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Matheliende is published quarterly by the students and faculty of Anglo-Saxon at The University of Georgia.
Matheliende welcomes any and all correspondence and articles. Such material should be addressed to Mr. Alex Bruce, Park Hall, The University of Georgia. 1995 Alexander M. Bruce
RECONSIDERING HISTORY: THE SAXON PRESENCE IN BRITAIN BEFORE 449
By Jonathan Foggin
Part Two
In the last issue of Matheliende, we discussed the origins of the term "Saxon Shore," the improbability of Saxon raids having occurred on the coasts of Britain in the fourth century, and the possibility that Saxon migration and settlement was less destructive than has been supposed. We shall now look at evidence for greater continuity between Roman Britain and Anglo-Saxon England, focusing particularly on what the archaeological record has to tell us. Therein we may find clues about how the Saxons came to control the island, and where the language, culture, and people of Roman Britain went.
The argument for continuity is best supported by evidence of direct contact between the existing Roman population and Saxon newcomers. Some of the more intriguing examples of possible interaction are the Germanic-type cemeteries of East Anglia. Based on analysis of pottery at two of these sites, Caistor-by-Norwich and Markshall, J. N. L. Myers has dated a number of the cremation burials there to the late fourth century. A number of these graves are within the boundaries of the Roman town of "Venta Icenorum," a site known to have been occupied by the British well into the fifth century. Myers postulates that as the large, early Roman town collapsed on itself to form a compact fortified nucleus in the fourth century, lands within its cadastration were given to the Saxons, who used them as cremation cemeteries.
Another case for continuity can be made for Kent. TheÔ peninsula of Roman Britain was the tribal homeland of the "Cantii." Bede implies that Aethelbert (c. 560-616), King of Kent, had his "metropolis" at Canterbury, former capital of the Romano-British "civitas." Finally, the way the countryside of early medieval Kent was divided suggests a Romano-Celtic antecedent. If the Saxons did inherit some aspects of a functioning Romano-British civilization, however, they must have done so early in the fourth century and almost exclusively along the Channel coast; according to archaeological evidence, by the traditional advent of the Saxons, there would have been little of Romano-British civilization left to encounter.
Although St. Germanus is reported to have encountered a prosperous British population as late as 440, there is little evidence that Roman institutions lasted much past the beginning of the fifth century. Coin ceased to circulate, taxes were not collected, fora and basilicas fell into disrepair, and a great number of villas and high-status cemeteries went out of use. Among the British, there was a general decline in technology and agricultural production. Although this picture corresponds with the accepted view of the invasions, archaeology tells us that for most of Britain, it happened before the arrival of the Saxons. Using such evidence, Simon Esmonde Cleary has argued convincingly for the existence of a fifth-century British culture that has been termed "sub-Roman."
Sub-Roman culture was not necessarily backwards and poverty stricken. There is evidence for a large-scale timber building in the Roman tradition at Wroxeter, and a Latin gravestone to an Irishman named Cunorix shows the survival of the Roman script there. Iron-age hill-forts such as South Cadbury experienced a renaissance at this time, and the African Red Slip pottery found there is evidence for some sort of contact with Rome. Yet what we see is a patchwork of civilization across the land; some areas retained a relatively high level, while others remained poor. This subculture, rather than the Roman one, is most likely the British culture that gave rise to the sixth century Celtic kingdoms of the far west and the Anglo-Saxo kingdoms of England.
With this theory in mind, we must address the question of how parts of sub-Roman Britain came to be Anglo-Saxon. Although the argument for decimation of the British population may fit well with linguistic and literary evidence, corresponding archaeological evidence is absent. Therefore, we need to consider the possibility that native Britons came to think of themselves as Anglo-Saxons.
Although this idea may seem far-fetched, a look at the history of the province shows that the groundwork for acculturation had been laid as early as the third century. Evidence for Germanic elements creeping into the Roman milieu is most apparent in the cemeteries of Roman Britain. By the fourth century there was a marked increase in cemeteries such as Lankhills in Winchester. At the East Anglian cemeteries, a type of Roman pottery decorated with Saxon motifs was popular throughout the fourth century. While the presence of Germanic grave goods and Romano-Saxon pottery should not be used to prove the existence of Germanic populations in Britain (one is not necessarily ethnically German because one owns a German pot), they do illustrate the appeal of German culture. By the time the bourgeois and slightly artificial Roman culture of Britain collapsed, the Germanic cultural element had been present for several generations.
Likewise, Anglo-Saxon artifacts have been found at fifth-century British sites, such as the cemetery at Cannington and the hill-fort at South Cadbury. British appreciation for Anglo-Saxon wares has caused scholars such as Esmonde Cleary to postulate that a number of fifth century Anglo-Saxon cemeteries have been mislabeled and may in fact have been used by the "missing" Britons of the time. When one considers that the population of Roman Britain stood near two million, conquest and devastation by several thousands of Saxons seems improbable. More work needs to be done, especially in surveying sites and performing osteological analysis, but it is likely that the inhabitants of Roman Britain stayed there all along; through acculturation and assimilation they became the Germanic peoples of Anglo-Saxon England.
By Shane Lief
If the student of old Germanic languages desires insight into the culture of those who spoke them, he would do well to investigate the archaeological remains strewn across Scandinavia and Northern Europe, the mute witnesses to the daily lives of the ancient tribe-members. Of course, however, where the physical data are lacking, one could turn to the evidence enshrined in word-forms, which can prove rich repositories of cultural information. In particular, if one wishes to understand the spiritual world-view of the Germanic peoples, he might consider the names which they gave to their most important gods, and by learning the etymology of these names, learn what attributes they revered or celebrated in their chosen deities. For the speaker of present-day English, it is perhaps most interesting to discover the etymologies behind the god-names which survive, albeit in somewhat opaque form, as the names of four days of the week: Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday.
At one time in prehistory, the god *"Tiwaz" may have stood with greatest prominence among the divinities in the Germanic pantheon. This is partly evidence by the antiquity of this name; it is "the only Germanic god-name which is most closely related to an Indo-European god-name, and thus offers evidence for the Indo-European age of this god" (Betz 1959).
*"Tiwaz" is cognate with Skt. "Dyaus," Grk. "Zeus," and Lat. "Jupiter," and also with the following words which designate 'god(s)' (Simek 337): Skt. "deva," OIr. "dia," Lat. "dei," ON "tivar" (plural to "Tyr"). In the various Germanic languages, *"Tiwaz" yielded the following names: ON "Tyr," OE "Tig," "Tiw," OHG "Ziu." Another indicator of his former prestige is the etymological connection with IE *"dieus" ("day, heaven, god") which implies that he was associated with the sky and perhaps held reign over all the heavens (Betz 1579-80). In addition, his name is used in ON as the basis of the generic term 'gods' ("tivar"--pl. form of "Tyr"), and often forms the base of kennings in skaldic poetry that refer to other gods (Simek 337).
By the time that the Viking sagas and tales were composed, Tyr had evidently faded in importance, but was still considered to play a vital role in waging war and giving counsel to mortals and fellow gods. In fact, his status as was chieftain is attested by Tacitus, who reports that Tyr or Tiw is the Gmc. equivalent of Mars, the Roman god of war. This association is most clearly illustrated by the parallel between "dies Martii" and OE "Tiwesdaeg," 'Tuesday.'
An interesting question arises when we compare the names for this day in the various Gmc. languages:
From this point, Gutenbrunner believes that we can trace the modern German word quite easily: "The reverse assumption that "Dingsgag" developed into Low German "Dinsdag" and High German "Dienstag" makes, phonologically speaking, no difficulties or at least no great difficulties" (27). Simek, however, feels that de Vries' theory is "not really convincing" (336). He points out that "Dienstag" probably evolved from a reference to the Thing ('council') which was ordinarily convened on that day, or that, perhaps, there wasÔ (-> mars Thingsus)" which was more probably true, considering "the significant role played by the names of various gods in the translation of the week-day names" (336).
Next comes the most powerful Germanic deity in historical times, *"Wodanaz." This Proto-Germanic form yields the following names: ON "Odin," OE "Woden," OFranc "Wodan," Langobardic "Wotan/Godan." His evolving role can be sketched by the cognates in other IE languages, given by Betz (1568-70): Latin "vates" 'poet, seer', OIr "faith" 'poet'. In ON, one finds the word "ot+hr" ('poetry, literature'); other Gmc. languages add to the layers of meaning (ModG "Wut," Goth "woths"), "so one may suppose that poetic inspiration (to the point of ecstasy?) constituted one of Wodan's characteristic traits" (Betz 1568). Simek quotes Adam of Bremen, who wrote in the eleventh century about the nature of this god: "'Wodan, id est furor': Wodan, that is to say fury" (373). Betz gives a more extensive account of the meaning of the full name "Wodan" (1568):
On the basis of "dies Mercurii," Wodan's name yields the following words for that day:
In another departure from the general pattern, modern German has the word "Mittwoch" instead of the expected "Wotenstag." Simek explains that it is a borrowing from Church Latin "media hebdomas" 'middle of the week' (371).
In Germania, Tacitus reports that, in addition to Mars and Mercury, Hercules is venerated to a large extent by the Germanic tribes under the name of "Donar." Betz explains the rationale behind this interpretation:
However, with the inaccuracies of the "interpretatio romana," Donar was also associated with the Roman god Jupiter. This parallel is established by the fact that they are overwhelmingly important gods in their respective pantheons and both brandish bolts of lightning (ModG "Donner" 'thunder'). The Latin "dies Jovi" is rendered *"thonares dag" 'day of Donar/Thor' and manifests in the following ways in the Gmc. languages (Simek 333):
Seeking connections with other gods in IE religion, Betz identifies Donar as the
The last of the Tagegotter is "Frija/Frigg," a goddess who (like Tyr) has retreated somewhat from view as other gods and goddesses grow more significant for authors in the Middle Ages. Originally serving as a fertility goddess, Frija becomes the wife of Odin, "whose name is probably a taboo-name or nickname, 'Beloved' (Sanskrit 'priya')" (Betz 1601). Her name appears in various Gmc. cognates (OSax "fri," OE "freo" 'woman'), and gives rise to the following translations of "dies Veneris":
In ON, however, there is a competing form, "freyudagr," which bespeaks the pattern of gradual usurpation woven into the fabric of Germanic mythology. This form is not as common as the former, but indicates the power of the younger goddess "Freyja," "who largely overtook the function of Frigg" (Betz 1602).
The veneration of these Germanic gods perished a long time ago; their statues and idols have long since been destroyed by the missionaries of a monotheistic religion which swept across the European continent, and even the last traces of their memory, their depictions captured in song and epic, are coated with Christianity. Nonetheless, the gods themselves would have a grim satisfaction in knowing that mortals who never worshipped them would unwittingly invoke their names a million times each moment, in nations all over the earth.
By Jenny Caudle
Film critics discuss Ridley Scott's 1979 Alien as both science fiction and horror. It combines the high-tech thrills of the space adventure with the "horrible hidden monster" and "sole survivor" motifs so common in slasher films. What many seem to have missed, though, is the debt the film owes to the Grendel incident in Beowulf (one could even argue that the second film, with the female alien, parallels the incident with Grendel's dam, and the third film, with its fiery end, parallels the dragon fight). That is, Alien both reproduces some of the story line of the Anglo-Saxon poem's first episode and, perhaps more directly, recreates the poem's complex interlace structure.
Like Beowulf, the main narrative of Alien begins with the arrival of a rescue mission. As the poem's action opens, Beowulf comes to Denmark in response to the misfortune of Hrothgar: the king is faced with a seemingly invincible monster who threatens his kingdom. Similarly, the spaceship in Alien, the Nostromo, also responds to a cry for help: the ship's computer picks up a signal, presumably a distress call, which leads to an alien "monster." So just as Beowulf arrives to face an unknown challenge, so the crew of the Nostromo wake from their "hypersleep" in a remote section of space and slowly figure out that they face a mystery, at best.
As the film's story line advances, it follows the general pattern established by the poem. After the crew awakens, they gather for a meal, the first such "feast" scene in the film. This early scene is a happy one, matching the feasts at Heorot before the coming of Grendel (80-81, 89-98) and the first feast after Beowulf's arrival in the land of the Danes (491-661).
The film reflects these scenes again in a meal after the crew's first contact with the alien "facehugger." The mood of this second "feast" is happy, too; after a frightening attack, it seems that the alien has released the Nostromo's first officer, Cain, unscathed. But, like the scenes where Grendel invades the hall, this scene is interrupted by an alien invader. Cain is killed by the offspring the facehugger laid in his chest. The "chestbuster" comes into the dining hall and kills one of Beowulf's men. Ironically, the newborn alien shares another similarity with Grendel--both are "Caines cynne" (107), related to (or descended from) Cain.
Another similarity between the two works is the shadowy portrayal of the outside force. In Beowulf, Grendel is described as "se the in thystrum bad" (87) and "deorc deathscua" (160). The poem says that Grendel "on weres waestmum wraeclastas traed,/ naefne he waes mara thonne aenig man other" (1352-53). In Alien, this same idea of a shadowy monster is created through visual means; in the first half of the film, the creature is shot only as a newborn or in dark corners, except for a few shots of itsÔ confrontation nears its climax do we see the whole adult alien--first in a brief shot after it attacks Captain Dallas, then in an equally brief shot as it attacks Lambert the navigator, and finally in prolonged shots during the final confrontation between the alien and the hero, Ripley.
The idea of the alien's size and similarity to humans is communicated through a combination of visual and verbal cues: in an early scene, where the technician Brett is killed, we see the alien's head and get some sense that it is very large as it rises up behind the man. Furthermore, we realize that the crew has seen the alien clearly, although the viewers have not, when Parker exclaims, "son of a bitch is huge--it's like a man--it's big!" However, to the audience, as to the audience in the mead hall listening to Beowulf, the monster remains shadowy until the climactic confrontation with the hero.
While the narrative and symbolic similarities between Alien and Beowulf are striking, perhaps more striking still are the similarities in structure. The main themes of the poem (history, what it takes to be a good king or a good thane, the importance of loyalty and honor) recur again and again in various forms, in asides and digressions as well as the main action, and their "interlace" serves to tie the three episodes together and to constantly remind the listeners of the messages the scop wanted to dominate his tale.
Alien reflects this interlace in its own structure, in its use of episodes from the poem, and in its set design. Many of the facts of the story itself come only in bits and pieces. It is in a "digression" from the main action of the film that we learn, for example, that the science officer, Ash, was substituted at the last moment for a science officer Captain Dallas had known for years. Later, after Dallas' death, we learn that the company which owns the ship had picked up a signal from this area before the Nostromo even started its journey and sent the crew to investigate it without their knowledge. After this, we learn that Ash is not simply a substitute; he is an android with orders to retrieve an alien at any cost--even the "crew is expendable." These digressions, like the historical digressions of Beowulf, give much-needed information even though they function outside the main story line. Ash, as an android, reinforces and echoes the theme of inside versus outside established in the film's focus on the humans versus the alien Other. This primary theme--the space inside, the human, the familiar, pitted against outside, the alien or artificial, and the unfamiliar--is interwoven throughout the film, right until its climatic moment, when Ripley blasts the alien into open space and settles herself inside the womb-like hypersleep capsule.
Finally, interlace is important in Alien's set design. The interior walls of the Nostromo are covered with interwoven tracings, complex tangles of parallel lines andÔ wire-like effect. Through this interlace, the film achieves visually what the poem does verbally: the action of the film is literally contained within this interlace, this complex and repeated pattern. The pattern surrounds everything; even at the very end of the film, as Ripley puts on a space suit in order to blow the alien through the lifeboat's air lock, inside the helmet, at her temples, is the same interlace pattern from the Nostromo's walls. It appears on her helmet in much the same way as animal protectors growing out of an interlace appeared on the temples of thanes' war helmets. Even at this moment, she is surrounded, contained in the interlace and in her position as insider. The alien, like Grendel, may have its place in another interlace, but not in this one, and it, like Grendel, is removed from the "hall" and, ultimately, destroyed.
Both Beowulf and Alien blend narrative and structure for heightened effect. Both make use of what seem at first glance to be digressions or distractions unnecessary to the story, but in each these "digressions" serve to set up the context of the story. The parameters of the story--the inside space--are important for each, and in each they are set up at the beginning and reinforced throughout. Also, in each, several main themes form the story's framework. In Beowulf, a sense of history and proper respect for kings and comitative bonds is primary; in Alien, the idea of insider versus outsider which Beowulf addresses through the scenes when Grendel comes to the fore. Alien thus weaves both the themes and action of Beowulf into a new creation which reminds us that the most basic element of the Anglo-Saxon poem--the fear of the unknown--still thrills our imagination.
By C. Tidmarsh Major
In the Old English Rune Poem, there are several runes whose definitions are unclear. In particular, the interpretation of "os," the rune which begins the fourth stanza, is problematic. Proponents of a pre-Christian understanding of "os" as the name of a pagan god base their assertions on cognates in other Germanic dialects. Scholars advocating the complete Christianization of Old English poetry interpret the fourth rune in a secular manner, as Latin for "mouth." What neither group has proposed, however, is a middle ground. Just as other pre-conversion terms for deities are Christianized in the corpus of Old English poetry, so too may "os," as an old name for a pagan god, refer to the Christian God.
The textual history of the Rune Poem is a difficult one. The original text, contained in Cotton MS Otho B.x, was destroyed in the Ashburnham House fire of 1731. Fortunately, Humphrey Wanley had made a transcription of theÔ originally contained in another manuscript (Halsall 22). Although some leaves from Cotton MS Otho B.x survived the fire, because the Rune Poem leaf appeared to have been from a different source and only later bound with the manuscript, any conjecture about the origin of the remains of Cotton MS Otho B.x are inapplicable to the Rune Poem. Furthermore, Wanley's transcription is now lost, leaving on Hickes' edition of 1705 as the basis of all subsequent editions.
The poem's interpretational history began with John Kemble, who, in his 1840 edition and translation of the Rune Poem from Hickes' text, first proposed the Latin translation of "os" as "mouth" (340). Kemble does not explain this choice and only presents his translation side by side with the text. Advocating such a secular interpretation, Maureen Halsall in her 1981 critical edition notes that aside from a single oblique form, "esa," in the metrical charm "With Faerstice," the only other surviving instances of "os" are combined forms in names such as Oswald; thus she surmises that no matter what the word's ancient meaning was, "os" had become virtually unknown by the time of the Rune Poem's composition. Further, Halsall claims that it is unlikely that the Christian author of the poem would "knowingly assist in reinforcing the reputation of the Germanic pantheon" (111).
In contrast to Halsall's and Kemble's interpretations, Bosworth comments that "if the verse is old, the reference might be to Woden" (768). Even in her notes, Halsall gives the Germanic root of "os" as *"ansuz", "god", which through loss of nasal before "s," compensatory lengthening, and loss of final syllable becomes "os" (109), just as *"gans" > "gos." In discussing "With Faerstice," Glosecki refers to the name of the "o" rune as "the un-umlauted simplex 'esa'" (116). Glosecki defends "os, esa" as cognate with ON "ass, aesir" on the basis of an explicit mention of Woden in the "Nine Herbs Charm" in the same manuscript which preserves "With Faerstice," MS Harley 585 (119). Further, Kemble himself even provides an additional reason to associate Woden with the Rune Poem: Woden is the mythological inventor of runes (335).
These diametrically opposed interpretations of the "os" have one thing in common: an assumption that Christian and native Germanic elements are incompatible. In contrast to this traditional diametric opposition of Christian and heathen strata, however, the corpus of Old English poetry provides a wealth of evidence that syncretism was commonplace. Throughout Old English poetry, old Germanic terms for deities are recycled to refer to the Christian God. The earliest recorded Anglo-Saxon poet, Caedmon, uses the terms "frea," "meotod," and "aelmihtiga" to refer to God (Dobbie 106). As Robinson points out, these words, which were originally pagan terms for deities, are redefined in the Christian poetry to refer to God (37). Furthermore, Woden is subsumed into royal genealogies in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles as both ancestor of kings and descendant of Adam and Noah (Niles 135). Although "os" is unattested outside of the Rune Poem except in compound names, there is no reason to doubt that it too underwent the same transformation that other pre-Christian terms did. In the context of Anglo-Saxon synthesis of Germanic diction with Christian belief, "os" refers to the Christian God in pre-conversion terms.
Internal evidence in the Rune Poem further supports the idea the "os" is a pagan term reinterpreted in a Christian context. A Latin interpretation for the "o" rune becomes highly unlikely when the fourth stanza is viewed in light of stanza seventeen:
In this stanza, the god Tir is presented as what is apparently a constellation (Dobbie 157). Here, at least, the Christian poet apparently has no qualms about absorbing the proper name of a Germanic god into his post-conversion world view. It seems dubious that he would refuse to translate a generic pagan word for "god" into "God" and then later use a proper name for a specific heathen god in the same poem.
With these points in mind, then, the fourth stanza of the poem may be translated in this way:
Recontextualized in a Christian framework, "os" no longer glorifies a pagan deity, but rather describes the Christian God and alludes to the Tower of Babel instead of Woden's creation of runes. Just as Woden himself is brought within the Christian cosmology, his runes are placed into Christian history.
The Rune Poem is difficult for a number of reasons, in particular textual uncertainties and obscure diction. However, by reconsidering the opposition between Christian belief and pre-conversion terminology, some of these problems can be ameliorated. Although there is no evidence that "os" was an everyday term for God in Anglo-Saxon England, the paucity of surviving uses of this word does not prove that it was unknown, either. In light of Christian recycling of heathen Germanic poetic diction and the use of the name of a specific pagan god elsewhere in the Rune Poem, this "O" rune most likely represents the Christian deity in Germanic terms.
Link to:The Rune Poem
Reconsidering History: The Saxon Presence in Britain Before 449
Campbell, James, ed. The Anglo-Saxons. London: Penguin Books Ltd., 1991.
Esmonde Cleary, A.S. The Ending of Roman Britain. London: B.T. Batsford Ltd., 1989.
Myers, J.N.L. The English Settlements. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989.
The Four Gods of the Week
Betz, Werner. "Die Altgermanische Religion." Deutsche Philologie im Aufriss, herausgegeben v. Wolfgang Stammler. Band III. Berlin: Erich Schmidt Verlag, 1962.
Gutenbrunner, Siegfried. Die germanischen Gotternamen der antiken Inschriften. Halle: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 1936.
Simek, Rudolf. Dictionary of Northern Mythology. Trans. Angela Hall. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1993.
Inner and Outer Space: Narrative and Interlace Structure in Beowulf and Alien
Alien. Dir. Ridley Scott. With Tom Skeritt, Sigourney Weaver, Veronica Cartwright, Harry Dean Stanton, John Hurt, and Ian Holm. Fox/Brandywine-Ronald Shusett Productions, 1979. 117 min.
Beowulf and the Fight at Finnsburg. 3rd ed. Ed. Fr. Klaeber. Boston: Heath, 1950.
The Rune "Os" in the Old English Rune Poem: A Mouthful of Trouble
Bosworth, Joseph. An Anglo-Saxon Dictionary. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1882.
Dobbie, Elliott Van Kirk. The Anglo-Saxon Minor Poems. ASPR 6. New York: Columbia UP, 1942.
Glosecki, Stephen O. Shamanism and Old English Poetry. Albert Bates Lord Studies in Oral Tradition 2, Garland Reference Library of the Humanities 905. New York: Garland, 1989.
Halsall, Maureen. The Old English Rune Poem: A Critical Edition. Toronto: U of Toronto P, 1981.
Kemble, John M. "On Anglo-Saxon Runes." Archeaologia 1840 (28): 327-360.
Niles, John D. "Pagan Survivals and Popular Belief" in Malcolm Godden and Michael Lapidge, eds. The Cambridge Companion to Old English Literature. New York: Cambridge UP, 1991.
Robinson, Fred C. Beowulf and the Appositive Style. Knoxville: U of Tennessee P, 1985.
Our thanks to Dr. Ruppersburg for his generous assistance in publishing Matheliende.