3
Grundtvig’s Vision of the Old English Phoenix
The Phoenix – the magnificent mythical bird from antiquity that lives for 500 to 600 years, at least according to one legend, dies, is consumed in flame, and then rises triumphant from its own ashes in a kind of virgin birth – was regarded by many Christian authors, from Pope Clement I (35–99 CE) and Tertullian (155–220 CE) to Grundtvig, as a symbol of Christ and His Resurrection.
1 This chapter is a revised and expanded version of my “N. F. S. Grundtvig’s 1840 Edition of the Old English Phoenix.” Portions of it were also used in my Introduction. Reprinted with permission of the University of Toronto Press.,
2 Cross and Livingstone, Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, s.v. “Phoenix.” Grundtvig saw broader applications of the myth than just the religious as well. In a lecture delivered on 13 July 1838, he observed that it embraces humankind’s ideal of its own great destiny:
[T]his Phoenix, which every morning in its earthly paradise greeted the rising sun with heavenly song, is the symbol of the human spirit in its highest flight and most natural activity… So when the myth ends with the ashes being rolled together into an egg, from which the sun hatches a living creature, first, to be sure, in the form of the smallest worm, but then nevertheless growing and developing from the morning dew into a bird in its father’s likeness, with his voice and with the right of inheritance to the beautiful fatherland, to which, fully-grown and accompanied by all the birds of the forest it returns in joy and triumph, I cannot but see in this an image of modern times as encouraging as it is striking, in which learning up to now was undeniably a bookworm that only wanted to gnaw on the monuments of the beautiful song of the Bird of Antiquity … and I thought I could feel within myself how the worm began to be transformed into a tiny bird. And since that time I see this change taking place wherever the sprit was present in olden days, and I consider my attitude to you now, gentlemen, to be just such a transformation through which the bookworm endeavours to shed its skin …
3 Broadbridge and Jensen, A Grundtvig Anthology, pp. 98–99.The Phoenix myth is perfect for Grundtvig’s multiple purposes. First and foremost, it sheds its bright light on the period of history that includes the introduction of printing, the voyages of discovery, and the Reformation, the period that Grundtvig calls “the Age of the New Year,” characterized by development, change, and renewal. That age would lead to the rise of universal-historical knowledge that explains what went before and clarifies what lies ahead: antiquity corresponds to the Phoenix in its prime; the Middle Ages to the Phoenix building its funeral pyre and then being consumed on it; and the Age of the New Year to its rising from its own ashes into the present of Grundtvig’s day.
4 Vind, Grundtvigs Historiefilosofi, pp. 349–51. Second, the myth encapsulates within itself the discipline of typology, one of Grundtvig’s prime means of interpreting history. The real and historical Phoenix bird anticipates the reborn Phoenix that comes after it, and the two lend veracity to one another through their mirror-like connection. Third, the myth embodies Grundtvig’s central concept of “the living word.” The bird itself is “the King of songbirds,”
5 “Den Sangfugles Drot.” “Fugel Fønix” 1840 in N.F. S. Grundtvigs Poetiske Skrifter 6, p. 297. the most perfect and glorious of birds; and the singing is a perfect, revivifying song that transcends all others
6 “Fugle-kvidder” (1840) in Bågøs and Nørregård, eds., Nordiske Fædrelands-sange og Folkesange (Copenhagen, 1873), no. 46, repr. in N. F. S. Grundtvigs Poetiske Skrifter 6, pp. 361–62. and transforms “the living word” into “the winged word.”
7 “det vingede Ord.” “Pheniksfuglen,” stanza 2, Grundtvig and Christensen, Poetiske Skrifter 8, p. 58.Grundtvig adopted the Phoenix as a symbol for rebirth and renewal early in his career. In 1815, he launched his periodical
Dannevirke (earthwork of the Danes, 1815–21), named after the system of fortifications begun in the seventh century along the neck of the Cimbrian peninsula to protect against invaders from the south. They were still there. Grundtvig’s aim with this publication, which he single-handedly filled with poems and essays on historical and religious themes, was to promote “a revival of faith and a regeneration of national life.”
8 Broadbridge and Jensen, A Grundtvig Anthology, p. 19. In the first volume of the periodical in a poem of the same name, “Dannevirke,” Grundtvig uses the Phoenix as a symbol of that regeneration in stanza 27, where the bird rises from its “triumphant ashes.”
9 “Aske seierrig.” ”Dannevirke,” stanza 26. http://www.grundtvigsværker.dk/tekstvisning/8551/0#{%220%22:0,%22k%22:0}.In an even more patriotic, nationalistic gesture that harkens back to outrage over the English bombardment of Copenhagen in 1807, Grundtvig uses the Phoenix symbol again in his poem “Phønix-Gaarden” (The Phoenix Courtyard). The central building of the University of Copenhagen (founded in 1479) along with many other public buildings had been destroyed in the onslaught, and the university had had to carry out its work since then in temporary locations around the city. In 1836, however, a new central building was completed and inaugurated to great fanfare, with members of the royal family attending the dedication ceremony. Grundtvig wrote his poem to celebrate the occasion.
10 Pedersen, “Indledning til ‘Phønix-Gaarden’,” 1. In it, the Phoenix is “born like a winged word,”
11 “Fødtes som et vinget Ord,” stanza 13. rising from the ashes of the bombardment as the University of Copenhagen.
12 Pedersen, “Indledning til ‘Phønix-Gaarden’,” 3.1. In two other poems on the Phoenix in 1840, Grundtvig reflects on the nature of the bird in one and on his edition of the Old English (OE) poem dedicated to it in the other.
13 Pedersen, “Indledning til Phenix-Fuglen,” 1. His use of the Phoenix symbol is by far the most fully realized in his edition of the OE poem.
Four years after the appearance of “Phønix-Gaarden,” Grundtvig published
Phenix-Fuglen, the first full edition and first complete translation into any language of the major poem from
The Exeter Book.
14 Phenix-Fuglen: et Angelsachsisk Kvad, förstegang udgivet med Indledning, Fordanskning og Efterklang (The Phoenix-Bird: An Anglo-Saxon Lay, Published for the First Time, with Introduction, Danish Translation and Echo Poem, 1840). Lines 1–27 of the poem were first published and translated into Latin and English by Conybeare in “Account of an Anglo-Saxon Paraphrase of the Phoenix.” Conybeare also offers a transcription and Latin translation of lines 81b–84. His other work on the Phoenix is generally attached to a specific event or occasion; this one is motivated by multiple occasions and events. Twenty-five years before this publication, for example, a coronation took place in 1815, that of King Frederik VI of Denmark (1768–1839; reigned over Denmark 1808–39 and over Norway 1808–14); 1815 also saw the emergence from Danish soil of the first edition of
Beowulf – flawed though it was – which thus began a new epoch in OE studies that “ever since rises more and more clearly like a phoenix from its own ashes.”
15 “der siden stedse klarere opstaaer som en Phenix af sin Aske.” Phenix-Fuglen, p. 9. Grundtvig himself also began his work in OE studies in 1815 by publishing the first part of his translation of
Beowulf,
16 Ibid., p. 9. See Grundtvig, “Et Par Ord.” This review of Grímur Thorkelin’s first edition of Beowulf from 1815 contains Grundtvig’s free-verse translation of lines 1–52 and is reprinted in Cooley, “Grundtvig’s First Translation from Beowulf.” the whole of which appeared five years later.
17 Phenix-Fuglen, p. 9. See Bjowulfs Drape. Between Grundtvig’s first translation from the poem and his complete translation of it came “Stykker af Skjöldung-Kvadet,” which is a rendition of lines 53–319 (through the coastguard episode). Thus, the year 1840 marked Grundtvig’s silver anniversary in the field and was again a coronation year, this time for King Christian VIII (1786–1848; reigned 1839–48). The first edition of
Beowulf came out of Denmark in 1815; the first edition of what Grundtvig considered to be another major OE text should come out of Denmark in 1840, this year of national celebration, as well. In addition, although Grundtvig does not say so, the new king’s ascension to the throne was particularly important because it began a relatively halcyon period for Grundtvig, who was admired and favored both by the king and the Crown Princess Caroline Amalie.
18 See chapter 4, “Unexpected Fulfillment, 1839–58,” pp. 67–83, in Allchin, N. F. S. Grundtvig.In addition to these motivations for editing and translating The Phoenix, Grundtvig had at least one other that was a bit more personal. As discussed in chapter 1, Grundtvig was eager in 1830 to embark on an ambitious publication project of OE material that he laid out in his Prospectus, but was thwarted from doing so. He could at least fittingly and symbolically resuscitate part of that plan in 1840 by issuing to the world The Exeter Book’s chief resurrection allegory. The work thus becomes more than just scholarship: it is an intricate blending of Grundtvig’s nationalistic, aesthetic, religious, and scholarly interests.
The 71-page book consists of eight parts: a dedication page, a dedicatory poem (pp. 5–8), a preface (pp. 9–14), an introduction (pp. 15–22), the OE text (pp. 23–43), the Danish translation (pp. 44–63), an “echo of the ballad” (pp. 63–70), and a concluding seven-stanza lyric (pp. 70–71).
19 Dedicatory poem, translation, “Echo,” and concluding lyric reprinted in Grundtvig, N. F. S. Grundtvigs poetiske Skrifter 6, pp. 297–366. The text itself and much of the introduction – what we would now consider the most scholarly and valuable parts of the book – actually contain the least interesting material. The text, for example, which is based entirely on Grundtvig’s transcriptions of
The Exeter Book, is relatively conservative but imperfect by his own admission. On p. 14 of the preface, he acknowledges that his edition is based on his transcription and that a close comparison of it with the original manuscript would surely reveal some errors.
20 For a detailed study of the transcriptions, see Bradley, N. F. S. Grundtvig’s Transcriptions of the Exeter Book.As was the custom at the time, Grundtvig arranges the poem in half-lines, and he prints the OE poet’s direct source for the poem, Lactantius’s
De Ave Phoenice, directly beneath the first 758 of them.
21 Phenix-Fuglen, pp. 23–35. Conybeare first identified Lactantius as the possible Latin source for part I of the poem in “Account of an Anglo-Saxon Paraphrase of the Phoenix.” Grundtvig uses Rudolph Johannes Frederik Henrichsen’s edition of Lactantius in Pröveskrift om Phenix-Mythen (De Phoenicis Fabula) (Copenhagen, 1825/1827). For the current state of Latin source studies for the poem, see Gorst, “Latin Sources of the Old English Phoenix.” He seems to try to preserve the structure of the original, inserting Roman numerals to substitute for the spaces and large capitals that the scribe uses to indicate where each fitt begins, but he inexplicably divides the poem into seven, not eight fitts, joining manuscript fitts 5 (lines 350–453) and 6 (lines 424–517) into one. Otherwise, his divisions follow those of the manuscript precisely. Except for Muir (
The Exeter Anthology), the subsequent standard English editions (Krapp and Dobbie,
The Exeter Book, and Blake,
The Phoenix) do not indicate the fitt divisions in the text itself at all and thus, with Grundtvig, lose the obvious symbolic value of the number eight, the medieval number of baptism, resurrection, and eternity,
22 For a full explication of the ramifications of number symbolism in the manuscript and poem, see Stevick, “Mathematical Proportions and Symbolism in ‘The Phoenix’” and “The Form of The Phoenix.” and Grundtvig preserves the manuscript readings in fifteen places where subsequent editors have emended the text.
23 At half-lines 142 (MS gehongene), 144 (MS wuniað), 229 (MS holm wræce), 265 (MS winsumra), 306 (MS rene; Grundtvig suggests grene in a note), 307 (MS fugla; Grundtvig suggests fugel), 391 (MS gewæs; Grundtvig suggests gehwæs), 610 (MS bregden), 645 (MS somnað), 681 (MS wefiað), 739 (MS fille), 812 (MS ageald), 886 (MS we), 1024 (MS liges; Grundtvig suggests lifes), and 1169 (MS eadwelan but -an is altered in MS to -um). At half-line 330, Grundtvig misreads MS syrwara for fyrwara and preserves that misreading but notes that the former makes more sense in context than the latter. He does not, however, preserve either
þ or
o consistently, so he substitutes
ð for
þ with only a handful of exceptions throughout the text, and he substitutes
a for
o almost without fail. While he prefers
ð to
þ, he also always replaces manuscript
o with
Þ.
24 At half-lines 169, 546, 659, 668, 891, 1137, 1175, 1208, and 1262. The text also displays sporadic misreadings of letters,
25 At half-lines 15 (i for e), 52, 1206 (e for a), 52 (o for e), 79, 852 (a for ea), 82, 1095 (j for i), 86, 423, 1196 (u for a), 97, 847 (o for eo), 123, 971 (ð for d), 160 (e for o), 174, 563, 721, 912 (a for e), 221, 330 (f for s), 247 (g for h), 276, 1201 (th for ht), 319, 446 (e for a), 409, 575, 603 (æ for a), 536, 980, 1248, 1268 (d for þ or ð), 466 (i for o), 479 (ll for l), 485, 778, 1345 (æ for e), 533, 885 (a for u), 592, 630, 707, 1159, 1331 (e for i), 628 (o for u), 664 (ea for a), 944 (y for i), 1089 (r for s), 1112 (i for ie), 1161 (i for y), 1173 (u for e). two letter omissions, and one letter addition.
26 Letter omissions: half-line 267 (m), 1347 (t); letter additions: half-line 303 (m). All such blemishes are, of course, minor ones that do not substantially affect the reliability of the edition. But slightly more serious problems do occur. Grundtvig omits one word (
oo, 50 [= 25b]) and one half-line (
heafde onbrygdeð, 282 [= 143b]), misreads eight words,
27 At half-lines 135 (þingum for þragum), 318 (midlum for mid him), 437 (lænan for lænne), 459 (þam for þære), 490, 492, 1156 (him for hi), 1105 (hram werig for hrawerig). and inserts line breaks incorrectly nine times.
28 At half-lines 212–13, 272–73, 281–82, 326–27, 522–23, 532–33, 748–49, 808–09, and 812–13. These errors have occurred despite Grundtvig’s hoping “to have divided lines with a little better measure than the English Anglo-Saxonists have yet managed” (“at have afdeelt Linierne med lidt bedre Takt end de Engelske Angelsachser endnu har erhvervet sig,” p. 14). As an
editio princeps based on a transcription instead of the original manuscript, however,
Phenix-Fuglen deserves respect.
Like the text, the introduction contains fairly standard material. Grundtvig briefly examines how the Phoenix myth is treated by the Hebrews, Pliny, Tacitus, Herodotus, Hesiod, Ovid, Claudian, Artemidorus, and in the poem attributed to Lactantius, which he claims offers us the most complete treatment of the myth.
29 Phenix-Fuglen, pp. 15–17. But permeating that standard scholarly survey and following it comes Grundtvigian polemic about the nature and importance of figurative language and its resurrection in the nineteenth century. That seemingly extraneous, topical matter offers us the key to the entire book as both valuable cultural artifact and aesthetic unity. As Grundtvig sagely observed in his introduction to
Nordens Mytologi in 1832, “poetry will have to become scholarly for scholarship to become poetic.”
30 “Poesin maa blive videnskabelig, for at Vidskaben kan blive poetisk.” Quoted in Haarder, Beowulf, p. 61.Grundtvig’s circuitous, associative argument basically turns on two central and inter-related concepts: the biblical and Augustinian notion that derives from 2 Corinthians 3:6 of the supremacy of a text’s spirit to its literal expression (“the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life”); and the idea of the history of the individual, of the nation, of the world, and of the race being contracted into the Phoenix myth. Figurative language or the spirit, Grundtvig believes, had sunk into oblivion during the Middle Ages and remained there since the Reformation in 1536 because of the strictures of what he terms “the Latin School.”
31 “Latinskolen,” Phenix-Fuglen, p. 15. Protestantism “in its one-sidedness became the denial of the spirit,”
32 “i sin Eensidighed blev Aands-Fornægtelse.” Ibid., p. 21. the affirmation of the letter, and it is only in the present century, “which will easily win the name of ‘the resurrection from the dead,’” that a period of renewal for figurative language has arisen.
33 “der sagtens vil vinde Navn af ‘Opstandelsens fra de Döde’.” Ibid., p. 15. Grundtvig’s century is “a lovely period of transition, transition namely from the yard of the worm to the bird’s nest, or from the slough of the worm to the bird’s wing, from the spirit destroying ABC to the spirit illuminating figurative language, or from the dead letter to the living word.”
34 “en deilig Overgangs-Tid, paa Overgangen nemlig fra Orme-Gaarden til Fugle-Buret, eller fra Orme-Hammen til Fugle-Vingen, fra den aandsfortærende ABC til det aandsoplysende Billed-Sprog, eller fra den döde Bogstav-Skrift til det levende Ord.” Ibid., p. 20.The period we are in transition from Grundtvig calls the “bookworm period”
35 “Bogorme-Tid.” Ibid., p. 22. or period of excessive adherence to the letter, and the “bookworm creature”
36 “Bogorme-Væsen.” Ibid., p. 20. has held sway in it for 300 years. The creature, which he also calls the spirit-devouring, spirit-destroying “Latin letter creature,” stood “in hostile opposition to both Bible, Spirit and Mother Tongue.”
37 “Latinske Bogstav-Væsen, der stod i fiendtlig Modsætning baade til Bibel, Aand og Modersmaal.” Ibid., p. 21. Scholars schooled in that period and subject to that creature, therefore, insisted on interpreting the Hebrew word
kol, which can mean either “Phoenix” or “sand” in Job 29:18 and Psalms 103:5, not as the former but as the latter because of “the spiritlessness whereby they regarded the figurative language of antiquity.” Even if they were compelled to admit the presence of the bird in scripture, they would still try to offer a rational interpretation of its constant rebirth, which would only mean “that it changed plumage like other birds”
38 “den Aandlöshed, hvormed man betragtede Oldtidens Billed-Sprog … at han skiftede Fier som andre Fugle.” Ibid., p. 16. or nothing more “than a certain period of revolution of the planets.” These “dwarves under the Parnassus” continue in the present day, amusing themselves “with making up riddles and dark speeches about present, obvious, and crystal-clear things while all the major poets strive in figurative language to give us a living conception of the invisible and distant.” To the dwarves, “the eternal truths of the almanac are both much more important and more poetic than the whole of human life with all its vagaries, its entrance and exit, longing and hope.”
39 “end en vis Omlöbs-Tid af Planeterne … Dværgene under Parnasset … med at lave Gaader og mörke Taler af nærværende, öiensynlige og soleklare Ting, medens alle Hoved-Skjaldene stræbe i Billed-Sprog at give os en levende Forestilling om det Usynlige og Fraværende … Almanakkens evige Sandheder er baade langt vigtigere og mere poetiske end hele Menneske-Livet med alle dets Omskiftelser, dets Indgang og Udgang, Længsel og Haab.” Ibid., p. 18.But the Phoenix is more than a bird, and when it is liberated from the literal-minded, Grundtvig points out, we see its relevance to all facets of human existence. We see with the Egyptians that it symbolizes the immortality of the soul, with the Church Fathers that it offers us “a beautiful prototype both of the Lord’s Resurrection and of ours,” and with the OE poet that it is the human spirit itself.
40 “et deiligt Forbillede baade paa Herrens Opstandelse og paa vores.” Ibid., pp. 18–19. Bradley points out in “‘Stridige Stykker snild jeg forbandt’” that here Grundtvig defines himself “as heir to the Fathers and the Christian Anglo-Saxon poets,” p. 99. We also see that the bookworm period, lamentable though it may seem, was necessary. During it the Phoenix worm developed out of the ashes of its father before being reborn as the Phoenix once more. Grundtvig explains the process thus:
The phoenix myth would always illustrate the great course even if the spirit of man, because of his sins, should be found too weak for completing it. The paradise bird, one might say, surveyed its wondrous course and prophesied truly about it but after its decline could only show the way, not follow it; but where one around the New Year has come far enough to see this and speak sensibly about it, the rebirth and resurrection must have taken place to a certain degree after all,
philology may have developed into pneumatology [my emphasis], hair-splitting risen to presence of mind; for just as little as the worm knows the bird’s way, so little can the mere bookworm talk sensibly about the course of the spirit …
41 “saa altid vilde Phenix-Mythen afbilde den store Löbebane, om end Menneske-Aanden, for sine Synders Skyld, skulde findes for svag til at fuldende den. Paradis-Fuglen, maatte man da sige, overskuede sin vidunderlige Bane, og spaaede sandt om den, men kunde efter sit Fald kun vise Retningen, ei fölge den; men hvor man i Nyaarstiden er kommet saavidt at see det og tale forstandig derom, der maa Gienfödelsen og Opstandelsen dog alt i en vis Grad have fundet Sted, maa Philologien have udviklet sig til Pneumatologi, Ordklöveriet hævet sig til Aandsfatning; thi ligesaalidt som Ormen kiender Fuglens Vei, ligesaalidt kan den blotte Bogorm tale forstandig om Aandens Bane.” Phenix-Fuglen, p. 20.Grundtvig explains, furthermore, that if the Phoenix, king of the songbirds, is the natural symbol of the spirit, the history of the Phoenix is an image of the history of the human spirit as reflected in both the individual and the race, in both Denmark and the whole world.
42 Ibid., pp. 19, 22. Only three conditions are required for that history to reach fruition: “the memory of a lost glory and the longing for its renewal … deep respect for the Bible as the holy inheritance of the great spirit, and … love of the mother tongue as the only living tool for the spirit.”
43 “Mindet af en forsvundet Herlighed og Længsel efter fornyelse deraf … dybe Ærbödighed for Bibelen, som den store Aands hellige Efterladenskab … Kiærligheden til Modersmaalet, som det eneste levende Redskab for Aanden.” Ibid., p. 21. In Denmark in 1840, all these conditions coalesced, particularly in King Christian VIII and N. F. S. Grundtvig.
With the basic principles in mind from Grundtvig’s introduction, we return now to the first page of Phenix-Fuglen to begin seeing how Grundtvig uses the Phoenix myth’s identification with universal history as the structural basis for his book and how he simultaneously transmutes philology into pneumatology.
The dedication reads simply, “To His Danish Majesty, Heir of the Scyldings, King Christian VIII, as a portent of good fortune is dedicated in his coronation year the lay of
The Phoenix.”
44 “Den Danske Majestæt / Skjoldungers Arving / Kong Christian den Ottende / tilegnes / som / Lykke-Varsel / i / Kronings-Aaret / Phenix-Kvadet.” Two of Grundtvig’s primary concerns reside in this simple declaration. First, in his public offering of his scholarship and art to the most public of all figures, Grundtvig affirms the national and historical importance of both. Second, in his allusion to the Scylding dynasty, he affirms the continuity of Danish national history from Dan, the eponymous founder of Denmark mentioned by Saxo Grammaticus in book 1 of
Gesta Danorum, to Dan’s grandson Scyld, the eponymous founder of the Scyldings mentioned in the prologue to
Beowulf, to Christian VIII, the new Danish king. Grundtvig reinforces this notion in the dedicatory poem and amplifies it in the preface to the book and the “echo” poem when he refers to
The Phoenix as “Angul’s ancient lay.”
45 “Anguls Oldkvad,” “Anguls-Kvadet,” Phenix-Fuglen, pp. 9, 64. Grundtvig also uses Angul in the title of his second, revised edition of his translation of Beowulf in 1865. The first edition in 1820 was titled Bjowulfs Drape. Et Gothisk Helte-Digt fra forrige Aartusinde af Angelsaxisk paa Danske Rim (The Heroic Poem of Beowulf: A Gothic Heroic Poem from the Previous Millennium in Danish verse from the Anglo-Saxon). The 1865 title, Bjovulvs-Drapen, et høinordisk Heltedigt, fra Anguls-Tungen fordansket (The Heroic Poem of Beowulf: A High Nordic Heroic Poem translated into Danish from Angul’s Tongue), more clearly brings the poem into the provenance of Denmark and Danish prehistory. On Grundtvig’s tendentious use of titles, see chapter 1. “The Danes trace their beginnings from Dan and Angul,”
46 Saxo Grammaticus: The History of the Danes, Books I–IX, ed. Hilda Ellis Davidson, trans. Peter Fisher (Bury St. Edmunds, 1979), p. 14. Saxo informs us, the latter also being the first ruler of the Angles, and so Danish and English history meaningfully coalesce in the OE language and in the poem.
From the broad, public, and relatively uncomplicated perspective of the dedication, we move to the dedicatory poem, likewise broadly public in perspective but specifically incorporating both Grundtvig himself and his art, and that art is considerable. Grundtvig is regarded as one of Denmark’s greatest poets, perhaps the greatest,
47 Borum, Danish Literature, pp. 34–37, and Digteren Grundtvig, p. 9. and he lavishes great care on this 17-stanza poem. Each stanza consists of six lines rhyming ababcc, lines 1, 3, 5, and 6 containing ten syllables each, lines 2 and 4, nine. The poem’s initial two stanzas form a paradigm of Danish and universal history, of royal death and rebirth, of anguished silence transformed to joyous song, that the rest of the poem fleshes out. They read:
Kongen döde under Vinters Hjerte,
Med Naturen bar vi alle sorg,
Dyb var altid Dannekvindens Smerte,
Som i Hytten , saa paa Kongeborg,
Og paa Jorden findes ei de Helte,
Som ved Hjerte-Sorg jo maae hensmelte.
Kongen lever ved Midsommers-Tide,
Med Naturen smile vi paany,
Danske Aasyn er som Bögens blide,
Let sig klarer deres Pandesky;
Og naar Frygt ei Munden paa os binder,
Glædens Bæk i Frydesang udrinder.
The king died beneath the heart of winter,
with Nature bore we all our sorrow,
deep always the pain of the Danish woman,
alike in cottage as in castle royal,
and on earth is not found those heroes
who with their heartache would not have to melt away.
The king lives in the midsummer time,
with Nature smile we once again,
the Danish countenances are like the beech’s mild,
their furrowed brows quickly clear;
and when dread our mouth no longer binds,
the brook of delight flows forth in joyful song.
Stanzas 3 through 7 move us through Danish history, from the unnamed but paronomastically present Scyld Scefing in the distant past to the new king, standing “with the Scylding crown on,”
48 “med Skjoldung-Kronen paa.” Phenix-Fuglen, p. 5. in the present (stanza 3). Scyld, the nameless “spirit [that] died,” the “child-angel” with “wings wide as the shield of the land of Dan,” was borne out to sea, but “the spirit’s death on earth … is just a torpid state” (stanza 4).
49 “Aanden döde … Barne-Englen … Vingebreed som Dane-Markens Skjold … Aanders D¯d paa Jord er dog kun Dvale.” Ibid., p. 6. The spirit hovers above the crown, “popular song in child-like tones sweet” (stanza 5)
50 “Folkesang i Barne-Tone söd.” Ibid.; it alone can create life, for “the power of life,” in an obvious pun on
spiritus, “is in breathing” (stanza 6).
51 “Livskraften er i Aandedrættet.” Ibid. Only the word is the spirit’s equal, sharing with it “all his achievement and praise, / as a queen shares the honor of the king” (stanza 7).
52 “al hans Daad og Priis, / Som en Dronning deler Kongens Ære.” Ibid.Stanza 8 brings Christian VIII, the spirit, and Scyld Scefing together as Grundtvig expresses his wish that “the spirit will rule freely in your kingdom” where false spirits will never defeat “Denmark’s child-angel,”
53 “I sit Rige Aanden herske frit! … Danmarks Barne-Engel.” Ibid. where the king’s “true queen, the mother tongue, / who has been enslaved now for 300 years,” will shine once more (stanza 9).
54 “ægte Dronning, Modersmaalet, / Som har trællet nu trehundred Aar.” Ibid., p. 7. Christian VIII is Denmark’s hope (stanza 10), and Grundtvig’s hope for Denmark’s good fortune “bloomed in the shadow of death, / enthroned in my bosom like a king” (stanza 11).
55 “blomstred selv i Dödens Skygge, / Throned mig i Barmen som en Drot.” Ibid. Grundtvig used to sing of Balder but now “clearly intones of a Phoenix-age” (stanza 12)
56 “Toner klart nu om en Phenix-Alder.” Ibid. that was not entirely fulfilled during Frederik VI’s reign (stanza 13).
In stanzas 14 through 16, Christian VIII and Grundtvig seem significantly to merge. The child-angel who was Scyld Scefing in stanza 4 and reincarnated as Christian VIII in stanza 8 matures as “the angel in Denmark,” who can be either Christian VIII or Grundtvig and scald- like sings (stanza 14),
57 “Engelen i Danevange.” Ibid., p. 8. then “Denmark’s angel,” who as a truthful spirit becomes yet more truthful (stanza 15),
58 “Danmarks Engel.” Ibid., p. 8. and finally “Denmark’s angel” once more, enjoined to “embrace tenderly our mother tongue, his bride” (stanza 16).
59 “Favne ömt vort Modersmaal, sin Brud!” Ibid., p. 8. In the concluding stanza, the ambiguity of these stanzas resolves itself into a clear, unequivocal paean to the king, who has become one with Denmark’s spirit, language, and song (and, perhaps, with Grundtvig):
Hil Dig da, Kong Christian! med Din Krone,
Med Dit Folk og med Dit Time-Glar!
Danmarks Aand! sid herlig paa Din Throne!
Modersmaal! giör Loven mild og klar!
Folkesang! udbryd fra alle Munde!
Overstem alt Gny og Glam i Lunde!
Hail to you, King Christian! With your crown,
with your people, and with your hourglass!
Denmark’s Spirit! Sit grand upon your throne!
Mother tongue! Make the law mild and clear!
Folksong! Burst forth from every mouth!
Outvoice all din and baying in the groves!
Perspective narrows in the dedicatory poem even as it becomes more complex, and it narrows still more in the preface to
Phenix-Fuglen. Here Grundtvig focuses almost exclusively on himself, the “genuine Kämpe [warrior] … heaving up masses of historic labour with the energy of Thor,” as two of his contemporaries phrase it,
60 Howitt, The Literature and Romance of Northern Europe, p. 152. and intoning “with barbaric eloquence about the beauty and unfortunate lot of Anglo-Saxon literature,” as he himself does.
61 “med barbarisk Veltalenhed over den Angel-Sachsiske Literaturs Skiönhed og ulykkelige Skiæbne.” Phenix-Fuglen, p. 10. To explain to his public his “seeming infidelity”
62 “tilsyneladende Utroskab.” Ibid., pp. 9, 12. to OE studies over the past several years, Grundtvig recounts his journeys to England and their aftermath. When he ventured to London the first time in 1829 and made known his interest in OE literature, he was greeted with patronizing smiles and scholarly assurances “that what I raised to the skies as an Elf Queen was an old, wrinkled witch” deserving the scorn of “Hume, Warton, and other gentlemen of the finest classical education.”
63 “at hvad jeg löftede til Skyerne som en Ælve-Dronning, var en gammel rynket Hex … Hume, Warton, og andre Gentlemen af den fineste Classiske Dannelse.” Ibid., p. 10. Grundtvig says that he retorted that the English were ignorant of what they had and were handing over “the historical and poetic Queen of the new Europe” to the Danes, who were “her weak but loyal knights.”
64 “det ny Europas Historiske og Poetiske Dronning … svage men trofaste Riddere.” Ibid. When he returned to England the second time in 1830, he was taken more seriously, and the publishers Black, Young, and Young asked him to formulate his
Prospectus. Sensing, therefore, that his initial abrasiveness had worked to good effect, he continued the strategy in trying to raise interest in (and subscriptions to) the project. Among other things, for instance, he declared, “If I were an English instead of a Danish poet and historian, I’d want to address my fatherland in the words of the ‘immortal bard’”:
And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,
Wouldst thou not stir in this. [
Hamlet I.v.33–35]
65 “‘Dersom jeg var en Engelsk, istedenfor en Dansk, Digter og Historiker, da vilde jeg tiltale mit Fædreneland med den ‘udödelige Sangers’ Ord: Dorskere er du end Urten, som raadner | Paa Fedme-Jords-Bredden af Lethe i Mag, | Vil du dig ei röre endnu’.” Ibid., p. 11. Grundtvig had been making such inflammatory statements for years. In “Om Bruneborg-Slaget,” for example, we have seen him lambast the English for ignoring their ancient heritage and adumbrate his 1830 Prospectus by urging them to look seriously back to the language and spirit and texts of the Anglo-Saxons. See also Grell, England og Grundtvig, pp. 14, 17, 24.Such marketing ploys stir neither the dull nor the swift, however, so it came as a surprise only to Grundtvig that he was treated as a marauding Viking, not a liberating hero, when he sailed to England for the third time in 1831. “The publication of the important and valuable remains of the first new-European literature” had understandably become a matter of honor for England and could not possibly be handed over to a foreigner.
As this was exactly what I had wanted from the beginning, I was not hard to console (although it was a little impertinent of a certain man [Benjamin Thorpe] to say that the publication of an Old English library was his profound idea that I had come upon by chance and wanted now to destroy him with by completing), and I have therefore sat by very patiently and watched how they have published one part after the other of the work that I had announced.
66 “Udgivelsen af de vigtige og dyrebare Levninger af den förste nyeuropæiske Literatur … Da nu dette netop var, hvad jeg fra Begyndelsen havde önsket, blev jeg ikke vanskelig at tröste, (skiöndt det var lidt nærgaaende af en vis Mand at fortælle, at Udgivelsen af et Angelsachsisk Bibliothek var hans dybe Idee, som jeg tilfældigviis havde opsnappet og vilde nu ödelægge ham ved at udföre) og jeg har derfor siddet meget taalmodig og seet paa, hvordan man udgiver den ene Deel efter den anden af Værket, jeg bebudede,” Phenix-Fuglen, pp. 11–12.After the appearance of Thorpe’s edition of
Cædmon’s Metrical Paraphrase of Parts of the Holy Scriptures in 1832 and Kemble’s of
Beowulf in 1835, Grundtvig laments, “the English Anglo-Saxonists barely seem to know that I exist.”
67 “de Engelske Angelsachsere knap synes vide, jeg er til.” Ibid., p. 12. He consoles himself, however, in knowing that he was the first to transcribe
The Exeter Book and that he is willing and able to produce an edition of
Beowulf that will both save Denmark’s honor from the shame of Thorkelin’s edition and rescue the poem from the clutches of Caesar Lexicographicus and Caesarina Grammatica into which the English have thrust it.
68 Ibid., pp. 12–13.With the next two and central sections of the book, we reach the final narrowing of perspective in
Phenix-Fuglen: scholarship nationalized and set in balanced contrast with the imagination in the introduction and then pure philology, unaffected by national, philosophical, aesthetic, or personal concerns, in the edited text. The text is the worm of the OE poem (and the book) created by the bookworm creature, Grundtvig, and from it rises his free Danish translation just as the OE poem seems to rise Phoenix-like from the ashes of the Latin original running directly beneath it. Grundtvig implies, in fact, the metaphorical transmutation of the Latin into the OE when he states in his introduction that on the Lactantian poem “the Anglo-Saxons built where we see the new Phoenix develop as a worm out of the old one’s ashes.”
69 “byggede Angel-Sachsiske, hvor vi see den ny Phenix udvikle sig af den Gamles Aske som en Orm.” Ibid., p. 17. And he creates a similar ambiguity that points to the identification of the OE text with the worm when he states that scholars of the day are “very angry about that worm, which here comes to daylight.”
70 “meget vrede paa den ‘Orm,’ som her kommer for Dagen.” Ibid., p. 18. Grundtvig states earlier that the OE poem itself “steps forth here for the first time into the light of day” and “now comes to light.”
71 “træder her förste Gang for Lyset,” “nu kommer for Lyset.” Ibid., pp. 13, 15.Grundtvig’s translation of
The Phoenix is even more complex and impressive than his dedicatory poem. It consists of 152 stanzas of nine lines each in feminine rhyme for a total of 1,368 lines, a mere fifteen lines longer than the 1,353 half-lines of the original. The rhyme scheme for each stanza is an intricate aabccbdde but, amazingly, no one stanza uses identical combinations of rhyming sounds to replicate the scheme. In the first three stanzas, for example, the pattern takes this shape: aabccbdde, ffghhgiij, and kklmmlnno. The a-rhyme (“-leden”) is not used again until stanza 92 (“Eden”) but is followed there by “Vei” for the b-rhyme instead of “Land”; the f-rhyme (“Luften”) does not appear again until stanza 73 (“Luften”) but is followed by “Öe” for the g-rhyme instead of “-elig”; and the k-rhyme (“Vinger”) does not show up again until stanza 85 (“bringer”) but is followed by “Ord” for the l-rhyme instead of “Port.”
72 The stanzas containing a rhyme in the a-line that is repeated as the a-line rhyme in other stanzas are as follows (with subsequent stanzas in parentheses): 31 Sangen (28), 39 Midte (14), 71 Hjörne (55), 72 Skove (4), 73 Luften (2), 74 side (21), 81 Sove-Kammer (23, 44, 49), 85 bringer (3), 102 brænder (46), 103 Tanker (41, 43, 63, 64), 108 svinde (33, 88), 110 grue (84), 112 Fromme (95, 109), 113 Fenix-Reden (1, 92), 114 opsvinger (3, 85), 116 Mange (67), 118 Öre (90), 120 Grave (86, 93), 121 Brystet (26), 122 Döde (25, 48, 98), 123 tilbage (9, 27, 53, 94, 117), 124 Fenix-Fuglen (19, 29), 126 Sjæle (104), 130 Glandsen (32), 136 Ære (59, 66, 80), 138 Sale (134), 144 Fenix-Livet (16, 60, 119), 145 bygger (125), 146 Helgen-Folket (6, 97), 147 fredes (42, 75, 77, 132, 141), 148 histoppe (7), and 150 Höie (105). The very rhyme scheme thus seems to symbolize the Phoenix: it is ever changing but constantly the same.
The poetic form gives the translation its modern Danish plumage, the outward manifestation of the risen Phoenix. Inwardly, the bird remains essentially identical. Grundtvig keeps it so by retaining the core story of the poem with its narrative components in approximately the same order as the original, but he occasionally contracts material where the OE poet expands it and expands where the OE poet contracts. To describe the tree in which the Phoenix dwells, for instance, the OE poet uses eight half-lines:
þær he heanne beam | there the lofty tree |
on holt-wuda | in the wood |
wunað and weardað, | he occupies and inhabits, |
wyrtum fæstne, | fast in its roots, |
under heofum hrofe, | under the vault of heaven, |
þone hatað men | that men on earth |
fenix on foldan | call phoenix |
of þæs fugles naman (339-346) | from the bird’s name. |
Grundtvig conveys the same sense in two lines in stanza 24: “I Palmens Krone / der er hans Throne” (in the palm’s crown, there is his throne). In addition, by specifying the tree as a palm as Lactantius does, Grundtvig also deftly injects into his translation the dual meaning of the Greek word for Phoenix (Phoenix and palm) that is contained in the OE and that he briefly discusses in his introduction. When Grundtvig wants to emphasize a thought in the OE, on the other hand, he does so. The blessed and the angels praise God in twenty half-lines in the OE (1241–61), for example, but do so in twenty-seven lines in Grundtvig’s translation (stanzas 136–38). And the concluding ninety-one half-lines of the original become 126 lines in the translation as Grundtvig magnifies his glorification of the Father.
The first two stanzas of Grundtvig’s translation, juxtaposed to his edition of the original OE and my translations of both, amply exemplify his technique:
Hæbbe ic gefrungnen, | I have heard | (1) I Österleden, | In eastern parts, |
þæt te is feor heonan, | that far from here | og langveis heden, | and far from here, |
east-dælum in, | in eastern parts is | der er et Land, | there is a land, |
æðelest londa, | the noblest of lands | berömt i Sange, | famous in songs, |
firum gefræge; | known to men; | skiöndt ei af Mange | not known by many |
nis se foldan-sceat | the region of earth | det findes kan, | who can be found, |
ofer middan-geard | across the world isn’t | navnkundigt vide | widely renowned |
mongum gefere | accessible to many | for Luun og Blide, | for warmth and mildness |
folc-agendra, | of rulers, | og Deilighed. | and beauty. |
| | | |
ac he afyrred is | but it is removed | (2) Speilklar er Luften, | Crystal clear is the air, |
þurh Meotodes meaht | by the Maker’s might | og söd er Duften, | and sweet is the smell |
mán-fremmendum. | from evil-doers. | usigelig, | inexpressible, |
wlitig is se wong eall | Beautiful is all the plain, | hvor faur af Söen | where fair from the sea |
wynnum geblissad, | joyfully blessed | sig hæver Öen, | the island lifts itself |
mid þam fægristum | with the sweetest | ulignelig, | unequalled, |
foldan stencum; | smells of earth; | som Yndlings-Værket, | as the favored work, |
ænlic is þæt iglond. | unique is that island. | som Mindes-Mærket | as the monument |
| | af Almagts Haand. | of the almighty’s hand. |
In the book’s penultimate section, the 59-stanza “Dansk Efterklang” (Danish echo), Grundtvig moves still further away from the worm of the original OE. He echoes his translation by employing its stanzaic pattern and by repeating its last stanza as the echo’s last, but he also allows themes and motifs from the introduction and translation, as well as extra-textual reflections on Nordic myth, to reverberate throughout the entire text. The resulting structure is a fairly amorphous one, governed primarily, it seems, by association or by the echoes any one topic generates in Grundtvig’s mind. The poem opens simply with birdsong:
Naar Dagen gryer, | When day breaks |
i blanke Skyer | in the bright clouds |
ved Sommers-Tid, | in the summertime, |
af Fugle-Munde | from the mouths of birds |
da fyldes Lunde | the groves are filled |
med Kviddren blid, | with gentle chirping, |
og Sange möde | and songs meet |
hver Morgen-Röde | every dawn |
i Tusindtal. | by the thousands. |
After this initial stanza, however, Grundtvig offers five more that are only loosely attached to each other and touch on such matters as the rarefied nature of the Phoenix’s song and the Danishness of the rider on Odin’s horse. Then, with stanza 7, a semi-linear and familiar argument starts taking shape. Grundtvig mentions the OE
Phoenix specifically as “Angul’s lay,” which, “on the vellum leaf,” is only ashes from the Phoenix’s pyre.
73 “Anguls-Kvadet, / paa Kalvskinds-Bladet.” Phenix-Fuglen, p. 64. A new Phoenix has begun to rise from those ashes in Denmark and to fly on delicate wings across the Danish countryside, providing remedy for the spirit of the folk (stanzas 8–11). It is a Christian Phoenix, of course, and one dedicated to the old ways (the ship Skíðblaðnir that bore the life of the folk is rechristened “Humility” in stanza 14) and the mother tongue. She is immolated on the Phoenix’s pyre in stanza 23 and replaced by “a robber’s voice / only at home in the grave.”
74 “en Röver-Stemme, / i Grav kun hjemme.” Ibid., p. 66. “Then the popular voice / sank fully into oblivion / in Denmark” as “everything in the North / completely famous / from sepulchral Latin / to hell torment / became quickly doomed.”
75 “Da Folke-Stemme / gik reent ad Glemme / i Danevang … Alt i Norden / fuldvidt berömt, / af Grav-Latinen / til Helved-Pinen / blev rask fordömt.” Ibid.We know what’s coming now. The bookworm Grundtvig who appears in stanza 33 tries to drive the Roman blight from the land in stanzas 39 through 44:
dit Lys er Mörke, | your light is dark, |
og Luft din Störke, | your substance, air, |
og Lögn dit Liv. | falsehood is your life. |
… | … |
jeg dig nedmaner, | I exorcise you, |
du Kirke-Raner, | you church stealer |
ved Korsets Fod, | at the foot of the cross, |
du Grav-Latiner, | you sepulchral Latinist, |
du Præste-Piner, | you priest tormentor, |
du Bogstav-Trold! | you letter troll! |
Grundtvig concludes by trying to rouse his countrymen and women to affirm the Fatherland and the mother tongue and by extolling Denmark’s manifest virtues, virtues very much akin to those of the island in the east where the Phoenix has its home. In Denmark, for instance, the lamb entrusts itself to the lion (stanza 52); disputes settle themselves over mead and wine (stanza 53); goodness exudes warmth, and evil, coldness (stanza 54). In Danish books, you can easily find what you seek, and in Danish women, fidelity has its safest home (stanza 55). The days of Scyld and Dan should return, then, “for the joys of life, / and peace-loving deeds,” for “the mother of the beech tree,” and for Christian VIII.
76 “for Livets Glæder, / og fredsæl Daad … for Bögens Moder.” Ibid., p. 70.As the reverberations from the “echo” subside in its climactic “Hallelujah,”
Phenix-Fuglen ends in its beginning in relative serenity. The concluding seven-stanza poem directed, as was the opening poem, to the newly crowned king is brief enough to quote in full along with my literal and inadequate translation of it. Both are followed by the music to which the poem was sung:
77 The melody used here was first published in 1814 in Nyerup and Rahbek, Udvalgte Danske Viser, pp. lxxiv–v. Jeg gik mig ud en Sommerdag at höre
Fuglesang, som Hjertet kunde röre,
I de dybe Dale,
Mellem Nattergale,
Og de andre Fugle smaa, som tale.
Der sad paa Kvist en lille Fugl i Lunden,
Södt den sang i Sommer-Morgenstunden,
I de grönne Sale,
Mellem Nattergale,
Sang saa klart, som Nogen kunde tale.
Paa Straale-Krandsen og paa Engle-Rösten
Kiendte jeg den sære Fugl fra Östen,
Paradisets Svale,
Som af Vinter-Dvale
Vaagned op til Sang i grönne Sale.
I Graadens Dal var Glædens Röst begravet,
Sangens Soel gik ned i Tone-Havet,
Löst var Styrkens Belte,
Blege alle Helte,
Hjertet maatte i et Suk hensmelte.
Dog leved op Höisangen efter Döden,
Tone-Havet födte Morgenröden,
Og i Sole-Glandsen,
Under Straale-Krandsen,
Let gik over Bölge Havfru-Dandsen.
Hilsæl, vor Drot! hilsæl i Danevangen!
Daglig her nu voxer Phenix-Sangen,
Fugl og Sang tillige,
Og alt som de stige,
Blomstrer med Dit Septer Danmarks Rige.
Omton da nu det Danske Konge-Sæde,
Fuglesang, som röre kan og glæde:
Phenix-Sang, oprunden
Sært i Böge-Lunden,
Morgenröde-Sang med Guld i Munden!
78 Phenix-Fuglen, pp. 70–71.I went out one summer day to hear
Birdsong that could touch the heart,
In the deep valleys
Among the nightingales
And the other small birds that speak
There on a branch in the grove a little bird sat
Sweetly it sang in the summer morning,
In the green halls
Among the nightingales,
Sang as clearly as anyone could speak.
By its halo and angelic voice
I knew the singular bird from the East,
The swallow of Paradise
That from winter torpor
Awakened to song in green halls.
Buried in the valley of tears, the voice of happiness,
The song’s sun set in the sea of sound,
Loosed was the belt of strength,
Pale all heroes went,
The heart had to melt away in a sigh.
But after death the solemn song revived,
The sea of sounds gave birth to the dawn,
And in the sunshine,
Under the halo,
Lightly the mermaid dance passed over the wave.
Hail, our king! Hail in Denmark!
Daily here now the Phoenix-song grows,
Bird and song alike,
And already as they rise,
Denmark’s kingdom blossoms with your scepter.
Surround in sound now the royal seat,
Birdsong that can move and delight:
Phoenix-song, come
Singularly from the beech grove,
Dawn-song with gold in its mouth!
~
Example 5. 5. “Jeg gik mig ud.”
An elegant simplicity graces this poem as the “little bird” in stanza 1 becomes the “swallow of Paradise” in stanza 3 then metamorphoses further in stanzas 4 and 5 from the “song’s sun” to “solemn song,” “dawn,” and “mermaid dance.” Simultaneously, the new and unnamed king is identified with bird, song, and dawn. In this lyric, the relatively separate elements in the dedicatory and echo poems – individual, king, Danish people, folksong, and Phoenix – are completely integrated in an utterance only partially topical, only partially tied to the historical context. The Phoenix has finally flown. Philology has become pneumatized.
With a lyrical flourish,
Phenix-Fuglen ends as more than a mere edition of an OE poem and Grundtvig as more than a mere scholarly editor. He actually becomes the Phoenix in the course of the book, and the book becomes an embodiment of a coherent view of history and the place of the Angles and Saxons and the Danes in it even as it celebrates a new era of the spirit in Denmark. The edition’s movement through eight parts, in fact, seems at least partially to symbolize Grundtvig’s goal of incorporating the individual into “a greater community – linguistically into the community of the native language, nationally into the community of history, socially into the community of society, ecclesiastically into the community of the congregation and religiously into the community of evangelical Christianity.”
79 Flemming Lundgreen-Nielsen, “Grundtvig and Romanticism” in Thodberg and Thyssen, N. F. S. Grundtvig: Tradition and Renewal, p. 41. The book also represents a rebirth of Grundtvig’s own work in OE studies, although his interest had not waned over the years. After
Phenix-Fuglen, he produced additional Phoenix poems from 1840 to 1853, as we have seen, a substantial essay on and brief discussion of
Beowulf in 1841 and 1844 respectively,
80 “Bjovulfs Drape eller det Oldnordiske Heltedigt”; Brage-Snak om Græske og Nordiske Myther og Oldsagn for Damer og Herrer, pp. 322ff. his own long-desired, long-promised edition of the poem in 1861, and the second, improved edition of his translation of it in 1865.
81 Beowulfes Beorh; Bjovulvs-Drapen. To the end of his life, Grundtvig remained committed to OE studies. He died on 1 September 1872, but three days before his demise, he was still so keenly engaged in the field that he asked his friend Frederik Hammerich to read him John Earle’s recent translation of “The Ruin.”
82 Earle, “An Ancient Saxon Poem.” Grundtvig knew the poem well, of course, and remarked to Hammerich that it brings to mind the whole of OE literature, itself “a truly splendid ruin.” That was the last time Hammerich was to see Grundtvig “in this life.”
83 “en rigtig stolt Ruin”; “i dette Liv.” Johansen and Høirup, Grundtvigs Erindringer og Erindringer om Grundtvig, p. 263. For an English translation of Hammerich’s “Min sidste Samtale med Grundtvig” (My Last Conversation with Grundtvig), see Bradley, “‘A Truly Proud Ruin’,” pp. 161–62. To the end of his life as well, Grundtvig championed the mother tongue and his beloved Denmark, “where the spirit always lives in the chamber of the heart and teaches the little elves to use their sweet voices for songs that are worthy of them.”
84 “hvor Aanden altid boer i Hjerte-Kamret og lærer Smaa-Alferne at bruge deres söde Stemmer til Sang, som er dem værd.” Phenix-Fuglen, p. 22. Phenix-Fuglen is such a song.
~
Figure 7. N. F. S. Grundtvig, 1872.
Grundtvig’s edition of
The Phoenix, like much of his other work, did not, in its entirety, rise to prominence in OE studies either in Denmark or abroad. There was only one review (in German) of the edition, which focused primarily on the importance of the OE poem in the history of the Church,
85 Rudelbach. and since then only editors of the OE poem appear to have referred to it with a couple of exceptions.
86 Ludvig Ettmüller, C. W. M. Grein, Albert S. Cook, George Philip Krapp and Elliott Van Kirk Dobbie, Norman F. Blake, and Bernard J. Muir all refer to Grundtvig’s edition either to accept or reject some of his suggested readings. George Stephens based his 1844 metrical translation on Grundtvig’s OE text, not on his translation, which the bookwormish Stephens dismissed as “a very loose, meaningless, sentimental paraphrase,”
87 Stephens, “The King of the Birds,” p. 257. and Frederik Hammerich used Grundtvig’s OE text as the basis for his 1873 Danish translation of lines 1–84.
88 Hammerich, De episke-kristelige Oldkvad, pp. 75–78. Like Stephens, he did not use Grundtvig’s rendering, which he considered “rewriting, free ‘Danishing,’ as [Grundtvig] himself phrases it, not translation; such a peculiar approach cannot be of service for anyone else. Of all the translations, for my part I have found Thorpe’s the most useful.”
89 “omdigtning, fri fordanskning, som han selv kalder det, ingen oversættelse; en så egendommelig natur kan ikke gjøre tjæneste som våbenbærer for en anden. Af alle oversættelser har jeg for min del fundet Thorpes mest brugbar.” Ibid., p. 8.In the twentieth century, references to Grundtvig’s edition were even more sparse. Stener Grundtvig, for example, quoted from p. 10 of the preface to the edition in his 1920 introduction to Grundtvig’s letters to his wife during his trips to England,
90 Stener Grundtvig, N. F. S. Grundtvigs Breve til hans Hustru under Englandsreiserne 1829–1831, p. vii. and Steen Johansen and Henning Høirup in 1948 quoted pp. 10–12 of the preface in their
Grundtvigs Erindringer og Erindringer om Grundtvig.
91 pp. 73–75. See also R. W. Chambers, who mentions the importance of Grundtvig’s edition in “Modern Study of the Poetry of the Exeter Book,” p. 35; Borum, who assesses the edition’s place in Grudtvig’s poetic corpus in Digteren Grundtvig, pp. 83–85; Haarder, who mentions the edition in “Grundtvig and the Old Norse Cultural Heritage,” p. 73; Pope, who notes the edition’s existence in “The text of a damaged passage in the Exeter Book,” p. 140; Schjørring, who examines the importance of the Phoenix myth in Grundtvig’s work in “Om Fugl Fønix motivet,” pp. 383–97; Bradley, who touches on various aspects of the edition in “’The First New-European Literature’,” pp. 46–47, 50. “‘Stridige Stykker snild jeg forbandt’,” pp. 97–102, and “The Recovery of England’s ‘skrinlage fortid’,” pp. 142–43; Chase, “True at Any Time,” pp. 512–13, who points to two important statements about myth in the edition. In the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, Grundtvig’s translation has been read with sympathy. John D. Niles, for example, observed that, in it, Grundtvig “let his own voice merge with that of the Anglo-Saxon poet so as to achieve a passionate nobility of expression that could have a transformative effect on his readers”: The Idea of Anglo-Saxon England, p. 212. See also Jørgensen, “Reconstructing the Past and the Poet,” and Zeruneith, De siste tider, p. 282, note 121, who merely notes that Grundtvig translated the poem into Danish in 1840. Grundtvig’s two other major OE projects before his death – his 1861 edition of
Beowulf and his 1865 revised translation of it – suffered a similar fate. The former is referred to almost entirely for its presentation of the OE text of the poem, and the latter has been virtually ignored and denigrated. On reading the first part of that translation published in 1815, for instance, Thorkelin cried out, “What a translation! What madness!”
92 Quoted in Bradley, “Det er vad jeg kalder,” p. 37. While aesthetics in Scandinavian scholarship in OE studies remained an interest beyond the nineteenth century, it took a back seat to philology. Pneumatology, however, did not remain entirely behind with Grundtvig. It seems to have been carried on or reconstituted by one of the earliest twentieth-century Scandinavian scholars interested in OE subjects, Vilhelm Grønbech (1873–1948).