University of School of Humanities Faculty of Languages and Culture

The Rape of

Dismantling Female Transgression and Dominant Ideological Frameworks from the to Now

MA degree in , Culture & Media

Melanie Janin Waha Kt.: 210684-3609

Supervisor: Þórhallur Eyþórsson May 2020 Abstract

This thesis focusses on the literary character Brunhild, who is a crucial figure in the German medieval as well as in related Nordic literature. Medieval society will be examined closely in terms of its politics, laws, regulations, and general social occurrences, shedding light on her character from a historical angle. Followed by a close reading of the stanzas and sections in the Nibelungenlied, which deal with Brunhild in particular, the thesis will move onto the 19th and 20th century and the dominant European nationalistic currencies of the time. The underlying theme of this thesis are the notions myth and ideology, which remain crucial to disentangle the political and social networks that created and appropriated the medieval figure for centuries to come. This is also why the last section is concerned with the 21st century and a Brunhild that now stands in stark contrast to the previous centuries. Table of Contents

1. Introduction...... 1 1.1. The Importance of Myth...... 3 2. Origins...... 4 2.1. Introduction...... 4 2.2. Historical Origin...... 4 2.3. Geographical Origin...... 6 2.4. Literary Origin...... 7 2.5. Women in the Middle Ages...... 14 2.5.1. Fighting Women...... 14 2.5.2. Diplomatic Women...... 16 2.6. Marriage in the Middle Ages...... 18 2.7. Inheritance Structures...... 22 2.8. Conclusion...... 26 3. Brunhild...... 27 3.1. Introduction...... 27 3.2. Brunhild as Historical Figure...... 27 3.2.1. The ...... 28 3.2.2. Brunichilidis of ...... 28 3.3. Brunhild as Literary Figure...... 30 3.4. Sigrdrífa and Brynhildr...... 32 3.5. ...... 33 3.6. Similarities and Differences in the and German versions...... 36 3.7. The Rape of Brunhild...... 40 3.8. The Senna...... 43 3.9. Female Transgression...... 46 3.10. Conclusion...... 52 4. The Brunhild Figure in a Post-medieval Setting...... 53 4.1. Introduction...... 53 4.2. Brunhild in the 19th century...... 53 4.2.1. ...... 57 4.3. Brunhild in the 20th century...... 61 4.3.1. ...... 61 4.4. Brunhild in the 21st century...... 65 4.5. Conclusion...... 70 5. Conclusion...... 71 Notes...... 72 Works Cited...... 75 The Rape of Brunhild

Dismantling Female Transgression and Dominant Ideological Frameworks from the Middle Ages to Now 1. Introduction

The following thesis aims to shed light on the literary character Brunhild, who has been a crucial figure in the German Nibelungenlied as well as in related Nordic literature. It will first be attempted to trace the potential real-life sources that have inspired the literary character. For this, a summary of crucial historical events is important. Throughout the thesis, a critical reflection on specific social and legal conventions, such as marriage, bride-gifts, and dowries, will be discussed in relation to their application within literature. Focus throughout will be on the role of women in society, their expectations, tasks, and positions, and how these have manifested themselves in linguistic and literary terms. The literary figure Brunhild provides us with an insight into medieval society; yet, as an ideological tool first and foremost, she has allegedly been misused for the strengthening of dominant ideological frameworks for centuries to come. In the medieval Nibelungenlied, her transgressions embody and validate the upholding of the “natural”, patriarchal order; the 19th century and in particular Wagner, on the other hand, revived Brunhild as an emblem for the on- going European nation-state-building movement of the time, while she became a traitor during the in the 20th century. National Socialism later glorified her Nordic -esque origin and thus a female image, which reflected little on the actual lived experience of women in the Third Reich. However, it did not end there, as some scholars have recently claimed that the literary figure Brunhild emanates independence, political power, diplomatic skills, and physical strength, which may provide her with a position somewhat close to a proto-feminist role. Given the meagre sources we have reflecting the reality of medieval women, such claims appear rather detached from history and need to be investigated further. In this thesis; the Middle Ages are given priority, yet, the above-mentioned eras will be discussed in order to reveal patriarchy’s long-nurtured impact throughout history in literature; a closer look will also be taken at the age-old trend of myth-making to further one’s own ideological and thus also political beliefs. In the German Nibelungenlied, Brunhild is an outsider, a foreigner of Icelandic descent; yet, she is at the core of the narrative in the Nordic versions of the same story. Brunhild has also been subjected to less ill treatment in the Nordic versions of the . While the Nordic versions will be consulted for specific narrative or cultural comparisons and cross-references, the main focus of the thesis is on the German Brunhild of the Nibelungenlied. Brunhild is not the only main female protagonist in the Nibelungenlied. The second important female in the narrative is her sister-in-law Kriemhild, the sister of the king ,

1 Brunhild’s husband, who is also the wife of the main male lead . Within the field of literary studies, it is specifically Kriemhild who has been studied in great depth, while Brunhild, who is equally important, has often been neglected (Nagel, 1965, p. 154). Although she is not the main focus of this thesis, she will be referred to on several occasions, which are crucial to determine Brunhild’s character. It is Kriemhild’s social position, as the king’s younger sister, her consequent complicated social standing, and a single act of physical violence (the slaying of her own brother Gunther at the Hunnic court in the second part of the Nibelungenlied), which furthered her prominence in research and literary studies. Kriemhild is often accused of having caused the downfall of the Burgundians, while Brunhild put in motion the events that lead her sister-in-law to such an unprecedented violent act. As will be shown, both are actually untrue. Instead, this reveals the corrupted machinations at play, whether in the Middle Ages or later on in the 19th as well as in the 20th century. The 21st century, on the other hand, will provide a completely different approach to Brunhild, which remains difficult nevertheless1.

2 1.1. The Importance of Myth

The Nibelungenlied is based upon several and legends which have been intertwined over time. In general, the Germanic sagas emerged during the eventful age of the migrations around the 4th and 5th centuries (Nagel, 1965, p. 13). Thus, taking various unrelated historical facts and characters, the Nibelungenlied successfully blended these with regional myths and local fairy tales. The Oxford English Dictionary describes myth to be a “purely fictitious narrative” (Oxford Dictionary, nd.). Csapo claims that there is no clear definition of what constitutes a myth, especially not when dealing with a story’s subject matter, form, or content (Csapo, 2005, p. 7). While it is social ideology, or ideology in narrative form (Csapo, 2005, p. 9), and therefore timeless, legends and (folk)tales, on the other hand, depict a time slightly similar to today’s world (Csapo, 2005, p. 3). Distinct lines between myth and legend are often blurred, yet, overall, myths tend to be preoccupied with the origin of the world, dogma, the sacred, ritual and theological world. Legends are rather secular by nature; they depict migrations, wars, victories, deeds of past heroes, tales of buried treasure, etc. (Csapo, 2005, p. 4), as does the Nibelungenlied. Indeed, throughout the tumultuous age of migrations, the tight relationship between heroic sagas and myth began to untangle itself (Nagel, 1965, p. 40). Myths were eventually secularised and the characters humanised while the plot was taken to the newly emerging courtly medieval sphere in the Middle Ages. The Nibelungenlied is a legend, yet it has retained a few mythic and cultic influences. Nagel, however, sees instances such as the fight, invincibility, inexhaustible treasures, the Tarnkappe (magic cloak), supernatural powers, etc. not simply as mythical and heroic elements, but rather as elements derived from common fairy tales (Nagel, 1965, p. 42). These elements, whether mythic by nature or of fairy tale origin, however, remain secondary in the Nibelungenlied; they do not overshadow or disturb the overall plot. According to Boer, the Nibelungenlied is mainly human, dealing with murder, greed, and power dynamics first and foremost (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xlix). The Nibelungenlied therefore is made up of various elements, all combined into one coherent saga. Medieval audiences originally perceived the tale as a legend containing mythic elements; it became a myth in and for itself not until several hundred years later in the 19th century. Thus, in order to understand the impact the Nibelungen has had throughout the ages, it is important first to look at its origins.

3 2. Origins

2.1. Introduction

The following chapter will analyse not only the Nibelungenlied’s historical, geographical, and literary origins, but also provide specific medieval legal and social constructs (marriage, bride-gifts, dowries, inheritance structures) and the extent to which they have influenced the Nibelungenlied as well as the Völsunga saga and Þiðreks saga. It is therefore also important to discuss the figure of the medieval courtly female in marital as well as diplomatic roles. From the age of migrations to the Middle Ages, European society underwent numerous substantial changes. In relation to these ongoing changes, this chapter, therefore, intends to shed light on female’s lived experience as well as the extent to which these newly forming realities were taken up by the narrative.

2.2. Historical Origins

The Nibelungenlied appeared within the medieval epic tradition of back then feudal during the (approx. 1000–1300) (Gentry, 1998, p. 66). Stories were mainly commissioned by patrons, who together with the authors were part of the court, and therefore reflected to a large extent the socio-political tendencies of the time. The Nibelungenlied’s subject matter itself, however, can be traced back to the 4th–6th centuries. Until the 5th century, much of Western , as well as areas in the Middle East and North Africa, were part of the Roman Empire (Classen, 1993, p. 1). Europe’s native Celtic population had largely been Romanised, while Germanic tribes, which had settled earlier along the northern fringes of the Empire, slowly started pushing for territory and thus into the Roman Empire. These invasions, together with internal political and economic problems, weakened the Roman Empire substantially. Consequently, “Germanic successor kingdoms”, such as the Anglo-Saxon tribes or the Burgundians in today’s , slowly began to evolve and take over (Classen, 1993, p. 1). Germanic tribes, compared to Roman urbanised society, were still rather un-organised and their settlements small (Classen, 1993, p. 1). There were also differences in the legislation as well as marriage and family regulations between both cultures; while they had already been in contact and thus influential prior to the fall of the Roman Empire, they now slowly began to merge fully after the breakdown of the Empire.

4 The 5th–10th centuries constitute the , yet, they are often also referred to as the Dark Ages, within which Christianity established itself as a legitimate organisational system, meaning that it began to fill the void left behind by the breaking down of the Roman Empire (Classen, 1993, p. 2). Monasteries and convents “came to play a key role in economic and cultural life” (Classen, 1993, p. 2–3) during this time. The under Charlemagne (786–814) “unified” most of Europe—that is, medieval , Germany, and . Yet, this union began to collapse in the 9th–10th centuries with the onslaught of the Scandinavian , the Muslim Saracens from North Africa and the Asian Magyars. Europe entered another period of political fragmentation, “this time, the surviving political units were small kingdoms, duchies and counties, ruled by local nobles who could offer some degree of protection to their followers” (Classen, 1993, p. 3). This fragmentation is what eventually led to the dawn of Feudal Europe during the later stage of the Middle Ages where vassalage and ministeriales became important features of the organising social, political, and economic system of the time2. It emerged already in the Early Middle Ages (5th–10th century), but came to full fruition around the time the Nibelungenlied was composed, that is, approximately 1200. Vassalage, therefore, was a truly feudal phenomenon of medieval Europe where vassals and noble leaders had mutual obligations and loyalty (Peters, 2016, p. 284–285). The High Middle Ages were also marked by a rapid and exponential growth in population all around Europe and with it a steady rise in the urbanisation of entire areas. Social and political organisation therefore became slowly institutionalised with administrative bodies emerging (e.g. guilds and banking institutions) and while the feudal system and along with it vassals and ministeriales contributed to the newly emerging system, they also helped to manifest a way of life that would eventually herald the modern period of Europe (end of Middle Ages, approximately 1500). Thus, society slowly began to move towards a basic form of proto-capitalism (Stuber, 2008, p. 9)—one was suddenly able to “move up the social ladder”. Needless to say, this newly emerging freedom was reserved for men only. Women, and specifically courtly women, were excluded from this new social freedom. Feudalism created some sort of economic stability in which new technologies were invented and the standard of living was gradually elevated on an overall level, compared to the Dark Ages (Classen, 1993, p. 4). Yet, it also caused tensions with the Christian Church, which was striving for ideological dominance at the same time. If and how this newly emerging social reality is reflected in the Nibelungenlied will be discussed in the section on “marriage” and “inheritance”. First, however, it is important to locate the Nibelungenlied’s geographic origin as well as allocate its literary home in the next two sections.

5 2.3. Geographical Origins

The Nibelungenlied’s heyday was the Middle Ages; it was soon forgotten by the masses in the following centuries. Popular memory of the main protagonists faded, their status became vague, and their deeds distorted. It was not until the 29th June 1755 when it was re-discovered by the physician J. H. Obereit in Tyrol, (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xiv). It is assumed that the original material of the Nibelungenlied is derived from accounts as well as the Lower area (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xiv), but was written down for the first time in Passau, South . The anonymous original poet of the Nibelungenlied applied his own voice on the fragmented and surviving legends from the 4th and 5th century to create a tale for the liking of the courts of his time, that is, the late Middle Ages around 1200. Although there is no clear date, the earliest conceptualisation and writing down of the Nibelungenlied can be restricted to the years 1190–1204. It cannot be older than 1190 due to technical aspects of the legend, that is, the structure of its rhymes, which did not appear before this date; and, it could have not been created after 1204, since it makes references to the 6th book of , which was written around the same time (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xiv). In general, the tale of the Nibelungen was known to all German-speaking nations in one way or another. This created a common identity within the ancient German people—along the rivers Rhine and , but also in Norway, in Great Britain (the Angles and ), on the Shetland Islands, the Faeroe Islands, and Iceland. The stories were told to the common folk as well as to the noble elite, while each generation added new idiosyncratic elements according to their own geographic, social, and cultural heritage. Consequently, the “great geographical distribution of the legend and the variety of forms in which it appears make it difficult to know where we must seek its origin” (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xv). A rough trajectory, however, can still be reconstructed. While some of the Nordic adaptations were written down earlier than the Nibelungenlied, the story’s origin in geographic terms points towards the Lower and Middle Rhine area. This is due to the narrative’s subject matter and some toponyms, which still exist today, such as the Siegfriedbrunnen (Siegfried’s spring) in the , the -Brunnen (Hagen’s well) at Lorsch, and the Brunihildae (Brunhild’s bed) near Frankfurt, as well as the well-known Drachenfels (Dragon’s Rock) on the Rhine (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xvi). Indeed, the were a Scandinavian people and owners of the Nibelung treasure based in Nibelheim (“land of ”) (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xxxvi), found in Norway (Nagel, 1965, p. 20). It is not the country of the

6 story’s origin, but still provides crucial information about the saga, since “ [except for the Nibelungenlied] has preserved almost no trace of the legend, and such as exist are too late and too corrupt to be of much use in determining the original features of the story” (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xvi). The exact date and time the legend was transferred to the North cannot be traced back. It is assumed that German traders may have introduced the story to at some point during the early years of the 6th century, but this cannot be entirely proven (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xvi). Yet, it has become a crucial part of , while actual allusions to its continental home remained intact in form of proper and place names. Setting out from Norway, the tale eventually reached Iceland in the 9th century, and the old legends now became better preserved on the remote island in the North Atlantic (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xvi). Finally, going full circle, by 1200, continental German authors had once again reworked the story into the Nibelungenlied as we know it today. Unlike the earlier Nordic versions, which deal with the same subject matter in various ways, the Nibelungenlied was turned into a single-standing, cohesive narrative by its author.

2.4. Literary Origins

The actual scientific study of the Nibelungenlied began with the philologist (1793– 1851). “Believing that the poem was made up of a number of distinct ballads or lays, he sought by means of certain criteria to eliminate all parts which were, as he thought, later interpolations or emendations” (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xiii). This process reduced the Nibelungenlied to what he thought was the original form; that is, 22 separate lays (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xiii). These lays did include the ballads of Siegfried Slayer, Siegfried and Kriemhild, and the downfall of the Nibelungs, amongst others. Compared to the Nordic versions (in particular Poetic and Völsunga saga), the German Nibelungenlied does not know of the young Siegfried or his love for Brunhild. Although Andersson (1980) claims that the author of the Völsunga saga based his story on Sigurðakviða in meiri/Brot af Sigurðakviðu (“The Long Lay of Sigurðr”: see Old Norse sources below), which alludes to an older German version and therefore the betrothal between Siegfried and Brunhild a possible German motif as well, a motif the Nordic versions eventually embraced (p. 238 —239). According to Andersson, it is therefore not a wholly Nordic element, but it remains rather unclear why the German author purposefully ignored or simply overlooked this vital connection. He further outlines that an original Frankish and thus German Brünhildenlied (5th–6th century) may

7 exist, yet, South Germany and Austria were already Christian in the High Middle Ages, which could have led to the omission of the original lays (Andersson, 1980, p. 249). Weber (1963), however, claims that no version of the Brünhildenlied has survived and neither can its existence be fully proven (it was assumed to have been transmitted orally only) (p. 31). This thesis will side with Weber’s assumption, which is also why the following section will look into original union between Siegfried and Brunhild in the Old Norse sources as well as the traces they may have left in the later Nibelungenlied and not vice versa. The oldest version of the Continental Nibelungenlied is the Atlakviða in the , composed in the 9th century in Norway (Jochens, 1996, p. 20). It is the oldest poem in the Siegfried legend in the Poetic Edda, who is here referred to as Sigurðr. The Atlakviða describes Brynhildr’s quest (Brunhild) to find the most suitable and thus strongest man in great detail, while Sigurðr is not given priority in the storyline. It could be that these lays have disappeared over the years; nevertheless, the lack of historical literary sources “make it appear as if the Brynhildr story was the original and the Sigurðr legend was added later to give depth to Brynhildr’s ambition” (Jochens, 1996, p. 138—139). Given the Atlakviða is one of the earliest written records on Brynhildr, her significance in the story’s overall plot somewhat echoes Andersson’s theory above, yet, it is important to highlight that Jochens herself draws no connection to the Brünhildenlied. Further, she sees Brynhildr as central to the story and not the original encounter or betrothal between her and Sigurðr in the Atlakviða. Boer, on the other hand, claims that Brynhildr was originally not part of the Siegfried legend, but part of the popular fairy tale of the Sleeping Beauty, which exists in various different versions (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xxx). Just like the fairy tale, here, too, a hero has to rescue a woman from “a magic charm, which may take the form of a deep sleep, or of being sewed into a garment [...]” (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xxx–xxxi). Indeed, Brynhildr is also rescued from a deep sleep in the Völsunga saga (as is Sigrdrífa, the original Brynhildr, in the Sigrdrífumál of the Poetic Edda, see section on Sigrdrífa below). This is why the Siegfried figure of the later Nibelungenlied suddenly stands in relation to two different women once the Burgundians in Worms (the Gjúkung clan in the Völsunga saga) were introduced. These are Brunhild (Brynhildr), the maiden he rescues from a deep sleep, and Kriemhild, the woman he will eventually marry (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xxxi). Yet, rescuing one woman and marrying another leads to a two-fold relation, which was too complicated and had to be amended; especially because his relation to Kriemhild determined his fate, his connection to Brynhildr had to be altered (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xxxi). She became Brunhild and was not neglected or written out of the narrative, but provided with a

8 different role and interpretation. For the Nibelungenlied, Siegfried could no longer save Brunhild for himself, but had to embark on this mission for someone else; that is, Gunther, King of the Burgundians. Since the role of Brynhildr’s husband “had become vacant” (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xxxi) and since Gunther had no specific part in the plot, he became Brunhild’s husband. Consequently, the main difference between the Nordic versions and the German Nibelungenlied is that Sigurðr/Siegfried was associated with Brynhildr/Brunhild first, before he met Guðrún/Kriemhild. Indeed, regardless of whether the original Brunhild was known to German authors or a Nordic addition, the Nibelungenlied author did seem to leave a few reminders of the original Siegfried/Brunhild connection, which are found throughout the narrative. For example, unlike the members of the Burgundian court, Siegfried does seem to have local knowledge of Iceland (that is, Îsenland, while her castle Îsenstein is referred to as “diu veste” (st. 404; German “die Festung” or English “fortress”) (Nagel, 1965, p. 43)); he knows the sea route (st. 341 & st. 384), he knows of the customs (st. 384; fashion), the culture (st. 385; the mannerism at Brunhild’s court), and the bridal competition (st. 340). At same time, Brunhild greets Siegfried with tho (st. 423; “du”) when she encounters Siegfried, but the other members of the bridal party with you (st. 425; “ir”) (Bussier Shumway, 1909, p. 1). Siegfried also remains the active part of “winning” Brunhild; he is the one with his Tarnkappe, who defeats her, even though it will be Gunther, who she will eventually marry. Indeed, the “shape-shifting”, made possible by the Tarnkappe, during the bridal quest in Iceland and the fateful wedding night (in both instances will Siegfried take on Gunther’s identity), still points towards the older form where Siegfried and Brunhild were originally acquainted with each other. “Siegfried, and yet not Siegfried, won the bride” (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xxxi). These might be ambiguous reminders of both characters once having been betrothed to each other, or the outcome of multiple blending and mixing of Scandinavian and Germanic literary traditions throughout the ages. In fact, it has been assumed that the Nibelungenlied is a simple amalgam, that is, a mixture or blend of the Nordic lays (Harper-Scott, 2009, p. 212). Nevertheless, since both traditions, that is, the Nordic versions as well as the Nibelungenlied, were composed roughly at the same time, despite their cultural differences, the author might have ignored certain information on purpose, rather than undergoing a natural and organic change over time. Nevertheless, 28 manuscripts of the Nibelungenlied have been preserved in 31 fragments, while 15 of these are from the 13th and 14th centuries (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xi). Further, nine of these manuscripts are considered complete. It was a common technique that “the writer carries his sequence of events to a perfectly satisfactory conclusion, then begins again and tells at considerable

9 length matter neither implied nor necessitated within the framework of the first half of the story” (Harper-Scott, 2009, p. 216). This can also be seen in the Nibelungenlied; its two parts could potentially stand alone (Siegfried & Kriemhild, Pt. I as well as The Downfall of the Burgundians, Pt. II). In fact, mythological elements are more dominant in the first part, whereas the second part seems to be more indebted to historical events (as will be outlined later). Furthermore, many medieval texts written around this time used structures (that is, a poem must have at least four stressed syllables of alliterative words). The Nibelungenlied, however, made use of the newly emerging end-rhyme style (Harper-Scott, 2009, p. 212). The rhymes are exact, except when long and short vowels are rhymed together (mich : rîch or man : hân) (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xliv). The text was composed in 2,400 four-lined stanzas, each expressed in couplets (Harper-Scott, 2009, p. 212). Finally, it was written in the Austrian dialect of back then (1100–1500), but contains plenty of archaisms which hints at the fact that it had been revised on numerous occasions (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xliv). Further, stylistically, the Nibelungenlied also lacks in detail (e.g. about armour, dress, graceful diction), but remains appealing due to its very simplicity. The Nibelungenlied does not adorn and decorate, no poetic imagery can be found (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xlv). Against the prevailing trend, it was written in the local language at a time when most literature was translated and adapted from non-German sources (Schulze, 1997, p. 19–20). Therefore, against the medieval literary backdrop, the Nibelungenlied deals in an unusual manner with local and regional matters. Gentry (1976) assumes the main goal of medieval authors was the accurate adaptation and re-modelling of subject matter (p. 11)—here, in this case, the age of migrations for the feudal mind. In general, medieval Europe can be divided into three literary periods: Early, High, and the Late Middle Ages. Mainstream media and literature have always pursued a certain agenda, driven by ideological processes, to maintain power and protect interests of those in charge. These media also always presented the audience or readership with a norm; literature therefore does not only have the power to choose whom to present, but also how. was tailored for a mainly male audience and illustrated how to exercise male power over women or other men. Women had no means of literary self-representation. In fact, the most important medieval masculine ideals consisted of impregnating women, protecting dependents, and providing for one’s family (Stuber, 2008, p. 7). Any man that did not live up to these ideals was branded “feminine” and therefore seen as weak and incompetent. While literature also embraced figures, such as the courtly lover, the intellectual, and the Christian (Stuber, 2008, p. 10), it is the heroic male figure that is the most

10 relevant for the Nibelungenlied. The hero is derived and thus based on ideals of a pre-Christian society and its cult surrounding warriordom (Stuber, 2008, p. 9). Indeed, before a European courtly culture emerged, the main literary output were heroic epics (Classen, 1993, p.11)—the Nibelungenlied is indeed one of its very last representatives. It does therefore not belong to the Arthurian courtly romances, which first emerged in 12th century France; indeed, the most striking difference between heroic epics and Arthurian courtly romances lies in the fact that the former is concerned with the destiny of an entire people, while the latter focuses on individuals’ fates (Gentry, 1998, p. 67). The Nibelungenlied does concern itself with the Burgundian and Hunnic people on a broader level, but its motor are individual characters, driven by their own objectives and ambitions. Contrarily to Boer, who assumed greed, murder, and power dynamics to be at the centre of the Nibelungenlied, Gentry identifies more admirable and stereotypically heroic traits, such as loyalty, honour, love, and sorrow, as some of the most dominant themes (Gentry, 1998, p. 66–68). Heroes had to be physically strong, intelligent, and able to conquer and defeat. “Other qualities associated with heroic masculinity […] [were] prowess and skill in competition, courage, and loyalty” (Stuber, 2008, p. 9). The hero was exclusively male. Heroic men were expected to win whether the price might be land, political power, or women. In terms of physical strength, as will be discussed later, Brunhild did challenge the common assumption of the epic hero. She transgressed the limited bounds to which women were confined. As will be shown, as a skilled warrior queen with supernatural valkyrie-like powers, she physically overpowered her own husband King Gunther and nearly did the same to Siegfried, who, in the Nibelungenlied, is the only character that embodies the male heroic ideal. A hero was also defined by “a definite attitude towards women” (Stuber, 2008, p. 10). How the Nibelungenlied’s males (Siegfried and Gunther) treat Brunhild is therefore pivotal and reveals medieval gender relations. It is interesting, however, that Siegfried, the heroic male, can betray heroic standards; he will lie to Brunhild and create an unstable political situation by hiding his aristocratic background. Siegfried, the Crown Price of the , willingly lowers himself to the status of a vassal, without actually having to sacrifice or compromise his caste or class. Maybe this is due to the fact that he does not shed his physical strength at any single point in the narrative. It does, however, show political naivety on all other levels. The notion of sorrow, on the other hand, which was channelled through an act of revenge, was valid only if one’s individual honour was lost in the first place (Classen, 1993, p. 11). This, too, will be elaborated through Brunhild’s character arc and the way she took revenge, if at all. As for loyalty, in relation to the previously outlined concept of vassalage/ministeriales, can there be loyalty in such

11 forced and semi-contracted circumstances? Are any human relationships not just defined as a means to an end? Classen assumes the Nibelungenlied deals with ethics (Classen, 1993, p. 11–12). The way its ethical themes are translated for medieval society and the way the Nibelungenlied treated women in particular, is yet to be developed. Further, while this thesis will not be able to fully examine the idea of feudal vassalage, it will still slightly be touched upon in the later chapters on medieval marriage and inheritance structures. As mentioned above, the Nibelungenlied is a late representative of the heroic epic and the central European tradition eventually found its counterpart in the Old Norse and Icelandic sagas. In the course of time, five different versions within the Scandinavian tradition emerged. Yet, while they share the same material and characters, these are not a ‘single-stranded narrative’; unlike the Nibelungenlied, “they were not conceived as self-contained wholes but as interrelated or interdependent members of a larger undertaking” (Harper-Scott, 2009, p. 216). 1–4 mark the introduction of Siegfried into Scandinavian folklore:

1. Poetic or Older Edda (Sæmund’s Edda, Sæmundr Sigfusson, composed in Iceland in 1270). The most elaborated outline of female figures can be found in the Poetic (Older) Edda (Jochens, 1996, p. 3). It was composed in Iceland and also contains the . It consists of 45 leaves, is not much bigger than a hand, and contains 29 poems, composed between the 9th and mid-13th century (850—1300)—it “is carefully divided into two parts, a mythological section of eleven lays and a heroic of eighteen” (Jochens, 1996, p. 4). The Codex Regius is predominantly focussed on heroic lays and poems of Nordic and German heroes—“thus the oldest and richest information about the Nibelung legend is found here” (Jochens, 1996, p. 4). It deals with the 4 th and 5th century, and therefore, with the age of migrations, the Romans, the , the Burgundians, and other Germanic tribes that were in constant conflict with each other (Jochens, 1996, p. 137). Some of the prime sources for the original Brunhild can be found there: The Old Lay of (Sigurðakviða hin forna), The Short Lay of Sigurd (Sigurðakviða hin skamma), The Long Lay of Sigurd (Sigurðakviða in meiri / Brot af Sigurðakviðu), the three Lays of Guðrún, Brynhild’s Journey to the Underworld and the The Lay of Sigrdrífa (Sigrdrífumál).

2. The Icelandic Völsunga saga, a paraphrase of the Poetic Edda. It was composed at the beginning or mid of the 13th century. Here, the adventures of Sigurðr are outlined in great detail and his ancestry is traced back to Óðinn. It is a secondary source, which uses the very same order of the

12 songs, and “supplies a portion of the Codex Regius which has been lost and thus furnishes us with the contents of the missing songs” (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xvii). Therefore, it allows us to reconstruct the original extent, structure, and scene composition of the Codex Regius. In general, it is the most comprehensive and coherent narrative that deals with Brunhild.

3. Younger or (Snorra Edda—, 1178–1241). Here, the prose account of “the entire Nibelung story is based on the poems in Codex Regius while the manuscripts were still intact” (Jochens, 1996, p. 22). It is familiar with and related to both Völsunga saga and the Poetic Edda. Rather than being a single tale, it is a collection or book of poetics, and thus refers to Brunhild and Siegfried only briefly and not in great detail (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xviii).

4. Nornagest Saga or Nornagests Þáttr. The story of Norna Gest contains the story of Sigurðr and Gunnarr. It was written around 1350 and outlines the transition period from paganism to Christianity. It is based on the and the Völsunga saga, but remains of minor importance as a source here.

5. The Norwegian Þiðreks saga af Bern (also called Niflungasaga). Compared to 1–4, number 5 is a re-introduction of the subject matter to Scandinavia during the middle of the 13th century, the time of the flourishing Hanseatic League. The lead character is Old Nose Þiðrekr (German: ). It was written around 1250 by a Norwegian, who came across the story in Bremen and Münster (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xix). Indeed, the author was acquainted with both traditions Norse and German. He sided, however, strongly with the German source (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xix). According to Jochens, “since the poems were composed over several centuries, [a] composite portrait cannot be used to illustrate Germanic or Nordic womanhood at any particular moment” (Jochens, 1996, p. 135). This also applies to the figure of Brunhild. Indeed, each attribute and feature must be evaluated individually and placed carefully within its respective “geographic, historical, and literary background of the text in which it is embedded” (Jochens, 1996, p. 135). It is therefore crucial to sketch the most important features of the everyday life of medieval women, in particular courtly women, and how or if these were reflected by the Nibelungenlied.

13 2.5. Women in the Middle Ages

2.5.1. Fighting Women

In medieval German literature, overall, women tended to reflect the position society provided for them. They inhabited a rather passive and private space, always “awaiting the male protagonists’ moves”, while female warriors or physical violence was frowned upon and nearly non-existent (Classen, 2011, p. 33). Contrarily, in the Nordic tradition, according to Jochens (1996), fighting women in literature were perceived in a complex manner; they caused admiration as much as they caused fear and disapproval (p. 103). Older Old Norse poems treated female warriors with admiration while younger accounts disapproved of any such female activities. Consequently, and as a matter of fact, fighting women were almost exclusively always killed off (Jochens, 1996, p. 105). This also applies to the lead female characters of the German Nibelungenlied. Kriemhild, who took to the weapons, suffers a violent death, while Brunhild, who transformed from an undefeated warrior-queen to an obedient courtly woman, survives. Medieval German and Nordic literary traditions seem rather coherent here. Yet, it is also important to historically outline and discuss the concept of fighting women in the Middle Ages outside literature. During the age of migration (4th–5th centuries), the female “military performance”, at least to the extent of what historians have evidence of, is “not impressive” and restricted to only a few “special cases” (Jochens, 1996, p. 103). It was discovered by Reinhold Bruder that all references of fighting women can be traced back to a single reference in the accounts of the Greek historian Plutarch, (46–119 AD) which nevertheless assumes that women were fighting only at the end of a nearly lost battle (Jochens, 1996, p. 107—108). Germanic tribes were inferior to the Roman army; “pushed by the Huns against the Romans, the wrenched their first successes from desperate situations in which every able-bodied person was enlisted” (Jochens, 1996, p. 108). Since women were running danger of falling into slavery, rather than being killed like their male contemporaries, their incentive to fight was probably equally as strong (Jochens, 1996, p. 108). Similarly, women (8th–11th century) also took to arms only when there was an immediate attack. It is also assumed that women sometimes wore male clothes in order to make the fighting groups bigger and to intimidate and confuse the attackers, but did consequently not actively engage in warfare (Jochens, 1996, p. 110). While historians have been able to unveil and discover evidence that occasionally Viking women did fight, these “remain the exception rather than the

14 rule” (Jochens, 1996, p. 108). In fact, according to the evidence at hand, Viking women might have even fought less than their female Germanic ancestors did (Jochens, 1996, p. 108). Hence, ordinary women in Nordic societies did not necessarily reinforce images of fighting women or the valkyries as outlined in the sagas. Old Norse society had a clear gender division; men were armed at all times, while women never carried weapons (Jochens, 1996, p. 109); women belonged to the household and thus the private and domestic sphere, men actively engaged in warfare and public life. During the 10th–13th century, however, McLaughlin (1990) claims there were a considerable number of warrior women in all of Europe, but not in the commonly assumed sense (p. 196). While these women constituted an anomaly, historical records reveal that they were more frequent than expected. Indeed, female warriors were more common in medieval times than they were in the Classical period or Early Modern Europe (McLaughlin, 1990, p. 196). Yet, similar to the situations outlined above, these warfare activities involved an emergency; it was usually property that was defended rather than the female being the actual aggressor herself (McLaughlin, 1990, p. 196). Such instances were of a temporary nature, which entailed women to return to their allocated feminine activities as soon as the threat had passed. Similar to Viking reality, McLaughlin (1990) claims that what is crucial here is the historical relationship between the public and private or domestic realm (p. 201). In fact, “it has only been when this private sphere coincides with the public one to a significant degree that women have been able to participate in public activities and to share in the prestige associated with those activities” (McLaughlin, 1990, p. 201). Therefore, female activities were predetermined by the societal organisation, that is, the inside (household, feminine) vs. outside (military, masculine). Only if this organisation is disturbed by external violent forces will female participation in warfare increase. Indeed, historians rarely mentioned female warriors until the 10th and 11th century (McLaughlin, 1990, p. 194). This changed in the later Middle Ages, when writers began to express amazement about female warriors. Female warfare activities became more visible (McLaughlin, 1990, p. 195). Yet, eventually, what was found was a “growing desire for role definition found at many levels of Western European society at this time, a desire provoked by the rapid economic and social changes of the period” (McLaughlin, 1990, p. 195). Thus, the later Middle Ages, with its strong tendency towards urbanisation and institutionalisation (as well as the introduction of primogeniture), created a society where female warriors became out-dated3. It was also the time professional militaries began to form on a larger scale, which eventually also affected the very concept of vassalage.

15 Nevertheless, McLaughlin (1990) is right to remain cautious, since the disproportion of written references could also be traced back to the fact that records of earlier periods have disappeared or simply do not exist (p. 198). Jochens (1996) outlines that Roman historians of the 4th–6th centuries did not mention powerful German warrior women (p. 172), while they disappeared again from historical written accounts and literary texts in Europe from the 14th century onwards (McLaughlin, 1990, p. 198). Available data, therefore, points to the fact that the majority of these women existed between the 10th–13th century. Nevertheless, Jochens (1996) reminds us that, historically and globally speaking, “warfare has always remained men’s work” (p. 110). Literature often had a different purpose than to merely entertain. As mentioned before, literature is also an ideological tool, which has to make sure it upholds unspoken or not so unspoken rules of society. Thus, medieval Norse as well as medieval German “literature taught listeners and readers that gender roles should be obeyed and that transgressors would be punished” (Jochens, 1996, p. 112). Given these notions, military and martial transgressions affected Brunhild of the Nibelungenlied as well as the Old Norse Brynhildr little. Brunhild and Brynhildr were depicted as strong maiden warrior-queens or valkyries (restricted to specific Old Norse sagas; in particular, the Sigrdrífumál and Völsunga saga), but do not actively take part in warfare in either of the narratives. The Nibelungenlied’s Brunhild asks for three tasks to be completed for Gunther to win her hand in marriage; although she is in full armour, the bridal quest is a competition and display of physical strength rather than active battle. Not even Kriemhild and her sole act of physical violence fits neatly with this conception, as she does not defend male property, but uses her deadly strike against her own brother to take revenge. The next section, therefore, will determine whether they belong to the group of diplomatic women instead.

2.5.2. Diplomatic Women

Jochens (1996) claims that a new type of woman appeared in the “primitive monarchies” in late 6th century Europe (p. 172). Yet, it was not the “warrior woman” as often imagined, but the wives and daughters of the newly emerging aristocratic and royal classes (Jochens, 1996, p. 172). In fact, these women were of greater social and political importance than the rare Germanic warrior woman. These women lived their entire lives in close proximity to political power, namely, their chieftain fathers or other male relatives. Once the age of migrations began to fade out, they became valuable members of society (Jochens, 1996 p. 172). These women had their own dowries and their political

16 connections provided them with a certain degree of economic and political power and influence. In case of their husband’s death, they were also able to rule by themselves. This situation lasted from the 6th–10th century and produced a myriad of queens and important female royals (Jochens, 1996, p. 173). This movement came to a halt once society began to change and the practice of primogeniture was introduced; this left “men in control of the government and the monogamously married queen with the task of producing the next ruler” (Jochens, 1996, p. 173). Women were pushed into the domestic sphere as already outlined above in the section on fighting women and reduced to the role of bearing the next generation’s leaders alone. Thus, the strict boundaries between the domestic and public realm were finally solidified. Indeed, diplomatic and fighting women co-existed, which must have entailed a certain and unexpected level of blurring or crossover between the two (where one woman could be both). Unlike Kriemhild, who is surrounded by her brothers in the Wormser court she was raised in and thus a network of power and influence, Brunhild is without kin. Indeed, her family is mentioned in the Nibelungenlied, yet they remain unimportant throughout the narrative. She appears as a “stand alone” character, which, as we will see, renders her vulnerable. She is nevertheless a wealthy and powerful ruler, but is bereft of her riches once Gunther and Siegfried won the challenges she set. Her wealth is disseminated amongst her people and she consequently loses her independence. In fact, this is a reoccurring theme in the Nibelungenlied where the female characters. Kriemhild is also denied her dower after Siegfried’s death (st. 1131). The treasure of the Nibelungs, her dower and financial independence, is sunk into the river Rhine by Hagen (st. 1137). As will be shown in the chapter below on marriage and inheritance, this was a newly emerging and worrying trend in European courts between the 11th and 12th centuries. Bride gifts disappeared, and dowries were now intended for husbands, but not for the female’s financial security. Additionally, neither Brunhild nor Kriemhild seem to have had any control or influence over their husbands. They, therefore, do not entirely match the criteria of this section either. What they would eventually become notorious for is “whetting” or “inciting” (a concept taken from Jochen’s Old Norse Images of Women, 1996); while these instances inevitably brought with them decisive political changes on a large scale, they stem from personal feelings of injustice and honour rather than from a political consciousness proper. The next section will therefore outline medieval marriage and inheritance structures in order to provide another layer for the historical role of the (courtly) women.

17 2.6. Marriage in the Middle Ages

As will be shown, the Nibelungenlied and Brunhild’s marriage does not fit neatly with medieval dominant social and marital currents. Brunhild created a set of tasks to be successfully completed by suitors in return for her hand in marriage; once Gunther’s and Siegfried’s trickery paid off, her wealth is nearly depleted and disseminated amongst her people in Iceland before the marriage party set off and return to the court of Worms where Brunhild marries Gunther. This was a clear attempt to weaken her power—the way their actions and the depletion of her wealth translate from literary fiction to lived medieval reality will be discussed below in relation to the literary figure Brunhild. In general, however, it appears that marriage goes hand in hand with bride prices, dowries, or inheritance structures and to a further extent also family/kin relationships. The institution of marriage and thus the role and position of the female began to change alongside the newly developing societies where urbanisation increased and nomadism decreased. Since well into the 5th and 6th centuries family units usually stayed together. Indeed, while daughters stayed, sons began to move freely. Therefore, it was common that son-in-laws married into families after having travelled alone for a certain amount of time. Daughters, on the other hand, never left (Jochens, 1996, p. 152). “At the dawn of European history a young Germanic man’s assets consisted of his courage, a sword, a horse, and a few movable treasures” (Jochens, 1996, p. 152), while an uxorilocal existence was saved for his later stages in life4. Once the tribes settled and territories expanded, men could no longer roam freely—especially those from wealthier families or those of families in important political roles—but had to secure property and thus inheritance instead (Jochens, 1996, p. 152). This new system was virilocal and reversed previously assigned roles completely5; it also reignited the idea that women can be exchanged as a form of a newly developing business model. In line with the above-mentioned primogeniture, the virilocal system implies that a female’s sole purpose was suddenly to reproduce (Jochens, 1996, p. 153). As for literature, according to Opitz (1992), “although male authors showed little interest in the details of the maternal role, the identification of women with motherhood was fundamental to the medieval view of life” (p. 248). Nevertheless, Brunhild, while also being a mother to a son (called Siegfried), is barely referred to as such. Her motherhood is almost entirely absent from the narrative. In general, however, as soon as a woman enters marriage, her entire identity was seen through her spouse’s power. This was particularly enhanced when male relatives were absent from the females’ married life. “Her long-nurtured emotions for kin and brothers must now be replaced

18 by new feelings for husband and children, not only for her own tranquillity and her husband’s safety, but most of all to ensure that her children could acquire proper identity within the patriarchal structure” (Jochens, 1996, p. 153). This was also the time surnames came into being, which also revealed a change in the attitude towards kinship and family structures in general; now, a common ancestor defined family relations, while previously every generation redefined itself and with it its family structures including the maternal relations (Searle, 1981, p.18). Translated in literary terms, it shows that the Völsunga saga favours the older uxorilocal system. The Þiðreks saga seems to capture both forms at the precise moment of change, while the younger Nibelungenlied seems to favour the virilocal system alone. Thus, in the Nibelungenlied as well as in the Nordic Völsunga saga and Þiðreks saga, authority structures between clans are outlined and marriage became an important tool within such clan dynamics. In the Völsunga saga, Guðrún (Kriemhild) does not change domicile, but is a valuable member of the Gjúkung clan at Worms. “Sigurðr was integrated into the Gjúki family by marrying the daughter and sharing the reign with the sons, following the old pattern [...]” (Jochens, 1996, p. 153). Indeed, Grimhildr, the mother of Gunnarr and Guðrún, says of Sigurðr that “he would be a great asset” (Grimstad, 2000, p.169). In the uxorilocal system of the Völsunga saga, women were able to retain loyalty towards their kin, as the husband became to identify with her family. Jochens (1996) claims that, generally speaking, women who did not leave their parents’ home had a rather easy life, since they “easily adapts their new feelings for him [her husband] to her long established emotions for her brothers” (p. 154). In fact, an early encounter between Sigurðr and Brynhildr resulted in something similar to a nuptial engagement in the Völsunga saga. After Christianity had taken hold of Nordic society, this engagement was neglected or consciously ignored, as it did not fit the new marital standards of society (Jochens, 1996, p. 92). Brynhildr eventually marries Gunnarr and thus into the Gjúkung family, but fails to develop an emotional relationship with her new family (Grimstad, 2000, p. 181; Brynhildr says “for a long time I kept silent over the grief in my heart”). Yet, she does not long for her own family (her brother Atli and her father King Buðli; Gunnarr even calls her “disconnected with her lot” (Grimstad, 2000, p. 183)), but for Sigurðr instead, to whom she was initially engaged, but who forgot about her due to a potion given to him by Grimhildr. Thus, family structures determine power structures. In the Völsunga saga, the freely roaming man, who is to be married into a clan or family, is therefore crucial for clans (Jochens, 1996, p. 92)—as King Gjúki says himself, “to strengthen […] [their] power” (Grimstad, 2000, p.169). Based on the figure of Sigurðr, it is therefore revealed that Guðrún’s marriage operates within the uxorilocal

19 model. Brynhildr, on the other hand, has a father and brother; yet, they never state (and neither does she) that they have to increase the clan’s power through marriage. Here, her family remains indifferent to her choice of wedding partner and the clans’ potential increase in power. In fact, her father King Buðli says “she is so proud that she will only marry a man of her own choice” (Grimstad, 2000, p.171; own italics). He leaves the decision on whom to marry in Brynhildr’s hands alone, while the audience is confronted with her inner emotional life and feelings of this endeavour throughout the Völsunga saga. Therefore, in terms of marriage and the consequent power it may holds, both women Guðrún and Brynhildr are determined by the lone wolf figure Sigurðr, but driven by different motives. Guðrún marries a powerful man to increase her and his clan’s influence, Brynhildr must marry the man that has carried out the most heroic deeds (McCreary, 2014, p. 25)—“I swore an oath to marry the man who ride through my wall of flames. I meant to keep that oath or die” (Grimstad, 2000, p.189). Sigurðr exemplifies this well, since regardless of his riches, if he had not carried out any heroic deeds, he would have not been worthy of Brynhildr. In the slightly younger Þiðreks saga, according to Jochens, the two marital systems, uxorilocal and virilocal, began to clash. The Þiðreks saga also has an early engagement scene between Brynhildr and Sigurðr, as seen in the Völsunga saga. Yet, here, both systems are intensified when Sigurðr tells Brynhildr that he prefers to marry Gunnarr’s sister Guðrún instead of her, precisely because Brynhildr is without brothers and thus without kin (Jochens, 1996, p. 154; Timeless Myths, nd.). In the Völsunga saga, Brynhildr’s family remained secondary to the narrative; here, however, she has no family at all. This also seems to override her previous power of being able to choose her husband herself. Now, she is weak and must move in with her husband, she must marry Gunnarr and move to Worms. Brynhildr seems to have no value outside the passive roles assigned to courtly women. Therefore, “the old marital model of a daughter receiving a visitor permanently and the new strategy of a son bringing home a foreign woman thus combine to create the extended family of the Gjúkung clan” (Jochens, 1996, p. 154) in the Þiðreks saga. Indeed, Brynhildr’s kinless status in the Þiðreks saga seems to contradict the virilocal system, which allows for clans to expand power and influence across borders through the exchange of women. Yet, the focus seems to be on her non-existent brothers and the enormous political network they would carry, if they existed. She does have a father called King Heimir after all. Jochens highlighted the absent brothers (Jochens, 1996, p. 154) as the reason for Sigurðr choosing Guðrún over Brynhildr, but did not speak of Brynhildr’s father, who is a king and must hold certain powers too. Therefore, it must be concluded that Jochens’ uxorilocal clan dynamics are successful only, if power can be

20 spread out evenly across a large, but tightly knit network of close relatives and by extension spouses. Nevertheless, the virilocal construct, here, seems to strike an alliance between Gunnarr and Heimir’s kingdom, although this is not specifically referred to. The Þiðreks saga (some lays of the Poetic Edda; Sigurðarkviða and Atlakviða), therefore, combines both the uxorilocal and the virilocal system. The Nibelungenlied, on the other hand, favours the virilocal system alone. Initially, Siegfried fits the concept of the freely roaming man perfectly, but he will also return with his wife Kriemhild to his court in in the Netherlands, as does Brunhild, who has to leave Iceland and settle in Worms. At the same time, the second leading male in the story, King Gunther, is not reported to have wandered the world, but was stay put still at his court from a young age. The virilocal system always reveals the tensions experienced when the interests of the family clash with those of the husband (Jochens, 1996, p. 155). Kriemhild exemplifies this perfectly; she returns to and remains at the court of Worms after her brothers killed her husband Siegfried (st. 1073 & st. 1083). While this seems confusing first, she will eventually revenge her husband Siegfried and slay her own brother Gunther instead. Thus, the newly developing virilocal marriages also unravelled and replaced the bonds between wives and brothers with the bonds between wives and their husbands and children (Jochens, 1996, p.155). Medieval authors were well aware of the tensions married women experienced with their families; they therefore became the most complicated figure within such a network (Jochens, 1996, p. 147, 151). The older uxorilocal marital model, as seen in the Völsunga saga, appears more frequently in the Nordic branch of the Nibelung tale. Hence, Jochens (1996) suggest that this tradition lasted longer in the North than it did with Continental Germanic tribes (p. 155). Nevertheless, the newly emerging kingdoms built by virilocal ties eventually replaced older uxorilocal family structures Europe-wide. On the basis of the above outlined literary texts, Nordic or German, it is therefore possible to historically trace the processes involved in the building of a medieval society as determined by family models and nuptial agreements. Women began to be traded as property at a certain exchange rate after nomadic life ceased (at the end of the age of migration) and influential and rich families not only formed smaller kingdoms, but also suddenly needed to further expand their power for which the female became the perfect tool in order to expand territorial hegemonies. This trend lasted until the 11th century when another major player entered the political arena: the Christian Church. Indeed, the Church had long been influential on a broader level; yet, it now intended to increase its interest in secular affairs through its Gregorian Reform, roughly 1050–1080. It implemented strict marriage rules in order to manifest its power over society and thus

21 experienced considerable disputes with secular rulers (for example, the German emperor Heinrich IV and Pope Gregory VII in 1076). During the Gregorian Reform two versions of marriage began to collide; on the one hand, the traditionally derived secular marriage, as outlined above, which intended to solidify social and political stability, and, on the other, the ecclesiastical marriage, which represented the divine order and secured the power of the Church (McNamara & Wemple, 1988, p. 95). The secular model entailed paternal or clan authority (as seen in varying degrees in both the uxorilocal and the virilocal system); the ecclesiastic version, on the other hand, put this model upside down and challenged paternal rule to its core. The father’s/lord’s main drive to economically and politically secure his property and powerful position was thus sidelined (McNamara & Wemple, 1988, p. 95). In fact, now long-lasting dynasties and lineages were in danger of losing their significance, weakened by the Church and its reform, and, as will be shown below, also by the “unfree” vassalage that was now able to move up the social ranks fast. The Gregorian Reform took place a good 150 years before the Nibelungenlied or its Nordic version, the Þiðreks saga, were conceptualised (Brynhildr in the Völsunga saga stands slightly external to this due to her perceived autonomy as provided by the author). Nevertheless, it created an upsurge in misogyny that was still tangible in the 13th century. Despite the Church’s overarching impact on society in general and its treatment of women in particular, it is rather absent from the Nibelungenlied and will therefore not be discussed further6. Yet, these fast-changing times, where commodities—in the form of wives or otherwise—were valued highly, also demanded new property and inheritance rights.

2.7. Inheritance Structures

In short, medieval Germanic culture underwent a significant change at the end of the age of migrations, and family clans eventually turned into kingdoms. In fact, kingship was to replace the very idea of kinship as a social model. According to Murdoch (1998), the expansion of power and territory was of utmost importance in order to maintain stability over the economic and social structures of the newly emerging kingdoms. While urbanisation went ahead, focussing on the areas around castles and fortresses, prosperity and wealth began to depend mainly on owning land, and alliances and marriage became crucial in doing so (p. 229). This political system is referred to as Feudalism. As outlined above, in the virilocal systems, females began to move in with their husbands in order to increase and expand their own families’ power and influence. Additionally, inheritance structures moved towards primogeniture. This meant that fewer noblemen were able to

22 have their own court and therefore remained at their older brother’s court. One can see this in the Nibelungenlied where Gunther’s brothers Giselher and Gernot stayed with him at the court in Worms court as well. This is surprising as the story’s subject matter takes place at a time (4–5th centuries) where this was not the case. Yet, while this is a minor indicator, the Nibelungenlied adapted this new reality into the narrative, showing that authors are indeed somewhat inspired by the current social, cultural, and political and thus ideological currencies. By the time the Nibelungenlied was written, such shrunk power conglomerations, according to Gentry (1998), led to certain parts of “the free aristocracy becoming impoverished or unable to reproduce male heirs (generally both conditions prevailed) and saw itself compelled to strike up alliances through marriage with wealthy members of the ministeriales class [and vassals]” (p. 70). This time was therefore marked by a strong form of “interdependence” (Searle, 1981, p. 18). It was not a world in which individual families acted according to their own means; instead, as already mentioned above, vassalage and ministeriales were common organisational features of society to expand the military and feudal power of lords and kings (Haymes, 1998, p. 95). However, they were not free noblemen by birth, but owed their lords servitium (“service”); “ministeriales sought the rights and privileges of free nobles without seeking a patent of freedom itself” (Haymes, 1998, p. 95). Nevertheless, this system would eventually lead to social advancement as it began shaking long established hierarchies, of which traditionalists and conservatives disapproved. Thus, already around 1200, hierarchies and aristocratic dynasties were worried about losing their stronghold over society (McNamara & Wemple, 1988, p. 96). Society began to move step by step from a lineage-based rule to a rule-governed proto-bureaucracy and the leading nobility was forced to find new means to retain their power, or at least a semblance of it. Siegfried, Crown Prince of Xanten, marries Kriemhild, the sister of the Burgundian king Gunther. Siegfried, indeed is not a vassal, albeit he makes himself out to be one when tricking Brunhild in Iceland, even saying that Gunther is his herre (“master”); Gunther sî mîn herre / und ích sî sîn man (st. 386; “Gunther must be my lord and I be nothing more than one of his men”). Brunhild reiterates the exact same lines a few stanzas further down when she says ist er dîn herre / unt bistú sîn man (st. 423). Gunther and Brunhild marry on the same day as Siegfried and Kriemhild. She first is terribly upset (dô wart ir nie sô leit […] weinen sie began, st. 618; “began to weep […] sorrow made the tears come running down her cheeks”). This is a grave insult to Brunhild’s honour. Since she does not know the truth, she does not understand why Kriemhild marries someone below her status. For Brunhild, Siegfried is a mere vassal to the king and since a woman’s status was now determined by that of her

23 husband’s, Kriemhild is alsô verderbet. (st. 620; “she is also tainted (own )”). This is also why Brunhild does not want to share her wedding night with Gunther (st. 622; daz ich iu nimmer wolde / geligen nâhe bî; “that I do not want to lie next to you (own translation)”). Since the origin of the ministeriales/vassal class was that of an “unfree” class, which moved itself up the “social ladder”, conservatives often saw such marriages as dishonourable (Gentry, 1998, p. 71). In fact, Brunhild refers repeatedly to Siegfried’s vassal-status7; she seems rather conservative herself when she uses the word eigen (“unfree”) to classify Siegfried’s rank and by large also Kriemhild’s. Brunhild even calls Kriemhild an eigendiu (st. 828; “the woman of an unfree vassal”) (Gentry, 1998, p. 71), while she refers to herself as adelvrî (“free-born aristocracy”; st. 828). In fact, whether Brunhild is conservative or not is less relevant than her perceiving her own honour through that of her husband’s. As outlined in the above section on diplomatic women, Europe saw many women rise to power between the 6th–10th centuries. This was caused not only by the dominant social structure, the phasing out of the age of migrations, and the expansion of permanent settlements, but also by the financial status of a woman prior to marriage—“[a] woman’s opportunities to achieve a position of power through marriage were increasingly enhanced as time went on if she controlled inherited property of her own” (McNamara & Wemple, 1988, p. 89). Indeed, marriages and spousal partners were usually organised and decided upon by male members of the family, yet, inheritance and strong property rights “were an important asset” for women at this time (Searle, 1981, p. 18). This also allowed women to gain power and amass property; it, at least, facilitated their quests rather than cutting them short from the start of with. While the 10th century still allowed for greater freedom, female power was attacked and consequently greatly reduced from the 11th century onwards. “In 1037, Konrad II issued the Constitutio de feudis, excluding women from the inheritance of fiefs” (McNamara & Wemple, 1988, p. 95). Indeed, in 1156, this right was partially restored; yet, women were still often left with no rights to inherit. This exclusion, based on economic interests mainly, secured the advancement and consolidation of male superiority in society, and it also altered the very idea of the bride price, which slowly turned into dowries in the early 11th centuries (McNamara & Wemple, 1988, p. 96). The bride price belonged to the bride alone. Indeed the Völsunga saga still mentions that Brynhildr will receive a bride price in return for her hand in marriage to Gunnarr (in the disguise of Sigurðr) (Grimstad, 2000, p.173). Morris & Magnusson’s (1888) translation of the same passage, however, refers to a “dower” (p.108) instead. Yet, once the bride gift became a dowry, “fewer deeds gave the wife outright ownership, and even the usufruct was generally restricted to the use of the husband

24 and wife jointly, not to the wife exclusively” (McNamara & Wemple, 1988, p. 96). These dower agreements changed again in the 12th century; “[it] gave a widow the usufruct of a portion, usually one-third, of her husband’s patrimony” (McNamara & Wemple, 1988, p. 96). Yet, economic independence, as seen in previous centuries, could not be re-installed. Given this dependency, women were now forced to see their honour and position within society exclusively through that of their husbands’. Thus, for Brunhild, who had just lost her financial independence in Iceland, all that was left was her husband’s rank, which was attacked by a wedding she perceived dishonourable. Brunhild is without lineage—a warrior queen without a paternal guardian, in fact without any kin, a foreigner from a remote island in the North Atlantic. Indeed, the Nibelungenlied mentions that her family and kin reside in Iceland as well (st. 476 & st. 523 & st. 526), but these are not given any further attention by the author. She therefore appears to have been provided with a strangely weakened social position by the author despite her supernatural powers and abundant wealth. Brunhild stands at odds with some of the main medieval female attributes. Her marriage was not arranged by male family members and she is financially independent. Indeed, she is wealthy and determines (without her family intervening or making the rules for her) that the most important goal for any suitor is to defeat her in the challenges she had created herself (der muose âne wanc driu spil an gewinnen / der frouwen wol geborn, st. 327; “whoever wanted to win her love would have to beat her three times over in just such games”). She intends to find the strongest suitor, rather than the richest suitor. For her, it seems, the increase of financial assets is of little interest, as she owns such herself in great abundance. The importance for her is physical strength. This is interesting, as the strongest man does not necessarily have to be the richest or most powerful man, at least not theoretically. One does not exclude the other, yet, she “vowed to marry only the best man” (Jochens, 1996, p. 28), which reveals political power to not be Brunhild’s main driving force. Nevertheless, her position within society is precarious and unstable and the author shows this by revealing that Brunhild’s inheritance and property rights do, in fact, matter and they do so precisely at the moment they are stripped off her. After her defeat, Brunhild decides to summon her family and people to bid farewell before leaving Iceland (dô hiez sie boten rîten / allenthalben . si besande ir friunde, / mâge unde man, st. 476; “her men went riding hard in all directions, to summon loyal warrior knights, family members and friends”). The Burgundians see this as a threat, assuming Brunhild is using this as a pretext to strike back (waz haben wir getân! wir erbéiten hie vil übele / der schœnen Prünhilde man / Sô si nu mit ir krefte / koment in daz lant (der küneginne wille / ist uns unkenant), st. 477 & 478; “what have we done! We were insane to stay here, waiting

25 while the beautiful queen’s great armies came. We have not the least idea what she has in mind”). Yet, she had accepted her fate all along and wished to give out some of her treasure to her people before departing to Worms; the Burgundians, however, nearly deplete her entire wealth. Brunhild implores Gunther to stop this; “‘I could do without your treasurer’s generosity, since he intends not to leave me a stitch and is frittering away all my gold. [...] This knight is lavishing such gifts that he must fancy I am thinking of dying! But I mean to keep my money and I trust myself to squander my inheritance’ (trans. Pafenberg, 1995, p.108)”8. For Pafenberg (1995), “Brunhild is aware that the distribution of her wealth to the subjects of Iceland is meant to reduce drastically her political power, to a level below even that at death” (p. 108). This is also why she tells Gunther that she now knows how to spend her money in the future, which is a clear threat. Brunhild is therefore told that she does not need to take her own possessions with her, financial or otherwise, since Gunther is able to provide for her (frouwe, iu sît geseit, ez hât der künec von Rîne / gólt únde kleit alsô vil ze gebene, st. 519; “Lady, let me say, the king of the Rhine has so much clothing and gold that no one ever need worry about”). This is “a consolation which makes clear that a woman’s wealth and power is to be subordinated to a man’s” (Pafenberg, 1995, p. 109). Brunhild signs over her land (st. 523) and arrives in Worms with very little. Her riches are taken away from her; she loses her financial means, her kingdom, her political independence, and, given her somewhat kinless nature, she appears weak despite her physical powers. Therefore, written around 1200, the Nibelungenlied implemented certain, prevailing tendencies within the field of property rights for females. While vassalage and the Church began to pose an external threat to power and hegemonic structures for the noble elite, these regulations and laws secured that at least women could be controlled from within and produce the much-needed heirs rather than seeking their own political advancement and fulfilment.

2.8. Conclusion

The above chapter intended to outline the social reality experienced by courtly women during the Middle Ages. While the standards set by medieval society were not always seamlessly translated into the Nibelungenlied’s events, it still throve on the misogynist backlash, which was put in place around the 10th century and still tangible in the 13th century. Having broadly covered the most important features that decided upon a female’s status and freedom, it is now important to move further in and look at the figure of Brunhild as such.

26 3. Brunhild

3.1. Introduction

This chapter is dedicated to Brunhild alone. It will first be attempted to provide a summary for her possible historical counterpart, before the literary figure will be analysed in depth (including the Old Norse as well as Old German literary traditions the is embedded in, valkyrierdom, and the comparison between the Nibelungenlied, the Þiðreks saga and Völsunga saga). Inevitably, such a textual analysis will also always lead to the darker passages in the Nibelungenlied. The dubious machinations, the betrayal, and the physical violence done to her will, therefore, be given priority in the latter part of this chapter.

3.2. Brunhild as Historical Figure

Murdoch (1998) claims that literary works may reflect upon but do not necessarily record historical events (p. 230). Ord (2017), too, assumes that while the Nibelungenlied’s events have become fictionalised, the story itself should be seen as an adaptation that is historical and factual in origin (p. 81). For her, such a process of “dehistoricisation” is employed in order to make the narrative and its “historical events comprehensible” to audiences (Ord, 2017, p. 81). Murdoch (1998) states that it is therefore important to summarise the historical political events that are referred to in the Nibelungenlied: “the fall of the Burgundians, the decline of the empire of the Huns, and the political problem of the Merovingian Frankish rulers” (p. 230). For Murdoch, there is little that unites these events other than the drive for political stability or the lack thereof. Nagel, too, believes in historical traces, which can be found throughout the story, yet an actual historical grounding of any of the characters in the story is unlikely. For him, the main protagonists are nothing but the result of poetic freedom, which merely had famous historical name givers (Nagel, 1965, p. 18—20). Whether these figures are based on real-life models or whether poetic freedom prevails is of minor matter. Yet, it is still crucial to look into the events that are referenced in the Nibelungenlied.

27 3.2.1. The Burgundians

By the 5th century, the historical Burgundians had established their kingdom along the shores of the river Rhine on the Rhenish Palatinate, their capital was called Worms and their king Gundaharius (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xxxiv)9. For around 20 years, the Burgundians lived without any disputes and/or tensions with their surrounding neighbours. But their kingdom was destroyed when king Gundaharius attempted to expand his territory to the North West into . The Burgundians rose up against the Romans in 436, but their rebellion was crushed by the Roman general Aëtius10. The Burgundians were defeated in the battle, but not yet entirely brought under Roman control, which is why they attacked the Romans again one year later when Hunnic troops allied with the Romans (Hasty, 1998, p. 79). It is assumed that “Gundaharius, along with his family and as many as 20,000 of his people died in these unsuccessful battles of conquest this battle [in the Catalaunian Fields]. The remainder of the Burgundian people were resettled in [Sapaudia in the Western ] present-day ” (Hasty, 1998, p.79). The Burgundians were eventually integrated into the Frankish [Merovingian] kingdom in 534 (Hasty, 1998, p.79). Given this brief historical outline of the Burgundians, it is now crucial to look into the figures that may have inspired Brunhild.

3.2.2. Brunichildis of Austrasia

Brunhild’s character in the Nibelungenlied is more difficult to determine as she is not only foreign but also possesses supernatural powers, which set her apart from other figures of the narrative. In the mythological texts of the Eddas and the Völsunga saga she is often seen as a mystical valkyrie or shieldmaiden – a tradition that did not exist on the European continent. Nevertheless, the most likely contender for Brunhild’s historical origin is the dispute between two Merovingian queens from the 6th century (Ord, 2017, p. 81). Indeed, the of the time experienced an on-going power struggle between Queen Brunichildis (543–613 CE), the wife of the Merovingian King Sigibert I of Austrasia, and Queen Fredegonda, the wife of King of Neustria. Brunichildis was also endowed with an enormous dowry by her father, the Visigoth king Athanagild of (Murdoch, 1998, p. 232). Her sister Gailswintha married Sigibert’s half-brother Chilperic of Neustrasia, but was strangled by his former concubine and later queen Fredegonda. This resulted in a conflict between Chilperic and Sigibert, yet, “the initially victorious Sigibert [...] was himself

28 murdered on the orders of Fredegonda in 575” (Murdoch, 1998, p. 232). While this further fuelled the animosity between both queens, Brunichildis did outlive Fredegonda and ruled for many years with diplomacy and boldness. Ord (2017) therefore assumes that “the names Sigibert, i.e. Siegfried, and Brunichildis, i.e. Brunhild, along with the fact that the quarrel between Brunichildis and Fredegonda is comparable to that of Brunhild and Kriemhild, indicate that there are clear parallels between this piece of Merovingian history and the Nibelungenlied” (p. 84). Yet, for Ord (2017), the roles of Brunhichildis and Fredegonda seem to have been reversed in the Nibelungenlied; that is, Brunhichildis became Kriemhild and Fredegonda became Brunhild (p.84). In the Nibelungenlied, Hagen will kill Siegfried for Brunhild. Yet, historically speaking, it was Fredegonda, who had Sigibert slain, and not Brunichildis. Fredegonda, therefore, cannot fill Kriemhild’s position, neither can Brunichildis simply stand for Brunhild. The literary figure could also be a hybrid of the two; it is still worth pointing out that just like Brunhild, who disappears after the first part of the Nibelungenlied, but is able to maintain her powerful position at the Wormser court throughout the second part of the narrative, Brunichildis, too, remained at the political centre until her death in 613. This is further supported by historical documents reporting on Brunichilidis rule. Given that she was murdered, Sir Charles Oman, a British military historian (1860–1946), for example, lamented her death as the end of the Merovingian House (Murdoch, 1998, p. 250)11. Brunichildis was a mighty queen in her own right, for her time as well as for the time the Nibelungenlied emerged in; that she might have left an imprint on the author’s mind and pen is, therefore, not surprising. Since historical records on her already existed, the author could have well been acquainted with her achievements as well as her tumultuous personal life. Ord (2017) claims that “although these possible historical connections are unrelated with regard to time period, culture, and place, they follow a broad pattern: The women on whom Brunhild may be based on, namely Fredegonda and Brunichildis, are remembered as prominent historical figures for overstepping their boundaries as women and wreaking political havoc due to their unusually bloodthirsty, rebellious, and power- conscious natures and actions” (p. 84). Indeed, there is no certainty whether both or either of the above women functioned as the source for the fictionalised Brunhild, yet, some of their personality traits are preserved in Brunhild’s motivations, especially in her attempts to regain and maintain her lost honour. Ord’s traits of “bloodthirstiness” and “rebelliousness”, however, must be put into relation with the original German text, as a close textual analysis might herald a different outcome. This will be done in the sections on the Rape of Brunhild, the Senna, and Female Transgressions.

29 Nevertheless, the Brunhild figure was eventually taken to Scandinavia where she became Brynhildr and where she was reshaped for a Nordic audience, before traces of her travelled back into the German realm and thus also Nibelungenlied.

3.3. Brunhild as Literary Figure

To accurately place the figure Brunhild within a medieval literary culture, the traces she left and the impact she had on the Nordic culture must be outlined first. Andersson (1980) claims that Brunhild has often been sidelined in favour of Siegfried; “her story is thus normally referred to as the legend of Sigurðr, or, in German circles, the legend of Siegfried” (p. 5). The Nordic literary figure Brynhildr is generally speaking also difficult to examine, since much of her life cycle is lost in the lacuna of the Codex Regius (Jochens, 1996, p. 163) and can only be traced through the preserved fragments found in the various sagas. For example, “the author of Völsunga saga was clearly fascinated by Brynhildr, but it is impossible to determine how much of her portrait comes from the lost poem or poems and how much from his imagination” (Jochens, 1996, p. 26). While other names derived directly from the Old Norse Sagas, such as Guðrún12, have proven to be highly popular amongst the general population, Brynhildr has never been a popular name within the Nordic naming tradition of Iceland and Norway. In the later Nibelungenlied, Brynhildr eventually became Brunhild, an Icelandic queen, which was bizarre for the Nordic world, since there was no royalty in Iceland where most of the sagas were written down (Jochens, 1996, p. 26) 13. Indeed, Brynhildr in the Old Norse sagas (in particular, in the Völusunga saga) is far more impressive than her German counterpart Brunhild, still, her deeds were not preserved in the common name giving and thus in popular culture. Unlike the medieval German literature, Icelandic-Norse culture was marked by the appearance of “strong women” in literary texts. Christianity was introduced not only slower, but also later in Iceland and Scandinavia than it was on the European continent (Jochens, 1996, p. 13). Andersson (1980) claims this was the very reason why the German Nibelungenlied presented the medieval readership with a Brunhild that was bitter, revengeful and eventually submissive, while Norway and Iceland were able to create an impressive female character (p.249). Gildersleeve, too, asserts that the German Brunhild cannot compete with the Nordic Brynhildr in terms of dignity and pride (Gildersleeve, 1909, p. 21—22). Similar to Andersson, Jochens (1996) claims that Old Norse female literary figures, “were not distorted by clerical misogyny of the Middle Ages (p. 403)”.

30 Nevertheless, Nordic society was patriarchal, too, and misogyny was not only found in the divine sphere, whether it may be Christianity and/or paganism, but also within the secular realm, that is, in the Codex Regius or the Völsunga saga (Jochens, 1996, p. 77). Overall, however, females were not represented as stereotypical damsels; instead, male and female protagonists are often depicted as flawed as each other (Jochens, 1996, p. 403). In relation to this, Jochens extracted four distinct female literary figures in the Old Norse Sagas; that is, the warrior, the avenger, the whetter, and the wise woman. As already outlined, there are only a few recorded historical instances of female warriors and avengers in the Nordic society and the warrior figure, therefore, “reveal less about women’s real lives in Norse society than about the male authors’ perceptions of females” (Jochens, 1996, p. 73). Jochens sees the Viking raids on the British Isles as the source for the female warrior figure; not as a reality, but as a fantasy to make the homesickness experienced bearable (Jochens, 1996, p. 111). This is further highlighted by the fact that later Nordic literature eventually began to neglect and ignore the avenging woman in the prose tradition overall. Jochens (1996) assumes that this was another effect Christianity had on the former pagan north (p. 133). She also outlines that due to the strict gender divisions of Norse society, not even the whetter and the wise woman could have had a social grounding on a larger scale (Jochens, 1996, p. 88), but stood in as a literary means or motif rather than as a reflection on actually lived reality. Furthermore, warriors and sorceresses are Nordic, while avengers and whetters emerged on the continent first before they were taken up by the Nordic tradition (Jochens, 1996, p. 132). Overall, however, the heroic world produced more powerful and more interesting female characters than did the divine world. The warrior woman often existed in a collective space, while their activities served for the greater good of entire communities; the avenger and whetter, on the other hand, were individualised, personified (Jochens, 1996, p. 132), and made most prominent in the figures of Guðrún and Brynhildr in the Nordic traditions and as Kriemhild and Brunhild in the German tradition. Their actions were driven by the individual need to take revenge against the injustices committed against them. Brunhild therefore inherits the position of a whetter also in the German Nibelungenlied. Having placed Brynhildr/Brunhild’s role within the greater literary tradition, that is, the whetter, it is now important to have a closer look at how she came to be. Therefore, before going into the Nordic and German versions in greater detail, a root or basic trajectory is needed, and the most promising starting point for this is the figure of Sigrdrífa.

31 3.4. Sigrdrífa and Brynhildr

The scholarly debate revolving around Sigrdrífa and whether she can be identified as Brynhildr is long. Following the Sígrdrífumál (or Brynhildarljóð) of the Codex Regius, and its later prose version in the Völsunga saga, she appears to be the same protagonist and thus plunges readers directly into the Sigurðr/Brynhildr storyline (Jochens, 1996, p. 90; Andersson, 1980, p. 236–249)14. The end of her story was lost in the Poetic Edda, but is still retained in the Völsunga saga. And she is also brought into connection with the Sleeping Beauty tale (Gildersleeve, 1909, p. 4). Since it is the Nordic versions, which are mainly referred to in this section and since these deal with Sigurðr/Siegfried’s youth and thus also an early Brynhildr/Brunhild in depth, here, the warrior maiden Sigrdrífa and Brynhildr/Brunhild will be assumed to be the same literary character. A brief summary, therefore, must be provided. Indeed, the Griseofulvin and the Völsunga saga are very similar; Sigurðr, a descendant of the Völsungs (a people related directly to Óðinn), after he killed the brothers Fáfnir and Reginn, he drinks their blood. Once he tasted the blood, he gained the power to understand birds, which make him aware of a battle creature called Sigrdrífa. Sigurðr collects Fáfnir’s treasure and heads towards Frankland where he discovers a wall of shields (in the Völsunga saga it is a wall of flames) and behind it the valkyrie Sigrdrífa asleep in her armour (Jochens, 1996, p. 91 – 94). Once awakened by Sigurðr, she tells him Óðinn stung her with a sleep thorn as punishment—she killed an old king, who he wished to survive and win. In the Völsunga saga, Brynhildr will tell Sigurðr of the same. Brynhildr’s name consists of the Old Norse elements brynja (breastplate, byrnie; brunia in ) and (battle; hiltia in Old High German), while Sigrdrífa is the “driver to victory” (Collins Dictionary, nd.). Both names entail marital connotations, which are in line with the Nordic tradition of valkyriedom. In fact, Brynhildr/Sigrdrífa is the most active and independent valkyrie. Usually, “valkyries are [...] two-dimensional, having little depth to their characters or dialogue. At times, they seem to be only personifications of battle” (Self, 2014, p. 148). Yet, Sigrdrífa/Brynhildr did both she participated in battle and even undermined Óðinn, revealing she is an active agent in her own right. She was originally part of the divine world, but as we will see, consequently entered the heroic sphere once Sigurðr appears. It is therefore important to provide an overview on Old Norse valkyries and how they may have helped medieval Christian Scandinavian authors to stretch back into their pagan Viking past. The next section will also attempt to outline the Nordic valkyrie heritage in relation to the German Brunhild.

32 3.5. Valkyries

The word valkyrie is made up of the words valr (the slain; corpses on a battlefield) and kjósa (to choose)—“the chooser of the dead” (Collins Dictionary, nd.). In fact, the valkyrie tradition was wide-spread in many Indo-European cultures, as warrior goddesses were surprisingly rather common. They were, for example, associated with the Irish war-goddess The Morrígan, the Vedic Divo duhita (daughter of the sky), and the Teutonic idisi (Damico, 1984, p. 41). In Old , valkyries always stood in close association with the main God Óðinn and thus warfare in and for itself (Jochens, 1996, p. 38–39). Valkyries select the men, who are meant to die in battle and reward victory to the survivors. They take them to Valhöll (, “the hall of the slain”) where they will continue to take care of the fallen warriors in the afterlife, serving them drinks. Serving food was a typical feminine task in Old Norse society, which is even why “the warrior woman [is] domesticated in Óðinn’s ‘beer-hall’” (Self, 2014, p. 149). The valkyries, however, do not always decide over the warriors’ fate, it often remains an expression of Óðinn’s power after all (Self, 2014, p. 154). Valkyries were either semi-divine or entirely supernatural creatures. While Skaldic tended to strip them of any heroic deeds and clear agenda to become otherworldly and dream-like creatures, Eddic poetry often presented valkyries as noble, wise and legendary figures (yet, still rather passive) (Damico, 1984, p. 42). Thus, valkyries are depicted favourably, but they do not embody the female ideal. Part of this is due to the fact that they were not legally married and did not produce children (Self, 2014, p. 151). Valkyries are an important link between the secular and the divine world and make the figure of Sigrdrífa/Brynhildr even more interesting. Indeed, Sigrdrífa defied Óðinn twice, when she killed a man he wished alive, but also when she proclaimed to not marry, if the suitor shows fear. An enraged Óðinn responded, “she would never again win victory in battle and that she should marry” (Jochens, 1996, p. 91). According to Jochens (1996), “it appears from Óðinn’s words that he considered marriage and victory in war to be mutually exclusive, but it is not yet clear whether she would be allowed to fight but not to win, or whether marriage precluded warfare altogether” (p. 91). Given she is a valkyrie, however, it is interesting that Óðinn intended for her to get married, but also because all of the Brynhildrs discussed here (Völsunga and Þiðreks saga) eventually do indeed aspire to marriage. Self claims that Scandinavian valkyries are provided with a third gender, that is a hybrid of masculine and female features (Self, 2014, p. 143). They are dressed in masculine armour and attire and wear weapons, yet “linguistic markers” and “literary devices” mark them as feminine (Self,

33 2014, p. 143). Thus, “discussions of valkyries and shield-maidens tend to insert them into a binary of masculine and feminine, wherein they sit somewhat uneasily in the feminine category” (Self, 2014, p. 144). In terms of descriptions, valkyries are only semantically feminine; otherwise, there is little difference to men. This also applies to Sigrdrífa/Brynhildr. Indeed, Sigurðr initially mistakes her for a man, because of the armour—he sees a sleeping “fully equipped warrior” (Grimstad, 2000, p. 147). The text uses the noun for man, maðr, and in the next sentence uses the masculine pronoun when Sigurðr first takes off “his helmet” (Grimstad, 2000, p. 146). Once the valkyrie’s helmet is off, Sigurðr sees that the person is a woman in a byrnie “so tight it was as if it had grown into her flesh”—switching from male to female personal and possessive pronouns. The phrase “had grown into her flesh”, translates one word hóldgroinn, which can be taken to mean “grown to the flesh”, or “flesh-grown”. It is as if Sigrdrífa/Brynhildr’s body had merged with the armour: “she had become the masculine clothing of war itself.” (Self, 2014, p. 152). Sigurðr awakens Sigrdrífa/Brynhildr after cutting off her byrnie. He thus made it unusable and “the remains of the byrnie simply fall away from her” (Self, 2014, p. 152). His actions could have turned Sigrdrífa/Brynhildr feminine on purpose or without intention; either way, she loses her masculine traits once the armour is gone. Assuming Sigrdrífa and Brynhildr to be the same person, in the Völsunga saga, this episode marks the beginning of the end of “the Valkyrie” and the beginning of her transition to the feminine sphere. Unlike its gender roles, Old Norse society had rather complex and complicated gender allocations. Masculine as well as feminine traits were not always rigidly divided—“at least insofar as women can take on masculine characteristics and receive approval, even if that approval was limited” (Self, 2014, p. 144). While it was socially acceptable to move from the feminine to the masculine sphere, the opposite direction, that is, from the masculine to the feminine, was frowned upon. Old Norse society is marked by a single-sex gender, instead of a rigid gender segregation, and thus promoted “gender elimination” (Pafenberg, 1995, p. 107). The one-sex model assumed one gender, which was male. Old Norse society saw warriordom and death in battle as the ultimate masculine deed. Therefore, masculinity was always a positive trait: “This is a world in which ‘masculinity’ always has a plus value, even (or perhaps especially) when it is enacted by a woman” (Pafenberg, 1995, p. 107). German heroic literature is therefore different from Norse heroic literature—it did not show these gender features. While “masculinity is privileged in German heroic culture, […] [it is] not to the elimination of the female sex and female gender, rather, masculinity enjoys privilege through the segregation of sexes and genders” (Pafenberg, 1995, p. 107). The

34 German Nibelungenlied’s Brunhild, therefore, is not simply the epitome of the male figure in a female body, which is seen as a positive trait in Nordic societies; in fact, in stark contrast to this, what will render her monstrous within the medieval German mind-set is that she embodied any male features at all. Material on valkyries is often found in the mythological part of the Eddas (Poetic Edda) as well as in Snorri Sturluson’s Edda (Prose Edda). The Eddas were written by Christians, therefore, their relationship with paganism was complex. Self assumes that valkyries and their mythological origin “could be tucked away in a pagan past that was valued, but not identical to the ‘us’ of a thirteenth-century Iceland” (Self, 2014, p. 146—147). Authors, therefore, assumed a readership that was able to detect mythical creates that questioned fixed gender norms as being part of a distant pagan past, but not an audience that would question gender roles in their actual lived experience. Nevertheless, “the woman in supernatural and masculine roles associated with war became the special Nordic contribution to the literary gallery of female imagery” (Jochens, 1996, p. 111). Although, rather unlikely, Murdoch (1998) assumes that the German Brunhild may have not been modelled on the Old Norse valkyrie tradition (p. 242). Yet, apart from the Teutonic idisi, who bear no weight in any of the Nibelung versions, Nordic or otherwise, supernatural valkyries are not part of Continental Germanic legends. In the Nordic tradition, however, Brynhildr’s powers became crucial as only a woman of such strength was suitable for the male hero Sigurðr (Jochens, 1996, p. 92). This was the very reason, an originally powerful yet moral woman, Brynhildr, could be a valkyrie and still be endowed with a “marital role” as originally envisioned by Óðinn for Sigrdrífa (Jochens, 1996, p. 92—93). The strongest woman needed an even stronger man, which she found in Sigurðr (although they never actually marry, neither in the Völsunga). Nevertheless, Sigurðr’s very existence implies that he could outdo her strength at any given time; therefore, she is less of a threat. Given these valkyrie attributes, it is interesting to see how the Nibelungenlied’s Brunhild fits into this. Indeed, as will be shown, as an Icelandic warrior queen, she does sit rather uneasy within the German Nibelungenlied’s machinations and tradition. In fact, traces of her origin are still felt at least at the beginning of the narrative. The German Brunhild, a skilled warrior and powerful maiden queen, did have superhuman valkyrie-like powers, too; and with these powers, she intended to secure a man of equal strength for her. Siegfried brings his Tarnkappe to Iceland, which renders him as strong as 12 men and makes him invisible in order to trick and defeat her. She accepts their bridal quest, but is angered when Siegfried and Gunther win every challenge she lays before them.

35 Surprisingly, the moment she is defeated, she immediately calls upon her people to recognise Gunther as their new king and leader. Thus, while her strength is seen as an anomaly and supernatural, she is still depicted as a woman of her word. This is what gives her some independent agency, albeit limited. Brunhild creates and puts in place a rule, which was uncommon for women, accepts its consequences, and eventually submits to Gunther. Iceland now belongs to Gunther, while she turns from an undefeated warrior into a vanquished queen. Although it is not clearly mentioned, she moves from the supernatural to the secular world in the Nibelungenlied too. This will be further discussed in the sections dedicated solely to her betrayal. First, however, it is important to look at the Nibelungenlied, the Þiðreks saga, and Völsunga saga—what they share and where they diverge.

3.6. Similarities and Differences in the Old Norse and German versions

This section will deal with the similarities and differences between the German and Nordic Version, focussing mainly on the Þiðreks saga and Völsunga saga. As mentioned in the previous chapter, there is still some debate on whether Sigrdrífa and Brynhildr were the same figures or two separate female characters; nevertheless, the German tradition merged both figures under one woman—that of Brunhild (Jochens, 1996, p. 92). It was further claimed that the name Sigrdrífa belongs to Sigurðr, just as Gunnarr (Gunther) belongs to Guðrún (Kriemhild) (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xxxiv), which could confirms the original betrothal between Brynhildr and Sigurðr. In fact, in the Nordic versions, Siegfried is commonly referred to as Sigurðr; Siegfried and Sigurðr, however, are etymologically not the same. Indeed, the first part of their names *-sig means “victory”, but the endings diverge in meaning. The *-frið as in Siegfried, means “peace” and the *- ward as in Sigurðr, means “guard” (Nordic Names, nd.). Yet, medieval written sources, Nordic or German, seemed to have assumed both to hold the same meaning, as they are used interchangeably. Compared to the Norse stories, however, the Nibelungenlied knows little to nothing about Siegfried’s childhood and youth, while the second half of the story, the downfall of the Nibelungs, in turn, is barely dealt with in the Norse versions. Thus, the Nibelungenlied knows little of Siegfried’s youth, yet, provides the second part with more importance to outbalance the missing information in the first part—“until it overshadows the first part in length and importance and gives the name to the whole poem” (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xl). As already outlined in the chapter on the Nibelungenlied’s literary origins, “the theme of the poem is no longer the love of Sigurðr, the homeless wanderer, for the majestic Valkyrie Brynhildr, but the love idyll of Siegfried, the son of

36 the king of the Netherlands, and the dainty Burgundian princess Kriemhild” (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xxxvii). The second part of the narrative, however, will be of little importance here in this analysis, as Brunhild is the main focus in this thesis. Thus, the main difference between the Nordic versions and the German Nibelungenlied is the fact that Sigurðr/Siegfried encountered Brynhildr/Brunhild before he met Guðrún/Kriemhild. Yet, in all the Nordic versions discussed here, Sigurðr will still betray his first “fiancée” Brynhildr, just like Siegfried and Gunter did with Brunhild in the later Nibelungenlied. In both the Völsunga saga and Þiðreks saga, Brynhildr and Sigurðr do pair; he even swears an oath to marry her after he fell in love with her15. In the former, he rode through the wall of fire to rescue her from a sleep spell (Morris & Magnusson, 1888, p. 83); in the Þiðreks saga, he broke into her castle and killed several of her guards, before she welcomed him (Timeless Myth, nd.). In the Völsunga saga, he breaks the promise, because he is put under a spell by Grimhildr of the Gjúkung Clan, who gives Sigurðr a potion for him to forget about Brynhildr for him to marry her daughter Guðrún instead (Morris & Magnusson, 1888, p.104). In the Þiðreks saga, he does so because he sees Guðrún as the more viable bride to marry in order for him to increase his own power and status (Timeless Myth, nd.). In the Nibelungenlied, as outlined above, Siegfried and Brunhild are never depicted as lovers. In all versions, however, Sigurðr/Siegfried reaches Worms after having slain a dragon. In the Norse version it is the dragon Fáfnir (in the Þiðreks saga it is Reginn); the name is not specified in the Nibelungenlied (st. 100). In the Völsunga saga, Sigurðr reaches King Gjúki’s court at Worms and becomes friends with Gunnarr Gjúkason. Here, it seems Gunnarr’s mother Grimhildr plays the most active part in the betrothal of Sigurðr and her daughter Guðrún (Morris & Magnusson, p.104; “But Grimhildr finds how heartily Sigurðr loved Brynhildr, and how oft he talks of her; and she falls to thinking how well it were, if he might abide there and wed the daughter of King Gjúki”). In the Þiðreks saga as well as in the Nibelungenlied (st. 4), Gunnarr/Gunther is already king and has the authority to offer his sister Guðrún/Kriemhild to Sigurðr/Siegfried as his wife. In the Nibelungenlied, however, Gunther puts Siegfried under one condition, that is, he must join him to Iceland first before he can marry his sister (st. 334; Sîvrit, an dîne hant: und kumt diu schœne Prünhilt / her in ditze lant, sô wil ich dir ze wîbe mîne swester geben; “when beautiful princess Brunhild arrives here in my land, my sister becomes your wife”). Indeed, Brunhild’s story in the Nibelungenlied begins with the Burgundian King Gunther’s bridal quest to Iceland. Gunther’s vassal Hagen also advises to bring Siegfried along (st. 331; bittet Sîvrîde); in the Völsunga saga, it is Grimhildr again that suggest Brynhildr as a potential wife for Gunnarr (Grimstad, 2000, p.171).

37 Yet, Sigurðr suggests to go on such an adventure to Gunnarr in the Þiðreks saga (Timeless Myth, nd.). Brynhildr does also not appear to be located on Iceland in neither of the Nordic stories. This might be another indicator that the German poet might have made use of the older Nordic material. He needed to place her somewhere far away, and since the stories were first written down in Norway and then Iceland, Iceland might have been the most logical choice and place. Both Sigurðr and Siegfried help winning Brynhildr/Brunhild for Gunnarr/Gunther by completing physically demanding exercises or trials in disguise for his brother-in-law. In the Völsunga saga, Sigurðr and Gunnarr swap shapes and Sigurðr rides through the wall of flames for him. He sleeps three nights next to Brynhildr, putting his sword between the two of them (Grimstad, 2000, p.175). She is convinced she is sleeping next to Gunnarr. In the Nibelungenlied, Siegfried is not in close contact with Brunhild during the quest. He still wins the challenges she has set for the Burgundian suitor Gunther with his Tarnkappe. Indeed, in the Völsunga saga, Sigurðr is a mighty and strong warrior as is Siegfried, whose strength equals that of Brynhildr; yet, he does not depend on an additional helping hand, as does Siegfried with his Tarnkappe (this might be because he can trace his ancestry back to Óðinn as well as the Völsungs). There are no potions that make you forget your past in the Þiðreks saga, there is also no task or challenge to be completed. In fact, Sigurðr simply convinces Brynhildr to marry Gunnarr (Timeless Myth, nd.). Yet, Brynhildr/Brunhild is still deceived in both traditions (Nordic and German) in various ways. In the Þiðreks saga and the Nibelungenlied, both Brynhildr and Brunhild are tricked during the wedding night, when Sigurðr/Siegfried outdoes her in the guise of Gunnarr/Gunther for her to lose her supernatural powers and submit to her new husband. Indeed, in the Þiðreks saga, Brynhildr reluctantly agreed to marry Gunnarr and was therefore not deceived during the bridal quest as such (as seen in the Völsunga saga and Nibelungenlied), the bedchamber scene between her and Sigurðr, however, still took place. (Timeless Myth, nd.) Therefore, in the Nordic versions, Brynhildr is deceived only once per story, although in various ways and at various times during the narrative, while the later Nibelungenlied incorporated both forms of deceptions for Brunhild. In all versions, Guðrún/Kriemhild will eventually tell her sister-in-law of the deception. She is told that it was always Sigurðr/Siegfried, who “won her hand in marriage” and/or overpowered her in the bedchamber during the wedding night and not Gunnarr/Gunther. In the Völsunga saga, Brynhildr calls for Sigurðr’s death (“this shall be Sigurðr‘s death”; Morris & Magnusson, 1888, p. 119), while her main anger is directed at his mother-in-law Grimhildr (Morris & Magnusson, 1888, p. 115; “Grimhildr;—never, I wot, has woman lived eviler or of lesser heart than she”). Sigurðr

38 eventually speaks to Brynhildr and offers to marry her, but she rejects his offer and says, “I will not have two kings in one hall” (Morris & Magnusson, 1888, p. 118). She does not, however, carry out the act of revenge herself; she incites Gunnarr by telling him that she will kill him and herself unless he kills Sigurðr (Grimstad, 2000, pp. 183–184). In the Þiðreks saga, Brynhildr initially directs her anger at Guðrún; yet, it will also be Gunnarr, who will revenge her by having Sigurðr killed (Timeless Myth, nd.). While Brunhild also incites and initially also sees Kriemhild as the main culprit in the Nibelungenlied, Gunther ignores her claims and pleas (st. 860). She is eventually avenged by Hagen, who proposes to kill Siegfried for her (st. 864). In the Nordic versions, after Sigurðr is killed, Brynhildr’s grief is too strong and she “asks that she be burned on the funeral pyre with Sigurðr, with a sword lying between them so that it will be as it was when he appeared to her in the guise of Gunnarr, ‘when we went into one bed and promised to be man and wife’ (in the Völsunga saga, the Snorra Edda, and the Sigurðarkviða hin skamma)” (Self, 2014, p. 164). In the Völsunga saga, it seems, Brynhildr does not marry her chosen husband, but still acts as if he was her husband. In the Þiðreks saga and Nibelungenlied, after Sigurðr/Siegfried is killed, Brynhildr/Brunhild slowly starts to fade from the narrative. In fact, Kuhn (1950) outlines that no German version reports on a potential suicide committed by Brunhild; only younger sources such as Sigurðarkviða hin skamma (st. 47 ff.), the Snorra Edda (st. 364), and the Völsunga saga do so (p. 191). They therefore constitute a single saga branch, as their individual parts on Brunhild’s suicide are near coherent (Kuhn, 1950, p. 191). Her death, according to Kuhn (1950), was symbolic; it was introduced for the lovers Sigurðr and Brynhildr, whose romantic union was denied during their lifetime, and could, at least be accomplished in their death (p. 191). Yet, she also had to die, because she had to atone for something, as she, after all, is responsible for Sigurðr’s death, which she ordered in order to revenge herself (Kuhn, 1950, p. 191). In conclusion, both traditions (Nordic and German) draw from the same source, executed in various ways, at different times, and under various cultural influences. Consequently, their differences appear on both a structural and stylistic level (which here cannot be discussed further), but also entails varying interpretations of the original subject matter. The following section will therefore go deeper into the literary figure of Brunhild, the twofold deception she had to endure in the Nibelungenlied, the infamous bedroom and river scenes as well as the status and relevance Brunhild held within medieval society.

39 3.7. The Rape of Brunhild

Indeed, from the start, Brunhild remains sceptical towards the events that happened in Iceland as well as the following double-wedding between Kriemhild and Siegfried in Worms. Her suspicions eventually lead to the infamous bedroom scene during the first wedding night in which Gunther cannot rely on Siegfried’s powers and is consequently subdued by his now wife. For further explanation, during the fight, which erupted after he made unwanted advances towards her, she suspends him from a nail in the wall and leaves him hanging there until the next morning (st. 636 & st. 637). Gunther is ridiculed by his wife’s physical strength. “His attempt to exert violence against this mighty queen and to subjugate her under his will now turns against him, and he would suffer the worst humiliation a married man ever experienced if she did not release him from the nail early in the morning because he promises to leave her alone from then on” (Classen, 2011, p. 37). Classen (2011) points out that we do not know whether Gunther made advances towards Brunhild because he felt emotionally attached to her or whether he simply saw her as his newly won possession, to be consumed at any time he pleases (p. 37). Indeed, Brunhild’s feelings and thoughts are never expressed, only Gunther’s, which could be an active effort on behalf of the writer to push Brunhild’s emotional world into oblivion. Consequently, the audience cannot identify with her and her struggles. Brunhild denies Gunther the wedding night until she has “found out the truth” (st. 635; unz ich diu mære ervinde). As Classen (2011) states, “nothing seems to be right in all the marriage arrangements, which she has clearly perceived, without grasping the full degree of the male machinations” (p. 37). Therefore, Brunhild forbids Gunther to touch her until she is given the reason for the double-wedding. During the fight, Gunther, in fear for his life, still refers to himself as der Meister (st. 638; “the master”), which implies that Brunhild might have not yet accepted her new role as the king’s wife, who is supposed to comply to his wishes at all times (Classen, 2011, p. 37). Classen (2011) claims Brunhild does violate and transgress social medieval norms, as she does not (yet) fully see her honour through that of her husband’s or her “master” (p. 37). This is also why she taunts him with the fact that he was tied up by a woman (von einer frouwen hant; st. 640) before she releases him from the nail. This scene is troublesome on many levels and not just because a medieval woman stepped outside her assigned role—an action for which the author would have punished her, regardless. She is rightly suspicious about the events that are outside the bounds of her control and that have led up to the wedding. Yet, the Nibelungenlied provides the audience with a further layer, that is, clear

40 evidence that Gunther was forcing himself onto her is given—“then he struggled for her love / and tore her clothing apart” (dô ranc er nâch ir minne / unt zerfúorte ír diu kleit; st. 636). The roles of the victim and aggressor are therefore reversed for the audience. Brunhild is avoiding Gunther’s unwanted sexual advances; yet, the audience is tricked into believing that Brunhild is the actual violent aggressor in this scene during the first wedding night. This is on the author and the way he presented the scene; this is also on medieval society and its overarching patriarchal society structure. Yet, it is still interesting how little society has progressed, given the fact the reversal of victim and aggressor roles is still commonplace today. Gunther eventually recounts the wedding night to Siegfried, who is still readily available to help. While he only physically outdid Brunhild in the games in Iceland, he is now willing to exert physical violence right onto Brunhild’s body—sô twinge ich dir dîn wîp (st. 654; “I will force your wife”). All Gunther asks of Siegfried is to not get involved sexually with Brunhild (st. 655; âne daz du iht triust […] die míne lieben frouwen). The following night, Siegfried, once again in disguise (with his Tarnkappe), tries to subdue Brunhild, which becomes an unexpected challenge for him. In fact, in Brunhild, he met an equal in terms of physical strength for the very first time. As pointed out by Classen (2011), his struggles are revealed in the following passage (p. 39); waz half sîn grôziu sterke unt ouch sîn michel kraft? (st. 672; “what good was his great strength, and his enormous power?”). Siegfried reflects upon the implications his loss would mean for him and mankind as such and eventually manages to subdue Brunhild. Indeed, Classen (2011) sees this battle as highly symbolic for the gender relationships of the High Middle Ages, as her victory would imply that no women would have to submit to men ever again (p. 39); sô mugen elliu wìp / her nâch immer mêre tragen gelüpfen muot / gegen ir manne (st. 673; “henceforth all women will be disrespectful against their husbands”). This physical alteration marks a clear turning point not only in the narrative but also in the German literature tradition itself, as women previously had not behaved like this (diu ez sus nimmer getuot; st. 673; “who has never acted that way before”). According to Classen (2011), this scene also reveals the writer’s fear of a potential emancipation of women from patriarchal social forms (p. 39). Crucially, he further points out that this scene had often been treated in ironic terms by previous research where its actual implications were ignored or sidelined (Classen, 2011, p. 39). It is a misogynist and violent scene, a clear attack on a female’s body and thus also on her identity and integrity. There is little irony indeed. Siegfried is worried about his own status, yet, also refers to the future state of all of mankind where women would be able to forfeit male superiority. It is this potential embarrassment that reawakens Siegfried’s strength and he eventually manages to

41 throw her on the bed, hurting her so badly that she feels like her body is breaking apart (st. 676; er druhtes an daz bette, / daz si vil lûte erschrê; ir tâten sîne krefte harte grœzlîchen wê; st. 677; daz ir diu lit erkrachten / unt ouch al der lîp). Yet, before she is defeated, she displays her physical strength one last time; she squeezes Siegfried’s hands so tight that blood is streaming from his fingers—although he is supposedly invincible and his skin impenetrable. Classen (2011) asks whether Siegfried merely defeated Brunhild or whether she was also raped by him (p. 40—41). The text remains cryptic and vague and only tells of a sudden submissive Brunhild—des wart der strît gescheiden: dó wart si Guntheres wíp (st. 674; “thus the struggle came to an end, then she became Gunther’s wife”). Hasty (1998) assumes that there was no actual intercourse with the Icelandic queen, but that Siegfried violated her “only” symbolically (p. 89). Brunhild still clueless about what happened, assumes she had fought Gunther. The following night, however, the real Gunther will actually rape Brunhild. In reality, medieval texts do not reveal husbands as rapists—there was little to no concept that husbands could be rapists too—it was merely seen as a wife’s duty to comply. Classen (2011) outlines that once Gunther slept with his now defeated wife, she lost her virginity and thus also her supernatural powers; hey waz ir von der minne ir grôzen krefte entweich! (st. 681; “Oh, because of this love her great strength disappeared”) (p. 45). Brunhild already iterated similar words after Siegfried had subdued her the previous night: ich gewer mich nimmer mêre der edelen minne dîn (st. 678; “I will never again fight against your noble love”). Furthermore, for Classen (2011), the word minne, whose literal medieval translation is romantic love, here, denotes physical subjugation first and foremost (p. 45). Along the lines of the above-outlined role reversal of victim and perpetrator, the author, here, too, twists a rather straightforward concept (“love”) for his own ideological convictions and so manipulates the audience into believing one concept is exchangeable for another and both denote the same; that is, “rape” and “love”. Furthermore, Koplowitz-Breier (2007), also claims that Brunhild’s “statement at the end of the struggle alludes to her final submission to Gunther: he proves to her that he can vanquish her and be her master, and she consequently accepts his authority. She adds that henceforth he can love her, that is, have sexual relations with her whenever he pleases” (p. 21). Consequently, in line with Hasty, Classen (2011) says, “it does not matter whether Siegfried had actually penetrated Gunther’s wife sexually in the second wedding night, whereas his symbolic behaviour, squashing all her resistance almost killing her in the struggle, […] thus preparing her for Gunther, amounts to a form of rape by the proxy Siegfried, which then led to […] marital rape by Gunther” (p. 44). The author of the Nibelungenlied acted rather cynical, not only does he conflate

42 “rape” with “love” and so justifies violence against women, he also does not hide the fact that Siegfried had physically violated and thus symbolically raped Brunhild, too. In the German Nibelungenlied, Brunhild turns from an undefeated warrior into a vanquished woman. The loss of her power and the consequent submission is crucial in the German version, but she does not seem to go through such a transformation in all of the Nordic versions. It appears it is not necessary for her to lose her supernatural powers (except for in the Þiðreks saga where Brynildr also loses her strength through Sigurðr’s violations; here, the text is more straight-forward and says that he takes her virginity). On the contrary, she is not raped in the Völsunga saga, neither by Sigurðr, nor by Gunnarr. She remains a valkyrie throughout and there is no physical violence done to her body. Thus, as outlined above, although Old Norse society was highly misogynistic itself, it operated rather different in terms of its female literary figures. Especially, in the Völsunga saga, could they remain supernatural and physically strong, as they would not cause any damage to the existing social order. In the Nibelungenlied, however, the bed chamber scene with Siegfried is crucial for Brunhild, as she also loses her unique physical strength and now needs to rely on “public speeches, her tears” alone (Classen, 2011, p. 45) to regain her honour—both whetting and tears are assumed to be very feminine and rather negative personality traits in medieval society. From now on, she can only incite, but no longer act as a fighting warrior queen herself—“she is no longer Queen Brunhild but Brunhild the queen, no longer a queen in her own right but the king’s wife” (Koplowitz-Breier, 2007, p. 21). What the loss of her superhuman powers mean for a medieval German society overall, will be discussed in the final section of this chapter. First, however, it is important to follow the events that occurred after the infamous bedchamber scene in order to reveal the appalling male machinations Brunhild sensed from the start, but could not fully grasp.

3.8. The Senna

Before Siegfried left the bedchamber, he stole a ring and belt from Brunhild (st. 679 & st. 680). Hasty sees these objects as “symbolic of [Brunhild’s] power” (Hasty, 1998, p. 89). These two objects will also become pivotal during the famous scene outside the cathedral of Worms when Kriemhild claims that Brunhild was nothing but a kebse (st. 839; “whore”) who laid first with Siegfried and not her own husband; den dínen schoenen líp / den minnet’ êrste Sífrit, der mín vil lieber man. / jane was ez nigh mín bruoder, der dir den maetuom an gewan (st. 840; “Siegfried was the first to make love with you [with your beautiful body], that is, my very beloved man. Indeed, it

43 was not my brother who deflowered you”). Kriemhild adds that this was ez was ein arger list (st. 841; “it was an evil trick”), yet, continues questioning why Brunhild slept with Siegfried, if she thought of him being inferior (st. 841; sît er dîn eigen ist), that is, a mere vassal to the king (Koplowitz-Breier, 2007, p. 21). Brunhild’s legal status as the king’s wife is challenged by Kriemhild, who further accuses her that she knew it was Siegfried and not Gunther and she therefore agreed to the situation during the second wedding night. Why she continued the assault, after she first assumed Brunhild was tricked, remains unclear and is not further outlined in the narrative. With Kriemhild’s words, however, the symbolic rape by proxy had just become real. The quarrel of the queens is central to the Nibelungenlied and also the turning point of the narrative when the twofold deception is finally revealed. The scene itself escalated because Brunhild and Kriemhild argue over who is allowed to enter the church first. In fact, the nagging questions revolving around social status and rank have been brought up by Brunhild on several occasions during the entire Nibelungenlied. Jochens (1996) assumes that the resulting argument between her and Kriemhild belongs to a well-known literary device derived from the Eddic poetry, called senna. It consists of an exchange of insults between two or more characters (p. 169). Surprisingly, in the Nibelungenlied as well as in its Nordic versions, the senna, here, turns into a “comparison of men” (mannjafnadr), their status and power (Jochens, 1996, p. 169). This trend was feasible throughout the narrative and now found its climax in the Church scene. Here, the common literary figure reserved for women alone, that is, the whetter, cannot be applied, because it stands in stark contrast to the mannjafnadr; in fact, both women do not incite for others to act on their behalf, but become active participants themselves (although the argument hinges on their husband’s social role and power). In general, sennas tend to end peacefully, that is any tensions that had been growing are released verbally. While sennas were common in the Nordic tradition, it was unusual to have two females taking part in it (Jochens, 1996, p. 169). Since the Nordic versions are older, travelling back from Scandinavia to South Germany and written down around 1200, the senna, which is also clearly present in the Nibelungenlied, might have been a Nordic addition to the actual plot, taken on by the German writer16. It does, however, entail serious consequences on a personal as well as on a larger political scale. Thus, the senna might have had a non-violent ending outside the cathedral, the overall situation, however, still led to the downfall of the Burgundian and Hunnic kingdoms, as outlined in the second part of the Nibelungenlied. In the German Nibelung narrative, the senna revealed the grave deceit; and it will prompt Brunhild to eventually take things further in order to make amendments for the injustices done to her (Jochens, 1996, p. 168) – or so it is

44 assumed. Nevertheless, this was presumed to have been done by inciting men again, rather than acting actively herself. Along similar lines, Ursula Peters (2016) argues that Brunhild repeatedly makes use of the term eigen throughout the narrative; she therefore reinforces her dislike towards the newly rising class of vassals, the class she perceived as “unfree” and therefore inferior. She not only provokes Kriemhild, Brunhild’s persistence also increases the severity of the insult directed towards her and Siegfried (p. 317). Indeed, it is the constant repetition and thus constant provocation, that makes the term eigen a grave insult first and foremost. That arguments were pushed to their limit, that they took this course was common in medieval times, what was not, is its execution. A senna was solved peacefully, here, however, the participants would have sought a martial solution to the problem—a duel or a war (Peters, 2016, p. 317). Peters (2016) does not refer to the idea of the senna as such; she does, however, highlight the fact, that it was most unusual to also have two females involved in such an argument or conflict, which is not only verbal by nature, but revolves around social status and vassalage and therefore power relationships (p. 317). This is also why Peters (2016) says that Brunhild needed to keep the argument alive for as long as possible. She had to put Kriemhild in a position where she would make use of the opportunity to go into the cathedral first in order to cement and uphold her superior rank as Siegfried’s wife, and, thus the wife of the strongest and best man. Thus, Brunhild needed the argument to continue for it to take its natural course; she had to push it towards its climax, rather than cutting it short (p.317). She needed to do so, because she would have missed the chance of potentially subduing Kriemhild, but also to stand strong and take part in the potential looming physical fight (if missed, this would have meant further shame for a former warrior-queen). As for the quarrel in and for itself, however, important to keep in mind that “the queens’ quarrel outside of the cathedral is based on an angry exchange of two misguided women” (Classen, 1993, p. 11–573; own italics). Brunhild cannot be blamed for insisting on her superior position, because Siegfried convinced her in Iceland that he is a mere vassal to Gunther. At the same time, Kriemhild can also not be blamed, as she, in fact, is rightly married to the strongest man (824) (Classen, 1993, p. 11). They are the “victims of actions which have never been translated into words; actions by their husbands which are too shameful to be expressed in public” (Classen, 1993, p. 11). It is the church scene, which constitutes the precise moment Siegfried’s death is decided upon, although neither of the characters involved knows of this yet. Brunhild is often depicted as the instigator, who must have him killed, because it is he who has wounded her pride and caused

45 public embarrassment to her. The next section will not only investigate this claim further, it will also look into the consequence medieval women face, once society’s norms and gender roles are turned upside down and transgressed.

3.9. Female Transgression

Once accused by Kriemhild of infidelity, Brunhild demands that Gunther to clear her of these dishonourable accusations and shameful charges. Yet, Gunther, instead of standing by his wife or fighting for her honour, commits another deception. In fact, he first does announce to investigate, but has no incentive of actually doing so (er [Siegfried] sol her fúr gân! Und hât er sihs gerüemet, / daz sol er hœren lân, st. 855; “Siegfried must come […] he will either freely declare and justify the truth of this, or else deny it”). At the same time, Siegfried, his brother-in-law, is publicly showing off (du habes dich des gerüemet, / daz du ir schœnen lîp allerêrst hábes geminnet, st. 857; “you have boasted of taking possession of Brunhild’s body”). Gunther summons Siegfried, who, in return, promises to scold Kriemhild for spreading such rumours instead (st. 858; ez sol ir werden leit, and st. 863; man sol sô frouwen ziehen […] daz si üppeclîche sprüche). In reality, medieval law would have demanded an oath to be sworn by Siegfried, for him to prove his innocence to Gunther. Yet, all blame is put on Kriemhild, who “had simply bragged about her husband’s virility and strength as justification for her own claims of Siegfried’s political superiority” (Classen, 2011, p. 42). The author of the Nibelungenlied succeeds once again in twisting the events and thus also the truth (this time even forfeiting medieval law); he shifts the blame onto the wrong person and lets the actual culprit get away, all while the audience is tricked into thinking that what is presented to them is indeed justifiable and legitimate. Indeed, Siegfried never swears an oath – neither about having allegedly slept with Brunhild, nor about him boasting about it. In fact, Gunther declares him innocent on the spot (st. 860; mir ist sô wol bekant iuwer grôz unschulde; / ich wil iuch ledec lân, des iuch mîn swester zîhet, / daz ir des niene habt getân “I hereby declare you innocent, you have no doing in your sister’s accusations (own translation)”). Classen (2011) outlines that both men – Siegfried and Gunther – cooperate pretty well, “utilising a rhetorical manoeuvre that deflects the possibly scandalous danger of revealing the truth [...]” (p. 42). Instead of opening an investigation into the potentially dangerous claims, the audience is confronted with two men, who take it upon themselves to punish their wives – they “need to be educated, tamed, domesticated, and controlled by men; otherwise society would experience profound disruptions and shame (st. 862)” (Classen,

46 2011, p. 43). Today, this behaviour is rightly labelled “toxic masculinity”. This term, however, does not capture the severity of it all. In fact, this was the norm and thus constituted the very system medieval women found themselves in. And, it is all the more tragic, since Kriemhild does not even seem to know concrete details of the encounter between Siegfried and Brunhild; in fact, she appears to interpret the ring and belt in a way that would benefit her in winning the argument with Brunhild, but she does not back up her claims with facts. Thus, both women base their accusations on unfounded grounds, on lies; Brunhild accuses Kriemhild of being an eigendiu, (st. 828; “the woman of an unfree vassal”), because Siegfried pretended to be one in Iceland, and Kriemhild calls Brunhild a kebse (st. 828; “whore”), because of the web of lies spun by Gunther and Siegfried. Therefore, women are at the core of the Nibelungenlied’s underlying theme of revenge, but it is men that carry out the deceptive acts, which set the in motion in the first place. Without them, Brunhild may have not lost her power (at least not at the hands of Gunther); she may not have been defeated at all and would have remained a powerful warrior-queen including financial security and her own land in Iceland. Instead, it is the female protagonists are blamed for the misery that follows. In fact, the crux of the Nibelungenlied lies in the network of lies created by Gunther and Siegfried; lies which eventually led to the quarrel between the two queens, but also, ultimately, to Siegfried’s death and the downfall of the Burgundian and Hunnic kingdom. However, it is important to keep in mind that Gunther had to deceive in order to gain Brunhild’s hand – this is a grave loss of honour in itself. He is physically not able to subdue a female, which goes against any traditional perceptions of medieval manhood. Indeed, not all the males live up to the dominant heroic standards (Pafendorf, 1995, p. 113); yet, the figure of Gunther really does seem to have been created, because Brunhild (if taken from the Old Norse tradition) was indeed in need of a husband, since Sigurðr/Siegfried could no longer fill in this role. Gunther, therefore, did not have to be the hero or the leading male (unlike Siegfried), but instead became “a means to an end” to push the narrative forwards. Therefore, his masculinity could be ridiculed, it was of no importance, and made Siegfried look even stronger. At the same time, while physical strength was still important, medieval society was also changing. It was no longer the age of migration the heroic warrior traditions originated from; now, land and property were crucial. The High Middle Ages where an age of interdependence between rulers/nobles and vassals. Rulers also began to negotiate rather than just blindly wield their swords. Thus, warriordom was no longer the only dominant male model (Pafenberg, 1995, p. 113). It was nostalgia first and foremost, as 12th century courtly life differed substantially from the past. The Nibelungenlied, therefore, is a

47 “fictional refraction of [an older] social order” (Pafenberg, 1995, p. 113). True, Gunther would have been a poor negotiator and Siegfried’s attempts at politics (personal or otherwise) seem rather naive also, but Pafenberg is right here to highlight the disparity between the lived medieval reality and the age the author attempts to depict. Consequently, Classen (2011) claims the narrative could have not simply ended after the senna and after the botched oath, as the plot structure would have not been fully accepted by a medieval audience either (p.46). The Nibelungen’s driving force first and foremost is honour and revenge, which stands in stark opposition to medieval Christian ideals (Nagel, 1965, p. 139). Nagel (1965) claims that heroic-heathen motives cannot be translated into Christian-chivalric ideals (p. 142). The fact that Siegfried helped Gunther to trick and betray Brunhild is therefore a pagan motive derived from the age of migrations, in which the loyalty and solidarity to the clan, and not “an alien and kinless woman”, was of utmost importance (Nagel, 1965, p. 142) (this also recalls Jochen’s above debate on clan dynamics of uxorilocal and virilocal). This is further reflected in Siegfried taking the ring and belt off her, just like a defeated opponent would be stripped of his armour after battle (Nagel, 1965, p. 142). This is not a Christian and courtly disciplined act; ironically, the fight between Brunhild and Siegfried as Gunther’s proxy is acceptable, stealing her property, however, is not. It is seen as morally low as stealing her virginity (Nagel, 1965, p.151). Virginity was one of the most important Christian ideals and virtues, reserved for the rightful husband only, which Siegfried was not. The violence done to her as well as the consequent unjust trickery was therefore not fully justifiable for a medieval mind-set. Therefore, for the audience’s sake, Hagen, Gunther’s vassal, will eventually avenges Brunhild’s honour (st. 864). Nevertheless, Hagen, “instead of pledging to Brunhild to avenge her against Kriemhild, the one who had truly insulted her in public, he turns the entire situation around and targets Siegfried as the one responsible for the devastating development at Gunther’s court” (Classen, 2011, p. 46). Indeed, Brunhild’s anger was first directed towards Kriemhild, especially during the quarrel of the queens, but it was Hagen, who intends (even convinces Brunhild) to target Siegfried instead (st. 864; er lobte ir sâ zehant daz ez erarnen müese; “He promptly promised that he would make sure Kriemhild’s husband paid for what he had done”). At least, this is what we must assume, as Brunhild does not utter any direct threats towards Siegfried herself. Therefore, Koplowitz-Breier’s earlier claim that Brunhild is as “bloodthirsty” or “rebellious” (2017, p. 104) as her real-life model Brunichildis, is a bit of a far-fetched claim. In fact, it is Hagen swears to kill Siegfried, and therefore becomes the main instigator. Being pushed into passivity, unable to act on

48 her own behalf, is something that would have been unthinkable for Brunhild at the beginning of the narrative. It is important to mention, however, that Hagen is not a defender of a female’s lost honour as typically seen in courtly romances at the time. Classen (2011) is right to call him a pragmatist, “who utilises this situation to his own advantage to get rid of his old rival (st. 864)” (p. 46). The moment Hagen decides to take revenge on the misdoings done upon Brunhild, is the very moment she rises to power; she will win the quarrel, she will have her tormentor Siegfried killed (and by extension Gunther when he is slain by his sister Kriemhild in the second part of the Nibelungenlied at the Hunnic cour). Yet, this precise moment also marks the beginning of her slow disappearance from the narrative. Brunhild, by her very existence, set in motion a chain of events that will continue without her presence. Her part is completed; she is avenged and there is no further reason for her to be in the narrative. She will appears three times under her name, but will become more and more passive and slowly start to fade from the narrative (Koplowitz-Breier, 2007, p.22). First, Hagen states that he committed the murder because Brunhild was suffering (st 1001; ich bringe in in daz lant. mir ist vil unmære, / und wirt ez ir bekant, diu sô hât betrübet / den Prünhilde muot); secondly, when Kriemhild accuses her of carefully planning and instigating the killing (st. 1010; ez hât gerâten Prünhilt, daz ez hât Hagene getân). Again, the earlier situation between Brunhild and Hagen, when the murder Siegfried’s was decided upon, was not initiated or instigated by Brunhild but Hagen. Lastly, Brunhild remains indifferent to Kriemhild’s mourning (st. 1100; Prünhilt diu schœne / mit übermüete saz. swaz geweinte Kriemhilt, / unmære was ir daz). Brunhild is also one of the few that are still alive by the end of the Nibelungenlied, which could imply that the revenge done on her behalf was justified (Koplowitz-Breier, 2007, p.22). In her fourth and final appearance, Brunhild is not even referred to by her name any more, but by her function as “the king’s wife” (st. 1515). Thus, she disappears from the plot after Siegfried’s death in the Nibelungenlied (as she does in the Þiðreks saga), while she “descends his funeral pyre and dies at his side” in the Völsunga saga (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xxxix). It has also been speculated that Kriemhild takes on Brunhild’s place as the personification of conflict (Pafenberg, 1995, p. 109), which is why the narrative did not depend on her any longer. Yet, what has been transparent in her character development throughout the Nibelungenlied is the fact that Brunhild, the non-conventional warrior-queen, gradually transformed into a rather traditional courtly woman. In fact, this has now reached its highpoint, since she does not even need to be called by her name any longer (Koplowitz-Breier, 2007, p. 22).

49 Traditional women act outside the male world and “by strictly observing their position and the role in the feminine world” (Koplowitz-Breier, 2007, p. 22). These women endanger the social order by their very existence. Traditional women stay alive; defiant women die. Now, “Brunhild initially represents ‘a woman outside the bounds of womanhood as circumscribed by medieval courtly tradition,’ she is ultimately ‘reduced to [her] rightful place,’ which, as a noble woman of the court, is a rather passive, powerless one” (Ord, 2017, p. 88). Indeed, already at the beginning of the story, before the wedding party even embarks on their journey to Iceland, is it Siegfried, who remains cautious about the journey’s purpose and describes Brunhild’s behaviour as grœzlîche (st. 449) as “awful, frightful, horrible”; “a woman outside the bounds of womanhood” (Koplowitz- Breier, 2007, p. 18). Brunhild is, in fact, measured by her anomaly throughout the narrative; especially after she showcased her strength by throwing a rock only twelve men could carry (st. 449). Further, in order to carry her shield, four men were needed (st. 437) and for her spear, three (st. 441). Brunhild appears in full valkyrie-like body armour to the competition (st. 434, gewâfent (“armed”) & 439, wáfenroc (“surcoat”) and shows masculine features, which caused disapproval in the High Middle Ages in general and to the author of the Nibelungenlied in particular. As mentioned above, contrarily to the Nordic literary culture, the medieval German gender construct was structured so that women, who took on masculine traits, were frowned upon. A “masculine” woman displayed the attempt of a woman becoming male in order to gain undeserving privileges. According to Ord (2017), it is therefore also significant that both female leads “‘Brunhild and Kriemhild are identified with Satan […] when they exceed the limits or deviate from the norms [of courtly womanhood’, indicating that, as a result, ‘they become dangerous and are identified with the greatest evil of all’” (p. 89). Hagen calls Brunhild tíuvéles wîp (st. 438; “Satan’s wife”) and jâ solde si in der helle sîn / des übeln tiuvels brût (st. 450; “Satan’s bride in Hell” / “Why, she’d be better off betrothed to the devil in hell”)” (Koplowitz-Breier, 2007, p. 18—19). Gunther also calls her “Satan”, who he brought into his house when recounting the wedding night to Siegfried – want ich hân den übeln tiuvel / heim ze hûse geladen (st. 649; “I’ve taken the devil into my house”) (Koplowitz-Breier, 2007, p. 21). Brunhild thereby becomes the ultimate other; her difference is what makes her dangerous, “unless she is robbed of her power she constitutes a threat and a challenge to the natural and legal prevailing order” (Koplowitz-Breier, 2007, p. 19). Once women began to deviate from or transgress the boundaries of what was expected from them, they are associated with the greatest evil of all.

50 Striking, however, is the fact that Brunhild’s beauty remained intact and important throughout the entire narrative. Brunhild is introduced as beautiful – scoene wîp (st. 328) – and referred to as such throughout the narrative; she is also referred to as a juncvrouwe (st. 328), a virgin, to convey her status as noble and unmarried woman. Indeed, beauty was the most important trait for femininity in medieval times together with conformity and representation (McCreary, 2014, p. 19). Brunhild’s beauty is even described alongside her physical strength – diu was unmâzen scoene, / vil michel was ir kraft (st. 326; “excessive beauty […] her strength (own translation)”). Surprisingly, her beauty is not relinquished by her strength; therefore, she possesses the most important female trait (“beauty”) and the most important male trait (“strength”) at one and the same time. This stands in stark contrast to her label as being the tíuvéles wîp (st. 438). Given medieval Germany’s strict gender segregation in which the female is subordinate to the male, the warrior- queen by her very nature will always stand out. Indeed, as we have seen, the author was unforgiving when it came to the treatment of Brunhild. This is why he used numerous references to the devil and Satan to describe her, and this is also why physical violence was inflicted upon her by Siegfried and Hagen to subdue her. Indeed, while Brunhild was forced to shed her male traits “to fit in”, at first, her masculinity seems rather contradictory. Medieval courtly women were property and assets first and foremost, therefore, the male desire to overpower and subject Brunhild is actually increased by her physical strength and by her “resistance to subordinate herself to men” (McCreary, 2014, p. 19). The figure of the female warrior is “alluring so that men can prove their superiority even over the most powerful woman” (McCreary, 2014, p. 19). This also reveals Brunhild’s object status – she can, and even must, remain beautiful, but she also needed to have masculine warrior features for the male suitor to flex his muscles on. By subduing her, he would also gain superiority over other men, as envisioned by medieval society. He is now the strongest man. In fact, Brunhild, who can only be married, if three tasks are fulfilled, is a prize to be won and thus the ultimate trophy. Once she is violently subdued, her male attributes are exchanged for the ideals of a courtly woman. Consequently, this means that the main female protagonists are changing, while their male counterparts remain static. Ord (2017) assumes it is much easier to identify the moment a woman steps outside her allocated realm or position—“she merely needs to engage in any sort of behaviour that is not defined by passivity and absolute tolerance, such as independent thinking, verbosity, and partaking in physical fighting” (p. 89). Therefore, by using women as those who violate norms, the very act of transgression is much easier to depict and discern. Literature, thus, also functions as an

51 ideological tool for a larger audience – women are reminded of their place in society, while men are given the freedom and absolution to uphold the all-encompassing patriarchal system by all means necessary. This also includes physical violence. Female transgression, as outlined above, can nevertheless also be surprisingly silent. Indeed, Brunhild moves from a warrior to a courtly woman, yet, on principle, she does not have to act upon anything to become a transgressor in the first place. She is one by her very existence. Brunhild does not actively engage in warfare and physical violence throughout the narrative (she is only showcasing her physical strength during the bridal quest). As an independent and powerful queen, she is dangerous and this is also why she has to be punished and transformed into a courtly woman.

3.10. Conclusion

This chapter intended to provide a close and thorough reading of Brunhild: her historical real life model as well her historical trajectory through the ages and literary traditions (Nordic and German). It was further attempted to reveal the dire situation Brunhild found herself in; she was to and betrayed. The lies and deceptions turned into physical violence done onto her body. The physical violence turned into wars and the downfall of the Hunnic and Burgundian kingdoms. The author gives Brunhild little room to (re-)gain any sense of integrity or to stand her ground, yet, presents the narrative as justifiable while attempting to hide the obvious. The gruesome rape that underlies the Nibelungenlied was a reminder to society of what would happen, if women did dare to transgress assigned gender roles. At the same time, it was probably also not that shocking, given the backlash women had already been facing for several centuries in the 13th century. It therefore must be examined in the following chapter on the 19th, 20th, and 21st centuries to what extent Brunhild’s character was revived, for what purposes and whether she did comply with the respective socio- political events or whether she was a mere ideological tool.

52 4. The Brunhild Figure in a Post-medieval Setting

4.1. Introduction

The last chapter of the thesis will look into the reasons why Brunhild has repeatedly been revived, as a literary figure or political tool. The chapter will begin with the age of Modernity and Wagner’s Ring der Nibelungen in the 19th century; from there, Brunhild will be taken to the 20th century, National Socialism, and Fritz Lang’s film adaptation . These two chapters will focus on why and how the Brunhild figure was incorporated into the political currencies of the time. In terms of ideology, however, these sections will also return to the notion of “myth” as one of its most important underlying major players of the 19th and 20th centuries. Finally, Brunhild’s status and importance today will be analysed in the last part of this chapter. It is crucial, however, to separate the 21st century from the previous sections in terms of subject matter and gravity. Today, Brunhild’s status as a warrior-queen tends to be misconceived; her alleged (initial) free will and independence are often misappropriated, which has even rendered her into (proto-)feminist figure at times. There are no prevailing, dogmatic, nationalist, and fascist political currencies present. This section, therefore, operates on an entirely different level. The 21st century merely developed a misreading, which probably also stems from a sympathetic desire to safeguard her. By no means can it be equated with movements that not only exploited Brunhild for their own nationalistic agenda, but, ironically, had also no intention to protect her from the very patriarchal structures they implemented.

4.2. Brunhild in the 19th century

The age of Modernity was marked by Imperialism and Colonialism (roughly 1850s – 1920s). According to Csapo (2005), these movements rendered myths into “a tool for European self- discovery” (p. 11). Indeed, “European values were shaken both internally through rapid cultural change and externally through rapid imperial expansion” (Csapo, 2005, p. 13). The Nibelungenlied was not re-discovered until 1755 and Germany did not unify until 1871 (this was also the main reason it could not fully take part in imperialist and colonial enterprises) after having experienced the German revolutions in 1848—1849 (as part of the overall European The Spring of Nations). It was these events that first helped forming a nation-state mentality. Up until then, the German

53 speaking population was fragmented into “small and independent principalities with strong political and regional differences” (Csapo, 2005, p. 16). Therefore, in order to create a modern nation-state, language, literature, and folklore became important and crucial ideological means to create a common ground for a national identity to emerge (Csapo, 2005, p.16). In order to succeed in this enterprise, scholarly research of this time also focussed on anthropology in order to create an “us vs. them” methodology, while European culture was believed to be superior to any other culture. This method is called “comparative mythology” (Csapo, 2005, p.13). Myths became a gauge, which not only provide direct access to, but also determine a culture’s intellect and mentality. Yet, ironically, myths and legends also became a means to leave behind these newly shaping societies, which were supported by the strive for a united nation-state. In fact, they were also fuelled by the 19th century Industrial Revolution and thus an increasing urbanisation as well as a “rationalistic, scientific, utilitarian, and materialistic world-view of the increasingly dominant industrial bourgeoisie” (Csapo, 2005, p. 25). Therefore, the Romantic movement, which “was essentially the aesthetic arm of the aristocratic and religious reaction to the values promoted by industrial capitalism, with its appeal to a more spiritual and chivalrous age governed by mystery, passion, high ideals, and a yearning for a vanishing lifestyle in harmony with nature and traditional morality” (Csapo, 2005, p. 25) was keen on the power myths held for their own agenda. The blending of myth with anti-modern sentiments became an explosive mixture and created a Europe that was at once (still) highly Christian, yet, also incorporated “the power of nature” (Csapo, 2005, p. 28). Europe returned to the savage, but convinced itself that it could never become as savage as they saw other non-European cultures. Consequently, the Nibelungenlied, too, was eventually rediscovered by the Romantics. The narrative was pushed to the status of a “German national epic” and synonym for “Germany and Germanness” (Coury, 2001, p. 379). Indeed, “the national conception of Germany was carried over to the Nibelungenlied […] [as it was assumed to have] reflected the heroic character of this people” (Coury, 2001, p. 380). Coury (2001) claims further that precisely the Nibelungenlied’s mythical elements helped to shape these associations, which eventually became an accepted truth (p. 380). Unlike the Middle Ages, which treated the remaining mythological elements in the Nibelungenlied as cues from the age of migrations but not essential to the overall plot (Nagel, 1964, p. 42), now, the Nibelungenlied, the narrative itself, became a myth. Therefore, myth defined Germany’s 19th century literary and national identity from the very beginning.

54 In general, myth is “an abstract system which is simultaneously present to the mind, and so has an aspect of timelessness, or reversible time” (Csapo, 2005, p. 220). It connects the past, the present, and the future, and it is intrinsically connected to political ideology; “history is written to retroject present-day values to endow them with a distinguished pedigree and to suggest their permanence for all time to come” (Csapo, 2005, p. 220). Timelessness and universality are also discussed by Claude Lévi-Strauss in his structural analysis of mythology—“a myth always refers to events alleged to have taken place long ago. But what gives the myth an operational value is that the specific pattern described is timeless; it explains the present and the past as well as the future (Structural Anthropology, p. 209)” (Coury, 2001, p. 226). If myths highlight time in such a way, they must be flexible. Myths thus operate on various interpretative and operative levels, which allows them to resolve cultural contradictions. Myths do not intend to untangle these contradictions, but make them appear to be logical; yet, they merely “imitate logic” (Csapo, 2005, p. 226). This imitation can be rather naive, but it became ideology’s most dangerous instrument once it entered an alliance with the above-outlined contradictory anti-modern yet nation-state forming society. Ultimately, this led to a 19th century Europe that strove towards racial purity and segregation, but took on an even darker downward spin, once it was taken to its utmost extreme by the National Socialists of the 20th century. National Socialism’s notion of racial purity was aryanism, which was a predominantly German phenomenon, intended to depict a primordial ancestor and noble hero. Yet, it is crucial to keep in mind that while “a nation is defined by its history and the space in which this history occurs, a nation does not have a racial or linguistic homogeneity as a condition (Hübner, Die Wahrheit des Mythos, pp. 349—50)” (Coury, 2001, p. 226). There is no homogeneity; it is an illusion rendered coherent by ideological means, and as will be shown below, also myth. In fact, this was as crucial for the Nibelungenlied as it was for the treatment of the literary figure of Brunhild. Indeed, the 19th century also birthed the academic field of philology; that is, the study of the history of languages, including their older literary works (as well as any customs, religious, mythological, or historical aspects related to the language in question), which have survived throughout the times. , for example, worked on Old Norse and Middle High German texts for which he provided modern and which were later used, amongst others, by Wagner in his epos Der Ring der Nibelungen (1848—1876) and Fritz Lang in his film Die Nibelungen (1924). Lindenberger (1994) claims that these philological enterprises tapped right into the above-outlined romantic debates; they revolved around the concepts of “nature” and “culture”

55 as well as the factors that would determine these. Undeniably, the old sagas and myths must have appeared more natural to the newly industrialised and alienated readership than their fast-paced and modern reality (p. 289). It was a popular view “that people sharing a particular language retained deep cultural bonds with one another and that these bonds could best be understood through the recovery of the early cultural products of this people – for example, its folk songs and its folk epics” (Lindenberger, 1994, p. 289). Eventually, these notions became common and mainstream thought, which helped forming what was to become a national consciousness. To find the roots of one’s past, “it meant tapping something that seemed more authentic, more elemental than what could be experienced within the all-too-complex cultural forms of the modern world” (Lindenberger, 1994, p. 289). Thus, the 19th century was concerned first and foremost with origins and evolution, and these endeavours eventually created a national, German consciousness. The Middle Ages became to represent the original state, the very source of those founding myths; and they also held what was assumed to be blue print for a national consciousness in form of a literary work—the Nibelungenlied. Medieval society was assumed to be a prehistory and its surviving literature evidence of such in written form. Literature became a tool of self-justification, and it did so, first and foremost, for the leading elite (in 19th century Germany, it was predominantly the aristocracy as well as the debate revolving around the anti-modern and anti-industrial revolution). Literature, thus, not only justifies a nation, it also validates it and gives it meaning. Yet, inherent contradictions prevail here, too, and the myths of the long gone “heroic dimensions of the great epics” could not be restored in its entirety; regardless of the efforts they put in, it was fruitless and, as Lindenberger (1994) calls it, perceived as “a fraught” (p. 291). Consequently, it was this “fraught” that constituted the above-mentioned illusionary, contradictory, and ideologically driven force behind nation- making. The stories might simply be implausible in the newly organised and industrialised economy and consequently lived reality; the research fields of philology and history, however, created national histories in which noble and archaic heroes could still become the role models, who can carry a newly created national identity. For the fraught to become real, new tools needed to be invented, as will be seen in the next sub-chapter on Richard Wagner and his tetralogy The Ring of the Nibelung (Der Ring der Nibelungen).

56 4.2.1. Richard Wagner

As outlined above, the mythological heroes from the past could not simply be revived in literature. In fact, heroic tales of a long gone past became inconceivable in literary terms, but they could still be employed to create a “national thinking” (Eliade, 1998, p. 183) and be realised in the houses of a 19th century Europe. According to Susanne Hose (2006), it is important to keep in mind that the (re-)construction of national myths through literary or poetic remnants from the past is often based on counterfeits and forgeries (p. 120). The Nibelungenlied first became a symbol of “German Greatness” during the German Campaign of 1813 against Napoleon (Hose, 2006, p. 120); yet, while it was heavily edited, too, it was never forged. Indeed, it was the , which turned the Nibelungenlied as the bearer of the German nation, and it was Richard Wagner, who would eventually bring this myth into German opera houses (Nattiez, 2005, p. 73). Wagner’s earlier work focussed on history, while The Ring of the Nibelung (Der Ring der Nibelungen) became a four-part oeuvre reaching right into the realm of Germanic mythological origins—The Rhinegold (, 1869), The Valkyrie (Die Walküre, 1870), Siegfried (1876), and The Twilight of The Gods (Die Götterdämmerung, 1876). To be staged over four days, the tetralogy was mainly inspired by the Nordic Eddas (Poetic and Prose), the Völsunga saga, but also by the Þiðreks saga, and in parts the Nibelungenlied—“Standing behind the Ring are an uncommonly wide variety of diverse texts stretching across several centuries of writing from Iceland to Germany” (Lindenberger, 1994, p. 288). It is assumed that the Grimm Brothers, with their seminal philological works Die deutsche Heldensage (Germanic Hero-Sagas, , 1829) and Deutsche Mythologie (, Jakob Grimm, 1835) (Harper-Scott, 2009, p. 212) provided Wagner with an understanding of the medieval narratives. As for style, Lindenberger asserts that because Wagner had access to the source texts in their original language as well as their translations, he was able to avoid Latinate forms and focussed on German root words for his work; he consciously imitated early medieval heroic poetry, which stood in stark contrast with 19th century opera styles and structures (Lindenberger, 1994, p. 286). He, therefore, also used a rather archaic form of the and the older alliterative verse style of the Old Norse source material in order to write the Ring (as mentioned in the section on the literary origins) (Lindenberger, 1994, p. 286). Claude Lévi-Strauss assumed in Wagner “the undeniable originator of the structural analysis of myths (The Raw and the Cooked, p.15)” (Nattiez, 2005, p. 73). In fact, Wagner inspired to create

57 a Gesamtkunstwerk, a total work of art, where poetry and merge into one whole artistic creation (Nattiez, 2005, p. 73). Additionally, in relation to the notion Gesamtkunstwerk, the Ring is also assumed to have received its name from Wagner’s aspirations and attempts to incorporate the concepts of greed, power, and fate in one single construct – that is, another whole—while holding a “narrative cohesion and deterministic structure” (Lindenberger, 1994, p. 295). Yet, while Wagner turned to the distant past for his subject matter, he was still very much a 19th century composer and much of his own persona influenced his creative output. Overall, he worked on the Ring tetralogy from 1848 to 1876. In 1850, he published his notorious essay Das Judenthum in der Musik (Judaism in Music), which gave an insight into Wagner’s anti-Semitism for the first time—here, he described Jews as “demonic, parasitic, and uncreative” (Reed, 2012, p. 74). Therefore, it is crucial to also highlight the underlying anti- semitism in Wagner’s artistic output, rather than his obvious political statements or his biography. According to Power Bratton (2000), “in [Wagner’s] tetralogy, heroes are associated with beautiful, lithe, and powerful animals, while those figures evincing traits associated with Jews, such as avarice, egotism and lovelessness, are likened to lowly, disgusting, and clumsy creatures” (p. 199). Wagner accused Jews of being “by their very existence, obstacles to revolution and human redemption” (Reed, 2012, p. 74). Jews became the anti-German, the other, precisely the handy enemy needed when trying to create a unified German nation. Thus, Nattiez (2005), too, claims “of course, there is nothing new in saying that Wagner’s theoretical writings of this period took the Ring as an ‘illustration’ of his theory of the total work of art’ [...]” (p. 74). The link between Wagner’s theoretical writing and his poetic output, therefore, is close and tightly knit. Indeed, “as the nineteenth century came to an end, a virulent, racial form of anti-Semitism came onto the German political scene, propagated largely by the literary circle of which Richard Wagner was at the head” (Reed, 2012, p. 74). Therefore, Wagner managed to overwrite the original medieval Nibelungenlied and imbued it with newly emerging social tendencies. This was not only tangible in and restricted to his treatment of Jews. Since, Wagner’s myth hinged on the concept of a Gesamtkunstwerk, anyone, who slightly diverged from the 19th century ideologically-fuelled and uniform nation-building undertaking, had to be either depicted as “the other” (Jews) or, as will be outlined below, sacrificed and fully consumed (females). As for Brunhild, Wagner will eventually name her Brünnhilde. Overall, it has been claimed that his relationship with women was rather ambiguous and not straight-forward. On the one hand, he was constantly surrounded by women and relied heavily on his muses; on the other, his female

58 characters often depicted negative stereotypes—they were mainly inferior and decorative (Coleman, 2013, p.125). Others, however, have claimed Wagner’s Ring depicts an early form of female emancipation against the backdrop of a still all-encompassing patriarchal and modern society (Poster, 1991, p.131); even Nietzsche proclaimed that Wagner’s work “aims to emancipate women (The Birth of Tragedy and the Case of Wagner, p. 163)” (Poster, 1991, p.136). These claims, which assume a Brünnhilde that echoes and propagates proto-feminist sentiments and attributes must be discussed further. The term “feminism” was first recorded in the year 1895 by the Oxford (Learner’s) English Dictionary (nd.), but it had (by far) not yet reached the political centre stage during Wagner’s time. Feminism advocates the equality of the sexes on a political, social, and economic level. Given the implications a fully emancipated female demographic would have had for a 19th century society, it is therefore unlikely that this is the Brünnhilde Wagner had in mind for his audience. Yet, unlike the German medieval Nibelungenlied, Wagner took her back to the divine realm of the Nordic Gods. She was once again a valkyrie and the favourite daughter of Óðinn/Wotan in the Ring. Still, even Wagner’s Brünnhilde had to shed her male attributes, “the breastplate and the helmet, at the moment of her meeting Siegfried” (Nattiez, 2005, p. 78). In fact, for Wagner, “the true human being [der wirkliche Mensch] is at once man and woman” and “Siegfried himself (the solitary man) is not a fully formed human being [Mensch]: he is but half of one; it is only when joined with Brünnhilde that he becomes the Redeemer; one alone can do nothing” (letter to Röckel, dated 25 January 1854) (Nattiez, 2005, p. 79). Similar to his Gesamtkunstwerk, Wagner sees wholeness when male and female attributes meet, thereby forming a kind of androgyny. As in the Völsunga saga, Brünnhilde, here, too, will join Siegfried in the flames of the funeral pyre at the end of the narrative in order to complete this androgyny and become one with Siegfried. In fact, she must. Wagner is known for the stylistic tool of sacrificing women in his work; yet, he does so for the salvation of the male character alone. This was also a common tool and practice in Italian or French 19th century . The difference in Wagner’s female self-sacrifice, however, is that it was “an ethical act rather than the tragic outcome of external circumstances” (Coleman, 2013, p. 127). Nattiez, therefore, claims that it is important to highlight that “Wagner’s androgyny is not the androgyny of equality […] our contemporary era under the influence of feminism [propagates], but an androgyny where the male principle absorbs and destroys the female principle” (Nattiez, 2005, p. 79). Thus, the male dominates the supposed equality between the sexes. Contrary to beliefs that Wagner could have envisioned an emancipated female figure, they, in fact, dissolve. Women are sacrificed for the

59 perceived greater good. They have to be consumed, not only by the funeral pyre’s fire, but also by the nation-state building movement. Nattiez (2005) explains, given this thinking, it was no surprise that the Ring coincided with Wagner’s anti-Semitic essay; “for woman is perceived as an obstacle to the spiritual oneness of the human being, just as, for Wagner, the Jew was an obstacle to the unity of the German nation” (p.80). Brünnhilde is not erased, but becomes one with Siegfried. A unity, which is entirely masculine and therefore inherently one-sided and unequal. A unity, which is, therefore, built on false pretences and shaky grounds. Yet, it is also a unity, which incorporates one of myth’s main features–contradiction. Consequently, Coleman (2013) says that Brünnhilde’s self-sacrifice is emblematic for a “gendered indexing of nineteenth–century nationalist discourse” (p. 128). Indeed, Wagner’s work later found its home in the National Socialist Party. In his work In Search of Wagner, Adorno argued that Wagner’s work was an “emblem of ” and a step towards totalitarianism (Poster, 1991, p. 147), which therefore could not be emancipating, neither for women, nor any other disenfranchised demographic; his work leads to total control and manipulation in one way or another. As for Wagner’s characters, in light of the above arguments, they might be provocative at most, but do not call for the liberation of 19th century females. Many women in Wagner’s close circle were predominantly employed as his muses and therefore remained rather passive, they had no active agenda or voice themselves. This was also emblematic for his artistic work, because not even the all-powerful valkyrie Brünnhilde was allowed to continue to live. Further, women did echo the “natural” realm, a gateway to a past that can only be accessed through nostalgia and myth (in fact, the broad association of women with “nature” is still tangible today) as well as a past that stands in contrast to the newly industrialised “culture”. In fact, “it is the damaged, bourgeois, male individual that stands in need of redemption by the supposedly unalienated, pure woman” (Coleman, 2013, p. 127). Thus, women, in Wagner, were reduced to carry the nation-building myth on a two-fold level; that is, on the one hand, their “naturalness” and “purity” became direct access points to the original Germany myth as found in the Nibelungenlied; on the other, they still had to make way and be eliminated for the nation-building undertaking to go ahead. As mentioned before, Wagner’s work was eventually embraced by the Third Reich in the 20th century; subject matter aside, theatricality in general and operas in particular caught the Nazis’ attention—“and they found fertile ground in the minds of the people through the imagination of Richard Wagner and his great, nationalistic Operas” (Reed, 2012, p. 74). Hitler assumed Wagner’s work to be able to reach back to a primordial and medieval heroic ideal, which encapsulates the

60 origin of the German people and thus also its age-long struggles. In fact, Wagner’s domineer Nazi speeches, events, and other spectacles, which were intended to create heroic emotions and a sense of Germanic grandeur (Reed, 2012, p. 74). Thus, art was political—speaking about art meant speaking about politics. Art was as totalitarian as was fascism and therefore aggregates the very idea of an aestheticised political life (Reed, 2012, p. 75). Wagner apologists tend to see association between him and National Socialism as an “exploitation” and “falsification” of his work and refuse to accept the underlying consistency with the political movement and Wagner’s personal political and social conviction (Reed, 2012, p.74). National Socialism did not exist during Wagner’s lifetime and neither did the political events (such as the First World War 1914 —1918, the Weimar Republic, and the Great Depression) all of which eventually lead to the rise of fascism in Germany. His anti-Semitism, however, revealed his racism and his belief in a racially pure society, while his Gesamtkunstwerk functions in accordance with totalitarianism. The seeds, therefore, were already sown; that is, “the fertile soil of Wagner’s grand myths, that shaped the character of the ” (Reed, 2012, p. 75). In truth, a myriad of factors created the aesthetics of the Third Reich, Wagner’s influence on Hitler, however, cannot be denied. Operating along similar lines, yet moving the Nibelung discourse from the 19th to the 20th century, it is therefore important to look at Fritz Lang’s contribution Die Nibelungen. He therefore had to also move the subject matter from the operatic to the cinematic sphere, from 1853 to 1924.

4.3. Brunhild in the 20th century

4.3.1. Fritz Lang

After the loss of the First World War, the Weimar Republic was officially proclaimed on 9 th November 1919 and lasted until 1933, when the National Socialists came into power. The short first attempt of creating a German democracy was shaken by political, economic, and social chaos—it was frankly speaking, a rather turbulent time. Movements from either side of the political spectrum were initially fighting for dominance—old Wilhelminian monarchists as well as the newly emerging social democratic movements. Despite these turbulences, post-war Germany began to cultivate its own cinematic language that split into two movements early on— (for example, Robert Wiene’s Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari, 1920 and F.W. Murnau’s Nosferatu, 1922) and the

61 movement (Fritz Lang belonged to the former, but was a prominent contender in using both styles at the same time, for example, in Die Nibelungen). Lang created the two-part silent-film Die Nibelungen in 1924 (Siegfried and Kriemhilds Rache (Kriemhild’s Revenge)). While it is assumed that Wagner influenced Lang’s work, Hauer (1990) claims that any nationalist political elements are a “false association, though one perhaps inevitable with the subject matter” (p. 103). In fact, Lang disliked Wagner’s work and has stated so repeatedly (Hauer, 1990, p. 107). Aside from taste, Wagner also mainly used Nordic sources of the original tale. , Lang’s wife and screenwriter of Die Nibelungen, stated that the Nibelungenlied was the primary source, but she also drew on the Nordic versions, as there is no “single, authorative version” (Hauer, 1990, p. 104); she also made use of Emanuel Geibel’s play Brynhild (1857) and Friedrich Hebbel’s drama Die Nibelungen (1860) (Stiles, 1980, p. 232). Given the large amount of different sources, Lang took certain artistic liberties when bringing his subject matter onto the big screen, while the narrative structure was drastically simplified overall. This can be seen, for example, in the infamous bedroom scene between Brunhild and Gunther as the “very early and savage motif is unsuited for the more staid and subdued demeanour of the film” (Hauer, 1990, p. 106). Siegfried here only emerges as a ghost on screen. The quarrel of the queens was also downplayed if not ignored completely, since a “cat-fight” over status and prestige of one’s husband in particular and social hierarchy in general, might have not been appropriate for a post-war Germany (Hauer, 1990, p. 106). Similar to Wagner, Brunhild, here, is also a valkyrie (dress and helmet, as well as her suicide at the end of the film, echoing the Nordic sources). In general, it is interesting that gender roles were changing during the Weimar Republic. On the one hand, it was the time the female suffrage (1919 in Germany) came to be, and more and more positions on the job market had to be filled with a female workforce due to the absence of men during and after the First World War. Especially, the administrative and bureaucratic roles, provided by the newly emerging form of capitalism (post-Industrial Revolution), were slowly filled by women (McCormick, 2001, p. 21, p. 24). This brought with it a certain degree of financial and economic independence, dreaded by many. Thus, after the total collapse of society as they knew it, a society where they once prevailed unconditionally, men had to regain their dominance and authority, by creating another persistent form of misogyny as part of the new war-torn male identity (McCormick, 2001, p. 24). This form of misogyny would eventually be incorporated into National Socialism’s all-encompassing fascist regime (where women were restricted to the maternal role alone, bearing the children for the Fuehrer). Thus, women were entering the public sphere and still

62 had to be pushed back into the private realm to not endanger a social past they ironically could not return to (McCormack, 2001, p. 18). Consequently, this conservative backlash was not only sweeping through Weimar Republic, it was also consolidating itself in the German mind. It became the fuel and driving force especially for the German political right, which continued to grow in relevance. According to McCormick (2001), “in the German fascist imagination, […] all independent-minded women were collapsed into one generalized image to be attacked. This misogynistic strategy was combined with anti-Semitism and anti-Marxism in the construction of a monolithic ‘other’ that threatened the ‘fatherland’” (p. 24—25). Thus, once again, Lang’s Brunhild, too, becomes a desired courtly woman, after she was stripped off her armour and warriordom. She moved from the male to the female sphere, and therefore reflects the attempt to push women back or remove them entirely from the public and political arena. Lang’s Brunhild will eventually also commit suicide, which is assumed to have been taken from the Völsunga saga (Hauer, 1990, p. 105). She has to vanish too. In the Nibelungen film, Brunhild specifically lies to Gunther, saying Siegfried took her virginity—when in fact, he did not. This narrative element is in line with misogynist and patriarchal sentiments of the Weimar Republic, it creates an image of the female as a traitor, who will betray her own husband for her own greater good. Fritz Lang dedicated the film as a gift to the German people—the film opens with the lines Dem deutschen Volke zu eigen (Dedicated to the German People). The German Reichstag, which was opened in 1916, too, still says today, clearly visible above its entrance, Dem deutschen Volke. Hauer (1990) claims that the Nibelungenlied has been inextricably connected to the German consciousness and thus politics since the Napoleonic Wars; Lang’s film, therefore, contributed little to a fascist idea (he, assumes so also because Hitler was imprisoned after the failed Putsch of 1923) (p. 108). According to him, the Nibelungenlied was already everywhere and there was little Lang could actually contribute (Hauer, 1990, p. 108). Indeed, already in 1909, Reichskanzler Bernhard von Bülow termed the expression (Nibelung loyalty) in a speech focussed on the German relations with Austria-, which he intended to strengthen (Heinzle, 1991, p. 8, p. 33). He spoke clearly of what was to become the ultimate German virtue—loyalty. And with loyalty came betrayal; both of which were crucial for the German mind. This is why the Dolchstoßlegende (Stab-in-the-back myth), that is, Hagen “cowardly” killing Siegfried by stabbing him in the back, is often cited as the primordial German betrayal. It fitted the Nazis perfectly and they made it one of their most powerful political and ideological tools. The events leading to the end of the First World War, the Revolutions of 1918–19, the rise of the Social Democrats and the strong socialist

63 tendencies of that time, and still the Jews (who at that point had been discriminated against since Wagner’s days and before), were instances of a grave betrayal for them. Yet, these were not external forces, but came from the very core of society. Therefore, McCormick (2001) adds further, “[t]he Dolchstoßlegende […] according to which Imperial Germany had been humbled in not on the battlefield, but on the home front by the enemy within—that is, by socialists, Jews, and women (and implicitly by other ‘others’ such as homosexuals)” helped fuse psychological and ideological tendencies that arose during the Weimar period (p. 20). Lang’s Brunhild, therefore, must be punished; it is her lies to Gunther that make her the traitor. Brunhild, therefore, presents socio- political atmosphere of the time. The Nazis eventually made the film part of their propaganda scheme (Marshall, 2015), while Thea von Harbou began to openly sympathise with the nationalistic Nazi ideology (Hauer, 1990, p. 108). Indeed, it has been claimed that von Harbou’s work is a “virtual archive of racism” (Power Bratton, 2000, p. 209). This also led to her divorce from Lang in 1934, as he did not share her sentiments (Hauer, 1990, p. 108). In fact, Lang fled Germany precisely on the day he was offered to work for the Third Reich as a film-maker (Lauer, 2004, p. 685). Nevertheless, the film is assumed to have a strong leaning towards building (or re-building) a national consciousness. Hauer (1990), thus, assumes that during the Weimar Republic, Lang’s film symbolised hopes for Germany, while in the Third Reich, these hopes were ultimately fulfilled in the Fuehrer (p. 108). Yet, in contrast to common women, Brunhild became an emblem of the Nordic Valkyrie tradition, which was worshipped by National Socialism. Its obsession with the Nordic culture and what the Nazi saw, its (flawed) connection to aryanism, rendered Brunhild all-mighty. Yet, she reflected little on the actual social reality of women of the time. She was therefore, another propaganda tool in the Third Reich. Nevertheless, Lang’s film, which was produced in the interwar period, tries to “illustrate Germany’s legendary past, not its future” (Stiles, 1980, p. 236). Kaes (2000) assumes that Lang’s Nibelungen were supposed to distract the German people from the recent past, the lost First World War, but he had to reach further back, into the country’s distant mythic foundation, to seek and find consolation (p. 133). A new German identity was thus to be found in myth and the spiritual sphere once again. In Lang’s own words, “above all in the Nibelungen film, I hoped to make the world of myth live again for the twentieth century, to live again and be believable” (Gunning, 2000, p. 37– 38). Just like Wagner’s generation, Lang, too, admits to romanticising the past in order to re-build a new national consciousness—yet, ironically, it was precisely the national consciousness of Wagner’s time that would ultimately lead to the First World War and with it the downfall of the

64 German nation. And, yet, the National Socialist Party went ahead and misappropriated and exploited the Nibelungen myth to conceive their “Germanic” origin and identity once again— needless to say, they failed, too. The 19th century and Wagner saw the Nibelungenlied as a tool to reach back and create a common past to draw the newly emerging national consciousness from; the 20th century appropriated this consciousness in order to re-built the war-torn national identity during the Weimar Republic. Eventually, loyalty (Nibelungentreue) and betrayal (Dolchstoßlegende) became two of the major players in the propaganda machine of the National Socialists. The Nibelungenlied’s myth-making power, here, operated on a two-fold level; not only did it provide the main reason for why the First World War was lost (that is, betrayal), the mythic origin of a common German people also justified the Nazis’ racism and strive for racial purity. Yet, given the fact that the Nibelungenlied is based on the vanishing of an entire people (the Burgundians), due to greed, deception, personal revenge, and complex power dynamics, it remains rather surprising that neither the 19th nor the 20th century were looking for a nation-building ideology elsewhere. Moving far away from the nationalism and racism of the last century, the next chapter will provide an entirely different reading of Brunhild. Indeed, the 21st century has somewhat heralded the belief that the literary figure can be avenged. That, in fact, she was an active agent that held the power to potentially subvert the predominant medieval patriarchal system.

4.4. Brunhild in the 21st century

Until recently, it was assumed that Greek and Roman societies, which emerged in the 2nd millennium, brought with them patriarchal society structures; yet, these structures can already be found within Indo-European cultures and predominantly so in their religions (Jochens, 1996, p. 34). While it is impossible to entirely reveal whether this societal structure was native or imported, Scandinavian and German cultures pointed towards a patriarchal culture also (Jochens, 1996, p. 35). Patriarchy as outlined in the previous chapters was overarching in the Middle Ages, too, with Christianity fighting for dominance on the one hand and secular (male) rulers, implementing strict inheritance laws to keep women on a short leash, on the other. That the female characters in the Old Norse Sagas and the Nibelungenlied, at first glance, appear to stand outside the realm of what is expected of traditional medieval womanhood has been interpreted by some scholars as proto-feminist or maybe even feminist. Yet, Classen (2011) points out that the authorship in the Nibelungenlied in particular is clearly male, who shows little to no empathy for the female

65 characters and the way they are treated by the male protagonists (p. 34). The Nibelungenlied was commissioned at a medieval court in Passau, around 1200. It is therefore difficult to acknowledge theories, which revolve around the potential emancipation of the female figures and their struggles against the patriarchy in the above stories. Indeed, medieval women saw their honour through the status of their men. This was inextricably woven into the social network of society and can be shown with the following example; as mentioned above, Kriemhild does not know the details of the incident between Brunhild and Siegfried, she does not know why Siegfried did what he did, his intentions, the greater underlying machinations, etc., and, most importantly, she also does not seem to be hurt or upset about Siegfried unfaithfulness towards her (st. 839–844). There seems to be little to no emotional impact his cheating had, which, given the fact that she loved him dearly, is odd. Therefore, focus is on who has the “better” man alone. In the Old Norse Sagas, the same problem is visible; “it is problematic from a feminist viewpoint that the basic motivation for the actions of both Brynhildr and Guðrún is their love for the same man, the (idealised) Sigurðr, continually designated by superlatives. Female choices and actions in the poems are predicated upon and motivated by the lack of a male partner, and female lives are conceivable only with reference to men—whether lover, husband, brothers, friend, or enemy” (Clark, 2005, p. 192). Guðrún and Brynhildr’s acts are not heroic in as much as they only respond to actions already initiated by men. “Lacking independence, their actions must be seen in relation to earlier events set in motion by men who functioned without apparent female influence” (Jochens, 1996, p. 139). That certain feminist notions tend to juxtapose and confuse this is visible, for example, in the Völsunga saga (chapter 33, 84) where Self (2014) argues that Brynhildr’s suicide could be seen as a return to her time as a valkyrie when she was able to control her own actions (p. 164). Yet, given the above premise, not even the Valkyrie Brynhildr is fully self-reliant and self-motivated. She defined herself solely through her relation to men, “aspired to the best husband, and did not engage in creative and performative actions herself” (Jochens, 1996, p. 139). This behaviour continues to the end, even in death, as she kills herself for a man. Sheikh F. Shams (2008), nonetheless, claims that the female characters of the Nibelungenlied threaten “dominant patriarchal heroic ideals” (p. 105). While Kriemhild and Brunhild’s actions may indeed be uncommon for an ideal medieval womanhood, Shams (2008) claims that they “time and again […] challenge those expectations with their actions, and reactions against them” (p. 105). She thus assumes active agents that intend to take apart patriarchal structures; yet, it is important to question to what extent the female figures do indeed rebel as well as their conscious awareness of such a rebellion. Indeed, Brunhild initially resists marriage, she is

66 fierce and physically strong, she also shows awareness of the power of property, she also wants revenge. For Shams, these instances note that Brunhild is unwilling to submit to traditional notions of medieval womanhood. She says, “patriarchy demands the submission of women, whereas these women refuse to play that role. The portrayal of such anomalous women characters not only disrupts and challenges the heroic ideals within the stories, it also threatens the dominant ideology of the time” (Shams, 2008, p. 107). She further claims that the very reason Siegfried has to die is the fact that he tried to “appropriate” Brunhild (Shams, 2008, p. 108). This “appropriation”, as Shams calls it, is also the reason why not only the two queens quarrel, but also the source for the downfall of the Burgundians—therefore, “it is apparent that the appropriation process is itself subversive to the heroic ideals” (Shams, 2008, p. 108). She introduces Joan Ferrante’s definition of medieval women to further her claim: “With limited opportunities to exercise real power over their own or others’ lives, women in medieval literature and sometimes in real life find subtle or hidden ways to exercise such power, to manipulate people and situations […]. Their sphere is more limited, their tools more subtle. Outwardly many accept the role society expects them to play, that of the quiet figure with no public voice, but secretly they subvert it often to serious effect”17. Ferrante’s notion indicates that these “secretly subversive” female literary characters do carry some resemblance with medieval expectations on women. She concludes that Brunhild fits well with the secretive type referred by Ferrante’s assertion of covertly subverting the expected role assigned to them—“She is known as an Amazonian-type of woman and hence, unwilling to submit to the traditional role of women assigned by the patriarchal structure” (Shams, 2008, p. 106). Yet, Shams is incorrect here, as she seems to ignore the very fact that neither of this would have happened (bedroom scene, quarrel of the queens), if Siegfried and Gunther had not deceived Brunhild already in Iceland and with that set in motion a network of lies that culminated in the downfall of the Burgundians. Shams assumes a more active role than was actually feasible – in terms of medieval literary standards, the female characters, and also the logical plot line. Jerold C. Frakes says “in the very fact that Brunhild refuses to consummate her marriage with the king, she challenges the entirety of male ideology and thus becomes by definition the aggressor. Since the conventional system only allows for one active role, Brunhild, in her independence and action for the sake of her own desire […]—political, sexual, and otherwise—for the woman’s own purposes and desires, has by default assumed the active role (leaving only the passive role for Gunther and/or Siegfried), forcing her own will on the other party (Frakes 1994: 123)” (Koplowitz-Breier, 2007, p. 21)18. Koplowitz-Breier rightly assumes that this trespassing is frowned upon by the author; Brunhild is

67 forced into the feminine world after having been deceived numerous times, revealing that the narrator is in favour of tamed women (Koplowitz-Breier, 2007, p. 22). Yet, by citing Frakes, she, too, assumes an active agent, acting on her own behalf and in her own interest rather than her being a mere ideological tool, like pawns in a game played well by the author. It seems the wishful thinking for an active agent is ever present in recent feminist discourses. Shams (2008) even assumes that Brunhild “disrupts” and “challenges” heroic medieval ideals as well as the ideological setting the character found herself in (and by extension the time of the writer) (p. 107). Further, Ord (2017) refers to Brunhild and Kriemhild as posing “serious challenges to the patriarchal court structure through their power-conscious and action-driven natures, [and] exhibit a clear political dimension” (p. 79). And Pafenberg (1995) finally assumes that “the sexual propaganda intended to temper the sexual transgressors has not been and will not be successful” (p. 111). They, too, wrongly assumes that the actions of the female characters of the Nibelungenlied, that is, their drive towards independence, caused the downfall of the Burgundians rather than the web of lies created by the male leads. Ord’s, Koplowitz-Breier’s, and Pafenberg’s texts have been ground-breaking and helpful throughout this thesis in coming to terms with the magnitude of the Nibelungenlied itself. Including Shams, they all conclude that Brunhild “eventually [is] forced to accept the roles assigned to her (Shams, 2008, p. 110)”—that is, the courtly woman—in order to meet medieval standards. Yet, it remains staggering that, up until this point, they all assume a somewhat independent and actively acting agent that is finally subdued by some external force or opposing player. This opposing player, however, is the entire ideologically-formed socio-political and economic patriarchal system. Brunhild, therefore, can never really “threaten”, “challenge”, or “disrupt” the system as her fate had already been decided upon prior to the writing of the story by the author, who was part of this dominant framework himself. There will be no secretive subversion in the Nibelungenlied; the author will not and cannot allow it. Female transgression is a literary tool to drive the plot forward and stress male prowess. Some of the Nibelungenlied’s source material and the blending of several literary traditions may have rendered Brunhild difficult to analyse in a straight forward fashion, yet, just like the narrative itself, where she was mistreated by Siegfried and Gunther, the author did do the same. In terms of active agency, it could be concluded that Brunhild is not fighting men, because she is independent, rather her aim is to subject herself to an even stronger and more powerful man—the strongest man—her clan would benefit from, too. Potentially, this could be well thought through political manoeuvring to secure the power and influence of her clan. It is only

68 because of this that she has more agency than any other female literary figure from the medieval tradition (McCreary, 2014, p. 13–14). Overall, however, Classen (2011) assumes that the Nibelungenlied reveals a deep-seated fear of women in the Middle Ages (p. 34). Similar to their literary counterparts, the status of medieval women went from greater freedom to regress in an oscillating fashion, and most likely reached its low point around the time the Nibelungenlied was first written down in 1200. Pafenberg (1995), on the other hand, assumes that the very existence of Brunhild and Kriemhild break down gender norms and reveal that the age of the warriordom was coming to an end—“women are ‘intruding’ into male spheres of actions, using male means of action” (p. 111). This is a very optimistic outlook on medieval courtly women of the 13th century; as outlined above, their rights had just been severely curtailed by the re-framing of inheritance rights, by the creation of strict male (public) and female (private) spheres with the emerging of a proto-bureaucracy, and by extension (although not important in the Nibelungenlied) the impact of the Christian Church. In fact, courtly women of that time might have been more trapped than ever before. Indeed, while women in the Early Middle Ages gained considerable respect and power in actual public (here: courtly) life, the High Middle Ages and its changing social system, pushed women further back. It appears “almost as if the epic poem is trying to come to terms with the traditional gender conflict as the foundation of universal problems and to figure out where the demarcation lines have been or should be drawn” (Classen, 2011, p. 34). Dominance and violence encompass the narrative on many levels; the subjugation of women to men, however, is one of the most striking elements—the heroic male, his physical strength, his victories, and his ridicule, if he cannot subject women, are predominant throughout. The author’s main concern is “male honour and male prowess, demonstrated both through their victorious struggle against enemies that had threatened them on the battle field, and through their absolute control of their women at home” (Classen, 2011, p. 35). Classen (2011) therefore differentiates between “discursive” and “physical” violence; while he claims that both forms are inherently connected with “insecurity, fear, and a lack of self-consciousness” (p. 36). The writer’s medieval masculine point of view does not allow the female protagonists to exercise power and control, and if attempted, they need to be punished. Compared to a large part of today’s created literature and films, the Nibelungenlied, ironically, would pass the Bechdel Test. Therefore, while feminist characters and icons are desperately needed, and while we finally live at a time where these appear more frequent and more visible in literature and elsewhere, the Middle Ages is not the time to look for these. Bending

69 history in such a way, does not give justice to the characters, which were mistreated on the simple basis of them being female. Their real-life contemporaries in the courts around Europe, for the most part, did not experience life differently. There was little room and little freedom for women, which the author, given his pre-existing notion and conception of women, captured well. These women do not have to be saved and elevated by 21st century feminism as “active women that subverted society”. On the contrary, the only valid step feminism can or must take is to accept the cruel reality and study the history and evolution of what led to patriarchy in the first place—and so shed light on the actual lived experience of women.

4.5. Conclusion

This chapter constituted the third and last part of the thesis; here, an outline of the Brunhild figure as well as the defining political events of the 19th and the 20th centuries were provided. Myth and the drive for a national identity not only made the Nibelungenlied, but also Brunhild attractive again. Both centuries were marked and determined by totalitarianism, racism, and fascism. And Brunhild became a representative emblem in one way or the other for either of the above-depicted social networks—that is, Wagner’s Modernity (sacrifice for the greater nation-building movement) as well as the Weimar Republic (traitor) and later National Socialism (mythical valkyrie that embodies the German Aryan roots). The 21st century, on the other hand, somewhat intends to undo the damage that has been done to her. For this, Brunhild needed to become an active player herself. Yet, if the original medieval Brunhild really had been as independent as it has been claimed, she probably could have not been subjected to the darkest ideologies in recent history.

70 5. Conclusion

The Nibelungenlied has repeatedly been adapted—it did not stop with Lang’s film (Harald Rein’s Die Nibelungen (1968), Michael Verhoeven’s The Nasty Girl (1990), and Uli Edel’s Ring of the Nibelungs (2004))—and every time, the current “German” norm and society was represented in the figure of Brunhild, positively or negatively in one way or another. Myth is, as Lévi-Strauss says, timeless. It can thus be appropriated endlessly, and in some case, this is done for the most inhumane and destructive causes. Yet, the original Nibelungenlied’s subject matter and ethical background leave little to speculate about, there is no ambiguity or higher unspoken truth to be detected. It is straightforwardly medieval and so is its inherent value system. Therefore, taking it out of its time and adapting it for contemporary audiences will always lead to contradictions that cannot be resolved. Even at its initiation, was the narrative confronted with certain contradictions and inconsistencies, since the depicted time, the age of migration (4th–5th centuries), did not reflect the courtly reality of the High Middle Ages either. Thus, the only that remains static throughout is its insistence on its incomprehensible mythical origins, which might be precisely what leads to its various (often strange, out of place, and shaky, or outright propaganda tools for fascism) adaptations throughout the ages. What has been neglected by the Nibelungenlied’s adaptations of the 19th and 20th centuries, however, is the mistreatment Brunhild was subjected to by Gunther and Siegfried’s machinations, or an awareness thereof. This is a clear indication that women had not yet received a status, which could be labelled “independent”–the very label, the 21st century tried (to a certain extent) to put on her. This is understandable and done without malice; the literary figure Brunhild had to endure a lot during the last 800 years. Precisely because of her century-long mistreatment, however, it is important to analyse each social system in depth in order to accept the fate the Middle Ages held for her in the first place. Thus, the individual society structures, Brunhild has been embedded in, can be discerned, while the way she has been appropriated also reveals a lot about the systems in question. The Nibelungenlied might have been rendered into a myth-making tool for various political tendencies, yet, so has Brunhild. It is therefore not surprising that her appeal (whether it might be positive or negative, whether she was the other, a mere propaganda tool, a sacrifice, traitor, or an alien valkyrie) has not yet ceased to exist.

71 1 The main source for this thesis is the German Nibelungenlied; for further clarification on its standing within history as well as other social, cultural and literary discourses, the Nordic Völsunga saga and Þiðreks saga will be referred to when necessary. In relation to this, Brunhild is often referred to as Brünhild or Brünhilde in Modern German (Prünhilt in Old Middle High German). Her contemporary Nordic counterpart is Brynhild, or more precisely Brynhildr in Old Norse (Modern Icelandic Brynhildur). Richard Wagner would later call her Brünnhilde in the 19th century. Yet, for clarity reasons, the English spelling Brunhild will be used throughout. Only in sections dealing specifically with Old Norse sources will Brynhildr be employed; the same applies to the section on Wagner where she will be exclusively referred to as Brünnhilde. Further, Sigrdrífa is assumed to be the original Brynhildr in the Old Norse sagas. This thesis contains a chapter entirely dedicated to her, where the transition from Sigrdrífa to Brynhildr will be outlined. She is otherwise not referred to, but her role and purpose are clearly marked, if she is needed. The Old Norse names for Kriemhild, Siegfried, and Gunther are Guðrún, Sigurðr, and Gunnarr respectively. These, too, will only be applied in the sections on differences and similarities between the two traditions Old Middle High German and Old Norse. Finally, Kriemhild is referred to as in the Þiðreks saga; for simplicity reasons, she will also be referred to as Guðrún. All the translations for the original Old Middle High German and Old Norse texts are taken from official translations; own translations are clearly marked.

2 Oxford Reference (nd.) refers to “ministeriales” as unfree or lower nobles (often knights), who were raised with the sole purpose to take on public roles of power and responsibility in society.

3 The Oxford Dictionary (nd.) refers to “primogeniture” as the right of succession belonging to the firstborn child, especially in the feudal rule by which the whole real estate of an intestate passed to the eldest son.

4 Oxford Reference (nd.) refers to “uxorilocal” as being another term for “matrilocal”, which denotes a custom in marriage whereby the husband goes to live with the wife’s community.

5 Oxford Reference (nd.) refers to “virilocal” as being another term for “patrilocal”, which denotes a custom in marriage whereby the couple settles in the husband’s home or community.

6 Murdoch (1998) assumes that the Nibelungenlied contains a form of theoretical Christianity, which remains in the background, functioning as an “underpinning for various key factors, such as marriage, and it can therefore be left out of consideration of the political structures in the work” (p. 229). 7 The references to eigen are found in the following sections: st. 724: nû ist er doch unser eigen / Sîfrit ir man st. 803: eigenholde / niht rîcher kunde wesen st. 821: des hân ich in für eigen st. 830: wiltu niht eigen sîn st. 838: jâ sol vor küniges wîbe / niht eigen díu gegân st. 841: zwiu lieze du in minnen, / sît er dîn eigen ist?

8 The original text can be found at st. 517 & st. 518: her künec, ich hete es rât, daz iuwer kamerære / mil wil der mînen wât / lâzen niht belîben; er swendet gar mîn golt. dez ez noch understüende, / em wolde ich immer wesen holt. Er gít sô rîche gâbe, / jâ wænet des der degen, ich habe gesant nâch tôde.

9 The known names of the Burgundian kings (Gibica, Gundomaris, Gislaharius, and Gundaharius) seem remarkably similar to the protagonists Gibeche, Gernot, Giselher, and Gunther in the Nibelungenlied, which may indicate that some of the figures in the Nibelungenlied are derived from historical events (Ord, 2017, p.81).

10 Flavius Aëtius, Murdoch (1998) says, could be the inspiration behind the figure Siegfried; his involvement sees two empires destroyed within a short period of time—the Burgundians in 436 and the Huns in 453. He was eventually murdered. Murdoch says that Flavius Aëtius, just like Siegfried, was an outsider—powerful, but eventually doomed to die (p. 232).

11 “Considering that she was a woman and a foreigner, it is wonderful that Brunichildis continued for so long to sway the councils of Austrasia. Save her abilities and her force of character she had no advantages, yet she not only dominated in succession her husband, her son and her grandson, but held down the untruly counts and dukes, who were neither allied to her by blood nor constantly under her eye and influence” (Murdoch, 1998, p. 250).

12 Jochens (1996), Guðrún appeared most often in the Old Norse Sagas; around 60 times (p. 26).

13 As outlined in the previous chapters in regards to changing family and kin relationships, Jochens (1996) assumes that this might be the reason for the name’s unpopularity—Brynhildr was often a stand-alone character without kin and could therefore not help increasing the clan’s political power (p. 28). 14 A cognate to, but not related to, the German Brünhildenlied.

15 In the Völsunga saga, Sigurðr says “and thereby swear I, that thee will I have as m own, for near to my thou liest” (Morris & Magnusson, 1888, p.90). They are renewing their oaths when Sigurðr visits Brynhildr at Hlymdale; yet, she also foresees Sigurðr’s marriage to Guðrún and tells Sigurðr of this to which he responds that he is not “double-—hearted” (Morris & Magnusson, 1888, p.96— 97).

16 In the Völsunga saga, the quarrel between the queens first erupts at the Rhine river, and again the next morning in Brynhildr’s bedroom where it is revealed that Guðrún did not know of Sigurðr’s and Brynhildr’s previous engagement; further, Brynhildr admits that she would accept the marriage to Gunnarr, if it wasn’t for Guðrún to have obtained the better man (Jochens, 1996, p. 170; Morris & Magnusson, 1888, p. 112). Instead of counter-attacking, Guðrún points out the advantages of being married to Gunnarr and praises him (Morris & Magnusson, 1888, p. 112). At one point, Brynhildr even suggests to end the quarrel, as she has already gained some relief by expressing that which bothers her for the first time (Jochens, 1996, p. 170). In the Þiðreks saga, on the other hand, the quarrel began in the ladies’ private chambers, moved on to the river, and culminated in front of the cathedral of Worms. Guðrún, here, plays the more important part (as she does throughout the story); she stands up for her rights and ranks, while she also tries to not hurt Brunhild’s feelings (Bussier Shumway, 1909, xxxviii). Eventually, outside the cathedral, she does lose her patience and presents Brunhild with the entire story of the twofold deception. Guðrún enters the church first, which leaves Brynhildr humiliated and shocked.

17 Unfortunately, I could not access the original text by Joan Ferrante, but had to rely on Sheikh F. Shams references. Ferrante, J. (1997). To the Glory of Her Sex: Women’s Roles in the Composition of Medieval Texts. (Women of Letters.) Bloomington. Indiana University Press, pp. xii, 295.

18 Unfortunately, I could not access the original essay by Jerold C. Frakes, but had to rely on Koplowitz-Breier’s quotes; Frakes, J.C. (1994), Brides and Doom–Gender, Property, and Power in Medieval German Women’s Epic. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Works Cited

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