ANDREAS: ANDREW IN THE COUNTRY OF THE CANNIBALS
This is one of five vernacular saints’ lives or legends in OE verse. The others are Elene: Helena’s Discovery of the True Cross in the Vercelli Book (see below) and Guthlac A, Guthlac B, and Juliana in the Exeter Book. Brooks notes that “the legend of the adventures of Andrew and Matthew in the land of the [Mermedonians] appears to have been from early times one of the most popular of all the apocryphal stories concerning the Apostles [and] it is preserved in numerous Oriental versions and also in Greek, Latin, and Old English prose recensions” (xv). Clayton points out that “of the Latin versions extant, none is the direct source of Andreas, but the Old English text most closely resembles the Greek along with some details most closely paralleled in a Latin version known as the Casanatensis” (xvi–xvii; for a translation of the Casanatensis, see Calder and Allen, 14–34). For many years, scholars assumed that the Andreas poet made use of Beowulf because of certain shared characteristics, but Fulk and Cain note that “this consensus lapsed with the growing recognition that Old English verse is formulaic, and verbal parallels may result from a common oral tradition rather than from a direct literary influence” (102). The relation between the two poems continues to be debated, but what is clear is that the Andreas poet has colored the story with the diction and tropes of OE heroic poetry. The poem begins, for example, with the traditional Hwæt! (Listen!) and refers to the audience’s having heard stories of the legendary apostles, just as Beowulf begins with Hwæt! and a reference to its audience having heard the stories of the “Spear-Danes’ glory.” When God approaches Andrew, commanding him to journey to the land of the cannibals to save his brother Matthew, Andrew answers in what Greenfield calls “a tissue of Anglo-Saxon formulas and kennings appropriate to the themes of exile and sea-voyaging, replete with variation” (Greenfield and Calder, 160). Clayton also points out that “Andrew’s disciples express their undying loyalty to him in terms that would be appropriate for a poem of secular heroism but in this context conveys the sense of their being soldiers of Christ, milites Christi, with Andrew as their leader against the forces of the devil represented by the Mermedonians” (xviii).
Often there is a poetic expansion of the prose legend. After the dead prison guards have been discovered by the Mermedonians, the Latin prose version of Casanatensis says simply: “Now the murderers went to the prison so they could bring out a man to carry off for their food, but after they found the gate open and seven guards dead, they dashed off quickly to their leaders” (Calder and Allen, 27). The Anglo-Saxon poet expands this in heroic style, referring to the wærleasra werod (throng of the faithless) that came with their weapons to þam fæstenne (to the fortress) to find at the door “of the prison death-house … not a welcome hand / But broken locks and bloodied bodies / The freedom of their foes and a collection of corpses” (lines 1096 ff.). Here the unholy heathens sound like the horde of Viking warriors in The Battle of Maldon, and the scene of carnage sounds like the aftermath of a Grendelish visit to the Danish hall or the result of the reawakened feud in Finnsburg. Boenig sums up the conjunction of Germanic poetic techniques in the Christian poetry:
The heroic language is, of course, part of the given of Old English poetry. Other poems about saints or religious matters in the Old English corpus show the same tendency to invest the spiritual with the military, to dress up the saint in the armor of the hero. The Guthlac poems and The Dream of the Rood are particularly adept at this. There is certainly scriptural warrant for it as well: St. Paul’s famous passage about taking on the armor of Christ (Ephesians 6:10–17) made the transfer easy. (xxxiv)
So Andrew is portrayed as a soldier-saint who battles against the devil and the heathen cannibals but who also obeys the will of God even when it means suffering to the point of near death. In this combination of bold warrior and suffering servant, he follows in, and reaffirms, the pattern set by Christ.
I have filled in several of the short manuscript breaks in the poem with details from the prose versions of Andrew’s life; these occur within brackets in the translation.
Andreas: Andrew in the Country of the Cannibals
Listen! We have heard the heroic stories
Of the twelve glorious disciples of the Lord
Who served under heaven in days of old.
Their faith and courage on the battlefield
Did not falter or fail after they separated 5
And were dispersed abroad as the Lord commanded,
The high King of heaven who shaped their lives.
These were great men, well-known warriors,
Brave and bold leaders of the people,
When hands and shields defended the helmets 10
On the full plain of battle, that fateful field.
One great warrior of God was Matthew,
Who was the first among the Jews to write
With inspired skill the wondrous words
Of the Gospel in a country across the oceans 15
Where no foreigner could feel at home.
God cast Matthew’s lot on a fierce island
Where strangers were often savagely attacked.
That wilderness was inhabited by cruel cutthroats,
Encompassed by evil and devilish deceit. 20
The people in that place, the tribes of terror,
Hungered for unholy food. They ate no bread,
Drank no water, but wolfed down human
Flesh and blood, the corpses of men,
An abominable feast. This was their custom: 25
They slaughtered strangers who came from afar,
Engorged themselves on their unwelcome guests.
Each foreigner found himself invited to the table,
And the inhabitants ate as many as they were able.
These heartless savages were not good hosts— 30
They satisfied their hunger in hideous ways.
First the fierce people would go for the eyes,
Gouging out the beautiful jewels of the head,
Stifling sight with their sharp spear-points.
Afterwards sorcerers with a sinister magic 35
Would make these monstrous and murderous men
A maddening drink that would poison their minds
And ravage their hearts so that when they were left
Without living guests to devour for dinner,
They would give up their humanity, gobbling grass 40
In the fields like cows, fattened for the feast.
Then Matthew came to that infamous city
Of Mermedonia that was bursting to the brim
With devilish men and hungry degenerates
Who gathered together with screams and shouts 45
To greet the stranger—those demon devourers
Had heard about the mission of the holy man.
They were not slow to attack with spears and shields—
They were armed to the teeth and hungry for blood!
They bound the saint’s hands with fiendish cunning, 50
Savages themselves bound straight for hell,
And scooped out his eyeballs with a sharp blade,
An unsympathetic sword, lifting the orbs
That enabled him to see. The small suns
Of his head were eclipsed by evil. 55
Yet in his heart, the holy one praised God,
Composed even after he was forced to swallow
A cup of bitter poison, a venomous drink.
He raised hymns of praise to his guardian Lord
With holy words and sacred speech, 60
A fervent prayer from his evil prison
To the Prince of glory, his God in heaven.
He held Christ fast in his faithful heart.
Weary and weeping with tears of torment,
He reached out to the Lord in his hour of need, 65
The glorious one who shields and sustains us,
Speaking these words to his bountiful God:
&
nbsp; “Look down, Lord, on your holy servant
Who sees no more. I am ensnared in evil,
Wound in a web of alien appetites. 70
I have always obeyed your will in this world,
Made my heart your home. Now I am captured
By demons and dressed for slaughter like a beast.
Only you can see into the hearts of men,
No matter how hidden. If I must die here 75
According to your will by sword-slash
Or spear-thrust, I am ready to suffer.
Your will is my way, Lord of all warriors,
Leader of angels. Lift up my hope—
Lend me your light, Lord, to sustain my sight. 80
Let me not be a beggar with wounds for eyes,
Wandering aimlessly the evil cities
Of these baleful, blood-hungry heathens,
Savaged and scorned. Creator and Keeper
Of this fallen world, on you I fix my faith, 85
The might of my mind, the love of my heart.
Father of angels, bright bearer of bliss,
You are the bestower of the breath of life.
Guardian of middle-earth, I pray to you now,
Set me free from this savagery. Protect me 90
From the scourge of suffering, the direst of deaths
At the hands of these vile and vicious men,
My Ruler and Redeemer, my righteous Judge.”
After these words, a holy sign from heaven
Came into the prison like a radiant sun, 95
A token of God’s glory, making manifest
To Matthew that his anguished prayer was answered.
God’s glorious voice was heard from the heavens,
A holy eloquence. He offered his servant
Healing and comfort in his prison of pain, 100
Saying in a clear and sublime voice:
“I hear you Matthew—have here my gift,
Of peace under heaven. Fear no evil
In mind or spirit. I will break your bonds,
Those sinful snares, and rescue you 105
With those who dwell in terrible torment.
By my holy power, I will open the gates
Of paradise to you, that place of radiance,
The happiest of homes, the greatest of glories,
An abode in heaven where you will abide. 110
Endure the cruel torture of these men.
You will not have to suffer this savagery for long—
These treacherous men will not torment you
With their cunning craft for untold days.
Soon I will send Andrew to sustain you, 115
Your shield and solace in this heathen city.
He will save you from this nation’s terror,
This alien evil, this devouring hatred.
Andrew will arrive in twenty-seven nights,
And you will be freed from the vile unfaith 120
Of these murdering Mermedonians. You will then pass
From suffering to salvation, from grim torture
To the glories of heaven, from the heart’s humiliation
To the comfort and keeping of the victorious Lord.”
Then the Creator of angels, eternal Protector 125
Of all creatures, left Matthew unafraid,
Endowed with hope, and departed into heaven.
God is our Guardian, our rightful King,
The steadfast Ruler of every realm.
Then Matthew renewed hope in his heart. 130
The night-shroud lifted, the light dawned,
The fierce warriors gathered in a frenzy,
An evil throng thrusting their spears,
Rattling their swords behind their shields,
Their hearts blood-mad under their mail-coats. 135
They wanted to separate the living from the dead
In that dark prison and discover which of the breathing
Was ready for breakfast—a treat, a terror.
They would rob a life for a feast of flesh,
Take down the living for a taste of limbs. 140
In mad hunger, they had inscribed death-letters,
Doom-dates written down for each of the men,
When they would serve as meat on the menu.
Cruel and cold-hearted, they began to rage,
Clamoring loudly for the coming dishes, 145
The freshest meat, the sweetest blood.
Those heathens had no respect for the right way
Of living or the might and mercy of the Lord.
They came skulking out of the devil’s darkness,
Shrouded like the devil in a cloak of sin. 150
They trusted in terror, kept faith with fiends.
They found the wise warrior, the holy hero,
Imprisoned in darkness, longing for the life
That the Lord of angels, the King and Creator,
Had promised him. There were three days left 155
Of his allotted time, according to the ravenous
Reckoning of the savage slaughter-wolves.
The day was drawing near when they meant
To break his bones, rip his sinews,
Unhinge his joints, separate his soul 160
From his body, share out his blood
And fine flesh, the delicious corpse-meat,
To men young and old. Everyone was eager
For a morning treat. No one worried
About the soul’s journey to judgment after death, 165
Whether endless agony or eternal joy.
They often held a murderous dinner party
After thirty days to deliver death
And feast on flesh, driven by hunger
And the desire to tear bodies open 170
With their greedy teeth and grim jaws,
Stained with blood. They needed flesh-fodder.
Then the mighty Maker of all middle-earth
Was mindful of how Matthew remained in misery
Among those alien peoples, punished for nothing, 175
Bound by limb-locks. He was a dear disciple,
Showing his love among the Hebrews and Israelites,
But firmly opposing the occult arts,
The strange spells of the heathenish Jews.
Then the voice of heaven was suddenly heard 180
By the apostle Andrew who dwelled in Achaia,
Teaching people the true way of life.
Our God almighty, the Glory-king,
The Lord of hosts and Maker of men,
Opened his heart’s hoard, his mind’s treasury, 185
To the bold believer, offering these words:
“Go forth to the country where cannibals rule
And consume the flesh of their own kind.
Their custom is cruel, a savage practice—
They feast on strangers, foreigners who suffer 190
This terrible fate. The murderers in Mermedonia
Bring terror to travelers, agony to aliens,
Death to those who drift unknowingly
Into this harrowing corpse-hungry kingdom.
Your brother Matthew is shackled in that city, 195
Where he will be slaughtered in three days
So that the unholy heathens can feast on his flesh.
The tip of the spear will send forth his soul,
His body becoming the sweet taste of flesh,
Unless you manage to get there first!” 200
Then Andrew immediately answered the summons:
“My Lord and God, Guardian of glory,
Shaper of creation, how can I cross the sea
As quickly as you command? It’s surely easier
Said than done! An angel might travel 205
With a touch of speed or a twist of time,
Who knows the craft and curve of space,
The height of heaven, the breadth of seas,
But I cannot. These evil aliens
&
nbsp; Do not sound like good friends to foreigners— 210
Their minds are malevolent, their culture is cruel.
The sea-roads are rough, the cold waters unknown.
This does not sound like a safe journey.”
Then the eternal Lord answered his servant:
“Alas, Andrew! that you should be slow 215
To set out, that cruel seas or savages
Should shake your faith or give you cold feet.
In my omnipotence I could bring you the city
With all its inhabitants, its evil and affliction,
If I wanted to. With a Maker’s might 220
I could even lift up that infamous city
And set it down here. Trust is a covenant
The faithful should keep. Be ready to follow
Your Ruler’s command. The hour of departure
Draws near. There can be no delay. 225
You must risk your life for the love of your Lord,
Bear your body to this unwholesome land,
Bring it to the clutch of these demon devourers,
Where war will be waged, faith will be tested
Against torment, terror, and dark dread. 230
The heathens will harass you, but I will be near.
Tomorrow at dawn you must board a ship
And sail over the cold ocean-road to cruelty,
Bearing my blessing as you journey beyond
The known limits of the wide world.” 235
Then the holy Shaper and Sustainer of men,
The origin of angels and all of creation,
Went home to heaven, a place of paradise
Where righteous souls redeemed of sin
Return to their heart’s hold, a richness, 240
A radiance, an endless rejoicing beyond
The body’s ruin, an eternal reward.
So God sent Andrew on a dangerous errand,
Entrusting his warrior with a difficult task.
His heart did not falter, his spirit hesitate. 245
He left the city, his mind on Matthew’s
Peril in prison. He kept up his courage,
Holding steadfastly to his holy purpose
With a firm faith. He would fight for God.
He headed for the harbor over the sand-hills, 250
Marching with his men down to the strand.
As the sun rose slowly over the horizon,
The ocean resounded, and the waves pounded
The shore. The brave-hearted hero rejoiced
The Complete Old English Poems Page 28
