‘Sundown over a marsh’ by Russian artist Alexei Kondratievich Savrasov (1830–1897), painted in 1871. The author of Beowulf describes Grendel as a giant, not properly speaking a human but nevertheless manlike, who lived among marsh and swamp. After Beowulf mortally wounded him in a wrestling match, he fled to his lair deep in the mire, where his mother awaited his return. There Grendel died of his wounds, and the grieving mother resolved to exact revenge on Hrothgar and his noblemen.
Part 1 of 3
HE leaped from the bluff — the eddying flood engulfed him. So deep was the mere, that it took some time before, sinking, he reached the bottom. Soon the grim creature that for a hundred seasons had kept house in the watery realm perceived that one of the children of men was coming from above, exploring the goblins’ home. She made a grab at him and clutched him in her grisly talons, but could not pierce the well-knit ring mail which fenced him around. But she bore him to her mansion at the bottom of the lake, so swiftly that, although his heart did not fail, he was powerless to use his weapons, the more that countless water-beasts harassed him in swimming, battering at him with tusk and claw.
At length the earl felt the grip loosened on him, and as he hurriedly cast his eye around, he perceived that he was in a vast hall, high-roofed, and protected from the water on all sides; it was light, too, with an eerie, bright lustre, something like firelight.
Précis
After her wild attack on Hrothgar’s hall in revenge for the death of her son, Grendel’s mother sought refuge in her lair beneath a mire. Beowulf leapt recklessly after her into the waters, and sank down until the hag herself drew him into a vast submarine chamber, tall, dry and strewn with grisly mementos of her human prey. (58 / 60 words)
Part Two
A chamber and a subterranean waterfall and river within the White Scar Caves near Ingleton in North Yorkshire. In his pursuit of Grendel’s mother, Beowulf was compelled to leap after her into the waters of a mere. Weighed down by his mail coat, he sank quickly to the bottom but did not drown because his quarry suddenly clutched at him and drew him into her lair, a submarine cave filled with air and even lit with its own ghostly pallor. Strewn about the floor were the bones and armour of long-dead human prey.
BUT the hero had no time for wonder or exploring; for before him stood the grim she-wolf of the abyss, and it behoved him to be quick in attack. Grasping Hrunting,* he whirled it around her head; but when it descended to strike, he found, to his dismay, that the edge did not bite; for the first time the costly blade failed the master at his need.
With prompt decision he angrily flung it away, and once again trusting wholly to his own strength, seized the hag by the shoulder, and swayed her so violently in his rage that she sank to the pavement. She swiftly repaid him and closed in upon him, crushing the wind out of his body, so that he, fearless as he was, staggered from sheer breathlessness and fell prostrate. Then the hag sat upon his back and drew her broad knife, and her goblin son would have been avenged then and there, but that Beowulf’s mail-shirt was proof against point and edge, which gave him time for a last mighty effort to throw off the hindering weight, — and presently he stood once more erect on his feet.
* For this pursuit he had taken not his own sword but another mighty blade, Hrunting, edged with poison, an heirloom and a veteran of many battles.
Précis
Beowulf immediately took the fight to the wretched creature, but found that his sword would not bite on her flesh. Nor could she pierce his mail with her claws, but she did manage to throw him on the ground and drew her knife. But Beowulf’s mail shirt saved him, and wriggling free he regained his feet. (56 / 60 words)
Part Three
Frozen argon melting: the gas freezes at -189.4°C. The author of Beowulf likens the withering of the hero’s giant cutlass, after the blade had tasted the black blood of Grendel, to a frozen stream that melts in the spring sunshine.
STILL, even then his life might have been forfeit in the unequal combat, had he not chanced to espy among the armour lying scattered about the hall, an old cutlass of huge size and strength of blade, larger than an ordinary man could have carried, let alone used in battle, — the handiwork of giants. On this Beowulf blindly seized — beside himself, despairing of his life — and struck in his fury; the blow caught the beldame* in the neck, severed the bone, she dropped on the pavement, — the work was done.
He was alone. He now had leisure to scan the apartment with his eye; he slowly walked all round it, along by the wall, the magic weapon swung aloft by the hilt, for fear of surprises. Suddenly, he came upon a hideous object — Grendel, bereft of life, lying where he fell, as he reached his lake home on that fatal night. The hero’s blood boiled at the sight; he at once decided he would bring back to the upper world a better trophy than a hand and arm:* so, raising high the cutlass, he struck off the head. Then, before his eyes, there came to pass a thing whereat he marvelled much; no sooner had the blade touched the monster’s black gore, than it began to melt away, even as ice when the spring breathes upon it.
* A now archaic word from Old French, originally meaning ‘beautiful lady’ and hence ‘grandmother’, but usually used ironically to mean an ugly and spiteful hag.
* In his wrestling match with Grendel at the hall, Beowulf had torn the creature’s arm from his shoulder. Despite her haste, Grendel’s mother had managed to retrieve the severed arm when, in revenge for the death of her son, she snatched Hrothgar’s unlucky warrior-friend.
Précis
The fight fared ill for Beowulf, until his glance fell on a huge sword among the weapons scattered about the cave. With it he swept off the hag’s head, and after a moment to recover himself struck the head off Grendel’s corpse too for a trophy. Yet no sooner was it done, than the blade melted away before his eyes. (60 / 60 words)
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