The Dualities At Play Within Ragnelle

Ragnelle in, “The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle,” seemed to embody what we would consider the ‘other,’ precisely because she possesses a duality within her character that transgresses our working definition of what constitutes the ‘monstrous.’ Ragnelle’s physicality, her ‘snotted’ nose, teeth that hang over her lips, the hump on her back, clotted hair, and her many other characteristics seem to mark her as a ‘monster.’ Despite this, her associations with the ‘monstrous’ and ‘beauty,’ the secret she knows, and her relationship with Gromer, elevate her into a realm where she encompasses the ‘other.’

There is a dualism assigned to Ragnelle that illustrates her simultaneously as ‘monstrous,’ and ‘beautiful.’ Yes, within the story she undergoes a literal physical transformation, yet, I think there is an interesting tension between what we would consider ‘monstrous,’ and ‘beautiful’ early on in the story; her embodiment of both these ideas is readily felt on pages fifty-three and fifty-four, and define her as an ‘other.’ Ragnelle’s monstrous physicality is established in lines 231 through 245: Yet, this image is contradicted shortly after when she is seen sitting on a ‘palfrey richly draped, and adorned with gold and precious stone.’ Regnelle’s is physically monstrous, and in the same instance she is illustrated as sitting on and surrounded by ‘beauty’; this particular section I think hints or alludes to her dual nature, and paints her as both ‘beast and beauty.’ In addition to this, before her literal transformation on page fifty-five, she again possesses an interesting duality that hinges on the ‘monstrous’ and the ‘beautiful.’ Ragnelle states, “ther is a byrd man calle me an owlle…And yet a Lady I am.’ When she is labeled as an ‘owl,’ Ragnelle becomes associated with the power of darkness, death, as well as Satan; this reinforces her ‘monstrous’ nature. Contrasting this image, Ragnell asserts her femenininty and gains all of the notions assigned to the female gender construct when she states she is indeed a ‘Lady.’ At the same time, the use of ‘Lady’ also associates her with Christian notions that impose purity, innocence, chastity, etc. on women (Lady). Ragnell seems to possess both Satanic or Pagan, and Christian qualities: She is illustrated as possessing a physical contradiction, but embodies a spiritual contradiction as well that works to push her further into the realm of the ‘other.’ The tension between the monstrous and beauty that comes to be associated with Ragnelle elevates her above these fixed notions, and gains a new dimension with the power (secret or answer) she possesses.

On page sixty Ragnelle tells Arthoure the answer to Gromer’s question: “Wemen desyre sovereynte.” There is a power instilled within Ragnelle’s character because she and Gromer seem to be the only characters that know this answer, and even before she tells Arthour what it is, her ‘power’ is given an even greater dimension on page fifty-four. I thought it was curious how Ragnelle echoes her brother’s words (page fifty) when she tells Arthour, “For thy lyfe is in my hand.’ One could argue that when Ragnelle echoes her brother’s words, the images of these two characters seem to collide momentarily, and this associates Ragnelle with a certain ‘male power.’ If what we consider to be ‘monstrous’ includes possessing simultaneously a feminine and masculine nature, a dual nature similar to Grendel’s Mother in, “Beowulf,’ Ragnelle becomes even more ‘monstrous,’ precisely because she possesses both feminine and masculine qualities: Yet, this dualism also transforms her into an ‘other,’ because she defies fixed notions of gender.

Ragnelle embodies not only a physical and spiritual contradiction, but, figuratively, she possesses a gender contradiction. The dualities at play within Ragnelle’s character make her incapable of fulfilling our working definition of the ‘monstrous,’ and push her into the realm of the ‘other.’ I think we can regard Ragnelle as an ‘unfixed’ character in this story, and the dualities within her reinforce this. In addition to this, the dualities at play within Ragnelle also illustrate how she undergoes a number of figurative transformations, moves back and forth between a ‘beast’ and ‘beauty,’ even before her literal transformation at the end of the story.

Off with their heads?

In the context of the monstrous and the other, Gawain's stories are interesting because there is a distinction that Gawain is the other and his counterpart in each story is monstrous. Gawain is othered because of his infallible courtesy unlike the other men in the stories particularly Sir Kay, who is obnoxious in both the Turke and the Carle.

The Turke is portrayed as more magical than monstrous in his story, but he is also pagan and by that label, in addition to his monstrous feats when helping Gawain in the castle of the Isle of Man, he becomes monstrous. What is interesting is that he is not evil even though he is portrayed at first by the author. Instead he is simply looking for a worthy and adventurous man to help him in his quest.

The Carle is more obviously monstrous. He is described as a giant who keeps wild animals for pets that cringe on his word. His reputation also begs that everyone fear him as they may otherwise be killed. He tests Gawain in a similar fashion as the Turke does, and based on his success rewards him.

These two "monsters" play almost identical roles within their stories. The good, gentle Christian nobility hiding within these "monsters" is only released by the appearance of Gawain who serves as a catalyst in a sense for their rebirth. Only by finding a man chivalrous enough are they able to lift the veil of monstrosity that surrounds them, and seems it must be done in the rather violent manner of beheading symbolizing almost a tearing away of past pagan sins and lifestyle. For the Turke it releases Sir Gomer and all other chivalrous people trapped in the Castle. The Turke's blood seems to the focus of the rebirth which follows with the idea of sacrifice within Christian religion. In our version of the Carle of Carlisle, the carle simply confess and requests forgiveness, but there seems to be another version in which he is beheaded. It is curious that there are these two versions and it seems that without the beheading there is almost an amount of doubt about the carle's true redemption.

If he had been truly sorrowful and desired to change he would have asked to be beheaded. It is a symbol that leads to disenchantment of the pagan curse. Without it there is no clean cut from past religions' sins. This idea of paganism as a curse that must be lifted is interesting because it almost implies that everyone is Christian on the inside and to let it out one must desire it and ask for their blood to flow!

Sir Gawain: Protagonist or Other?

"The Turke and Sir Gawain" and "Sir Gawain and the Carle of Carlisle" are two tales focused around the blurring between the protagonist and the text's "Other." In "Sir Gawain and the Carle of Carlisle" we see Gawain willingly take part in the Carle's "other" activites (as explained in the accompanied article Jeffrey Jerome Cohen's "Enjoy your Monster").

In "The Turke and Sir Gawain" it is in Gawain's compliance to behead the Turke, that he becomes somewhat of a monster. Gawain's only protest in "The Turke and Sir Gawain," is when he states, "That I forefend! . . . For I wold not have thee slaine For all the gold soe red" (p.349). The Turke's rebuttal is simple. He tells Gawain that he must cut off his head to "see a new play" (p.349). Gawain easily takes the blade and chops off the Turke's head. If Gawain is the text's protagonist and not its monster, then can we easily accept the fact that Gawain performs this extremely violent act without much protest? I'm not so sure. Gawain is easily persuaded into potentially causing the death of the Turke. What makes this act even more monstrous is that the Turke has just saved Gawain's life after he was publicly humiliated by Gawain. "He strikes his blow, but the return blow by the Turke is postponed" (p. 341).

The text is also an example of the difference between the monstrous and the Other. In the text, the Turke, who is the text's Other, is not very monstrous. Even when he angrily enters Arthur's court asking for a fight, the Turke never actually participates in one. As explained above, when Gawain delivers a blow to him, his is "postponed" (p.341). Moreover, when alone with Gawain, he could have easily returned the blow. He could have taken revenge on Gawain, but he does not. Moreover, In the three tasks set against Gawain on the Isle of Man, the Turke solves all of them and does so non-violently. Therefore, the only violent act that occurs in the text is the Turke's beheading, which ironically enough is done by the text's protagonist, the opposite of the text's Other.

As seen in "The Song of Roland" and "Beowulf," there is a fine line between the text's protagonist and the "other" or monstrous figure in the texts. This line often becomes blurred causing the difference between the protagonist and the monstrous or the Other to become unclear.

Between A Brutal Death and An Accord

As I began the Romances, I started with the tale of Dame Ragnelle. I stopped early in, caught by what may be an irrelevant observation. Sir Gromer, having found Arthur alone in the woods, threatens the king with death for having given his lands to Gawain. Gromer could easily accomplish this feat, while Arthur may be a skilled fighter, it is just the two of them alone, without witnesses. This means, especially when coupled with Gromer's rage, that they are two men about to fight, and the winner will be determined by skill, passion, and luck, not by fear of murdering the king. Gromer has the edge, the anger, the opportunity, and he plans to use it. He is made even more angry by the fact that Arthur, who has such control over his fate, does not even know who he is until his name is revealed. A proud man such as Gromer would not want to be unrecognized, and most definitely not by his liege.
The immediacy of the fight is diffused by Arthur's argument that to kill him in this way is dishonorable, and Gromer proves that honor is of more importance than emotion by agreeing. But, Gromer agrees not just because his honor would suffer for such a slaying. He agrees because he believes that if he lets Arthur escape now, without some agreement or compensation, that the next time they meet, Gromer may well be killed for challenging, accosting and threatening Arthur in this manner. Gromer still does not back down. It is Arthur who is the peacemaker, offering "whate thou most crave" to appease his challenger. Arthur probably assumes that Gromer will be appeased by "lond" or "gold," and is willing to make this type of payment for his life. Arthur could even lie, agree to give Gromer what he wants, return to his men and send them out to dispatch Gromer. Gromer has other plans.
Gromer plays on the king's honor just as the king played on his; he asks for Arthur's word that he will "graunt me att a certeyn day...to shewe me att thy comyng whate wemen love best." Arthur is now excused from the fight in exchange for pondering this philosophical question. He has one year to find an answer to this question, or he forfeits his life. For the next year, Arthur's "lyfe is in my hand," and it was at this point where I began to link this year-long contract to the tradition of handfasting. Handfasting links a couple in marriage for a year and a day, so that they may try things out and if they choose in the end to be released, they can do so. Should children result from the union, they are legitimate issue. Setting this contract up in the beginning foreshadows the upcoming marital action, avoids the martial action, and establishes the philosophical terms of the period. Arthur has to answer the question that has plagued men (and women) in all times, a question for the ages, and success will restore his honor and redeem his life. This marriage between Gromer and Arthur will mirror another marriage in the story, and all seek to find mutual understanding and harmony. Gromer may feel that he has given Arthur a Herculean task, and that he is sure to emerge the victor, when really Gromer has bound them both. As our discussions of Beowulf attest, it is often hard to determine what makes a monster monstrous, and this accord proves (to me) that the differences between monster/other and not have less distance to traverse than we may assume.

That Utterly Confused Categoy

Throughout Beowulf I was mostly interested in the character of Grendel's mother. This was going to be an entire post about her humanism, but when I started, I noticed something I couldn't stop thinking about so I'm going there instead. Take this post with a grain, it's mostly fleshing out ideas and it's going to be clunky.

I think the question of man or monster actually hinges on these few lines -

"...The second of them,
as far as they could discern most clearly,
had the shape of a woman; the other, misshapen
marched the exile's path in the form of a man,
except that he was larger than any other;
in bygone days he was called Grendel."
(94)

Reading this over and over again, I cannot help but notice how the line breaks run into one another and when read slowly, these are the most confused lines in the play.

"The second of them...had the shape of a woman; the other, misshapen/ marched the exile's path in the form of a man" can be read two ways when you take the line breaks into account. It can be read first that there is Grendel's mother and another figure with her. However, when you cut the line at "misshapen", you are left with a reading closer to "The shape of a woman which is the other and which is misshapen." Of course you read down one line and get to the correct reading, but the breaks here basically cause Grendel's mother and her as yet unnamed companion to bleed into one another.

Now, examining her companion who "marched the exile's path in the form of a man,/ except that he was larger than any other" this seems fairly straight forward within these five lines or so. However, let's go back to the first sighting of Beowulf which reads "I have never seen a greater earl on earth" (61) which the class agreed was that Beowulf looked like a man...just bigger. This sounds eerily like the next two lines, when taken on their own sounds like Grendel's mother is walking with Beowulf.

It's only at the final line, "in bygone days he was called 'Grendel'" that the categories become somewhat clearer, but there's no way to erase the confusion brought about by the breaks. There's also no way to erase the confusion of the categories here. Who is the good guy? Who's the human? Who's the monster? Is there any way to possibly answer that?

Last Words on Roland and Beowulf

I stumbled across a blog mentioning a comic book series from IDW Publishing coming out on the Beowulf story right after the movie. I know we pondered what Beowulf looked like in class, but here’s a rendering of him for this comic book.

I would like to discuss the deaths of both Beowulf and Roland in this posting. We have argued both to have substantial reason for the label of the other. Both heroes go above and beyond other warriors with the desire to kill many or, in Beowulf’s case, kill evil creatures. Their last breaths on earth are somewhat similar in agency and effect and I think it would be important to point out in terms of otherness and in further understanding the Christian/pagan ambiguity we find in Beowulf.

When Beowulf begins to die (a death which is not nearly as long and drawn out as Roland’s) he quickly alerts us that he wished to pass on his armor to his son, if he had one (136). Beowulf informs Wiglaf and the readers of his lack of an heir and he blames fate for not granting it. Beowulf proceeds to weigh his actions in a pre-judgment before he leaves this world. He can’t seem to find anything wrong with his past deeds. He vocalizes that he “sought no intrigues, nor swore many false or wrongful oaths” (137). Beowulf begins to reflect on his life, and justify that he has been a good man. Beowulf also feels redeemed by the fact he never committed, “the murder of kinsmen” (137). It is interesting that Beowulf would bring this up in his last words. He is alluding to the past stories of Hildeburh and allusions with Unferth (his fratricide) and Grendel (associated with Cain).

Beowulf then wants to view the treasure one last time and gives thanks for the goods, since they will be given to his people. He feels he has fulfilled his duty or worth to the people, even though it is later noted that the treasure doesn’t help the Geats. Materialism has consistently been a motif in the story, however, it fails to aid Beowulf’s people in the end. It is poignant that Beowulf’s last words are “I must follow them” (139). For all of Beowulf’s life, he has been the leader and later, king. Beowulf is steadfast and in many instances in his life, self-proclaims that he must take charge or do battle alone. Being a leader is the only identity Beowulf knows in this world. Now, he is ready to be subservient to the next world, his “final destiny.”

With Song of Roland, there is a one-sided dialogue with a Higher Being as well, and Roland feels confident in his self-worth. Roland is mortally wounded, yet he kills many more Saracens in an effort to achieve his self-worth. This is paralleled to the treasure Beowulf has placed for his people. Roland also hides his sword under him so the Saracens will not take the holy Christian relic. Here again, there is a protection or armor and swords to have them passed down to his people, just as Beowulf speaks of his armor. When Roland has finally placed himself in the best position to die, he begins to beseech forgiveness from God, and reflects on his life. Roland’s last words are for forgiveness and salvation in heaven. “Save Thou my soul from danger and despite / Of all the sins I did in all my life” (142). This is interesting because for all of the story, Roland has been the one mercilessly killing Saracens. In Roland’s judgment, he acknowledges he has done wrong and asks for mercy from God.

When a great character ends his legacy, he culminates in noble actions and words. Beowulf and Roland are two interesting characters to line up with their ends to evaluate the Christian/Pagan ambiguity assigned to Beowulf. In Roland, he has a clear knowledge of God and what he needs to do in order to get to heaven, which he accomplishes. Beowulf is certain that he is following his kinsmen to the other world, but no clear place is labeled. God is named as Ruler of men in the last new lines. Instead of making peace with God, Beowulf requests for a monument to be built in honor of him, so that he will have his fame on earth. In Roland’s final breaths, he is focused on his immortality in next world, and Beowulf is focused on making his immortality in this world with “Beowulf’s Barrow.”

Nonetheless, there is humility in the last words uttered by each hero. For Roland, it is a cry for mercy for sins committed on earth, and for Beowulf, it’s acceptance of the dependency he will need in the afterlife.

Lineage of Otherness

The Anglo-Saxon notion of lineage clearly defines the roles of self and Other, particularly when considering Beowulf. The terms of otherness are established by means of association with the male line since a collective us is set in opposition to “them.” However, Beowulf is outside the realm of this male power structure. As much as he protects his kin or comitatus, Beowulf is rootless and unsettled, a quality that leads him to reject the earthy stability of a male line.

The establishment of male lineage acts as an imperitive introduction to Beowulf as well other male characters. Beowulf is not just Beowulf; he is Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, perhaps to provide an expectation of Beowulf’s strength and character. The fact that Beowulf is referred to time and time again as “son of Ecgtheow” reestablishes his association with a lineage and his inclusion in Geatish society as a whole.

Although Beowulf lives in a society driven by male lineage and succession, he does not fully participate in his role as a man and a king. He is an exceptional protector of the Geats and the Scyldings, but since he does not produce an heir, his protection is limited to his lifespan. His intentions in non-participation are unclear. Beowulf functions outside the sphere of normal male activity, making him an Other. Perhaps to compensate for not continuing the male line of which his is a part, he is hyperfunctional in the other duties of the masculine leader. He defeats numerous monsters and presumably keeps his home safe from invasion. However, despite his functionality in the his protective duties, Beowulf rejects his other duties as king, alienating himself from his position in society.

While disassociation with lineage makes Beowulf an Other, Grendel’s association with his lineage characterizes him as monstrous. The poet traces Grendel’s lineage to Cain, linking Grendel to the heinous act of fratricide. The damning relationship to Cain ensures Grendel’s position as a monster before acting in a monstrous way. Beowulf’s ties to his father Ecgtheow place him within a dominant society, which he rejects by non-compliance to his male role. However, unlike Beowulf, Grendel acts in a way befitting his lineage.

Other local medievalists (?)

What follows is from an article by Dan Zak, titled "Knight Moves," that ran in yesterday's Washington Post (full article here). All I can say is that Zak's use of the term "medievalist" differs from mine!

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Knight Moves

Sparring, Feasting, Gallivanting: Local Medievalists Revel in the Lighter Side of The Dark Ages

By Dan Zak

Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, September 23, 2007; Page N01

The queen of Atlantia settles into her throne. She playfully slaps its armrests and issues a decree. "And now," she purrs, "the bloodshed."

"And now, the bloodshed," echoes a baron from a neighboring throne in front of the sword-fighting arena, which is surrounded by lords, ladies, their rambunctious offspring and sundry folk of lesser nobility. Then, for her majesty's pleasure, two knights fight to the death under the gold September sun.

Gallery Medievalists Hardcore medievalists don their armor year-round for the pageantry and camaraderie, for the love of craft and the thrill of sport. Play Video VIDEO | Medieval Life in Modern Times

I Want To Live Forever: Beowulf and Fame

Beowulf digresses from tale to tale, allowing sub-plots and intricate retellings to occur. This reliving of events is significant, but it causes the story to splinter off into peaceweavers and the deaths of a noblewoman’s family. In the end, it comes full circle, returning exactly to the ideas it had in the beginning. “We have heard of the glory of bygone days/ of the folk-kings of the spear-Danes, / how those noble lords did lofty deeds” (Ln. 1-3). These lines show we begin with a culture that already has its established traditions, folklore and war stories, and heroes, and so has developed cultural pride. The Danes seem tribal, with their social codes of loyal unity, and have names like subcultures within the tribe, sometimes referring to the region of origin (“West-Danes”), a practice to which they adhere (“Ring Danes”), or a description that could refer to the physical or the character (“Bright-Danes”). This is the audience’s first introduction to a culture, and even the modern reader can appreciate the sense of civic pride that emanates from these words.

We begin with the story with the story of the last great king, and we are told very little. He was powerful both locally and abroad, he had a son (who will later be of extreme importance), and he died. His “dear comrades” brought his body to a boat fully loaded with tribute, and in an elaborate aquatic funeral, “let the waves have him” (Ln. 29, 48). This is not some meaningless ritual; they are adhering to his specific wishes for such a burial. They do so out of respect for their ruler, but also out of love, as they “gave him to the Deep with grieving spirits, / mournful in mind” (Ln.49-50). That they “gave” implies a giving up, a relinquishing, and they do so with great, genuine emotion. No stoicism here. But the idea of presenting or even bequeathing the “Deep” with someone so important must have been daunting, as the word deep suggests something that is without bottom or unfathomable, and the capitalization adds emphasis. The “Deep” is the ultimate mystery, and his people are happy to encourage him to take one last chance for more lofty deeds. They have also been left with a new king, the son, well-regarded in his own right.

When Beowulf himself dies at the end, the story redoubles onto itself, repeating the similar scenes which opened the book. Now the son, who was a boy when we began, is being given over to the deep by his people “with heavy spirits/ they mourned their despair, the death of their lord” (Ln. 3146-9). Even if we had not read the book which is full of the specific tales of derring-do, we would know from these lines that this is the funeral of a beloved and benevolent ruler. The final lines reiterate this, “they said that he was of all the kings of the world/ the mildest of men and the most gentle, / the kindest to his folk and the most eager for fame” (Ln. 3180-3). There is a sense of sarcasm in calling the killer of monsters gentle and mild, which may be an attempt at levity on the part of the author or be the truth, that there was rarely any need for him to be so bloodthirsty again. It is interesting that he is called kind because it establishes the idea that being generous and compassionate also fall under the category of lofty deeds. Lastly is his enthusiasm for renown, in which all of his aforementioned qualities are combined to make him famous. The story ends on this note, possibly because the author wants to acknowledge that conceit in him after completing such an epic tale. But is it that this has been Beowulf’s goal all along, to be as good as his father was? Has he been doing all of this just to become distinctive? It is successful, and Beowulf’s fame has endured. Still, he is not the only one who is preserved and portrayed for posterity. His people, by adoption or birth, are also shown, their lives and misfortunes, even if ever so briefly. Even in the last section, as the Geats prepare the body for the pyre, an individual is singled out, given immortality and importance, as “a sorrowful song sang the Geatish woman, / with hair bound up” (Ln.3149-50). The field narrows from the king to the people to one woman mourning, and this accomplishes the task of presenting the lofty deeds of the ordinary as well as the extraordinary. It is this minor digression that aids the full circle, so that instead of the story ending as it began, with the death of a king and the beginning of his son’s rule, it ends with the people, represented by a woman, who is arguably the least valued in that culture, mourning and paying their respects. What began as a story of high ranked and rarified others ends as a tale of encouragement, inspiring us all to slay dragons. Beowulf inspires us to believe that fame and glory can be for everyone.

The Devine Power in Beowulf’s Hands

In “Elements of the Marvellous in the Characterization of Beowulf: A Reconsideration of the Textual Evidence,” Fred C. Robinson fails to acknowledge certain elements within the passages he examines that not only speak to Beowulf’s super-human or supernatural power, but elevate him to a status closely associated with the divine and transform him into an ‘other.’ Through a close examination of the text, and by re-examining the translation of certain passages, Robinson affirms Beowulf’s status as a ‘heroic hero’ or ‘man,’ rather than a ‘demi-god, ’ and asserts that his ‘super human strength has been largely fictionalized’ (80): Yet, Robinson seems to focus only on those details that support his arguments, and although he is persuasive at times, there are elements in the story that contradict his arguments.

It is curious how Robinson in his essay devotes little attention to the fight between Grendel and Beowulf. Robinson does point out that ‘Beowulf lacked the strength to hold the monster in the hall,’ yet he fails to acknowledge that the main character exhibits superhuman strength by literally ripping one of Grendel’s arms out of the socket with his bare hands, during the fight. Afterwards, King Hrothgar exhibits the arm for all to see, and at the same time is figuratively displaying Beowulf’s superhuman or supernatural power - Grendel’s dismemberment becomes symbolic of Beowulf’s superhuman strength. Beowulf’s strength is a characteristic that sets him apart from everyone else in the story, and it persistently establishes him as a ‘heroic hero,’ with all the virtues and characteristics assigned to a ‘hero’: In the same instance, it also elevates Beowulf above the image of a ‘mortal man,’ and pushes him into a realm that promises immortality and transforms the main character into an ‘other.’ Line 789, ‘he who among men was the strongest of might,’ seems to illustrate this. Moreover, Beowulf’s superhuman strength seems repeatedly invoked when the poet describes his hands and grip, which I think also become symbolic of his strength for it is through his hands and grip that he ‘mortally wounds’ Grendel. Robinson also fails to examine how Paganism and Christianity are instilled within Beowulf, and instill him with a supernatural strength.

In my previous blog, I argued that Beowulf simultaneously possesses both Pagan and Christian elements within his character. I think the poet in assigning certain Pagan qualities to Beowulf, illustrates him as possessing a higher nature or much greater power, a super-power, than humans. Complimenting this, is the idea of Beowulf as both a ‘Christ-like’ figure, and, as Janel pointed out in a comment, a ‘martyr.’ Beowulf is seen as encompassing this Christian idea of ‘good,’ as well as Christ’s nature, when he defeats Grendel; he is carrying out God’s work, and one could view Beowulf’s superhuman strength as coming from or facilitated by God so that he can carry out ‘God’s anger.’ Reinforcing this idea is the image of Beowulf’s hands which become symbolic of the strength he possesses, and further associates him with God. In Christianity the hand is symbolic of the power and might of God, and the repeated image of Beowulf’s hands, as well as this image of Beowulf as a Christ-like figure, further instills a divine quality to his actions. Like Christ in the Gospel of Luke,. who is able to cast a demon out of a man through the authority of his word because God spoke through him, Beowulf is able to defeat Grendel, ‘a fiend from hell,’ through his superhuman strength, a power instilled in him by God. In light of this, Beowulf surpasses the notions assigned to a ‘heroic hero’ because he’s placed simultaneously within a Pagan and Christian context that seems to push him into a realm where he surpasses ‘mans’ mortality, and becomes the ‘other,’ for he is more than human, and although he can be seen as less of a god, he is none-the-less instilled with a divine power.

In the section, “The Swimming Feat with Breca,” Robinson convincingly make us question the amount of time Beowulf spends in the water fighting off the ‘man eaters,’ and also points out that that the main character might be seen as fighting these monsters on a boat or raft. Despite this, Beowulf does not only fight one sea creature, but nine, and he describes himself submerged in the water. In lines 553 and 554, Beowulf states, “Down to the ocean floor, a grisly foe dragged me,’ and we see the main character literally defeat a sea monster under water. Later on, Beowulf states how the ‘storm of battle took away that mighty sea beast, through my own hand.’ The battle figuratively speaks to the fight and tension (storm) between ‘Good and Evil,’ and in light of my previous argument that asserts Beowulf’s associations with the power and might of God, once again his hands become symbolic of a divine power, or perhaps in this case, of a divine intervention. Although Beowulf doesn’t use his bare hands to kill the first sea creature, this last line seems to reaffirm his associations with a divine power, for it ends on the image of his hands.

There seem to be a lot of flaws in Robinson’s arguments; he fails to acknowledge a number of elements that illustrate Beowulf as being more than a ‘man’ and a ‘heroic hero.’ At one point, he also argues that Beowulf is not ‘conceived as a romance hero,’ but I wonder why he didn’t examine the different ways Beowulf can be seen as a tragic-hero?
By the time Beowulf fights the dragon he is spiritually wounded by his previous experiences because they have been driven by his flaw, his hunger and desire for fame. In fact the very last line seems to illustrate him as a tragic hero, for it asserts that he was ‘the most eager for fame’; this too seems to contradict Robinson’s argument that Beowulf exists as a ‘heroic hero.’ It will be interesting to hear our class’s reaction to Robinson’s essay, and even more, to discover if they’ve found any additional flaws in his arguments.

Of the Righteous Fate

When I first read Beowulf's battle with the dragon I was struck at how different this evil seemed to be compared to Grendel and his mother. Where Grendel is described as the root of all evil in every aspect non-redeemable, the dragon appears less monstrous in intention comparatively. Grendel kills to kill and has no other apparent reason, the dragon is guardian whose wrath has been righteously disturbed. In fact, I'm sure the dragon feels justified in burninating the countryside even if the Geats don't see it that way.

As a result of this simple righteousness, from the moment the dragon is introduced to Beowulf the outcome appears to be decidedly not in Beowulf's favor. In past battles Beowulf has felt assured of his dominance. Against Grendel, the evilest of the evil, his victory was assured as the righteous avenger. In progression with Grendel's mother we see that assurance of victory begin to fade. He has a hard time dealing with her in this battle and barely manages to succeed. Just as we were assured of his victory against Grendel we knew he would have a difficult time against the mother who was avenging her son. Beowulf acknowledges this fact when he instructs his party on what to do if he does not return; he understands he is in for a tough battle.

In preparation for the battle with the dragon, Beowulf suits up. He says, "I will forego boasting against this flying foe" (2528). He's in his best armor and he is ready for what could be the final battle of his life. The poet has already forewarned that Beowulf will die by iterating this is the last time he will prepare for battle. Beowulf almost recognizes this doom as he sets off spouting words of how everyman is led by fate. He believes everything will be as it will be invoking the wyrd. It seems to have come full circle since the dragon is a guardian a righteous being and he guards the final door to the greatest treasure for Beowulf. It is a cursed treasure that is eventually buried with him. But one thing is for certain, it was Beowulf's destiny to end there: "that fate was too great/which impelled the king of our people thither" (3085-86). In the end it seems that everything in this story comes down to whether the characters of this story believe that something will happen. Beowulf believes and is believed to be able to slay Grendel and his mother, he does so. He is at that point "victory-blessed man" (1311). Then Beowulf believes there is a possibility he will die, he does. Beowulf's conscious belief in either his immortality or mortality proves to be a crucial point in deciding fate.

EDIT: by request, I have added a link to the Trogdor video from which "burninating the countryside" is derived. In addition here is the site from which the original video and other gems like it may be found: Homestar Runner where the infamous Strongbad lives!

Grendel

Although a whole paper could be devoted to the portrayal of Grendel in John Gardner's "Grendel" to that of the original text, "Beowulf," I wanted to point out a few key differences that separate the two.

In the original text, it is easy to find reasons to associate Grendel with a monster. For instance, Grendel attacks the mead hall on a nightly basis slaughtering the warriors inside. "He wanted no peace with any man of the Danish army, nor ceased his deadly hatred, nor settled with money" (p.58 lines 155-156). Grendel's monstrosity is not only contributed to his violent tendencies, but also as the footnote on page 58 states, he did not provide the families of his victims with "wergild." Moreover, Grendel lives in isolation from the established society. He does not participate in the life of Heorot. Nor does he choose to be part of the comitatus. Also, the poet of "Beowulf" repeatedly refers to Grendel as "mankind's foe" or "soul slayer" or "heathen," etc. However, the only physical characteristics the author gives to Grendel are quite ambiguous. "The other, misshapen, marched the exile's path of the form of a man, except that he was larger than any other" (94 lines 1351-1353). Could Grendel be a man exiled from society for being physically different from the Danish warriors? Could this isolation have caused Grendel to act out in such violent and destructive ways? Or is Grendel's monstrosity as simple as, being a descendent of Cain?

As readers, we are never allowed to enter into the mind of Grendel. We never even hear him speak. I think this is one of the reason's I keep going back to Gardner's novel in my mind. In some ways it’s refreshing to hear the story from Grendel's point of view. It leads to the question of whether or not Grendel can be considered more monstrous because we are never allowed access into his world. The only access we have is through the world of Heorot.

In "Grendel," we are given access to Grendel's world and the world of Heorot through Grendel's eyes. We are even given more physical descriptions of Grendel. "I shake my two hairy fists at the sky" (p.5) and "I had teeth like a saw” (p.17). However, the thing that makes Grendel monstrous in this novel is his nihilistic view of the world. "I understood that the world was nothing" (p.21). Unlike the world of Heorot and its dependence on the warrior community, Grendel does not even find a connection with his mother. Gardner seems to be saying that there is something extremely unsettling about not finding meaning in the world in which you inhabit. Grendel's inability to connect with anything in his world is disturbing to the point that one can consider Grendel monstrous.

What I Meant to Say: Part Re-Attempt

It is easy to link Aude with Ophelia, as though they do not live similar lives, they are noble ladies involved with, and therefore entirely dependent upon the men in their lives, father and then husband. It is safe to say that Aude’s father must have been thrilled with the prospect of having Roland as a son-in-law, on his own heroic merits as well as him proximity to the main power in the land. In class, we discussed the possibility of this meaning that because she is so linked to Roland, she bears a part of his otherness. This twinning of the characters forces a comparison, which begins to suggest that Aude is the softer part of Roland, emblematic of his devotion to his cause and beliefs, and innocent of the bloodthirsty realities.

The Aude River in the south of France locates Roland in a specific sense of a hometown. Though that region specifically may have no relation to him whatsoever, the name of this river linking with that of his beloved helps the reader to identify where they originate, tucked in near the Pyrenees, which makes it easy to wonder if the narrator had some ties to that region themselves. Now we have a river in which our Ophelia-like maiden can drown. The name Aude is linked to the name Oda, or Saint Oda, wife of the Duke of Acquitaine and mother of Saint Hubertus. If you were to look Hubertus up, you would find he is a patron to hunters, which illustrates Charlemagne’s company as a whole both in terms of sport and war. There is also interesting mention of him communing with a speaking stag, a la Marie de France’s Guigemar, which is just interesting. What matters is that the name of Roland’s beloved derives from this point, and leads into the story, giving us the story of the lady that is neglected within the song.

What also stays with me is that the story of Saint Oda, who went to a convent instead of being forced to marry in Scotland, ends much like our Aude’s. Charles sends her body “unto a convent of nuns,” who keep vigil for her until “near an altar, she’s entombed with solemn rites” (Ln. 3730-2). Before her death, when Ophelia is going mad, the King bids someone to watch over her; centuries before, a king placed enough value on a woman, or simply had enough compassion for her (which is unique itself in terms of Charles’ treatment of the “weaker” sex), to have Aude kept vigil for and buried with the proper rites, though the causes of her death were mysterious.

Then, we must go back to Greece, the roots of so many empires, where an ode was a type of lyric poetry. The ode was a time when the poet spoke for himself, supported by a chorus. Pindar devised the elaborately structured heroic ode, which was often only accompanied by a flute, and evolved into Horace, Sappho, and Catullus before its resurgence in the 17^th century. Is this character, so briefly mentioned, a hint into the poet’s mind? Aude is offered a second choice, Charles’ own son and heir, again speaking to her status and his esteem for her, and it is reminiscent of the biblical concept of having the brother take his own sister-in-law to wife to keep alive the name of her first husband. But it would also be the name of the woman as well, suggesting that Aude is significant in her own right, enough to be future queen. Is the poet using her as a means of reflecting his own sorrow at the losses that take place during war while he adds to the heroic element of his protagonist? The poet represents Roland as an ideal, and without him we cannot “live on when Roland’s life is spent” (Ln. 3719).

The Characterization of Beowulf

Reading Fred C. Robinson's essay parsing the textual evidence for Beowulf's "monstrosity" was a bit of a chastening experience. After all, I spent a good deal of my previous post holding forth on just this theme: Beowulf as Other, the monster needed to defeat the monster, and so forth. Robinson splashes a healthy dose of cold, linguistic water on these feverish speculations. Before honing in on the nuances of Old English diction, he sketches in his opening paragraph the ways in which the pathos and power of the poem depend on Beowulf's humanity. Reading all of this gave me a chagrined feeling of having cut myself off from my own moorings, because this "humanistic" interpretation of Beowulf, focusing on the poem as a story about being in the world, was (especially as articulated by J.R.R. Tolkien in his "The Monsters and the Critics" essay) one of my own personal and interpretative touchstones as an undergraduate. So, mea culpa.

Anyway, confessions and self-flagellations aside, I am not willing to retract all of my previous assertions. Nor do I think Robinson's essay is itself beyond all criticism. The piece, for example, opens with what I can only hope is a self-conscious use of Anglo-Saxon litotes: the breathtaking understatement that "Examples of the marvellous are not uncommon in Beowulf." Robinson goes on to describe "some of the fabulous wonders that the poet has admitted to his story." I may be over-reading, but formulation makes it sound as if the inclusion of these "fabulous wonders" was, or should have been, grudging and half-hearted. The poet reluctantly let Grendel, his mother, and the dragon gate-crash what would otherwise have been a poem about men fighting other men; the monsters and monstrous elements are extrinsic, not intrinsic. On the contrary, it seems to me that the monsters are not "admitted to" Beowulf, but that Beowulf is constructed around them.

Robinson maintains that "in general the wonders are carefully restricted to the devil's party" - fair enough. But as thorough and convincing as his textual reconsideration is, I still feel that Beowulf, recurrently throughout the poem and particularly in the eyes of others, is more than "only a strong man." Robinson nowhere engages with the use of aeglaeca as a term for Beowulf (and his fellow dragon-slayer Sigemund). Even in the sense of "awe-inspiring creature" or other such generic formulation rather than "monster" per se, this word still carries an elemental, uncanny connotation that elevates its referents above (or perhaps alienates them from) the human norm.

I wrote previously that, in the poem, only a monster can overcome a monster. This isn't true, and even if it is we shouldn't desire it, because where does that leave the human beings in the middle? But I still think that many people within the poem, like the Danes, and more particularly Hrothgar himself, believe it is true and construct Beowulf accordingly. I still point to the fact that the first thing Hrothgar says about Beowulf (after having known him when he was a boy) is that he has the strength of thirty men, and furthermore, that this quality immediately makes Hrothgar believe that Beowulf has come "as I would hope" to fight Grendel (379-384) - nothing that has been reported to Hrothgar about Beowulf and his band states or even implies this. Persistently thereafter, Hrothgar idolizes Beowulf, conspicuously honors and glorifies him, singles him out, others him - that is, when he is not lecturing him to "defend yourself from wickedness" (1758 - Hrothgar, throughout the poem, comes off as moody, mercurial, and temperamental, in pointed contrast to Beowulf's even temper). This habit drives Hrothgar into making a couple of ill-considered and politically sensitive remarks, such as adopting Beowulf as his son (946-947) or implying that he deserves to pre-empt Heardred in the Geatish royal succession (1850-1851 - although Hygd feels the same way and tries to convince Beowulf to do it).

Beowulf, to his credit, repeatedly resists Hrothgar's tendency to set him above and apart from the rest of humanity, both by admitting his near-defeats and personal dissatisfactions with the results of his monster fights and by sharing the credit and connecting himself with others: "Freely and gladly have we fought this fight" (958, emphasis added). He also passes on all of the lavish gifts he received from Hrothgar to Hygelac and Hygd, as a way of very self-consciously integrating himself into a human community, affirming kinship, and counteracting his "othering"; at the same time, his statement to Hygelac evinces his progressive isolation and the fragility of his human ties: "I have few / close kinsmen, my Hygelac, except for you" (2150-2151).

As a sidenote, and by way of extending my earlier interpretation about material culture and the role it plays in delineating the Self as opposed to the Other, we can observe how all human interactions in the poem are explicitly material. Beowulf is far from the only character who receives and passes on artifacts as a way of affirming solidarity and a shared sense of selfhood. Indeed, material culture - cups, rings, banners, as well as implements of battle - represent the terms, the signifiers, by which a communal sense of Self is constructed. An Other (an outlaw or slave the one who pillages the dragon's hoard) can be reintegrated, cease to be othered, by giving treasure; wergild is the same kind of thing. Material culture, made things, are so important for defining identity that death, for Beowulf, is described as a force coming to steal "his soul's treasure" (2422). Yet the dragon considers his hoard just as precious. The poem repeatedly portrays how, as a means of defining and organizing human society, material culture is ultimately useless. Weapons can prove as unreliable as men; Beowulf's sword glances off the dragon and his comrades flee. The great hoard over which Beowulf and the dragon fight seems to be fundamentally inhuman, dug out of the earth by an ancient people (2248-2249); possessing it "does [the dragon] no good" (2277), yet after Beowulf's death the liberated treasure remains "as useless to men as it was before" (3168).

To conclude my discussion of Beowulf as man or aeglaeca, the combat with the dragon brings this internal dynamic into high relief. Beowulf evokes his reputation for superhuman strength again by boasting of how "I slew Daeghrefn, champion of the Hugas, / with my bare hands" (2501-2502) and asserts that he would not "bear a sword / or weapon" (2518-2519) in this encounter if he could help it but that circumstances require him to carry "shield and byrnie" (2523). As with the earlier fights with Grendel and his mother, different circumstances bring different aspects of Beowulf to the fore: among humans in a human environment he can be "monstrous," but against and among monsters he must be human. Yet Beowulf then explicitly others himself, as he had anticipated by "scorn[ing]" (2345) to take his full army against the dragon, by dismissing his thanes from fighting alongside him: "It is not your way, / nor proper for any man except me alone, / that he should match his strength against this monster" (2532-2534). Rather than chalking this up to pride or hubris alone, we might better describe this decree (which seems to me to absolve the other Geats of some of the blame for running away) as a resolution by Beowulf to act the part of the aeglaeca which he may think they want and need him to be. Closing in combat, he and the dragon both become "great creatures" (aeglaecan, 2592), whereupon all of the thanes but Wiglaf abscond from the field.

The intervention of Wiglaf simultaneously restores Beowulf's humanity and enables him to overcome the dragon - a fascinating and moving paradox which permanently does away with the idea that only a monster can defeat a monster. Wiglaf's loyalty is part of "his nature" (2696), that is, not inspired or motivated by Beowulf's ring-giving; materialistic exchange, the poet seems to imply, will not foster a communal sense of selfhood unless predicated upon a deeper sense of kinship or simple kindness. When he enters the fray, he and Beowulf become, almost literally, one body, one person: "now sword and helmet, / byrnie and battle-dress, shall be ours together" (2659-2660). Once again, the material culture of battle limns humanity, in this case a common humanity of Beowulf and Wiglaf, over against the monstrous. Yet when, with the dragon killed, Wiglaf removes Beowulf's helmet, it constitutes not an othering gesture but a humane one. Finally and decisively, Beowulf becomes not an aeglaec or a superhuman hero but a dying old man.

In a poem as complex and finely balanced as Beowulf, it can probably be all too easy to tip the scales one way or the other, towards the monstrous or the human. Robinson, in his essay, may tilt too far towards the human, to the point of implicitly writing off the monstrous and marvellous as extrinsic interpolations. Yet his piece was, on the whole, a useful corrective to the opposite extreme. Although he can and often does become othered, even almost monstrous, under the pressure of circumstances or the expectations of his fellows, Beowulf ends the poem fully and wrenchingly human.

Cain figure in Beowulf and Roland

So, I brought up in class that I had found an article alluding to Ganelon as a Cain figure and I feel there’s an interesting type of othering going on between the Song of Roland and Beowulf. It is an othering that occurs in Christian context, but also proves a more dangerous adversary than that of the classic pagan – that is, the character of one who was originally a follower of Christianity and then turned away.

In “Cain as Convict and Convert? Cross Cultural logic in the Song of Roland” by Brewster E. Fitz, there is an assimilation to Ganelon with Judas and Cain. Ganelon is recognized as a Christian, but commits treason against his ‘brothers,” the Frank army. Ganelon has the ability to sin when he has all the potential for goodness, and this is seen Biblically by the actions of Cain and Judas. A person with an agency this strong is deemed as evil and creating offenses that can never be altered. In the same sense, Ganelon’s actions are unforgivable and destroy the strongest knight in Charlemagne’s army. In the article, Fitz calls Roland an imitatio christi (imitation of Christ) and that Ganelon’s rejection of Roland is also his rejection of Christianity (Fitz 817). I am not doing total justice to the article, but there is a lot of good information looking into the Cain story in relation to Ganelon and the Saracen army.

We see in several parts of Beowulf the depiction of Grendel as a descendant of Cain. The story provides a revised version of Genesis, where it is explained how the source of monsters comes to be from the lineage of Cain, the first murderer. Whenever the story of Cain arises the narrator exclaims how God rewarded that sin. In the Bible, Cain is forced to wander the earth with a mark (meant to warn others not to kill him). Placing Grendel in the Biblical lineage of Cain he is “marked” as an evil creature that kills without remorse. However, Cain was initially a human being loved by God. Cain was not born evil, but revered God and wanted to find favor with him. Cain chose to go against God and kill his brother. With this in mind, it would seem that Grendel had the opportunity to avoid evil. Though Grendel is depicted as a monster, he is not too monstrous, in fact, he is described as having a male form. Grendel’s being is actually human-like, save for his awesome strength, which can only be matched by Beowulf. We cannot make a claim to whether Grendel was at first Christian, but his association with Cain leads readers to question whether there was ever a turn from God. There are several places where Grendel is called demonic, which would sound like a clear refusal to Christianity.

We have spoken of pagans being those who are not Christians, but an even darker enemy is the people who have rejected Christianity. A prominent example of this can be found in Paradise Lost with the lines claiming that it is better to reign in hell than serve in heaven. Who’s a better example of rejecting God than Satan himself? Satan states in the story to remember that he also was once loved by God. The real enemy for the Christians isn’t simply pagans unaware of God, but those who knew full well of the Christian God and still persisted to denounce him.

Wrongness and Otherness

“How do the pagans in Beowulf differ from the pagans in The Song of Roland?” If the aim of the course is to examine the other within texts from the Middle Ages, then this question seems an apt topic to explore. Within these texts are two dissimilar constructions of difference within the same generalized “non-Christian” category. Yet, the treatment of the two groups of pagans is entirely different considering the pagans are characterized by a Christian author.

In The Song of Roland, the pagans are portrayed in no uncertain terms as Other. Although some Saracens are described in begrudgingly complimentary terms, the poet takes pains to ally their descriptions with condemnatory rhetoric. Saracens often speak with “evil” words, and the fate of their souls is in no way ambiguous. “The Paynim falls flat down with all his weight. / Then Satan comes and hales his soul away.” (laisse 96)

The poet of The Song of Roland tells the Franks how to view the Paynims, whereas in Beowulf, the author makes less effort to shape Beowulf’s morality based on his religious identity. Beowulf’s heroic actions shape his character, but the Saracens already exhibit vile characteristics, which their actions reinforce. While the Saracens are surely going to hell according to the poet of The Song of Roland, Beowulf’s poet does not go into the gritty details of Beowulf’s afterlife. The poet praises Beowulf's accomplishments, and it's clear that the poet is aware that the funeral pyre is a pagan ritual. The poet offers no negative or condemnatory commentary on Beowulf's funeral. As opposed to the death scenes of The Song of Roland, there is no devil to take Beowulf’s pagan soul to hell.

Roland’s infamous battle cry “Pagans are wrong and Christians are right” (laisse 79) constructs the terms of difference in The Song of Roland, and the language used to describe the vile infidels reinforces our hero’s axiom. However, morality in Beowulf is no where near as explicit. While the poet acknowledges that Beowulf and Hygelac are pagan kings, he describes them in hero’s language. Which begs the question, are pagans wrong in Beowulf? With no organizing binary, morality is vaguer and more debatable in Beowulf, whereas there is no debating who is right and who is Other in The Song of Roland.

As an aside, considering the Beowulf manuscript and how this text is the only known text of Beowulf, I thought about this episode of RadioLab that talks about the other versions of the Bible and other versions of the Trojan war. Listening to this story, it makes me wish archeologists could find other versions of Beowulf.

Beowulf, The Pagan & Christian

After reading the first section of “Beowulf,” I found that despite the fact that it seems to be written in a Christian context, the line between ‘Christian’ and ‘Pagan’ becomes blurred. One could even argue that Christianity and Paganism seem to be working almost simultaneously within Beowulf’s character, and I think that the main charcter, in encompassing such contrasting notions and religions, may evolve into what we’ve defined as the ‘other.’

On page sixty-two, Beowulf becomes associated with an animal figure, the boar, which can be seen simultaneously as a Pagan and a Christian symbol. Closely connected to the forest, the boar has the keen ability to uproot truffles, a mysterious fungus that ancient legends claim was produced by lightening; hence, the boar becomes closely associated with the supernatural. Yet, the boar is also symbolic of magic, prophecy, as well as warfare, and protection for warriors. In Christianity, the boar is symbolic for ferocious anger, for brutality, cruelty, as well as the ‘sins of the flesh.’ Beowulf, in wearing the symbol of the boar can be seen within a Pagan and Christian context; curiously he seems to exhibit a mixture of the characteristics assigned to the boar by Paganism and Christianity when fighting Grendel.

Beowulf possesses a super-human or supernatural strength. On page sixty-six Beowulf chooses not to use weapons in his fight against Grendel and asserts: “But with my grip I shall grapple with the fiend and fight for life, foe against foe.” During the fight, Beowulf exhibits superhuman strength by literally ripping one of Grendel’s arms out of his socket, which King Hrothgar exhibits for all to see. One could argue that Beowulf’s supernatural strength speaks to a Pagan element, and we also see this kind of unearthly strength or power on page seventy when Beowulf tells Unferth he spent five nights in the sea competing with Breca, only to be dragged down by a ‘mighty sea beast.’ Here, Beowulf is literally battling a ‘monster’ underneath the ocean, and his superhuman strength can not only be found in the physicality of the fight, but in the fact that the scene alludes to his unnatural ability to hold his breath under water, and control it for five days in the sea. In addition to this, he is able to fight in the sea with not only one ‘sea beast,’ but ‘nine maneaters,’ and this reinforces his supernatural strength that can be associated with the Pagan elements found in the story. Despite this, within the text, Beowulf’s supernatural strength becomes closely associated with the strength of the God; he also takes on the persona of Christ.

Beowulf and Grendel becomes representative of the Christian idea of ‘good versus evil’; they appear to be polar opposite, and one can argue that Beowulf exists figuratively as God or Christ, and in contrast, Grendel is the devil or Satan. On page fifty-six, Grendel becomes associated with ‘Cain’s race’; he can be seen as the man ‘falling from grace and into sin’ who is associated with Satan, the devil, and becomes known as ‘God’s adversary.’ In addition to this, he is described as an ‘unholy creature,’ as an ‘alien spirit,’ and lives in an underworld similar to Satan’s hell. In contrast, Beowulf can be seen as a Christ like figure not only because he possesses a ‘generous spirit (Page 61), and exhibits fairness (page 66), but because he literally ‘saves’ the Danes. In order to survive Grendel’s attacks, the Danes need a savior, and Beowulf, can be seen as a Christ like figure by the way he exhibits his desire to end their suffering, and ‘save’ them from Grendel. Moreover, if Beowulf is seen as encompassing this Christian idea of ‘good,’ when he defeats Grendel, he is carrying out God’s work. In other words, one could view Beowulf’s superhuman strength as coming from or facilitated by God so that he can carry out ‘God’s anger.’ Despite this, I think the image of Beowulf as a ‘savior,’ and as someone who exemplifies Christian ideas, becomes problematic when he ‘kills’ Grendel; it also becomes problematic if we take into consideration the materialism he exhibits, wanting treasures and acknowledgement for his deeds.

It will be interesting to see how Beowulf further exhibits the tension between Paganism and Christianity because I think it is in this contradiction where he may evolve in to the ‘other.’ He is already somewhat alienated from the rest of the characters, for he is both spiritually and politically elevated in comparison, but perhaps in the next sections the Pagan elements within his character, may give way to Christianity; this will determine a position that’s neither ‘monstrous’ or ‘other.’ I also wonder if his ‘savior’ qualities will become solely motivated by his materialism, and need for recognition; this may further complicate his character while pushing Beowulf into a realm that encompasses both the ‘monstrous’ and the ‘other.’

Geography, Material Culture, and the Other: Part Two

One of the main differences between The Song of Roland and Beowulf (a point I've touched on in a previous post), is that in Roland there is only one class of opponent; the enemies only come from one direction, and they combine aspects of the otherworldly Monstrous with the merely human Other. Admittedly, Ganelon springs his treason from the very heart of Frankish society, but his sins exclusively involve showing the Paynims where and how they can do the most damage. In his own person, Ganelon is not a threat and harms nobody directly.

In Beowulf, by contrast, we get a persistent sense of a war being waged on two fronts - and here is where the geography of Othering enters in. The poem often speaks of its world as lying "between the two seas" (858, 1685). R.M. Liuzza glosses this as referring to "the North and Baltic seas," but I think there is more to the expression than this. Beowulf contains two directions of danger, two frontiers that must be guarded. One "sea" is that which Beowulf and his fellow Geats cross on the way to Hrothgar's court, the sea that separates the Danes from the human Other and that the Danish coast-guard patrols against "enemies with fleets and armies" (242) - which the Geats seem heretofore to have been. The other "sea" is Grendelsmere, "the seacliff" (1420) to which Beowulf and his party come when tracking Grendel's mother as well as the ocean in which Beowulf went swimming with Breca: the world of the inhuman Monstrous. Crossing over from this world into the human world of the poem, Grendel and his mother appear as "great march-stalkers..., / alien spirits" (1348-1349). After describing his victory over Grendel's mother, Beowulf tells Hrothgar, "you need fear nothing, / from that side" (1674-1675). The qualification is significant: the monster-frontier may now be secure, Beowulf implies, but you should still look to the border with your human enemies - the Heathobards, for example, who will ultimately burn down Heorot Hall, or even Hrothgar's potentially treacherous nephew Hrothulf.

(Incidentally, that second sea, the one from which monsters emerge, is also the one from across which Scyld arrives as a foundling and to which he is committed again after his death. Scyld's providential mission from outside is only time something good and tangible, rather than monstrous, penetrates the boundary of the poem.)

King "Shield" provides a good segue into the question of material culture and its role in defining the Self and the Other in this poem. Beset by Grendel, the Danes in desperation pray "that the soul-slayer might offer assistance" (177). From the poet's perspective, at least, if not necessarily their own, they are invoking a devil to fight a devil, evincing an awareness that only a monster can defeat a monster. The human "monster" who comes to their assistance is Beowulf. "He has thirty / men's strength, strong in battle, / in his handgrip" (379-381), says Hrothgar before intuiting, apparently on the basis of such superhumanity, that Beowulf has come to fight "against Grendel's terror" (384). As a corollary to possessing such inhuman strength, Beowulf typically disdains the human material culture of battle: "I too will scorn....to bear a sword or a broad shield" (435, 437). Admitting him and his troop into Heorot, Hrothgar makes them leave behind their armor and weaponry; it's all the same to Beowulf, of course, but this measure also marks him out as an Other, the monster who will defeat the monster.

Beowulf, of course, then goes on to best Grendel in weaponless combat and rip off his arm barehanded. However, the key to this success is that Beowulf fights within Heorot, the heart of the human world. Heorot embodies the whole of "middle-earth" between the two seas, the "bright and shining plain, by seas embraced" (93) which is sung about within it. Fighting inside this human creation in all its firm and beautiful physicality, Beowulf needs no other way to reassert his humanity against the Monstrous. His inherent "otherness" is constricted and channeled by the architecture surrounding him.

Venturing out of this human domain, though, requires very different measures. Beowulf fought and killed the monsters on his swimming ordeal with a sword and describes how "my coat of armor offered help" (550) in those encounters. Similarly, before seeking out Grendel's mother in her lake, "Beowulf geared up / in his warrior's clothing" (1441-1442), and twice in the ensuing battle "his armored shirt offered him help" (1552). The world of the monstrous, as opposed to the human world embodied by Heorot, is, from the human perspective, a place where all boundaries are abolished and all otherness collapses; as Hrothgar describes it, fire burns on the lake and water and sky combine. In such an environment, Beowulf now needs the individual demarcation, the sense of integrality and selfhood, which only helmet and armor can provide.

The final twist to all of these matters occurs when, reaching the bottom of Grendelsmere, Beowulf discovers a weird mirror of Heorot and the human world above: "he was in some sort of battle-hall / where no water could harm him in any way, / and, for the hall's roof, he could not be reached / by the flood's sudden rush - he saw a firelight, / a glowing blaze shining brightly" (1513-1517). We learn that the monsters, creatures of indefiniteness and flux in human eyes, actually define their own boundaries and structure their own existence. The light appearing suddenly in this scene echoes, in a sense, the light described in the creation poem associated with Heorot. Moreover, in this luminous and structured environment, the monsters possess a material culture of their own. Grendel's mother sets upon Beowulf with a knife, and although the sword he brought from his own world proves useless here, he finds a new weapon of inhuman provenance with which to finish her off.

In Beowulf, as in The Song of Roland, geography and material culture provide a framework with which to physically define the Self, the Other, and the Monstrous, but once this framework is shattered, bypassed, or surmounted, such structures of difference seem far less rigid and entrenched.

Less by As Much As a Maiden’s Strength

Within a page of each other, Beowulf provides us with two of the most important female characters in the story, Wealhtheow, wife of Hrothgar, and Grendel’s mother. As women are typically othered in history, the moment any woman is mentioned she instantly bears further examination. It seems intentional that these two women are mentioned in such close proximity to the mention of the other, and that it was done so to emphasize their similarities and contrasts. The problem is that they seem to be more alike than different.

Wealhtheow presents Beowulf with a neck-ring that, according to legend, once belonged to Freya, goddess of fertility, and in some traditions warfare as well. Freya, a name that means “lady,” was in many ways the equivalent of the Greek queen of the gods. Hera was responsible for childbearing women and the home, and was fierce, even warlike, in her duties protecting both the individuals and the institutions. This connection helps those less familiar with Norse mythology make a connection which is vital, linking Wealhtheow to these goddesses in power and intention. She bestows her powerful emblem to the warrior Beowulf, who has rightly earned it with the maiming and murdering of the monster, Grendel, and in doing so gives her sons over to his keeping. Beowulf is now charged with being “mild in counsel,” “kind in…deeds,” and responsible for “keeping them in joys” (Ln. 1219-1226). Wealhtheow is acknowledging that she owes Beowulf the lives of her children, and her people, and makes that clear by publicly, and even ritualistically, entrusting him with their welfare. This is both a token of thanks as well as a continued duty, as now that Beowulf has proven his worth, he is being encouraged to continue to do so. This queen and mother wants the best for her offspring, to give them the best she can provide, and right now it appears that the best teacher and protector is epitomized by Beowulf. She is letting her children go, actively pushing them towards manhood and independence even though it may lessen her relationship with them. Any mother would do the same.

Grendel’s mother must have done the same for her son. She raised him, taught him all she could, sent him out into the world to find his own way, and still kept her duties as a mother intact with the implied promise that should her even need her protection, he would have it. When Grendel left Heorot mortally wounded from his encounter with Beowulf, he retreated to the woods, to safety, to his mother. Now that he is gone, she has come for revenge. Her origins are mysterious, dwelling “in those dreadful waters, the cold streams, ever since Cain” (Ln.1260-1). This mention links her to a race of cursed beings, children of the first murderer, and it is difficult to conceive of a group more othered than those who are descended from that line. Grendel’s mother is vicious in her sorrow, attacking with vigor, and before she leaves, retrieving the arm of her son which had been placed as a talisman or trophy in the great hall. Grendel is dead, but still she seeks to honor and protect him, make him intact and punish those who took her from him. The mention of these actions so close to those of Wealhtheow’s towards her own children unites these two women, and suddenly we realize that the lady-like and beautiful Wealhtheow would seek the same brutal justice for her own children. Though perhaps those actions are the more monstrous part of a woman’s nature, as represented by Grendel’s mother, they are no less true to human nature. It almost seems that despite being grotesque, women are honored by this society just as much for their strength and passion as they are for their beauty and kindness.

Winner Takes All

We've seen in discussion so far an interest in the duel that determines Ganelon's fate. It's not only the reader s who are interested. There are crowds at the duel, witnesses to God's decision on the truth of worldly matters. What's interesting to me about the duel is that this has a familiar ring outside of Christianity. I have heard stories of pagan myths, and I've been looking for a source but as yet have not found one, of circles in which two combatants are placed to fight in order to determine the truth of a crime. The one who wins is judged to have been right. In any case, the idea is not simply confined to Christianity. You see it mostly all cultures that have a religion with a higher power, and when one believes their higher power is better, well, that's the short of how wars start.

In fact, the duel between Pinabel and Thierry is not even the only place in which this "duel for the truth" occurs. Charlemagne carries on his own duel with the Emir during the final battle. They both fall to the ground and begin to duke it out, mano a mano, to see who has the right of it: "Nothing at all can ever end their strife/Till one confess he's wrong, the other right" (259). And really when they say "confess" they mean get skewered. So they're both fighting to determine who is correct in their choice of god, and the one to survive simply proves that they are correct. And of course in the story an angel helps him when he is being overwhelmed, God will not let the righteous one lose.

And so in the duel over Ganelon's treachery we can only expect a similar miracle of God's hand. But in this case it is no longer God's servant against a Pagan foe, which is a much easier call for the big man, but a simple dispute between Christians. I can't help but wonder if by bringing God down for the deliberation this duel hasn't forced him to say more than just who's right in their argument, but who is actually no longer Christian. I realize that we've talked about how Ganelon can not lose his status as a Christian, but I have to say I disagree. He doesn't fall as low a Pagan, but he becomes a fallen Christian really since God has decided against him. Even if God didn't have a hand in the duel, by royal decree the outcome strips Ganelon of his religion and of course that of his family. This is the opposite side of the Christians "converting" pagans into the faith. In the end its the men with power discerning the fate of other men.

Hubris

A common epic convention is characterizing the epic hero as having too much pride, or hubris. It is also important to note that in relation to the text, pride is also one of the seven deadly sins. As we discussed in last Monday's class, Roland’s tragic flaw is his overabundance of pride. His ultimate death in solitude in the middle of the poem seems deserving due to this flaw. However, characters on both sides of the spectrum, the Saracens and even Charlemagne himself, can be defined in terms of their level of pride.

A big contradiction in the text (Max pointed it out in his post) is the ending. Lais 209, describes Saint Gabriel coming to the Emperor's chamber telling Charlemange that he must assemble his army once again. Charlemagne's response is quite surprising as he says, "how weary is my life!" (p.203). Yet, the text as a whole (particularly the second half) implies that Charlemagne will rise up and fight to save the Christians in the city of Imphe.

However, this is quite ironic in that the text points more towards Charlemagne's pride than to his quest to spread Christianity. For instance, lais 259, states "nothing at all can ever end their strife Till one confess he's wrong, the other right" (p.187). This words echo Roland's declaration that: "Pagans are wrong and Christians are right." But why exactly? Couldn't it be argued that Christians are wrong to pillage foreign lands and people all in the name of Christianity? Couldn't it also be argued that Charlemagne was a very proud and arrogant man who just wanted to acquire more land?

Finally, isn't the second battle fought solely over the death of their best warrior, Roland? "For Roland's death I think they'll dearly pay" (p.216) says Charles to his soldiers. The French had their pride tampered with when the Saracens killed Roland. The French lost their "pride" when they lost Roland. The cause for the second battle is not over the Saracens being non-Christians, but over Roland's death. Therefore, it is quite contradictory that Charlemagne stands for a symbol of Christianity in the text, yet he possess one of the seven deadly sins himself, pride.

On the other hand, it is important to note that the one character in the text who does not seem to succumb to being too prideful is Bramimonda. While the Saracens continue to fight (possibly because they are too proud to admit they are "wrong") Bramimonda does not. She is neither too arrogant nor too proud to give up her entire identity. She does not stand up and fight against Charlemagne when he takes her "captive to fair France" (p.191). She even gives up her name and her voice. In a sense, the poem indicates that Bramimonda admits she was "wrong," unlike her fellow Saracens who are too proud to do subject themselves to such belittlement.

The question of pride is an interesting one in the text. Although Roland's actions are most characteristic of a person who possesses too much pride, the other characters seem to as well.

Geography, Material Culture, and the Other: Part One

As we move from The Song of Roland to Beowulf, one thread that I keep finding myself pursuing is the way in which both poems use geography and material culture to define and demarcate the Other - and what happens when these definitions collapse or are penetrated. By "material culture" in this case, I am thinking specifically about war-gear: helmets, shields, armor, swords, and spears, all of which (I would think) impose a very rigid sense of selfhood over against those "others" on the far side of your hauberk and shield. (To paraphrase Wittgenstein, the limits of my armor are the limits of my world.)

For example, as Roland rushes to its conclusion, we see all of the physical barriers which had previously differentiated Franks and Paynims giving way one by one. The vertiginous Pyrenees - "High are the hills, the valleys dark and deep, / Grisly the rocks, and wondrous grim the steeps" (83) - which previously separated "douce France" and "clere Espaigne" and which could be surmounted by the French only "with pain and grief" (83) are overcome for good: "They pass the mountains, they pass the rocky heights, / Leave the deep gorges and narrow vales behind" (171). When the armies of Baligant and Charlemagne take the field against one another, "betwixt the two is neither hill nor vale, / Forest nor wood" (176). The two sides occupy the same ground even poetically; laisse 227, for example (pp. 170-171) combines separate scenes involving Charlemagne and Baligant into one stanza. In the battle, the barriers of shield and armor demarcating the two sides likewise mutually succumb: "shields [are] smashed all to bits, / ...bright hauberks gride as the mail-rings rip" (184). Things come down to Charlemagne and Baligant one-on-one, and again all physical demarcation shatters: "The rivets fall, in shreds the buckles fly. / In their bare byrnies now breast to breast they fight" (187).

At this point, in other words, any separation of Self and Other which existed outside the mind has collapsed. On the same geographical and poetic ground, outside the shelter of city wall or mountain range, with their armies scattered in the melee and their shields battered to bits, Charlemagne and Baligant each face a crisis of identity. Each is the mirror image of the other. They can only differentiate themselves by factors which are confessional and ideological, that is, (more or less) intangible and arbitrary: religion (Charlemagne's criterion) and feudal/political allegiance (Baligant's). Even as the two exchange demands to surrender and convert in laisse 260 (p. 188), there is a sense that for either to incorporate the other into his polity would reduce that polity to meaninglessness. Baligant has already begun to doubt himself and the basis of his power, while Charlemagne, throughout this battle and this part of the poem, is struggling to articulate the meaning of his empire beyond just Christian faith. For either combatant, to stop defining the Other as the other would be to lose his sense of self. Hence the ambiguity voiced by the poet over how this single combat can end: it will continue either "till one lies dead on ground" (laisse 258) or "till one confess he's wrong, the other right" (laisse 259; both p. 187). The sign that Charlemagne will win this fight appears when, after being rebuked and re-authorized by the Archangel Gabriel, "he is himself again" (laisse 262, p. 188). Despite the loss of all geographical and material structures of difference, he feels secure enough in his religio-political selfhood again to strike down his alter ego.

The aftermath of this battle gives us the overthrow of the last physical barrier between Paynim and Frank in the poem, the previously impenetrable walls of Saragossa. With this barrier broken, Bramimonda's "otherness" likewise collapses, and for her part she loses all compelling reason to remain Paynim in identity. However, despite this and the other affirmations of Selfhood and triumphs over the Other that occur, the end of the poem makes clear that Charlemagne, exhausted and world-weary, is not really "himself" after all. Some definition of the Self over against the Other apparently has, in fact, been lost along the way.

Since this posting is plenty long already, I guess I'll save my thoughts on Beowulf in this mode for another installment...

Holy Relics in the Song of Roland

In following Roland’s lines of “the pagans are wrong and the Christians are right,” I wanted to point out the use of holy relics in the story, and how they seem to be a form of weaponry and defense against the Saracens. I also wanted to see if the agency of using these relics by the French Christians was carried out effectively.

Relics are basically objects that hold religious meaning – either they were a piece of clothing worn by a saint, or can be bones of a saint. In that respect, there are also classes of relics, determined by the object. A piece of bone from a saint is a first-class relic, while the cloth form a saint is a second-class relic.

According to Wikipedia, in Medieval Christianity, relics were prized possessions that allowed the bearer to have a closeness with the saint and ultimately, God. Not only are these objects considered holy, but they are thought to contain some power for miracles. A Christian believes that by having these relics, they can be have access to miracles. The idea is that the Holy Spirit was considered to dwell in those saints who were agents of miraculous events, and therefore, having a piece of that saint (literally) can allow an individual the grace of miracles.

In the Song of Roland, Charlemagne is written to have a first class relic. He is said to have the lance that was used to kill Christ when he was crucified (147). This relic is not only first class, but one of the most prized pieces of relics coming directly from Jesus. Not only is it from Christ, it is the weapon that ended Christ’s life on earth before the miracle of his resurrection days later. One can speculate that Charlemagne’s possession of this first-class relic is agency for his victories over non-Christians.

We also have Roland’s sword Durendal, which contains the tooth of St. Peter, blood of St. Basil, St. Denis’s hair and the Virgin Mary’s garment. Indeed, “what store of relics lie in thy hilt of gold!” (141). One can conjecture that yes, Roland is blessed with several relics and therefore has a strong intimacy with God. It also stands to reason that the “holiness” of his sword helped him to defeat a large portion of the Saracen army. Roland used this relic-filled sword to conquer the vast countries he took for Charlemagne and for Charlemagne’s Christianity. We have spoken of Roland’s brutal killings as monstrous, but perhaps with this sword, they were miraculous. Not only was Roland able to conquer several lands, but he is able to wield his sword and kill several more Saracens after he has blown the Olifant and is bleeding though his temples.

It appears that with the aid of these holy relics, God is truly on their side, especially since they have been successful in their conquests up to this point in the story. However, Roland still does die. Does Roland’s death call into question the usefulness of these relics? Or maybe it is the agency of the relics allowing Roland to finally give up his sword (which he has a hard time doing and then puts it under him) and enter into heaven?

The perhaps unintended agency of the Other remains

In the Middle Ages, prevalent theological thought asserted that women were the weaker spiritual being as evidenced by Eve's submission to temptation. Because of Eve's disobedience, God deemed her unworthy to decide her fate. Therefore, women's spiritual agency was revoked, and all of Eve's daughters had to experience God through men.

Bramimond, however, does not experience her religion through her husband nor does her husband, Marsilion, act as a guide to her spirituality. In Laisses 188-189, no one prompts Bramimond to condemn her gods. She sees her wounded and defeated husband and reacts without anyone else’s input. As Kinoshita notes, “Stepping into the place of her maimed husband, Bramimonde leads the type of revolt usually attributed to male Saracens who wreak punishment upon their gods…” (Kinoshita 93) However, Bramimond, according to Kinoshita loses her independent thought and agency by submitting to Christianity.

I’m not sure I agree. There is no doubt that Bramimond is defeated politically. "All her towers Queen Bramimond surrenders." (Roland 265) However, we cannot assume that her conversion is involuntary or that she is simply submitting to a male dominated world in which she must keep her silence. The conversion, while sanctioned by Charlemagne, is not under his direct guidance. As far as the reader is concerned, there is no evidence that Bramimond suddenly loses her ability to form her own opinion. Bramimond listens to the sermons and parables and converts of her own free will, just as she condemns her pagan gods without instruction from anyone else. To say that Bramimond's conversion is involuntary is to revoke the agency that she has when she condemns her pagan religion as useless.

Bramimond does not convert simply to marry a Christian man and have him dictate her spiritual understanding. Kinoshita states that the stock Saracen princess character converts to Christianity for the love of a Frankish knight. However, Kinoshita ups the stakes and says "Bramimonde demystifies the function of the Saracen princess: to abandon religion, family, and culture to embrace Frankish Christianity." (Kinoshita 92) According to the poet, though, Bramimond's country is conquered by Charlemagne. Her husband, who is her only mentioned family, is dead, and on her own, she rejects her religion. Everything that isn't forcefully taken from Bramimond, she rejects of her own free will, which leaves her without a husband or a lover to dictate her religious leanings.

More significantly, she is baptized and renamed by women. Technically, she isn’t submitting to Charlemagne and his imposing Christian empire but to women of the Christian faith. While I’m not arguing that Bramimond is swept away into a feminist religious utopia, her submission is not to the male/military power structure present throughout the rest of the poem. Women legitimize her conversion. The fact that she is renamed by women doesn’t prove her continued agency, but the involvement of women in her conversion show that she continues to experience religion without the contribution of men.

A Plague of Traitors

The most puzzling aspect of the second half of Roland, for me, at least, is the death of Pinabel's thirty kinsmen. As I understand the order of things, they were simply assurance that Pinabel would show up for his duel with Thierry . I hardly think that, had Thierry lost the battle, anyone was going to be hanging Charlemagne. What had the kinsmen done to deserve a hanging?

The answer is, of course, nothing of note other than be in the company of the losing parties. So perhaps the answer lies in the company, as "treason destroys itself and others, too." (Sayers 201). The only treasonous party is Ganelon, but by aligning themselves with him, Pinabel and the kinsmen are infected. This has such a strong connection to Panopticism that I cannot help but drag Foucault into this mess.

The kinsmen must be quarantined like they are contagious - "guarded until justice shall be done" (Sayers 197) in the words of the song and "First, a strict spatial partitioning...a prohibition to leave on pain of death...each governed by an intendant" (Foucault 195). The description of their death "hanged up in a noose" (Sayers 201) brings to mind a type of binding quarantine - tied up in ropes. They sound more like patients than oath keepers.

Ganelon's rather barbaric punishment of having his limbs ripped off by galloping horses can also been rendered in somewhat medical terms. His insides are all outside, they can be seen and examined, and his treacherous germs are exterminated in a display of force that makes the "crime explode into truth" (Foucault 227).

I wonder, however, if all this showmanship on the part of Charlemagne does not leave us with a neat ending to Ganelon and his treachery. The huge and public displays of power seem to only to point out that Charlemagne is nervous. Perhaps he is perpetrating the fear of contamination in the hope that the population won't get any of Ganelon's ideas - using panoptic fear to goad the remainder of his population into self discipline.

Bramimond’s Questionable Conversion

In “’Pagans are wrong and Christians are right’: Alterity, Gender, and Nation in the Chanson de Roland,” Sharon Kinoshita asserts that Bramimond, the ‘Saracen’ or ‘Pagan’ Queen, is given the opportunity to ‘actively embrace Charlemagne’s God.’ After examining Lais two-hundred-sixty-six, Kinoshita writes: “ No trace of the carnal or profane compromises Charlemagne’s desire to convert Bramimond…’love’ signals not the romantic desire but the voluntary nature of her conversion.” Despite her convincing arguments, I did find this particular assertion a little problematic.

The degree to which Bramimond willingly embraces Charlemagne’s God or that the ‘nature of her conversion’ may be voluntary is questionable in light of several factors. The line on page one-hundred-ninety, Lais two-hundred-sixty-five, states, “All of her towers Queen Bramimond surrenders,” and I think this speaks to both her figurative and literal captivity at the end of the story, for she is the only allowed to live among the Christians, and like Marcile who proclaims, “Myself I’ve lost, my people, and my kin,” she in a sense has lost her culture, religion, protection, and quite literally her own ‘world.’ Bramimond is an isolated character, for she’s one of two women that are featured in the story, and in the end, despite the factors that suggests her ‘conversion,’ she is the only ‘Pagan’ left; this not only directly influences the ‘nature of her conversion,’ but facilitates it as well. Although the ‘tower’ is a phallic symbol, it is also closely associated with the feminine principle or a certain feminine power; when Bramimonde surrenders her towers, she is quite literally defeated, and the tower becomes symbolic not only of her submission, her descent or downfall, but the end of ‘Paganism.’ In addition to this, Bramimond’s surrender is the last act in the story that solidifies ‘Christian’ dominance, for “the Paynims are all dead or fled in terror.’ She is singled out and abandoned by the last of the Paynims, to such a degree one may even argue Bramimonde exists figuratively as an orphan, and has no other choice then to assimilate to the ‘French’ or ‘Christian’ culture and religion; the alienation she experiences at the end bears some influence on the ‘nature of her conversion.’ Moreover, by ‘surrendering her towers,’ she is relinquishing the power or authority she exhibits on page one-hundred-fifty-one and one-hundred-fifty-five; this speaks to how she is literally at Charlemagne’s mercy and under his rule, further debilitating her willingness to reject the Christian God. Carlon’s ‘love’ may speak to Bramimond’s ‘voluntary conversion,’ but attached to it is his authority. One must have in mind Carlon’s words, “Never to Paynims may I show love or peace, Do though confess the faith of God revealed,” that figuratively implies Paynim’s can choose Christianity or death - this still applies to Bramimond at the end who we still find ‘captive.’

In light of these arguments, the ‘nature of Bramimond’s conversion’ may not be ‘voluntary,’ given the circumstances she finds herself in at the end of, “The Song of Roland.” We do not know enough at the end of the story in order to be certain of Bramimond’s ‘true’ conversion. Although she rejects her gods in Lais one-hundred-ninety-five, she asks, “Why is there none to slay me?” The statement expresses Bramimond’s feelings of abandonment, disillusionment, anger, and desperation; in the same instance, it figuratively invokes her position at the end, one that relies on Charlemagne’s mercy, authority - on the questionable ‘love’ that promises and dictates the Queen’s religious conversion.