The Continuing Adventures of Sif No. 6

Falthejn took in the room. Dramatic, certainly; then again, his experience was mostly with the diviners’ guild, whose city headquarters comprised a few rented rooms above the least reputable High Quarter tavern. Diviners tended not to get along with one another, or, for that matter, with anyone. It was best for everyone involved if they had no real place to gather.

He gave Sif a little wave. She smiled back at him with a great deal of confidence. That was a good sign.

Baltasar Rasmussen turned his gaze from Sif to Falthejn. “State your name.”

“Falthejn Arnarsson.”

“Do you know this girl?”

Falthejn nodded. “We met during the flight from Syderskogholm. On the road north to the fort at Syderskogflodsvad, I discovered her talent for working magic.”

“How so?”

“We faced a number of ontlig attacks during our journey. She helped me defend our band of refugees on several occasions.”

Rasmussen nodded. “Please take the girl and retire to the passage while we confer.”

Sif raised her eyebrows at Falthejn, who waved her ahead of him. They left the chamber, and an attendant closed the door on them.

“How did I do?” Sif asked, pacing nervously.

Falthejn glanced at the door. “How do you think?”

Sif shrugged. “I did— worked some magic for them. Then they called you up.”

The diviner cracked a grin. “I think it’s fair to say you blew them away.” Sif paused in her pacing to glare daggers at him. Falthejn held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, no more jokes. I think— well, we’ll find out in a moment.”

The attendant opened the door. They went inside.

Rasmussen stood and drew back his hood. “Sif Hrothgarsdottir, the Akademi der Luftsmagiker will accept you as a student.”

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The Continuing Adventures of Sif No. 5

Sif nodded, closed her eyes, and took a few breaths. She realized how tense she was, and relaxed. The weave revealed itself to her. She saw the magiker watching her, their power a whirlwind around them.

That gave her an idea. They were luftsmagiker, who controlled the winds. Maybe she could do something like that. She reached out with her mind, focused on a spot a few feet in front of her, and pushed. Nothing much happened.

Hmmm. Well, wind was sort of like water, and you couldn’t really push on water, either. You could control its natural flow, though. She felt the presence of the air in the weave of the world, surrounding her, filling the room. It wafted about without any particular direction. She turned side-on to the watching magiker and leaned forward. The weave moved with her. The draft grew to a breeze, and the breeze grew to a gale.

She let it blow for a few moments, then stood straight and brought it to a halt. She opened her eyes. She couldn’t see under the hoods of the septumvirate, but from the silence filling the room, she suspected they were staring open-mouthed.

After a few seconds, Rasmussen cleared his throat. “Satisfactory,” he said. The woman next to him snorted. “Bring Arnarsson up.”

One of the attendants left. A few minutes later, he and Falthejn returned.

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Cædmon’s Hymn

The unassuming little poem of nine lines known as Cædmon’s Hymn, despite its pint-sized scale, is a miliarium aureum, a literary milestone arguably greater than any other in the history of the English language: it is the first hymn, the first poem, and in fact the first composition of any kind in any form of English which is preserved to the present day. Like the zero-mile post in the Roman Forum, all paths that any reader may take through English Literature and Poetry begin with this humble little work.

For its size, the poem is not only uncommonly important, but also uncommonly variable — there are about twenty surviving copies of the poem from the Old English period, representing at least a dozen different variations on the text, not only on the level of varying regional pronunciations (and hence, spellings), but also on the level of wording — probably because the poem and the famous story surrounding it remained popular for centuries, allowing ample opportunity for the drift and re-honing that enrich the textual traditions of primarily oral literary cultures to take effect. (Several more variants, for that matter, including the versions most likely to be encountered by students, are owed to the recombinatory creativity of modern editors seeking to present a single, quintessential, and of course grammatically and dialectally tame text.) I’ll reproduce just two of the variants here, one in early Northumbrian Old English from the “Moore Bede” Manuscript held at Cambridge (codex Kk. 5. 16), and one in Late West Saxon Old English taken from the Bodelian Hatton 43 Manuscript held at Oxford. I’ve chosen these two because they agree fairly closely (though still not perfectly) in their wording, and also with the Latin gloss in the Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum of Bede — which, ironically, is a text at least a few decades older than any surviving written copy of the native Old English text of the poem, and so probably points in the direction of the version(s) that Cædmon recited in his own lifetime — while at the same time showing the wide divergence in phonology between regions and periods, and even the grammatical reinterpretation that can be triggered by such phonological change.

All punctuation is modern addition, while the spelling exactly reproduces the manuscripts, and will be discussed below. The right-hand columns contain my best attempt to represent (using the International Phonetic Alphabet) what is commonly believed to be the pronunciation which would be represented by each text, although I should stress here that there’s ample opportunity for error both in the existing consensus on the phonology of each of these varieties of Old English at this level of detail, and also in my attempt to apply that consensus to these texts. Sound values which I’m particularly uncertain of are enclosed in square brackets, while footnotes on this phonological reading can be found separately. Differences in meaning between these two versions are indicated in the word-by-word translation with square brackets giving (N) the Northumbrian translation /(W) the West Saxon translation, while in the fluent translation, one or the other meaning is selected and the alternative simply omitted. Footnotes on the differences in wording and meaning between these two texts are at the bottom, below the translations. The alliterating segments in each line have been underlined in each text; it is this alliteration on stressed syllables, along with restrictions regarding the number of stressed syllables in each line and half-line, that constitute the formal bounds of the poetic genre that Cædmon composed in.

Northumbrian

Nu scylun hergan hefaenricaes uard,
nu: 'skulun 'herjɑn 'hev[æ]nˌri:k[æ]s wɑrd
metudæs maecti, end his modgidanc,
'metud[æ]s m[e]xti [ə]nd his 'mo:dj[ə]ˌðɑŋk
uerc uuldurfadur, sue he uundra gihuaes,
werk 'wuldurˌfɑ[d][ə]r sw[ə] he: 'wundrɑ j[ə]'ʍæs
eci dryctin, or astelidæ.
'e:k[i] 'dryxtin o:r 'ɑ:stell[ə]d[æ]
He aerist1 scop aelda barnum
he: 'æ:r[i]st sko:p 'ældɑ 'bɑrnum
heben til hrofe, haleg scepen.2
'heven til 'r̥o:ve 'hɑ:l[e]ɣ 'skepen
Tha middungeard moncynnæs ward,
θɑ: 'midd[ə]nˌj[æa]rd 'monˌkynn[æ]s wɑrd
eci dryctin, æfter tiadæ,
'e:k[i] 'dryxtin 'æfter 'ti:[ə]d[æ]
firum foldu, frea allmectig.
'fi:rum foldu fræ:ɑ 'ɑl[l]ˌmextij

West Saxon

Nu we sculon herian heofonrices weard,
nu: 'ʃʊlʊn 'hɛrjɐn 'hɛovʊnˌri:tʃɛs wæ̽ɑrd
metudes myhte, and his modgeþanc,
'mɛtʊdɛs 'my̽çtɛ ɐnd hɪs 'mo:dʝɛˌðɐŋk
wurc wuldorfæder, swa he wundra gehwilc,3
w[ʊ]rk 'wʊldʊrˌfæ̽dɛr swɐ he: 'wʊndrɐ ʝɛ'ʍɪltʃ
ece drihten, ord4 astealde.
'e:tʃɛ 'drɪçtɛn ɔrd 'ɑ:stæ̽ɑlldɛ
He ærest gesceop ylda bearnum
he: 'æ:rɛst ʝɛ'ʃo:p '[y̽]ldɐ 'bæ̽ɑrnʊm
heofon to hrofe, halig scippend;
'hɛovʊn to: 'r̥o:vɛ 'hɐlɪʝ 'ʃɪppɛnd
middangearde, mancynnes weard,
'mɪddɐnˌʝæ̽ɑrdɛ 'mɐnky̽nnɛs wæ̽ɑrd
ece drihten, æfter tida,5
'e:tʃɛ 'drɪçtɛn 'æ̽tfɛr 'ti:dɐ
firum on foldum,6 frea ælmyhtig.
'fi:rʊm ɔn 'fɔldʊm fræ:ɑ 'æ̽lˌmy̽çtɪʝ

Word-by-Word Modern Translation

Now [(W) we] shall praise Heaven-kingdom’s ward,
measurer’s might, and his mind-consideration,
work glory-father’s, as he of wonders [(N) of each /(W) each],
eternal Lord, [(N) origin /(W) starting point] established.
He first shaped for men’s sons
heaven for a roof, holy [(N) judge?/(W) shaper],
[(N) then] [(N) Middle-world /(W) in the Middle-world], mankind’s ward,
eternal Lord, after [(N) arranged /(W) times],
for people [(N) the land /(W) on the lands], Lord almighty.

Fluent Modern Translation

Now we shall praise the Heaven-kingdom’s protector,
the measurer’s might; thoughts of his mind;
the Glory-father’s work, as he each wonder’s
— eternal Lord — origin established.
He first formed for men’s sons
the heavens for a roof, — holy wright —
then the Middle-world mankind’s ward,
eternal Lord, afterward arranged
for men on the land, Lord almighty.

(1) This word is generally taken to be simply a variant spelling of <ærest> i.e., “first”, which agrees with the spelling in most manuscripts and also with Bede’s gloss of the poem, and hence is virtually certainly the original reading. However, if so, then this spelling is anomalous and without any obvious linguistic explanation, and the possibility exists that this particular recension of the poem could be introducing a novel variation on the poem, substituting <ærist> “arising, resurrection” (in its perfectly standard spelling), and thus making the poem read “He made the resurrection for men’s sons; the heavens for a roof; … then the Middle-world … afterward arranged for men on the land.”

(2) While <scepen> is usually read as an anomalous spelling of <scippend> “shaper, creator”, it has been pointed out (O’Donnel 1996, p. 52 non vidimus) that this could also be a hapax legomena– the only attestation in English of a word for “judge (n.)” which is attested in Old High German <scaffin> or <sceffin> and Frisian <skeppena>. Again, while this is interesting, and linguistically possible, Bede’s gloss supports “creator”, however, it may be worth noting that if <scepen> were a rare word, doomed to soon drop completely out of use in English, and perhaps restricted to a poetic register, it may be that Bede himself did not know it, and misunderstood Cædmon’s text.

(3) Our two versions use two different words here, but both mean essentially “each” in this context, though the Northumbrian <gihuaes> is in the genitive case, while the West Saxon <gehwilc> is in the accusative, slightly changing the reading of the sentence.

(4) Here again, the two versions have synonymous and similar, but actually unrelated, words. The Northumbrian text has <or> “an origin”, while the West Saxon version has <ord>, literally “a point”, but in Old English often used without modification specifically in the sense of “a starting point, a point of origin, a spring”.

(5) Here the West Saxon and Northumbrian texts vary in meaning enormously from one another: the Northumbrian has the third-person singular indicative past tense verb <tiadæ> “fashioned, arranged”, making the half-line read “afterward [he] arranged” — a wording which is also attested in numerous West Saxon manuscripts which have the equivalent <teode> — however, the West Saxon text here has the noun <tida> “times, periods, whiles, intervals of time”, in the plural of either the nominative, accusative, or genitive case. This has generally been read as the object of the preposition <æfter> “after”, making the half-line read “after whiles”, but another reading is also possible, in which <tida>, along with <heofon>, is the direct object of the verb <gesceop> “shaped, formed”, and <æfter> functions adverbially (as it is attested to elsewhere), so that the latter part of the poem reads “He first created for men’s sons heaven for a roof, — holy shaper — on this Earth, –mankind’s ward, eternal Lord — afterward, (created) times, for men on the lands — Lord almighty.” This reading, fascinatingly, seems to picture God as creating not only the physical stage of the universe, but also of creating “times”, i.e., either the natural cycles of time, such as day and night, or perhaps even as actively creating the history itself that would play out on the stage (s)he had set.

(6) Here again, a slight difference in wording between the two texts forces a difference in interpretation: The Northumbrian version has <foldu> “land” with an anomalous ending; folde ordinarily declines as a weak feminine noun, however, this makes /foldu/ or anything similar ungrammatical; this form would seem to imply that the Northumbrian version represents a lect in which folde has been reinterpreted as a strong feminine U-stem noun, in which case /foldu/ would be the nominative or accusative singular; only the latter would be logical, which would give the reading of “land” as an elliptical direct object of the verb <scop>, so that the half-line indicates the creator forming “the land for the people”, along with the heavens. By comparison, the West Saxon text given <foldum> in the dative plural with the preposition <on>, requiring the half-line to be read as a prepositional phrase “for people on the lands”.

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Commentary, Cædmon’s Hymn

Friend and contributor Nasa is back, and truthfully, back earlier than I expected. (This is a good thing!)

Though Luke 2 is a fitting and traditional reading for Christmas Day, I like to try to put a twist on things where I can. Nasa submitted these two texts as items of interest to Old English scholars. While they certainly are, they’re also items of religious interest to Christians like me. Cura Pastoralis touched on the theme that we ought to be known by our fruit, a timeless theme. This piece touches on the majesty of God, and although Cædmon writes in terms more familiar to Anglo-Saxons of the seventh century, the thrust of his piece still rings true to my ears today.

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The Continuing Adventures of Sif No. 4

They continued upward. Sif had been on her feet all day, and now she felt a burning in her legs. Rasmussen continued indomitably. Finally, they came to the end of the passageway, stepping into a large, circular room with a high ceiling. The hair on the back of Sif’s neck stood up as Rasmussen ushered her past a pair of attendants into a circle of light in front of a curved table at which six men sat. Rasmussen pulled his hood over his head, then took his seat at the center of the table.

“Identify yourself,” he said.

“Sif,” Sif replied. She remembered something, and with a smile added, “Hrothgarsdottir.”

“Well, then, Sif Hrothgarsdottir,” Rasmussen said, “do you petition us for admission to the Akademi der Luftsmagiker?”

“Yes, I do.”

“On what grounds?”

Sif blinked. A murmur ran around the table.

Gesturing for her to elaborate, Rasmussen said, “Why do you come before us?”

Sif took a deep breath. “I have magic,” she said. “I lived in the far south, in Syderskogholm. We escaped the city—”

“We?” the hooded figure seated to Rasmussen’s right asked. Sif was surprised to hear a woman’s voice.

“Me, my parents, and my friend Falthejn Arnarsson.”

Now it was the woman’s turn to be surprised. “The diviner?”

“Yes,” Sif said. The luftsmagiker spoke quietly among themselves, but the woman motioned for Sif to continue. “We escaped the city, and ran north. On the way, I had to use magic—”

“Work magic,” another hooded man corrected her.

“Work magic to protect my family. I know how it feels now, and I don’t think I can leave it behind. I want to help people.”

Rasmussen rapped on the table with his knuckles to quiet his compatriots. “Would you honor us with a demonstration?”

Sif frowned. “Falthejn Arnarsson told me that magic is dangerous, and that I shouldn’t use it unless I had to, until I’ve been trained.”

Rasmussen started to speak, but the woman next to him put her hand on his arm. “Arnarsson gave you good counsel,” she said, “and your caution does you great credit, young one. It is safe to work magic here. I pledge it.”

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The Continuing Adventures of Sif No. 3

Baltasar Rasmussen led Sif through a door to their left, then up a gently-sloping curved passageway.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

Rasmussen glanced at her over his shoulder, bushy eyebrow once again poking skyward. Sif got the sense he used that expression a lot. “Up,” he said. “The Septumvirate—the guild council—sits to hear your case.”

That was enough to sate her curiosity, along with the simple fact that she was inside a magiker guild for the first time. As they ascended, the passageway grew steeper and the curve sharper. At first, they passed closely-spaced doors on the outer wall—cells, Rasmussen explained, where aspirants or magiker in the city could stay—and classrooms, storerooms, and libraries on the inner.

They had been climbing for some time when they emerged into an open room. From the windows carved into the walls, Sif surmised it filled the whole width of the spire. A fire blazed on a massive round hearth in the center of the space, surrounded by long tables and chairs. Toward the walls, the tables grew smaller and the chairs larger. A few luftsmagiker lounged in small groups around the edges, bowing their heads deferentially as Rasmussen passed.

“The beating social heart of the guild, ordinarily,” the elder magiker explained. “Few of us are in the city now, with the war on.”

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The Continuing Adventures of Sif No. 2

They passed through the gate. The grounds were littered with obstacles: netting strung between poles to their left, large rocks to their right, and more which Sif could only glimpse.

They entered the spire through massive double doors, and Sif blinked at the relative darkness inside. Eventually, it resolved into a cozy room, heavy rugs on the floor and tapestries on the wall, lit by candles glowing merrily from a chandelier overhead.

Falthejn waved her along. She followed half a step behind as they approached an old man leaning against the wall. Falthejn said, “Baltasar Rasmussen, this is the girl I spoke of.”

Rasmussen leaned forward. “Pardon me,” he said. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be.” Sif met his gaze as he looked her over.

Rasmussen straightened and raised a bushy eyebrow at Falthejn. “She is quite old,” he said, “is she not?”

“Hey!”

Falthejn laughed. “He meant for an aspirant,” he said. “Yes, she is older than most, but she has experience many do not.”

The elder luftsmagiker held up a hand. “Say no more. We will hear what you have to say during the girl’s hearing.” He looked back to Sif. “Will you come with me, young lady? Your friend must wait here until we have begun.”

Sif looked up at Falthejn, who dipped his head briefly. Heartened, Sif nodded. “Lead the way, Baltasar Rasmussen.”

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The Continuing Adventures of Sif No. 1

Sif followed Falthejn out of the School of Conjurers, blinking in confusion. “Didn’t you know that was going to happen?”

“I thought it would go another way,” Falthejn replied.

“How often does that happen?”

“More than you might think.”

“‘No, we cannot train the girl,'” Sif said, deepening her voice and waving her hands pompously. “‘She does not have the manner of a conjurer.'” She shook her head. “It seems like his mind was pretty made up.”

“Maybe,” Falthejn allowed, turning down a side street. “I have something else in mind, though.” They turned onto another of the High Quarter’s broad avenues, and walked into a sudden fog. “They’re at it again.”

“Who?” Sif said, then stopped in her tracks. A spire rose from the mist in front of them, the largest building Sif had ever seen.

Obligingly, Falthejn let her stare. “The Akademi der Luftsmagiker,” he said, after some time had gone by. “The tallest structure in den Holm. From its peak, the luftsmagiker sweep rain and snow from the sky and push storms back out to sea. Without them, this patch of land would be little more than a tiny village clinging to barren tundra.”

Finally fighting free of the entrancing sight, Sif looked up at him. “Why did they put the guild here, then?”

“The Twelve knew the dangers of magic. They founded the guilds here, in a town in the middle of nowhere, to keep people safe from magiker trainees.”

“Where’d the city come from, then?”

Falthejn smiled. “You haven’t been outside the city yet, but trust me when I say that it’s much more pleasant within than without.”

Sif’s brow furrowed. “How is nice weather worth that much to people?”

The diviner shrugged. “There’s no accounting for taste.”

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