[Beowulf finds the lair of Grendel and his mother]

Soon found the fiend who the flood-domain
 sword-hungry held these hundred winters,
greedy and grim, that some guest from above,
 some man, was raiding her monster-realm.
 She grasped out for him with grisly claws,
 and the warrior seized; yet scathed she not
 his body hale; the breastplate hindered,
 as she strove to shatter the sark of war,
 the linked harness, with loathsome hand.
Then bore this brine-wolf, when bottom she touched,
 the lord of rings to the lair she haunted
 whiles vainly he strove, though his valor held. . . .

For mighty stroke
 he swung his blade, and the blow withheld not.
 Then sang on her head that seemly blade
 its war-song wild. But the warrior found
 the light-of-battle was loath to bite,
 to harm the heart: its hard edge failed
 the noble at need, yet had known of old
 strife hand to hand, and had helmets cloven,
 doomed men's fighting-gear. First time, this,
 for the gleaming blade that its glory fell.
Firm still stood, nor failed in valor,
 heedful of high deeds, Hygelac's kinsman;
flung away fretted sword, featly jewelled,
 the angry earl; on earth it lay
 steel-edged and stiff. His strength he trusted,
 hand-gripe of might. So man shall do
   whenever in war he weens to earn him lasting fame,
nor fears for his life!
Seized then by shoulder, shrank not from combat,
 the Geatish war-prince Grendel's mother.
 Flung then the fierce one, filled with wrath,
 his deadly foe, that she fell to ground.
 Swift on her part she paid him back
 with grisly grasp, and grappled with him.
 Spent with struggle, stumbled the warrior,
 fiercest of fighting-men, fell adown.
 On the hall-guest she hurled herself, hent her short sword,
 broad and brown-edged,  the bairn to avenge,
 the sole-born son. -- On his shoulder lay
 braided breast-mail, barring death,
 withstanding entrance of edge or blade.
 Life would have ended for Ecgtheow's son [Beowulf],
 under wide earth for that earl of Geats,
 had his armor of war not aided him,
 battle-net hard, and holy God
 wielded the victory, wisest Maker.
 The Lord of Heaven allowed his cause;
 and easily rose the earl erect.

Seized then its chain-hilt the Scyldings' chieftain,
 bold and battle-grim, brandished the sword,
 reckless of life, and so wrathfully smote
 that it gripped her neck and grasped her hard,
 her bone-rings breaking: the blade pierced through
that fated-one's flesh: to floor she sank.  
Bloody the blade: he was blithe of his deed.
 Then blazed forth light. 'Twas bright within
 as when from the sky there shines unclouded
 heaven's candle. The hall he scanned....
 ... For now prone he saw Grendel stretched there, spent with war,
 spoiled of life, so scathed had left him,
 Heorot's battle. The body sprang far
 when after death it endured the blow,
 sword-stroke savage, that severed its head.

Question: What makes possible Beowulf''s victory?
What Germanic values are evident in the story?  

Bernard of Angers: Miracles of St. Foy (1010)

The day before the vigil of Saint Foy, [Vuitbert] had fallen to sleep when he saw before him a young girl of indescribable beauty. Her appearance was like that of an angel. Her face shone and appeared with droplets of rose and scarlet. Her expression surpassed all human beauty. Her size was as had been read that it was in the time of her passion, that of an adolescent, not yet of mature age. She wore majestic clothing entirely brocaded of gold and surrounded by a variety of subtle colors. Her wide sleeves, carefully pleated, fell to her feet. She wore on her head a diadem decorated with four gems from which radiated extraordinary light. The smallness of her body seems to me to have signified nothing more than that at the time of her passion, as we have said, one reads that she had been a youth. . . .

Thus the saint, leaning on the bedpost softly touched the right cheek of the sleeper and whispered to him, "Vuitbert, are you asleep?" He answered, "Who is there?" "I am Saint Foy," she replied. "My lady, why have you come to me?" "Simply to see you." Vuitbert thanked her, and Saint Foy replied, "Do you know me?" He recognized her as if he had already seen her and answered, "Yes, I see you well, my lady, and I rec­ognize you perfectly." "Tell me how you are and how your affairs are doing." "Very well, my Lady, and all is going very well. Everything succeeds for me by the grace of God." "What," she said, "how can all be going well when you cannot see the light of the heavens?" But he, as happens in dreams, thought that he could see although he could not. This last question reminded him of his torn out eyes. "How could I see," he asked, "when, last year, while returning from your feast, alas, I lost my eyes by the brutality of an unjust master?" The saint said, "He offended God too much and raised the anger of the Creator, he who harmed you so seriously in your body without your having merited it. But if tomorrow, on the vigil of my martyrdom, you go to Conques, and you buy two candles and place one before the altar of the Holy Savior, the other before the altar where my bodily clay is placed, you will merit to enjoy the complete restoration of your eyes. For with a great supplication concerning the injury done you I moved the piety of the divine Judge to mercy. I bothered God by my incessant prayers until I obtained for you this cure."  After these words she still insisted and urged him to go to Conques and encouraged him because he hesitated before the expense. "A thousand people, whom you have never before seen," she said, "will give to you. So that you can easily complete the present business, go quickly at dawn to the church of this parish, (this was the parish who had deprived him of his eyes, which since ancient times was called Espeyrac) and hear Mass there, and you will receive six pence." He thanked her as a benefactor deserved and the celestial power left him. He awoke immediately and went to the church where he told his vision. People thought that he was delirious. But not at all discouraged, he went through the crowd asking each in order to obtain twelve pence. Finally a certain Hugo, moving apart from the others, opened his purse and offered him six pence and one obole, that is, a little more than the vision had announced.  This first success increased his confidence. What more can I say? He arrived at Conques, told his vision to the monks, bought the candles, presented them to the altar, and started the vigil before the golden statue of the holy martyr.

Around midnight it seemed to him that he could see as though two small glowing berries, no larger than the fruit of a laurel, came from above and buried themselves deeply into his gouged eye sockets. At the shock, his thoughts became muddled and he fell asleep. But at the hour of lauds the chanting of the psalms awoke him and he seemed to see spots of light and the silhouettes of people moving about, but he had an unbelievable headache and only half conscious he thought that he was dreaming. . . . He raised his hands to his eyes and touched those windows of his flesh returned to the light and entirely reconstituted. He went to tell his neighbors and broke forth in praises for the immeasurable magnificence of Christ. This causes an indescribable rejoicing. Each person asked himself if he was dreaming or if he had actually seen an extraordinary miracle. . . .  

Question: What elements of this story reveal the down-to-earth sources of spiritual faith?    

Pope Gregory VII Bans Lay Investiture (1073)

Inasmuch as we have learned that, contrary to the establishments of the holy fathers, the investiture with churches is, in many places, performed by lay persons; and that from this case many disturbances arise in the church by which the Christian religion is trodden under foot: we decree that no one of the clergy shall receive the investiture with a bishopric or abbey or church from the hand of an emperor or king or of any lay person, male or female. But if he shall presume to do so he shall clearly know that such investiture is bereft of apostolic authority, and that he himself shall lie under excommunication until fitting satisfaction shall have been rendered.

Letter from Emperor Henry IV to Pope Gregory VII (1076)

Henry, king not through usurpation but through the holy ordination of God, to Hildebrand, at present not pope but false monk. Such greeting as this hast thou merited through thy disturbances, inasmuch as there is no grade in the church which thou hast omitted to make a partaker not of honour but of confusion, not of benediction but of malediction. For, to mention few and especial cases out of many, not only hast thou not feared to lay hands upon the rulers of the holy church, the anointed of the Lord -- the archbishops, namely, bishops and priests -- but thou hast trodden them under foot like slaves ignorant of what their master is doing. Thou hast won favour from the common herd by crushing them; thou hast looked upon all of them as knowing nothing, upon thy sole self, moreover, as knowing all things. This knowledge, however, thou hast used not for edification but for destruction; so that with reason we believe that St. Gregory, whose name thou has usurped for thyself, was prophesying concerning thee when he said: "The pride of him who is in power increases the more, the greater the number of those subject to him; and he thinks that he himself can do more than all." And we, indeed, have endured all this, being eager to guard the honour of the apostolic see; thou, however, has understood our humility to be fear, and hast not, accordingly, shunned to rise up against the royal power conferred upon us by God, daring to threaten to divest us of it. As if we had received our kingdom from thee! As if the kingdom and the empire were in thine and not in God's hand! And this although our Lord Jesus Christ did call us to the kingdom, did not, however, call thee to the priesthood. For thou has ascended by the following steps. By wiles, namely, which the profession of monk abhors, thou has achieved money; by money, favour; by the sword, the throne of peace. And from the throne of peace thou hast disturbed peace, inasmuch as thou hast armed subjects against those in authority over them; inasmuch as thou, who wert not called, hast taught that our bishops called of God are to be despised; inasmuch as thou hast usurped for laymen and the ministry over their priests, allowing them to depose or condemn those whom they themselves had received as teachers from the hand of God through the laying on of hands of the bishops. On me also who, although unworthy to be among the anointed, have nevertheless been anointed to the kingdom, thou hast lain thy hand; me whoas the tradition of the holy Fathers teaches, declaring that I am not to be deposed for any crime unless, which God forbid, I should have strayed from the faith-am subject to the judgment of God alone. For the wisdom of the holy fathers committed even Julian the apostate not to themselves, but to God alone, to be judged and to be deposed. For himself the true pope, Peter, also exclaims: "Fear God, honour the king." But thou who does not fear God, dost dishonour in me his appointed one. Wherefore St. Paul, when he has not spared an angel of Heaven if he shall have preached otherwise, has not excepted thee also who dost teach other-wise upon earth. For he says: "If any one, either I or an angel from Heaven, should preach a gospel other than that which has been preached to you, he shall be damned." Thou, therefore, damned by this curse and by the judgment of all our bishops and by our own, descend and relinquish the apostolic chair which thou has usurped. Let another ascend the throne of St. Peter, who shall not practise violence under the cloak of religion, but shall teach the sound doctrine of St. Peter. I Henry, king by the grace of God, do say unto thee, together with all our bishops: Descend, descend, to be damned throughout the ages.  

Questions: What points are central to the argument between Henry IV and Gregory VII? Is more than investiture at stake?  

Click on map to see larger, color view:  

Question: In what sense does the medieval manor plan represent the needs of the Middle Ages and a good use of land?

Song of Roland (11th century)
Rolland (Rollanz) and his companion Oliver fight the enemy from the rear of Charlemagne's guard.

1070 "Comrade Rollanz, once sound your olifant!   If Charles hear, where in the pass he stands,   I pledge you now, they'll turn again, the Franks."   "Never, by God," then answers him Rollanz,   "Shall it be said by any living man,
1075 That for pagans I took my horn in hand!   Never by me shall men reproach my clan.   When I am come into the battle grand,   And blows lay on, by hundred, by thousand,   Of Durendal bloodied you'll see the brand. 1080 Franks are good men; like vassals brave they'll stand;   Nay, Spanish men from death have no warrant." ....
1110 When Rollant sees that now must be combat,   More fierce he's found than lion or leopard;   The Franks he calls, and Oliver commands:   "Now say no more, my friends, nor thou, comrade.   That Emperour, who left us Franks on guard,
1115 A thousand score stout men he set apart,   And well he knows, not one will prove coward.   Man for his lord should suffer with good heart,   Of bitter cold and great heat bear the smart,   His blood let drain, and all his flesh be scarred.
1120 Strike with thy lance, and I with Durendal,   With my good sword that was the King's reward.   So, if I die, who has it afterward   Noble vassal's he well may say it was." ...  To Spanish pass is Rollanz now going   On Veillantif, his good steed, galloping;   He is well armed, pride is in his bearing,
1155 He goes, so brave, his spear in hand holding,   He goes, its point against the sky turning;   A gonfalon all white thereon he's pinned,   Down to his hand flutters the golden fringe:   Noble his limbs, his face clear and smiling.
1160 His companion goes after, following,   The men of France their warrant find in him.   Proudly he looks towards the Sarrazins,   And to the Franks sweetly, himself humbling;   And courteously has said to them this thing: 1165 "My lords barons, go now your pace holding!   Pagans are come great martyrdom seeking;   Noble and fair reward this day shall bring,   Was never won by any Frankish King."   Upon these words the hosts are come touching. ...   The count Rollanz, he canters through the field,   Holds Durendal, he well can thrust and wield,
1340 Right great damage he's done the Sarrazines   You'd seen them, one on other, dead in heaps,   Through all that place their blood was flowing clear!   In blood his arms were and his hauberk steeped,   And bloodied o'er, shoulders and neck, his steed.
1345 And Oliver goes on to strike with speed;   No blame that way deserve the dozen peers,   For all the Franks they strike and slay with heat,   Pagans are slain, some swoon there in their seats,   Says the Archbishop: "Good baronage indeed!"
1350 "Monjoie" he cries, the call of Charles repeats.

[Roland is mortally wounded]

1355 But Rollant felt that death had made a way   Down from his head till on his heart it lay;   Beneath a pine running in haste he came,   On the green grass he lay there on his face;   His olifant and sword beneath him placed,
2360 Turning his head towards the pagan race,   Now this he did, in truth, that Charles might say   (As he desired) and all the Franks his race; --   'Ah, gentle count; conquering he was slain!' --   He owned his faults often and every way,
2365 And for his sins his glove to God upraised.   But Rollant feels he's no more time to seek;   Looking to Spain, he lies on a sharp peak,   And with one hand upon his breast he beats:   "Mea Culpa! God, by Thy Virtues clean 2370 Me from my sins, the mortal and the mean,   Which from the hour that I was born have been   Until this day, when life is ended here!"   Holds out his glove towards God, as he speaks   Angels descend from heaven on that scene.  

Question: Fact: What's happening in this scene?
Interpretation: What does this story tell us about medieval aristocratic values?

Peter Abelard: Sic et Non (1120)

There are many seeming contradictions and even obscurities in the innumerable writings of the church fathers. Our respect for their authority should not stand in the way of an effort on our part to come at the truth. The obscurity and contradictions in ancient writings may  be explained upon many grounds, and may be discussed without impugning the good faith and insight of the fathers. A writer may use different terms to mean the same thing, in order to avoid a monotonous repetition of the same word. Common, vague words may be employed in order that the common people may understand; and sometimes a writer sacrifices perfect accuracy in the interest of a clear  general statement. Poetical, figurative language is often obscure and vague.

  Not infrequently apocryphal works are attributed to the saints. Then, even the best authors often introduce the erroneous views of others and leave the reader to distinguish between the true and the false. Sometimes, as Augustine confesses in his own case, the fathers ventured  to rely upon the opinions of others.

Doubtless the fathers might err; even Peter, the prince of the apostles, fell into error: what wonder that the saints do not always show themselves inspired? The fathers did not themselves believe that they, or their companions, were always right. Augustine found himself mistaken in some cases and did not hesitate to retract his errors. He warns his admirers not to look upon his letters as they would upon the  Scriptures, but to accept only those things which, upon examination, they find to be true.  

All writings belonging to this class are to be read with full freedom to criticize, and with no obligation to accept unquestioningly; otherwise they way would be blocked to all discussion, and posterity be deprived of the excellent intellectual exercise of debating difficult questions  of language and presentation. But an explicit exception must be made in the case of the Old and New Testaments. In the Scriptures, when  anything strikes us as absurd, we may not say that the writer erred, but that the scribe made a blunder in copying the manuscripts, or that  there is an error in interpretation, or that the passage is not understood. The fathers make a very careful distinction between the Scriptures and later works. They advocate a discriminating, not to say suspicious, use of the writings of their own contemporaries. 

In view of these considerations, I have ventured to bring together various dicta of the holy fathers, as they came to mind, and to formulate  certain questions which were suggested by the seeming contradictions in the statements. These questions ought to serve to excite tender readers to a zealous inquiry into truth and so sharpen their wits. The master key of knowledge is, indeed, a persistent and frequent  questioning. Aristotle, the most clear-sighted of all the philosophers, was desirous above all things else to arouse this questioning spirit, for  in his Categories he exhorts a student as follows: "It may well be difficult to reach a positive conclusion in these matters unless they be  frequently discussed. It is by no means fruitless to be doubtful on particular points. " By doubting we come to examine, and by examining  we reach the truth.   

Question: Fact: How does Abelard recommend approaching documents? Interpretation: What was revolutionary about Abelard's approach?    

Heloise: First Letter to Abelard

Abelard married Heloise to pacify her uncle, against her will and advice. He then wanted the marriage kept secret to help his career as teacher and future churchman, but the uncle made the marriage known. Abelard then sent Heloise back to her home in Argenteuil, where this letter may have been written. He continued to see her, however, and the uncle ultimately had Abelard castrated to prevent him entering the church. . . .

You are tending the vineyard of another's vine which you did not plant, which is turned to your own bitterness, with admonitions often wasted and holy sermons preached in vain. Think of what you owe to your own, who thus spends your care on another's. You teach and reprove rebels, nor gain anything. In vain before the swine do you scatter the  pearls of divine eloquence. Who gives so much thought to the obstinate, consider what you owe to the obedient. Who bestow so  much on yours enemies, meditate what you owe to thy daughters. And to say nothing of the rest, think by what a debt you are bound to  me, that what you owe to the community of devoted women you may pay more devotedly to her who is yours alone.  

How many grave treatises in the teaching, or in the exhortation, or for the comfort of holy women the holy Fathers composed, and with what diligence they composed them, your excellence knows better than our humility. Wherefore to no little amazement your oblivion moves the tender beginnings of our conversion, that neither by reverence for God, nor by love of us, nor by the examples of the holy  Fathers have you been admonished to attempt to comfort me, as I waver and am already crushed by prolonged grief, either by speech in your  presence or by a letter in your absence. And yet you know yourself to be bound to me by a debt so much greater in that you are tied to me more closely by the pact of the nuptial sacrament; and that you are the more beholden to me in that I ever, as is known to all, embraced  you with an unbounded love. You know, dearest, all men know what I have lost in you, and in how wretched a case that supreme and notorious betrayal took me myself also from me with you, and that my grief is immeasurably greater from the manner in which I lost you than from the loss of you.  

And the greater the cause of grief, the greater the remedies of comfort to be applied. Not, however, by another, but by you yourself, that you who are alone in the cause of my grief may be alone in the grace of my comfort. For it is you alone that can make me sad, can make me joyful or can comfort me. And it is you alone that owe me this great debt, and for this reason above all that I have at once  performed all things that you did order, till that when I could not offend you in anything I had the strength to lose myself at your behest.  And what is more, and strange it is to relate, to such madness did my love turn that what alone it sought it cast from itself without hope of  recovery when, straightway obeying your command, I changed both my habit and my hair, that I might show you to be the one possessor both of my body and of my mind. Nothing have I ever (God knows) required of you save myself, desiring you purely, not what was yours.  Not for the pledge of matrimony, nor for any dowry did I look, not my own passions or wishes but yours (as you yourself know) was I  zealous to gratify. . . .  

Questions:
Fact: What techniques does Heloise use to convince Abelard of her argument?
Interpretation: Why might Heloise have felt this approach was necessary to regain her relationship with Abelard?  

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