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[lines 1537-1569 in sections XXII and XXIII and 5th line from the bottom of folio 163v, through folio 164r to 4th line from the top of folio 164v on Kevin S. Kiernan's Electronic Beowulf CD] Images of the original manuscript text of this section, and an mp3 file of Ben Slade reading it in Old English, are here. Note: there is a discussion of the word eaxle in line 1537a on my page on Shoulder Grabbing vs. Hair Pulling
In this part of the story Grendel's mother has just been to Heorot to seek revenge for Beowulf's victory over Grendel. She has grabbed one of Hrothgar's men and taken Grendel's arm down from above the hall door and taken the man and the arm back to her under-water cave.
King Hrothgar asks Beowulf to chase after her and one of his men leads Beowulf to where they believe her home to be. Beowulf puts on his mail armour and takes Unferth's sword "Hrunting" and swims down through the water looking for Grendel's mother. It takes him hours to swim down through the water but eventually Grendel's mother and other monstrous beings swim up to meet him and fight with him in the water. They eventually end up in the under-water cave where Grendel and his mother have been living. The roof of the cave holds out the water.
Beowulf and Grendel's mother fight in her cave and she crushes him fiercely with her claws but his life is protected by his armour. He tries to kill her with Hrunting but it will not even bite into her flesh. Eventually he sees Grendel's mother's own giant sword on the wall -- the sword is so large that he is the only man in the world strong enough to wield it -- and he uses it to kill her.
At this moment Beowulf has just failed to hurt Grendel's mother with the sword Hrunting and he tries to wrestle her as he had done with Grendel.
Beowulf Fights Grendel's Mother -- Audio: beowulf-audio-1537a-1569b-benslade.mp3
140 seconds, 2.2Mb, Sampling Rate=22,050, 16bit -- lines 1537-1569
Click to hear Ben Slade read about Beowulf's fight with Grendel's mother in Old English (or right click and "Save-As" to save to your hard drive)
Ben Slade's Beowulf page is at http://www.heorot.dk.
The prince of the fighting Götar then seized the mother of Grendel by the shoulder. He had no regrets at all about that fight. The battle-hardened man spun her-- then his blood was up-- till she fell in a heap on the floor. She in turn quickly paid him back in wicked holds. She pulled him towards her. His spirit worn out, the strongest of soldiers, the champion of the army, was thrown off balance, so that he was given a fall. Then she sat on the man who had invaded her hall, and drew her short-sword, broad-bladed and with its edges glittering. She was about to avenge her child, her only son. On his shoulder rested the meshed corslet. That saved his life. It prevented the entrance of point or edge of blade. Ecgtheow's son, the champion of the Götar, would have come to the end of his exploits deep under ground, had not the battle-mail, the tough war-corslet been a help to him, and had not Holy God, the Lord in His wisdom, the Governor of Heaven, decreed victory in battle. With ease and in accordance with His justice, He had ordained it the moment Beowulf got on his feet again.
It was then that he saw in her gear a blade blessed with victory, an ancient sword of more than human make, with rugged edges, one that had done soldiers proud. It was the choicest of weapons, except that, noble and majestic as it was, a masterpiece by giants, it was larger than any other man could have carried into battle. The champions of the Scyldings, stern and savage in a fight, then grasped the ringed hilt and drew the damascened blade, and, despairing of life, struck so furiously that hard thing bit into her neck. It split the neck-bones; the blade went all the way through the doomed flesh. She crumpled to the floor. The sword was dripping blood; the soldier gloried in his deed.
Then the prince of warlike Geatas (he shrank not at all from the fray) seized Grendel's mother by the shoulder; then the doughty fighter, for he was enraged, shook his deadly adversary, so that she sank down on the place. She on her part quickly paid him back in his own coin with a terrible clutch of the hand, and grappled with him. Then that foot-soldier, strongest of warriors, weary of spirit, over-reached himself, so that he fell. Then she sat upon that hall-guest, and took her dagger, broad, brown-edged; she would avenge her bairn, her own heir. His linked coat of mail lay on his shoulder; that protected his life; against point and against edge it withstood entrance. Then would the son of Ecgtheow have gone the way of death under the vast ground, the champion of the Geatas, unless his war-corselet, that hard coat of chain-mail, had afforded him help, and holy God, the all-knowing Lord, the Ruler of the heavens, awarded victory; he settled it aright, easily when he [Beowulf] again stood up.
Then he saw among the stuff a blade blessed with victory, an old sword of Jotun times, with finest edge, the glory of warriors; that was the very pick of weapons, save that it was larger than any other man could carry forth to the game of war, -- good and properly fitted, the work of giants. He, the champion of the Scyldings, fierce and savage, seized that belted hilt; hopeless of life, he drew the ringed blade, fiercely he struck, so that it smote heavily upon her neck, burst the vertebræ; the blade drove right through her doomed carcase; she sank down on the place. The sword was gory, the man rejoiced in his work.
So all undaunted the prince of the Geats grasped Grendel's dam by the shoulder and his wrath hurled her from him so that she sank to the floor. But straightway she met him, grip for grip, and they grappled together till his great strength wearied and he stumbled and fell. Then she was upon him, sitting, and the byrnie on his shoulder caught the stab of her knife, broad and brown-edged. And save of this, the son of Ecgtheow had strayed to his destruction under the wide earth-- save for his battle-burnie and the Lord God, the ruler of the skies, who granted the victory and by whose just decree the hero got him once more to his feet.
Thereupon, amongst weapons that were there, he caught sight of an ancient sword and mighty, the work of giants, omen of victory, and huger than any man else could swing in battle. This by its circleted hilt he seized and drew it forth, and all despairing of his life he furiously smote. And the edge took hold on her neck, and broke the bone-locks, and the sword passed quite through the casing flesh of a spirit doomed and fey, so that she fell on the hall-floor. And the hero with his sword all of a gore-blood had his joy with the deed he had done.
--- The Lord of the War-Geats seized then Grendel's mother by the shoulder-- he did not shrink from her wrath. Then the fierce war thane dragged his life-enemy-- for he was angry-- until she sank to the floor. Quickly in return she paid him back with grim clutches and grappled with him, Weary of heart the warrior, strongest of fighters on foot, stumbled, so that he fell. Then the hall-visitor sat upon him and drew her knife, broad and brown-edged. She would avenge her son, her only offspring. On his shoulder lay the woven breast-net: that saved his life, barred entrance against point and edge. Then would the son of Ecgtheow have perished under the broad earth, the warrior of the Geats, had not his battle byrnie, the hard war-net, done him service, -- and holy God, Heaven's Ruler, easily decided it rightly when the warrior again stood up.
Then he saw among some war-gear a victory-favored sword, a brand descended from giants, hard of edge, the glory of warriors. That was choicest of weapons except that it was greater than any other man could bear in battle, good and fully wrought, the work of giants. Then the Lord of the Scyldings seized the hilt, grim and fierce, drew the ring-sword, despairing of life, angrily struck so that sorely it gripped her by the neck, broke bone-rings. The blade went clear through her death-doomed body. She sank upon the ground. The sword was bloody. The hero rejoiced in his work.
So the leader of the warfaring Geats, who felt no compunction in the feud, grabbed Grendel's mother by the shoulder; then, ruthless in the struggle, for he was no enraged to bursting, he threw the life-menacing foe so that she feel to the floor. She sharply gave him quittance again with savage clutches, and she made a grab at him. Then, desperate of mood, she tripped the man fighting on foot, strongest of warriors, so that he was prostrated; then she pinned down her hall-visitor and dragged out her broad, bright-edged knife; she meant to avenge her child, her only son. Across his shoulder lay the meshed mail-shirt: it saved his life and resisted penetration by point or edge. Ecgtheow's son, the Geatish campaigner, would have perished then down in the vast deep, had not his battle-corslet, his sturdy soldier's mail-coat, afforded him help; and were it not that holy God held sway over victory in war. The wise Lord, arbiter of the heavens, easily determined the matter on the side of right as soon as he got up again.
Then, among some trappings, he saw a blade blessed with success, an ancient, gigantic sword, excelling in its edges, a thing to lend prestige to warriors. It was the choicest of weapons -- except that it was huger than any other man would be able to carry into the cut and thrust of battle -- efficient and beautiful, the work of giants. So, bold hero of the Scyldings, fierce and deadly grim, he grabbed the bound hilt, unsheathed the ring-embellished sword and, not expecting to survive, struck angrily -- so that it caught her hard on her neck and smashed the rings of bone: clean through her doomed flesh clove the blade. She fell dead to the floor. The sword was bloody. The man felt pleased at his achievement.
...Then the chief of the War-Geats seized Grendel's mother by the shoulder-- he mourned not at all for the strife; the hardy in battle, as as he was swollen with rage, hurled his life-foe so that she bent to the floor. Quickly she paid him back hand-meed with grim grasps, and clutched at him; then weary of mood, the strongest of warriors, fighter on foot, stumbled so that he fell. Then she sat upon the hall-guest, and drew her dagger, broad, brown-edged, and would avenge her child, her only son. On his shoulder lay the braided breast-net; that saved his life, withstood the inthrust of point and edge. Then had the son of Ecgtheow, champion of the Geats, perished under the wide seabottom but that the battle -burny gave him help, the hard army-net, and hold God, the wise Lord, brought about war-victory-- the Ruler of heavens easily judged it aright. Afterwards he stood up again.
Then he saw among the armor a bill rich in victories, an old sword of eotens, with doughty edges, the worship of warriors; that was the pick of weapons, but that it was greater than any other man might bear to battle-play, good and well garnished, a work of giants. He seized then the belted hilt, the wolf of the Scyldings, fierce and sword-grim, drew the ring-sword, hopeless of life struck irefully, so that the hard blade griped at her neck, broke the bonr-rings; the bill went through the doomed flesh-covering; she fell to the floor. The sword was bloody; the man was glad of his work.
Note here that I have found that in Sedgefield, and in Jack, the word feaxe is used. This seems to be due to comments by someone named Rieger, and someone named Stanley, and the emendation is apparently done to cause the "correct" alliteration. I will do more research on this and alter the paragraph below
In some of the translations of line 1537a Beowulf grabs Grendel's mother's shoulder and in others he grabs her hair. In some translations the Old English word is "eaxle" while in others it is "feaxe". As far as I can tell from looking through dictionaries and various translations, "eaxle" means "shoulder" and "feaxe" means "hair". Here are some images of the original manuscript from Kevin Kiernan's Electronic Beowulf CD.
This image of the original manuscript [last word of line 1535 to end of line 1539] is from three-quarters of the way down folio 163v (from the Electronic Beowulf CD by Kevin Kiernan). The last two words on the third line are the phrase "Grendles modor;" [Grendel's mother] from line 1538b. You can click the image to see a 2070x414 pixel version (74k in size).
This is a larger image of the fourth word on the second line of the above image. It is clearly "eaxle" and not "feaxe".
Then the lord of the War-Geats -- he shrank not at all from the strife -- seized Grendel's mother by the shoulders. Strong in battle he hurled his life's foe, for that he was swollen with wrath, so she fell to the ground. Quickly she paid him back his dues to his hand in savage clinchings, and laid hold upon him. Spent in spirit, the fighter on foot, strongest of warriors, tripped so he fell. Then she threw herself on the stranger in her hall, and drew her dagger broad and bright-edged -- she thought to avenge her son, her only child. His woven breast-mail lay on his shoulder; it shielded his life, withstood the in-thrust of point and blade. Then had the son of Ecgtheow, foremost fighter of the Geats, gone to his death beneath the broad deeps, had not his battle-burnie, the stout battle-mesh, given him help, and Holy God, the Wise Lord, Ruler of the Heavens, held sway over victory in battle, awarded it aright. Readily thereafter he found his feet.
He saw then among the war-gear a blade oft victorious, an old sword of the eotens, doughty of edge, one prized by warriors; it was the choicest of weapons, save that it was greater than any other man might bear out to the battle-play, good and brave to see, the work of giants. The warrior of the Scyldings seized it by its chain-bound hilt. Raging and battle-fierce, he drew the ring-marked blade, and despairing of life smote so wrathfully that the hard edge gripped her by the neck, brake the bone-rings; the sword went clean through her fated body, and she fell to the ground.
Then, heedless of peril, Beowulf sprang upon Grendel's dam, and seized her by the shoulder. Full of rage he was, and he grappled the dreadful creature so mightily that she sank down upon the ground. But she was not yet overcome. No, indeed, for in her turn she grappled with him, closing in upon him, and flinging him, strongest among men though he was, upon the pavement of the floor; for his breath failed him, and his strength was spent. Then the hag sat upon him and drew her knife, broad of blade it was and brown; willingly would she have slain him, for she was minded to take vengeance for the death of her son. Then of a truth had Beowulf perished, but for the coat of mail that was about his body. This the hag could not pierce; neither with blade nor with point could she drive her knife through it. So did the Almighty Father help the champion in his need.
Then again Beowulf, with a great struggle, threw the hag from off him, and stood upright on his feet. And as he looked about the hall, he saw among the armour that was hanging about it a great sword, a weapon of giants, keen of edge, a very king among swords; only it was so huge that none other on earth could have wielded it in the press of battle save only Beowulf the Goth. He seized it with his hands, thinking to himself, "If this avails me not, I die," and smote the beldam so fiercely on the neck that the steel shore her body right through, and she fell dead upon the pavement of the hall.
The prince of the War-Geats then seized Grendel's mother by the shoulder-- he grieved not at the struggle;-- the brave in combat, bursting as he was with rage, so flung the deadly foe that she fell upon the ground. She quickly yielded him a recompense again with fearful graspings, and clutched at him. Sick at heart, the strongest of warriors, of foot-combatants, stumbled so that he had a fall.
She threw herself then on her hall-visitant and drew her dagger, broad and bright of edge;-- she would avenge her child, her only offspring. The woven hauberk lay upon his shoulder. That preserved his life, barred entry against point and edge. Then the son of Ecgtheow, the hero of the Geats, would have perished under the wide earth, had not the war-corslet, his strong coat of mail, furnished him succour, and the holy God, the all-wise Lord, brought about victory in battle. With ease, the Ruler of the heavens decided it aright after Beowulf had got up again.
He saw then among the armour a victory-blest weapon, and ancient giant-made sword, doughty of edge, the glory of warriors; choicest of weapons that; howbeit it was greater than any other man could carry to the battle-play, good and majestical, the work of giants. Then he, champion of the Scyldings, seized the ornamented hilt; swung the patterned blade, savage and fierce in battle; struck furiously, reckless of life, so that the sword smote her sharply on the neck and broke the bones. The blade cleft her doomed body through and through; on the floor she fell. The sword was gory, the man rejoiced in his work. ---
where the fire-flood shed
Its deep and livid light.
Here he attempted to make a stand, but found that even his good sword Hrunting, which had never yet deceived him in battle, availed no more against the mother than it would have done against the son. He threw the weapon from him in anger, and, relying on the strength of his arm alone, grappled with his unnatural adversary. The contest was long and doubtful; but at length the Grendel [sic], extricating herself from his grasp, aimed at his heart so powerful a blow of her falchion, as must inevitably have terminated his existence, had it not been resisted by the temper of his breast-plate, and the protecting arm of that power which had hitherto befriended his efforts in the cause of justice.
Canto XXIII.
Then spied he mid the treasures of that realm
A wondrous brand and vast; keen was the blade,
For Jutes had forged it in the days of old.
He saw and mark'd its power; -- no feebler hand
In the stern play of battle had sufficed
To wield its giant fabric, -- but the Goth
Full lightly seized the hilt.
His opponent quickly discovered that the chances were no longer in her favour: despairing of success and even of life, she made one more ferocious effort; but Beowulf was now in possession of no ordinary weapon, and he used it with no ordinary power. At a single stroke he cut through the "ringed bones" of her neck, and
Through the frail mantle of the quivering flesh
Drove with continuous wound. She to the dust
Fell headlong, -- and, its work of slaughter done,
The gallant sword dropp'd fast a gory dew.
Then Beówulf saw the mighty sea-woman, and furious, swung his heavy sword and brought it down with a crash upon her head. But the keen steel failed him in his need, for her hard skull turned its biting edge. So angrily flinging from him his twisted blade, and trusting wholly to his mighty hand-grip, he caught the wolf-woman by the shoulders and bent her backwards to the floor. Fiercely she gave back his grappling, and wrestled him till from weariness he rolled and fell; then, drawing her brown-edged knife she sought at one blow to avenge her son. But the hard battle-net upon his breast hindered the entrance of the knife, and God who rules the firmament protected him, so that he gat upon his feet again. Then Beówulf saw hanging in the sea-hall a huge sword made by giants, a weapon fortunate in victory, doughty of edge, which none but he could wield. Hard grasped he the war-bill by the hilt, and whirled it savagely against the sea-woman's ring mail in despair of life. Furious he struck, and the bone-rings of her neck gave way before it; so that blade passed through her doomed body, and, war-wearied, her carcase lay lifeless on the floor.
Beowulf threw the monster to the ground. But then she tripped him, held him in a fearsome clinch and drew a dagger. Beowulf could not throw her off. Then Grendel's mother stabbed at Beowulf's heart. She stabbed again. But the cunning links of chain-mail held firm and guarded Beowulf; his corslet saved him.
Now the Geat sprang to his feet. He saw a sword, massive and double-edged, made by giants, lying in one corner of the chamber. It was so huge that only he of all men could have handled it.
Beowulf ran across the floor, gripped the ringed hilt and swung the ornamented sword -- he struck Grendel's mother as she lumbered towards him. The blade slashed through her neck, smashed the vertebrae. The monster moaned and fell dead at his feet.
Then he seized by the hair Grendel's mother - the man of the War-Geats did not shrink from the fight. Battle-hardened, now swollen with rage, he pulled his deadly foe so that she fell to the floor. Quickly in her turn she repaid him his gift with her grim claws and clutched at him: then weary-hearted, the strongest of warriors, of foot-soldiers, stumbled so that he fell. Then she sat upon the hall-guest and drew her knife, broad and bright-edged. She would avenge her child, her only son. The woven breast-armor lay on his shoulder: that protected his life, withstood entry of point or or edge. Then the son of Ecgtheow would have fared amiss under the wide ground, the champion of the Geats, if the battle-shirt had not brought help, the hard war-net - and holy God brought about victory in war; the wise Lord, Ruler of the Heavens, decided it with right, easily, when Beowulf had stood up again.
Then he saw among the armor a victory-blessed blade, an old sword made by the giants, strong of its edges, glory of warriors: it was the best of weapons, except that it was larger than any other man might bear to war-sport, good and adorned, the work of giants. He seized the linked hilt, he who fought for the Scyldings, savage and slaughter-bent, drew the patterned blade; desparate of life, he struck angrily so that it bit her hard on the neck, broke the bone-rings. The blade went through all the doomed body. She fell to the floor, the sword was sweating, the man rejoiced in his work.
Then did the Leed of the warlike Goths -- nought recked he of deadly peril -- seize Grendel's dam by the shoulder; then did the man valiant in fight, as he was full of rage, sway his deadly adversary so that she sank on the pavement. The hag swiftly paid him back reprisal with fell grapplings, and closed in upon him: -- then staggered he with spirits exhausted, he the strongest of warriors, the champion-soldier, insomuch that he fell prostrate. Then did the hag sit upon the visitant of her hall, and drew her knife, broad and brown-edged; would revenge her bairn, her only offspring. About his shoulder lay the breast-net interlaced; that fenced his life; against point and against edge it barred the entrance.
Then had the son of Ecgtheow, the champion of the Goths, miscarried under the vast profound, had not his campaigning byrnie, his hard war-net, afforded help; -- and holy God controlled the victory, the Lord of providence, the heavenly Ruler, he determined it aright, and that with ease; -- presently he again stood erect on his feet.
Then saw he among the armour a monumental cutlass, an old eotenish sword, of edge effective, a trophy of warriors; -- that was the very pride of weapons, only then it was huger than any other man could bear to the battle-game; it was good and gallant, handiwork of giants. Then did he, the champion of the Scyldings, grasp Fetelhilt; exasperate and greedy of fight he drew the jewelled arm; despairing of his life, he smote in his fury; insomuch that the hard steel caught her by the neck, broke through the bone-rings, the bill sped all through the doomed flesh-jacket; -- she dropped on the pavement; the sword was gory; the lad was fain of his work.
Terrible and almost superhuman was the contest which now followed: the awful sea-woman flung Beowulf down on his back and stabbed at him with point and edge of her broad knife, seeking some vulnerable point; but the good corslet resisted all her efforts, and Beowulf, exerting his mighty force, overthrew her and sprang to his feet. Angered beyond measure, he brandished the flaming sword Hrunting, and flashed one great blow at her head which would have killed her had her scales and hair been vulnerable; but alas! the edge of the blade turned on her scaly hide, and the blow failed. Wrathfully Beowulf cast aside the useless sword, and determined to trust once again to his hand-grip. Grendel's mother now felt, in her turn, the deadly power of Beowulf's grasp, and was borne to the ground; but the struggle continued for long, for Beowulf was weaponless, since the sword failed in its work. Yet some weapon he must have.
"So he gazed at the walls, saw there a glorious sword,
An old brand gigantic, trusty in point and edge
An heirloom of heroes; that was the best of blades,
Splendid and stately, the forging of giants;
But it was huger than any of human race
Could bear to battle-strife, save Beowulf only."
This mighty sword, a relic of earlier and greater races, brought new hope to Beowulf. Springing up, he snatched it from the wall and swung it fiercely round his head. The blow fell with crushing force on the neck of the sea-woman, the dread wolf of the abyss, and broke the bones. Dead the monster sank to the ground, and Beowulf, standing erect, saw at his feet the lifeless carcass of his foe. ---
Then the chieftain of the warlike Geats gripped Grendel's mother by the shoulder-- he felt no remorse for the hostile deed-- and flung down his deadly opponent so that she fell to the floor, for he was hardy in combat, and fury was rising within him. She quickly paid him back by her fierce grasp as she clutched at him. Then this strongest of fighting men, this champion among marching hosts, stumbled with weariness, so that he got a fall.
She then seated herself on the guest in her hall, and drew her broad knife with its burnished edge; she meant to avenge her son, her only offspring. But across his shoulder lay the interwoven mesh that guarded his breast; this protected his life, preventing all entrance by point and edge. Ecgtheow's offspring, champion of the Geats, would have perished then down under the broad earth, had not the hard war-mesh of his corselet afforded him help, and had not Holy God held victory in His power. It was easy for the Wise Lord, Ruler of the Heavens, to decide this matter according to justice, when Beowulf had risen again to his feet.
The he saw, among other weapons, a broadsword blessed with the luck of victory, and ancient sword of the ogers' making, doughty of edge, a thing of glory to fighting men. It was the choicest of weapons, save that it was too huge for any other man to carry it in the sport of battle-- a fine sword, splendidly wrought, the work of giants. The daring champion of the Scyldings, savage and cruelly grim, grasped the hilt and its fastenings and drew the blade with coiling patterns. Recking nothing for his own life, he struck so wrathfully that the sword took her hard on the neck and broke the rings of bone; the broadsword passed straight through her death-bloomed flesh. She fell to the floor. The sword was gory; the warrior rejoiced at his work.
Beowulf then grasped her by the shoulder, and sought to over-throw her. And they struggled for life and death within the den. At length Beowulf threw her down, but soon she rose again, and seizing him with a terrible grip, she cast him upon the floor of the den. Then she placed her knee upon his breast, and taking a knife from her bosom she sought to stab him. But the mail-shirt of Beowulf stopped the knife. By the protection of God was he saved, and he threw the fierce woman off, and rose again to his feet.
Beowulf looked round the den, and behold, he saw hanging upon the wall an ancient sword. It was a sword that had belonged to the giants of old -- a mighty blade, and strong to smite. He reached forth his hand and seized it, for he thought that he would once more strike for his life. He then smote the woman heavily upon the neck, and it spouted out blood, and she sank dead upon the floor. Beowulf looked at his bloody sword, and at the deed which he had done, and he rejoiced greatly.
Then the prince of the War-Geats seized Grendel's mother by the hair; he feared no the fight. Then stern in strife he swung the monster in his wrath so that she bent to the ground. She quickly gave him requital again with savage grips, and grasped out towards him. Weary in mood then she overthrew the strongest of fighters, the foot-warrior, so that he fell down. Then she sat on the visitor to her hall, and drew her knife, broad and bright-edged; she was minded to avenge her child, her only son. The woven breast-net lay on his shoulder; that guarded his life; it opposed the entrance of point and edge. Then the son of Ecgtheow, the hero of the Geats, would have found death under the wide waters if the war-corslet, the stout battle-net, had not afforded him help, and if holy God, the wise Lord, had not achieved victory in war; the Ruler of the heavens brought about a right issue, when once more he stood up with ease.
He saw then among weapons a victorious blade, an old sword of giants, strong in its edges, the glory of warriors. That was the choicest of weapons; save only it was greater than any other man could bear to the battle-play, trusty and splendid, the work of giants. The hero of the Scyldings, angered and grim in battle, seized the belted hilt, wheeled the ring-marked sword, despairing of life; he struck furiously, so that it gripped her hard against the neck. It broke the bone-rings; the blade went straight through the doomed body. She fell to the floor. The brand was bloody; the man rejoiced in his work.
The leader of the Geats did not flinch from the battle: he seized Grendel's mother by the shoulder. In a fury, the bold warrior flung the deadly foe so that she fell to the floor. She quickly retaliated with grim grasps and seized him; weary in sprit, the strongest of champions stumbled and fell down.
The demon pounced on the intruder, drew her knife, broad and bright of edge - she wished to avenge her child, her only son. The woven mail which covered Beowulf's shoulder protected his life and withstood the entry of point and edge. Ecgtheow's son, the Geatish champion, would have perished then under the earth if his armor, the hard war mail, had not given him help; and holy God brought about victory in battle. The wise Lord, Ruler of the heavens, easily decided the issue rightly, after Beowulf stood up again.
Among the armor in that place he saw a victorious sword: an ancient giant's sword, strong of edge, the glory of warriors. It was the choicest of weapons except that this good and splendid work of giants was too huge for any other man to carry in battle. The grim, fierce defender of the Danes seized the chained hilt and drew the ring-marked sword, despairing of life; angrily he struck so that it took her hard against the neck and broke the bone-rings. The sword cut right through her doomed body and she fell to the floor. The sword was bloody; the man rejoiced in his work.
--- He seized the sea-creature and made her bow to the earth, but fiercely she grasped the brave warrior and over-threw him so that he was about to perish.
Him she would have slain, but his good coat withstood her sword. The Ruler of the Skies was his friend, for he saw on the wall a great sword so heavy that other men could not use it. This sword Beowulf had siezed gladly. Angrily he struck the sea-wolf, and the sword passed through her neck. Down on the ground she sank. The warrior rejoiced in his work.
--- Then the lord of the Geats-- he shrank not from the combat-- seized Grendel's mother by the shoulders. So fiercely he flung her, in his great wrath, that she fell to the ground. She rose swiftly and grappled with him, clutching with her sharp claws. Worn with struggle, Beowulf, mightiest of warriors, stumbled and fell to earth. The monster hurled herself on the stranger in her hall and drew her dagger to avenge her son. Then had the son of Ecgtheow, bravest of the Geats, gone to his death had not his breast-mail, his stout battle-coat, withstood the blade. Quickly he gained his feet, unharmed by the blow.
Then Beowulf caught sight of an old sword of the giants hanging on the wall, a weapon unmatched and prized by ancient warriors, save that it was heavier than most men could wield. The giants had wrought it and made its edges ready and keen. Beowulf, bold and grim with battle, seized it by the chain hilt. Reckless of his life, he brandished the sword and smote his enemy with such wrath that the hard edge gripped her neck and the bones broke. The blade pierced her flesh and she sank lifeless to the floor.
... Recking naught of the fight, the lord of the Goths then seized Grendel's mother by the shoulder; hardy in battle, all furious as he was, he threw his deadly foe so that she fell to the floor. She quickly repaid him his hand-grip with her fierce claws, and held him fast, Then, weary of spirit, he overreached himself -- he, strongest of warriors and fighters on foot -- so that he fell. Then sat she upon the hall-guest and drew her knife, broad and bright-edged. She would avenge her child, her only offspring! On his shoulder lay the braided breast-net; that it was that saved his life, withstood entrance against point and against edge. Then had the son of Ecgtheow, chieftain of the Goths, perished beneath the vast ground, had not the battle-coat, the hard war-net afforded him help, and Holy GOD, the All-wise Lord, had power over victory in war. The Ruler of Heaven adjudged it right when Beowulf stood up again. Then saw he among the war-gear a victory-blessed blade, an old Eotenish sword, strong of edge, glory of warriors; it was the choicest of weapons, but it was greater than any other man could carry into battle-play, good and splendid, the work of the Giants. He, then, warrior of the Scyldings, raging and battle-fierce, seized the banded hilt, drew forth the treasure-sword; hopeless of life he struck furiously so that it held hard against her neck and broke the bone-rings; the blade went all through her doomed body; she fell on the floor. ...
Then caught the prince of the War-Geats Grendel's mother by the shoulder, he cared not for her feud; hard in war (since he was enraged) he twisted the homicide, so that she bent upon the floor; she soon gave back to him his reward with fierce grappling, and clutched towards him; then weary of mood, the strongest of warriors, the active champion rolled over so that he fell; she beset then the hall-stranger, and drew her knife, broad, brown-edged, she would revenge her son, her own offspring; on him (i.e. Beowulf) on his shoulder lay the twisted breast-net which protected his life against point and edge, which prevented the entrance of the knife; then had the son of Ecgtheow, the champion of the Geats, perished under the abyss, had not his war-mail, his hard battle-net afforded help, and holy God the victorious in battle, the wise lord, prevailed, the ruler of the firmament decided for justice, easily; afterwards he stood up again.
The saw he among the weapons a bill fortunate in victory, and old gigantic sword, doughty of edge, the dignity of warriors, that was the costliest of weapons, (save that it was greater than any other man might bear out to the play of war) good, and ready for use, the work of giants: he seized the belted-hilt, the warrior of the Scyldings, fierce and savage whirled the ring-mail; despairing of life, he struck furiously, so that it grappled hard with her about her neck; it broke the bone-rings, the bill passed through all the doomed body; she sank upon the floor; the sword was bloody, the man rejoiced in his deed.
--- Then the Lord of the Geats seized by the shoulder the mother of Grendel (nor at all did he mourn over that feud), and he, the hard in battle, threw down his deadly foe, when he was angry, so that she lay prone on the floor. But she very quickly, with grimmest of grips, requited him a hand-reward, and made a clutch at him. And the weary in soul, that strongest of fighters, he the foot-warrior stumbled and fell. Then she sat on that hall-guest, and drew forth her axe, broad and brown edged, and would fain be avenging the death of her child, of her only son. But on his shoulder was the coat of mail all woven, which saved his life and prevented the entrance of the point and the edge of the sword. And the son of Ectheow, the Prince of Geats, would have surely gone a journey under the wide earth unless that warlike coat of mail had given him help, that hard war-net, and unless the Holy God He the cunning Lord, and the Ruler in the heavens, had wielded the victory, and easily decided the issue aright; then he straightway stood up.
Then among the weapons he caught sight of a sword, rich in victories, an old weapon of the giants, and doughty of edge, the glory of warriors. It was the choicest of weapons, and it was greater than any other man could carry to the battle-playing, and all glorious and good, a work of the giants. And he seized it by the belted hilt, he the warrior of the Danes, rough and battle-grim, and he brandished the ring-sword; and despairing of life, he angrily struck so that hardly he grasped at her neck and broke the bone-rings. And the point pierced through the doomed flesh-covering. And she fell on the floor. The sword was all bloody, and the man rejoiced in his work. ---
--- The shoulder of Grendel's mother he seized and in great fury wrestled and flung the demon down....
But fiercely she clutched at him. In her claws she held him securely. They struggled together thus until the battle hero, heart-weary, at length was overthrown. On the ground he fell and the she demon sat upon him.... She drew swiftly her broad and bloodstained dagger to avenge her only son.... Then would the hero have died there, but over his shoulder lay his chain armour and that saved him.... To his feet he leapt again.
Beowulf suddenly beheld among the armour in the demon's lair an ancient giant-sword. It was a blade without an equal. No other living man could wield it, for it was the choice of splendid weapons, and giants had made it. The hero seized it and wielded it.
Strong was Beowulf, and in battle fury he swung the giant-sword and smote the demon a fierce blow, cleaving her at the neck and shattering her bone-rings. Right through her body went the blade, and she sank in death.... Blood-wet indeed was the sword, and Beowulf gloried in his deed.
--- The shoulder of Grendel's mother he seized and in great fury wrestled and flung the demon down....
But fiercely she clutched at him. In her claws she held him securely. They struggled together thus until the battle hero, heart-weary, at length was overthrown. On the ground he fell and the she demon sat upon him.... She drew swiftly her broad and bloodstained dagger to avenge her only son.... Then would the hero have died there, but over his shoulder lay his chain armour and that saved him.... To his feet he leapt again.
Beowulf suddenly beheld among the armour in the demon's lair an ancient giant-sword. It was a blade without an equal. No other living man could wield it, for it was the choice of splendid weapons, and giants had made it. The hero seized it and wielded it.
Strong was Beowulf, and in battle fury he swung the giant-sword and smote the demon a fierce blow, cleaving her at the neck and shattering her bone-rings. Right through her body went the blade, and she sank in death... Blood-wet indeed was the sword, and Beowulf gloried in his deed.
Seizing the Water Witch by the shoulders, he dragged her downwards. But she grappled with him fiercely. Then was there a fearful fight in that dim hall, deep under the water, far from all hope of help.
Back and forth the two swayed, the strong warrior in armour and the direful Water Witch. So strong was she that at last she bore him to the ground and kneeled upon his breast. She drew her dagger. Now she would avenge her son, her only son.
The dagger shone and fell again and yet again. And then truly Beowulf's last hour had come had his armour not been of such trusty steel. But through it neither point nor edge of dagger might pierce. The blows of the Water Witch were all in vain, and again Beowulf sprang to his feet.
And now among the many weapons with which the walls were hung, Beowulf saw a huge sword. It seemed the work of giants. Its edge was keen and bright, the hilt of glittering gold.
Quickly Beowulf grasped the mighty weapon. And now fighting for his very life swung it fiercely, and smote with fury.
She was waiting. She made no noise. Her tentacle arms were a part of the sucking, obsequious water.
Beowulf fell into them, as into a seaweed trap.
They closed about him tenderly. For a moment he succumbed, seduced by gentleness. Then struggling to free himself, he found he could not. He kicked. Her grip tightened. She dragged him down.
Beowulf experienced a few seconds of sheer panic. There was no escaping, none,from these spongy intangible fingers that pulled him on, on, irresistably insistent, coaxing, maternal. He could drown this way. She could choke him. She could squeeze the life from him. His face turned blue. Stars swan and spun in his brain.
Then he was gulping great lungfuls of air. Air! She had dragged him into Her den. The current loomed behind him, a liquid wall of black and green. Apparently, by some freak or witchcraft, it could not penetrate here. The cave went back a long way. Her arms stretched all along it, alive, like lichen.
Slowly she began to draw him down into the heart of the cave.
Beowulf snatched at his sword. Its jewels were sticky from Her vile embrace. It was difficult to hold. The hilt slipped in his hand. Nevertheless, he managed to swing at the tentacles that gripped him. The blade bounced off. Her skin was too tough and scaly. He threw the sword away. It clattered against the wall. He could hear Her laughter, soft, malevolent, bloodthirsty.
He tried to get a grip on the rock floor, drag his heels, dig in with his toes, anything, but it was no good, no use; She kept on drawing him down into the dark, sucking at his skin, making kissing and swallowing noises. Her arms winding and unwinding about him like sinewy, swollen snakes.
Bewoulf screamed with fright.
And the scream saved him. It brought him to his senses. It reminded him what he must do if he was not to be destroyed. He stopped shaking. He ceases his struggling. He let himself go dead in Her clammy grasp.
Grendel's Mother did not laugh now. She pulled him on more urgently. Some of his quiet strength communicated itself to Her terrible touch, and She sensed danger. But just what that danger was, and the doom it held in store for Her, She did not know until Beowulf began to speak, easily, boldly, in a voice that made the whole cave ring.
Beowulf said: "I am Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow. I am Beowulf, the one sun-seeker. I am Beowulf, who killed Grendel. I did not fear the child of Cain. No more do I now fear You, who were once Cain's bride. No, nor would I fear the hideous Cain himself, if he had not been punished with lightning for the deed he did with You. Listen, She-evil, and I will tell You why this heart does not blush or blanch at the wicked worst You can do. It is because I, Beowulf, know myself. It is because I hold Cain in me, but do not let him out. That man is truly brave who, feeling fear, yet puts his fear to use and plucks new courage from the fear itself. That man is truly good who knows his own dark places."
Grendel's Mother still dragged him down, but more slowly now, much more slowly. Her arms were losing power over him. She could feel Her magic going.
Beowulf said: "There is a power. You are powerless against. That power is in me. You see it shining in the golden collar about my neck. You feel it creeping through Your flesh, leaving You numb and cold. You think You hold me, she-evil, but in truth I hold You!"
So saying, he wound his square-tipped fingers firmly round one of the tentacles that gripped him. He felt the creature shudder as though suddenly touched by fire.
Her arms continued to draw him down, sluggishly.
He was nearing the deepest part of the cave.
He could make out the looming shape of Her.
He could see the eyes that glittered in Her breasts.
Beowulf stared into those terrible eyes. He did not blink or falter. His short sight helped him.
His strong hands tightened around the slimy tentacle.
Grendel's Mother sighed. A fetid breath of air passed through the chamber. Now that Beowulf was so close to Her the smell of sticky mother's milk was almost overwhelming. But he refused to be overwhelmed. He kept on tightening his grip. He kept on staring into the green corroding sea of Her eyes.
When he spoke again he put an equal emphasis on each word, so that it sounded like an incantation.
He said: "I am Beowulf, son of Beowulf."
The monster's eyes went cloudy.
He said: "I am Beowulf, father of himself."
The eyes were helpless. They flickered with sleep.
He said: "I am Beowulf, who am myself."
The eyes shut.
"Sleep," said Beowulf softly. "Sleep deep and never wake again."
She slept.
Gently, carefully, with a stroking softness that was nearly pity, Beowulf put his hands about Her neck, and strangled Her.
She did not fight. The tentacles went loose. They fell to the floor like useless ropes. Her body was melting. She was dead.
--- The War-Geats' lord-- he never shunned the strife-- seized Grendel's mother by the shoulder; Beowulf, stout-battling, anger-swollen, flung his mortal foe; she bowed her body to the floor. She in turn repaid him quickly with ferocious claws and grappled him; the strongest of foot-warriors stumbled, as his spirit flagged, and fell. She sat upon the hall-guest, drew her broad and burnished knife; she purposed to avenge her son, her only child. A breast-net, woven mail-coat, lay on Beowulf's shoulder, saved his life, stood off the entrance of the point and edge. Then had Ecgtheow's son, the Geats' champion, death-journeyed under the wide earth unless his battle-byrnie and hard army-mesh had helped and Holy God caused victory in fight; the wise sky-ruling Lord with ease decided rightly. Beowulf stood up again.
He saw among the weapons a victory-blessed sword, old sword of giants, warriors' glory, trusty-edged; that was choicest among arms, though greater than any other man could carry into battle-play: the good sword of splendor, giants' work. The Scylding hero, fierce and sword-grim, seized its ring-embellished hilt; he swung the wavy-patterned sword despairing of his life, and struck with so great fury that the hard blade groped her neck and broke the back-bone rings; it drove clean through the doomed flesh-cover; she fell dying to the floor; the sword ran bloody; he delighted in his deed.
Anger seized me then and I trusted once again in my strength. I flung the good sword across the floor and grabbed at her shoulders, threw her down on her back -- but then she grappled my arms and slipped me over, pinned me down, snatched a dagger from her waist and drove it at my heart. Agains Weland's wondrous ring-mail held off the sharp point, but it came again and again with terrible force and I wondered if my hour had come.
God had not willed it that way, and with a great effort I threw her off and leapt to my feet. I saw then a marvelous sword against the wall, a sword for giants that no other man could have wielded, with broad biting edges and a great golden hilt. This was a sword that would heed no charms against it. I heaved it high with a fury for vengeance and felt the strength of rage in my arms, brought it down in a sweeping crash against the huge neck and felt the blade hack through muscle and bone, straight through the doomed flesh. The head fell to the floor, and the battle was done.
He managed to lock his leg round one of the monster's, and then with all his fast-fleeing strength he seized the hag and threw her. But in falling she fell upon him, and now the loathsome, grinning jaws were close above his face, and the sharp claws found his throat.
But for a moment, the smallest moment in the world, she relaxed her hold, so sure was she of her prey, and in that little moment the magic was lifted, and Beowulf with a great cry hurled her from him.
Once more on his feet, he staggered to the wall of the cave, and found, suddenly, in his grasp, the hilt of an old sword which was driven deep into the wall. But the fiend was on him again now with a strangled cry of terror. Beowulf clutched the old sword with both hands, and with a great heave drew it from the wall, and so great was the force of the blow he struck Grendel's mother that he cut clean through her body.
He took her shoulder -- never did he evade the fight -- the War-Geat prince against Grendel's mother; he was stout in combat, now that he was pushed to fury, and flung his death enemy to the ground.
Up she came; she smote him with her nailed hand, an awful blow; she hugged him to her breast; then the foot warrior, of champions the strongest, stumbled. Tired in his soul, he fell to the ground.
She hunkered on her hall guest and pulled her broad bright dagger, a sharp tool, to buy back the life of her son, her only kin.
Across the width of his shoulders was the iron breast net; it saved his life, stopped the point and edge from entering.
He might have died then, the son of Ecgtheow, the warrior-Geat, far beneath where men used the earth, if his battle-shirt, his armored mesh, had not been of help to him and if Holy God had not made him victorious, the Heaven Ruler; He decided it easily.
The hero stood up again. He noticed among the hall gear a champion blade, a sword fashioned by giants, a perfect edge, a warrior's famed weapon, the best there was, but so much bigger than any other man could have lifted in war meeting; good it was, and great, a giant's work.
He took it up at the ring-embellished hilt, the benefactor of the Scyldings; battle-grim, fierce, despairing of life after this, he raised the killing tool and swung it at her throat, hard; it sliced through skin and flesh, severed the bone rings of her fated neck; she sank to the ground. The sword was blood slick; the man, gladdened.
Undaunted, Beowulf waited for the monster. He was going to trust in his strength alone. His hand-grip, in which he had the might of thirty men, must be his only weapon against Grendel's mother.
The fire shone brightly in the hall. It lighted the huge arched roof and the high walls. It glowed on the two figures facing each other across the room.
Slowly, Grendel's mother came forward. Beowulf sprang upon her and seized her shoulder. He leaped so fiercely that she fell to the ground. But quickly she began to grapple with him.
The monster clutched the warrior's throat with her sharp claws. Her strength was greater than Grendel's had been. Beowulf felt himself growing weaker. He fell to his knees and then to the floor. He felt the boards pressing against his back.
Furiously the monster hurled herself upon him, and raised her sword to kill him. It was a short sword, with a burnished blade. Again and again, Grendel's mother drove the blade into Beowulf's shoulder, seeking revenge for her dead son.
But Beowulf's stout coat of mail protected him. The sword's sharp point could not pierce the steel mesh that covered his shoulders and his arms. The weapon could not wound him. and he was able to strike it from the monster's hand.
Around and around the hall the battle raged then. Beowulf and the monster wrestled fiercely. They clutched each other's throats. Each tried to crack the other's bones.
Suddenly, in the midst of the struggle, Beowulf spied the glitter of armor and weapons on the wall. Among the weapons was a gigantic sword with a magnificent, flashing blade. It was the most wonderful sword that the young hero had ever seen. He knew that it was a magic sword, and that spells could not harm it.
Beowulf forced the monster over to the well where the weapons hung. When he was within reach, he siezed the sword by its jeweled hilt. He snatched it from the wall and powerfully swung it.
The sword flew through the air. Down it came on the monster's neck. The bones cracked. The blade pierced the flesh, and blood spurted forth. Slowly Grendel's mother sank to the ground.
Beowulf raised the heavy sword and looked at its red-stained blade. Then he bent over the monster on the floor at his feet. She lay still.
Now that his feet were solid on the paved floor of her mansion, Beowulf heaved hard and broke her grasp. Quickly he went at her evil head with Unferth's sword. But that ancient blade, trusty as it had proved itself in the world of men, was useless here. It rang again and again on her head but made no cut, and at last he threw it aside. Once again, he knew, he must trust to his own strength. He grappled with the mother as he had grappled with the son, brow to brow and knee to knee. She was weaker than he had expected-- the force in her was less than half the force of Grendel. And after a short struggle, he toppled her backward on the floor.
But then was seized by mortal weariness from wrestling and long swimming and the weight of the water that had pressed for hours upon him. He grew dizzy and passed his hand over his eyes, and when he took it away he saw that she was up again and coming at him with a flashing blade. Easily she flung him backward and sat on his legs, thrusting at him again and again with her short evil knife. He had reason to be thankful then for his ringed mail coat. Without that good armour, he would surely have been stabbed to death.
Suddenly, while she thrust at him and he gasped for breath, the eerie yellow fire flared up and he saw, hanging on the wall of that vast room, a tremendous sword with a bright blade and a golden hilt. Hope strengthened him then. He heaved her up, struggled from under her, pushed her aside. He darted past her and grasped the giant's weapon by its precious hilt.
She cringed, and he struck her with fury full on the neck. Her black blood spurted out-- this sword had power to pierce her hide. She fell at once and died without a sound. ---
Grabbed her then by the shoulder --not in the least regretting the feud--
the prince of the War-Geats, Grendel's mother;
the hard man of conflict then heaved, now that he was enraged,
the deadly foe, so that she fell to the floor;
she again him quickly gave hand-reward
with wrathful grips and clutched him against herself;
then, weary in spirit, he stumbled, the strongest man,
warrior on foot, so that he was in a fall;
then she bestrode the guest in her hall, and drew her seax,
broad and bright-edged; she wished to avenge her son,
only offspring; on his shoulder lay
woven breast-net; it protected life,
against point and against edge it withstood entry.
Then he would have perished, the son of Edgetheow,
under the yawning ground, the champion of the Geats,
except that him the war-byrnie provided help,
firm army-net-- and holy God
controlled the war-victory; the wise Lord,
the Ruler of the heavens, decided it rightly,
easily, thereupon he stood up again.
He saw then among the arms a victory-blessed bill,
an old giantish sword with firm edges,
an honour of warriors, it was the choicest weapon,
but it was more than any other man
to battle-play could carry,
good and stately, the work of giants;
he seized then the ring-hilt, champion of the Scyldings
wild and furiously battle-fierce, he drew the ring-weapon
without hope of life, angrily struck,
so that through her neck it clutched hard,
broke bone-rings; the bill passed entirely through
the doomed cloak of flesh; she fell on the floor;
the sword was bloody, the warrior rejoiced in his work.
Then the prince of the War-Geats seized grendel's mother by the shoulder-- he felt no remorse for the quarrel. Now swollen with rage, battle-hardened, he dragged his mortal enemy so that she fell to the floor. Swiftly she paid him back again with fierce grips, and clutched at him. Weary at heart, the strongest of fighters, of foot-soldiers, then stumbled so that he took a fall.
Then she sat upon the visitor to the hall and drew her knife, broad and bright-edged; she wished to avenge her son, her sole offspring. On his shoulder lay a woven breast-net; that protected his life, prevented entry by point and by edge. Ecgtheow's son, the champion of the Geats, would have fared badly beneath the wide ground then, had the war-mail, hard war-net, not afforded help, and holy God brought about victory in battle. Once he stood up again, the wise Lord, Ruler of the Heavens, easily decided it with justice.
Then he saw among the armour a victory-blessed blade, an ancient sword made by ogres, firm in its edges, the pride of fighters; it was the choicest of weapons, save that it was larger than any other man might carry out to battle-play -- fine and splendid, the work of giants. He seized the belted hilt, the Scyldings' daring champion, savage and deadly grim, drew the patterned blade; despairing of life, he struck angrily so that it bit her hard on the neck, broke the bone-rings; the sword passed straight through the doomed body. She fell dead on the floor; the sword was bloody; the man rejoiced in his work.
Then, reckless of danger, he seized Grendel's mother by the shoulder. Swelling with rage, he flung his deadly enemy to the ground. It was but a moment before she caught at him again, paying him for that onslaught with fierce grasp, and clutched wildly at him. Suddenly, wearied at heart, the warrior stumbled and fell. Swiftly did she sit upon her foe, drawing her dagger, broad and brown -edged, to avange her son. But on his bosom lay the woven corselet; it shielded well his life and withstood the entrance of point and edge. Then indeed would the champion of the Geats have gone under the sea floor had not his battle byrnie, his strong corselet, been his help, and mighty God, the all-wise Lord, directed the victory and decided it aright.
Afterwards he easily got up again, and saw among the armour that was heaped on the floor of the dwelling a victorious sword, made by huge men of old, of powerful edge, a glory of warriors. Most choice of weapons was it, but greater than any other man could bear to the battle play, good and glorious, the work of giants. He seized the sword hilt; rough and grim in battle, he drew the adorned blade; despairing of life, he struck out fiercely, till the hard weapon smote her neck, and broke the bone rings. The weapon's point advanced through her death-doomed body till she fell lifeless to the ground. The blade was gory, and the warrior rejoiced in his deed.
...Enraged, he seized Grendel's mother by the shoulder, and the battle-hardened warrior hurled his deadly foe to the floor. She quickly repaid him in kind, and with her fearful talons she clutched at him. Then the strongest of warriors faltered in spirit, so that he stumbled and fell.
Grendel's mother threw herself upon her guest and drew forth a large, bright-edged dagger to avenge her only child. The tightly woven mail shirt covered his shoulder and saved his life by withstanding the entry of point and edge. Then Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow and champion of the Geats, would have perished under the wide earth -- were it not for the strong links of his battle shirt, and the holy God who gave him succor and brought about victory. The wise Lord, Ruler of the Heavens, easily decided the struggle in favor of the right -- after Beowulf plucked up his courage and struggled to his feet again.
Then Beowulf saw amongst some armor a glorious old sword of the finest tempered steel, forged by the giants: This best of weapons was beautifully decorated and was larger than any other that man might bear into battle. The helper of the Scyldings, bent on slaughter, seized the decorated hilt and drew the engraved sword. Heedless of his life, the hero struck fiercely, so that the blade caught Grendel's mother on the neck, broke the bone rings, and cleaved completely through the doomed body. She fell to the floor while the hero, bloody sword in hand, rejoiced in his deed.
Then, reckless of danger, he seized Grendel's mother by the shoulder. Swelling with rage, he flung his deadly enemy to the ground. It was but a moment before she caught at him again, paying him for that onslaught with fierce grasp, and clutched wildly at him. Suddenly, wearied at heart, the warrior stumbled and fell. Swiftly did she sit upon her foe, drawing her dagger, broad and brown-edged, to avenge her son. But on his bosom lay the woven corselet; it shielded well his life and withstood the entrance of point and edge. Then indeed would the champion of the Geats have gone under the sea floor had not his battle byrnie, his strong corselt, been his help, and mighty God, the all-wise Lord, directed the victory and decide it aright.
Afterwards he easily got up again, and saw among the armor that was heaped on the floor of the dwelling a victorious sword, made by huge men of old, of powerful edge, a glory of warriors. Most choice of weapons was it, but greater than any other man could bear to the battle play, good and glorious, the work of giants. He seized the sword hilt; rough and grim in battle, he drew the adorned blade; despairing of life, he struck out fiercely, till the hard weapon smote her neck, and broke the bone rings. The weapon's point advanced through her death-doomed body till she fell lifeless to the ground. The blade was gory, and the warrior rejoiced in his deed.
Then the lord of the War-Geats, shrinking not from the fight, seized Grendel's mother by the shoulder, and full of wrath, the valiant in battle threw his deadly foe so that she fell to the floor. Speedily she paid him his reward again with fierce grapplings and clutched at him, and being exhausted, he stumbled and fell, he,-- the champion, strongest of warriors. Then drew her dagger, broad and brown-edged, to avenge her son, her only offspring. But on his shoulder lay his woven coat of mail; it saved his life, barring the entrance against point and blade. Thus the son of Ecgtheow, the chief of the Geats, would have perished 'neath the sea-bottom, had not his battle-byrnie, his hard war-corselet, been of aid to him, and Holy God, the wise Lord, brought victory to pass, the King of Heaven easily adjudging it aright. Thereafter he stood up again.
THEN he saw among the armor a victorious blade, an old sword of the giant-age, keen-edged, the glory of warriors; it was the choicest of weapons,-- save that it was larger than any other man was able to carry into battle,-- good, and splendidly wrought, for it was the work of the giants. And the warrior of the Scyldings seized the belted hilt; savage and angry, he drew forth the ring-sword, and, hopeless of life, smote so fiercely that the hard sword caught her by the neck, breaking the ring-bones; the blade drove right through her doomed body, and she sank upon the floor. The sword was bloody; the hero exulted in his deed.
Sharon Turner's 1805 version of the story ends around line 517, in the middle of Unferth's initial challenge to Beowulf. After line 517, all we get from the 1805 edition is this:
It would occupy too much room in the present volume to give a further account of this interesting poem, which well deserves to be submitted to the public, with a translation and with ample notes. There are forty-two sections of it in the Cotton MS., and it ends there imperfectly. It is perhaps the oldest poem of an epic form in the vernacular language of Europe which now exists.
1852:
He then proceeds to the adventure, and begins it by a combat with the mother of Grendel, who attacks him like a sea-wolf. He fights valiantly, but he finds the famous sword of no use. She is not impressible by its edge; her strength and fury begin to overpower him: she throws him down, and is proceeding to destroy him, when an enchanted sword, a weapon of the ancient giants, and of their fabrication, comes within his reach: he strikes her with it, and she dies under his blow.
Then began a terrible struggle. Beowulf and the giantess wrestled together for life and death. The walls of the palace shook so that they threatened to fall. The two wrestlers fell to the ground, Beowulf the undermost. The mer-woman pulled out a sharp knife to cut his throat, but Wieland's armour was too well made to give way, and Beowulf struggled to his feet again. The giantess then drew a monstrous sword, so heavy that few mortal men could have wielded it; but before she could use it, Beowulf made an unexpected spring upon her, and wrenched the sword out of her hand. He clutched it firmly in both hands, and, swinging it with all his strength, cut off the woman's head. ---
The Geat prince did not hesitate, but seized Grendel's mother by the shoulder. In his rage he flung his antagonist crashing to the floor. But she immediately came back at him with ferocious grapple, closing in till the hero, who was strongest of fighting-men, weakened, stumbled, and took a fall. Then she threw herself on her visitor, unsheathing her broad bright-bladed dagger to avenge her only child. The woven chainmail about his shoulders saved his life by denying entrance to point and edge. Yet the son of Ecgtheow, champion of the Geats, would have perished deep underground if that chainmail corslet had not helped him. For God brought about the victory. Once Beowulf had struggled to his feet, the holy and omniscient ruler of the sky easily settled the issue in favour of the right.
During the struggle he saw a sword which had won fame in battle. It was a prize weapon, an ancient blade forged by the giants. But for the fact that it was too large for an ordinary man to use in combat, it was a choice weapon; a splendid sword, the handiwork of titans. Raging, berserk, in despair of life, he swung its whorled blade and furiously struck, so that the sword caught her on the neck and slashed clean through her backbone into her doomed body. She fell to the ground, and blood dripped from the sword. The hero rejoiced in his work.
