the shorter (and metrically inferior ones) must be regarded as popular, notably those on simple domestic themes and the so-called obscene riddles. Riddle 5 (k-d 84) may serve as an example of the crossing. “It is to be feared,” says A. J. Wyatt, “that, after a secular youth, the riddle passed some time in a monastery.”
Riddles belong to that large family of expressions in which something is represented as something else, as in simile and metaphor. A resemblance is stated or implied and its significance is assumed to be more or less easily recognized—as when the camel is called the ship of the desert. But in the riddle there is introduced an element of calculated deception; the resemblance is submerged in deliberate ambiguity or obscurity. As in a detective story the clues are given but not made obvious. This ambiguity may take two forms. In one the riddler says, “I was not really trying to deceive you but only to test your agility and to share the satisfaction of deducing the answer.” Such are the Ænigmata of Aldhelm. In the other, the riddler means to trick the hearer maliciously; he may force an ambiguity beyond the limits of fair play or he may possess special knowledge which others cannot be expected to have—as in Samson’s riddle to the Philistines. The one is a good-natured exercise of intelligence; the other is a trial of wits, the riddler holding cards and spades and hoping to exhibit his superiority. The one is an epigram, the other a game. Then there may be a middle ground, when the honors are “easy” and the victim can retort that he was not honestly used and anyway by the stated terms there could be more than one legitimate answer. This leads to lively expostulation and reply. Sometimes the answer is concealed in words, as in 28 (k-d 13), Ten Chickens, or in signs, as in the runes. Sometimes there is word play: weax 76 (k-d 45, 1), hafte 48 (k-d 73, 22), blæce 56 (k-d 93, 24), and elsewhere. When the riddle is put into verse there is the increment of poetical language to heighten the ambiguity, or, on the other hand, the language may be strained to satisfy metrical requirements.
In quite another fashion the Anglo-Saxon riddler has an advantage over us, in that he knows the language better than we do and is familiar with many things which we are obliged to get up—as in
