Previously I argued that Gahmuret appeared to be the ‘ideal hero’ or knight for a number of reasons page twenty establishes; he exhibits humility, does not give into boasting in order to reaffirm or validate his honor, is ‘free of loose desires,’ and is dictated by his ‘inmost’ desire to serve god. Yet, this last virtue others him within the story, and simultaneously, appears to elevate him spiritually above the others. Gahmurets associations with the ermine and the color green reinforce his transformation into a demi god, or better said, a ‘spiritual other.’ Page 62 establishes how Parzival can be seen as figuratively embodying his father, as well as inheriting this particular element, this spiritual elevation. In the second section of “Parzival,” there are many instances where we see Parzival coming into his own identity, that of a knight, and this godly quality he’s inherited from his father seems to evolve as well; it appears to be boundless at times, and threatens to push Parzival into the realm of the ‘monstrous.’
The presence of God is repeatedly invoked in this section, and I think purposely whenever Parzival is present, for his actions, like his father’s, seem to illustrate a need to serve god or a godly-force. If we are to compare the Parzival on page 110 who exhibits ‘restraint,’ with the Parzival that on page 77 ‘forced Jeschute’s mouth in his and crushed her breast to his,’ we discover a dramatic shift in the character. Parzival does not consummate his marriage to the Queen of Belrepeire until the third night. Prior to this, the queen had slipped into his room, and I thought it was curious how Parzival page 106 woken up by her ‘weeping,’ tells her she should be ‘kneeling’ to God. Before this, Parzival’s conception of God seemed uncertain or not yet solidified, for he equated God with the Knights. Page 106 clearly establishes his knew conception of God, and I think the restraint he exhibits isn’t only because he doesn’t want to taint the love he shares for Liaze (Condwiramurs), but because he does not want to stray off the ‘Christian path.’ The Queen soon disappears from the story, and Parzival’s fight to protect her kingdom is driven by his love for Liaze. Thus, one could argue that like his father who left Belacane, Parzival leaves the Queen of Belrepeire, in order to stay on the ‘right path,’ and stay true to his love; this love, in it’s constancy or fidelity, I think is suppose to reflect a kind of ‘Godly love,’ a love that’s has both a feminine and masculine principle. Do tell me if I’m reading too much into these elements though!
Chapter 5 seems to push Parzival into the realm of a ‘spiritual other,’ rather than a demi-god. Parzival is othered when he enters Wildenberg, an unknown country where ‘the merry sounds of dance or bohort’ have never been heard, and yet he seems to have been led there by some divine force; at the same time, he’s instilled with a divine purpose he’s unaware of, and has ‘chanced upon the gral.’ I believe he’s ‘spiritually othered,’ when Sigune states: ‘If an end has been put to his (Anfortas) agony, happy you for your Heaven-blest journey.’ ‘Heaven blest journey,’ seems to establish Parzival’s chance meeting with the Gral to be dictated or led by some Godly force. Yet, this is the only element that makes Parzival a spiritual other. On page 122, before joining Anfortas, ‘the host,’ and in response to ‘a man deft in speech,’ Parzival, “clenched his fist so hard that the blood shot through his nails and sleeve.’ Whether or not Parzival superhuman or supernatural strength come from a ‘God’ or perhaps his ‘fairy blood,’ can be debated, but I do think that both seem to be working here in order to distinguish Parzival from all of the other characters in the book, including his father, who never, if my memory serves me, never exhibited this kind of strength. In addition to this, on page 140 Parzival exhibits this super-human strength once again when he ‘gives Orilus such a hug that a rain of blood spurted through his visor.’ If Parzival can be seen as inheriting this kind of ‘spiritual elevation’ or ‘spiritual otherness' from his father, it does seem to be playing out at these particular points of the story.
One must keep in mind that Parzival is still coming into his own, and Gahmuret’s advice on abstaining from ‘questioning,’ seems to be reinforce this. I think Parzival hasn’t learned how to harness this kind of spirit or power he has, hence why this reaction and superhuman strength could be mistook for ‘monstrousness.’ Nonetheless, a monstrous quality can be found physically in Parzival for his reaction seems to consist of ‘rage,’ which we’ve seen as an intrinsic quality in the other monsters we’ve encountered in this class. Also, Parzival here still remains mortal, for he does bleed, but there’s a strange tension between his strength and mortality; his super-power doesn’t threaten his mortality, and this might hint to how he’s transformed into a spiritual other. Parzival’s spiritual inheritance, as well as how his beauty is equated with ‘God,’ reinforces this. In addition to these elements that strengthen this last argument, Parzival seems to be the only character that’s actually capable of saving Anfortas and the only one, outside of Wildenberg, that comes in contact with and can obtain the Gral. Yet he fails! But this is due to the fact that he’s still developing, emotionally, morally, spiritually, and even physically. The promise of redeeming himself is readily felt when the sorceress appears, and when he learns ‘shame.’ In light of all of this, Parzival does seem to be dictated by a godly force, and at this point of the story, he does not seem conscious of his desire to serve god. Yet, Parzival’s ‘fleeing and pursuing’ could be said to be a ‘heaven blest journey,’ or a ‘spiritual journey,’ leading him towards a godly love (Liaze) that contains a fine balance between a feminine and masculine principle, light and dark, heaven and hell, the polarities Wolfram is constantly invoking throughout the story; it is also a journey that’s leading and equipping him with the tools (spiritual and material) he’ll need to obtain the gral. Moreover, the goose, I think is also symbolic of this spiritual journey, for it is a bird of ‘heaven.' Parzival falls into a trance after seeing the goose's ‘three red tears’ that invoke the image of Condwiramurs (love), and suffers from a knight’s blows. These blows are necessary, and in enduring them Parzival experiences the ‘suffering’ that’s essential to 'repenting' for having wronged Jeschute. I think he grows spiritually after this; he becomes yet again a spiritual other as a result not only because he's the only one that suffers in this particular way, but because this 'suffering' speaks to a divine purpose.
Page 160 seems to solidify the fact that Parzival is a spiritual-other when it states, “But for a lack of wings Parzival bore the marks of an angel that had blossomed out on this earth.” Simultaneously he seems to have fallen from grace (lack of wings), and yet, appears as a spiritual entity equated with the heavens. Here, Parzival is illustrated as a ‘spiritual other,’ that walks the earth, and it will be interesting to see how he fully embodies this ‘spiritual otherness’ as the story continues; it will also be interesting to witness just how his spiritual inheritance plays out.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Parzival the Son
As with a lot of medieval texts, the position of the son plays an important role in Parzival. We’ve seen lineage as an important part of the self in almost all of the previous pieces. With Beowulf, with Siegfried, and with Gawain, their familial ties link the reader to a concrete definition of the self. The fathers, or in Gawain’s case the uncle, establish their standing, outside the context of the narrative as a significant hero or a person of elevated standing, and thereby the actions of the son build on the honor and elevated status of the father. The poets of Beowulf and The Nibelungenlied seem to expect the same sort of behavior from the son as they have seen or heard of from the father.
However, with regards to Parzival, the son cannot draw upon the expectations of his father to define the self. He only has his mother’s fosterage and his inborn otherness (the distant relationship to faries), which prove to be detrimental to forming relationships with others. In every way, Parzival is so far removed from the realm of chivalric practice and knightly behavior that it’s surprising that the knights he meets in the forest even recognize him as anything but what he’s dressed like: a backwoods, isolated hick.
Perhaps, like his half-brother Feirefiz, Parzival has inherited a part of his father that is visible even beneath the clothing. I’m speaking, of course of Feirefiz’s patches of white skin against the contrast of his black skin. Just as Gahmuret’s legacy is clearly visible on the skin of his half-heathen baby, so Parzival retains a visible kind of legacy on his person in place of the more tangible material links Beowulf and Siegfried retained with their fathers. It might be a bit of a stretch, but in the absence of the constant reminder of his father’s exceptional reputation or the father’s inheritance, the sons of Gahmuret take instead the legacy of their father in less concrete and more personal ways.
The knights he encounters, Gurnemanz in particular, make it clear that although he is noble in bearing, his education is inadequate. Gurnemanz tells Parzival to discard the teachings of his mother and asserts his knightly education as the superior education: “Keep to my advice, it will save you from wrongdoing.” (Von Eschenbach 95) What’s most shocking about Gurnemanz’s reeducation of Parzival is that he feels the need to emphasize “Hold ladies in high esteem: that heightens a young man’s worth.” (Von Eschenbach 96) One would think that in a home environment with only the mother present Parzival would have learned that lesson intrinsically. His mother has raised him so poorly, however, that he has to have another knight teach him about honoring women. Is it that ludicrous to assume that a Parzival needs a father-figure in order to know how to honor women? (Especially given some of the stellar examples of the fair and noble treatment of women in some of the pieces this semester.)
Despite the fact that his mother raises him in isolation from the knightly, chivalric world, Parzival’s successes in his new knightly identity are not attributed to the primary caregiver. As the father or the lord in charge of his wardship, Parzival’s successes and failures reflect back on those who raised him. In this sense, Parzival’s natural affinity for the knightly lifestyle can be referenced back to Gahmuret, not to Herzeloyde.
The fact that Parzival is so inept in relating to the outside world speaks more about the poet’s biases about the mental failings of women. Only a man, specifically a father, can properly teach a boy about the proper way to present oneself. In a roundabout way, Wolfram is reaffirming the otherness of woman by giving us the shortcomings of a boy fostered exclusively by his mother. In a sense, nothing Parzival does is his own failing; it’s his mother’s. Of course, the argument could be made that it’s not Herzeloyde’s mental deficiencies that are being denigrated; it’s her education, which was not available to her. The notion that ignorance is a forgivable shortcoming in Parzival is quite disturbing to me. As modern readers, we expect ignorance to be othering and isolating, but in Parzival, his ignorance is acceptable, forgivable, since blame can be displaced so easily. Parzival’s arrested development is due to his mother’s inadequate life training, which is due to the father’s untimely death, and the father’s legacy or absence, in the case of Parzival, serves to make him the Other.
However, with regards to Parzival, the son cannot draw upon the expectations of his father to define the self. He only has his mother’s fosterage and his inborn otherness (the distant relationship to faries), which prove to be detrimental to forming relationships with others. In every way, Parzival is so far removed from the realm of chivalric practice and knightly behavior that it’s surprising that the knights he meets in the forest even recognize him as anything but what he’s dressed like: a backwoods, isolated hick.
Perhaps, like his half-brother Feirefiz, Parzival has inherited a part of his father that is visible even beneath the clothing. I’m speaking, of course of Feirefiz’s patches of white skin against the contrast of his black skin. Just as Gahmuret’s legacy is clearly visible on the skin of his half-heathen baby, so Parzival retains a visible kind of legacy on his person in place of the more tangible material links Beowulf and Siegfried retained with their fathers. It might be a bit of a stretch, but in the absence of the constant reminder of his father’s exceptional reputation or the father’s inheritance, the sons of Gahmuret take instead the legacy of their father in less concrete and more personal ways.
The knights he encounters, Gurnemanz in particular, make it clear that although he is noble in bearing, his education is inadequate. Gurnemanz tells Parzival to discard the teachings of his mother and asserts his knightly education as the superior education: “Keep to my advice, it will save you from wrongdoing.” (Von Eschenbach 95) What’s most shocking about Gurnemanz’s reeducation of Parzival is that he feels the need to emphasize “Hold ladies in high esteem: that heightens a young man’s worth.” (Von Eschenbach 96) One would think that in a home environment with only the mother present Parzival would have learned that lesson intrinsically. His mother has raised him so poorly, however, that he has to have another knight teach him about honoring women. Is it that ludicrous to assume that a Parzival needs a father-figure in order to know how to honor women? (Especially given some of the stellar examples of the fair and noble treatment of women in some of the pieces this semester.)
Despite the fact that his mother raises him in isolation from the knightly, chivalric world, Parzival’s successes in his new knightly identity are not attributed to the primary caregiver. As the father or the lord in charge of his wardship, Parzival’s successes and failures reflect back on those who raised him. In this sense, Parzival’s natural affinity for the knightly lifestyle can be referenced back to Gahmuret, not to Herzeloyde.
The fact that Parzival is so inept in relating to the outside world speaks more about the poet’s biases about the mental failings of women. Only a man, specifically a father, can properly teach a boy about the proper way to present oneself. In a roundabout way, Wolfram is reaffirming the otherness of woman by giving us the shortcomings of a boy fostered exclusively by his mother. In a sense, nothing Parzival does is his own failing; it’s his mother’s. Of course, the argument could be made that it’s not Herzeloyde’s mental deficiencies that are being denigrated; it’s her education, which was not available to her. The notion that ignorance is a forgivable shortcoming in Parzival is quite disturbing to me. As modern readers, we expect ignorance to be othering and isolating, but in Parzival, his ignorance is acceptable, forgivable, since blame can be displaced so easily. Parzival’s arrested development is due to his mother’s inadequate life training, which is due to the father’s untimely death, and the father’s legacy or absence, in the case of Parzival, serves to make him the Other.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Give me a hand, here!
In beginning the text of Parzival, one small motif struck me – the integration of hands. The hands are an intimate part of the body in this text and appear to have more meaning than simply anatomized. They are given meaning through God and reveal ethnicity. Though we have just begun this text, it is interesting to map out the change in the use of hands between the father, Gahmuret, and the son, Parzival.
The story beings with Gahmuret and his relations with beautiful queens. On his journey to the Zazamanc kingdom of Queen Belacane. At the sight of the mourning queen, Gahmuret says, “whatever it is that has vexed or vexes you, if this right hand can ward it off, let it be duly appointed to your service” (25). Gahmuret is ready to aid this Queen if he has the stamina to do it. He offers is hands, that is, his ability to act, in order to appease this Queen. However, the right hand could also be meant as the hand of God, which will bring those wronged to justice. Though the Queen and her court are heathens, Gahmuret finds reason to enact justice to those victimized by the opposing army. At any rate, the Queen agrees and Gahmuret goes out to handle the enemy.
The use of hands in this chapter helps to emphasize an intimacy between the characters as well. In serving Gahmuret at dinner, the Queen “with her own hand carved him a good helping” (29). Not only is this an intimate scene between the two characters, but there is a subversion of the standard classes. The queen is serving a knight, and is acting outside of her standards. The hands in this scene present honor and faithfulness to Gahmuret, who is uncertain how to react. This scene along with the next helps to disarm Gahmuret from the Queen’s advances. The Queen takes power in her hands after Gahmuret’s victory in battle. When he returns, “the Queen disarmed him with her own dark hands” (34). Queen Belcane has control over Gahmuret and utilizes it in this scene. Another interesting point is the reference to her “dark hands,” a reoccurring motif to the ethnic differences between them. The use of her ethnicity here is able to disarm Gahmuret and subject him to her will, just as Gahmuret requested to lend a hand with the battle. The Queen has the upper hand in this situation, which enables her to separate Gahmuret from competition for a year.
In the following chapter, Gahmuret heads to Kanvoleis, where he participates in a tournament. During the games, Gahmuret is given a letter written by the Queen Ampflise. Before Gahmuret opened the letter, “at the sight of her hand he bowed” (49). This handwritten letter is an honorable token and also shows signs of intimacy. Aside from the fact that it is a document professing the Queen’s love for Gahmuret, it is an action that disarms Gahmuret much like Queen Belacane’s servitude of food as previously stated. When inspecting the bruises on Gahmuret, the Queen used her “soft white hands that bore the signs of God’s handiwork” (54). Here is yet another ethnic distinction to the hands, however, these hands are associated with being created by God, whereas Queen Belacane’s heathen hands are in lack.
In the third chapter, we see Parzival taking rings from women’s hands unexpectedly and causing their ruin. When he meets King Arthur and eagerly accepts to challenge Ither, the page, “Iwanet took him by the hand and led him” (86). This hand-holding is on the level of friendship, but also a leader/follower action to Parzival’s destiny. The holding of hands seems to carry a connection between the two characters. Parzival is described as a boy in these scenes, and is comparatively the same age as the page. This gesture of holding hands seems to promote a sense of equality between the page and soon-to-be knight. Parzival is handed his opportunity to display his purpose for knighthood and is unexpectedly victorious.
It seems to be that the hand intimacy of the queens to Gahmuret lead to his delay in action and the intimacy of handholding between Parzival and the page show his rising to knighthood. The hands that guide Gahmuret appear to get him off track, and he is detained in a kingdom (or two), whereas Parzival is led by the hand to his destiny of becoming a noble knight. What contrasts these characters is their actions in being presented with a hand. For Gahmuret, he offers is hand in marriage twice, but abandons his first wife and is killed while away from his second. Parzival simply takes the hand of the noble and proceeds to his goal – to be a knight.
The story beings with Gahmuret and his relations with beautiful queens. On his journey to the Zazamanc kingdom of Queen Belacane. At the sight of the mourning queen, Gahmuret says, “whatever it is that has vexed or vexes you, if this right hand can ward it off, let it be duly appointed to your service” (25). Gahmuret is ready to aid this Queen if he has the stamina to do it. He offers is hands, that is, his ability to act, in order to appease this Queen. However, the right hand could also be meant as the hand of God, which will bring those wronged to justice. Though the Queen and her court are heathens, Gahmuret finds reason to enact justice to those victimized by the opposing army. At any rate, the Queen agrees and Gahmuret goes out to handle the enemy.
The use of hands in this chapter helps to emphasize an intimacy between the characters as well. In serving Gahmuret at dinner, the Queen “with her own hand carved him a good helping” (29). Not only is this an intimate scene between the two characters, but there is a subversion of the standard classes. The queen is serving a knight, and is acting outside of her standards. The hands in this scene present honor and faithfulness to Gahmuret, who is uncertain how to react. This scene along with the next helps to disarm Gahmuret from the Queen’s advances. The Queen takes power in her hands after Gahmuret’s victory in battle. When he returns, “the Queen disarmed him with her own dark hands” (34). Queen Belcane has control over Gahmuret and utilizes it in this scene. Another interesting point is the reference to her “dark hands,” a reoccurring motif to the ethnic differences between them. The use of her ethnicity here is able to disarm Gahmuret and subject him to her will, just as Gahmuret requested to lend a hand with the battle. The Queen has the upper hand in this situation, which enables her to separate Gahmuret from competition for a year.
In the following chapter, Gahmuret heads to Kanvoleis, where he participates in a tournament. During the games, Gahmuret is given a letter written by the Queen Ampflise. Before Gahmuret opened the letter, “at the sight of her hand he bowed” (49). This handwritten letter is an honorable token and also shows signs of intimacy. Aside from the fact that it is a document professing the Queen’s love for Gahmuret, it is an action that disarms Gahmuret much like Queen Belacane’s servitude of food as previously stated. When inspecting the bruises on Gahmuret, the Queen used her “soft white hands that bore the signs of God’s handiwork” (54). Here is yet another ethnic distinction to the hands, however, these hands are associated with being created by God, whereas Queen Belacane’s heathen hands are in lack.
In the third chapter, we see Parzival taking rings from women’s hands unexpectedly and causing their ruin. When he meets King Arthur and eagerly accepts to challenge Ither, the page, “Iwanet took him by the hand and led him” (86). This hand-holding is on the level of friendship, but also a leader/follower action to Parzival’s destiny. The holding of hands seems to carry a connection between the two characters. Parzival is described as a boy in these scenes, and is comparatively the same age as the page. This gesture of holding hands seems to promote a sense of equality between the page and soon-to-be knight. Parzival is handed his opportunity to display his purpose for knighthood and is unexpectedly victorious.
It seems to be that the hand intimacy of the queens to Gahmuret lead to his delay in action and the intimacy of handholding between Parzival and the page show his rising to knighthood. The hands that guide Gahmuret appear to get him off track, and he is detained in a kingdom (or two), whereas Parzival is led by the hand to his destiny of becoming a noble knight. What contrasts these characters is their actions in being presented with a hand. For Gahmuret, he offers is hand in marriage twice, but abandons his first wife and is killed while away from his second. Parzival simply takes the hand of the noble and proceeds to his goal – to be a knight.
Making Connections
As we have already discussed, it is difficult to draw a connection between the poetry of the Nibelungenlied and the Greco-Roman mythology with which we are all so familiar. The reason for this is that the mythology of Germany developed pretty much independently of the classical influence. Yet, we find ourselves seeing Charon in the ferryman, and it got me to wondering not about why we make the connections, but of what their value to us could be.
For example, we find in the myth of Perseus connections to Siegfreid. Both set out to do battle with great monsters, be they dragons, Gorgons, or sea monsters. Both did so not only in the hopes of earning greater glory, but with the knowledge that such glory would inevitably allow them a better choice of mate: Andromeda or Kriemhild. We know that Siegfreid had a cloak of invisibility, and that Perseus has a helm of invisibility, both of which allowed these heroes to not only achieve victory, but to walk away from the battle alive and whole. While Perseus slays Medusa in order to complete a challenge that will both free his mother from the unwanted attentions of a king as well as help him to secure his lovely bride, Siegfreid has no such obvious plan. The slaying of the dragon adds to his heroism and his reputation, which in turn allows him to seek and win the hand of Kriemhild. The relationship for Siegfreid is not as direct as that of Perseus, yet the means accomplish similar ends. They both, in their ways, establish dynasties from these unions, and the offspring, either the children of simply the products of the relationship, change the course of history. It is also interesting to note that Pegasus was said to have sprung from the decapitated corpse of Medusa, so that as from a monster comes great beauty, so does Brunhild, after her defeat, go from being rather monstrous/other in her not traditionally feminine nature to a beauty, a virtuous and obedient wife who all but disappears behind the walls of her husband’s home. This connection begins all because of one word: invisibility.
The other vibrant connection that can be made is between Brunhild and Atalanta. Both are strong women, more powerful than most, and they choose to remain single and unmarried. In order to keep their power from waning by being forced into the hands of an unworthy man, they concoct trials that, presumably, no one can win. We know of Brunhild’s trials and that her reputation for strength is directly related to her choice of contests. The same is true for Atalanta. As a skilled runner and huntress, she once participated in the Calydonian Boar Hunt, and she struck the first blow on the vicious beast. While she did not kill it, Meleager awarded her the hide to show that he knew that if not for her, the victory would have been different. But, she did not want to marry, so any suitors for her hand must engage in a foot race with her. The ;psers opf this race would be killed. But one intrepid man, Melanion, prayed to Aphrodite for help in winning Atalanta. The goddess gave him three golden apples, which he used during the race, dropping them so that she was distracted, which allowed him to win and become her husband, and heir to her father’s kingdom. Thus, Atalanta goes from being one of the most impressive women in history, powerful in her won right and more so than most men, to a wife. Though these women influence the tales simply by having been what they were, they are no longer themselves, they are their husband’s wives, and as such, not quite as heroic as they once were. Atalanta and Brunhild, once the wedding night is successful, fade from the stories, are no longer relevant.
When it comes down to it, our English system of education and knowledge can be tied back most accurately to classical times. We really did get a lot from the Greeks. So, even though we should refrain from making these connections, we do so because it is natural. It is what we have been taught to do. This does not eliminate the problem of their accuracy and value, but rather it indicates that we are products of the classical age. We make these connections because they better help us to understand what and who we are dealing with, so we line them up against the more familiar archetypes to see if that adds another level of meaning. It absolutely does, but the question becomes, what would a German student do? They too have the benefit/hindrance of classical themes as a part of their educational system, but they also have a unique perspective as, for this reading, they are looking within their own culture as well. How valid are our links and connections when lined up against those of an “authentic” audience?
Slightly Strained Analogies to Medieval Literature: I'm Sure There's Plenty More Where this Came From
"Over the final four months of 2007, there was no position player more valuable to the Red Sox than Pedroia, who played his position like a 10-year veteran and who every time to the plate swung the bat like someone out of Beowulf."
Okay, I'm willing to go along with this one; I think carving a swathe through the Colorado Rockies can, in the interests of colorful sportswriting, be compared to decapitating Grendel's mother. Others are free to disagree, I suppose. But I think we can unanimously assert that, however dubious, this usage pales in comparison to Karl Rove's forays into the field.
Okay, I'm willing to go along with this one; I think carving a swathe through the Colorado Rockies can, in the interests of colorful sportswriting, be compared to decapitating Grendel's mother. Others are free to disagree, I suppose. But I think we can unanimously assert that, however dubious, this usage pales in comparison to Karl Rove's forays into the field.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Discovering the Knights: A Look at Troyes & Eschenbach
In the "Foreword" of Eschenbach's "Parzival," Hatto reminds the reader that Eschenbach did not base his text of Troyes' "The Story of the Grail (Perceval)," but on "the otherwise unknown 'Kyot the Provencal'" (p.10). Although this is the case, I thought it would be interesting to point of the similarities and differences that exist between the beginning of the two texts; particularly in the discovering of the knights scene.
While Eschenbach's text provides us with two hefty chapter's explaining how Parzival came to be, Troyes text begins with the discovery of the knights. All we know of Perceval is that he is "the son of the widow lady of the Waste Forest" (p.382). In Troyes version when the knights are galloping towards him(there are five of them, not three as in Eschenbach) Perceval thinks that devils are coming. He decides that when he sees whatever is making such a noise, that he will strike them down. This is our first indication that Perceval has a violent side. In the Eschenbach text, Parzival sees the knights immediately and drops to his knees, thinking each a "god" (p.72). He does not react violently; however, his violent tenedencies are apparent in his killing of birds on the prior page.
Moreover, in the Eschenbach text, the head knight, Karnahkarnanz, is almost pleased to be associating with Parzival. He frequently makes reference to Parzival's outstanding beauty. The knights know just by looking at him that "he bore the marks of God's own handiwork" (p.73). Karnahkarnanz states, "How I wish I had your looks" (p.74). The knights even laugh at Parzival's many inquests. The Troyes text is much different. The head knight is never given a name. Perceval's questions become almost annoying. The knights just want to get on their way and begin to lose their temper due to Perceval's ignorance. He is compared to a Welsh man. One vassal tells the head knight "'Sir you must be aware that all Welshmen are by nature more stupid than beasts in the field: this one is just like a beast'" (p.384). In these two versions we are presented with Parzival's ignorance in two different ways. One of which (the Eschenbach version) is amusing, the other (the Troyes version) which is revolting and uncivilized.
There are however, small similarities between the texts. Both Parzival's are so in awe of the knights, that each mistake the knights for Gods. "The boy thought he was God" (Eschenbach p.73). "Yet here I see God Almighty in person" (Troyes 383). However, Troyes over emphasizes Perceval's belief that these knights are Gods. He professes that he will worship them and even goes so far as to say "you are more beautiful than God" (p.383). His proclamations are again almost revolting. In this Christian text, he places a knight above God. Troyes stresses Perceval's belief that these knights are God, while Eschenbach briefly mentions it.
Taken from Chretien de Troyes "Athurian Romances" ed. and trans. by William W. Kibler London: Penguin Books 1991.
While Eschenbach's text provides us with two hefty chapter's explaining how Parzival came to be, Troyes text begins with the discovery of the knights. All we know of Perceval is that he is "the son of the widow lady of the Waste Forest" (p.382). In Troyes version when the knights are galloping towards him(there are five of them, not three as in Eschenbach) Perceval thinks that devils are coming. He decides that when he sees whatever is making such a noise, that he will strike them down. This is our first indication that Perceval has a violent side. In the Eschenbach text, Parzival sees the knights immediately and drops to his knees, thinking each a "god" (p.72). He does not react violently; however, his violent tenedencies are apparent in his killing of birds on the prior page.
Moreover, in the Eschenbach text, the head knight, Karnahkarnanz, is almost pleased to be associating with Parzival. He frequently makes reference to Parzival's outstanding beauty. The knights know just by looking at him that "he bore the marks of God's own handiwork" (p.73). Karnahkarnanz states, "How I wish I had your looks" (p.74). The knights even laugh at Parzival's many inquests. The Troyes text is much different. The head knight is never given a name. Perceval's questions become almost annoying. The knights just want to get on their way and begin to lose their temper due to Perceval's ignorance. He is compared to a Welsh man. One vassal tells the head knight "'Sir you must be aware that all Welshmen are by nature more stupid than beasts in the field: this one is just like a beast'" (p.384). In these two versions we are presented with Parzival's ignorance in two different ways. One of which (the Eschenbach version) is amusing, the other (the Troyes version) which is revolting and uncivilized.
There are however, small similarities between the texts. Both Parzival's are so in awe of the knights, that each mistake the knights for Gods. "The boy thought he was God" (Eschenbach p.73). "Yet here I see God Almighty in person" (Troyes 383). However, Troyes over emphasizes Perceval's belief that these knights are Gods. He professes that he will worship them and even goes so far as to say "you are more beautiful than God" (p.383). His proclamations are again almost revolting. In this Christian text, he places a knight above God. Troyes stresses Perceval's belief that these knights are God, while Eschenbach briefly mentions it.
Taken from Chretien de Troyes "Athurian Romances" ed. and trans. by William W. Kibler London: Penguin Books 1991.
Final Thoughts on The Nibelungenlied
After reading the ending of The Nibelungenlied, I have to say, I was pretty shocked at Kriemhild’s behavior. She becomes, perhaps, far more monstrous than Brunhild ever was, for although Brunhild killed her unsuccessful suitors with her monstrous strength, she did so because the suitors came to her and were under an unofficial contract. Knowing the rules of engagement, if you’ll forgive the terrible pun, Brunhild’s suitors still chose to continue with the competition, giving them the option to back out of the battle with their lives. Kriemhild, on the other hand, is responsible for the deaths of thousands of Burgundian knights, Hunnish knights, and the deaths of her kinsmen, all for revenge rather than defense of her kingdom, as in the case of Brunhild’s killings.
Both Brunhild and Kriemhild plot revenge in much the same way. They both plead their respective cases to able knights in their court. In Brunhild’s case, she pleads her case to Hagen, who is more than willing to take Siegfried out. In choosing Hagen, the cleverest and most vocal of the knights in Worms, Brunhild minimizes the bloodshed. Hagen, instead of approaching mighty Siegfried with brute force, finds a way to strike at his vulnerability. Enter Kriemhild and her naiveté. Once she reveals Siegfried’s weakness, no one but Siegfried has to die. Because of Hagen’s clever assassination plot, Brunhild’s plotting did not cause the death of more than one knight in Burgundy.
Kriemhild, however, doesn’t think her revenge strategy through as well. Instead of considering Hagen’s weakness or picking a worthy match for him, she pits all of her available forces against Hagen without regard to the consequences she or her knights must face. As a woman lacking great physical strength, Kriemhild’s ability to plot and to manipulate should be fairly keen as it one of the only political tools at her disposal. Kriemhild is unable to use her intellect to any great effect, and the lack of planning and strategy on Kriemhild’s part results in more deaths than Brunhild was responsible for, even in her armor-wearing, sword-swinging days.
But beyond her oversights in tactical issues or her underestimation of her kinsmen’s strength, it is Kriemhild’s attitude about the final revenge that is most monstrous. After Dietrich captures Hagen, he asks her to spare Hagen and Gunther because “He should not be made to suffer for standing bound before you.” (Nibelungenlied 289) Although she sends him away, he goes to a “cheerless dungeon” (289) Kriemhild relishes in the idea of torturing Hagen. According to the poet, “She kept them apart to add to their suffering.” (290) The poet hints at the fact that Kriemhild knows that keeping Hagen and Gunther separate will cause them pain, and she intentionally sets up their imprisonment in the most painful way possible.
The most monstrous image of Kriemhild is that of her carrying Gunther’s severed head by the hair. She brings it to Hagen, just to torture him. In this exchange, Kriemhild is at her most sadistic. She presents the severed head to Hagen as he is proclaiming his loyalty and devotion to his kinsmen. Taunting Hagen and making him look at the head of his king hanging by the hair in his mortal enemy’s hand embodies Kriemhild’s monstrousness better than her final act. While she kills Hagen with her own power with Siegfried’s sword, her derisive and contemptuous treatment of Hagen is what is most dangerous about Kriemhild.
Both Brunhild and Kriemhild plot revenge in much the same way. They both plead their respective cases to able knights in their court. In Brunhild’s case, she pleads her case to Hagen, who is more than willing to take Siegfried out. In choosing Hagen, the cleverest and most vocal of the knights in Worms, Brunhild minimizes the bloodshed. Hagen, instead of approaching mighty Siegfried with brute force, finds a way to strike at his vulnerability. Enter Kriemhild and her naiveté. Once she reveals Siegfried’s weakness, no one but Siegfried has to die. Because of Hagen’s clever assassination plot, Brunhild’s plotting did not cause the death of more than one knight in Burgundy.
Kriemhild, however, doesn’t think her revenge strategy through as well. Instead of considering Hagen’s weakness or picking a worthy match for him, she pits all of her available forces against Hagen without regard to the consequences she or her knights must face. As a woman lacking great physical strength, Kriemhild’s ability to plot and to manipulate should be fairly keen as it one of the only political tools at her disposal. Kriemhild is unable to use her intellect to any great effect, and the lack of planning and strategy on Kriemhild’s part results in more deaths than Brunhild was responsible for, even in her armor-wearing, sword-swinging days.
But beyond her oversights in tactical issues or her underestimation of her kinsmen’s strength, it is Kriemhild’s attitude about the final revenge that is most monstrous. After Dietrich captures Hagen, he asks her to spare Hagen and Gunther because “He should not be made to suffer for standing bound before you.” (Nibelungenlied 289) Although she sends him away, he goes to a “cheerless dungeon” (289) Kriemhild relishes in the idea of torturing Hagen. According to the poet, “She kept them apart to add to their suffering.” (290) The poet hints at the fact that Kriemhild knows that keeping Hagen and Gunther separate will cause them pain, and she intentionally sets up their imprisonment in the most painful way possible.
The most monstrous image of Kriemhild is that of her carrying Gunther’s severed head by the hair. She brings it to Hagen, just to torture him. In this exchange, Kriemhild is at her most sadistic. She presents the severed head to Hagen as he is proclaiming his loyalty and devotion to his kinsmen. Taunting Hagen and making him look at the head of his king hanging by the hair in his mortal enemy’s hand embodies Kriemhild’s monstrousness better than her final act. While she kills Hagen with her own power with Siegfried’s sword, her derisive and contemptuous treatment of Hagen is what is most dangerous about Kriemhild.
The Nibelungenlied as a Feminist Text
In preparing to finish up the Nibelungenlied, I picked up a book called Brides and Doom by Jerold Frakes which has a really interesting take on the true focus of the a few different German epics. Of the Nibelungenlied, Frakes says that he attempts to "address issues of sexual politics as represented by the Nibelungenlied" through the analysis of the property and power exercised by both Kriemhild and Brunhild. (5) He says that the Nibelungenlied poet is "consciously [confronting] the problems of gender which were generated by the social changes of the eleventh and twelfth centuries." (177) He even goes so far as the call the situations inflicted upon Brunhild and Kriemhild exactly what they are in modern terms - rape, wife beating, theft, oppression and so on.
I see the point; I actually appreciate the point. When we look at the storyline in purely narrative terms, we have two men who trick and rape one woman, beat another one when she threatens to expose them, and kill a man who is a threat to exposing the whole thing. The men then steal, sink, or leave behind all the property the women own so they are totally dependent on their husbands and are completely perplexed when one of the women decides she got the short end of the deal and takes matters into her own hands.
But in order for the work to be consciously feminist, the poem needs to present the events in those terms or comment upon the events and it does neither. The only person to be presented as "robbed" of something is Kriemhild, and even then she is only robbed of her husband, instead of, say, her treasure, her autonomy, her vengeance and her selfhood. When she tries to enact her vengeance, she is literally demonized and killed for her trouble.
I would be more likely to suggest that the gender and property relations in the play are problematic, but I don't know if I could go so far as to say they are consciously problematized.
I see the point; I actually appreciate the point. When we look at the storyline in purely narrative terms, we have two men who trick and rape one woman, beat another one when she threatens to expose them, and kill a man who is a threat to exposing the whole thing. The men then steal, sink, or leave behind all the property the women own so they are totally dependent on their husbands and are completely perplexed when one of the women decides she got the short end of the deal and takes matters into her own hands.
But in order for the work to be consciously feminist, the poem needs to present the events in those terms or comment upon the events and it does neither. The only person to be presented as "robbed" of something is Kriemhild, and even then she is only robbed of her husband, instead of, say, her treasure, her autonomy, her vengeance and her selfhood. When she tries to enact her vengeance, she is literally demonized and killed for her trouble.
I would be more likely to suggest that the gender and property relations in the play are problematic, but I don't know if I could go so far as to say they are consciously problematized.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Thirsty?
We left off with the Burgundians/Nibelungs drinking (and enjoying) the blood of their enemies while Etzel's hall burns down around them. I'm not sure if any of us want or need to spend much more time with this, but there is one more analogue from earlier in the poem which might shed some light on this enigmatic and gruesome episode.
The burning of the hall and the drinking of blood marks the transition to the sustained dramatic height of the poem's second half: the disastrous and emotionally fraught encounters with Rudiger and his vassals, Dietrich's vassals, and Dietrich, and the final face-to-face of Hagen and Kriemhild. In the first half of the poem, the hunting trip with Siegfried occupies a structurally equivalent position: after the inciting incident (quarrel of the queens - slaughter of squires/killing of Ortlieb), past the point of no return (decision to murder Siegfried - refusal to surrender Hagen and accept a truce), but before the final crescendo of connected catastrophes (in the first half of the poem, the murder, alienation of Kriemhild, and theft of the treasure, ending with the conspicuous lack of a direct encounter between Hagen and Kriemhild - "Hagen dared not enter her presence" [146]).
At the end of his hard day's hunting, "Siegfried was tormented by thirst" (129), there being no wine to be had in the camp. Actually, this is because Hagen has deliberately sent the wine elsewhere in order to inveigle Siegfried into a vulnerable position, occasioning "perfidious" Gunther's remark: "This is Hagen's fault - he wants us to die of thirst" (129). Siegfried's thirst might also remind us of the ritual performed to integrate Siegfried into the Burgundian court after his first truculent arrival: "Word was given to pour out Gunther's wine in greeting" (31). Now, as part of the severance of these ties of service and alliance, Hagen directs Siegfried not to the missing wine that would convey and symbolize it, but to "a cool spring nearby" (129), which becomes a stream on the next page, "cool, sweet, and clear" (130). In other words, Hagen has maneuvered Siegfried out of the Burgundian sociopolitical orbit and back into the natural world from which he emerged, his own world - except without its mythic, magic, monstrous element. Instead of dragon's blood in which to bathe and become invulnerable, Siegfried only has streamwater to drink to quench his very human thirst. (Is it too much of a stretch to quote the Bible at this juncture: "After this, Jesus...saith, 'I thirst'" [John 19:28]?) Deprived of his shield and weapons by another trick, Siegfried bends to drink and is speared in the back.
This scene very elegantly accomplishes Siegfried's transition from monster/hero/other to man - his humanization, which is as much as to say, his death. In Northrop Frye's terms, we move from a romance to a high mimetic register. Before killing him, Hagen reads and (re)interprets Siegfried, identifying his human points. (Siegfried has been depicted in explicitly textual terms, as a book to be read, at a previous vulnerable moment, his introduction to Kriemhild: "Siegfried son of Siegmund stood there handsome as though limned on parchment with all a master's skill" [48].) Hagen steers thirsty Siegfried to the brook and then "searched for the sign on the brave man's tunic" and "hurled the spear at the cross" (130). (Hatto is convinced that the use of "cross" here is a slip-up, and he may be right, but it would not be the first time in literature that a spear is driven into a cross to enormous emotional and thematic effect.) The stabbing fixes Siegfried, pinned like a butterfly in a display case, to his human identity. It also lines Siegfried up with Brunhild; just as the loss of Brunhild's virginity diminished her monstrous otherness and deprived her of her power, so Siegfried, when penetrated, lapses into humanity and loses his superhuman power: "The hero's face had lost its colour and he was no longer able to stand. His strength had ebbed away" (131). Symbolically deflowered, he falls "among the flowers" (131), which become "drenched with blood" as he breathes his last (132). Siegfried's superhumanity bleeds out into the fragility of the natural world. Nor, to conclude the discussion of this scene, are these flowers the only things stained by Siegfried's blood: "the hero's heart's blood leapt from the wound and splashed against Hagen's clothes" (130). As Siegfried, humanized, dies, the otherness or monstrosity into which he was baptized by the dragon's blood passes to Hagen as he in turn is bathed by the blood of an Other.
At the equivalent structural point of the poem's second half, the blood-drinking episode recycles many elements and motifs from Siegfried's death by the stream: thirst, wine/water/blood, the gain or loss of strength, human/natural spheres, Christian associations, and the movement between humanity and monstrous otherness carried by the flow of blood. This time, instead of in the natural world of forest and stream, the action takes place at the heart of the human sociopolitical sphere, Etzel's hall. The hall, however, is burning down, and indeed these sections of the poem show us a social order in total collapse: sovereigns beg their vassals to fight for them, warriors bound by friendship and marriage kill each other nevertheless, and entire feudal and kinship societies meet their annihilation. Amid this universal collapse of the human and social, a Burgundian knight complains, "This fierce heat has given me such a terrible thirst that I fear I shall soon expire amid all these perils," to which Hagen responds, "if any of you are plagued with thirst let them drink the blood here - in such heat it will be better than wine!" (261)
As it did upon Siegfried's arrival at Worms, sharing wine in this case would have symbolized and enacted the strengthening of the human social order, retying the feudal/kinship bonds among the Burgundians. However, this very humane order is being visibly destroyed, and in Hagen's eyes, at least, it is too late to save it. By consuming, instead, the blood of their enemies, the othered Huns, the Burgundians/Nibelungs move to a superhuman (inhuman?), monstrous level themselves - joining Hagen in the otherness he acquired through his baptism in Siegfried's blood. Ingesting this blood also gives them the exceptional strength lost by Siegfried when his blood was spilled: "their bodies were greatly strengthened by it" (262). The Burgundians began their day of slaughter by receiving a traditional Christian mass; during the night after it, they now observe a sinister heroic mass, celebrating not Christ's humanity but their collective inhumanity.
This barbarous scene ends with a poignant detail, though: Giselher's remark that "it will soon be dawning, for a cool breeze has sprung up" (262). Such breezes, clean and refreshing, waft intermittently through this part of the poem, usually seeming to blow just over the heads or in front of the faces of the characters describing them. They carry over the associations of the stream in the first half, "cool, sweet, and clear," translating these characteristics from water to air. The stream from which Siegfried quenched his thirst before his death now flows outside the ruined hall in which the Burgundians have been trapped, or have trapped themselves. It subtly comes to represent an unobtainable relief, sought by whatever remains human among the Burgundians even after their monstrous ritual (usually voiced, as above, by Giselher, one of the least othered among them): "'Death has robbed us mightily,' said Young Giselher. 'Now leave your weeping and let us go out into the air so that, battle-weary men, we may cool our armour. I fear God will not grant us longer life here'" (274). Siegfried's humane death by the stream among the flowers, however mutable and fragile its associations, seems to be a death that Gunther (beheaded in captivity by his sister's orders), Hagen (cut down, "powerless" [290], by a woman), or any of the hordes killed in the claustrophobic slaughter in the hall, might otherwise have envied. But Hagen, who offered water for Siegfried's thirst, humanizing him in order to kill him and shore up the social order, has now given his thirsty companions blood, turning away from the collapsing social order to choose monstrous otherness and deaths to match.
Anyway, so much for the Nibelungenlied and its beverages. In the future, when I want to imagine blood-wine I'll just watch Star Trek.
The burning of the hall and the drinking of blood marks the transition to the sustained dramatic height of the poem's second half: the disastrous and emotionally fraught encounters with Rudiger and his vassals, Dietrich's vassals, and Dietrich, and the final face-to-face of Hagen and Kriemhild. In the first half of the poem, the hunting trip with Siegfried occupies a structurally equivalent position: after the inciting incident (quarrel of the queens - slaughter of squires/killing of Ortlieb), past the point of no return (decision to murder Siegfried - refusal to surrender Hagen and accept a truce), but before the final crescendo of connected catastrophes (in the first half of the poem, the murder, alienation of Kriemhild, and theft of the treasure, ending with the conspicuous lack of a direct encounter between Hagen and Kriemhild - "Hagen dared not enter her presence" [146]).
At the end of his hard day's hunting, "Siegfried was tormented by thirst" (129), there being no wine to be had in the camp. Actually, this is because Hagen has deliberately sent the wine elsewhere in order to inveigle Siegfried into a vulnerable position, occasioning "perfidious" Gunther's remark: "This is Hagen's fault - he wants us to die of thirst" (129). Siegfried's thirst might also remind us of the ritual performed to integrate Siegfried into the Burgundian court after his first truculent arrival: "Word was given to pour out Gunther's wine in greeting" (31). Now, as part of the severance of these ties of service and alliance, Hagen directs Siegfried not to the missing wine that would convey and symbolize it, but to "a cool spring nearby" (129), which becomes a stream on the next page, "cool, sweet, and clear" (130). In other words, Hagen has maneuvered Siegfried out of the Burgundian sociopolitical orbit and back into the natural world from which he emerged, his own world - except without its mythic, magic, monstrous element. Instead of dragon's blood in which to bathe and become invulnerable, Siegfried only has streamwater to drink to quench his very human thirst. (Is it too much of a stretch to quote the Bible at this juncture: "After this, Jesus...saith, 'I thirst'" [John 19:28]?) Deprived of his shield and weapons by another trick, Siegfried bends to drink and is speared in the back.
This scene very elegantly accomplishes Siegfried's transition from monster/hero/other to man - his humanization, which is as much as to say, his death. In Northrop Frye's terms, we move from a romance to a high mimetic register. Before killing him, Hagen reads and (re)interprets Siegfried, identifying his human points. (Siegfried has been depicted in explicitly textual terms, as a book to be read, at a previous vulnerable moment, his introduction to Kriemhild: "Siegfried son of Siegmund stood there handsome as though limned on parchment with all a master's skill" [48].) Hagen steers thirsty Siegfried to the brook and then "searched for the sign on the brave man's tunic" and "hurled the spear at the cross" (130). (Hatto is convinced that the use of "cross" here is a slip-up, and he may be right, but it would not be the first time in literature that a spear is driven into a cross to enormous emotional and thematic effect.) The stabbing fixes Siegfried, pinned like a butterfly in a display case, to his human identity. It also lines Siegfried up with Brunhild; just as the loss of Brunhild's virginity diminished her monstrous otherness and deprived her of her power, so Siegfried, when penetrated, lapses into humanity and loses his superhuman power: "The hero's face had lost its colour and he was no longer able to stand. His strength had ebbed away" (131). Symbolically deflowered, he falls "among the flowers" (131), which become "drenched with blood" as he breathes his last (132). Siegfried's superhumanity bleeds out into the fragility of the natural world. Nor, to conclude the discussion of this scene, are these flowers the only things stained by Siegfried's blood: "the hero's heart's blood leapt from the wound and splashed against Hagen's clothes" (130). As Siegfried, humanized, dies, the otherness or monstrosity into which he was baptized by the dragon's blood passes to Hagen as he in turn is bathed by the blood of an Other.
At the equivalent structural point of the poem's second half, the blood-drinking episode recycles many elements and motifs from Siegfried's death by the stream: thirst, wine/water/blood, the gain or loss of strength, human/natural spheres, Christian associations, and the movement between humanity and monstrous otherness carried by the flow of blood. This time, instead of in the natural world of forest and stream, the action takes place at the heart of the human sociopolitical sphere, Etzel's hall. The hall, however, is burning down, and indeed these sections of the poem show us a social order in total collapse: sovereigns beg their vassals to fight for them, warriors bound by friendship and marriage kill each other nevertheless, and entire feudal and kinship societies meet their annihilation. Amid this universal collapse of the human and social, a Burgundian knight complains, "This fierce heat has given me such a terrible thirst that I fear I shall soon expire amid all these perils," to which Hagen responds, "if any of you are plagued with thirst let them drink the blood here - in such heat it will be better than wine!" (261)
As it did upon Siegfried's arrival at Worms, sharing wine in this case would have symbolized and enacted the strengthening of the human social order, retying the feudal/kinship bonds among the Burgundians. However, this very humane order is being visibly destroyed, and in Hagen's eyes, at least, it is too late to save it. By consuming, instead, the blood of their enemies, the othered Huns, the Burgundians/Nibelungs move to a superhuman (inhuman?), monstrous level themselves - joining Hagen in the otherness he acquired through his baptism in Siegfried's blood. Ingesting this blood also gives them the exceptional strength lost by Siegfried when his blood was spilled: "their bodies were greatly strengthened by it" (262). The Burgundians began their day of slaughter by receiving a traditional Christian mass; during the night after it, they now observe a sinister heroic mass, celebrating not Christ's humanity but their collective inhumanity.
This barbarous scene ends with a poignant detail, though: Giselher's remark that "it will soon be dawning, for a cool breeze has sprung up" (262). Such breezes, clean and refreshing, waft intermittently through this part of the poem, usually seeming to blow just over the heads or in front of the faces of the characters describing them. They carry over the associations of the stream in the first half, "cool, sweet, and clear," translating these characteristics from water to air. The stream from which Siegfried quenched his thirst before his death now flows outside the ruined hall in which the Burgundians have been trapped, or have trapped themselves. It subtly comes to represent an unobtainable relief, sought by whatever remains human among the Burgundians even after their monstrous ritual (usually voiced, as above, by Giselher, one of the least othered among them): "'Death has robbed us mightily,' said Young Giselher. 'Now leave your weeping and let us go out into the air so that, battle-weary men, we may cool our armour. I fear God will not grant us longer life here'" (274). Siegfried's humane death by the stream among the flowers, however mutable and fragile its associations, seems to be a death that Gunther (beheaded in captivity by his sister's orders), Hagen (cut down, "powerless" [290], by a woman), or any of the hordes killed in the claustrophobic slaughter in the hall, might otherwise have envied. But Hagen, who offered water for Siegfried's thirst, humanizing him in order to kill him and shore up the social order, has now given his thirsty companions blood, turning away from the collapsing social order to choose monstrous otherness and deaths to match.
Anyway, so much for the Nibelungenlied and its beverages. In the future, when I want to imagine blood-wine I'll just watch Star Trek.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
The Puppet Master Hagen
In our texts thus far we have most often discussed the characters in terms of strength, power, beauty and chivalric courtesy. Our heroes most often excel in these characteristics often othered or perceived as monstrous as a result. Beowulf is strong and handsom, Gawain carries himself with utmost chivalry and strength, Roland is brave and strong to the point invincibility, but never have we ever had a character who truly excelled in intelligence to the point that it really othered them as a character. Roland's pal Oliver seems to be the closest to that standard, but he is rather short lived as he easily succumbs and is overridden by Roland. This has held true for the most part until now when we have met Hagen.
His intelligence, influence and role within the court at Worms is desperately understated in the first half the text, and yet he is actually in control of all the events that occur. He is the dark puppet master who does not receive the glory associated with physical prowess, chivalric nobility and beauty. So I will expose his intelligence and give him the due he deserves.
First off we must notice his wealth of knowledge. He is the one that knows who Siegfried is and knows the stories and lore behind him. No one else has a clue. This knowledge and lore seems to carry beyond Siegfried as well as in later chapters he recognizes the minstrels of Etzel's court. "But nobody knew until Hagen of Troneck saw them" (182). The court is basically beholden to Hagen for information on anyone who arrives. He is always the first person consulted. The knowledge in and of itself is powerful, but then Hagen adds another element of conniving intelligence when pulling the strings behind decisions.
"why don't you tell Siegfried?"(34) is Hagen's advice upon learning of the Saxon threat. It is at his prompting that Gunther recruits the warrior to his bidding. Hagen's role in this is underplayed. After he initiates the idea, he disappears from the text and the actual action is carried out by Gunther in our eyes and as such more readily attributed to him. This happens again when Gunther desires Brunhild. He declares in the presence of Siegfried, "I should advise you to ask Siegfried to share these perils with you, seeing as he is so knowledgable about Brunhild's affairs" (53). It is his only contribution to the conversation and the only mention of him until it is revealed that he is accompanying them. And once in Iceland his puppetry continues as on page 69 he expresses fear after Gunther and Siegfried have bested Brunhild that Brunhild's coming vassals will destroy them. As a result of this Siegfried declares "I will prevent it" and sets off to get his vassals. All of these instances prove Hagen's subtle impetuous force the characters to dance while the poet seemingly hides him from view refusing to give the man's cunning it's due glory making it all the more underplayed and in a sense sinister. Hagen's next acts are less subtle, but again his cunning is involved as he tricks Kriemhild into revealing Siegfried's weakness. And his subtle power over the rest of the Kings who are supposed to be his masters is revealed as they fail to stop him despite their misgivings and desire for Siegfried to live on.
Hagen is in fact the greatest hidden power in this story and is comparable to Siegfried's cloak, which gives power to the invisible. Hidden in the shadows forcing events, controlling the scenes and always forcing the course in his vision. The story indicates that he will be undone by Kriemhild's trick in getting the Burgundians to come to Etzel's court. And yet though it was against his will, Hagen has provided that he be prepared not to go down without a fight. He has convinced his Kings of an honor guard and even at Etzel's court has put Kriemhild off her game by connection with Dietrich. He is othered by his intelligence and prudence which excels beyond all others and his own physical prowess. As an example, in his battle with Gelpfrat he understands his own tenuous grip in the face of overwhelming power and calls for support from his brother to finish his foe. He is a man of the shadows who subtly manipulates everyone else to do his bidding. As such it is easy to see that many shall perish for his sake though he be not the king, for in fact he is greater than the kings. He is the puppet master and all his puppets must die before him.
His intelligence, influence and role within the court at Worms is desperately understated in the first half the text, and yet he is actually in control of all the events that occur. He is the dark puppet master who does not receive the glory associated with physical prowess, chivalric nobility and beauty. So I will expose his intelligence and give him the due he deserves.
First off we must notice his wealth of knowledge. He is the one that knows who Siegfried is and knows the stories and lore behind him. No one else has a clue. This knowledge and lore seems to carry beyond Siegfried as well as in later chapters he recognizes the minstrels of Etzel's court. "But nobody knew until Hagen of Troneck saw them" (182). The court is basically beholden to Hagen for information on anyone who arrives. He is always the first person consulted. The knowledge in and of itself is powerful, but then Hagen adds another element of conniving intelligence when pulling the strings behind decisions.
"why don't you tell Siegfried?"(34) is Hagen's advice upon learning of the Saxon threat. It is at his prompting that Gunther recruits the warrior to his bidding. Hagen's role in this is underplayed. After he initiates the idea, he disappears from the text and the actual action is carried out by Gunther in our eyes and as such more readily attributed to him. This happens again when Gunther desires Brunhild. He declares in the presence of Siegfried, "I should advise you to ask Siegfried to share these perils with you, seeing as he is so knowledgable about Brunhild's affairs" (53). It is his only contribution to the conversation and the only mention of him until it is revealed that he is accompanying them. And once in Iceland his puppetry continues as on page 69 he expresses fear after Gunther and Siegfried have bested Brunhild that Brunhild's coming vassals will destroy them. As a result of this Siegfried declares "I will prevent it" and sets off to get his vassals. All of these instances prove Hagen's subtle impetuous force the characters to dance while the poet seemingly hides him from view refusing to give the man's cunning it's due glory making it all the more underplayed and in a sense sinister. Hagen's next acts are less subtle, but again his cunning is involved as he tricks Kriemhild into revealing Siegfried's weakness. And his subtle power over the rest of the Kings who are supposed to be his masters is revealed as they fail to stop him despite their misgivings and desire for Siegfried to live on.
Hagen is in fact the greatest hidden power in this story and is comparable to Siegfried's cloak, which gives power to the invisible. Hidden in the shadows forcing events, controlling the scenes and always forcing the course in his vision. The story indicates that he will be undone by Kriemhild's trick in getting the Burgundians to come to Etzel's court. And yet though it was against his will, Hagen has provided that he be prepared not to go down without a fight. He has convinced his Kings of an honor guard and even at Etzel's court has put Kriemhild off her game by connection with Dietrich. He is othered by his intelligence and prudence which excels beyond all others and his own physical prowess. As an example, in his battle with Gelpfrat he understands his own tenuous grip in the face of overwhelming power and calls for support from his brother to finish his foe. He is a man of the shadows who subtly manipulates everyone else to do his bidding. As such it is easy to see that many shall perish for his sake though he be not the king, for in fact he is greater than the kings. He is the puppet master and all his puppets must die before him.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Isolation and Proximity as indicators of Otherness and Power
Transitioning to The Nibelungenlied from Sir Gawain romances, I’m noticing some big differences in the way women are portrayed. For me, the women of Sir Gawain function as another force determining his actions and highlighting his lack of agency. As soon as he meets a woman, be it Ragnelle or the Green Knight’s wife, he ceases to assert his own will, defaulting to the lady out of courtesy. Particularly Ragnelle. She asks him to choose which he would rather have: a wife fair by day, hideous at night or a wife hideous by day, fair at night. Rather than assert his wish, Gawain considers it for a moment and then basically says “Yes, dear. Whatever you want, dear.” Even when Gawain refuses and attempts to stand his ground, his will is still subjugated by the will of the lady of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. He refuses to take the belt/girdle, but the lady insists and eventually he gives.
In the Gawain romances, it’s the woman’s appearance that changes Gawain. The lady’s goodly appearance influences Gawain’s actions, and Ragnelle’s beauty at the end of the romance compels Gawain to give up jousting. However, more specifically, her proximity to Gawain is what sways Gawain. In both instances when Gawain’s will is melded to the wishes of Ragnelle and the Lady respectively, they are in their shared bedchamber.
In The Nibelungenlied, however, women are rarely in close quarters with men, owing to the strict societal codes of behavior. Women are kept hidden and secret from men. Brunhild expresses this best with her interactions with her troop of maids. “Then the Queen told her superb young ladies to move away from the windows—they were not to stand there as a spectacle for strangers.” (Nibelungenlied 60) While the seclusion speaks to the maintenance of women’s secrecy, the maids turn the idea of spectacle on its head. Unlike the women of Gawain romances, the ladies are not displayed, but they spy on showy Sigfried and Gunther, dressed in their fine new clothes.
Proximity with ladies in Gawain’s case made him subject to the will of women, whereas in Sigfried and Gunther’s case, separating women, literally behind walls, makes the men the object in the relationship. Gawain is passive because of the sway of the lady’s presence. Sigfried and Gunther are not aware of the maid’s voyeurism, which gives the women the power of the gaze. The act of secluding the Other, in the case of The Nibelungenlied, allows the maids, a usually passive and peripheral position for a woman, to become powerful in a way unlike the women of Gawain.
Unlike the women of Gawain, the maids of The Nibelungenlied are not to be looked at. In fact, Sigfried and Gunther fall in love with Kriemhild and Brunhild not because they have gazed upon the most wondrous beauty of their generation. They “fall in love” with them because they hear about their beauty. Once again, Kriemhild and Brunhild exist in the story behind a wall, and in the case of Kriemhild, only she has the power to gaze upon Sigfried. “Had Siegfried but known that his beloved was observing him, it would have been a source of unending delight to him, and if he could have seen her I dare assert no greater pleasure could ever have befallen him.” (Nibelungenlied 31-32) Kriemhild wields the power to bestow great pleasure on Siegfried by showing herself, but she can hold back because she is in the position to watch but not be watched. Unlike Gawain’s ladies who rely on their appearance and proximity, using intimacy to win Gawain over, Kriemhild and the other maids use distance to create a mystique, which gives them more power and puts them in the position of observer, a place normally reserved for men.
In the Gawain romances, it’s the woman’s appearance that changes Gawain. The lady’s goodly appearance influences Gawain’s actions, and Ragnelle’s beauty at the end of the romance compels Gawain to give up jousting. However, more specifically, her proximity to Gawain is what sways Gawain. In both instances when Gawain’s will is melded to the wishes of Ragnelle and the Lady respectively, they are in their shared bedchamber.
In The Nibelungenlied, however, women are rarely in close quarters with men, owing to the strict societal codes of behavior. Women are kept hidden and secret from men. Brunhild expresses this best with her interactions with her troop of maids. “Then the Queen told her superb young ladies to move away from the windows—they were not to stand there as a spectacle for strangers.” (Nibelungenlied 60) While the seclusion speaks to the maintenance of women’s secrecy, the maids turn the idea of spectacle on its head. Unlike the women of Gawain romances, the ladies are not displayed, but they spy on showy Sigfried and Gunther, dressed in their fine new clothes.
Proximity with ladies in Gawain’s case made him subject to the will of women, whereas in Sigfried and Gunther’s case, separating women, literally behind walls, makes the men the object in the relationship. Gawain is passive because of the sway of the lady’s presence. Sigfried and Gunther are not aware of the maid’s voyeurism, which gives the women the power of the gaze. The act of secluding the Other, in the case of The Nibelungenlied, allows the maids, a usually passive and peripheral position for a woman, to become powerful in a way unlike the women of Gawain.
Unlike the women of Gawain, the maids of The Nibelungenlied are not to be looked at. In fact, Sigfried and Gunther fall in love with Kriemhild and Brunhild not because they have gazed upon the most wondrous beauty of their generation. They “fall in love” with them because they hear about their beauty. Once again, Kriemhild and Brunhild exist in the story behind a wall, and in the case of Kriemhild, only she has the power to gaze upon Sigfried. “Had Siegfried but known that his beloved was observing him, it would have been a source of unending delight to him, and if he could have seen her I dare assert no greater pleasure could ever have befallen him.” (Nibelungenlied 31-32) Kriemhild wields the power to bestow great pleasure on Siegfried by showing herself, but she can hold back because she is in the position to watch but not be watched. Unlike Gawain’s ladies who rely on their appearance and proximity, using intimacy to win Gawain over, Kriemhild and the other maids use distance to create a mystique, which gives them more power and puts them in the position of observer, a place normally reserved for men.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Kriemhild’s & Brunhild’s Promise of Love & Damnation.
After reading Francis G. Gentry’s essay, I revisited the opening of, “ The Nibelungenlied.” Gentry focuses on the ‘conceptual pair of love and sorrow’ that seems to be invoked, and foreshadowed through Kriemhild’s character,and I think this theme is readily felt on the first page of the story. Despite this, Gentry fails to assert how a profound female power drives this theme or motif in the story.
The fact that the story first focuses on Kriemhild’s before anyone else, instills weight and significance to her actions, words, and presence within the story; in first introducing us to her, she is already given an authoritative voice in the story. Kriemhild seems to possess a profound feminine power, or at least a profound access to a feminine power. Not only is she ‘beyond all measure lovely,’ but she is described as ‘the adornment of her sex.’ Here, Kriemhild is simultaneously reduced to her sex, and instilled with a kind of power, for her sex, her femininity or any notions attached to ‘female,’ is something that adds to her attractiveness, allure, or one could even say, her influence over men. With this in mind, after Kriemhild’s initial introduction, the poet reveals, ‘She came to be a beautiful woman, causing many knights to lose their lives.’ The poet also describes how she was ‘made as if for love’s caress.’ Thus, Kriemhild seems to promises both love and death; this illustrates Gentry’s examination of the relationship between love and sorrow in the story, for one could argue, that Kriemhild’s love for Siegfried is damning, or, will produce sorrow/grief. As Gentry points out, Kriemhild’s conversation with her mother, on the first page of, “The Nibelungenlied,” reinforces the ‘leitmotif of love/sorrow.’ Yet, I think Gentry fails to assert that there is a profound feminine power or element within the story, at the root of this love/sorrow motif.’
Shortly after Kreimhild’s introduction, it states: “They (Lords) held sway at Worms beside the Rhine…were served in high honour by many proud knights…till their dying days, when the enmity of two noble ladies was to bring them to a sad end.” This line seems to determine Siegfried’s, as well as Gunther, Gernot, and Giselher’s fate. The line quite literally states that feelings of hostility, hatred, ill will, animosity manifest themselves between two women, who I think after reading the first section of this book, we can assume are Kreimhild and Brunhild; despite the fact that this ‘enmity’ has not yet developed in the first section of this book, they are the most prominent of all the female figures that appear. Also, although Brunhild does not literally appear on the first page, , she seems to possess a certain power over Gunther, who motivated by his ‘love’ for her, with the aid of Siegfried, ‘wins’ her over; this mirrors, to a degree, Kreimhild’s ‘love’ and how it motivates Siegfried’s actions. Like the women in, “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight,” Kriemhild and Brunhild seem to be the driving forces behind the events that will take place in the story; both seem to promise damnation, while motivating the knights’ actions through the ‘love’ that they are believed to promise. The fact that they are both women, and are prominent figures whose relationship seems to damn the knights’ in the story, reinforces how this motif of love/sorrow is closely connected to a profound female force.
I think it’s curious how Brunhild seems to possess both feminine and masculine attributes. Brunhild possesses the same political status of a man or ‘Lord,’ for the fortress of Isenstein is in ‘Brunhild’s land (page 59), and her territory is also described as the ‘Lady’s (Brunhild’s) country.’ It almost seems as if Seigfried, Gunther, Hagen, and Dancwart enter a profound feminine realm; not only is this ‘Brunhild’s land,’ but the repeated images of beautiful maidens seems to reinforce this. Complicating this, is Brunhild’s surprising ‘tremendous strength (page 66), which Hagen at two points in the story, describes as emanating from the devil. It was interesting also, how the story of Eve is invoked on page sixty-five with Hagan’s words; the allusion to Eve and the devil, as well as Brunhild’s ‘masculine strength,’ seem to not only illuminate or enhance the queens physical power or influence, but her ability to damn. Hence, illustrating the motif of ‘love/sorrow,’ and adding a new element to the feminine driving factor behind it – evil. Kriemhild has yet to be equated with evil, although her prominence, femininity, and promise of both ‘love and death,’ associate her with Brunhild. It will be interesting to see how this story develop, and more importantly how Kriemhild may embody the ‘evilness’ that is attached to Brunhild’s femininity or female power. Also, I’m interested to see the repercussions that are given birth to when Gunther and Siegfried ‘deceive (page 63)’ Brunhild, for they seem to have directly violated her trust, and infringed on the power she possesses.
The fact that the story first focuses on Kriemhild’s before anyone else, instills weight and significance to her actions, words, and presence within the story; in first introducing us to her, she is already given an authoritative voice in the story. Kriemhild seems to possess a profound feminine power, or at least a profound access to a feminine power. Not only is she ‘beyond all measure lovely,’ but she is described as ‘the adornment of her sex.’ Here, Kriemhild is simultaneously reduced to her sex, and instilled with a kind of power, for her sex, her femininity or any notions attached to ‘female,’ is something that adds to her attractiveness, allure, or one could even say, her influence over men. With this in mind, after Kriemhild’s initial introduction, the poet reveals, ‘She came to be a beautiful woman, causing many knights to lose their lives.’ The poet also describes how she was ‘made as if for love’s caress.’ Thus, Kriemhild seems to promises both love and death; this illustrates Gentry’s examination of the relationship between love and sorrow in the story, for one could argue, that Kriemhild’s love for Siegfried is damning, or, will produce sorrow/grief. As Gentry points out, Kriemhild’s conversation with her mother, on the first page of, “The Nibelungenlied,” reinforces the ‘leitmotif of love/sorrow.’ Yet, I think Gentry fails to assert that there is a profound feminine power or element within the story, at the root of this love/sorrow motif.’
Shortly after Kreimhild’s introduction, it states: “They (Lords) held sway at Worms beside the Rhine…were served in high honour by many proud knights…till their dying days, when the enmity of two noble ladies was to bring them to a sad end.” This line seems to determine Siegfried’s, as well as Gunther, Gernot, and Giselher’s fate. The line quite literally states that feelings of hostility, hatred, ill will, animosity manifest themselves between two women, who I think after reading the first section of this book, we can assume are Kreimhild and Brunhild; despite the fact that this ‘enmity’ has not yet developed in the first section of this book, they are the most prominent of all the female figures that appear. Also, although Brunhild does not literally appear on the first page, , she seems to possess a certain power over Gunther, who motivated by his ‘love’ for her, with the aid of Siegfried, ‘wins’ her over; this mirrors, to a degree, Kreimhild’s ‘love’ and how it motivates Siegfried’s actions. Like the women in, “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight,” Kriemhild and Brunhild seem to be the driving forces behind the events that will take place in the story; both seem to promise damnation, while motivating the knights’ actions through the ‘love’ that they are believed to promise. The fact that they are both women, and are prominent figures whose relationship seems to damn the knights’ in the story, reinforces how this motif of love/sorrow is closely connected to a profound female force.
I think it’s curious how Brunhild seems to possess both feminine and masculine attributes. Brunhild possesses the same political status of a man or ‘Lord,’ for the fortress of Isenstein is in ‘Brunhild’s land (page 59), and her territory is also described as the ‘Lady’s (Brunhild’s) country.’ It almost seems as if Seigfried, Gunther, Hagen, and Dancwart enter a profound feminine realm; not only is this ‘Brunhild’s land,’ but the repeated images of beautiful maidens seems to reinforce this. Complicating this, is Brunhild’s surprising ‘tremendous strength (page 66), which Hagen at two points in the story, describes as emanating from the devil. It was interesting also, how the story of Eve is invoked on page sixty-five with Hagan’s words; the allusion to Eve and the devil, as well as Brunhild’s ‘masculine strength,’ seem to not only illuminate or enhance the queens physical power or influence, but her ability to damn. Hence, illustrating the motif of ‘love/sorrow,’ and adding a new element to the feminine driving factor behind it – evil. Kriemhild has yet to be equated with evil, although her prominence, femininity, and promise of both ‘love and death,’ associate her with Brunhild. It will be interesting to see how this story develop, and more importantly how Kriemhild may embody the ‘evilness’ that is attached to Brunhild’s femininity or female power. Also, I’m interested to see the repercussions that are given birth to when Gunther and Siegfried ‘deceive (page 63)’ Brunhild, for they seem to have directly violated her trust, and infringed on the power she possesses.
The Hacking of Helmets
I know now that whenever I hear of medieval battle I shall always remember that it is merely a hacking of helmets. It was very interesting to me to see the words that were repeated over and over again in the Nibelungenlied. Of armor it was mostly helmets and shields that were discussed. "Numberless helmets" that gleam and stream with blood (39) and "countless shields" that are often pierced through and through. And I also always enjoy a good sharp and keen sword which has been laid about with so well.
For me these words and recurring descriptions are pretty funny and seem in such good blatant cheer that I can't help but enjoy them. But I also think they are indicative of the trend so far to be very showy and upfront. It produces in the story a forcible nature that seems to be driving ahead to its goal. And again I think this is linked and in a way mirrors the actions and character of Siegfried. His brashness and almost complete disregard for anyone else's desires seem in tune with he tone of the novel and remind me of another such character.
Of all the other characters we've read so far, Siegfried actually reminds me most of Roland. They cut a similar figure. They both are loyal to their friends, magnificent in battle and similarly are invincible in battle. As it stands so far I can not see Siegfried being defeated in combat. It seems that, in fact, he must fall victim to some other nefarious plot, much as Roland does, for Roland does not die of wounds in battle but of self-inflicted wounds in response to treachery. The are both brash as well, Roland declaring they will fight a futile fight and win, and Siegfried entering Worms acting as though he owned it.
Annie has said in a previous post that Siegfried is a fairly monstrous character, at least more monstrous than othered. In response, I think that Siegfried is actually less monstrous in this story. I think he is much more of a Roland figure instead. His super protection by dragon's blood may be considered demonic, but I think that the story is very clear that the blood is a separate entity in relation to Siegfried. I agree that the act of the blood bath is in a sense monstrous, but I feel that in Siegfried's view it is like putting on a permanent coat of armor, and of course this armor has one flaw. It is also similar to the cloak that he uses to multiply his strength and turn invisible. The text is very clear to separate the cloak and Siegfried in terms of whose strength is whose. It makes sure to state that without the cloak Siegfried can not stand up to the monstrous devil character of Brunhild: "But for the magic cloak they would have died there and then. Blood spurted from Siegfried's mouth" (67). In my opinion, Siegfried is othered by his use of these instruments and his own prowess that becomes enhanced by them, but he is not monstrous in the use of them. Again in my parallel to Roland, Roland is also in procession of a sword that is comprised of holy relics that appear to enhance his power.
I would also like to discuss the cloak's power in minute detail. It provides him with the abilities of strength and invisibility. The two powers do not seem to match in this story's world. Power is respected and glorified, but if one can not see the person doing the powerful deed then there is a lessening of the glory and power itself, since part of the power is in the respect garnered by the viewing. Siegfried would never be able to overcome Brunhild on his own. He would be forced to remove his cape during the festivities, and in doing so lose the physical power with which to compete with the monstrous queen. I find this combination to be thoroughly intriguing and I wonder how others feel about it?
For me these words and recurring descriptions are pretty funny and seem in such good blatant cheer that I can't help but enjoy them. But I also think they are indicative of the trend so far to be very showy and upfront. It produces in the story a forcible nature that seems to be driving ahead to its goal. And again I think this is linked and in a way mirrors the actions and character of Siegfried. His brashness and almost complete disregard for anyone else's desires seem in tune with he tone of the novel and remind me of another such character.
Of all the other characters we've read so far, Siegfried actually reminds me most of Roland. They cut a similar figure. They both are loyal to their friends, magnificent in battle and similarly are invincible in battle. As it stands so far I can not see Siegfried being defeated in combat. It seems that, in fact, he must fall victim to some other nefarious plot, much as Roland does, for Roland does not die of wounds in battle but of self-inflicted wounds in response to treachery. The are both brash as well, Roland declaring they will fight a futile fight and win, and Siegfried entering Worms acting as though he owned it.
Annie has said in a previous post that Siegfried is a fairly monstrous character, at least more monstrous than othered. In response, I think that Siegfried is actually less monstrous in this story. I think he is much more of a Roland figure instead. His super protection by dragon's blood may be considered demonic, but I think that the story is very clear that the blood is a separate entity in relation to Siegfried. I agree that the act of the blood bath is in a sense monstrous, but I feel that in Siegfried's view it is like putting on a permanent coat of armor, and of course this armor has one flaw. It is also similar to the cloak that he uses to multiply his strength and turn invisible. The text is very clear to separate the cloak and Siegfried in terms of whose strength is whose. It makes sure to state that without the cloak Siegfried can not stand up to the monstrous devil character of Brunhild: "But for the magic cloak they would have died there and then. Blood spurted from Siegfried's mouth" (67). In my opinion, Siegfried is othered by his use of these instruments and his own prowess that becomes enhanced by them, but he is not monstrous in the use of them. Again in my parallel to Roland, Roland is also in procession of a sword that is comprised of holy relics that appear to enhance his power.
I would also like to discuss the cloak's power in minute detail. It provides him with the abilities of strength and invisibility. The two powers do not seem to match in this story's world. Power is respected and glorified, but if one can not see the person doing the powerful deed then there is a lessening of the glory and power itself, since part of the power is in the respect garnered by the viewing. Siegfried would never be able to overcome Brunhild on his own. He would be forced to remove his cape during the festivities, and in doing so lose the physical power with which to compete with the monstrous queen. I find this combination to be thoroughly intriguing and I wonder how others feel about it?
The Interjecting Narrator
I noticed that in almost every chapter of the text, we have the narrator butting in and letting us know that something very bad is going to happen. Every time the narrator appeared I kept asking myself if these constant interjections were changing the way I was reading the text. From the third page of the text, we know that this will not be a tale with a happy ending. We know that the beautiful princess (Kriemhild) will find her prince charming (Siegfried), but the narrator reminds us that they will certainly not live happily ever after. “What terrible vengeance she took on her nearest kinsmen for slaying him in days to come! For his life there died many a mother’s child” (p.19). The next interjection occurs six pages later when the narrator proclaims (as Siegfried departs for Worms and many of his people weep), “I imagine their hearts had truly foretold them that it would end in death for so many of their friends” (p.25). Moreover, these interruptions occur again on pages 32, 42, and 61.
While the first part of the text is essential to set up the exposition of the tale, these interjections provide us with a different reading of the text. We know from the beginning that Kriemhild will be the downfall of the epic’s hero, Siegfried. We know that she will cause his and many others destruction, yet we don’t know how.
What is also important to note is that these interjections are focused around the future for Siegfried and Kriemhild. Yet while these two are the text’s protagonists thus far; Gunther, Brunhild, and Hagen also play a significant role in the first eight chapters. The only indication we have of Gunther’s future is that we are told he will eventually forget how loyally Siegfried served him when he helps Gunther win Brunhild’s hand in marriage (p.61). Of Brunhild’s future we learn that she will never return to Isenstein (p.75). As to Hagen’s future it is unclear. On page 65, Dancwart (Hagen’s brother) notes, “what a shameful way of dying if we are to perish at the hands of women!” Although the narrator does not explicitly tell us that Hagen (and possibly Dancwart) are going to die because of a female, his interpolating indicates that this will be the case. The narrator has repeatedly reminded us that many men (the important character’s in this text) will perish because of Kriemhild’s “vengeance” (p.19).
In other words, are we just waiting for these horrible things to happen? Does the beginning of the text feel like a long digression? Inevitably, these questions have led me to others. How will this text survive without its hero, Siegfried? And most importantly, what role will these women really play? I can’t wait to find out.
While the first part of the text is essential to set up the exposition of the tale, these interjections provide us with a different reading of the text. We know from the beginning that Kriemhild will be the downfall of the epic’s hero, Siegfried. We know that she will cause his and many others destruction, yet we don’t know how.
What is also important to note is that these interjections are focused around the future for Siegfried and Kriemhild. Yet while these two are the text’s protagonists thus far; Gunther, Brunhild, and Hagen also play a significant role in the first eight chapters. The only indication we have of Gunther’s future is that we are told he will eventually forget how loyally Siegfried served him when he helps Gunther win Brunhild’s hand in marriage (p.61). Of Brunhild’s future we learn that she will never return to Isenstein (p.75). As to Hagen’s future it is unclear. On page 65, Dancwart (Hagen’s brother) notes, “what a shameful way of dying if we are to perish at the hands of women!” Although the narrator does not explicitly tell us that Hagen (and possibly Dancwart) are going to die because of a female, his interpolating indicates that this will be the case. The narrator has repeatedly reminded us that many men (the important character’s in this text) will perish because of Kriemhild’s “vengeance” (p.19).
In other words, are we just waiting for these horrible things to happen? Does the beginning of the text feel like a long digression? Inevitably, these questions have led me to others. How will this text survive without its hero, Siegfried? And most importantly, what role will these women really play? I can’t wait to find out.
Siegfried's monstrousness
In beginning to read The Nibelungenlied, I would like to discuss the status of Siegfried in this story. Certain key descriptions of him make us wonder about his status as either ‘monstrous’ or ‘other.’ Some textual descriptions into his appearance and deeds convey a darker being than what we initially expect. The more we hear about the deeds of Siegfried, the more he turns ‘monstrous.’ In most conquests, the victor takes over that land and the defeated is now under their control. In a way, the victor takes the identity of his foe. In the same manner, Siegfried wins many challenges and take on the identity of the defeated, which is sometimes ‘monstrous.’
When the court of Worms is aware of the coming of Siegfried, Hagan exclaims, “this hero slew a dragon and bathed in its blood, from which his skin grew horny so that no weapon will bite it” (28). Siegfried’s encounter with a demonic presence has begun to make him demonic and ‘monstrous.’ The conquering of this dragon not only made him stronger, but it also provided him with this monstrous skin. Though Siegfried is still a mortal, his monstrous actions of immersing himself in the blood of the dragon, similar to a second baptism, and instead of coming out cleansed, Siegfried comes out with an advantage over normal warriors.
Another unique point in the story is when a messenger informs Kriemhild of their victory over the Saxons. The messenger describes the heroic deeds of Siegfried, but they are told in an unorthodox manner. The messenger states, “such sorrow did he bring to the ladies by slaying their kinsmen! The lovers of many ladies fell there too, never to rise again” (42). When one talks of the great deeds of another, they do not usually harp on the negative points. However, here, the negative points are seen as positive. We hear of the deaths of many men, but more on the level of the pain Siegfried has brought by destroying relationships between loved ones. When descriptions of deeds are depicted as such, one sees the damage this warrior has caused to others. However, the messenger states, “he has all the qualities that go to make a brave, good knight” (42). This monstrous behavior is the norm for warriors, just as we discussed for Roland.
Nonetheless, there is something unique to Siegfried that ostracizes him from the rest of the community. He is the only man who can fight against Brunhild. Brunhild herself is described as somewhat monstrous and Hagen exclaims to Gunter, “the woman whose love you desire is a rib of the Devil himself!” (65). Instead of woman being made from the rib of Adam, as stated in Genesis, Brunhild is considered made from the devil. As her ‘monstrousess’ is emphasized, it is also noted that Siegfried is the one who secretly fights her. In these scenes, the reader notices that it takes a monster to fight a monster. This appears to be the issue that stems the rest of the story. Since Siegfried has conquered Brunhild, she technically belongs to him. However, Siegfried’s actions were concealed, and Brunhild is tricked into thinking Gunter had proved himself victor. Also, since Siegfried is the one who defeated the demonic woman, he would then be considered somewhat demonic as well.
There are no clear monsters in this story, but Siegfried is the only character that comes close to this categorization by his identification with his winnings. In this manner, Siegfried could be considered the court of Gunter’s ‘monster’ just as Beowulf was for the Danes. Also, it is important to note that Siegfried only developed this ‘monstrousnes’ over time, with his encounters with greater beings.
When the court of Worms is aware of the coming of Siegfried, Hagan exclaims, “this hero slew a dragon and bathed in its blood, from which his skin grew horny so that no weapon will bite it” (28). Siegfried’s encounter with a demonic presence has begun to make him demonic and ‘monstrous.’ The conquering of this dragon not only made him stronger, but it also provided him with this monstrous skin. Though Siegfried is still a mortal, his monstrous actions of immersing himself in the blood of the dragon, similar to a second baptism, and instead of coming out cleansed, Siegfried comes out with an advantage over normal warriors.
Another unique point in the story is when a messenger informs Kriemhild of their victory over the Saxons. The messenger describes the heroic deeds of Siegfried, but they are told in an unorthodox manner. The messenger states, “such sorrow did he bring to the ladies by slaying their kinsmen! The lovers of many ladies fell there too, never to rise again” (42). When one talks of the great deeds of another, they do not usually harp on the negative points. However, here, the negative points are seen as positive. We hear of the deaths of many men, but more on the level of the pain Siegfried has brought by destroying relationships between loved ones. When descriptions of deeds are depicted as such, one sees the damage this warrior has caused to others. However, the messenger states, “he has all the qualities that go to make a brave, good knight” (42). This monstrous behavior is the norm for warriors, just as we discussed for Roland.
Nonetheless, there is something unique to Siegfried that ostracizes him from the rest of the community. He is the only man who can fight against Brunhild. Brunhild herself is described as somewhat monstrous and Hagen exclaims to Gunter, “the woman whose love you desire is a rib of the Devil himself!” (65). Instead of woman being made from the rib of Adam, as stated in Genesis, Brunhild is considered made from the devil. As her ‘monstrousess’ is emphasized, it is also noted that Siegfried is the one who secretly fights her. In these scenes, the reader notices that it takes a monster to fight a monster. This appears to be the issue that stems the rest of the story. Since Siegfried has conquered Brunhild, she technically belongs to him. However, Siegfried’s actions were concealed, and Brunhild is tricked into thinking Gunter had proved himself victor. Also, since Siegfried is the one who defeated the demonic woman, he would then be considered somewhat demonic as well.
There are no clear monsters in this story, but Siegfried is the only character that comes close to this categorization by his identification with his winnings. In this manner, Siegfried could be considered the court of Gunter’s ‘monster’ just as Beowulf was for the Danes. Also, it is important to note that Siegfried only developed this ‘monstrousnes’ over time, with his encounters with greater beings.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Close Reading: Gawain Reveals His Moral
At the end of Gawain and the Green Knight, Gawain seems to be the only one making a fuss over his wound. Granted, this is a translation, but the author and translator must have been sensitive to the original language and patterns, so it seems safe that Marie Borroff has been faithful to the intent of the text. The language leading into the passage where he discusses this, as well as the discussion itself, bears a beautiful and rhythmic pattern which heightens the important of the moment. First the narrator begins the speech, with the lines:
The nick on his neck, he naked displayed/
That he got in his disgrace at the Green Knight’s hands, alone. /
With rage in his heart he speaks, /
And grieves with many a groan; /
The blood burns in his cheeks/
For shame at what must be shown. / (Ln. 2499-2504).
The alliteration of “nick,” “neck” and “naked” draws emphasis to the words, and in this particular order, instead of describing a nick on his naked neck, suggests something different, that the nick on his neck is a sign of weakness, making him appear naked and vulnerable (Ln. 2499). The lines have him displaying the wound to the others, but the implication is that the wound would be impossible not to notice due to what it represents to Gawain. The representation is made clearer with the assonance that occurs between the long “a” sounds in the words “displayed” and “disgrace,” equating the one with the other (Ln. 2499-2500). This assonance continues though the next lines to include the words “rage” and “shame,” so that we now are certain of Gawain’s restrained feelings, that he displays his disgrace with rage and shame (Ln. 2501, 2504).
There is more assonance that leads us through these lines of text, namely the links between the words “speaks,” “grieves,” and “cheeks,” so that it is clear that as Gawain chooses to discuss his feelings, he is mourning what he believes he has lost, and by the connection to his cheeks, we are left to imagine him blushing with humiliation and fury (Ln. 2501-2503). The words “speaks” and “cheeks” are at the end of their lines, structuring the four-line rhyming pattern of this smaller, off-set stanza. These words progress from his actions to his reactions, from his choosing to speak and publicly grieve and then the repercussions which affect him. The next pattern goes in the same way, with the assonance between “groan” and “shown,” words which are also at the end of their lines adding to the rhyming pattern, with Gawain’s actions of groaning and sharing his distress to the result that doing so shows his feelings to all (Ln. 2502,2504).
Then Gawain speaks, and the patterns continue to evolve, revealing more and more. Gawain says:
This is the blazon of the blemish that I bear on my neck; /
This is the sign of sore loss that I have suffered there /
For the cowardice and coveting that I came to there; /
This is the badge of false faith that I was found in there, /
And I must bear it on my body till I breathe my last. /
For one may keep a deed dark, but undo it no whit, /
For where a fault is made fast, it is fixed evermore. (Ln. 2506-2512).
Gawain began by calling his wound a nick, minimizing its size and its physical effect upon his body, yet now it becomes a symbol for something greater. He tells one and all that it is a “blazon,” “blemish,” sign,” and a “badge,” all words that are used less with wounds of honorable battle and more with ostentatious proclamations, flaws and imperfections, something that represents something else, and emblems (Ln. 2506-2507, 2509). This nick is much more than a scar to Gawain, it is no longer external, it has become a part of his identity, and who he has become as a result of his actions. Each line has its alliteration, so that the first of these lines is linked by “b” sounds, then “s,” “c,” “f,” “b,” “d,” and then “f.” This connects these words internally, so that the long string of these words together, blazon, blemish, bear, sign, sore, suffer, cowardice, coveting, false, faith, found, bear, body, breathe, deed, dark, fault, fast, fixed, summarize Gawain’s point effectively, listing causes, actions, choices, and results.
The poet is not done with creating intricacy, however, as seen in the three lines that all end with the word “there.” This is not done to accomplish any rhyming pattern, and it does not indicate a distinct metric pattern any more than we have seen throughout the text as a whole, but the repetition of there, there, there, has significance. The “theres” are all directed at the same place, the Green Chapel, the place where the battle occurred and where Gawain lost an essential part of himself. Gawain uses it to mean the place, but it also means the point at which he found himself in that location, as well as an interjection used to express strong feelings. While the text only uses it as a locator, the rest of these meanings are implied with the repetition. Gawain has found distance from there, but those moments remain a distinct and troubling memory. Finally, there is another internal structure which again tells the story in a more succinct manner, a series of two monosyllabic words found in the center of some lines which rhythmically force themselves to be accented and emphasized. These are “sore loss,” “false faith,” “deed dark,” and “made fast,” which serve to, much as the alliteration did before, to stress the important parts of Gawain’s speech, the lessons he has learned that his audience is meant to understand (Ln. 2507, 2509, 2511-2512).
Even though both Gawain and the poet take their time and use the language to make their points as clear as possible, to heighten and illustrate the significance of this life-altering encounter, the audience does not seem to notice. Reading closely, we learn that Gawain, a knight of a certain reputation and fame, is no longer the Gawain with whom we are familiar. He is changed permanently. To mark this change, however, instead of honoring the wound and its symbolic meaning, they honor the thing which made the wound, the change, possible. Without the girdle, Gawain would have died, and not learned anything or have been able to express and live out the new him, so the court takes to wearing green sashes. Does this appropriately honor Gawain’s transformation or does it make a mockery of the moment where he made what he seems to think was a decision based on “false faith?” We know exactly what Gawain is saying, but what is the court saying by their actions?
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
The Elephant in the Kitchen: Homoerotic Desire in Gawain
You might have noticed the homoeroticism present in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. You know, if you have eyes. What's interesting to me, however, is the role that the ladies play in enabling and conducting the homoerotic and homosocial play between the male characters.
To me, the first instance of homoeroticism is not the first kiss but the first meeting between Gawain and the Knight.
"Now hold your grim tool steady
And show us how it hacks.'
'Gladly, sir; all ready.'
Says Gawain; he strokes the ax.
The Green Knight upon ground girds him with care;
Bows a bit with his head, and bares his flesh;
His long lovely locks he laid over his crown,
Let the naked nape for the need be shown"
(25)
The first section, in Borroff's translation as well as Tolkein's, read like flirting. There is a give and take between The Knight and Gawain. The words are measured out and the cadence of the two lines indicates a kind of flirting. There's also the instance of the highly sexualized word choices of "tool" and "strokes."
Moving on, The Green Knight is feminized with his "long lovely locks." To top that off, in order to lay them over his crown, wouldn't he have to be bent over? He's also aligned with his wife, who is the only other character in the poem to bare her flesh - "her fair throat freely displayed" (56)
But how does a woman enable this behavior? This entire act is done for the benefit of Guenevere; one man to scare her and one man to defend her honor. More on this in a moment.
I'm going to gloss now over the kissing scenes because I think the sexualized nature of them is fairly obvious. In short, Gawain kisses the Knight because The Knight's Lady kissed him. The Lady is the conduit for the desire of Gawain and the Knight, as well as being the desire-object for both of the characters. In short, they are a love triangle. In the words of Eve Sedgwick "in any erotic rivalry, the bond that links the two rivals is as intense and potent as the bond that links either of the rivals to the beloved." (Between Men, 21)
What part do Guenevere and The Lady play, then? They are the mirror that reflects the men's desire for each other. Without the women to form that triangulated bond, the men probably couldn't make a spectacle of their homoerotic desire. At least, according to queer theory.
To me, the first instance of homoeroticism is not the first kiss but the first meeting between Gawain and the Knight.
"Now hold your grim tool steady
And show us how it hacks.'
'Gladly, sir; all ready.'
Says Gawain; he strokes the ax.
The Green Knight upon ground girds him with care;
Bows a bit with his head, and bares his flesh;
His long lovely locks he laid over his crown,
Let the naked nape for the need be shown"
(25)
The first section, in Borroff's translation as well as Tolkein's, read like flirting. There is a give and take between The Knight and Gawain. The words are measured out and the cadence of the two lines indicates a kind of flirting. There's also the instance of the highly sexualized word choices of "tool" and "strokes."
Moving on, The Green Knight is feminized with his "long lovely locks." To top that off, in order to lay them over his crown, wouldn't he have to be bent over? He's also aligned with his wife, who is the only other character in the poem to bare her flesh - "her fair throat freely displayed" (56)
But how does a woman enable this behavior? This entire act is done for the benefit of Guenevere; one man to scare her and one man to defend her honor. More on this in a moment.
I'm going to gloss now over the kissing scenes because I think the sexualized nature of them is fairly obvious. In short, Gawain kisses the Knight because The Knight's Lady kissed him. The Lady is the conduit for the desire of Gawain and the Knight, as well as being the desire-object for both of the characters. In short, they are a love triangle. In the words of Eve Sedgwick "in any erotic rivalry, the bond that links the two rivals is as intense and potent as the bond that links either of the rivals to the beloved." (Between Men, 21)
What part do Guenevere and The Lady play, then? They are the mirror that reflects the men's desire for each other. Without the women to form that triangulated bond, the men probably couldn't make a spectacle of their homoerotic desire. At least, according to queer theory.
A Legacy of Ashes: Being a Discussion of the Self
A book came out earlier this year entitled Legacy of Ashes: A History of the CIA. What does this have to do with Sir Gawain and the Green Knight? Nothing, except that I was randomly reminded of the title of this book by SGGK's opening (and, by extension, closing) lines, and that applying the concept embedded in the CIA title to the medieval poem on this basis yields some illustrative results for the poem and its construction of the self and the other.
"Since the siege and the assault was ceased at Troy, / The walls breached and burnt down to brands and ashes..." (1-2). "Since" translates the Middle English "sithen," which (I am using the glossary in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight: A New Critical Edition, edited by Theodore Silverstein) is used elsewhere in the poem in a causal sense, that is, "since" as "because" as well as "after." In other words, we might add a secondary interpretation to these opening lines: the story recounted in this poem occurs not just after but because Troy was destroyed.
This introductory section contextualizes Gawain and his story as part of a legacy of ashes - the ashes of Troy. While providing a noble and justificatory lineage for Camelot, the beginning of the poem also grounds that lineage upon a primordial catastrophe, upon undoing and failure, and it only slightly minimizes this catastrophe and failure to learn that it occured because of one perfidious knight "that had knotted the nets of deceit" (3). Besides establishing the poet's recurrent obsession with knots and entanglements, this also foreshadows Gawain's personal lapse and failure at the hands of another sly and subtle (if not explicitly deceitful and perfidious) figure, the Green Knight/Bertilak. The "haughty race" (5) of Trojans that conquers far and wide is also a race of exiles (castaways, Others!) needing reaffirmation and rearticulation of its identity. The new kingdom which they found has always seen a combination of "war and wrack and wonder," "bliss" and "blunder" (16, 18). In short, by starting from the ashes of Troy and the legacy originating there, SGGK acquires its dominant theme of mutability and failure. The poet further highlights this theme in the gnomic aphorism at the beginning of Part II (to which I have already called attention in an earlier posting), warning us to "hold it no wonder" if "the end be harsher" than we had anticipated, because "[a] year passes apace, and proves ever new: / First things and final conform but seldom" (496, 498-499).
Specifically, the mutability and failure which will be demonstrated in the poem is that of Gawain. As J.J. Cohen makes clear in his discussion of SGGK in the excerpt from Of Giants, the poem describes Gawain's maturation, his acquisition of a new identity by exile (like the refugees from Troy) and confrontation with the Other - and this new identity will be rooted in a lapse and a sense of unworthiness. In fact (as I've also already noted) when Gawain first speaks in the poem, he is already espousing such sentiments about himself. We asked in class the other day whether Gawain really intends to be honestly self-deprecating, and I think the answer is quite clear that he doesn't, at least not entirely or primarily. He is attempting to demonstrate the elaborate courtesy upon which his identity, at this point, is in fact founded. The Green Knight takes pains, when accepting Gawain as his contestant, to establish this identity: "First I ask and adjure you, how you are called / That you tell me true, so that trust it I may" (379-380). Gawain obliges - "In good faith...Gawain am I" (381) - and, in response to Gawain's reciprocal request, the GK promises, "when I have taken your knock, / ...you shall hear straightway / Of my house and my home and my own name" (406-408). However, after the "knock" this promise is fulfilled, at best, partially: the GK discloses neither a proper name nor a real "home." Obviously, if the GK gave everything away right now we would have no story, but his incomplete and opaque revelation of who he is seems to match an incompleteness or a dishonesty in Gawain's own account of himself.
The poem proceeds to test this unstable and artificial sense of the selfhood of Gawain. Before he leaves Camelot, his squires arm and equip him in a detailed scene, and at the risk of sounding obsessive and repetitive in these blog posts, I want to underline again how wearing armor connects with the display and delineation of the self. "Closed," "enclosed" in his armor, Gawain is sealed up in a mission and an identity, and the external, physical rigidity of this identity seems to be directly proportional with its internal fragility. Most explicitly, Gawain carries his shield displaying the pentangle, "[t]hat was meet for the man, and matched him well" (622). This shield advertises the array of perfections which currently represent Gawain's sense of himself. But how well it really outlines and embodies his identity is an open question.
In the materialistic (and implicitly artificial) environment of Hautdesert, the denizens of the castle remove this self-advertising shell: "With light talk and laughter they loosed from him then / His war-dress of weight and his worthy clothes" (860-861). Finding that he "is Gawain himself" (906), they then publicize (or invent?) his reputation as "pattern and paragon, ... praised without end: / Of all knights on earth most honored" (913-914). An identity in accordance with the one represented by the pentangle is now fashioned and determined for Gawain, in a process prefigured by the elaborate rituals of dressing and accomodation described previously; Gawain is being "costumed" as a specific "Self" and must now fulfill it, act the part.
This requires more of Gawain than just hoisting a shield, and he knows it. Lying naked in bed in an unfamiliar castle rather than riding in full armor on a horse would make anyone feel less sure of herself, and Gawain evinces a more honest awareness of the fragility of his identity than was contained in his self-deprecatory declamations back at Camelot when he responds to the Lady's "as certain as I sit here, Sir Gawain you are" (1226) with, "I am not he of whom you have heard" (1242). Henceforth, the Lady repeatedly reaffirms that Gawain's self-definition is what really lies at stake in their encounters: "our guest is not Gawain" (1293); "if you be Gawain" (1481). The hunting excursions interlaced with the bedroom temptations, with what J.J. Cohen calls their "scenes of dismemberment and bodily disaggregation" (147), also underline the stakes of the testing at Hautdesert. Even the briefest and least gory of these episodes ends with the fox "Sir Reynard" (the fact that the third animal hunted is given a chivalric proper name connects him with Gawain even more directly) being skinned, his inner fragilities revealed to the world. Finally, this consciousness of physical fragility established by Bertilak's hunting, the awareness that identity consists not just of courteous reputation but of flesh and blood, sets up the terms of Gawain's ultimate lapse, in which he sacrifices some of his ideals for the sake of self-preservation because, as Bertilak puts it, "you loved your own life: the less, then, to blame" (2368).
Less, but still not no blame at all, particularly in Gawain's own mind. His final actions in Hautdesert repeatedly betray a self-consciousness of having violated both chivalric hospitality and his own self-definition. He initiates the gift exchange on the third evening, possibly to forestall any suspicion; he passes an evidently sleepless night; he elaborately praises Hautdesert, while leaving it, as "a household in hall that upholds the right" (2052); and as he rides off, "[h]is shield is shown forth" (2061), reminding all the world and himself of the values of which his identity has fallen short. Gawain repeats this self-affirming gesture during his final encounter with the GK, when, after enduring the third ax-blow (and falling short of knightly perfection one more time by flinching from the first strike), he "[s]eized his high helm, and set it on his head, / Shoved before his shoulders the shield at his back" (2317-2318). Upon learning that the GK is really Bertilak and that he is well aware of his lapse, Gawain's first reaction is to externalize his now-compromised sense of selfhood - "In you is villainy and vice, and virtue laid low" (2375) - but as Bertilak absolves him, he begins to come to terms with an identity rooted in weakness and imperfection and enacts this development by lowering his armor: "the doughty knight...doffed his high helm" (2407).
This encounter at the Green Chapel marks the culmination of what I have called SGGK's "legacy of ashes" stretching from the fall of Troy. In fact, the poet subtly reemphasizes the Trojan connection at the beginning of the episode by having Gawain's guide describe the GK as "bigger than the best four / That are in Arthur's house, Hector or any" (2102-2103). Just as the beginning of the poem linked the identity of Camelot to this history of destruction and exile, so Gawain now constructs a similar history for his own identity. His litany of biblical heroes betrayed by women is not just a misogynistic screed; in it, he formulates a lineage for his new sense of himself, identifying precedents for his awareness of mutability and moral compromise. Gawain follows this construction of a history with the construction of a new signifier for his identity: not the now-inappropriate pentangle, but the girdle itself: "a sign of excess it shall seem oftentimes / .... / A look at this love-lace will lower my pride" (2433, 2438). Lastly, he repeats his request from a year earlier, back at Arthur's court: "How runs your right name?" (2443) Previously, the GK withheld this in part because Gawain was subconsciously withholding his own real identity. Now that Gawain has fully articulated a new/alternate self, the GK can completely reveal his new/alternate identity in turn: "That shall I give you gladly... / Bertilak de Hautdesert, this barony I hold" (2444-2445).
In the final irony of the poem, Gawain, returning to Camelot, finds that his personal signifier, the marker of his new identity, cannot be interpreted in the same way by his chivalric peers. Instead, they appropriate it with a totally different meaning, once again vesting Gawain with an external and artificial definition of who he is, just as was done to him initially at Hautdesert. However, by returning us explicitly to Troy and its legacy of ashes, the poem intimates that this may not be all bad. "Many such, ere we were born, / Have befallen here, ere this" (2527-2528). "Sithen" Troy was burned to ashes, lots of things have gone wrong. To fail, to be mutable and imperfect, is to be human; Gawain is not at all unique in that regard. Therefore, maybe it's good that he cannot keep his singular, individual definition of private shame. Like Beowulf (who also habitually admitted his failures and personal dissatisfactions to a similarly oblivious audience), Gawain ends up, through confrontation with the Other, as a human being: himself.
"Since the siege and the assault was ceased at Troy, / The walls breached and burnt down to brands and ashes..." (1-2). "Since" translates the Middle English "sithen," which (I am using the glossary in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight: A New Critical Edition, edited by Theodore Silverstein) is used elsewhere in the poem in a causal sense, that is, "since" as "because" as well as "after." In other words, we might add a secondary interpretation to these opening lines: the story recounted in this poem occurs not just after but because Troy was destroyed.
This introductory section contextualizes Gawain and his story as part of a legacy of ashes - the ashes of Troy. While providing a noble and justificatory lineage for Camelot, the beginning of the poem also grounds that lineage upon a primordial catastrophe, upon undoing and failure, and it only slightly minimizes this catastrophe and failure to learn that it occured because of one perfidious knight "that had knotted the nets of deceit" (3). Besides establishing the poet's recurrent obsession with knots and entanglements, this also foreshadows Gawain's personal lapse and failure at the hands of another sly and subtle (if not explicitly deceitful and perfidious) figure, the Green Knight/Bertilak. The "haughty race" (5) of Trojans that conquers far and wide is also a race of exiles (castaways, Others!) needing reaffirmation and rearticulation of its identity. The new kingdom which they found has always seen a combination of "war and wrack and wonder," "bliss" and "blunder" (16, 18). In short, by starting from the ashes of Troy and the legacy originating there, SGGK acquires its dominant theme of mutability and failure. The poet further highlights this theme in the gnomic aphorism at the beginning of Part II (to which I have already called attention in an earlier posting), warning us to "hold it no wonder" if "the end be harsher" than we had anticipated, because "[a] year passes apace, and proves ever new: / First things and final conform but seldom" (496, 498-499).
Specifically, the mutability and failure which will be demonstrated in the poem is that of Gawain. As J.J. Cohen makes clear in his discussion of SGGK in the excerpt from Of Giants, the poem describes Gawain's maturation, his acquisition of a new identity by exile (like the refugees from Troy) and confrontation with the Other - and this new identity will be rooted in a lapse and a sense of unworthiness. In fact (as I've also already noted) when Gawain first speaks in the poem, he is already espousing such sentiments about himself. We asked in class the other day whether Gawain really intends to be honestly self-deprecating, and I think the answer is quite clear that he doesn't, at least not entirely or primarily. He is attempting to demonstrate the elaborate courtesy upon which his identity, at this point, is in fact founded. The Green Knight takes pains, when accepting Gawain as his contestant, to establish this identity: "First I ask and adjure you, how you are called / That you tell me true, so that trust it I may" (379-380). Gawain obliges - "In good faith...Gawain am I" (381) - and, in response to Gawain's reciprocal request, the GK promises, "when I have taken your knock, / ...you shall hear straightway / Of my house and my home and my own name" (406-408). However, after the "knock" this promise is fulfilled, at best, partially: the GK discloses neither a proper name nor a real "home." Obviously, if the GK gave everything away right now we would have no story, but his incomplete and opaque revelation of who he is seems to match an incompleteness or a dishonesty in Gawain's own account of himself.
The poem proceeds to test this unstable and artificial sense of the selfhood of Gawain. Before he leaves Camelot, his squires arm and equip him in a detailed scene, and at the risk of sounding obsessive and repetitive in these blog posts, I want to underline again how wearing armor connects with the display and delineation of the self. "Closed," "enclosed" in his armor, Gawain is sealed up in a mission and an identity, and the external, physical rigidity of this identity seems to be directly proportional with its internal fragility. Most explicitly, Gawain carries his shield displaying the pentangle, "[t]hat was meet for the man, and matched him well" (622). This shield advertises the array of perfections which currently represent Gawain's sense of himself. But how well it really outlines and embodies his identity is an open question.
In the materialistic (and implicitly artificial) environment of Hautdesert, the denizens of the castle remove this self-advertising shell: "With light talk and laughter they loosed from him then / His war-dress of weight and his worthy clothes" (860-861). Finding that he "is Gawain himself" (906), they then publicize (or invent?) his reputation as "pattern and paragon, ... praised without end: / Of all knights on earth most honored" (913-914). An identity in accordance with the one represented by the pentangle is now fashioned and determined for Gawain, in a process prefigured by the elaborate rituals of dressing and accomodation described previously; Gawain is being "costumed" as a specific "Self" and must now fulfill it, act the part.
This requires more of Gawain than just hoisting a shield, and he knows it. Lying naked in bed in an unfamiliar castle rather than riding in full armor on a horse would make anyone feel less sure of herself, and Gawain evinces a more honest awareness of the fragility of his identity than was contained in his self-deprecatory declamations back at Camelot when he responds to the Lady's "as certain as I sit here, Sir Gawain you are" (1226) with, "I am not he of whom you have heard" (1242). Henceforth, the Lady repeatedly reaffirms that Gawain's self-definition is what really lies at stake in their encounters: "our guest is not Gawain" (1293); "if you be Gawain" (1481). The hunting excursions interlaced with the bedroom temptations, with what J.J. Cohen calls their "scenes of dismemberment and bodily disaggregation" (147), also underline the stakes of the testing at Hautdesert. Even the briefest and least gory of these episodes ends with the fox "Sir Reynard" (the fact that the third animal hunted is given a chivalric proper name connects him with Gawain even more directly) being skinned, his inner fragilities revealed to the world. Finally, this consciousness of physical fragility established by Bertilak's hunting, the awareness that identity consists not just of courteous reputation but of flesh and blood, sets up the terms of Gawain's ultimate lapse, in which he sacrifices some of his ideals for the sake of self-preservation because, as Bertilak puts it, "you loved your own life: the less, then, to blame" (2368).
Less, but still not no blame at all, particularly in Gawain's own mind. His final actions in Hautdesert repeatedly betray a self-consciousness of having violated both chivalric hospitality and his own self-definition. He initiates the gift exchange on the third evening, possibly to forestall any suspicion; he passes an evidently sleepless night; he elaborately praises Hautdesert, while leaving it, as "a household in hall that upholds the right" (2052); and as he rides off, "[h]is shield is shown forth" (2061), reminding all the world and himself of the values of which his identity has fallen short. Gawain repeats this self-affirming gesture during his final encounter with the GK, when, after enduring the third ax-blow (and falling short of knightly perfection one more time by flinching from the first strike), he "[s]eized his high helm, and set it on his head, / Shoved before his shoulders the shield at his back" (2317-2318). Upon learning that the GK is really Bertilak and that he is well aware of his lapse, Gawain's first reaction is to externalize his now-compromised sense of selfhood - "In you is villainy and vice, and virtue laid low" (2375) - but as Bertilak absolves him, he begins to come to terms with an identity rooted in weakness and imperfection and enacts this development by lowering his armor: "the doughty knight...doffed his high helm" (2407).
This encounter at the Green Chapel marks the culmination of what I have called SGGK's "legacy of ashes" stretching from the fall of Troy. In fact, the poet subtly reemphasizes the Trojan connection at the beginning of the episode by having Gawain's guide describe the GK as "bigger than the best four / That are in Arthur's house, Hector or any" (2102-2103). Just as the beginning of the poem linked the identity of Camelot to this history of destruction and exile, so Gawain now constructs a similar history for his own identity. His litany of biblical heroes betrayed by women is not just a misogynistic screed; in it, he formulates a lineage for his new sense of himself, identifying precedents for his awareness of mutability and moral compromise. Gawain follows this construction of a history with the construction of a new signifier for his identity: not the now-inappropriate pentangle, but the girdle itself: "a sign of excess it shall seem oftentimes / .... / A look at this love-lace will lower my pride" (2433, 2438). Lastly, he repeats his request from a year earlier, back at Arthur's court: "How runs your right name?" (2443) Previously, the GK withheld this in part because Gawain was subconsciously withholding his own real identity. Now that Gawain has fully articulated a new/alternate self, the GK can completely reveal his new/alternate identity in turn: "That shall I give you gladly... / Bertilak de Hautdesert, this barony I hold" (2444-2445).
In the final irony of the poem, Gawain, returning to Camelot, finds that his personal signifier, the marker of his new identity, cannot be interpreted in the same way by his chivalric peers. Instead, they appropriate it with a totally different meaning, once again vesting Gawain with an external and artificial definition of who he is, just as was done to him initially at Hautdesert. However, by returning us explicitly to Troy and its legacy of ashes, the poem intimates that this may not be all bad. "Many such, ere we were born, / Have befallen here, ere this" (2527-2528). "Sithen" Troy was burned to ashes, lots of things have gone wrong. To fail, to be mutable and imperfect, is to be human; Gawain is not at all unique in that regard. Therefore, maybe it's good that he cannot keep his singular, individual definition of private shame. Like Beowulf (who also habitually admitted his failures and personal dissatisfactions to a similarly oblivious audience), Gawain ends up, through confrontation with the Other, as a human being: himself.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Factoring in Morgan le Fay
I want to attempt to look more in-depth to the women in this poem. In the first two sections of the story, women seem to be backgrounded, and the main stage seems to be dominated by Gawain and the Green Knight. In the last two sections of the story, we see a foregrounding of women and the deception that has been carried out in this poem. We need to take a closer look into the women in this story, since they are the main reason for the ensuing actions.
The first woman who needs to be dealt with is the lady of Haudesert, Lord Bertilak’s wife. Though she is never provided a name, she is provided the power to seduce Gawain into giving her a kiss. However, at the end of the story, Lord Bertilak reveals, “the wooing of my wife-it was all my scheme” (line 2361)! Though the lady seemed to have control over Gawain, Lord Bertilak had the power over her. Thus, the woman was a tool for deception to Gawain.
Then we come to the existence of Morgan le Fay. Lord Berilak/Green Knight admits that he was under a spell by “Morgan the Goddess” (line 2451). Now we see that the entire plan was actually under the control of a woman, and Lord Bertilak/Green Knight was not a free agent. This particular woman is Gawain’s “own aunt is she, Arthur’s half-sister” (line 2464). This fits in well with Max’s claim that the other is actually an unrecognized form of the self. This pagan woman is actually blood related to the king, yet holds alternate traits. Unlike the king, she is aged and has the pagan attribute of being a goddess. What’s even more fascinating is the reason this entire plan was carried out. Lord Bertilak admits, “She put this shape upon me to puzzle your wits, / To afflict the fair queen, and frighten her to death” (lines 2459-2461). This disguise as the horrid Green Knight was to scare Guenevere. In one of Marie’s footnotes, she explains that Morgan le Fay and Guenevere were enemies. This could possibly be the neglected royalty that has been ignored for Morgan le Fay but placed upon Guenevere. Surprisingly, the two women who are least seen in this story are suddenly foregrounded to be to main reason for the events at hand.
The use of Morgan le Fay in this text is intriguing, since she is rarely seen. Her ancient appearance, her use of magic, and femininity seem to provide reason to name her both ‘monsterous’ and an ‘other.’ This being said, it seems to provide her control over the entire story as compared to Guenevere, who is simply a feminine ‘other.’ Morgan le Fay is able to wield her power over men affectively and “she has caught many a man” (line 2448). Morgan le Fay is a black widowed spider, and is able to ensnare others with her femininity and magic. Morgan le Fay’s exertion of her power may have been motivated to show Guenevere that though she is queen, Morgan is a force to be reckoned with. The ending to this story seems to turn the table around and leads us to question which gender dominates in this poem.
Please note: I hadn't read the articles by Cohen and Arner before posting this blog. Now that I have, I see they have pointed out some of the ideas I blogged about. Nonetheless, there is still much to discuss concerning the feminine power in this story.
The first woman who needs to be dealt with is the lady of Haudesert, Lord Bertilak’s wife. Though she is never provided a name, she is provided the power to seduce Gawain into giving her a kiss. However, at the end of the story, Lord Bertilak reveals, “the wooing of my wife-it was all my scheme” (line 2361)! Though the lady seemed to have control over Gawain, Lord Bertilak had the power over her. Thus, the woman was a tool for deception to Gawain.
Then we come to the existence of Morgan le Fay. Lord Berilak/Green Knight admits that he was under a spell by “Morgan the Goddess” (line 2451). Now we see that the entire plan was actually under the control of a woman, and Lord Bertilak/Green Knight was not a free agent. This particular woman is Gawain’s “own aunt is she, Arthur’s half-sister” (line 2464). This fits in well with Max’s claim that the other is actually an unrecognized form of the self. This pagan woman is actually blood related to the king, yet holds alternate traits. Unlike the king, she is aged and has the pagan attribute of being a goddess. What’s even more fascinating is the reason this entire plan was carried out. Lord Bertilak admits, “She put this shape upon me to puzzle your wits, / To afflict the fair queen, and frighten her to death” (lines 2459-2461). This disguise as the horrid Green Knight was to scare Guenevere. In one of Marie’s footnotes, she explains that Morgan le Fay and Guenevere were enemies. This could possibly be the neglected royalty that has been ignored for Morgan le Fay but placed upon Guenevere. Surprisingly, the two women who are least seen in this story are suddenly foregrounded to be to main reason for the events at hand.
The use of Morgan le Fay in this text is intriguing, since she is rarely seen. Her ancient appearance, her use of magic, and femininity seem to provide reason to name her both ‘monsterous’ and an ‘other.’ This being said, it seems to provide her control over the entire story as compared to Guenevere, who is simply a feminine ‘other.’ Morgan le Fay is able to wield her power over men affectively and “she has caught many a man” (line 2448). Morgan le Fay is a black widowed spider, and is able to ensnare others with her femininity and magic. Morgan le Fay’s exertion of her power may have been motivated to show Guenevere that though she is queen, Morgan is a force to be reckoned with. The ending to this story seems to turn the table around and leads us to question which gender dominates in this poem.
Please note: I hadn't read the articles by Cohen and Arner before posting this blog. Now that I have, I see they have pointed out some of the ideas I blogged about. Nonetheless, there is still much to discuss concerning the feminine power in this story.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Gawain's Passivitiy
I know we’ve discussed this in class, but I would like to further explore Sir Gawain’s courtesy. From what we can gather from the texts, both the assorted Gawain Romances and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Gawain’s strength nor his valor are well praised. Rather Gawain’s reputation for being courteous is what sets him apart from the other knights. His courtesy, to some extent, elevates him beyond other knights. However, his courtesy is so extreme that it deviates into the realm of passivity.
Although Arthur is described first in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight as the superlative, “of British kings / King Arthur was counted most courteous of all,” (Green Knight I: 25-26) Gawain emerges as the most courteous of the knights. When he asks to take part in the challenge, Gawain does not demand that he be allowed to take the challenge. Instead he asks for Arthur to “grant [him] the grace,” (Green Knight I: 343) which implies that his courtesy doesn’t allow him to act on his own accord. While the idea to accept the Green Knight’s challenge originates with Gawain, his extreme courtesy dictates that he be allowed by his liege lord and lady to undertake a knightly endeavor.
The other telling part of Gawain’s plea to Arthur is his insistence that he not offend anyone. He says that he will only leave the table so long as his actions do not affront a single person in the court. “If I without discourtesy might quit this board, / and if my liege lady misliked it not.” (Green Knight I: 345-346) Despite the obvious difference in standards of cultural decorum, Gawain’s courtesy goes far beyond the realm of any normal person. The obsessive attention to every possible offense he could commit is what makes Gawain a passive, slightly pathetic character at this point in the poem.
However, nothing tops Gawain’s request to take on the Green Knight. Gawain knows of his knightly deficiencies: “I am the weakest, well I know, and of wit feeblest;” (Green Knight I: 354) So, it follows that Gawain is offering to sacrifice himself in order to rid the court of his offensive presence. “And the loss of my life would be least of any” (Green Knight I: 355) Despite Gawain’s obvious need for a touch of self-esteem, it speaks to his Otherness that everyone in the court agrees. Their agreement seems to say that Gawain’s life is worth the least. He is the weakest and stupidest knight in the court. Either the court “assays the claim” because they know Gawain can triumph against the Green Knight and his ridiculous challenge or because they think he won’t and will be glad to be rid of him.
Unlike some of our other heroes, Roland or Beowulf, Gawain’s exceptionalness others him in the opposite direction of hyper-male. The denial of his dominant masculinity is why I feel we find him in the company of so many women. He is closer allied with womanly values of submission, even if those actions are an extension of his loyalty. The position Gawain occupies within the romantic encounters, both with Ragnelle and the lady of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, is not of initiator. He is notably passive to women, simply by virtue of being courteous to the point of excess. Although, any knight taking one of the five virtues to its most extreme state could be considered an Other. However, in Gawain’s case, his consistent defaulting to the wishes of his lord and to ladies makes him less of a hyper-male and more of an effeminate man.
Although Arthur is described first in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight as the superlative, “of British kings / King Arthur was counted most courteous of all,” (Green Knight I: 25-26) Gawain emerges as the most courteous of the knights. When he asks to take part in the challenge, Gawain does not demand that he be allowed to take the challenge. Instead he asks for Arthur to “grant [him] the grace,” (Green Knight I: 343) which implies that his courtesy doesn’t allow him to act on his own accord. While the idea to accept the Green Knight’s challenge originates with Gawain, his extreme courtesy dictates that he be allowed by his liege lord and lady to undertake a knightly endeavor.
The other telling part of Gawain’s plea to Arthur is his insistence that he not offend anyone. He says that he will only leave the table so long as his actions do not affront a single person in the court. “If I without discourtesy might quit this board, / and if my liege lady misliked it not.” (Green Knight I: 345-346) Despite the obvious difference in standards of cultural decorum, Gawain’s courtesy goes far beyond the realm of any normal person. The obsessive attention to every possible offense he could commit is what makes Gawain a passive, slightly pathetic character at this point in the poem.
However, nothing tops Gawain’s request to take on the Green Knight. Gawain knows of his knightly deficiencies: “I am the weakest, well I know, and of wit feeblest;” (Green Knight I: 354) So, it follows that Gawain is offering to sacrifice himself in order to rid the court of his offensive presence. “And the loss of my life would be least of any” (Green Knight I: 355) Despite Gawain’s obvious need for a touch of self-esteem, it speaks to his Otherness that everyone in the court agrees. Their agreement seems to say that Gawain’s life is worth the least. He is the weakest and stupidest knight in the court. Either the court “assays the claim” because they know Gawain can triumph against the Green Knight and his ridiculous challenge or because they think he won’t and will be glad to be rid of him.
Unlike some of our other heroes, Roland or Beowulf, Gawain’s exceptionalness others him in the opposite direction of hyper-male. The denial of his dominant masculinity is why I feel we find him in the company of so many women. He is closer allied with womanly values of submission, even if those actions are an extension of his loyalty. The position Gawain occupies within the romantic encounters, both with Ragnelle and the lady of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, is not of initiator. He is notably passive to women, simply by virtue of being courteous to the point of excess. Although, any knight taking one of the five virtues to its most extreme state could be considered an Other. However, in Gawain’s case, his consistent defaulting to the wishes of his lord and to ladies makes him less of a hyper-male and more of an effeminate man.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
The Intertwine of Christianity and Paganism
I find this story to have one of the most complicated characters in the form of the Green Knight in relation to his allegiances. In fact, he seems to tread the border between Christianity and Paganism. He is completely green and it seems to indicate his affiliation with nature and the link to pagan beliefs. He also holds a holly bob in his hand, a symbol of his devotion to nature. And yet intertwined in his hair is gold. This also is found inlaid in parts of the armor and axe. This gold seems to be connected to Christianity and nobility since so far everyone has been so adorned. Also the Green Knight is in fact a knight. The narrator and the reaction of the court seems to support this fact. He is treated as nobility and in relation to that as a Christian. And yet he is otherworldly, superhuman in physical terms and spiritually supernatural as he survives the beheading. I find his appearance during the Christmas celebrations to also be indicative of his challenge towards Christianity. It is after all among the greatest Christian holidays and he decides to challenge the court during it's celebration in an especially rude way.
Following his departure, I find the passing of the seasons to be caught up in this struggle. I find it interesting that nature's cycle during the year is described as transformation. The trouble is taken to personify the natural world as alive. And yet it also seems as though Christian beliefs applied to this transformation when "the cold cheer of Lent" leads into the year and "Michaelmas" leads to Gawain's exit from the court (502, 532). In fact, he even leaves on All Saint's Day, a celebration of the dead saints. The bookending of nature's yearly cycle by Christian holidays wraps up this weird intertwining of religions. I also find it ironic that All Saints Day is when Gawain sets off with little hope in his or anyones heart of returning. Mayhap he'll be celebrated in the next year?
I feel this battle of faiths to continue on Gawain's journey. Even before he set's off he his encased in armor beautiful and protective and affixed with the finest gold, as mentioned numerous times. The gold and emphasis on protection, knightly values and the shield with all its allusions to Christian faith appear to form almost a suit of God's armor. He ends the encasing with a prayer for safety and success which again reestablishes the connection of Gawain to God and even declares, "In destinies sad or merry, True men can but try," which seems to indicate that he leaves his fate in God's hands and that he will simply do his best (564-565).
The fight continues even on his travels as it seems all of nature conspires against him including all man of creatures from wolves and wild men to the cold itself. He fights on through wilderness that seems to have sprung up adversely following his departure from the safety of the Christian court. And yet it seems that Christianity does not abandon him in need as per his prayer a place for mass in the form of a castle is provided him, and yet I still question the validity of the castle as we head into Part 3. I think it will be interesting to see how the struggle between these to forces will play out, and I will be equally interested in the character of the Green Knight to see if he is truly as intertwined as I find him to be so far.
Following his departure, I find the passing of the seasons to be caught up in this struggle. I find it interesting that nature's cycle during the year is described as transformation. The trouble is taken to personify the natural world as alive. And yet it also seems as though Christian beliefs applied to this transformation when "the cold cheer of Lent" leads into the year and "Michaelmas" leads to Gawain's exit from the court (502, 532). In fact, he even leaves on All Saint's Day, a celebration of the dead saints. The bookending of nature's yearly cycle by Christian holidays wraps up this weird intertwining of religions. I also find it ironic that All Saints Day is when Gawain sets off with little hope in his or anyones heart of returning. Mayhap he'll be celebrated in the next year?
I feel this battle of faiths to continue on Gawain's journey. Even before he set's off he his encased in armor beautiful and protective and affixed with the finest gold, as mentioned numerous times. The gold and emphasis on protection, knightly values and the shield with all its allusions to Christian faith appear to form almost a suit of God's armor. He ends the encasing with a prayer for safety and success which again reestablishes the connection of Gawain to God and even declares, "In destinies sad or merry, True men can but try," which seems to indicate that he leaves his fate in God's hands and that he will simply do his best (564-565).
The fight continues even on his travels as it seems all of nature conspires against him including all man of creatures from wolves and wild men to the cold itself. He fights on through wilderness that seems to have sprung up adversely following his departure from the safety of the Christian court. And yet it seems that Christianity does not abandon him in need as per his prayer a place for mass in the form of a castle is provided him, and yet I still question the validity of the castle as we head into Part 3. I think it will be interesting to see how the struggle between these to forces will play out, and I will be equally interested in the character of the Green Knight to see if he is truly as intertwined as I find him to be so far.
Maybe It’s Just Me: The State of Women Thus Far
We keep coming across this same basic description of many of the women in these tales, and I begin to wonder if there is more to it than just a male-centric (misogynistic?) social construct. Almost without fail, when we encounter a woman with enough status to bear description, we see her in one of two places, both of which are strikingly similar. She is either borne on the back of a finely-arrayed and obviously costly mount, or finely-arrayed on the dais. These locations are meant to instantly impart to the reader a sense of the woman herself, in that she is important enough to have a description and that description places her in a position close to one of power.
We saw this in the Lais and the story of Ragnelle, where the woman in question is mounted on a horse. This horse and its trappings define the status of the woman visually, but imply the status of their man. Yes, she has a beautiful horse with all the trimmings, but who gave it to her? Another way of asking this question is, as a woman is still socially deemed as chattel, who owns this pretty trinket? Women serve their function first as the lady of some great man, as the chatelaine of his home and the mother of his heirs. It is with notable exception that the women appear as something other than a possession. In the Lais, some of the ladies were arrayed beautifully to indicate that they were somehow enchanted or blessed, as in the tale of Lanval, where the worth of the woman proves that she is an eligible and worthy partner for a knight by virtue of her beauty, and the beauty which surrounds her. Lanval’s lady appears before Arthur in such a show of wealth that he cannot argue her claims. This is not because he is struck dumb by the sight of her loveliness; this is because she is carrying her dowry with her, making it clear that whoever she is, she is of quality, and there may be unseen ramifications for challenging her (such as the appearance of her obviously well-placed male sponsor). In the tale of Ragnelle, her wealth is displayed not only to counteract her initial visage, but to indicate that, whatever may have happened with her step-dame and brother, her reputation and dowry are intact, thus making her eligible instead of outcast.
In Beowulf, Wealtheow reigns from the high table, the position of her power as lady of the lord. As she is married, her dowry taken and used, she no longer needs to be decked in costly trappings. Her sense of worth to her husband and people is now determined by what she is allowed to say and do. Wealtheow can speak her mind, issue challenges, and bestow great gifts without any obvious textual repercussions to indicate she has overstepped her bounds. Grendel’s mother is much the same in her own home, though the difference is that there is no longer a lord there to determine where the money is spent, and she is surrounded by a trove of the expensive and priceless. Grendel’s mother is also the head of the household, speaking from her position as both lord and lady, as both mother to a child and ruler of a powerful champion. In Gawain and the Green Knight, we see Guenevere following in their footsteps. She is “on a dais well-decked and duly-arrayed/ with costly silk curtains, a canopy over, / of Toulouse and Turkestan tapestries…the best gems/ ever brought into Britain, with bright pennies to pay” (Ln. 75-80). Arthur’s queen is dressed and displayed in such a way to show his power, and his power over her. Arthur can control this beauty, afford to dress her finely, and this indicates his own standing. Not only can he afford to and chooses to do it, he is not dipping into the funds of her dowry to accomplish it, rather he is importing goods from other conquests and other lands to add to her scenery. This image calls to mind the altar of a church, where the Virgin Mary is finely dressed and surrounded by richness to indicate her status through that of her Lord. Yes, in that instance, she has assuredly earned the trappings on her own merit as well, but in this manner she, and Guenevere, stand as the symbol of femininity and beauty, and because of who they are related to, necessarily also representing virtue and compassion. The lady of the house is also in charge of ministering aid to the people, viewing them as her responsibility, so that she is not just a pretty ornament, but also a functioning person with a job to do. She does this, at meals and social functions, by being on the dais, above all the others, but still servant to them as she is to her husband.
But here, Guenevere is given an added distinction. The “fair queen, without a flaw,/ she glanced with eyes of grey” (Ln. 81-2). At this point in the semester, I bet everyone anticipates that I am going to link her gray eyes with the most famous of gray eyes, those of the goddess Athena. This minor detail may add a new level to Guenevere, as now she is not just chattel and a figurehead, she has been linked to wisdom and so we can infer that she must have some of her own.
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