required reading

On Wednesday I had my lovely Old English class with our Russian teacher who told us all about runes. Then we did a little bit of translation of Ælfric's Colloquy, and looked at Bede's Ecclesiastical History on the conversion of King Edwin. It has one of the most beautiful passages in Old English, I think. But let me put it in context first.

Edwin is the King of Northumbria, not the whole of Britain, as Britain is not a unified kingdom at this time. The year is 627 AD, or something like that, and Paulinus, a monk who has been sent as a missionary from Rome has persuaded Edwin to convert to Christianity. Edwin agrees to convert, but says that he must consult with the priests and his advisors first. He asks them if they think he should convert: the high priest, Coifi, says that they should abandon their paganism and convert to Christianity. Why? Because he, Coifi, has been the most zealous and religious person in the land, and yet it hasn't done him any good, because other people have been rewarded more than he has. Perhaps Christianity will be of more personal benefit.

Then, after that moment of tongue-in-cheek comedy comes this elegant picture of human life. My pretty inaccurate translation is below the Old English.

Þæs wordum oþer cyninges wita & ealdormann geþafunge sealde, & to þære spræce feng & þus cwæð: Þyslic me is gesewen, þu cyning, þis andwearde lif manna on eorðan to wiðmetenesse þære tide, þe us uncuð is, swylc swa þu æt swæsendum sitte mid þinum ealdormannum & þegnum on wintertide, & sie fyr onælæd & þin heall gewyrmed, & hit rine & sniwe & styrme ute; cume an spearwa & hrædlice þæt hus þurhfleo, cume þurh oþre duru in þurh oþre ut gewite. Hwæt he on þa tid, þe he inne bið, ne bið hrinen mid þy storme þæs wintres; ac þæt bið an eagan bryhtm & þæt læsste fæc, ac he sona of wintra on þone winter eft cymeð. Swa þonne þis monna lif to medmiclum fæce ætyweð; hwæt þær foregange, oððe hwæt þær æfterfylige, we ne cunnun. Forðon gif þeos lar owiht cuðlicre & gerisenlicre brenge, þæs weorþe is þæt we þære fylgen.

Another of the king's wise men gave assent, took up the discussion, and spoke as follows:

O king, the life of men on the earth in comparison with the time that is unknown to us seems like this to me: you sit for a feast with your advisors and servants in wintertime, and the fire is kindled and the hall is warmed, and it rains, snows and storms outside. A sparrow flies swiftly through the hall. It comes in one door and goes out of the other. For the time that the sparrow is in the hall, it is not touched by the winter's storm, but this is just for the blink of an eye and the shortest span of time; he soon goes out into the wintry weather again. This is an example of how brief the life of men is, and what goes before it and what comes after it we do not know. If this new doctrine can bring us more knowledge and certainty, it is worthwhile and we ought to follow it.

Perhaps I romanticise the image when I imagine the hall and the feast and the firelight, because of the distance of time, but I still think it's a remarkably powerful image of human life in its perspective.