Where do MONSTERS lurk?

Hrothgar , king of the Danes, has built a wonderful mead hall called Herot , where his subjects congregate and make merry. As this selection opens, a fierce and powerful monster named Grendel invades the mead hall, bringing death and destruction.

A powerful monster, living downIn the darkness, growled in pain, impatient As day after day the music rangLoud in that hall, the harp’s rejoicing

Call and the poet’s clear songs, sungOf the ancient beginnings of us all, recallingThe Almighty making the earth, shapingThese beautiful plains marked off by oceans,Then proudly setting the sun and moonTo glow across the land and light it;The corners of the earth were made lovely with treesAnd leaves, made quick with life, with eachOf the nations who now move on its face. And thenAs now warriors sang of their pleasure:So Hrothgar’s men lived happy in his hallTill the monster stirred, that demon, that fiend,Grendel, who haunted the moors,1 the wildMarshes, and made his home in a hellNot hell but earth. He was spawned2 in that slime,Conceived by a pair of those monsters bornOf Cain,3 murderous creatures banishedBy God, punished forever for the crimeOf Abel’s death. The Almighty droveThose demons out, and their exile was bitter,Shut away from men; they splitInto a thousand forms of evil—spiritsAnd fiends, goblins, monsters, giants,A brood forever opposing the Lord’sWill, and again and again defeated.

Then, when darkness had dropped, GrendelWent up to Herot, wondering what the warriorsWould do in that hall when their drinking was done.He found them sprawled in sleep, suspectingNothing, their dreams undisturbed. The monster’sThoughts were as quick as his greed or his claws:

He slipped through the door and there in the silenceSnatched up thirty men, smashed themUnknowing in their beds and ran out with their bodies,The blood dripping behind him, backTo h is lair, delighted with his night’s slaughter.

At daybreak, with the sun’s first light, they sawHow well he had worked, and in that gray morningBroke their long feast with tears and lamentsFor the dead. Hrothgar, their lord, sat joylessIn Herot, a mighty prince mourningThe fate of his lost friends and companions,Knowing by its tracks that some demon had tornHis followers apart. He wept, fearingThe beginning might not be the end. And that night Grendel came again, so setOn murder that no crime could ever be enough,No savage assault quench his lustFor evil. Then each warrior triedTo escape him, searched for rest in differentBeds, as far from Herot as they could find,Seeing how Grendel hunted when they slept.Distance was safety; the only survivorsWere those who fled him. Hate had triumphed.

So Grendel ruled, fought with the righteous, One against many, and won; so HerotStood empty, and stayed deserted for years,Twelve winters of grief for Hrothgar, kingOf the Danes, sorrow heaped at his doorBy hell-forged hands. His misery leaped

The seas, was told and sung in allMen’s ears: how Grendel’s hatred began,How the monster relished his savage warOn the Danes, keeping the bloody feudAlive, seeking no peace, offeringNo truce, accepting no settlement, no priceIn gold or land, and paying the livingFor one crime only with another. No oneWaited for reparation4 from his plundering claws:That shadow of death hunted in the darkness,Stalked Hrothgar’s warriors, oldAnd young, lying in waiting, hiddenIn mist, invisibly following them from the edgeOf the marsh, always there, unseen.

So mankind’s enemy continued his crimes,Killing as often as he could, comingAlone, bloodthirsty and horrible. Though he livedIn Herot, when the night hid him, he neverDared to touch king Hrothgar’s gloriousThrone, protected by God—God,5

Whose love Grendel could not know. But Hrothgar’sHeart was bent. The best and most nobleOf his council debated remedies, satIn secret sessions, talking of terrorAnd wondering what the bravest of warriors could do.And sometimes they sacrificed to the old stone gods,Made heathen vows, hoping for Hell’sSupport, the Devil’s guidance in drivingTheir affliction off. That was their way,

And the heathen’s6 only hope, HellAlways in their hearts, knowing neither GodNor His passing as He walks through our world, the LordOf Heaven and earth; their ears could not hearHis praise nor know His glory. Let themBeware, those who are thrust into danger,Clutched at by trouble, yet can carry no solaceIn their hearts, cannot hope to be better! HailTo those who will rise to God, drop offTheir dead bodies and seek our Father’s peace!

Beowulf hears of how Grendel attacks the Danes. Beowulf and his men sail to the land of the Danes to offer help to Hrothgar. They are taken by a Danish guard to Herot, where Wulfgar, one of Hrothgar’s soldiers, tells the king of their arrival. Hrothgar knows Beowulf and welcomes the prince and his men. Beowulf tells of his deeds and offers his help to Hrothgar. He says he will fight Grendel using his hands alone because Grendel needs no weapons. Hrothgar accepts Beowulf ’s offer and holds a feast in his honor. After the banquet, Hrothgar and his followers leave Herot, and Beowulf and his warriors remain to spend the night. Beowulf restates his intent to fight Grendel without a sword and, while his followers sleep, lies waiting, eager for Grendel to appear.

Out from the marsh, from the foot of mistyHills and bogs, bearing God’s hatred,Grendel came, hoping to kill Anyone he could trap on this trip to high Herot.He moved quickly through the cloudy night,

Up from his swampland, sliding silentlyToward that gold-shining hall. He had visited Hrothgar’sHome before, knew the way—But never, before nor after that night,Found Herot defended so firmly, his receptionSo harsh. He journeyed, forever joyless,Straight to the door, then snapped it open,Tore its iron fasteners with a touchAnd rushed angrily over the threshold.7

He strode quickly across the inlaidFloor, snarling and fierce: his eyesGleamed in the darkness, burned with a gruesomeLight. Then he stopped, seeing the hallCrowded with sleeping warriors, stuffedWith rows of young soldiers resting together.And his heart laughed, he relished the sight,Intended to tear the life from those bodiesBy morning; the monster’s mind was hotWith the thought of food and the feasting his bellyWould soon know. But fate, that night, intendedGrendel to gnaw the broken bonesOf his last human supper. Human Eyes were watching his evil steps,Waiting to see his swift hard claws.Grendel snatched at the first GeatHe came to, ripped him apart, cutHis body to bits with powerful jaws,Drank the blood from his veins and boltedHim down, hands and feet; deathAnd Grendel’s great teeth came together,

Snapping life shut. Then he stepped to anotherStill body, clutched at Beowulf with his claws,Grasped at a strong-hearted wakeful sleeper—And was instantly seized himself, clawsBent back as Beowulf leaned up on one arm.

That shepherd of evil, guardian of crime,Knew at once that nowhere on earthHad he met a man whose hands were harder;His mind was flooded with fear—but nothingCould take his talons and himself from that tightHard grip. Grendel’s one thought was to runFrom Beowulf, flee back to his marsh and hide there:This was a different Herot than the hall he had emptied.But Higlac’s follower remembered his finalBoast and, standing erect, stoppedThe monster’s flight, fastened those clawsIn his fists till they cracked, clutched GrendelCloser. The infamous killer foughtFor his freedom, wanting no flesh but retreat,Desiring nothing but escape; his clawsHad been caught, he was trapped. That trip to HerotWas a miserable journey for the writhing monster!8

The high hall rang, its roof boards swayed,And Danes shook with terror. DownThe aisles the battle swept, angryAnd wild. Herot trembled, wonderfullyBuilt to withstand the blows, the strugglingGreat bodies beating at its beautiful walls;Shaped and fastened with iron, insideAnd out, artfully worked, the building

Stood firm. Its benches rattled, fellTo the floor, gold-covered boards gratingAs Grendel and Beowulf battled across them. Hrothgar’s wise men had fashioned HerotTo stand forever; only fire,They had planned, could shatter what such skill had putTogether, swallow in hot flames such splendorOf ivory and iron and wood. SuddenlyThe sounds changed, the Danes startedIn new terror, cowering in their beds as the terribleScreams of the Almighty’s enemy sangIn the darkness, the horrible shrieks of painAnd defeat, the tears torn out of Grendel’sTaut throat, hell’s captive caught in the armsOf him who of all the men on earthWas the strongest.

That mighty protector of menMeant to hold the monster till its lifeLeaped out, knowing the fiend was no useTo anyone in Denmark. All of Beowulf ’sBand had jumped from their beds, ancestralSwords raised and ready, determinedTo protect their prince if they could. Their courageWas great but all wasted: they could hack at GrendelFrom every side, trying to openA path for his evil soul, but their pointsCould not hurt him, the sharpest and hardest ironCould not scratch at his skin, for that sin-stained demonHad bewitched all men’s weapons, laid spellsThat blunted every mortal man’s blade.

And yet his time had come, his daysWere over, his death near; downTo hell he would go, swept groaning and helplessTo the waiting hands of still worse fiends.Now he discovered—once the afflictorOf men, tormentor of their days—what it meantTo feud with Almighty God: GrendelSaw that his strength was deserting him, his clawsBound fast, Higlac’s brave follower tearing atHis hands. The monster’s hatred rose higher,But his power had gone. He twisted in pain,And the bleeding sinews9 deep in his shoulderSnapped, muscle and bone split And broke. The battle was over, BeowulfHad been granted new glory: Grendel escaped,But wounded as he was could flee to his den,His miserable hole at the bottom of the marsh,Only to die, to wait for the endOf all his days. And after that bloodyCombat the Danes laughed with delight. He who had come to them from across the sea,Bold and strong-minded, had driven afflictionOff, purged Herot clean. He was happy,Now, with that night’s fierce work; the DanesHad been served as he’d boasted he’d serve them; Beowulf,A prince of the Geats, had killed Grendel,Ended the grief, the sorrow, the sufferingForced on Hrothgar’s helpless peopleBy a bloodthirsty fiend. No Dane doubted

The victory, for the proof, hanging highFrom the rafters where Beowulf had hung it, was the monster’sArm, claw and shoulder and all.

And then, in the morning, crowds surroundedHerot, warriors coming to that hallFrom faraway lands, princes and leadersOf men hurrying to behold the monster’sGreat staggering tracks. They gaped with no senseOf sorrow, felt no regret for his suffering,Went tracing his bloody footprints, his beatenAnd lonely flight, to the edge of the lakeWhere he’d dragged his corpselike way, doomedAnd already weary of his vanishing life.The water was bloody, steaming and boilingIn horrible pounding waves, heatSucked from his magic veins; but the swirlingSurf had covered his death, hiddenDeep in murky darkness his miserableEnd, as hell opened to receive him.

Then old and young rejoiced, turned backFrom that happy pilgrimage, mounted their hard-hoovedHorses, high-spirited stallions, and rode themSlowly toward Herot again, retellingBeowulf ’s bravery as they jogged along.And over and over they swore that nowhere On earth or under the spreading skyOr between the seas, neither south nor north,Was there a warrior worthier to rule over men.

(But no one meant Beowulf ’s praise to belittleHrothgar, their kind and gracious king!)

And sometimes, when the path ran straight and clear,They would let their horses race, redAnd brown and pale yellow backs streamingDown the road. And sometimes a proud old soldierWho had heard songs of the ancient heroesAnd could sing them all through, story after story,Would weave a net of words for Beowulf ’sVictory, tying the knot of his versesSmoothly, swiftly, into place with a poet’sQuick skill, singing his new song aloudWhile he shaped it, and the old songs as well. . . .

Where do MONSTERS lurk?