A detail from ‘The Colossus’, painted in about 1818-1825 and formerly attributed to Francisco Goya (1746–1828), but now thought to be by one of his associates. “No human wight was he,” the poet says of Grendel, calling him an evil giant, “but one of the unholy brood of monsters, accursed of God, who dwell in moors, fens, and swamps, remote from God-fearing men, ever bent on doing hell’s work of harm and destruction — the unblest posterity (so wise men tell) of Cain, the first shedder of innocent blood.”
Part 1 of 2
NOT that rest came to any of them at first; for not one thought in his heart he should ever again see his own folk, his native land, the castle where he was nurtured. But even as they kept turning these things over in their minds their limbs relaxed, their lids grew heavy with very weariness, and — they slept.
All slept, but one, — and he lay quite still, straining his ear to listen and his eye to peer through the dim night.
And hark! tramp, tramp, he came marching from the moor, — Grendel, the God-sent scourge. Straight for the hall he made through the gloom: it was not the first time he visited Hrothgar’s homestead; but never had he met such a welcome as now awaited him there.
He came carelessly along, as one assured of his entertainment. The door, though fastened with bars of wrought iron, sprang open at his touch. Quickly he stepped across the flagged floor, big with rage, with eyes ablaze.
Précis
Beowulf and his warriors have pledged to help rid Hrothgar of Grendel, a man-eating nocturnal terror. As they wait, one by one they fall into uneasy sleep, except for Beowulf, who remains taut and watchful. At last the sound of Grendel’s footsteps is heard, and he steals into the hall, eager for his prey. (54 / 60 words)
Part Two
Detail of ‘The Wrestlers’ (1835) by English artist William Etty (1787-1849), showing the grip of hand upon arm. Grendel feared neither sword nor spear and bore none himself. “I too will forego them,” declared Beowulf, “and bear not sword, nor spear, nor broad shield to my battle with him; but with handgrip alone will I meet him, foe to foe, and him of the two whom the Lord doometh, let grim Death take for his own.” Beowulf’s matchless armour, work of the legendary smith Weland, he leaves with Hrothgar to send (should it come this) back to Beowulf’s cousin Hygelac, King of the Geats in what is now Götaland, southern Sweden.
Suddenly he perceived the troop of strange warriors, lying close together, asleep. He laughed aloud. He gloated as he stood over them, and thought that, ere day came, the life of each of them should have been wrenched from the body, since luck had sent him such a treat.
Beowulf curbed his rage to watch the fell ruffian and see how he meant to proceed. The delay was not long: Grendel quickly, at one grab, seized a sleeping warrior, tore him up, crunched the bony frame, drank the blood from the veins, swallowed the flesh in huge morsels; in a trice he had devoured the lifeless body, feet, hands, and all. Then he stepped forward to where the hero lay, and reached out a hand to seize him on his bed — but suddenly felt his arm held tight in such a grip as he had never met with from any man in all the world.
Précis
The strange warriors catch Grendel’s eye, but he thinks only that his feast will be the larger tonight. Reaching out, he snatches up one unlucky man, and devours him there and then. Next he lays hold of Beowulf; but this time Grendel feels the bite of a hand upon his arm, a grip tighter than any he has felt before. (60 / 60 words)
