2º Ciclo em Estudos Medievais
A Codificação do Amor e Do
Ódio em Kriemhilt e Orgeluse
André Miguel Castro de
Jesus
M
2016
A Codificação do Amor e do Ódio em Kriemhilt e Orgeluse
André Miguel Castro de Jesus
Dissertação realizada no âmbito do Mestrado em Estudos Medievais orientada pelo Professor
Doutor John Thomas Greenfield
Membros do Júri
Professora Doutora Maria Cristina Almeida e Cunha Alegre
Faculdade de Letras - Universidade Porto
Professora Doutora Ingrid Kasten
Fachbereich Philosophie und Geisteswissenschaften - Freie Universität Berlin
Professor Doutor John Thomas Greenfield
Faculdade de Letras - Universidade do Porto
Classificação obtida: 18 (dezoito) valores
To my mother and dearest companion, Maria
Index
Acknowledgments ...................................................................................................................... 1
Resumo ....................................................................................................................................... 5
Abstract ...................................................................................................................................... 6
Introduction ................................................................................................................................ 8
Methodology and Structure .................................................................................................. 13
Notes on the Issue of Working with Translations ................................................................ 14
1. A Woman’s Role – Traditional and Unlikely Representations of Women in Medieval
Literature .................................................................................................................................. 21
2.
1.1.
The “Courtly Lady” Topos ..................................................................................... 21
1.2.
The “Warrior-like Maiden” Topos .......................................................................... 30
Tokens of Love – Decoding minne in Kriemhilt and Orgeluse ........................................ 46
2.1.
minne – an attempt at a definition ............................................................................. 46
2.2.
Decoding minne in Kriemhilt .................................................................................... 51
2.3.
Decoding minne in Orgeluse ..................................................................................... 67
2.4 Some observations on the expressions of minne in Kriemhilt and Orgeluse –
similarities and disparities .................................................................................................... 78
3.
The Wrath of a frouwe– Decoding hatred in Kriemhilt and Orgeluse.............................. 82
3.1.
Hatred – a dependent, mutable concept? ................................................................... 82
3.2.
Decoding Hatred in Kriemhilt ................................................................................... 90
3.3.
Decoding Hatred in Orgeluse .................................................................................. 100
3.4 Brief observations on the expressions of hatred in Kriemhilt and Orgeluse –
similarities and disparities .................................................................................................. 107
Final Considerations ............................................................................................................... 112
Bibliography ........................................................................................................................... 117
Acknowledgments
In this small section I would like to extend my profound and heartfelt gratitude to
all who accompanied me throughout these years of my academic itinerary; I find all words
of praise and recognition I can think of severely wanting in order to express just how
deeply thankful and indebted I am to each and every single one.
I would first like to sincerely extend my gratitude to my Supervisor, Professor
Doctor John Thomas Greenfield of the Faculdade de Letras da Universidade do Porto, for
always being available whenever I needed guidance, for his immeasurable patience, for
his invaluable input and for enthusiastically encouraging me throughout this year. His
captivating lectures on ‘Das Nibelungenlied’ and ‘Parzival’ piqued and kindled my now
deep-seated interest for these works and his insightful commentaries on them truly
inspired me to pursue my own research. More than a Professor or a Supervisor, I came to
respectfully regard Professor John Greenfield as a Mentor – and all my work on these
subjects, be it the present dissertation or future research, is always very much indebted to
him.
Secondly, I would like to thank Professor Doctor Maria Cristina Almeida e Cunha
Alegre, the Coordinator of the Medieval Studies’ Master’s Course of the Faculdade de
Letras da Universidade do Porto, for warmly welcoming me. Her boundless kindness,
solicitude, cheerfulness and support stimulated throughout these last two – and
remarkably short, I must add – challenging years of my academic life. I could not be
happier nor more grateful for everything Professor Cristina Cunha has done for me – as
a student and as a person.
Thirdly, I would like to extend my sincere gratitude to all my Professors at the
Faculdade de Letras da Universidade do Porto. Your individual contributions were
instrumental to get me where I am today and shall never be forgotten.
I would like to thank Professor Doctor Maria Clara Ferreira Araújo Barros
Greenfield from the Faculdade de Letras da Universidade do Porto for all her support,
1
confidence and encouragement throughout my years attending the University. It was
recomforting to know that I could always count on Professor Clara Barros for friendly
words, honest opinions, reassurance and sound advice – all in equal measure. I (like many
of Professor Clara’s former students I personally know, in and outside the Linguistics’
field of study) have nothing but utmost admiration and respect for her.
I would also like extend my heartfelt thanks to Professor Doctor Pedro Jorge
Santos da Costa Eiras from the Faculdade de Letras da Universidade do Porto for showing
me new realms of literature I never knew existed and for introducing me to new ways to
approach, read, interpret and think about literary works – especially those of oral and
folkloric origins. Professor Pedro Eiras’ passion for literature – a quality that is patent in
his lectures and his own books alike – is highly inspiring (and contagious); it has
effectively instilled in me new-found resolve to do what truly interested me and,
consequently, steered me to the academic path I have taken.
I would like to express my immense gratitude to my friends who stood by me
during times of anxiety, difficulty, bad humour and for putting up with my undeserved
sarcastic retorts and gloomy moods. Likewise, I would like to thank them for all the
support, for their kindness, for their unwavering confidence, for their friendship and love.
I could never have attained my goals without them. And though you remain anonymous
here, for a multitude of reasons… Thank you. Thank you all. Truly.
I am also very grateful to my colleagues and friends, Marta and Eugénio; for our
efforts together, for our work sessions together, for our long conversations on the
peculiarities of the churches in the Oporto district and about astounding intricacies of a
certain lioness-headed Egyptian goddess and the cult around her. They provided the ideal
work environment, mutual aid, support and thought-provoking discussions most people
in my position only dream of having. I have learned greatly with you and from you. And
I sincerely wish with all my heart that you succeed in your own future academic
endeavours.
Finally, I would like to thank my family. My gratitude – a gratitude that is
impossible to be encompassed by mere words – to my mother, Maria, the strongest, most
2
hard-working, most courageous human being I have ever had the pleasure to be
acquainted with. For instilling in me my reading addiction, for her utmost kindness, for
always welcoming me home with a smile and comfort food, for her diligence and patience
– thank you. You truly have an unbreakable heart of gold, Mother – and I am extremely
proud to be your son. To my uncle, Paulo, for his playful jokes and loyal friendship, for
his support and his much-needed advice, for sharing in my anxiety, fears and joy – you
have my much-deserved thanks. My heartfelt thanks to my late grandparents and role
models, Celestina and Dialmiro, my very own storytellers and weavers of my dreams, for
raising me in an environment of unending love, patience, respect and overwhelming
kindness – and for providing me with the happiest childhood anyone has ever had.
And, as a small side note, a special thanks to Mr. U. F. and Mr. M. H. for constantly
reminding me that narratives – especially heavily fragmentary, vague or challenging ones
– can be resoundingly engaging, thought-provoking and immensely fulfilling.
3
4
Resumo
Esta dissertação tem como âmbito demonstrar de que forma se realiza a codificação das
emoções, em particular, o amor e o ódio em Kriemhilt (personagem central da obra ‘Das
Nibelugenlied’) e Orgeluse (personagem fulcral da tragédia que assola o mundo espiritual
na obra ‘Parzival’). Para tal, recorremos aos referidos textos (utilizando as traduções dos
mesmos realizadas por Arthur T. Hatto dos originais em Médio-Alto Alemão) e
procuramos descodificar, analisar e sistematizar as várias formas que cada uma das
personagens utiliza para demonstrar o amor e o ódio.
Palavras-chave: amor, ódio, Kriemhilt, Orgeluse
5
Abstract
The present dissertation aims at demonstrating how does the codification of emotions,
particular love and hate, works in Kriemhilt (central character of the ‘Das
Nibelungenlied’) and Orgeluse (the character that is responsible for the tragedy that
overtakes the Grail world in ‘Parzival’). For this purpose, I resorted to the translations
performed by Arthur T. Hatto of the original works in Middle-High German and I
attempted to decodify, analyse and systematise the various ways which each character
utilises to demonstrate love and hate.
Keywords: love, hate, Kriemhilt, Orgeluse
6
7
Introduction
Women have been central figures of many a narrative. Since times immemorial, women
have been the starting point, the main characters, the driving force and the ultimate end of a
multitude of stories.
The European Middle Ages has no lack of narratives in which women are featured;
especially romances and epic poems. The Castilian ‘Cantar de Mio Cid’ has Cid’s wife Ximeña
and his daughters, Sol and Elvira, (the catalysts for the second and third cantares of the poem),
the French ‘Chanson de Roland’ has Roland’s betrothed and Olivier’s sister Aude; Hartmann
von Aue’s romance ‘Erec’ has Enite (also, in part, the impetus for the action of the work) and
the list goes on. However, there seems to be a common element that binds each of these
characters together, so to speak: they are secondary female characters.
In truth, some of them add the needed tension for the action of the narrative to come to
fruition; nevertheless, they figure very little (and with little prominence) in the core events of
the aforementioned texts. They, for the most part, are defined by their matrimonial link or
blood-relations to the male characters. For all their functionality, they are easily glossed over,
they pale constantly in comparison to the protagonists – the male protagonists. Women in
medieval fiction seem generally prone to be overshadowed and cast aside in the favour of their
male counterparts – generally is the key word here; for there are two particular women who
transgress this norm and clearly stand out: I speak, of course, of the atypical cases of Kriemhilt
from ‘Das Nibelungenlied’ and Orgeluse from ‘Parzival’.
‘Das Nibelungenlied’ is a very polarising work and has very much left no critic or
scholar that has read it indifferent to it. Dated as being written in the thirteenth century, since
its rediscovery by Johann Jacob Bodmer in the eighteenth century, this epic poem has grabbed
the attention of many scholars – among many others, the philologists Karl Lachmann and
Andreas Heusler – and still propitiates a monumental quantity of critical texts and editions1. At
Gibbs, M. E. & Johnson, S. M. (1997). ‘Medieval German Literature – A Companion’. New York & London:
Garland Publishing, Inc. pages 205 – 216.
1
8
the heart of the epic poem lies Kriemhilt, the Burgundian noblewoman and a recurring character
throughout the whole opus; she begins the narrative as a comely lady but effectively unfurls the
tragedy that will afflict both her kinsmen and the relatives and vassals of her second husband.
What truly separates Kriemhilt from the characters mentioned above is her prominence
throughout the whole text. She is not merely a literary stimulant for the massacre that will ensue
nor is she eclipsed by her fellow male characters – she transcends her place and figures
constantly and prominently beside them. She is also unique in her emotions; she does love and
she does hate but this love and this hate are not easily assuaged or overtaken by other characters
– and one only has to recall the calamity she unleashes on virtually all other individuals to be
reminded of this.
On a par with Kriemhilt, we have Orgeluse, the Duchess of Logroys from ‘Parzival’.
The courtly romance itself is dated as being written in the very same time as ‘Das
Nibelungenlied’; it is a far more complex and polished work than its source material (Chrétien
de Troyes’ fragmentary ‘Perceval’) by a poet renowned for his love lyric – Wolfram von
Eschenbach – and, like ‘Das Nibelungenlied’, has incited a myriad of critical texts from varied
scholars and editions2. It has three main male characters – Gahmuret, Parzival and Gawan –
but primarily deals with the knightly adventures of Parzival and Gawan. Orgeluse figures in the
Gawan part of the action; nevertheless, she – like Kriemhilt – has influenced the entire world
of her narrative.
By indirectly causing the catastrophe of the spiritual world in ‘Parzival’, the Duchess of
Logroys has paved the way for Parzival to assume his rightful place has the Grail King; however
her future does not lie in that realm but in the secular world. Likewise, she is the sole motive
for which the other protagonist, Gawan, is himself motivated; Gawan finds Orgeluse and seeks
to win her love. But Orgeluse, unlike many women, will not just relent and concede love to a
knight; he will have to obey her commands and prove himself worthy of her. She, like
Kriemhilt, transcends her role as a female character – she not only maintains her prominence,
she effectively demands it. But, unlike Kriemhilt, she is ultimately assuaged by love and
relegates herself to her ‘proper’ place in the world around her.
Through these previous lines, and recalling other examples of women in medieval
literature that I presented, we can concur that both Kriemhilt and Orgeluse are, in fact, atypical
women. They follow an inverted itinerary to one another; they play the same roles in different
Idem, ibidem, pages 180 – 190.
2
9
instances of their texts (as courtly ladies and as ill-tempered, dominant women), they stand out
amidst the myriad of female characters for their unyielding personalities and their strong
presence both in their respective works and in other literary texts of the same period and genre.
But are they alone in their uniqueness? Are they the two sole female characters that distance
themselves from the rest? Can we find other women before them with the same or similar
characteristics and traits?
In Antiquity, we find characters such as Helen of Troy, in the role of a reward from
Aphrodite to Paris, that propitiates the Trojan War recounted (in part) in Homer’s ‘Iliad’ – a
not entirely atypical role for a woman to find herself in. Helen was renowned for her beauty –
a fatal beauty3 – and she is effectively kidnaped for this very reason. Featuring in the same war,
(however, in a different opus; ‘The Fall of Troy’ by Quintus Syrmaneus) we find yet another –
albeit dissimilar – female character; Penthesileia, the Queen of the Amazons. She, too, is a
female – however she is a far cry from the impotent Helen; Penthesileia is a warrior queen,
daughter of Ares, and she enters the fray of battle against the invading Achaeans – to
consequently die fighting with one of the most celebrated heroes of all, Achilles. However, for
all her warrior qualities and fierceness, she is not lacking in rich characterisation where her
female charms are concerned4; even the reason given for Penthesileia’s presence seems to
soften – to a degree – her fighting prowess: she is there because she has killed her own sister,
Hippolyta, and she wishes to die a warrior’s death to atone for the deed.
Of all the characters taking part in the Trojan War cycle (indeed, of all literature), I point
to these two – Helen and Penthesilea – with a very clear reason in mind; i.e., the discrepancies
between them. Both are exceedingly beautiful and alluring, both are very graciously compared
to goddesses, both exert tremendous force in their respective narratives; yet Penthesileia seems
more – for the lack of a better word – compelling.
3
This notion of fatal beauty is better exemplified by the following passage: «When they saw Helen coming towards
the tower, they said softly to one another, “Small wonder that Trojans and Achaeans should endure so much and
so long, for the sake of a woman so marvellously and divinely lovely. Still, fair though she be, let them take her
and go, or she will breed sorrow for us and for our children after us.”» (Homer. ‘Iliad’. Book III, page 57).
4
She is presented by the narrator in such terms: «Amidst the bright-haired Hours; and o’er them all, /How flawlessfair soever these may be, / Her splendour of beauty glows pre-eminent; / So peerless amid all the Amazons / Unto
Troy-town Penthesileia came. (…) The Trojans, greatly marvelling, when they saw / The tireless War-god’s child,
the mailed maid, / Like to the Blessed Gods ; for in her face / Glowed beauty glorious and terrible. / Her smile was
ravishing : beneath her brows / Her love-enkindling eyes shone like to stars, / And with her crimson rose of
shamefastness / Bright were her cheeks, and mantled over them / Unearthly grace with battle-prowess clad.»
(Syrmaneus, Q. ‘The Fall of Troy’. Book I, page 7).
10
While Helen is, indeed, the sole motive for the whole Trojan War, she, in extremis, is
just that: a motive, an object which two men fatally bicker over. Helen will be the bane of Troy
– and of the Achaeans, to an extent – and she has some interesting moments over the course of
the ‘Iliad’; nevertheless, she seems to lack the enticement that Penthesileia incites.
The Queen of the Amazons, on the other hand, seems like a more complex character;
for instance, she breaks the traditional mould of a beautiful woman of the time by having a
bellicose role in the action of the narrative and an appearance that incorporates royal status,
divine charms, warrior accoutrements and guilt for her past actions – and each element seems
not to superimpose itself over the rest, conferring a certain harmonious quality and depth to her.
Although she still represents the female sphere, she is very much unique and a character that
stands out among other, less autonomous women in the Trojan Cycle. Penthesileia, for her part,
is very much a warrior-maiden and a princess in equal measure; she is free to assume the
opposite gender and face men in battle, as she does over the course of her narrative – and this
quality, i.e., to face men head-on as equal (although she is not viewed as such by men) is what
makes her stand out.
That is not to say that Penthesileia is a unique case in world literature. However, she
stands as a paradigm of a distinct type of women – women that are presented in a dichotomic
manner, women with traits that seem to be complete opposites of one another, women that stand
out among other women, women capable (and willing) of adopting both the female and male
roles and their specific actions and emotions. In this category, one could also put two other
women – Kriemhilt and Orgeluse.
Both Kriemhilt and Orgeluse are – to a degree – comparable to Penthesileia; both are
women of noble descent and with dazzling forms and divine visages. And, like the Queen of
the Amazons, they have lost a loved one; however, this is where their similarities end, to a
degree – for both women are bereft of a spouse (or would-be spouse, in the case of Orgeluse)
and this loss (i.e., this love and, consequently, this desire for revenge) is what motivates their
actions in their respective narratives.
Kriemhilt begins her itinerary as a carefree and comely princess who comes to know
love in the dragon-slayer prince of Xanten, Siegfried; Orgeluse, by contrast, begins her part of
the narrative as a surreptitiously despondent but outwardly imperious duchess with a penchant
for humiliating those who would seek to love her. Although their starting points could not be
more dissimilar, they have much in common as the action of both narratives progress –
11
Kriemhilt comes to love deeply Siegfried but is torn from him, betrayed by her relatives, and
her mighty husband finds his death at the hands of her wife’s kinsmen; Orgeluse speaks of her
favoured and much loved knight Cidegast having met his death at the hands of another king.
Each lady seeks, therefore, to attain justice by belligerent means – they cannot take to the
warrior’s role (as Penthesileia is free to do if she chooses to) to personally extract vengeance
from those who so terribly harmed them, nevertheless they seem relatively free to employ
knights to avenge their fallen loved ones.
These previous assertions imply, therefore, two distinct but pivotal elements – both
Orgeluse and Kriemhilt have experienced love and hatred. This assessment appears to be
somewhat prosaic and simple; nevertheless, it presents, in a sense, the main objective of the
present dissertation: we know that both Kriemhilt and Orgeluse experience love and hatred
throughout their respective narratives; nevertheless, it is also equally relevant to understand
how these noblewomen codify these emotions. In a fairly superficial reading of both ‘Das
Nibelungenlied’ and ‘Parzival’ alike we can gather enough evidence to assert that Kriemhilt
and Orgeluse feel this dichotomy of emotions; however, there is an underlying rich multitude
of symbols that articulate, emphasise and amplify these two distinct emotions that may elude
the grasp of the reader. In similar manner, these tokens provide subtle hints to the emotion
ruling the characters in each scene. But what are exactly these abundant conglomeration of
symbols (which incorporate not only the words spoken by the characters or about them by the
narrator but also gestures, actions and their descriptions of said characters)? How are they used
to codify their emotions? In which instances are they used? Are these symbols of codification
transversal to both works? How does the convention of symbols which codify love and hatred
work? – These are the main issues that I intend to answer in the present dissertation.
As I have stated before – and not without good motive to do so –, Penthesileia seems
relatively free to do battle against men. She is a warrior queen, after all; nevertheless, this
characteristic seems to be ill received by men. Achilles himself, after piercing the Amazon with
a spear, mocks and derides her in her death throes for leaving the labours of the women and
having the audacity to join the battle as a soldier5. This upbraid by Pelleus’ son brings yet
another issue to the discussion – the issue of genders and the roles bound to each one.
This issue of genders is itself patent throughout both Orgeluse’s and Kriemhilt’s
progression; as I have mentioned above, both women lose their love interests and effectively
5
Idem, ibidem, Book I, pages 53-54.
12
strive to punish the men responsible. However, they cannot act on their own – in this position,
they are much akin to Helen’s own position in the ‘Iliad’. They do not let their gender stop them
– to a degree; they cannot fight like the Amazon did and yet they will not let the transgression
stand like Helen (for the most part) does. Hence, they attempt to gather the favour of other men
in order to indirectly promote a change in the world; a world that is mainly ruled by the male
sphere that does not allow women actively (i.e., directly) to perform changes in it by
themselves.
But, what happens when a woman steeps too deep in hatred? Will she violate the social
and cultural norms that pertain to her gender and the roles allotted to it? How may she safely
circumvent them? What are exactly the defining traits of the female gender in these (dissimilar)
medieval literary genres in Middle-High German? What are the roles that a woman can adopt?
Is the gender role dictated by the emotion ruling the lady? Or is it the other way around? These
are also some of the issues that I will strive to address and clarify in the present dissertation.
Methodology and Structure
My analysis of both Kriemhilt and Orgeluse will be divided into three main steps.
In the first chapter I will attempt to ascertain the exact roles that a woman in medieval
literature in Middle-High German can adopt and the characteristics and traits that define them.
For this purpose, I will reference and use other characters of the female sphere – from ‘Das
Nibelungenlied’, ‘Parzival’ and other works - as examples, thereby underlining their function,
behaviour and the part they play in the action. Since the two characters I am working on are
from medieval literary works in Middle-High German, I will circumscribe my analysis and my
references only to female characters from this topographic and literary space; I will not – for
the sake of cohesion and focus – refer to characters from other literary works of the European
Middle Ages. With this, I aim at a building a clear and succinct systematisation of the gender
roles that women can assume, therefore creating and consolidating distinct topoi.
In the second chapter, I will address the issue of love – i.e., minne. I will begin by
defining minne, anchoring my assertions and observations in literary texts in Middle-High
German; specifically attempting to delineate its conventional characteristics, how it applies to
and how it is felt dissimilarly by both the male and the female spheres. I will then decodify the
various expressions and gestures of minne in both Kriemhilt and Orgeluse, highlighting them
13
by resorting to and quoting from the sources. The second chapter will come to an end in a brief
sub-chapter where I will recapitulate the focal elements found and add other relevant
information that supplements my analysis.
The third chapter will open with a subchapter that has as its goal a clarification of the
concept of hatred. In this first subchapter, I will attempt to describe what exactly is hatred and
how it figures in and is expressed distinctively by both genders; resorting, as I have done
previously, to the works to exemplify and strengthen my argumentation. Still in this first
subchapter, I will reference some words that are commonly translated from Middle-High
German to English as “hatred” or equivalent words I will make use of several citations from
both ‘Das Nibelungenlied’ and ‘Parzival’ original texts in Middle-High German. The next step
will concern the decoding of the gestures, expressions, words and acts that symbolise or
transmit hatred in both Kriemhilt and Orgeluse, utilising direct or indirect quotes from both
works to sustain my observations and statements. This third chapter will come to a close like
the previous chapter pertaining to minne – with a brief subchapter that will encapsulate the most
recurrent and prominent results of my analysis and will include other pertinent extra
information that otherwise could not be inserted in the main subchapters pertaining to the
decoding of hatred in both female characters.
Notes on the Issue of Working with Translations
One of the greatest challenges of working with concepts in a foreign language is how to
illustrate successfully these concepts in a coherent fashion, going to extreme lengths to capture,
define, systematize and present them in our own language with little to no deviation from their
actual meaning.
Naturally, we resort to translations. But translations, more often than not, tend to be
mere approximations, failing to express a concept in full and leaving pivotal gaps. The reader
is therefore, as the concepts themselves, lost in translation. Because a translation is a mere
approximation, by itself it generally succeeds very poorly at conveying cultural, social and
chronological nuances. Faced with a linguistic “hurdle”, the reader is left with two options: to
go beyond mere translations and make an effort to understand the inner workings of a concept
through extensive research on the culture, the society and the period in which that concept had
its genesis or to take the translation “as is” and move on. The latter seems the easiest, but also
the most dangerous route; it can and will lead to a flawed (if not outright wrong) vision, not
14
only of the concept itself but also of all the cultural, social and chronological backgrounds on
which it was built. That is the main problem of resorting purely to translations – translations
may paint in broad strokes, overlooking (or overshadowing) the details, the sensibilities and the
subtleties that are quintessential to a concept and, above all, to a deeper understanding of it.
When faced with cultural, social, chronological and linguistic barriers the co-text and
the context can provide invaluable assistance – but not all translations, and indeed not all
translators, strive to elucidate the reader fully and to complement his or her literary experience
with co-text and context. In like manner, not all readers are keen on immersing themselves in
the co-text and the context so masterfully outlined by translators – this is mostly true when we
talk about casual readers.
The casual reader does not walk away from an opus ill-equipped by not possessing a
deep understanding of all its concepts; a translation will suffice to give him or her a broad
picture of them. For instance, to a casual reader of Murasaki Shikibu’s ‘The Tale of Genji’6 the
full understanding of the concept of Mono No Aware may not seem all that important or relevant
to enjoy the book; he or she may even content him or herself to have it translated plainly as the
pathos of things or as the beauty of the ephemeral – a love for the transient and an awareness
of impermanence.7 But to resign oneself into accepting this, at best, meagre explanation is to
vastly reduce this major concept – to the point of alienation.
Likewise, a casual reader may still enjoy the delightful scenes of the titular character’s
amorous dalliances or the colourful poems in the book – poems with themes ranging from
unrequited love to witty retorts, without a fair knowledge of the symbolic nature behind each
metaphor of Chinese origin in them that correlate directly with the Japanese sensibilities during
the Heian Period (a period that spans roughly from 794 to 1185)8.
The casual reader does not walk away ill-equipped in a broad sense – however they do
not imbibe, digest and assimilate all of the opus.
I must single out among all translations that of Edward G. Seidensticker’s ; for Mr. Seidensticker has, in my
opinion, produced not only a very engaging, complete and encompassing English translation of the original Genji
Monogatari but also a succinct, brief and insightful introductory chapter. Vide Shikibu, M. (1992). ‘The Tale of
Genji - translation in two volumes and introduction by Edward G. Seidenstick’. London: Everyman’s Library.
7
Professor Donald Keene has a very insightful and short chapter concerning the Japanese aesthetics – particularly
the subchapter entitled «Perishability» – on which he, though the voices of authors like Kenko (a Buddhist priest
of the fourteenth century known for his Essays on Idleness) or Lafcadio Hearn (perhaps one of the most important
researchers and authors concerning Japanese culture of the nineteenth century) expounds the innate beauty and
allure that impermanence (among other concepts) possess for the Japanese people. Keene, D. (1993). ‘The
Pleasures of Japanese Literature’. New York: Columbia University Press. pages 3 – 22.
8
On the topic of Japanese poetry vide Ueda, Makoto. «Japanese Poetry» in Preminger, Alex & Brogan, T.V. F.
(1993). ‘The New Princeton Encyclopaedia of Poetry and Poetics’. New Jersey: Princeton University Press. Pages
657 – 665.
6
15
If, on the other hand, a reader tries to partake in all that the book has to offer they are
confronted with another major issue – some concepts are, to put it simply, nearly untranslatable.
For instance, Mono no Aware is a fairly puzzling concept to a westerner living in the twentyfirst century – even with co-text and context there is margin for error. It is not clearly defined
in all its nuances and it would require a gargantuan effort to do so. It is culturally, socially and
chronologically entrenched in the Heian Period by its peculiar, vast meaning and importance
and we – who are chronologically, linguistically and culturally very distant from it – struggle
to understand it. More than merely translate it, we must deconstruct it piece by piece and show
how exactly it is codified in the text.
I present this example – from arguably the first romance (in the modern sense of the
word) ever written, and by a woman of the Imperial Court, no less – with a very specific purpose
in mind. By perusing its pages, one will come into contact with a specific idealised court: its
complex protocols of interpersonal relationships between men and women and between people
of different ranks; the intrigues and power struggles of clans; the extensive code of etiquette
that is expected to be followed by members of each gender in different situations; the
behaviours (acceptable or not) of both men and women; the dress code (all the way to the colour
combinations appropriate for each season); all described by an author with intimate knowledge
of the courtly life – and all framed in a period not too different, chronologically speaking, from
our own European Middle Ages –; pivotal information that gives us a fair understanding not
only of the court itself but the distinguished gender role of both male and female characters and
how they express their emotions.
That said, I am not stating that Murasaki Shikibu’s romance is a catoptric object of our
own Middle Ages. However, it is an idealised court, with idealised or even ideal courtly
characters – something that, on the other hand, can mirror an idealised European court in a
courtly romance.
By “mirror” I do not mean “equal” – but “equivalent” in a sense. It has its own
sociocultural dynamics, its own contained world, its own representation and roles of men and
women, its own distinct aesthetics; and these characteristics are, indeed, in tune with the
expectations and tastes of a particular immediate public – an aforementioned public that is
chronologically, socially and culturally locked, so to speak. Likewise, it may (or may not) serve
as a model for courtly men and women, not only in behavioural and social patterns but also in
the construction of vehicles to express emotions.
We can dismiss, and unjustly so, this idealised courtly world because it is just that –
fictional – by arguing that it is an idealisation and not a model of the court of the time and the
16
society inscribed in it. Hence, the “right action” to take would be to turn our attention to a book
that represents or encapsulates the real world of the time. But one would be at fault for doing
so; surely an idealised court is purely fictional but it is, indeed, borne from the aesthetics and
sensibilities of the society it ennobles. These two worlds are discernible but far from estranged.
For instance, we can put aside Murasaki Shikibu’s magnum opus and turn our attention
to another volume produced in the Heian Period – ‘The Pillow Book’ by the courtly lady Sei
Shonagon9. ‘The Pillow Book’ is – for the lack of a more appropriate word – a “diary”10 of a
predecessor of Lady Murasaki and, by poring over its pages, one will come to the conclusion
that the Heian Court is a little less ideal than its representation in ‘The Tale of Genji’. Lady
Shonagon, writing about and on the everyday life of the Heian Court, shows a “realer” court;
nevertheless, it – this real world – incorporates a great many characteristics of the idealised
court (or, at the very least, strives to). For example, noblewomen make processions in well
secluded, ox-drawn carriages to hear the hototogisu 11 – the cuckoo – at the end of Spring, as it
is considered a quintessential event in the reverence of impermanence (and a highly fashionable
affair, at that)12. Likewise, on more than one occasion Lady Sei comments on the appearance
of men of the court, not by describing their physique or their physiognomy but by noting their
lavishly beautiful apparels and combinations of colours – letting us extrapolate that, for the
woman of the time, the handsomeness of a man lies not only in his clothes but in the way he
combines them.
Thus, the real courtly world and the fictional courtly world come into contact, for the
latter is borne out of the former. They, however, do not fuse; but they are dependent upon each
other and the former shapes the latter. And the finer, underlying points – the clothes, poems,
the certain actions taken before certain situations and in given contexts, the prevalent aesthetical
Meredith McKinney’s English translation of the original Makura no Sōshi is, in my opinion, an essential volume
for any interested reader that seeks not only to read The Pillow Book but also to learn extensively about the Heian
Period and its court in detail. This translation contains a copious supply of notes and references on everything –
ranging from annotations on obscure passages to the aesthetics of the apparel used by the courtiers. Shonagon, S.
(2007). ‘The Pillow Book - Translation, introduction and notes by Meredith McKinney’. London: Penguin Books
Ltd.
10
In fact, the content of the book is more akin to a collection of recollections of daily life interspersed with poetry,
discourses on Lady Shonagon’s tastes and dislikes and observations about life at court in general from the point
of view of a lady-in-waiting. For the sake of clarity, I must state that I am reluctant to categorise the book itself as
belonging to a certain literary genre; for, in doing so, I believe it is to greatly reduce its quality and content.
11
The cry of the hototogisu seems to announce the Summer, the month in which a multitude of festivals take place
all over Japan, namely O-Bon Matsuri, the Festival of the Dead; the time of the year when the barrier between the
world of the living and the world of the dead thins and the spirits of the departed briefly adjourn on Earth. Vide
Davies, F. H. (1992). ‘Myths and Legends of Japan’. New York: Dover Publications Inc. Chapter XXIII: Bird and
Insect Legends.
12
Shonagon, S. (2007). ‘The Pillow Book - Translation, introduction and notes by Meredith McKinney’. London:
Penguin Books Ltd. section 94, pages 97 – 104.
9
17
movements and fashions, how the characters feel – are what truly contribute for a deeper and
more complete understanding of an opus.
Mutatis mutandis, these finer points are, simply put, lost without a good translation and
copious notes by the translator to the reader who understands (and concerns him or herself with)
little or nothing of the Japanese language, customs and practices in the Heian Period. And, even
the more elucidated reader of a translation is bound to miss a small detail or to misunderstand
a small gesture or mention because, no matter how well informed he or she is on these matters,
he or she is working with a foreign culture – and a foreign language – in every sense of the
word.
But, and returning to the matter of ideal courtly world, the same can be said of the
Arthurian court: it has its specific social dynamics; distinguished roles played out by the King,
the Queen, the knights and ladies; its own contained world. A world that, far from being equal
to all European courts in the Middle Ages, still resounds with the courtly audience. And, since
it is a literary construct, it contains a very specific definition of what is an ideal knight and an
ideal lady, how do they ideally behave before and apart from each other and – the pivotal point
for this dissertation – how do these characters show or not show their emotions and through
what gestures, actions and words; how they feel, how do they codify emotions. In similar
manner, one can argue that this idealised courtly world characterises the ideal villain – a knight
who is either a courteous opponent or a friend/kinsman whom the main character does not
recognize (there are exceptions, of course) – and a series of archetypal knightly quests.
Every single part of this world is finely tuned and crafted, stylised in a manner that
corresponds with the aesthetics and expectations of the medieval audience. However, we have
a very important – indeed, a very precise – difference when it comes to Arthurian literature in
Medieval Europe: it is present in distinct geographical areas.
Hence, that poses a problem; that of cultural – and therefore linguistic – dissidence. By
“dissidence” I mean to say that the Arthurian mythos and world will be dependent upon the
culture that adapts and rewrites it, i.e., it will come to incorporate in it the aesthetics of the poet
and culture that receives, modulates and reformulates the Arthurian work in question. With this
assertion I am not strictly stating that the Arthurian world and mythos will divide itself in very
dissimilar narratives that greatly distance themselves from others cogitated outside of a given
geographical location or from its original source (if we can indeed speak of ‘original sources’
concerning these works). But certain concepts, certain cultural and social nuances will come to
permeate and distinguish the works produced in a certain territory, if only in part, according to
18
the culture (of which the poet himself is part of) that borrows and rewrites an Arthurian
romance.
In the instance of ‘Parzival’, there are two courts (actually three, if we consider the
retinue of ladies at Schastel Marveile as a court) – the Arthurian court and the Grail court.
Although the latter is very different when it comes to its objective, form of administration and
rules, this spiritual court – which is more akin to a monastic order than a court per se– still
retains the social stratification of an Arthurian court; i.e., it has a King (albeit an enfeebled one),
a Queen (a chaste one), its knights, its castle. And, for all its marvels, solipsism, privileged
contact with God and religious symbolism, it is still very much a court, if only in its inherent
social strata alone.
The world of ’Das Nibelungenlied’ is another matter entirely. The work itself is, above
all, a heroic epos – one, nevertheless, stylised to an extent as a courtly romance. Unlike the
Arthurian matter, ’Das Nibelungenlied’ never had the same widespread reach and, therefore,
did not echo throughout Medieval Europe in re-workings executed by a multitude of foreign
poets. It is, in this sense, very “Germanic-centric”; i.e., it was not as universally known in
Medieval Europe as was Arthurian legends, however it was reworked again and again and even
given a continuation in the Germanic territory.
Nevertheless, its world – particularly the court at Worms – has the same core as the
Arthurian court. It is an idealised model of a court, with clear distinctions between the roles of
women and men that populate it; it has its own social and cultural dynamics that fit the
chronological space in which it was produced (although the questions of the original source
and, indeed, of the original poet of ‘Das Nibelungenlied’ are problematic and have been a
veritable topic of discord among the critics). Moreover, it is, theoretically at least, centred in
Germanic territory – and not borrowed from France, for example – so it contains in it a
somewhat moulded world to the expectations and aesthetics of the immediate public; a public
that probably already knew the plot.
A priori, a new poet does not need to revise too much in the text to shape it to his
patron’s liking – for it is culturally anchored already. The concepts and themes that permeate
and manifest in the poem are very much the proverbial life blood of it – and are very much
Germanic in origin.
The central concepts, as I stated above, are very particular to the Germanic territory;
they populate both narratives extensively – ‘Das Nibelungenlied’ and ‘Parzival’ alike – and
become the primum movens of both. These concepts – minne (love) and hatred – emanate from
the central concept of triuwe (loyalty) felt by the particular characters that are the focus of the
19
present dissertation – Kriemhilt and Orgeluse. However, the first of the two of the
aforementioned concepts pose a problem – like the concept of Mono no Aware, not only is this
concept far from being simple, it is seldom translatable. And, to someone like myself, with little
knowledge of German or of Middle-High German, these issues become even more problematic.
Thus, I forcibly must resort to translations – the aforementioned approximations –; however, I
do not do so lightly.
As I have pointed out and, consequentially, illustrated throughout this small excursus
on Japanese literature of the Heian Period, translations are mere approximations and I am fully
aware of the risks that working solely with and on translations pose and entail. There is bound
to be some specific details that will elude my grasp. Also, apart from not being able to read the
works in Middle-High German or German, I am also at a ‘bigger’ disadvantage; I cannot read
most of the critical bibliography produced by German-speaking scholars and critics on or about
these works. Thus, the present dissertation will be lacking in what I am surely aware is a
precious literary and critical trove of German provenience. But I will try to do my best to bridge
these gaps by resorting to other sources – namely, well-executed and unabridged translations
of both narratives by Arthur T. Hatto. Not being able to understand German may be a handicap
in working with works produced in Middle-High German but it is also a challenge; a challenge
I am more than willing to try and overcome as professionally and as critically as I can due to
my profound interest in these two particular works.
20
1. A Woman’s Role – Traditional and Unlikely Representations
of Women in Medieval Literature
1.1.
The “Courtly Lady” Topos
As I have pointed out before, men and women have very dissimilar roles in medieval
society and this is mirrored in the fictional world created by the poets of the time. Men were
ideally raised to become paragons of chivalry, tutored in the art of war and courtly decorum,
taught to become warriors and to seek prîs (glory in battle) in stît (battle); to challenge, hate
each other or to band together – and to rule. Women, on the other hand, were raised to become
ideal courtly ladies, submissive and graceful; above all, defenceless and dependent in men.
They were seen as objects and inspirers of love to men-at-arms, delicate, enticing and beautiful;
above all, they acted as commodities for securing harmony and mutual beneficial relationships
between men.
Love, – arguably the centre of the court – conceptualised in courtly aesthetics was,
therefore, essentially ruled by men, as was the society described. Women had an assuaging part
to play in the fictional world’s social dynamics, being married off to ensure prosperity and
peace; effectively becoming currency for kinsmen and trophies for husbands. Men were both
protagonists and the rewarded ones, they were at the centre of the action while women either
granted love-service, instilled much-needed high spirits or waited on the side-lines.
In light of these observations, it is possible to argue that the feminine sphere is
represented in three distinct stages in Middle-High German courtly literature. First, women
were commodities, then they were mothers and finally they were matrons. This last stage – the
matron – was a very atypical one in this literature; for the telos of a woman was directly linked
with the telos of her husband, kinsmen and children. For, as we shall see ahead, women who
become widowed matrons or even matrons in Middle-High German courtly literature – when
they have outlived their usefulness to her family and the overall plot – tend to be relegated to
the background or to die, rather, to be killed off by the poet13.
In my opinion, medieval literature seldom has a place for the matron – especially the widowed matron – as a
prominent figure. Women, after the menopause, lose their reproductive capacity and some of their beauty – being
effectively bereft of what little significant role they have with men at court. However, as Georges Duby
(Duby,1997, pages 16-17) argues, when referring to Eleanor of Aquitaine, women in the real world start wielding
‘real’ power in this ‘matron stage’ (the term ‘matron stage’ is mine), i.e., they are at last free to manipulate their
sons in power, to torment their daughters-in-law and exert more, although still indirect, influence on the kingdom.
13
21
Women have, therefore, a general stressed role – and a marked one, both in life and
death – in the action of the text as onlookers and bearers of children to her family – a role that
is a gender-established one. Even in the face of death they have their own characteristic gender
role, one that they play out for the most part14. This patient, dutiful and even self-sacrificing
image of women became the desirable norm of feminine gender role in this literary genre –
nevertheless, every norm must have its exceptions.
These exceptions are not omitted; they are put forth and brought to light by the poets.
One could state that the treatment of women and the rigid gender role of the feminine sphere
presented could implicitly function in the same vein as do specula principis to rulers (texts like
the pseudo-Aristotelian apochryphon, the Secretum secretorum or Niccòlo Machiavelli’s
innovative work, Il Principe), that is, as a treatise on how a noblewoman should conduct herself,
as a model to meditate on if she seeks to obtain and maintain marital, political and social
equilibriums in the world of the time. However, to see medieval courtly literature, and
specifically Middle High German courtly literature, strictly as a vehicle to pedagogic messages
is a very bold view, in my opinion – one that might even spark controversy – and one point of
view that I do not share. Whether we see female representation in literature in the Middle Ages
as having an underlying pedagogic meaning or not, the fact of the matter is that women in this
very literary output are prone to be fitted to an idealised role, established by their gender. In
truth, the aforementioned subject – the issue of pedagogic messages in literature in MiddleHigh German – is another (possibly extensive and complex) matter entirely; one that, for the
sake of cohesion and objectiveness, I cannot delve on any further in this dissertation.
I will now proceed by discussing the ideal lady and her characteristics in medieval
literature by presenting some characters that embody this ideal. In similar manner, I will then
This newly-found status is a dangerous one for a male-governed society and I believe that Medieval authors
recognised this hazard, too. Concerning literature in Middle-High German, I find myself hard pressed to find
abundant instances of main female characters in a full ‘matron stage’; that is, possessing power enough to influence
the society around them. Kriemhilt in ’Das Nibelungenlied’ is an obvious exception; she manipulates her brothers
into riding to the lands of Etzel, she sends for her son Ortlieb – a passage that, arguably, begins the bloody slaughter
–, she tries to convince the warriors of Etzel into entering the fray of battle against the Burgundians and so on.
One could argue that she is not a matron, for she is the wife of Etzel and did bear him offspring, however she still
assumes the part of the widowed matron, for she still mourns deeply for Siegfried. By stating that the ‘matron
stage’ is atypical in medieval literature in Middle-High German, I do not mean that matron-like feminine characters
do not exist; one would only have to recall Queen Ginover in ‘Parzival’, or Uote, the mother of the Burgundian
nobles in ’Das Nibelungenlied’. Nevertheless, they have very secondary roles in the action of both poems, paling
in comparison to characters like Kriemhilt in terms of influence and functionality.
14
On the issue of the gender role of women in death in Medieval literature in Middle-High German vide Greenfield,
J. (2000) ‘A Morte da Mulher Na Literatura Alemã Medieval: algumas considerações sobre a figura de Kriemhilt
em Das Nibelungenlied’. Porto: Revista da Faculdade de Letras «Línguas e Literaturas». Pages 363-368.
22
turn my attention to ‘atypical’ women – as scarce as they may be – that appear in this type of
literature.
When we think of women in courtly literature as the ‘perfect’ medieval woman we must,
in my point of view, start by mentioning Enite.
Hartmann von Aue’s ‘Erec’, an adaption of Chrètien de Troyes’ homonymous opus,
presents the personification of this feminine ideal in the titular character’s wife, Enite. She is
given away to Erec by her father and is promptly taken to his lands where she becomes his wife.
Their love eventually degenerates into sexual excess coupled with indolence and a neglect of
knightly and princely duties which, in turn, results in vicious gossip and an unseemly dent in
Erec’s honour as knight and prince. It is Enite that relates indirectly this gossip to Erec and is
she that endures hardship upon hardship when the prince decides to take her with him on his
quest to regain his honour and respect with knight-errantry; a quest culminating in the
allegorical âventiure in the enchanted garden where Mabonagrin and his lady live isolated from
the world – something that purposely seems to mirror the previous life of abandonment to carnal
pleasures and idleness of Erec. Enite, for her part, is nothing less than gentle, self-sacrificing,
subservient in the face of all of these episodes – and she maintains this role throughout Erec’s
quest15.
In Wolfram’s ‘Parzival’ we have a character that is very reminiscent of Enite’s feminine
fortitude and character – I am naturally referring to Jeschute.
Jeschute is the very first courtly lady Parzival meets after leaving his mother, an
encounter that takes place in the forest, inside a tent, where the lady is resting. Parzival, in his
tumpheit (inexperience), is compelled by his mother’s counsel concerning women to violently
assault the lovely and defenceless Jeschute with kisses, ripping her clothes in the process –
Petrus W.Tax (Tax, 1986, page 271) states the following about Hartmann’s Erec: «This romance presents a
fictional «mirror for princes»; mature rulership requires a mature royal couple, and the narrative depicts the growth
of Erec and Enite towards this ideal, in concordance with societal, moral and religious values. The story makes its
points against the background of young love and its perils, emphasizing a passive, and even masochistic component
in Enite and a strongly sadistic character in Erec and several other male figures». Although I do not agree with the
comparison drawn between the opus and a mirror for princes, the author has a point – Enite adopts a quasimasochistic persona throughout the romance. However, this referred persona is a very commonplace feminine
role in courtly literature in Middle-High German; nevertheless, it should not be viewed solely (or even at all) as
masochistic. In truth, women were highly dependent on men in the Middle Ages but this subjection was, indeed,
the norm. Independent, able and ‘prone-to-action’ women were the antipode of the notion of how should a woman
be in this period and, hence, this anomalous behaviour is extremely criticised by male peers and contemporaries
alike. Also, their marital and moral faults are what creates the tension and action of the opus; this Doppelweg
(double path) is the indispensable core of the quest. Therefore, it is expected to find both the sexual profligacy and
procrastination of the couple (mainly Erec’s) heavily criticised, thwarted and eventually changed – not only was
it not becoming of a noble but also assumes to shape of a much needed counter-action to conduct the couple
towards a harmonious ending and, without this growth, said harmonious ending would not have come to fruition.
15
23
despite her incessant pleads not to do so –; afterwards he promptly steals her ring16 and her
brooch.
When her husband, Orilus, returns and finds his wife in such distraught and dishevelled
state, he is taken by rage and pride (after all, pride is his namesake) and accuses Jeschute of
being unfaithful; condemning her to follow him through his knightly quests so deplorably
apparelled in the rags of that same ripped dress and denied of comely coquetterie so essential
to ladies. Though Wolfram does not go into detail about what happens to the couple between
the first encounter with Parzival and the second, we do know that Jeschute – unjustly slandered
and treated – endured all the abuse perpetrated on her by her husband with feminine
subservience and patience. Her shameful trial comes to an end when Parzival and Orilus clash
lances – thus providing her with a harmonious ending to it all; her husband reconciles with her
and restores her honour and love.
Another woman character that fits this feminine topos is Gregorius’ mother, in
Hartmann’s ‘Gregorius’. She lies with her brother, bears his child, endures the forced parting
with her new-born and the death of her brother in the crusades. She, now a queen, juggles the
responsibility of keeping Aquitaine independent and refusing marriage proposals from fierce
suitors. In a very cruel twist, she ends up being saved by her son, now a man, and comes to love
him as a husband – once again she is undone and this time her son leaves the court in atonement.
When she meets him one last time, he already is instated as pope and she, absolved of her past
sins, takes up residence with Gregorius – in a pious manner, this time.
Granted, she is not as moving a character as the last two presented (nor is she even
named by Hartmann); but she arguably suffers far more severely (and suffers the stigma of
being a sinner of the highest order17) than Enite or Jeschute. Her ultimate telos is also markedly
different from Erec’s wife and Orilus’ lady; she does not live in marital harmony after her trials;
nevertheless, one could assert that she finds a ‘higher’ fulfilment – that of a spiritual nature.
Also, she is not taken along to suffer on the road with a man. Yet, she follows the same
Doppelweg as the other two ladies; she arrives at a seemingly harmonious ending only to be
thwarted and fall in order to know true harmony and bliss in the future.
Another example of an ideal courtly lady is Condwiramurs in Wolfram’s ‘Parzival’.
16
Something that seems to be a topos in literature in the Germanic territory; the ring suggests a consummated
sexual escapade or, in this case, rape. It is noteworthy to find that Wolfram, while all too willing to describe the
forceful kisses given by Parzival to Jeschute, does not refer or allude to rape in this scene; and is this very premise
– the alleged infidelity of Jeschute – that will motivate the storyline of Orilus in ‘Parzival’. I will address the issue
of the ring in a more in-depth fashion elsewhere in this dissertation.
17
Indeed, Hartmann mentions that is the power of the devil that motivates the siblings – namely the man – into
incest; somewhat toning down the severity and overall scope of the sin they stand guilty of.
24
The protagonist, after being incompletely tutored in the ways of the chivalric office by
Gurnemanz and seeking to prove himself worthy of Liaze’s love, chances to come across the
dominion of Pelrapeire – a city that is being sieged. He intervenes for and gains the love of
Condwiramurs, the chaste queen of the kingdom and they share tender – and, above all, pure
beyond reproach – moments of love. One needs only to recall the nightly visit of Condwiramurs
to Parzival’s chambers to understand this. More, the three celibate nights that they both share
the bed after being wed further supports this claim. This is not to say that they have no libido;
they do but in a very pure – virginal even – and religious way. These tokens of pure love seem
to reflect the future of the couple as the Grail King and Queen in a veritable holy – and isolated
– court that supplies sovereigns and maintains all royal houses. After consummating the
wedding, Parzival leaves the kingdom of Pelrapeire and will not see his wife and – yet unborn
– sons for four and a half years of knight-errantry, for the entirety of his period of religious –
and knightly – fall from grace.
Condwiramurs scarcely figures in the entirety of ‘Parzival’, however she is present in
the thoughts of her husband and finally returns to him when he is redeemed and worthy to take
up the mantle and crown of the Grail kingdom of Munsalvaesche. She emphasises and embodies
the perfect courtly lady of love – she is dependent upon her husband to free herself from her
assailants, she is chaste and dutiful in her ways, she feels extreme triuwe and minne towards
her husband, she waits for him patiently and, like him, she is deemed worthy of the highest
honour available – to reign as queen in the Grail kingdom, in the stead of the virginal queen,
Repanse de Schoye; completing her telos in a harmonious ending. She is also crowned by
Wolfram as a woman with beauty both unmatched and unsurpassable; Orgeluse herself is
second to none but to her. Her name, like Condwiramurs herself, in ‘Parzival’ is the very
antonomasia of feminine love. But, for all her positive characteristics, she is still powerless to
act in a world governed essentially by men, ruled by war and knightly quests.
Another character of Wolfram – a character created entirely by him, no less – that fits
this model of powerless female monarch is Belakane.
When Wolfram first introduces Belakane, the grieving queen’s city of Pelrapeire is, like
Condwiramurs’ own city, being sieged – this time not by enraged suitors but by equally
infuriated family members of her deceased knight, Isenhart. Isenhart was strained by Belakane’s
capricious exigencies of minnedienst (love-service), and her refusal of conceding love – these
factors lead to Isenhart riding off to battle without his armour and this reckless behaviour
became his ultimate undoing. Thus, the queen, now suffering and regretting her actions, waits.
25
Gahmuret, Parzival’s father, arrives on her shores by mere chance – as is the case with
many of the encounters in this romance – and is taken to her presence. Though at first Gahmuret
regards the queen in a somewhat less than alluring light, he is moved by her tears, which
symbolically serve as a baptism and as a sign of courtly love. He is moved by her – now exotic
– beauty and decides to join her and do battle for her. After this successful war enterprise, the
pair are married and enjoy a happy – albeit short – life together. But Gahmuret’s spirit earns for
the joys of battle and knight-errantry, so he leaves behind his – now pregnant – heathen wife
and departs in secrecy. Belakane, for her part, is steeped in grief again by the secret departure
and the note left behind by her husband and – we learn later on – gives birth to Feirefiz and
promptly dies.
This death of a female character after being abandoned is no strange matter in this
literary genre. As I have noted above, once a woman has served her purpose to the male
character, she dies. Another instance of a character that has this very same ultimate destiny is
Herzeloyde.
Herzeloyde first appears as the virginal widow of King Kastis; the queen of Waleis
organizes a tournament in Kanvoleis to find a suitable knight to be united with her in
matrimony. Gahmuret, now engaged in knight-errantry after leaving Zazamanc and his heathen
wife behind, distinguishes himself in combat and is confronted by Herzeloyde; she intends to
be his new wife. Torn between the woman who first tutored him in courtly love, the French
Queen Amflise, and Herzeloyde, and still turning many a tender thought towards Belakane,
Gahmuret ends up accepting the queen of Waleis as his wife – partly because she allows him
to depart for the Middle East to seek battle beside his good friend the Barûc as long as he returns
to her; for battle is Gahmuret’s true primum movens.
Gahmuret ends up dying on the course of these military expeditions, being lavishly
buried and deified in a heathen land. Only the bloodied and torn shirt he wears – the same shirt
that belongs to Herzeloyde – is returned to Waleis. The scene of Herzeloyde’s mourning is
arguably one of the most powerful, most moving (and exceedingly erotic) scenes in all the opus
– she is first struck dumb, she collapses, she reawakens, she cries violently, she insists on
wearing the shirt – the last remnant of her beloved husband – and finally she exposes her naked
body in front of all attending her, presses her breasts until milk pours out over her belly and
speaks to her unborn child – effectively baptising him with mother’s milk. This act symbolises
the change in role of Herzeloyde; she, now a mother, seeks refuge in Soltane from the knight’s
way of life – from the life of errantry, danger and knightly deeds that wrested Gahmuret from
her and that threatens to deprive her of her son, as she foresees in her dream. Her opposing
26
force and her motherly nature will be of no avail to her; for she cannot deny the telos of her
son, only stave it off for some years.
Now living in isolation in Soltane, Herzeloyde tries to keep her son in the dark
concerning all things related to the knightly exercise. But in Parzival’s bosom a flame is kindled
– that of his both inherent and inherited nature as the son of Gahmuret – and this flame only
grows day after day. And, after his chance encounter with Arthur’s knights, this flame is now a
full-blown blaze; he is eager to depart and join the chivalric ranks in Arthur’s court. Herzeloyde,
for her part, commits one final act of motherly protection – she decks the young prince in the
garments of an uncouth fool in the hopes that he is mocked, denied and sent back into her loving
arms. Parzival nevertheless takes his leave and begins his journey, abandoning his distraught
mother who – now effectively bereft of both men whom she loved so dearly – dies of grief.
Another female character that shares this ultimate end is Sigune.
In my opinion, Sigune is one of the most interesting characters in ‘Parzival’. She appears
exactly four times throughout the sixteen books, always at a ‘crossroads’ in the protagonist’s
life and always being instrumental to the development of Parzival and of the overall plot.
The first time Parzival meets her, she sits in a linden tree (the symbol of love par
excellence in this literary genre) with her dead lover in her arms, weeping inconsolably.
Schionatulander, the young knight nestled in her arms, met – like Belakane’s Isenhart – an
untimely death; a death caused by Sigune’s own reluctance in conceding love and harsh
exigence in minnedienst. She recognises Parzival as her cousin and the two have a conversation
before he leaves for Arthur’s court.
The second time Parzival comes across his cousin, she is holding the embalmed corpse
of her would-be husband; she upbraids him severely for failing the king Anfortas and the Grail
kingdom by not being sufficiently moved enough by all that transpired to ask the healing
question to the debilitated monarch.
The third time Parzival comes across his cousin, she is living an ascetic life in a secluded
cell close to the body of Schionatulader. It is through her that Parzival indirectly finds his hermit
uncle Trivrizent and is lectured on religious matters and fasts along with the hermit.
The final encounter between Parzival and Sigune, the former now purged of his sins and
accepted by the Grail castle, shows us the shadow of the former lovely lady; her corpse now
rests above the coffin of Schionatulander, finally reunited in the afterlife.
These sequences of Sigune’s gradual pinning for her lost beloved embody her triuwe
and her minne; she first regrets her fickleness and stinginess for granting love beneath the linden
tree, she withers away in sorrow and finally she imposes upon herself a monastic life in order
27
to not only atone for her sin but to provide proof of the unending love she nurtures towards
Schionatulander, a love that leads to her death.
Sigune, from my point of view, personifies two kinds of roles – that of Belakane, in her
regret for letting the love felt by Schionatulander go for so long unrequited, and that of
Herzeloyde, in dying after her gallant suitor dies. She, however, and unlike the Belakane and
Herzeloyde, is not with child – in other words, she is kept alive in order to atone for her
misdeeds to love. But, in a sense, Sigune is far nearer the spiritual world of the opus – for she
is still a Grail child, she is a virgin, she mortifies her body so much that she loses all her
exquisite features, she isolates herself in the forest and leads a life of prayer and poverty; a life
very much akin to that of a nun.
Also, she, in her condition as a lady whose paramour met his death because of her
unwillingness to reciprocate love, she is also analogous to Orgeluse. However, she is the
diametrical opposite of the Duchess of Logroys. But we will discourse at length on Orgeluse
further ahead.
I have presented these characters with a very specific purpose in mind – to illustrate, in
general terms, the conception of ideal courtly lady – and of ideal woman – in Middle-High
German literature in the Middle Ages. The ‘perfect woman’, as seen both by the medieval poet
and audience alike, could be ascertained by considering these examples. All of them
demonstrate positive traits – fragile women, patient and perseverant women, women moved to
tears by grief at the loss of a loved one, women incapable of independently acting in the world,
exceedingly beautiful women, chaste women, women who survive the premature death of a
beloved, mothers who live for the sake of their children alone. These traits typify the feminine
gender in an idealised manner; establishing the commonplace, desirable women for this literary
genre in Middle-High German – effectively building and instating a specific positive feminine
gender role.
It is this ‘good’ gender role that distinguishes the ‘good’ female characters – it devises
the feminine sphere in courtly conventions by stating their limits; how do they move and,
indeed, how do they act in the world; what should be permitted to them and what should not;
how do they interact with the male sphere; how do they behave in any given situation and their
ultimate telos – be it harmonious or tragic. And there is a vast supply of instances of women
who fit this elaborate model in literature of this genre in Middle-High German. One could
mention characters like Gyburg/Arabel, the wife of Willehalm in Wolfram’s ‘Willehalm’;
specifically, the scene where she cradles the head of her sleeping husband on her breast and she
turns her woe-ridden thoughts to her young nephew Vivianz – who died in the arms of
28
Willehalm in Alischanz – or the death of Sieglinde, Siegfried’s mother and a very minor
character in ’Das Nibelungenlied’, after her son and Kriemhilt inherit the crown and kingdom.
Be it a minor character or a major one, there seems to be an underlying convention that rules
over this literary genre in Middle High German – one with a ‘gravitational pull’ so strong that
is (almost) inescapable.
Thus, everything that a courtly lady is, a knight is not; this feminine standard seems to
contribute to a deification of women – not because they are perfect and beyond reproach, but
because they adhere perfectly to the intrinsic configurations of an established ideal role. Yes,
they have flaws and they are prone to failure – but even these unavoidable shortcomings of
female characters seem thoroughly standardised to their gender role. This gender role, more
than just determining their character traits and the various functions that they perform in each
respective work, defines them as women – the ethos of a courtly lady. Even the most grieving
or aggravated of these women are moved by triuwe and, consequently, minne – they do not
overstep their bounds; and when they do so, it is outside the action of the poem.
However, what about those who do overstep their bounds, who seek to incite a change
in the dynamics of the world? Are they not also women? More importantly – are they not also
courtly ladies? And are they too not moved by triuwe and minne?
29
1.2.
The “Warrior-like Maiden” Topos
I will now redirect my attention and focus to the analysis of some female characters
that diametrically oppose this concept of ideal courtly lady – namely the characters that are the
subject of this dissertation, Orgeluse in ‘Parzival’ and Kriemhilt in ‘Das Nibelungenlied’. These
itineraries of these two female characters will be, by far, much more detailed and in-depth; for
they are, after all, the subjects of the present dissertation.
Orgeluse of Logroys is introduced to us, very much like Belakane and Condwiramurs,
in a chance encounter. Gawan is seeking Lischoys after the latter has gravely wounded the then
unnamed Urjans; Lot’s son traces the bloodstained trail to Logroys 18. There, after ascending a
winding rocky path he finds the Duchess Orgeluse near a spring19. Gawan is immediately
entranced by the beauty of the Duchess but she, for her part, pours abuse upon abuse to
Gawan20. Finally, she decides to depart with Gawan but she will only do so if he fetches her
horse that is in the orchard21.
Gawan, after his sojourn through the somewhat ethereal orchard, comes to the place
where Orgeluse’s steed is and is met by an elderly knight who advises him to leave Logroys
behind and forget the Duchess, for she is the cause for much misfortune for many a knight22.
Gawan, undaunted by these words, makes his way back to Orgeluse and the pair depart.
They first come across the squire Malcriature and then the injured Urjans, the latter,
after being healed, steals Gawan’s horse and rides off, leaving Gawan no choice but to continue
on foot – Malcriature’s rickety steed in tow - with Orgeluse closely behind23. The Duchess,
thoroughly amused at the series of mishaps that befall Gawan, mocks him further and asks him
if he still intends on winning her love. The pair come first to a forest and then to a riverbed (two
sites that symbolise peril) where Gawan beholds a castle like no other he has ever seen before24.
It is now that Orgeluse, still berating the knight for his insistence in serving her, crosses the
river alone on a boat and leaves Gawan, disheartened, to do battle with Lischoys25.
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book X,
page 258.
19
Idem, ibidem. Book X, page 258 – 259.
20
Idem, ibidem. Book X, page 259.
21
Idem, ibidem. Book X, page 259 – 260.
22
Idem, ibidem. Book X, page 260 – 261.
23
Idem, ibidem. Book X, page 262 – 269.
24
Idem, ibidem. Book X, page 271.
25
Idem, ibidem. Book X, pages 271 – 275.
18
30
The knight once again overcomes all odds and even regains his steed Gringuljete. After
the events at Schastel Merveille26, Orgeluse returns to the action of the poem, this time
accompanied by the knight Turkyot27. After the clash of spears, where Gawan emerges
victorious again despite his wounds, Orgeluse once again directs sour words at the knight,
commands him to return to the retinue of women at Schastel Merveille and again questions his
love for her. Gawan, steadfastly resolved in his love for the fair Duchess, reiterates his servitude
to her28.
Orgeluse then tasks him to cross the furious currents of a river to Li gweiz prelljus to
retrieve a garland from a tree there – this he must do to obtain both her praise and the right to
proclaim his love for her29. Gawan, nearly drowning – a sight that softens with tears the derisive
countenance of the Duchess – reaches the garden and proceeds to take the garland from the
tree30. However, in his path is now the powerful Gramoflanz who, after recognising Gawan as
the son of King Lot of Norway, arranges a joust at Arthur’s court to avenge his father that was
reportedly killed dishonourably by Gawan’s father31.
Gawan makes his way back to the other side of the river and Orgeluse, throwing herself
at his feet, explains to Lot’s child her misfortune at losing her former knight, Cidegast, to
Gramoflanz’s hand and begs to be forgiven32. Gawan, still in a gentle mood, upbraids the
Duchess for her disregard for the knightly exercise and love, which is inexorably linked with
the art33.
After a brief stay in Schastel Merveille, where Orgeluse and Gawan share an intimate
night of lovemaking34, they make their way to the site of Arthur’s court. There, the Duchess’
plight comes to an end – after Parzival fights in the stead of Gawan against Gramoflanz 35,
Arthur, acting as diplomat, intervenes and assuages Gramoflanz’s vindictive wrath by giving
him Itonje, Gawan’s sister, in marriage36 – Itonje asks Gramoflanz to desist of his vindictive
quest against her brother and his now kinsman37. The Gawan cycle comes to a close with
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Books XI XII, pages 281 – 298.
27
Idem, ibidem. Book XII,pages 298 – 299.
28
Idem, ibidem. Book XII, pages 299 – 301.
29
Idem, ibidem. Book XII, pages 301 – 303.
30
Idem, ibidem. Book XII, pages 303 – 304.
31
Idem, ibidem. Book XII, pages 304 – 307.
32
Idem, ibidem. Book XII, pages 307 – 309.
33
Idem, ibidem. Books XII – XIII, pages 309 – 321.
34
Idem, ibidem. Book XIII, page 322.
35
Idem, ibidem. Book XIV, pages 351 – 353.
36
Idem, ibidem. Book XIV, pages 354 – 360; 363.
37
Idem, ibidem. Book XIV, page 362.
26
31
multiple weddings; Orgeluse is forced to reconcile with her former enemy and she does so, but
not without first shedding tears that denote a rooted sense of triuwe for her deceased knight38.
As it becomes apparent throughout this outline of Orgeluse’s itinerary over the course
of the poem, she is very much different from the women referred to above. Not because of the
prior events that lead to her plight; indeed, she is very much like Belakane or Sigune. Unlike
Belakane, however, she is not harassed by vengeful kinsmen of her dead lover. And, contrary
to Condwiramurs, she is not assailed at her gates by demanding suitors. Quite the contrary, she
seems free from all consequences of her actions and she thrives when it comes to have men
ready to serve her and to be her vengeful blades.
Her beauty seems to mar the wits and chain the hearts of those who behold her at first;
nevertheless, her part of the narrative is plentiful in male characters that maintain a disdainful
opinion of her – the old knight by her charger and who warns Gawan is one instance of such.
Her disposition towards Gawan is also very anomalous – she pours insult upon insult on Lot’s
son, she compares him to a surgeon, a footman, a merchant; she refers to him as a “goose”; she
laughs maliciously at his plights and Gawan, for his part, takes these sadistic tirades as tokens
of love. She goes on unchecked, something immensely atypical in women and she does not
conform to her gender role; she ties her headdress or wimple like she intends to fight, she does
not demand nor accept any help in mounting her steed; she manifests little to no concern for
those around her – especially Gawan. In other words – she instrumentalises love, an act
motivated by loyalty, to achieve revenge. She is full of negative traits when it comes to a courtly
lady’s typical gender role. And yet, the Duchess of Logroys has her tender moments.
When Gawan rides into the river to reach Li gweiz prelljus and the strong currents nearly
overtake him, her eyes are filled with tears (Wolfram even comments on the fact by saying that
this event might surprise people). When Gawan returns with the garland, she throws herself at
his feet and begs for forgiveness and then lovingly entwines her arm on his. She concedes love
to Gawan after this symbolic victory over Gramoflanz. And, above all, she obeys Gawan’s will
when he asks her to kiss Gramoflanz – a scene that is complemented by her tears of triuwe shed
by the memory of fallen Cidegast. This last event, though she still feels the pangs of loss she
kisses her offender, is the turning point to Orgeluse as a character. She is assuaged by Gawan
– controlled even – and effectively becomes a courtly lady, falling into her ideal gender role;
that of a beautiful, dependent, passive courtly lady.
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book XIV,
page 363.
38
32
Still, this change of character, so to speak, appears in the very final stage of her itinerary
in the poem; she remains thoroughly dominant, arrogant and aggressive overall. She effectively
breaks the mould of a courtly lady, acting more akin to a man than to a female.
Granted, she is ever dependent in men to act in the world for her – a positive trait of a
courtly lady – but she is a fiercely imposing figure, one that men who previously served her
curse or avoid for the fear of losing their honour or their lives. Her arrogance is indeed very
much like a man’s; it brings to mind the first exchange between Siegfried and the Burgundian
nobles in ‘Das Nibelungenlied’39 or the sour words that Parzival directed at Ither before slaying
him in a less than knightly fashion40.
The Duchess of Logroys surpasses both her condition as a woman and her gender role,
transgressing her gender role and verging on integrating the male sphere of behaviour –
therefore, being on the verge of adopting the warrior-like maiden role. I resort to the expression
‘verging on’ on purpose. She, for all her negative traits pertaining to her would-be gender role,
does not assume this opposite gender role in full, per se. For a woman who does so in a very
evident manner we will have to look elsewhere, i.e. in another poem. And ‘Das Nibelungenlied’
supplies the appropriate example: Kriemhilt.
Kriemhilt is the very first character to be introduced to us in the ‘Das Nibelungenlied’.
She is praised for her beauty and is equally praised for the beauty she will come to possess41.
What is more striking about the Burgundian princess of Worms is the fact that, after being
praised for her radiant looks, the poet states that she will be the downfall for many a knight –
already giving us some modicum of insight into the role she will adopt in the second part of the
opus42.
She has a sibylline dream and her mother, Uote, decodes it for her – she will meet a
brave knight who will be loved by her and who will be slain by two powerful men43. Kriemhilt
states that she intends to spare herself the pangs of suffering that both love and loss in equal
measure entail and decides to never marry44. When Siegfried, the young dragon-slayer prince
from Xanten, arrives in Worms with the intent to woo and marry the Burgundian princess, the
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Lt. third
‘âventiure’, page 29.
40
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book III,
pages 87 – 88.
41
Op. cit., first ‘âventiure’, page 17.
42
Idem, ibidem, first ‘âventiure’, page 17.
43
Idem, ibidem, first ‘âventiure’, page 18.
44
Idem, ibidem, first ‘âventiure’, page 18.
39
33
poet lets us know that the beauty of Kriemhilt has attracted many suitors but she seemingly
turned away each and every one of them45.
After the initial confrontation between Siegfried and the Burgundian nobles46, the latter
and the former become fast friends – going so far as to provide for Siegfried to live in the
Burgundian court for a year, a gesture that the prince of Xanten pays back in full by helping
Gunther routing the Dane-Saxon threat to Worms47. Kriemhilt, yet veiled to the prince of the
Netherlands, watches him from the windows every time Siegfried engages in knightly sports
with the Burgundian knights and speaks of him most fondly in her inner circle 48. The outcome
of the aforementioned battle against the invading armies is related to Kriemhilt by a messenger
and Kriemhilt – although not asking directly how Siegfried fared in battle –, for her part, is far
more than overjoyed and rewards the messenger lavishly for bringing her such good tidings 49.
It is only at the celebration of this victory (a celebration taking place in Whitsuntide, no
less) over the invaders that Kriemhilt and Siegfried meet. Sumptuously decked and followed
by her cortège of maidens, Kriemhilt appears before the entire court – «like dawn from the dark
clouds»50 – mesmerizing the senses and captivating the heart of all men, especially the dragonslayer’s, and is ordered by her brother Gunther to greet the young hero 51. She obeys and takes
him by the hand and is later encourage to reiterate the reception to the young prince with a kiss
– to the envy of all knights in attendance52. Siegfried is absolutely entranced by this exceedingly
beautiful and delicate creature of courtly grace that exchanges stealthy glances of profound love
with him; when the celebrations come to a close he intends (better yet, pretends) to be on his
way back to Xanten but is once again stopped and assuaged by the thoughts of that
«transcendent beauty» that is the Burgundian princess53.
Kriemhilt appears next, at first, in name only; being used as a bargain chip by Gunther
to enlist the help of Siegfried in the wooing of Brunhild – the Burgundian princess will be given
to the young dragon-slayer if he leads the party of knights to Isenstein54. This precious reward
– the very object of Siegfried’s love and desire – motivates the young prince into agreeing to
the bargain. They leave, but not without first meeting with Kriemhilt who will make sumptuous
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Lt. third
‘âventiure’, page 23.
46
Idem, ibidem, third ‘âventiure’, page 29.
47
Idem, ibidem, fourth ‘âventiure’, pages 33 - 40.
48
Idem, ibidem, third ‘âventiure’, page 31.
49
Idem, ibidem, fourth ‘âventiure’, pages 41 - 43.
50
Idem, ibidem, fifth ‘âventiure’, pages 46 - 47.
51
Idem, ibidem, fifth ‘âventiure’, page 48.
52
Idem, ibidem, fifth ‘âventiure’, page 49.
53
Idem, ibidem, fifth ‘âventiure’, page 52.
54
Idem, ibidem, sixth ‘âventiure’, page 54.
45
34
clothes of the finest fabrics and richly adorned for them. The princess also commends the safety
of her brother to Siegfried and shares tender glances with the prince, something that pleases the
latter.
After the events that took place at Isenstein, Siegfried is convinced (once again, by the
instrumentalising his love for Kriemhilt) to ride ahead and serve as a messenger for Gunther to
prepare Worms for the homecoming – and consequent marriage – of Gunther and Brunhild55.
He is allowed to visit the princess and admitted by Kriemhilt, once again, lavishly dressed, and
he reports the fortunate news; she first offers to and then rewards him with both her gratitude
and precious items – the latter of which are distributed by Siegfried among all attending the
Burgundian princess; the poet even states that, if the circumstances were more favourable, she
would have gladly showed the depths of her gratitude with a kiss56. She also heartily acquiesces
to the demand of her brother to meet him outside the castle with a welcoming party.
It is in this party that she – and once again, exquisitely attired – receives Brunhild
hospitably, she exchanges many kisses with her and the Burgundian princess is noted by the
public to be the most fair among all ladies present57. It is also in this reception that both couples
marry; Kriemhilt is given to Siegfried – she does not deny the will of her brother and accepts
Siegfried as her husband as a courtly lady would – and the newlyweds enjoy their first night
together58.
After the event of the nocturnal domination of Brunhild by Siegfried 59, Kriemhilt fully
returns to the action of the poem when the newlyweds intend to leave Worms for Xanten. She
accepts to forgo her share of her Burgundian inheritance but she demands to take at least a small
force of loyal knights with her back to the Netherlands60. The Troneck men refuse her invitation
and it falls to Eckewart, now at the helm of the Burgundian knights, to follow her to Xanten61.
Upon returning to Xanten, the noble couple are instated as King and Queen of the realms, have
a child and there they remain for years – in a seemingly harmonic endinging62.
They are invited to Worms at the behest of the Burgundian royal family – namely
Brunhild, who, under false pretence, convinced her husband to issue said invitation – and the
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Lt. third
‘âventiure’. Ninth ‘âventiure’, pages 76 - 77.
56
Idem, ibidem, ninth ‘âventiure’, pages 78 - 79.
57
Idem, ibidem, tenth ‘âventiure’, pages 82 – 83.
58
Idem, ibidem, tenth ‘âventiure’, pages 85 – 86; 87.
59
Idem, ibidem, tenth ‘âventiure’, pages 91 – 93.
60
Idem, ibidem, eleventh ‘âventiure’, pages 95 – 96.
61
Idem, ibidem, eleventh ‘âventiure’, page 96.
62
Idem, ibidem, eleventh ‘âventiure’, pages 97 – 99.
55
35
nobles from Xanten are warmly welcomed and received63. One evening, while watching the
jousts, the Queens involve themselves in a steadily escalating and heated argument over their
husbands – Kriemhilt states that his husband is equal to Gunther in social position while
Brunhild, for her part, claims that Siegfried is merely a vassal of the Burgundian king64. The
queen of Xanten decides to prove her (and her husband’s) worth by first commanding her
cortège to attire themselves in their finest clothes and then by stating that she will take
precedence in entering the Cathedral first65. This she indeed does and Brunhild is left stymied
and humiliated – not only because of the gesture itself but also because Kriemhilt insinuates
that Siegfried has enjoyed her body and her virginity before Gunther did so66.
Upon leaving the Cathedral, Kriemhilt is once again confronted by Brunhild; the latter
questions the former on her words and Kriemhilt, in a vicious act, produces the ring and the
girdle for Brunhild – and all in attendance – to see67. This extreme and insulting gesture brings
Brunhild to tears68 – it matters not if she was indeed first ravished in her personal quarters by
Siegfried, this grave public accusation (and consequent ignominy) is everything. This
slanderous matter is addressed and seemingly resolved by both kings but neither Hagen of
Troneck nor Brunhild are assuaged69. Hagen (and, indeed, all nobles) plot the downfall of the
dragon-slayer king by simulating a new Danish-Saxon invasion in order to learn from Kriemhilt
Siegfried’s weak spot70. Hagen visits Kriemhilt and, on the pretext of being able to more
successfully protect the king of Xanten from harm, indirectly questions the queen about
Siegfried’s weakness71. Kriemhilt, completely trusting Hagen – for he is the Burgundian’s longtime advisor and, therefore, kinsman (a bond of triuwe) – exposes the secret of the dragonslayer and even goes so far as to volunteer to sew a cross on Siegfried’s surcoat marking the
aforementioned weak spot72. With his objective now accomplished, the supposed declaration
of war is retracted and the Burgundian nobles prepare a hunting expedition in a secluded land
on the other side of the river – a hunting expedition where Siegfried will be both the sport and
the main prey73.
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Lt.
Thirteenth ‘âventiure’, pages 106 – 110.
64
Idem, ibidem, fourteenth ‘âventiure’, pages 111 – 112.
65
Idem, ibidem, fourteenth ‘âventiure’, page 113.
66
Idem, ibidem, fourteenth ‘âventiure’, pages 113 – 114.
67
Idem, ibidem, fourteenth ‘âventiure’, pages 114 – 115.
68
Idem, ibidem, fourteenth ‘âventiure’, page 115.
69
Idem, ibidem, fourteenth ‘âventiure’, pages 115 – 116.
70
Idem, ibidem, fourteenth ‘âventiure’, pages 116 – 118; fifteenth ‘âventiure’, pages 119 – 120.
71
Idem, ibidem, fifteenth ‘âventiure’, page 121.
72
Idem, ibidem, fifteenth ‘âventiure’, pages 121 – 122.
73
Idem, ibidem, fifteenth ‘âventiure’, pages 122 – 123.
63
36
Kriemhilt (no doubt suspecting the murderous ruse being enacted by the Burgundian
nobles), for her part, tries to dissuade her husband from taking part in the expedition by relating
two sibylline dreams – the first of which consists in two boars slaying Siegfried in a gory
fashion and staining the field of flowers with a sanguine tint, and the second that she recounts
as two mountains collapsing over the dragon-slaying king and effectively occluding his form
from her loving gaze forever74. Siegfried pays no heed to the prophetic dreams of his wife and
leaves for the hunt outing – at last, Kriemhilt’s first nefarious nightmare about her hawk being
rendered to pieces comes to fruition75. The hero’s blood-drenched body is unceremoniously
dumped at the door of Kriemhilt’s apartments and is first found – but not recognised by – a
chamberlain76. This very chamberlain reports the news to Kriemhilt and the queen needs no
confirmation – she feels that the body belongs to her beloved –; she sinks to the floor struck
dumb and mute and, when she regains her senses, she lets out a blood-curdling scream that
echoes throughout the halls77. With blood spurting from her mouth and still clad in nightly
attires, the wailing widow notices that Siegfried has been murdered – for his shield remains
untouched by weapons – and calls for Siegfried’s father and his knightly host to mourn the king
with her78. It is also Kriemhilt that is the refraining force to Siegfried’s knights – she prevents
them from entering battle constantly, for she knows that it will avail or accomplish nothing79.
After ascertaining the identity of the murderer – Hagen, for Siegfried’s wounds bled
anew when he drew close to the corpse80 – Kriemhilt orders masses, distribution of gold for the
soul of the deceased and a mourning period for all those who adored the king of Xanten; she
then stands watch over her beloved’s corpse after his funerary rites for three days and nights81.
When, at long last, Siegfried is to be interred, the poet lets us know that Kriemhilt is by his side,
wishing for her death, and that she had to be reanimated quite a few times with splashes of
water, for her grief was so immense that she collapsed frequently. Even at his burial, Kriemhilt
gives one last token of both immense grief and amaranthine love for the dragon-slayer king –
in, arguably, the most powerful scene of the entire poem, the woe-stricken queen requests that
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Lt.
Sixteenth ‘âventiure’, pages 124 – 125.
75
Idem, ibidem, sixteenth ‘âventiure’, pages 131 – 134.
76
Idem, ibidem, seventeenth ‘âventiure’, page 133.
77
Idem, ibidem, seventeenth ‘âventiure’, pages 133.
78
Idem, ibidem, seventeenth ‘âventiure’, pages 134 -137.
79
Idem, ibidem, seventeenth ‘âventiure’, page 137.
80
Idem, ibidem, seventeenth ‘âventiure’, page 137.
81
Idem, ibidem, seventeenth ‘âventiure’, page 138 – 140.
74
37
the casket be opened anew in order for her to kiss once more her departed husband; an action
that she follows by weeping tears of blood82.
Kriemhilt chooses to stay behind, when the host of Xanten leave Worms and she erects
and secludes herself in a mansion by the Cathedral of Worms, where she spends her days with
her retinue in keening; she does not admit to her presence anyone (save for her mother, young
Giselher, Gernot and Eckewart)83. It is Hagen, always with a penchant for schemes, that advises
Gunther to make amends and peace with her sister in order to gain access to the Nibelung hoard;
in this Gunther is successful (albeit Kriemhilt still weeps incessantly) and he brings the
Nibelung treasure to Worms – but Hagen proceeds to sink it in the Rhine to effectively deprive
the widow queen of everything that represents her husband 84. Again stymied and frustrated,
Kriemhilt will face the next thirteen years with a monastic-like demeanour; mourning loyally
her departed beloved and leaving her abode only to attend mass.
Kriemhilt returns to the main action of the poem when Etzel, the king of the Huns,
hearing of Siegfried’s window’s unparalleled beauty, sends an envoy – Rudiger – to present his
proposal of marriage85. The queen, whose clothes are thoroughly stained with tears of longing
and anguish, at first refuses to receive him – however, she is convinced by her brothers to do
so – and then proceeds to refuse the marriage proposal86. It is only when Rudiger proposes to
swear fealty to the widow and reminds her of Etzel’s influence and enormous army that
Kriemhilt softens her rebuttals and agrees to play the part of a bride again87.
On her trip to Hungary she tarries in Rudiger’s lands for a feast; where she now
demonstrates her courtly mien towards Rudiger’s wife Gotelind and their daughter, whom she
rewards with red gold88. She maintains this courtly mien when she is welcomed in Hungary –
Etzel, accompanied by his brother Bloedel and Dietrich of Bern, receives his soon-to-be wife
with jousts and a warm welcome89. Kriemhilt, for her part, bestows upon him a kiss – an action
that has a double function, namely to greet Etzel and to implicitly exhibit her stunning visage
alluringly framed by golden tresses – and she is hailed even as surpassing the beauty of Etzel’s
late wife90. This lavish welcoming ceremony and festivities culminates in the marriage of
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
Seventeenth ‘âventiure’, pages 138 – 140.
83
Idem, ibidem, eighteenth ‘âventiure’, pages 141 – 144; nineteenth ‘âventiure’, page 145.
84
Idem, ibidem, nineteenth ‘âventiure’, pages 145 – 149.
85
Idem, ibidem, twentieth ‘âventiure’, pages 150 – 151.
86
Idem, ibidem, twentieth ‘âventiure’, pages 158 – 160.
87
Idem, ibidem, twentieth ‘âventiure’, pages 161 – 162.
88
Idem, ibidem, twenty-first ‘âventiure’, pages 167 – 169.
89
Idem, ibidem, twenty-second ‘âventiure’, pages 171 – 173.
90
Idem, ibidem, twenty-second ‘âventiure’, pages 172 – 173.
82
38
Kriemhilt and Etzel in Vienna. The royal couple eventually produce an offspring and live in
apparent bliss for thirteen years. But, during this time, she did not forget Siegfried nor did she
forget the murderous affront perpetrated by the Burgundians.
One night, while lovingly cradled in the arms of Etzel, Kriemhilt asks her lord to invite
her kinsmen to Hungary under false pretext91. Etzel, all too willing to oblige, agrees with her
and promptly sends messengers to Worms to invite the Burgundian host – now adopting the
title of Nibelungs – to his lands92. The queen of Hungary had these very messengers summoned
to her presence in secret and ordered them to not only convince the Burgundian nobles to
undertake the voyage to Etzel’s lands but also to be sure that Hagen does not stay behind in
Worms93. Kriemhilt’s wish was, indeed, granted, for the Burgundian knights came to Hungary
to attend the festivities; however, they were received not without sound advice from Dietrich –
the exiled monarch exposed the queen as constantly mourning the loss of her former husband94.
Save for Giselher, her kinsmen are harshly treated by her; she at once directed invectives against
Hagen and demanded that the Nibelungs’ hoard to be returned to her95. Nevertheless, she is
denied once again by Hagen (and Dietrich) and she retires to her chamber, where she watches
Hagen and cries96. Her copious wailing attracts the attention of Etzel’s warriors and Kriemhilt
promises them riches and land if Hagen is slain97.
This, in turn, leads to another tense encounter between the queen and Hagen – the latter
now has Siegfried’s sword across his lap – where he boldly admits himself as Siegfried’s slayer;
the Huns are terrorised by his imposing figure and abandon Kriemhilt to suffer yet another
humiliation98. She devises another plan to have the Burgundian kinsmen executed – by sending
men to dispatch them in their sleep – however she is foiled in her plans again by Hagen and the
poet lets us know that she feels thoroughly vexed99.
The queen returns once again to the action of the poem by first attempting to pit Dietrich
and his servant Hildebrand against the Burgundian nobles, which Dietrich declines; she then
turns to Etzel’s brother Bloedelin and succeeds in swaying him to her cause with promises of
wealth and a lovely lady100. He directs her to enter the Hall and Kriemhilt does so; she also
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
Twenty-third ‘âventiure’, page 178.
92
Idem, ibidem, twenty-third ‘âventiure’, pages 178 – 179.
93
Idem, ibidem, twenty-third ‘âventiure’, pages 180.
94
Idem, ibidem, twenty-eighth ‘âventiure’, pages 214 – 215.
95
Idem, ibidem, twenty-eight ‘âventiure’, page 217.
96
Idem, ibidem, twenty-eighth ‘âventiure’, page 217.
97
Idem, ibidem, twenty-ninth ‘âventiure’, pages 219-220
98
Idem, ibidem, twenty-ninth ‘âventiure’, pages 221 – 223.
99
Idem, ibidem, thirtieth ‘âventiure’, pages 227 – 229.
100
Idem, ibidem, thirty-first ‘âventiure’, pages 235 – 236.
91
39
requests that her son Ortlieb is brought to the presence of the guests – namely to the presence
of Hagen101. These two actions combined will be the starting point of the blood-storm of death
and tragedy to come.
The fight breaks out in the squires’ quarters and only Dancwart, Hagen’s brother,
survives; making his way to the main hall, he informs the Burgundian host of what transpired
and – after Hagen promptly decapitates the young prince of the Huns with a single slash – the
men steel themselves for the battle to come102.
Chaos ensues hereafter; the Burgundians begin the merciless slaughter and Kriemhilt,
fearing for her life, entreats Dietrich to conduct the monarchs to safety – which he does, after
the approval of the Burgundian nobles (Rudiger is also spared, for he too stands in good terms
with the Burgundians)103. Kriemhilt will now adopt fully the role of instigator of the entire
destruction – she first advises Etzel to be generous with his gold and to offer it to whoever
destroys the Burgundian host, she sends the margrave Iring to his death in battle and laments
violently his passing104, she sets ablaze the hall where her battle-worn kinsmen lie105, she
distributes red gold through all who would fight the foreigner host and, finally, she reminds
Rudiger of his vows of loyalty to her and succeeds in sending the torn margrave to the fray of
battle – which will result in his much mourned death by both sides106.
After the fall of Dietrich’s men save for Hildebrand – an event caused by his hottempered kinsman Wolfhart – at the hands of the Burgundians107, the exiled prince takes to the
field of battle; he effectively enchains Gunther and Hagen, the last remaining heroes from
Worms108. Kriemhilt is beside herself with joy – elated, she seemingly accedes to the pleas of
mercifulness uttered by Dietrich109, separates her brother from Hagen and, once again,
questions Hagen about the Nibelung hoard110. Hagen stands defying; he states that he shall not
reveal the location of the treasure as long as there is a Burgundian lord alive111. Kriemhilt, egged
on by this statement, commands the decapitation of Gunther and brings forth his head to the
last of the Burgundians. Hagen denies her once again and states that now no one shall acquit
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. thirtyfirst ‘âventiure’, pages 236 – 237.
102
Idem, ibidem, thirty-second ‘âventiure’, pages 238 – 241; thirty-third ‘âventiure’, page 242 – 243.
103
Idem, ibidem, thirty-third ‘âventiure’, pages 245 – 247.
104
Idem, ibidem, thirty-fifth ‘âventiure’, pages 252 – 257.
105
Idem, ibidem, thirty-sixth ‘âventiure’, page 261.
106
Idem, ibidem, thirty-seventh ‘âventiure’, pages 267 – 275.
107
Idem, ibidem, thirty-eighth ‘âventiure’, pages 279 – 285.
108
Idem, ibidem, thirty-ninth ‘âventiure’, page 288.
109
Idem, ibidem, thirty-ninth ‘âventiure’, pages 289 – 290.
110
Idem, ibidem, thirty-ninth ‘âventiure’, page 290.
111
Idem, ibidem, thirty-ninth ‘âventiure’, page 290.
101
40
the Burgundians of the treasure – a frustrating statement that excites Kriemhilt’s wrath to new
heights112.
The aggravated queen unsheathes Siegfried’s sword – the last remaining symbol of her
beloved deceased – from Hagen’s belt and, with one swift gesture of the mighty blade, rends
Hagen’s head from his body113. Her final victory – indeed, her entire raison d’être – is both
short-lived and stymied one final time; for she is gorily hewn to pieces by an infuriated
Hildebrand – bringing the poem to a tragic, bloody close114.
The role that Kriemhilt plays far surpasses that of Orgeluse, in a sense. She is an everpresent character and, arguably, she is also the driving force of the narrative. That said, I do not
mean that, function-wise, Orgeluse pales in comparison to the Burgundian queen; on the
contrary, she too is the primordial element of disequilibrium in ‘Parzival’ – Orgeluse compelled
Anfortas to disregard the mandates of the Grail and to join the vindictive fight for her love and
to be punished by his hybris, which, in turn, caused the need for a new Grail king. Nevertheless,
the growth – i.e., the succession of roles that she adopts – and her thirst for vengeance are
alluded in the text and not explicitly built up and exposed at length, contributing to a certain
‘opaqueness of character’. Again, unlike Kriemhilt, we have little to no information about the
character of Orgeluse before the death of Cidegast – only that she was adamant and exigent
about conceding love. Kriemhilt, for her part, is a much more ‘transparent character’ – she is
characterised at length, she figures copiously throughout the poem and her ‘transformation’ is
far more apparent and gradual.
She starts out as the typical noble woman; she is introduced as possessing exquisite
beauty, she is (gladly) subjected to her brothers, she remains cloistered with her female retinue,
she watches the jousts from the windows, she depends in men for protection and she is
powerless to act upon the world – all positive traits of a courtly woman.
When she is introduced to Siegfried, she is shyly reserved and, when Gunther asks her to kiss
the dragon-slayer, she obeys her brother’s wish. When Gunther requests fine clothes for the trip
to Isenstein, she states that he needs only to command her, as he should, and she will obey.
When Siegfried returns in the role of a messenger, she is eager to show her favour by presenting
him with material items; the poet goes so far as to relate that she would have gladly kissed him
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. thirtyfirst ‘âventiure’, pages 236 – 237.Thirty-ninth ‘âventiure’, page 290.
113
Idem, ibidem, thirty-ninth ‘âventiure’, page 290.
114
Idem, ibidem, thirty-ninth ‘âventiure’, page 290 – 291.
112
41
but that would be a breach of both moral and social etiquettes, and she dares not to act upon
impulse.
When Siegfried’s corpse is displayed before her, she too mourns like a courtly lady –
and when, at long last, Siegfried is brought to be buried she demonstrates her love and loyalty
to him. Kriemhilt, like Herzeloyde, has prophetic dreams that foretell the future – the veracity
of her dreaming the last two dreams is debatable – but she is powerless to contradict them and
only attempts to stave off the events to come. She also, like Sigune, secludes herself in a manner
akin to a nun to mourn forever her beloved’s untimely death and only leaves this self-imposed
exile to attend mass.
In summary, she does not overstep her gender-specific bounds. In the first part of the
poem (up until Siegfried’s death, that is) she conforms very much to her gender role as a courtly
lady. Yet, the attentive reader – through all these demonstrations of conformity to her gender
role as a typical courtly lady – would notice that there is something amiss in the demeanour of
Kriemhilt as a courtly lady.
For instance, in the very first âventiure, she has her prescient dream about the hawk
being brutally annihilated and she relates it to her mother Uote; when she is enlightened about
its meaning she states that she does not intend on heeding love’s call – a statement that seems
to demonstrate a resistance to the ultimate telos of a courtly lady. Likewise, in the third
âventiure, the poet asserts that her sublime visage has attracted a myriad of suitors to Worms
but that she denied them because her true love was not known to her at the time. By taking this
passage in consideration, it seems likely that Kriemhilt had, at least, some authority when it
came to accepting or turning away possible suitors – which contradicts, to some degree, her
later unquestioned subservience to her male counterparts. In the same vein, in the eleventh
âventiure, while passively accepting to waver her rightful part of the inheritance she fiercely
reclaims her right to bring with her knights from the Burgundian host. And, arguably the most
prominent argument to favour this idea, she feels an unchecked right to confront, insult and
even question the honour of her brother’s wife; she is ever fierce and even vicious in her attack
towards Brunhild – she has an overweening attitude and feels no contrition on breaking her
mould as a courtly lady and steeps (far too) low to punish and tarnish the queen of Isenstein.
These particular instances seem to point to a nuanced gender role of courtly lady in
Kriemhilt; i.e., there is an inherent gradation of this specific role in Kriemhilt. Nevertheless,
these instances are few and far between; Kriemhilt carries herself throughout the first half of
the poem in the manner of a courtly lady. Hence, her future role is slightly overshadowed – an
overshadowing that is not limited to her deeds; for, indeed, it is constantly reinforced by the
42
poet. Nevertheless, she embodies the aforementioned role (albeit with some marked instances
that point to the contrary) fully. Thus, as I have asserted before, in this first part of the opus,
Kriemhilt demonstrates mainly positive traits of her gender role.
Kriemhilt, in the second part of the opus, suffers a role change. She still can adopt her
gender role as courtly lady – she receives Rudiger’s wife as a courtly lady would, she weeps
over her allies’ death, she dreams of kissing her younger brother, she demonstrates some
semblance of love towards Etzel. On the other hand, we are permitted to see another facet of
the now queen of the Huns. She lays in bed with her husband and, while his thoughts and actions
are motivated by love, she schemes indefinitely. She convinces her husband to invite her
kinsmen to Hungary under false pretences. She reproaches the Burgundian host when they
arrive instead of warmly welcoming them – a severe breach of protocol. She directs invectives
at Hagen and demands that the Nibelung hoard is returned to her. She instrumentalises her tears
and her husband’s gold to plot the death of her former companions. She consecutively breaks
her oaths of reprieve for Siegfried’s death at the hands of the Burgundians. She utilises her own
son and her own brother-in-law to commence the slaughter. In this aforementioned instance,
the poet states that Ortlieb’s head ended up on her lap; yet her remorse or grief for the loss of
her son is very much amiss or veiled. She tries to burn the hall where the foreign knights stand
and, when that amounts to nothing, she effectively instrumentalises the oaths given to her by
the honourable Rudiger to annihilate her opponents. And, when the battle at long last grinds to
a halt with the apprehension of both Gunther and Hagen, she fully demonstrates her willingness
to sacrifice anything – and anyone – to regain what was taken from her. Kriemhilt orders her
brother’s beheading and, when she is stymied one last time by Hagen, she is driven into a fully
warrior-like maiden role – she proceeds to unsheathe the sword of her departed widow and with
a (surprisingly, all too sound and true) blow she decapitates her aggressor.
She, unlike Orgeluse, is consecutively denied – and these consecutive denials aggravate
and escalate her increasingly vicious and vindictive persona. She instrumentalises the love and
favour she gained in Etzel’s court (and from Etzel himself) to influence men into doing her
vengeful bidding. This is a trait that she shares with Orgeluse, albeit with a very poignant
difference – unlike Orgeluse, she is consecutively denied. Yes, she succeeds into sending
Bloedelin, Iring and Rudiger to battle; nevertheless, the warriors of Etzel’s court refuse her
when faced with Hagen and Rudiger himself is extremely reluctant to enter the fray of battle.
Iring, on the other hand, dies cursing his service to her.
43
These constant male failings and denials are, indeed, what prompts Kriemhilt into
breaking her mould as a courtly lady– a mould that suffers immense pressure as the action of
the poem drags on – and, finally, to take matters, quite literally, into her own hands.
She pushes the boundary of her established gender role time and time again by hating
and plotting – plotting being one of the defining characteristics of a male gender role – and truly
oversteps her bounds as a (courtly) woman when she assumes her warrior role. And this notion
of her overstepping said gender-bound and gender-driven role is reinforced in the action that
results thereof – she is brutally hacked to pieces. Contrary to Orgeluse, who is introduced as
already violating constantly the limits of her gender role, Kriemhilt’s negative role is both
hinted at and slowly developed; coming to a climax when she effectively leaves behind the
feminine sphere and becomes – for all intents and purposes – momentarily a man. While
Orgeluse is presented as having potential or being on the verge of adopting fully the opposing
gender role, Kriemhilt both doubtlessly transgresses her gender role and assumes the gender
role of a man; unleashing the full extent of her wrath upon her offenders. And, while it seems
unquestionable this radical change in Kriemhilt, we must forcibly consider that this ‘male-like
disposition’ is backed, i.e. motivated, by her loyalty and love to her dead husband – something
that, if pursued by a man, would be considered just in the eyes of the society of the time. The
concept of ‘justice’ is of no consequence here – for the definition of justice is one-sided and
dictated by men, namely the poet –; in the action of the poem, she ultimately acts (akin to
Orgeluse herself) motivated by loyalty and love in a reprehensible and hate-filled way. And,
while loyalty and love are at the centre of the two poems, what loyalty and love can righteously
motivate or produce is defined and contained by men; that is to say, men draw the line where
the righteous action governed/motivated by the righteous feeling is indeed righteous or not –
and this very definition itself is bound by gender, it becomes (like all things in the medieval
society) dictated by men.
These actions (and inactions) have, at the centre, the sense of womanly loyalty and her
specific gender role in these works; this very sense of loyalty coupled with a rigid gender role
or a transgression of said role can nurture and potentiate love or hate. We have seen how do
these courtly ladies fit in their gender role – indeed, we have identified and defined the ideal
gender role that they potentially adopt. But how are these two dissimilar emotions – love and
hate – codified by these two women? First, we must define these emotions in the context of
these particular works and their relations to the specific society and culture of the time. I will
start by defining love and show how exactly Kriemhilt and Orgeluse codify this emotion in the
respective texts.
44
45
2. Tokens of Love – Decoding minne in Kriemhilt and Orgeluse
2.1.
minne – an attempt at a definition
In Middle-High German, love is represented by the concept of minne. Minne, an
emotion that emanates from triuwe, above all, echoes the meaning of remembrance115;
however, it has a far more extensive and dynamic set of meanings.
Minne is anchored firmly in the courtly society of medieval Germany by a plethora of
works – ranging from heroic literature to courtly love poetry (minnesang). It is an exclusive
concept to the Germanic territory with strict conventions; containing in itself a plurality of
meanings. At first, one might be tempted to accept Gaston Paris’ definition of ‘amour courtois’
as an apt translation or description of it. It is, after all, love within the courtly society; however,
this definition (itself more appropriate to describe the subject of Occitan medieval love poetry)
does not convey all nuances present in minne. minne itself is very difficult to describe
accurately; it can denote the love of God or the unattainable and physically unfulfilled love
between a knight and his lady. In the latter, minne motivates the knight to seek chivalrous deeds
of love service (minnedienst) in order to prove himself worthy and to secure a reward (lôn), be
it in the form of a sexual encounter or in material compensation – though, in my opinion, this
particular meaning of minne tends to go hand in hand with glory in battle (prîs). As I stressed
before, the woman is forced to rely on the man to act in the world, finding a suitable challenge
for the knight to overcome and supplying the proper reward.
This meaning of remembrance is perhaps better illustrated by a passage from ‘Parzival’, a passage that begins
with one of the hunting she-falcons of Arthur injuring a goose during a snowy morning. The passage is as follows:
« From its wound three red tears of blood fell upon the snow. These were to cause Parzival much distress. / This
came from his loyal attachment. For when he saw the drops of blood on white, white snow he asked himself, ‘Who
has set his hands to these fresh colours? Condwiramurs, these tints may truly be likened to your complexion! It is
God’s will to give me untold happiness in finding your counterpart here. (…) Condwiramurs, here lies your bright
image! The snow lending its white to the blood, the blood reddening the snow – Condwiramurs! Your fair person
is reflected here, I’ll not excuse you the comparison!’ (…) The love he cherished for her never wavered. In this
way he became lost in thought till he fell into a trance. » (Eschenbach, W. v. [2004]. ‘Parzival – translated by
Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book VI, page 148). In truth, Parzival, as Wolfram notes, falls into
a trance of remembrance and pays no heed to the danger he is to be subjected to; he fights unconsciously –
seemingly out of sheer warrior-like reflexes –, still lost in reveries of his beloved, until Gawan shields the drops
of blood from his sight. It is also interesting the usage of the term «three red tears of blood» here, it seems to
further engross the symbolic nature of this passage; as tears of blood are usually shed by women and conventionally
denote great suffering, usually borne out of triuwe and minne.
115
46
In addition, minne is specifically entrenched in Germanic territory; more than that, it is
both gender-dependent and gender-centred116. According to the classical literary convention, a
man feels and expresses minne in a dissimilar fashion to that of a woman. For example, minne
may bring a sense of helplessness and unworthiness to mind when a man is confronted with the
woman he desires – to illustrate this nuance one just has to recall the thoughts of Siegfried upon
first seeing Kriemhilt in the court of Worms117. He feels helpless before such beauty and grace;
enticed by these same attributes he is first struck dumb and then proceeds to doubt himself and
his own valour, to despair immensely, to long for her; and, finally, when given the opportunity
to approach the lady, he feels overjoyed.
For her part, Kriemhilt adopts the typical behaviour of a courtly lady; she salutes the
prince when requested by her brother and takes Siegfried’s hand, directing at him loving gazes
stealthily as they walk through the Burgundian court and finally kisses him – to the dismay and
envy of many a knight present118.
In these consecutive scenes we can begin to see the discrepancies between the masculine
and feminine minne conventions; that is, how does a single concept act distinctly in a male and
a female. One cannot help to notice a certain similarity between Siegfried here and Dante in his
Vita Nuova; the prince’s thoughts seem to mirror broadly Dante’s own when he first comes face
to face with Beatrice. However, we must resist the urge to equate Dante’s love with that of
Siegfried’s; they are apart not only from geographic and chronological standpoints but also
from a perspective of love itself – for Dante’s love is one of a spiritual character, while
Siegfried’s own is merely secular.
True, Dante shapes his lady (more so in ‘La Commedia’) into something of an “angel
woman”, as a chaste and divine creature, as one of the facets of the love of God. Beatrice is
subjected to an apotheosis, transcends most of her nature as a human to become a divine symbol,
116
There are, of course, similar concepts in other neighbouring courtly societies. For instance, Leigh Smith (Smith,
2000, pages 189-195) discourses abundantly on the subject of courtly love, especially concerning the French
meaning of courtly world. Likewise, Carlos Miranda (Miranda, 2005) greatly expounds on the notion of the
Occitan fin’ amors and its characteristics.
117
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Pages
48 – 49.
118
Idem, ibidem, page 49.
47
mother and messenger119. Kriemhilt – and most women in Middle-High German literature120 –
in turn, remains very much a woman made of flesh and blood. However, it does not mean that
she pales in comparison to Dante’s Beatrice – she too is symbolical and is seen as possessing
unearthly beauty capable of assuaging the violent, warrior-like disposition of Siegfried. She just
plays a different role; that of a minnedame (a lady of love) culturally and socially anchored to
the sensibilities of her own environment. Both are female topoi, nevertheless both are
culturally-anchored in a certain society, subjected to different conventions; each has its own
nuanced function and telos.
The disposition of Siegfried when viewing Kriemhilt for the first time – though in this
instance his love is of a contemplative nature – and the love that he feels falls short of Parzival’s
own. By this assertion, I mean that love in ‘Das Nibelungenlied’ is – although still defined by
the concept of minne – very much ordained towards the worldly sphere and not towards God.
In other words, minne in ‘Das Nibelungenlied’ is one of the major concepts that propel the
action forward but it is – unlike Parzival’s sphere of spiritual minne in ‘Parzival’ – merely
ordained towards society and courtly, ‘worldly’ equilibrium; it has very little (if any) relation
to God, nor is it specifically a way towards or part of the spiritual sphere.
‘Das Nibelungenlied’ is, therefore, in some measure dissimilar from ‘Parzival’ where
the conception of minne is concerned – ‘Parzival’ actually contains two courtly worlds, each
adjusted to a different concept of minne: ‘worldly’ or ‘secular’ minne (that of the Arthurian
world) and ‘spiritual’ or ‘religious’ minne (that of the Grail world). And this division of minne
into two ‘sub-concepts’, so to speak, are clearly represented in the actions of both Gawan’s and
Parzival’s quests.
One of the prime example of Beatrice’s apotheosis (especially concerning her now divine character) in Dante’s
‘La Commedia’ can be found in stanzas 1 – 12, canto XXI of ‘Paradiso’; Dante directs his gaze in both reverence
and reverie toward Beatrice; she is not smiling but she boldly states that if she were to smile he would be reduced
to ashes by her celestial beauty, as Semele did when Zeus acceded to her request to see him in all his heavenly
glory. These twelve stanzas speak volumes not only about the conception of love for Dante but also about the
position in which Dante places his beloved – going so far as to equate her to the Greek king of the gods –, for a
mere token of affection is powerful enough to utterly destroy the poet. Alighieri, D. (2011). ‘A Divina Comédia Translated by Vasco Graça Moura’. Lisbon: Quetzal Editors. ‘Paradiso’, Canto XXI, Pages 776 – 777.
120
Except, perhaps, women characters like Repanse de Schoye or Condwiramurs. The former is a virgin until she
departs with Feirefiz and the latter is the woman who will become the Grail Queen.
119
48
Gawan has the more traditional knightly ‘âventiure’, with events that range from the
burlesque and the comical121, to the knightly deeds of valour122 and the fantastic feats123; a quest
that ultimately has, as a result, the acknowledgement of proficiency in knightly offices by
Orgeluse and a harmonic ending in ‘secular’ minne. Parzival’s career, on the other hand, while
still retaining a string of knightly exploits124, is very much a spiritual pilgrimage of atonement
and self-discovery and less a knightly ‘âventiure’125; nevertheless, minne figures it, albeit a
different – spiritual – type of minne.
If we consider each of these “sub-concepts” of minne, we will find that Siegfried’s own
minne gravitates more towards Gawan’s own – for it is only directed at the ‘worldly’ sphere.
Indeed, this “worldly sub-concept” of minne is what will be the focus of my analysis, for neither
Kriemhilt nor Orgeluse have ties – be it blood-ties or matrimonial ties – with the spiritual world
and, therefore, are subjected to/express/feel secular minne.
Indeed, Orgeluse is at the root of the cataclysm that afflicts the spiritual world in
‘Parzival’ – she serves as a binding nexus between the courtly Arthurian world and the Grail
world – but, aside from this issue, she is, with regard to minne, very distant from the spiritual
world of the Grail.
As we have seen before, both men and women have contrasting notions of minne; their
“voices”, so to speak, are different in tone in medieval literature in Middle-High German. This
is clearly expressed in the distinction between Minnekanzone and Frauenlied, two types of love
lyric, where men and women respectively assert their own thoughts about their partner. More
than having their own “voices” where courtly literature is concerned, they are limited by their
idealised gender role – or the transgression of said gender role – to express their own emotions,
two of the most important of which are love and hatred. But what about these aforementioned
emotions, where do they stem from? How do these women express them? How do they show
them? More importantly, how do they codify them? And does this codification of these
121
The encounter between Gawan and Antikonie in Book VIII is a prime example of a burlesque/comical episode
in Gawan’s quest; in this episode Lot’s son places his hand on Antikonie’s bare thigh beneath her dress and,
consequently, they are found out and a fight ensues – a hostile encounter that includes the hurling of chess pieces
at the opposing host of knights.
122
For instance, Gawan’s jousting bouts with Lischoys and Turkyot. It is to be noted that, although Gawan does
not shy away from combat, he tends to carefully avoid unnecessary bloodshed and confrontations, usually settling
problems in a diplomatic fashion – a trait that he shares with Arthur himself.
123
I am referring to the events that transpire at Schastel Marveil in Book XXI.
124
For instance, his combat with Segramors and Keie respectively in Book VI.
125
For example, his caste behaviour towards his beloved Condwiramurs in Book IV, his meeting with his uncle
Trevrizent and the religious education that he receives from his uncle in Book IX or his final return to
Munsalvaesche to take up the mantle and the crown as Grail king in Book XVI.
49
emotions change when they transgress – or verge on transgressing – from their own idealised
gender role?
50
2.2.
Decoding minne in Kriemhilt
I will start my analysis with Kriemhilt. The reason for doing so (although I presented
Orgeluse first in the subchapter concerning gender roles) is simple – Kriemhilt starts out as a
minnedame, a lady of love. She is presented to the reader along with her family, living at the
Burgundian court in Worms. Orgeluse, on the other hand, is first presented to the reader already
in her “warrior-like maiden” role and Wolfram supplies little back story to this character and
no discernible blood relatives – hence, presenting no information concerning the previous
gender role and previous behaviour of Orgeluse as a courtly lady before the appearance of
Cidegast.
Kriemhilt is, thus, introduced to us in this manner:
« In the land of the Burgundians there grew up a maiden of high lineage, so fair that none in any land
could be fairer. Her name was Kriemhilt. She came to be a beautiful woman, causing many knights to lose their
lives. This charming girl was as if made for love’s caresses: she was desired by brave fighting men and none was
her enemy, for her noble person was beyond all measure lovely. »126
The first impression that springs to mind is her description as being both highborn and
beautiful above all other women. Her high lineage, coupled with her immeasurable beauty not
only compliment Kriemhilt as a character; these statements serve, more than to increase her
glory, to mark her as a courtly lady. As I have mentioned before, these attributes are
characteristics of a courtly lady and, moreover, the poet states that she was «if made for love’s
caresses» - i.e., she not only possesses the attributes of a courtly lady, she is indeed conceived
to follow the path of one. This last argument is made clear by the poet when stating that she
was the object of desire of many a men-at-arms and none was prone to hate her because of her
beauty, that is, because of her future propensity to become a courtly lady and to concede minne.
I do not employ the expression «future propensity» without reason – Kriemhilt, as the poet
asserts, is still very much a child; this is clear by the usage of the sentence «she came to be a
beautiful woman». She is yet to be able (that is, she is not yet of age) to mobilise men into
minnedienst, but the poet acknowledges her potential for such.
This potential for minne in Kriemhilt is further expanded upon by the prophetic dream
that she has and the interpretation that she receives of it from her mother Uote 127; she sees
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. First
‘âventiure’, page 17.
126
Idem, ibidem, first ‘âventiure’, page 18.
127
51
herself rearing a falcon (the erotic symbol of a noble man), one that is rend to pieces by two
eagles. She retorts to her mother’s explanation in this fashion: «Why do you talk to me of a
man, dear Mother? I intend to stay free of a warrior’s love all my life. I mean to keep my beauty
till I die, and never be made wretched by the love of any man. »128
What is more striking is that Uote makes no mention of love in the lines that proceed
Kriemhilt’s retort; it is the young princess that interprets her mother’s advice as concerning
love.
Her denial of her hypothetical future – an argument that she anchors on preserving her
beauty in its immaculate state till her death – is one motivated by her inexperience; no doubt
she is, in some regard, uninitiated in the ways of the courtly world and the function of a courtly
lady. If my previously mentioned argument is taken into consideration, this rebuttal of
Kriemhilt concerning love and the motherly advice that she receives in response129 function as
the first – at least, apparent – lesson that she receives in both the inner workings of her world
and minne.
She will only retain her beauty if she is loved by a worthy knight, asserts Uote – a
woman knowledgeable both about the courtly life and about the role of a courtly lady –, trying
to educate the young princess in terms that she can understand and relate to. Yet, the mother
does not succeed, for Kriemhilt – in her inexperience – points out that the happiness that love
can conceivably bring may degenerate into sorrow; and she intends not to suffer for love130.
This whole daughter-mother exchange is compelling because Kriemhilt denotes a certain
inability to understand fully the motive force of her world – minne –, yet argues that love brings
only suffering and that has this negative outcome has the probability to tarnish her exquisite
looks; something that is highly valued by the young Burgundian princess.
She understands – or seems to, at the very least – the happiness-suffering dichotomy at
play but she is unable to grasp minne as a positive force that brings rewards – and purpose – to
a courtly lady. Hence, she has, in her own view, no need to adopt the role of a minnedame.
This first lesson, if I may call it such, ends with the poet remarking: « Kriemhilt set all
thought of love aside, and after this conversation the good girl passed many a pleasant day
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. First
‘âventiure’, page 18.
129
In fact, Uote responds: «Do not forswear it too firmly (…) If you are ever to know heartfelt happiness it can
only come from a man’s love. If God should assign you a truly worthy knight you will grow to be a beautiful
woman.’ » (Idem, ibidem, first ‘âventiure’, page 18).
130
Kriemhilt argues the following: « Let us speak of other things, my lady. There are many examples of women
who have paid for happiness with sorrow in the end. I shall avoid both, and so I shall come to no harm.’ » (Idem,
ibidem, first ‘âventiure’, page 18).
128
52
unaware of any man whom she would love. »131. She, therefore, has no experience – for she is
still far too young to feel and concede minne and to willingly spur minnedienst – but she will,
in the future, once she matures. This very first ‘âventiure’ is significant, albeit containing no
codification of minne aside from the symbolic image of the falcon in her dreams, because it
contemplates and expounds on the inherent nature of Kriemhilt as a minnedame, i.e., as a
courtly lady that grants minne, and speaks of (better yet, alludes to) her future comprehension
of the concept and acceptance of the role courtly lady.
Kriemhilt returns to the action of the poem in the third ‘âventiure’, when the poet
remarks the following about the princess of Worms:
« The young lady ‘s most rare beauty was known far and wide, and many warriors had also learned of her
spirited disposition, so that her perfections attracted many visitors to Gunther’s country. But however many suitors
came to woo her, Kriemhilt never admitted to herself in her inmost thoughts that she wanted any as lover, since as
yet her future lord was a stranger to her. »132
The poet here reiterates that Kriemhilt is still inexperienced in minne, though now it
seems that this inexperience stems not from her young age but from her reluctance to concede
minne. Her mother’s advice, given in the first ‘âventiure’, did not have an effect on Kriemhilt’s
behaviour and outlook on minne. More than that (and as I have pointed out before), her beauty133
(a characteristic of a minnedame) is widely renowned throughout all lands and it attracts many
an eager suitor to the Burgundian court; nonetheless, Kriemhilt seems to be able to refuse
possible suitors that intrude in the court at Worms – something that is, at best, surprising. For
now, only her beauty and her unwillingness to submit to minne’s laws define her – but only
because, the poet argues, that she has yet to meet her perfect match.
There is another anomalous moment in the third ‘âventiure’ – the poet states that the
war-like, irascible disposition of Siegfried is assuaged by the – at the moment veiled – beauty
of Kriemhilt134. This instance is quite strange, for Kriemhilt seems to exert influence over
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. First
‘âventiure’, pages 18 – 19.
132
Idem, ibidem, third ‘âventiure’, page 23.
133
In this very ‘âventiure’ Siegfried argues that « I shall take Kriemhilt, the fair maiden of Burgundy, (…) on
account of her very great beauty, since even if the mightiest of emperors wished to marry, he would not demean
himself in loving the noble princess. » (Idem, ibidem, third ‘âventiure’, page 23); the fame of her beauty alone
seems more than necessary to inspire the love of emperor and to make her a fitting consort for such high-ranking
monarch. Her beauty is, indeed, the first sign of a potential minnedame.
134
« And he [Gernot] forbade all his followers to say anything in arrogance that might arouse Siegfried’s
displeasure, while Siegfried, too, was mollified by thoughts of lovely Kriemhilt» (Idem, ibidem, third ‘âventiure’,
page 30).
131
53
Siegfried even before her existence – i.e., her physiognomy – is fully revealed to the prince of
Xanten; it is, indeed, not Kriemhilt herself that influences Siegfried (effectively transforming
him from a power-thirsty warrior into a courtly knight135) but her beauty, her only characteristic
so far noted that validates her as a courtly lady.
The first real instance of codification of minne now materialises: Siegfried is accepted
into the Burgundian court and participates actively in knightly sports; and the poet says that «
(…) the noble princess Kriemhilt would often look on from the window, and as long as it [the
knightly activities] lasted she needed no other entertainment»136. Her hidden contemplation of
Siegfried’s glory in knightly sports awakens fully her capacity for minne and she allows the
dragon-slayer, whom she has only watched from afar, to enter (and remain) in her thoughts and
in her heart alike. We cannot know if she did this before – that is, watching other warriors
engaged in knightly activities from the windows – but the poet makes it clear that she «needed
no other entertainment» while «it lasted».
This first token of manifested minne towards the young prince is further reinforced by
the poet stating that « (…) and [Siegfried] was cherished in return by the same young lady
whom he had never seen but who in her own intimate circle nevertheless spoke kindly of
him»137. Indeed, it is outright noted that Kriemhilt holds Siegfried dearly in her heart; she
expresses the minne she feels for him in her daily conversations with her retinue of ladies. Yet,
the word employed is «kindly»; in other words, she lets no one from her cortège know her
heart’s desire – only that she favours him.
Kriemhilt, in this first stage (where she is very much outside of the young prince’s reach)
expresses her minne by her distant – but attentive – gazes as he demonstrates his knightly
prowess and by her kind words of favour when among her intimate cortège of ladies. She
remains cloistered but her capacity for minne stands, at last, awaken (but in still locked in secret)
– she now is ready to assume the role of courtly lady.
This expression of Kriemhilt’s secretive minne is more evidently alluded to in the next
‘âventiure’; after the threat of the Danish-Saxon invasion is resolved, messengers are sent to
the court of Worms to inform the nobles of the favourable outcome of the war. One of these
messengers is «(…)summoned into Kriemhilt’s presence, and this was done in great secrecy –
she dared not do it openly, since among those who had fought was the darling of her heart»138
Hatto directly states this in a footnote. Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T.
Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. third ‘âventiure’, page 31.
136
Idem, ibidem, third ‘âventiure’, page 31.
137
Idem, ibidem, third ‘âventiure’, page 31.
138
Idem, ibidem, fourth ‘âventiure’, page 41.
135
54
and is questioned by the princess, with the promise of gold as a reward. She, as I have observed
before, is cloistered – she admits no man to her presence (save for kinsmen) – and yet she breaks
a code of conduct (she is aware of this infraction, for it is indicated that this meeting was
arranged in secrecy), admits a male to her presence and asks him many questions. Besides
inquiring how did the battle go and how fared her blood-relatives, she asks – notably, the very
last question posed by her in an emphatic manner - «’Or, tell me, who acquitted himself best
there?’»139. She does not disregard the well-being of her kinsmen nor the outcome of the battle;
still she is far more interested in knowing if Siegfried has, like in the knightly games practiced
many times before at Worms, distinguished himself among all others yet again. One thing is to
prove one’s mettle among friends, another matter entirely is to prove oneself the better warrior
in perilous sorties – and Kriemhilt recognises this. When the princess learns of Siegfried’s
unbridled valour in battle, that he stands by none surpassed « A blush suffused Kriemhilt’s fair
cheek (…) her lovely face blushed red as a rose (…) »140, and she immediately volunteered to
show her deep gratitude by awarding fine clothes and ten marks of gold to the messenger141. In
this instance, it is her gratitude (borne out of relief and satisfaction) – coupled with her
eagerness to hear of Siegfried’s military exploits – that shows the new depths of her minne; and
she promptly demonstrates this gratitude with offerings of clothes and gold to the man who
related such good tidings.
The fact that she blushes as she hears of the young dragon-slayer’s accomplishments in
the recent war pushes this demonstration of minne even further; the poet states that her fair face
not only reddens (something noteworthy in itself) but that it takes on the colour of a rose, an
unmistakable nod to the emotion – i.e., minne – locked in Kriemhilt’s bosom, a love that she
can no longer shield effectively from prying eyes. When the young princess can no longer veil
her feelings towards Siegfried, the “uncloistering” process of her minne, so to speak, begins.
Now, with minne well developed – and in plain view – in her heart, her presence will
follow suit and mimic the newfound behaviour of her ruling emotion; i.e., she will leave the
closure of her apartments progressively more and more and she will figure more frequently
among men. With this, her minne will sublimate from a cloistered, secretive emotion in a full
blown – and in full view – affection for the prince of Xanten.
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Fourth
‘âventiure’, page 41.
140
Idem, ibidem, fourth ‘âventiure’, page 43.
141
Idem, ibidem, fourth ‘âventiure’, page 43.
139
55
The first opportunity that Kriemhilt has to demonstrate the depths of her minne publicly
towards Siegfried presents itself – coincidentally – when Gunther announces the festivities in
honour of the victorious party in the recent conflict. Here we are introduced to yet another
resource utilised by Kriemhilt to demonstrate her minne – her luxurious attire. This specific
instance is noteworthy, for she is not ordered by her brother to prepare sumptuous clothes to
wear in her appearance at the festivities; she, of her own volition, takes the initiative to be
decked in a majestic manner and to have her retinue of ladies sumptuously dressed as well142.
Kriemhilt is not expressly invited to the festivities either; it is Ortwin that incites her
brother King Gunther into bringing the ladies to the festivities in order to enhance the glory of
Burgundy – a suggestion that pleases the Burgundian sovereign143.
It is now that Kriemhilt, fully attired in all her glory, accompanied by her mother and
her entourage of ladies appear guarded by Burgundian liegemen – with swords drawn – before
the guests. The latter, for their part, «cherished hopes that this day their looks might please the
ladies – good fortune they would have not exchanged for a kingdom!»144.
The next passage presents a very accurate depiction of Kriemhilt’s demonstration of
minne for Siegfried. It is as follows:
«But now lovely Kriemhilt emerged like the dawn from the dark clouds145, freeing from much distress
him who secretly cherished her and indeed long had done so. He saw the adorable maiden stand there in all her
splendour – gems past counting gleamed from her robe, while rosy cheeks glowed bewitchingly; so that even if a
man were to have his heart’s desire he could not claim to have seen anything fairer. Kriemhilt outshone many good
ladies as the moon the stars when its light shines clear from the sky, and those gallant warriors’ hearts rose within
them as they gazed on her. »146
This scene of Kriemhilt descending from her enclosure to be viewed by all – Siegfried
in particular – is laden with minne symbolism. First, we must address the fact that she, for all
her splendour, is not properly described – that is to say, once again, that her physiognomy is
«(…) it came to the ears of lovely Kriemhilt that her brother wished to give a feast in honour of his esteemed
allies and, accordingly, fair ladies gave assiduous to the dresses and wimples they would wear.». Anonymous
(2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Fourth ‘âventiure’,
page 45.
143
Idem, ibidem, fifth ‘âventiure’, page 47.
144
Idem, ibidem, fifth ‘âventiure’, page 47.
145
One cannot ignore this description of Kriemhilt as a possible reference to the Tagelied genre of love lyric,
where the lovers loathe the coming of dawn, for its coming symbolises separation and the cessation of their illicit
affair. Kriemhilt, on the other hand, is depicted as the dawn breaking through the dark clouds – this analogy
possibly alludes to Kriemhilt as the ideal courtly lady to Siegfried’s eyes, one that will contradict the idea of illicit
love. If my argument is correct, she stands on the other end of the spectrum, so to speak, when compared to the
woman in the Tagelied genre, for she is very much loyal to her still-future husband to the very end.
146
Idem, ibidem, fifth ‘âventiure’, page 47 – 48.
142
56
not detailed in full –, instead the poet recounts that the young princess is clad in a robe adorned
by a multitude of precious gems; the lavish attire is a characteristic that I have already identified
as a symbol of minne in Kriemhilt. Secondly, she is likened both to the dawn and to its antipode,
the moon, when compared to all other women in attendance. Apart from the references to
natural sights that inspire awe and reverence in order to compliment her appearance and to
highlight the princess amidst all women, these analogies are employed to cultivate the image
of Kriemhilt as a perfect, almost otherworldly and unattainable beauty – and beauty is, once
again, a sign of minne – and to amplify the feeling of helplessness and desperation that Siegfried
feels after beholding her for the first time.
One must also note that it is Siegfried who is first referred to as beholding Kriemhilt
among all those in attendance and this is no random remark; for it is he who is destined to her
and has long suffered without her presence. Thus, we witness the first step of Kriemhilt’s
“uncloistering” of her minne – she reveals herself for the first time in public. This
“uncloistering” of her minne will be pushed even further by the next event to take place in this
fifth ‘âventiure’.
Now it is Gernot that intervenes in the action taking place at the festivities, advising his
brother Gunther to introduce Kriemhilt to Siegfried and allow him to approach her, thus
honouring the young prince of Xanten147. Her previous cloistered state is also alluded in
Gernot’s discourse, for he states that she should welcome Siegfried personally though Kriemhilt
never addressed a knight before in her life. The event that ensues is detailed by the poet in this
fashion:
«’You are welcome lord Siegfried, noble knight’, said she. Siegfried’s spirits soared high and he bowed
his devoted thanks. Then, she took him by the hand, and how ardently did this lord walk beside the lady,
exchanging tender looks in secret! / If a white hand were pressed there affectionately at the promptings of sweet
love, then I was not told so; yet I cannot believe that it was not, for she had soon conveyed her liking; so that in
days of summer or at the approach of May, Siegfried had never had cause for such ecstasy as now, as he walked
hand in hand with her whom he wished to wed. »148
The very first point that must be made reference to in the passage cited above is the
stealthy looks of tenderness exchanged by both. Their love – in this case, Kriemhilt’s own
minne – is very much a secret; albeit an emotion that each reciprocate equally. It is still not
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Fifth
‘âventiure’, page 48.
148
Idem, ibidem, fifth ‘âventiure’, page 49.
147
57
acceptable for the young Burgundian noblewoman to demonstrate the minne she nurtures for
the dragon-slayer publicly; she is still subjected to her brothers in her role as courtly lady, after
all. However, it is permissible for Kriemhilt to show her favour towards Siegfried – and this is
shown by her in the action of taking his hand out of her own volition and walk alongside him
(in a scene reminiscent of a wedding).
The narrator refers to the pressing of the white hand of Kriemhilt prompting love – this
is another codified demonstration of minne, and a metaphor employed in courtly romances such
as Wolfram’s ‘Parzival’149 – yet he does not assert this as a fact; nevertheless, the poet mentions
that Kriemhilt has already given signs of profound interest, that is, of minne, concerning
Siegfried. This passage comes to a close by alluding to Siegfried’s amorous – and possibly
sexual – exploits paling in comparison to the utter bliss he feels just by holding her hand and
walking beside the Burgundian princess150.
The next section represents the penultimate stage in Kriemhilt’s “uncloistering” of
minne – the princess is granted leave to bestow upon the prince of Xanten a kiss and the narrator
tells us that, from the perspective of Siegfried, «never in all his life had anything so pleasant
befallen him»151. Thus recognised as her equal152, but this is not all there is concerning this
action; the text evidences that Kriemhilt has effectively surpassed all women that Siegfried has
laid eyes on. Furthermore, she does not resist the opportunity to kiss him – for, granted, she was
not ordered to do so but instead allowed to – effectively binding his heart and demonstrating
the depths of the minne she feels towards the young knight. Indeed, this kiss is a mere
ceremonial formality; nevertheless, we shall see ahead that Kriemhilt does not regard it as such,
for when he visits her again (by then, alone and in her quarters) the poet is very vocal about her
desire to kiss him again – yet she refrains from doing so because she still conforms to her ideal
gender role and, by association, to the social rules of morals and etiquette in place.
For instance, in ‘Parzival’, Orilus after finding Jeschute in complete disarray and accusing her of unfaithfulness
utters the following: «I shall warm to your white arms no more, where I have lain enamoured many a happy day,
now past.» (Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd
Book III, page 79) which correlates to the happiness achieved by intimate and plenary minne, i.e., sexual and
amorous satisfaction in equal measure. It seems likely that this metaphor was already standardised, at least to
Wolfram; and, given the close chronological proximity of both works and its usage in ‘Parzival’ and ‘Das
Nibelungenlied’ alike, this assertion of a standardised metaphor for plenary minne seems likely.
150
Hatto, in a footnote in this very same page, mentions that the time alluded in the poem is associated in medieval
poetry as a time of the year for sexual acts, further supporting my point (Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied
– Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Fifth ‘âventiure’, page 49).
151
Idem, ibidem, fifth ‘âventiure’, page 49.
152
Hatto denotes that this kiss is a ceremony that symbolises that both nobles are on equal footing, socially
speaking (Idem, ibidem, fifth ‘âventiure’, page 49).
149
58
Kriemhilt reappears in the action of the poem after the Burgundians have attended mass
to thank Siegfried for his service and his loyal friendship, a statement that pleases the prince of
Xanten immensely and, at the same time, prompts him to reveal his intentions of minne by
uttering «This I do to win your favour, my lady Kriemhilt»153.
The next passage provides the final stage of Kriemhilt’s “uncloistering” of minne; the
narrator relates that «Each day for the space of twelve, the excellent young woman was seen in
Siegfried’s company when she had to appear at court in the presence of her relatives, a
compliment they paid him in the hope that it would give him much pleasure». 154 This sign of
minne is exponentially amplified when, after the festivities, Siegfried decides to stay on at the
Burgundian court, and with good reason, for « (…) now, he saw Kriemhilt every day. It was
her transcendent beauty that caused lord Siegfried to stay there»155. Whereas once she lived in
relative seclusion – visited and looked upon solely by kinsmen – Kriemhilt now is (relatively)
free to attend events at court; in fact, her relatives seem to instrumentalise Kriemhilt’s minne to
show favour to Siegfried and to maintain the powerful warrior as an ally. For her part, Kriemhilt
seems to no longer have the need to love Siegfried secretly – for he too confessed his affection
for her –; nevertheless, she is still very much in the role of a courtly lady and will not go against
the strict code of conduct. She will not directly show her emotion, but she does translate it by
firstly going every single day for twelve days to court only to spend time with Siegfried and
secondly by being with him every single day. Now, a new demonstration of minne will be
introduced to us in the following ‘âventiure’ – tailoring clothes.
In this ‘âventiure’ Gunther intends to take Brunhild of Isenstein for his wife and requests
the help of Siegfried; Siegfried is willing to serve as a guide if only Gunther would give him
Kriemhilt in marriage156. The noble pair arrange this “do ut des” and, at the behest of Hagen,
visit Kriemhilt in order to have new clothes made and tailored to appear at the court of Isenstein
properly – and lavishly – attired. Once again we are told that « (…) before this [the meeting]
was done the lovely girl dressed herself exquisitely – it was only with mild regret that she
viewed the warriors coming! »157 - reiterating the demonstration of minne by Kriemhilt, for it
was communicated in advance to her that both Gunther and Siegfried would be visiting her.
The young princess receives the nobles and conducts them both by the hand to the couch where
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Fifth
‘âventiure’, page 50.
154
Idem, ibidem, fifth ‘âventiure’, page 50
155
Idem, ibidem, fifth ‘âventiure’, page 51.
156
Idem, ibidem, sixth ‘âventiure’, page 54.
157
Idem, ibidem sixth ‘âventiure’, page 55.
153
59
she was previously sitting158; this action seems to serve as a sign of her minne, for she receives
them both in equal fashion and conducts them both to her couch – effectively treating both
Gunther and Siegfried as equals and family. Not only that but the poet asserts that this new
impromptu reunion gave « (…) ample opportunity for kind looks and friendly glances»159
between the prince of Xanten and the young Burgundian noblewoman – neither of them convey
their love for each other in stealthy looks now, even with Gunther present; she has effectively
reached her final stage in the “uncloistering” of minne. Still, Kriemhilt’s role as a courtly lady
is very much emphasised; the young princess, when the Burgundian king hesitantly asks for her
to tailor fine clothes for the knightly host that shall depart for Isenstein, asserts the following:
« You must not ask so timidly but command me as my lord, since I am at your service for
whatever you care to ask of me»160. Kriemhilt is, therefore, more than happy to oblige, for she
recognises that it is her duty to serve her relatives. She – after receiving the necessary precious
gems – «cuts the cloth herself»161 and employs a multitude of rich (and some nearly fantastical)
materials to make and tailor the clothes for the nobles to wear – she takes extra pains and cares
to ensure that the knights who will wear these lavish clothes know that they enjoyed her
favour162. One element that vividly stand out from the rest in this passage is Kriemhilt cutting
the cloth herself; surely she has handmaidens that are skilled seamstresses, notwithstanding she
herself cutting the silk – the very same cloth that will be the foundation for the clothes. More
than showing her favour, she is clearly demonstrating her minne; first she illustrated her
emotion by wearing fine clothes and now she proceeds to demonstrate it further by making the
clothes for the knights – Siegfried above all – to wear.
Kriemhilt exhibits her minne towards Siegfried when she asks him personally to protect
her brother in his amorous endeavours163; by directly appealing to Siegfried for protection of
her brother she demonstrates that not only she recognises his prowess in battle as superior (she
chooses to ask him and not Hagen nor Dancwart to protect Gunther) but she also reiterates her
minne towards him.
After the events at Isenstein, Siegfried, compelled by love of Kriemhilt, is sent as a
messenger to Worms to inform the court of the joyful tidings. Here Kriemhilt reappears in the
action of the poem, alongside her cortège of ladies and her mother. She receives the young
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Sixth
‘âventiure’, page 55.
159
Idem, ibidem, sixth ‘âventiure’, page 55.
160
Idem, ibidem, sixth ‘âventiure’, page 56.
161
Idem, ibidem, sixth ‘âventiure’, page 56.
162
Idem, ibidem sixth ‘âventiure’, page 57.
163
Idem, ibidem, sixth ‘âventiure’, page 58.
158
60
dragon-slayer with worried spirit; she enquires about her brother’s exploits and, when Siegfried
– requesting his due reward – reports that Gunther is well and was successful in winning the
Queen of Isenstein as bride. Kriemhilt, «Taking the hem of her snow-white gown, she dabbed
at the tears in her pretty eyes; then she thanked the messenger for the news she had received,
and her sadness and weeping were no more»164. Here Kriemhilt behaves very much like a
courtly lady; that is, her tears are shed out of sheer concern for her brother’s well-being, i.e.,
triuwe. I have pointed out this issue of the tears for a good reason; for, as we shall see in another
instances, her tears are not always shed out of triuwe or minne.
She then thanks Siegfried for his service and proceeds to repay him with bracelets,
which are immediately distributed to the attendants by the young prince – this “social game”,
so to speak, seems to have as purpose the renewing the bonds of minne between each other.
Withal, it serves as a fictional lôn; in fact, it brings to mind the exchanges of traditional
minnedienst, however the real lôn in this exchange is the gratitude165 and the generosity –
symbols of minne – of Kriemhilt.
After acquiescing to her brother’s demands of meeting the soon-to-be-weds outside
Worms166, the narrator makes an interesting remark on Kriemhilt’s innermost desire: «Had she
dared kiss him, the lady would have done so»167; this particular statement about the young
princess’ thoughts has two pertinent points – she already greatly expanded her minne for
Siegfried (for she desires to kiss him) to the point of desiring him but she is still assumes her
role as a courtly lady and cannot act so rashly for it would be a serious break of social norms.
This ninth ‘âventiure’ comes to a close with Kriemhilt, once again, concerned about her and
her retinue’s attire – this time to demonstrate triuwe for her brother and his betrothed.
In the following ‘âventiure’ we find Kriemhilt welcoming Brunhild to Worms. It is
during these welcoming festivities that she and Siegfried are married; there is a noteworthy
passage that precedes their matrimony. Bowls of red gold are brought before the nobles for
them to wash their hands but before Gunther can splash his hands in the water he is interrupted
by Siegfried – the hero of the Netherlands reminds Gunther of his promise168. This usage of red
gold here is highly symbolic, for it denotes minne; this interruption by Siegfried seems highly
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Ninth
‘âventiure’, page 78.
165
Hatto mentions in a footnote that the passage where Kriemhilt says that Siegfried has her gratitude can also be
interpreted as Kriemhilt saying that she will always love the prince (Idem, ibidem, ninth ‘âventiure’, page 78).
166
Idem, ibidem ninth ‘âventiure’, page 79.
167
Idem, ibidem, ninth ‘âventiure’, page 79.
168
Idem, ibidem, tenth ‘âventiure’, page 85.
164
61
symbolic – after his service to Gunther and before the Burgundian King can enjoy his wife
Siegfried must have his due, his heart’s desire.
Kriemhilt is summoned to the presence of the knights and Gunther explains that he has
sworn her hand in marriage to a knight to which Kriemhilt readily responds: «’Do not entreat
me, dear brother, (…) I shall always be as you wish and do whatever you command»169;
although she knows not to whom she will be given, she maintains her triuwe and her submission
to her brother – a characteristic of a courtly lady. The couple are united in matrimony and
Kriemhilt and Siegfried spend their first night together. Before the domination of Brunhild, the
narrator refers the «white hands»170 of Kriemhilt caressing Siegfried’s own; just as in the fifth
‘âventiure’ the white hands seem to represent minne – however here it is a more intimate
(perhaps even sexual) type of minne. This symbol is extremely distinct from, for instance, the
significance it has in the reception of Brunhild; the narrator mentions that both women possess
white hands, yet they have no intimate relationship. It seems that the symbol by itself is not
enough to direct us to the meaning, for it is dependent of the action that the hands are
performing. This multiplicity of meanings will be discussed further ahead.
The next passage of interest is the fourteenth ‘âventiure’, where both queens argue who
has the better – i.e., most powerful – husband. Kriemhilt here employs the very same analogy
that was used to describe her when she first appeared to Siegfried: «and with what splendour
he stands out from the other knights, like the moon against the stars»171. Though the queens
contend on who is the highest noble in terms of rank, Kriemhilt seems to also focus on his
splendour – that is, his military prowess – and his beauty. And Brunhild seems to acknowledge
this reference to both his beauty and his skills as a knight, for she retorts: «However splendid
and handsome and valiant your husband may be (…)»172. It is not a question of beauty or even
dexterity in knightly duties; it is an issue of rank. This compliment voiced by Kriemhilt serves
to illustrate her triuwe and her minne not only for Siegfried as a warrior but for Siegfried as a
man173.
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Tenth
‘âventiure’, page 86.
170
Idem, ibidem, tenth ‘âventiure’, page 91.
171
Idem, ibidem. fourteenth ‘âventiure’, page 111.
172
Idem, ibidem, fourteenth ‘âventiure’, page 111.
173
There is also the reference to Brunhild’s «red gold» ring and girdle in this heated argument between the queens
(Idem, ibidem, fourteenth ‘âventiure’, pages 114 – 115) – these are symbols of both minne and sexual intercourse
–; nevertheless, these objects are very much intrumentalised by Kriemhilt to express her haz (her hate). These
objects, along with the invectives that Kriemhilt directs at the Burgundian queen and Kriemhilt’s transgression of
her ideal gender role will be discussed in the chapter pertaining to hatred in Kriemhilt.
169
62
This derelict argument between the queens will bear rotten fruit indeed – not solely
because of the argument itself but because of Kriemhilt’s blind triuwe to her kinsmen and her
overzealous minne towards Siegfried. When Hagen, already with a scheme in mind, comes to
request his urloup from the queen, Kriemhilt reiterates her triuwe towards the counsellor of
Troneck174 and exposes her fear of losing Siegfried due to the latter’s recklessness in battle (a
sign of minne)175. She also relates his weakness to Hagen: when the blood of the dragon washed
over Siegfried, a leaf of linden (a conventional symbol of love) fell between his shoulders and
obstructed the contact between dragon blood and his skin in that spot176. Voicing her concerns
in such a fashion, she is commanded by Hagen to mark the spot on Siegfried’s surcoat by sewing
a fine thread of silk in it. Silk was the very same material Kriemhilt used herself to tailor the
clothes of the knightly party that went to Isenstein in the sixth ‘âventiure’ – Siegfried’s clothes
in particular. The usage of this specific material here seems wilful, for it – more than marking
the spot – symbolically demonstrates Kriemhilt’s minne attempting to protect Siegfried’s life
in ways that are permitted to a courtly lady. However, Kriemhilt’s attempts at protecting
Siegfried are not to bear fruits.
The queen of Xanten foresees the murderous plot and struggles to prevail against
Siegfried’s destiny by resorting to her sibylline dreams – another trait of the courtly lady. She
recounts to Siegfried two dreams177 that are not very distant, symbolically speaking, from her
first dream in the first ‘âventiure’, while weeping inconsolably – another two characteristics of
the courtly lady. Her tears here are of heartfelt minne, for she fears for the king’s life. Siegfried
nonetheless silences her pleas with kisses and loving embraces178 and leaves Kriemhilt.
Kriemhilt returns to the centre of the action in the next ‘âventiure’ after Siegfried’s
death. The queen of Xanten is struck into a swoon at the warning of a chamberlain about a
corpse lying in front of her chambers179 - already feeling in her bosom that it is Siegfried’s
corpse – and, when she regains her senses, she lets out a blood-curdling scream180. With blood
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
Fifteenth ‘âventiure’, page 120.
175
Idem, ibidem, fifteenth ‘âventiure’, page 121.
176
Idem, ibidem, fifteenth ‘âventiure’, page 121.
177
Idem, ibidem, sixteenth ‘âventiure’, pages 124 – 125.
178
Idem, ibidem, sixteenth ‘âventiure’, page 125.
179
Idem, ibidem, seventeenth ‘âventiure’, page 133.
180
In the ‘Poetic Edda’ there is a poem that recounts this immediate aftermath of Siegfried’s (Sigurd) death – ‘The
First Poem of Gudrun’. Unlike Kriemhilt in the ‘Das Nibelungenlied’, who begins to suffer at the mention of a
corpse before her apartment’s door, Gudrun falls into a meditative state beside the covered corpse of Sigurd and
refuses to show her sorrow and her weakness. Numerous women appear to relate their tragic stories in a futile
effort to shake Gudrun of her state of denial (even Brynhild [Brunhild] appears in the scene to gloat at Sigurd’s
death) but it is Gullrond, Gudrun’s sister, that bears the panacea for Gudrun’s state. Instead of relating yet another
tragic life-story, Gullrond unfurls Sigurd’s corpse in front of her sister; this action prompts Gudrun to finally weep,
174
63
spurting from her mouth, the grief-stricken queen is lead to Siegfried’s cadaver and the narrator
states that she extends her white hand to the dead king’s head181. In her grief-induced state, she
still demonstrates her minne for her late husband through her white hand – a symbol of minne
– reaching out to touch Siegfried’s corpse. She then proceeds to wail violently – another
instance of tears of minne – and her cortège joins her in venting their sorrow.
After mass, Kriemhilt refuses to let his body be buried – she retains very much her minne
towards him – and stays for three days and three nights watching over his body182; she also
distributes copious amounts of material goods for his soul – and for his love – for him183. She
spends the next three days and three nights weeping tears of minne for her late husband and we
are told by the narrator that she, among others, partook neither from meat nor from drink184.
When the day comes to bury the noble from Xanten, Kriemhilt insists on seeing Siegfried’s
face once more and she entreats pleadingly the knights to open the coffin for her. They
sorrowfully oblige her and:
«Then the lady was led to where he lay and she raised his handsome head with her white hand and kissed
the noble knight in death, while her bright eyes in their sorrow wept tears of blood. / The farewell was heartrending.
They had to carry her from that place, for she was unable to walk (…) Lovely Kriemhilt might have died of
grief.»185
This is a very powerful image, arguably one of the most powerful in the poem, with
equally powerful symbols interwoven into it. First, the white hands, once again raising the head
of her beloved; secondly, the final kiss she bestows upon the lips of Siegfried; thirdly, her tears
of blood and finally the poet asserting that the grief was so immeasurably ravaging and crippling
that it might have killed her. These symbols – the white hand, the kiss, the tears of blood –
to vent her sorrows and to speak of her new-found state in this fashion: «I seemed also, among the prince’s
warriors/ to be higher than any of Odin’s ladies; / I am little as a leaf / among the bay-willows now the prince is
dead» (Anonymous [2014] ‘The Poetic Edda – Translated by Carolyne Larrington’. Oxford: Oxford University
Press. ‘The First Poem of Gudrun’, block 19, page 174). Gudrun now devoid of her husband, who was like « (…)
red glowing gold next to dull silver» (Idem, ibidem, ‘The Second Poem of Gudrun’, block 2, page 191), feels
deprived of her former magnificence – and this magnificence is thoroughly linked with her husband’s love and
presence.
181
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
Seventeenth ‘âventiure’, page 134.
182
Idem, ibidem, seventeenth ‘âventiure’, pages 138 – 139.
183
The poet states notes that «Kriemhilt distributed revenues in the lands around wherever there were convents and
hospitals, to whose needy folk she gave ample clothes and silver, as a mark of the love she bore her husband.»
(Idem, ibidem, seventeenth ‘âventiure’, page 139. Her generosity here is clearly a demonstration of minne towards
her late husband; the meaning of this generosity will change when she changes her role in the action, as I shall
illustrate in a forthcoming chapter.
184
Idem, ibidem, seventeenth ‘âventiure’, page 138.
185
Idem, ibidem, seventeenth ‘âventiure’, page 140.
64
converge here, at the final scene between Siegfried and Kriemhilt, to illustrate the depths of her
minne (and, consequently, her triuwe). She does not die, yet she behaves as if on the verge of
death; she can no longer walk, she has to be carried from the site. This is perhaps the most
powerful symbol of her minne towards Siegfried – to be so close to death because of grief. And
indeed, she would have died of grief – like so many ideal courtly ladies – but she does not; for,
like Sigune or Herzeloyde or Belakane in ‘Parzival’, she has her destiny already traced for her,
that is to say, she has a key part to play in the narrative.
The mourning Kriemhilt, convinced by her brothers (mostly Giselher), stays in Worms.
An abode by the Cathedral of Worms was built for her and she spends her days «(…) in joyless
state (…)», devoting herself to attend church masses and «(…) never neglected to visit her
darling’s grave but went there at all times sad at heart (…)»186. Kriemhilt, though utterly ruined
and dejected by the loss of her husband, never seems to fail to show her minne and triuwe
towards Siegfried; she leads a life of austere mourning and praying for the fallen king, much
like Sigune and very akin to a nun. Her role is still of a courtly lady; she behaves most piously
now, honouring the life of her late beloved in prayer. Yet, she maintains her feud with Gunther
– something that is arranged to be resolved (by Hagen schemes, no less) in order for the
Burgundians to lay their hands on the Nibelung hoard187, her rightful morgengabe (her nuptial
dowry).
The scheme succeeds yet again but this peaceful reconciliation is laden with tears, for
Kriemhilt «(…) was still a prey to her affliction», i.e., she shed tears of minne and triuwe for
her former husband. The Nibelung hoard is brought to Worms indeed, she will not, however,
enjoy it; for Hagen takes upon himself to sink it in the Rhine188, effectively depriving her of the
last token of the dragon-slayer king’s affection. The poet asserts the following after Hagen’s
transgression:
«Kriemhilt’s heart was burdened with sorrow that was ever fresh for the passing of her lord and the loss
of all her treasure, and her laments never ceased until the day she died. To tell the truth, she lived in great pain at
heart for thirteen years after Siegfried’s death without ever being able to forget it. She held him in loyal
remembrance, as all the world concedes». 189
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
Nineteenth ‘âventiure’, page 145.
187
Idem, ibidem, nineteenth ‘âventiure’, page 145-146.
188
Idem, ibidem nineteenth ‘âventiure’, page 149.
189
Idem, ibidem, nineteenth ‘âventiure’, page 149.
186
65
The pain Kriemhilt now endures is redoubled one – for she lost not only her husband
but the symbol that linked her to the late Siegfried. The text speaks of “loyal remembrance” and
that she is not able to forget what she was put through. This «loyal remembrance» echoes not
only the first word – remembrance - I used to define minne, it also is attached to the adjective
“loyal”, i.e., triuwe. Her deep «(…) ever fresh (…)» sorrow is her final demonstration of minne
as a courtly lady. It will be the final token of pure minne she will give for the rest of the action
of the opus.
When Kriemhilt returns to the action of the narrative, thirteen years have gone by.
Rudiger, the emissary sent by Etzel to Worms, is admitted to the presence of the widow queen
who, unlike her retinue, is dressed «(…) in her every day clothes (…)»190 - in her clothes of
mourning. In addition, when she receives the margrave, the poet asserts that «Kriemhilt did
nothing but weep – her dress where it covered her breast was wet with her hot tears»191. One of
her previous demonstrations of minne suffers an inversion here; for she now demonstrates her
minne precisely by not decking herself in lavish clothes (the stark contrast between her clothes
and the attires of her cortège is also striking). Moreover, the text tacitly states that – more than
continuously weeping – the queen has her breast soaked with her tears. This image is a powerful
metaphor; for not only does she cry constantly but it seems that her heart itself is both the
provider and the receiver of her tears – her hot tears, no less –, illustrating her amaranthine
minne and triuwe for the late Siegfried. This intense, unchanging emotion is reiterated by the
widow queen when, after Rudiger conveys the marriage proposal, she professes the following:
«I lost one of the best that a woman ever had»192. Kriemhilt, though initially resisting Etzel’s
proposal, rethinks the matter over once Rudiger presents his oath of undying, unbreakable
oath193. Her role transgression starts at this point, very progressively. The rest of Kriemhilt’s
itinerary will be left for the chapter pertaining to hatred. For now, I must turn my attention to
Orgeluse, specifically to her tokens of minne.
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
Twentieth ‘âventiure’, page 159.
191
Idem, ibidem, twentieth ‘âventiure’, page 158 – 159.
192
Idem, ibidem, twentieth ‘âventiure’, page 159.
193
Idem, ibidem, twentieth ‘âventiure’, page 160 - 161.
190
66
2.3.
Decoding minne in Orgeluse
Orgeluse, as I have asserted before, is a far more enigmatic character. Wolfram gives
little background to the story of the Duchess of Logroys, saying nothing of her blood-relations
– something that, when we consider the vast (and implicit) genealogies that Wolfram traces for
his characters in ‘Parzival’, can be regarded as puzzling at best. And, since we know nothing
of her blood-relations or her previous history, we stand at a further loss – we cannot know what
Orgeluse was like before she came to be the “puissant Orgeluse” that dominates most of her
interactions and itinerary throughout ‘Parzival’. Despite these evident hurdles, we can still infer
some facts about Orgeluse’s past; namely, she was already very frugal with her love, for
Cidegast, whom she praises immensely194, never touched or has been touched by the Duchess
herself – as is evidenced by her195.
Though very little is known about her past, she – where her performance in the narrative
is concerned – follows a diametrically inverted itinerary to that of Kriemhilt in terms of role;
i.e., Kriemhilt starts as a courtly lady with potential for minne and ends up being the bane of
her kinsmen’s existence. Orgeluse, on the other hand, starts as a very ill-disposed, cruel woman
but her journey alongside Gawan culminates in her adoption of the role of an ideal minnedame.
She also, unlike Kriemhilt, has the narrator on her side; this service of sorts provided by
Wolfram serves to assuage not her character, but the audience. Hence, Orgeluse is a veritable
“potential Kriemhilt”; the destabilizing force in her world (and the bidding nexus of the two
worlds present in ‘Parzival’) but, unlike Kriemhilt, her telos is that of a courtly lady.
Thus, the demonstrations of minne are far between in the initial segments of her story
and become much more frequent in the later parts in the romance. Consequently, this analysis
will be at fault in a sense of structural continuity (a structural continuity that was patent in the
last chapter pertaining to minne in Kriemhilt) with regard to the narrative; still, I mostly opt to
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book XII,
page 308 – 309.
195
«’I have never warmed to a mail-clad arm,’ (…)», says Orgeluse when she finally takes Gawan’s arm (idem,
ibidem, Book XII, page 308). Since Cidegast himself was a knight, and thus donned knightly accoutrements, we
can infer that she never touched him or allowed him to touch her.
194
67
sacrifice this structural continuity of events in the narrative in order to not become overtly
repetitive196.
Following a trail of blood197, Gawan arrives at the land of Logroys. After ascending a
spiralling trail, he notices a castle at the distance; from both sides of the road that he follows
trees that bear fruit spring up198. It is here that we are introduced to Orgeluse.
The Duchess is presented in the following manner:
«From the rock there leapt a spring, besides which – and this did not displease him – was a fair lady. He
gazed at her with delight despite himself, she was the fairest flower of all feminine beauty. Except for
Condwiramurs, no lovelier woman was ever born. She was of radiant charm, shapely, refined. Her name was
Orgeluse of Logroys, and the story tells of her that she was a lure to love’s desire, sweet balm to a man’s eyes,
windlass to his heartstrings.»199
There is an authentic regalia of symbolism in these few sentences regarding Orgeluse.
Firstly, she is not only described as beautiful – her feminine physiognomy is second only to the
future Grail Queen. This comparison serves to further ennoble the Duchess, for not only is her
beauty a demonstration of minne – it very nearly religiously divine. The further metaphors that
Wolfram employs to describe her beauty – a lure to love’s desire, a balm to the eyes, a windlass
to heartstrings – strengthen this assertion. And, although not giving an accurate description of
her actual physiognomy, the narrator praises her looks – to the point of being ineffable. She,
for her exquisite beauty, appears to be in the role of an ideal minnedame; although we soon
learn that she is not. But this eulogy of her beauty seems to favour, at the very least, the idea
that she has the potential for conceding minne200.
Although Orgeluse, after being addressed by Gawan, spouts words of ridicule and doubt
towards Gawan, Wolfram nevertheless notes that «And her sweet lips went on to say, (…) »201.
She readily presents a conundrum to the reader; although vociferating obloquy upon obloquy
towards the knight from Norway, the narrator notes her sweet lips before conveying the harsh
This sub-chapter, and indeed, the present dissertation as a whole, owes much to Marion E. Gibbs’ ‘Wîplîchez
Wîbes Reht’ (Gibbs, 1972), specifically the chapter concerning Orgeluse. However, the author seems to focus on
deconstruing Orgeluse in a positive light; overlooking the negative traits present in the Duchess of Logroys.
Likewise, while the author is keen on noticing important details – like Orgeluse’s sweet lips – she also seems to
gloss over other important information, namely that information that highlights the Duchess’ hatred.
197
This trail of blood is symbolic and will be fully addressed in the chapter pertaining to hatred in Orgeluse.
198
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. , Book X,
page 258.
199
Idem, ibidem, Book X, page 258 – 259.
200
The spring that figures in this passage is also of importance, it will be addressed in the chapter pertaining to
hatred in Orgeluse.
201
Op. cit., Book X, page 259.
196
68
message that they utter. Her lips, as they are so positively remarked on by Wolfram, are a
demonstration of minne202; she has potential for minne, still she does not submit to any who
merely praise her beauty – they need to prove themselves.
Orgeluse goes on to say that she herself will not accept praise from every man that gazes
upon her and will not place her own favour on any unproved man, for it would tarnish the valour
that her acclaim holds203. Through the barrage of negative things that she utters, there is yet
another demonstration of potential minne – that is, she will speak laudatory words – words that
will denote minne specifically, to a man who proves himself worthy of her. When Gawan
renews his oaths of unending love to her, she gives yet another token of potential minne; she
states that she will go herself with him in order to find a suitable challenge. This is anomalous
behaviour; one would expect her to order him on a quest and not accompany him. She finds
him worthy; worthy of proving her love for her, at least. This statement gains redoubled
meaning when we think about the host of knights that serve her; none of them were named as
being graced by her company in her knightly exploits in her name.
Another demonstration of potential minne appears when Orgeluse, after commanding
Gawan to fetch her palfrey, volunteers to hold the reins of Gawan’s charger 204. While, further
on, she is seen laughing at Gawan’s misfortunes, here she – bent on travelling alongside Gawan
– is very solicitous; however, this demonstration of minne is itself somewhat stymied, for she
refuses to touch the part of the reins where Gawan’s hand has rested (as he has yet to prove
himself)205. Throughout this first encounter, although Orgeluse has the appearance of a courtly
lady, she behaves and speaks very much in the role of an imperious warrior-like maiden.
Before they leave, Wolfram declares «If I were thinking of going through her attire, her
dazzling looks would absolve me from the task»206; a curious statement with a curious choice
of words. It would appear that the description of the attire of a lady would be a conventional
way of conveying – more than her status – her demonstration of minne (or potential for minne),
For instance, in ‘Parzival’, Queen Guinover is described as possessing «sweet lips» (Eschenbach, W. v. (2004).
‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book XIII, page 326) and Bene is also
described as having «sweet lips» (idem, ibidem, Book XIV, page 348). This description of the lips of a lady as
“sweet” seems to be a convention of representing minne, at least to Wolfram in ‘Parzival’.
203
Idem, ibidem, Book X, page 259.
204
Idem, ibidem, Book X, page 260.
205
The fact that Gawan has to dismount in order to proceed to the orchard to retrieve Orgeluse’s horse is somewhat
puzzling; surely a palfrey is a light, slenderer horse suitable for long-distance travels and though smaller than
Gawan’s war-horse, Gringuljete, it is still a horse. This exchange, coupled with the fact that Gawan does not ride
Orgeluse’s horse on the way back, seems to suggest that this scene was deliberately devised to illustrate Orgeluse’s
potential for minne and, at the same time, her (yet) indomitable disposition.
206
Op. cit., Book X, page 262.
202
69
and Wolfram seems to recognise its status as a convention of minne207, for he states that «(…)
her looks would absolve (…)»208 him from this conventional treatment. It is certainly not by
lack of skill, for Wolfram is extremely versed and does not shy away from exhibiting his vast
knowledge on precious gems and fabrics alike. Still, in this moment, he does away with the
convention and focuses on Orgeluse’s enticingly good looks. Hence Orgeluse, unlike Kriemhilt,
does not need to illustrate her minne through her clothes – her supreme beauty alone is far more
than enough to convey her minne.
After Gawan has been swindled of his horse by Urjans, Orgeluse begins chastising him
again with mockery209. Yet, two instances stand out in this portion of the narrative; Wolfram
once again remarks on Orgeluse’s sweet lips and the Duchess herself enquires, after verbally
abusing him, «’do you still desire my love?’»210. These two passages point at yet another
demonstration of minne. More than the ridicule that Orgeluse subjects Gawan to, she seems to
question his resolve in his love for her. Yet, why should he resign to part from her now, since
he previously swore her his fealty? It is important to note that this enquiry is very emphatically
placed at the very end of her unflattering discourse, and I believe it is by no accident either.
More than questioning his will to endure all infamy for the sake of her love, she is illustrating
her potential for minne. This question appears on multiple occasions after segments of verbal
aggression by Orgeluse.
The narrator returns to her beauty in the scene after Gawan unhorses Malcriature. Lot’s
son is abused yet again by Orgeluse, still Wolfram asserts (in her defence) that «In his
[Gawan’s] eyes, she was May-time in person, a blossoming that outshone all things bright –
sweetness to his eye, yet also bitterness to his heart.»211. The first point that must be addressed
is the simile traced between Orgeluse and the month of May; the month has been mentioned
above in regard to ‘Das Nibelungenlied’212 concerning Siegfried – particularly pertaining to the
amorous (and possibly) sexual dalliances of the then prince of Xanten. Orgeluse, as I have
affirmed before, possesses a beauty that is almost comparable to Condwiramurs – a beauty
deified and yet not deific. Her dazzling looks seem to motivate Gawan, for they are equated to
As it is done a copious number of times by the poet in ‘Das Nibelungenlied’, for example.
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book X,
page 262.
209
Idem, ibidem, Book X, page 265.
210
Idem, ibidem, Book X, page 265.
211
Idem, ibidem, Book X, page 269.
212
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.‘Fifth
âventiure’, page 49.
207
208
70
the month of both love and sexual conquest; and like Kriemhilt before, she is compared to the
beauty of a natural phenomenon that seems to instil his awe and reverence. This comparison is
furthered by the narrator when stating that she appears as a blossom – a natural beauty – far
more captivating than all that is bright; conveying messages of Orgeluse’s fair looks being more
bright in Gawan’s eyes than the sun and moon – natural beauties – or gold (the metal that seems
to conventionally symbolise love) and silver – material goods. This overwhelming insistence
by Wolfram on highlighting her beauty conjures up an image of an ideal courtly lady with the
potential for conceding minne, “potential” being the key word here; for this description is
modulated by the narrator asserting that she brings bitterness to Gawan’s heart. Nevertheless,
here is another instance of a demonstration of a potential for minne through the Duchess’
physiognomy213.
Orgeluse is absent through most of Gawan’s exploits in Schastel Marveile; she returns
and tasks Gawan with the quest of the Garland. It is here that Orgeluse’s main characteristic
pertaining to minne (or to the potential for minne) will assume a new dimension. Though Gawan
stands heavily battered and sore on the account of his sortie in Schastel Marveile, Wolfram
mentions that «Any distress that he suffered from his wounds was banished by the radiance of
Orgeluse’s looks»214. Here, her main demonstration of minne assumes – transmogrifies even –
into what was previously alluded to; it effectively becomes a panacea to Gawan, her beauty
soothes his physical pain.
This comparison to a natural beauty is taken even further by Wolfram, when he narrates
that «However gay the flowers in that meadow, they were as nothing beside the brightness shed
there by Orgeluse»215. The beauty of Orgeluse is subject to a constant panegyric, one that is
built up in a crescendo – for now she surpassed the beauty of nature itself to obfuscate anything
else. It is also interesting to note that this commentary by Wolfram comes at this specific time
– after she states that, if Gawan succeeds, she will allow him to woo her for her love 216, she
becomes more beautiful because of her promise to concede love. The last time that Orgeluse
was thus lauded by the narrator was when she first appeared, i.e., before she demonstrated her
213
This kind of juxtaposing imagery associated with Orgeluse is recurring in the romance; for instance, Arnive
states that Orgeluse is to Gawan a «(…) balm to his eyes yet a thorn to his heart, (…)» (Eschenbach, W. v. (2004).
‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book XXII, page 302) and Orgeluse’s
own elderly retainer says the following to Gawan about Orgeluse «(…) with sweetness goes much sourness, as a
hailstorm lit by sushine.» (Idem, ibidem, Book XX, page 261). Not only the poet recognises her potential for minne,
the characters do so as well in the constant reinforcement of these dichotomies.
214
Idem, ibidem, Book XII, page 302.
215
Idem, ibidem, Book XII, page 302.
216
Idem, ibidem, Book XII, page 302.
71
fierce and feisty temper to Gawan; she is on the brink of returning to her full glory by acceding
to her role as a courtly lady and conceding minne to the knight from Norway.
The next passage of note pertains to Gawan’s crossing of the river to Li gweiz prelljus,
for, at the sight of his struggle amidst the furious currents, « (…) (though it may surprise you)
the Duchess wept.»217. It is the first time that Orgeluse is presented as weeping; her tears are of
utmost concern for Lot’s son. Women weeping are a common sight in courtly literature,
especially when they weep for their kinsmen or lovers. It is a form of demonstrating minne
towards men – as I have highlighted before in the last chapter – and it is also a symbol of a
courtly lady. Here Orgeluse adapts for the first time this gender role in full form; she sheds tears
for Gawan’s perilous state, exhibiting her minne. No longer is she merely a lady with just
potential to concede and demonstrate minne towards her knight, she assumes her gender role
and the next event corroborates this assertion.
When Gawan returns with the Garland from the garden of Gramoflanz, she breaks into
a sprint on her horse and quickly dismounts to throw herself at Gawan’s feet and utters the
following: «’My lord, I never deserved the hardships I asked you to undergo (…) Truly, your
trials afflicted me with such heartfelt suffering as a faithful woman must feel for her dear
friend’»218. Orgeluse refers to Gawan as her lord here – and not “goose” or any other derogatory
term; she acknowledges him as his knight and lover – she further refers to him as «her dear
friend». She presents herself as a faithful woman to him – denoting triuwe – and states that she
has suffered qualms in seeing him risking his life in minnedienst – demonstrating minne towards
Gawan. Her discourse also contains a surreptitious apology for the challenges he faced for her
love, for she states that she is unworthy of his labours; it is in this instance and with these words
that the Duchess both recognises Gawan’s knightly prowess and attains her role as a courtly
lady.
To further cement her attainment of the role of courtly lady, she narrates what befell
both Cidegast and Anfortas because of her amidst copious amounts of tears219, comparing her
fallen Cidegast to a unicorn220 and explaining her love for him, speaking of the bargain she
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book XII,
page 303.
218
Idem, ibidem, Book XII, page 307.
219
Idem, ibidem, Book XII, page 307-310.
220
Leigh Smith (Smith, 2000, 1011) writes the following about the unicorn:« The only way to catch a unicorn,
says the Bestiary, is to bring a virgin to its dwelling place and leave her alone. The unicorn will run to her, lay its
head on her lap, and go to sleep. (…) Because of the fierceness of the animal and its improbable tameness with the
virgin, unicorns came to represent both power and purity. » (Smith, L. (2000). Unicorn. In C. Lindahl, J.
217
72
struck with Clinschor and tracing the parallel between Gawan and «(…) ‘gold that has been
purified in the fire’ (…)»221 - a clear demonstration of minne and recognition of his valorous
quest. When Gawan assents to forgive the Duchess and suggests that she should show him her
favour, Orgeluse of Logroys retorts with the following:
« ‘I have never warmed to a clad-mail arm (…) But I will not dispute that at some time you may claim
the reward you have deserved. I shall mourn all your sufferings till you are well again and your various wounds
and lesions are healed. I will go up to Schastel Marveile with you.»222
Professing both her virginity – in every sense of the word – and volition to reward
Gawan with her minne she accedes to Gawan’s will. She had yet to touch or even be touched
by a knight, as she states – not even Cidegast, whom she loved dearly, was allowed to touch
her. Here, she offers her biggest token of minne yet to Gawan – the opportunity to touch her.
She also maintains her role as a minnedame by assuming the stance of one – that of a submissive
woman to the will of a man.
She admits her faults for putting so many honourable knights through so much suffering
– Gawan included –; she recounts her encounter with Parzival and the proposition she made to
him (and he declined) and she finally asks «Tell me, please, was it wrong of me to offer the
noble knight my love with an eye to avenging my bereavement, and has it cheapened my
love?»223. This question raised by Orgeluse contains in itself two important points – her
acceptance of herself as a woman powerless to act in the world and right the wrongs inflicted
upon her by men (a characteristic of a courtly lady) and an expression of the depths of her
triuwe and minne towards her dead would-be husband. When Gawan, upon hearing this
question, retorts that she is not at fault for offering love to a knight such as Parzival, they have
yet another moment of mutual manifestation of minne - « Courteous Gawan and the Duchess
of Logroys looked into each other’s eyes»224. She now fully acknowledges Lot’s son as her
rightful lover and even allows him to help her mount her steed225 - yet another expression of
her minne, for she allows not only for him to embrace her lovingly226 but also to help her,
Mcnamara, & J. Lidown, 'Medieval Folklore - An Encyclopedia of Myths, Legends, Tales, Beliefs, And Customs;
Volume II'. Santa Barbara, California: ABC-CLIO, Inc. Page 1011.
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book XII,
page 308.
222
Idem, ibidem, Book XII, page 308.
223
Idem, ibidem, Book XII, page 310.
224
Idem, ibidem, Book XII, page 311.
225
Idem, ibidem, Book XII, page 308.
226
Idem, ibidem, Book XII, page 308.
221
73
something that, in Book X, she had been vehemently against. The Duchess proves her role as a
courtly lady again, by submitting to Gawan’s request not to be named to anyone in Plippalinot
nor in Schastel Marveile upon arrival227.
Now the pair sat to sup and dine at the house of the ferryman in Plippalinot. Gawan,
sitting besides Orgeluse, watches eagerly the latter sipping from the rummer and Wolfram
declares:
«When she was presented the rummer which her lips had touched, the thought that he was to drink after
her brought him new joy. His unhappy feelings began to lag behind has his high spirits raced ahead. The sight of
her sweet mouth, her fair skin, chased him away from his cares at such pace that the pain of his wounds was
forgotten.228»
Once again, the image of her sweet lips feature in the action as an expression of minne.
Moreover, to be able to press his lips where Orgeluse has sipped from is yet another reward to
Gawan; first he was allowed to touch her, then to help her and now he is eagerly awaiting to
metaphorically kiss her lips. Orgeluse is once again referred to as a balm to Gawan, this time
not only her lips are contemplated but her fair skin is also mentioned. Not unlike Kriemhilt’s
demonstration of minne in ‘Das Nibelungenlied’ through her white hands, beholding Orgeluse’s
pure white skin is a further token of her minne bestowed upon Lot’s son. Before they leave
Plippalinot, the Duchess of Logroys has a chance to instrumentalise Gawan’s adoration for her
– she states that she is in no position to negotiate with the ferryman for she is very much
subjected to Gawan (reiterating her role as a courtly lady); nevertheless, she asserts that, if
Gawan wants to express his love for her, he will strike a bargain with the ferryman to liberate
her faithful knights229 - a plea that the knight from Norway happily accedes to.
Orgeluse returns fully to the action of the poem after the banquet at Schastel Marveile;
coming of her own volition to Gawan’s side, sitting by him and engaging him in light
conversation. Yet again, Orgeluse reaffirms her minne towards Gawan – this time by allowing
him to place his hand over hers230. This enamoured gesture will now culminate in the supreme
token of minne – Gawan will enjoy Orgeluse’s beauty and charms alike in his chambers.
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book XXI,
page 311.
228
Idem, ibidem, Book XII, page 312.
229
Idem, ibidem, Book XII, page 312.
230
Idem, ibidem, Book XIII, page 321.
227
74
It is Arnive that brings up the possibility of Orgeluse sharing the sleeping chambers with
Gawan in order to look after him and bring him panaceas that will alleviate his pains.231 Gawan
redirects Arnive’s question to Orgeluse, who asserts «(…) I will have him in my care, (…) I
shall tend him better tonight than any lover ever tended him»232.
And indeed, the Duchess of Logroys duly supplies Gawan with the most soothing and
the most ambrosial of all balms – her healing (and physical) minne. Wolfram describes the
scene in such fashion:
« (…) if all these [physicians] had wished him well with concoctions of efficacious herbs, his sharp
distress would have ended in bitter death nevertheless, but for a woman’s company! / (…) He found the hart’s eye
which helped to make him well again so that all that was baneful left him – a herb showing brown against white.
(…) [Gawan] sought soothing balm for bitter pain with noble aid to good effect till day dawned. Yet the aid he
had was of such a kind that it was kept hidden from all that company». 233
Gawan’s and Orgeluse’s amorous sport is merely hinted at in this passage; though the
narrator makes it abundantly clear what really transpired in their chambers. Orgeluse’s physical
minne is translated in a metaphor – her love is equated to the balm concocted from wild dittany;
an herb to which was ascribed potent healing powers, specifically the power to heal both arrow
and bolt wounds alike and to extricate the projectiles from the flesh of the injured234 - something
that Gawan amply suffered from (both physically and spiritually). She helps him – as a courtly
lady would help her deserving champion – with love until dawn breaks. It is also remarked that
Gawan intends to keep this most efficacious healing elixir – Orgeluse’s minne – for him
alone235.
After Gawan and Orgeluse have been received at the court of Arthur and the matter of
the captive knights has been settled236, Gawan rides off to meet Gramoflanz on the jousting
grounds – only to be unhorsed and beaten by Parzival237 - therefore avoiding his duel with
Gramoflanz on the account of the wounds he bears. Gawan and Parzival return to the court of
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book XIII,
page 321.
232
Idem, ibidem, Book XIII, page 321.
233
Idem, ibidem, Book XIII, page 322 – 323.
234
Hatto, in a footnote clarifies this mystical application of the wild dittany as a remedy for bolt and arrow wounds
(idem, ibidem, Book XIII, page 322).
235
This night of love-making and its abeyance at dawn, coupled with the seemingly secretive nature of the affair
and the fact that Gawan and Orgeluse are not technically married, seem to reference the Tagelied genre of love
lyric – for its premise is roughly the same, except that, in this case, there is no jealous husband.
236
Arthur had directed sorties against Orgeluse’s knightly host and both sides had taken prisoners of war. This
matter is settled between Arthur and Orgeluse with Gawan serving as a mediator between the two.
237
Op. cit., Book XIV, page 340 – 341; 344.
231
75
Arthur for a rest and meal alike and Lot’s son commands the Duchess to share her plate with
Parzival – the very same man who previously refused her minne and lands alike. She voices her
discontentment at this situation; however, she accedes to Gawan’s will238 – albeit irritated, she
shows both her minne for him and her role as courtly lady by acquiescing to Gawan.
We are now nearing the end of Orgeluse’s itinerary in ‘Parzival’. Wolfram narrates that,
despite her loss of Cidegast, «(…) Gawan’s embraces had brought her to life, and her hostility
had ebbed away»239 - illustrating that, at last, her suffering is at an end, for she found for Gawan
amaranthine minne. This unyielding love for Gawan motivates Orgeluse to declare a truce with
her mortal enemy, on the condition that Gramoflanz yields both his claim to a duel with Gawan
and his fierce – and seemingly unjust – hatred towards the late King Lot240 - as the poet puts it,
«And now for affection’s sake, rancour was put aside»241. This truce is sealed between the two
parties with a ceremonial kiss – yet Wolfram denotes that «(…) Orgeluse kissed the King
[Gramoflanz] with her sweet lips in sign of reconciliation and felt a great urge to weep. She
was thinking of the death of Cidegast. (…) Set it down to fidelity if you like.»242. This insight
provided by the narrator grants us some information regarding Orgeluse as she is now – namely,
she is still described has possessing sweet lips – a demonstration of minne – yet she is compelled
by triuwe and minne for her dead would-be husband to cry; she has difficulty in letting this
entrenched hatred go due to her feelings towards Cidegast. Yet, the text states that she feels a
great urge to weep and not that she wept. Although she is still sore for having been deprived of
her late dedicated knight, she is now governed by her triuwe and minne towards Gawan. Her
story arc comes to a close with the following event:
« Now when these matters have been transacted in full, the Duchess announced that Gawan, having served
her for her love with high distinction acclaimed by all, was rightful lord of her lands and person, an announcement
which saddened her knights-servitor, who in the past had broken many lances aspiring to win her love» 243
Here, in her final moments in the action of the romance, Orgeluse brings to light the
minne that she feels for Gawan publicly; by declaring to all in attendance that Gawan is her
rightful lord she not only passes on to him the power over her – a characteristic of a courtly
lady – and publicly views and accepts him as her equal, recognising and rewarding his knightly
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book XIV,
page 348.
239
Idem, ibidem, Book XIV, page 360.
240
Idem, ibidem, Book XIV, page 362.
241
Idem, ibidem, Book XIV, page 363.
242
Idem, ibidem, Book XIV, page 363.
243
Idem, ibidem, Book XIV, page 363.
238
76
prowess above all the knights who aspired to her love. Thus, she fully embodies the role of a
courtly lady, expressing her minne in a plenary fashion (something that was locked in secret
since their night in amorous sport at Schastel Marveile) and achieving her telos with a
conventional harmonic endinging.
77
2.4 Some observations on the expressions of minne in Kriemhilt and
Orgeluse – similarities and disparities
As we have seen over the course of the two last chapters, Kriemhilt and Orgeluse express
their minne in a dissimilar fashion.
Kriemhilt, for her part, goes through a process of “uncloistering” of both herself and her
minne, whereas Orgeluse solely experiences this “uncloistering” of her minne – for she is never
hidden from the view of the knight that serves her. The space to which each is confined is the
very first evidence to their disposition (or ill-disposition) towards minne when they discover
the men that will be their future husbands. I.e., having either the court and the outdoors as a
background playing a part to framing their mind with regard to minne.
For instance, Kriemhilt, when she is presented to us in the first ‘âventiure’, lives at court
– the ideal place of a courtly lady. She is framed in the courtly world – though initially she
demonstrates pronounced resistance and misunderstanding of minne due to her young age – and
she comes to not only behave like an archetypal courtly lady but also commences her
development of minne like one; that is, by watching Siegfried from afar and speaking kindly of
the dragon-slayer to her retinue. Not only her location defines her character, it seems to also
serve to demonstrate her tendency towards a courtly ideal – that of minne. In this sense, the
courtly world serves as a locus amoenus – an ideal location that serves as a background to
potentiate and nurture the courtly worldview of a minnedame.
On the other hand, Orgeluse is found by Gawan outside of the courtly world in Book X
after he follows a trail of blood to Logroys; i.e., she is outdoors, by a rock from which spring
originates. His journey is, at the very least, harsh; for he ascends a winding road – but one that
is lined with fruit trees. This wild background in which Lot’s son meets Orgeluse for the first
time is bereft of trees – at least, the poet makes no mention of them –, especially of a tree that
is very much connected to this kind of natural environment in which the knight finds love – I
speak, of course, of the linden tree. This symbol of minne is, therefore absent; something that
is striking in this whole scene.
Destitute of this specific tree – with only a rock and a spring – this locale where the
knight finds his lady seems abnormal when we consider the conventions of courtly literature.
78
The spring here plays a special part – a spring is the origin of a river and, like the wooded areas,
a river symbolises peril to the knight; one would only need to remember the difficulties that
Gawan faced when crossing the river to reach to Li gweiz prelljus in Book XII or Siegfried’s
death after the hunting expedition – not only the dragon-slaying hero crosses the river to hunt
with the Burgundians, he is slain while drinking from a spring in the sixteenth ‘âventiure’.
Moreover, although she reveals a few instances of potential for minne, Orgeluse is – as
Wolfram puts it – very puissant; she rebuts Gawan’s every word of love and treats him cruelly;
although she has potential for minne she has a penchant for mockery and insults – a penchant
later justified – and she is on the verge of transgressing her ideal gender role. Taking these
arguments into consideration, this kind of isolated, natural environment far from the courtly
world is a veritable locus horrendus – for Gawan, at the very least; for here begins a very
arduous knightly quest, a quest permeated with injuries and wounds alike motivated by a harsh
– and vengeful – lady.
Another point that must be addressed is the further dissimilarities in which each of the
female characters manifest their love.
While Kriemhilt progresses from a cloistered lady who understands – and indeed feels
– little of the intricacies concerning minne, Orgeluse was previously awakened to minne by her
former knight. The princess of Worms, like Orgeluse herself, has the potential for minne – this
is illustrated in both by mentioning their exquisite beauty.
Kriemhilt further evidences her propensity for minne by watching Siegfried’s exploits
from afar, by speaking highly of him, blushing and generously recompensing the messenger
who bears a message about the outcome of the war and Siegfried’s key role in it, by appearing
lavishly attired to him and by the refined welcome that she gives him – with her white hand
pressed upon his and her kiss.
Orgeluse, on the other hand, evidences her propensity for minne – not by her own actions
– but mainly through the events narrated by Wolfram. The poet alludes to her sweet lips, to her
countenance and appearance being simile to May incarnate, by the effects that her beauty have
on Gawan’s weary heart and body. Granted, she also demonstrates her propensity to minne
towards Gawan with her actions and words; such as holding the reins of his charger or by saying
that she will accompany him on her own volition – but these instances of a more “direct”
potential of minne are far and far between, as I have pointed out in the last chapter.
79
The Duchess of Logroys, unlike Kriemhilt, needs not to have her attire described – it is
never done throughout the romance – but only because she was favourably compared to the
flower of womanly perfection that is Condwiramurs; Orgeluse is second to none in beauty
except for the future Grail Queen. She is exempted by Wolfram from this demonstration of
potential minne through her clothes simply because her beauty suffices to demonstrate it. Thus,
where we find the unveiling of potential for minne through various stages in Kriemhilt,
Orgeluse very much maintains her propensity for minne concealed. She does not develop it,
partly because she has loved before – if all too unwilling to demonstrate fully her love for
Cidegast – and partly because she is on a vendetta towards the killer of her late husband and
she must imperiously test not only the knightly dexterity of a possible suitor but also test the
resolve of the suitor’s love for her. In both instances the ladies adopt the conventional role of a
courtly lady – Kriemhilt adopts it willingly in order to reach the man she so dearly loves and
Orgeluse adopts it forcibly and only a small part; for, no matter how strong-willed and fierce
she might be, she must always depend on a man to act in the world for her.
The fiery nature of the Duchess is dominantly the behaviour of a warrior-like maiden,
yet she cannot deny her impotence before the world whose cruel ways have cost her Cidegast,
therefore, in some sense, acting like a courtly lady. Now we begin to see the minute
discrepancies between both noblewomen pertaining to potential of minne. Let us direct our
attention next to tacit demonstrations of minne.
Kriemhilt is very much dependent on her family to truly express minne; that is to say, if
she finds a man suitable to be her husband and to concede minne to him she cannot claim him
as her own. Regardless of the fact that she ends up with the man for whom she nurtures minne,
she is used as payment for services performed for the benefit of Gunther, her brother and a king.
Only then is she allowed to fully demonstrate her minne and, even then, she has to be married
to achieve it. Orgeluse is another matter entirely.
She is herself the person who is served by Gawan – she chooses him and accompanies
him –; his exploits are dictated and pointed to by her own will. Not only that, it is she herself –
and not a blood-relative, as is the case of Kriemhilt – that decides when to concede minne
(physical minne included). When she is ready to concede minne, her character suffers a
development – that is to say, she is far more vocal in her love. These tokens of minne translate
themselves in actions such as letting herself be taken in Gawan’s enamoured embrace, allowing
Gawan to help her mount her horse, agreeing to concede minne as a lôn for his deeds, allowing
80
him to drink from the same rummer that she previously sipped from and, finally, tending to his
wounds herself in his own chamber – a euphemism for the supreme (and carnal) love-sport.
Kriemhilt is veritably powerless to choose the recipient of her minne; Orgeluse has a
certain sovereignty over not only in her choice of recipient but also on the appropriate time to
concede minne. The functionality of each minne is dissimilar too; that is to say, Kriemhilt’s
minne and Orgeluse’s minne perform different actions in the corresponding narratives.
Kriemhilt’s minne spurs the dragon-slayer into action, her love is instrumentalised by her
kinsmen to placate Siegfried’s enmity and to pay for the prince’s services and friendship
towards the Burgundian nobles. There is no change of role with the concession of minne –
Kriemhilt maintains her role as an ideal courtly lady. On the other hand, Orgeluse’s minne –
better still, her resistance in conceding it– spurs Gawan into knightly deeds; but her love has a
healing nature; that is, it is a salve that both heals and instils Lot’s son’s body and spirit
throughout his adventures. This healing characteristic of the Duchess’ minne is further
emphasised when the pair give themselves up to love-making; this love-sport is hinted at by the
metaphor of the wild dittany employed, a herb which heals all wounds from weapons.
Furthermore, Orgeluse’s minne itself redeems her moral and social breaches – for, from the
moment she first exhibits her love, she progressively becomes more and more like a courtly
lady – both in behaviour and role alike.
Both women express their minne and their triuwe through mourning, too. But again, we
find dissimilarities. Orgeluse’s mourning is mainly done before the action of the narrative starts;
Kriemhilt’s loss and mourning are one of the pivotal moments of the first part of the opus. Both
have fond thoughts of their heyday with their beloveds; both weep and both speak highly of
their late lovers but only Orgeluse (so far) instrumentalises her minne to exact vengeance upon
those who have wronged her. But, whereas Orgeluse conquers little by little the emptiness left
in the wake of Cidegast’s death – for she finds and comes to love Gawan – Kriemhilt does not;
she is inconsolable and retires to seclusion; her tears forever stain her dress and she leads the
pious life of a widow. And, again unlike Orgeluse, she does not find her minne directed at
another man – if she agrees to take another as husband it is because he is powerful enough, at
the very least, to offer the possibility of exacting revenge on the Burgundians.
Lastly, it is also striking to observe that Kriemhilt is married to Siegfried before she can
concede minne fully to him; Orgeluse concedes minne to Gawan before she recognises him
publicly as her lover – making their minne, in part, illicit.
81
3. The Wrath of a frouwe– Decoding hatred in Kriemhilt and
Orgeluse
3.1.
Hatred – a dependent, mutable concept?
Previously, in the chapter pertaining to the definition of minne and in the chapter
referring to the topoi of feminine gender roles, I have discussed the role that each gender plays
in courtly literature in Middle-High German. Women, in their ideal role in the convention, were
conceived to be beautiful, graceful inspirers of knightly deeds and givers of love to men brave
and dextrous enough to serve them. I have also noted that they were dependent on men to act
in the world. Theirs was the world of courtly charms, comely gazes, agreeable words, beauty
and love – a world that ran parallel to that of men. In that same convention, the sphere of men
was far more gruesome – plagued with constant fighting, with fraternal bonds of loyalty being
forged in battle244, with power and military prowess at its core; a world that was dominated by
strît and prîs. These last two concepts are, indeed, the foundation for the sphere of men – though
they technically abide by courtly rules of conduct, the journey of men through medieval courtly
literature was fraught with peril. The Office of the Shield was a perilous path to walk, a path
that commenced with the friendly bohort and hunting expeditions but which ultimately led to
life-risking duels and all-out military campaigns; be it for power or – more recurrently in courtly
literature – for the love and/or recognition of women. And duels and military campaigns, though
motivated or justified for several reasons, figured frequently with hatred as their impetus.
Medieval courtly literature provides us with ample examples of these hatred-driven
bouts. For instance, in ‘Parzival’, when Parzival encounters Ither the Red Knight of Gahaviez
for the second time, the former demands the latter to strip himself of his armour so Parzival can
don it245. Ither pays no heed to Parzival’s demands; which prompts the future Grail King to tug
at the other’s bridle and utter these words: «You are Lahelin, aren’t you, of whom my mother
complained to me? »246; Parzival immediately infers that this Red Knight is the man who caused
Parzival’s family much loss, the man he hates. It is both anger and vengeance that elicits
Parzival’s hatred towards the Red Knight. And this question – coupled with his gesture –
Like the triuwe-based bond that binds Hagen and Volker throughout the second half of ‘Das Nibelungenlied’.
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book III,
page 87 – 88.
246
Idem, ibidem, Book III, page 88.
244
245
82
prompts Ither to bash Parzival’s head. Parzival is driven into a rage by this and slays – in a very
unbecoming fashion – the Red Knight247. One could write off this passage as being an event
caused by Parzival’s tumpheit (inexperience) in knightly offices; nevertheless, the hate – the
result of his negative emotions – that propels Parzival into killing Lahelin is there.
Another instance of hatred, this time in a military campaign, is the assault led by
Arabel’s husband and father against Willehalm of Orange in ‘Willehalm’. Indeed, it is a
campaign that aims at retrieving the now Christian Arabel (who adopted the Christian name
Gyburg) but the men who ride into battle – who are on both sides described as being paragons
of chivalry – confront their opponents spurned on by hatred.
In ‘Parzival’, Orilus, upon finding Jeschute in wracked apparels, condemns the lady to
follow him in that dishonourable state. It is his newfound hatred towards her that motivates his
action towards Jeschute; however, this hatred has, as origin, his jealousy. Orilus assumes that
she has a lover, is deranged at her apparent untriuwe towards him and his love, regards not what
Jeschute says in her defence, and proceeds to move hatefully towards Jeschute – a hatred that
is established in jealousy – and to punish her vehemently.
Again, another example of an all-out military sortie can be found in ‘Parzival’, Book I
– the campaign that fallen Isenhart’s kinsmen and blood-relatives rail against Belakane for the
death of the knight. Granted, it is a matter of vengeance for a cherished fallen knight –
nevertheless, hatred finds its place among the warriors engaged in battle before Pelrapeire, for
vengeance motivates their hateful disposition towards Queen Belakane.
Another demonstration of hate can be found in the encounter between Malcriature and
Gawan in ‘Parzival’, Book X. After Malcriature directs some less-than-flattering invectives at
Gawan, Lot’s son retorts: «My knightly person has never suffered such rude correction. (…)
But if you and my lady wish to offer me insults, it is you alone who will enjoy what you would
rightly call my anger»248, after which Gawan wrests Malcriature off his ride by his hair. Here,
the ugly squire’s misdemeanours towards the knight are what provoke hatred – it is
Malcriature’s dreadful and disrespectful invectives that incur Gawan’s anger and motivate the
knight’s hatred.
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book III,
page 88.
248
Idem, ibidem, Book X, page 264.
247
83
When the Burgundians are welcomed by Kriemhilt – and by “welcomed”, I mean
“spitefully received” – in Etzel’s court in the twenty-eighth âventiure, the Queen of the Huns
kisses Giselher alone249. This gesture is not lost on Hagen; he was previously – indeed, all
Burgundians were – forewarned by Dietrich of Kriemhilt’s intentions and life in never-ending
sorrow after the death of Siegfried250. He is very much aware of her hatred towards the men
who killed the King of Xanten and he retributes her upbraid with a signal of his own – he
tightens the strap on his helm251. One would expect this action to be directed at a man (for it is
a sign of eagerness to enter the fray), nevertheless, Hagen directs this act at a woman; he not
only reciprocates – in his own way – the hatred manifested by Kriemhilt, he makes clear that
he is ready and willing for the ensuing battle. This gesture of Hagen’s hatred toward the Queen
is sustained throughout the “amicable” part of his stay in Etzel’s court with other signs –
namely, his stressed reluctance to part with his weapons and war accoutrements, be it before
entering the King’s hall252 or before stepping inside the church to attend mass253.
The Burgundian knight, when questioned by Kriemhilt on the whereabouts of the
Nibelung hoard, even flat out states that «’ I have brought you nothing and be damned to you!
(…) My shield, my corselet and my bright helm are enough burden for me. As to this sword in
my hand, it is not for you that I bring it.’»254. He has come for battle – bringing no treasure with
him – and that much is made clear; he, as Hagen himself notes, has his sword (i.e., unsheathed)
resting in his hand, ready to strike. However, the Burgundian knight states that his sword – in
fact, none other than Siegfried’s own blade, Balmung – is not for the Queen. Though he enters
Etzel’s court ready for battle (helm tightly strapped and sword drawn), his last assertion seems
to mean that he brings his blade not to hurt Kriemhilt directly. However, it is, in fact, another
demonstration of his hatred towards her – he will not relinquish the last remaining symbol of
Siegfried.
Thus, Hagen’s denial has two distinct effects; he will not be relieved of his weapon, for
he would be defenceless without it before Kriemhilt’s hatred and he will not symbolically give
up Siegfried to the Queen. Both are expressions of hatred nonetheless; his explicit readiness to
battle and his humiliation of Kriemhilt.
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
Twenty-eighth âventiure, page 216.
250
Idem, ibidem, twenty-eighth âventiure, page 214 – 215.
251
Idem, ibidem, twenty-eighth âventiure, page 216.
252
Idem, ibidem, twenty-eighth âventiure, page 217.
253
Idem, ibidem, thirty-first âventiure, pages 230 – 231.
254
Idem, ibidem, twenty-eighth âventiure, page 217.
249
84
Hatred, like minne, must emanate from something. Minne itself stems from triuwe, for
triuwe is at the core of the society in courtly literature in Middle-High German. I propose that
hatred is a far more fluid concept when it comes to its origin; i.e., hatred can arise from a
multitude of negative emotions. Hatred in men manifests itself mainly in knightly exploits and
it is linked with the Office of the Shield – it is a regular emotion to men-at-arms regardless of
their individual or communal aims in their battles. Indeed, it is an indispensable component in
the male sphere and it is one of the key elements in the male worldview and its action in the
world. In short, hatred is a facet of the militaristic lifestyle of the knight.
Hatred is an emotion that can stem from a multitude of sources; more than an emotion,
it seems to be a composite emotion. By “composite emotion”, I intend to say that, in particular
instances, hatred seems to form from a conglomerate of negative emotions; it is dependent upon
these negative emotions in order to manifest itself, much like minne depends upon triuwe to be
demonstrated. However, minne seems to be built exclusively on triuwe – therefore, minne is
not a composite emotion. Hatred, by contrast, can be motivated by jealousy, by being wronged,
by anger, by sorrow; sometimes two or more negative traits are present – and hatred is expressed
as a composite emotion. In fact, hatred may even stem from a positive trait or emotion – there
are cases of hatred motivated by triuwe and minne, for example, in both narratives.
Nevertheless, hatred is not so much the starting point but generally a result or a sublimation of
negative emotions. Hence, not only is hatred extremely pliable when its source(s) is (are)
concerned, it also can be the product of more than one negative emotions.
Hatred is also used in a widespread manner to translate words in Middle-High German
that pertain to hateful actions/emotions/thoughts. There is, indeed, a word that means hatred in
Middle-High German; I speak, of course, of haz255. However, a few other words are employed
with this connotation of hatred. For instance, nîd is employed to demonstrate a negative emotion
– jealousy – that may lead to hatred256. Another word that implies hatred is zorn257 – anger; and
this word is also commonly related to hatred. Yet another word that denotes hatred (in some
contexts) is valsch; this word in particular is used to refer to Kriemhilt’s thoughts when she at
long last meets the Burgundians in Etzel’s land: «(…)Kríemhílt diu schœne mit ir gesinde gie /
For instance, «(…) dâ huop sich grôzen haz (…)» (‘Das Nibelungenlied‘, 843,3) and «(…)daz ich iu bin
gehaz?(…)» (‘Das Nibelungenlied’, 1789,2).
256
«(…)grôzen nidés genuoc» (…)» (‘Das Nibelungenlied’, 829,4) and «(…)durch einen grôzen nît(…)» (‘Das
Nibelungenlied, 838,2) are some examples of the usage of nîd.
257
«(…)daz ir wol meget vür zürnen hân.» (‘Parzival’, 521,5) and «(…)si kan noch zornes walden(…)» (‘Parzival’,
606,4) are two examples of zorn.
255
85
dâ si die Nibelunge mit valschem muote enpfie.»258 which is translated by Hatto as «Fair
Kriemhilt went with her suite and with perfidy in her heart she welcomed them»259; though a
more apt translation would be “with falsity”260. These words seem to be somewhat uniformly
translated in New High German as “Feindschaft” (“enmity” or “hostility”), “Haß” (“hatred”)
or Zorn (“anger”). Nevertheless, all these terms do pertain, in some sense or another, to hatred;
for it is through hatred that the characters act. For the sake of clarity and cohesion, I shall be
using “hatred” as an umbrella term to encapsulate all these words; for, otherwise, the present
dissertation would lose its focus and fragment itself in a large number of subjects.
I have mentioned above a few possible emotions that give rise to hatred in men –
namely anger, injustice and jealousy. But, if hatred is an emotion that is prevalent in the male
role, what about women? Do they not feel or express hatred in courtly literature in Middle-High
German?
In ‘Parzival’ – specifically in Gawan’s part of the romance – King Lot’s son encounters
several female characters. Of all of them, I would like to reference a particular character – Bene.
Gawan meets Bene after his duel in the shores of the river against Lischoys261; she is the
daughter of the ferryman and, commanded by her father, attends to Gawan and keeps him
company during his supper262 and, acting on her own volition, stands beside his bed in the early
hours of the morning of the next day263. Both Bene and Wolfram himself make clear what is
locked in the girl’s heart; she feels minne towards the knight from Norway. She herself outright
states, «’I am waiting on you more to win your favour, sir (…) than for any other reason.’»264
and Wolfram notes that, during dinner, « The girl was mindful to cut tasty morsels for Gawan
and lay them on white wastelbread with her fair hands (…)»265, highlighting her hands – her
fair hands –, a sign of minne. Bene goes even further in her demonstration of minne; she places
her own cloak of ermine over the beddings, where Gawan will sleep266.
‘Das Nibelungenlied’, 1737,1-2.
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
Twenty-eighth âventiure, page 216.
260
There is no direct translation regarding this last verse in New High German. The translator proceeds to translate
it as «(…)ohne ihre wahren Gedanken zu zeigen.» - “without showing her true thoughts”. Hatto is far more direct
– and far more accurate – with his translation.
261
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book X,
page 277.
262
Idem, ibidem, Book X, page 278 – 279.
263
Idem, ibidem, Book XI, page 280 – 281.
264
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book X,
page 278.
265
Idem, ibidem, Book X, page 278.
266
Idem, ibidem, Book X, page 279; Book XI, page 280.
258
259
86
When Gawan unknowingly faces Parzival, Wolfram says that Bene, upon seeing
Gawan, throws her arms around him267 and upbraids Gramoflanz motivated by triuwe;
nevertheless, the poet notes her «sweet lips»268 as she voices her loyal invectives. If there were
any doubts on the mind of the reader about Bene’s affections, they are now fully dispelled;
Wolfram shows various actions that demonstrate her minne towards the Lord of Schastel
Marveil. However, the scene that takes place next is the pivotal point for the subject at hand;
when Bene sees Gawan with Orgeluse, she is thrown into heartfelt grief. She cries and questions
her presence at the banquet, she feels utterly dejected and she adds that she will lock her heart
to Gawan and that she will surely die of grief269. Bene is experiencing jealousy, sadness and
injustice; she had maintained hopes that Gawan would return her affections but she is denied
of this harmonic ending by Gawan’s and Orgeluse’s love for each other. She feels jealousy and
sorrow, yet, she does not vent them on the pair. She maintains her role of courtly lady and she
does not give in to hatred – she bears it in a courtly fashion, suffering in silence. Nor does she
speak hatefully of Gawan in her inner monologue; she refers to him as «His loyal and manly
heart (…)»270. Even her assertion of dying of grief for her unrequited love towards Gawan
concurs with the convention of minnedame; i.e., when a woman loses the object of her affection,
she usually dies (if she is not carrying the knight’s child). In essence, she is experiencing
negative emotions – brought about by minne – but Bene does not seek to act motivated by them,
remaining in her role of courtly lady.
In the second half of ‘Das Nibelungenlied’, there is minor character named Herrat.
Herrat was «Helche’s niece on her mother’s side (…)»271 - therefore a blood-relative of the late
Queen Helche –, betrothed to Dietrich and the head of the cortège of women in Etzelnburg.
Upon Kriemhilt’s arrival in Etzel’s court, the poet lets us know that «(…) Herrat was
eagerly looking forward to the arrival of the guests (…)»272; that is, she is looking forward to
meeting her new mistress and Queen. Although the narrator speaks not of sorrow or distress in
Herrat, he nevertheless states that she is related by blood to the late Queen. The sentence
structure here seems to be deliberate; i.e., Herrat is first presented as a blood-relation to Helche,
then she is presented as being engaged to Dietrich of Verona and finally as the lady who is in
267
Idem, ibidem, Book XIV, page 346.
Idem, ibidem Book XIV, page 346.
269
Idem, ibidem, Book XIV, page 348 – 349.
270
Idem, ibidem, Book XIV, page 349.
271
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
Twenty-second âventiure, page 175.
272
Idem, ibidem, twenty-second âventiure, page 176.
268
87
charge of the upkeep of Etzel’s court. Herrat seems (at least implicitly) to feel triuwe for the
deceased Helche but it is also clearly explicated that she is eager to serve a new Queen – for
such is her duty. However, when she returns to the action of the poem in the following
âventiure, seven years have passed and the narrator notes that «Lady Kriemhilt strove
unceasingly to acquire the high distinction that Queen Helche had attained, and in this she was
instructed by poor Herrat who mourned bitterly in secret for Helche»273. Though Herrat has
been by the side of Kriemhilt for these seven years and has guided her all this time, Herrat still
mourns «bitterly» for Helche – and in secret. This assertion seems to imply that not only Herrat
still feels deeply the loss of her blood-relative (triuwe) but also that she did not accept fully
Kriemhilt as her mistress; however, she is not open with her feelings.
Kriemhilt, in the following âventiures and in past âventiures alike, is mentioned as
keeping her sorrow locked away in her bosom; nevertheless, by the time the Burgundians arrive,
her mourning seems to be common knowledge to all subjects of Etzel. In contrast, Herrat’s
sorrow in never widely known. If she did not accept Kriemhilt truly as her mistress, she could
act on it and misguide Kriemhilt, she could actively strive for Kriemhilt to be viewed in a lessthan-favourable light by Etzel’s subjects. She is in a prominent position to do so – and yet she
does not, she concerns herself with providing sound advice to her mistress. Whether we ascribe
her bitter mourning solely to the loss of Helche, to her reluctance to accept the new Queen or a
mix of both, Herrat remains unwaveringly loyal to Kriemhilt – even if only in her advices. She
does not act on her sorrow, she does not let it turn to hatred towards the Queen and she does
not mislead Kriemhilt. And resorting to schemes is not exactly new in female characters –
Kriemhilt herself does scheme and deceive (Etzel, above all others) in order to attain what she
desires. But Herrat does not and can not, for she adopts the role of a courtly lady – a woman
bound by her duty to the Queen.
In short, though taken by negative emotions, these women – as courtly ladies – do not
let it degenerate into hatred. Negative emotions per se do not lead to hatred; women seem free
to feel them – especially when they are motivated by triuwe and minne –, however, when they
act upon these negative emotions, they pave the way for hatred itself.
On the other hand, both Orgeluse and Kriemhilt act; these acts are motivated by hatred
and their hatred emanates from their triuwe and their minne. Both the Duchess of Logroys and
the princess of Worms find themselves in the very same situation – their beloveds have been
273
Idem, ibidem, twenty-third âventiure, page 177.
88
killed. Cidegast has an untimely death in knightly sport against Gramoflanz, Siegfried meets
his dishonourable end in a murderous scheme – the manner of death of each of them is different;
nevertheless, when they die, they are taken from their ladies. And though Kriemhilt is legally
the wife of Siegfried and has enjoyed his minne (and his physical minne) and Orgeluse is the
virginal lady of Cidegast, what fundamentally matters is that they are both wronged by men,
denied of the object of their affections and seized by an urge to right the wrongs endured – and
they choose to explicitly or surreptitiously act in hatred motivated by these emotions.
Kriemhilt, in this sense, is stymied twice in the first part of ‘Das Nibelungenlied’- she
is robbed of both Siegfried and the Nibelung hoard that he has willed her. Kriemhilt is forever
inconsolable; Orgeluse, for her part, begins as secretly mourning her fallen beau but she comes
to know love in Gawan. But, above all, these losses motivate the ladies to scheme, to plot, to
find a way to act in the world that so vehemently wronged them. And, since they cannot act
upon their emotions, in a conventional manner, like men do, they utilise – i.e., instrumentalise
– their minne to achieve their own ends; goals themselves ruled by hatred. But these actions,
these mind-sets are not without consequences or repercussions – for they (women) are
appropriating and acting on a male-specific emotion and the society (ruled by men) does not
view this appropriation kindly. Thus, a negative emotion is born from a positive one – and chaos
or happiness will ensue.
89
3.2.
Decoding Hatred in Kriemhilt
As I have proceeded in the chapter pertaining to minne, I shall begin my analysis with
Kriemhilt. Before we move on with Kriemhilt’s narrative, we must return to the fourteenth
‘âventiure’ – specifically the scene where the queens argue with each other – for it has been
only lightly touched upon in the chapter concerning minne. It has been not fully analysed for a
reason – it is the first instance of Kriemhilt expressing hatred.
Kriemhilt and Brunhild watch the knights engaged in knightly sport one evening, the
queen of Xanten lauds her husband by uttering « ‘I have a husband of such merit that he might
rule over all the kingdoms in this region’ (…) »274. Brunhild retorts « ‘However splendid and
handsome and valiant your husband may be (…) you must nevertheless give your noble brother
the advantage’»275, clearly interpreting what Kriemhilt said as a compliment towards
Siegfried’s beauty and prowess and not as an assertion of his rank as equal to Gunther. Brunhild
was deceived back at Isenstein in the sixth ‘âventiure’ and was led to believe that the king of
Xanten was a Burgundian liegeman. This ploy, which both Gunther and Siegfried orchestrated,
stands at the core of the increasingly violent altercation between Kriemhilt and Brunhild, and
neither of them back down from their claims. This heated discussion climaxes in Kriemhilt
stating that she will enter the Cathedral with her retinue before Brunhild and prove her – indeed,
her husband’s – precedence of rank above all. What is striking about this passage is the
information given by the poet – he states that «And now indeed fierce hate grew between those
ladies» («[…]grôzen nidés genuoc (…)», 829,4)276; even the narrator acknowledge that each
feel nîd. This hatred is motivated here by the issue of rank; however, from Kriemhilt’s
perspective, she is merely demonstrating her minne when she first complimented Siegfried but
the conversation has degenerated in a fierce argument. The first full demonstration of
Kriemhilt’s hatred starts here.
Another interesting point is how she expresses her hatred – after turning away from
Brunhild, Kriemhilt says to her retinue « ‘Now dress yourselves well, my maidens, (…) for I
must not be put to shame. (…) We must make Brunhild eat her words.’ »277 The narrator goes
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
Fourteenth ‘âventiure’, page 111.
275
Idem, ibidem, fourteenth ‘âventiure’, page 111.
276
Idem, ibidem, fourteenth ‘âventiure’, page 113.
277
Idem, ibidem, fourteenth ‘âventiure’, page 113.
274
90
on to say that Kriemhilt herself was « (…) exquisitely gowned (…) »278; Kriemhilt has used her
attire to demonstrate her minne before, yet, in this instance, this symbol of minne is employed
as a demonstration of hatred. She decks herself lavishly to express her hatred at Brunhild’s
words, to exhibit her power and – above all – her rank. This event changes, at the very least
specifically here, the convention of sumptuous clothes as a way of expressing minne into a
demonstration of Kriemhilt’s hatred towards Brunhild – for the Queen of Xanten is bent on
humiliating the Burgundian Queen. And she is successful, for the poet relates that her clothes
cannot be matched even by thirty queens.279
The queens come once again face to face at the entrance of the Cathedral; Kriemhilt
directs hateful invectives at Brunhild and accuses her of having lost her maiden purity to
Siegfried280(«Dô sprach diu schoene Kriemhilt [zornec was ir muot]», 839,1). Brunhild is at
a loss of words for such accusation but decides to question Kriemhilt further on her grievous
allegation281. This, in turn, leads Kriemhilt to exhibit the gold ring and the girdle before all in
attendance and accusing once again Brunhild of having been ravished by the dragon-slayer
before she was with Gunther282. Both ring and girdle are women’s intimate objects,
conventionally symbolising minne. And yet, Kriemhilt instrumentalises these objects – stolen
from Brunhild by Siegfried – to convey her hatred for the Burgundian queen283. Again, we find
ourselves with conventions being inverted in order to express an opposite emotion. Kriemhilt
starts this ‘âventiure’ in her ideal role of minnedame, she praises immensely Siegfried and
demonstrates her minne for him before Brunhild. Yet, she suffers a drastic change in her role –
she not only contents herself with railing at the Burgundian queen, she also accuses her – in
public – of being Siegfried’s paramour, effectively defying both social and moral codes alike
with her suggestion. And a suggestion – a public suggestion, I mean – is far more than enough
to taint Brunhild’s honour and Kriemhilt knows this – she willingly goes against them motivated
by hatred. Here she sheds her role as a courtly lady, addresses violently and nonchalantly the
injuries Brunhild caused her in public and verges on transgressing her role; she verges on
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
Fourteenth ‘âventiure’, page 113.
279
Idem, ibidem, fourteenth ‘âventiure’, page 113.
280
Idem, ibidem, fourteenth ‘âventiure’, page 114.
281
Idem, ibidem, fourteenth ‘âventiure’, page 114.
282
Idem, ibidem, fourteenth ‘âventiure’, page 114 – 115.
283
In the ‘Poetic Edda’, specifically ‘Poem of Atli’ (block 8, page 205), we have another instance of the ring being
instrumentalised to convey a message. Gudrun sends her brothers her «red gold» ring wrapped in «heathwanderer» (a kenning for “wolf”) hair; a sign that is interpreted (correctly) as a warning of their impending doom
for the love of their sister. Red gold seems to be a convention to describe love or a loved one in medieval
Scandinavian poetry and this very same term – red gold – is employed by Brunhild when complaining of the ring’s
theft to Gunther. It seems to suggest, at the very least, a certain uniformity in conventional expressions of love.
278
91
adopting the opposite gender role. She comes close but she does not transgress her role and, in
the next ‘âventiure’ she will be back to her role as a courtly lady. Let us move forward on the
narrative, to where we have left Kriemhilt in the twentieth ‘âventiure’.
Kriemhilt is now leaving for Hungary with Rudiger. Though she is prevented to take
any treasure with her to Hungary by Hagen (and Rudiger asserts that she will have no need for
it), the poet asserts that « While this was taking place, Kriemhilt’s young ladies had already
filled twelve chests with the very finest gold and this was carried away with many feminine
adornments (…) »284. The provenience of this gold is a puzzling mystery, for Hagen has already
sunk the Nibelung hoard in the Rhine285; nevertheless, the widow leaves her land with her
retinue of ladies, with Eckewart and his host of knights, with Rudiger and with these chests
filled with treasure. Already we begin to see Kriemhilt’s potential for hatred– as I have pointed
out in the chapter concerning minne in Kriemhilt, she considers marrying Etzel only because of
Rudiger’s oath of fealty to her, i.e., a possibility of revenge. Treasure can be instrumental in
gaining favour with warriors, and this issue will be addressed ahead.
They are led out of the Burgundian lands and into Pochlarn, Rudiger’s territory. Before
the crossing of the Danube, Gernot and Giselher, who have been accompanying the party,
request their urluop to return to Worms but not before Giselher stating that, if Kriemhilt is ever
in need, to send a messenger to him and he will ride out to meet her286 - this act of triuwe of the
young knight will motivate Kriemhilt’s dream of him in a later ‘âventiure’. They arrive in
Pochlarn and Kriemhilt is welcomed by Gotelind, Rudiger’s wife and their daughter. This
passage is important, for the narrator remarks that « The Queen gave Gotelind’s daughter twelve
bracelets of red gold and the finest cloth she had brought (…) she even now won the goodwill
of all she met, thanks to the slender means that remained her (…) »287. Kriemhilt is presented
here as generous, rewarding all that she meets in Pochlarn – especially Rudiger’s daughter. This
is no random assertion either, she gives bracelets of gold to the young girl – red gold – which
seem to represent minne; for she already did something of the sort when Siegfried delivered the
message to demonstrate her minne towards him. Yet, she is not expressing minne with her
generosity and her gifts of gold and cloth; she consciously trying to further cement the favour
of Rudiger with this gift to be certain of his allegiance when the time for her revenge comes.
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
Twentieth ‘âventiure’, page 164.
285
This is likely an inconsistence by the poet, the proverbial “Homeric nod”.
286
Idem, ibidem, twenty-first ‘âventiure’, page 166.
287
Idem, ibidem, twenty-first ‘âventiure’, page 169.
284
92
She also distributes gifts to all warriors attending and she wins their favour, as the text
maintains. With these gifts she is expressing her potential for hatred, disguising it as gifts of
triuwe and minne – she is yet again instrumentalising a symbol of love and loyalty to further
her future plans, plans fuelled by hatred288. She still assumes the role an ideal courtly lady,
however, aside from Rudiger and his wife and daughter, no warrior there performed any service
in order to receive so generous gifts – this fact further points, albeit surreptitiously, to her
potential for hatred.
After her passage through Pochlarn, Kriemhilt is welcomed by Etzel, accompanied by
Dietrich, in Hungary. At the festivities, after being instructed by Rudiger, « She received the
illustrious monarch kindly with a kiss, to bestow which she pushed back her wimple and
revealed her lovely face all radiant amid the gold of her hair, so many a man declared that
Queen Helche had not been lovelier »289; she seems to demonstrate her minne not only with the
ceremonial kiss to recognize Etzel as a man of the same rank as hers but also by baring her face
for all to behold her beauty. She goes even further; when both Kriemhilt and Etzel take their
seats she places her hand290 – her white hand – on his291. These actions of Kriemhilt seem to
imply that she feels minne towards Etzel – however, she is instrumentalising the means which
a courtly lady utilises to express minne to further her cause for vengeance; she is using these
expressions of minne with hatred as a motive. For Siegfried’s widow knows that she must gain
the favour of her newfound allies; and, being Etzel the monarch who commands the entirety of
warriors in Hungary (and her new husband), it is of her own best interest to gain his favour
above all others.
Like before, she acts the part of a courtly lady, yet she instrumentalises her minne for
her vengeance, for hatred. She has not forgotten Siegfried; this is evidenced by the words she
spoke to Rudiger before leaving Worms292 and by the passage that follows these
aforementioned actions: «Kriemhilt was thinking of how she had dwelt beside the Rhine with
288
Kriemhilt distributes gifts to all attending, trying to win the favour of strangers; for she is a stranger herself, a
foreigner in a foreign land. What is more striking is the fact that Brunhild did nothing of the sort when she arrived
in Worms; something that seems to further sustain my assertion about the intrumentalisation of gifts for hatred.
289
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
Twenty-second ‘âventiure’, page 172.
290
Kriemhilt places her hand over Siegfried’s own when they first met (idem, ibidem, fifth âventiure, page 49) as
a gesture of minne. She performs the same action when she meets Etzel, however, here the gesture seems to
symbolise a certain surreptitious assertion of control/dominion over the monarch. A similar gesture figures in
‘Parzival’ (Book XIII, page 321) – Gawan places his hand over Orgeluse at Schastel Marveile, i.e., after she
willingly subjects to him and agrees to concede minne to him.
291
Op. cit., twenty-second ‘âventiure’, page 173.
292
«’I lost one of the best that a woman ever had’» (idem, ibidem, twentieth ‘âventiure’, page 159).
93
her noble husband, and her eyes filled with tears; yet so well did she hide them that no one saw
that she was weeping – such honour was being paid to her after her great grief»293. Kriemhilt
has not relinquished her hope of retribution. The poet sums up the life of Kriemhilt at
Etzelnburg by stating that never before had the Huns lived so well under a queen 294, implying
that Kriemhilt was very much open-handed with her gifts and she gained the favour of many a
warrior there.
Kriemhilt appears again, in the following ‘âventiure’ that takes place seven years after
her marriage to Etzel. The narrator lets us know that she has indeed conquered all the
inhabitants’ favour and that she reigns as none other as done before295 - over the course of these
seven years she has been successful in preparing for her vengeance. She now turns her thoughts
to attracting the Burgundians to Etzelnburg – especially Hagen – to exact her revenge296. Here
also figures an interesting (and puzzling) passage – the poet ascertains that perhaps it was «(…)
the foul fiend (…)»297 that influenced her into breaking her oath of forgiveness with Gunther;
and that thus she wept «(…) hot tears (…)»298 that stained her clothes once more. I find in this
excerpt a clear echo of her time as a widow living in seclusion at Worms and an attempt at
defending the queen’s intentions by implying that her reason was controlled by some demonic
entity, one that compelled her to scheme rueful deeds. The tears that she sheds express minne
and triuwe felt for her long-dead Siegfried; and she again is motivated to plot against the
Burgundians. She also dreams of kissing Giselher, the only male relative she still loves because
of his (apparent) innocence in what befell Siegfried and his words of triuwe upon departing
from her company299.
One night, while she lies in Etzel’s arms – implying a scene taking place after love-sport
–, the narrator asserts that «(…) he [Etzel] held her in her arms and caressed her as was his wont
(for she was dear to him as life) she was thinking of her enemies»300. Her thoughts do not
contemplate minne, as do the actions and thoughts of Etzel; she thinks only of unfurling her
vengeance upon her enemies. And she instrumentalises this moment of tender love to
surreptitiously express hatred – she pleads, like a courtly lady would, to Etzel to invite her
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
Twenty-second ‘âventiure’, page 174.
294
idem, ibidem, twenty-second ‘âventiure’, page 176.
295
Idem, ibidem, twenty-third ‘âventiure’, page 177.
296
Idem, ibidem, twenty-third ‘âventiure’, page 177.
297
Idem, ibidem, twenty-third ‘âventiure’, page 177 - 178.
298
Idem, ibidem, twenty-third ‘âventiure’, page 178.
299
Idem, ibidem, twenty-first ‘âventiure’, page 166.
300
Idem, ibidem, twenty-third ‘âventiure’, page 178.
293
94
relatives, as she is still a foreigner destitute of friends in Etzelnburg301 and Etzel – a loving
husband – ends up agreeing to send messengers to invite the Burgundian nobles to the
festivities.
Before the messengers leave to Worms on the Rhine, Kriemhilt summons them to her
presence302 and promises them both riches and gold if they make sure that not only her relatives
accede to Etzel’s invitation but also that Hagen does not stay behind303. Though she seems very
much a courtly lady here, she is now closer to be on verging of transgressing her role; she
instrumentalises material goods – signs of gratitude and minne – to further her ends and she
plots an elaborate scheme to attain her revenge. This constant plotting is itself a demonstration
of hatred, for she is being untriuwe towards her kinsmen and her husband – with murderous
intents – and a characteristic that pertains to the male role (for instance, Hagen plots the death
of Siegfried and a way to separate Kriemhilt from her treasure).
Kriemhilt reappears in the action of the twenty-eighth ‘âventiure’, welcoming her
relatives to Etzelnburg. She kisses only Giselher – a sign of both triuwe and an
acknowledgement of the young knight as her equal in rank – and she immediately enquires
about the Nibelung hoard, stating that it is rightfully hers and that they should have brought it
to her304. These enquiries and invectives betray Kriemhilt, for she demonstrates plainly her
hatred towards the Burgundians. When Hagen humiliates her by saying that he brings nothing
but his knightly accoutrements305, Kriemhilt insists in taking the weapons herself, for knights
cannot proceed to the hall armed. I believe there is something more in her response to Hagen;
indeed, she plots to have them stripped of their equipment so they can become easy prey but
she also seems to want to reclaim the only artefact of Siegfried’s that is left – his sword,
Balmung. She is denied yet again by Hagen and Dietrich and it is forced to retire but not without
first casting « (…) baleful glances (…) »306 towards the men. She hides her true intentions no
longer; even her way of gazing her enemies exudes hatred – and her character even prompts
Dietrich of Verona to refer to her as a «she-devil» (“vâlandinne”)307.
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
Twenty-third ‘âventiure’, page 178 – 179.
302
Idem, ibidem, twenty-third ‘âventiure’, page 180.
303
Idem, ibidem, twenty-third ‘âventiure’, page 180.
304
Idem, ibidem, twenty-eighth ‘âventiure’, page 216 – 217.
305
Idem, ibidem, twenty-eighth ‘âventiure’, page 217.
306
Idem, ibidem, twenty-eighth ‘âventiure’ 217.
307
Idem, ibidem, twenty-eighth ‘âventiure’, 217.
301
95
Kriemhilt, nevertheless, espies on Hagen from a window and, seeing him accompanied
only by Volker, decides to act again308. It is interesting to find Kriemhilt looking out through a
window to espy on her nemesis; in the first part of ‘Das Nibelungenlied’, she watches Siegfried
from a distance and this gesture was a demonstration of minne. She no longer watches with
minne as her intention – the word utilised is «espies», indicating a plot forming in her mind –
her distant glances are now very much a demonstration of hatred. The sight of Hagen
unpunished causes her grief for her fallen beloved, so she weeps 309; better yet, she
instrumentalises her tears to prompt the warriors of Hungary into a murderous act – another
expression of hatred. She asks them to avenge her and, in return, offers anything the slayer of
Hagen so desires310; finally, she commands them to lie in wait while she extricates a confession
of murder from Hagen311. When she confronts the Burgundian counsellor, he is does not get up
to welcome her, he remains seated with Siegfried’s sword across his lap312 and this sight
prompts Kriemhilt to burst into tears again. She is stymied yet again with this gesture of justice.
But she is bent on obtaining a confession from Hagen, so she asks « Why did you did the deed
for which you have earned my hatred? – You slew Siegfried, my dear husband, for which I shall
have cause to weep till the end of my days! »313. Not only does she reveal publicly her minne
for her dead husband – corroborating the argument of her marriage being only a mean to achieve
her vengeance – she also states that she hates Hagen for it. Hagen does acknowledge to having
murdered Siegfried and this assertion instils fear in Kriemhilt’s warriors; this time, Kriemhilt
is stymied by both Hagen and her fear-stricken knights, to whom no amount of « (…) red gold
(…) »314 – the material reward for minne and triuwe instrumentalised for hatred – would entice
them to do battle with the Burgundian knights. Kriemhilt, sorrow-stricken and denied yet again,
retreats.
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
Twenty-ninth ‘âventiure’, page 219.
309
Idem, ibidem, twenty-ninth ‘âventiure’, page 219.
310
Idem, ibidem, twenty-ninth ‘âventiure’, page 219 – 220.
311
Idem, ibidem, twenty-ninth ‘âventiure’, page 220.
312
This gesture is a conventional expression of justice. It figures in other works, such as Wolfram von Eschebach’s
‘Willehalm’ (Book III, page 73) and in ‘Grimnir’s Sayings’ (‘The Poetic Edda’, page 56). The latter example is
the most striking because of its peculiarity – Geirrod has been torturing Odin (who is assuming the guise of the
wandering Grimnir), as Geirrod does to all strangers who seek refuge in his hall, for eight nights by hanging him
between two fiery braziers, denying him drink and food. Geirrod’s son Agnar takes pity on the stranger and
quenches his thirst, an action that is lauded by Grimnir. Grimnir then proceeds to discourse on a multitude of
subjects and, at long last, reveals his true identity – he is, in fact, Odin. Geirrod, who until then was seated with
his sword across his lap, recognises his mistake and rushes to cut down Odin, only for the sword to fall hilt-first
to the ground. Geirrod, in his rush, ends up pierced by the sword – i.e., by justice –, putting an end to his insidious
actions.
313
Op. cit., twenty-ninth ‘âventiure’, page 222.
314
Idem, ibidem, twenty-ninth ‘âventiure’, page 223.
308
96
After the first night of festivities, Kriemhilt yet again plots the demise of her offenders;
this time while they sleep. She is refused yet again, however; for, while the Burgundians sleep
Hagen and Volker the Fiddler – suspecting foul play – keep watch and scare once again the
Hungarian warriors. Kriemhilt is again verging on transgressing her gender with this insidious
plot; and, when she finds that it bears no fruit, she feels yet again denied. Yet, as the narrator
remarks, « Nevertheless in her [Kriemhilt’s] fierce hatred she devised other means, thanks to
which brave warriors had perished in the end »315, once again referring her blinding hatred.
Tired of being stymied and abandoned by lesser men, Kriemhilt turns to Dietrich for
help but the exiled monarch – and his retainer Hildebrand – declines316. Not intending on giving
up her vengeance, she then speaks to Bloedelin, Etzel’s brother, to avenge her and promises «
(…) to reward you [Bloedelin] with gold and silver and a lovely girl – Nuodong’s destined
bride (…)317 and Nuodong’s own land. She intrumentalises minne – this time, by promising the
love of a girl and material rewards – to achieve her goal, demonstrating her hatred yet again.
Bloedelin agrees and the plan that was alluded to by the narrator previously – a plan that shall
end in the demise of many – begins to fall into place. Kriemhilt also sends for her son, Ortlieb,
to further add kindle to the fire of hatred318.
Fight breaks out in the quarters bellow the hall and Dancwart, Hagen’s brother, appears
covered in gore, warning the Burgundians of the impending danger that looms over them319.
Hagen, seemingly out of nowhere, decapitates Ortlieb and his head ends up in his mother’s
lap320. I mention this passage because the emotions of Kriemhilt are not given; she, prone to
weeping and whose thoughts and emotions are acutely described throughout the opus, does not
react to the death of her own son – this fact tells us it was her plan all along and she will go
even so far as to sacrifice her son to attain her revenge. Her plotting and her lack of emotion at
the death of her son seems to express she is now fully taken by hatred. Fight breaks out among
the men in the hall and Etzel, Kriemhilt and Rudiger are escorted out by Dietrich321. The
warriors of Etzel are annihilated by the Burgundian knights; Kriemhilt, in a desperate attempt,
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
Thirtieth ‘âventiure’, page 229.
316
Idem, ibidem, thirty-first ‘âventiure’, page 235.
317
Idem, ibidem, thirty-first ‘âventiure’, page 235 – 236.
318
Hatto explains that this act, in the ‘Thiedrekssaga’ is complimented by Griemhild inciting her son to punch
Hogni, which begins the battle (idem, ibidem, pages 302 – 303).
319
Idem, ibidem, thirty-third ‘âventiure’, page 242.
320
Idem, ibidem, thirty-third ‘âventiure’, page 243. In other redactions of the poem, Ortlieb’s head lands on his
father’s lap.
321
Idem, ibidem, thirty-third ‘âventiure’, page 245 – 247.
315
97
urges her lord to distribute gold among the men for them to fight and then claims herself: «’If
anyone would kill Hagen of Troneck for me and bring me his head (…) I would pile Etzel’s
shield with red gold and give him many fine castles and lands for his pains»322. Once again, she
is instrumentalising one of the symbols of minne to express her hatred and to gain the favour of
any man in order to have her revenge.
She finds a willing man in Iring of Denmark323; he volunteers to slay Hagen and even
manages to injure him before escaping the hall. This prompt a joyous Kriemhilt to serve as a
squire, relieving Iring of his shield herself324; however, her joy is short-lived, for Iring is slain
once he returns to the fray of battle. This new denial is far too much for her to take; enraged,
she prevents a declaration of truce between the opposing parties325 - as it would definitely
frustrate her plans for good – and she orders that the Huns to burn the hall where the
Burgundians stand – another very explicit expression of her hatred326. This desperate action
ordered by the queen puts her on the verge of transgressing her role as a courtly lady; she is
unhinged in her hate and she will stop at literally nothing to achieve her revenge. However, she
orders that the hall is sent on fire and does not set the fire with her own hands – she still depends
on men to act in the world for her.
The Burgundians survive this veritable inferno ordered by the queen, so she turns to her
last hope amidst her tears – noble Rudiger. She speaks to him in this fashion: « (…) I remind
you of the aid you swore to bear me when you urged me to marry Etzel, saying you would serve
me till one or the other of us died »327. She now instrumentalises the oaths – his triuwe – sworn
by the noble of Pochlarn, appealing to Rudiger to go out and right the wrongs perpetrated upon
her – yet another, although new, expression of hatred. Rudiger is torn but nevertheless enters
the battle in the favour of the queen – only to lose his life.
This slaughter is further engrossed by the consequent death of Dietrich’s men – save for
old Hildebrand – at the hands of the Burgundians. Dietrich, woe-stricken for his kinsmen, enters
the battle and brings to Kriemhilt the last two Burgundians standing in fetters – Hagen and
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
Thirty-third ‘âventiure’, page 251.
323
Idem, ibidem, thirty-fourth ‘âventiure’, page 252.
324
This is an anomalous action. Kriemhilt, as queen, should never touch a shield, let alone help, of all people, a
vassal relieve himself of one with her own hands. This she does to demonstrate the depths of her gratitude;
nevertheless, it is a gesture of gratitude motivated by hatred, like her generosity to all who would volunteer to fight
for her.
325
Op. cit., thirty-sixth ‘âventiure’, page 260.
326
Idem, ibidem, thirty-sixth ‘âventiure’, page 261.
327
Idem, ibidem, thirty-seventh ‘âventiure’, page 266.
322
98
Gunther328. Kriemhilt is joyous once again329; she thanks Dietrich profusely and orders that
Hagen and Gunther be imprisoned in separate rooms. The exiled monarch appeals to Kriemhilt
to show mercy upon the pair of valorous knights and the poet asserts « She declared that she
would gladly do so, (…) But Etzel’s Queen was soon to exact fierce vengeance, for she robbed
those matchless warriors of their lives, (…) »330 - she is about to break yet another oath,
motivated by her hatred.
When she returns to confront Hagen about the Nibelung hoard, the latter stymies her yet
again; his lips will remain shut as long as he has a lord331. Kriemhilt, upon hearing this, steps
herself further on her way to transgressing her ideal role as a courtly lady – she has her own
brother beheaded and brings his head by his hair for Hagen to behold332. This atrocious act – to
order the death of her own flesh and blood – speaks volumes about the mind-set of Kriemhilt;
she has been fully consumed by hatred in this passage and she expresses it by this gruesome
and violent scene.
Finally, Hagen frustrates her one last time; he refuses to give up the location of the
Nibelung hoard333. Kriemhilt, for her part, truly loses what little remains of her composure; in
this last, very powerful scene, she reclaims the remaining piece that links her to Siegfried – the
sharpest of swords, Balmung – and, with a murderous intent and moved by hatred, beheads
Hagen herself334. At last, she has transgressed her gender role; she has effectively become a
man. No longer she can wait in the side-lines and instrumentalise others to act on the world,
she will not be denied of her vengeance. She, moved by supreme hatred and in a supreme deed
of hatred, collects her due. But she will not be suffered for her grievous action, an action that
utterly violates both moral and conduct codes ascribed to each gender; she is thoroughly rent to
pieces by old Hildebrand335. Her victory is very short-lived and her hatred, though it brought
her revenge, also ultimately stymied it.
Anonymous (2004). ‘Das Nibelungenlied – Translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
Thirty-ninth ‘âventiure’, page 286 – 289.
329
The poet even remarks: « After her great suffering, the Queen was happy now. » (Idem, ibidem, thirty-ninth
‘âventiure’, page 288.
330
Idem, ibidem, thirty-ninth ‘âventiure’, page 290.
331
Idem, ibidem, thirty-ninth ‘âventiure’, page 290.
332
Idem, ibidem, thirty-ninth ‘âventiure’, page 290.
333
Idem, ibidem, thirty-ninth ‘âventiure’, page 290.
334
Idem, ibidem, thirty-ninth ‘âventiure’, page 290.
335
Idem, ibidem, thirty-ninth ‘âventiure’, page 291.
328
99
3.3.
Decoding Hatred in Orgeluse
Let us turn our attention now to Orgeluse of Logroys and how does she expresses her
hatred.
As I have noted before, in the chapter concerning to some observations on the
expressions of minne in both characters, the environment in which Orgeluse stands
demonstrates her hatred. A magnificent castle is present in the background and so is an orchard
where men and women revel in dances and song336, yet Orgeluse stands neither in the castle –
the ideal environment of a courtly lady – nor with her vassals in the orchard; she is by herself,
in a somewhat desolate place, by a spring that drips from a rock 337. And although her lovely
countenance – the second loveliest of all in ‘Parzival’ – indicates her potential for minne, her
environment conveys the opposite emotion. The path that leads to Orgeluse is noticeably stained
with blood; one could attribute this bloody trail to Urjans’ bleeding wounds – however, it seems
to symbolise the myriad of knights that either lost their lives or their honour by serving her.
That said, we find here the very first token of Orgeluse’s hatred.
When she is greeted courteously by Gawan, she breaks into an offensive tirade;
however, although her words are sour, she is not expressing hatred per se, she is merely testing
Gawan and asserting that praise from the unworthy – better still, from the untested – is not
welcome and she advises him to leave her.
The first real demonstration of Orgeluse’s hatred is through a somewhat outlandish
action – as Wolfram notes: « She [Orgeluse] pushed the fastenings of her wimple from under
her chin up on to her head. When one finds a woman thus she is ready for combat and may well
have a mind for sport (…) »338. Firstly, I must note that she is disregarding a moral code of the
time, i.e., she is exposing her face and possibly her hair – she is verging on transgressing her
role as a courtly lady. Secondly, this action of Orgeluse brings to mind Hagen’s own
demonstration of hatred towards Kriemhilt – when they arrive in Etzelnburg and he sees
Kriemhilt coming, he tugs at the laces of his helmet to make it fit tighter onto his head339. This
is, therefore, an expression of Orgeluse’s hatred; she ties her wimple as if it were a helmet,
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book X,
page 258; 261.
337
Idem, ibidem, Book X, page 258.
338
Idem, ibidem, Book X, page 261 – 262.
339
Idem, ibidem, twenty-eighth ‘âventiure’, page 216.
336
100
ready for battle. This “contamination” of manly manners, so to speak, of Orgeluse is yet again
proved in another segment of the romance; as the text expounds, «Puissant Orgeluse went not
as good companion, for she came riding towards Gawan in such a fury that, in his shoes, I
should have small hope of release from my cares through her! »340. In other words, she rides as
violently as a knight would towards other with violent intent; she seems not only to be ready
for battle, she seems to want to fight, another expression of her hatred. This behaviour is very
much like a man – a man-at-arms, no less –, thus presenting her as nearly transgressing yet
again her ideal role as a courtly lady.
Her next demonstration of hatred materialises itself in the form of insults – she attacks
Gawan, calling him a physician – denigrating therefore the Office of the Shield341. When Gawan
is faced with Malcriature – and is injured on his hand because of the misshapen squire’s hair –
Orgeluse, as the text states, « (…) laughed to see it (…) »342; since her laugh is a form of vexing,
she will employ it for expressing her hatred more times ahead.
When Lot’s son is robbed of his steed, Orgeluse yet again laughs heartily at his
misfortune343 and proceeds to say: «‘I took you for a knight. Soon after, you turned surgeon.
And now you reduced to footman.’»; this cascade of abuse is, in itself, progressively more
humiliating. She is demonstrating her hatred through this abuse, this time coupled with teasing
laughter.
When Gawan relates the events of Urjans’ downfall, Orgeluse has an interesting
response – she is empathic, even kind to the woman that Urjans raped but, yet again, expresses
her hatred by going against Arthur’s – a man’s – judgement of only punishing him by making
him eat with the hounds; she states that « Gross misdemeanours should be punished with thrusts
and blows »344 and she assures Gawan that Urjans will not escape her judgement in her lands345.
This somewhat sympathetic response is motivated by her sufferings – she too has been
subjected to far too much pains because of men’s impulses – in her case, murderous ones. And
she has an exacerbated volition to act in the world, to wrong the rights done to her (and, in this
case, not only to her), verging, therefore, on transgressing her role as a courtly lady and as a
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book X,
page 262.
341
Idem, ibidem, Book X, page 262 - 263.
342
Idem, ibidem, Book X, page 264.
343
Idem, ibidem, Book X, page 265.
344
Idem, ibidem, Book X, page 268.
345
Idem, ibidem, Book X, page 268.
340
101
woman. She implies, however, that she will not do the deed but instead one of her retainers will
deliver just and swift retribution – she will depend on men, the mark of a courtly lady346.
When Gawan is forced to tie his shield to Malcriature’s rickety steed – for he has been
deprived of his own – Orgeluse yet again directs mocking invectives at him after laughing at
the whole ordeal; this time calling him a merchant and saying: « ‘Look out for the customs
along the road – some of my tax-gatherers will strip you of your good humour!’ »347. She once
again expresses her hatred, this time completing the progression of insults with the lowest one
yet, calling Gawan a merchant348 and complementing it yet again with her derisive laughter.
Here, she nearly oversteps her bounds as a courtly lady; however, Gawan is well-disposed
towards her and disregards this less-than-ennobling remark.
When Gawan and Orgeluse are in the banks of the river, Orgeluse yet again mentions
Gawan’s impending duel and the shameful dishonour that will result from it, for there are ladies
up in the Schastel Marveile watching. She even seems to take pleasure in saying « Supposing
they were to glimpse your shame…? »349, indicating her hatred. She further demonstrates this
hatred of hers by taking the boat to the other side, leaving Gawan to his fate; claiming that he
will lay eyes upon her noble person only after proving himself350.
Orgeluse returns to the action of the romance after Gawan’s liberation of Schastel
Marveile. He sees her in the Magical Pillar, riding alongside the knight Turkyot – conducting
said man by the bridles – 351 and Wolfram comments that, at this sight: « Like hellebore, swift
to act, pungent in the nostrils, the Duchess stung his eyes as she pressed through into his heart
»352. Her disregard for Gawan – going so far as to accompany another knight and even leading
him, a kindness Gawan did not know – visibly hurts him. As I have stated before in the section
concerning minne in Orgeluse, the Duchess’ resolve in accompanying Gawan was a token of
potential minne; that is, of all the knights that are loyal to her she chooses to accompany Gawan
346
It must be noted that Orgeluse, though a woman, is, indeed, the monarch of Logroys. As such, she is entitled to
punish criminals in her own land as she sees fit, i.e., she has sovereignty in this sphere. Sarah Westphal-Wihl
(2010, pages 81-109) has an interesting article regarding this very same subject (Westphal-Wihl, Sarah (2010).
‘Orgeluse and the Trial for Rape at the Court of King Arthur: "Parzival" 521, 19 to 529, 16’. Arthuriana, 20(3),
pages 81-109).
347
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book X,
page 269.
348
It must be remarked that this insult is a highly offensive one to Gawan; he has been called a merchant before
by Obie in Book VII and this rude provocation deeply affronts Lot’s son.
349
Op. cit., Book X, page 271.
350
Idem, ibidem, Book X, pages 271 – 272.
351
Idem, ibidem, Book XII, page 298.
352
Idem, ibidem, Book XII, page 299.
102
in his knightly adventures. Here, however, Gawan is relegated to the side-lines in favour of
another knight. And, although Gawan and Turkyot will engage in an armed confrontation in the
following section, we cannot truly know if Orgeluse has brought Turkyot to face specifically
Gawan; she may have accompanied Turkyot to conduct him to Gramoflanz’s Garden and to
have him engage in battle with the man. She seems ruthless in her plan for vengeance and, since
Gawan has, for all intents and purposes, “vanished” the Duchess has no qualms in finding a
suitable replacement. One could see in this gesture not her hatred but her commitment to her
vengeance-driven cause. Nevertheless, King Lot’s son rides out to meet the pair.
After Gawan and Turkyot clash lances in the riverbank, Orgeluse moves to reprimand
him hatefully yet again. She is infuriated because of Gawan’s apparent smugness at conquering
Lit Marveile, for this was a knightly quest that she did not order him to undertake353. This
upbraid of Orgeluse denotes that, if Gawan is to lose his life or to achieve great merits, she
wants to be responsible for either. Yet again, Orgeluse incurs on transgressing her role as
courtly lady – for she shows no concern for the knight’s wounds, but she upbraids him for them
because they may put him out of commission, making him useless to further her cause. In this
discourse, hatred moves her – but a hatred that is born of triuwe for her fallen knight; she
instrumentalises Gawan’s love for her to extract her vengeance upon the killer of Cidegast.
Orgeluse orders Gawan to undertake yet another quest – the knight’s final ordeal –; she
instructs him to collect the Garland from Gramoflanz’s Garden354. Once again, she
instrumentalises Lot’s son’s minne for her to concretise her vindictive agenda. Now that Gawan
has proved himself more than capable – and powerful – and has not deserted her, like other
knights did, she decides to prompt him to provoke Gramoflanz, in the hopes that Gawan ends
up killing him. She is hopeful that her hatred, born out of her grief at the loss of Cidegast, will
at last bear the fruits of (her) justice. It is with this mind-set that Orgeluse directs Gawan to Li
gweiz prelljus; in order to mete out due punishment to Gramoflanz355.
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book XII,
page 301.
354
Idem, ibidem, Book XII, page 302.
355
One also must keep in mind that Orgeluse was a victim of brautraub (Book XII, pages 304 – 305); after
defeating the host of knights (Cidegast included), Gramoflanz kidnaped Orgeluse and, for a whole year, he had
kept her in his lands. He offered her a crown, lands and his service in order to win her love; however, Orgeluse
would not submit and his passionate pleads went on unrequited and scorned by the Lady of Logroys. After a year
he released her, though it is not clear why; maybe he grew tired of not being corresponded in his love for her or
maybe he received his love-token from Intonje and decided to free Orgeluse because his minne found itself directed
at another woman in a more intense manner. Time is rather fickle and undefined concept in medieval literature
and we cannot know for certain when these events have taken place. Nevertheless, her hatred is doubtlessly wellplaced; for not only did she lose her knight-friend she also had to endure living a whole year with his murderer.
353
103
The Duchess, after Gawan comes back from Gramoflanz’s Garden, explains her motives
to Gawan; she states that, since the death of Cidegast, she has accepted the service of knights
in order to punish Gramoflanz; it was she who, driven by her supreme desire for revenge (a
desire so immense that degenerated into hatred towards the man who killed her beloved), caused
Anfortas (the previous Grail King) to be injured in battle against Gramoflanz356. Her hatred –
born from her triuwe and minne towards Cidegast – has caused the cataclysm in the spiritual
world of the Grail, yet she states that she mourned equally or even more for King Anfortas357.
She, in her condition of courtly lady, has done what she could to assuage her grief; i.e., she
instrumentalised knights to avenge her. This hatred of Orgeluse is even recognized by
Gramoflanz himself; for, when coming face-to-face with Gawan; he states, «’Her anger against
me is unabated, and indeed she has overriding cause (…)’ ([…] si kan noch zornes walden
gein mir. Ouch twinget si des nôt […]: 606,4-5)»358.
After the couple share a night of love-sport, we find Orgeluse somewhat tamed by
Gawan’s love; however, I employ the term “somewhat” because she is not yet willing to let her
hatred be fully subdued.
When they are at the court of Arthur, Arthur recognises that he has sent men against her,
helping therefore Gramoflanz. Orgeluse, for the minne she now feels for Gawan, is willing to
let this affront be forgotten; however, she upbraids Arthur in this fashion:
« You never had my greeting or favour. You may have done me some harm without my having deserved
it. Since you have come and attacked me, may God show you how to make amends. You have ridden out to the
aid of a man who, had he fought with me, would have found me defenceless and thrust at me on the open side! If
he wants to renew the contest, it will be done without swords! »359
The Duchess here admonishes Arthur for allying with her nemesis and conducting
sorties against her knights – an act that she asserts as undeserving. She speaks out of hatred
against Arthur – and indeed, against Gramoflanz – but this hatred is ultimately assuaged by her
stating that she will agree to release the men who attacked her if Arthur does the same. I speak
Another issue that is brought to light by these assertions is her knights’ actions; that is, their apparent
ineffectiveness. They patrol the border of Logroys and keep attentive eyes on Gramoflanz, yet they did nothing to
rescue their sovereign once she was kidnapped. We cannot know for sure if they did not act simply because they
knew not the whereabouts of Orgeluse, if they were ineffectual in their rescue expedition or if they did nothing out
of fear of death at the hands of the highly skilled Gramoflanz. Either way, it is an interesting – albeit possibly
irrelevant and speculative – small point in this passage.
356
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book XII,
page 309
357
Idem, ibidem, Book XII, page 309.
358
Idem, ibidem, Book XII, page 304.
359
Idem, ibidem, Book XIII, page 336.
104
of hatred in this passage because Orgeluse sees in this alliance between Arthur and Gramoflanz
a personal attack against her person – one that could lead to her death. Arthur, in the quality of
King, should strive to maintain order and serve as intermediary to right the wrongs perpetrated
by his subjects and allies, especially those against women – as he has done with Urjans, for
example – and not further them. By associating with Gramoflanz and moving against Orgeluse,
Arthur has not only assailed a woman – a woman who is a sovereign nonetheless – but also
vied to further the injustice(s) Orgeluse was subjected to.
Her hatred figures on the opus one last time; when the Duchess is again face to face with
Parzival – the man who unhorsed so many of her knightly host and decline her offering of both
love and land.
When she is asked by Gawan to share her plate with Parzival, his blood-relative, she
retorts: « Are you going to recommend a man to me who rails at us women? (…) How shall I
look after such a man? »360. She has clearly not forgotten his actions – nor has she forgiven him
–; she rails at Gawan. One can understand her hatred towards Parzival in the light of the
chivalric duties. That is to say, a knight must, above all, strive to maintain peace and harmony
in the world and help those in need, especially when women are concerned. If we recall, for
instance, Gawan’s adventure for the sake of Obilot in Book VII, we can understand Orgeluse’s
hatred. Gawan went out of his way (and received no substantial lôn for his minnedienst, for
Obilot was a child and, therefore, incapable of conceding a suiting lôn) to settle the issue
between Meljanz, Lippaut and Obie. He did not refuse Obilot because of her tender age nor was
he dissuaded in his enterprise by Obie’s remarks; he resolved the whole imbroglio in order to
bring harmony to the world. Orgeluse expected the same from Parzival; she seems most affected
by the fact that he would not help her relieve herself of the issue with Gramoflanz – for it is,
above all, a question of justice. Nevertheless, she continues by saying that: « (…) I shall attend
to his needs, since you command it. »361; she does not forgive Parzival for his attitude towards
her, nevertheless, she is assuaged by Gawan’s love (i.e., being subservient to him) and dwells
not further on the matter.
Orgeluse of Logroys has progressed in the role she adopts throughout her itinerary in
the narrative, effectively adopting fully the role of a courtly lady at last. Her vicious hatred –
the very emotion that motivated her to verge on transgressing her ideal gender role for minne
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). ‘Parzival – translated by Arthur T. Hatto’. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Book XIV,
page 348.
361
Idem, ibidem, Book XIV, page 348.
360
105
and triuwe to her dead beau and to drive knights to infamy and peril – has, at the very last, been
quenched.
106
3.4 Brief observations on the expressions of hatred in Kriemhilt and
Orgeluse – similarities and disparities
As we have seen throughout these two previous chapters, both Orgeluse and Kriemhilt
illustrate their hatred differently from each other. More than that, it clear that Kriemhilt has far
more instances of expressing her hatred than Orgeluse does. However, we must keep in mind
that Kriemhilt’s actions span over almost the entirety of ‘Das Nibelungenlied’; Orgeluse, on
the other hand, has a very limited (and very scarce) presence in ‘Parzival’ when compared to
Kriemhilt in her respective poem.
I shall begin by resuming two concepts that I have discoursed about at length before –
the locus amoenus and the locus horrendus. As I have established previously, the locus amoenus
is the locale which potentiates the proneness to minne in a courtly lady; by contrast, the locus
horrendus is the setting that signifies/demonstrate the potential for a woman to feel hatred.
Concerning the two characters in question, we can observe an inversion of their position.
Kriemhilt, after the death of Siegfried, proceeds to confine herself to her mansion and only
leaves it to attend mass. Though the mansion in which she lies in gloom is not, per se, this locus
horrendus, she is indeed isolating herself from the natural environment of the courtly lady – the
court. However, we may find the locus horrendus elsewhere – in Etzel’s court. Though it is
frequented by knights and nobles like Dietrich, Rudiger, Wolfhart and Iring, the majority of its
population is made up of Huns and warriors from other places. On the surface, it seems as if it
were a utopian society – a haven where Pagans and Christians warriors boldly live and fight
side by side; however, the bulk of the combatants have less-than-ideal traits.
Throughout the Burgundians’ stay in Etzelnburg, we are presented with multiple –
mostly unnamed – characters and these individuals seem, for the lack of better words, utter
cowards. Whenever Kriemhilt sways them to attack the Burgundians – namely Hagen and
Volker – they obey; only to, when confronted with the nobles from Worms, lose all will to fight
and retreat. Etzelnburg, though replete with warriors who have received ample wealth from the
Queen, is not an ideal courtly world; Kriemhilt is denied of her vengeance time and time again
by her supposedly courageous vassals and she lives mostly in sorrow and mourning. She has
little affection for all people and even for her own son and husband. Her environment, more
than being a vehicle to convey her state of mind, galvanises even more her animosity and her
longing for her long-lost dragon-slayer.
107
In stark contrast, Orgeluse’s own hatred is steadily subdued as she draws closer to
returning to the courtly world. It is, in fact, right before she is taken to Schastel Marveil that
she has her first true demonstrations of minne towards Gawan. It is also inside the court of
Schastel Marveil that she not only allows the knight from Norway to place his hand over hers
but also accedes to and even volunteers to fully concede him minne; i.e., she gives him her
virginity and engages in health-restoring love-sport with Gawan.
Here she “uncloisters” her minne to Gawan, however, this same minne is, in fact, illicit;
she has yet to acknowledge him as her husband publicly. However, theirs is not a passing affair;
the illicit nature of their relationship is rectified at Arthur’s court when the Duchess declares
Gawan as her spouse. In the secular realm of the Arthurian mythos, there is arguably no better
ideal courtly world than Arthur’s own court; his court is the centre of the world and the most
prominent one in all the land – therefore, it makes sense that Orgeluse chooses this environment
to publicly and legally acknowledge the master of Terre Marveile as her lord. But now that this
first discrepancy is highlighted, let us return to the true object of this section – the demonstration
of hatred by Kriemhilt and Orgeluse.
The very first token of hatred that Kriemhilt presents is her clothes; specifically dressing
lavishly to humiliate Brunhild at the entrance of the Cathedral. This gesture – originally a
gesture of minne – suffers an inversion; it is directed towards illustrating her hatred. It is not
the only token of minne that suffers a transformation in its inherent positive symbiology; the
Queen of Xanten also employs in this scene two objects that concern minne – the ring and the
girdle – to smirch Brunhild’s honour before the entirety of Worm’s noble families. She exploits
these symbols to sow doubt over Brunhild and to vilify her; she is successful in her endeavours
and leaves the Burgundian Queen utterly distraught.
After the death of the King of Xanten, Kriemhilt uses yet another gesture that is
intrinsically linked with minne towards her hatred – I speak, of course, of distributing riches.
Whereas Kriemhilt once distributed valuable possessions to messengers who brought her good
tidings concerning Siegfried (even doing so to Siegfried himself) or for the soul of her lost
husband, the Queen now showers all warriors that are bound to Etzel with affluent gifts in an
attempt to instrumentalise them for her possible forthcoming revenge. She does not stop here
in her path to attain vengeance; Kriemhilt even assumes a subservient, loving manner towards
Etzel – though her true feelings are exposed both by the poet (in the scene where she lies in
Etzel’s arms, amidst his caresses) and by particular actions (she places her hand over Etzel at
108
the wedding feast, a surreptitious action that betrays her intentions). When the Burgundians
arrive, she becomes increasingly more vocal about her aim; she instrumentalises her tears to get
Etzel’s vassals to join the fray; she pleads and bargains with various knights at Etzel’s court to
act violently on her behalf and she effectively begins the horrific slaughter by ushering Bloedel
to attack the Burgundian squires.
When the tide of battle turns to favour the nobles from Worms, she again
instrumentalises precious gifts to see her opponents fall; with this she motivates Iring to enter
the battle and debases herself in performing the duties of a squire when the knight succeeds in
wounding Hagen. When she can no longer rely on material compensations, Kriemhilt turns to
Rudiger, specifically reminding him of his oaths of loyalty towards her, and urges him to defend
her cause.
By the end of the poem, the slaughter draws to a close and Kriemhilt receives from the
sorrow-laden Dietrich her remaining enemies in shackles. Though at first assuring the noble of
Verona that no harm will come to the hostages, she – now fully steeped in hatred and very
explicit about her intentions – proceeds to have her brother beheaded and, when stymied one
final time by Hagen, to decapitate her mortal foe with Siegfried’s sword.
Kriemhilt’s progressive demonstrations of hatred process very much like her
unravelling of minne – that is to say, it is very gradual. She is, at first, extremely secretive and,
as the conflict drags on, she comes to lose all her restraint concerning hatred. She, little by little,
abandons her ideal role as a courtly lady – she effectively transgresses her role and, in the final
instances of the poem, she proceeds to act like a man and to exact blutrache on her nemesis.
Just as there is an “uncloistering” of minne, there is also an “uncloistering” of hatred in the
Queen – one that is heralded since the opening lines of the poem and one that is paved by
constant inversions of symbols of minne. She gradually leaves the schemes and plots behind,
she progressively becomes a man and – in the end – pays with her life her ultimate act of
vengeance. If Kriemhilt has consecutively escalating bouts of hatred, Orgeluse, on the other
hand, experiences a diametrically inverted path.
In fact, Orgeluse is extremely vocal when it comes to express her hatred towards Gawan;
she verbally abuses and demeans him multiple times throughout her itinerary in the romance
and laughs at his misfortune. But for the most part, when she vocalises her hatred, one finds it
somewhat softened by the poet – namely in his references to her beauty.
109
There are, indeed, some instances of pure hatred; when the Duchess tightens her wimple
on her head the narrator is the first to point out that she seems to be attiring herself to battle.
And, when she first rides out to follow Gawan, Wolfram cannot help but noting that she rides
like a man-at-arms towards Lot’s son; a man that means to fight and unhorse the knight from
Norway. But, and contrary to Kriemhilt, she comes to accept and cherish Gawan; her telos
comes to fruition in a harmonic endinging. Though we can find some instances of hatred in
Orgeluse’s character, they become gradually less and lessened as Gawan’s action progresses.
Her ultimate sign of conversion to the conventional role of minnedame comes when she decides
to solve her dispute with Gramoflanz in amicable terms; therefore, for her part, ending the
conflict that brought about the cataclysm of the spiritual world in ‘Parzival’.
The final point that must be address concerns the nature of each character’s itinerary in
the light of the knightly âventiure.
Kriemhilt, in the first half of the poem, is not the de facto motivator of Siegfried’s deeds;
that is to say, she does not choose herself his quests and – aside from his battle with the Danes
and the Saxons – the dragon-slayer’s exploits bear little resemblance to the conventional
knightly quest. He is employed by the Burgundian nobles – not Kriemhilt – to do their bidding
and it is Kriemhilt’s brother that allures him with promises of giving him Kriemhilt in order to
retain him and to make him debase himself for Gunther’s own plans.
In the second half of ‘Das Nibelungenlied’, Kriemhilt has a more active role in seeking
out knights to carry out her commands; however, the Queen is consecutively stymied – be it
because of cowardice of her vassals or because of the death of her liegemen. Her hatred comes
undone time and time again and these denials only seem to turn it more violent and to further
it.
Orgeluse, by contrast, has much more of a conventional knightly âventiure. She has
many knights but only Gawan seems capable and dextrous enough to carry out her will. She
dictates his quests directly, she uses her own love to concoct her revenge directly and she places
herself high above Gawan’s reach by denying him her affections. She becomes a present figure
throughout his quest for her love and, when she deems him worthy of her minne she herself
decides to reward him with it.
The Duchess remains unchained to any male figure other than her fallen would-be
husband, she defies societal norms and conventions, she defines her own rules and her own
110
terms and imposes them on her subservient knight; yet she has the most conventional knightly
âventiure of the two characters contemplated in this dissertation.
One can attribute this discrepancy to the contrasting literary genres in which each opus
is included; though ‘Das Nibelungenlied’ is streamlined to imitate the courtly romance, it still
retains much of its heroic epos origins; right down to its characters and the duality between preChristian and Christian society and values. On the contrary, Wolfram’s ‘Parzival’ is very much
a conventional knightly romance; it has the archetypical knightly quest, it is anchored in a
Christian society and its values and – in the specific case of Wolfram himself – seems to value
immensely life, conventional knightly values, a good relationship with God, minne and
harmony in marriage.
111
Final Considerations
As I have asserted in the first chapter of the present dissertation, women as characters
in medieval literature in Middle-High German are very much reliant on their gender role. There
seems to be some semblance of concurrence concerning the notion of “ideal courtly lady” that
is transversal to both Wolfram and the ‘Das Nibelungenlied’ poet; a concept that is irrevocably
linked with the optimal or positive female gender role as it was conceived by the men of the
time. This notion is supported by the uniformity of the actions, words, descriptions and traits
present in the multitude of female characters referred – and especially in the case of both
Kriemhilt and Orgeluse – when they act the part of an archetypal minnedame. To be a
minnedame is to be a high-born, complacent, obedient, dependent, beautiful inspirer of both
knightly deeds and love – in short, to be in conformity with the social and cultural notion of the
female gender of the time. These prerequisites do mark, for the most part, not only their
disposition (or future disposition) for minne but also their capacity for a harmonious future in
marriage. However, Kriemhilt and Orgeluse stand out from the rest of the female characters
that I have singled out because of their – actual or potential – transgression of the female gender
role.
The Queen of Xanten and the Duchess of Logroys therefore adapt another role – one
that stands very much outside of the aforementioned convention –; that of a “warrior-like
maiden”. A “warrior-like maiden” has nothing but contempt and scorn for the world and the
social and cultural conventions in it; she continuously attempts to shape and subjugate all to her
will – directly or indirectly – and she knows no restraint nor bounds to attain what she desires.
Kriemhilt’s change is, at first, a very nuanced and contained one when it comes to actions. She
does not shy away from showing her utter grief at the loss of her husband; however, when she
moves to Etzelnburg, she resorts to a multiplicity of subterfuges to achieve her vengeance. Her
change, albeit gradual, seems to progressively escalate more and more as she is constantly
thwarted by those around her – and these constant frustrations lead her to effectively transgress
her role as a minnedame and to take matters (quite literally) into her own hands. Orgeluse
follows a diametrically inverted path. She starts as a minnedame that ever verges on
transgressing her gender role and adopting the “warrior-like maiden” topos but her violent side
is consequently softened by her knight’s actions. She is a very dominant female character – and
an openly defying one, at that – nevertheless, her itinerary throughout ‘Parzival’ ends with her
fully acknowledging her nature and her role as a courtly lady.
112
After addressing the issue of the ideal and the derided gender roles that women adopt in
medieval literature in Middle-High German and ascertaining their main traits and
characteristics, I have proceeded to the veritable core of the present dissertation in the second
chapter – that of the codification (or, better yet, the decoding) of the two pivotal emotions that
rule each topos; minne and hatred. minne is demonstrated by both characters in words, thoughts
and actions alike – albeit not always in unanimous fashion.
Kriemhilt expresses her minne mainly through her dazzling looks, her splendid
garments, her generosity, her loving gazes and her loyalty. She experiences a process of
“uncloistering” regarding to minne; she begins as someone who is unreceptive to love but
gradually comes to realise it in its full force. When she is robbed of her husband, her minne is
further illustrated in the depths of her mourning – she weeps in never-ending sorrow, she has
constant swoons, she insists in kissing the deceased King one last time before he is interred and,
finally, by isolating herself from the gaiety and comfort of the court.
Orgeluse, on the other hand, is much more surreptitious with her expressions of minne.
Although at first feeling completely despondent, Orgeluse shows little of her true feelings or
motivations – she is very dominant and her actions and words do not betray her innermost
thoughts. Her minne – that is, her potential for minne – is first conveyed through the assertions
of Wolfram; his descriptions of her physiognomy (her nearly unparalleled beauty and her sweet
mouth) provide stark contrast to the words the Duchess utters. Unlike Kriemhilt, however, her
attire is never described; this reluctance by Wolfram to elaborate on her garments is highly
functional, for it only contributes to the ennoblement of Orgeluse’s alluringly good looks and,
consequently, her potential for minne. Her demonstrations of minne are more apparent as the
narrative progresses; she weeps for the concern of Gawan’s well-being, she allows him to touch
her, she subjects herself to his will, she concedes carnal love to him and, finally, she fully
acknowledges him publicly as her spouse. But, and above all, the supreme demonstration of her
minne lies in letting her hatred and her previous sorrow at the loss of her previous predilect
knight – her primary motivations – be assuaged by the minne she develops for Gawan.
In the following chapter, I attempted to systematised the concept of hatred in these
literary works; I ascertained that hatred is always bound to – and, indeed, stems from – a
plurality of previous emotions. These starting emotions may be either “positive” or “negative”;
however, where ladies are concerned, hatred seems to originate from a “positive” emotion. I
also discoursed at length not only on some of the multitude of Middle-High German
113
words/terms/expressions that imply or convey hatred and their specific meanings but also
recognised that hatred may be optimally used to translate said words/terms/expressions –
making hatred an umbrella term par excellence for describing and communicating (sometimes
more accurately than not) these emotions successfully. Concerning the expressions of hatred
per se in Orgeluse and Kriemhilt, I have noted that both characters show hatred in a somewhat
dissimilar fashion.
Kriemhilt, for her part, tends to pervert her demonstrations of minne and utilise them
towards hatred; she resorts to tears, to material riches, to the sovereignty of her husband, and to
oaths of loyalty to enforce her will on the world and to move others to act for her. She is far
less inclined to show her hatred; however, she steeps deeper and deeper in it. And although
consecutively stymied, she does not relent; her Blutrache leads to the destruction of the two
main courts of the opus and to her death – a death that she ultimately brought upon herself by
decapitating the murderer of her husband.
Orgeluse, by comparison, is far more vocal with her hatred; she humiliates constantly
Gawan, she forces him to face her knights, she laces her wimple as if it were a helmet and
proceeds to ride like a man going into war. However, she – very much like Kriemhilt,
instrumentalises her minne and the minne of others to achieve her vengeance. Her constant
vindictive musings are gracefully endured by King Lot’s son and the challenges she places
before him are welcomed. Her hatred is, nevertheless, resolved in a manner very much befitting
of the courtly world she is part of; she redeems her moral and social faults and returns to her
role of Minnedame.
In summary, throughout this analysis of the codification of minne and hatred, I could
ascertain the following: each emotion has its own rich trove of conventional gestures and
expressions that seem to be well established in the collective mind of the authors (however, in
the case of hatred, some of minne’s inherent symbols may be and are instrumentalised to
articulate/potentiate hatred in some instances); both minne and hatred are dissimilarly felt and
demonstrated by men and women (and that even some discrepancies can arise when comparing
two women of different narratives); hatred in women is always the result of an actual
action/intention not the product of negative emotions; that women are relatively free to
feel/experience negative emotions but, however, cannot act motivated by them; there are two
main archetypal gender roles that women adopt in this literary genre, an ideal – and veritably
idealised – role that is the Minnedame or “courtly lady” and the less-than-favourable and man-
114
mannered “warrior-like maiden” and these aforementioned roles are intrinsically linked not
only to medieval social and cultural norms but also to the dominant emotion in each woman.
Through this analysis have I gained a new insight and some experience on identifying
the main emotions that motivate women in the analysed works and their signs and symbols;
likewise, the research for the present dissertation redoubled my profound predilection for these
two narratives and has instilled in me a particular interest to extend my analysis to other literary
works (and other female characters) in Middle-High German – especially Wolfram von
Eschenbach’s ‘Willehalm’ and Gottfried von Strassburg’s ‘Tristan’ – in order to further test,
enrich and expand the models I have devised here.
Over the course of my research I found other thought-provoking issues and themes that
both captivated my interest and intrigued me – which I intend to address in the near future. One
of them was already mentioned in the first chapter of the present dissertation – the three stages
that women undergo in medieval courtly literature in Middle-High German, i.e., commodities
– wives – matrons. I am especially interested in this very last stage, for it is (as I have pointed
out in the first chapter) a very uncommon one.
While analysing ‘Parzival’ – specifically Gawan’s adventures – I have noticed that
Wolfram presents various cases (actually, various types) of illicit or somewhat reproachable
love. For instance, Gawan’s narration of the rape of a maiden by Urjans, the malformed or
strange people that inhabit Queen Secundille’s land or Clinshor’s own promiscuous dalliances
with the Queen of Sicily and more – all appear to function as a “catalogue of illicit love” of
sorts. Though Wolfram does not shy away from employing burlesque (and even erotic) imagery
and themes, this constant reference to various kinds of love-encounters that are less-than-noble
seem very much deliberate and seem to have a specific purpose.
Another subject that held my attention numerous times concerns the naming of the
characters; particularly the names applied to male characters as equivalents to their own name.
For instance, I have noticed that Siegfried is alternately dubbed as «Sieglinde’s son» and
«Sigmund’s son»; likewise, Gawan is referred to as “King Lot’s son” several times and even
Parzival himself is called by the narrator «Gahmuret’s son» on more than one occasion. I
theorise that these phenomena – seemingly akin to kennings and heiti from Scandinavian and
Anglo-Saxon literature, in a sense – are literary devices consciously employed by the poets to
demonstrate, highlight or accentuate the male character’s ruling emotion and overall role in that
specific event or passage.
115
The final issues that I would like to address in the near future are the shared similarities
between the symbols used in courtly literature in Middle-High German and Scandinavian
poetry. For instance, the question of the ring as a sign of love being instrumentalised to convey
a message of hatred, the symbols of justice (like the sword across the lap), the precious metals
(and its colours) and stones that the poets resort to in order to aggrandise the characters in the
poems and – more specifically – the metaphors and allegories to the natural world employed
by the poets to demonstrate the value/high rank/importance of a specific central individual.
116
Bibliography
F., & S., T. (1996). Arthurian Women - A Casebook. New York & London: Garland Publishing,
Inc.
Alighieri, D. (2011). A Divina Comédia. Lisboa: Quetzal Editores.
Anonymous. (2004). The Nibelungenlied - Translated by Arthur T. Hatto. London: Penguin
Books Ltd.
Das Nibelungenlied. (2005). Ditzingen: Reclams Universal-Bibliothek.
Duby, G. (1997). Women of The Twelft Century. Chicago, USA: Polity Press & University of
Chicago Press in association with Blackwell Publishers Ltd. .
Eschenbach, W. v. (2004). Parzival - Translated by Arthur T. Hatto. London: Penguin Books
Ltd.
Eschenbach, W. v. (2005). Parzival - Band 2. Ditzingen: Reclams Universal-Bibliothek.
Gibbs, M. E. (1972). Wîplîchez Wîbes Reht. USA: Duquesne University .
Gibbs, M. E., & Johnson, S. M. (1997). "Heroic" Poetry. Em M. E. Gibbs, & S. M. Johnson,
Medieval German Literature - A Companion (pp. 205-223). New York & London:
Garland Publishing Inc.
Greenfield, J. (2000). A Morte da Mulher Na Literatura Alemã Medieval: Algumas
Considerações Sobre A Figura de Kriemhild em Das Nibelungenlied. Revista da
Faculdade de Letras «LINGUAS E LITERATURAS», XVII, pp. 363-388.
Hasty, W. (1999). A Companion to Wolfram's 'Parzival'. Columbia, USA: Camden House, .
Haymes, E. R. (1986). The Nibelungenlied - History and Interpretation. Urbana & Chicago:
University of Illinois Press.
Larrington, C. (2014). The Poetic Edda. Oxford, United Kingdom: Oxford University Press.
Lewis, C. (1958). The Allegory of Love. New York, USA: Oxford University Press.
Makoto, U. (1993). Japanese Poetry. Em A. Preminger, T. Brogan, F. J. Warke, O. B. Hardison
Jr., & E. Miner, The New Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics (pp. 657-665).
Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press.
Miranda, J. C. (2005). DA FIN’AMORS COMO REPRESENTAÇÃO DA SOCIEDADE
ARISTOCRÁTICA OCCITÂNICA. Em M. d. Carvalho, & M. d. Henriques, Amar de
Novo. Participações no Ciclo de Conferências da Associação de Professores de
Filosofia "O Amor na Idade Média" (pp. 123-150). Porto: Fundação Engenheiro
António de Almeida.
Smith, L. (2000). Courtly Love. Em C. Lindahl, J. Mcnamara, & J. Lindow, Medieval Folklore
- An Encyclopedia of Myths, Legends, Tales, Beliefs And Customs (pp. 189-195). Santa
Barbara, California; Denver, Colorado & Oxford, England: ABC-CLIO.
117
Smith, L. (2000). Unicorn. In C. Lindahl, J. Mcnamara, & J. Lidown, Medieval Folklore - An
Encyclopedia of Myths, Legends, Tales, Beliefs, And Customs; Volume II (p. 1011).
Santa Barbara, California: ABC-CLIO, Inc.
Tax, P. W. (1986). Hartmann von Aue. Em N. J. Lacy, G. Ashe, S. N. Ihle, M. E. Kalinke, &
R. H. Thompson, The Arthurian Encyclopedia (pp. 269-273). New York & London:
Garland Publishing, Inc.
Vinyoles, T. (1992). El Discurso De Las Mujeres Medievales Sobre El Amor. La Voz Del
Silencio I (Siglos VIII-XVIII (pp. 131-149). Madrid: A.C. AL-MUDAYNA.
Westphal-Wihl, S. (2010). Orgeluse and the Trial for Rape at the Court of King Arthur:
"Parzival" 521, 19 to 529, 16. . Em Arthuriana, 20(3) (pp. 81 - 109). Indiana:
Scriptorium Press.
118