Elegies ask, Ubi sunt?  (Where are they?) as they contemplate the edifices, people, treasures, and civilizations that once were.  The Beowulf-poet also asks Where will they be?  The most stunning example of this is the poet’s description of the magnificent necklace that Wealhtheow gifted Beowulf that we have seen. There are many more examples.

The final third of Beowulf is the most deeply elegiac and the most narratively complex, full of flash-forwards and flashbacks, of events told multiple times from somewhat different vantages, of memories relayed in the stream-of-consciousness mode we associate with Modernist authors such as James Joyce or Virginia Woolf.

The main plot is simple.  Beowulf’s lord, Hygelac, dies in an ill-judged attack on the Frisians.  His widow, Hygd, doubting that her young son could successfully lead the Geats offers, the throne to Beowulf: 

There Hygd offered him the hoard and the realm,
rings and royal throne. She had no faith in her son
that he knew how to hold onto his native seat
against the foreign hordes, now that Hygelac was dead.

Note that Hygd, like Wealhtheow, is a power-broker, but she tries to protect her son by disinheriting him.  Beowulf declines her offer, opting instead to protect and mentor her boy.  When the boy dies (in another senseless feud), Beowulf becomes king.  The Geats enjoy fifty years of peace.  Then the theft of a precious cup from a dragon’s hoard awakens the dragon, who visits destruction on Beowulf’s people.

The poet, who, as we’ve seen, is not all about action, pauses to tell the audience where the dragon’s treasure came from.  The story, sometimes called the “Song of the Last Survivor,” is an elegy in the spirit of the poem we know as “The Wanderer.”  But whereas “The Wanderer” deals with a warrior who has lost his lord to war, the “Song of the Last Survivor” deals with a lord who has lost his warriors to war. Note how the Survivor conjures up and mourns his dead companions through the things they can no longer use:

Death had seized them all
in earlier times, and he who was yet alone,
a man of the multitude who went longest there,
a friend-miserable guardian, he expected the same
so that he would be allowed to enjoy
that long-owned treasure but a little time. (ll. 2231b-41a)

The barrow was entirely prepared, waiting
on land, near to the crashing waves,
newly built upon the ness, secure in constrained craft.
There the warden of rings bore within
a hoard-worthy portion of the noble treasures,
the vesseled gold and speaking just a few words: (ll. 2241b-46)

“Keep now, earth, what heroes may not,
the possessions of earls. So it was obtained
from you earlier by good men. War-death has seized them,
a fearful killing-blow, every man
of my people, who have given up their lives
and looked upon the hall-joys. I do not have anyone to bear the sword
or carry forth the gold-plated flagon,
the precious drink-vessel. The people have passed elsewhere.
The hard helmet must be, decked with gold,
deprived of its decoration. Its attendant sleeps,
who should polish the war-mask.
Likewise the mail-coat that experienced battle
over the breaking of boards and the bites of iron
decays with its warrior. Nor can the ringed byrnie
go about widely after its war-chief,
upon the back of the hero. There is no joy of the harp,
the diversion of glee-wood, nor the excellent hawk
flying through the hall, nor the swift steed
stamping in a sheltered stead. A baleful death has
destroyed many living peoples.” (ll. 2247-66)

So miserable-minded he mourned his grief,
one after all. Unblithe he turned away
by day and by night, until the welling of death
touched him by the heart.

Beowulf slays the dragon, but is mortally wounded in the process.  Though he wanted no assistance, all but one of the thanes who accompanied him on the venture stood by and watched when the going got rough.  The one thane who risked his life to join the fight reminded his cowardly companions of the oaths they swore when Beowulf lavished treasures on them in the mead hall.  It seems that giving treasure does not guarantee that thanes will stand by you in your hour of need as the prologue so blithely averred.

Where will they be?  Beowulf’s loyal thane describes the ruin that awaits Beowulf’s people, who will not profit from the treasure Beowulf won by slaying the dragon.  Those who survive the impending destruction will face the same fate as the Wanderer and the Last Survivor:

… miserable-minded, [they] must, bereaved by gold,
tread a foreign land not just once,
now that our war-leader has put aside laughter,
playtime and the joys of music.
Therefore the spear must be wound about with hands,
many of them, morning-cold, hefted in their arms—
not at all must the voice of the harp wake the warrior,
but the dark black raven flying over the fated,
speaking many things, the eagle saying how he
prospered at the feast, while he plundered
the dead with the wolf—“ (ll. 3010b-27)

What makes a good king?

Beowulf begins and ends with the death and funeral of great kings: Scyld Scefing and Beowulf.  But what a difference!  Beowulf is little like the war-mongering conqueror Scyld who gained fame by seizing mead-benches from neighboring peoples.  As he recalls his life, Beowulf is proud of having maintained peace for fifty years:

I have guided my people
for fifty winters—there was no folk-king,
of any of those sitting on our borders,
that dared to meet me with war-friends,
menace us with terror. In my home I waited
my allotted time, kept my own well,
neither sought contrived conflicts
nor swore many oaths in unrighteousness.
I can rejoice in all these things, sickened
with this mortal wound, because the Wielder of Men
has no need to blame me for a murderous bale
against my kindred, when my life vanishes
from this body.

Unlike Scyld Scefing (or his own beloved lord Hygelac), Beowulf did not seek conflict.  Though as skilled a fighter as Scyld, and just as brave, he used his warrior reputation as a defensive weapon: enemies  dared not attack his lands.  Both Scyld and Beowulf were warriors eager for fame, but where Scyld is praised for his conquests, Beowulf is praised for his courage, kindness, mildness, and graciousness.

Beowulf in short practices the mindfulness that the speaker in “The Wanderer” urges, neither being a pushover nor rushing into action.

As you read the following account of Beowulf’s funeral, think of how greatly it differs from the funeral of Scyld Scefing that began the poem. Despair reigns. Beowulf’s body goes up in smoke and his people await the invading enemy armies.

Scholars have debated whether Beowulf is responsible for the disaster to come.  As king, the argument goes, he should not have risked his life. But I can’t accept that argument: had Beowulf not faced the dragon, who would have? And Beowulf was already an old king.  Kings die.  The problem, to my mind, is that Beowulf is an anomaly and war-mongers all too common.

In any case, the intricately wrought poem has come full circle: it began by celebrating the takers of mead-benches; it ends by mourning those whose mead benches are about to be taken.

Beowulf’s funeral

Translated by Dr. Aaron Hostetter

Then the Geatish people prepared a splendid pyre

for him upon the earth, hung with helmets

and war-shields and bright byrnies, as he had asked,

laying their famous prince in the middle of it,

lamenting their hero, their beloved lord.

Then they began to kindle the greatest corpse-fire,

the warrior on the barrow. A woody reek mounted to the sky,

swart over the flames, a roaring fire, wound with weeping—

the stirring wind subsided—until it had broken

the bone-house, hot in the breast (ll. 3137-48a)

Dreary at heart, they lamented their mind-cares,

the killing of their lord, likewise a sorrowful chant

a Geat woman with bound hair sang sorrow-caring

for Beowulf. She spoke earnestly that she dreaded

severely the army’s invasion replete with slaughter,

the terror of troops, shame and captivity.

Heaven swallowed the smoke. (ll. 3148b-55)

Then the Weather-Geats wrought

a cairn on the cliff-head—it was high and broad,

seen widely by sailors of the wave,

and built up in ten days’ time

the beacon of the battle-brave.

The flame-remnant they surrounded with a wall,

so fore-wise men would find it most honorable.

They buried in the barrow rings and brooches,

all sorts of adornments, like those earlier

violating men had seized from the hoard—

they left the treasure of earls to be kept in the earth,

the gold on the gravel, where still it sleeps,

unavailing to humanity, as it was before. (ll. 3156-68)

Then around the barrow rode the battle-brave

sons of noblemen, twelve in all — they wished

to speak of their grief and mourn their king,

piecing together a wordful song, speaking about the man,

esteeming his noble courage and his brave deeds,

valuing him gloriously—just as was appropriate

that one celebrate his friendly lord wordfully,

loving him in the heart, when he must be brought

forth from his body-house. So the Geatish people

grieved over the fall of their lord, his hearth-companions—

they told that he was the mildest of men,

the kindest of worldly kings, most gracious

of chieftains and the most eager for praise. (ll. 3169-82)

Final thoughts

I wish I could have had you read all of Beowulf.  And I wish we could have spent more time on this magnificent poem.  However, I hope to have convinced you through these selections that Beowulf is so much more than an action epic.

Beowulf asks, “What would happen if men wove peace instead of waging war?”  Fifty years of peace.  Yet there are more Scyld wannabes than Beowulf wannabes.  Therein lies the problem.

Beowulf is not just about gripping fights. It’s about friendship and loyalty and mindfulness.  How can you lead a good life in a screwed-up world? How can you make a difference in a world you can’t fix?  Those aren’t just problems for Beowulf or for the early medieval poet who created him.  They’re problems for us.