THE COMPLEXITYOF the medieval world is often obscured by the tendency of many modern scholars to focus on specific areas of research, only occasionally stepping outside the boundaries of their chosen discipline. Despite teaching across the period, Old English critics rarely look forward to later texts, Middle English scholars generally look back only so far and, often, neither looks to continental traditions unless they are searching for sources. But medieval textual traditions were not so isolated, and even though Old English changed over time, giving way to Middle English in its various dialects, they developed into new forms of writing and expression that reflected different social concerns and tastes which crossed geographical and chronological boundaries. One of the strongest cross-cultural currents was that between England and the Low Countries, which exchanged people, ideas, textiles, and were often allied against larger enemies. Both English and Middle Dutch textual traditions owe a great debt to the corpus of medieval French literature, often working from the same (or similar) sources; but they also adapted ideas, motifs, and tropes to suit their own audiences and occasionally shared their literary endeavors between them. Unfortunately, scholarship on these cross-cultural exchanges is not always accessible, especially if it is written in modern Dutch. As Geert Claassens explains, ‘In short, the language barrier that exists … prevents many foreign scholars from becoming acquainted with a broad corpus of texts that in the Middle Ages formed part of a much more homogenous European literary culture’. Few scholars have contributed as much to this wider view of medieval England and its cultural contacts across the channel than David F. Johnson. His work traces the textual traditions of Old English, especially in manuscript production, through later medieval romances in both England and the Low Countries, highlighting the connections between texts, motifs, and themes. This volume takes the work of Johnson as its starting point, investigating the intricacies of early English manuscript production and preservation, illuminating the variations in reinterpreting Old English poetry, particularly Beowulf, and tracking those complexities through later Arthurian English and Middle Dutch romances and drama.

AT THE BEGINNING of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (c. 1375–1400) a mysterious figure, an aghlich mayster ‘awesome figure’ (136) bursts into the hall, marked as monstrous not only by his immense size, ‘On þe most on þe molde on mesure hyghe’ [One of the greatest on ground in growth of his frame] (137), but by his hue, oueral enker-grene ‘green as green could be’ (150). This marvel of a man carries an ax and a holly bough and issues a challenge to the awe-struck members of King Arthur's youthful yuletide court: an exchange of blows to test the pride and reputation of these knights, puzzle their wits, and, perhaps, frighten Guinevere to death (2456–60). Traditionally the Green Knight has been read as a manifestation of ‘evil’ come to threaten, test, and tempt the Round Table. The poem engages directly with the question of his Otherness, and critics have devised ‘Other’ ways of interpreting him – devil, Green Man, nature God, even Saracen – and the woman he serves, Morgan le Fay. Less attention has been given to his human alter ego, Lord Bertilak, magically transformed by Morgan. While critics often fixate on the secondary aim of Morgan's plan – traumatizing Guinevere – as the Green Knight, Lord Bertilak instructs Arthur's court in humility, constancy, and mercy, appearing at first as a terrifying (but beautiful) entity; the tallest of men (only half a giant), whose challenge is to the very essence of Arthurian knighthood and chivalry. Rather than an Otherworldly specter sent by a supernatural enchantress to haunt Arthur's court and his wife, however, the Green Knight only passes as Other. He is an elaborate illusion woven by the very-mortal Morgan to test the renown of the Round Table, and without her magical intervention he is as human as Gawain himself. Bertilak embodies ideal courtesy and chivalry, tempered by humanity and the symbiotic relationship between the realms of fantasy and reality necessary for instructing the human world, specifically Gawain, in its failures in an attempt to save it.

Critical Introduction

Völsunga saga (ca. 1200–1270) is one of the medieval Icelandic fornaldarsögur—legendary sagas—populated by mythical heroes, heroines, gods, and otherworldly entities like dwarves, valkyries, and shape-shifters who assume the form of wolves, otters, and dragons. The story of Sigurd's defeat of Fafnir pre-dates the prose Völsunga saga. The various Eddic poems about Sigurd establish him as the dragon-slaying hero who falls in love with a valkyrie, learns the knowledge of runes from her and the prophecy of his own betrayal and demise, fulfills that prophecy, and is murdered. Sigurd the Dragonslayer was among the most popular figures in Scandinavian tradition. He is singled out from an early age as a great hero from a long line of heroes battling both human foes and monsters, most famously the dragon, Fafnir, who was once a man but shapeshifts into dragon-form to guard his stolen treasure. But there are many heroes in the Völsunga saga, some of whom more closely resemble the monsters they fight, like Sigmund and Sinfjotli who transform into werewolves, exhibiting a savagery that may have more to do with their human qualities. This text had widespread appeal in the Middle Ages, and has inspired numerous adaptations in the modern era: its dragon, Fafnir, and its cursed ring, the centrepiece of an accursed treasure hoard, are reflected in Richard Wagner's Ring Cycle and J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbitand The Lord of the Rings.

Reading Questions

Is Sigmund and Sinfjotli's savagery caused by the wolfskins, or are they savage to begin with? Could Sigurd have performed his heroic feats without the intervention of Odin? If not, then what makes him heroic? What is the significance of Sigurd's conversation with Fafnir?

Editorial Notes

Völsunga saga survives in one manuscript, Ny kgl. Saml. 1824b 4to (ca. 1400) and this translation is based on the transcription available online: http://www.voluspa.org/sagas. htm. This transcription includes a facing page English translation by William Morris and Eirikr Magnusson (London, 1870), which was consulted in conjunction with the excellent translation by Jesse Byock (Berkeley, 1990). Spelling and the tenses have been normalized, adjusting the text in places for easier reading.

Critical Introduction

The Táin Bó Cúailnge (Cattle Raid of Cooley) is one of the great sagas of ancient Ireland, part of the Ulster Cycle, which recounts the exploits and fantastic deeds of the young hero Cú Chulainn (The Hound of Culann). The Táin is an eighth-century story that survives in several later medieval versions recounting the fantastic deeds of the heroes of prehistoric Ireland. It is an ancient tale full of contests, fantastic weapons, rivalries, and supernatural entities that insert themselves into the action. Gods and goddess walk the battlefield, intervening on behalf of or against the heroes as it pleases them. Cú Chulainn, the son of the god Lugh and a mortal woman (Dechtere), has marvellous abilities that turn him into a killing machine. Not only does he take up arms as a child and perform impossible feats with weapons, but he experiences a battle-spasm that literally turns his body inside out: blood shoots from the top of his head, his hair sticks straight out, he pulls his jaw back to his gullet, one eye pops out onto his cheek, the other one sucks deep into his skull, and a divine light shines above him. To many, Cú Chulainn seems like a monster as he transforms, but this fantastic element adds to his fame and strikes fear into the hearts of his enemies.

Centred around a marital dispute between Queen Medb of Connacht and her husband, Ailill, a prince of Leinster, the Táin includes several episodic stories of various Irish heroes, including Cú Chulainn, who enters battles at the tender age of seven and holds off the armies of four of the five provinces of Ireland by himself, ultimately dying a hero's death in his late teens. Cú Chulainn becomes the central figure of the story when he stands alone against the armies of Medb, Ailill, and the other three provinces of Ireland who are trying to steal a much-prized bull. Donn Cuailnge, the Brown, is owned by Dáire mac Fiachna, whose leader is King Conchobair of Ulster. When Medb's diplomatic plan to borrow Donn Cuailnge for a year falls through, Medb launches a massive cattle-raid to steal the bull.