No Good Wife

There is an almost comical moment in chapter 11 of The Book of Margery Kempe when her husband asks her “whether you [Margery] would allow my head to be cut off, or else allow me to make love with you again, as I did at one time?” When she replies, “Truly, I would rather see you being killed, than that we should turn back our uncleanness,” it seems he is justified in telling her “you are no good wife.”

This small scene evoked from me two responses to Margery’s devotion to God. The first, and more likely intended response was: wow, that’s an intense love of God. However, my second though was: Well, she might resent this guy who got her pregnant 14 times, and not that she’s seeking revenge, but seeing him go might not be a heartbreaker. Of course in the end, Margery cares for her husband preceding his death, thus to a certain extent proving a defense to both my second reaction, and her husband’s allegation that she is a no good wife.

The Book of Margery Kempe seems as much about self-expression as it is self-defense. The third person provides an interesting lens through which to view her spiritual autobiography. While it appears to be a revealing third person account and the reader is aware of emotional struggles etc. the view of a third person narrator gives a sense of remove from Margery that a first person account would not provide. Rather than seeing through Margery Kempe’s eyes, we are focused on Margery Kempe. While I would not argue that this third person account is objective, it does seem to assert authority by at least posing as more than her personal view of the world.

Silence of Men

In the end Silence appears to be rewarded for her loyalty. The king is actually fairly explicit in saying “Silence, know that you have saved yourself / by your loyal actions (6636-6637).” Loyalty thus is held in high virtue by the poem.

It is interesting that by remaining quiet Silence’s loyalty is displayed in contrast to the queen’s disloyalty. (Perhaps this suggests that silence itself can be revealing, as if silence is a nonverbal statement of sorts). When the poet discusses Queen Eufeme and her lover’s executions, her lover is referred to as the nun—even though in reality he is neither a nun nor even female. While this execution implies that both men and women are subject to loyalty and the consequences of disloyalty, the use of language (the reference to the man as “nun”) only seems to implicate and pass judgment women.

On the one hand, the praise of Silence and her loyalty seems to be positive for women. However, the poet outright says that doing the right thing comes unnaturally to women, making Silence a sort of anomaly. It is as if to say she is as brave valiant and loyal as a man, how bizarre.

The conclusion makes no straightforward judgment of men, rather men seem to be used as a comparison to the women. It is curious that while loyalty affects both women and men (the nun in this case) the men are left in the silence of the poet. The silence seems to suggest that men are inherently more loyal than women. This seems to be achieved through the indirect description of men (“a woman has less motivation” (6588)), by cues of being opposite of the women that the poet directly addresses. Therefore, silence again seems to make a statement.

Dear Uncle, what ails you?

In contrast to The Nibelungenlied, Parzival seems to end on a hopeful note. Anfortas is relieved of his suffering, Condwiramurs and Parzival are reunited, and Feirefiz falls in love. When the question is finally revealed, I was thrilled to see that it returned to the concept of compassion, a concept Parzival perhaps mastered in the end.

What seemed particularly compelling and refreshing through the reading of Parzival was the compassion displayed in the “othered” or “monstrous” characters. Of course Cundrie is described in quite animalistic terms (“Her nose was like a dog’s…Cundrie’s ears resembled a bear’s…p. 163) which makes her physically monstrous, but her temperament is nothing like Grendel’s mother or Morgan Le Fey, who have intentions of being destructive. As we’ve discussed in class, Cundrie understands the disposition Parzival must demonstrate in order to find the graal.

Likewise, another character who is physically othered is Feirefiz, with his magpie complexion. In the fight scene between Parzival and Feirefiz we see a form of compassion from Feirefiz when Parzival’s sword breaks; instead of killing Parzival he calls a truce. Perhaps the loophole in the argument of Feirefiz’s compassion would be the reference to “the hand of Him on high. May He avert their dying! (p. 371)” Either way, I am compelled the “infidel was magnanimous” whether it was inspired by God or not (p. 371).

And while it would be difficult to conflate these two characters into a single race (based on physical appearance and background) their physical “otherness” would bring them into a category separate from Parzival himself. However, if otherness translates to a category and perhaps a simple understanding of race, this particular picture painted by Wolfram and translated to our modern views could be hopeful; both Parzival and the “others” share an understanding of compassion. If there is compassion between categories, perhaps we end in hope.

Atonement

It seemed appropriate that just after Parzival is chastised by his cousin for not asking “the question” he bumps into the scanty covered Jeschute who is running from her husband Orilus. Of course many years earlier Parzival caused lady Jeschute much pain and suffering when, in youthful ignorance, he ate her food and stole her jewels.

In the two encounters thus far with Parzival’s cousin, Sigune, she seems to unwittingly direct him toward his future. In their first encounter she informs him of who he is, and points in a direction away from her lover’s killer that just so happens to lead to Arthur’s court. In Parzival’s next encounter with Sigune she seems to send him off in a state of dispair. However this is perhaps his beginning path towards the graal?

If so, it therefore seems appropriate that Parzival bumps into Jeschute; his actions with her seem to be a sort of blemish of his past. It might be unlikely that Parzival could achieve the graal with this sin hanging over his head. Although this situation does not seem to be the highly planned test we saw in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, it does seem to be a chance for atonement for Parzival. And it may be that only because he is able to reconcile Jeschute and Orilus, he can move forward towards his goal.

Girdle Power

In both the Nibelungenlied and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight a girdle has a major impact in the action of the story. In Sir Gawain and the Green Knight the green girdle almost leads to Gawain's demise, but only ends up being a symbol of his deceit and fear. In the Nibelungenlied Brunhild’s girdle becomes a strong piece of the argument between Brunhild and Kriemhild. It is, of course, this argument that leads to the ultimate destruction.

Why is it that a woman’s intimate garment can cause so much trouble for our medieval friends? While the green girdle does not seem quite as treacherous as Brunhild’s girdle (perhaps because the green girdle was given away and Brunhild’s was forcefully taken…) it is still a source of guilt for Gawain. However the significant difference in treachery seems to be that the green girdle does not come from a monstrous woman, just a lady. And while the green girdle may or may not have magical power, it does not cause problems nearly as severe as Brunhild’s girdle does.

The female presence seems different in the Nibelungenlied compared to Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Of course Morgan swoops in at the end but she’s no Kriemhild. Morgan only fails to kill Guenevere, she does not incite the slaughter-fest of two entire kingdoms. It thus seems that the treachery of Brunhild’s girdle highlights the monstrosity of women who do not fit social expectations and take revenge. The girdle was taken from a quasi-monstrous figure, Brunhild, and ultimately reveals the most beautiful woman in the land, Kriemhild, as monstrous. Perhaps the girdle as an intimate garment is able to reveal the most personal traits.

Sir Gawain the Other

I found the end of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight to be a curious triumph for Sir Gawain. Gawain seems to display noble behavior throughout the poem, he steps up and somewhat courageously takes the Green Knight’s challenge, he keeps his promise and seeks out the Green Knight a year later, and he honors his deal with Lord Bertilak until the green girdle is introduced.

To me the green girdle is a humanizing moment where he follows human instinct instead of perfect knightly behavior. It seems as though fear was always in the background (who wouldn’t be at least a bit afraid of a beheading Green Knight?), however it wasn’t the authority directing Gawain’s decisions—he was pursuing the Green Knight regardless. It seems in the moment he decides to take the green girdle he went from being idyllic—a sort of other—to human. And perhaps this complexity is one of the brilliant achievements of this poem, Gawain who is a type of other becomes one of us.

In the end, although Gawain’s life is spared, we aren’t presented with a traditional triumph or tragedy. There is no fight, no blood, no struggle. Again, this pulls Gawain closer to human than was the dragon slaying Beowulf, perhaps. It’s almost ironic that it all ends in Gawain realizing that he was acting on human instinct, not living up to the reputation of Arthur’s knights. These ironic strands of Gawain’s shame are teased even further when the court laughs and all decide to wear a green sash in honor of his adventure. Perhaps this is the poet revealing his suspicion of ideal Knightly behavior.

Chivalric Code vs. The Law

In the Carle of Carlisle I was fascinated by Sir Gawain’s immense courtesy to the Carle, especially after Jeffery Jerome Cohen pointed out that this courtesy “is synonymous with unthinking obedience” (161). Cohen also points out that Sir Gawain partakes in gluttony, lust, and homicide, which are all prohibited in chivalric code.

While gluttony, lust, and homicide sound like a good old medieval time, it doesn’t seem that Sir Gawain was merely rolling his dice in Vegas; he was very particularly following the desires of his host. My big question becomes why? Why would Sir Gawain show courtesy to a monster of sorts? Doesn’t chivalric code trump monster favors? In the end I was convinced otherwise.

This poem seems to suggest that following the rules and laws of the realm a knight enters is more important than the values of the chivalric code. When Sir Gawain and the other knights first enter the Carle’s castle they are met by a bear, boar, bull, and lion. The Carle immediately asserts himself as their ruler by commanding the animals to stop snarling, and the animals follow his orders. The knights are very clearly on the Carle's turf.

Sir Gawain seems to follow the animals lead, obeying the desires of the Carle. Because Sir Gawain shows this courtesy to the Carle instead of following chivalric code (and in the end is rewarded with his life) it seems the poem might be making the statement that following the codes of a particular realm while within that realm is more important than the values of chivalry.

Is a Monster a Monster?

In Jane Chance’s article The Structural Unity of Beowulf she suggests that the attempt of Grendel’s mother to avenge his death would be justified if she were human and male. This got me thinking. It seems to me that being a human is the more weighted of these two characteristics, as I find it unlikely that a mass-murdering-monster’s father could avenge his son’s death with no consequence. On the other hand, could a human mother avenge her son’s death with no consequence? I’m not sure. Perhaps I’m being unfair—not all monsters are of the Grendel human eating troupe. However, it still seems more probable that the mother could avenge without consequence—Being human matters.

But this is really neither here nor there. What I find most interesting is Beowulf’s treatment of the two monsters. As victims, both Grendel and his mother are beheaded. There is no distinction based on sex. To me this starts to suggest that monster is the defining characteristic, and gender takes the backseat.

In line 1393 Beowulf also fails to use the correctly gendered pronoun to describe Grendel’s mother. Beowulf says “he will find no protection” when referring to Grendel’s mother. This further suggests that monster is the focus, and gender the background.

Finally, Beowulf underestimates Grendel’s mother when he says “The horror was less / by as much as a maiden’s strength / a woman’s warfare, is less than an armed man’s” (1281-1284). As we know, the battle with Grendel’s mother is more treacherous that the battle with Grendel himself. Perhaps Grendel’s mother not fitting the medieval female stereotype indicates her monster trait weighs more.

Of course this is not to say that gender does not add complexity to this monster! It is just to point out that Grendel’s mother doesn’t receive much special treatment as a result of her gender. But in the end, perhaps for a female that is special treatment in and of itself.

What is Grendel Anyway?

A giant man eating monster, whom like Cain, was exiled by God. Yes, that much we know. The poet tells us that Grendel is a “fiend from hell” (101), and a “grim spirit” (102)—In short, a no nonsense evil to the bone kind of guy. But what drove him into the throat-slitting-blood-drinking-flesh-gobbling business?

Is Grendel a pagan—the same force that Roland and Charlemagne were to overcome (with the help of God himself of course)? Well, Grendel is called the “foe of mankind” (164), and Beowulf’s pre-game wrestling match discussion, “let the wise Lord grant the judgment of glory…to whichever hand seems proper” suggests that God was on the side of Beowulf, the victor in the fight. According to the Roland model, it would appear that Grendel is the pagan to be conquered.

However, it seems that paganism is not the corrupting force in Grendel. In fact, some of Grendel’s potential prey “offered honor to idols at pagan temples” (175-176). The poet then explains that “they did not know the Lord God, ore even how to praise the heavenly Protector” (181-182) and asserts his Christian opinion. Because the poet is taking the time to assert these opinions outside of the monster, it suggests Grendel’s downfall may not of the pagan variety.

Luizza argues that Beowulf is a Christian poem about Pagans that avoids automatic condemnation. I would suggest that the condemnation of Paganism is subtler in Beowulf than in Roland. So, in the end, I don’t know what Grendel is. Perhaps Grendel is, as Luizza suggests, the “embodiment of fratricide” based on his association with Cain, or maybe he’s just evil.

Others Together

Within the first lais of The Song of Roland a religious distinction is made between King Marsile and King Charles. King Marsile “does not love god,” which almost immediately makes King Marsile and his followers “others.” As the text continues, the pagan men are described on many occasions in dark terms, ie. “blacker than ink (1933)”. This imagery seems to dehumanize the “other” and move him toward the monstrous, thus underscoring King Charles and Christianity as relatively positive.

Interestingly, there appears to be another significant “other” portrayed in this text. It seems that Oliver is an “other” when contrasted with Roland; he is a necessary counterpart. When Oliver urges Roland to blow his horn, Oliver provides a challenge that highlights Roland’s courage and nobility. Shortly after, the poet attributes their disagreement to their differing inclinations “Roland is brave and Oliver is wise; both are marvelous vassals. (1093-1094)” Oliver, unlike King Marsile and his men, is described in honorable terms and therefore can be viewed as a sort of civilized “other.”

When taking both types of “others” into consideration neither prevail on their own. Oliver is killed during battle, and Charlemagne wins the battle. In this case, neither variation of “other” can adequately relay morals or values alone. The “others” appear to be used as a device to emphasize the value of a counterpart.