The Penguin Book of Dragons
Page 6
Once, on another occasion, when the blessed man stayed for some days in the land of the Picts, he had to cross the River Ness. When he reached its bank, he saw some of the local people burying a fellow. They said they had seen a water beast snatch him and maul him savagely as he was swimming not long before. Although some men had put out in a little boat to rescue him, they were too late, but reaching out with hooks, they had hauled in his wretched corpse. The blessed man, having been told all this, astonished them by sending one of his companions to swim across the river and sail back to him in a dinghy that was on the further bank. At the command of the holy and praiseworthy man, Luigne moccu Min obeyed without hesitation. He took off his clothes except for a tunic and dived into the water. But the beast was lying low on the riverbed, its appetite not so much sated as whetted for prey. It could sense that the water above was stirred by the swimmer, and suddenly swam up to the surface, rushing open-mouthed with a great roar toward the man as he was swimming midstream. All the bystanders, both the heathen and the brethren, froze in terror, but the blessed man looking on raised his holy hand and made the sign of the cross in the air, and invoking the name of God, he commanded the fierce beast saying:
“Go no further. Do not touch this man. Go back at once.”
At the sound of the saint’s voice, the beast fled in terror so fast one might have thought it was pulled back with ropes. But it had got so close to Luigne swimming that there was no more than the length of a pole between man and beast. The brethren were amazed to see that the beast had gone and that their fellow soldier Luigne returned to them untouched and safe in the dinghy, and they glorified God in the blessed man. Even the heathen natives who were present at the time were so moved by the greatness of the miracle they had witnessed that they too magnified the God of the Christians.
GUARDIANS OF THE HOARD
The Wyrms of Northern Literature
When Jacob Grimm published the first edition of Teutonic Mythology (Deutsche Mythologie) in 1835, he unwittingly heralded a modern renaissance for the dragons of the medieval north. In the chapter “Trees and Animals,” this sprawling encyclopedia of ancient Germanic beliefs boasted a long digression on dragons in its treatment of snakes and other reptiles. For the first time, Grimm gathered the numerous references and allusions to dragons scattered throughout Scandinavian literature and made inferences about their common characteristics. In Old Norse, there were two words for dragon: an ormr (similar to the Old English wyrm) was a monstrously large serpent, while a dreki (borrowed from the Old English draca) had wings and sometimes legs. In the northern imagination, dragons of different shapes and sizes brooded in subterranean chambers atop mounds of gold and prowled the wintry wastelands in search of prey. Like the giants, they were ancient creatures, much older than humankind. Their venomous or fiery breath was lethal. It was the work of heroes like Sigurd and Beowulf to vanquish these monsters from the earth, just as the thunder god Thor had defeated the world-serpent Jörmungandr. Grimm’s Teutonic Mythology did more than any other work of scholarship to advance the image of dragons in Norse mythology as the archetype of these monsters in the modern imagination. Thanks to him, “[p]opular belief still dreams of glittering treasures lying on lonesome heaths and guarded by dragons.” 1
THE TERROR OF NATIONS1
No dragon in premodern literature has informed the modern imagination as much as the nameless wyrm in the early medieval poem Beowulf. Composed in Old English perhaps in the decades after 700, the Beowulf poem survived in a single manuscript created at the turn of the first millennium. This poem tells the story of the hero Beowulf, who sailed from Sweden to Denmark to help King Hrothgar, whose mead-hall was under siege by a murderous human-shaped monster called Grendel. Once Beowulf had defeated Grendel and its loathsome mother, he returned to his homeland, where he became king of the Geats and ruled in peace for fifty years. As Beowulf neared the end of his life, his kingdom was beset by another fell creature: a winged, gold-hoarding, fire-breathing dragon. While the destructive power of the dragon in the Beowulf poem made it a formidable adversary, its penchant for hoarding treasure was equally dangerous, because it threatened to erode bonds of loyalty and friendship in a warrior society that relied on the redistribution of wealth by leaders to cement their relationships with their followers. Although the Beowulf poem was not widely read in the Middle Ages, it has played an important role in shaping modern perceptions of dragons by providing the inspiration for the “most specially greedy, strong and wicked worm named Smaug” in J. R. R. Tolkien’s famous fantasy novel The Hobbit.2
[In celebration of Beowulf’s defeat of Grendel, a poet praises another monster-killer, the dragon-slayer Sigemund the Wælsing.]3
He recited most all
He had heard before about the brave deeds
Of Sigemund, many a strange matter,
Strife of the Waelsing on wide-ranging ventures,
Things scarcely known to the sons of men,
Feuds and violence, except Fitela with him
When Sigemund would say such things,
Uncle to sister’s son, for always they were
In each of combats comrades in need;
A great many of the giants’ kin
They brought down with swords. From Sigemund sprang
After his death-day a great deal of glory
When battle-hardened he bested the wyrm,
Treasure-hoard’s guardian. Beneath grey rock
The nobleman’s son set out alone
On a dangerous deed; nor did Fitela go with him.
Yet it so happened his sword went straight through
The wondrous wyrm, stuck fast in the wall,
The splendid steel; it struck the dragon dead.
The dreaded attacker with daring achieved
That he could have the hoard of rings
All to himself. The ship was loaded,
Treasures stowed in the sea-boat’s hold,
By this son of Wæls. The wyrm went up in flames.
[Beowulf returns to Geatland and rules for fifty years. A thief steals a cup from a treasure hoard and awakens a dragon.]
He ruled well
For fifty winters, a wise old king,
Homeland’s guardian, until one began
In the dark nights to hold sway: a dragon,
He who in high home his hoard watched over,
A steep barrow of stone; below was a trail
Unknown to all until therein crept
Some nameless man, came nigh unto
The heathen hoard, his hand grasping a cup
Encrusted with gems. It gained him nothing
Though he deceived the sleeping beast
With thievish craft. The creature was furious
As soon discovered those dwelling nearby.
Not by choice did he trample the wyrm-hoard
Nor by will alone, that one who wreaked harm,
But in dire distress, the slave of someone
Of the sons of men had fled the stinging whip
And in need of a home made his way herein.
Beset by sin he soon discovered
That there stood a terror, a horror;
And yet the wretch risked his own life,
With fear in heart of a frightful attack,
And sought the precious cup; for many such things
In that earth-hall there were, of ancient treasures.
[The last survivor of some ancient clan had deposited the treasures there, lamenting his fate before he died. Then a dragon found and claimed the hoard.]
The old dawn-terror
Found a splendid hoard standing open,
He who burning seeks out barrows,
Sleek dragon of spite, and soars by night
Ensheathed in flame; hi
m the land-folk
Do sorely dread. He is driven to seek
A hoard in earth where heathen gold
He guards, grown old, though it does him no good.
Thus the terror of nations for three hundred years
Kept hold of the treasure-house under the earth,
A force supreme, until someone enraged him,
Befouled his mood, bore to his liegelord
The gilded cup, craved a pardon
From his lord and master. The massive hoard was plundered,
The ring-hoard robbed, and request was granted
To the wretched man. Upon works of ancients
His generous lord looked for the first time.
Then the wyrm awoke, his wrath was renewed,
He slithered along stone, stark-hearted he found
His enemy’s footprints. Too far he had stepped
With craft and cunning near the dragon’s head.
So may the undoomed one easily escape
Misery and woe, whom the all-wielding lord’s
Good keeping protects. The hoard-guard searched
Eagerly along the ground, to find the one
Who while he slept had sore mistreated him.
Hot in mood he circled the barrow-mound
All around the outside but no one saw
In that wilderness, yet enjoyed his war-mood,
The work of battle; then turned back to the barrow
To seek the treasured cup. Straightaway he found
Signs that someone dared damage his gold,
Glorious treasure. The hoard-guard waited
With painful impatience for evening to come;
The barrow’s keeper was bursting with rage,
The hateful beast would pay back with flames
The precious drinking-cup. Then the day departed
To the wyrm’s delight; no longer on wall
Intended to abide but went forth blazing
In a burst of flames. The beginning was hard
For that land’s folk, just as later it ended
For their gift-giver with grievous pain.
Then the ghastly beast began to spew flames,
To burn bright halls; the fire-glow gleamed
To men’s terror. Nor there intended
The loathsome flier to leave anything alive.
The wyrm’s warfare was widely seen
Fiendish cruelty, far and near,
How the grim attacker the Geatish folk
Hated and harmed; he shot back to his hoard,
His secret dwelling, before daylight arrived,
He enfolded in flames the folk of that land,
In fire and burning, then trusted the barrow,
Its walls and his warfare, but that trust deceived him.
Then to Beowulf was the terror made known
At once in truth that his own home,
Best of houses, had burnt up in flames,
Gift-throne of Geats. To the good king that was
The greatest of griefs, anguish in heart.
The wise king wondered if he the All-wielder,
Eternal Lord, against the old laws
Had bitterly offended. His breast surged within
With dark thoughts; that was not his custom.
The fiery dragon had the folk’s fastness,
Stronghold of that land on the seashore’s edge
Reduced to coals. The king of war,
Prince of Weder-Geats, plotted revenge.
The protector of men commanded be made,
The leader of warriors, a wondrous shield
All out of iron. Well enough he knew
That wood of the forest would fail to help him,
Linden against flame. His loan of days
Would end before long, life on earth
For the proven warrior, and for the wyrm as well
Though he long had held his hoarded wealth.
The prince of rings did then disdain
To face the wide-flier with a force of men,
Long ranks of troops. No attack he feared
Nor worried much about the wyrm’s warfare,
Its strength and valor, for he survived before
Many a battle, braving dire straits
And the crash of war, since he had cleansed
King Hrothgar’s hall, triumphant hero,
Crushed in combat the kin of Grendel,
Loathsome clan.
[Guided to the monster’s lair by the thief, Beowulf prepares to face the dragon.]
Thus he came through every kind of combat,
Severest of conflicts, son of Ecgtheow
With acts of courage, until that one day
When he had to wage war against the wyrm.
Enraged he set out, one among twelve,
The lord of Geats, to look upon the dragon.
He had found out whence the feud arose,
Dire malice to men; came into his keeping
The famous cup from the one who found it.
He was in that throng the thirteenth man,
The one who started all their troubles,
Sad-minded thrall, who wretched thence
Guided them back. Against his will he went
To where he alone knew that earth-hall to be,
Hoard under ground near the surging sea,
The warring of waves; within it was full
Of gems and spun gold. The monstrous guardian,
Ever greedy for battle, held gold treasures,
Ancient under earth. That was not an easy bargain
To obtain for any of those among men.
Sat down then on headland the strife-hard king,
Gold-friend of Geats, offered good health
To his hearth-companions. He was heavy in heart,
Restless but ready, the fate was nigh
That soon would assault the aging king,
Seek his soul’s hoard, divide asunder
Life from body; not much longer would
The king’s spirit be clothed in flesh.
Beowulf spoke, son of Ecgtheow,
“In youth I survived many storms of battle,
Times of hard strife; I still remember them all.”
[The battle commences, but Beowulf succumbs to the dragon’s flames as his comrades flee.]
“Now must blade’s edge,
Hard sword in hand fight for the hoard.”
Beowulf spoke, boast-words uttered
For the last time. “I lived through many
Battles in my youth, yet still will I,
Old guardian of folk, face the feud,
Do a glorious deed, if the evil enemy
Emerges from his earth-hall to mount an attack!”
Then he addressed each of his men,
Valiant helm-bearers for the very last time,
Dear companions. “I would not carry my sword,
Weapon against wyrm, if I knew another way
Against the awesome foe with all due honor
To grapple, as I did with Grendel;
But here I expect hot and baleful fire,
Breath and poison; so upon me I wear
Shield and byrnie.4 From barrow’s guardian
I will not flee a footstep, but fate shall decree
For us both beside the barrow walls,
As God determines. My mood is fierce
So I make no boast against the battle-flier.
Wait here on the barrow, protected by byrnies,
My men in armo
r, to see who better endures
His wounds after warfare deadly,
Which of us two. It is not your test,
Nor measure of might, but mine alone,
To match my strength against the monstrous foe,
Do a noble deed. With daring will I
Win the gold, unless warfare takes me,
Your lord and friend, with life-denying evil.”
Stood up then with shield the warrior strong,
Hardy under helmet, in war-gear walked
Along cliffs of stone, trusting the strength
Of one solitary man. Such is no coward’s way!
He who with manly virtues a great many
Combats survived, crashes of battle
When men on foot faced each other,
Saw stone arches standing beside the wall,
A stream of fire surging from the barrow,
Deadly and hot; nor near the hoard
Could any survive an instant unburnt
By the dragon’s flames deep within his lair.
Out from his breast then, bursting with rage,
The Weder-Geats’ leader let loose a cry,
Roared, stark-hearted; his voice rang in,
Beneath grey stone, a clear call to battle.
Hate was aroused when the hoard-guard knew
The voice was a man’s. No time remained
To sue for peace. First there shot forth
The fierce one’s breath out from the stone,
Steaming hot, hostile, shaking the ground.
At base of barrow the warrior swung his shield,
Lord of the Geats, to face the ghastly foe;
Then the ring-coiling one was roused in his heart
To seek out strife. His sword he drew,
The worthy war-king, an ancient heirloom,
Its edges undulled. Each to the other was