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| 3883791210
| 9783883791210
| 3883791210
| 2.67
| 3
| 1517
| 1979
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it was ok
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Theuerdank is a German Renaissance epic of the early 16th century, portraying a fictional version of Emperor Maximilian’s quest to wed Mary of Burgund
Theuerdank is a German Renaissance epic of the early 16th century, portraying a fictional version of Emperor Maximilian’s quest to wed Mary of Burgundy. In the epic, Maximilian is portrayed as the hero, Theuerdank, and Mary is the queen Ehrenreich. The poem was written long after the peak of Middle High German literature, but when the public was still enraptured by the ancient epic and the heroic romances of that age. Though written only two years before he died, it is based on Maximilian’s early life, a blend of fact and fiction. What distinguishes this unremarkable epic from all that came before is that it was accompanied by 118 exquisite woodcarvings to illustrate the 118 key scenes, or chapters, or cantos. These were made by a number of different artists. Each is a regal image, crafted with detail and in adoration of nature, knightly heroism, and royalty. They’re very well done. Unfortunately the rest of the poem, here translated into prose, is not so well done. After King Romreich’s wife passes away he seeks to have his daughter wed a nobleman from some other land. The name of this knight, Theuerdank, is not revealed until after the king’s death, at which point the knight is beckoned to the kingdom to marry the new queen Ehrenreich. Three captains of the kingdom, however, fear the arrival of the knight and suppose he will strip them of their powers once he is king. So they hatch a plan to prevent his ever entering the lands to marry the queen. The first captain, Fürwittig, meets Theuerdank and welcomes him to his home, all the while sending him on dangerous hunts and absurd voyages into the wild in which he almost dies. This captain represents the youthful and reckless lust for wit and wonders. The predicaments Theuerdank finds himself in due to the captain’s plotting are ridiculous and stupid — trying to push mountain goats off of mountains, hunting bears or boars, or falling under ice. The redundancy of these episodes is tiresome, and almost none of them were interesting the first time. When I say they’re redundant, I don’t mean the same thing happens once or twice. I counted about ten different scenes in which the knight is sent to “hunt” mountain goats, and the plot to kill him is always a small variation on the same thing: trick him into falling to his death. It isn’t just hunting mountain goats. Almost every ploy used by these captains to kill Theuerdank appears three, four, half a dozen times, with only the slightest change in setup and outcome. The second captain, Unfallo, is meant to represent the dangers that might befall a hero through slightly greater daring and confidence as they reach middle age, and which they are able to escape only through prowess and skill. But these scenes are largely stupid and redundant as well. More dumb hunting accidents, reminiscent of the earlier scenes, multiple avalanches or large falling rocks, misfiring weapons, or faulty technology of war almost causing the “hero’s” end. A few times he is tricked into going out to sea in a sabotaged ship during a storm. Theuerdank survives these attempts on his life more through luck than skill, intelligence, or heroism. In fact, he doesn’t display any intelligence throughout these occurrences, and one might wonder if Emperor Maximilian might have been ashamed that such an epic was meant to portray him, when its hero is dim-witted and unable to see the true nature of the captains who intend to kill him. The third captain, Neidelhart, represents the dangers that might come from one consumed by envy and spite, jealous about another’s success. Theuerdank has by an enormous chain of luck not died, and Neidelhart gets him involved in seiges, battles, and numerous forms of warfare that he is sure will be the boy’s doom — but are not. A handful of these scenes are decently exciting, tiny vignettes of combat and prowess. Theuerdank’s final challenge is six jousts, each against a separate knight. There’s nothing too thrilling here to mention, but it’s probably no spoiler to say that he succeeds alright and ends up marrying the queen. It is clear that by the time of composition the glory days of the Middle High German epic were long gone. This poem shares features of an epic, is often referred to as one, but it lacks so much of what makes an epic an epic that to call it one is misleading. It’s not a heroic romance, it’s something of an allegory, it is sort of historical fiction or hagiography, but it never takes off. It is an imitation that misses the point of the kinds of literature its author was hoping to emulate. It is not entirely bad, but redundant, often boring, and its hero is such a witlessly savage and destructive fool that I found myself actually hoping the three captains would succeed in killing him. For all its weaknesses, the numerous woodcarvings make for a welcome treat, something small to look forward to when beginning each new scene. ...more |
Notes are private!
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Jan 15, 2024
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Feb 10, 2024
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Jan 15, 2024
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Paperback
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| 0824094441
| 9780824094447
| 0824094441
| 4.23
| 13
| Jul 01, 1984
| Jul 01, 1984
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really liked it
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This book includes English verse translations of two of the lesser known and oldest written German epics: Waltharius, thought to have been composed in
This book includes English verse translations of two of the lesser known and oldest written German epics: Waltharius, thought to have been composed in the ninth or tenth century, and Ruodlieb, composed sometime between 1050 and 1075. Both were composed in Latin, likely by unknown monks. Waltharius’s authorship has at different times been attributed to Ekkehard I of St. Gall, someone named Gerald, and Grimald, the teacher of famous Carolingian poet Walafrid Strabo. Nothing at all is known of Ruodleib’s author, and the manuscript survives only in fragments. Even in translation Waltharius follows the epic rhythm. It’s a terrific translation, as faithful as one can be to Latin hexameter in English. The epic was probably not widely known at the time that the Nibelungenlied was finally put into print, but both draw on the same Germanic heroic legends and include some of the same individuals: its central hero Walter of Aquitaine, Hagen, Gunther, Attila/Etzel, and even the armor of Weyland the smith. Some of the events referenced in the Nibelungenlied, like Attila holding Hagen, Walter, and Hildegund as hostages are featured here. Waldere, the Old English poem that predates this one was based on the same body of legends. Attila and the Huns have swept through Europe. The Franks make peace with him and offer hostages. Among them are Hagen, Walter, and Hildegund, children of nobility. Hagen and Walter are brought up under Attila as warriors and Hildegund is brought up under the queen. Each are treated as the children of royalty. Walter, we are told is stronger and smarter than all the Huns, and is the favorite of Attila. When Gunther becomes king of the Franks, Hagen escapes and rejoins the Frankish kingdom as a vassal, leaving Walter and Hildegund behind. Walter is a peerless warrior and leads the armies of Attila to victory in every encounter. The poet treats us to scenes of violence and warfare so that we may appreciate Walter’s prowess in battle. Despite how good he has it, he soon decides to escape with Hildegund and return home. After getting everyone drunk and over fed, in what is apparently the author’s allusion to the Aeneid, they sneak away with their wealth and trek back toward the Frankish kingdom. Walter catches fish on his way through and gives them to a ferryman to pay for passage through the land. When these fish make their way back to the king, Gunther realizes Walter has returned and is traveling with a treasure that Gunther believes is rightfully his. Most of the story takes place in an abandoned fortress that Walter and Hildegund have taken shelter inside. Gunther brings Hagen and many other men to confront and defeat Walter to take his treasure. One by one, his warriors face Walter and are defeated through brutal combat, decapitated, delimbed, disemboweled, crushed and conquered in every possible way through many poetically rendered battle sequences - until Hagen and Gunther fight him at the same time. All are seriously wounded: Gunther’s leg is cut off by Walter, Hagen’s eye cut out and teeth smashed out by Walter, and Walter’s right hand cut off by Hagen. After being patched up by Hildegund they go their separate ways, with Walter and Hagen, once comrades, now enemies, but regaining each other’s respect. It’s a short but expertly composed German epic, with not a superfluous line. It is dense with atmosphere, conflict, and character. It’s perfectly contained as a stand-alone story but also acts as a glorious, gruesome supplement to the Nibelungenlied. Ruodlieb is a longer, more ambitious epic, but its fragmentation and the fact that it was never finished make it harder to evaluate or enjoy. It doesn’t appear to be based on any traditions that came before, except in its basic structure, though its author, like the author of Waltharius, borrows ideas from Virgil. Ruodlieb is a knight serving a lord in a distant land. Through most of the tale we are given witness to the particulars of a knight’s life in the service of his lord, and in his voyage home to begin the next phase of his life. Ruodlieb grows up to become an exceptional knight. He travels far and joins the service of a distant lord, leading his armies in victory against an invading kingdom. After peace successful peace negotiations and valiant service to his lord, Ruodlieb receives a letter from his mother asking him to return home and settle down. In his trip home he encounters a readheaded miscreant who kills a woman’s husband, and Ruodlieb sees that justice is done. The mundane but historically fascinating details of the surrounding world and its people’s customs take up much of the space. Gift-giving, marriage, crime, justice, dress and wealth, food, familial traditions, pets, pastimes, all sorts of tiny, unexceptional but intriguing details comprise the fragmentary parts later in the tale. Ruodlieb must get a wife, but the woman chosen for him he deems dishonorable because of her affair with a priest, so he continues his search. The story does not end, and how it might proceed is anyone’s guess, considering how much is missing. The final entry ends with Ruodlieb capturing a dwarf and exchanging him for his wife, whom he will hold onto until the dwarf returns with a promised treasure. What led up to this episode we do not know — it appears directly after an unrelated event, with likely a lot of missing content in between. Given the way dwarves are represented in medieval writing we can probably assume the dwarf had either tricked or attacked Ruodlieb in some kind of deceitful encounter. The fragment we have opens with the dwarf trying to get away but being overtaken by the hero. It’s a fine epic, not among the best of German literature. It’s maybe more notable for its historical content than the story, which is hard to follow with all that is missing. The world it presents is perhaps one of the most intimate and realistic in all of the medieval heroic literature I’ve read. The poem is made more memorable by the author’s sense of humor and descriptive verse. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Jan 03, 2024
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Jan 14, 2024
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Jan 03, 2024
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Hardcover
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| 0976087316
| 9780976087311
| 0976087316
| 3.91
| 11
| Aug 01, 2005
| Aug 01, 2005
|
really liked it
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Daniel of the Blossoming Valley stands alone as the only known original Germanic Arthurian work not based on French source material. Certain episodes
Daniel of the Blossoming Valley stands alone as the only known original Germanic Arthurian work not based on French source material. Certain episodes in the story, such as the abduction of King Arthur by the enraged father of two slain giants, resembles a Provençal Arthurian legend called Jauffré, but on the whole the story appears to be the invention of its author, known only as Der Stricker. Like all medieval poets, Der Stricker claims his story was derived from a prior source in order to lend it credibility. In this case, French poet Alberich de Besançon is the reported source. Since scholars haven’t found any evidence of this being true, or of any precursor for this story, it is agreed that Der Stricker came up with it largely on his own, excepting a few scenes or ideas here and there borrowed from other myths of the day. This is the only complete English translation of Daniel of the Blossoming Valley, and the presentation is superb. Throughout the book are illustrations taken directly from the 1340 manuscript, created well over a hundred years after the story was first written. This is close enough to be considered of the same period, so the artwork bears authenticity and might as well have been from its original publication. Daniel becomes a vassal of Arthur, and very little back story is provided. The general plot is that King Matur, a distant king, has demanded that Arthur give his loyalty and lands to him and surrender to him as vassal. He has sent his giant as messenger, commanded to bring Arthur back to swear his service. Arthur and his knights don’t take well to this, and decide to stall the giant for a while as they work on a plan. In this time, Daniel sets out to prove his valor and strength. Most of the story follows him on his own path, and as he comes back into the fold with Arthur and his knights at various points. The only thing that might indicate this romance was not based on a French model is that it deviates in some ways from certain Arthurian traditions — Arthur is not portrayed as the usual “retired” king who stays at his castle, but is instead an active part of the story, engaging in battles and jousts; and in one the least important differences but one that was presumed to explain this story’s lack of popularity in the Middle Ages is its lack of explicit courtly love, an admittedly small part of any Arthurian romance, but certainly present in most of the French stories. After marching to Cluse with his army, Arthur slays Matur through single combat, calling down hell upon him and his men from the seven armies of the land. Daniel seeks heroism against the giants but must obtain a weapon first to allow him to do so. In his questing, he avenges the maiden of the Dark Mountain against a dwarf named Juran, who he then beheads for the lady. He takes the dwarf’s sword which can cut through anything. With this he slays the giant brothers. In his other questing he rescues the maiden of the Bright Fountain from a creature who uses a head much like Medusa’s, but that kills its adversaries on the spot. Daniel uses mirrors to defeat him and throws the head into the nearby waters, so that it will never be used again. This maiden’s husband, the Count of the Bright Fountain, vows to go into Daniel’s service, but is later lost within the walls to the kingdom of Cluse after following a mysterious knight. Daniel vows to find him and rescue him. Daniel of the Blossoming Valley still abides by many of the Arthurian traditions, the heroic and chivalric spirit, the grand adventure, the presentation of fantastical evil and danger and of triumph over perils. Both Arthur and Daniel exhibit a refined sense of moral clarity following the resolution of violent events that result in tragedy for others, showing their capacity for compassion even after enduring harrowing battle. It is a great story, deserving to be better known. It is easily as good as Hartmann von Aue’s adaptations, and considering its originality, may be more praiseworthy. Ulrich von Zatzikhoven’s Lanzelet also deviated appreciably from its French sources to the point it was an almost entirely unique and new thing, and Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival had such an epic and all encompassing scope that it brought forth many scenes and people and events not in the French original. Der Stricker’s work belongs with any of the German greats. Daniel’s quests are weaved throughout the events happening with Arthur and his army, as they are beset by the armies of Cluse, a new army each day. They fight many huge battles, giving room for each of the heroes Gawain, Iwein, Parzival, and Daniel to perform acts of valor and power. There is another episode of heroism by Daniel, and like the others seems to borrow ideas from myths and legends. The ogre of the Green Meadow comes to a town and slays the men and fills a vat with their blood and bathes in it once a week to alleviate an illness. His words make those who hear them lose their senses and do his bidding, unquestioningly. He has people killed for his purposes, so he can later use their blood. He controls the lord of the land, commanding him to go around vanquishing men and bringing back their blood for the bath. This lord has a magical net erected to catch wanderers, given to him long ago by a mermaid queen of the ocean. It cannot be seen or cut through. Daniel is trapped in it. He learns of the ogre situation, and for his freedom offers the daughter of this lord his service in slaying the cruel creature. Upon entering the town he also finds his comrade, the Count of the Bright Fountain, who has been stuck here, in a mental fog, unable to recognize Daniel when they reunite. Through cunning, Daniel is able to slay the beast and free the people from the hypnotic spell, and learn of many more travesties that have befallen them. As repayment for rescuing the few who remain in the town, they swear him allegiance, and those who are still alive march with him back to Arthur, to help with the endless battle. It’s a really good romance of new and never repeated Arthurian lore. Much of what is in Daniel can be found only here. All the well known figures of Arthurian legends, except for Arthur, have only minor roles, with Daniel as the stand out champion who performs all the greatest glories and feats. Arthur, in his more active and prominent role, is shown to be the glorious, generous, great king that most other Arthurian stories only hint at. Here his traits for which he is renown are shown in full. There may be no other Arthurian story that is so abruptly new and original, featuring such a marked difference from established Arthurian norms, except maybe the High Book of the Grail. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Jul 21, 2023
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Jul 29, 2023
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Jul 21, 2023
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Paperback
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| 023112869X
| 9780231128698
| 023112869X
| 3.52
| 44
| 1200
| 2005
|
really liked it
|
Ulrich Von Zatzikhoven’s Lanzelet bears little resemblance to Chrétien de Troyes’s Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart. The events during which Lancelot
Ulrich Von Zatzikhoven’s Lanzelet bears little resemblance to Chrétien de Troyes’s Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart. The events during which Lancelot becomes known as the Knight of the Cart, which Chrétien’s story revolves around, don’t even occur here. Ulrich says he is translating an Anglo-Norman poem that was discovered in the possession of Hugh de Morville, a hostage exchanged from the captured King of England to Duke Leopold to ensure the king’s freedom. The original French poem no longer exists, Ulrich’s translation is all we have. The story follows Lanzelet from his birth, through his youth, adulthood, and later life, sketching out a series of adventures that see him accomplishing big things, proving his valor, his character, his heroism, and all without knowing his name. While not as focused, plot driven, or quite as extravagant as Chrétien’s story, it is still immense, fantastic, mysterious, filled with oddities and wonders and mythical imagination. There’s dense lore here, with all sorts of places and people that are possibly pulled from Celtic myths, French legends, Breton lais, German traditions, or that are products of more recent invention. The twelfth century was a pivotal time for Arthurian legends — a time of enormous growth, invention, evolution, and dissemination. This translation includes an extensive set of notes compiled by three scholars who studied the poem, starting in the early twentieth century. One of the scholars, long deceased, believed almost all of the Lancelot myth was derived from Celtic sources, and the current translator, Thomas Kerry, disagrees, at least over many of the details. He still includes the notes from the former, and they make for an incredible, encyclopedic collection of lengthy insights and asides and backgrounds to almost every significant aspect of this tale. The introduction and notes combined take up more pages than the story. So we get a great Arthurian saga, and a great scholarly study and breakdown of the epic’s cultural ingredients. There is no main plot in this saga, just a series of straight forward adventures that, though they may not seem related at first, tie together in the end. This sequence of events illustrates Lanzelet’s character and heroic capacity, his magnificence, his chivalry, how he makes a name for himself, and his incredible luck with the ladies. These events stitch together seamlessly as uninterrupted episodes, eventually involving King Arthur and his most legendary knights: Walwein (Gawain), Erec, Kay, Iwen, Tristant, and even Arthur’s rarely seen son. Along the way Lanzelet proves himself capable of the mightiest deeds against the worst odds. There are a few recurring ideas seen in these adventures, like Lanzelet becoming lord of a realm after defeating a cruel lord and winning the heart of his daughter or niece, and later in the saga, a series of captures and rescues. I’ll talk about a few that represent the bulk of his questing, since they are a stark contrast to the Lancelot story of Chrétien. Lanzelet is taken away as a baby by a lady of mist, a mermaid from the land of maidens. His father, King Pant is killed by the uprising of his abused peasantry, which his mother barely escapes long enough to let her child be rescued. The Land of Maidens is a place noticeably inspired by the Celtic Otherworld. Here it is a land of water, hence Lanzelet being known as Lancelot du Lac, or Lancelot of the Lake. The boy is raised here with the greatest care and develops high character. The maidens teach him manners and music, the mermen teach him to defend himself in combat, and to hone all manner of physical, athletic abilities. This is part of a mythic tradition of warriors being trained by a “foster mother”, like Cuchulain, trained by the warrior woman Scathach, Achilles raised by the women of the island Scyros, and Tristan, also of Arthurian fame. Lanzelet sets out for adventure, not knowing his own name, but wishing to prove his valor and honor. His courtly manners often give him an advantage, like on his first adventure at the castle of lord Galagandreiz of Moreiz. Lanzelet’s manners aren’t quite perfect, because he has sex with the lord’s daughter after the other adventurers turn down her seductions, enflaming the wrath of the lord who he ultimately kills. Lanzelet becomes lord of this castle and soon sets off for more fame. He comes to another castle and is attacked by its men, slays most of them in gruesome combat, then is rescued by Ada, the niece of the castle’s lord, Linier of Limors. Linier is filled with rage at the deaths Lanzelet has caused and puts Lanzelet through a series of trials against giants and lions, finally fighting Lanzelet himself, only to fall at the nameless youth’s hand. Ada is in love with the young Lanzelet and nurses his wounds. Like before, Lanzelet is now lord of another castle through killing its previous lord and winning the heart of the lord's woman kin. At a tournament, shortly after an exhaustive combat with Walwein, he defeats Kay, Iwein, another of Arthur’s knights, and battles Erec until they are interrupted. As in Chrétien’s Cliges, Lanzelet dons a new armor each day, of a different color, achieving victory over all the knights and capturing many. Later he sets off with his lady and her brother until they come to Shatel de Mort, a castle protected by magic, turning Lanzelet into a coward. Once again he is captive in a distant castle, by lord Mabuz. On the promise of freedom he is sent to stop arsonists from burning lord Mabuz’s villages. The arsonists are men from Behforet, the Beautiful Wood. They are the soldiers of Lord Iweret. Summoning this lord follows a similar ritual to the one seen in Iwein. Here Lanzelet must strike a bronze cymbal hanging from a tree over a spring, and the lord will show up to kill him. Iweret murders all who strike the cymbal. He is reported to have the most beautiful daughter, Iblis. It seems a pattern is emerging in Lanzelet’s life. Iweret has been made strong by the magical healing fruit of the Beautiful Wood. His castle is called Dodone, and it’s lavishly decorated and constructed of various exotic things: crystal, coral, onyx, jasper, sapphires, emeralds, rubies, gold, sardonyxes, amethysts, etc… Lanzelet defeats Iweret, decapitating him, and takes his daughter with whom he has fallen in love. When he later learns his identity as Lanzelet, he also discovers he is Arthur’s nephew. This also makes him Erec’s and Walwein’s cousin. There is an episode of small similarity to the Lancelot story Chrétien tells, with Ginover’s (Guinevere) capture. Almost every other detail of the story is different. A lord named Valerin claims queen Ginover’s hand and says Arthur robbed him of her when she was in the spring of her youth. Lanzelet fights him for the queen’s honor, and of course defeats him. Is the adventure already over? It may seem like it, but this is merely a side quest, a diversion. It is the beginning of a sequence of rescues, requiring all the might of Arthur’s greatest men. Lanzelet leaves and comes upon yet another castle. This one has shields hanging over its walls. Lanzelet fights a hundred knights in sequence, and as the victor is forced to marry the queen, being dubbed the manliest of men. Despite his heart belonging to Iblis, he is forced into adultery by this queen. She keeps him as a peaceful prisoner, not in a jail but walking freely around the castle, without weapons, with bodyguards, safe from harm. Arthur’s four best knights, Gawain, Erec, Tristan, and Karyet go to rescue him. As they’re riding away with him, after much daring and danger, they learn Ginover has been kidnapped by Valerin. Here enters a figure much like Merlin, a wizard of the Misty Lake named Malduc. This sorcerer helps Arthur, for a price. He puts all of Valerin’s people to sleep, opening them for the slaughter by Arthur’s men. With the help of Malduc, Arthur’s son Loüt, and Diodine the Wild Man, Ginover is rescued. Malduc’s agreement was that Erec and Walwein, who in the past killed his father and brother, hand themselves over as prisoners. This they do, as their honor is peerless in all kingdoms. Malduc tortures them and starves them, and here we have yet another rescue to attempt. Lanzelet returns the favor and leads a massive rescue attempt at Malduc’s mysterious tower. Only with the help of his daughter are they able to find him. She alone is saved from the slaughter, while the knights, along with a giant named Eseält who caries men easily over rivers and castle walls, lay waste to the wizard’s fortress. It’s a bloodbath. There are many other adventures to be had. The kissing of a dragon who turns into a woman. There is the strange Mantle Test which apparently is an Arthurian tradition beginning in Welsh literature. The details of it imply that Ginover’s infidelity with Lanzelet as seen in Chrétien’s Lancelot story does not exist here, except maybe in thought. Then there is Lanzelet’s return to the kingdom of his birth, Genewis, and the return to Iblis’s kingdom, Dodone, both of which he rules as a benevolent, generous, compassionate king. The German Lanzelet translation from French by Ulrich was made sometime around 1194. This was after Hartmann had popularized Arthurian legends in Germany, so there was big demand for Ulrich’s work. Today it isn’t as well known as Chrétien’s works or Hartmann’s adaptations, but it should be. It’s excellent. Like most English translations of Middle High German poetry, this one is in prose. Its medieval characteristics ring loudly throughout the writing, in his use of antiquarian terms, the vocabulary of medieval epic, folk wisdom, lofty allusions to French courtly romance. Lanzelet’s adventures can be interpreted a number of ways, and there are about a dozen different theories on the primary theme of this tale. I can’t offer any educated insight, but my thoughts are that these adventures serve multiple purposes: to illustrate the growth and arc of Lanzelet from a nameless, joyful youth, to a hero whose conquests embolden him, to a man who knows his heritage and who claims his kingship. They also seem to have secondary, even tertiary purposes of illustrating to the twelfth century German audience the virtues and values of the chivalrous nobility, and to show the exemplary qualities of the ideal knight and king. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Apr 2023
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Apr 09, 2023
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Apr 01, 2023
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Paperback
| ||||||||||||||
| 0803244045
| 9780803244047
| 0803244045
| 3.52
| 500
| 1203
| Jan 01, 1979
|
really liked it
|
Hartmann’s final known work was another adaptation of one of Chrétien de Troyes’ Arthurian epics. This time it is Iwein, the Knight with the Lion. Unl
Hartmann’s final known work was another adaptation of one of Chrétien de Troyes’ Arthurian epics. This time it is Iwein, the Knight with the Lion. Unlike his adaptation of Erec, this one seems more of a straight translation with little if any new content, but some apparent alterations. He follows his earlier practice of toning down the violence and intensity of battle, and emphasizing knightly virtues. He streamlines some of the story, skipping over details, hurrying certain scenes, and stripping it of some of its magic and charm. It still has a glorious poetic rhythm, a grand sense of adventure and chivalry, and a fast moving plot that shows the dynamic arc of Iwein’s saga. It is the journey from a knight setting out to avenge his cousin, to becoming the lord of a realm, then losing everything and setting out on a series of conquests and battles and service to those in need before reclaiming his love, his joy, and his glory. It is still a fantastic story told artfully. It is sometimes hard to tell, with translations, where the author ends and the translator begins. This is the third work of Hartmann Von Aue I’ve read, and each was by a different translator. I think now I can see through each translation to Hartmann’s voice and style, but this may be an illusion. The commonalities in all should reveal the true author, and Hartmann was evidently a master of his poetry. Iwein’s story is an interesting contrast to Erec’s. Erec achieves honor and renown and a wife, and through excessive devotion to his wife his reputation is lost, his fame lessened, and he is seen as a has-been whose best days are past. He wants to reclaim this lost glory and so sets forth, with his wife, on a sequence of adventures that re-establish his fame. Iwein’s tale begins similarly, winning a wife through heroic deeds. In this case, he defeats a knight who is guardian of a land that is dramatically affected by the wetting of a stone over a spring. In defeating this knight, Iwein marries the widow and becomes lord of the land. Sir Gawain advises Iwein not to let marriage and love soften him and rob him of the life of glory and adventure that is his, and so Iwein travels with King Arthur’s men to participate in tournaments in distant countries. But he stays too long, enraging his wife, who casts him out upon his return, banishing him from her land and her love. He has lost everything and goes mad, living in the woods as a wild man. Erec lost his honor by being too devoted to love and avoiding adventure, and Iwein lost his love and lands by being too devoted to maintaining his honor. Both lose something through an imbalance of priorities and attention, and both seek to correct this and achieve mastery, moderation, and of course valor and mighty deeds. Iwein’s madness is treated and he sets out as a new man, one with nothing to lose, questing and adventuring and aiding those in need. This questing has him facing off against a dragon and befriending a lion, who will stay by his side through all his tribulations. He battles bastard counts, defends the honor of a prisoner who had once helped him achieve all the happiness he has lost, and defends the rights of those unable to fight for themselves. While pursing one quest he often finds himself pulled into another, and time becomes a precious thing he has too little of. In his side quests he encounters murderous giants on more than one occasion, or frees imprisoned women from a distant land forced into labor. His exploration has him meeting people in all sorts of circumstances, some which he can address and others he cannot. Through aiding others he establishes a reputation as a nameless knight, the Knight with the Lion, whose deeds are known far and wide. Familiar Arthurian motifs abound here. Anonymous combat between warriors who think they are strangers but are not; healing ointments concocted by the now-dead sorceress sister of Arthur, Feimorgan; love and hate and other polarizing emotions dueling it out in the hearts of impassioned individuals, pulling them in opposite directions; the pangs of loss and the joys of fame; nature’s furious, untamable, and unknowable power; a boundless sense of adventure for the sake of adventure, but also for the betterment of the self and one’s lot. Hartmann von Aue transformed Middle High German literature into a unique, mythical form. Arthurian lore gave him a subject to share with a new audience and to adapt in his own way, focusing on the things he valued most. It is thought he was himself a knight, a warrior-poet, a participant in the Crusades. His experience certainly seems to have colored his writing. His reading also colored his writing, as he took influence from literature spawned all across the continent. Though his Arthurian works are derived from French and Welsh source material, he gives them qualities that are a signature of his world and interests. Even through a translation almost 900 years later, authenticity and medieval mystery remains. If one has read Chrétien’s version of this story, Hartmann’s isn’t vital, or quite as great. But it’s still worth reading for anyone interested in this body of literature and its evolutions, transformations, and adaptations. ...more |
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Mar 31, 2023
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Mar 29, 2023
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Hardcover
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| 0976087308
| 9780976087304
| 0976087308
| 3.34
| 557
| 1180
| 2004
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really liked it
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It was through the adaptation and “translation” of a British work (though composed in Latin) that Arthurian legend was brought to and popularized in F
It was through the adaptation and “translation” of a British work (though composed in Latin) that Arthurian legend was brought to and popularized in France. This of course was Wace’s Norman adaption of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britannaie in 1155. This sparked a series of French authors to take up Arthurian lore, in Beroul, Marie de France, Chrétien de Troyes, and Robert de Boron. So it is fitting then that it was through adaptation and “translation” of this French evolution of Arthurian legends that the Arthurian literature was brought to and popularized in Germany. Hartmann Von Aue’s 1180 adaptation of Chrétien’s Erec and later of Ivain brought the legends to German audiences, who apparently spent the next century adoring everything Arthurian. Like Wace’s import decades earlier, Hartmann’s inspired a series of German writers to take up Arthurian lore: Ulrich Von Zatzikhoven, Wolfram von Eschenbach, Gottfried von Strasbourg, and Der Stricker. Hartmann’s Erec obviously owes much to Chrétien’s Erec and Enide, which he alludes to more than once in his poem, and also to the Welsh Gereint and Enid. The same basic story and characters and events are in his version. Erec wins his wife’s hand through acts of valor in avenging the violence of a dwarf in the service of a knight. After they are married Erec sets aside adventuring to remain forever at his lover’s side. This tarnishes his honor, and Enide reveals to him the shame she feels for his newly ruined reputation. Bitterly, he sets forth to find high adventure and reclaim his honor, and drags her along for the ride. His treatment of Enide transforms into a venomous cruelty, and over the course of the story he achieves moderation in his emotions, a changed perspective, a view of his proper place and temperament. Erec’s adventures here are the same as they are in the other versions of the tale. There are encounters with forest robbers, lustful counts, terrible giants, ladies and knights in distress, life threatening injuries, courageous deeds, and the climax in the mysterious Joy of the Court. There is copious atmosphere and meticulous description of the beauty, intricacy, and glory of things. Hartmann makes excellent turns of phrase in describing knightly strength and courage, or a woman’s beauty or disposition, or a castle’s fortifications, or the luxuriant designs within a lord’s manner or upon a saddle or in a room’s furnishings. His poetry, turned here into prose, is still alive in translation. He becomes transfixed with the virtuous aspects of a person, or a villain’s cruelty, or an object of awesome power or magic. His narrator takes on an engaging persona, having feigned conversations with the audience, or interjecting his musings on the substance of the story. Even his digressions into things as seemingly mundane as the elaborate designs on a saddle become multidimensional explorations of a storyteller’s engagement with his audience, from which he makes even further and more amusing digressions. The story is, like Chrétien’s, ornamented in mystical Christian imagery and mythos, but with a sense of worldly, courtly ethics that supplants any notion of being a religiously oriented story. There is a fluctuation of mood and feeling throughout the story, starting with Erec’s embarrassment, then raised spirits after his victory and marriage, then a return to grief in his shame. This begins a long sequence of mourning for Enite, as she suffers along the course of their adventure. The contrasting glory and joy that ends the story brings it to about the highest note possible. But between these points they encounter much hardship, meet others who are experiencing their own tragedies and nightmares, and still they march forward. Enite’s lamentations when she thinks Erec has died take on a hysterical, suicidal, amplified mourning that was not present in Chrétien’s telling. However, her inner monologue of lamentation while being dragged on this grueling journey that revealed such a depth in Chrétien’s version is absent here. A few other contrasts are worth noting. Hartmann replaces Chrétien’s financial metaphors in the early battle between Erec and Iders with dice and board game metaphors. They’re a little less well placed but serve to illustrate the nature of their battle in an amusing way. He leaves out much of the explicit violence and gore in Erec’s many battles, lessening their intensity, also shortening some of them so as to be almost not worth mentioning. Only the final battle against the Red Knight Mabonagrin possesses most of the intensity and excitement seen in the French version, but still with less severe violence. Hartmann’s depiction of the Joy of the Court strips it almost entirely of the air of mystery it was given in Chrétien’s telling, but it still bleeds with the doom and ominous danger that it has had ever since it appeared in the Mabinogion, with heads of fallen knights placed on stakes around the garden to warn would-be adventures of their fate. Although he cuts some from his telling, Hartmann also adds plenty of his own material and style. One of the most notable additions is his fleshing out of Arthur’s sister, Morgan, mentioned briefly in other stories as possessing magical abilities. Hartmann, naming her Famurgan and claiming her to be dead, expands her story, and describes her powers of sorcery: she is said to have been a goddess, she could teleport, fly, walk on water, breath underneath it, could bathe in flame, transform men into animals, had control of demons, was in league with Satan, and could call down dragons from the skies. So too had she mastered the handling and use of all herbs, making her an unrivaled healer. And so her magical bandages of healing are used to bring Erec back from the brink of death after he has almost died of wounds in his combat with the short lord Guivreiz. It is an excellent tale, a strange and beautiful Arthurian epic that, like the others, barely features Arthur at all except as the aged and esteemed king. The world in which this is set, a medieval, but enchanted and mystical, dangerous Britain is realized fully in Hartmann’s story, as it was in Chrétien’s. Though they are different in character and detail, their similarities are so numerous that they solidify aspects of this legend into a shape that is immortal, timeless. ...more |
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Mar 19, 2023
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| 4.25
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| Aug 08, 1931
| 1959
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really liked it
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This book is comprised of two full medieval German epics, each about the peasantry of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries instead of legendary heroes
This book is comprised of two full medieval German epics, each about the peasantry of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries instead of legendary heroes from earlier ages. For this reason they’re uniquely interesting, providing cultural insight and realistic descriptions of social conditions during the times. The translations, introduction, and notes were originally published by Clair Hayden Bell in 1931. The translations preserve the rhymed couplets that the original poems were written in, while attempting to preserve also the general meaning and character. They possess the epic narrative structure of other medieval epics, despite their subject matter being more grounded in realism and the dramatic lives of regular people. The first poem is Meier Helmbrecht, by the poet Wernher der Gartenaere in 1250, and tells of a morally destitute peasant boy named Helmbrecht (as his father and grandfather were named) who is disgusted with the farm work his family performs and who seeks a life of danger and adventure. He joins the band of a robber knight after regaling his family with his ambitions and hopes for plunder and violence and wealth. The family loves him and foresees the danger he will put himself in, bemoans his fate, and yet his mother and sister do what they can to outfit him and provide him all he will need as a knight. The boy’s clothing is described carefully and elegantly in the opening stanzas, showing him wearing a hood decorated in the scenes of heroic epics like the Song of Roland and with the companions of Dietrich von Bern, legends that have filled the boy’s head with dreams of knighthood and battle. Disapproving of this romanticism and his lack of understanding for his lot in society, his father attempts to convince the boy to change his mind and to find meaning and satisfaction in honest work. The boy mocks his family and the psychology of this tension and the conflicting hopes of the boy and his family adds layers to the story that the poetry illuminates brilliantly. The boy and the knight’s bandits ransack the lands far and wide, and young Helmbrecht sees himself now as a far traveling, cultured knight. He returns home to boast of his deeds and crimes, seemingly a changed man, speaking foreign tongues and showing off his wealth, and once more fighting with his loved ones. His father once more tries to talk him out of his lifestyle, sharing with him the terrible dreams he’s had concerning the boy’s fate, horrendous mutilation and pain and death fills these dreams that he imagines will strike fear into his son but do little to dissuade him. After arranging a marriage between his sister and a colleague, many of his fellow thieves are caught and executed, and his own fate soon comes about. It’s a fantastic epic, colorfully descriptive, psychological, relatable, emotional, dynamic, and dramatic. It portrays a few familiar themes but with distinct cultural and social characteristics from medieval Germany. Making its story even more compelling than it already is, it contains many elements of historical interest, like the examination of knighthood, peasantry, duty, religion, wealth, one’s ordained place in such a society, the customs and foods and clothing that defined this place and time, as well as a look at the decay of chivalry. The second epic is the older of the two, written sometime in the 1190s by famed poet Hartmann von Aue, entitled Der arme Heinrich. This poem deals with the honorable, good natured, humble and benevolent and esteemed nobleman Herr Heinrich, landowner and lord of Ouwe, who becomes deformed and sickened by leprosy, to the point he hides himself away in shame. He seeks out treatment and cures from across the lands but is told nothing can be done unless a willing virgin girl sacrifices her blood straight from the heart for his cure. In other words, she gives her life for his. Unlike other tales that might have had a similar premise, Heinrich takes this to mean a cure is impossible and he refuses to explore it as an option. One of the families who work his land take him in and take care of him, and like all the peasants in his lands, they adore him and pity him in his sorry state. They fear that his death will bring in a cruel or selfish landowner to bring terror on them, so they wish him well. The young daughter in the family becomes particularly smitten with the lord and never leaves his side, taking care of his every need. When it is learned what the doctors have prescribed she chooses to sacrifice her life in order to save Heinrich, but he and her parents will hear nothing of it. The tale unfolds into a reflection on sacrifice and life and death, as well as love and the relationship between lords and their peasants. When the young girl is able to convince everyone that her wishes be honored and she be allowed to die for the lord, also ensuring herself an elevated place in heaven, she is granted her wish and taken to the doctors who will stab her through the heart and use her blood to attempt to heal Herr Heinrich. She feels no fear or has no second thoughts as she is told what this will entail. Even as she is stripped naked and strapped down and the implements prepared her courage and resolution keep her unaffected. Heinrich, finally, is unable to let her go through with it and has her freed. In returning to his lands with her, his leprosy mysteriously disappears and he is healed without the girl’s blood. In the end, they are married, and things go exceedingly well for them both. This too was a very good epic, a completely different look at the world and society of the Middle High German era and region than what I am familiar with. It offers a glimpse at the more interior aspects of human life in this time, and at the factors religion and social roles played. Like Meier Helmbrecht, its poetic feel is very strong and musical, giving it that moving, floating, highly artful epic character that makes all its little parts seem more captivating and mesmerizing. By contrast, its tone is melancholy until the uplifting and happy end, where Meier Helmbrecht was jovial and amusing and reflective, through to its doomed final scenes. ...more |
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| 3.83
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| 1987
| 1987
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it was amazing
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Kudrun is another grand German heroic epic, a fantastic saga of the family of Kudrun, her kingdom, her vassals, and of the violence, warfare, politics
Kudrun is another grand German heroic epic, a fantastic saga of the family of Kudrun, her kingdom, her vassals, and of the violence, warfare, politics, and customs of medieval Germany. It is often compared to the Nibelungenlied, and there are certain parallels and anti-parallels that make comparing and contrasting very interesting. Despite some similarities, the two epics have no overlap in their people, kingdoms, or events. In fact, the scholars who study Kudrun seem to have trouble placing certain realms in the story in historical/geographical context, raising the question of whether some lands are products of imagination, or unknown names for places lost to history. Regardless, the epic takes place across Europe, predominately northern Europe, in Ireland, Germany, the kingdom of the Normans, and a few other lands. It is thought to have been first written down around 1250, and comes from the same oral-poetic tradition that the Nibelungenlied and Dietrich von Bern sagas come from, having been transmitted orally long before it was put to paper. This is a prose translation of the poem, and retains much of the poetic feel, the heroic and epic medieval sensibilities, the same grandeur and might that was conveyed through the poems. Like with other epics of this sort, it has certain inconsistencies and ambiguities that are a product of multiple people telling the stories over the generations, and perhaps also caused by the scribes using conflicting sources when it was written. It begins in Ireland, telling of Ger, King of Ireland, his son Sigebant, and then the birth of Sigebant's son, Hagen (no relation to the Hagen of the Nibelungenlied). It then tells of Hagen's being carried off by a griffin as a young boy. It starts out fantastical and strong, already throwing us into adventure and danger and showing us the immensity of Hagen's power even as a youth, in his daring conquest of the griffins, rescuing of the maidens held captive by them, and his ability to survive in the wilds. He later slays a dragon, drinks its blood, and gains tremendous strength and insight. This contrasts with Sigfrid drinking the blood of the dragon and learning the speech of birds, and becoming invulnerable after smearing it all over his body. These early parts, and a brief scene years later in which a bird speaks to Kudrun, and is said to be an angel in disguise, are the only moments when there's an explicit element of fantasy, and the tale is generally more grounded in reality, albeit a huge and violent and heroic version of reality. In these early parts, Hagen's character is developed, his powerful fortitude and mind, his heroic abilities and his escape by ship, his return to his kingdom with the ladies, and his taking the throne as King of Ireland are the central focus. All proper sagas start a few generations before the main narrative, and Kudrun is no exception. Hagen marries Hilde, one of the women he rescued, a princess of India, and they have a daughter who is also named Hilde. Here begins the theme that is to recur later, with many young noblemen from across the lands hearing of the younger Hilde's beauty and wishing to have her as their bride. Hagen, though, will tolerate none of this, and he has every suitor executed either by his own hand or some other way. A royal man named Hetel, in faraway Germany, hears of her beauty and wishes to have her become his queen. To make a long and incredible story short and much less incredible, I'll cut to the chase: Hetel has his men kidnap Hilde through a clever and elaborate ruse in which they first gain Hagen's trust and friendship, and then pull her away on their ships. But powerful Hagen gives chase not only with his thousands of warriors, but he himself goes in pursuit. Thus entails one of the first of many epic battles and drawn out bouts of warfare and ultraviolence. I won't give everything away, but eventually peace is found through strength, and Hetel and Hilde are wed, Hagen accepts Hetel as his son-in-law and the worthy husband of his daughter, and their kingdoms resolve their conflicts. Hetel and Hilde have children, one of whom is their daugther Kudrun. Hetel exercises a similar brutal watch over his daughter that Hagen did, and once more, to cut to the chase, after many brave lords fight for her hand, valorous Herwic, Lord, Prince, and/or King of Zeeland, wins her hand by force, after long combat. But he returns to his kingdom before they can wed, his kingdom is then attacked by the Moors in retaliation for taking the bride that Sifrit, King of the Moors, wanted for himself. So Hetel once more gathers his allies, this time to aid Herwic in the defense of his kingdom. While he is away, the Norman king moves in to kidnap Kudrun. Ludewic and Hartmuot the Normans assault Hetel's land of the Hegelings, slay Hetel in the process, and eventually succeed in kidnapping Kudrun. This is now the focus of the rest of the story -- Kudrun's misfortune and mistreatment in the land of the Normans, and the various lords' plot to rescue her and to exact vengeance for the killing of King Hetel and so many Hegelings and other warriors. It is worth mentioning that, like the other German epics and many medieval sagas in general, this one contains a powerful cast of warriors, each of whom seem to embody certain qualities and attitudes, or at least distinct characteristics that make them chivalrous, important, and honorable. Early on we are introduced to Wate the Old, lord of Stormarn, who is a kinsman of Hetel, and who, despite the long number of years over which this saga spans, remains the most formidable, powerful, and feared of all warriors. There is Fruote of Denmark, a friend of Wate and relative of Hetel, often the one offering the most wise and thoughtful advice for how to proceed in difficult circumstances, but also a remarkable warrior. We see Horant, Lord of Denmark, a cousin of Hetel, an accomplished warrior and talented singer, whose singing aids in the kidnapping of Hilde from Ireland, earlier in the story. There is Irolt and Morunc, lords associated with Northland, Waleis, Nifland, and Frisia. There's Ortwin, king of Northland, and the son of Hetel and Hilde II, brother of Kudrun. There is Sifrit, King of the Moors and Herwic, King of Zeeland, both whom I've mentioned. Ludewic and Hartmuot of the Normans, also mentioned above. Women, too, play a significant part in the saga of Kudrun, with Kudrun herself being the prime mover of peace and tranquility. But also there is Gerlint, the queen of the Normans, who makes Kudrun's life unbearable, and Ortrun, daughter of Gerlint, who befriends Kudrun and tries to alleviate some of her troubles. There is Hildeburc, one of Kudrun's loyal maidens, and who was princess of Portugal, and was among the ladies rescued by Hagen decades earlier. And there is Heregart, another of Kudrun's ladies, who is later murdered by decapitation for her disloyalty. The fierceness of battle is a common thing in this saga, and the savagery, the death, the blood spilling, the decapitations litter the pages. Each battle serves a purpose, pushes the story forward while providing a vicious account of wrath and bloodshed and the deeds of the warriors. Even the Nibelungenlied and the Saga of Dietrich von Bern might not have had as much death and destruction as Kudrun, but it's hard to say for sure. All are amazing and unique, and yet share common elements that make them unquestionably part of a common body of legend and myth and tradition. In contrast to this recurring and entertaining violence, something else that's important here is the look at medieval customs and cultures, with the dynamics of chivalry and honor and behavior, as well as the sharing of wealth from lords to their vassals and warriors. The complexity of political motivations are very present, and it becomes clear just how significant marriage was as a peace-keeping move, or how important it was to unite kingdoms after violent conflict, how loyalties were paid, how they shifted with power imbalances, how men and families were rewarded for acts of valor or death. Unlike in the Nibelungenlied, which also examines many of these elements of medieval German culture, Kudrun moves through the violence and death and destruction and ends on notes of hope and peace and prosperity for all, even for those who were once the aggressors. While Kudrun could have been as bloodthirsty and vicious as Kriemhild, the vengeful conspirator of the Nibelungenlied, and maybe even could have been justified in doing so, she instead brings about peace through her sharp understanding of kingdom-to-kingdom politics and human ambitions, aided by her compassion and good will, and her desire to see everyone happy and well. It is a story that has all the depth and adventure and violence and historic interest and epicness that I've come to expect from these heroic legends, with certain common themes and motifs that are thrilling to experience each time. But it also contains a lot that I haven't seen before, taking a different angle on some of the things that make these epics and myths so timeless and unforgettable. ...more |
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May 26, 2021
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May 31, 2021
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May 26, 2021
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| 4.07
| 44
| Jan 01, 1995
| 1995
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really liked it
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This collection isn’t what I thought it would be. Overall it is still a great book because it includes a complete verse translation of the Nibelungenl
This collection isn’t what I thought it would be. Overall it is still a great book because it includes a complete verse translation of the Nibelungenlied, preserving the meter and rhyme, as well as most of the meaning and style. It loses some of its narrative and descriptive power and a bit of its medieval feel in this translation, but there simply is no way to do a perfect or near perfect rendering of a medieval work in a different language, especially a poem. I won’t be sharing my thoughts on the Nibelungenlied here since I have done that elsewhere. It is an incredible, landmark piece of literature. My disappointment comes from the incompleteness of the rest of the book’s contents. I bought this because it contains, or was purported to contain, some of the most significant works in the Dietrich von Bern epic cycle, like the two Hildebrandslieds, Rabenschlacht, Biterolf und Dietleib, and Rosengarten. Tracking down English translations of these works still in print and available for purchase under a few hundred dollars is a seemingly impossible task. So I thought I’d hit the jackpot in finding all these works together, which the brief descriptions given online indicate are featured here. Only the Hildebrandslied works are complete, and this is because they are short. The other three are included here only in fragments, which no description anywhere states. These fragments are translated into prose, and a fine job was done with them, showing the scope of the character and essence of these works. Unfortunately what is here makes up something like 10% of the full version of each. These fragments, despite not being sizable portions of the full work, are each enjoyable and wonderful glimpses at the content and character of the fuller epics. Since the Nibelungenlied is available in many other places, it would have made more more sense in my mind to exclude it from this collection and to instead print the full versions of each epic. The notes and introductions are informative and competent, offering insights and context and explanation, but sometimes, except for the case of the Nibelungenlied, this scholarly input is longer than or as long as the actual work being shared, making the German Epic to Scholarly Notes ratio far too low for any serious reader’s liking. The two complete works, the Older Lay of Hildebrand and the Younger Lay of Hildebrand, are narrative poems that convey an encounter between Hildebrand and his son, named Hadubrand in the older manuscript, Alebrand in the newer, and their exchange of words and combat, in their failure to recognize one another. A variation on this scene is present in the Thidrekssaga, with the back story that Dietrich is returning to Bern to reclaim his kingdom after Ermenrich has passed and left Hildebrand’s son as ruler. In the older Hildebrand lay, no back story is offered and we don’t know why father and son are confronting one another. The tone and treatment of this conflict is different between both poems, with the former having been written prior to 850 AD, during the times of valor of chivalry and honor and steeped in the warrior ethics these epics deal with. The newer poem was written six centuries later, and its tone is less dramatic, more cheerful, and presents us with some context and background, showing Dietrich and his men returning to Bern, but without stating why. The contrasts between these two lays is interesting in how they represent the shifting attitudes of the German audiences over the centuries, and how a tragic encounter between father and son can be altered in style and substance for the changing tastes and social norms. The Battle of Ravenna (Rabenschlacht) is the first of the incomplete poems. We are treated only to some scenes from its beginning, middle, and end, with a lot missing in between. This poem is translated into prose, and tells of Dietrich’s attempts to go win back his kingdom from Ermenrich. Etzel’s sons wish to go along, and their mother earnestly begs them to stay for she predicts their demise. Eventually Etzel and their mother allow them to go as long as Dietrich and his brother watch over them. This episode is also present in Thidrekssaga, but without as much attention given to the lamentations of their mother or their back and forths as they attempt to win permission. We later see these sons, Scharpf and Ort, getting lost along with Elsan, their guard, and Diether, Dietrich’s brother, and running into the magnificent warrior Widege (Wideke in the Norse versions). They are slain, and later Dietrich is crushed at finding them bloody and dead, and stands off against Widege in brutal combat that ends in a draw, but with the suggestion that with Dietrich’s rage now causing him to spit fire and bleed from his eyes, he might very well have slain Widege if their battle had not been drawn to a premature close. The parts of this epic that are featured here are excellent, brilliantly conveying the drama, the human emotion and fierceness tied to these events, and describing the tension of battle that we know is doomed to end in tragedy. The rage of vengeance is portrayed very well, and the lack of true closure makes it all the more intense. Biterolf and Dietlieb is the next poem, which is supposed to be an epic telling of this father and son warrior pair in their service to king Etzel. However, the excerpts shared in this collection barely mention either of these men, and instead presents a part of the poem dealing with sort of impromptu tournament in which Dietrich and his men are participating against the Burgundians: Ermenrich’s men and Sigfrid. Dietlieb has been attacked by the Burgundians and Dietrich gathers his men to march against them in revenge. When no battle occurs, the men lose patience and decide to draw up a truce so that both sides may compete against one another in a tournament. Most of this fragment shows the grandness of the tournament and the warriors who participate in it, offering commentary by the poet, descriptions of their gear and their qualities as warriors, with a minor drama running through everything as the men reflect on honor and courage what is to be gained from victory in these matches. Real battle eventually ensues and one of Dietrich’s men, Wolfhart, is taken prisoner. This excerpt presents a violent snapshot of valorous warriors in their prime, and it would be great to have the entire thing here. The final epic in the collection is the Rose Garden, which also centers on a tournament between Dietrich’s men and Sigfrid’s men. The excerpt here starts after Dietrich’s warriors have defeated all of Sigfrid’s warriors, and Dietrich’s men are now attempting to convince Dietrich to engage Sigfrid in single combat, with appeals to his honor and the worthiness of his deeds. Dietrich is wise and knows of Sigfrid’s “horn skin”, his invincibility from bathing in the blood of the dragon. He scolds his men for trying to convince him to go to a battle that will surely be his death, while his men slander Sigfrid and argue that his pride and his character demand that Dietrich stand up against him. Combat between these two ferocious warriors soon ensues, and carries on through much hacking and slashing and brutality. Sigfrid’s skin makes him unbeatable, so Hildebrand and Wolfhart devise a plan to make Dietrich angry so that he will fight with renewed power. Flame once more blows from his mouth and in his violent rage he inflicted serious wounds on Sigfrid, winning the competition. Like the rest, the excerpt shows that this is a fantastic piece of work and an important part of Dietrich’s legend. The sensationalism, the humor, the violence, the sense of time and place, the display of custom and drama from ages past makes this yet another story in a larger body of work that is almost as enchanting and stimulating to think about and read about as it is to read. Unfortunately, my quest for these complete works goes on. I hope to find them someday. This is an excellent book if you want a verse translation of one of the greatest epics in literary history. If you want to explore deep into the rest of the Dietrich von Bern cycle, this will only serve as a fragmentary sampler, not a satisfying, complete treatment of heroic epic and legend. ...more |
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not set
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May 22, 2021
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May 22, 2021
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| 4.30
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| 2017
| 1200
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it was amazing
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After reading the Nibelungenlied, Volsungasaga, Poetic Edda, and Prose Edda last Fall, I thought I had completed my incredible adventure into the medi
After reading the Nibelungenlied, Volsungasaga, Poetic Edda, and Prose Edda last Fall, I thought I had completed my incredible adventure into the medieval German/Norse Myths, Epic Poems and Heroic Sagas. I then remembered that the Nibelungenlied briefly introduced another remarkable lord named Dietrich von Bern, who was in exile at Etzel's court, and played a critical role in the bloodbath that culminates between the Nibelungs and Etzel's and Kriemhild's knights. The footnotes mentioned that this was the main hero of another epic heroic cycle, and I remember thinking, "What is this?! Another thrilling body of heroic legends to explore?" And so that is what I did. Unfortunately, tracking down English translations of the heroic sagas about Dietrich von Bern is not easy. I spent weeks trying to find them, and was eventually able to find this recent translation of the Swedish version of the saga that originally came from the German oral tradition. It was written down in German in the 13th century, and then in Norwegian, and later polished up in Swedish. So there's a long and interesting heritage to this saga and the related poems, built over centuries of retellings and the blending of historical characters, like Atilla the Hun, who is known as Etzel in the Nibelungenlied, or Atli in the Volsungasaga and Eddas, and Gothic king Ermenrich, or Gunnar/Gunther, based on real 5th century Burgundian king Gundaharius, or the titular hero himself, Dietrich von Bern, who is a legendary version of the Ostrogothic king Theodoric the Great. The way this saga and its related tales fit into the larger picture of German/Scandinavian hero legend canon is a big, complicated, but endlessly interesting puzzle that adds to the glory and awe of the whole body of work. The Swedish version is known as Thidrekssaga, and it adds to, clarifies, but otherwise leaves mostly unchanged the Germanic and later Norwegian versions. Some parts of the original Swedish manuscript are gone, so the Norwegian manuscript was used to fill in the gaps. Like all proper sagas, it tells not only Didrik/Dietrich's full life, an all-encompassing history of his adventures and battles and fortunes and misfortunes and encounters and heroic deeds, like the loss of his kingdom, his exile, and the regaining of his kingdom, but it tells a pretty thorough history of most of his allies and examines their prowess as warriors or rulers, like Weyland Smith and his son Wideke, and Wildefer, and Heym the Small, and Deitlief the Dane, and Fasholt the Proud, and Attilia, king of the Huns, Hillebrand, and many others whose shields serve as the cover art for this book; and of those who become his enemies, like his uncle King Ermentrik, the Nyfflings who come to Attilia's kingdom, or legendary Sigurd, whom Didrik faces in single combat that extends into days, or Osantrix, the ruthless conqueror who battles Attilia; and of his kingdom, and his ancestors and relatives, and those who at some point cross paths with Dietrich or his companions. Some of the characters or events in Thidrekssaga have smaller epic poems based on them, like the fight between Hillebrand and his son Alebrand, or the poem Biterolf und Dietlieb, which tells of these heroes' service in the court of Attilia/Etzel. Many of these characters have parts in the heroic oral tradition and appear in various works by various bards, , which creates this huge sense of cohesion and continuity between events and character arcs. The tales as they are told here are not always in chronological order, sometimes shifting around to introduce a new thread or character and tie him into the saga. In this world, powerful weapons and armors crafted by master smiths or dwarves serve the heroes faithfully. The attention and description given to these items shows their importance in the legends, constantly reminding the listener or reader how mighty and sharp and deadly these tools of destruction are. There's the sword Eckiasax, which Didrik wins in his defeat of Jarl Ekka. This sword is forged by the same dwarf who forged Nagelring, a mighty sword that also appears in Volsungasaga, or Mymming, a deadly sword that belongs to Wideke and can cut down anyone or anything. And of course there is Gram, the legendary sword of Sigurd, which he uses to kill Fafnir. Despite its fantastical and heroic nature, Thidrekssaga, like the Nibelungenlied and Volsungasaga, is filled with realistic human drama and conflict, turmoil between rulers, jealousy among warriors, vengeance for the fallen, the desire to prove oneself, to outdo others, the drive of competition, insecurity tied to failure, and heavy amounts of hatred, love, kinship, honor, loyalty, dignity, betrayal, powerlust, cannibalism, and far-reaching adventure and mountains of slain bodies and blood. There's a timeless, historic feel to everything in the saga, as though these events really happened, and we are hearing the songs composed to relay them to us. Unlike in modern fiction, human interactions and desires and the way events play out in sagas do not seem orchestrated to hold your hand toward predictable outcomes or predetermined conclusions, or "acceptable" resolutions. Everything from the character quality to the way events unravel has a natural, undesigned element to it, with things sometimes going extremely well, without artificial conflict or drama tossed in for 'story', and other times going exceedingly badly, falling into chaos in ways none would assume. There is so much tension and violence in this setting, and so much social and political complexity that the slightest act can have big, unforeseen consequences. There is serious complexity beneath everything, yet masterfully hidden by the straight-forward narration. This is a prose translation of the medieval poem, and reads clearly and easily, but with the character and manner of medieval speech and phrasing preserved, so that it never feels modern or cleaned up for modern audiences with small attention spans. Because it is translated from old epic poetry, many times the phrasing feels poetic, magnificent, grand, and dramatic, as it should, for it conveys a sprawling saga across distant European lands and the larger than life strength and heroism and feats and personalities of many fantastic characters. We visit a world in which brave and proud men of incredible capabilities, all given family histories and regaling stories of achievement, are pitted against one another, or are allied together, and the destruction they deal to each other or their enemies, with heads frequently being chopped off, limbs sliced, swords cutting all the way through bodies and landing in saddles, bodies cleaved in half, is enormous and colorful. The conflicts that arise in these ancient lands of Northern Europe, and which spread far and wide into Italy and beyond, end in the deaths of thousands, with towering exploits and ultra-violence that sings along the pages with vibrant characterization, and dynamically shifts from carnage to tenderness or joviality, or deeds of valor, or one-on-one combat in the dead of night, with only the sparks from the swords to light the struggle. This heroic cycle includes many familiar scenes with Sigurd, but also shows us events that are only hinted at in the Nibelungenlied, like his slaying of the dragon Fafnir. This scene is detailed in the Volsungasaga, but it occurs differently here, as does his slaying of Regin. Same, though, is Sigurd's ability to understand the speech of birds after consuming the dragon's blood, and his invincibility over all his body where he smears this blood, except for the spot between his shoulder blades he misses, which ultimately is his undoing. But there are other scenes we are treated to with Sigurd that we don't get anywhere else. We see his origins as the son of Sigmund, raised as an orphan, and his childhood as a powerful bully. The Scandinavian versions of these legends give us (a quite different) back story on Sigurd, but the German versions, to my knowledge, do not provide much of Siegfried's childhood or his life before his heroism. Also here we see the raging combat between Sigurd and Didrik that I have not seen anywhere else. This version has Sigurd dying in the way that is consistent with the Nibelungenlied, being stabbed in the back by Hagen, whereas the Volsungasaga and Eddas see him murdered in his sleep. Despite many of the names and cultural references in Thidrekssaga being Norse, it seems to more often follow the German traditions. Dragons and giants and dwarves and sinister magic also feature in this saga, with three giant brothers who reign havoc and terror in the wars they become involved in, and more than one dragon is slain over the span of the saga, with dark magic used to turn wild beasts against an army, and to create an army of dragons. Wars occur often, on a grand scale, and the feats performed by each warrior whether it is hero or villain are given center stage, dramatically illustrated, with deaths and defeats and carnage all around. After Thidrekssaga, another heroic poem of Dietrich's adventures is included in the book, translated into prose, known as the Dwarf King Laurin, or just Laurin, or sometimes The Small Rose Garden. The version translated here is from Danish. In this brief tale, Didrik and Wideke go to the Dwarf King's mountain and destroy his rose garden to see if he will challenge them, and cut off their hands and legs, as Hillebrand says he will. They fight, they destroy, they pillage. Absolutely a splendid work, another timeless epic, fantastical saga, a vivid and captivating narrative of many incredible people and events and conflicts. It is not only an enriching work about medieval legends in Europe, but it is itself a product of the culture and the time, making it fascinating from multiple angles. ...more |
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May 20, 2021
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it was amazing
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Tales of Hoffmann is one of the finest short story collections I’ve had the pleasure of reading. All eight stories here are first rate, unique, enigma
Tales of Hoffmann is one of the finest short story collections I’ve had the pleasure of reading. All eight stories here are first rate, unique, enigmatic, strange, and of high quality with so much going for them I don’t know where to begin or how best to summarize my thoughts. The stories included are: Mademoiselle de Scuddery, The Sandman, The Artushof, Counselor Krespel, The Entail, Doge and Dogaressa, The Mines at Falun, and Choosing of the Bride. Hoffmann’s work was part of early nineteenth century German Romanticism, a significant literary force at the time. But his work also entails heavy Gothic elements, doses of magical realism, haunting fantasy, adventure, surrealism, horror, historical fiction, and sometimes even sharp and absurd humor. His talent for narration and storytelling is outstanding. Each story is its own whole, fully realized and highly developed world, alive and beautiful and almost hypnotic in how poetically put together it is. Despite being shorter than novels, each feels as complete and engaging and as immersive as a novel, somehow lacking nothing that shorter tales can lack, while filled with as much character, story, plot, complexity, brilliant prose, outstanding writing, significant events and surprises as much longer works. The novellas here range from about 30-80 pages, short enough to be read in a sitting, others long enough to stretch into a couple days, giving the mind-stimulating tales time to sink into you and grab hold with their strange developments and whimsical turns and peculiar, wonderful, imaginative character. Each story struck me as a big event, and held onto me for a long time. If I had the time or space I’d give each story its own full review, because each is so good that it deserves the attention and reflection. For now I’ll merely give my thoughts on the collection as a whole. No story is like any other in the collection, although some themes and motifs recur. There are dense psychological aspects to many stories, with a depth that is sometimes surprising. For example, “the Sandman” involves a man driven to madness and ruin by his memories of a bizarre associate of his father’s, and “the Entail” shows the effects of fear of the unknown in a gloomy and desolate old castle partially in ruins. Many tales explore extremes of the emotional spectrum, with a strong presence of love, jealousy, greed, grief, fear, and confusion. Many tales dare beyond the emotions into far more puzzling and interesting things. “The Mines at Falun”, similar to “The Sandman”, shows an individual submerging into the abyss of madness and chaos, in a surreal tale that has no shortage of metaphorical contrasts between life at sea and life in the mines. Given Hoffmann’s interest in music and art, both play an important role in a few tales, like “the Artushof”, in which a young merchant who wishes to be an artist becomes entranced by a mural featuring two figures who he is strangely drawn to, before they appear to him in reality and he finds himself in a strange and magical dreamlike sequence of strange events. “Counselor Krespel” is about an eccentric and mysterious lawyer who becomes preoccupied with violins and taking them apart to learn what makes the really great ones special so that he can construct his own, play them a short time, then hang them up, and whose daughter possesses the most striking and unreal singing voice, paired with a sad secret that causes the obsessive counselor to hide her away from music and young suitors who would make her sing. “Doge and Dogaressa” begins in an art museum, with two gentlemen transfixed by a painting. They are approached by a stranger who tells them the story of those in the painting, the somewhat fictionalized but historical account of the Doge Marino Faliero, and which, in the end, has the men moved to anguish as they reflect on the epic, heroic, dramatic tragedy. In “Choosing of the Bride”, a young painter pursues a girl whose portrait he has painted, but the dark and perplexing characters surrounding him and her father and her father’s coworker who also wants to marry the girl, and a third suitor, make for an involved tale of black magic, trickery, and piercing humor. Another of the many recurring themes is the hint of supernatural, folkloric, mystical, vaguely otherworldly or surreal powers lying just beyond sight, with the strange alchemy and alternating appearances and personalities in “The Sandman” or “Mademoiselle de Scuddery”, or the haunting of “The Entail”, or the apparition of “The Mines at Falun”, or the impossibly long lived troublemakers of “Choosing of the Bride”, or the mysterious pair in the mural of “The Artushof”, or the magic-practicing 'witch-woman' of "Doge and Dogaressa". Mystery plays a vital part in these tales, too, taking many shifting forms, whether it is the brilliantly surprising murder and robbery plot in “Mademoiselle de Scuddery”, which predates Poe’s “Murders in the Rue Morgue” by 22 years, or the question of identity and purpose in “The Sandman”, or “The Artushof”, or the foggy, ancient, ghastly enigmatic saga of many generations in “The Entail”, or the secret of “Counselor Krespel”, the old memories and confused associations in "Doge and Dogaressa", the unsettling recurring miner of “The Mines at Falun”, or the esoteric natures of Leonhard and Lippold in “Choosing of the Bride.” Yet, even with recurring themes or ideas, these tales are all unlike one another, completely their own special creation. They take place in a variety of locations, from Paris to Sweden to Germany to Italy, in forests or cities or castles or villages or mansions or workshops or perhaps unfamiliar and ethereal locales. They are about radically different people in entirely different circumstances, each story progressing unpredictably, with a constantly increasing sense of satisfaction pouring from every sentence. The translators must be commended for an excellent job. Hoffmann’s stories dive into all sorts of ideas and questions and sensations, looking at concepts that transcend the physical or the knowable. He peeks at motivations behind all manner of actions, he takes us to strange places and familiar places and dreamy, forgotten places, ghoulish and ruined places, he penetrates exteriors to get a taste for the insides of his characters and their demons or their appetites or their sufferings. For a glimpse at the diversity of power and ability Hoffmann has, consider that he influenced other 19th century writers like Edgar Allen Poe, Charles Dickens, Franz Kafka, and Nikolai Gogol. As different as these exceptional writers are, I can see what I assume to be the influence of Hoffmann in each: In Poe there is the brooding, Gothic, poetically written atmosphere that sets you exactly where you need to be in just the right tone, the sense of dread and the grotesque mystery and curiosity at the unknown, the antiquarian interest, the immersion into dark, tragic, and obscure things. In Dickens I see the terrific character portraits, the living and enjoyable people populating every part of the story, the emotional conviction and elegance, the consistency of every individual, the recognition of importance each person or place or event brings to the story as a whole, everything being treated as something that exists even beyond the page, making the story greater than the sum of its parts. In Kafka I sense a similar fascination with the absurd and the confusing and the alienation one can feel from the world, and the strange things that occur to one’s mind as they become more deeply entrenched in this separation. In Gogol I see the “four dimensional prose” that I thought only he and Melville were capable of, but that Hoffmann also seems to have evoked, the mindful observations of the peculiar and fascinating things that make the world interesting and captivating, the oddness and idiosyncrasies of human beings and their behaviors and the ideas they get, the dozens of ways to look at concepts and how to twist them inside out for full comprehension, and the fantastically bizarre shapes the human imagination can take. Every story in this collection is a masterwork, a gem worth inspecting closely and carefully and for a long time. I want to find more by the esteemed Mr. Hoffmann. His work deserves a wider audience than it seems to have, especially considering the audiences of some of those who drew inspiration from his one-of-a-kind mind. Poe and Dickens went on to become household names, deservedly so. Even Kafka is a household name to people who don’t know who he is. And Gogol, one of my favorite writers of all time, who although remaining in perhaps equal obscurity as Hoffmann, has at least had his praises sung by such philosopher kings as Dostoevsky. Oh, and Dostoevsky was another wonderful writer who was influenced by Hoffmann. And Richard Wagner was evidently a big fan. And I want to mention he was not only an influence on the people I've listed, but he seems to have given birth to the whole genre of 'weird fiction' by later writers such as H.P. Lovecraft and Clark Ashton Smith. I suspect many fantastic writers of the 19th and 20th centuries may not have found their true powers without the masterful guidance from beyond the heavenly realms of Ernst Theodor Wilhelm/Amadeus Hoffmann. ...more |
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Mar 23, 2021
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Apr 05, 2021
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Mar 23, 2021
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| 3.78
| 23
| 1906
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liked it
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This book is a collection of eight stories by Theodor Storm, spanning about 40 years of his literary activity. Most are short stories, three are novel
This book is a collection of eight stories by Theodor Storm, spanning about 40 years of his literary activity. Most are short stories, three are novellas, all are written in the vein of 19th century German realism, some with a hint of Gothic or dark elements. Its contents are: In The Great Hall, Immensee, A Green Leaf, In the Sunlight, Veronika, In St. Jurgen, Aquis Submersus, and The Rider on the White Horse. I bought this book years ago because The Rider on the White Horse sounded, from the brief description on the back, like it would be a fantastic tale, inspired by German folklore and with a hint of supernatural and tragic elements. So it was the first story I read. It starts with incredible power, with an ominous and gloomy atmosphere, beautifully written, putting us right on the northern shores of Germany during a storm, with heavy waves crashing against the shore, birds swooping low into the mist, and the narrator riding his horse fast across the land. He catches a glimpse of a haunting apparition, a rider on a white horse, racing past him, then turning, and racing past him again before disappearing into an impossible location that no right-minded person would ride into. He comes to a tavern and relates his experience to those inside. A schoolmaster says he'll tell him the story of the rider on the white horse, which seems to be a well known legend around these parts. The schoolmaster then regales the primary narrator with his long-winded story about a young boy named Hauke Hain, who wants to be a dikemaster, and eventually grows up to become one. Unfortunately, this story is not a very good one. It is uneventful, somewhat lifeless, and drawn out with uninteresting snapshots of Hauke's life and mundane existence, all the way from childhood through adulthood, with the tiny dramas that frame his existence, and the sort-of-interesting locals whose lives he makes harder, or who make his life harder. The story plods along and never becomes a story that seems worth telling, finally giving a somewhat dramatic but ultimately anticlimactic explanation of the rider on the white horse's origin. What started out as an enticing and atmospheric tale that looked extremely promising devolved into a mostly uninteresting life story that lacked all of the potency its first few pages suggested. Despite the Rider on the White Horse not being a very good story, and despite this being a translation from the German, it's clear that Theodor Storm had terrific writing ability. His talent for creating scenes with vibrancy and beauty and all manner of evocative imagery and sensations and penetrating insights and life constantly amazed me, even when the story or the plot or the narrative or the other content was not substantial. Fortunately, this power is present in all his stories in the collection. After the Rider on the White Horse, I read the stories from the beginning. And despite a few other lackluster disappointments, like In the Great Hall, there were some very good works here. All the stories share a few similar elements, like a narrative-within-a-narrative, sometimes multiple storytellers within the frame story (In St. Jurgen), or an old man reflecting on a lost love from ages past (Immensee), and each story is sad, sometimes profoundly tragic and dark, involving memories of lost times, missed opportunities, regrets, and death. Three of the stories in this collection are pretty good: A Green Leaf, In St. Jurgen, and the best one of the entire collection, the novella Aquis Submersus, which is great. Common to all the stories is Storm's incredible writing, his artistic, poetic manner of putting together these vivid scenes and character portraits that immerse you in his world of Northern Germany. "A Green Leaf" is some form of allegory, with a mesmerizing but subtle sense of otherworldliness about the girl the soldier meets, who guides him through the woods in a beautiful sequence that somewhat resembles magical realism. "In St. Jurgen" is a gripping, melancholy, reflective story that frames two other related stories told years apart, connected by the relationship of each storyteller and their encounters with the main narrator. Aquis Submersus is an outstanding story that maintains a constant sense of tragedy and mystery and activity through its entirety, and is run through by an artistic and historical fascination just under the surface. It is a well-paced tale full of depth and drama and character, its interior narrative taking place in the 1600s, told through the journal pages of a talented young portrait painter. It is darkly tragic while being colorful and lively, mysterious and puzzling even though it seems straight forward. Every moment is interesting, or revealing, or substantial. It is an expertly written story that does everything right, and is the satisfying high point of this collection. ...more |
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Mar 12, 2021
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Mar 21, 2021
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Mar 12, 2021
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| 3.84
| 1,758
| 1210
| Jul 30, 1960
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really liked it
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Gottfried Von Strassburg brought the Tristan legend to Germany in the early 1200s. The source he used for adaptation, what he called “the authentic ve
Gottfried Von Strassburg brought the Tristan legend to Germany in the early 1200s. The source he used for adaptation, what he called “the authentic version”, was Thomas of Britain’s “Tristran”, written sometime in the mid-1100s. It is thought that Thomas’s Tristran and Beroul’s Romance of Tristan, from France, are two of the oldest remaining written Tristan poems, although neither is fully intact. They both apparently deviate from the common source that gave birth to all forms of this legend, but that common source has been lost a long time. It’s not clear if that source was ever written down, or was entirely oral tradition. Beroul’s version of the story is missing its whole first half and some short parts throughout. Thomas’s is missing a lot, too. Gottfried’s however, is almost complete. He finished only about 5/6ths of the tale, but all of it remains. The portion Gottfried did not finish was filled in, in this book, with the remnants of Thomas’s version, so that we have the complete story with only minor interpolations. Judging only by these three, each of them of high quality and unique character, I think Gottfried’s is the best. It is the most psychological and complete version of the story I’ve read so far. An epic that begins before Tristan’s birth, telling the wild tale of his conception, his remarkable childhood and prodigious achievements and abilities. Beyond the raw adventure and perilous drama, there are insightful reflections on the moods and sorrows in the characters’ hearts. Gottfried was an amazing writer, like his fellow Germans. Poetic, artful, attentive, precise, creative to an extreme, and he had an eye and ear for the best way to present an idea. He composes vibrant and living scenes, fully explored and given substance. Regularly he turns a passage or an occurrence into something more than its surface, a deeper and more intricate thing that branches out into supplemental explorations. As an example, he uses erotic double entendres which are apparently lost in translation, while discussing the Cave of Love to which Tristan and Isolde retreat. Many pages of what would be, from a lesser author, a tiring bit of exposition, is here a stupendous painting filled with magic and history and mystical significance. All his excursions are like this. He shares poetic investigations of the inner suffering of a character, even a minor one. He can change gears in an instant, giving heroic grandeur to the exploits of a daring, adventurous knight, or show the hatred and extremes of emotion felt toward some monstrous evil. Gottfried discusses the coupling of love with deception and sorrow. Often his scenes of grand war and battle and violence transition into a scene of lamentation toward forbidden desire. His way of describing the performance of music and its transcendent, enslaving qualities, or his manner of anthropomorphizing human emotions and curiosities as living, mischievous, strange beings who play games and perform odd acts and ceremonies on their host has more nuance and style to it than medieval poems are often given credit for. His range of knowledge seems enormous, such that he is able to pull fabulous ideas from all corners of the earth to give the story substance. In the tale there is a significance to names. Tristan means “sorrow”, and his life begins in it, and after a few years of adventure, his life is ruled by it, then ultimately ends in it. Foitenant means “he who keeps faith”, and this is the name of Tristan’s foster father, who raises him after his parents have died. He exercises unfaltering loyalty and honor toward his charge. As Gottfried explains, “Limits had been set for Tristan in the twin spheres of success and misfortune.” Tristan’s childhood and heroism and intelligence and cunning and musicianship make him a prodigy. This is great reading even without the rest of the story. His defeat of Isolde’s uncle Morholt for demanding tribute to Ireland makes him a hero to Cornwall. His two trips to Ireland in disguise, first as a minstrel, then as a merchant, reveal his ingenuity, his sophistication, and the use of his gifts. He kills a dragon and, when preparing to duel the Steward who has falsely claimed credit, Isolde learns he is the killer of her uncle. Despite her affection toward him, she shifts quickly to loathing. Gottfried reflects on the underlying philosophical nature of the story’s events as they unfold. Free will is strained and questioned after Tristan and Isolde drink a potion intended for King Mark and Isolde, his wife-to-be. Throughout there are many welcome meditations on the will and human capacity for pain, and individual nature and our ability to control ourselves. Isolde, who we know is quick to rage, seems also to sink to new depths of depravity. She becomes psychopathic in her desperation to keep her secret affair with Tristan unknown. She orders Brangene, her maid, killed, though the latter is the one who keeps her out of trouble and sacrifices the most for Isolde. Gottfried treats humanely and realistically Mark’s grief and constant back and forth between believing and disbelieving the rumors he hears, and the evidence he sees, of their affair. The intensity of the emotional turmoil felt by all three is a recurring subject, but always changing shape with new developments. Mark’s two most beloved relations, nephew and wife, are the subjects of his most painful suspicions. With the aide of spies and his vassals he arranges clever traps to reveal the truth, and Tristan and Isolde and Brangene are clever enough to sidestep them. One can’t help but feel sympathy for Mark, then share his sadness as he realizes the truth. Our author finds metaphors in the most unexpected places, drawing a reader’s attention to some fringe element of human nature or human frailty or human endowment and finds inventive parallels in the natural world, or in the social sphere, or within an artistically rendered metaphysical excursion. His telling of this tale, the things he chooses to focus on and look at from curious angles, gives the story a compelling new life, reading almost like a novel from a later age. Some interesting contrasts between the tale as told by Gottfried and Beroul are apparent, though most do little to change the course of the story. They are significant since they might point to different sources and different traditions, a forking of the path of myth. How the lovers come upon the potion is changed. In Beroul, Brangene hands it to them mistakenly, in Thomas/Gottfried, they find it themselves, mistaking it for wine. The blood Tristan leaves behind in Isolde’s bed, lending suspicion to Mark, occurs differently in each. Sneaking in through a window in Beroul’s version, Tristan cuts his thumb and bleeds in the bed unknowingly. In Gottfried, his bandages from being bled earlier in the day open up in the bed. There is a contrast to how Isolde’s Ordeal plays out. For one, there is no King Arthur in this version. In fact, Arthur makes no appearance in Gottfried’s story, and ostensibly neither in Thomas’s. Arthur is only mentioned as a renowned king, and the glory of his court is treated in a comparison to Tristan’s humble surroundings when he is living alone in the wild. Later, when he and Isolde are banished to roam the woods and are caught sleeping with a sword between them, in Beroul it is in the woods and in Gottfried a cave in which they are discovered by Mark. Though this seems insignificant, the winding paths that lead to these diverging details is interesting but not something I’ll get into now. There are dozens more little differences, some big ones, but many of the main threads of the story are common and similar. Each variation seems to suggest either evolution along a new branch of the myth from a common source, or an intentional retelling with creative liberties by poets versed in the tradition. Since so many of the manuscripts of the legend are damaged or incomplete, it seems there is still great mystery about how this story has taken shape. Its impact on stories over the next 800 years is much easier to understand. Gottfried’s version is an excellent addition to, or adaptation of, the Tristan legend. His skill is enviable, even though apparently many at the time found Hartmann von Aue to be the superior poet. I’m reading none of these works in the original German, and all are translated into prose. With all this in the way it’s hard to say which of the multiple medieval German authors of epics and Arthurian romances was best, but Gottfried seems to be under-appreciated in our time. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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May 2023
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May 14, 2023
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Jan 07, 2021
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| 0394701887
| 9780394701882
| 0394701887
| 3.75
| 3,674
| 1215
| Mar 12, 1961
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it was amazing
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Parzival may be the most complete rendition of the Perceval legend by a single author. Although it might be hard to attribute it to only Wolfram von E
Parzival may be the most complete rendition of the Perceval legend by a single author. Although it might be hard to attribute it to only Wolfram von Eschenbach, the 13th century German warrior-poet. I’ll get to that in a moment. Much of his version has no known precedent — there exists no other surviving manuscript by any other author in any other language that tells the early parts of this story — the story of Gahmuret, Parzival’s father. Wolfram may be the inventor of this. We get a unique, “exotic” saga of Gahmuret’s adventures out east and eventual marriage to the Moorish Queen of Zazamanc. He wins much fame in jousts against besieging forces from Scotland and Normandy and Champagne and Spain. Gahmuret fathers his first son with this queen. This son will later be a significant figure in Parzival’s quest for the grail. Gahmuret goes on to later marry the queen of Wales, with whom he fathers Parzival. As far as I know, Wolfram invented this entire sequence and circle of characters. There’s a scene early in book 2 of Parzival that could be called a medieval form of “fan service”. It’s sort of a nod to the die-hard fans of Arthurian lore, a scene that would only have been appreciated by those medieval Arthurian nerds in Wolfram’s audience. Gahmuret competes in a tournament (vesper joust) involving the fathers of many of the knights of Arthurian fame, as well as characters who would go on to become significant figures in those tales — Morholt of Ireland, killed later by Tristan; Tristan’s father Riwalin, King of Lohneis; Utherpendragon father of Arthur; Lot, father of Gawain; and Lac, father of Erec. Chronologically, the events of Gahmuret’s time precede the era of the most famous Arthurian tales. Never before had so many significant figures of these myths appeared in a place that wasn’t Arthur’s court, nor was there a reason to bring them together until this tournament. Once the story gets to Parzival’s life the events start to resemble those first told by the main source for this adaptation: Chrétien de Troyes. Wolfram follows Chrétien’s telling pretty closely for a long time, but he throws in his own products of the imagination and original side quests here and there. But he also throws in a surprise that still has scholars puzzled. Wolfram claims to be illiterate, and it is thought that the way some names appear here support this statement — they seem phonetic instead of based on written text. He mentions this a few times, and if it’s true then it’s not known how he recorded the story. Even more amazingly, he would have to also have been able to understand and speak French without reading it, and to have heard the French versions of Parzival, before doing his own rendition in German. But even more puzzling to scholars, Wolfram mentions a man named Kyot as the source of his story— after Parzival and Gawain have been sent off on their separate quests from Arthur’s court. At this point his story is still consistent with Chrétien. When Gawain comes to Kingrimusel’s castle to defend his honor he meets the sister of the king, and soon there develops the infamous scene of self defense with a chess board and its pieces. Wolfram makes countless references to the Nibelungenlied, in case we were to forget the nationality of the storyteller. Kyot is mentioned as having read the tale of Parzival in a heathen tongue — Arabic, probably — and having translated it into French, from which Wolfram turned it into German. No historical record of a Kyot or his manuscript exists. Scholars are unsure if this man was made up by Wolfram or was a real person. Kyot learned the heathen tongue without the aid of black magic, Wolfram tells us. Flegetanis is said to be a heathen scholar descended from Solomon, who originally wrote this tale of the grail. He had read it in the constellations, one of the hidden mysteries of the skies. “A host of angels left it on the earth and then flew away up over the stars.” He says the grail was to be serviced by noble men throughout the generations. The learned Kyot set out to find writings in Latin about this tale, to see if this were true. He came upon the tale in Anjou, and eventually translated it into French. For all we know, this legend is part of the lore, not a historical fact. Medieval audiences didn’t seek out originality or newly crafted stories. Tales that were said to have come from a foreign source, or a discovered manuscript, or passed from generations of storytellers were deemed more exciting and palatable. The appearance of being inherited this way lended them an air of authenticity. This is reflected in the way these myths and romances and epics were composed — often the borrowing and reworking of motifs and themes and scenes and events and figures that had become common folk property. Almost every named author of Arthurian legends I know of credited others for their work, even if they didn’t know the names of those others, and even if it might not be true that they were merely translating foreign sources. Geoffrey of Monmouth, when he wasn’t pulling straight from known sources like Nennius and Bede and Gildas, claimed to have been translating a British work into Latin; Chrétien de Troyes claimed, for each of his romances, to have found a book or have been told the story by someone else; Ulrich von Zatzikhoven claimed to be translating an Anglo-Norman poem found in the possession of the hostage Hugh de Morville; and here Wolfram is doing something similar. In all of these cases, the supposed original source has been lost, or never existed. Not only does Wolfram give us Kyot as his supposed source, but he goes one step further and makes Kyot’s work a translation and compilation of other works, originally written by Flegetanis, descendent of Solomon. There could be truth to some of these authors’ claims, but no records exist to prove it. Anyway, that’s enough of a diversion. The Fisher King’s castle is Munsalvaesche. I don’t remember its name from Chrétien’s tale and the others, but its traits and mysteries here are largely the same. Parzival is given a sword with which he later wins fame. He does not inquire about Anfortas’s affliction or the grail or the bleeding lance, because of what he was taught as a young knight: “Stop asking so many stupid questions.”His lack of expressed curiosity dooms him to continued grief. This also makes Parzival the subject of people’s displeasure and annoyance, and he is looked down upon for this sin. We later learn that in the service of the grail Anfortas was pierced through the testicles by a poisoned spear of a heathen, and this is the source of his lifelong suffering. Having been shown the grail in person he could no longer die, and was thus doomed to live in anguish. Other familiar scenes return in Wolfram’s telling, like the Bed of Wonders, and many of the battles he fights are familiar. Wolfram, like Gottfried von Strassburg, who was apparently not a fan of the former, had a unique voice in medieval literature. He makes his poem personal and often goes into an amusing aside about his failures with women and how down on his luck he’s been. He knows how to keep the audience’s attention though, and makes sure to draw all ears back to the story before he goes too far astray. His straying makes for an authentic medieval narrative experience, so I welcome it. With Parzival, all of Chrétien’s Arthurian romances had finally been adapted for German audiences. The German rendition of Cliges, however, has been lost to time. Wolfram’s modifications to Chrétien’s details are numerous. Kei, the seneschal of Arthur, is given more depth and nuance in Wolfram’s version of this epic. He’s portrayed as an honorable man who is the first defense against false knights and base men for the king. True to his usual portrayal, he is still rude and mean toward those who he believes deserve it. We see he is also cruel toward those who don’t. Like in Chrétien, Sir Gawan is tasked with finding the grail for the king who challenged him to battle for supposedly murdering his father. This king was earlier tasked with finding the grail after being defeated in a joust by Parzival. Parzival, meanwhile has been questing for years. He has grown to hate God in his sorrow and aimless, ongoing search for the Grail. The grail has become this unholy, holy thing that brings doom to all whose paths it crosses. Parzival comes across his uncle Trevrizent who tells him about the Grail, and we learn a new variation of its mythos that we’ve never heard in any other version of the story: the Templar knights in service of the grail ride out for adventure. They are sustained by a stone which fell from the heavens. By the power of this stone the phoenix burns to ashes and then returns to life. Merely seeing the stone is enough to keep one young, or to return the old to youth, to keep one from harm for a long period of time, to keep one in health. The stone is called the Grail. On Good Friday a dove flies down from Heaven and places a wafer on the grail from which all foods of the earth can be derived. Those who are to devote themselves in service to the stone are selected by the stone itself, which bears inscriptions in its side listing the names and lineages of those who will serve it. The angels who did not choose sides in the fight between Lucifer and the Trinity were compelled to descend to earth and care for this stone. The significance of the bleeding spear is that it is used to remove poison from Anfortas’s wound. It is laid beside it and draws out the ice — the ice being an elemental curse of the blood. When Saturn reaches its zenith Anfortas’s suffering becomes its most severe. At this point the spear has to be inserted into his wound to pull out the freezing poison, hence its bleeding tip when Parzival sees it. Parzival learns that many in the service of the grail are his own family and lineage. His great grandfather was the first chosen to serve it. Anfortas is also his uncle, brother of Trevrizent. We soon learn Parzival’s whole family has some mystic, bloodline significance to the Grail, and the relations and wild knots begin unwinding into a coherent but surprising pattern. Parzival one day encounters his half brother Feirefiz in the woods, who becomes the only man to nearly beat him in battle. The relationship they develop seems to be the peak of Parzival’s bloodline continuity, the unity he needs to finally fulfill what the Grail requires… This behemoth of a story is vast. It makes Percival’s already massive and mysterious adventure into a more expansive and more mysterious epic. It goes in strange directions sometimes, it introduces plot-lines that don’t always resolve, characters that don’t return, but that inject new layers to an already dense story. It is the sort of thing that could be reread immediately upon finishing, and I suspect new things would be discovered and noticed with each new reading. The web of character relations is worthy of study, and so are the tale’s encyclopedic allusions to other myths and legends. There’s so much here it takes a while to process. Given the time and attention it deserves, the book’s incredible qualities multiply, and seem all the more substantial. I think Parzival may be the best German contribution to the Arthurian literature, and stands as a peer of the other middle high German legends. ...more |
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really liked it
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The Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals is a major piece of work, and its influence on moral philosophy cannot be overstated. I say this not becaus
The Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals is a major piece of work, and its influence on moral philosophy cannot be overstated. I say this not because I’ve heard this, but because I can now see just how foundational this work is to any serious study of ethics and morality. The book is not Kant’s complete thesis on moral thought, nor his final word, but as its title suggests, it builds the foundations, often generalized and abstract, upon which moral philosophy can be understood and thought about rationally. The version I have just finished was translated by H.J Paton, who also provides an excellent preface and a 40 page analysis of Kant’s arguments, aligning directly with each chapter, section, and page. I found this to be not only enlightening and very useful, but given Kant’s sometimes obscure and drawn out manner of writing, vital to my full appreciation of his effort. Without the translator’s analysis and occasional clarification I wouldn’t have gotten quite as much out of this, though it would still have been an impressive and admirable feat. This is where Kant introduces the categorical imperative, and establishes a thorough framework for it, and takes us neck deep into the weeds of the principles of morality without regard for interest, developing the first, to my knowledge, foundation for rationality as the basis for understanding morality. Autonomy of the will is necessary, in Kant’s view and I think in any coherent philosophy on the subject, for moral understanding. And a key concept for explaining autonomy of the will is freedom, which is here considered a necessary presupposition of all action and thinking. Every rational agent must suppose his will to be free. Without the will, no act can have moral weight. ‘Reason must look upon itself as the author of its own principles independently of alien influences.’ According to Kant, our interests are not relevant when evaluating morality, nor do our intended results from our actions weigh into the calculation. He goes to great lengths to validate these statements, and while I did not come away entirely convinced, lending partially due to my familiarity with Peter Singer’s more recent work regarding the equal consideration of interests, which I think is one of the most irrefutable principles in moral and ethical thinking, I was still amazed by the depth and rigor with which Kant approaches the problem of morality in an honest and rational way. He excels at rational thought and compelling, coherent, logically consistent arguments that, for the most part, are difficult to refute. So much of what Kant puts to paper here is remarkable in quality and its lasting influence. Often Kant will generalize and use abstraction to discuss his ideas, which works because these are principles that remain largely self consistent and cogent. But his lack of examples can make his point harder to digest. The few examples he does offer are not always the best or the most illustrative of his ideas, and he acknowledges that examples are not useful for explaining such principles. Sometimes I agreed, sometimes I wished for good examples. It has to be said, though, that this is intended as the groundwork upon which moral and ethical principles should be built, not a guide to what actions are moral or immoral. The consistency with which Kant tackles the implications and assumptions that surround some of his ideas is refreshing, and set a firm example for what should be expected of all serious scholars in any subject, but that remains largely unheeded and carelessly neglected in most of today’s public conversations. He explains how moral law bids us to develop our talents as fully and completely as we can, and why this is the case. He explores the categorical imperative and how it can exist at all. He takes us into related imperatives, like the formula of universal law, formula of the law of nature, formula of the end in itself, the formula of autonomy, and the formula of the kingdom of ends. He reiterates the foundations upon which imperatives can be built. He puts many pages into anticipating and resolving apparent contradictions that may arise from the principles or ideas he is advancing. He finishes the work with a whirlwind examination of what cannot be explained, and what questions or problems or fundamentals cannot be elucidated further, and pushes into examining the limits of moral inquiry itself. Not everything Kant puts forward is something I agree with, like his insistence on interests being of no importance, although I agree with some of his rationale for this, particularly since behaving in pure self interest cannot be a useful mode of ethical conduct. I appreciate his understanding of the limits of the largely artificial ‘is-ought’ conundrum, and he rightly asserts that an ‘if’ reduces this conundrum to nothing, but also, maybe not convincingly, urges us to believe that even without the ‘if’ certain is-ought statements can be made that are beyond question. I don’t entirely buy the notion that morality is only concerned with rational agents, because our treatment of non-human animals is every bit as important for serious ethical behavior as our treatment of each other. But I do agree that, obviously, morality can only be expected in rational agents. I agree with his conclusions that morality does not derive from religion, but I disagree with his apparent conclusion that it leads to religion. I also disagree with some of his statements made later in the book that suggest certain elements of moral philosophy, at the most fundamental, cannot be known or understood in our world as we know it, and that the only way to learn more is to see into the world beyond what we see—presumably something religious or supernatural. But he is right that there is a limit to what we can know and to what we can assert or explain, and that there comes a point when we cannot go into any more elementary explanations or reasons, and certain things must be accepted as basic fundamentals. We just disagree where these lines are drawn. This is a useless observation at this point. Generally, Kant’s philosophy is full of nuance and requires careful attention to really grasp it. I hope I’ve grasped it correctly. Given the age of this work, and especially its length, it is incredible how good it is, how much of it stands up to serious scrutiny and even remains more enlightening than most modern common thinking on the subject. Over two hundred years after his death, Kant still outclasses and out-thinks many prominent modern intellectuals discussing this subject, and has provided useful and interesting frameworks for others to further develop an objective and serious understanding of morality. It’s also an excellent basis for personally studying and considering ethics and morality, and if taken in full can help one think about the topic more objectively and rationally, as a creature of imperfect reason striving to be better. ...more |
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| 1884365205
| 3.89
| 29,473
| Jun 02, 1895
| Jan 01, 1999
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it was ok
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I read this three and a half years ago, so my review is a bit late. I wanted to like Nietzsche, but it's hard to. I thought this would be a good start
I read this three and a half years ago, so my review is a bit late. I wanted to like Nietzsche, but it's hard to. I thought this would be a good starting point, based on title alone, because I was looking for a good, reputable philosopher's refutation of religion and related thinking. The Antichrist does not provide that, but it does provide some juicy bits that are fun to read. As philosophy, it is insubstantial. In his preface, Nietzsche claims the book is for a limited readership, and he goes on to describe who the intended audience is. By his words, one could say this book then is only intended for serious thinkers truly interested in philosophy, because his description of the intended audience is grand and eloquent and sounds ideal, but it sounds exactly like the kind of person who should be reading any philosophy in the first place. Anyone without the qualities Nietzsche is describing in the preface is ill-equipped to read any philosophy at all. The problem as I see it is that after reading the book, it isn't clear that this intended audience was really the intended audience at all. Instead, his intended audience was a group of people who already agreed with most of his ideas, disagreed with the things he didn't like, and didn't really need to be convinced by strong reasoning of the veracity of his words. An unquestioning and uncritical audience. He doesn't want a reader "honest in intellectual matters to the point of hardness to so much as endure my seriousness, my passion" or intellectual strength and honesty and courage. These readers would ask much more of Nietzsche, and he does not provide what they would ask for. He is, in reality, asking for an impressionable readership that doesn't question what they read or require any greater argument than "because I say so." So the book starts off disingenuous, but one only finds this out after finishing the book. It reads like a confident, angry, articulate, idealistic high school student ranting for his chosen worldview, despite being somewhat ignorant of other worldviews but not giving any mind to that fact. I can't tell if I get this impression because it's childish and kind of silly, or because when I was in high school I knew people who read Nietzsche who also probably took on some of his mannerisms, and so I associate Nietzsche's attitude with a high school mentality. I too was a little guilty of this kind of mentality in high school. This book seems fitting for an angsty contrarian teenager who isn't interested in valid arguments or rational examination. A high schooler may be attracted to it. But it won't strengthen one's thinking in any clear way. If you take a gander at Paul Graham's Hierarchy of Disagreement -- which, despite its relatively new coming to existence, is a hierarchy of argument every philosopher over the last 2000+ years should have been aware of, because Socrates sure was, and if you didn't adopt Socrates's method of rationally analyzing thoughts, you were a bad philosopher no matter when you lived -- you'll see that Nietzsche has this peculiar lack of ability in forming a coherent argument or addressing fundamental points, much less refuting them. The highest level his argument takes is contradiction, which everyone is capable of, and is the highest form of disagreement that frequently appears on playgrounds and on internet message boards. It is also Nietzsche's primary mode of thought. "Here is a thought that contradicts a popular thought of my time. Here is another. Here is another." But there is never a deep discussion of why, or how his challenge should be conceived, or a demonstration that he even fully understands the things he is against, because he does not refute anything he rejects (to my memory -- I could be wrong on this). He has a colorful and attractive way of stating his thoughts, which I credit him for, and he has ideas that sometimes sound appealing and romantic and exciting. He also makes some astute observations that have endured to this day, although with questionable results or application. Even Nietzsche scholars seem to agree that his philosophy is not one anyone can apply to their life. So one has to ask, what is the point? Philosophy that cannot be applied is useless, and probably cannot be called philosophy. I would like to read some Nietzsche that at least meets the basic qualifications of philosophy -- capable of being applied to how one thinks and acts in the world. By most accounts I've read, Nietzsche did not seem to embody his philosophy in real life. The major problem with the bulk of what he says is that, like me saying "All living by my rules will become a billionaire in TWO MONTHS," his statements and thoughts generally lack any sort of validating evidence or argument, and like a snake oil salesman, he doesn't seem to think he needs to make a compelling argument, he just needs to write some strongly worded observations and opinions and that will suffice. Unlike Marcus Aurelius, whose Meditations were in a similar form, Nietzsche is not providing the reader anything they can act on, anything that can become a part of them and tested in application, anything that can enlighten or improve their way of thinking, anything that gets one's mind moving in different directions. Like in Twilight of the Idols, this book is mainly Nietzsche saying some things that sound profound or interesting, and are occasionally true or insightful, but without any deep consideration for principles or rationality, so it's more in the camp of art or literature or poetry that hits a few lucky notes than actual philosophy. His ideas, which are more like random thoughts thrown to the page, are fun to read and think about, but it should immediately be obvious to any reader that he doesn't have enough substance behind most of them to make them worth seriously considering philosophically. In this sense, the link between Nietzsche and postmodernism and fashionable French ideas of the 1970s seems to materialize. If you read his preface to this work and you think that it describes you with some accuracy, you'll probably be greatly disappointed by the book. ...more |
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it was ok
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Like the Anti-Christ, this has its moments of enjoyment and devastating insight, but with frequent moments of hardly-coherent rambling, never really s
Like the Anti-Christ, this has its moments of enjoyment and devastating insight, but with frequent moments of hardly-coherent rambling, never really supported by much else than opinion and emotion. But maybe that's the whole point. I found myself thrilled at the parts I agreed with or saw truth in, confused by the parts I was ambivalent toward, and frustrated with the parts I disagreed with. This is because everything was offered without honest analysis, delivered in a way that capitalizes on feeling and the blindness that comes with it. That way nothing has to be scrupulously argued, just stated. But it's worth it for the unapologetic breakdowns of his opinions on thinkers of the last thousand or so years, even if you have no idea what he's talking about (even if he doesn't, either.) Not a substantial philosophy book, but enjoyable if read as the notes of a rambling man closing in on insanity.
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it was amazing
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I’ve been looking forward to reading the Nibelungenlied for years. For these years it has sat on my shelf with other grand epics and sagas and myths.
I’ve been looking forward to reading the Nibelungenlied for years. For these years it has sat on my shelf with other grand epics and sagas and myths. Having just finished it, I can say it’s one of those legendary books that I both wish I hadn’t waited so long to experience, but also can say was well worth the wait and the anticipation, because it was so excellent it exceeded all expectations. I read the Penguin classics version, which is a prose translation by A.T. Hatto. He provides a great set of notes and appendices, with fabulous insights and details and histories of the Nibeungenlied and associated epic cycles, as well as a convincing justification for writing a prose instead of poetic translation, given the impossibility of replicating the verse and style of medieval-German poetry in modern English. A verse translation makes a lot more sense, and he has attempted to remain faithful to the style and delivery of the final form of this absurdly wonderful epic. As with all good stories, the less you know going into the reading the better time you’re going to have. But being a heroic epic means that, given its history, the audience (in this case, medieval Germanic people) would be privy to some of the general themes and events before they heard it. Like with most epics of this sort, the author is unknown, the epic’s development and history is not entirely clear, and where it was written and performed (in its original poetic telling) is not known. This epic takes place within a larger context of related epic cycles, all of which are centered around other characters appearing here. Because of this, the poet often gives ‘spoilers’ of the events lying ahead. Maybe spoiler is not the right word, but events that are to occur far in the future or even shortly are referred to as if we should expect them, still leaving us with the mystery of how they are to unravel. In some ways this enhances the narrative, because it builds a tension for an occurrence that is sometimes so far off one would have no reason to expect it or dread it. In this way, dreadful happenings are foreshadowed, and the events that are alluded to all occur in massively cataclysmic ways that no amount of hinting at could ever spoil. The audience is constantly being reminded: things are going to get bad. The Nibelungenlied is so exciting and grand that it’s tempting to give away significant plot or character elements in order to describe how well crafted its grandeur and drama and plot and themes are, but I must refrain. It carries this pure medieval and chivalrous heroicism and larger than life towering strength about it that is so vivid it is almost as if one is in the audience during its original performance, being sung or chanted by the poet. Even in its prose rendering, it has this quality of an entrancing, melodious presentation by a warrior poet. Since it is a product of its time, it also provides a unique look at the cultural practices, social norms and customs of the medieval people of the Germanic lands, and the mentalities of royalty and warriors. We see what was valued and what the priorities of vassals were 800 years ago. For these aspects alone it is enthralling, as a view into a completely different world and people known mostly through legend and myth. The array of characters here is no short list, with kings and queens and knights and Margraves and lords and ladies and all manner of colorful people. As with all epics, the story doesn’t revolve entirely around only one or two main characters, but follows a large, long, winding drama of dozens of important actors and minor players, all critical to the progression of what shows itself to be an increasingly catastrophic tale. The narrative is broken into two parts. The first part tells of the mighty Burgundians and their three co-kings, including Gunther, Gernot, and Giselher, their sister Kriemhild (or Gudrun, or Grimheld, depending on the telling), whose anguish and vengeance drive the latter half of the tale, the vassals and knights, Hagen, his brother Dancwart, Volker the warrior minstrel, and the Nibelungs, heroic lord Siegfried, son of Siegmund and Sieglind, and the queen Gunther is to woo with the help of Siegfried, Brunhild. The events of this first half are the stuff of legends, and we see the valiant, powerful, seemingly invincible abilities of Siegfried who wins Kriemhild’s heart and the friendship and adoration of all the Burgundians through his continuously incredible exploits. Without telling too much, we move into the second half, catalyzed by the psychopathic desires-made-real of Brunhild and her conspirators. The halves are bridged by Kriemhild’s seeming docility and acceptance of grave misfortune. But she plots and plans and broods. The second half sees Kriemhild wedded to King Etzel, and introduces us to a new cast of characters from his kingdom in Hungary, including his Margrave Rudiger, Dietrich, all of Dietrich’s men, and others. I will not say more than I need to to convey just how fantastic this whole thing is, but suffice it to say the bloodshed and immense violence and piles of bodies and the flames and the drinking of blood and the beheadings and the incredibly well crafted character interactions and relationship developments and dramatic contrasts throughout this latter half of the tale really solidify its place in the books as one of the most satisfying epics in a number of categories. Maybe it it is because it comes from an age when storytelling was still done by masters of the craft, the Nibelungenlied is composed of so many splendid things that define a perfectly crafted story: high character development and drama, the shifting priorities of these characters and their fortunes, intriguing suspense contrasted with pleasantries and atmosphere, emotional conflict and sympathy for everyone involved, often generating contradictory feelings in the reader toward certain characters one can loathe and also love and pity and admire and sympathize with, peerless ultra violence with harrowing consequence and sorrow, and unparalleled tragedy. The story is so vastly larger than life and epic that everything about it is incredible. The most famed warriors of this story, like Siegfried, Hagen, Volker, all three of the kings of Burgundy, and Dancwart are confident, boastful yet somehow not arrogant, good humored, mindful, and fully cognizant of the problems that befall them. And they each slay thousands, literally thousands, of other knights and warriors over its duration, and the unfortunate ends of everyone killed are detailed in the most poetic and vivid ways. For each battle or adventure, these leaders take hundreds of men with them at a time, and in the final few scenes with the Huns, the leaders of those people are throwing hundreds upon hundreds, and eventually thousands of warriors into battles, wherein merely dozens of Burgundians fall in battles that slay thousands of these ‘lesser’ combatants. Eventually, we have a handful of powerful warriors fighting off legions. And they’re thrilled about it until the bitter, bloody, brutal end. That’s another thing of beauty, here: the warriors absolutely love battle, and the language they use with each other, against each other, both in conflict and in comradeship, is perfect. As you might notice from the character names, this myth is derived from the same source as the Volsunga Saga and the Eddas. I haven't figured out exactly what the relationship is, but many of the characters and themes are similar, although some of the events are vastly different. I intend to re-read the Volsunga Saga soon to see how they compare. And I've been intending to read the Eddas for years. Should do that soon. As with all stories, saying too much about the specifics of its events runs the risk of giving away important elements that one must only discover through the pleasure of reading the text. This is the stuff of legends and cultural enrichment, the exact sort of epic that becomes a central part of a people’s shared history and mythology. And it reads so smoothly and enjoyably that one can easily forget it is an 800 year old German tale, far removed from the familiar world we know. But it's so great and huge and monumental that there's no way you could fail to notice its monstrous unfamiliarity and fantastical separation from our mundane reality. ...more |
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Aug 13, 2013
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| 4.02
| 99,744
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it was ok
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“I said this once before. But people do not believe it when I say so, unless they know it already.” This statement by Nietzsche, to me, sums up a lot
“I said this once before. But people do not believe it when I say so, unless they know it already.” This statement by Nietzsche, to me, sums up a lot of his philosophy. His is not a philosophy built on strong arguments or rational thinking, but romanticism and childlike awe and intuition paired with a cynical dismissal and distaste. He just says things without offering any reasoning, and the only way you'll accept the things he says is if you already agree with these things. I want to point out that Nietzsche is a fun guy to read, his writing manner is poetic and usually enjoyable and colorful, energetic, passionate, emotionally driven, and tends toward hyperbolic statements that can be complicated to make sense of. I appreciate him as a writer, because he is amusing and passionate and energetic, but he is unclear, irrational, incoherent, and bad at conveying ideas. He arguably leaves a lot to be desired as a philosopher. Any graduate student in physics is familiar with the phenomenon of receiving a mass email from a foreign stranger who has declared himself the next paradigm-shifting scientist who has seen through all the bullshit and has uncovered the Truth, the grand unifying theory of everything. Think of Time Cube, but a little less insane. One notices that this email has been sent to a hundred other people. In its main body, the author goes on tirades against all the famous physicists and mathematicians of the last few hundred years and says that they were dead wrong about physics and their theories are broken and nothing but useless, cowardly lies, but this author fails to explain how they were wrong, what the consequences of this “wrongness” might be, and even fails to establish in the reader a confidence that the writer has any education in physics. In fact, the further one reads, the more he sounds like a rambling crackpot. He’s certainly read a bunch of things about physics, and uses physics concepts, but it doesn’t look like he’s ever really grasped the subject. There are a lot of exclamation marks liberally sprinkled throughout his energetic diatribe, namecalling and sarcasm and snarkiness, and he repeatedly puts himself on a pedestal without establishing any reason for an educated reader to believe he belongs there. Sometimes he uses science words and sometimes even two or three sentences in a row sound like they’re addressing a serious physics idea, before it rapidly deteriorates into a scrambled mess of confused thinking and self-praise and tangents. This guy is the physics version of Friedrich Nietzsche. I imagine if philosophy departments get these kinds of crackpot emails, and if there had been something akin to massive emailing lists in his day, Nietzsche would have been this guy. I cannot think of a better analogy to describe Nietzsche. It isn’t a perfect analogy, because unlike the person who sends this email, people have listened to Nietzsche and have taken him seriously for a long time. Nietzsche is not a philosopher in the sense that he offers ideas or ways of understanding the world or truth or the self. He is more of a philosophy antagonist, the seed of cynicism that blossomed, many decades later, into other stranger things. He seems to have defined the rules of his philosophy in such a way that anything he says is the new authority, and something is true or valid simply because he says it is, or something is dull because he says it is, with no requirement of being tied to an externally verifiable truth or argument or logic. Reading Nietzsche is like listening to an old grumpy, well-spoken, thoughtful and eccentric man in a nursing home, who’s a bit senile and full of stories and complaints and very broad generalizations about people he’s probably never met and oversimplified views of whole nations and races, and maybe some fun observations, but not much else. He’s amusing to hear, very entertaining. “What DO a you like, old man Nietzsche?” you ask. He sits for a minute and scratches his head, seems to forget the question and then starts making fun of Schopenhauer for playing the flute and therefore being a false pessimist. He admits he does everything he can to be difficultly understood. He states this explicitly, but also hints at it: “Every deep thinker is more afraid of being understood than of being misunderstood.” I don’t think this is true. This is true only of those who cannot understand or defend their own ideas, and are afraid of being found out. The resulting “difficulty” of their text is often done to hide that they have nothing interesting or valuable to say. It’s not that he has nothing to say, because starting about halfway through the book he begins to say interesting things. It’s just that none of what he says looks to have much substance to it. And this is even true of his ideas that I like (or I think that I like, but it’s hard to say because he doesn’t bother defining any of his concepts or ideas in a way that lets anyone know what he’s talking about), such as his disdain for the timidity of the herd or herd morality, praise of the exceptional, the original, his thoughts on excellence and the importance of raising the self above the collective, the praise of the artist. Any one of these ideas could be interpreted a dozen ways, and Nietzsche knows this and leaves it that way. That isn’t profound or philosophical or interesting. That’s lazy and sloppy. He throws out appealing sounding things but does not elaborate on them or define them. He leaves that task to the reader so that the reader goes away creating their own meaning to interpret Nietzsche’s words by, thereby making them think what they just read was profound. One has no real clue what qualities in a man would make Nietzsche consider him exceptional, strong, a master, a non-mediocre man. Or what qualities would make him see someone as the opposite. His discussions of master and slave morality and his thoughts on women in the final couple chapters are the only points at which he begins to go into his ideas, below the superficial aspects. He still does not provide cogent arguments or logic. Many of the concepts in his work, concepts that recur throughout his work and this book, like the will to power, are not defined and therefore are somewhat useless as anchors for understanding what, if anything, he is trying to say. When it is clear what he is trying to say, he doesn’t do a good job justifying it: He believes the difference in rank among men means difference in one’s morality. Hence, moral relativism, benefiting the higher man, his master morality. To Nietzsche, man is elevated by the aristocratic society, in which there is a long scale of gradations of rank and differences of worth among people. The self-surmounting of man comes from the pathos of distance, from the down looking of the ruling class on subordinates. “The noble caste was always the barbarian caste.” “They were more complete men.” Friedrich is against “modern ideas” which are making mankind mediocre. In his eyes, the democratizing of Europe will produce men prepared for slavery, and the rearing of tyrants. Nietzsche favors what he calls the ‘oriental’ view: treating women as property. He is doubtful of the value in women’s liberation or their free spiritedness. Though he has some nuance in his views toward egalitarianism and perhaps some of it has substance that could be more closely explored, he doesn’t explore it, he simply asserts his belief that women are unlearning their most valuable instinct, which is to fear man. He is of the mind that women belong to a different order than men, do not have minds capable of the same things. “Her first and last function is that of bearing children... and her nerves are being ruined by dangerous modern German music.” He rails against the cultivating of the ‘weaker sex’; in his view, cultivating mankind weakens mankind and is correlated with the dissipating of his force of will. You never hear about this part of Nietzsche’s philosophy from his admirers. His constant gripes about other philosophers, without being able to verbalize what they are saying or thinking or why there is anything wanting in their philosophy, can only lead one to believe he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. This is not the most charitable view, but it seems the most obvious. And should we worry about being charitable toward a guy who despised the very thought of trying to charitably interpret others? (The answer is yes, but you see my point.) He appears to misunderstand or mischaracterize Kant, Spinoza, Stoics, Plato/Socrates, Voltaire, and others. He claims all English philosophers and scholars are mediocre, or not even philosophers. The irony is dazzling. He names the following as mediocre, or as an attack on or an abasement of the philosophical spirit: Hobbes, Hume, Locke, Darwin, and Mill. He gives no reason why, no explanation of his broad dismissal. Literally every one of these individuals produced more enduring and valuable intellectual, philosophical or worthwhile contributions to the world than Nietzsche’s entire body of work, and each of them maintain to this day an enormous influence on rationalism, politics, ethics and reason, and/or science and our understanding of humanity. These minds that he singled out as mediocre or an abasing of philosophy are contrarily the opposite, intellectual titans who have changed the world. It is mind boggling that he thinks such categorical dismissal of some of the most enduring scientific and philosophical thought in the last few hundred years does not require a justification or a reason. It simply requires his feeling, his intuition, his say so. The only thing we can sensibly conclude from this is that Nietzsche has a severe inferiority complex. If these men are mediocre, who are exceptional? He only thinks of artists as exceptional, if we go by those he shows favor to: Wagner, Mendelssohn, Gogol, Mozart, Beethoven, Goethe. And these men are certainly Titans and profoundly good, but they are not philosophers or scientists (except Goethe). So what should we conclude from this? For all his talk of the “new philosophers”, he never is able to verbalize who or what they are—he can only offer vague stream of consciousness, half drunk tirades and celebratory rants without much meaning and substance. But it is amusing and invigorating, I will give him that. I said he seems to have a foggy understanding of those he criticizes, but at times he lacks also familiarity with that which he praises. He praises “Wagner’s creation”, Siegfried. Siegfried was not Wagner’s creation but the creation of a long history of German oral traditions which culminated in the Nibelungenlied and Volsungasaga, which Wagner borrowed from for his Ring of the Nibelung. This misplaced praise comes right after his tireless generalizations of nations and their people, particularly Germany. For one who laments the present and yearns for its past, he is not too familiar with some parts of its culture and history. His criticisms of many core areas of philosophy, like the notion of truth and knowledge, have been thoroughly shown invalid in time. His ideas may have been novel, but were wrong and can be objectively shown false through simple examples wherein knowledge does in fact relate to truth and does relate to an objective reality that is agnostic to the perspectivism he championed. Science and engineering and medicine are full of these examples. This isn't a matter of debate, he was objectively wrong about this. A lot is made of Nietzsche and how to interpret him. I do think he’s grossly misinterpreted by a lot of people, particularly those who seem to love his work. I think the real Nietzsche is simultaneously more interesting, more amusing, and also less profound and thought-provoking than his popular image portrays. Many of his contemporary champions attempt to clean him up and fashionalize him for modern audiences. You get this with “difficult” philosophers. You get critics and worshipers alike who declare their reading is the right one, contradictory to all others, and often this “right” reading seems to depend heavily on reinterpreting and charitably reimagining the meanings and intents and fuzzy logic of the writer. How can we know if our reading of someone is the right one? How can we know the best spirit in which to interpret long dead writers? Unless strong justification is given to do otherwise (habits and tones, for example), it’s safe to say that the most accurate reading is probably the one that takes the text at face value. Unless there is good reason for taking long diatribes as tongue in cheek or ironic, for example, and thus extending some lofty benefit of the doubt to the many-page long rants of questionable value, we should treat those diatribes as authentic. This is a good faith reading. I’ve read three of Nietzsche’s books now, and I’ve given my best effort to fairness and objectivity when reading him, extending all the same courtesies I extend to other philosophers, the same openness and eagerness and patience and voidness of assumptions, and granting him no special privileges or leniency. By the same metrics that I’ve evaluated other philosophy and philosophers, he falls short. As far as writing and enjoyment goes, his work is sometimes fun to read. But I can’t get past the fact that he is trying to philosophize, and he does not do it well. There's barely any intellectual value here. I will point out again that I don’t disagree with everything he says. I find some of it to be insightful or valuable, but only because I am coming at it from a place of having already accepted it through some other avenue or thought process — he never does anything to convince me that his ideas are good ones or valuable ones or serious ones. They are full of force and energy only, and this seems to be enough for plenty of readers. He is a philosopher who merely shows you what he thinks (and not coherently), never how he thinks. Since he does not arrive at his conclusions through any sort of logic or reasoning we are made aware of, we are left looking at his ideas as oddities to be amused by, or comforted by, or annoyed by, but not to hold onto. It’s like when two people seem to agree for the wrong reasons. They both arrived at the same conclusion through entirely different thought processes, and so it is only dumb luck that they arrived at the same place this time. If you can’t trust their thought process, and you are pretty sure their imprecision and disregard for facts and truth make them unreliable, then you can’t trust that that person’s conclusion means the same thing yours does. Such is Nietzsche. I can understand enjoying his work as entertainment or poetics, even agreeing with some of his sentiments because your thoughts on some topic are of a similar color, but I can’t understand anyone taking it very seriously as philosophy. His philosophy is remarkably poor and amateurish. ...more |
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Jan 31, 2021
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Feb 11, 2021
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Dec 11, 2012
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