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YALE STUDIES IN ENGLISH
ALBERT S. COOK, EDITOR
VII
ANDREAS:
THE LEGEND OF ST. ANDREW
TRANSLATED FROM THE OLD ENGLISH
BY
ROBERT KILBURN ROOT
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1899
ERRATA.
p. IV. For _Angelsaechsen_ read _Angelsachsen_.
p. V. " Fritsche " Fritzsche.
p. IX. " homilest " homilist.
p. 18, 1. 550. " has " hast.
p. 27, 1. 835. " 'Till " Till.
P. 57. " Siever's " Sievers'.
PREFACE
It is always a somewhat hardy undertaking to attempt the translation
of poetry, for such a translation will at the best be but a shadow of
that which it would fain represent. Yet I trust that even an imperfect
rendering of one of the best of the Old English poems will in some
measure contribute towards a wider appreciation of our earliest
literature, for the poem is accessible to the general reader only
in the baldly literal and somewhat inaccurate translation of Kemble,
published in 1843, and now out of print.
I have chosen blank verse as the most suitable metre for the
translation of a long and dignified narrative poem, as the metre which
can most nearly reproduce the strength, the nobility, the variety and
rapidity of the original. The ballad measure as used by Lumsden in his
translation of _Beowulf_ is monotonous and trivial, while the measure
used by Morris and others, and intended as an imitation of the Old
English alliterative measure, is wholly impracticable. It is a hybrid
product, neither Old English nor modern, producing both weariness and
disgust; for, while copying the external features of its original, it
loses wholly its aesthetic qualities.
In my diction I have sought after simple and idiomatic English,
studying the noble archaism of the King James Bible, rather than
affecting the Wardour Street dialect of William Morris or Professor
Earle, which is often utterly unintelligible to any but the special
student of Middle English. My translation is faithful, but not
literal; I have not hesitated to make a passive construction active,
or to translate a compound adjective by a phrase. To quote from King
Alfred's preface to his translation of Boethius, I have "at times
translated word by word, and at times sense by sense, in whatsoever
way I might most clearly and intelligibly interpret it."
The text followed is that of Grein-Wuelker in the _Bibliothek der
Angelsaechsischen Poesie_ (Leipzig, 1894), and the lines of my
translation are numbered according to that edition. I have not,
however, felt obliged to follow his punctuation. Where it has seemed
best to adopt other readings, I have mentioned the fact in my notes.
I have compared my translation with those of Kemble and Grein
(_Dichtungen der Angelsaechsen_), and am occasionally indebted to them
for a word or a phrase.
It gives me great pleasure to acknowledge my indebtedness to Dr. Frank
H. Chase, who has very carefully read my translation in manuscript;
and to Professor Albert S. Cook, who has given me his help and advice
at all stages of my work from its inception to its publication. To Mr.
Charles G. Osgood, Jr., I am also indebted for valuable criticism.
ROBERT KILBURN ROOT.
YALE UNIVERSITY,
April 7, 1899.
INTRODUCTION
[Sidenote: _The Manuscript_.]
While traveling in Italy during the year 1832, Dr. Blume, a German
scholar, discovered in the cathedral library at Vercelli an Old
English manuscript containing both poetry and prose. The longest and
the best of the poems is the _Andreas_, or _Legend of St. Andrew_.
How did this manuscript find its way across the Alps into a country
where its language was wholly unintelligible? Several theories have
been advanced, the most plausible being that advocated by Cook.[1]
According to this view it was carried thither by Cardinal Guala, who
during the reign of Henry III was prior of St. Andrew's, Chester. On
his return to Italy he built the monastery of St. Andrew in Vercelli,
strongly English in its architecture. Since the manuscript contained
a poem about St. Andrew, it would have been an appropriate gift to St.
Andrew's Church in Vercelli. Wuelker's theory that it was owned by an
Anglo-Saxon hospice at Vercelli rests on very shadowy arguments, since
he adduces no satisfactory proof that such a hospice ever existed.
[Footnote 1: _Cardinal Guala and the Vercelli Book_, Univ. of Cal.
Library Bulletin No. 10. Sacramento, 1888.]
[Sidenote: _Authorship and Date_.]
On the strength of certain marked similarities of style and diction
to the signed poems of Cynewulf, the earlier editors of the _Andreas_
assigned the poem to him, and were followed by Dietrich, Grein, and
Ten Brink. But Fritsche (_Anglia_ II), arguing from other equally
marked dissimilarities, denies its Cynewulfian authorship, and is
sustained in his position by Sievers, though vigorously opposed by
Ramhorst. More recently Trautman (_Anglia_, Beiblatt VI. 17) reasserts
the older view, declaring his belief that the _Fates of the Apostles_,
in which Napier has discovered the runic signature of Cynewulf, is
but the closing section of the _Andreas_. There is much to be said
in favor of this last theory, which would establish Cynewulf as the
author of the entire work; but the whole question is far from being
settled. We can at least affirm that the author was a devout churchman
and a dweller by the sea, thoroughly acquainted with the poems of
Cynewulf.
It is equally impossible to determine with any certainty the date
of authorship, since the poem is wholly lacking in contemporary
allusions. Nor can we base any argument upon its language, since, in
all probability, its present form is but a West Saxon transcript of an
older Northumbrian or Mercian version. If Cynewulf flourished in the
eighth century, the date of the _Andreas_ is probably not much later.
The Vercelli manuscript is assigned to the first half of the eleventh
century.
[Sidenote: _Sources_.]
Fortunately we can speak with more assurance about the sources of the
poem. It follows closely, though not slavishly, the _Acts of Andrew
and Matthew_, contained in the _Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles_.[1]
Like the great English poets of the fourteenth and sixteenth
centuries, the poet of the _Andreas_ has borrowed his story from a
foreign source, and like them he has added and altered until he has
made it thoroughly his own and thoroughly English. We can learn from
it the tastes and ideals of our Anglo-Saxon forefathers quite as well
as from a poem wholly original in its composition. Most clearly do we
discover their love of the sea. The action of the story brings in a
voyage, which the Greek narrative dismisses with a few words, merely
as a piece of necessary machinery. The Old English poem, on the
contrary, expands the incident into many lines. A storm is introduced
and described with great vigor; we see the circling gull and the
darting horn-fish; we hear the creaking of the ropes and the roaring
of the waves.[2] Every mention of the sea is dwelt upon with lingering
affection, and described with vivid metaphor. It is now the "bosom of
the flood," now the "whale-road" or the "fish's bath." Again it is the
"welter of the waves," or its more angry mood is personified as the
"Terror of the waters." In the first 500 lines alone there are no less
than 43 different words and phrases denoting the sea.
[Footnote 1: _Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha_, ed. Tischendorf. Leipzig,
1851, pp. 132-166. (For a translation of part of the _Acts of Andrew
and Matthew_, see Cook's _First Book in Old English_, Appendix III.)]
[Footnote 2: See 369-381.]
Daybreak and sunset, too, are described with much beauty, and in one
passage at least with strong imagination. We can have no doubt that
the poet was a close watcher and keen lover of nature. We can imagine
him walking on the cliffs beside his beloved ocean, watching for the
sunrise, rejoicing in the glory of the sky,
As heaven's candle shone across the floods.[1]
[Footnote 1: See 243.]
I have said, too, that he was a devout churchman. Many of the noble
hymns and prayers with which the poem abounds are largely original,
expanded from a mere line or two in the Greek. Many and beautiful are
the epithets or kennings which he applies to God, taken in part from
the Bible, and in part from the imagery of the not wholly extinct
heathen mythology.
Thoroughly English is his love of violent action, of war and bloodshed.
Andrew is a "warrior brave in the battle"; the apostles are
Thanes of the Lord, whose courage for the fight
Failed never, e'en when helmets crashed in war.
and their missions are rather military expeditions than peaceful
pilgrimages.
One concrete example will serve well to show in what spirit the author
has dealt with his original. The disciples of Andrew are so terrified
by the sea that the Lord (disguised as a shipmaster) suggests that
they shall go ashore and await the return of their master. In the
Greek the disciples answer: "If we leave thee, then shall we be
strangers to those good things which the Lord hath promised unto us.
Therefore will we abide with thee, wherever thou go."[1] In the Old
English :--
O whither shall we turn us, lordless men,
Mourning in heart, forsaken quite by God,
Wounded with sin, if we abandon thee?
We shall be odious in every land,
Hated of every folk, when sons of men,
Courageous warriors, in council sit,
And question which of them did best stand by
His lord in battle, when the hand and shield,
Worn out by broadswords on the battle-plain,
Suffered sore danger in the sport of war. (405-414.)
[Footnote 1: Bede, _Hist. Eccl._ IV. 2.]
There is in the Greek no trace of the Teutonic idea of loyalty to a
lord, which is the ruling motive of the Old English lines.
But did the poet read the legend in the Greek? The study of that
language had, it is true, been introduced into England in the seventh
century by Archbishop Theodore[1], but we can hardly assume that
this study was very general. Moreover, there are several important
variations between the poem and the _Acts of Andrew and Matthew_,
facts wanting in the Greek, which the poet could not possibly have
invented. For example, the poem states that Andrew was in Achaia when
he received the mission to Mermedonia. In the Greek we find no mention
of Achaia, nor is the name "Mermedonia" given at all. After the
conversion of the Mermedonians, the poet says that Andrew appointed
a bishop over them, whose name was Platan. Again the Greek is silent.
There is, however, an Old English homily[1] of unknown authorship and
uncertain date, which contains these three facts, (though the name
of the bishop is not given). Still another remarkable coincidence has
been pointed out by Zupitza.[2] In line 1189 of the _Andreas_, Satan
is addressed as _d[=e]ofles str[=ae]l_ ("shaft of the devil"), and
in the homily also the same word (_str[=ae]l_) is found. But in
the corresponding passage of the Greek we find [Greek: O Belia
echthrotate] ("O most hateful Belial"). From this correspondence
between the poem and the homily, Zupitza argues the existence of a
Latin translation of the Greek, from which both the _Andreas_ and the
homily were made, assuming that the ignorant Latinist confused [Greek:
Belia] (Belial) with [Greek: Belos] ("arrow," "shaft,"), translating
it by _telum_ or _sagitta_. It is hardly probable that both the poet
and the homilest should have made the same mistake.
[Footnote 1: Bright, _Anglo-Saxon Reader_, pp. 113-128.]
[Footnote 2: _Zeitschrift fuer Deutsches Altertum_, XXX. 175.]
The homily could not have been drawn from the poem, nor the poem from
the homily, for in each we find facts and phrases of the Greek not
contained in the other. For example, both in the Greek and in the
homily, the flood which sweeps away the Mermedonians proceeds from the
mouth of an alabaster image standing upon a pillar, while in the poem
it springs forth from the base of the pillar itself. On the other
hand, most of the dialogue between Andrew and the Lord on shipboard,
as well as other important incidents, are wanting in the homily.
Summing up, then, we have the homily and the poem agreeing in
some important points in which both differ from the Greek, but so
dissimilar in other points that neither could have been the source of
the other. In the light of these similarities and variations, and of
others which space prevents me from mentioning, we must suppose the
homily to have been taken from an abridgment of the Latin version, of
which the poet saw a somewhat corrupt copy. It is also not improbable
that this Latin version may have been made from a Greek manuscript
varying in some details from the legend as it appears in Tischendorf's
edition. This view is sustained by a Syrian translation, which in some
respects agrees with our hypothetical Latin version. But this Latin
version has never been discovered, though some fragments of the legend
are found in the Latin of Pseudo-Abdias and the _Legenda Aurea_,[1]
which curiously enough supply several of the facts missing in the
Greek, namely, that Andrew was teaching in Achaia, and that the land
of the Anthropophagi was called Mermedonia.
[Footnote 1: Grimm, _Andreas und Elene_, XIII-XVI.]
So much for the sources of the poem as a whole. The poet is also
deeply indebted to the _Beowulf_ and to the poems of Cynewulf (unless
he be Cynewulf himself) for lines and phrases throughout his work.
One example of this borrowing will suffice. In line 999, when Andrew
reaches the prison, we read (translating literally): "The door quickly
opened at the touch of the holy saint's hand." In the Greek: "And he
made the sign of the cross upon the door, and it opened of its own
accord." Why has the poet omitted the sign of the cross? We are unable
to answer until we read in the _Beowulf_ (721) that at the coming of
the monster Grendel to Heorot "the door quickly opened ... soon as he
touched it with his hands."
[Sidenote: _The Poem as a Work of Art_.]
How shall we rank the _Legend of St. Andrew_ among the other poems of
the Anglo-Saxons? and what are its chief merits as a work of art? The
Old English epics may be divided into two general classes: the heroic
epic, of which the _Beowulf_ is the chief example; and the larger
group of religious epics, including the poems of Cynewulf, of
Pseudo-Caedmon, the _Judith_, and the _Andreas_.
In spite of occasional Christian interpolations the _Beowulf_ is
essentially pagan, the expression of English sentiments and ideals
before Augustine led his little band of chanting monks through the
streets of Canterbury. In the _Andreas_ we see better, perhaps,
than in any of the religious epics, these same sentiments and ideals
softened and ennobled by the sweet spirit of the Christian religion.
We see the conversion of England in the very process of its
accomplishment. We see the beauties of Paganism and those of
Christianity blending with each other, much as the Medieval and the
Renaissance are blended in Spenser. In the one aspect Andrew is the
valiant hero, like Beowulf, crossing the sea to accomplish a mighty
deed of deliverance; in the other he is the saintly confessor, the
patient sufferer, whose whole trust is in the Lord.
If we compare the poem with the other epics of its class, its most
formidable competitors are the anonymous _Judith_ and Cynewulf's
_Christ_. But _Judith_, though unquestionably more brilliant, is but
a fragment of 350 lines, and the _Christ_, in spite of its many
beautiful passages, is entirely lacking in movement. The _Andreas_ is
complete, and, if we except the long dialogue of Andrew and the Lord
at sea, moves steadily towards the end with considerable variety of
action. If the characterization is crude, the descriptions are vivid,
the speeches are often vigorous, and the treatment of nature is
throughout charming. It seems to me eminently suited by its subject
and manner to stand as an example of the Old English religious epic,
an example of a form of literature with which every serious student of
our English poetry should be familiar. For English literature does not
begin with Chaucer. He who would understand it well must know it also
in its purer English form before the coming of the Normans.
[Sidenote: _The Argument_.]
It only remains to give a brief synopsis of the poem. It has fallen to
the lot of Matthew to preach the Gospel to the cannibal Mermedonians;
they seize him and his company, binding him and casting him into
prison, where he is to remain until his turn comes to be eaten (1-58).
He prays to God for help, and the Lord sends Andrew to deliver him
(59-234). Andrew and his disciples come to the seashore and find
a bark with three seamen, who are in reality the Lord and His two
angels. On learning that Andrew is a follower of Jesus, the shipmaster
agrees to carry him to Mermedonia (234-359). A storm arises, at which
the disciples of Andrew are greatly terrified; he reminds them how
Christ stilled the tempest, and they fall asleep (360-464). A dialogue
ensues, in which Andrew relates to the shipmaster many of Christ's
miracles (465-817). He falls asleep, and is carried by the angels
to Mermedonia. On awaking, he beholds the city, and his disciples
sleeping beside him. They relate to him a vision which they had seen.
The Lord appears and bids him enter the city, covering him with a
cloud (818-989). He reaches the prison, the doors of which fly open
at his touch, and rescues Matthew, whom he sends away with all his
company (990-1057). The Mermedonians, confronted with famine, choose
one of their number by lot to serve as food for the rest. He offers
his son as a substitute, but, as the heathen are about to slay their
victim, Andrew interposes and causes their weapons to melt away like
wax (1058-1154). Instigated by the Devil, they seize Andrew, and for
three days subject him to the most cruel torments (1155-1462). On
the fourth the Lord comes to his prison and heals him of his wounds.
Beside the prison wall Andrew sees a marble pillar, which, at his
command, sends forth a great flood, destroying many of the people
(1462-1575). Andrew takes pity upon them and causes the flood to
cease. The mountain is cleft and swallows up the waters, together with
fourteen of the worst of the heathen. The others are restored to life
and baptized. After building a church and appointing a bishop,
Andrew returns to Achaia, followed by the prayers of his new converts
(1575-1722).
THE LEGEND OF ST. ANDREW
Lo! we have learned of Twelve in days gone by,
Who dwelt beneath the stars, in glory rich,
Thanes of the Lord, whose courage for the fight
Failed never, e'en when helmets crashed in war,
From that time when they portioned each his place,
As God himself declared to them by lot,
High King of heaven above. Renowned men
Were they through all the earth, and leaders bold,
Brave in the battle, warriors of might,
When shield and hand the helmet did protect 10
Upon the field of fate. Of that brave band
Was Matthew one, who first among the Jews
Began to write the Gospel down in words
With wondrous power. To him did Holy God
Assign his lot upon that distant isle
Where never yet could any outland man
Enjoy a happy life or find a home.
Him did the murderous hands of bloody men
Upon the field of battle oft oppress
Right grievously. That country all about,
The folkstead of the men, was compassed
With slaughter and with foemen's treachery, 20
That home of heroes. Dwellers in that land
Had neither bread nor water to enjoy,
But on the flesh and blood of stranger men,
Come from afar, that people made their feast.
This was their custom: every foreigner
Who visited that island from without
They seized as food--these famine-stricken men.
This was the cruel practice of that folk,
Mighty in wickedness, most savage foes: 30
With javelin points they poured upon the ground
The jewel of the head, the eyes' clear sight;
And after brewed for them a bitter draught--
These wizards by their magic--drink accursed,
Which led astray the wits of hapless men,
The heart within their breasts, until they grieved
No longer for the happiness of men;
Weary for food they fed on hay and grass.
When to this far-famed city Matthew came, 40
There rose great outcry through the sinful tribe,
That cursed throng of Mermedonians.
Soon as those servants of the Devil learned
The noble saint was come unto their land,
They marched against him, armed with javelins;
Under their linden-shields they went in haste,
Grim bearers of the lance, to meet the foe.
They bound his hands; with foeman's cunning skill
They made them fast--those warriors doomed to hell-- 50
With swords they pierced the jewel of his head.
Yet in his heart he honored Heaven's King,
Though of the drink envenomed he had drunk,
Of virtue terrible; steadfast and glad,
With courage unabashed, he worshiped still
The Prince of glory, King of heaven above;
And from the prison rose his holy voice.
Within his noble breast the praise of Christ
Stood fast imprinted; weeping tears of woe,
With sorrowful voice of mourning he addressed 60
His Lord victorious, speaking thus in words:--
"Behold how these fierce strangers knit for me
A chain of mischief, an ensnaring net.
Ever have I been zealous in my heart
To do Thy will in all things; now in grief
The life of the dumb cattle I must lead.
Thou, Lord, alone, Creator of mankind,
Dost know the hidden thoughts of every heart.
O Prince of glory, if it be thy will 70
That with the sword's keen edge perfidious men
Put me at rest, I am prepared straightway
To suffer whatsoever Thou, my Lord,
Who givest bliss to that high angel-band,
Shalt send me as my portion in this world,
A homeless wanderer, O Lord of hosts.
In mercy grant to me, Almighty God,
Light in this life, lest, blinded in this town
By hostile swords, I needs must longer bear
Reviling words, the grievous calumny
Of slaughter-greedy men, of hated foes. 80
On Thee alone, Protector of the world,
I fix my mind, my heart's unfailing love;
So, Father of the angels, Lord of hosts,
Bright Giver of all bliss, to Thee I pray,
That Thou appoint me not among my foes,
Artificers of wrong forever damned,
The death most grievous on this earth of Thine."
After these words there came to his dark cell
A sacred sign all-glorious from heaven,
Like to the shining sun; then was it shown 90
That holy God was working aid for him.
The voice of Heaven's Majesty was heard,
The music of the glorious Lord's sweet words,
Wondrous beneath the skies. To His true thane
Brave in the fight, in dungeon harsh confined,
He promised help and comfort with clear voice:--
"Matthew, My peace on earth I give to thee;
Let not thy heart be troubled, neither mourn
Too much in mind; I will abide with thee,
And I will loose thee from these bonds that bind 100
Thy limbs, and loose all that great multitude
That dwells with thee in strait captivity.
To thee I open by My holy power
The meadow radiant of Paradise,
Brightest of splendors, dwelling-place most fair,
That home most blessed, where thou mayst enjoy
Glory and bliss to everlasting life.
Suffer this people's cruelty; not long
Can faithless men afflict thee sinfully
With chains of torment by their crafty wiles.
Straight will I send unto this heathen town 110
Andrew to be thy comfort and defense;
He will release thee from thine enemies.
Thou hast not long to wait; in very truth
But seven and twenty days fulfil the time,
When, sorrow-laden, thou shalt go from hence,
Under God's care, with victory adorned."
The Holy One, Defense of all mankind,
The angels' Lord, departed to the land
High in the heavens--He is the King by right, 120
Steadfast He rules supreme in all the world.
Exalted high was Matthew at the voice
New-heard. The veil of darkness slipped away,
Vanished in haste; and straightway came the light,
The murmuring sound of early reddening dawn.
The host assembled; heathen warriors
Thronged in great crowds; their battle-armor sang;
Their spears they brandished, angry in their hearts,
Under the roof of shields; they fain would see
Whether those hapless men were yet alive,
Who fast in chains within their prison-walls 130
Had dwelt a while in comfortless abode,
And which one they might first for their repast
Rob of his life after the time ordained.
They had set down, those slaughter-greedy foes,
In runic characters and numerals
The death-day of those men, when they should serve
As food unto that famine-stricken tribe.
Then clamored loudly that cold-hearted brood;
Throng pressed on throng; their cruel counsellors
Recked not at all of mercy or of right.
Oft did their souls, led by the devil's lore, 140
Under the dusky shadows penetrate,
When in the might of beings ever-cursed
They put their trust. They found that holy man,
Prudent of mind, within his prison dark,
Awaiting bravely what the radiant King,
Creator of the angels, should vouchsafe.
Then was accomplished, all except three nights,
The appointed time, the season foreordained,
Which those fierce wolves of war had written down,
At end of which they planned to break his bones, 150
And, parting straight his body and his soul,
To portion out as food to old and young
The body of the slain, a welcome feast;
They cared not for the soul, those greedy men,
How after death the spirit's pilgrimage
Might be decreed. So every thirty nights
They held their feast; most fierce was their desire
To tear with bloody jaws the flesh of men 160
To be their food. Then He, who with strong might
Stablished this world, was mindful how that saint
Abode in misery 'mongst stranger men,
Fast bound in chains--that saint who for His sake
Had suffered from the Hebrews, had withstood
The magic incantations of the Jews.