be the role of the father or another wise old man. Ruddick does say that men can mother, but the relationships presented in these poems (and particularly Precepts and

Hroðgar’s sermon) present themselves as naturally masculine and paternal.

The paternality of these instructions could indicate that the roles distinguishing motherhood and fatherhood are culturally variable. However, I think there is one more relevant question to be asked. Ruddick never clearly defines what age(s) of children her mothering typically applies to (or if she understands her three modes of mothering to be roles that continue in some form or another throughout a child’s life). The advice in these poems seems fit for a young adult or adolescent, but less so for a small boy.

Vainglory never specifies its audience, although the speaker, now old, pinpoints his own instruction “in fyrndagum” (1), suggesting perhaps that, at the latest, it occurred during his young adulthood.267 In Precepts, the son is primarily referred to simply as his sunu

(his son), but sometimes as his bearn (his child). Bearn may refer to young children or infants, but does not necessarily do so, especially when in the context of establishing a parent-child relationship—even the Second Person of the Trinity is a bearn in several texts.268 The son in Precepts is also referred to as geong (young), which the Dictionary of Old English: A-G online defines, when used of a person, as “in the period of

267 Ed. Shippey, Poems of Wisdom and Learning, 54. “long ago.” 268 Eds. Cameron et al. Dictionary of Old English, A-G online. s.v. bearn. 134 childhood, youth or adolescence.”269 If we eliminate childhood due to content, we may then presume that the son in Precepts is an adolescent or youth, not a man in early adulthood. The audience of Hroðgar’s sermon, on the other hand, is Beowulf, who is at this point in the poem a grown man, albeit young enough to be early in his heroic career.

This may suggest that this type of paternal instruction remains appropriate through the early stages of adulthood. Indeed, Jordi Sánchez Márti has argued through an examination of Old English and Old Norse literature that juventus was the stage of life considered most appropriate for this type of instruction in wisdom for both cultures.270

As I have mentioned, these sources are limited and limiting insofar as they describe only male-male relationships (father-son or teacher-student), and do not give us the context we could wish for by showing what kind of advice (if any) mothers were expected to give sons and daughters, or that fathers were expected to give daughters. We can add to that wish-list the context of what fathers and/or mothers would do to train their sons and daughters in early childhood. Without any of these, we are limited in how far to take our conclusions on these poems, but it seems as though there is a certain kind of social training that an adolescent boy or young man is ideally expected to receive from his father and/or another male older mentor figure to teach him how to behave acceptably in society as a grown man. This specific kind of training of young men is, at least as a literary construct, the obligation of older male authority figures, and sometimes specifically of fathers and father-figures. It seems likely that this literary construct would correlate to a societal ideal or even expectation for Anglo-Saxon fathers.

269 Eds. Cameron et al. Dictionary of Old English, A-G online. s.v. geong. 270 Sánchez Márti, “From Youth to Old Age,” 116. 135

Conclusions

We cannot expect instructional wisdom poetry to give us descriptions of real father-son conversations, and it gives us nothing at all of other types of parental instruction of children, but nonetheless, these poems can be used as an insight to cultural ideals and values to give us a model of the types of instruction that Anglo-Saxons thought fitting for young men to receive and for fathers (or father-figures) to impart. The father of Precepts is simultaneously no actual Anglo-Saxon father and potentially any Anglo-

Saxon father. The prevalence of the figure of the wise old man and the relative lack of representation of women as wise characters in the corpus suggest that Anglo-Saxons conceived of wisdom as primarily—though not entirely—the domain of men. Texts such as Precepts and Hroðgar’s sermon suggest that fathers are appropriate teachers of wisdom, and that the relationship between a father and son is similar in some ways to that of a teacher and pupil, and vice versa.

An ideal of paternal instruction need not fly in the face of a potential reality of maternal instruction, especially concerning young children, who are not recipients of this type of instruction in wisdom. However, even if we had evidence to give us a clear depiction of mothers as primary instructors, even of adolescent sons, we would still need to consider why the ideal presented in literature attributes a certain kind of social training that we may call “wisdom” as the purview of fathers and other masculine authority figures.

136

Chapter 3: Failed Fatherhood in Beowulf

Beowulf is, among other things, a poem very much concerned with generation.

Indeed, Raymond Tripp has argued that it is concerned more specifically with generational decay, featuring sons who consistently fail to live up to their fathers.271 And yet, surely it is also a poem concerned with fathers who fail their sons. Perhaps the most obvious case is the totally absent father of Grendel, yet the human fathers of the poem are often far from exemplary.

In this chapter, I will limit my focus to a few key examples of failed fatherhood in the poem. First, and most importantly, I will concentrate on Ecgþeow, establishing as far as possible what his background is, and then exploring ways in which he fails to perform expected paternal acts. Next, I will look at Beowulf’s significant failure to leave his people with an heir to protect them—failing to become a father at all, and regretting that failure. Finally, I will discuss Hroðgar’s (and potentially also Hygelac’s) failure(s) to father sons in a timely manner, resulting in the death of the father before the sons are ready to take up their father’s roles.

271 Tripp, “Fathers and Sons.” 137

Establishing the Ethnicity of Ecgþeow272

In considering fatherhood in Beowulf, we must of course address the eponymous hero’s father Ecgþeow. Never personally present in the poem, Ecgþeow is invoked in fourteen of Beowulf’s epithets, and some of his past actions are recounted by Hroðgar.

Much of Ecgþeow’s life (including his death) is shrouded in mystery. We know that he married Hreðel’s only daughter, that he killed Heaþolaf of the Wylfings, and that he asked for and received Hroðgar’s protection in the resulting feud, which Hroðgar ended by paying wergild. The poem gives no indication that Ecgþeow ever spent time with

Beowulf (who was fostered by Hreðel from the age of seven) or that he bequeathed any heirlooms to his son. We know that Ecgþeow is dead by the time that Beowulf visits the

Danes, and that he reached old age, but do not know the circumstances of his death.

In addition to these ambiguities, there is also no hard evidence as to Ecgþeow’s family background, leading scholars to dispute whether he is himself a Geat or a Swede.

Ecgþeow’s ethnicity is crucial to understanding Beowulf’s succession to the Geatish kingship and involvement in the feud between the Geats and the Swedes, and also to another familial crux of the poem, Beowulf’s relationship to Wiglaf. Before we can proceed, then, we must examine the theories that scholars have proposed to explain

272 This section refers frequently to members of the ruling families discussed in the poem and to events referenced during the poem. For clarification, family trees and a table noting significant events involving Geats and Swedes have been included as an appendix. See Figure 1 for the Hreðlings, the ruling family of the Geats, Figure 2 for the Scylfings, the ruling family of the Swedes, Figure 3 for the Scyldings, the ruling family of the Danes, and Table 1 for a breakdown of events in the feud between the Geats and the Swedes. 138

Ecgþeow’s ethnicity, and then the implications that theoretical ethnicity would have on

Beowulf’s relationship to Wiglaf.

As Ruth Lehmann has pointed out, the only textual statement of Ecgþeow’s ethnicity is actually a dubious emendation of line 461b. The manuscript reads

Gesloh þin fæder fæhðe mæste; wearþ he Heaþolafe to handbonan mid Wilfingum; ða hine gara cyn for herebrogan habban ne mihte. (459-462)273

The manuscript reading lacks alliteration in line 461: “mid Wilfingum; ða hine gara cyn.”

A variety of emendations have been suggested to replace gara with a word that would alliterate on the w. The most prominent of these has been Wedera (which would identify

Ecgþeow as a Geat), which is both alliteratively and metrically satisfactory. Wulgara

(which would identify Ecgþeow as a Wylfing) has been rejected on metrical terms and on terms of sense (as this would suggest that Ecgþeow is a Wylfing, in which case his killing of Heaþolaf would necessitate a different term than herebroga) although Klaeber notes that it is more paleographically satisfactory than Wedera.274 Ruth Lehmann has argued for the acceptance of Holthausen’s emendation of gara to wigana, as the most satisfactory emendation on paleographical grounds.275 Since there is another equally

273 Ed. Fulk et al. Klaeber’s Beowulf, 18. Translations are my own unless otherwise noted. “Your father brought about the greatest feud; he became as a hand-slayer to Heaþolaf among the Wylfings. Then the people of the spears could not keep him, on account of war-terror.” 274 See Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 146, note on lines 461b-2. 275 Lehmann, “Ecgþeow the Wægmunding,” 3. Neither Klaeber nor Lehmann explicitly state why certain readings are more or less paleographically viable. The word gara in the manuscript is unambiguously clear; Wedera shares only the final “a” with gara, whereas Wulgara preserves all four letters and wigana nearly does so. (Ed. Kiernan, Electronic Beowulf, folio 140r). 139 viable reading available to us, we must look for other evidence from the text to determine whether the Wedera emendation is supportable, as this emendation is not solid enough in itself to be relied upon in determining Ecgþeow’s background.

Norman Eliason has assumed that Ecgþeow is a Geat, and argued that Beowulf must be related to Wiglaf by the marriage of his (Beowulf’s) unmentioned sister to

Wihstan. Eliason’s argument stems from the desire to create a parallel between the relationships of Beowulf and Wiglaf with Sigemund and Fitela in the Sigemund episodes, i.e. both pairs would involve a maternal uncle and nephew in conflict with a dragon.

However, while this parallel is of key importance to Eliason, I am hesitant to give it too much weight without further textual support. Indeed, Beowulf’s dying statement that

Wiglaf is now “endelaf usses cynnes / Wægmundinga” (2813-2814a)276 strongly suggests his own identification as a Wægmunding (an ill-defined family in the poem, with few members identified and without clear textual identification with a specific tribe), which would not follow from his sister marrying a Wægmunding. On the contrary, the poem repeatedly reminds us that marriages fail to create strong bonds between different kin- groups. We would not expect Hreðric or Hroðmund to refer to the Heaðobards as usses cynnes after their sister’s marriage to Ingeld. We should not expect such of Beowulf.

Furthermore, Fitela’s role is quite different from Wiglaf’s in the dragon fights as they are told in Beowulf, as Sigemund defeats his dragon alone, whereas Wiglaf must help Beowulf and contribute to the killing of the dragon. We are told that Sigemund

276 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 96. “the last remnant of our kin, the Wægmundings.” 140 undertakes his dragon fight ana (alone) and then more specifically that Fitela was not with him (888-889).277 The dragon fights are not perfect parallels, and they need not be.

Another argument in favor of Ecgþeow not being directly related to Wihstan and

Wiglaf (and thus, not being a Wægmunding and possibly being a Geat), is that he does not alliterate on the W, but on the vowel. This would also eliminate his being part of the

Geatish royal line (which alliterates on the H—Hreðel, Hygelac, etc.), but would not preclude his being a Geat.

However, there are a number of points on which this interpretation does not satisfy. Eliason dismisses the possibility that Ecgþeow could be a Swede, reasoning that

“if he were, Beowulf would then be half-Swedish—an unthinkable or even ridiculous state of affairs in a poem depicting him as the hero of the Geats and the Geats and

Swedes as implacable enemies.”278 However, as we will see later, there are very good reasons why Ecgþeow might be Swedish, and certainly it would be consistent with the rest of the poem for Hreðel’s only daughter to be married to their enemies, for her child to be fostered with her family, and for this attempt at a peaceweaving marriage to fail utterly.279

When Onela kills Heardred for harboring his exiled nephews Eadgils and

Eanmund, we are told “ond him eft gewat Ongenðioes bearn / hames niosan syððan

277 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 32. 278 Eliason, “Beowulf, Wiglaf, and the Wægmundings,” 98. 279 The most notable examples elsewhere in the poem are Hildeburh in the Finnsburg episode, mourning as her brother and son burn on the same funeral pyre, and the expected failure of Freawaru and Ingeld’s marriage to keep peace between the Danes and Heaðobards. Indeed, the fact that it is Beowulf himself who predicts that failure could suggest that he has some personal insight on the issue that would make him opposed to what is otherwise presented as a commonly accepted practice. 141

Heardred læg, / let ðone bregostol Biowulf healdan / Geatum wealdan” (2387-2390a).280

Eliason asserts that Onela’s allowance of Beowulf to take up Geatish kingship is done out of respect for the Wægmundings (in particular, out of respect for Wihstan’s killing of

Eanmund). Eliason’s reasoning relies on the chronological proximity of these two events, both happening during Onela’s invasion of Geatland. However, Wihstan’s role and reward from Onela are mentioned in the poem (2612b-2619)281 hundreds of lines after we are told that Onela allowed Beowulf to become king (2389).282 The poet creates no strong connection between these events. Although they take place at around the same time, and both involve Onela’s actions (rewarding Wihstan, permitting Beowulf to rule), there is no textual reason to link them. Certainly there are other reasons why Onela allows Beowulf’s kingship (indeed, if Ecgþeow is Swedish, that could be reason enough283). If Ecgþeow is Swedish, Onela could be favoring a cousin, or even hoping that Beowulf, busy ruling the Geats, will not set his eye on the Swedish kingship.

Returning to Eliason’s argument, he reasons that Beowulf’s connection to the

Wægmundings must be strong enough to merit Onela’s treatment of Beowulf because of his Wægmunding connections. As has already been stated, Eliason argues that Beowulf

280 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 82. “And the son of Ongenþeow returned home when Heardred lay dead, allowed Beowulf to hold the throne, to rule the Geats.”

281 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 89. 282 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 82. 283 Woolf mentions this explanation, contingent upon his reading of Beowulf as a nickname for Ælfhere, who, he notes, “seems to be a Scylfing.” Woolf, “The Name of Beowulf,” 8. He does not elaborate, but must be taking this meaning from the juxtaposition of “leod Scylfinga, / mæg Ælfheres” as phrases modifying Wiglaf. Of course, Wiglaf could be a Scylfing on one side and a kinsman of Ælfhere on the other, so the juxtaposition itself is more suggestive than definitive. 142 has an unmentioned sister who marries Wihstan. While this could explain a special closeness between Beowulf and Wiglaf as his sister-son, I am skeptical that such a marriage would incur the benefits Eliason reads into it. Ultimately, Eliason’s argument does not satisfactorily explain Beowulf’s self-identification as a Wægmunding.

To return briefly to the issue of alliteration, Ruth Lehmann has made an argument that challenges Eliason’s and supports the idea that Ecgþeow could be a Swede.

Lehmann points out that Ecgþeow alliterates with the names of the Scylfings, the

Swedish royal family, which alliterate on the vowel (remembering, of course, that in Old

English, a vowel alliterates with any other vowel): Ongenþeow, Ohthere, Onela, Eadgils, and Eanmund. This could mean that Ecgþeow is a member of the Scylfings. Although it is not initially clear where he would fit in the genealogy, we can narrow down the possibilities by determining the relative ages of the characters.

Ecgþeow sought Hroðgar’s protection from the Wylfings early in Hroðgar’s reign, while Hroðgar was “on geogoðe” (466),284 and thus is presumably about the same age as Hroðgar. It is not entirely clear where this would put him in age compared to the

Geatish and Swedish characters. Ongenþeow, the only character in the poem apart from

Hroðgar to be described as blondenfeax (gray-haired), is killed in a battle pitched by

Hygelac, who by that time is old enough to have children, and to reward his thegn Eofor with marriage to his only daughter (though this in itself reveals little about Hygelac’s relative age or when in his reign the battle occurs). Ongenþeow is likely somewhat older than Hroðgar, but how much depends on when exactly the battle occurs in which he is

284 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 18. “in [his] youth.” 143 killed. After Hreðel dies, Onela and Ohthere instigate conflict with the Geats, the implication being that they have recently come of age (2472-2476).285 We do not know how long after Beowulf’s arrival in Hreðel’s house this happens, but we know that

Beowulf came to be fostered by Hreðel at the age of seven (2438),286 and we have no evidence to indicate that he was entrusted to a new foster-father after Hreðel’s death, thus we may speculate that he had reached maturity by then (or near enough) and thus, that

Beowulf, Ohthere, and Onela, are all of similar ages. It is reasonable to conclude, then, that Ecgþeow is a member of the same generation as Ongenþeow. Indeed, it is possible that Ecgþeow could be Ongenþeow’s younger brother, making Ongenþeow Beowulf’s paternal uncle.

As has been mentioned, in Old English, vowels alliterate with any other vowels.

It may be notable that the known fraternal Scylfing pairs each alliterate on the same vowel (i.e. Ohthere and Onela on the o, Eadgils and Eanmund on the ea dipthong), but there are plenty of instances elsewhere in Old English literature and Anglo-Saxon history of brothers’ names alliterating on different vowels, so this should not be an obstacle to

Ecgþeow and Ongenþeow being brothers. For example, The Battle of Maldon mentions brothers Oswold and Eadwold (304);287 the Northumbrian king Æþelfriþ had six sons, five of which had names starting with Os-, but one named Eanfriþ;288 Æþelræd Unræd

285 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 85. 286 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 83. 287 Ed. Gordon, The Battle of Maldon, 60. The same poem gives us the alliterating trio of brothers Godric, Godwine, and Godwig. 288 Matthews, English Surnames, 21. 144 had sons Edmund Ironsides and Alfred;289 Cecily Clark mentions two brotherly pairs

“Oswig and Ulf” and “Oswig and Ufi” from a Danelaw name corpus.290

Interestingly, Ecgþeow and Ongenþeow are dithematic names that share the deuterotheme –þeow. That the deuterotheme, or second name element, bears familial significance is well attested. Simon Keynes has noted that deuterothemes, as well as protothemes, are often passed down within families.291 There are literary and historical examples of brothers’ names sharing deuterothemes. Oswold and Eadwold in The Battle of Maldon, mentioned above, share the –wold deuterotheme. King Alfred shares the deuterotheme –ræd with his older brother Æthelræd. Cecily Clark also notes in the abovementioned Danelaw name corpus a pair of brothers named Ælfstan and

Æþelstan.292 And of course, within Beowulf itself, Hroðgar shares the deuterotheme -gar with his older brother Heorogar.

Thus, on the basis of relative age, alliteration, and shared deuterotheme, we can posit that Ecgþeow could well be the younger brother of Ongenþeow, and a prince of the

Scylfings. As has been previously stated, a peaceweaving marriage between the royal houses of the Geats and Swedes, especially one that ultimately fails to keep the peace, would make good sense within the logic of the poem. Moreover, regarding the implications of a half-Swedish hero, it is worth noting that the Swedes are not portrayed simply as villains, but as a strong people. Ongenþeow in particular is characterized as fierce warrior. He is the only character besides Hroðgar to be described as blondenfeax or

289 Matthews, English Surnames, 22. 290 Clark, “English Personal Names,” 15. 291 Keynes, “A Note on Anglo-Saxon Personal Names,” 21. 292 Clark, “English Personal Names,” 15. 145 gray-haired (2962),293 but unlike the ineffectual Hroðgar, Ongenþeow is fierce in his old age. In the description of his conflict with Hæþcyn, Ongenþeow is described as “eald ond egesfull” (2929).294 Ultimately, Ongenþeow is killed in battle, but not because his age has weakened him—it takes two Geatish warriors to fell the Swedish king (2962-

2998).295 Surely it would reflect well on Beowulf if such a man were his kinsman.

Moreover, Rolf H. Bremmer, Jr. has argued that in Indo-European society at large, and in Anglo-Saxon society and literature in particular, the paternal uncle-nephew relationship was often an antagonistic one, in contrast to the affectionate relationship between the maternal uncle and nephew. Bremmer points out that Beowulf contains multiple examples of both archetypical relationships, with the maternal pairs of Beowulf and Hygelac, Sigemund and Fitela, and Hnæf and the son of Hildeburh, and the paternal pairs of Hroðgar and Hroðulf, and of Onela and the brothers Eadgils and Eanmund.296

For Beowulf to side with the Geats against his paternal uncle Ongenþeow would fit this paradigm quite neatly.

Furthermore, the relationship between the Geats and the Swedes is complex.

Why do Eadgils and Eanmund flee to Heardred’s court (where Beowulf must be an important man) rather than to a different tribe when Onela turns on them? Why does

Beowulf support Eadgils’s bid for Swedish power? Why does he shelter Wihstan (killer of Eanmund) when Eadgils does take the throne? His sheltering of Wihstan could be put down to family whether or not Beowulf is Swedish, since we know both he and Wihstan

293 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 101. 294 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 100. “old and terrible.” 295 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 101-102. 296 Bremmer, “The Germanic Context of ‘Cynewulf and Cyneheard’ Revisited,” 448-449. 146 are Wægmundings. If Beowulf is half-Swede, that could provide an explanation for the other curious happenings, as well. Note the timing of the skirmishes between the Geats and the Swedes: conflict begins just after the death of Hreðel (likely the broker of his daughter’s marriage to Ecgþeow, certainly the foster-father of their son), and the strange instances of Geats aiding certain Swedes start after Beowulf rises to power and prominence (although he is not yet king, we must remember that he could have been, but turned down Hygd’s offer in favor of supporting Heardred).

If we accept that Beowulf, as the poem’s hero, can be half-Swedish and still heroic, this leaves us with one remaining obstacle to overcome. Is it plausible that

Beowulf could achieve the position he does among the Geats while being half-Swedish?

If he were not presented with the opportunity for kingship until the lines of Hreðel’s sons had entirely run out, this might be a less problematic point, but Hygd’s offering of the kingship to Beowulf while Heardred still lives may give us pause.

While we have no sure knowledge of how the poet understands succession to work in Beowulf, it has been generally accepted by scholars that succession in Beowulf probably reflects to some degree succession in Anglo-Saxon England. Of course, given the problem of dating the poem, and given the variability of succession within Anglo-

Saxon England in different places and at different times, we cannot have a solid definition of how succession normally works, and by contrast, we cannot know what in the poem may be understood to be exceptional practice. David Dumville’s influential study of Anglo-Saxon succession cautiously outlines two basic models of succession.

Before the advent of the Vikings, the pool of æþelings, those men eligible for succession,

147 may have been so broad as to include any man descended from the founder of a dynasty.297 If a king of that age wished to choose his successor, he could do so only by purging the collateral æþelings to reduce or eliminate the competition.298 In the post-

Viking age, the definition of æþeling seems to have narrowed to three generations (i.e. any grandson of a king was eligible for succession)—although Dumville cautions that simply because we have no evidence of a successor removed four generations from kingship does not mean that it would not have been theoretically possible.299 Moreover, succession in Anglo-Saxon England was nonunilineal, meaning that a man whose maternal grandfather was king would have been as much an æþeling as a man whose paternal grandfather was king.300 By even these stricter measures, Beowulf, as the grandson of Hreðel, is eligible for the kingship when Hygd offers it to him. Indeed, given Heardred’s youth, Beowulf is a very sensible choice.

Michael Drout has characterized succession in Beowulf as being either a function of blood heredity (e.g. Healfdene succeeding Beow), or of deeds (Hroðgar’s offer of adoption, and arguably the succession, to Beowulf), or ideally, it may function as a hybrid of both models together (Beowulf succeeding Heardred).301 Drout argues that deeds are necessary to secure succession whenever kingship is not passing from father to

297 Dumville, “The Ætheling,” 17. It should be noted that Dumville distinguishes between the technical meaning of æþeling and the poetic usage, which is used “in a good and noble sense” rather than denoting a man eligible for succession (Dumville, “The Ætheling,” 3). By this reasoning, we should not look to the presence of the word æþeling in Beowulf to indicate whether a character is a potential heir. 298 Dumville, “The Ætheling,” 18-19. 299 Dumville, “The Ætheling,” 6. 300 Drout, “Blood and Deeds,” 204. 301 Drout, “Blood and Deeds,” 205, 208, 213. 148 son.302 Regardless of whether deeds are more necessary for a nephew or cousin than for a son, Beowulf surely qualifies for kingship through deeds, since his deeds among the

Danes have already earned him the offer of adoption by Hroðgar as well as Hroðgar’s explicit statement that Beowulf should become a king (1845-1853).303 On these terms, too, Beowulf is eligible when Hygd offers him the kingship—probably far more eligible than the young Heardred.

It should be noted that Frederick M. Biggs has put forward an argument that the

Danes and the Geats in Beowulf are presented as representing differing models of succession. Biggs argues that the Danes represent and fall prey to the problems of a broad model of succession, in which a wider circle of kin is eligible for the throne, whereas the Geats represent and fall prey to the problems of a narrow model of succession, that is, primogeniture.304 Biggs himself acknowledges in a later article that

Beowulf’s ultimate succession does not fit with the overall model that he describes, but sees this dissonance as making the poet’s argument less clear rather than detracting from the credibility of his own argument.305 Since Hygd’s offer is not presented in such a way as to characterize it as unusual, it would be extreme to say that the Geats strictly practice primogeniture, although they do seem to experience less internal strife over succession.

In a related vein, Stephanie J. Hollis interprets Beowulf as being personally dedicated to

302 Drout, “Blood and Deeds,” 213. 303 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 62. 304 Biggs, “Beowulf and Some Fictions of the Geatish Succession.” The Danes experience kinslaying in the person of Hroðulf, due to competition among prospective heirs, and they are plagued by Grendel, descendant of the kinslayer Cain. The Geats are ultimately vulnerable because their ruling line peters out, and they are threatened by the miserly dragon. 305 Biggs, “The Politics of Succession in Anglo-Saxon England,” 741. 149 primogeniture, which dedication prompts him to reject Hroðgar’s offer of adoption and

Hygd’s offer of the Geatish succession.306 However, adherence to an abstract ideal of succession is not the only possible explanation, and rings hollow when more immediate motives, personal and practical, may be present. Accepting Hroðgar’s offer would mean renouncing the family that raised him and the lord to whom he has repeatedly voiced his loyalty, and although Hroðgar is eager to invite him, the other Danes may not receive a stranger so well. Accepting Hygd’s offer would mean displacing the only son of

Beowulf’s beloved lord, and could also mean eventually inviting Heardred’s resentment, as when Hroðgar succeeded Heorogar rather than Heorogar’s young son Hroðulf.307

Thus, Beowulf may be practicing primogeniture for personal motives, for practical, political motives, or a combination thereof, rather than a belief in the abstract concept.

Ultimately, there seems to be no good reason for Beowulf to be excluded from the succession on the basis of blood-ties to the Swedes.

It is impossible to parse out the genealogy of the Wægmundings with anything resembling certainty, both because we are given so few positive identifications of

Wægmunding individuals (Wihstan, Wiglaf, and Beowulf), and because of the cross- identification of two of those individuals (Wiglaf is Wægmunding and Scylfing, Beowulf is definitely Wægmunding and Hreðling, and may also be a Scylfing). Note that while

Ecgþeow and Ælfhere are often assumed to be Wægmundings, this is not made explicit

306 Hollis, “Beowulf and the Succession,” 48. 307 Of course, we must remember that the conflict between Hroðulf and Hroðgar is never explicit in Beowulf, but is often inferred due to Scandinavian analogues. What evidence there is in the poem boils down to an emphasis on the word gyt in line 1164b “þa gyt wæs hiera sib ætgædere” and a reading of lines 1181-88 (Wealhþeow’s speech in support of Hroðulf) as dramatic irony. Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 1181-1182. 150 anywhere in the poem. The only thing we know for sure about Ælfhere is that he is a kinsman of Wiglaf; Ælfhere is mentioned in close proximity to Wiglaf’s Scylfing heritage, which, combined with the vocalic alliteration with other known Scylfings may imply that Ælfhere is a Scylfing (although it is not at all clear whether this means that he is not also a Wægmunding). Neither do we know for certain whether Wihstan is a

Scylfing. John Hill has suggested that Hreðel’s wife could be a Wægmunding princess

(accounting for Beowulf’s Wægmunding heritage), and further asserts that Wiglaf is a

Wægmunding through his father’s family and a Scylfing through his mother’s side. He also assumes that Ælfhere is a relation on the maternal, Scylfing side of the family.308

Such a theory could allow for Wiglaf and Beowulf being related through Wægmunding family lines (via Beowulf’s maternal grandmother and Wiglaf’s father) and potentially through Scylfing family lines as well (via Beowulf’s father and Wiglaf’s mother), but it is not clear if a Wægmunding maternal grandmother is a strong enough connection to account for Beowulf’s referring to the Wægmundings as usses cynnes. This theory is tentatively viable, but does not rule out the possibility of other theories, including ones in which Beowulf comes by his Wægmunding ties through his father’s line.

Friedrich Wild has suggested that Ælfhere could be the father of Ecgþeow and a nameless daughter, who became the wife of Wægmund and mother of Wihstan.309 While this theory nicely ties together the alliterating Ælfhere and Ecgtheow, it fails on two critical accounts. Like Eliason’s theory, it fails to provide a close enough bond to

308 Hill, The Anglo-Saxon Warrior Ethic, 20. 309 Wild, Beowulf und die Wægmundinge, 20. 151 account for Beowulf’s self-identification as Wægmunding, making Wægmund Beowulf’s paternal uncle by marriage. On this basis, Wild’s theorized family tree is untenable.

Another possible way to account for Beowulf’s Wægmunding identity would be for Ecgþeow’s unidentified mother to be a Wægmunding. Indeed, she need not even be

Ongenþeow’s mother, but could rather be a second wife of the men’s father, which would explain why Ongenþeow, his sons, and his grandsons are never identified as

Wægmunding (if we require such an explanation, and I am not sure we do). Similarly,

Wiglaf or Wihstan should have a Scylfing mother in order to explain Wiglaf’s cross- identification. There are a few ways this could happen. Wihstan’s mother could be a sister (or half-sister) of Ongenþeow and Ecgþeow. Alternatively, Wihstan could have married a sister of Ohthere and Onela, or even a daughter of Onela. Given Wihstan’s status of honor under Onela’s rule (having served Onela well by killing Eanmund), such a marriage would make sense. There is certainly precedent in the poem for marriage as a reward for service in battle, since Eofor is given Hygelac’s daughter to marry as a reward for killing Ongenþeow. It is not clear whether a paternal grandmother would be more or less likely than a maternal grandmother to be grounds for Beowulf’s identification of the

Wægmundings as his kin.

The specific genealogy of the Wægmundings is less important, however, than the fact that the Wægmundings can be shown to plausibly support and fit in with the theory of Ecgþeow’s Swedish identity, and that this theory also explains Beowulf’s identification as a Wægmunding through blood ties rather than ties of marriage. We can never be entirely sure of Ecgþeow’s family background, but I will be taking as my

152 working hypothesis that he is a Swede, and moreover that he is a Scylfing, a member of the Swedish royal family. While I will not be working on any specific assumptions about

Wægmunding genealogy, I will proceed with the understanding that Wiglaf and Beowulf are related by blood, but are not very closely related.

Of course, when parsing out the ethnicity and genealogy of Wiglaf and (more importantly) Ecgþeow, we should not lose sight of the key point that this information is left unstated in the poem. For Wiglaf, this is not a very pressing or difficult point—the poem clearly identifies him as kin to Beowulf, and implies that he is either not close enough kin or not kin on the right side of the family to succeed Beowulf. The poem also identifies him as a Scylfing (i.e. belonging to the royal Swedish family), though again, apparently not closely enough related to the actual rulers to be a key political player.

Finally, the poem clearly identifies him as the son of Wihstan, whose origin is implicitly

(although not definitively) Swedish, given his service to Onela.

Ecgþeow’s case is less straightforward, but I am not convinced that the original audience would have had the trouble that modern readers do in pinning down Ecgþeow’s identity. In a poem that frequently returns to the theme of peaceweaving marriages (often being critical of their effectiveness), and in a poem (and a culture) so steeped in familial naming patterns, a contemporary audience might easily conclude that Ecgþeow is a

Swede, and indeed, a Scylfing. While original audiences may not have taken such an identification for a certainty, it seems reasonable that they might see it as likely. It is worth noting Tom Shippey’s arguments about Ecgþeow in his recent essay on names in

Beowulf. Shippey identifies Ecgþeow as one of several names in the poem that have been

153 assumed to be inventions of the poet but may in fact be indicative of an oral tradition known to the poet but lost to surviving tradition of Scandinavian analogues.310 If

Shippey is correct about the Beowulf poet’s knowledge of an oral tradition, and about the early dating that follows such a conclusion, then it is possible that Ecgþeow’s background was known to at least some of the poem’s original audience without needing to be stated.

Why, then, not discuss Ecgþeow’s family and past more openly? As I will discuss below, there are many ways in which Ecgþeow is conspicuously absent from the poem, reinforcing his absence from Beowulf’s life. We are never told the name of

Beowulf’s mother, but we are told about her brothers and father and their relationships with Beowulf. We are told almost nothing about Ecgþeow beyond his name—ultimately,

Ecgþeow’s name is all that Beowulf has of him. Suggesting but never stating who

Ecgþeow’s family are is one of many ways that the poet underscores Ecgþeow’s absence.

Even if we assume that Ecgþeow’s Swedishness is more or less clear, the mentions of the

Swedes in the poem are ultimately convoluted, and while it is clear that they have some contact with Beowulf, both militaristic and diplomatic, the details are always hazy, downplaying the connections that lie behind such actions as Heardred’s sheltering of

Eadgils and Eanmund, Onela’s allowance of Beowulf’s accession to Geatish kingship,

Beowulf’s support of Eadgils, and Beowulf’s sheltering of Wihstan. Ultimately, we may make an educated and confident guess about Ecgþeow’s identity, but the poet maintains that Beowulf’s connections to his mother’s family are significant in a way that his connections to his father’s family are conspicuously not. Beowulf’s lack of close ties to

310 Shippey, “Names in Beowulf,” 66-68, 76-78. 154 his paternal kin-group may be particularly important in the light of the Anglo-Saxon laws, which indicate that, legally and financially, one belongs twice as much to one’s father’s kin-group as to one’s mother’s.

Ecgþeow’s Absence

I have considered above what we can know of Ecgþeow’s family based on the alliteration of his name with the Scylfings. Such a consideration naturally leads us to a related point: Beowulf’s name does not alliterate with his father’s. While there are a few characters mentioned whose names do not alliterate with their fathers’ names (Beow son of Scyld, Ingeld son of Froda, to name the most prominent examples), such instances are very much in the minority, are mentioned rarely, and do not involve characters central to the action of the poem. That Beowulf and Ecgþeow do not alliterate is unusual, and perhaps significant.

Henry B. Woolf mentions that Beowulf could be a nickname, and that Beowulf could be the mysterious Ælfhere mentioned as a kinsman of Wiglaf in line 2604.311

While the mentioning of Ælfhere is odd, and identifying him as Beowulf would provide the familial alliteration that we expect to see, we of course cannot put too much weight on this possibility. Ælfhere could be Beowulf, but he need not be.

However, even if Beowulf is only a nickname, and our hero has a given name that does alliterate with his father’s, it would still be significant that the poet refers to him exclusively (or almost exclusively) by the non-alliterative nickname. This perspective

311 Woolf, “The Name of Beowulf,” 7-9. 155 yields much the same effect as we would get by assuming that Beowulf is his given name. That is to say, we are presented with a Beowulf who is aurally separated from his father, in a way that contrasts with the vast majority of sons in the poem. This aural separation contributes to the reader’s sense of Ecgþeow as absent father.

Ecgþeow is generally absent from the poem. He is present in Beowulf’s patronymic epithets and in Hroðgar’s memory. We have few clues to what, if any, relationship Ecgþeow had with his son before his death. Beowulf himself says

Ic wæs syfanwintre þa mec since baldor, freawine folca æt minum fæder genam; heold mec ond hæfde Hreðel cyning, geaf me sinc ond symbel, sibbe gemunde. (2428-2431)312

We know that Beowulf began his fosterage at age seven, and that he was taken “æt minum fæder,” although that itself does not reveal much about the circumstances of

Beowulf’s early years and how much time he spent with his father (as opposed to living in his father’s house but having little personal interaction). Hroðgar’s statement that “Ic hine cuðe cnihtwesende” (372)313 immediately before telling about his relationship with

Ecgþeow suggests that Beowulf could have traveled to Denmark with his father in his early childhood, but it does not give us enough information to be sure that those are the circumstances of their earlier acquaintance. Beowulf never speaks of any details of a relationship with his father (in contrast with the quote above, in which he tells about

Hreðel’s treatment of him in their foster-relationship). It is unclear whether this indicates

312 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 83. “I was seven years old when the lord of treasures, the lord-friend of the people took me from my father; King Hreðel kept and held me, gave me treasure and a feast, mindful of kinship.” 313 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 14. “I knew him when he was a boy.” 156 that they had little interaction before Beowulf’s fosterage, or that Beowulf was too young to remember any relationship they had, or if he could comment on their relationship but simply does not. However, the hypothetical reason for the absence of comment is far less important than the existence of that absence. What is significant is that the poet chooses to avoid any discussion of Beowulf’s relationship with his father, although the poem includes information about relationships that Beowulf has with other father figures:

Hreðel as foster-father, Hygelac as maternal uncle, and Hroðgar as attempted adoptive father.

Most of the way that Ecgþeow is present in the poem is via Beowulf’s patronymic epithets, most frequently as bearn Ecgþeowes and sunu Ecgþeowes. These and other variations meaning son of Ecgþeow occur a total of fourteen times in the poem. Of course, these epithets are convenient metrical half-line units, and can simply serve as placeholders. However, before we can dismiss them as such, we must examine their contexts and look for any significant patterns that could indicate intentionality or meaning.

Of Beowulf’s fourteen patronymics, every one occurs in narration. That is to say, no one ever addresses or refers to Beowulf as son of Ecgþeow. By contrast, several other characters are addressed or referred to by patronymics, in addition to such usage in narration. Hroðgar refers to his brother Heorogar as “bearn Healfdenes” (469),314 Unferð refers to Breca as “sunu Beanstanes” (524),315 and the messenger who tells the Geats of

Beowulf’s death and reminds them of their feud with the Swedes refers both to Wiglaf as

314 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 18. 315 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 20. 157

“byre Wihstanes” (2907)316 and to Wulf as “sunu Wonredes” (2971).317 Perhaps most significantly, Beowulf himself uses the patronymics of other characters frequently. He does so most frequently for Hroðgar, whom he addresses or refers to with variations on sunu Healfdenes or maga Healfdenes six times (268, 344, 1474, 1652, 2011, 2143).318

Other characters Beowulf calls by their patronymics include Unferð, Hygelac, Freawaru, and Ingeld (590, 1485, 2020, 2025, respectively).319 Given all these instances of characters using one another’s patronymics, and of Beowulf himself showing a tendency to do so, it is odd that no character addresses him this way. After all, Hroðgar knows

Beowulf’s parentage and announces it to his court before admitting Beowulf to Heorot, and certainly the Geats know it, as well.

If we consider the kinds of moments in which Beowulf’s patronymics are employed in narration, certain patterns begin to emerge. Many of these instances introduce important public speeches. The first instance of Beowulf’s patronymic occurs immediately prior to the speech in which Beowulf counters Unferð’s accusations

(529).320 Other instances of the patronymic introducing speeches are Beowulf’s beot announcing his intention to fight Grendel, Beowulf’s retelling of his fight with Grendel to

Hroðgar, consoling Hroðgar after Æschere’s death, invoking Hroðgar’s adoption offer to secure the safety of his men should Beowulf die in the mere, reporting back to Hroðgar after killing Grendel’s mother, announcing his intention to depart from the Danes, telling

316 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 99. 317 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 101. 318 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 11, 14, 51, 56, 68, 72. 319 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 22, 51, 68, 69. 320 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 20. 158

Hygelac about his exploits among the Danes, and Beowulf’s telling of his fosterage and

Hreðel’s grief over Herebeald (631, 957, 1383, 1473, 1651, 1817, 1999, 2425, respectively).321 By contrast, Beowulf’s speeches are never introduced with mæg

Hygelaces, although to do so would require special effort on the part of the poet, since

Beowulf maþelode mæg Hygelaces is not alliteratively permissible and Maþelode

Beowulf mæg Hygelaces is not metrically permissible.322 The poet would have to place them on different lines and compose other half-lines to fill in the gaps in order to make this possible. Beowulf maþelode bearn Ecgþeowes is a remarkably convenient line, and indeed, nine of Beowulf’s fourteen patronymic epithets occur in this line, and there is only one usage of bearn Ecgþeowes (as opposed to patronymics using other “son” words) that does not follow Beowulf maþelode.323 It is possible that bearn Ecgþeowes occurs so frequently only because of this convenience, and does not bear serious consideration.

However, before we can write this usage off entirely, we must consider whether other meaning can reasonably found, as a poet may, of course, make meaningful use of convenient words as well as inconvenient ones.

The pattern of patronymics introducing formal speeches suggests a possible link between a person’s public, patrilineal identity and the making of significant public speeches. Alternatively, given that this usage seems largely restricted to Beowulf’s time in Denmark (only two of the nine instances occur after his return to Geatland), it could have more to do with establishing his identity (for the reader, as this phrase occurs strictly

321 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 23, 34, 48, 51, 56, 61, 68, 83. 322 For details on Old English meter, see Terasawa, Old English Metre. 323 The exception is in line 2177: “Swa bealdode bearn Ecgþeowes.” Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 74. 159 in narration) as a visitor to a foreign court. That is to say, the use of this patronymic preceding public speeches, and largely in Denmark, could serve to remind the reader of what the characters would already be keenly aware of: he is not one of the Danes; he is

Ecgþeow’s son. The curious imbalance of this usage through the poem (seven usages in

Denmark, two in Geatland) may indicate greater consciousness on the part of the poet in employing this convenient phrase. However, we must also consider that, after Beowulf’s return to Geatland, a smaller proportion of the poem concerns men conversing in a meadhall. Therefore, while the possibility of bearn Ecgþeowes bearing meaning when introducing speeches remains, we must tread lightly until we can see if its usage fits logically into a larger scheme.

There are a few usages of Beowulf’s patronymic that do not introduce his speeches, and we should consider these individually and alongside the epithets linking

Beowulf to Hygelac. One instance of Beowulf’s patronymic not introducing a speech occurs after Beowulf has finished telling Hygelac of his time in Denmark. The passage begins unsurprisingly with praise of Beowulf: “Swa bealdode bearn Ecgðeowes, / guma guðum cuð, godum dædum, / dreah æfter dome” (2177-79).324 Curiously, praise of

Beowulf is soon followed with the information that Beowulf “hean wæs lange”

(2183a),325 and that the Geats “swyðe wendon þæt he sleac wære, / æðeling unfrom”

(2187-2188a).326 This passage marks a turning point: now Beowulf is respected by the

324 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 74. “Thus the son of Ecgþeow showed himself bold; the man known for battles, for good deeds, bore himself according to glory.” 325 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 74. “was despised for a long time.” 326 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 74. “thought very much that he was slow, a feeble prince.” 160

Geats, and immediately following this, Hygelac presents Beowulf with an heirloom—

Hreðel’s mailcoat. Commentators have noted that the motif of a hero’s unpromising youth is common in folk literature, and also that this motif seems unconvincing in this context (i.e. that the comments about Beowulf’s unpromising youth are included only as a conventional motif, and do not seem to line up with the way that Beowulf is otherwise characterized in the text).327 It is possible that these mentions of Beowulf’s youth are simply the repetition of a motif and are inconsistent with the rest of the poem, but we should never dismiss the text too quickly, especially since the brief passage quoted above resonates with an earlier passage in which Hygelac expresses the anxieties that he himself had regarding Beowulf’s undertaking:

Ic ðæs modceare sorhwylmum seað, siðe ne truwode leofes mannes; ic ðe lange bæd þæt ðu þone wælgæst wihte ne grette, lete Suð-Dene sylfe geweorðan guðe wið Grendel. Gode ic þanc secge þæs ðe ic ðe gesundne geseon moste. (1992b-1998)328

While the reasons behind Hygelac’s anxieties here are not totally clear, and they could be related to a desire to keep a good warrior at home in his own service, his words suggest a concern that Beowulf would not live to return. Such avuncular concern could be attributed to Grendel’s reputation—after all, no hero of the Danish court has been able to

327 See Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 236, note on lines 2183b ff. 328 Ed. Fulk et al. Klaeber’s Beowulf, 67. “I boiled with sorrow of the soul concerning that [Beowulf’s decision to travel to Denmark and fight Grendel], with surging anxiety, I did not have faith in the dear man’s undertaking. I long pleaded with you that you not in any way approach that slaughtering spirit, [but rather] allow the South-Danes themselves to settle their quarrel with Grendel. I give thanks to God that I am allowed to see you unharmed.” 161 defeat him—but in the context of lines 2187-2188a might indicate that Beowulf had not yet proven his capability to his own people prior to his journey.

The patronymic in line 2177 could serve a similar function as that discussed above, to remind us of Beowulf’s public identity in this key moment of public recognition. The patronymic could also be connected to Beowulf’s reputation more directly: since we have otherwise seen Beowulf presented as consistently competent, we must consider whether public opinion could have been against him, in spite of his merit.

A prejudice against his Swedish father could cause the Geats to think badly of him until his actions demand that they do otherwise. While this is somewhat speculative, it is another possibility to consider that does not necessitate ignoring or dismissing anything stated in the text.

Let us pause for a moment to consider the epithets that refer to his relationship with Hygelac. While there are only 8 of these, compared to the 14 patronymics, there are some key differences that may be illuminating. Perhaps the most significant instance occurs when Beowulf is introducing himself to Hroðgar. Unlike all of the instances of son of Ecgþeow, this instance of Hygelac’s kinsman is spoken by a character rather than used in narration, and even more significantly, it is used by Beowulf himself: “Ic eom

Higelaces / mæg ond magoðegn” (407-408).329 There are several reasons that this is particularly striking, apart from the fact that this identification comes from the mouth of

Beowulf himself. Firstly, rather than functioning merely as a metrical unit or placeholder, this phrasing crosses a linebreak. Although line 407 does alliterate on the h,

329 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 16. “I am Hygelac’s kinsman and retainer.” 162 we need not dismiss the presence of Hygelac here, due to the context provided by

Beowulf’s introduction of himself and his men to the coast guard earlier in the poem:

We synt gumcynnes Geata leode ond Higelaces heorðgeneatas. Wæs min fæder folcum gecyðed, æþele ordfruma, Ecgþeow haten. (260-263)330

This passage mentions first Hygelac and then Ecgþeow, the first as a point of reference for identifying the group (including Beowulf) and the second as a point of reference for identifying Beowulf individually. This context gives precedent for Beowulf’s self- identification to Hroðgar as the kinsman and retainer of Hygelac. It also raises the question of why he would not additionally identify himself to Hroðgar as the son of

Ecgþeow, since Beowulf uses both in talking with the coast guard, and mentions on that occasion that Ecgþeow is respected and widely known.

Secondly, Ecgþeow’s absence is especially odd, given that in about 50 lines,

Hroðgar will explain that he believes Beowulf has come to repay Hroðgar for the aid he once gave to Ecgþeow. Beowulf seems entirely unconcerned with any such former debt

(it is not clear whether he is even aware of his father’s relationship with Hroðgar), and does not introduce himself in a way that would suggest he has any concern that Hroðgar should interpret his actions this way, but rather identifies himself in terms of his relationship—both familial and functional—to Hygelac. If Beowulf is at all aware of

Ecgþeow’s debt to Hroðgar and has any concern to repay that debt, regardless of whatever other motivations he may have, he should make it clear at this time, and should

330 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 11. “We are men of the race of the Geats and Hygelac’s hearth-companions. My father was called Ecgþeow, noble leader, known to the peoples.” 163 mention his father by name. Moreover, in such a case, he should also mention his father after completing his deeds among the Danes, in order to confirm that the debt has been repaid. Beowulf’s failure to mention Ecgþeow in this scene is extremely unusual and must be significant. His omission suggests that he does not consider himself to have inherited any obligation to Hroðgar, or that he has refused to accept such inherited obligation.

All other instances of Beowulf being called the kinsman (or thegn) of Hygelac occur in narration, and the bulk of them occur in the fights with Grendel and with

Grendel’s mother. It is important to note, when considering instances of the phrase mæg

Hygelaces (including instances with variant spellings of Hygelac) where it occurs as a half-line, that it is always replaceable by the patronymic maga Ecgþeowes. Both are metrically acceptable D1 half-lines alliterating on m. Furthermore, the poet does use maga Ecgþeowes in line 2587b, when Beowulf’s sword fails him in the dragon fight.331

Because of the metrical and alliterative interchangeability of these half-lines, we can assume that each time one of the two is used, it is a deliberate decision on the part of the poet to emphasize Hygelac over Ecgþeow (or in the case of 2587b, Ecgþeow over

Hygelac).

Next, let us consider the uses of Ecgþeow- and Hygelac-based epithets in

Beowulf’s battles. Three instances of mæg Hygelaces occur in the Grendel fight (during which there are no instances of any patronymics). The first is when Grendel enters

Heorot: “Þryðswyð beheold / mæg Higelaces hu se manscaða / under færgripum gefaran

331 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 88. 164 wolde” (736b-738).332 In this passage, Beowulf, as Hygelac’s kinsman, is presented as powerful and perceptive. The next occurs when Grendel is caught in Beowulf’s grasp, immediately preceding Grendel’s dismembering: “Gemunde þa se goda, mæg Higelaces,

/ æfenspræce, uplang astod / ond him fæste wiðfeng” (758-760a).333 Here we see

Beowulf taking decisive action that will result in his victory. Curiously, we also see reference to the boast he had made, which the narrator had introduced with a patronymic, now enacted by Hygelac’s kinsman rather than Ecgþeow’s son. The third instance of mæg Hygelaces in the Grendel fight occurs at a pivotal moment, immediately preceding the tearing off of Grendel’s arm:

ac hine se modega mæg Hygelaces hæfde be honda; wæs gehwæþer oðrum lifigende lað. Licsar gebad atol æglæca; him on eaxle wearð syndolh sweotol, seonowe onsprungon, burston banlocan. (813-818a)334

In this moment, Beowulf is powerful, has Grendel at his mercy, and is on the verge of victory. In all three instances of this epithet in the Grendel fight, Beowulf is portrayed as a competent, powerful warrior.

The fight with Grendel’s mother includes two epithets built on Beowulf’s relationship with Hygelac, including one that is not strictly familial (one mæg Hylaces

332 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 27. “The powerful kinsman of Hygelac beheld how the guilty ravager wished to act with sudden grip.” 333 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 27-28. “Then the good man, the kinsman of Hygelac, remembered his evening speech, stood upright, and lay hold of him securely.” 334 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 29. “But the brave kinsman of Hygelac had him by the hand; each was loathe to the other while living. The foul adversary experienced body-pain; an unmistakable wound came to be on his shoulder, sinews sprang asunder, body burst.” 165 and one Higelaces þegn). Interestingly, it also contains one instance of sunu Ecgþeowes sandwiched in between the two. The first epithet is used in the passage describing

Beowulf’s action immediately following the breaking of the sword loaned to him by

Unferð:

Eft wæs anræd, nalas elnes læt, mærða gemyndig mæg Hylaces: wearp ða wundenmæl wrættum gebunden yrre oretta, þæt hit on eorðan læg, stið ond stylecg; strenge getruwode, mundgripe mægenes. (1529-1534a)335

In this passage, Beowulf’s sword has failed him, but this is not a moment of weakness.

Rather, Beowulf is undaunted, and bravely tosses aside the weapon in favor of fighting with his bare hands. The text gives us no indication of hesitation or panic, instead employing heroic language that insistently portrays Beowulf as a great warrior in control of the situation.

This stands in contrast with the patronymic in line 1550, when Beowulf nearly dies but for his mailcoat. The patronymic is used at the point in the fight with Grendel’s mother at which she gets the upper hand:

Hæfde ða forsiðod sunu Ecgþeowes under gynne grund, Geata cempa nemne him heaðobyrne helpe gefremede, herenet hearde, ond halig God. (1550-53)336

335 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 52-53. “Again the kinsman of Hygelac was resolute, not at all slow of courage, mindful of glory: the angry warrior threw the sword with curved markings, wrapped with ornaments, so that it lay on the earth, firm and steel- edged; he trusted his strength, the hand-grip of strength.” 336 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 53. “Then the son of Ecgþeow, warrior of the Geats, would have died under the spacious earth, except the mailcoat, the hard war-net, gave him aid, and holy God.” 166

Here we see Beowulf on the brink of death in battle, saved by his armor and by divine providence. The patronymic fulfills its metrical and alliterative purposes (“sunu” alliterating with “forsiðod”), but its positioning suggests that we should not dismiss it as a placeholder. In this passage, Beowulf would fail without his equipment, which stands in significant contrast with the epithets that sandwich it, in which Beowulf is referred to with reference to his relationship with Hygelac, and in which Beowulf is strong and undaunted. The contrast between this patronymic and the previous epithet is particularly acute: in this passage, he would die without his equipment, whereas in the preceding passage, he is unfazed even when his equipment fails him.

The second usage of a Hygelac-based epithet for Beowulf in the mere occurs just after Beowulf kills Grendel’s mother with the giant sword. The victorious Beowulf looks around the hall to find the corpse of Grendel:

He æfter recede wlat; hwearf þa be wealle, wæpen hafenade heard be hiltum Higelaces ðegn, yrre ond anræd. Næs seo ecg fracod hilderince, ac he hraþe wolde Grendle forgyldan guðræsa fela ðara þe he geworhte to West-Denum oftor micle ðonne on ænne sið þonne he Hroðgares heorðgeneatas sloh on sweofote, slæpende fræt folces Denigea fyftyne men ond oðer swylc ut offerede, laðlicu lac. He him þæs lean forgeald reþe cempa, ðæs þe he on ræste geseah guðwerigne Grendel licgan, aldorleasne, swa him ær gescod hild æt Heorote --hra wide sprong syþðan he æfter deaðe drepe þrowade,

167

heorosweng heardne-- ond hine þa heafde becearf. (1572-1590)337

Not only is Beowulf victorious over Grendel’s mother in this moment, but he is fully completing the task for which he came to Heorot in destroying the threat of the

Grendelkin and avenging the dead Danes. Indeed, this context calls to mind Beowulf’s self-introduction as the kinsman and retainer of Hygelac when he presents himself to

Hroðgar: he presents himself as Hygelac’s man come to solve the Grendel problem, and the poet reminds us that he is Hygelac’s man in his ultimate completion of that mission, contrary to Hroðgar’s assumption that he is performing this service out of a desire to fulfill his father’s obligation. In the same sentence as the epithet itself, we see usage of some of the same adjectives used to describe Beowulf in the earlier Hygelac-based epithet: yrre (angry) and anræd (resolute or single-minded). In both instance of the

Hygelac-based epithet, Beowulf is powerful, confident, and fulfilling his heroic task, whereas the patronymic is used when Beowulf is at his weakest and most vulnerable point in this battle.

Ron Stein notes this difference between the use of epithets tying Beowulf to

Hygelac and the patronymic in the fight with Grendel’s mother. He points out that

Beowulf is never identified by name during any of the three major battles of the poem

337 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 54. “He looked around the hall; then the thegn of Hygelac, angry and resolute, turned near the wall, lifted the hard weapon by the hilt. The sword was not useless to the warrior, but he wished swiftly to repay Grendel for those many attacks that he made against the West-Danes, much more often than one trip, when he struck Hroðgar’s retainers in their sleep, devoured fifteen sleeping men of the people of the Danes, and at other times carried out terrible spoils. He [Beowulf], the fierce champion, repayed him [Grendel] recompense for that, after he saw the battle-weary Grendel lying at rest, lifeless, as the battle in Heorot injured him previously—his body spread wide since he suffered a blow after death, a hard stroke of the sword—and then [Beowulf] deprived him of his head.” 168

(although his name is used to identify his warriors once in the Grendel fight and to identify his sword once in the dragon fight—both the men and the sword prove to be, to use Stein’s word “ineffective”).338 Stein goes on to point out that the poet only calls

Beowulf son of Ecgþeow in battle in moments of dire peril: once in the moment in the fight with Grendel’s mother where he is saved only by his mail-coat, and once when his sword fails him in the dragon fight.339 In fact, the instance of Beowulf’s patronymic in the dragon fight is the last time it is used in the entire poem, when the poet tells us that

Beowulf, like every man, shall die. In the context of Beowulf’s battles, then, the poet uses Hygelac-based epithets to refer to Beowulf at his best, and uses Beowulf’s patronymic—almost the poem’s sole reminder of the absent father—to refer to Beowulf when he is weak. While it is possible that this reflects the different men’s respective characters, or the strength of their respective relationships to Beowulf, it is also possible that a biological father, being associated with biological generation, might also be more appropriately tied to the concepts of human mortality and frailty, to which even the great

Beowulf is prey.

If we only consider familial epithets used to address or refer to Beowulf, we may begin to expect that these epithets are normally only used by the narrator. However, a brief survey of other familial and patronymic epithets of the poem reveal that this is not the case, and that Beowulf does seem to be exceptional in this way. While many of the other familial epithets are used in narration or spoken by the messenger who tells the

Geats of Beowulf’s defeat, and thus serves a very similar function as the narrator, there

338 Stein, “Royal Name, Hero’s Deeds,” 133. 339 Stein, “Royal Name, Hero’s Deeds,” 133. 169 are twelve instances of familial epithets spoken by named characters.340 Of these twelve, ten are spoken by Beowulf himself (268, 344, 590, 1474, 1485, 1652, 2011, 2020, 2025,

2143),341 one by Hroðgar (469),342 and one by Unferð (524).343 Most of the familial epithets spoken by Beowulf refer to Hroðgar, with others referring to Unferð, Hygelac,

Freawaru, and Ingeld. Nearly all of the familial epithets in the poem (excluding those referring to Beowulf himself), considering both narration and epithets used by named characters, refer to the father of the person spoken about and use words indicating that specific relationship: bearn, byre, dohtor, maga, or sunu. Three familial epithets in the poem use nefa, meaning nephew or grandson (1203, 1962, 2206),344 and three (excluding

Beowulf’s epithets) use mæg, meaning kinsman (1944, 1961, 2604).345 This is six instances of non-patronymic familial epithets out of a total of 44 familial epithets (again, excluding epithets referring to Beowulf).346

Given this fuller picture in which to examine Beowulf’s own epithets and usage of epithets, we can see certain patterns emerging. For one, although there are fewer

340 Fourteen if we allow epithets using the word eafora, which can mean “offspring” or simply “heir.” Both instances of epithets using forms of eafora refer to relationships we know to be paternal: Hroðgar refers to Hygelac as “Hreþles eaferan” in 1847, and Beowulf refers to Onela and Ohthere as “Ongenðeowes eaferan” in 2475. Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 62, 85. 341 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 11, 14, 22, 51, 56, 68, 69, 72. 342 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 18. Referring to Heorogar as “bearn Healfdenes.” 343 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 20. Referring to Breca as “sunu Beanstanes.” 344 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 42, 66, 74. Referring to Hygelac as “nefa Swertinges,” Eomer as “nefa Garmundes,” and Heardred as “nefa Hererices,” respectively. 345 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 66, 89. Referring to Offa as “Hemminges mæg,” Eomer also as “Hemminges mæg,” and Wiglaf as “mæg Ælfheres,” respectively. 346 50 if epithets using forms of eafera are included as familial. All six epithets that use forms of eafera in Beowulf are used in the context of father-son relationships. 170 instances of Beowulf’s epithets linking him to Hygelac rather than Ecgþeow, they are far more prominent than other non-patronymic familial epithets in the poem. That is to say,

Beowulf’s relationship with Hygelac is more prominent than other characters’ relationships with non-biological father figures. While epithets occur most commonly in narration, Beowulf himself uses them frequently in speech, which suggests his own interest in the identity of those around him based on whose sons they are. Beowulf, as a character, is interested in fathers and fatherhood. And yet, the only familial epithet he uses to refer to himself emphasizes his relationship with Hygelac, a move which may initially seem obvious, since Hygelac is alive and in power and Ecgþeow is neither, but which becomes much more puzzling—and significant—when we learn soon after that

Hroðgar knows Beowulf through his associations with Ecgþeow, and expects Beowulf to be there on his dead father’s errand. Beowulf has good reason to mention his biological father, either in addition to or instead of Hygelac, but deliberately mentions Hygelac alone as a point of reference for his self-identification when he arrives at Heorot.

Mary Dockray-Miller has commented on Beowulf’s emphasis on his relationship to Hygelac in the context of Hroðgar’s “adoption” of Beowulf. She reads Hroðgar as desperate to reclaim his own lost masculinity by establishing paternal dominance over

Beowulf, a very masculine man. Dockray-Miller identifies certain key moments in which

Hroðgar attempts to establish his fatherhood over Beowulf (notably the “adoption” scene itself and Beowulf’s departure from the Danes).347 She then highlights Beowulf’s apparent indifference to these attempts, largely indicated by his failure to give a response

347 Dockray-Miller, “Beowulf’s Tears of Fatherhood,” 16. 171 that directly addresses Hroðgar’s overtures or to respond with commensurate emotion.348

She also notes that “Beowulf has made it clear to Hroðgar that his primary loyalty lies with Hygelac (most especially in his pre-battle boasts, 435, 452-54, 1482-88).”349 She concludes that “Hygelac, not Hroðgar, is Beowulf’s Father.”350 Curiously, Ecgþeow is hardly mentioned in Dockray-Miller’s article, and even when he is, he is not discussed a contender for the position of Beowulf’s father. Neither does she discuss the curious absence of the biological father, although she does comment that “the father-son relationship is sustained as the most prominent and idealized relationship [in the poem].”351

However, Dockray-Miller’s argument must be complicated by Beowulf’s limited and provisional acceptance of Hroðgar’s offer prior to his fight with Grendel’s mother:

Geþenc nu, se mæra maga Healfdenes, snottra fengel, nu ic eom siðes fus, goldwine gumena, hwæt wit geo spræcon, gif ic æt þearfe þinre scolde aldre linnan, þæt ðu me a wære forðgewitenum on fæder stæle. Wes þu mundbora minum magoþegnum, hondgesellum, gif me hild nime; swylce þu madmas þe þu me sealdest, Hroðgar leofa, Higelace onsend. (1474-1483)352

348 Dockray-Miller, “Beowulf’s Tears of Fatherhood,” 16, 24. 349 Dockray-Miller, “Beowulf’s Tears of Fatherhood,” 18. 350 Dockray-Miller, “Beowulf’s Tears of Fatherhood,” 27. 351 Dockray-Miller, “Beowulf’s Tears of Fatherhood,” 15. 352 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 51. “Famous son of Healfdene, wise prince, gold- friend of men, remember, now that I am eager to set out, that which we two formerly said, if I should lose my life at your need, that you would ever be as a father (lit. in the stead of a father) to me in death. Be a guardian to my kin-thegns, my companions, if battle should take me; likewise, dear Hroðgar, send to Hygelac those treasures which you gave to me.” 172

Beowulf here acknowledges the adoption offer but changes the terms fairly drastically.

He states that, according to their prior conversation, Hroðgar should serve in the stead of a father to Beowulf, if (and, apparently, only if) Beowulf dies in his service. Beowulf then breaks down the two ways that Hroðgar should carry out this fatherly obligation: by being a guardian to Beowulf’s men, and by sending Beowulf’s treasure (given after the fight with Grendel) to Hygelac. Thus, Beowulf does not entirely ignore Hroðgar’s adoption offer, as Dockray-Miller argues. Nevertheless, his only acknowledgement of it is to redefine the terms; under the new terms, it is conditional (only going into effect if

Beowulf dies in Hroðgar’s service) and serves to ensure that Beowulf’s men and goods are looked after according to his wishes. Notably, those wishes involve sending treasure to Hygelac: even in this conditional adoption, Beowulf aligns himself with his uncle.

Moreover, Beowulf’s phrasing stands in contrast to Hroðgar’s: Hroðgar wants to take

Beowulf “for sunu” (947) while Beowulf says that Hroðgar would be “on fæder stæle”

(1479).353 Beowulf’s phrasing adds a degree of distance not present in Hroðgar’s original offer. Beowulf is apparently willing to benefit from Hroðgar’s offer in a limited way, but only in a limited way, and he prefers to keep Hroðgar at a distance and align himself with

Hygelac. Of course, Beowulf’s relationships with both Hroðgar and Hygelac are not purely those of father-figure and son, but also relationships between lord and retainer, and we must ask whether the paternal language employed in this instance is entirely peculiar to the context of a lord-retainer relationship—and unfortunately, we do not know.

353 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 33, 51. “as a son”; “in the place of a father.” 173

It is clear, then, that Beowulf, as a character, is concerned with fatherhood, and also that he gives precedence to his relationship with Hygelac over Hroðgar’s offered adoption. This context allows us to properly consider the significant absence of

Ecgþeow. Beowulf is distanced from his father by the poet through a lack of naming alliteration, a lack of gifts (and specifically, heirlooms), and a lack of familial identity, and he is distanced from his father by the social structures that lead to his fosterage in his maternal grandfather’s house, but all of this is underscored by the distance put between father and son by Beowulf himself, who refers to other men by their patronymics but hardly mentions his own father, even in a social context where such a mention would be most appropriate. The poet’s reminders of Beowulf’s parentage by use of the patronymic serve primarily to highlight the fact that Ecgþeow is not a presence in the poem. Beowulf is conspicuously not on his dead father’s errand when he arrives at Heorot, nor is he interested in the offer of fatherhood from a foreign king. Beowulf affirms the primacy of his relationship with Hygelac, to the point of passing on to Hygelac all of the gifts given him by Hroðgar. At the end of his life, Beowulf recounts the feud between the Geats and the Swedes, and opens that speech with a brief reflection on his childhood. This reflection is partly quoted above (2428-2431), in which passage Beowulf notes that he was taken to live with Hreðel at age seven, and remarks on the good treatment he received from Hreðel. He then continues to reflect on Hreðel’s treatment of him: “næs ic him to life laðra owihte, / beorn in burgum, þonne his bearna hwylc, / Herebeald ond

Hæðcyn oððe Hygelac min” (2432-2434).354 Not only does Beowulf recall the affection

354 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 83. “I, a man in the residence, was not ever at all 174 he received from his foster-father and grandfather Hreðel (the litotes particularly underscores that Beowulf was warmly accepted as part of the family), but even in this fond reminiscence, Beowulf singles out Hygelac as a man with whom he has a particular bond by identifying him with the first person singular genitive pronoun.355 Moreover, the unusual word order of this phrasing, which places the possessive pronoun after its object, places primary stress on the adjective min, giving it particular weight.

Another way in which Ecgþeow is conspicuously absent is in the absence of heirlooms. John M. Hill, Erin Mullally, and Stephanie Hollis have all argued for the particular significance in the giving of heirlooms and the implications that such gifts have for kinship and succession in Beowulf.356 The most notable heirlooms within the poem are Hroðgar’s gift of Heorogar’s corselet to Beowulf and Hygelac’s gift of Hreðel’s sword to Beowulf (2158-2162, 2190-2196).357 Indeed, when Beowulf gives the corselet to Hygelac, he comments on the fact that Heorogar remarkably kept it for a long time instead of handing it off sooner to his son, Heoroweard:

cwæð þæt hyt hæfde Hiorogar cyning leod Scyldunga lange hwile; no ðy ær suna sinum syllan wolde, hwatum Heorowearde, þeah he him hold wære,

more loathly to him than any one of his sons, Herebeald and Hæðcyn or my Hygelac.” 355 Of course, the meter demands a syllable to follow Hygelac, but the parallel situation in line 61, “Heorogar ond Hroðgar ond Halga til,” (Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 5.) reminds us that there were options besides min available to the poet, and min serves no alliterative purpose here. 356 Hill, “Beowulf and the Danish Succession: Gift and Giving as an Occasion for Complex Gesture” and The Cultural World in Beowulf. Mullally, “Hreðel’s Heirloom: Kinship, Succession, and Weaponry in Beowulf.” Hollis, “Beowulf and the Succession.” 357 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 73-74. 175

breostgewædu. (2158-2162)358

Beowulf’s comment both implies that fathers should give sons heirlooms and that they should do so in a timely fashion. Yet for all the heirlooms in the poem, there are neither any overt mentions nor any subtle suggestions that Beowulf has anything that belonged to his father, or indeed any of his paternal relatives. This absence is glaring. Beowulf, son of Ecgþeow, receives many gifts and many heirlooms, and yet seems to have inherited nothing from his biological father. Moreover, this failing of Ecgþeow’s is the most concrete: where fathers should give their sons gifts (gifts that both serve a practical purpose and carry important emotional, familial, and dynastic resonance), Ecgþeow has failed to leave anything to his son.

Finally, as mentioned in the previous section, the poet’s silence on the point of

Ecgþeow’s ethnicity, coupled with the brief, scattered, and vague descriptions of

Beowulf’s interactions with Ecgþeow’s most likely family, the Scylfings, suggest that

Ecgþeow fails to provide Beowulf with meaningful familial identity and connections.

Everything Beowulf has, he has from the Geats. When Hroðgar showers Beowulf with gifts, he passes all of them to Hygelac, keeping nothing for himself. From his father,

Beowulf has received the identity “son of Ecgþeow,” but nothing else.

358 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 73. “[Hroðgar] said that King Heorogar, man of the Scyldings, owned it for a long time; no sooner would he give the corselet to his valiant son Heoroweard, although he was loyal to him.” Since this implies that Heoroweard eventually did get the corselet, it is unclear why Hroðgar was able to give it to Beowulf. This is the only mention of Heoroweard in the poem, and it is unclear where he is and whether (as in Scandinavian analogues including Hrólfs saga kraka and the Gesta Danorum of Saxo Grammaticus) he is still alive, eventually killing Hroðulf. (trans. Byock, The Saga of King Hrolf Kraki, 77-78; Saxo, The History of the Danes, 63-64). 176

Ecgþeow’s conspicuous absence from the poem presents absent biological fathers as problematic. Beowulf shows himself to be dissatisfied with his father not through any direct complaint or lament (behavior better suited to a child than a warrior), but by aligning himself in his speech with his uncle, even when it would make greater sense to speak of his father, and by speaking warmly of his other father figures and little at all of

Ecgþeow. The poet affirms, by his usage of epithets in the three battles, that Beowulf at his best should be identified with Hygelac, and at his frailest with Ecgþeow, which may suggest that Beowulf is weakened by his relationship with Ecgþeow. Both the poet’s use of epithets in narration and Beowulf’s own affirmation of his relationships with Hreðel and Hygelac suggest that non-biological father-figures can have a positive impact and provide a meaningful relationship, but these relationships cannot entirely make up for the absence of the biological father—if they could, Ecgþeow would hardly need to be mentioned in the poem at all.

Since Ecgþeow’s absence is a conspicuous void that must be filled by other father-figures, we may determine that the things that Ecgþeow fails to do for Beowulf are things that fathers are expected to do. What Ecgþeow primarily seems to fail in is the masculine and paternal act of providing: providing a home, providing heirlooms (again, typically items with personal and dynastic meaning, but also with practical—often military—purpose), and providing connection to a larger family (both in terms of personal identity and actual relationships). If Beowulf were not dissatisfied, if Ecgþeow were discussed more openly, then we could take such roles to be unimportant, or relegate some of them solely to the realm of motherhood (since Beowulf takes much of his

177 personal identity, his home, his familial relationships, and all of his possessions from the

Geats). Beowulf’s maternal grandfather and uncle provide for him in many ways, and he becomes a successful hero and long-reigning king. Ecgþeow’s failure does not prevent

Beowulf from achieving or performing well, and yet the poet twice associates him with

Beowulf’s mortality and weakness, as mentioned above. That Beowulf is not ultimately the weaker may speak more to Beowulf’s heroism than to the significance of the biological father.

The presence of non-biological father-figures is one important feature that creates a sharp contrast between Beowulf and Grendel as the sons of absent fathers. Grendel’s fatherlessness is brought to our attention in two ways: the reference in narration to his being a descendant of Cain (with no further details), and the conspicuous presence of

Grendel’s mother in the absence of any other kith or kin. Much as with Beowulf, the reader is given little to no clear information on the identity or background of Grendel’s father (it is unclear which parent is descended from Cain—or whether both are). We know that the Danes are ignorant of Grendel’s lineage,359 but it is unclear whether

Grendel himself knows anything about his father or any greater kin-group (admittedly, we are given very little regarding any of Grendel’s knowledge, thoughts, or motivations).

Whereas men fight with weapons, often heirlooms, Grendel is unarmed. The eschewing of weapons does contribute to a sense of his monstrousness, yet the fact that his own monstrous mother wields a knife (1545b) tells us that monsters are not weaponless of

359 “no hie fæder cunnon, / hwæþer him ænig wæs ær acenned / dyrnra gasta” (1355b- 57a). “They [people dwelling in the land] knew of no father, whether any mysterious creatures had been born before him.” Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 47. 178 necessity.360 Moreover, Grendel lives in his mother’s home, which is hellish and unnatural, though of course, we can only speculate as to what sort of home a monstrous father could have provided as an alternative.

The fathering roles that, for Beowulf, were fulfilled adequately by Hreðel and

Hygelac, are either not fulfilled for Grendel, or are fulfilled (perhaps inadequately) by his mother. Moreover, Beowulf’s defeat of Grendel involves temporarily leaving the home of his foster-father Hygelac and the kin-group (with the exception of a small band of young followers) that he knows through Hreðel and Hygelac, and temporarily laying aside his arms. The fatherly provisions given by his grandfather and uncle allow

Beowulf to function worthily in human society, but in this first battle he strips down to his fatherless state to face a monstrously fatherless foe. This reading could contribute to an understanding of Beowulf as a monstrous character, as expounded by Andy

Orchard,361 but I would caution that the case not be overstated. Fatherlessness may be potentially monstrous. Beowulf chooses to fight like Grendel fights, and in doing so unknowingly solves the riddle that Grendel cannot be hurt by weapons—notably, the word used in this passage for the weapons that Beowulf’s followers attempt to use against

Grendel is laf (remnant, heirloom) (795).362 That Beowulf is the first to grapple with

Grendel bare-handed (and is strong enough to succeed) speaks to his courage and merit, but also suggests an uncanny difference between Beowulf and other men, and a corresponding resemblance between Beowulf and Grendel. That Beowulf, the son of an

360 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 53. 361 Orchard, Pride and Prodigies. 362 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 29. 179 absent father, defeats the fatherless Grendel because he is not using any laf encourages a reading of the two as mirroring one another, but we must also remember that Beowulf is only weaponless temporarily and of his own free will, and that there are men in his life who will give him heirlooms. What is unclear is whether he would be as monstrous as

Grendel if he did not have access to non-biological father-figures.

Beowulf’s Childlessness

Perhaps as pivotal as Beowulf’s lack of a relationship with his biological father is his own failure to become a father—either biologically or through adoption. Beowulf’s failure to provide an heir is one of the great contributing factors to his people’s doom at the end of the poem, and is arguably one of his greatest failings as a king. Still, a failed succession does not necessitate a lack of children, and the poet could have given Beowulf a son who fell ill, was killed accidentally, or died in a skirmish with the Swedes, or a daughter with a failed peace-weaving marriage. And yet Beowulf seems not to have had a daughter, and certainly has had no son:

Nu ic suna minum syllan wolde guðgewædu, þær me gifeðe swa ænig yrfeweard æfter wurde lice gelenge. (2729-2732a)363

363 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 93. “Now I would give this armor to my son, had any heir belonging to my body been granted after me.” I take this to indicate that Beowulf has never had a son, although it could possibly be understood to mean that he has no son still living (i.e. he may have had a son or sons who predeceased him). It seems unlikely to me that the poet would fail to capitalize on the elegiac flourish that would be possible in such a scenario; why have Beowulf reflect on the deaths of Hreðel and his sons but not spare a few lines to mourn the loss of his own son—a loss that would be more painful on the occasion of his heirless death? It has generally been taken for granted that Beowulf has never fathered a son, and it is often further assumed that Wiglaf 180

Beowulf not only laments not having an heir, but specifically the lack of a biological son.

Interestingly, in this moment of reflection, he is not grieving specifically the lack of a political heir, but rather the lack of a son to whom he can pass his possessions. While the act of giving heirlooms to one’s heir has a strong political valence,364 and this passage functions in the narrative to underscore the Geats’ dire situation at this point in the poem,

Beowulf’s phrasing focuses on the act of gift-giving, and makes no connections to the

Geats at large, nor to the dynasty of the Hreðlings, suggesting a personal as well as dynastic regret. Beowulf’s grief over the inability to perform this particular fatherly act of heirloom-giving to a son recalls and underscores the fact that Beowulf has received no heirlooms from his own father. Although Beowulf has received heirlooms from other father-figures, with respect to the chain of heirloom transmission between biological fathers and sons, Beowulf’s link is isolated and unattached.

Given that Beowulf has no children, we are left with the question of why this is so: did Beowulf try and fail to father children (i.e. is Beowulf impotent or sterile), or did he never try (is he celibate)?365 The first would severely undermine his masculinity, whereas the second would undermine his kingship. While both possibilities are problematic for how we read the character of Beowulf, only one also brings positive associations. While celibacy is a poor lifestyle for a ruler, who ought to ensure a smooth becomes his heir (see Gwara, Heroic Identity in the World of Beowulf, 292.); I agree with the former statement, but not the latter. 364 See note 356. 365 While some have taken the singing woman at Beowulf’s funeral to be a wife, this has since been refuted, and the woman is now generally taken to simply fulfill traditional mourning role, given that nothing else about her is stated. See ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 270, note on lines 3150 ff. 181 succession after his death, it is a lifestyle associated with self-control and discipline.366

Following the arguments of Fred Robinson,367 we may understand a celibate Beowulf as appealing to a Christian audience without transgressing on history to make Beowulf specifically Christian. Ultimately though, even if Beowulf is a great model of self- discipline, the result is the same as if he were sterile or impotent: he fails to father a child, leaving his people vulnerable and weak.

In considering the possibility of an adopted son and heir, we naturally turn to the enigmatic character of Wiglaf, who is Beowulf’s younger kinsman and devoted retainer, but who is not a son to Beowulf, politically or emotionally. None of the theorized

Wægmunding genealogies allow for Wiglaf to be a grandson of any king of the Geats, and thus, according to David Dumville’s study on Anglo-Saxon succession, he would not be eligible for the throne.368 Thomas Hill has suggested that Wiglaf is likely not eligible on the basis of a lack of a close relationship to the royal family and/or due to his father’s service of the Swedish king Onela.369 However, all the potential reasons for ineligibility

366 Peter Brown’s The Body and Society nicely illustrates both the value given sexual self- control in a non-Christian context (specifically, pagan Rome) and the rise of sexual asceticism in Christianity. Emma Pettit’s “Holiness and Masculinity in Aldhelm’s Opus geminatum de virginitate” argues that Aldhelm presents his male virgin saints as highly masculine and heroic in order to appeal to an Anglo-Saxon audience still in cultural transition to Christianity (it may be worth recalling here that Beowulf, like four of Aldhelm’s virgin saints, fights a dragon). Joyce Hill has argued in “The Soldier of Christ in Old English Prose and Poetry” that the Anglo-Saxons frequently employed the militaristic metaphor of the miles Christi, long associated with monastic discipline (which includes chastity) and martyrdom, to characterize the moral struggles of saints. 367 Robinson, Beowulf and the Appositive Style. 368 Eliason, “Beowulf, Wiglaf, and the Wægmundings,” 95. Dumville, “The Ætheling,” 6. 369 Hill, Thomas, “Scyld Scefing and the ‘Stirps Regia,” 47. Hill argues that the brief digression explaining the background of Wiglaf’s sword (inherited from his father, who was given it by Onela for having killed Eanmund in battle) serves to remind the audience 182 are complicated by the textual instance of Hroðgar’s attempted adoption of Beowulf, where Beowulf’s own genealogy was not enough to allay the tension in the hall, and in particular, Wealhþeow’s concern for her sons’ places. As mentioned above, Frederick

Biggs reads the Geats and the Danes as having different customs of succession, with the

Danes favoring a broader pool of eligible successors in contrast with a preference for primogeniture among the Geats.370 However, since we are given no indication that

Hygd’s offer of kingship to Beowulf after Hygelac’s death is a strange occurrence, it would seem that the Geatish succession is not strictly primogenitary. Wiglaf certainly does not fit the normal rules governing Geatish succession (presumably because he is not descended from the Hreðlings), but the poem does not give us enough information to determine whether or why it would be impossible for him to enter the succession as an adopted son, if Beowulf had adopted him. Perhaps such an adoption would not be possible in Geatish custom, in contrast to Beowulf’s experience among the Danes.

Perhaps Wiglaf is fully Swedish, and ineligible for that reason (again, a difference of tribal background was not an obstacle in the near-adoption of Beowulf by Hroðgar, but the Danes and Geats were not feuding). Perhaps the adoption was possible, but Beowulf was not interested.

That Beowulf does not emotionally take Wiglaf as a son is evident by the context in which he gives his heirlooms to Wiglaf while he is dying. The earlier quoted passage

of why Wiglaf is not a suitable candidate for Geatish kingship. Interestingly, John Hill has argued for the use of the same passage as a parallel to Beowulf’s giving of gear to Wiglaf to show that combat can create a close relationship where one did not previously exist. Hill, John, The Anglo-Saxon Warrior Ethic, 25-26. 370 Biggs, “Beowulf and Some Fictions of the Geatish Succession,” 74. 183

(2729-2732a) in which Beowulf laments not having a son to whom to pass his war-gear is spoken directly to Wiglaf. Less than a hundred lines later, after having instructed the young man about his own burial wishes, Beowulf gives that same gear to Wiglaf and speaks his final words:

Dyde him of healse hring gyldenne þioden þristhydig þegne gesealde, geongum garwigan, goldfahne helm, beah ond byrnan, het hyne brucan well: ‘Þu eart endelaf usses cynnes, Wægmundinga; ealle wyrd forsweop mine magas to metodsceafte, eorlas on elne; ic him æfter sceal.’ (2809-2816)371

Beowulf in no way presents this act of giving as adoptive, nor does he in any way suggest that giving these possessions to Wiglaf is similar to or as fulfilling as giving them to a son would be. Whatever affection Beowulf may have for his kinsman, it is not paternal in nature. The absence of an emotional adoption is perhaps more perplexing than the absence of a “legal” or political adoption that would provide the Geats with a new king, but once again, we are not given a clear explanation. The context of Beowulf’s closer relationship with Hygelac might make us expect a willingness to create a similar bond with a young kinsman. The text gives us almost nothing from which to extrapolate

Beowulf and Wiglaf’s relationship prior to the appearance of the dragon: we know that

Wihstan, champion of Onela and slayer of Eanmund, flees Sweden after Eadgils becomes king, and takes refuge among the Geats, then ruled by Beowulf, and that he dies there in

371 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 96. “The brave king took from his neck the golden ring, gave it to his thegn, the young warrior, the gold-adorned helm, the ring and the mail-coat, commanded him to use them well: ‘You are the remnant of our kin, of the Wægmundings; fate swept away all my kinsman to their deaths, brave men; I must follow them.’” 184 old age and passes his own war-gear to his son, around which time Wiglaf has achieved maturity (2612b-2625a).372 We do not know how long before the dragon’s appearance

Wihstan died (although Wiglaf’s youth in the dragon episode suggests that it cannot have been very long), nor do we know how much time he would have spent with Beowulf.

Given that Beowulf would have been the only nearby kinsman of Wiglaf and Wihstan, it is distinctly possible that they might have associated closely, but since Beowulf was king and Wihstan and his son were foreigners, it is also possible that they might be on the fringes of Geatish society while he remained in the center. The fact that they are also

Beowulf’s only nearby kin perhaps strengthens an argument for some close contact, but does not guarantee it. If we again consider Beowulf and Wiglaf in the context of

Beowulf and Hygelac, we may wonder how Beowulf could have failed to build a relationship with young Wiglaf, even if Wiglaf did have a living and present biological father. Indeed, it is possible that Beowulf and Wiglaf could have a close relationship, even that Beowulf could be a second father-figure to Wiglaf. Just as the poem argues that Beowulf’s close relationship with his uncle and grandfather do not fully make up for the absence of his biological father, Wiglaf could well be a counterpoint suggesting that being a father-figure to a young man is ultimately not as fulfilling as fathering one’s own son.

372 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 89. 185

Delayed Fatherhood

Raymond Tripp reads Beowulf as depicting generational degeneration, in which each son is weaker than his father, culminating in the character of Beowulf, who exhibits the ultimate failure of not becoming a father at all.373 Tripp’s reading is limited by a lack of nuance in handling some of the characters his argument most heavily relies on: the untried youths of the poem. Tripp reads Heardred, the sons of Hroðgar, and the young men who accompany Beowulf to the dragon’s lair only to flee, as degenerate rather than simply immature. However, Tripp’s highlighting of the contrast between youth and age within the poem brings up an interesting point: that Hreðric and Hroðmund are too young to defend their father’s hall when he is too old to do so, and that they are too young to defend their father’s kingship and their own succession against their cousin Hroðulf is not their fault—it is Hroðgar’s.

When Beowulf arrives at Heorot, Hroðgar is “eald ond anhar” (357a), and after the fight with Grendel’s mother, he is “blondenfeax” (1791a) and “gamela” (1792a).374

We know little about Hreðric and Hroðmund, but we do know that they are youths, rather than men, and sit with the other youths in Heorot (1188-1190a).375 We may suspect that they are early in their youth, since in contrast to Beowulf, who fought sea creatures in his swimming match while he and Breca were “cnihtwesende” (535b) and “on geogoðfeore”

(537a), we are given no indication that Hreðric and Hroðmund have proven themselves,

373 Tripp, “Fathers and Sons,” 58. 374 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 14, 60. “old and very hairy,” “grey-haired,” “old.” 375 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 42. 186 nor that anyone thinks they should have dispatched Grendel.376 Beowulf reprimands

Unferð for not having killed Grendel (590-594),377 but he is kind to Hroðgar’s sons, mentioning on his departure that Hreðric would be welcome among the Geats should he choose to travel to Geatland in the future:

Gif him þonne Hreþric to hofum Geata geþingeð þeodnes bearn, he mæg þær fela freonda findan; feorcyþðe beoð selran gesohte þæm þe him selfa deah. (1836-1839)378

Beowulf’s comment may indicate that he thinks it is about time for Hreðric to prove himself, but that he makes the offer at all suggests that he thinks Hreðric is capable. That is to say, Beowulf thinks Hreðric is now or will soon be old enough to go out into the world, but not that Hreðric is overdue for or incompetent for such a venture.

If the problem, then, is age rather than merit, it is hardly the fault of the sons.

Hroðgar’s blunder is different from Beowulf’s, for he does produce children, two sons and a daughter, but he fails to produce his sons in a timely manner, which creates a power vacuum when Hroðgar is too old and Hreðric too young, paving the way for Hroðulf to rise against his uncle. His failure to sire children in an appropriate time leads to political instability and his own downfall and death.

It is not clear how old Hygelac is when he dies in Frisia, but Heardred’s youth and

Hygd’s offer of the Geatish kingship to Beowulf call to mind the violent Danish succession. Beowulf stands as a foil to Hroðulf, each the nephew with the opportunity to

376 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 20. 377 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 22. 378 Ed. Fulk et al., Klaeber’s Beowulf, 62. “If the king’s son Hreðric then determines to go to the court of the Geats, he can find many friends there; a far country is better sought by one who will do right by himself.” 187 succeed to a position that would otherwise go to his young and inexperienced cousin.

The wisdom of Beowulf’s generous rejection may come into question when we consider

Heardred’s demise after being either foolish in deciding to shelter Eadgils and Eanmund from their uncle Onela, or else lacking the strength to protect his people from Onela’s wrath. Heardred is as unready for kingship as Hreðric would have been. However, the parallel situation invites us not only to compare the nephews and sons, but also the fathers, Hygelac and Hroðgar. We do not know whether Hygelac had grown old by the time he died, or how old he was when Heardred was born, but the parallel situation raises the possibility that Hygelac may have fathered his son too late, and he certainly failed to guide his son to adulthood before dying.

We may even wonder, however speculatively, if Onela’s own rise to power over his nephews had to do with their father’s age. Ohthere, elder son of Ongenþeow and elder brother of Onela, is the Swede about whom the poem tells us least: we are not even told whether he rules the Swedes between the death of Ongenþeow and Onela’s seizure of power.379 We do not know how old Ohthere was when he died, and the fact that

Eadgils and Eanmund flee does not necessitate that they must be too young to fight their uncle. However, Hroðulf’s ability to overthrow Hroðgar and displace Hroðgar’s sons, and Heardred’s own lack of experience provide a context that suggests the possibility that

Eadgils and Eanmund may be too young. If we entertain this possibility, then as with

379 Several Scandinavian texts do mention the analogous figure Óttar as a king of the Swedes. In Ynglinga Saga, Ynglingatal, and Historia Norwegie, Óttar is listed as reigning after Egill (analogue to Ongenþeow) and before Aðils (analogue to Eadgils). Snorri, Ynglinga Saga, 31 (ed. Noreen, Ynglingatal, 204); ed. Ekrem et al., Historia Norwegie, 77. 188

Heardred, even if their father was not actually old when he died, he has at least failed to see them securely into adulthood before dying. The death of the father prior to full maturity, especially if this happens because the father has sired his sons too late in life, is implied in Beowulf to be a kind of failure, and for men of power, a failure with catastrophic consequences.

Conclusions

Beowulf, then, is a poem deeply concerned with fatherhood, and in particular with forms of failed fatherhood, and the consequences of that failure. Ecgþeow’s absence from Beowulf’s life does not prevent Beowulf from being a successful warrior, but it does result in Beowulf’s particular fascination with the paternity of other men and helps to create strong bonds between him and his maternal male relatives—albeit bonds that do not fully replace the missing bond with the biological father. Beowulf’s non-biological father-figures are able to provide the things that his biological father fails to: a home, heirlooms, and connection to a kin-group. Beowulf’s status as the son of an absent father creates a significant parallel between him and Grendel, a parallel that may simultaneously contribute to Beowulf’s aptitude for facing Grendel and have troubling implications of monstrosity.

The poem is not limited, however, to exploring the ways in which an absent father can fail in his duties. For men in positions of power, both failing to become a father at all and delaying paternity have catastrophic political ramifications, causing dynasties to crumble and creating power vacuums that result in violent political change. These seem,

189 at least to some extent, to be class-specific failures, only applicable in the context of dynasty. However, Beowulf’s mourning his lack of a son suggests a personal, emotional desire to pass on heirlooms. The poet does not let us know how or why Beowulf came to be childless, because in the end, the how and why do not matter: Beowulf’s line will not continue, he can pass his collar to Wiglaf, but has no son to whom to pass his armor.

Much of the end of the poem revolves around the vulnerability and impending doom of the now-leaderless Geats, but Beowulf’s final words (2813-2816), spoken to Wiglaf, quoted above, reflect a similar doom in microcosm, as the dying king reminds Wiglaf that he will be the last of the Wægmundings after Beowulf dies. Immediately after giving his collar to Wiglaf and acknowledging their kinship, Beowulf says that all of his kinsmen

(the word is broad, but the juxtaposition of “usses cynnes, Wægmundinga” with “mine magas” suggests that Beowulf may be referring to a specific kin-group, most likely the

Hreðlings) are dead, and soon he will be, too. Wiglaf’s presence and survival are implied not to be adequate consolation, because Wiglaf is not Beowulf’s son, and is not a

Hreðling. The failure to continue the family line is at once a personal and a dynastic tragedy, tying Beowulf’s death more intimately to the dire situation of his surviving people.

190

Chapter 4: Fatherhood after the Conquest

It has commonly been understood (and recently contested) that in the wake of the

Norman Conquest, literary production in English dropped off almost entirely. The sudden arrival of a francophone aristocracy meant that the English language fell from its status as a literary language. While some English literature survives from the twelfth century, most of it is fragmentary.380 Elaine Treharne has presented compelling evidence that this stance should be rethought, although she perhaps overstates her case somewhat.

Treharne points out that much of the case for the traditional understanding of this shift relies on a narrow definition of literary texts and an undervaluing of the copying and adaptation of preexistent works. She identifies a great many manuscripts produced between 1060 and 1220 that contain English writing, and particularly highlights the continued use of English in the production of religious prose writings.381 Treharne does acknowledge the decline of the range of English writings during this time, notably the decline of poetry in English, as well as the fact that the Anglo-Norman dialect of French

“becomes the literary (and spoken) vernacular of choice for many aristocrats and nobles, patrons, scholars, and administrators.”382 While it would be a mistake to suggest that

380 Cannon, The Grounds of English Literature, 19. 381 Treharne, Living through Conquest, 95-112. 382 Treharne, Living through Conquest, 124. 191 writing in English disappeared after the Norman Conquest, certain kinds of writing, including much of what is typically classed as “literary” entered a decline, from which it emerged in the version of the language that we now call Middle English.

The influx of Normans into England had many other effects, of course, including the influence of the French language on English, the influx of new literary genres such as the romance, and cultural changes, to include the adoption of strict patrilineal primogeniture.383 This chapter will look at English texts from the twelfth and early thirteenth centuries (that is, early Middle English texts) and consider them in the context of the texts from the last two chapters in order to assess continuity and change in the representations of fatherhood in Post-Conquest England.

Since a chronologically and/or generically thorough survey is impractical for the purposes of this dissertation, I have selected texts as early in the Middle English period as possible that are similar enough to the texts of the last two chapters for productive analysis. The first text discussed here is the twelfth century The Proverbs of Alfred, an instruction poem pseudonymously attributed to an Anglo-Saxon king. The second is the

Arthurian section of Layamon’s Brut, the earliest Arthurian text in the English language, adapted from the Anglo-Norman Roman de Brut by Wace, which in turn was adapted

383 As discussed at length in the previous chapter, Anglo-Saxon succession was broader. By the late Anglo-Saxon period, eligibility for succession had narrowed, but still allowed for any man whose grandfather (paternal or maternal) had been king to be considered eligible for succession. Strict primogeniture was not universally practiced among the Normans at the time of the conquest, but the practice was solidified over the course of the late eleventh and early twelfth centuries. For further detail, see Holt, Colonial England, 117-130; and Barker, “The Politics of Primogeniture,” 91-96. 192 from Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Latin Historia Regum Britanniae. Although Layamon’s sources are Norman, his writing is influenced by Old English verse.384

The Proverbs of Alfred

The pseudonymous poem The Proverbs of Alfred is one of the earliest surviving literary works of substantial length in Middle English, likely originally written between

1150 and 1180.385 The poem is not unique as an example of early Middle English

Alfredian apocrypha, but it seems to have been the most popular. The poem survives in four manuscripts (two of which are fragmentary) and is quoted in several other early

Middle English works, including Layamon’s Brut and The Owl and the Nightingale.386

The J and T versions of the text were both copied in the late thirteenth century and were transmitted independently from the archetype.387 The multiplicity of extant copies, the fact that they are not closely related, and the quotation of the text in other sources all suggest that the poem was quite popular, and was disseminated and read widely.

384 Layamon’s familiarity with Old English verse has been persuasively demonstrated by Thomas Bredehoft, who has noted evidence of influence in Layamon’s meter and rhyme as well as certain verbal formulae (Bredehoft, Early English Metre, 110-120). 385 Minkova, “The Credibility of Pseudo-Alfred,” 427. The archetype, which does not survive, has been dated based on philological criteria. 386 Jurasinski, “Andrew Horn,” 540. Arngart, The Proverbs of Alfred, 7-8. Arngart’s work is most thorough source concerning the relationship between the versions of the text. The two best texts are found in Oxford, Jesus College, MS E. 29 (called the A text by Skeat and the J text by Arngart), and Cambridge, Trinity College, B.14.39 (called the B text by Skeat and the T text by Arngart). Although I will be quoting from Skeat’s edition, I will follow other scholars in referring to the versions with Arngart’s designations. Most of my quotations are taken from the T text, but I have quoted from J where T is missing lines. The version of the text is noted with the line numbers following each quote. 387 Arngart, The Proverbs of Alfred, 124. 193

It is worth briefly noting that The Proverbs of Alfred is only the first of a great many instructions written in Middle English. The instruction genre became especially popular in Late Medieval England, and was at least partly influenced by contemporary

French instructions. While most instructions depict or assume a male pupil/reader, a few target female pupils, and some of the instructions with female pupils present the mother as instructor.388 It is possible that The Proverbs of Alfred is influenced by sources not native to England or part of the Latin tradition that was already present in Anglo-Saxon

England, but the pseudonymous attribution of the text to the Anglo-Saxon King Alfred suggests that contemporary readers may have associated the poem with native

Englishness.389

The Frame: Alfred at Seaford, or Alfred and Son?

The frame of The Proverbs of Alfred does not initially present the poem as parental instruction. Rather, King Alfred is presented as instructing the lords and bishops of England at a witenagemot at Seaford. However, as Christopher Cannon has pointed out, most of the advice contained in the poem is not applicable for these types of men, but

388 For a thorough list of medieval instructions with descriptions, see Tauno Mustanoja’s introduction to his edition of “The Good Wife” poems (Mustanoja, The Good Wife Taught Her Daughter, 31-78). For a comparison of the approaches of Middle English instructions for boys with those for girls, see Dronzek, “Gendered Theories of Education.” Felicity Riddy has argued against the assumption that the “Good Wife” poems, which depict a mother instructing her daughter, were written by women, positing a clerical male author (Riddy, “Mother Knows Best”). 389 It is not entirely clear to what extent people would have associated Alfred with Englishness, although Treharne discusses the treatment of Alfred in some Post-Conquest texts (most notably in the Homily on St. Neot in Cotton Vespasian D.xiv and William of Malmesbury’s Gesta Regum Anglorum) as a significant figure of English Christianity and wisdom (Treharne, Living through Conquest, 159-164). 194 is instead suited for youths.390 Cannon even goes so far as to compare the lessons in the poem to those found in the Latin instruction The Distichs of Cato, a popular educational text in medieval England, and to say that “the teachings of The Proverbs of Alfred do not sound at all like the words of a king, but do sound, very much, like the words of a school teacher.”391

It is also worth noting that while Alfred himself is repeatedly mentioned as the instructor by means of a refrain of Þus quad Alured, the powerful men at the witenagemot are only clearly identified as his audience at the very beginning of Part I (T 1-6).392 Part

II opens with a passage in which Alfred addresses his audience somewhat more ambiguously, and how he addresses the audience differs slightly between the J and T texts. In the J text, he addresses “mi leode” (J 212)393 which would be appropriate for addressing the witenagemot, but lacks the specificity of the opening of Part I. The T text

390 Cannon, “Proverbs,” 414-416. 391 Cannon, “Proverbs,” 416. 392 The poem is editorially broken into three parts, based on the frame: each part begins with Alfred directly addressing an audience, including an admonition that they listen well and/or an explanation of his desire to teach them. The poem is further broken into sections (Arngart’s word, Skeat refers to each section as a “proverb”) of varying lengths, each of which typically focuses on a single topic, and each of which begin with the refrain Þus quad Alfred/Þus queþ Alured (T/J). The sections are numbered in Skeat’s edition, but a few sections appear only in J or T. Skeat numbers the lines to correspond between versions, allowing versions to skip lines where sections are not present, but does not do so with section numbers (i.e. Section J 13 corresponds to section T 12, but both run from lines 211-225). Because of this lack of correspondence of section numbers between versions, I do not refer to sections by number, although I do use the words “section” and “part” to refer to the editorially defined units discussed here. When referring to chunks of text that do not correspond to these units, I use the word “passage.” 393 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 22. Translations are my own, greatly aided by Skeat’s glossary and notes. “my people.” 195 includes two relevant lines. First, Alfred addresses “lef and dere” (T 213).394 Through the use of substantive adjectives of ambiguous number, the identity of the audience is almost totally obscured: at this point, it is unclear whether Alfred’s audience is singular or plural, and he could be addressing great men or a lone youth (the affection of the words would be suitable for either context). Two lines later, the audience’s identity becomes clearer, as Alfred addresses “þenes mine” (T 215),395 bringing us back to the initial context of the witenagemot. While ultimately the original frame is harkened to, the delay between the first address, ambiguous even to the point of number, and the more specific address may (intentionally or unintentionally) allow the reader to imagine a more intimate setting, in which the instruction is for a single character with whom the Alfred figure has a close relationship—this setup could even blur the lines further so that, for a moment, Alfred may seem to address the reader directly.

A closer relationship is actually invoked in Part III, which appears, along with six sections at the end of Part II, only in the T text and seems to be a later addition. Part III drops the Seaford frame entirely, and opens with Alfred explicitly addressing his son:

Þus quad Alured: ‘Sone min swo leue, site me nu besides, and ich þe wile sei3en soþe þewes.— Sone min, ich fele þat min her falewiþ, and min wlite is wan, and min herte woc. Mine da3is aren nei done, and we shulen unc to-delen;

394 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 23. “beloved and dear.” 395 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 23. “my thegns.” 196

wenden ich me shal to þis oþir werlde, and þu shalt bileuen in alle mine welþe. (T 573-587)396

Part III, then, although only extant in one version, is explicitly a paternal instruction to a son by a father who is old and expects to die in the near future. Although the frame has changed for this section of the poem, the content and tone are not noticeably different, but rather seem to be quite consonant with the earlier sections. It is not only Christopher

Cannon, then, who reads the poem’s wisdom as suitable for youths: the poet who wrote

Part III seems to have come to the same conclusion. Moreover, in deciding to resituate the frame to reflect the dynamic of the instructor as wise old man and the pupil as young, the poet decided to give the instructor a single pupil (in contrast with the assembly that

Alfred is said to address in the opening lines of the poem), and decided to give the instructor and pupil a father-son relationship rather than make them simply instructor and pupil. These choices may well reflect cultural assumptions about this kind of instruction in wisdom: that instruction is suited to private, personal interactions, and that it is appropriate (most appropriate?) for this kind of instruction to be given by a father to his son. While we cannot say for certain based solely on this evidence that the interpolating poet understood the father-son relationship to be the primary appropriate context for this type of instruction, we can at least conclude that he understood such instruction fitting to be part of a father-son relationship.

396 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 46-47. “Thus said Alfred: “My son so dear, sit beside me now, and I will tell you true virtues. My son, I feel that my hair loses color, and my countenance is wan, and my heart weak. My days are nearly done, and we shall part from each other; I shall depart for the other world, and you shall abide in all my wealth.” 197

Each part opens with some explicit reference to the purpose, goals, or motivation of Alfred’s instruction. We have already seen this in the opening of Part III, quoted above, where the Alfred character invites his son to sit beside him and talk, since he

(Alfred) is old and his time is limited. The passage quoted above is only the first part of the section, which continues with Alfred’s injunctions that the son take on certain roles after his father’s death:

Sone min, ich þe bidde, þu art mi barin dere, þat þu þi folke be fader, and for louerd; fader be þu wið child, and be þu widewis frend; þe arme gin þu froueren, and þe woke gin þu coueren; þe wronge gin þu rihten mid alle þine mihten; and let þe, sune, mid lawe, and louien þe shal dri3ten; and ouer alle oþir þinge God be þe ful in minde, and bide þat he þe rede at alle þine dedis; þe bet shal he þe filsten to don al þine wille. (T 588-605)397

Alfred seems to be describing various roles appropriate to kingship, the first of which is a paternal relationship to one’s subjects (and especially to children, although widows are usually listed alongside orphan children specifically, and this may be a vestige of the

397 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 47. “My son, I beseech you (you are my dear child), that you be a father and a lord to your people. Be a father to children, and be a friend to widows. Strive to comfort the poor, and strive to protect the weak. Strive to right wrongs with all your strength. And son, conduct yourself in accordance with the law, and the Lord shall love you. And let God be entirely above all other things in your remembrance, and ask that he counsel you in all your deeds, the better that he may aid you in doing all that is your desire.” 198

Anglo-Saxon legal provision that all orphans are under the protection of the king). This passage suggests that the importance of the Alfred character and his son sitting down together to talk hinges on Alfred preparing the son to step into Alfred’s own roles as king, father, and man, after his death.

The opening of Part I spans two sections: the first sets up the Seaford frame in narration, and the second consists of Alfred’s initial address leading into the proverbs to follow. Both are significant to our purposes here. The first section provides details about

Alfred’s audience and Alfred himself, as well as some preliminary comments characterizing the wisdom to come:

At Siforde setin kingis monie, fele biscopis, and fele booc-lerede, erles prude, and cnihtes egleche; þer was erl Alfrich, of þe lawe suiþe wis, and eke Alfred, Englene herde, Englene derling; in Engelonde he was king. Hem he gon lerin, so 3e mu3en i-herin, hu hi hure life lede shuldin. Alfred, he was in Engelonde a king, wel swiþe strong and lufsum þing. He was king and clerc, ful wel he louede Godis werc. He was wis on his word, and war on his werke; he was þe wisiste mon

199

þat was in Engelonde on. (T 1-24)398

We are told that Alfred (who is characterized as strong, pleasant, learned, wise, and prudent) is about to instruct the great men of England in how they should live their lives.

Curiously, the narration breaks the fourth wall by going so far as to say that Alfred is instructing his people on this matter so that the reader can hear of it. While this makes little sense for the character of Alfred, it does make explicit (although not in great detail) the purpose of instruction poems such as this. The implication of lines 13-16 is that the reader should learn Alfred’s instruction on how these men should live their lives, so that the reader can learn the same lessons. Alfred starts speaking in the next section, and he begins by inviting the people to listen to his wise teachings:

Þus quad Alfred, Englene frouere: ‘wolde 3e, mi leden, lustin 3ure louird, and he 3u wolde wissin of wisliche þinges, hu 3e mihtin in werelde wurshipe weldin, and eke 3ure saulle samne to Criste.’ Wise werin þe sawin

398 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 3-5. “At Seaford sat many kings, many bishops, and many men learned in books, proud earls, and valiant knights. There was Earl Ælfric, very wise concerning the law, and also Alfred, the protector of the English, the darling of the English; he was king in England. He taught them so you might hear how they should lead their lives. Alfred, he was a king in England, an extremely strong and pleasing person. He was a king and a learned man, and he loved the work of God very much. He was wise in his words and cautious in his deeds; he was the wisest man there was in England.” The J text has “þeynes” (thegns) rather than “kingis” in line 2, which makes more sense. It is unclear whether a specific Ælfric is intended in line 7; Skeat’s note on that line points to the commonness of Ælfric as an Anglo-Saxon name. The pronouns in lines 13-16 may seem strange “he taught them so you might hear how they should lead their lives” (emphasis mine), but is endorsed by Skeat in his notes. 200

of king Alfred. (T 25-36)399

Here Alfred sums up the aims of his proverbs in two points: acquiring honor, and uniting oneself to Christ. To put it another way, the explicit goal of the proverbs is the teaching of socially acceptable and admirable behavior and morally righteous living. Although, in those broad terms, this goal seems widely applicable, it is most fitting for an audience on the verge of public life and moral responsibility rather than an audience of powerful men, many or most of which can be presumed to already have experience in both departments.

In the opening section of Part II, Alfred once again exhorts his audience to listen to him, and speaks about the importance and value of wisdom:

Þus quad Alfred: Lustlike lust me, lef and dere, and ich her 3u wille leren, þenes mine, wit and wisdom þet alle welþe ouer-goð. siker he may sitte, and hwo him mid senden. For þoch his welþe him at-go, his wit ne went him neuere fro. Ne may he neuir for-farin hwo him to fere haueþ, hwilis þat his lif lesten may. (T 211-225)400

399 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 5-7. “Thus said King Alfred, the comfort of the English: ‘Would you, my people, listen to your lord, and he will teach you certain things, how you may acquire honors in the world, and also [how you may] unite your soul to Christ.’ Wise were the proverbs of King Alfred.” 400 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 23. “Thus said Alfred: ‘Eagerly listen to me, beloved and dear, and here I will teach you, my thegns, wit and wisdom that surpass all wealth. Secure may he sit, and those who are with him. For although his wealth should leave him, his wit shall never depart from him. Nor can he ever suffer, who has it (wisdom) for a companion, as long as his life should last.” Lines 218-219 make little sense in the T text (which I use nevertheless, as line 215 is missing entirely from J). The 201

Alfred again exhorts his audience to listen, and explains the value of wisdom, which outlasts wealth, and continues to benefit the wise man to the end of his days. Alfred does not describe the nature of his teachings, as before, beyond identifying his subject as wisdom. Rather, the focus here is on the benefit to the audience (still apparently the witenagemot).

The Content of the Proverbs

Turning now from the frame of the poem to the wise content being communicated in it, we can see a high degree of commonality with the wisdom of the Old English poems discussed in chapter two, and particularly with Precepts. The Proverbs include a number of passages addressing relation of the pupil to others, including God, elders, peers, lower-ranking men, and women. While in Precepts these themes occur sequentially and seem to be ordered hierarchically, they are scattered throughout The

Proverbs, which does not have any clear organizational scheme.

The first admonition that Alfred gives in Part I is that his people should “dredin /

3ure drihtin Crist, / lovin him and likin” (T 41-43).401 This brief triple-admonition to fear, love, and be pleasing to Christ is followed by a lengthy description of Christ’s goodness, given as an explanation of the appropriateness of this behavior. The primacy of place given to this subject corresponds with the same in Precepts, suggesting a

J text here is more sensible: “Syker he may sitte / þe hyne haueþ to i-vere.” “Secure may he sitte who has it (wisdom) for a companion.” (Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 22.) 401 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 7. “dread your lord Christ, love him, and be pleasing to him.” 202 continued belief that wise behavior is built on the fundamental of understanding the greatness of God and one’s proper response to that greatness.

There is no discussion in The Proverbs of Alfred regarding how to relate to men of superior rank or class, but Part III (the section that is explicitly characterized as paternal instruction) includes a note on deference to the elderly:

And, baren, ich þe bidde, 3if þu on benche sittest, and þu þen beuir hore sixst þe bi-foren stonden, buh þe from þi sete, and bide him sone þer-to; þane welle he sa3in sone on his worde, “wel worþe þe wite þat þe first ta3te!” Site þanne siþin bisiden him-seluen, for of him þu mi3t leren listis and fele þeues; þe baldure þu mi3t ben; lere þu his reides! for þe elder mon me mai of-riden betere þenne of-reden. (T 625-642)402

Here the son is advised to yield his seat to an old man, and to then take advantage of the opportunity to learn from the man. The description of the elderly man emphasizes his frailty, presenting him as trembling, and the end of the passage also draws on the idea that in old age, bodily strength weakens while wisdom grows. The passage seems to

402 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 48-49. “And, child, I beseech you, if you sit on the bench, and you see a trembling gray-haired man stand before you, move from your seat, and ask him to take it right away. Then he will quickly say in his speech: ‘Very worthy was the wise man who first taught you!’ Then sit beside him, since you may learn from him arts and many virtues. That you may be the bolder, learn from his advice! For one may surpass the older man in riding better than in giving counsel.” 203 anticipate a tendency of the young and strong to dismiss their elders because of physical weakness. The passage insists that old men should not be discounted, should be treated well, and in fact have much to offer.

With regards to peers, Part III of The Proverbs has a great deal to say about choosing one’s companions carefully. The specifics of the advice range from common sense to stereotyping. Alfred advises his son to avoid befriending a deceitful man, who could turn against him at any time without warning (T 643-659), as well as a scornful and false man, who would steal from him (T 660-676). The section closes with advice against befriending short men, tall men, and red-headed men. The reasons given are that short men are too passionate and eager to prove themselves (T 682-691), tall men are too passive and unfeeling (T 692-701), and red-heads are prone to a multitude of vices:

Þe rede mon he is a qued, for he wole þe þin iuil red; he is cocker, þef, and horeling, scolde, of wreche-dome he is king. (T 702-705)403

In addition to these cautions against specific kinds of men, a passage in Part II warns against the risks of acquiring friends by means of gift-giving, noting that in these cases,

Ac 3if þu hauist a frend to-day, and to-moreuin driuist him awei, þenne bes þu one al-so þu er were; And þanne is þi fe for-loren, and þi frend boþen; betere þe bicome frend þat þu neuedest. (T 507-514)404

403 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 52. “The red-headed man is a bad man, for he would counsel you to your ill; he is a fighter, a thief, an unchaste man, a scold, and a king of misery.” 204

The focus of all the poem’s discourse on friendship is in the acquisition of friends: both the types of people to be avoided and, as in the case of this passage, problematic ways to make friends. Unlike Precepts, The Proverbs give no counsel regarding obligations to friends or what constitutes good behavior toward a friend.

The poem does, however, have plenty to say about proper behavior towards those of lower rank, especially men under one’s own authority. Part I includes a passage that notes the obligation of lords to act within the law and to give just judgments:

Þe eorl and þe eþelyng ibureþ, vnder godne king, þat lond to leden myd lawelyche deden. And þe clerk and þe knyht schulle demen euenliche riht; þe poure and þe ryche hi schulle demen ilyche. Hwych so þe mon soweþ, al swuch he scal mowe; and eueruyches monnes dom to his owere dure churreþ. (J 73-85)405

Men in power are to judge the rich and the poor with impartiality and fairness.

Interestingly, as with Precepts, good behavior is presented from a somewhat pragmatic

(if here abstract) perspective. The passage does not promote just and impartial judgments for their own sakes, but because, as noted in the final two lines quoted, “every man’s

404 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 44. “But if you have a friend today, and drive him away tomorrow, then you shall be alone as you were before, and then your property is lost, and your friend, as well. It would be better that you never had the friend.” 405 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 10. “It behooves the earl and the prince, under a good king, to govern the land with lawful deeds. The clerk and the knight shall impartially judge right; they shall judge the poor and the rich alike. Whatsoever a man sows, such shall he reap; and every man’s judgment shall return to his own door.” The T text is missing lines 80 and 81. 205 judgment shall return to his own door.” What form the repercussions shall take, whether divine retribution, violence from the disenfranchised, or rebuke from the good king the lord serves under, is unclear.

This passage is immediately followed by another on the subject of noblesse oblige, reminding men of power of their obligation to protect those under them:

Þe cniht bihouiþ kenliche to cnowen forto weriin þe lond of here and of heregong; þat þe riche habbe gryþ, and the cherl be in friþ his sedis to sowin, his medis to mowen; his plouis to driuin to ure alre bi-lif: þis is þe cnihtes la3e; loke þat hit wel fare. (T 87-98)406

The knight’s duty is to protect the land and the people who work it. His motivation, according to this passage, is that this benefits everyone (himself included). To create an environment in which peasants can farm in peace and safety is to ensure that there is enough food for everyone.

Part II of The Proverbs goes on at length on the subject of relating to women, primarily concerning the choosing of a wife and how much one should confide in and

406 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 13. “It behooves the knight keenly to know how to protect the land from an army and from the march of an invading army, so that the rich may have security and the peasant may live in safety to sow his seeds and to mow his meadows, to drive his plows for the sustenance of us all. This is the law of the knight; see to it that it may well come about.” Although cniht in this text still looks like its Old English form, meaning “boy,” this passage makes it very clear that the word has taken on its Middle English meaning, denoting a landholder with certain martial capability. As such, I have followed Skeat’s glossary in translating it as “knight.” 206 listen to one’s wife, and the overall attitude of the poem towards women is strongly negative. The first point of advice offered with respect to women is not to overlook character for looks or wealth when it comes to choosing a wife:

Ne shall þu neuer þi wif bi hire wlite chesen; ne hire for non ahte to þine bury bringen, er þu hire costes lerne, þe he cuþe. For moni mon for ahte iuele i-hasteð; and ofte mon on faire fokel cheseð. (T 248-257)407

Here Alfred advises that hasty marriages founded on a woman’s good looks or dowry run the risk of landing the young man with a wife who behaves badly. It suggests instead that the man wait until he has a grasp of the woman’s character and behavior to determine whether or not he really wants to marry her.

The remaining advice regarding women is a bit harsher. Following this section is a passage warning against imprudent speech to one’s wife:

wurþu neuere swo wod, ne so wyn-drunken, þat euere sai3e þu þi wif al þat þi wille be. For if hue se3e þe biforen þine fomen alle, and þu hire mid worde wraþed hauedest, he ne shold it leten, for þinge liuigende,

407 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 25-27. “You shall never choose a wife by her appearance, nor for any wealth bring her to your bower, before you learn her habits, which she makes known. For many men make ill haste for wealth, and often in a fair woman chose a false one.” 207

þat he ne sholde þe up-breidin of þine bale-siþes! wimmonis word-wod, and hauiþ tunge to swift; þauh he hire-selue wel wolde, ne mai he it nowiht welden. (T 269-284)408

The implication seems to be that if a man says to his wife things that make her angry, she will take it out on him in public (with or without malicious intent) and thus shame him.

Since the wife cannot be trusted to be able to guard her own speech, the husband must take extra precautions in guarding his speech to her.

The following passage continues in advice concerning women, first noting their penchant for idleness and pride (T 286-297), and then warning against the dangers of allowing one’s wife to become one’s master:

Þe mon þat let wymmon his mayster iwurþe, ne schal he neuer beon ihurd his wordes louerd; ac heo hine schal steorne to-trayen, and to-teone; and selde wurþ he blyþe and gled, þe mon þat is his wiues qued. (J 298-305)409

408 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 27-29. “Never become so deranged nor so drunk that you ever say to your wife all that you want. For if she should see you before all your enemies, and you have angered her with words, she would never leave it be for any thing living, so that she would not upbraid you for your times of adversity! Woman is word- mad, and has too swift a tongue. Though she might well wish it, she may not control it at all.” 409 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 28. “The man that allows a woman to become his master shall never be heard to be lord of his word; but she shall sternly torment him and vex him greatly; and seldom will he be blithe and glad, the man who is his wife’s scorn.” Skeat remarks in n. 302 that the wording of the T text at the end of this passage is “suspicious,” so I have chosen to use the J (Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 61). 208

Here we are presented with the image of the hen-pecked husband, who is characterized as tormented and unhappy. That he is not considered “lord of his word” suggests that his wife is the ultimate decision-maker, and thus he may make commitments on which she does not allow him to follow through. The poem offers no advice about what the power dynamic in the relationship should look like or how to prevent one’s wife from gaining mastery, but simply warns about the consequences of allowing this to happen.

The final piece of advice the poem offers with regards to women concerns women’s tears and women’s counsel. Alfred advises that

wimmon wepeð for mod ofter þanne for eni god; and ofte, lude and stille, for to wurchen hire wille. (T 323-326)410

Women, we are told, cry in anger and to manipulate. The implication is that a crying woman is not to be trusted or given her way. The passage goes on to advise against listening to the counsel of women: “For hit is said in lede, ‘Cold red is quene red’” (T

335-336).411 Listening to a woman’s advice is presented as not only a bad idea, but as dangerous. The passage as a whole discourages giving credence to women, and presents women on the whole as foolish and temperamental at best, and at worst wicked and conniving.

The final relationship that the poem considers is the relationship between the pupil and his children. Both passages that touch on this relationship are from Part II (in

410 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 31. “women weep for anger more often than for any good, and often, aloud and in silence, to work her will.” 411 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 33. “For it is said among the people: ‘Women’s counsel is fatal counsel.” Chaucer’s Chanticleer paraphrases this proverb. 209 which Alfred is still ostensibly addressing the witenagemot). The first of these is an injunction to teach one’s children:

Wis child is fadiris blisse. 3if it so bitidiþ þat þu child weldest, þe hwile þat hit it is litil þu lere him monnis þewis. Þanne hit is woxen, he shal wende þerto; þanne shal þi child þas þe bet wurþen. (T 428-436)412

The pupil is suggested not yet to have children (a detail which further suggests that the content even of the earlier sections of the poem is intended for a young man), and is told of the importance of teaching his child the virtues or customs of man (i.e. the kind of wisdom being taught in the poem). The passage goes on to explain that if the child is not taught these things by his father (and done so with the aid of corporal punishment), the child will grow up always doing whatever he wants, and will be impossible to control, and both father and son will come to regret it (J 437-456).413 The stance in favor of corporal punishment is stated very strongly: “for betere is child vnboren þenne vnbeten”

(T 449-450).414 On the one hand, this passage suggests the chain of instruction described in Vainglory, by encouraging the current pupil to become an instructor of wisdom. On the other hand, the image of corporal punishment has not been present in the wisdom

412 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 41. “A wise child is a father’s bliss. If it so happens that you should have a child, while he is still small, teach him the virtues of man. When he is grown, he shall apply himself to them; then shall your child be the better for it.” Although this is in Part II, it is found only in the T text. 413 The T text is missing lines 438-439 and 451-456, but based on the lines before around the lost text, it seems to be saying approximately the same thing. 414 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 41. “For a child is better unborn than unbeaten.” 210 poems dealt with in chapter two (although it is certainly present elsewhere in the Old

English corpus, particularly in the context of education). It is possible that this passage envisions a father-son instructor relationship starting when the child is very young (which would fit the passages point on instruction making the child easier to control, which would seem less appropriate if the child were a young man), in which case corporal punishment might have been seen as particularly necessary to communicate unacceptable behavior if the child were below the age of reason, but it is also possible that the poem expects men to beat their sons through the duration of the son’s dependence on the father.

The other passage concerning children, also in Part II, is quite surprising, and concerns inheritance. In this passage, Alfred advises that, should his pupil reach old age, so that he knows his time is limited, he should dole out his possessions among his dear friends. Concerning children, whom we might expect to be considered as heirs, the poem says:

Haue þu none leue to þo þat after þe bileueð, to sone ne to dohter, ne to none of þine foster. For fewe frend we schulen finden þanne we henne funden; for he þat is ute bi-loken he is inne sone for-3eten. (T 548-555)415

This cynical piece of advice suggests that one’s own family members (and specifically, his children) are apt to forget a man after he dies. The connection between the

415 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 45-46. “Have no faith in those that survive after you, not in your son, nor in your daughter, nor in any of your offspring. For we shall find few friends when we depart hence; for he that is locked out is soon forgotten within.” 211 anticipation of being forgotten and giving your wealth away rather than letting it be inherited after your death is not clearly articulated.

It is possible that the key points are the time and manner of the transmission of property only, and that the recipients need not be different. Although Skeat lists only

“friends” as a possible translation of “frend” (T 545), the parties to whom the pupil is advised to give his possessions, The Middle English Dictionary does list “a kinsman” as the fourth entry for frend.416 This passage could be taken, then, as advising passing on one’s possessions to one’s loved ones (friends and/or family) while one has the time and opportunity to enjoy feeling their appreciation and gratitude, rather than the same transaction occurring after one’s death, when the heirs might not spare a thought for the departed. While still cynical, this reading would make sense of the fact that the end of the passage suggests that one is forgotten by all survivors after death, in which case the singling out of children might be a way of saying that even the people whom one might most expect to fondly regard and remember the deceased will forget him, rather than suggesting that the dead man’s children are the least likely to remember him. What is clear is that the children are expected to be heirs and that they are also expected to forget their departed father after his death. What we might wish to be clearer is whether the poem counsels giving children their inheritance early or preventing them from having it at all.

Moving on from relational advice, let us turn to other themes of the poem. One of the most frequently mentioned issues in The Proverbs is the admonition to guard one’s

416 Eds. McSparran et al., Middle English Dictionary, frend (n). 212 speech, which was also a major point in Precepts. Advice on speech appears several times in Part II of the poem and once in Part III. We have already noted one point of advice regarding careful speech in this poem, in the admonition against speaking imprudently to one’s wife. The first point made in the poem regarding speech concerns talking about one’s problems:

3if þu hauist sorwe, ne say þu hit þin are3e; sey it þin sadilbowe, and rid þe singende. Þanne saiþ þe mon þat ti wise ne can, þat þe þine wise wel þe likiþ. Sore3e 3if þu hauist, and te are3e hit seð, bi-foren, he þe beminið, bi-hindin, he þe scarneð. (T 227-238)417

Although the passage initially specifies that you should not speak of your troubles to malicious people, the poem does not suggest that you find a trusted confidante to share such things with. Rather, it seems to advise against telling anyone at all, and to put up a front of being carefree. It is possible that the poem merely means to suggest presenting such a front when untrustworthy people are present and does not mean to imply that men should never talk about their problems and should always act cheerfully. Whichever is meant, the reason given is that imprudent sharing of one’s burdens opens one up to private (and possibly public) shame, depending on how widely the untrustworthy hearer

417 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 23-25. “If you have a sorrow, do not tell it to a malicious man; tell it to your saddle-bow, and ride singing. Then the man who does not know your condition will say that your condition well pleases you. If you have a sorrow, and tell it to a malicious man, he will lament you to your face and deride you behind your back.” 213 spreads the story. The passage also presents concerns about deceitful men who may maintain a pretense of friendship with a man while secretly mocking or acting against him. Concerns about this type of false friend crop up in the list of types of men to avoid at the end of the poem, mentioned above (T 644-659).

In addition to advice against speech on specific topics, as above, the poem cautions against too much speech in general:

Þe wise mon mid fewe word can fele biluken; and sottis bolt is sone ischoten; for-þi ich telle him for a dote þat saiþ al his y-wille þanne he shulde ben stille. For ofte tunge brekiþ bon, þeih he habbe hire-selue non. (T 419-426)418

Speaking too much and too quickly is identified here as the mark of a foolish man, and unbridled speech can lead a man to harm. Not only does this passage exhort the man who would be wise to speak little, but it assures him that a wise man can say as much as is needed with a few words.

Another passage, also in Part II, but only found in the T text, builds on the ideas of the passages cited above. Here we are told explicitly that a man should never say all that he wants to, even to his friends:

wurþu neuere so wod, ne so desi of þi mod, þat euere sai3e þi frend al þat þe likiþ,

418 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 39. “The wise man can contain much in a few words, and a fool’s bolt is quickly shot. Therefore I call him a dotard that says all he likes when he should be quiet. For a tongue often breaks bones, although it has none itself.” 214

ne alle þe þonkes þat þu þoh hauist; for ofte sibbie men foken hem bituenen, and ef it so bilimpiþ loþe þat 3e wurþen, þanne wot þi fend þat er wiste þi frend. Betere þe bicome þi word were helden; for þanne muð mameliþ more þanne hit sholde, þanne schulen his eren eft it iheren. (T 478-495)419

There are two ambiguities in this passage that should be addressed. The first is the ambiguity of frend: as discussed above, Skeat takes it consistently to mean only “friend,” and I have followed suit in my translation, but there is a possibility that it would be better read as kinsman, or as a category that could include kinsmen.420 This is a particular issue in this passage because of the mention of “sibbie men” (literally “related men” and indicating a biological relationship). It is possible that “sibbie men” are offered as an extreme example (with the sense that, since even one’s own relatives can turn against one another, one should be even more careful with friends, who are not bound by blood-ties), or whether the “frend” one should avoid telling all to is one of the “sibbie men” who may turn again their kin. The other ambiguity, and the one that is more important for our purposes, is whether the opening lines indicate that the only kind of speech one needs to

419 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 42-43. “Never become so deranged nor so foolish from anger, that you should ever say to your friend all that you wish to, nor should you tell him all the thoughts that you have nevertheless had. For kinsmen often are deceitful with one another, and if it so happens that you should become hateful, then your enemy knows what your friend knew before. It would better befit you that your words were held in, for when the mouth babbles more than it should, then his ears shall hear it.” 420 See note 416. 215 avoid in this context is angry speech that could cause the listener to turn against the speaker, or whether the point is rather that nothing should be told to a friend or kinsman that would be dangerous or damaging if known by enemies. That is to say, should speech be guarded to protect friendships and prevent betrayal, or should speech be guarded because there is always a security risk in the form of possible future betrayal? The focus in the opening of the passage on anger and madness suggest the former, whereas the rest of the passage suggests the latter. It is unclear whether the poet intended one or the other

(or both) understandings, but certainly a reader might take away either or both.

Ultimately, both meanings hinge rather cynically on the possibility of betrayal in even the closest of relationships and suggest that such relationships are always fragile.

Finally, Part III includes a brief note on guarding speech, a note that is worded more positively than the passages from Part II:

Be þu wis on þi worde and war o þine speche; þenne shulen þe louien leden alle. (T 609-612)421

Instead of warning against the consequences of imprudent speech, this passage promises benefits for prudent speech: speak prudently, and everyone will love you. This passage offers a different angle on why sparing, deliberated speech is a good idea, but does not add significantly to the previous passages.

421 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 48. “Be wise in your words and prudent in your speech; then all people shall love you.” 216

Another frequently occurring motif in The Proverbs is wealth. The first passage concerning wealth, found in Part I, cautions against taking pride in wealth, which is always a gift from God and will be lost at death:

3if þu hauest welþe a wold in þis werlde, ne þinc þu neure for-þi al to wlonc wurþen. Ahte nis non eldere stren, ac it is Godis lone; hwanne it is his wille, þer-fro we shullen wenden, and ure o3ene lif mid sorwe letin. Þanne shullen ure fon to ure fe gripen, welden ure madmes, and lutil us bimenen. (T 181-188)422

Wealth, including hereditary wealth, should always be thought of as a gift from God, and thus should not be a source for pride (apparently neither personal nor ancestral). The impermanence of wealth is here invoked in the context of death, and (perhaps unsurprising given the passages above concerning inheritance the imprudence of sharing thoughts even with one’s friends or relatives) after your death, your wealth will be enjoyed by your enemies, who will not be sad that you have died.

The impermanence of wealth occurs two other times in the poem. The first of these is also in Part I of The Proverbs, and compares wealth to a force of nature:

Leue þu þe nouht to swiþe

422 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 21. “If you have wealth at your disposal in this world, do not ever think to become proud. Wealth is not the acquisition of our elders, but it is God’s gift alone. When it is his will, we shall depart from it, and resign our own life with sorrow. Then our foes shall seize upon our goods, possess our treasures, and grieve us little.” 217

up þe se-flod; 3if þu hauest madmes monie and moche, gold and siluir, it shal wurþen to nouht; to duste it shal driuen. (T 190-202)423

Here wealth is characterized again as both impermanent and beyond human control.

Wealth is like the rising tide, which will always turn soon to ebb. The third passage on the impermanence of wealth uses another set of powerful images:

Werldes welþe to wurmes shal wurþien; and alle cunnes madmes to noht shulen melten: and ure lif shal lutel lasten. For þoh þu, mon, weldest al þis middelerd, and alle þe welþe þat þer-inne woniþ, ne miht þu þi lif lengen none hwile. (T 382-393)424

The images of decay in the opening lines of this passage again underscore that wealth cannot last in a permanent and meaningful way, while also treating the subject of wealth with a connotation of disgust. As in the first passage on wealth, we find here that wealth’s impermanence is linked to mortality, although the relationship described here is

423 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 21. “Trust not too greatly in the flood-tide. If you have treasures many and much, gold and silver, it shall come to naught, it shall be driven to dust.” 424 Ed. Skeat, The Proverbs of Alfred, 37. “The wealth of the world shall go to worms, and treasures of all kinds shall melt to nothing, and our life shall last but a little. For although you, man, may possess all the world, and all the wealth that lies within it, you cannot lengthen your life by any time.” 218 somewhat different. This passage devalues wealth by pointing out that no amount of treasure or earthly power can postpone death.

Analysis

Let us now take a step back to consider the poem as a whole and in the context of the Old English wisdom poetry discussed in Chapter Two. The Proverbs of Alfred situate instruction at least partly within the family. This is communicated not only in the frame to Part III, where the Alfred character addresses his son, but in the injunction in Part II that the pupil someday teach his own children. It is further suggested by the fact that, in spite of the frame situating Parts I and II in a witenagemot, the interpolator who added the end of Part II and all of Part III to the T manuscript (or to an original from which it descends) thought it appropriate to change the frame of Part III to an intimate conversation between father and son rather than maintaining the setting of the witenagemot at Seaford.425

This change may have been encouraged not only by the subject of instruction in wisdom, but also by the kind of wisdom communicated in Parts I and II, which seem to speak to an adolescent or young adult male audience who must learn how to choose a wife and conduct a marriage, how men of power should behave toward the people around them, how to manage and think about one’s wealth, and how to speak prudently. The wisdom added by the interpolator follows suit, adding more advice regarding speech and

425 The pairing of the two frames, accompanied by the explicit instructions to the son in the opening of Part III, also suggest similarity between the lord/retainer (or king/subject) relationship and the father/son relationship. 219 wealth, advice concerning drinking and drunkenness, and extensive advice on how to choose the right friends. Much of this subject matter is familiar from the Old English wisdom poems addressed in Chapter Two.

There are, however, a few key differences between the early Middle English poem and the Old English poems, however. One of these is that The Proverbs of Alfred includes more class-specific information (which is noticeably lacking from Precepts). In addition to the frames, which posit first a large audience composed of powerful men, and then an audience of one preparing to take on the role of king after his father’s death, the content also suggests an elite secular audience by its frequent mention of wealth and the duties of powerful men to protect peasants, maintain social stability, and make fair legal judgments. This imagined elite secular audience may be surprising, given the historical context of the poem, certainly a time when Anglo-Norman literature was more prevalent.

It is possible, though, that The Proverbs of Alfred may have had an aristocratic contemporary readership, as much of the aristocracy was bilingual by the late the twelfth century. Susan Crane has pointed to the common practice of Norman lords marrying

Anglo-Saxon women in the generations following the Conquest, as well as the presence of Anglo-Saxon servants and nursemaids, as significant factors in making the aristocracy bilingual.426 In this light, we may expect that many aristocrats had the language skills to access the text (and, given Crane’s argument about intermarriage, possibly the heritage to

426 Crane, “Anglo-Norman Cultures,” 37. Crane builds on the work of Ian Short, who uses evidence from literary and historical texts to argue that by the 1160s, that Anglo- Norman French was being preserved as a marker of class, and that the wealthiest families were sending their children to the continent in order to correct their insular accents (Short, “On Bilingualism,” 473). 220 spark an interest). Furthermore, as has been mentioned above, there is evidence suggesting that The Proverbs of Alfred enjoyed a certain amount of popularity. It is not clear what kind of status The Proverbs would have in an aristocratic Norman environment, but it seems distinctly possible that the poem could have been read by young Norman heirs with Anglo-Saxon mothers.

Both The Proverbs and the Old English wisdom poems primarily focus on external behaviors and their social ramifications rather than internal attitudes, virtues, and vices. Even Vainglory, which is focused on contrasting the arrogant man and the humble man, is largely devoted to the negative social consequences of behaviors that arise from the sin of pride. Yet, whereas the Old English poems often root these external behaviors in the internal human experience, and eternal consequences are mentioned in these poems in addition to temporal, social consequences, The Proverbs of Alfred is focused on external behaviors to the near total exclusion of internality. Union with Christ is an explicit goal, and service to God is discussed in the beginning of the poem, but the bulk of the text does not discuss morality, virtues, or vices, but rather actions and decisions and their social ramifications.

The Proverbs also tend to be more cynical and negative than the Old English wisdom poems. Wheras Precepts instructs steadfastness and honesty in dealing with friends, the only advice offered about friendship in The Proverbs of Alfred is the catalogue of types of men one should not befriend and why. Both counsel prudent speech, but the characterization of prudent speech in The Proverbs of Alfred ultimately boils down to trusting no one. Precepts counsels against loving a woman such that it

221 interferes with one’s ability to make impartial judgments, whereas The Proverbs of Alfred counsels that women are untrustworthy and lacking any ability to control their speech.

Although the themes that the two texts cover overlap significantly, The Proverbs of

Alfred typically takes similar positions to the cynical extreme.

Layamon’s Brut

Let us turn now from wisdom and instruction to the other focus of this chapter: fatherhood in the heroic context of Layamon’s Brut, the earliest Arthurian text in English.

Although dating the composition of the poem has been particularly difficult (and partly inhibited by the debate concerning whether certain linguistic features are naturally archaic or deliberately archaizing), scholars currently date the poem’s composition in the late eleventh or early twelfth century.427 We know very little of Layamon, and what we know of him comes from the first lines of the Brut. Layamon identifies himself both as the son of Leovenath and as a priest in the village of Areley Kings (near the Severn and not far from Worcester).428

Although the Brut claims multiple sources in its introductory passage, including

Bede’s Historia Ecclesiastica, scholarly source work suggests that the only source it was primarily dependent upon was Wace’s French Roman de Brut.429 Wace had translated his

Roman from Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Latin Historia Regum Britanniae, the first work to

427 Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, xv. The text survives in two manuscripts, Cotton Caligula A.ix and Cotton Otho C.xiii. The Caligula has been dated to the late thirteenth century and the Otho to the early fourteenth (Eds. Barron and Weinberg, Layamon’s Arthur, xiii-xiv). 428 Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, x-xii. 429 Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, xii-xiii. 222 tell a conception-to-death story of King Arthur.430 In their translations, both Wace and

Layamon expanded on their predecessors’ work. Geoffrey developed the narrative, incorporating material from multiple sources, most notably Bede’s Historia Ecclesiastica

Gentis Anglorum, Gildas’s De Excidio et Conquestu Britanniae, and Pseudo-Nennius’s

Historia Brittonum. Geoffrey’s Historia brought the Arthurian narrative to a Norman audience.

Layamon’s Brut, Wace’s Roman de Brut, and Geoffrey’s Historia are part of the chronicle tradition of Arthuriana, which tends to focus on Arthur himself and to be concerned with warfare and empire (as opposed to the romance tradition, in which Arthur is often a background character in tales focusing on individual knights, and in which the plot is concerned with the exploits of the individual at court and on adventures). A particularly significant difference between these two traditions is that in the chronicle tradition, Mordred (in Layamon’s telling, Modred) is only Arthur’s nephew, not his son through incest.431

430 Wace, Wace’s Roman de Brut, xvi. Of course, in Geoffrey, Wace, and Layamon’s works, Arthur’s tale is just one part—albeit an important part—of a much longer narrative of British history. 431 For a detailed breakdown of the different versions of Mordred’s parentage, conception, betrayal of Arthur, and death, see Cooper, “Counter-Romance,” 150-155. Cooper lays these out in order to show the options available to Malory in crafting Le Morte D’Arthur. Arthur’s relationships with his nephews Gawain and Modred in the Brut are beyond the scope of this chapter, but have received some attention elsewhere. Karen Cherewatuk has written about Arthur’s relationships with both nephews in Geoffrey’s Historia, Wace’s Roman, Layamon’s Brut, and the Alliterative Morte, particularly focusing on how the characters die in the different versions (Cherewatuk, “Dying in Uncle Arthur’s Arms”). Stephen O. Glosecki looks at these relationships in Layamon’s Brut and the Alliterative Morte with particular attention to the social function of the avuncular relationship (Glosecki, “The Kin Bonds of Camelot”). 223

In this chapter, we will be considering fatherhood in the Arthurian section of

Layamon’s Brut in the context of the previous chapter’s reading of Beowulf. In particular, we will look at Arthur’s relationship with his father Uther, and at Arthur’s own childlessness. Arthur and Beowulf are not only similar in their status as hero-kings, but also as sons of absent fathers, and as kings who die childless. It is interesting, then, that the texts treat these aspects of their characters in somewhat different ways: while both texts use similar indicators of the father-son relationship (e.g. heirlooms), the later text does not seem to problematize absent fatherhood or childlessness.

Uther as Absent Father

Arthur is conceived by Uther and Ygerne before they are married (though

Ygerne’s husband dies shortly before), but the two marry nearly right away, and thus

Arthur is born legitimately.432 Almost immediately following Arthur’s birth, the narrative returns to Uther and the remainder of his reign. Before this, however, there is a brief passage, not present in Layamon’s sources, describing the infant Arthur receiving attentions from fairies:

Sone swa he com an eorðe, aluen hine iuengen; heo bigolen þat child mid galdere swiðe stronge: heo 3euen him mihte to beon bezst alre cnihten; heo 3euen him anoðer þing, þat he scolde beon riche king;

432 Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, 18, 20. Uther learns of Gorlois’s death while still magically disguised as Gorlois at Tintagel, ll. 9560-9565. Uther, having returned to his camp and doffed his disguise, accepts the surrender of Gorlois’s surviving men and marries Ygerne, ll. 9589-9604. The conception of Arthur while Uther is disguised as Gorlois and the marriage of Uther and Ygerne quickly following Uther’s capture of Tintagel are consistent with Geoffrey and Wace (Geoffrey, The History of the Kings of Britain, 159; Wace, Wace’s Roman de Brut, 220). 224

heo 3ifen him þat þridde, þat he scolde longe libben; heo 3ifen him, þat kinebern, custen swiðe gode þat he wes mete-custi of alle quike monnen; þis þe alue him 3ef, and al swa þat child iþæh. (9608-9615)433

Layamon depicts fairies bestowing gifts to the infant Arthur that will contribute to his greatness in the future. What is not clear is whether anything more than gift-giving is meant by “aluen hine iuengen,” which Barron and Weinberg translate as “fairies took charge of him.” If taken to mean more than the giving of these gifts, this line could indicate anything from hidden fairies watching over Arthur in his youth to Arthur being raised by fairies. Let us set this matter aside for the moment, and consider it again later in the context of the next mention of Arthur.

Once the narrative returns its attention to Uther, it is only upon Uther’s death that

Arthur is mentioned again. In both Geoffrey and Wace, the British lords gather and agree to make Arthur king (apparently without Arthur being present), and then Arthur is consecrated as king. Neither of these two versions provides any details about where

Arthur has been during the past fifteen years (all three texts state his age as fifteen) or provide any reaction on Arthur’s part to the news.434 Layamon expands this section in two significant ways. The first is that, while Uther has been ruling Britain, Arthur is across the channel in Brittany:

433 Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, 20. Translations are Barron and Weinberg’s. “As soon as he came upon earth, fairies took charge of him; they enchanted the child with magic most potent: they gave him strength to be the best of all knights; they gave him another gift, that he should be a mighty king; they gave him a third, that he should live long; they gave him, that royal child, such good qualities that he was the most liberal of all living men; these gifts the fairies gave him, and the child thrived accordingly.” 434 Geoffrey, The History of the Kings of Britain, 163; Wace, Wace’s Roman de Brut, 226. 225

Þa com hit al togadere, þat hæhst wes on londe, eorles and beornes and boc-ilarede men; heo comen to Lundene to muchelere hustinge. Nomen heom to rade, þeines riche, þat heo wolden ouer sæ senden sonde into Bruttainne after bezst alre 3eo3eðe þa a þissere weorlden-riche a þan dæ3en weore, Ærður ihaten, bezst alre cnihten, and suggen þat he cumen sone to his kinedome; for dæd him wes Vðer alswa Aurilien wes ær, and Vðer Pendragune nefde nenne oðerne sune þat mihte, after his da3en, halden Bruttes to la3e, mid wurðscipe halden and þisne kinedom walden. (9893-9905)435

Uther himself, along with his brother Aurelius, spent his youth in Brittany, and presumably this is why Layamon positions Arthur here. However, Uther’s time in

Brittany was an exile, as Vortigern had seized power in Britain, and Aurelius and Uther, sons of the displaced royal line of Constantine, were vulnerable in Britain.436 Arthur, on the other hand, would not be in danger in Britain, where his own father is king. The passage does not make clear what Arthur is doing in Brittany or how long he has been there, whether he has been raised there since birth, or fostered there since childhood, or whether he is there as part of a briefer stay. What the text does make clear is that Uther

435 Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, 34. “Then all came together, those who were the highest in the land, nobles and warriors and learned men; they came to London to a great council. The noble thanes agreed upon a plan, that they would send messengers overseas to Brittany to search out the finest young man who was in this mortal world in those days, the best of all warriors, Arthur by name, and to say that he should come at once to his kingdom; for Uther was dead like Aurelius before him, and Uther Pendragon had no other son who could, after his days, subject the British to law, rule them with honour and govern his kingdom.” 436 Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, 1. 226 has been in Britain, fighting Saxons, and a fifteen-year-old Arthur is across the channel.437

The other significant change that Layamon makes is adding a scene in which news of Uther’s death and Arthur’s kingship is told to Arthur, and in which Arthur reacts to this news:

Hail seo þu, Arður, aðelest cnihten; Vðer þe græten þa he sculde iwiten, and bæd þat þu sculdest a Brutten þe seoluen halden la3en rihte, and hælpen þine folke, and witen þisne kinedom swa god king sculden don, þine feond flæmen and driuen heom of londen. And he bad þe to fultume þene milde Godes sune þat þu mostes wel don, and þat lond of Godde afon; for dæd is Vðer Pendragun and þu ært Ærður his sune, and dæd is þe oðer, Aurilien his broðer. (9913-9922)438

The end of this passage makes it unclear whether Arthur was previously aware of his parentage. It could be read as simply stating the conditions under which the succession has fallen to Arthur: Uther is dead, Arthur is his (only) son, and Uther’s brother Aurelius is already dead, and therefore Arthur is the only heir. Neither text nor context make this reading clear, and particularly combined with Arthur’s presence in Brittany and the lack

437 Interestingly, Layamon makes a point of saying that, in spite of his youth, Arthur is “swiðe iðo3e” (9931), which Barron and Weinberg translate as “fully mature” (Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, 36). Geoffrey and Wace mention Arthur’s strength and prowess, which Layamon also has, but do not make comparable claims about Arthur’s maturity (Geoffrey, The History of the Kings of Britain, 163; Wace, Wace’s Roman de Brut, 226). 438 Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, 36. “Health to you, Arthur, noblest of knights; Uther sent you greetings when he was dying, and commanded that you yourself should maintain just laws in Britain, and help your people, and protect this kingdom as a good king should, put your enemies to flight and drive them from the land. And he prayed the gracious son of God to help that you might do well, and receive the land from God; for Uther Pendragon is dead and the other brother, Aurelius, is dead too; and you, Arthur, are Uther’s son.” 227 of any mention of Ygerne, the text is open to the possibility that Arthur is hearing about his father’s identity for the first time. It is not clear why this would be the case, although the possibility of Arthur’s having been raised by fairies was raised by an earlier passage.

Before moving forward, let us consider what we know and what we may reasonably surmise about Arthur’s early life and relationship with Uther based on these passages. We know that Arthur is Uther’s only son and is legitimate, and that news of

Uther’s death and Arthur’s succession must be brought to him in Brittany, and that he is fifteen, but mature for his age, when this happens. The most extreme interpretations we can apply are, on the one hand, that Arthur is whisked away by fairies as a child and has never known that Uther is his father (although the lords of Britain all know about Arthur and where to find him), and on the other hand that Arthur may know his father well, simply receives gifts from fairies as an infant, and happens to be in Brittany, where is father grew up, when Uther dies. There are a variety of possible readings in between these extremes. For the arguments to follow, I will be working based on a middle-ground reading of these passages. I will take it that, since the lords of Britain know of Arthur and his location, that it is likely (though not certain) that Arthur knows who his father is.

I will also take it that, since he is known to be in Brittany, the same place where his father grew up, he was likely (though not certainly) raised or fostered there, while his father was busy protecting Britain from the Saxons. While there is no “truth” to be gotten at under the details of the text, I take Arthur’s explicit presence in Brittany, a detail added by

Layamon and not in his sources, as a suggestion that Arthur’s youth has largely been separate from his father’s presence. Whether or not Arthur knows that Uther is his father,

228

I read these passages as suggesting that Arthur does not know his father well. These passages present Uther and Arthur’s relationship in ways that may seem familiar in the context of Ecgþeow and Beowulf’s relationship as discussed in chapter three: the fathers seem to have spent limited time with their sons, who are (certainly in Beowulf’s case and possibly in Arthur’s) fostered away from their fathers’ homes, and both fathers are dead by the time of their sons’ major exploits. If we take Arthur and Beowulf to have similar backgrounds with respect to their fathers, we can then look to the Brut to see how it characterizes this kind of father-son relationship, whether, like Beowulf, it is critical of such a relationship or not, and whether it fixates on similar or different points of paternal obligation that the father is expected to meet.

With that context in mind, let us examine several ways in which Arthur and

Uther’s relationship is expressed or commented upon in the text following Uther’s death, starting with Arthur’s reaction to the news of Uther’s death and his own succession:

Þus heo gunnen tellen and Arður sæt ful stille; ænne stunde he wes blac and on heuwe swiðe wak, ane while he wes reod and reousede on heorte. Þa hit alles up brac hit wes god þat he spac; þus him sæide þerriht Arður, þe aðele cniht: “Lauerd Crist, Godes sune, beon us nu a fultume, þat ich mote on life Goddes la3en halden.” (9923-9929)439

While listening, Arthur reacts both emotionally and physically, explicitly moved with grief for his father (although the description of paleness followed by redness would be

439 Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, 36. “Thus they spoke and Arthur sat quite still; one moment he was pale and quite lacking in colour, next instant he was red, with heartfelt grief. When it all burst out, what he said was fitting; Arthur, the noble knight, at once spoke thus: “Lord Christ, son of God, be a help to us now, that I may uphold God’s laws throughout my life.” 229 appropriate for a combination of shock and grief, as well). His verbal response, which the narration deems god (“good” or, following Barron and Weinberg, “fitting”) focuses not on his father’s death, but on his own succession, praying that he will be a just king. It is unclear why his verbal response is god: is it appropriate because it is pious, or because it is kingly, or because it shows an appropriate masculine restraint in the face of tumultuous internal emotion, or some combination of these? Karen Cherewatuk takes this passage to indicate that Arthur is showing restraint in setting aside his deep grief to rise to the occasion and behave in a kingly way.440 Arthur’s behavior, which includes feeling grief, restraining grief, accepting the obligation of kingship, and praying to be a just and righteous king, is characterized overall as appropriate.

Arthur speaks directly about Uther three times. The first occurs in a speech to his men as they prepare to advance on Childric and his forces in Lincoln:

Whar beo 3e, mine cnihtes, mine hære-kemppen? Iseo 3e þa teldes þer Childrich lið I ueldes, Colgrim and Baldulf, mid baldere strengðe, þat Alemainisce uolc þat us hæfeð ihærmed and þat Sæxisce uolc þat sor3en us bihateð, þat alle habbeoð aqualde þa hæhste of mine cunne, Constanz and Constantin and Vðer þe wes fader min, and Auriliæn Ambrosie, mines fader broðer, and moni þusend monnen of aðele mine cunne? Uten we heom to liðe and to grunde leggen, and wreken wruðliche ure cun and heore riche. And alle somed, forðriht, nu ride æueralc god cniht! (10287-10298)441

440 Cherewatuk, “Dying in Uncle Arthur’s Arms,” 62. 441 Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, 55. “Where are you, my knights, my battle-warriors? Do you see those tents on the plain where lie Childric, Colgrim and Baldolf with a mighty power, that German army which has inflicted harm on us and that Saxon force which bodes us ill, which has killed all the noblest of my race, Constans and Constantin and Uther who was my father, and Aurelius Ambrosius, my father’s brother, and many thousand men of my noble lineage? Let us charge them and strike them down, and 230

Here Arthur mentions Uther along with other deceased members of his paternal kin- group, the line of Constantine, as a motivational reminder to his men of the damage that the Saxons have done in Britain. Arthur not only invokes his own identity as part of this patrilineal dynasty, but also suggests that, as the royal dynasty, the line of Constantine is part of the identity of the Britons, and should be avenged. This mention of Arthur’s paternal kin-group is interesting in the context of comparing the treatment of Arthur with that of Beowulf, whose paternal kin-group is never explicitly identified, and who only mentions the identity of his own father once, to the Danish coast guard.

The second time Arthur speaks directly about Uther is in his response to the brothers Lot, Angel, and Urien, whose lands have been taken from them, and who seek

Arthur’s aid. Arthur promises to return each brother’s land (Lothian, Scotland, and

Moray, respectively), but grants Lot, who is married to Arthur’s sister Anna, additional lands, because of the love Uther had for Anna, and because of the love that Arthur himself has for Lot and Anna’s sons:

And þu, Lot, mi leofe freond, Godd þe wurðe liðe; þu hauest mine suster to wiue --þæ bet þe scal iwurðe. Ich þe 3ifue Loenæis þat is a lond faier. And ich wulle leggen þerto londes swiðe gode biside þere Humbre wurð an hundred punden. For mi fader, Vðer, þe while þe he wes king here, lufede wel his dohter, þe wes his bæd-iþohte. And heo is mi suster and haueð sunen tweien; þeo me beoð on londe children alre leofest. (11073-11081)442 worthily avenge our kinsmen and their realm. And now, at once, let all ride forward together, every brave warrior!” No such speech occurs in either Geoffrey or Wace. 442 Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, 94. “And you, Lot, my dear friend, may God be gracious to you; you have my sister as your wife—the better shall it be for you. Upon you I bestow Lothian which is a very beautiful region. And I will add to it very good 231

The text offers no explanation for how Arthur knows about Uther’s particular affection for Anna or his practice of praying for her (indeed, the text gives no indication of how much of their lives Arthur and Anna have spent together and how close or not they might be). It seems unlikely that he should have access to this kind of information about

Uther’s thoughts and feelings, but his words are appropriate to the occasion, and Arthur says what is appropriate. Mentioning Gawain and Modred, who are children at this time, makes more sense. As Stephen Glosecki has written, the nephew is the embodiment of the good relations between the “wife-givers” (whose primary representative is the mother’s brother) and the “wife-takers” (whose primary representative is the father, the mother’s husband); continued good relationships between the two social groups hinge on the good relationship between maternal uncle and nephew in this system.443 Thought of from the perspective that Glosecki offers, Arthur’s mentioning of his affection for his nephews is entirely on point on the occasion of a gift of lands to their father, as Arthur should be actively invested in fostering the good will between his family and the family

lands bordering the Humber, worth a hundred pounds. For my father, Uther, while he was king here, loved well his daughter, who was the object of his prayers. And she is my sister and has two sons who are to me the dearest children in the world.” The return of lands to Lot and his brothers occurs in Geoffrey and Wace, but Layamon has expanded on it. Arthur’s speech and the mention of Uther are unique to Layamon. Geoffrey mentions Lot receiving lands in addition to Lothian, but says that those lands had also previously belonged to Lot; his marriage to Anna and children with her are mentioned but there is no suggestion of special favor (Geoffrey, The History of the Kings of Britain, 170). Wace mentions that Lot receives other lands in addition to Lothian, but gives no reason for the additional lands; again, the marriage to Anna is mentioned, and Gawain— but not Modred—is mentioned, and the text is open to the reader making a connection between the family connection and the additional lands, but the text does not make such a connection overtly, as in Layamon (Wace, Wace’s Roman de Brut, 242). 443 Glosecki, “The Kin Bonds of Camelot,” 140-145. 232 of his nephews’ father. The mention of Uther makes less sense from this perspective, since Uther is dead and has no further impact on the relationship between the kin-groups.

Uther’s love for Anna is relevant to the matter at hand, but does not supply anything that is missing. Whereas Beowulf almost never spoke of Ecgþeow, even when it was most appropriate to do so, Arthur speaks of Uther on an occasion when to do so is, while not inappropriate, at least superfluous.

The third time Arthur mentions Uther is in his injunction to Constantin to succeed him and serve as a just king of the Britons. Arthur charges Constantin that he “hald heom alle þa la3en þa habbeoð istonden a mine da3en / and alle þa la3en gode þa bi Vðeres da3en stode” (14275-14276).444 Here, as in Arthur’s first mention of Uther, the dead king is mentioned in a dynastic context. Arthur is charging Constantin both to be a just king who upholds laws, and to maintain legal dynastic continuity with previous rulers of the same line. It is ambiguous whether the descriptor “good” with reference to Uther’s laws is meant to characterize all of Uther’s laws as good, or rather to indicate that only a selection of Uther’s laws, the ones that are good, should be upheld (if taken this way, this speech could suggest that Arthur himself upheld only a selection of Uther’s laws).

Uther’s role here with respect to Arthur is familial and patrilineal (but given Constantin’s fuction in the same context, perhaps not so specific as to be paternal). It should be noted,

444 Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, 254. “maintain for them all the laws that have been in force in my day, and all the good laws which existed in Uther’s time.” Both Geoffrey and Wace write that Arthur names Constantin his successor, but neither include such a speech or any mention of Uther (Geoffrey, The History of the Kings of Britain, 199; Wace, Wace’s Roman de Brut, 334). The charge to uphold the laws of previous kings may be influenced by the practice, common in Anglo-Saxon England, of maintaining and building on previous legal codes. 233 though, that Uther’s role with respect to Arthur is also regnal—that is, Uther in this passage is invoked primarily as the man who was king before Arthur (and perhaps as the man who was once Arthur’s king) as much as or more than the man who was Arthur’s father.

Whereas Beowulf had no heirlooms from Ecgþeow, Arthur has two heirlooms from Uther, mentioned at two separate points in the narrative. The first is named in an arming scene prior to one of Arthur’s earliest significant conflicts, the battle against

Childric in Bath:

Halm he set on hafde hæh of stele þeron wes moni 3imston, al mid golde bigon; he wes Vðeres þas aðelen kings; he wes ihaten Goswhit --ælchen oðere unlic! (10549-10552)445

The, gold, jewel-encrusted helmet Goswhit belonged to Uther, we are told. As with the knowledge of Uther’s affection for Anna, there is no hint of how it came to Arthur. The second heirloom is mentioned before Arthur’s last conflict prior to the Roman campaign, when he fights Frolle in single combat after Frolle challenges him in order to end the siege of Paris:

445 Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, 68. “Upon his head he placed a high helmet of steel on which were many jewels, all set in gold, and which had belonged to the noble King Uther; it was called Goswhit—there was no other like it!” A parallel arming scene does take place in both Geoffrey and Wace. Geoffrey mentions an unnamed golden helmet with a carved dragon crest, but does not say anything about it having belonged to Uther (Geoffrey, The History of the Kings of Britain, 166). Wace mentions an unnamed partly- gold helmet with a painted dragon image and does say that it had belonged to Uther (Wace, Wace’s Roman de Brut, 234). Layamon curiously drops the dragon motif, which is associated with Uther, and adds the name Goswhit, but chooses to maintain the tradition of the helmet having belonged to Uther. Arthur Brown has noted that the name Goswhit seems to be a nod to the Welsh tradition in which Arthur’s named belongings all have “white” in the name, presumably because whiteness/brightness is associated with the Otherworld (Brown, “Welsh Traditions,” 7-8). 234

Me salde him an honde enne scaft stronge; þer wes a þan ænde a spære swiðe hende; hit wes imaked i Kairmeðin bi a smið þe hehte Griffin; hit ahte Vðer, þe wes ær king her. (11867-11870)446

Here again Arthur carries an heirloom of Uther’s, this time a spearhead (apparently mounted on a newer shaft). Again, there is no indication of how Arthur came to have the heirloom. It is interesting to note that, while the helmet as heirloom was inherited from

Wace, Layamon decided to expand on this idea and include another heirloom elsewhere in the text.

Arthur is referred to as Uther’s son twice in narration, both in the context of battle. The first of these occurs at the start of the battle with Childric in Lincoln, shortly after the passage quoted above in which Arthur gives a speech to his men reminding them of how the Saxons have killed many of his kin, including Uther:

Arður gon to riden, þa ferde gon gliden swulc al þa eorðe wolde forbærnen, and smiten i þa ueldes imong Childriches teldes. Þæt wes þæ æreste mon þe þer cleopien agon, Arður, þe he3e gume, þe wes Vðeres sune, kenliche and lude, swa bicumeð kinge: “Nu fulste us Marie, Goddes milde moder, and ich ibidde hire sune þat he us beon a fultume.” (10299-10306)447

446 Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, 134. “A stout lance was handed to him; at the tip was a finely made spearhead forged in Carmarthen by a smith called Griffin; it had belonged to Uther, who was king here once.” There is no parallel arming scene in either Geoffrey or Wace. 447 Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, 54. “Arthur rode forward, the army charged as if the whole earth were scorched with fire, and fell upon Childric’s tents in the plain. Arthur, the great leader, Uther’s son, was the first who called out there boldly and loudly, as befits a king: ‘Now may Mary, merciful mother of God, help us, and I pray to her son that He be of aid to us.’” There is no parallel passage in Geoffrey or Wace. 235

The second such passage is similar, and occurs after the passage quoted above in which

Arthur arms himself for single combat with Frolle in Paris. Here Arthur, along with his men, rides for the location where the single combat will be held:

Þa þe iwepned wes þe rah3e, þa gon he to uarene; he mihte þa bihalde þe þer bihalfues weore þene king richne rehliche riden. Seoððen þis weorlde wes astald nes hit nowhar itald þat æuere aim on swa hende wunden uppen horse swa him wes Arður, sune Vðeres. (11871-11876)448

In both passages, Arthur is being portrayed as excellent and capable. The battles that follow are not tense struggles in which he must almost lose before winning; from start to finish, Arthur has the upper hand, and his path toward victory is inexorable. Given that the poem does not contain significant instances of this kind of patronymic referent, it is difficult to establish a pattern with confidence, but it is interesting that Layamon refers to

Arthur as Uther’s son twice in the same context—a context that celebrates Arthur’s exceptional qualities and anticipates his triumph. While it is unlikely that Layamon is imitating patronymic usage in Beowulf at all, it is curious to see similar patterns in the way that heroes are described in the context of battle. Of course, in the case of Beowulf, his moments of strength and heroic exceptionality are marked by reference to his uncle

Hygelac, whereas he is referred to by his patronymic in moments of weakness, failure, and mortality.

448 Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, 134. “When the bold man was armed, he went forth; then he who chanced to be present there would have seen the noble king ride boldly forth. Never since this world began has it anywhere been recorded that any man so magnificent as Arthur, the son of Uther, ever rode upon horseback.” There is no parallel passage in Geoffrey or Wace. 236

Layamon’s Brut also contains one instance of a character referring to Arthur as

Uther’s son. The character who does so is the Saxon Childric. After the Saxons retreat into the forest of Calidon and are surrounded by Arthur and his men, Colgrim encourages

Childric to sue for peace with Arthur, and Childric replies favorably:

3if hit wulle Baldulf, þe is þin a3e broðer, and ma of ure iferen þe mid us sunden here, þat we bidden Arðures grið and sahtnesse him wurchen wið, after æuwer wille don ich hit wulle. For Arður is swiðe hæh mon ihalden on leoden, leof alle his monnen, and of kinewurðe cunne al of kingen icume --he wes Vðeres sune. And oft hit limpeð, a ueole cunne ðeoden, þer gode cnihtes cumeð to sturne fihte, þat heo ærest bi3iteð after heo hit leoseð; and al swa us to3ere is ilumpen here, and æft us bet ilimpeð 3if we moten liuien. (10357-10368)449

Childric explains his willingness to make peace because of Arthur’s reputation as a good king, because of Arthur’s noble lineage, and because peace in the short term may allow the Saxons to regroup and fight again later (which they do, leading to the battle of Bath, which Arthur also wins). The comments about Arthur’s reputation and lineage suggest that Childric respects Arthur in such a way that making peace with him would not be shameful or otherwise undesirable (although it is unclear whether making a peace that

Childric would intend to keep in the long term would be similarly acceptable; Arthur’s

449 Layamon, Layamon’s Artur, 58. “If Baldolf, who is your blood-brother, wishes it, and others of our company who are here with us, that we seek peace with Arthur and seal a truce with him, I will do so in accordance with your wishes. For Arthur is widely held to be a very noble man, dear to all his people, and of a royal race all descended from kings—he was Uther’s son. And if often happens, in many different lands, where brave warriors engage in fierce battle, that at first they gain victory and afterwards they lose it; just so it has befallen us here on this occasion, and we may fare better afterwards if we can survive.” There is no parallel passage in Geoffrey or Wace. 237 battles against the Saxons do not end for good until Childric, Baldolf, and Colgrim are all dead). It is interesting that the aspects of Arthur’s character that Childric fixates on are his ability to inspire loyalty in his men and the fact that he descends from a royal line. He might also or instead have mentioned Arthur’s skills as a warrior and tactician, the qualities that have presumably had the most impact on the Saxons in the battles leading up to this discussion (though the loyalty of Arthur’s men contributes to their performance, as well). It is unclear whether the mention of Uther simply serves to identify Arthur’s royal lineage, or whether Childric is expressing respect for Uther (who also successfully fought Saxons) as contributing to his respect for Arthur in addition to the fact of Arthur’s noble lineage, but it is clear that some of Chilric’s respect for Arthur comes from Arthur’s father and/or Arthur’s paternal heritage in addition to Arthur’s own qualities as an individual king. As with the patronymics in narration, Arthur’s identity as the son of Uther is here connected to Arthur’s excellence and dominance.

Uther seems to be absent from Arthur’s life in a similar way to that in which

Ecgþeow is absent from Beowulf’s: Uther rules and protects England while Arthur spends some significant part of his youth in Brittany, and Uther dies when Arthur is fifteen, apparently right when he is mature enough to take on the roles that Uther leaves to him. Whereas this kind of absence is problematized in Beowulf, where the character of

Beowulf fails to receive paternal kin ties and paternal heirlooms, where Beowulf himself avoids discussing his father when it would be most appropriate to mention him, and where Beowulf’s identity as Ecgþeow’s son seems to be associated with mortality and weakness, Arthur’s relationship with his father goes unproblematized. Arthur does have

238 heirlooms from Uther and is connected to his paternal kin (by his own words and the words of one of his greatest enemies). Arthur mentions his father even when to do so is superfluous, and is referred to as Uther’s son in contexts that highlight Arthur’s strengths, and in particular, his military dominance.

Interestingly, many of the signs by which Ecgþeow’s absence was indicated in

Beowulf still seem to be relevant markers of father-son relationships in Layamon’s Brut.

The key difference is that Layamon does nothing to suggest that Uther should have been more present in Arthur’s life. In considering why this might be, it may be helpful to consider Gary Lim’s discussion of dead fathers in the romances Havelock the Dane,

Bevis of Hampton, and King Horn.450 Lim focuses on these romances because, instead of featuring the typical arc of the hero’s separation from his family and reunion with them at the story’s end, these romances involve heroes whose fathers die at the beginning of the narrative, leaving the young heroes dispossessed. The plot of each romance follows the hero on his journey to reclaim his inheritance and take on his father’s role.451

Lim reads these romances as expressing cultural anxiety concerning succession and primogeniture by removing the father before an antagonistic relationship can develop between father and son, making the father’s presence in the poem static and idealized while providing father figures as a source for conflict.452 Rachel Moss maintains a

450 All three are English romances adapted from Anglo-Norman originals. 451 Lim, “In the Name of the (Dead) Father,” 23-24. 452 Lim, “In the Name of the (Dead) Father,” 33, 35. Lim does acknowledge that father figures are not the only villains in these texts (e.g. the primary villains in King Horn are the Saracens who kill Horn’s father and take his land, but Horn is also presented with two father figures whose desires and interests conflict with his own in King Aylmar and King Thurston) and that Havelock’s foster-father Grim is portrayed positively. 239 similar reading of father-son relationships in romances (including romances where the father does not die), noting that, in reality,

fathers cannot be relied upon to die conveniently as soon as their sons have proved themselves to be men, and it is then difficult for these men to coexist. The son, after all, has been designed as his father’s successor; his destiny is to replace his father.453

Both Moss and Lim suggest that the system of primogeniture heightens father-son conflict, since an eldest son’s role is to succeed his father, and thus he may spend a significant period of his adulthood waiting for his father to die in order to take on his predetermined role. That the son’s purpose is to replace the father is often reinforced by the similarity between father and son, which similarity is most notable in the case of

Havelock, whose physical resemblance to his father plays a key role in recruiting support against his father’s usurper.454

W.M. Aird has discussed similar tension in the historical context of William the

Conqueror’s tense relationship with his eldest son Robert Curthose, noting that Robert could not be considered fully adult without his own independent household and military retinue.455 Aird also notes that William married in his early twenties and was then reluctant to arrange early marriages for his own sons, and draws from this the idea that

“[t]he heads of medieval noble families had to tread a fine line between ensuring the continuation of the dynasty by marrying early and siring sons or delaying marriage so that the sons would mature just as the father was beginning to decline in years.”456 Lim’s

453 Moss, Fatherhood and Its Representations, 108-109. 454 Lim, “In the Name of the (Dead) Father,” 27-28. 455 Aird, “Frustrated Masculinity,” 47. 456 Aird, “Frustrated Masculinity,” 46-47. 240 article notes another similar historical instance of tension between father Henry III and son Edward I.457 Anxiety concerning the potential rivalry between father and son, then, was not limited to literature, but rooted in culture. We do not have records concerning the relationships between all noble fathers and their grown sons in Norman England, making statistical analysis impossible, but it seems unlikely that such cases were entirely exceptional.

It is possible, then, that Layamon’s portrayal of Arthur and Uther’s relationship is influenced by the same cultural anxieties that Lim and Moss identify in these romances and that Aird identifies in his historical case. Indeed, elements that Layamon receives from his sources, such as Arthur’s age at Uther’s death, could also be influenced by the role of primogeniture in the culture of Norman England, which was home to Geoffrey and Wace as well as Layamon. Uther’s death in Arthur’s adolescence is well-timed for

Arthur to have a long and successful career before his tragic end. Uther is a good king and war-leader, traits that keep him in England while Arthur is in Brittany, but also traits that his son inherits. In this cultural context, it may be more important for a heroic son to have a father who serves as a worthy prototype (who may be both emulated and surpassed), than to have a father who is present and can have a relationship with his son.

457 Lim, “In the Name of the (Dead) Father,” 42-43. 241

Arthur’s Childlessness

Like Beowulf, Layamon’s Arthur ends his reign458 having fathered no children.

Whereas Beowulf’s marital status is never specified, Arthur is married to Guenevere in the Brut, as in Geoffrey and Wace’s versions. The text does not give any specific reason why their marriage produces no children, but after Arthur has passed and Modred is dead,

Modred’s sons become antagonists, and though no mother is identified, they may be

Modred’s sons by Guenevere.459 This suggests the possibility of infertility on Arthur’s part, but it is never explored directly or indirectly in the text, and the primary evidence that suggests it (that Modred has sons who we may guess to be Guenevere’s) is not brought up until after Arthur has passed. It is particularly notable that these sons are not mentioned in Layamon, Wace, or Geoffrey in the passage in which Arthur learns of

Modred’s betrayal and taking up with Guenevere: if they are her children, it would make great sense to mention them here (and would be very much in line with Layamon’s habit of inserting emotional speeches), and thus their absence may suggest that none of the authors wished to suggest that Guenevere could be the mother of Modred’s sons, or that, whether or not they imagined her as the mother, they did not wish to suggest that Arthur might be infertile.

458 Arthur is alive but grievously wounded when the fairy queen Argante and another woman take him away in a boat to Avalon, where Arthur expects to be healed so that he may afterward return to Britain. (Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, 254.) 459 Layamon, Layamon’s Brut or Chronicle of Britain, 3: 146. Modred’s sons are introduced after the passing of Arthur, and thus are not included in Layamon’s Arthur, Barron and Weinberg’s edition of the Arthurian portion of the text. Modred’s sons are mentioned by Geoffrey and Wace, and in both texts they are not mentioned until after Arthur’s passing (Geoffrey, The History of the Kings of Britain, 200; Wace, Wace’s Roman de Brut, 334. 242

Because of the historical context of the narrative, the Saxons must eventually come to power, but Arthur is not the last of the British kings in Layamon, Wace, or

Geoffrey. Two of Geoffrey’s known sources are somewhat ambiguous: neither pseudo-

Nennius’s Historia Brittonum nor the Annales Cambriae give full lists of monarchs (the former lists Arthur’s twelve battles, the latter notes his death). A more complete source,

Gildas’s De Excidio et Conquestu Brittaniae indicates that its Arthur figure, called

Ambrosius Aurelianus, is not the last British leader, and that after Ambrosius’s death the

British gradually become less and less able to fend off the Saxons.460

Layamon’s Arthur chooses his young kinsman Constantin, son of Cador, Earl of

Cornwall, to succeed him (Gawain and Modred are, of course, already dead). It is not clear how Arthur is related to Constantin: Cador’s position as Earl of Cornwall, a station that previously belonged to Ygerne’s first husband Gorlois, may suggest a relationship on

Arthur’s maternal side (though either Cador must be Ygerne and Gorlois’s son or Ygerne and Gorlois must be cousins for this to hold water). On the other hand, Cador is mentioned as siding with Uther against Gorlois,461 which might suggest (though does not necessitate) that he is Arthur’s paternal kinsman. Of course, it is also possible for

Constantin and Arthur to be kinsmen without Cador being related to Arthur at all, if it is

Constantin’s mother who is related to Arthur. The poem gives very little information to work with, but Constantin’s apparent eligibility to succeed Arthur and his very name,

460 Ed. Morris, Nennius: British History and the Welsh Annals, 35, 45; Ed. Winterbottom, Gildas: The Ruin of Britain and Other Works, 28. It is worth noting that Gildas does mention Ambrosius having descendants. 461 Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, 16. 243

Constantin, suggests that he, like Arthur and Uther, is of the royal line of Constantine, and thus that he is Arthur’s paternal kinsman.

It should be noted that although Layamon’s Arthur never begets children of his own, he fosters seven young men. Many of the kings that Arthur conquers are required to give sons to Arthur for fostering: Gillomar of Ireland gives Arthur his three sons to foster

(11166), Ælcus of Iceland gives his son Escol (11224-11225), Doldanim of Jutland gives both of his sons (11275), and Rumareth of Winetland gives his eldest son (11297).462

There is no indication of what role, if any, Arthur takes in the fostering of these young men, and they receive little attention in the text. They are mentioned in the catalogue of casualties in Arthur’s last battle on the river Tamar:

Þer wes Modred ofsla3e and idon of lif-da3e, and alle his cnihtes isla3e in þan fihte. Þer weoren ofsla3e alle þa snelle Arðures hered-men, he3e and lowe, and þa Bruttes alle of Arðures borde, and alle his fosterlinges of feole kineriches, and Arður forwunded mid wal-spere brade; fiftene he hafde feondliche wunden— mon mihte i þare laste twa glouen iþraste! Þa nas þer namare i þan fehte to laue of twa hundred þusend monnen þa þer leien tohauwen, buten Arður þe king ane and of his cnihtes tweien.463

462 Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, 98, 100, 104. In addition to the kings’ sons, Arthur also takes hundreds of knights as hostages. The conquering of these lands is treated much more briefly by both Geoffrey and Wace. Geoffrey mentions tribute, and Wace mentions tribute and hostages, but neither of them mentions kings’ sons to be fostered by Arthur (Geoffrey, The History of the Kings of Britain, 171; Wace, Wace’s Roman de Brut, 242- 244.) 463 Layamon, Layamon’s Arthur, 252. “There Modred was cut down and deprived of life, and all his followers killed in the battle. There were slain all Arthur’s valiant retainers, both high and low, and all the Britons of Arthur’s Round Table, and all his foster-sons from many kingdoms, and Arthur himself was sorely wounded by a broad and deadly spear; he had fifteen terrible wounds—in the least of them one could have thrust two 244

These foster-sons do not serve a clear narrative purpose. They may briefly remind the reader that Arthur has no sons of his own, but their presence is not exploited for this purpose as much as it could be. Likely they are part of Layamon’s embellishment of

Arthur’s dominance over the foreign kings whom he conquers. Just as Wace embellishes

Geoffrey’s narrative by adding hostages to tribute, Layamon embellishes Wace’s narrative by adding the kings’ sons. Arthur asserts his dominance over these men by taking away their sons and fathering them himself.

Although Arthur and Beowulf have similar ends with respect to their childlessness, Arthur’s end is less problematized. His people will carry on under several more kings before the Saxons final gain control of Britain, which prevents him from shouldering the guilt that may be imputed to Beowulf, who saved his people from one threat only to leave them vulnerable to another. While Beowulf’s kingship is one of gradual decline (by the time the dragon becomes a threat, the only men available to accompany him are unproven youths, since the experienced men have died in battles with other tribes), Arthur’s is primarily one of triumph and expansion. His failure lies in trusting the wrong nephew to hold the fort in his absence, and Modred as villain serves as a person external to the hero on whom blame can be placed. A son of Arthur’s own, who might have been able to serve in Modred’s stead peacefully and prevented the internecine conflict without disrupting the historically necessary and ongoing external conflict with gloves! Then in the host, of the two hundred thousand men who lay there cut to pieces, there remained alive only Arthur and two of his knights.” Since there are no foster-sons in Geoffrey or Wace, no such men are mentioned in the lists of casualties from either, although Geoffrey does mention some foreign kings (Geoffrey, The History of the Kings of Britain, 199; Wace, Wace’s Roman de Brut, 332. 245 the Saxons, is not present in Layamon’s source and would sacrifice the focus on internecine struggle present in the narrative as far back as Geoffrey’s telling. It is well within Layamon’s grasp, however, to add details to call attention to Arthur’s childlessness in a critical way. The presence of foster-sons, added by Layamon, may briefly remind us that Arthur has no children of his own, but Layamon takes it no further.

The presence of Modred’s sons may also briefly draw attention to Arthur’s childlessness, but the potential for this effect is heavily downplayed by avoiding identifying Guenevere as mother, by avoiding mention of the sons in the scene in which Arthur is told of

Modred’s betrayal, and indeed, by the absence of any mention of these sons during

Arthur’s reign. Moreover, the fact that Arthur’s successor is a kinsman named after one of their royal predecessors gives an impression of continuity rather than a dynastic break, and his reign is described positively.464 Arthur does not provide an heir of his body, but the heir he has is good enough. That Arthur does not have children is simply not presented as a problem in the text.

464 Layamon, Layamon’s Brut or Chronicle of Britain, 3: 150-151. Interestingly, Geoffrey and Wace are both critical of Constantin. Geoffrey notes that Constantin kills both of Modred’s sons in front of altars after the first claimed sanctuary in the church of St. Amphibalus in Winchester and the second hid in a monastery. Geoffrey makes no comment on the other aspects of Constantin’s reign, which lasts four years after the killing of Modred’s sons, but says that “Constantine was himself cut down by the judgment of God” (Geoffrey, The History of the Kings of Britain, 200). Wace notes the same events with a similar tone of condemnation (Wace, Wace’s Roman de Brut, 334). Layamon does include the settings for the killings of Modred’s sons, but adds no condemning commentary, and instead focuses on describing the years of Constantin’s reign following these deaths as one of peace and bliss, and says that it ended too soon. Constantin’s death is attributed not to divine justice, but simply to his enemies. 246

Conclusions

More work on this matter is desirable, but fatherhood does seem to undergo some change in the wake of the Norman Conquest, least as far as can be seen from the limited sources explored here. Strict patrilineal primogeniture places certain constraints on fathers and sons, emphasizing the importance of similarity between father and son, while at the same time creating tension by predetermining that the eldest son must grow up to replace his father. The role of father continues to resonate with the similarly dominant male roles of lord and king, and also with the role of instructor, all of which may be imagined as benevolent, and all of which may be imagined as violent.

While there are similarities in how father-son relationships are made manifest in literature across the Old and Middle English periods, including heirlooms, kin ties, and the identification of the son with the father’s name, these elements are not necessarily used in the same way, and there are differences in the ways in which father-son relationships may be valued or seen as problematic.

247

Appendix A: Families and Feud in Beowulf

Figure 1. Hreðlings (Geats). Numbers denote order of succession. Daughters’ relative ages are unknown.

Figure 2. Scylfings (Swedes). Numbers denote order of succession. * denotes information missing from the poem, supplied by Scandinavian analogues. Dotted line denotes my theory that Ecgþeow may be Ongenþeow's younger brother, not explicit in the poem.

248

Figure 3. Scyldings (Danes). Numbers denote order of succession. Daughter's relative age is unknown. * denotes information missing from the poem, supplied by Scandinavian analogues.

Kings (Geat, Notable Deaths Line Event Swede) (and Killers) Numbers Ohthere and Onela lead Swedes Hæþcyn, against Geats at Hreosna Beorh Ongenþeow - 2472-2478 Hæþcyn kidnaps Ongenþeow's wife, Ongenþeow besieges Hæþcyn at Hrefna Wudu, Hygelac arrives with reinforcements and wins, though Hæþcyn, Hæþcyn Ongenþeow gets away with his wife Ongenþeow (Ongentheow) 2922-2945 Hygelac, Ongenþeow Hygelac leads Geats against Swedes Ongenþeow (Eofor and Wulf) 2946-2998 Onela takes power, Eadgils and Eanmund seek refuge with Geats Eanmund under Heardred, Onela leads Swedes Heardred, (Wihstan), 2379b-2390, against Geats Onela Heardred 2612b-2619 Beowulf supports Eadgils against Beowulf, Onela Onela Onela 2391-2395a Wihstan lives among the Geats (presumably fleeing the wrath of Beowulf, Eadgils) Eadgils - 2623-2625a Table 1. Interactions between Geats and Swedes. 249

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