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Women of the Teutonic Nations

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Title: Women of the Teutonic Nations

Author: Hermann Schoenfeld


        
Release date: June 14, 2010 [eBook #32776]

Language: English

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Produced by Rénald Lévesque






WOMAN

VOLUME VIII

WOMEN OF THE TEUTONIC NATIONS



HERMANN SCHOENFELD, PH.D., LL. D.
PROFESSOR OF GERMANIC LITERATURE IN THE GEORGE
WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY


[Illustration 1:
EMMA CARRYING HER LOVER
After the painting by G. L. P. Saint-Ange
Charlemagne had so great an affection for his children, legitimate and
natural, that he prevented his daughters, of whom Emma was one, from
marrying, in order not to lose their company. They were reputed to be
very beautiful. Being debarred from marriage, they sought unlawful love
adventures, and gave birth to illegitimate children. The romantic story
of Emma's nightly meetings with Eginhard, and of her carrying her
learned lover through the freshly fallen snow to conceal his footprints,
is an unauthenticated legend.]



_Woman_

In all ages and in all countries

VOLUME VIII


WOMEN OF THE TEUTONIC
NATIONS

BY

HERMANN SCHOENFELD, PH.D., LL.D.
Professor of Germanic Literature in the
George Washington University

ILLUSTRATED

PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE BARRIE & SONS, PUBLISHERS



THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY
Dedicated to
MADAME CHRISTIAN HEURICH NEE KEYSER




PREFACE


Adequately to write the history of the woman of any race would mean the
writing of the history of the nation itself. There is no phase of the
cultural life of any people that is not founded upon the physical and
moral nature of its women. On the other hand, mental and moral heredity,
both through paternity and maternity, determines the character and
innermost being of woman. If we knew all the preponderating influences
of heredity for ages, we could with almost mathematical accuracy compute
the traits of human biology in every case. The forces of environment,
tremendous though they are, modify, but do not alter in any way the
original nature of man, which is established and standardized "by
eternal and immutable laws." Anthropology is continuously progressing
toward a firm scientific foundation, and is beginning to organize even
the vast domain of psychology into a well-defined system. The
interdependence between physical, mental, and moral traits is well
recognized, but its exact determination is impossible, owing to the
infinite complexity of the endless ancestral potencies.

So much is established, however: Teutonic woman, as she appears in
history, is the product of two groups of influences, the one group,
inherited nature; the other, environment; she is the exact sum of these
antecedent causes. And only so far as these causes differ does the
Teutonic woman differ from her sister of any other race of other times
and climes.

In this book of a purely historical, literary, and cultural character
must be excluded all that refers to the physiological and ethnographical
characteristics of the Teutonic woman and of her Slavic sister. Nor are
we concerned with the theory of their evolution, _i. e._, the search of
the physical principles according to which the consequences of their
existence are true to the laws of their antecedents. Many eminent
scientists have tried their great faculties on this subject of universal
interest and importance. Standard works of a scientific character, like
Floss's _Das Weib in der Natur und Volherhunde_, abound in scientific
and medical bibliography.

Our limited task is merely to deal succinctly with the most general
evolution of the social position and the cultural status of the Teutonic
and, even more briefly, of the Slavic woman at the various epochs of
their respective histories, and how far the history of civilization
among those races was influenced by them, how far the symptoms of
national morality and the degree of culture were shaped by feminine
achievements, proclivities, virtues, and vices. Two thousand years of
the richest, almost unfathomable, history had to be traversed in the
attempt to glean the essential red thread from the enormous masses of
facts which in their entirety would be inaccessible even to the most
universal historical scholar. Most difficult of all the periods is
perhaps the question of the present and actual women's movement, which
is now in its liveliest flux and in a most variable condition both in
the German and in the Slavic world. It is impossible as yet to
systematize the entirety of the problems and the requirements which have
resulted in recent times from the transformation of society with regard
to the position of woman among the two modern peoples. Many of the
questions belong to the domain of private and public law, of political
economy, of sociology, of education in all its phases. The leaders of
state and church and society, the higher schools and universities, are
signally undecided concerning the final solution, though the mist of the
conflict of opinion begins slowly to clear away. Even under the changed
conditions of modern society, one party still clings to the old
tradition of the family ideal of wifehood and motherhood, which is no
longer possible in all cases, as of yore, and considers extra-domestic
activity as abnormal, unhealthy, transient; the other extremists desire
to wipe out the natural differences and the limitations prescribed by
sex to human activity and capacity. A middle ground and a rational
solution will certainly be found during this century.

The author has strenuously endeavored to avail himself for every period
of all the source material and the secondary works accessible to him in
the Library of Congress and in the other libraries of the national
capital. The chapters on the Reformation Period, the Era of Desolation,
and on Woman Held in Tightening Bonds, a long period of dreariness so
distressing and humiliating to German pride, were prepared with skill
and scholarship by Miss Sarah H. Porter, A. M., at the time a graduate
student in the author's department. Credit for the chapter on Russian
Woman belongs to Mr. Alexis V. Babine, of the Library of Congress.

The author also expresses sincere gratitude to the publishers, and
especially to Mr. J. A. Burgan, the publishers' editor, for his careful
revision of the English text and for the generous, vigilant aid extended
to the author throughout the entire work.

HERMANN SCHOENFELD.

The George Washington University.




CHAPTER I

THE WOMEN OF THE PAGAN TEUTONS


Women were valued by the primeval Teutonic race, as by all other races
of the human family, as mere chattels means whereby the profit or the
pleasure of man might be maintained or increased. The custom of burning
the wife or wives with the dead master and husband was, from the
prehistoric times until far into the light of historic days, prevalent
in the tribes of the Teutonic family. Sacrifices of widows were
especially prescribed in eastern Germanic law, and the low status of
woman among the Teutons of the early times is sufficiently indicated by
the established and quasi-legalized right and prerogative of the
husband, as the owner of the female chattel, to bequeath, give, sell, or
hire her person or services to strangers, guests, or friends; or even to
kill her if she committed adultery, or if want and distress made such a
course expedient.

We must admit the harshness and cruelty to which woman, according to the
most ancient conscience of the Teutonic race, could lawfully be
subjected. Evidences that her status was outside of the pale of right
and law is manifest in all historical proofs. Traces of the old status
still abound. One lies in the present refinement of woman's actual
position a refinement which cannot obscure its real origin from the
student of culture and civilization.

It is certain that the prehistoric Germanic community began with the
communal use of women for pleasure or profit. This common use could be
broken and suppressed only by marriage by capture. If the man wished to
have exclusive possession of a wife, he had to procure her from outside
his own community. Besides this exogamic marriage, an endogamic marriage
was later recognized as conferring title, on the condition that the man
reconciled the woman's blood relatives by the payment of a definite
compensation. This system of marriage by capture survived the Migration
period, and was found in Sweden even in the early Middle Ages.

Marriage by treaty also existed even in prehistoric times. This compact
(_Gifta_) is always between the blood relatives of the bride and the
bridegroom. It is a presentation, a giving away (_Verschenkung_) of the
bride. The parent or guardian gives her away, an act which requires no
consent of the bride, but only a counter gift, or rather purchase money,
from the bridegroom. Thus a kind of purchase, the symbolic pursuit of
the bride (_Brautlauf_) as an imitation of the ancient marriage by
capture, and the technical consummation of marriage (_Beilager_), for
which the man, however, owes her a gift (_Morgengabe_), are the phases
of marriage.

Polygamy is the rule at first. The northern Teutons, especially the
Scandinavians, practised an unmitigated polygamy down to a very late
period, and only yielded after a most persistent struggle with the
ethics of Christianity. As late as the eighth century the bitter
accusations of the churchmen against Pepin of Heristal for having two
wives, and their arraignment of Charlemagne's sins of concupiscence,
show how ineradicable this ancient Teutonic usage was. However, as early
as B.C. 57, Cæsar mentions King Ariovistus's marriage to two wives as an
exception to Teutonic custom, due, perhaps, to political motives.
Tacitus praises the Germans as those who, with few exceptions, live in
monogamy, and though Tacitus is not an unimpeachable authority, owing to
the fact that he wished to idealize the vigorous race as a model to the
decadent Roman world of his time, his statements seem to prove that at
the dawn of Christianity southern and western German tribes at least had
the highest conception of family purity. Later on, under the teachings
of Christianity, polygamy was first modified, then abolished; and
marriage by capture was either suppressed or treated as a crime.

Upon the status of women among the Teutonic tribes the study of
philology sheds some light. From it we learn that the Gothic _quind_,
woman (in general), and _queue_, married woman, signifies the
child-bearing one, from the verb _quinan, gignere_; or _wip_ (Saxon
_wif_, Old Norse _vif_), indicating the root of _wib_, motion, the
mobile being; though _frouwa, frau_ (Old Norse, _freyja_), means
originally "joyous, mild, gracious," and is used to signify "illustrious
ladies" down to the thirteenth century.

The female child was allowed to live only by grace of the father. If
this right of the father over the life of his female child appears
barbarous, we must understand that the valuation of life in primitive
times is always very low. Not only among the early Teutons, but also
among the early Romans and Slavs, a custom prevailed by which the
children might kill their old or incurably sick parents, because of the
conception that life is valuable only so long as physical vigor dwells
in the body. Believing this, it is easy to conclude that when vigor
departed death was a blessing, the bestowal of which parents could
legitimately expect from their children.

The daughter was bought from the father for marriage purposes for a
value, and, without recourse, she was placed in the absolute possession
of the buyer, who might be an entire stranger to her. Friendship, favor,
or material advantage might induce the buyer to transfer his wife to
whomsoever he chose. Nothing was left to her but resignation, and,
obeying a stern necessity, she followed her husband and taskmaster to
death, "not to sweeten his after-life, but to continue her dreary
service."

The Norse sources are full of tragic examples of immolation. When the
bright sun god Baldur, the wisest, most eloquent, and mildest of all the
Ases, is finally slain, at the instigation of the evil god Loki, by a
twig of mistletoe in the hands of the blind god Hodur, his wife, the
goddess Nanna, is burned with him. Likewise, the Valkyrie Brunhild, in
the Old Norse version of the Siegfried legend, kills herself so that she
may be burned with her beloved Sigurd. Hakon Jarl, the last great
partisan of paganism in Scandinavia, woos in his old age beautiful
Gunhild, but she is unwilling to expose her blooming youth to the risk
of being burned with her aged husband.

The toil and trouble of life rested upon woman's weak shoulders; the
menial work at home and in the field was her lot. The man roved in war
or on the hunting ground, and while at home was an impassive onlooker of
her labors. He gave himself up to the enjoyment of his barbarous
pleasures of drinking mead, lying idly on the skins of the wild beasts
killed by his rude weapons, or gambling with such desperateness as
sometimes to impel him, when all else was lost, to stake wife and
children, nay, his own person, on the result of chance. Freedom and
absolute liberty of life was the manly ideal, since according to the
word of Cæsar "trained and accustomed from childhood to no business or
discipline (outside of war and hunt, to be sure,) they do nothing at all
against their own will."

A highly important occupation of the ancient Teutonic woman was the
brewing of beer from barley and other grain. Thus, the Edda relates that
King Alrek of Hordaland decides the question which of his two wives he
is to discard, in order to terminate their eternal altercations in his
household, by the superior skill of one of them in brewing beer. Also
the making and the care of wine, which the Teutons learned to know and
appreciate from the Romans, belonged to the sphere of woman, for women
not infrequently served as cupbearers to the men in their halls. It is,
however, true that the Suevi, at least, forbade the importation of wine
within their realm, because they believed that men by its use became
effeminate and unfit for heavy labors.

Even though we assume the menial labors of the household to have been
done by slaves, yet we learn that royal women took an active part in
washing. The pernicious strife between Brunhild and Gudrun breaks out in
the business of veil washing. (In the old Norse version.)

In its beginnings Teutonic family life was undoubtedly hard; it was,
however, destined to emerge from its early barbarity and one-sidedness
into a strong, sound, and healthy moral relation between the sexes. Only
thus could have been produced a race now dominant throughout the world,
and always capable, by this development, of the best and highest
progress in political advancement.

When first the light of history is shed by the two great historians,
Cæsar and Tacitus, upon the Teutonic family eastward of the Rhine and
northward of the Danube, woman has already conquered and appropriated to
herself many traits of Freya and Frigg, the divine mothers of the
Teutons. Something holy and providential is perceived and acknowledged
in woman's nature: she has already become priestess and prophetess and a
political power in the state.

Of the sacrificing and prophesying priestesses of the Cimbri, the first
Teutons who knocked powerfully at the gates of Italy, we shall speak
later. When, in B. C. 58, Cæsar offered battle daily to Ariovistus, the
Suevian king who had broken into Gaul and installed himself there, the
latter, though a fierce and heroic warrior, did not accept it. Cæsar
learned from Teutonic prisoners that the prophetesses, in consequence of
lots and divinations, forbade the king, if he hoped for victory, to
engage in battle with the Romans before the new moon. The battle was,
however, forced by Cæsar and it ended with the total rout of the
Teutons. Cæsar's envoy, Procillus, who had been held in chains by
Ariovistus according to the barbarian fashion, escaped from his captors
and related to Cæsar his terrible experiences in the camp of the king.
It had been a vital question whether Procillus should be burned at the
stake or kept for a future occasion, and this was thrice determined in
his favor by the lots cast in his presence by the wise women. Here, as
elsewhere, women interpreted the decree of fate. Tacitus mentions
Albruna (called Aliruna by Grimm) as an ancient prophetess venerated by
the Germans during the expeditions of Drusus and Tiberius in the
interior of Germania.

The greatest veneration, however, ever enjoyed by a prophetess, fell to
the lot of Veleda during the heroic war of liberation waged against the
Romans by the Batavi, a branch of the Chatti, under their great leader
Civilis. Veleda's influence extended far beyond the theatre of the
uprising on the "Island of the Batavi." Johannes Scherr, the historian
of German civilization, finds in her name an allusion to Valkyrie, Vala,
Volur, thus indicating the quasi-deification of Veleda. In reality, she
belonged to the tribe of the Bructeri. She received embassies, formed
alliances, and the most precious portions of the booty fell to her
share. Her power was at its height when she correctly predicted the
defeat of the Roman army. She dwelt solitary and inaccessible in a tower
and was the Pythia of the Low-Rhenish tribes. Approach to her was
forbidden in order to increase her divine prestige. On the downfall of
Civilis, she was brought to Rome as a captive to enhance the triumph of
the Roman conqueror, Crealis, the general of Emperor Vespasianus.

There are many other such divine women mentioned in the ancient books,
though the records of their deeds are scanty. Ganna is a prophetess
among the Semnones at the time of Emperor Domitianus. The Langobardian
Gambara and the Alemannian Thiota belong to a late time, probably the
ninth century.

From these few examples it appears clearly that in spite of the harsh
treatment of woman by the more ancient Germans the veneration of her is
inherent in the Teutonic soul. Hence prophetesses gradually become
goddesses in the consciousness of the people; hence the depth of the
later cult of the Virgin Mary (_Marienkultus_), and the extraordinary
sentimental and poetic evolution of the Love Service (_Minnediensf_)
which inspired and enriched what was perhaps, the greatest period of
German literature and life.

The oldest traces of German literature left to us are, in fact, charms
pronounced by such deified women. The Old Saxon word _idis_ (from ict,
ictn, work, activity, _i.e._, the working, active, skilful one) means
originally "divine virgin," especially a goddess of fate. This is
illustrated in the two charms found in Merseburg thus the first story
runs: The gods Phol and Wodan rode into the forest; suddenly Baldur's
horse sprained his foot. Sindgund and her sister Sunna uttered a charm
over him. Volla and her sister Freya did the same; but all in vain. Then
Wodan, who understood such things well, uttered his charm. He charmed
away the sprain in the bone, the blood, and the joint. He uttered the
potent formula: "Bone to bone, blood to blood, joint to joint, as if
they were glued." Great as the art of the four heavenly women is in the
treatment of wounds, it is yet inferior to that of Wodan. But it is an
indication of the Teutonic conception that the curing of the sick and
the tending of the wounded appertains to the domain of woman.

It will furnish a more accurate idea of the alliterative form of this
most ancient Germanic poetry if we place here a clever translation by
Professor Gummere of the story just told:

        "Phol and Wodan fared to the holt:
        Then Haider's foal's foot was wrenched.
        Then Sinthgunt besang it and Sunna, her sister:
        Then Fryja besang it and Volla, her sister:
        Then Wodan besang it, who well knew how,
        The wrenching of bone, the wrenching of blood,
        The wrenching of limb: Bone to bone, blood to blood,
        Limb to limb, as if it were limed."

The second Merseburg charm attributes to the Idisi (wise women) the
power, on the battlefield, of loosening prisoners' bonds. This is
apparent from its text, which runs:

        "Once sat (wise) women (idisi), sat hither and thither.
        Some bound bonds; some hindered the host;
        Some unfastened the fetters:
        Spring from fetters; fly from the foe."

It describes the activity of the heavenly women, the Valkyries, in
battle. They are, according to the charm, divided into three
detachments; the first, binds prisoners in the rear of the army which
they favor; the second, engages the foe; the third group appears in the
rear of the enemy where the prisoners are secured, and, touching their
fetters, utters the formula of deliverance: "Escape from your bonds,
flee from the enemy."

Though Weinhold, perhaps the foremost scholar on the position and
achievements of early Germanic womanhood, does not concede the existence
of a real priestcraft among the ancient Teutons, he gives, nevertheless,
numberless examples of their great influence and prophetic mission. Like
the above-mentioned mythological women, mortal women were supposed to
know secret charms to make the weapons of their men victorious: some
possessing the charm over the blade (_Schwertsegeri_). This spell was
worked by scratching secret runes (letters) upon the handle or blade of
the sword while calling thrice the name of the sword god Tyr.

The most potent influence of Teutonic women rests upon their
guardianship of the sacred runes, which are a primeval, Teutonic method
of searching the future: the power of divination. The Anglo-Saxon and
Scandinavian word _run_ signifies a letter, a writing, or literally a
secret, mystery, confidential speech, counsel. A letter was also called
_runstaef_. Little staffs with significant signs and symbols were thrown
by women, as dice are cast, to the accompaniment of prayers and charms,
and from the result of the cast prophecies were made. Odin (Wodan)
himself taught the wise women the greatest of runes "which [in this
connection] means both writing and magic, and many other arts of life."
Whittier, Kallundborg Church, says of them: "Of the Troll of the Church
they sing the rune: By the Northern Sea in the harvest moon."

The _runes_ or charms are twofold. The good and wholesome ones are
called _galdr_; the pernicious ones, carrying with them sickness,
madness, and death, are called _soidr_. The women of magic possessed of
the art of the _runes_ were called _volur_ or _seidkona_, and wandered
through the land in fantastic attire, a dark cloak set with pearls
around their limbs, a cap of black lambskin on the head, a staff with a
brass button, set with stones, in their hand. Wherever they appeared,
they were reverently invited to a feast and propitiated in every way,
that they might be induced to practise beneficent magic arts during the
night. They enjoyed an almost semi-divine veneration. There were,
however, "_balewise_ women" against whom the Scandinavian warrior was
warned. "The sons of men need an eye of foresight wherever the fray
rages, for _balewise_ [horrible, hideous] women often stand near the way
[with _baleful runes_] blunting swords and minds."

A still higher, more divine and poetic mission than that of bond
breakers is assigned to the Valkyries _i.e._, choosers of the slain or
Walmaids. Odin, the supreme god of the Germanic Olympus, sends them out
to every battlefield to turn the tide of battle and to make choice of
those who are to be slain. Glittering in their armor and their waving
golden hair, bright as the sun, they ride through the air and above the
sea with shields and helmets and sparkling breastplates to execute the
orders of the war god, whose handmaidens they are. With their spears
they designate the heroes who shall fall and whom they afterward conduct
to _Valhalle_ (Valholl), the hall of the slain, the heaven longed for by
the Germanic warrior. This magnificent hall is in Asgard, the garden of
the Ases, the gods of Old Norse mythology. Here Odin receives and
welcomes the gods and all the _einherjes_, the brave warriors who died
in battle.

The hall is resplendent with gold; spears support its ceiling, it is
roofed with shields, and coats of mail adorn it. According to the Elder
Edda it has six hundred and forty doors, through which nine hundred and
sixty _einherjes_ may enter side by side. The Valkyries make it a
perfect paradise. As the servants of the divine host they bear the
drink, take care of the mead horns and wait upon the table. Here they
appear in the loveliness of their peaceful, housewifely mission. This
unwarlike side of their nature should be emphasized, for it is apt to be
forgotten when we think of Valkyries as spirits of the clouds flying
over land and sea, driven by the wind, messengers of the storm god,
shining in lightning, rattling in thunder.

Nowhere does the poetry inherent in the primitive Germanic conscience,
in spite of all its apparent, warlike savagery, appear in a brighter
light than in the many sagas relative to those superhuman, semi-divine
beings. Their conception sheds a brilliant light upon the soul life of
the primitive German as we consider it in connection with womanhood, and
especially with womanhood elevated to the level of the divine.

In one way might the Valkyries be brought into subjection to man. A hero
who surprised them bathing in the quiet forest lake obtained power over
them if he succeeded in carrying off their feather garments, for he thus
prevented them from flying away. In this respect the swan-maiden and the
Valkyries are identical. A swan-maiden thus surprised must then follow
the hero as his wife, until she perchance finds again her feather
garment, for this will permit her to fly away as a swan. One of the
loveliest passages in the _Nibelungenlied_ is the story where fierce
Hagen, the slayer of the sunny hero Siegfried, surprises the
prophetesses of the Danube by stealing their raiment, and thereby forces
them to reveal to him the future fate of himself and of the Burgundians
wandering to the court of the Hunnish king Attila, or Etzel:

        "Spake one of the mere women Hadburg was her name:
        Here will we tell you, Hagen, O noble knight of fame;
        If you now, gallant swordsman, our raiment but restore,
        Your journey to Hunland, and all that waits you more.

        "Her words were glad to Hagen and made his spirits glad.
        He gave them back their raiment. No sooner were they clad
        In all their magic garments they made him understand
        In truth the fate that waited his ride to Etzel's land.

        "It was the second mere-wife, Sigelind, who spake:
        'O Son of Aldriana, Hagen, my warning take!
        'Twas yearning for the raiment my sister's falsehood made;
        And if thou goest to Hunland, Lord Hagen, thou'rt betrayed.'"

The number of the Valkyries varies; more than a dozen are named in the
Elder Edda. The belief prevailed that heroic women of transcendent
beauty could become Valkyries through Odin's choice and love. In the
Norse sagas we find Valkyries in the suites of great kings. In the poems
of the Edda, which deal with the _Volsungs_ and the _Hniflungs_, with
their wonderful power, there are accounts of love between Valkyries and
earthly heroes, ending in the premature tragic death of the hero. Best
known and of the highest poetic value is the _Volsung-saga of Brunhild_
(Brynhildr), the daughter of Odin, immortalized again in Richard
Wagner's music-drama, _Die Walküre_.

In defiance of the order of Odin, Brunhild chooses victory for her
favorite, Siegmund the Volsung. At the last decisive moment of the
battle the Father of the Universe appears. Siegmund's spear is broken to
splinters by Odin's sword, and he himself sinks dead to the ground to
expiate the crime against Hunding's marital honor. The disobedient
Valkyrie tries to flee from the terrible wrath of Odin; but he overtakes
her and decrees that she shall lie and sleep until a man discovers her
and kisses her lips; to him shall she then belong. Moved by the sorrow
of the proud maiden and mindful of his former love for her, Odin
modifies his punishment by surrounding the sleeping beauty with a
blazing fire, to frighten back every cowardly and unworthy man. Finally,
after long, long years, Siegmund's son, the incomparable hero Siegfried
(Sigurd), penetrates the fire and carries away the divine bride, kissed
to life again, whose passionate outburst of delight is characteristic of
the fallen Valkyrie:

        "Hail to thee, Day!
        Hail to you, Sons of Day!
        Hail to thee, Night and thy daughter Earth!
        Hail to thee, fruit-bearing field!
        Word and wisdom give to us two, and ever-healing hands!"
                                                      (H. S.)

In her unbridled passion lies the cause of her destruction and also that
of the beloved Sigurd. After their union, Sigurd abandons her for the
love of Gudrun, and even inflicts upon her the disgrace of winning her
for Gunnar, whom he impersonates. In an altercation with Gudrun, the
Nibelung princess, she learns that it was Sigurd, not Gunnar, who
conquered her and subjected her. Her wrath is unbounded. She causes the
Nibelungs to murder Sigurd, but in reawakened love she kills herself to
be united in death with her beloved.

Here we have the source of the lovely fairy tales of _Dornroschen and
Sneewittchen_. In the former, the Valkyrie Brunhild is pictured as a
beautiful princess, and the glowing flame becomes a hedge of thorns.
Instead of intrepid Siegfried (Sigurd), who penetrates the flames, a
fairy prince appears, and rescues the sleeping beauty, through a magic
kiss, from the doom of eternal sleep. In the second story, the
metamorphosis of Brunhild is accomplished through a poisoned comb which
is thrust in Sneewittchen's head: as Brunhild sleeps in her brilliant
castle, so the maiden sleeps in the mountains in a glass coffin, guarded
by seven dwarfs, until the prince rescues her.

But not in all cases are the divine women thus transformed into lovely
fairies. Under the influence of mediæval theology and scholasticism and
their hostility toward the lingering ancient faith, they are distorted
into malicious, hideous beings witches. _Thrud_, the name of a Valkyrie,
is the mediæval designation for "witch."

In the oldest Germanic sagas we find frequently confounded with the
Valkyries, the _Norns_, the rulers of the fate of gods and men. It is
characteristic, indeed, of the Germanic world conception, as, in fact,
also of the cognate Greek and Roman mythology, that the fate of men and
gods rests in the hands of divine women; for where the Valkyries act by
order of Odin, the _Norns_ act independently and by their own free will.
They weave the web of men's lives, "stretching it from the radiant dawn
to the glowing sunset." The destiny of the world lies with them, and
nothing that is, is exempt from their irrevocable decrees. Time and
space are embraced in the domain of their influence: _Urd_ (the Past),
_Verdande_ (the Present), and _Skuld_ (the Future) supervise, as it
were, the judgment place of the gods where they meet in council at the
sacred well, _Urdharbrunn_, at the foot of the ash tree _Yggdrasil_. It
is interesting to note how their influence is reflected and depicted by
Shakespeare's genius in Macbeth, where the three witches surely, though
perhaps unconsciously, derive their origin from the Norse Norns. In the
witches' kitchen in Goethe's Faust is brewed likewise the charm that
controls the fateful lives of Faust and Gretchen.

[Illustration 2:
_CAPTURE OF THUSNELDA
After the painting by H Konig_
_It is in the period of Roman attack that we meet for the first time
agreat royal character, Thusnelda, the wife of Arminius, the liberator
of Germania from a foreign yoke. Her history is the oldest Teutonic love
story. Betrothed to another man, she is by force carried away by
Arminius from her father Segestes, the friend of the Romans. Betrayed to
the latter under Drusus Germanicus, she is captured. Inspired more by
the spirit of her husband than by that of her father--no tear, no
complaint or entreaty came from Thusnelda's lips at her capture. The
news of the capture of his wife and of her slavery exasperated Arminius
to mad rage. But in vain he flew to her rescue. With her son and her
brother Segimunt she adorned the triumph of Drusus, while traitor
Segestes looked on._]

Under such circumstances the elevation of woman among the Teutons was
more of a religious than of a social character. The Teuton considered
woman as a physically weak but spiritually strong being, who had a just
claim to protection and reverence. Though it is true that women
prophetesses, like Veleda and Albruna with their far-reaching influence,
were regarded rather as semi-divine beings than as ordinary women, and
though the legal status of woman was thoroughly subordinated to that of
man, being in fact about equal to that of a minor child, yet her honor
and chastity were held sacred, and her intellectual gifts were highly
prized. Her natural physical weakness began to be her strength, and her
lack of legal rights was compensated for by her great spiritual
influence in family and society.

The potential and inherent virtue, in the Latin sense, and the physical
as well as moral vigor of Teutonic men began to assert itself earlier
than among many other races further advanced in civilization. It rose
unconsciously from the stage of crude sensuality to a free humanity. But
we must in no wise modernize the single trait of the ancient veneration
of woman, as mentioned above. Though harshness and cruelty were yet the
order of the day, nevertheless, gradually the cruel tenets of primitive
law began to be softened and modified in practice by many exceptions.
This occurred especially in the higher levels of primitive society. The
natural affections arising from family ties and blood relationship
steadily transformed woman's status in fact, if not in law. What the
dim, though growing intellect of the man, trained only for war and the
hunt, could not compass, the natural reasoning power of woman, her
natural womanly prudence, did accomplish. Concessions regarding the
purchase money, which originally subjected her absolutely to the buyer,
were made in her favor; the purchase of her body and soul became
gradually the acquisition of the right to protect her; the husband's
power over his wife's body became more limited; her immolation with her
dead husband fell into disuse; the widow's right over her children, even
her male children, arose and increased. Womanly power and influence made
many a free man dependent, regardless of law; women began to exert a
tremendous influence over their husbands, their tribes, their state
formations. All the Roman sources preserved to us prove that when the
Romans, after the conquest of Gaul, entered upon the gigantic task of
subjugating the Germans, women played a prominent part in the political
upheaval which then occurred.

It is in the period of Roman attack that we meet for the first time a
great royal character, a tragic type of a historical German woman:
Thusnelda, the wife of Arminius (Hermann), prince of the Cherusci, the
liberator of Germania from a foreign yoke. Her history is the oldest
Teutonic love story. History, legend, and poetry have vied in idealizing
and immortalizing her. Betrothed to another man, she is by force carried
away by Arminius from her father Segestes, Arminius's political
adversary, the friend of the Romans. Betrayed to the latter under Drusus
Germanicus, she is captured. "Inspired more by the spirit of her husband
than by that of her father no tear, no complaint or entreaty came from
Thusnelda's lips at her capture; with her hands clasped over her bosom,
she looked down silently at her pregnant body. The news of the capture
of his wife and of her slavery exasperated Arminius to mad rage. But in
vain he flew to her rescue. She was carried to Rome and there bore
Thumelicus. With her son and her brother Segimunt she adorned the
triumph of Drusus, while the traitor Segestes looked on, as son,
daughter, and grandson walked in chains before the carriage of the
triumphator." Indeed, Strabo, the celebrated Greek geographer, confirms
the story in his _Geographica_ (vii, i, 4): "To them, conquerors of
Varus in the Teutoburg forest, Drusus Germanicus owed a splendid triumph
at which the foremost enemies were carried personally in triumph:
Segimuntos, son of Segestes, chieftain of the Cherusci, and his sister
Thusnelda, with Thumelicus, her three years' old son. Segestes, however,
who from the beginning had not shared his son's policy, but had rather
passed to our side, overwhelmed with honors, beheld how those who ought
to have been dearest to him, walked in chains." Here Johannes Scherr
makes the pertinent remark that, eighteen centuries before Napoleon had
founded the Rhenish Confederacy, there were already in existence princes
of that Confederacy; that is, traitors to the German cause.

How long Thusnelda outlived the disgrace is unknown. It is reported,
however, that, to accomplish the revenge of the Romans, Thumelicus was
trained to be a gladiator at Ravenna, if nothing worse. Gottling, in
_Thusnelda and Thumelicus, in Contemporaneous Pictures_, 1856, seems to
have proved that the beautiful marble statue of a German woman in the
Loggia de' Lanzi at Florence represents Arminius's wife bearing herself
with a wonderful majesty to impress the Romans with her regality.

Now, in contrast to Thusnelda's strength, we have Bissula, a picture of
Germanic grace. Ausonius, a poet of the late Roman period, sketches the
portrait of this German maiden a prisoner who had been captured in the
expeditions of Emperor Valentinianus I. against the Alemanni on the
Neckar and Upper Rhine. She fell as booty to the poet, who stood high in
pedagogical and political offices. The beauty and grace of this charming
Alemannian maiden contrast strangely with the majesty and heroism and
tragic bitterness of Armin's wife. The slave Bissula becomes a queen, as
the queen had become a slave. Ausonius speaks with enthusiastic
tenderness of her shining countenance, her blue eyes and blonde hair.
"Art possesses no means," he says, "to imitate so much grace."

        "'Bissula, inimitable in wax or in color,
        Nature adorned with charms, as art never succeeds.
        Mix then, O painter, the rose with the white of the lily,
        Choose then the fragrant blend to paint fair Bissula's face.'"
                                                          (H. S.)

The ancient Teutonic woman is, in general, represented as beautiful in
countenance and form. Her rich, reddish-blond, flowing hair became the
envy and imitation of the Roman ladies of fashion. Ovid and other poets
mention how the Roman ladies tried to change their black hair to German
blond. The _rutilce comce_ of Tacitus, became a valued Roman article of
trade. In Heinrich von Kleist's drama, _Die Hermannschlacht_,
Thusnelda's revenge upon the Roman general Ventidius hinges upon an
intercepted letter of his, containing a lock of her golden hair obtained
by ruse, and sent to his Roman princess:

        "Varus, O princess, stands with seven legions
        Victorious on Cheruscan land:
        Cheruscan land, mind well, where those locks do grow,
        Shining like gold and soft like Roman silk.
        Now mindful of the word spoken in jest by thee,
        When last thou saw'st me parting for the war:
        I send a lock of hair destined for thee,
        When Hermann falls, to clip from his queen's head.
        By Styx! the trader by the capitol can't offer it:
        It's a love token from the foremost lady of the land:
        The Princess of Cheruscia herself."
                                                    (H. S.)

The blue eyes, described by the Roman witnesses as full of fire and
chaste defiance, the white rose cheeks and the strong, well-proportioned
form make almost ideal the beauty of the German woman when undefiled by
foreign admixture. Emphatically does Tacitus state that the German
tribes not taking in foreign blood became a genuine, unmixed nation,
similar only to themselves (_Germanice populos, nullis aliis aliarum
nationum connubiis infectos, propriam et sinceram et tantum sui simikm
gentem exstitisse._)

The physical beauty of the ancient German woman was heightened by the
fashion of her garments, though Tacitus relates that these were not
essentially different from those of man. Despite the assertion of the
historian, we do not doubt that a touch of innocent vanity was present:
a cloak of skin or fur, held together by a gold buckle, or, in the case
of the poor and lowly, by a thorn, constituted the outer garment. This
usually covered a linen, purple-edged undergarment, somewhat like the
Roman tunic, which, by its cut, left the arms, neck, and the upper
breast uncovered. The question of dress is so interesting and so
indicative not only of the state of civilization of any people, but also
of their moral characteristics and habits, that works like Weiss's
_Kostumkunde_, and Falke's _Deutsche Trachten und Modenwelt_, with the
object lessons of good pictures, shed a flood of light upon the
subsequent stages of the evolution of dress. The scanty clothing of the
early historical period was chiefly for out-of-door use; it gave way to
absolute nakedness at the hearth-fire of home, as well as at the common
bathing of the two sexes.

Cæsar's account of the sexual life of the Germans of his time is of
great importance to our theme. Says the imperial historian: "It is a
matter of the highest praise to the youth of a people whose minds, from
early childhood, had been directed to strenuous conditions and warlike
efforts, to remain sexually undeveloped as long as possible, since this
made the body stately and vigorous, and strengthened the muscles. It was
a disgrace for a youth to know a woman before his twentieth year. Nor
could such things be kept secret, since both sexes bathed together in
the rivers, and had only furs as garments, which left the body, to a
large part, naked."

Their garments, as described above, remained, on the whole, unchanged
for centuries; even until about the time of the Prankish kings. The
upper body was free, though often cloaked, the lower body clothed in
trousers, _braccce_, the genuine manly German garment, and it is thus
clothed that we meet their men in the first historic records. In winter
a sagum, mantle, was added, according to Tacitus and Pomponius Mela. We
have in plastic art only two pictorial reproductions: the so-called
_Vienna gemma_, Augustus's Pannonian triumph, and the _Parisian gemma_,
Germanicus's triumph, to show us objectively the vestments of the
ancient Germans.

A word concerning the proper names of ancient Teutonic women may be in
order here. Wilhelm Scherer, the eminent historian of German literature,
divides them into two distinct groups: those which combine nature and
beauty and tell of love, gentle grace, purity, and constancy; and those
which apply to battle, arms, victory counselling, inspiring, tending
men. Perhaps two different epochs in the spiritual growth of the nation
are thus indicated. Most ancient names seem to be: _Skonea_ (_schon_,
beautiful); _Berchta_ (shining); _Heidr_ (_heiter_, serene); _Liba_
(living); _Swinda_ (swift); compounds like _Swanhvit_ (swanwhite);
_Adalhert; Brunhild; Kriemhilde_ (maiden in armor, with helmet).

As we proceed through the centuries with the aid of existing documents,
we find again and again that in Germanic women chastity is the
fundamental trait, as loyalty and good faith is in man. And this despite
the evidences of the violation of the rule which are found in the law
that provided that adultery by women should be punished with unmitigated
cruelty, and that the punishment according to the ancient Germanic law
should be left entirely to the outraged husband. In the presence of her
relatives, her hair, the pride of a free woman, is cut; then she is
expelled naked from the house and scourged through the village, and
sometimes buried to her neck and left to die. There is many a Teutonic
Lucretia, though we meet also now and then with some German Judiths. The
Langobard king Sighart falls in love with the beautiful wife of Nannigo,
one of his men. She rejects his wooing with contempt. The prince,
employing the old means of tyrants since King David's time, sends the
husband as an ambassador to Africa, and forces the wife to submit to
him. Her heart is broken; she lays aside the vestments of a noblewoman,
and clothes herself in sackcloth and ashes. When her husband returns,
she bids him kill her, since a stranger has stained his and her honor.
Though her husband tried to console her, no smile ever sweetened her
lips again.

Paulus Diaconus relates, in the _Gesta Langobardorum_, a trait of
touching humility and modesty in a Teutonic woman, Radberg, wife of Duke
Bemmo, in the Forum Julii. Conscious of her lack of physical beauty and
deeming herself unworthy of her noble husband, she requests him to
divorce her for some better wife. But Bemmo esteemed her chastity and
loyalty higher than the beauty of others, and led an ideal life with
her.

But in spite of many such lovely traits, it cannot be denied that a
strong, fierce atmosphere pervades woman's life in Teutonic antiquity.
The womanly emotions for good or for evil almost surpass human measure.
Tremendous feelings find expression in Titanic passions and actions, or,
as Weinhold has it: "No tender tears are shed, but the flood of the eyes
rolls, mixed with blood, over the cheeks and garments of ancient
Teutonic woman." In a wild woe, Brunhild wrings her hands so that the
cups rattle on the wall boards and the fowl start up frightened in the
courtyard. The whole house shook to its foundations from her bitter
laugh at Siegfried's death, which she had caused. Freya's diadem bursts
because of the wrathful motion of her bosom. In the twilight between
mythology and history love is as unmeasured as hate in Teutonic women.
All the sagas of all the legendary circles (_Sagenkreise_), the sagas of
_Brunhild and Kriemhilde_, of _Hildegund, bride of Walther of
Aquitaine_, of _Gudrun_, of _Sigrun, Helgi's wife_, teach us the nature
of the Teutonic woman's love and hate. Only the strength and power of
the man awaken love in her bosom. She inclines toward even an unloved
man when he proves strong and heroic; and only to the bravest is the
Teutonic maiden willing to give her heart and hand. Brunhild stakes her
own person as a prize for the bravest hero in the games for warlike
honors. When she falls by fraud to the lot of the inferior and weaker
man, her nature rebels in a terrific wrath that destroys all, the
beloved and the unbeloved, and those connected with both. Pride, too, is
the incentive of woman's action, thus spurring man to crime or to noble
endeavor, as the case may be.

Harald Schonhaar (Fairhair), of Norway, wooes Gyda, daughter of a petty
Norwegian king. But she will not sacrifice her virginity to a man who
rules over a small land. Proudly she sneers: "Methinks it strange that
none of the princes of Norway strives to conquer the whole land, like
Gorm in Denmark, and Erich in Sweden." This arouses Harald the wooer,
and he begins that fight for the supremacy over all Norway that wins
both lands and Gyda. But a still prouder maiden, Reginhild of Denmark,
conquers him, though he has ten wives and twenty concubines. The maiden
scornfully rejects his love, claiming that no king in the world is
powerful and great enough for her to sacrifice her virginity for the
thirtieth part of his love. Thereupon, Harald dismisses his thirty women
and takes Reginhild as his sole bride.

The pride of the Teutonic woman extends, however, to an anxious regard
also for her husband's honor. The old German romance of Erek and Enite
demonstrates that she will rather lose her husband forever than see him
disgraced by effeminate idleness.

Even the beasts succumb to the influence of Swanhild, daughter of Gudrun
and Sigurd. On a false charge against her womanly honor, she is
condemned to be trampled to death by the hoofs of wild horses. "But when
she looked up at them, the horses dared not tread upon her, and Bike
(_Bicce, Sibich_), the treacherous counsellor of the king, had a sack
drawn over her eyes.... and so she ended her life."

The noblest poetic expression of the wonderful depth of ancient Teutonic
love is set forth in the _Helgi songs_ of the Elder Edda, the tragic
power of which truly raises them to the standard of the Germanic _Song
of Songs_.

Helgi, a Volsung, at the age of fifteen years, avenges the death of his
father, Siegmund, on Hunding and his whole race, whom he exterminates in
a fierce battle. As he is about to leave the battlefield, he sees the
train of Valkyries riding through the air in their golden armor, rays of
light shining from their spears and helmets. Helgi invites them to his
triumphal feast in his royal hall. Yet Sigrun, the most beautiful among
the Valkyries, exclaims from her lofty white horse:

        "'Woe is me! Other cares than feasting oppress my heart.
        All-father has betrothed me to an unbeloved man.
        Fierce Hodbroddr will carry me off in a few nights, if you,
        O hero, shining in the beauty of youth, will not save me and
            challenge him to mortal combat.'"

With these words she entwines caressingly her white arms around the neck
of Helgi, whose heart melts and inclines to her. He challenges the hated
rival, and on the morning of the combat he stands against the countless
host of Hodbroddr, who is aided by Sigrun's father and brothers, who are
resentful of the bold Helgi's suit. The earth trembles and shakes under
the onslaught, but Helgi's resistless sword mows down his enemies.
Beasts and birds of the field hold a rich repast. When the tumult of the
battle subsides, Sigrun rides over the field, and her lamentation for
her slain father and brothers is heard amid the exultations of victory.
Only one brother, Dag, survives, and he weds her to Helgi. But impelled
by the sacred duty of blood revenge, he breaks the peace which he has
sworn. Odin himself, wrathful against the Volsung, offers Dag his
invincible spear. In the ensuing combat Helgi falls. Before his sister,
Helgi's loving wife, the slayer pleads the will of Odin and the Norns,
goddesses of immutable fate, and offers rich compensation to her. But
Sigrun breaks out in bitter woe, cursing her brother: he shall be a wolf
out in the forest, all joy shall be far away from him, no horse shall
carry him, the ship which may save him from his enemies shall stand
still under him.

The tomb is piled up over Helgi's corpse. When Sigrun's maid goes to the
grave, the dead master comes riding along and bids her ask his wife to
soothe his wounds. Before he can lay aside his bloody armor, Sigrun
embraces him, lamenting how cold are his hands, how wet he is with the
dew of the night. Helgi replies: "Thine is the blame; for every tear
which thou weepest falls as a cold and piercing drop of blood upon my
bosom. But let us be of good cheer and drink the sweet mead, let no one
complain of the wound on my breast, since, though dead am I, my wife is
with me." Sigrun prepares the couch to sleep on the breast of the
beloved dead, as she did when he was still alive. Helgi, touched by so
much love, exclaims: "It has happened what no one ever deemed possible:
the white daughter of Hagen, the living one, sleeps in the arms of the
dead." At the morning dawn, before the cock crows, Helgi is obliged to
return to Valhalla, and Sigrun returns to her solitary palace. In the
evening she awaits him, but waits in vain, and in her sorrow her heart
breaks.

The motive of this legend lives in German literature in varied forms.
Burger has reawakened it in _Lenore_, the greatest German ballad.

But, to conclude the chapter on the Teutonic women of antiquity, it is
necessary to return once more to the prose of history, where, for the
first time, the women of the Teutons, in their general aspect, enter
into the bright light of historical observation, in this instance so
much the more valuable, since it is the observation of the enemy. In
conformity with our other sources, the Greek-Roman historians, Plutarch,
Dion Cassius, and Strabo, have to report regarding Teutonic womanhood
only traits of tremendous strength, power, and love of liberty. Savage
virtue and heroism are there, but not a single trait of grace and
loveliness appears in their accounts. And if there is exaggeration, it
simply proves the terror the furor Teutonicus which was inculcated by
the Teutons into the hearts of the Romans at their very first encounter.
The years B. C. 113-101 witnessed the first Titanic clash and conflict
between the Cimbri and the Teutones, mere splinters of the Teutonic
race, and the world power of the Roman Republic at the height and zenith
of its greatness. For the first time, Teutons thundered at the gates of
the Alpine entrance to Rome, and thus began the incessant struggle which
continued for nearly six centuries between the two most powerful races
in the history of the world, until the Empire finally succumbed.

When one legionary army after another, led by the foremost commanders of
Rome, had been destroyed under the onslaught of the two combined tribes,
the Cimbri and the Teutones, it was only the military genius of Marius
which finally succeeded in stemming the tide of the Teutonic flood, and
then only after the tribes had divided their forces and, thus weakened,
hurled their naked bodies against the phalanx of the overwhelming Roman
army. When the legionaries of Rome pursued the defeated Teutones to
their camp, Plutarch relates: "the Teuton women met them with swords and
axes, and making a terrible outcry, drove the fugitives as well as the
pursuers back, the first as traitors, the others as enemies, and mixing
among the warriors, with their bare arms pulling away the shields of the
Romans and laying hold on their swords, endured the wounds and slashing
of their bodies invincible unto death with undaunted resolution."

An account by Valerius Maximus emphasizes not only the bravery, but also
the chastity of the Teuton women. When captured, they requested of the
victor Marius to consecrate them to the service of Vesta's sacred
virgins, promising to keep themselves as pure and immaculate as the
goddess and her servants. Upon the refusal of their request they
strangled themselves the following night. Thus ended the battle of Aquas
Sextise in B. C. 102, with the annihilation of the Teutones root and
branch.


In the subsequent year Marius destroyed the Cimbri also, on the Raudian
fields near Vercellas. Among their women were prophetesses, hoary with
age, barefooted, clothed in white garments with iron girdles, and fine
flaxen cloaks. Thus apparelled they went sword in hand to meet the
prisoners of war in camp, whom, after wreathing them, they conducted to
a large iron kettle. Then one of them mounted a high step and bending
over the kettle, cut the throat of the prisoner who had been lifted over
the edge, and prophesied from the blood which streamed into the brass
vessel.

During the battle they drummed on hides fastened over the wagons, and
made a horrible noise. When the largest and most warlike part of the
Cimbri had been annihilated, and the Romans pursued the rest within the
wall of the camp, they were astounded by a highly tragic spectacle. The
Cimbri women standing in black garments of mourning on the wagons,
inflicted death upon the fugitives: one upon her husband, another upon
her brother, another again upon her father. But their own children they
strangled and hurled under the wheels of the wagons and under the hoofs
of the horses. Finally they laid hands upon themselves. One, it is said,
was hanging from the top of a wagon with her children, tied with ropes,
dangling from her ankles.

The later struggles, too, between the Teuton and the Roman offer many
examples of the German woman's absolute contempt of a life which could
be preserved only in shame and servitude.

When Drusus battled with the Cherusci, Suevi, and Sigambri, it happened
that their women, besieged by the Romans in their wagon fortifications
(_Wageriburg_), instead of surrendering, desperately defended themselves
with everything that might serve as a weapon. Finally despairing, they
struck their children against the ground and hurled their dead bodies in
the face of the enemy. The most perfect model of heroic stoicism in
connection with those wars, Princess Thusnelda, whose fate we discussed
above, was only the first woman among her equals. Teutonic women in
those primitive times invariably followed their husbands to war,
carrying food and encouragement to the warriors in battle, counting
proudly the wounds of their husbands and sons, and nursing the wounded.
Through threats or entreaties they restored many a tottering battle
array, inciting the men to heroism.




CHAPTER II

THE YEARS OF THE WANDERINGS


Until the period of the migrations of the Teutons, the precursors of
which were the hapless attempts of the Cimbri and the Teutones to invade
the Roman Empire, the ancient world, as known to history, was sharply
divided into two parts: the Roman world and the world of the Barbarians.
The consequences of the invasion and infiltration of the Germanic
barbarians into the northern and western provinces of the Roman Empire
were the ethnographic combinations from which arose well-nigh all the
nations of modern Europe. It is those barbarians who created the mixture
of blood, of ideas and ideals, of institutions and customs, from which
every State of Europe was born. Their influence for good, as for evil,
was lasting and universal.

The combinations of the Teutonic races during the fourth, fifth, sixth,
seventh, and eighth centuries, until the race movement came to some sort
of a standstill under the Carlovingian dynasty, were numberless. When we
consider those tribes rushing one upon another, the newcomers ever
pressing upon those before them, as waves beating upon a shore, and see
the first germs of incipient civilization overwhelmed again and again by
swift following surges of barbarity, or even savagery, when we observe
newly formed states crushed and swallowed up by opposing states, we have
great difficulty in perceiving anything but the play of the blind,
brutal forces of nature. The changes are countless, a tremendous
revolution endures for centuries, and everything is in a state of flux;
and yet, such were the influences evolved from this chaos that there is
no modern Caucasian state, however remote, where the Germanic impulses
springing from the migration period are not to-day visible.

But, in spite of the existing confusion, there was no epoch of human
history when the influence of thought is more plainly manifest than in
the time of the Teutonic upheaval that left no stone unturned. There was
no German knight who did not endeavor to adopt some shred of the Roman
Empire which he helped to tear to pieces.

Christianity, too, which for centuries was but a vague longing in the
hearts of most men, began to arise and to assert itself, at first
indefinitely, still groping in darkness and strongly intermingled with
the ingrained and venerated pagan conceptions, then more and more as a
living issue. Christianity so gained in force that at the time of
supreme need it saved humanity from sinking back into the degeneracy of
the Roman bacchanal. Under the action of Christianity the ephemeral
barbarian confederacy crystallizes into a permanent political
organization.

At the end of the third century of our era the Teutonic race is already,
though indistinctly, consolidated into four large nationalities, or
tribe leagues, with two inferior, though independent, branches. Where
Tacitus, in the angle between the Rhine and the Main, had seen Sigambri,
Bructeri, Chamavi, Tencteri, Chatti, there is now one great, though
loose, confederation: the Franks. Between the North Sea, the Rhine, and
the Elbe are the Saxons with the Angli in the north, and the Thuringians
in the south. In the angle between the Rhine and the Danube, the beehive
of all tribes (all man), is the confederation of the Alemanni, mixed
with Suevi (_Schwaben_); behind them, pressing toward and beyond the
Rhine, are the Burgundians; and following closely are the Langobards,
who appear on the middle Danube. Near the Baltic, which derives its name
from the Gothic dynasty of the Balti, we have the Turcilingi, the Rugii,
the Sciri, and the Heruli who were tattooed blue. Between the upper Elbe
and the Oder Rivers, the Quadi (in Moravia) and Marcomanni (Bohemia)
seem to disappear gradually, and are probably merged into the Suevi.

The Gothic or Scandinavian race is agitated by the same movements,
disputing with Finnish tribes (related to the Turks and the Hungarians)
the Danish and Scandinavian peninsulas and the isles of the Baltic:
Gothia, Ostrogothia, Westrogothia, and the Isle of Gothland. At the same
time they spread over the plains of eastern Europe. The Visigoths under
the dynasty of the Balti and the Ostrogoths under the Amali occupy the
steppes of Russia; behind them are the Gepidas. The Jutes (from whom is
derived the name of Danish Jutland) and the Vandals, perhaps mixed with
the Slavic Wends, occupy the Baltic for two centuries. The race of the
Slavs, as yet existing in almost complete historical darkness, is known
to Tacitus but dimly by the name of Wends.

When brought in contact with the Romans, the purely Germanic
individuality ceases, the tribes become Romanized; their gods change,
their habits, their religion: a new world, undreamed in its southern
radiance and sunny luxury, opens before their eyes, accustomed to the
dreary north; victory itself carries with it corruption. In the third
century Rome is no longer feared, in the fourth it is already considered
a German prey. The infiltration goes on through the engagement of
Teutons for Roman military service. The German soldiers, with their
barbarous strength of body, soon reappear as Roman comites, duces,
patricti, counts, dukes, patricians, _i. e._, supreme civil and military
officers at the court; they enter also in masses as laborers, servants,
_fcederati_, or auxiliaries. From such or from simple legionaries they
rise to be dignitaries of a rank but a shade under imperial, like the
Vandals Stilicho and Rufmus, who for a time uphold the existence of the
Roman Empire.

It is true, then, that in those centuries of upheaval the Teutons lost
many of their racial characteristics, of their stock of primeval sagas,
but they also gained immensely from the intellectual, spiritual, and
cultural influence of the southern nations that furnished them with a
stupendous stock of basic material for their future progress.
Christianization and amalgamation instilled into their Teutonic spirit
the germs of that Romanticism which we are wont to consider as purely
Germanic, while in reality it is an elixir of the Christian-Roman
fountain assimilated by the Teutonic soul. The Roman Catholic Church
working upon the soul through the senses the only possible way to reach
and penetrate the soul of primitive man, who is unfit for abstract
thought, created the "divine arts" poetry, music, architecture, in the
progressive sequence of the centuries of German history.

In religious symbolism lies the root of Romanticism, the blossom of
mediæval life: Romanticism, a Romance word in sound, is German in
spirit. Its soul is the romantic ideal of love: woman is its centre. It
radiates first from a fervent soul with an ecstatic, passionate devotion
to the Christian _Allmutter_, the mother of God, the Holy Virgin, Saint
Mary, who was from the first deeply revered by the Teutons, owing to
their inherent veneration for woman. Among the Germans of all times,
even the most corrupted and dissolute, this spark of veneration is not
entirely extinct. Love is surrounded with a halo in contrast with the
severe Oriental treatment of women by the Church Fathers. The harsh
words of the Gospels, "Woman, what have I to do with thee!" is
transformed into: "Pure woman, and mother mine!"

Thus the picture drawn by the Edda truly called the Norse Bible of the
Teutonic race of the doomsday of the world, the _Gotterdammerung_, is
nothing if not a representation of the whirl of the immigration. Yet all
that is valuable, culturally speaking, rises like a phoenix from the
ashes. As, in the ingenious words of the poet, "Conquered Greece
conquered, on her part, the fierce Roman conqueror and carried her
(intellectual) arms into Latium," so conquered Rome transformed the
fierce Germanic conqueror into a new man. The unity of the Roman Empire
had furthered Christianity, and the complete German conquest mightily
influenced the entire Germanic race in the direction of Romanization and
Christianization, though the latter for long remained crude and was
affected by the cult of the gods of Olympus as well as of those of
Asenheim and Niflheim, and, even where not so affected, Christianity was
divided between Arianism and the Orthodox Romanism. With the political
conquest, however, a new order was by no means assured. The Empire was
destroyed, it is true, but nothing firm, solid, or steady took its
place. The wavering new political aggregates put in its stead were no
longer purely Teutonic. They succumbed too easily to the treacherous and
manifold, if silent, influences that on every side assailed them. The
majority of such political groups, whether in Italy, in Gaul, in Spain,
or in North Africa, lost their nationality and even the German language:
they became Roman mongrels and some even turned against their old
mother, Germania.

Even at home, the Roman Christian foreign culture seemed for a time
destined to overwhelm Germanism, but the Alemanni in the south and the
Saxons in the north and west proved too strong for denationalization and
carried Teutonic principles triumphantly through all the phases of the
struggle.

Having thus described the tribal existence of the Teutons in Germania
proper, in order to give to our study of the cultural history of German
womanhood full point, a word must be said about German colonization
abroad.

The Burgundians, after a checkered career of adventurous wanderings from
North Germany to the Alpine mountains of Savoy, conquered southeast Gaul
in the fifth century. In the southwest, or ancient Aquitaine, the
Visigoths settled, and, crossing the Pyrenees, conquered a large part of
Spain.

When Odoacer, the German king of the wandering hosts, had dethroned the
last shadow Emperor of Rome, Romulus Augustulus an ill-starred,
diminutive reminiscence of Rome's glorious inception as kingdom and
empire the Heruli were the dominant race. Their rule lasted but thirteen
ominous years. The Ostrogoths, under the great Theodoric, Dietrich von
Bern, the paramount hero of Germanic saga and song, replaced them and
founded a more permanent government. In northern Italy, the Langobards
succeeded the Ostrogoths and gradually extended their rule southward,
and pressing upon the Italian domain of the Bishops of Rome, who, by
this time, had asserted their supremacy and headship of the ruling
church of the world, brought about that cataclysm which finally
submerged the power of Rome under the flood of the Prankish universal
empire. The Salian Franks had, in the fifth century, conquered northern
Gaul from the Batavian coast to the Somme River; the Ripuarian Franks
formed a state along the Rhine, the Maas, and the Moselle, with Cologne
as a capital. Chlodwig, the Salian Frank, one of the most cunning and
unscrupulous kings in history, began, in A. D. 480, the unification of
the Franks and the adjacent German tribes into one nation. After the
subjugation of the Alemanni, the principal role, the hegemony within the
Teutonic race, belongs to the Franks. Christianity becomes a political
lever by which they extend their sway from north and east and finally
create that Carlovingian-Prankish Empire which inaugurated the Middle
Ages proper and founded therewith a stable Germanic civilization.

Up to this time, in spite of Christianity, the pagan imprint is still
very strong. The Latin titles _rex, dux, comes,_ are applied to the
German chiefs, as they were in Italy under Roman rule; sovereignty
passed but slowly from the body of the freemen to individual chiefs, a
transition finally accomplished by Charlemagne yet the old spirit of
German liberty was not rooted out. The ancient Teutonic laws and
traditions, though committed to mediæval Latinity, are German in spirit.

The political status remains as of old. There are two great divisions of
the people: the free men and the unfree. The former are subdivided into
nobles (_adalinge_ or _edelinge_) and common freemen (_Gemeinfreie,
liberi_); the unfree are either tributary (_Horige, liten or lassen,
manumitted_), or real serfs (_Schalke, servi_). Exactly the same
division holds true for women. The serfs, men and women, are without
rights, and are valued as chattels, though manumission or absolute
liberation is possible. Bravery in war creates a "nobility of arms"
(_Waffenadel_), based upon the sword; and thus renders this species of
nobility accessible to all in the same manner that, among the
Carlovingians, "court nobility" (_Amtsadel_) may be obtained by the
ministeriales, or civil servants, as the reward of merit or by the favor
of the king. Women serfs, because of beauty or of manifest superiority,
often become concubines, mistresses, and even wives of nobles and
princes, and sometimes of kings.

Blood relationship, family, and the rulership of the housefather are in
this early period the base and centre of social order. So the legal
relation between man and woman is command and obedience; protection and
responsibility. The wife is subordinate, and has no official voice or
vote in the community or the body politic. Woman could not be a witness
before a court, and in most states she was excluded from rulership over
land and people, though this rule was frequently circumvented, broken,
or repealed, for we early meet with women rulers or ruling women, who
will be separately treated.

Though the laws in favor of woman's equality with man are still
precarious, yet customs and traditions, as well as the ancient and
innate veneration of German men for women, frame regulations for their
strong protection. It is well known that every crime, including murder,
but excluding high treason or assassination of the military chief, is
atoned for by the payment to the family of the insulted, injured, or
murdered person of an expiatory sum of money (_Suhngeld_ or _Wergeld_)
or cattle, according to the valuation by the ancient Teutonic law. This
law, among most of the tribes, attributed higher value to woman, because
she is defenceless, than to man. The wergeld, according to Alemannic and
Bavarian law, is double for a woman, and, according to Saxon law, the
double wergeld applies while a woman is able to bear children. The
Prankish law prescribes in ordinary cases a treble wergeld, namely, six
hundred solidi (shillings) or cows (which are equal in value); and in
the case of a pregnant woman the expiatory sum is seven hundred solidi.
Johannes Scherr informs us how the Salian law determines accurately the
fines for misdemeanors against womanly modesty. It says that a man who
immodestly strokes the hand of a woman shall be fined fifteen shillings,
and if her upper arm is stroked, thirty-five shillings, while if her
bosom be touched he must pay forty-five shillings or cows. Many
centuries later, in the highly polished, super-refined period of the
Love Song (_Minnesang_), the wergeld, for an offence against a woman, on
the contrary, sank to one-half of that inflicted for an act against a
man, and this in spite of the increasing love service to women
(_Fraitendiensf_), which, however, was degenerating to sensualism.

[Illustration 3:
_A TEUTONIC ALLIANCE
After the painting by Ferdinand Leeke_ Women serfs, because of beauty or
of manifest superiority, often became.... even wives of great leaders.

A Teutonic marriage was concluded when the bridal couch was entered and
"one cover touched both."

Not until the fourteenth century did the legality of marriage become
dependent upon the conscent of the Church; on the morning after the
marriage, the wife received the bridal gifts from her husband;
henceforth she enjoyed all the marital rights, but remained subordinate
to her husband, who could chastise her of even sell her into slavery.]

In the early times the housefather has the guardianship, _mundium_ (from
Old High German _munt_, hand), over his wife, daughters, sisters, and
also the duty of protecting them. The father has the right to sell his
sons during their minority and his daughters until their marriage, and
this barbarous action is common. At the death of the father, the
guardianship passes to the next male relative, (the sword relative,
_Schwertmagen_, as opposed to the spindle relative, _Spillmageri_). In
case of legal marriage, guardianship passes to the husband.

The law of inheritance is greatly in favor of sons, and daughters are
frequently entirely excluded from participation in the heritage, or
their share is reduced to one-half or one-third of the son's
inheritance. This is, however, only in the case of real estate (_Odal_)
probably because it needs the sword of the male protector, for the
remaining or movable property is equally divided.

The conception of caste privileges, social birthright
(_Ebenburtigkeif_), is very strongly developed, inasmuch as women lose
caste by marriage with inferiors and give up every claim to the
inheritance of their blood relations (_Sippe_); and the caste
degradation results at one period in the exclusion from the inheritance
of a free father of the children of an unfree woman.

It is but natural that, in the loosening of all the bonds of social
order, during the wanderings, the ancient Tacitean purity and monogamy
was, to a large extent, lost. Among the high classes, concubinage was
the rule, since the lord had absolute power over the unfree maidens, and
war and conquest have it in their nature to blot out all natural rights.
We meet concubines, called _Fritten_ or _Kebse_, everywhere in the lives
of the great kings and chiefs. The Merovingian Franks are especially
famous, or rather infamous, for their sexual sins. Charlemagne and Louis
the Pious held concubines. The Church, especially at the synod of
Mayence, A.D. 851, began to thunder against licentiousness, but in vain.
Nor did the monasteries always remain pure from the taint. Winfrid, or
Bonifatius, the apostle of the Germans par excellence, complains of the
Prankish _diacons_ (deacons) who kept four or more concubines.
Frequently, however, the Church submitted, on political grounds, to a
recognition of two or more lawful wives taken by one man. But the sense
of dignity and self-respect on the part of the women themselves, as we
have seen in the case of Harald Fairhair, finally forced monogamy upon
the full blooded, semi-barbarous Teutonic warriors, as the leading
principle of a lawful marriage.

Teutonic marriage is concluded when the bridal couch is entered and "one
cover touched both" (_eine Decke das Paar besetting_). To the very end
of the Middle Ages the Church function is quite an indifferent matter,
though as early as the Carlovingian time the Church prescribed a
"confession of marriage in the Church" and "a priestly blessing." In the
_Nibelungenlied_, Siegfried and Kriemhilde, Gunther and Brunhild, marry
without mention of a priest, yet on the morning of the bridal night the
two couples go to the cathedral where a mass is sung. This latter
statement is due to the attempt of the mediæval Christian poet to color,
from numberless constituent parts of varied antiquity, the ancient
Germanic heroic saga, originating in paganism, to the advantage of the
newer religion. The _Nibelungenlied_ arose about the beginning of the
thirteenth century, and, with all its grandeur and splendor, is "like
unto an ancient grove of the Teutonic gods forced below the roof of a
Christian cathedral." The shining Valkyrie-patterned Brunhild, so
magnificent in the pagan naturalness of her divinity and her
surroundings, appears in the _Lied_ as a gloomy, hermaphroditic being
between two different and irreconcilable worlds. She is unfit for the
Christian frame and setting that have been given her. Thus it is with
Kriemhilde, with Siegfried, with Hagen. Their virtues and qualities and
passions are not yet fully infused with the light which emanates from
the Crucifixion.

During the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the legality of marriage
first becomes dependent upon the consent of the Church. On the morning
after the bridal night the wife, whose hair is now put up, no more
allowed to wave freely as that of a virgin, receives the morning gift
from her husband. She henceforth enjoys all the marital rights, but
remains subordinate to the husband. He is the administrator of her
fortune and has, _ipso facto_, its usufruct. But at his death one-half
or one-third of the property acquired during his married life belongs to
the wife according to the law of the Saxon and Ripuarian Franks.
Chastisement of the wife still belongs to the husband; he might even
inflict death or slavery for adultery. Divorce is possible if the wife
is barren or the husband impotent.

Most interesting, historically speaking, is the circle of women
surrounding Theodoric the Great, for the sagas have associated with him
all the powerful women of the legendary history of the German tribes. He
may be truly called the political forerunner of the Habsburg dynasty of
the Middle Ages in the policy of strengthening dynasties by marrying
royal women to powerful kings. Such marriages enhanced the strength and
extent of Ostrogothic rule and cemented alliances with the other
Teutonic tribes. Following, consciously or unconsciously, the rule of
Theodoric, the Habsburgers, during the Middle Ages, built up by their
judicious political marriages their tremendous dynastic power
(_Hausmacht_), which finally became superior to that of the Holy Roman
Empire itself.

These marriages gave rise to the proverb: Let others wage wars; thou,
happy Austria, get married, for what realms the God of War gives to
others are given to thee by the sweet Goddess of Love (_Bella gerant
alii, tu, felix Austria, nube; nam quce Mars aliis, dat tibi regna
Venus_). Theodoric married his sister, Amalfreda, to the Vandal king
Thrasimund; his daughter Theodicusa to Alaric; his daughter Ostrogotha
to the Burgundian prince Sigismund; his niece Amalberga to the
Thuringian king Hermanfrid. Political marriages, then, are as old as
German history.

Amalasuntha, one of the daughters of Theodoric, shines preeminently in
history as the worthy daughter of the greatest German king of the
creative epoch. Her contemporaries, the authors Cassiodorus and
Procopius, praise her as an ingenuous, high-minded, lofty woman, an
excellent ruler, and a noble protector of arts and sciences. Early
widowed through the death of Eutharich, also a scion of the race of the
Amali, she becomes, upon the demise of her great father, regent and
guardian of her minor son, Athalarich. Reared in Græco-Roman culture,
Amalasuntha inclined in her life and thoughts toward the Roman element
in the state, and was to a certain extent estranged from the
semi-barbarous Ostrogoths, who unwillingly submitted to her guardianship
over her son, their king, and even more unwillingly to her rule over
themselves. Though her rule was mild and wise, yet the discontent of the
national party increased. Bitter reproaches were heaped upon the head of
the noble queen for keeping young Athalarich removed from the company of
the youth of Gothic race, for surrounding him with aged men, "though the
mildest and wisest of their people," and for sending him to a Latin
school of rhetoricians. For this was the training of a Roman emperor,
not of a Gothic king, and their ancestors had taught them to despise
such education. The queen was forced to yield to the popular demand, and
the consequences of her surrender justified her fears. In the company of
young Gothic nobles, Athalarich soon learned all the evil which the
young barbarians had drawn from the Roman mire. His new friends had
almost roused the youth to open rebellion against the "woman's rule,"
when, fortunately, he succumbed to the unaccustomed life to which his
delicate constitution was not equal. By his opportune death, history is
spared the record of the horrible tragedy of matricide which, in all
probability, would have been enacted by the misguided prince a tragedy
occurring frequently in the history of the Merovingian dynasty.

Amalasuntha's fate is full of tragic pathos. A great ruler and an
extraordinary woman, she had indeed the qualities to become the
benefactress of her nation, had not the epoch of unrest and agitation,
the unsteadiness and the irreconcilable conflict between an overripe
Roman civilization and Germanic barbarism, made her a victim of untoward
circumstances.

In order to strengthen her tottering throne, she elevated to the
position of her husband and king the last prince of the race of the
Amali, the unworthy Theodat, a man of whom Procopius says that "the
principle of never tolerating a neighbor beside himself had raised him
to power and riches." Immediately upon his ascending the throne, he
openly sided with the so-called nationalist party against Amalasuntha,
and murdered the last friends and partisans of the hapless queen. In her
despair she appealed to the eastern Roman, or Byzantine, emperor,
Justinian, and implored him for protection and hospitable reception. But
she did not escape to Constantinople. Theodat seized her and sent her as
a prisoner to a fortress on a small island in the Bolsen lake. Shortly
after the arrival of the Byzantine ambassador, who brought her a
courteous invitation to the court of Constantinople, she disappeared in
a mysterious way, whether by Theodat's orders or through the intrigues
of the Byzantine is not known; but the king hated her; and the
ambassador, according to Procopius's narrative in his _Historia arcana_,
had been bribed by Empress Theodora, the infamous wife of Justinian, to
prevent by any means the appearance at the corrupt Byzantine court of
the highly cultured, royal Gothic lady.

The history of the Langobards, a Germanic race which plays a great role
in the Migration period in shaping the fate of Italy, and, by driving
the Popes into the arms of the Franks, in elevating that race and the
Carlovingian dynasty, furnishes us a kaleidoscopic sequence of royal
women, who exhibit all the vices and passions, crimes and virtues.

Paul Warnefried, a Langobard noble, calling himself, in his clerical
capacity, as an author, Paulus Diaconus, is, through his historical
work, _De Gestis Langobardorum_, the principal source of our knowledge
concerning his great but barbarous race.

For the first time in the history of the Langobards we meet with a
wicked woman in the person of the murderess Rumetruda, daughter of the
seventh Langobard king, Tato, who, through her lust of blood,
precipitated her people into a terrible war with the Heruli.

Looking from the window of her palace she perceived one day a Herulian
embassy, which, under the guidance of the brother of the king, had just
concluded an alliance with the Langobards, and was now returning to its
own country. The demoniacal woman sent to the prince of the Heruli a
cordial invitation to a cup of wine. No hospitable feelings, however,
had induced Rumetruda to send the invitation, but curiosity and scorn at
the somewhat abnormal, heavy-set shape of the foreign prince. Soon she
began to mock and ridicule him concerning his stature and finally
enraged him to such a degree that he also began to upbraid her with
insulting words. Revenge arose in the soul of the cruel woman, and,
having conciliated him politely and forced him back upon his seat, she
proceeded to the execution of her murderous plan. Behind the seat of her
royal guest there was a large window covered with costly curtains,
behind these she placed a number of Langobard warriors, bidding them
hurl their spears against the curtain. Pierced by several lances, the
prince of the Heruli sank to the ground; the flagitious woman had
satisfied her revenge at the expense of the peace and the alliance
between the Langobards and the Heruli. A terrible war was kindled by
this violation of the sanctity of ambassadorial rights.

The savagery of these times of bloodshed in the constant wars, when
every race had to be "hammer or anvil," appears in the stirring history
of the death of King Alboin, the Langobard. The latter had, with the aid
of the Avars, defeated the old enemies of his tribe, the Gepidae, and
with his own hand slain their king, Kunimund. According to a barbarous
custom of his time, he had a drinking cup fashioned from the skull of
the slain enemy. Rosamunde, the beautiful daughter of the unfortunate
king, Alboin took for his wife, his former consort, the Prankish
Clodsunda, having just died. Sometime after these events, it happened
that Alboin at a great feast held at Verona, was seized by the desire of
drinking wine from the skull of his dead enemy. Flushed with wine, and
careless of the feelings of his wife, he bade her, following his
example, drink from the ghastly cup. Rage and desire for revenge filled
Rosamunde's heart, but of necessity she obeyed the cruel order, though
at the same moment she resolved upon a terrible retribution for the
horrible deed. Through her personal charms she won Helmichis, the royal
shield bearer, and while Alboin lay sleeping upon his couch after a
heavy repast, he was pierced by the murderer's sword. To make sure of
his death, Rosamunde had fastened Alboin's weapon to the bedpost so that
he might the more safely be delivered into the hands of her lover.
Helmichis's hope to succeed to Alboin's throne was vain. He was
compelled to flee with Rosamunde to the eastern Roman prefect, Longinus,
at Ravenna. Tired of her now useless tool, Helmichis, the treacherous
woman was easily persuaded by Longinus to do away with the murderer and
to marry the prefect. She offered to Helmichis, who was arising from his
bath, a cup of poisoned wine. While drinking it, either the taste of the
wine or a triumphant glance in the eye of his mistress suggested his
fate, and, sword in hand, he forced Rosamunde to drink the rest of the
poison and thus to die with him.

Turning from this ghastly tragedy, we may read the first story of
romanticism. This is the tale of the love and marriage of fair-locked
Authari, a successor of Alboin in the kingship of the Langobards, to
Theodelinda, daughter of Garibald the Bavarian duke. A brilliant
embassy, headed by King Authari himself, who was incognito, arrived at
the Bavarian court to sue for the hand of the beautiful princess. At a
solemn festival, King Authari besought that Theodelinda herself should
give him a draught of wine. The lady gratified his desire, and Authari,
charmed by so much loveliness, caressingly stroked the hand of his
future bride; she, blushing at his boldness, modestly cast down her
eyes. Later on, she complained to her nurse of the boldness, but the
wise old woman consolingly assured her: "No simple Langobard nobleman
would have dared the deed; this man can be no other but the king himself
and your bridegroom." Having obtained the consent of the duke and the
princess, the Langobard embassy, accompanied by a host of Bavarian
nobles, joyfully rode homeward. Arrived at the frontier, Authari, his
heart swelling with love, raised himself aloft in his saddle and hurled
his battle-ax with a powerful arm deep into a tree, exclaiming: "This is
the throw of Authari, the Langobard." Unfortunately, the romance ended
shortly after the marriage. Authari died one year later, as the rumor
goes, by poison. Theodelinda became a passionate missionary of
Christianity among the German tribes; and it is a general fact that
royal women, as we shall see later in the case of the Christianization
of the Franks, were the most ardent propagators of the faith.
Christianity appealed especially to women because of its spirit of
humility, of charity, and of submission to a higher will. The Church
showed due gratitude by canonizing many noble and deeply pious women of
the time. After the death of Authari, Theodelinda, seeing that the reins
of rulership were too heavy for her, looked for the worthiest of the
Langobard princes, to whom she might offer her hand and heart. Agilulf,
the brave Duke of Turin, was her choice. A prophetess had, on the day of
Theodelinda's marriage with Authari, prophesied to Agilulf that he would
become the consort of the Bavarian princess. Theodelinda now summoned
him and offered a cup of welcome, which the duke accepted with a
grateful kiss on her hand. Blushingly she withdrew her hand, with the
words: "he should not kiss her hand who was permitted to kiss her lips
and cheeks." The overjoyed vassal, who had always suppressed his love
for his queen, saw his most secret desire fulfilled, and lovingly
embraced her. And the queen never had to regret her choice.

In strange contrast to the attractive and poetic queen Theodelinda
stands the detestable Romilda, wife of Duke Gisulf of the Forum Julium.
At the time of the invasions of the savage Avars, she was compelled,
with her husband and her children, to take refuge in the fortress of the
Forum Julium. One day she noticed, from the height of the wall, the
handsome form of the young Avar prince Cacon, and the undutiful woman
was seized with a violent passion for the fair barbarian. Secretly she
sent him a message that she would open the fortress for him, if he vowed
to take her for his wife after the conquest. The Avar consented; and
having become master of the important stronghold, he married Romilda.
But after the bridal night, to shame and disgrace her, he turned her
over to twelve Avar warriors; and when they had wrought their will upon
her, he caused her to be impaled on a pole in the open field,
exclaiming: "This is the husband thou art worthy to have!" Paulus
Diaconus, while condemning Romilda, praises the exemplary conduct of her
two chaste daughters, Appa and Gaila, who, to protect their virtue,
placed pieces of putrid meat between their breasts. This heroic measure
drove the assailants back, but unjustly secured to the entire Langobard
nation the reputation of a bad odor. Pope Hadrian evidently credited the
slander, for, when he seeks the aid of Charlemagne against Desiderius,
he writes of the "perjurious and stinking nation of the Langobards." But
our two chaste virgins escaped and were richly rewarded for their
virtue, as one was married to the Alemannian duke and the other, to the
Bavarian.

We find a curious lack of foresight related of another Langobard queen,
Hermilinda, wife of Cunipert. The queen once surprised Theodata, a
wondrously beautiful Roman slave, of patrician family, in the bath. Her
form was exquisite, her golden hair flowed down to her very feet, and
the queen could not help praising her charms to the king. The
consequence was that in due course of time Theodata gave constant
pleasure to Cunipert, and Hermilinda became an inmate of a fine
monastery named after her, where she died in the odor of sanctity.

The migration of the Teutonic peoples had been in great measure
spontaneous, it is true, but the impetus of the avalanche had
undoubtedly been tremendously increased by the irruption of a mysterious
nomad people, the Huns, who broke forth from the steppes of middle Asia
like a hurricane, hurled the Alans to the ground, overpowered the
Ostrogoths, pushed the Visigoths over the Danube into the eastern Roman
Empire, and, occupying the Roman province of Pannonia (Hungary), made it
the centre of an empire which, though loosely connected, extended, more
or less, over the length and breadth of Europe. About the middle of the
fifth century the Huns arose anew from their Pannonian seat, and again
threw Europe in a turmoil. The moving spirit of that commotion of
savagery and barbarity which seemed to shake the three continents known
to antiquity was Attila, called Etzel in the German lays and sagas, the
"scourge of God" (_Godegisel_). His hordes were estimated at more than
half a million warriors. His death was an event of immense political
significance, and appears in the German saga in many romantic forms. The
historian Jordanes relates, after Priscus, that Attila died suddenly of
violence during his bridal night, while lying intoxicated beside his
young wife Ildico (_HildikS_). In the morning his servants found him in
his blood, but without wounds, beside him was the young wife with
downcast eyes, weeping under her veil. The circumstances of his death
were such as to throw suspicion upon the young woman. Ammianus
Marcellinus reported as a fact that "Attila came to his death at night
by the hands of a woman." But the legendists have tried to establish
motives for the deed of violence, and nothing was more natural than the
story that Ildico committed the deed out of revenge for Attila's murder
of her relatives. According to the poet Saxo and the _Quedlinburg
Chronicle_ she avenged the murder of her father.

The famous _Nibelungenlied_, however, in its fundamental Norse form
shapes the story as follows: Attila, the Terror of Europe, is the
consort of the Burgundian princess Hild. He conquers and treacherously
kills her brothers, the Burgundian kings Gundaheri, Godomar, and
Gislahari, sons of Gibica, and afterward meets his death by the hand of
their sister, his wife.

Felix Dahn has immortalized Ildico by his genius, and made her the most
ideal, heroic woman of the Migration period. Reared in the palace of her
father, King Visigast, in the land of the Rugii, she gives her tender
love to Daghar, the son of Dagomuth, King of the Sciri; but a dark cloud
hovers over her young life. Attila has heard of her incomparable beauty,
and is still further aroused by the descriptions of her charms given by
Ellak, his son by a Gothic princess. The Hun resolves upon the
possession of Ildico.

Accompanied by her father and her betrothed, Ildico appears, by order of
Attila, at the Hunnish court in Pannonia, where she is received with
barbarous splendor and conducted into the reception hall. Here she sees
the terrible Hun for the first time, but she was not frightened by the
hideousness of the man; proudly erect she looked in his face firmly,
defiantly, menacingly. He recognized in this glance such a cold,
fathomless hate that he involuntarily closed his eyes before her: a
slight shiver of a mysterious fear moved his frame; he dared not meet
again her eye which pierced him, but he drank her overwhelming charms
with the unbridled passion of the barbarian. Then the feast began,
accompanied by the wild, discordant song of a Hunnish bard, in which he
hurled scorn against the Germans. The bitter stanzas aroused Daghar to
warlike poesy, which nearly cost his life at the hands of the wrathful
Hunnish princes. Attila personally interfered so that hospitality should
not be violated even toward hated Germans. But only for a moment is the
protection extended, for by accident Attila obtained information of a
mighty conspiracy of Visigast, Daghar, and Ardarich, king of the
Gepidae, and then the full cup of his wrath is poured over the German
princes, whom he reproaches with perjury and murderous intentions
against himself. Foaming, he announces their punishment. The old king
shall be put on the cross, the youth shall be impaled "behind my
sleeping hall! Thou shalt hear his screams of agony, fair bride, while
thou becomest mine."

The night arrives; the king of the Huns orders the sleeping hall to be
prepared. For the first time in forty-six years he has the high pitcher
of gold filled with unmixed Gazzatine wine and placed in his bridal
chamber. He desires to gain courage to face the glances of the
beautiful, but terrible bride. She is locked in the bridal chamber; no
weapon, no means of escape can be found by her despairing search. To her
enters the "scourge of God." He tries to win her by the promise that her
son to be born shall become the lord over the world, the successor of
Attila. She rejects the very thought of becoming the mother of a son
whose father should be Attila, she would rather crush the head of the
monster at birth. To give himself courage for the struggle with the
proud, chaste German princess, the king drinks the heavy wine in eager
draughts, and, unaccustomed to the potion, sinks into a heavy sleep.
Ildico strangles him with her own golden hair, as he lies in drunken
stupor.

When on the next day, after the long bridal night, the vassals of Attila
break the heavy oaken entrance, they find their master dead on the
floor, in a pool of blood. A loud, boisterous, barbaric mourning and
lamentation arises in the Hunnish camp over the death of the greatest
hero and ruler of their race. The fate of Ildico and her relatives seems
sealed. But at the most critical moment help appears in the person of
Ardarich, King of the Gepidae, and his retinue, who at the last moment
save the Germans from the revenge of the exasperated Huns. The German
tribes rise in masses and, after a few months, the liberation from the
Hunnish yoke is accomplished.

The fame and glory of fair Ildico as the liberator of her people from
the yoke of Attila rings from tribe to tribe in epic sagas and lyric
lays. The song of Daghar, her bridegroom, in honor of the heroine,
immortalizes her thus:

        "Hail to you, heroes in golden hair,
        Good Goths, Gepidae, sprightly with spears;
        Greetings to you, glorious Germans!
        Exult rejoicing to sounding harps:
        He failed and fell, terror of holiness,
        Scourge of God, Etzel the Evil!
        Sword struck him not, nor shaft of the spear.
        No: in darkness of night, vicious viper
        Had crushed its hideous head.
        Woman of woe, Ildico, the mighty maid,
        Avenged with awe the races of men
        And holy honor with heroic deed.
        Sing to the harp the wailing song,
        Raise it rousing to Daghar's bride,
        The shimmering, shining savior,
        Guarding German men prison-bound:
        Ildico, idol of fame,
        Hail to thee, lofty one, hail!" (H. S.)

The extensive Hunnish circle of lays throws light on the life and love
of German womanhood during the centuries of wanderings; and so powerful
is the influence and impression made by the Asiatic onslaught, that
there is hardly a German saga of any importance that does not stand in
some kind of relation to the Hunnish conquerors. To "sing and say" was
an ancient talent of the Teutonic race, whose warlike life, with its
bravery and heroism, inspired mightily to music and song. But the
migrations, with their powerful changes, the contact with formerly
unknown peoples, altered considerably the trend of the ancient
traditions and the sagas of a world which they had abandoned. Indeed,
many of the ancient racial sagas vanished from the memory of the
Germanic tribes. Christianization and Romanization instilled into the
souls of the race the germs of romanticism which rapidly overspread the
old Germanic paganism with a luxuriant growth of new ideas founded on
new ideals, and, great as that poetry is, it shows everywhere a contrast
and a conflict between two different states of existence.

The Anglo-Saxon Beowulf, in its original Teutonic tongue, introduces us
to the primeval life of Germanic heroism and warlike turmoil at the dawn
of a still mystic past. The oldest High German lay, of _Hildebrand and
Hadubrand_, telling of a superhuman duel between father and son, reveals
to us the Titanic fierceness of the era of wanderings. We discover,
however, in the third great poetic remnant, the _Saga of Walthari of
Aquitaine_, not only the same descriptions of tremendous conflicts, of
perfidy and greed, of joy over blood and wounds, but also the new
elements of love and the loveliness and delicacy of the relations
between the hero and his bride. The ancient legend, however, is
transmitted to us only in the Latin garment in which Ekkehard, the monk
of Saint Galle, clothed it in the tenth century, when the German
language was at its lowest ebb and ecclesiastical Latin covered
everything. But though the garment be Latin, the spirit of the saga is
thoroughly German.

_Walthari of Aquitaine_, though composed in the tenth century, is a
monument of love, and tells us graphically of the position of woman, at
least in the upper stratum of ancient society, at the time of its
composition. Attila, King of the Huns, who appears here in a very
different light from that which throws such ghastly rays upon him in
Felix Dahn's novel, Ildico, is represented in the epic of Walthari as
almost a Germanic hero; and his career is pictured as a glorious
conquest, in which he crushes all resistance. Like a torrent in flood,
his hosts roll over the land of the Franks, the Burgundians, and the
Aquitanians. Resistance is out of the question; hostages are demanded
and given to guarantee faithfulness and peace. Hagen, Hildegund, "the
pearl of Burgundy," and Walthari are taken to King Etzel's court. Here
the romance begins. Hildegund, through the grace of her manners, her
beauty, and her skill as a housekeeper, endears herself to Queen
Ospirin, Attila's wife, who makes her treasurer and stewardess of her
household. Hagen and Walthari become the heroes and heads of the Hunnish
army. Hagen, however, seizes the first opportunity for flight on the
news of King Gibich's death reaching him, believing himself thereby
freed from all obligation toward Attila. Walthari, who has become better
beloved by the Hunnish king than were his own sons, also meditates
escape, a great longing for fatherland, parents, and friends having
seized him. In the hope of escape, he declines marriage with the noble
Hunnish maiden offered him by the king, under the pretext that love
would interfere with his duties as a warrior and leader; for he who has
once tasted the delights of love is weakened and unfit for deeds of
valor. At this time a distant subject tribe revolts. Walthari is placed
at the head of the army sent to crush the revolution, accomplishes acts
of great heroism, and returns victorious. A triumphal feast is
celebrated, and while the king and his retainers are overcome by wine
and sleep Walthari prepares for escape.

Long before, however, he had won the consent of the maiden to whom he
had once been betrothed as a child, and whom he secretly loves, to
follow him in his flight. Weary and thirsty, he met Hildegund and asked
for a drink. He tenderly kissed her hand and, while drinking, held and
pressed it lovingly. He reminded her how they were betrothed as
children. Hildegund, however, with maidenly modesty, mistook his
advances for scorn. Said she: "Why dost thou let thy tongue speak
whereof thy heart knows naught? Thou dost not desire a maiden like
myself." But he convinces her, and in humble confidence Hildegund
declares she will follow whither her beloved one will lead.

Now the occasion offers itself during the feast of victory. Well armed,
and with horses laden with treasures, the lovers flee from the Hunnish
court. During the day they hide in thickets; at night they ride over
wild, almost impassable paths. Not once does an unchaste desire enter
the heart of the hero, though he is brimming over with life and love.
Thus they reach the Rhine, cross it near Worms, and seek a safe refuge
in the Vosges Forest (_Wasgenwald_), to take the first rest since the
night of their flight. Hildegund sings her hero to sleep; Walthari, his
head in her lap, intrusts himself to the watchfulness of his love. But
Gunther, King of the Franks, has heard of the treasures which Walthari
carries; and despite the resistance of Hagen, who is pained by the
necessity of fighting against his former brother in arms, he attacks the
fleeing hero with twelve of his best warriors, including Hagen himself.
Hildegund takes the approaching warriors for Huns, awakens Walthari,
'and entreats him to kill her, that she may not fall into the hands of
the enemy. No one shall ever touch her body, as she is not to be his. It
is not our task here to describe the ghastliness of the wounds
inflicted, and Walthari's victory at the cost of the loss of a leg.
Hildegund, in true old German fashion, again appears as an angel of
mercy: she tends the wounds of the warriors and mixes their wine, as
merry jests and friendly speeches cement the reconciliation. Walthari
and Hildegund travel on to Aquitaine, where they are received with joy,
and celebrate their marriage. Thus, we are able to gather from the
Walthari Saga the traits of womanly modesty, humility, faithfulness. The
woman's watch over the sleeping hero is especially touching. Her purity
makes her ask for death when she sees the end of her hero and her own
shame. Chaste and undefiled, she enters the realm of her future husband.

Most important among all the tribes of the German nation, and of most
abiding value and influence for the future not only of Germany, but of
Europe, were the Franks.

The early history of that great and important people, or rather bundle
of tribes, is wholly legendary. Their legends describe certain
characteristics of weakness and vice of the men of that Merovingian
dynasty which again furnishes us rich material for the study of royal
womanhood, which, with few exceptions, was of the most depraved
character. Our principal contemporary source is a _History of the
Franks_ by Gregory, Bishop of Tours (A. D. 538-593). Though called the
"Father of French History," we must confess that his honesty is equalled
only by his credulity. The history of the Merovingian women belongs
locally to France, but racially to Germany; it would, therefore, be
impossible to leave it unnoticed in this volume.

One of the earliest kings of the Merovingian dynasty was Childeric, who,
owing to his luxury and vices, was driven out by the Franks. He retired
in exile to Bisinus, King of the Thuringians, where he seduced Basina
the wife of the hospitable king. Childeric had left behind in Frankland
a loyal friend with whom he had divided a gold piece, the friend
promising when times were auspicious to send his half as a signal for
Childeric's return. Eight years passed. The gold token reached the
wandering king and he was restored to his realm. Basina soon afterward
joined him at his court. She followed him, she said, because he was the
bravest man she knew, but she warned him that she would desert him if
she could find a better and mightier man than he was. This woman bore
Clovis, a son who was worthy of his mother. In 493, Clovis took for his
wife a Christian woman, Clotilde, the pious and beautiful daughter of
Chilperic of Burgundy. The importance of this marriage of Clotilde to
the pagan Clovis is self-evident, and it may have been suggested by the
famous bishop, Saint Remigius. Clotilde at once began earnest efforts to
convert her royal husband, but at first without avail. Everything tends
to prove that Clovis was exceedingly tolerant, or perhaps rather
indifferent, toward the Christian religion. His resistance was entirely
passive, and without prejudice. Clovis's sister, Lantechilde, was an
Arian, so was Autofleda, Theodoric's wife; but Albofleda, another sister
of Clovis, remained a pagan. Clovis allowed the Christian baptism of his
first son, who died in infancy. He reproached his wife, because he in a
measure ascribed the infant's death to the influence of baptism, yet he
consented to the baptism of the second son, Chlodomir, who fell ill, but
survived. There was no spirit of propaganda in the naturalistic religion
of the pagan king; he gave his wife a free scope, but refused to adopt
the doctrine she advocated. In the fifteenth year of his reign, Clovis
was at war with the powerful Alemanni. During the battle of Tolbiacum
(_Zulpich_) he sees with apprehension the ranks of the Franks giving way
before the rage of their opponents, and vows to adopt the religion of
Christ, if He grants him victory. "O Christ," he exclaims, according to
Gregorius of Tours, "I invoke devoutly thine glorious help. If thou
accord me victory over these enemies, I shall believe in thee and shall
be baptized in thine name. I have invoked my gods, but they are not
ready to aid me." After the victory, he loyally executed the promise he
had made to the God of Clotilde, the queen perhaps taking good care that
the vow should be fulfilled. Bishop Remigius, with that prudence and
political wisdom which always guided the princes of the Church,
proceeded very slowly in the matter until he was assured that the
consent of the Franks had been obtained. Three thousand of them allowed
themselves to be baptized with their king, an event of the greatest
importance in the world's history, for thereby the advance of Arianism
was checked and heathenism was cast down. Clotilde, a woman and a queen,
thus inaugurates the Christianization of the Germans, for Clovis thus
becomes a "new Constantine" and the precursor of Charlemagne, the
unifier of the Germans, the founder of the Holy Roman Empire of the
German Nation. The words of Bishop Remigius are fulfilled: "Bend thine
head, proud Sigambrian: adore what thou hast burned heretofore; burn
what thou hast adored heretofore." From this time on Clovis's life is
but a chain of successes. It is true that all those successes of the
most Christian king (_rex christianissimus_), a title bestowed upon him
and his successors, were attained by atrocity and perfidy surpassed only
in the later history of his own dynasty, and then by the female members
of the royal line. The central point of his policy was the murder of the
smaller Prankish kings so that he might be the sole chief of the entire
people. He caused Sigebert of Cologne to be slain by his own son, whom
he then assassinated, thereby securing for himself the kingship over the
Ripuarian Franks. He dispossessed Chararic and his son and, later,
killed both for the sake of greater security. He slew Racagnar, King of
Cambrai, and the latter's brother, Richard, with his own hand, and,
later on, murdered their brother, Rigomer; so that the tale of deaths is
a long one. The manner in which the Christian religion aided Clovis in
the execution of his ambitious plans, shows with terrible truth how
deeply in the sixth century the ideal of Christianity had sunk from its
lofty height. No one of his contemporaries ever reproached Clovis for
his crimes; the Franks sang them in lays; and the pious Bishop Gregory
of Tours having related the murder of Sigebert, adds naïvely: "Every day
God thus felled his enemies to the ground and increased his kingdom
because he walked with a pure heart before the Lord and did what was
agreeable in his sight."

His four sons, when among them was divided the Prankish realm, soon
found a pretext to wage a religious war against the Arian Burgundians.
Their king, Sigismund, after the death of his first wife, Ostrogotha, a
daughter of the great Theodoric, took a second wife who, like a real
stepmother, ill-treated the young son of the king. When the youth once
bitterly reproached his stepmother for wearing the garments and jewels
of his mother, the wicked woman persuaded the king that his son aspired
to his throne. She attained her purpose: the youth was murdered. But
Nemesis soon overtook the murderer of his son: he lost his throne and
his life in battle against the Franks.

Besides Clotilde, the pious wife of Clovis, we meet, among the many
women of terrible moral depravity, with another saintly woman in the
Prankish dynasty. Chlotar, the youngest of Clevis's four sons, after
having conquered the Thuringians, though he had numberless wives and
concubines, took Radegundis, the daughter of the defeated Hermanfrid,
for a wife. But the saintly woman shrank from the touch of the immoral
king, and threw herself on the icy stone pavement, unmindful of the pain
it gave her body, for her soul was filled with the agitation of ardent
religious passion, and spent her time in prayer and devotion. When she
returned to the bridal chamber, neither the heat of the fire, nor the
impure royal bed could restore the natural heat of her body; and the
king declared that he possessed rather a nun than a wife. Radegundis
succeeded in obtaining a divorce from Chlotar and retired to a cloister,
where she obtained the dignity of a deaconess, an honor which canonical
regulations reserved only to virgins. In the cloister founded by her in
the neighborhood of Poitiers, Radegundis introduced a very strict
discipline, she enriched the house with precious relics, and passed the
rest of her life in pious devotions and expiations for the sins of
Chlotar, who was sinking deeper and deeper into the mire of moral
corruption.

A story is told by Gregory of Tours concerning Ingundis, one of the
concubines of Chlotar, the pious bishop calls her _uxor_ (wife),
however, which is worth repeating. Ingundis, in the full possession of
the love of Chlotar, begged of him to secure a worthy husband for her
sister Aregundia, and expatiated on the physical qualities and moral
virtues of her sister. Chlotar betook himself to her country residence,
and as she pleased him well he married her. Then he returned to Ingundis
and informed her that he had given her sister the best man he could find
in the realm of the Franks, namely, himself. With bitter disappointment
in her heart, she, according to the statement of the chronicler, meekly
submitted, saying: "What may seem good in the eyes of my lord, he may
do; only may thy maid live in the grace of the king."

The fratricidal and internecine wars of Clovis's four sons were yet
surpassed during the next generation by crimes and atrocities which
overstepped all the limits and bounds of nature. Of Chlotar's four sons,
only Sigebert's character is praiseworthy. Gregory relates that Sigebert
was greatly ashamed of the disgraceful alliances of his brothers, who
married daughters of the people of the lowest strata of society and
changed them as lust and caprice prompted. Sigebert, however, married
the daughter of Athanagild, King of the Visigoths. Her name was
Brunehild (_Brunehaut_), a woman of great beauty and excessive vices and
passions, whose name is linked in history with those of the greatest
female criminals of royal blood.

Chilperic, Sigebert's degenerate brother, jealous of the latter's
alliance, asked in marriage Galswintha, Brunehild's sister, but he soon
sacrificed her to the ambition of Fredegond, one of his concubines, who
had the queen strangled and then occupied her place. This blond-haired
woman of low birth, with most alluring charms and versed in all the arts
to arouse passion, soon reduced her royal paramour to such subjection
that he had her crowned with great pomp in his capital of Soissons.
Beginning with this marriage, atrocities do not cease until the entire
family becomes extinct. But to this very day to quote the words of a
French poet "The fair, the blonde, the terrible Fredegond is unforgotten
and sung in lurid songs from Austrasia to Perigord."

Brunehild undertook to avenge her sister; the terrible struggle began
between the Prankish slave girl and the daughter of the King of the
Visigoths, a dramatic strife which has left an enduring memory in the
annals of the history of crime. A son of Chilperic joins his father's
enemy, and, with his aid, Sigebert is victorious everywhere; but when,
in his city of Vitry, he is on the point of being raised upon the shield
as king over the land of his brother, Sigebert is assassinated by two
emissaries of Fredegond, who thus once more saves her husband by crime.
The widowed Brunehild was at the time in Paris with her five-year-old
son Childebert, and, as it seemed, at the mercy of Chilperic. But upon
the news of Sigebert's death, Gundovald, an Austrasian chief, brought
Childebert from Paris and had him proclaimed king. Brunehild was exiled
to the basilica of Saint Martin's Cathedral, at Rouen. The oath of
Fredegond upon sacred relics that she will not harm the fugitives is
violated at once. She murders two sons of Chilperic, also Bishop
Tractesetatus, who had solemnized the marriage. Brunehild saved herself
by flight, and an even more sanguinary civil war ensues, in the course
of which Chilperic too is murdered. At last the flagitious murderess
Fredegond, at the age of sixty, equally dreaded and abhorred by friend
and foe, dies strange to say by a natural death.

[Illustration 4:
_FREDEGOND WATCHING THE MARRIAGE OF CHILPERIC AND GALSWINTHA
After the painting by L. Alma-Tadema_
_Chilperic had taken a most unwilling bride, Galswintha, daughter of a
king of the Visigoths and younger sister of Brunehild, notwithstanding
the fierce jealousy of one of his concubines, Fredegond, who soon had
the new queen strangled and then occupied her place. This blond-haired
woman of low birth, with most alluring charms and versed in all the arts
to arouse passion, soon reduced her royal paramour to such subjection
that he had her crowned with great pomp in his capital of Soissons.
Beginning with this marriage, atrocities did not cease until the entire
family became extinct. But to this very day to quote the words of a
French poet "The fair, the blonde, the terrible Fredegond is unforgotten
and sung in lurid songs from Austrasia to Périgord"._]

Her rival and lifelong enemy Brunehild, who had vied with her in crimes
and vices, met with a far more terrible end. After many years of further
struggle she fell into the hands of Chlotar II., a son of Fredegond, who
inflicted upon her a terrible punishment. Having charged her with the
murder of at least ten Merovingian princes, he caused her, though a
matron of seventy, to be frightfully tortured for several days; then she
was placed on a camel and led for shame through the camp. Finally, she
was tied to the tail of a wild horse and dragged to death: the hoofs of
the horse crushed the limbs of the sinful queen into a shapeless mass. I
know of no poem in the whole range of German literature which gives a
more ghastly picture of that realistic scene of atrocity than one in
which Ferdinand Freiligrath relates:

        "How once in the fields of the river Marne near Chalons
        Chlotar, the son of Chilperic, had the sinful Brunehild
        Tied by her silver hair to a wild stallion;
        To drag her galloping through the Prankish camp.
        The neighing stallion started, and the hind hoofs struck
        The aged form, breaking and wrenching limb from limb.
        Dishevelled flew her whitened hair about her bloody brow.
        The pointed pebbles drank her royal blood; and shuddering
        Beheld the blood-accustomed Franks the horror of the judgment
        Of their wrathful king Chlotar.
        The glow of the red fires burning before every tent
        Fell ghastly on the pain-distorted countenance.
        With icy shower now the Marne washed from it the dust
        The camel which had borne her through the ranks was spattered
        with her blood...."
                                                               (H. S.)

We gladly leave the chapter of the Prankish nation under the
Merovingians, for it is stained with the uninterrupted tragedy of brutal
superstition, lust, perjury, treason, incest, murder of the closest
blood relatives, malice, and cruelty. Such scenes as the Langobard
Alboin's deeds and death, Brunehild's end, and the countless unspeakable
vices mentioned by Bishop Gregory of Tours demonstrate sufficiently the
terrible corruption of which even the best races are capable, when
released from all the bonds of legal restraint in the time of peace, and
when torn, root and branch, from a healthy native soil.

Even more characteristic is perhaps the poetic literature of the time,
in which the unnatural vices are transformed and reflected as lofty
virtues. What is the historian of culture to say when the contemporary
presbyter and bishop, the pious poet, Venantius Fortunatus, glorifies
and elevates both Brunehild and Fredegond as mirrors of virtue and
grace? The latter, the slave girl who attained the crown through murder
and prostitution, is to him the queen "who adorns the realm by her
virtues. Wise in council, skilful, provident, useful to the Court;
powerful of mind, magnanimous, excelling in all merits." Brunehild, on
the other hand, "The ethereal Brunehild, shining more brilliantly than
the stars, surpasses the light of the gems by the light of her
countenance of milk and blood. The lilies mixed with roses cannot
compare with her. She is a sapphire, a white diamond, a crystal, an
emerald, a iaspis, nay, more, for all must yield the palm to her; Spain
[referring to the Visigoths having occupied southern France and northern
Spain] has produced a new jewel."




CHAPTER III

THE YEARS OF THE WANDERINGS, AS REFLECTED IN THE FIRST PERIOD OF BLOOM
OF GERMAN LITERATURE (1100-1300)


The literary remnants of the pre-Carlovingian era are too scanty to
permit us to form from them a perfect picture of Teutonic woman during
the centuries of migrations. We are, however, able fairly to reconstruct
the record by the aid of the rich treasures transmitted to us from a
period five or six centuries later, a time epochal in the stormy youth
of the German peoples. Though the original songs were partly destroyed
through the antagonism of the Church and her efforts to root out the
pagan memories and traditions, and, though these causes, to a large
extent, made futile the strenuous efforts of Charlemagne to collect and
preserve the ancient lays and sagas, the people continued to be
influenced by their memories. The spirit of the "_Legend from Ancient
Times_," of which Heine writes in his beautiful poem, _Lorelei_, never
died out in the soul of the race. The spirit of expansion, of
enlargement of horizon, fostered by the crusades and by the broad policy
of the great Hohenstaufen dynasty brought about an extensive knowledge
of the poetic, romantic, and historic materials and forms among the
older French and Italian literatures. The old heroes of the German
legend and history awakened from the long slumber of vague recollection
and lived again in their influence upon the ideals of the people. The
origin of the German heroic epic is thus closely connected with the most
decisive period of the political birth of the nation. The heroic epic in
its entirety, therefore, flows from, and is reflected in, the great
revolution of power and in the changes of habitation which, for the
first time, awakened the historical self-consciousness of the German war
nobility and made possible a new development in the national literature.
The hour of birth of the German heroic epic is the Migration period. In
the heroic epic the story is clothed in a romantic garment. The epic
poets, looking backward from their own stirring times as far as the
formation period, symbolize the progress of history in the time when it
may be said that ancient Europe was broken to pieces, and the Germans in
a new formation and in a new soil came uninjured and even strengthened
from the general devastation.

The type of heroes and heroines formed in the fifth and sixth centuries,
and the heroes grown and developed from those ancient, yet largely
mythological ideas and ideals were adapted to the new type of chivalrous
manhood of the eleventh and twelfth centuries by the poets and singers
of the circles of the princes and nobles whose high culture promoted the
first classical period of bloom. The heroic saga is then the
crystallization of the treasure of traditions formed in the heroic
period of the race.

The saga material is divisible into the group or tribal cycles, and
every cycle revolves around a galaxy of great, good, heroic, or evil
women. This saga literature, in fact, furnishes us with a perfect
portrait gallery of the German women of the two most important and
formative periods of their race. We have mentioned in the previous
chapter a few of the Hunnish cycle around Attila (_Etzel_). Of these
Ildico and Hildegund are preeminent. We have alluded to the historical
women of the Ostrogoth cycle those associated with the great Theodoric
or, as called in the saga, Dietrich von Bern (_Verona_). Other cycles
there are: the Norse, embracing Beowulf, King of the Jutes, and the
Scandinavian heroes Wittich and Wieland, belongs to our theme but
incidentally; the Langobard cycle, singing the Langobard heroes King
Rother, Ortnit, Hugdietrich, and Wolfdietrich, and their adventures on
the Mediterranean Sea and in a legendary Byzantine Empire, with a type
of Oriental-Greek or Byzantine women, lies a little aside from our
present consideration of German women. We can well confine ourselves to
the _Nibelungen Saga_ and _Gudrun_, the German _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_,
for these two heroic sagas of the German nation are the true exponents
of all the characteristics of German women and men. The heroic epic in
its germ is historical, but its growth freed it from its fetters of fact
and decked it with ornaments from the domain of imagination. Historical
and mythical elements are, then, strangely blended in these sagas. They
develop exotically, scarce one that does not grow outside its original
sphere, assimilate foreign unhistorical matter, blur all chronology, and
anachronistically poetize the dim recollections of a historical but
long-forgotten underground. The resultant of the convolutions and
accretions is a complex epic cycle of sagas originating at different
times, but always deeply rooted in the Migration period, wherein lay all
the origins of Germanic historical existence.

The _Nibelungenlied_ is the crystallization of the Burgundian Low
Rhenish Hunnish cycle of Sagas. No more complete psychological record in
poetic form of all the emotions, love and hate, vice and virtue, vanity
and modesty, chastity and passion, piety and wickedness, womanly
gentleness and virulence, is imaginable. All the phases of human
existence are put before us in the lives of the Burgundian royal
brothers Gunther, Gernot, Giselher; their mother Ute; and their sister
Kriemhilde, whose character, as outlined, is the grandest and the most
complex woman's character in the literature of the world. Kriemhilde, as
the wife of the Low Rhenish hero Siegfried, and Brunhild, in the Norse
version of the Saga, a former Valkyrie, humanized only to make it
possible for her to be the wife of Gunther and to bear a deep love for
Siegfried, are the opposite poles of womanhood.

It is, however, very difficult to obtain through the epics a correct
estimate of the status of woman at a definite period. This difficulty is
due not only to the poetic and fictitious characterization of the
womanly types, but especially to the constant blending of ancient
Germanic elements and twelfth century chivalry, knighthood, and romantic
love (_Minne_), from which results an almost inextricable web of
mythical and historical and purely romantic threads.

Siegfried wins Kriemhilde by a long wooing in the truly romantic fashion
of the period of _Minne song_, but later inflicts upon her, in the truly
old Germanic fashion, a severe physical chastisement for her quarrelsome
temper. We find in the story traces of the primeval Germanic beliefs of
the power of divination and prophecy. Kriemhilde has a momentous dream;
she sees a beautiful falcon that she had reared with care seized and
overpowered by two eagles. Her mother, Ute, interprets the dream
correctly as foreshadowing the fate of her future husband:

        "The falcon, whom thou cherished, he was a noble man,
        May God in safety keep him, for no one other can."

In the morning before the final catastrophe overtook Siegfried,
Kriemhilde related to him with a sorrowful heart another dream:

        "I dreamed last night of trouble, and how that two wild boar
        Chased you thro' the thicket, then were the flowers red.
        That I must weep so sorely, in sooth! I have full need."

The magic arts and the cutting of _runes_ by women are no longer
mentioned in the greatest epic of the Middle High German period, while
they are yet in full sway in the Norse version of _Sigurd and Brunhild_,
or, as she is there called, _Sigrdrifa_. The gift of healing, however,
is attributed to women in both versions.

As we have seen in ancient Germanic law, woman is under the
guardianship, or Mundium (hand), of her nearest male relatives. So she
is at the period of the Nibelungenlied. Of Kriemhilde it is said:

        "Her guardians were three kings, rich and of noble race...
        The maiden was their sister; the princes had her in ward."

Noble women resided usually in the inner secluded rooms, called
_hemenate_. Siegfried did not see Kriemhilde at the Burgundian court for
a whole year. Her favorite occupation in her seclusion was to embroider
gold and jewels on silk, fashioning splendid garments for the bridal
expeditions and courtly travels of the heroes. Rarely, and only on
festal occasions, women appeared to receive distinguished guests. Then
they are surrounded by their attendant warriors, who as a symbol of
ready protection carry swords in their hands. Any offence to a
noblewoman is taken up by her entire following and is expiated in bloody
fashion. Marriage by capture no longer occurs, yet traces of it can be
found everywhere in the later bridal expeditions of Gunther and the
Hegelings. On the battlefield, Siegfried pays no gold for his bride, it
is true, but he has to earn her in a hard struggle against the enemies
of her three brothers.

The lot of woman is suffering and sorrow and care, as evidenced from
such verses as:

        "Whatever sufferings fall to the lot of the men,
        All those are wept over by the women."

This is the tenor of all the epic songs. The _Nibelungenlied_ has
devoted an epilogue, _The Lamentation_, to the expression of those
sentiments. There are constant allusions to woman's woes: here, the
death of a hero is "lamented by many a woman;" there, "heavy heartache
harasses the women;" "all the worthy women weep over him."

We may, after this brief introduction, consider the great characters of
the lay. A peculiar position in the Germanic heroic epic is occupied by
Helche, King Attila's first consort. Although a pagan, the conception
left to us of the wife of the dread Hunnish king is of a woman who has
become almost entirely Germanized. Because of her traits of mildness,
kindness, and purity, she appears as the ideal of a true German queen,
just as Attila himself, with his Germanized name (attila, little father,
from Gothic _atta_, father), appears in many lays as a good, liberal,
kind-hearted king. Helche is especially motherly toward the numerous
noblewomen who stay at the Hunnish court as hostages; she is a friend of
the conquered and the helper of the miserable and the exiled. Dietrich
von Bern, in his exile from home and throne, is under her protection.
She obtained for him from Etzel money and men for the reconquest of
Bern; and when the enterprise failed, she intervened for him with the
irate Hunnish king, and even gave him her sister's daughter in marriage.
When the king complained of the obnoxious foreign fugitives, she
convinced him that the reception of a hero like Dietrich could only be
of advantage to his realm and an honor to himself. At the death of
Helche there is universal mourning throughout the land; for, says the
chronicler, a true mother of the innocent virgins and of the entire
people has departed.

In the foreground of all the epics of the German cycles stand the two
greatest characters of ancient womanhood, Kriemhilde and Brunhild.

At Worms on the Rhine in the land of the Burgundians, the three royal
brothers Gunther, Gernot, and Giselher guard a glorious treasure,
Princess Kriemhilde. Many kings and heroes try to win her hand, but she
is indifferent to the love of men. The most glorious hero of the age,
Siegfried, hears the fame of Kriemhilde's beauty and proceeds with a
numerous and splendid retinue from his royal father's castle at Xanten
up the Rhine to Worms to win Kriemhilde. After a six days' sail,
Siegfried and his escort reach their destination, and without disclosing
their identity they ride to court. Only Hagen of Tronje is able to give
information to the Burgundians regarding the strange heroes. He relates
how Siegfried, in spite of his youth, has already accomplished great
exploits, how he slew the dragon and became invulnerable by bathing in
the blood of the monster, how he defeated the Nibelungs and seized their
immense treasure. Hagen exhorts Gunther to receive the youthful hero
with kindness and honor in order that he may not "earn the hatred of the
bold prince."

Hagen's advice is followed and Siegfried is received by the Burgundians
with great honor. But before he is permitted even to look upon the
beautiful Kriemhilde, he is invited to aid the Burgundians in reducing
to subjection the rebellious kings Ludeger of Saxony and Ludegast of
Denmark. Upon his triumphal return from the war his eyes are gladdened
by the sight of the royal maid at the festive celebration of the
victory. The princess attended by a hundred sword-bearing chamberlains
and a hundred richly adorned gentlewomen, steps forth from her
_hemenate_, or as says the lay:

        "Then came the lovely one, as does the rosy morn
        Through sombre clouds advancing...
        As the bright Queen of heaven steps forth before each star
        Above the clouds high soaring, in shine so pure and clear,
        So shone the beauteous maiden o'er other ladies nigh."

The very first glance exchanged between the princess and the prince
betrays their mutual love. Siegfried is more than ever resolved to win
the beauteous maiden for his wife.

But the time of trial is not yet over for him. King Gunther has set his
heart upon the war maid Brunhild, Queen of the Isenstein, and he is
determined to win her as his wife. Siegfried's presence seems to offer a
favorable opportunity to press his suit; he therefore agrees that if the
hero from the Netherlands will help him to obtain the hand of Brunhild,
he may marry Kriemhilde. With a heavy heart for well he knows Brunhild
Siegfried consents. Accompanied by but a few warriors, Gunther and
Siegfried sail down the Rhine, and after a twelve days' journey they
land on Isenstein. In sight of the royal castle, surmounted by
eighty-six towers rising in gloomy magnificence, Siegfried, in order to
pass for a vassal, holds the stirrup of Gunther. Brunhild receives the
dragon slayer, whose fame and glory are well known to her, with the
words:

        "'Welcome you are, Sir Siegfried, here to this my land.
        What means your journey hither, now let me understand?'
        Quoth Siegfried: 'Lady Brunhild, great thanks to you I owe,
        That you, most gentle princess, should deign to greet me so
        Before this noble hero who stands beside me here;
        For he is my master...
        He is by name Gunther, a mighty King and dread;
        If he your love can conquer, his fondest wish is sped.'"

Brunhild proclaims the conditions upon which she may be won. The hero
who wishes to win her to wife must conquer her in three games: spear
throwing, stone throwing, and leaping. If he fails in one of the three
tests he must lose his head. Gunther declares himself ready for the
trial though he feels that his strength is not equal to the superhuman
power of Brunhild. Siegfried comes to his friend's assistance, and clad
in his Tarn-cap which he had won from the Nibelung treasure, and which
makes him invisible, he undertakes the task while Gunther merely
executes the gesture of the action. Brunhild is defeated and with
forebodings of evil follows the Burgundian king to Worms where a joyful
double marriage is celebrated. Then Siegfried takes his bride to Xanten,
his capital, where he passes ten years of peace and happiness. But the
Norns, the Fates, have decreed that his joy shall not endure. King
Gunther invites his friend and his sister to a great festival at Worms
at the time of the summer solstice. On the eleventh day before Vespers,
during the walk to church, a fatal quarrel breaks out between the
queens. The quarrel is precipitated by a question of precedence.
Brunhild, consumed by jealousy of Siegfried's heroic fame and
Kriemhilde's happiness, insultingly taunts the latter that her consort
is after all but a vassal of Gunther, an accusation which Kriemhilde
violently rejects. The two queens part with vehement words. Kriemhilde
threatens:

        '"Since thou hast my Siegfried claimed as thy subject now,
        So shall this very day the knights of both kings see,
        Whether, before the Queen, the church I enter may.'"

Arrived at the same moment at the entrance to the church, Brunhild calls
out to her sister-in-law:

        "'Before wife of a monarch, a subject shall not go.'"

Kriemhilde, forgetting herself and all about her, breaks out in terrible
passion:

        "'Couldst thou have kept silent, 't would have been for thy good.
        Thou hast thyself dishonored thine own body fair;
        How could a concubine as a king's wife appear?'
        'Whom wouldst thou a concubine?' speaks the haughty Queen.
        'That will I thee,' quoth Kriemhild; 'thy body fair, I ween,
        Was at first embraced by Siegfried, my dear man;
        'Sooth was it not my brother who thy maidenhood won.'"

In the agony of shame, Brunhild sank with tears on the threshold.
Kriemhilde passes through the door of the church with her attendants,
but

        "For this must soon perish many knights, brave and good."

The insulted queen swears vengeance; Siegfried's blood alone can wash
away her shame. Here begins the work of fierce, grim Hagen, one of the
most sombre characters in German legend. Brunhild wins for the execution
of her revenge this knight, with his fearful record of crime and
passion, though with, on the other hand, his tragic greatness and his
unfaltering devotion to his king and master, to whom he is joined by the
ties of absolute loyalty. As justified by his oath of vassalage he vows
to slay the man who has insulted his sovereign. Gunther reluctantly
consents to the murder of the man to whom he is so deeply indebted;
Giselher, who decidedly rejects the murderous project, is outvoted.

A treacherous plan is concocted, and to make the perfidy still more
flagrant Kriemhilde's innocent cooperation is mendaciously engaged. As
Siegfried, after his bath in the blood of the dragon whom he had slain,
is invulnerable except at one point between the shoulder-blades where a
fallen linden leaf had prevented the skin from becoming "horny,"
Kriemhilde is persuaded by Hagen to mark the spot with red silk that he
may protect him from harm. A hunt is chosen as the occasion for
Siegfried's murder. While Siegfried stoops to a fountain to drink the
limpid water, wine having intentionally been kept away from the hunting
party, he is pierced by Gunther's vassal through the silken mark
indicated by his innocent, loving wife. He sinks to the ground dying,
rallies once more to face his murderer, but his strength leaves him, and
dying he commends Kriemhilde to Gunther's care:

        "'Would you ever, Gunther, on this world again
        To any one show kindness, let it well appear,
        In truth and in favor, to my wife so dear.
        Let it at least speak for her that she your sister is:
        By every princely virtue, pledge your troth in this.'"

The murderer causes Siegfried's corpse to be laid before the door of his
sleeping queen. When leaving her chamber in the morning to go to early
mass, Kriemhilde fainted on viewing the heartrending sight

        "She sank down on the ground, no word more did she say;
        The lovely, joyless lady before them prostrate lay.
        Kriemhild's anguish was terrible to view,
        So loud her cries and wailing that the room echoed through."

The body of the divine hero is laid on a bier in the cathedral. Then
Kriemhilde challenges the king and Hagen to approach the shrine
containing Siegfried's corpse and take the test that will decide their
guilt or innocence. The ancient ordeal reveals the murderer, for at
Hagen's approach the wound begins to bleed anew. In Kriemhilde's soul,
that heretofore had been so filled with unspeakable love for her
incomparable hero that other passions found no place, there arises now
an all-destroying hatred and lust of revenge. The expression of this
pervades the second part of the _Nibelungenlied_, and reaches its climax
in an orgy of blood, in a cataclysm that overwhelms alike all the
participants in the murder, her brothers and herself.

Kriemhilde secludes herself at Worms, and mourns her dead for thirteen
long years. During all this weary time no single word is addressed by
her to Gunther her blood-stained brother. The silence becomes
intolerable; and to reconcile her and to divert her thoughts, the kings
send for the Nibelung treasure of red gold and precious jewels which
lies under dwarf Alberich's guard in the land of the Nibelungs. During
four days and nights twelve heavy wagons haul the shining treasure from
the hollow of the mountain to the waiting ship. A truce is patched up
between the widow and the brothers, but she hates Hagen with a deep and
silent hate. Her only consolation lies in chanty toward the poor. Hagen
fears the effect of her liberality. He takes the treasure away from her
and thus adds further to her debt of hate. Upon Gernot's advice, Hagen
sinks the Nibelung hoard in the Rhine, at a place between Worms and
Lorsch, and there it rests, according to popular belief, to this very
day. Those who knew where it rested swore solemnly never to betray its
hiding place, and not one of those who knew survived Kriemhilde's hate.
Nemesis now passes from Siegfried the Nibelung to the Burgundian
Nibelungs. The Nibelungs' distress begins with the second part of the
national epic.

Far away in Hungary, Etzel had lost his wife, Helche, the song-famed
queen. Fair Kriemhilde is proposed to him, and, after some doubts
whether he should wed a Christian, he is persuaded by his great vassal
Riidiger of Bechlarn to undertake the wooing. Riidiger himself is sent
on the errand, and proceeds from the Etzel castle to Bechlarn, in
Austria, where he is heartily received by his faithful wife, Gotelinde,
and his blooming daughter. Gotelinde is deeply affected by the death of
the good and noble Helche, and by the thought that she is to be replaced
by another wife. At last the envoy arrives at Worms, where Hagen alone
recognizes the hero with whom and Walthari of Aquitaine he had once
associated at Etzel's court. The kings are not averse to the proposal of
marriage, but Hagen, conscious of the irretrievable wrong which he had
inflicted upon the queen and apprehensive of the effect of her
independence and power, dissuades them: "You do not know Etzel; if you
knew him, you would reject his wooing, even though Kriemhilde might
accept; it may turn out disastrously to you." Gunther replies: "Friend
Hagen, thou mayst not render loyalty; repair by kindly consent to
Kriemhilde's happiness the sorrow which thou hast caused to her." But
Hagen is unmoved: "If Kriemhilde wears Helche's crown, she will inflict
upon us as much sorrow and distress as she will be able to. It becomes
heroes to avoid harm."

This anticipation of horror, this foreboding of dreadful evil, continues
throughout the lay, until the measure of woe is full. The kings are
unconscious of the dark clouds gathering above their heads, but Hagen,
in spite of his ferocious bravery, seems, though defiant throughout, to
be pursued by Nemesis of the Furies. When Kriemhilde is informed of
Etzel's wooing, she replies mournfully: "God forbid you to mock me, poor
wretched woman. What shall I be to a man who has already won love from a
good wife?"

Heartrending lamentations for the unforgotten and still beloved
Siegfried break from the queen. To Rudiger, Etzel's envoy, she states:
"He who knows my sharp pain will not ask me to love another man. I lost
more in the one than any woman can ever gain." Still, she asks time for
deliberation. Gernot and Giselher encourage her: "If anyone can reverse
your sorrow, the man is Etzel; from the Rhône to the Rhine, from the
Elbe to the sea, no king is powerful as he; rejoice that he has chosen
thee for his partner in his glorious realm." "Woe is me, lamentation and
mourning beseem me better than marriage; I can no longer go to court as
befits a queen; if once I was beautiful, my beauty has vanished long
ago." With dry eyes, in bitter pain, she awaits the morning. Nothing can
move her to consent. At last, Riidiger vows to her under four eyes with
a solemn oath: "And though you had in Hunland no one but me and my loyal
kinsman and warriors, still anyone who causes sorrow to you, shall
heavily atone for it by my hand." Instantly all the spirits of revenge
are aroused in her breast; but Riidiger knows not the terrible thoughts
that linger in her bosom, as he swears the solemn oath; he knows not
that by his oath he dooms his child, his men, himself to a double death.
Kriemhilde, with her heart thirsting for revenge, proceeds with the
embassy to Etzel's court. Twenty-four mighty kings and princes are sent
by her great husband to meet her. Attila's brother, Blodel, renders her
homage; and so, too, does Havart, the Dane, and his faithful vassal,
Iring, and of others a host. And there she notices, at the head of his
men, whose faces shine forth defiantly from their wolf's helmets, a
lofty, almost gigantic hero a lion-like man with his powerful shoulders
and loins, cast as of iron; he resembles Siegfried in bright looks and
royal brow; but in him Siegfried's serene youth is mellowed to manly
maturity. Heavy storms have raged over the head of the hero, whose hair
is bound with a regal diadem, whose right arm leans upon his lion
shield. This is Theodoric the Goth, Dietrich von Bern of the saga, the
greatest hero of the Migration period, next to Siegfried the centre of
Teutonic epic, now an exile at Etzel's court until he returns as a
victor to the dominions of his fathers.

The strength and majesty of this heroic warrior appeal to the heart of
Kriemhilde, but appeal only as the means to the accomplishment of sure
revenge on the murderers of her husband, Siegfried. The marriage feast
is celebrated at Vienna for seventeen days with profuse magnificence and
numberless gifts to the bride; but Kriemhilde's heart is faithful to her
first and only love.

        "When now the thought would cross her how by the Rhine she sat
        Beside her noble husband, with tears her eyes were wet;
        Yet must she weep in secret that it by none was seen."

Thus she proceeds sadly down the Danube to the Etzel castle, a stranger
in a strange land concealing her deep woe under her royal splendor.
After seven years she bears to Etzel a son, Ortlieb, then six years more
pass by twenty-six years in all since Siegfried was murdered at the
linden fountain in the Oden forest then at last the time arrives to
quench the thirst of her revenge.

Kriemhilde says to Etzel: "For long years I have now been here in a
strange land, and no one of my lofty kinsmen has visited us. No longer
may I bear the absence from my relatives, for already the rumor goes
here, since no one of my family visits us, that I am an exile and a
fugitive from my land, without home or friends." The king, ever ready to
please Kriemhilde, sends the two singer-heroes, Werbel and Swemlin, to
Worms as envoys to invite the Burgundian kings with their suite to visit
Hungary at the next solstice. Kriemhilde urges all her relatives to
come. The ever suspicious Hagen dissuades the kings from the journey.
"You know indeed what we have done to Kriemhilde, that I with my own
hand slew her husband. How can we dare to travel in Etzel's land? There
we shall lose life and honor King Etzel's wife is of long revenge!" When
his warning fails, he advises that the expedition shall be strongly
armed and of large numbers. All the vassals are summoned, and eleven
thousand men go joyfully forth on their dire mission. The element of
music and song is not wanting; brave, cheerful Volker, the fiddler, an
expert singer and musician as well as a great warrior, is of the party.

Kriemhilde is informed of the success of the mission, and voices her
grim joy: "How are you pleased with the good tidings, dear husband and
master; what I have desired ever and ever is now fulfilled." "Your will
is mine," replied Etzel; "I never rejoiced thus over the arrival of my
own relatives as I do over the arrival of yours."

An ill omen almost prevents the fateful expedition. The hoary mother of
the Burgundian Kings and of Kriemhilde dreams, during the preparations
for departure, that all the birds in the land lie scattered dead on the
fields and groves. Hagen realizes the purport of the dream; but when
scorned by Gernot, he says: "It is not fear that moves me; if you order
the journey, I shall ride gladly to Etzel's land."

The journey is full of adventures and novel experiences; Hagen, because
he is well versed in the intricate roads, is the leader; his adventure
with the mermaid-prophetesses is recorded in the first episode. Out of
the rustling water the ominous voice of the swan-virgin is heard:
"Hagen, Aldrian's son, I will warn thee. Return, as long as it is time
yet; no one of your great host will return across the Danube, but one
man, the king's chaplain." Hagen fights with the ferryman, whom he
found, according to the warning of the mermaids, untrustworthy. He slays
him and hurls the corpse into the flood, but, though this is done, the
kings still see his blood streaming in the ship. Hagen himself ferries
the entire army over the stream. On the last boat rides the chaplain.
Him Hagen seizes, as he leans with his hand on the sanctuary, and hurls
him pitilessly beneath the surface of the rippling water. The chaplain
then turns and safely reaches the home bank; as he shakes in his
dripping garments, he sees the Burgundians file into the distance. The
first prophecy is fulfilled, and Hagen now realizes the irretrievable
doom that awaits the kings and their followers. He destroys the ship,
knowing well that it will serve for no one's safe return from the land
of the Huns; but he justifies the act as a means of preventing retreat
if a coward sought to gain safety by flight.

The description of the hospitality afforded to the Burgundians by
Margrave Rudiger of Bechlarn, in Austria, is a classical account of
German court life. In it are welded together the customs and manners
both of the migration period and the transition period between the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries. In the noble hostesses, Rudiger's
wife, Gotelinde, and Dietlinde, her lovely daughter, are depicted true
types of the loftiest German womanhood. The royal housewife receives the
guests in true German fashion, with a kiss, thus honoring the brothers
of her queen. The lovely maiden, too, proceeds along the ranks of the
king's suite, offering them the kiss of welcome; but, with the intuitive
soul of a pure German woman, she shudders before Hagen's grim features,
and only in obedience to her father's order she offers to him her pale
cheek for a kiss. There is hardly in any literature such a charming
illustration of the joyous nature of a people, as shown in their customs
and pleasures and music, as the banquet given by Rudiger. Good cheer
prevails at the joyful table over which presided the noble and
hospitable Gotelinde. During the afternoon, the daughter of the house
appears with her companions to inspire Volker to song and merry jest.
The climax of the scene is reached when the Burgundian heroes woo lovely
Dietlinde for the youngest of their kings, Giselher. The suit is
accepted by the parents, and the betrothal of the noble couple is
concluded amid joyful consent and pleasurable anticipation of the
marriage, which is to be celebrated when the Burgundians return from
Etzel's court. When the hour of parting approaches, precious gifts are
exchanged in truly Homeric fashion as a symbol of intimate connection
and eternal friendship. Rüdiger presents Gernot with his own sword,
which he had gloriously wielded in many a battle. The last blow of the
glorious, but ill-fated, sword is, alas! to cleave the head of noble
Rüdiger himself. Gotelinde honors Hagen with the shield of her own
father, who had fallen in battle.

Dietrich, the hero, first receives the Burgundians on Hunnish soil: "Be
welcome, Gunther, Gernot, and Giselher; be welcome, Hagen, Volker, and
Dankwart; are you unaware that Kriemhilde still grievously weeps for the
hero from the Nibelung land?" "May she weep yet for a long time: he has
been slain many years ago; Siegfried will never return; may she cling to
the King of the Huns," is Hagen's grimly defiant reply. "How Siegfried
fell we will not now investigate: but so long as Kriemhilde lives,
grievous calamity is impending; do thou beware of it most of all, O
Hagen, heir of the Nibelungs." Still more definitely Dietrich expresses
his fears to the Burgundian kings in secret interview; though unaware of
a determined plot of revenge, he knows that Etzel's wife raises every
morning her loud dirge to mighty God for strong Siegfried's direful
death. "It cannot now be helped," replies the brave fiddler Volker; "let
us ride to Etzel's court and await what is destined to us by the Huns."

When the eagle helmets and coats of arms of the Burgundians gleam at the
gate entrance to the castle, Kriemhilde exclaims: "There are my
relatives; let him who loves me be mindful of my sorrow." The heroes are
received at Etzel's castle with barbarous splendor, yet a terrible gloom
seems to overhang everything. Hagen and Volker, in the consciousness
that death is near, join each other in a personal compact for life and
death. They seat themselves outside on a stone bench, and are looked at
with fear and awe. When Kriemhilde sees from the window her deadly
enemy, she is overcome by emotion, her tears flow, and she calls upon
her royal vassals around her to avenge her bitter woe and sorrow on
Hagen, the murderer of Siegfried. Sixty men buckle on their armor.
Kriemhilde herself, with the royal crown on her head, descends to the
courtyard to obtain from Hagen's own lips the confession of his deed as
a testimony for her men. "I know," she says, "he is so haughty, he will
not deny it, so I do not care what happens to him for the deed." While
the sixty hostile warriors approach, the two Burgundian heroes once more
renew their bond for life and death. To Hagen's question whether Volker
will stand by him "in true love as I shall never forsake you," Volker
replies: "So long as I live, even though all Hunnish knights storm
against us I do not yield from you, Hagen, not a finger's breadth." "Now
God reward you, noble Volker, what more do I need? Let them approach,
the armored heroes!" This splendid monument of German loyalty partially
reconciles us to the horrors soon to be enacted.

Kriemhilde then approaches the terrible pair. Though Volker prompts his
comrade to rise before the queen, Hagen defiantly remains seated, and
lays before him on his knees a shining sword with a brilliant jewel of
green color on the handle. Kriemhilde at once recognizes Siegfried's
saga-famed sword Balmung. Her grief is thus renewed. "Who bade you come,
Hagen, how could you dare to ride hither? Do you not know what you have
done to me?"

"No one sent for me; three kings have been invited hither, they are my
masters, I their vassal; where they are, I am."

"You know indeed," continued Kriemhilde, "why I detest you? You have
slain Siegfried, and for him I shall weep to the very end."

"Yes," snarled grim Hagen, "I did slay Siegfried, the hero, because Lady
Kriemhilde chided fair Brunhild, my queen. Avenge it whoever will, I
confess, I caused you much sorrow." Thereupon, war is declared for life
and death. However, the sixty Hunnish heroes do not dare to attack the
two Burgundians, who rise and go to the royal hall in order that they
may stand by their kings should they be in distress.

Kriemhilde enters and salutes her brothers, but bestows a kiss and
handshake only on Giselher, the youngest. Hagen ties his helmet more
tightly. Kriemhilde inquires whether they had brought her property, the
Nibelung treasure, with them.

"The Nibelung treasure," replies Hagen scornfully, "has been buried in
the deepest Rhine where it shall lie till the last day, and

        "'To thee I bring the devil!
        In this my buckler have I quite enough to bear,
        And also in my armor this helm so fairly wrought
        This sword my hand is holding; therefore I bring thee naught.'"

Kriemhilde requests the Burgundians to give up their arms, as is
customary, at friendly visits; Hagen refuses. She thus realizes that the
Burgundians must have been warned.

"Who has done this?" she inquires angrily. Proudly and firmly Dietrich
replies: "It is I, I have warned them; on me, thou, terrible one, wilt
not avenge this warning." Before his piercing eye Kriemhilde conceals
her boiling anger and retreats, throwing hostile glances upon her
enemies. The guests, too, retire guarded by the indefatigable Hagen and
Volker. For the last time, Volker's music rings out into the night as he
sings in sweet melodies the parting from life. It is the _dirge_ for the
Burgundian kings and heroes. Kriemhilde vainly endeavors to enlist
Hildebrand and Dietrich to aid her revenge. Both refuse.

"He who will slay the Nibelungs will do it without me," says Hildebrand.
Nor will Dietrich break faith to those who came in good faith and from
whom he had suffered no harm. He says: "By my hand Siegfried will remain
unavenged."

At last the queen by great promises wins Blodel, Etzel's brother. He
agrees to attack the lesser knights and the men-at-arms who under
Dankwart's command rest in the out-houses. During the surprise,
Kriemhilde quietly enters the dining hall of the royal castle where the
great heroes are already assembled. Her son Ortlieb, only five years
old, is presented by Etzel to his uncles and their favor is bespoken
when the prince shall be sent to Burgundy for his education. Now the
untamed fury of Hagen suddenly breaks out in a fearful explosion. The
fierce savagery of the Migration period, regardless of the Christian
varnish of the thirteenth century, in striking contrast to the elegiac
traits exhibited in the departure of the kings, in Giselher's betrothal
to Dietlinde and voiced in Volker's sweet melodies, reappears in an
unheard of act of brutal murder. Hagen exclaims that the young king does
not look to him as if he would grow very old; that no one would ever see
him in Ortlieb's court. While everybody is yet stunned by the ferocious
prophecy of the terrible man, Dankwart breaks into the festal hall and
shouts:

"Why do you sit here so long, brother Hagen; to you and to God in heaven
do I complain of our distress. Knights and servants lie altogether slain
in the outhouse." Indeed, Blodel had kept his word, but lost his life in
the attempt. Not one Burgundian escaped the carnage, save Dankwart who
succeeded in cutting his way through the press. Hagen sprang up like a
wounded lion, the sword shone in his mighty hand, and with one blow the
head of the innocent royal child was tossed into the lap of his mother
Kriemhilde. This atrocious deed is the signal for a universal carnage.
In her deathly agony Kriemhilde appeals to Dietrich, who is at once
ready to fulfil his duty toward the queen and consort of his host and
protector, Etzel. Dietrich demands peace for himself and his men, who
are no participants in the strife. King Gunther bids all go who are not
involved in the murder of his men; he will take his revenge but on the
retinue of Etzel who are in the plot. Etzel and Kriemhilde, Rudiger of
Bechlarn, Dietrich and his retinue, leave the hall. Then the battle
began to rage again, until all Etzel's men were slain. Their bodies were
hurled by the Burgundians downstairs in front of the door. Intoxicated
by the victory, Hagen, in the doorway, reviles Kriemhilde for her second
marriage, and the latter, exasperated, promises to fill Etzel's shield
with gold for him who would bring her Hagen's head. It is not our task
to describe here the battle, the blood flowing in rivulets from the hall
to the courtyard. The attempt to obtain a free departure from the hall
to die in open battle fails, since Kriemhilde fears Hagen might escape
her vengeance. Yet even among those horrors a feature of love and truth
is not missing. Giselher, who was hardly a boy when Siegfried was
murdered, addresses his sister:

"O fair sister, how could I expect this great and dire calamity when
thou invitedst me from the Rhine. How do I deserve death in this strange
land? At all times was I true to thee, and never did I a wrong; I hoped
to find thee loving and gracious to me; let me die quickly, if it must
be!"

Deeply moved by his words, Kriemhilde demands only the surrender of
Hagen. "As to you, I will let you live, for you are my brothers, and
children of the same mother." But Gernot rejects the offer: "We die with
Hagen, even though we were a thousand of the same race." And "We die
with Hagen, if die we must," repeats Giselher; "we shall not forego
loyalty unto death."

At the failure of this last attempt at peace, the wrath of Kriemhilde
knows no bounds. She orders fire to be put to the hall, and the flames
are fanned by the wind to a roaring shower of fire. A terrible thirst
increases the torture, until the heroes quench it according to Hagen's
advice with the blood of the slain. When the night sets in, the
Burgundians protect themselves with their shields from the falling
timbers. The last morning dawns. The battle rages anew. At last Riidiger
decides, though with a bleeding heart, that the loyalty to his king and
queen, the faithfulness of the vassal, must prevail over his truth and
love for his new friends, for Giselher, the betrothed of his child. In
the ensuing struggle Rudiger splits Gernot's head, while Gernot's last
blow with Rüdiger's own sword ends the latter's life. Both heroes thus
mingle their blood in death.

The bloody contest continues until all the Goths, with the exception of
Hildebrand and Dietrich, are slain. In the royal hall, Gunther and Hagen
alone stand over the bodies of their brothers and companions from
Burgundy. Dietrich demands their surrender; the demand is rejected by
Hagen. The last terrible duel begins. Dietrich inflicts a severe wound
upon Hagen, seizes him with his mighty arms, chains him in his lion's
grasp, and thus delivers him to Kriemhilde. The same fate awaits
Gunther. Recommending the lives of the heroes to Kriemhilde, Dietrich
leaves the court.

Kriemhilde vows to Hagen that she will spare his life if he will return
to her the hidden hoard, the Nibelung treasure. Though grievously
wounded and lying in chains, Hagen, loyal to his masters, replies: "So
long as one of my masters lives, I will not reveal the hiding place of
the treasure." The queen is desperate. She causes her own royal
brother's head to be cut off, and herself carries it by the hair to
Hagen. The true vassal cries out with sad resolution: "Now it is
accomplished as thou hast willed."

        "'Dead is now of Burgundy the noble monarch true,
        Giselher, the young prince, and eke Gernot too.
        Of the Hoard knows no one save God and I alone;
        To thee, thou devil's wife, shall it ne'er be shown.'"

"Then only the sword of Siegfried, my sweet husband, is left to me." She
draws it from the sheath, and, by the hand of the long-sorrowing wife,
Siegfried's sword avenges Siegfried's death upon his murderer.

At this moment old Hildebrand, wrathful over the breach of the condition
imposed upon her by Dietrich when he delivered Gunther and Hagen to her,
cuts her down. Kriemhilde, with a frightful scream, sinks to the ground,
beside the body of her deadly enemy.

        "With anguish thus had ended the monarch's revelry,
        As love will to sorrow too oft become a prey."

Kriemhilde, the German woman par excellence, with her heart filled with
all the virtues of love and faith, outraged in her holiest feelings, and
thus "turning the milk of human kindness to fermenting dragon's poison,"
presents to us all the potentialities of womanhood, and withal the
entire range of the psychology of German womanhood.

When we emerge from the orgy of hate and bloodshed with which the second
part of the _Nibelungenlied_ is filled, when we have fathomed the depths
of the passion of which a high-minded, loving type of royal womanhood
such as Kriemhilde is capable, we are glad to resort to the beneficent
contrast of womanly gentleness and loveliness which we find in _Gudrun_,
the second great mediaeval German epic, whose roots and branches are
deeply set in the Migration period. We discover here a portrait of the
culture of the time, its warfare, its seafaring, its discoveries, its
geographical horizon, and, especially, its love and truth and faith. If
we were stirred in the former epic by the gloomy and lurid background
that overshadowed even its sunniest scenes; if the sinking of the
noblest, purest, most affectionate Kriemhilde into demoniacal passion
did not permit us to arrive at a serene contemplation of that gigantic
work of art, we now celebrate the triumph of the loyalty and devotion
and perseverance of a genuine womanly heart over long and bitter sorrow
and humiliations. While Kriemhilde's fierce hatred immolates both
herself and a great dynasty on the altar of revenge, in _Gudrun_ we
celebrate the victory of self-abnegation, patience, and peace, and the
reconciliation of two mighty dynasties.

The theatre of action of this, the second greatest national epic, is the
entire range of the North Sea, with its measureless limits extending
into mythical infinity, with its long coast line and sea-girt isles,
with its Viking ships storm-tossed on the watery roads of all the races.
The North Sea did not limit the sturdiness of the Teutonic seafarers of
the Norse race, just as the Mediterranean did not restrain their energy
and wandering instincts. As the Lombard cycle of sagas reaches out
beyond the confines of the Teutonic world to Constantinople, to Syria,
to Babylon, and to the mythical lands beyond the seas, so the cycle of
the North leads us not only to the Netherlands, the land of the Frisians
and Ditmarsch, but over to Seeland, Normandy, Ireland, even to the
Orkneys, and perchance to Iceland.

And perhaps it may not be amiss, by way of contrast and to show the
opposite poles of the Germanic world, to recount briefly an epic lay of
the Lombard cycle which breathes quite a different atmosphere and
exhibits different colors, geographically and morally speaking, from
those of the North Sea. In the Lombard cycle there is a connection of
the Teutonic cosmos with the fabulous Oriental world. King Ortnit of
_Lamparten_ (Lombardy) wins by a series of stratagems the resplendent
daughter of the heathen king Nachaol, of Muntabur, in Syria, and makes
her his wife. Descriptions of golden armor, magic rings, and rich
treasures of the East betray everywhere the Oriental character of this
Langobard legend.

More Germanic, though its sources lay entirely in the Byzantine Empire,
is the saga of _Hugdietrich_ with its moral of the all-pervading power
of love. The names of the leading characters especially indicate the
Teutonic setting of the saga. Hugdietrich is King of Constantinople,
and, after the early death of his father, is reared by Duke Berchtung.
At the age of twelve an Oriental age for marriage he consults with his
guardian concerning the choice of a wife. The choice falls upon the fair
maiden Hildeburg, daughter of King Walgund at Salnek (_Saloniki_); but
this princess is confined in a lofty tower, for it has been decided that
she is never to marry. Unlike Danae, the Greek beauty, who is reached in
her solitary tower by the love of the Olympian Zeus in the form of a
golden rain, Hildeburg receives Hugdietrich in a more satisfactory form.
The young king to attain his end disguises himself in the garb of a
maiden with flowing golden hair; he learns feminine arts, among them
that of embroidery, and journeys to Salnek, accompanied by a numerous
retinue. Here he represents himself as Hildegund, the exiled sister of
the King of the Greeks, and is hospitably received by King Walgund. The
false Hildegund quickly gains the favor of the royal couple of Salnek by
her wonderful embroideries in gold and silver; and when her position at
the court is assured, she requests the honor of becoming an attendant
and playmate to Hildeburg. This granted, Hugdietrich is admitted to the
tower of the captive princess. For twelve weeks, Hugdietrich plays his
rôle and teaches his love the art of embroidery, but he is unable longer
to restrain his passion, and he reveals himself to her. His love is
reciprocated, and a blissful year is passed by the loving pair. At this
juncture, Duke Berchtung arrives from Constantinople to conduct
Hildegund home, since the king, her brother, wishes to receive her again
into grace and brotherly affection. Hildeburg is left in painful longing
and sadness. Soon afterward she gives birth to a son, whom she tries to
conceal from the sight of men. One day, however, her mother surprises
her by an unexpected visit; and the frightened nurse lets the babe,
wrapped in silken cloths, down among the bushes of the ditch surrounding
the castle. When, after the departure of the queen, the child is
searched for, he is not to be found. A wolf has carried him away as food
for his young. But King Walgund, who, as it happens, is out hunting,
kills the wolves, and finds the child grievously weeping. The king takes
him under his mantle and brings him to his queen, calling him
Wolfdietrich, as he had found him among the wolves. Hildeburg, too, sees
him, and recognizes him as her own child by his birthmark, a red cross
between his shoulders. She confesses everything to her parents, and is
forgiven. Hugdietrich is sent for. He comes, recognizes the boy as his
own, kisses him in truly Germanic fashion, wraps his golden mantle
around him as a token of recognition, and pronounces the words:

        "'Wolfdietrich, O dearest child of mine,
        Constenople be the inheritance thine.'"

The sagas of the Lombard cycle are the poetic crystallization of the
spread of Teutonism over the world of the Orient; they symbolize the
national thirst for adventure and strife.

We now turn back from the extreme southeast of Europe to the extreme
northwest of that continent, the ideal realm of Gudrun, the noblest type
of German womanhood in the domain of German literature.

King Hagen of Ireland, and Hilde, his wife, have a beautiful daughter,
also called Hilde. But the king "grudges her to any man who is not over
him," and has her suitors slain, for no one is his equal. The fame of
Hilde's beauty penetrates also to the coast of the German North Sea, and
King Hettel of the Hegelings desires her for his wife. Five great
vassals of the king, Wate of Stormland (Holstein), the great hero and
singer, Frute, Horant of Denmark, Morung of Nifland, and Irolt of
Ortland, set out to win the cherished bride for their king. Seven
hundred warriors are hidden in the hold of the great ship built of
cypress wood, covered with silver plate, and brave in golden rudders,
silken sails, and anchors forged from silver. The stratagem devised by
the suitors lies in the tale by which they will inform King Hagen that
they were driven out by Hettel, the tyrannical king, and that, being
merchants, they carried away their treasures on their flight to Ireland.
By exceedingly rich presents, they win the good will of Hagen and
especially that of young Hilde, who persuades her father to admit them
to the court. Horant delights all by his Orphean music, "so enchanting
that his melodies pierced the heart, and the little birds stopped
singing before his divine harmonies."

        "The beasts of the forest forsook the fresh pasture,
        The beetle forgot to crawl on through the green grass,
        The fish fond of shooting through the waves of the waters
        Arrested their path. Truly, Horant could boast of his art."

Young Hilde's delight in his music prompts her to invite the sweet
singer to her chamber, where he sings enchantingly; one of his lays
tells of the mermaids, and this leads up to the story of the suit of his
royal master. The princess consents to accept the suit, if Horant will
promise to sing for her every morning and every night. The hero endowed
with the divine art of song entices her still further by telling her
that at the royal court there are twelve minstrels greatly superior to
himself, the greatest and most musical of all is King Hettel himself.
Hilde is then invited to visit the ship and see the treasures thereon.
On the fourth day, under the pretext that their king has called them
back and makes them amends, the visiting heroes take leave of Hagen. At
parting Hagen is requested to pay them a visit with his queen. While the
king and the queen are walking upon the strand, young Hilde with her
women step upon the ship. Immediately the anchors are hoisted, the sails
are unfurled, and the ship shoots through the waves like an arrow.
Hagen's ships have shrewdly been made unseaworthy by the cunning
Hegelings, who joyfully proceed homeward with their fair booty and land
at Wales, the western boundary of Hettel's domains, where they are
royally received by the overjoyed king. A brilliant festival is
celebrated; in silken tents covered with flowers the heroes surround
Hettel's beauteous bride. But before sunset the scene changes to a
bloody _Wahhtatt_. King Hagen arms other ships and pursues the captors
of his daughter. A terrible battle ensues on the strand of Wales.
Lightning sparkles from the golden helmets, the spears fly like
snowflakes in a northern winter. Hettel is wounded by Hagen, Hagen by
Wate. As once at the very cradle of the Roman Republic, the Sabine
spouses saved their Roman husbands from annihilation at the hands of
their Sabine fathers and brothers by hurling their own fair bodies
between the embittered armies, thus Hilde's loving intercession calms
the passions of the struggling heroes. Fierce Hagen is at last
reconciled to his daughter and Hettel, and he accompanies them to the
royal castle where they are solemnly united in marriage. Historically,
we see in these adventures a reminiscence of the ancient Teutonic custom
of gaining the bride by conquest or violence.

From the union of Hettel and fair Hilde sprang two children: Ortwin and
Gudrun, who even surpasses her mother in beauty. The Hegeling daughter
is sought by the most powerful princes, but Hettel deems none worthy of
his daughter. Hartmut, King of the Normans, when rejected, appears
disguised at Hettel's court and reveals himself to Gudrun, who, feeling
pity for the beautiful youth, advises him to flee from her father's
wrath: "His life would be done for, were Hettel to recognize him."
Hartmut retires but to prepare for war, for once having seen charming
Gudrun, he can no longer live without her. Meanwhile, Herwig of Seeland,
a Frisian king, who had also been rejected, appears with three thousand
heroes before Hettel's castle: he strikes the flaming wind from many a
helmet. Fair Gudrun has never known such delight as that which the deeds
of the brave heroes give; the sight of him is to her both love and
sorrow. Herwig and Hettel meet in deadly combat, "fiery glow flamed from
their shields, red wounds are struck," until Gudrun intercedes in
person; peace is concluded, and Herwig is betrothed to Gudrun.

The news of this engagement exasperates King Siegfried of Morland, who
had sought vainly for Gudrun's hand. He invades Herwig's country, and
Herwig in his extremity appeals to Gudrun, his betrothed. Her father,
Hettel, with his men, goes to Herwig's aid. While he is thus engaged,
Ludwig and Hartmut of Normandy, having learned through spies that the
land of the Hegelings is denuded of men, sail with a powerful host to
Hettel's land and soon advance upon the sunny castle of Hilde. Hartmut,
unwilling to wrong his beloved Gudrun if she will accept his suit,
announces his love to her, and threatens to carry her away by force if
she resists. Gudrun replies that she belongs, body and soul, to Herwig
and that she will never break faith with him. Ludwig and Hartmut storm
the castle and carry away Gudrun and her sixty-two attendants, among
them her best beloved companion, Hildeburg. Queen Hilde looks on with
powerless tears and broken heart. She sends messengers to Hettel and
Herwig, who conclude an honorable peace with King Siegfried, and with
their new ally set out in pursuit of the Normans. At the mouth of the
river Sheldt, on the island of Wulpensand, the Normans with their
beautiful captive rest. Here they are overtaken by the Seelanders. The
terrible battle that ensues has been sung in many lays throughout
Germany. "You'd see the heroes' bodies with glowing blood color the sea.
The waves flowed to the strand reddened everywhere."

More and more Hegelings sink to the ground. Ludwig slays King Hettel:
"This was sorrowful tidings to many hearts." When fierce Wate perceives
his master's death, he begins to rage like a wild boar. Ortwin and
Horant are beside themselves with rage and strive to avenge their fallen
king, but night stops the carnage. The Normans succeed in reaching their
ships under the cover of darkness and in escaping with their hard-won
booty. The Hegelings are so reduced in numbers that no further pursuit
can be made. Wate brings the sad tidings to Queen Hilde in the desolate
tower: "No use to keep the calamity from you; I will not deceive you,
they are all dead, our heroes." Revenge must be postponed, "until all
those who now stand before us as children, have grown ripe for the
sword; many a noble orphan will then be mindful of his father and will
be a helper on the new journey." But poor Hilde expresses her despair of
the distant hope.

Meanwhile, the triumphant Normans approach the coast of their
fatherland. King Ludwig, in sight of the towers of his castle, kindly
reminds tearful Gudrun that all this beautiful land shall belong to her
if she will marry Hartmut. This only increases her sorrow: "Ere I'll
take Sir Hartmut, I shall rather be dead. His is not of a house that I
could love him. I'll lose life rather than win him as my friend."
Incensed at her bitter words, Ludwig seizes the princess by the hair and
hurls her into the foaming sea. But loving Hartmut springs after her,
rescues her and places her with tender care in his boat. At the landing
Queen Gerlinde and her daughter Ortrun with their attendants hasten to
welcome the Norman heroes and fair Gudrun, who accepts Ortrun's kiss,
but refuses that of the old queen, knowing well that the latter is the
source of all her misfortunes, and having a presentiment of the greater
evils that threatened her. As she continues to cling to her betrothed,
Herwig, and defies the advances of Hartmut, whose father had slain hers,
Gerlinde undertakes to break her pride while Hartmut is absent upon a
new expedition. But the young king entreats his mother before his
departure "to instruct the poor, homeless princess in all kindness."
This the queen attempts, but as Gudrun persists in her refusal, Gerlinde
is enraged and exclaims: "If thou wilt not have joy, sorrow shall be thy
share." Thereafter, she subjects Gudrun to a series of humiliations.
First, she is separated from her noble playmates, who are condemned to
spin and do other womanly handiwork. The royal virgin herself is forced
to perform the most servile work, she is obliged to heat the stoves, to
wash the linen, and to sweep the floor, this last with her silken hair;
she is chastised by Gerlinde, she is fed on black bread and water, and
her couch is a hard bench. Ortrun's sisterly affection for Gudrun is the
only bright spot in her gloomy existence. Hartmut's love and the
protection which he vowed to her at first, finally turn to impatience,
and he abandons her to the unmitigated ill treatment of her tormentor,
Queen Gerlinde, by whom Gudrun is condemned to perpetual servitude and
shame. Gudrun's noble attendant, Hildeburg, by piteous entreaty obtains
permission to participate in the grievous work of her royal mistress.
For nearly six years they wash Gerlinde's garments in the sea, in wind
and storm, in snow and ice. But Gudrun's pure and faithful heart remains
unshaken.

Thirteen years have now passed since the terrible events on the
Wulpensand. The boys of the land of the Hegelings have grown to be men.
Queen Hilde, unforgetful of the captivity of her daughter Gudrun, and of
her duty to avenge King Mattel's death, summons her heroes and friends
and allies, foremost among whom is Herwig, to an expedition against the
Normans. A strong fleet is armed; some sixty thousand men follow Hilde's
summons. Horant of Denmark is the leader of the fleet. After a stormy
passage the coast of Normandy is reached. The allies land unnoticed
under the cover of mountain and forest, safe from the observation of the
spies. Ortwin, Gudrun's brother, and Herwig, her betrothed, go forward
as scouts.

Following the natural order of events, we now pass in the grand epic to
the romantic element, the lyrical _intermettfp_ of longing and love, of
truth and faith, to the realm of hope and consolation. All the virtues
and charms of the Teutonic woman's nature are revealed in Gudrun:
superhuman agencies intervene for her deliverance. One day Gudrun and
Hildeburg stand on the strand of the sea, occupied with their customary
menial work of washing, in strange contrast to the same womanly
occupation of the Grecian princess Nausicaa and her noble attendants in
the Odyssey, where everything is brightness and delight, when they
suddenly perceive a beautiful bird swimming toward them. It is a divine
messenger, who brings them glad tidings, pronounced with a human voice:

"Be ready, homeless maid, a lofty happiness awaits thee; God sends me
for thy comfort to this strand." He satisfies her longing questions,
tells her that Hilde lives, and of the hosts and the fleet she has sent
out for Gudrun's rescue, of Ortwin and Herwig and all the rest of her
liberators. Then the mysterious bird disappears, and the two princesses
are left in suspense. They forget their work, and must therefore at
their return endure the bitter chidings of Gerlinde, who sends them
forth the next morning to the same work, to which they go barefooted and
clothed only in their shirts, though heavy snow covers the fields, and
ice dams the waterways. Well might they then send out their longing
glances over the sea whence are to come the messengers whom the queen
Hilde has sent for their rescue. Suddenly they perceive two men
approaching in a boat. Ashamed of their servile work, and still more of
their nakedness, they flee, but Herwig and Ortwin call them back and
offer their mantles to the unknown and beautiful servants, who tremble
from cold, in their wet shirts, their locks flying in the sharp wind.
Modestly they refuse to accept the mantles of the men. Ortwin inquires
the name of the person who has subjected them to such cruel work. Herwig
looks in silent amazement at the beautiful, the glorious, the royal
woman in her degradation; "the hero compared her to one whom he
cherished in true memory."

When Ortwin further inquires after the noble women, especially Gudrun,
who many years ago had been dragged into Normandy, she replies: "Gudrun
died in sorrow," a characteristic reply which proves that in the ancient
Germanic world, as well as in that of Greece, a cunning little lie was
not amiss even in the mouth of a charming princess. When the tears well
forth from the eyes of the heroes, another trait of the ancient Germanic
past as well as of the Greek, and Herwig draws forth the betrothal ring
of yore, Gudrun says, smiling:

        "'Well do I know this ringlet, betimes it came from me;
        Behold now this one, warriors, by Herwig sent to me,
        When I, abandoned orphan, lived in my father's land.'"

Overwhelmed by joy, Herwig clasps his beloved Gudrun in his arms to
carry her away at once, but proud Ortwin wil! not snatch her away
stealthily from the enemy; and Herwig promises to stand, before the sun
rises in the morning, before the gates of the Norman city with sixty
thousand chosen warriors. The maidens follow with their eyes the
departing heroes till their boat vanishes in the mist.

Gudrun exults over the thought of their approaching liberation. Her
entire nature seems to change. From the patient, enduring, humble,
martyr-like, though constant and faithful, maiden, she changes to a
proud, self-asserting queen. Angrily she hurls the linen, the symbol of
her humiliation, into the flood; she is too highly placed; she declares
to the warning, anxious friend Hildeburg that she will never wash again
for Gerlinde, for two kings have kissed her and held her in their arms.
When, at their late arrival at the castle, Gerlinde receives them with
harsh words, asks for the linen, and learns that Gudrun has thrown it
into the sea, the she-wolf as she is called here in the epic orders
thorn rods to be tied together to chastise Gudrun. But the cunning
maiden, who, as we have seen, does not shrink from a needful little lie,
escapes by a clever ruse:

        "'Release me from chastisement, you'll gladly do it sure;
        For whom I have rejected, I choose now for my lord;
        As queen will I reside in the Normanish fields;
        In power I shall perform deeds: you'll scarcely trust your eyes."

Gerlinde immediately informs her son Hartmut of Gudrun's decision; but
when he hastens to the spot to embrace her, she declines, saying:

        "'O King Hartmut, leave this yet undone!
        If people saw this action, it would be your dishonor;
        I am a lowly servant, how would it be befitting,
        Were a mighty king to embrace me or to touch me?'"

Overjoyed, Hartmut orders Gudrun and her maidens to be clothed in costly
garments and to be regaled royally; and for the first time in fourteen
years Queen Gudrun laughs merrily among her Hegeling sisters, who are
overcome by the sudden change of events. The report of Gudrun's
merriment causes Gerlinde a presentiment of evil; she warns her son, but
he has no eyes or ears but for Gudrun's charms. When the maidens retire
for the first time in fourteen years to a soft couch, Gudrun reveals to
them the fact that help and salvation are near, and promises "buroughs
and acres" to her who will first announce to her the morning which shall
bring to them the day of freedom and of revenge.

Meanwhile, Herwig and Ortwin return to their host and relate to the
companions Gudrun's and Hildeburg's fate. Old Wate proposes to attack
the Normans without delay, and "to wash red the white garments which
their white hands had washed in the sea." "Before dawn they shall stand
as guests before King Ludwig's fortress." And, indeed, at the rising of
the morning star, one of Gudrun's maidens sees from the window the
fields shining with arms and the sea filled with sails. Quickly she
awakes Gudrun, while at the same time the king's warders cry from the
battlements:

        "'Get up, ye proud heroes, get up, hosts, to your arms:
        Brave Normans, all too long, methinks, have you slept.'"

The masterly description of the terrific battle, which is worthy of the
best traditions of the German epic, does not belong to this work. Yet
the gathering of the Hegelings around Queen Hilde's banner, King
Herwig's bride standing high on the battlement of the tower, while King
Hartmut and the Norman heroes march under the arch of the gate are
objective pictures showing that the womanly element is the pivot upon
which the story turns.

When old King Ludwig is slain by Herwig, the she-wolf, Gerlinde, sends
out a murderer to kill Gudrun, but Hartmut generously saves her mindful
of the beloved one even in the stress of battle. When Hartmut himself is
on the point of succumbing under the blows of Wate, Gudrun, softened by
Ortrun's prayer, sends out Herwig to intercede in Hartmut's behalf. Wate
scornfully refuses, but Herwig, from his love for Gudrun, covers the
enemy with his own body, and Hartmut is snatched away and carried into
captivity with eighty of his knights. The contrast of this battle with
its many traits of love and compassion, even for the enemy, of
self-restraint and humanity, to similar scenes in the _Nibelungenlied_
with its ruthless, merciless, savage lust of blood and revenge, is
strikingly apparent.

Gerlinde, in miserable fear of death, seeks at last a refuge with
Gudrun. The latter is willing to save her old tormenter, but Gerlinde is
betrayed to Wate by one of her servants. Wate, who has many of the
traits of Hagen in the _Nibelungenlied_, seizes her, wildly exclaiming
in fearful wrath, yet using her royal title:

"Lady Queen Gerlinde, you'll never more condemn to menial servitude my
queen's sweet daughter." With these words he cuts off her head. The same
fate befalls also young Duchess Hergart, one of Gudrun's attendants, who
for gifts had bestowed her love upon Hartmut and had been faithless and
overbearing to Gudrun. Poor Ortrun, who had befriended Gudrun, and her
other women were spared upon Gudrun's intercession. Thus punishment and
reward are evenly balanced; the ethical element of equal justice
prevails everywhere, leaving no bitter aftertaste to the reader of the
glorious epic. When King Herwig enters the lofty hall of the Norman king
with his companions, Gudrun lovingly hastens toward him, and puts her
arms around her hero.

The dead are removed, the blood-stained walls are cleaned so that Gudrun
may dwell in the castle, and the Hegelings begin "to inspect Hartmut's
inheritance." After the hostile fortresses are broken and justice is
satisfied, the conquerors depart with Gudrun and rich treasures: Hartmut
is carried away with the other prisoners. Queen Hilde receives her
heroes on the shore, but, at first, does not recognize her daughter
Gudrun when she is led up to her. Mother and daughter hold one another
in a tender embrace: sorrow and pain quickly turn to joy and delight.
Ortrun, too, is received graciously for the noble friendship bestowed by
her upon Gudrun during the long years of captivity. Hartmut and his men,
having pledged themselves not to escape, are freed from their fetters.

Now the preparations for the festivities of love and marriage are begun.
The epic rings out in a sweet chant of love and reconciliation. Gudrun's
faithfulness is blessed by Herwig's marital love. But Gudrun is
unwilling to be blessed alone. The hate between the Normans and the
Hegelings must be wiped out: the Norman princess Ortrun is married to
King Ortwin. Hartmut, who for so long had cherished a hopeless love for
Gudrun, transfers his affections to noble Hildeburg, who had shared
Gudrun's sorrowful captivity.

The bridals are celebrated on one day, mourning and woe are changed to
joy, the hostile races are reconciled and reunited by the ties of blood
and love in an alliance for defence and offence. The end of the _Gudrun
saga_ stands thus, in direct contrast to the end of the
_Nibelungenlied_. The type of Kriemhilde has revealed to us one-half of
the possibilities of the German woman's soul; the type of Gudrun, its
other half, in its sweetness, its endurance, its martyrdom for all that
is great and good and noble; its patriotism, love, and virtue. Within
the range of those two natures we can differentiate all the souls of the
millions of German women that lived and loved, hated and struggled,
suffered and died in the dim ages of the foundation of Germanic social
order and institutions.




CHAPTER IV

THE CENTURIES OF SUBMERGENCE AND OF NATIONALIZATION


Charlemagne, the man typical of Teutonic force and power, a consummator
of ancient forces and an initiator of a new progress, stands between the
German and the Roman worlds as a gigantic form on the boundary line of
two nations and two civilizations. Charlemagne was the first to realize
the political unity of western Christendom as spiritually personified in
the Papacy. This is the significance of that mighty event, pregnant with
tremendous possibilities for good and for evil, when on the Christmas
day of A. D. 800, the Pope bestowed upon Charlemagne the political crown
of the Christian world with the obligation to support the church in its
spiritual and secular supremacy. Only by the imperial crown, as a
continuation of the majesty of the Roman Cæsars, could Germany maintain
even its ascendancy among the other nations of Europe.

When the German races were organized as a nation and imbued with the
Christian faith by Charlemagne, this new political formation became the
bearer of a new civilization amalgamated from its various constituents
and as complex as was the state itself. Though preeminently papal and
clerical, yet it was, also, eminently intellectual and classical. The
treasures of a new thought, of culture, of Greco-Roman refinement, and
even of material wealth, were opened to the people of Germany. Fruitful
as these Roman germs were, they were only a ferment for German strength
and characteristics; for the Germans alone made Christianity a living
issue. It was impossible for the putrid soil of the decaying Roman
Empire to become a fruitful abode for Christianity.

Men and women fled to the desert to worship God in solitary
contemplation and far from the temptation of the world. The monks in
spite of the faults and the degeneration which will ever cling to things
human are, after all, the purveyors of intellectual and moral culture.
The cloisters, too, were at first fortresses of civilization, labor,
agriculture, artisanship, and, though with monachal limitations, they
were yet transmitters of literary and classical antiquity.

We need only recall the life of the disciples of Saint Benedict in the
cloister of Saint Gall, so dramatically described by Scheffel in his
_Ekkehard_, their activity in letters and missionary work and gardening,
in the copying of the classics and in teaching, as _Ekkehard_ taught the
Duchess Hadwig the intellectual charms of the great pagan poet Virgil,
to realize the debt owed by civilization to these monks. Though they and
their classics, Aristotle, Cicero, Virgil, etc., sunk into the
foundations of our civilization, yet, in their fanatic zeal, they
destroyed many priceless old German treasures, relics of antiquity,
which are, unfortunately, irretrievably lost. Charlemagne, with his deep
intuition, recognized the value of these relics, and, assisted by the
staff of free-hearted and free-minded scholars with whom he had
surrounded himself, tried to save what could yet be saved.

With the advent of the monk came the nun. The great Boniface, the
apostle of the Germans, with inflexible will and diplomatic shrewdness,
availed himself of the especial gifts of woman to aid in subjecting
Germany to the Holy See. Not finding sufficient aid in Germany, he
fetched women from England. The Anglo-Saxon abbesses, Lioba of
Bischofsheim, Thekla of Kitzingen, and Walpurgis of Heidenheim, were of
immense utility in his missionary work, and left a saintly memory in
Germany. They raised the female priesthood of the nuns to a lofty
height, their cloisters were nurseries of culture. Princesses and royal
daughters sought the veil as an honor or as a refuge from the trials of
their high station. It is true, however, that the monasteries of the
nuns did not always maintain their original purity. Not seldom a nun
broke her vow and preferred excommunication to a loveless existence.
Sometimes the nuns tried to console themselves in the cloister itself
for the dreariness of their existence. The Capitularies of Charlemagne
inform us of the manner in which vagrant nuns, amorous dwellers in
cloisters, offended against religious laws. Sometimes, indeed, the nuns
even carried on amours for money, and the natural consequences of the
breach of the vows of chastity were removed by crime, while, on the
other hand, the chastisements meted out for such crimes were truly
barbarous. There are Capitularies that prescribe that nuns' cloisters be
not too conveniently near to the monasteries of monks, and others that
accurately define the intercourse between clerics and laymen, that set
forth the rule that "no abbess should presume to go outside of the
monastery without episcopal permission nor permit her subordinate nuns
to do so, that they shall not dare to write or send love-songs
(_winileodes_);" but it is not less true that _winileodes_ continued to
be realistically played in the nunneries and played in earnest. That
luxury and high living must have developed in cloisters appears from a
capitulary which forbids abbesses to have packs of hounds, and falcons,
and hawks, and jugglers; that they shall live "regularly," and that
their cloisters should be "rationally" established.

We prefer, however, to write of the many holy women, the nuns,
especially the Anglo-Saxon nuns, who obtained martyrdom by cooperating
with Winfrid, the apostle of the Germans and other holy missionaries of
the time. The monk Rudolf of Fulda wrote a biography of Saint Lioba
after the report of her female disciples. Lioba was educated in an
English nunnery which had been founded at Winbrunne (to-day Wimborne
Minster, Dorsetshire), together with a monastery. Very naively Rudolf
asserts that in spite of the proximity of the institutions no undue
intercourse between their inhabitants ever occurred; nay, the abbess was
so strict that she forbade entrance to the assemblies of the nuns, not
only to clerics and laymen, but also to the bishops. At this holy place
did the virgin grow up, soon becoming the star of piety and wisdom in
the cloister, and the favorite of the abbess. Thence she was sent by the
will of Boniface to Germany and placed at the head of the cloister of
Bischofsheim. From all parts of Germany young women went to her cloister
to learn virtue and wisdom from the holy woman. When Boniface prepared
himself for his last missionary expedition to the pagan Frisians, he
commended his pious sister to his successor, exhorted her not to weary
in her holy work, and directed that her body after death should be
placed with his own in one grave, that they should both await the day of
resurrection after they had served Christ in the same endeavor and
aspiration durin

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