In a number of late medieval and early modern German verse romances and prose novels, a variety of themes come to the fore involving love, marriage, wealth, travel, political conflicts, and war, but remarkably also treason, both on the highest political level and within married life. Those prose novels were mostly first copied down in manuscripts, but once the printing press had been invented in c. 1450 and then gained technological maturity since the 1470s, many of them gained in popularity and even became bestsellers.1 Some of those Volksbücher [chap books] drew from medieval sources, others were influenced by contemporary novels in France, Italy, or Spain, and only very few represented innovative works.2 In particular, in Königin Sibille from Countess Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken (1437), Thüring von Ringoltingenâs Melusine (1456), and in the anonymous Malagis, the motif of treason emerges most explicitly because the problem discussed there each time endangers the individual protagonists existentially in a variety of contexts.
Certainly, early and high medieval literature also includes numerous examples of treason, but those are normally handled and overcome in a military and legal fashion (Rolandslied, Nibelungenlied, Wolfram von Eschenbachâs Willehalm, etc.). By contrast, there seems to be a heightened sense of political disloyalty and distrust expressed in late medieval narratives, wherein increasingly female protagonists and learned individuals become victims of treason.
Much of medieval literature contains severe criticism against the social and political system of its own time, warnings against peopleâs shortcomings and failures, and explicit admonishments to change certain types of behavior. Didacticism and idealism were intimately intertwined in medieval literature, closely following the Horatian model of delectare et prodesse [delight and instruct]. Much is wrong at King Arthurâs court, for instance, and many famous knights quickly prove to be rather dubious and weak characters who have first to go through a long learning process before they can achieve the desired ideal standards.3 As a close reading of countless romances and other verse narratives indicates, both the king himself and his courtiers, both the queen and her maids, are often the focus of severe criticism because of their selfishness, their misbehavior, or their character weakness, which might mirror, in general terms, common discomfort with the chaotic and unjust conditions in real time. The charge of treason emerges in many cases and indicates both that the political system was regarded with great suspicion and that the gender conflicts gained in preponderance.4 Treason is discussed in a variety of ways, but the poets interlace the political with the personal dimension.
Court criticism was rather rampant in the Middle Ages, especially since the twelfth century, particularly in the works of Walter Map, Marie de France, John of Salisbury, and Walther von der Vogelweide. Discontent with the social, political, and economic conditions comes to the fore in numerous romances, which allows us to approach pre-modern texts from a variety of perspectives, certainly beyond a simple close reading with an analysis of philological or aesthetic issues.5 As much as medieval poets depended on their patrons, they also appear to have taken the liberty of challenging their society rather profoundly, profiling in surprisingly stark terms what appeared wrong to them. Medieval poets, at least in many cases, were, of course, spokespersons of their world, serving as a voice of public consciousness.
The human creature has always been determined more by ethical and moral weakness and shortcomings than by idealism and religious uprightness, as the countless efforts to reform society and revolutions throughout time have underscored most vividly. Much of human behavior proves to be political, driven by self-interests and, hence, egoism and greed. In order to realize personal agendas and enrich oneself at the cost of others, many strategies have regularly come into play, such as treason. Individuals commit treason because they hope to gain wealth, political power, or fame.
Treason can also be the result of fear and insecurity, but it always represents a severe conflict between an individual (or a special group of people) and society at large, between social norms and rules and private, secret efforts to enrich or empower oneself. Identifying a specific behavior as treason indicates that the majority regards certain actions or decisions as a transgression that deserves highest criticism and condemnation. But treason is not only an economic or a political issue; rather, it is also the result of ethical transgressions, the disregard of loyalty to a friend, a group, a leader, a religion, or the entire people.
As all the contributors to the present volume attest, treason is a heavy word, or concept, and is normally used in larger contexts, such as state treason, meaning that a certain action leads to the downfall or even destruction of all of society. At the risk of stating the obvious, which actually proves to be a much more complex issue than we might assume at first sight, it deserves to be highlighted that the person who commits treason commonly pursues his or her own agenda out of purely selfish reasons and in utter disregard of the well-being of society, or s/he turns against society at large and helps another to overcome its opponent in a universal struggle. At the same time, the charge of treason is mostly raised by those who lose their power and claim that the rioters or members of a coup dâetat broke all laws, oaths of loyalty, or the principles of feudal vassalage. Both medieval law and heroic epics are intimately concerned with this problem and emphasize the enormous importance of honor, loyalty, and honesty. As these literary cases illustrate, treason regularly occurs because some individuals or groups pursue their own agenda and disregard all traditional ethical pledges, commitments, rules, and regulations.
Consequently, the punishment for treason is normally very severeâbrutal executions which serve as a warning for anyone who might consider following the same path.6 Medieval laws were very specific in that regard and did not grant mercy to those convicted of treason.7 The laws issued by the English King Alfred the Great (late ninth century) determined that treason was the only crime that could not be redeemed through repentance and payment.8 But this mostly pertained to treason directed at the king himself; that is, an attempted coup-dâetat, which was part of the political reality throughout the Middle Ages, called crimen laesae maiestatis, or treason on a smaller scale, when a servant murdered his lord or a wife killed her husband. The concept of lèse-majesté can be traced from antiquity until the early nineteenth century, and it represents one of the most fundamental concerns in political law.9
Middle High and late medieval German poets dealt with this issue as well in a variety of ways, contributing to the same discourse as did the contemporary legal and political authors. In that context, literary sources offer a peculiar angle of great significance because here we can observe more clearly how the crime of treason was treated in a fictional, but at the same time also very specific, manner, outlining the conditions, reasons, and motivations that made treason possible in the first place and indicating thereby how it could be avoided or combatted in the future. The German literary discourse does not necessarily mirror the realistic circumstances, but clearly illustrates the mental-imaginary framework, signaling options for how to come to terms with treason, among many other problems.10
Often when a literary narrative is anchored within a political context, there is a growing focus on central concerns addressing the relationship between the individual and the ruler or his court. This is the case both on a European level
at large, and in medieval German texts as well. Some of the most dramatic examples occur in various major heroic epics where (military) honor matters most centrally and where committing betrayal or treason has always constituted a severe crime. Ganelon/Genelun in the Anglo-Norman Chanson de Roland (c. 1150/60), or in Priest Konradâs Rolandslied (c. 1170), represents one of the best-known traitors. He âsellsâ Roland and, ultimately, Charlemagne to the Muslims by robbing the ruler of his beloved nephew and causing the devastating defeat of the rear guard; thus, the traitor achieves his personal goal of avenging himself against his step-son, Roland, who eventually dies in the bloody battle, along with his entire company.11 However, Charlemagne, alerted by the blow into the horn, returns and takes up the fight, finally defeating the Arab forces entirely, gaining both glory and the control over northern Spain. Nevertheless, both Roland and his paladins have died, and in his subsequent trial, Genelun is condemned to the gruesome death of quartering, being torn apart by four horses.12
In the Old Spanish El Poema de MÃo Cid (c. 1000, or 1100), the Carrión brothers betray their father-in-law and attempt to kill their wives to dishonor El Campeador Rodrigo DÃaz de VivarâEl Cid. However, the scene in the woods is observed by one of El Cidâs loyal men who subsequently rescues the two women and takes them home to their father, who thereupon seeks justice through an ordeal and can regain his honor with the king to the utter shame of the two brothers and their family.13 There are many more examples of treason, and each one involves a near-catastrophic development that endangers the well-being of the entire kingdom. Honor, ethical and moral ideals, and the survival of the court are commonly at stake.14 Discussing cases of treason thus allows the poet/s to explore fundamental issues of state building, of establishing personal honor, and, hence, identity. Every social entity relies on trust, which seems to be at risk, however, all the time. Consequently, these medieval narratives shed important light on this ongoing discourse on honor versus treason.
At the same time, medieval poets dealt with treason on a more personal level, particularly involving husbands and wives, friends, neighbors, and relatives. Committing treason involves breaking fundamental trust and destroying all social bonds. All communicative links and the sense of a shared community are undermined in that process, which forces everyone to reconsider his or her personal stance in that regard. While most other criminal activities find a relatively reasonable explanation and can be regarded as transgressions that society can fairly easily handle, treason threatens to destroy the very fabric of that world. Using this lens, the critical analysis allows access to crucial moments of existential fear concerning the stability of society and of the ruling house, and this both in the Middle Ages and far beyond, which fictional authors reflect upon by presenting personal cases of treason.15 Much of Icelandic saga literature, for instance, is determined by the question to what extent honesty, loyalty, legality, and friendship can be upheld in face of ever-threatening treason, here commonly meaning breaking of traditional rules and laws.16 Even though Icelandic culture was somewhat removed from the Continent, these texts still provide insights into that community insofar as they mirror the ongoing, constantly changing discourse on treason and honor also in other cultures. The notion of treason regularly pertained to physical wealth and political power, as reflected in numerous other literary genres and, hence, in other cultures throughout the medieval period, especially when a king, for instance, is endangered in his position by political machinations to undermine his authority, which then was regularly identified as treason.
While treason was a most dangerous transgression in political terms and treated extremely harshly, the poetic texts highlight to what extent treason could also destroy the heroâs life in a very personal fashion. The same phenomenon, treason, can thus be evaluated from various perspectives, underscoring how much late medieval society, like many others, was deeply concerned with this problem and endeavored intensively to come to terms with it.
Insofar as it is possible to discover that treason, as the cause of personal suffering, is dealt with numerous times in the literary context, we may conclude preliminarily that the literary discourse thus interacted with the political one and commonly assumed an ethical, didactic posture. After all, treason constitutes the breaking of trust, which has severe consequences both for the individual and for society at large. In other words, exploring treason in late medieval German prose novels provides deeper insight into social, ethical, political, and moral issues, underscoring the conditions of mental history in the fifteenth century.
These prose novels, Königin Sibille, Melusine, and Malagis, have gained considerable interest in recent years in modern scholarship, but they continue to puzzle many researchers because they no longer belong to the Middle Ages and do not yet fall into the early modern period. However, what matters here is their representative relevance for fifteenth-century culture.17 As a proviso, the question whether the issue of treason was of more relevance at that time compared to the high Middle Ages, or whether the ethical concerns continued on the same level, is beyond the scope of this study. Yet, concentrating on one verse romance and two prose novels makes it possible to examine the same issue in a cluster of formally, conceptually, and ideally similar examples all composed within the same time period of several decades, all achieving high popularity, and all serving well as representative literary reflections.18
The case of Queen Sibille and her conflict both with her husband, King Charlemagne, and the envious courtiers obviously attracted audiences across Europe; indeed, the text has survived both in a Spanish and French, and then also German, version, the latter most likely by Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken.19 Whether Elisabeth was the actual translator/author of this text, which her mother had composed in French, or whether she served as the nominal head of a translation team at her court, does not need to be addressed here.20 However, the same text was also produced in medieval Spanish and French, and the conflict between this royal husband and his wife apparently intrigued audiences far and wide, probably because it transgressed the traditional myth of the glorious ruler Charlemagne and because it highlighted severe conflicts within royal families.
In the late Middle Ages, many authors explored the issue of court criticism, focusing on the tensions between Charlemagne and a group of evil courtiers, such as in the case of the very popular Heymonskinder.21 The traitors want to overthrow the ruler and to gain power for themselves without having any legitimate reasons to support their case. One group of nobles regularly opposes another, and while Charlemagneâs supporters often seem to be rather helpless, the other side ruthlessly resorts to all kinds of strategies to undermine the rulerâs position. This is also the case in Königin Sibille, wherein the queen becomes the target of all the efforts by the envious courtiers since her destruction would help also to destroy the king.
Removing the queen by any possible means would facilitate their strategy of destabilizing the country and gaining power over the entire kingdom. Charlemagne is not identified here as a mature, calm, and self-composed inÂdividual, but as a ruler who is very much subject to many different kinds of manipulations. The author does not fully bother to explain the motivation of the group of envious courtiers; it suffices to understand that they are extremely angry and hostile, not caring about any individual needs or rights of the ruler and his wife.
Ominously, one day, an ugly black dwarf appears at court, who horrifies everyone, but the king welcomes him anyway and invites him to stay. This dwarf, Syweron, soon falls in love with the queen and would like to sleep with her, but she harshly repels him, hitting him in his face (121). Hiding the truth from the king, Syweron later pretends that he received his wound because he had fallen down the stair. But the dwarf has not yet given up, and he now pursues treacherous plans, as evidenced in the narratorâs use of the term verrederye [treason] (121). His love, or sexual lust, being denied its fulfillment, turns into hatred, so he intends to destroy the queen, sneaking into her bedroom the next morning when the king is attending mass, and hiding under the blanket, without the queen noticing anything. He himself then falls asleep, which makes it possible for Charlemagne to discover the monster upon his return. This makes him believe that his wife actually had an affair with the dwarf, although she is entirely innocent, knows nothing about the dwarfâs presence in her bed, and is also expecting her first child.
The subsequent events evolve rapidly: the king accuses his wife of adultery, she tries to defend herself, and the dwarf claims that she herself had carried him into the bed, although he had no desire to sleep with her and was very much opposed to all this, lying outrageously in his desperation to hide his own guilt (123). Tragically, the king does not believe his wife, and instead he trusts the set-up in the bedroom and the dwarfâs words, almost sentencing his wife to be burnt at the stake as a punishment.
At this point, the nefarious group of traitors emerges and urges the king to pursue his adulterous wife with the full strength of the law and to put her to death; indeed, this same event occurs in Herzog Herpin (124), a novel also composed or translated by Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken as an additional example of the political conflicts under the rule of Charlemagne. The king does not hesitate for long. He has a fire started, and has his wife led there, which makes the entire crowd of knights and citizens who support the innocent queen break out in tears (124). But her husband remains obstinate and orders his servants to tie her up and then to throw her into the fire, which makes all of the by-standers shriek and cry even further. Only then does a group of nobles, including Duke Nymo of Bavaria and Duke Otger of Denmark, take action, pleading with the king to show mercy (125) and convincing him to question the dwarf one more time. The latter, however, receives help from a group of hostile courtiers, the same treacherous group as mentioned before. They promise the dwarf large treasures if he testifies against the queen, which would guarantee that the latter would be burnt at the stake: ââSage faste wider die konnigynne / das man sye verborneââ [âTestify firmly against the queen, so she will be burned at the stakeâ] (126). The narrator specifically identifies them as verreder [traitors] (126), but they cannot achieve their goal. Once the dwarf has lied to the king one more time, insisting that the queen asked him to come to the bedroom and then carried him into the bed, Charlemagne is so enraged that he orders the evil creature to be thrown into the flames immediately. His wife is freed from her ties since, as he admits, he would never be able to do anything to hurt her (126), but he orders her to leave his court for good, which satisfies at least the hostile courtiers, although they are not mentioned at this moment.
However, one particular traitor emerges, Markayr, who had wooed the queen for a long time and had tried in vain to gain her love. The narrator calls him âeynen bösen schalck / vnd verrederâ [an evil rogue and traitor] (128), who now recognizes his opportunity to rape and then to murder her. A fight breaks out between him and the knight Abrye, who accompanies the queen to protect her, but the young man is poorly armed and is soon killed. Sibille takes flight in the meantime, making it impossible for Markayr to have his way with her. The dark forest provides her with the much-needed protection against the traitor and potential rapist, whereas the court of Charlemagne is the place where treason, envy, and jealousy dominate and endanger the female protagonist. Later, Abryeâs loyal dog, mourning his masterâs death, appears at Charlemagneâs court and thus eventually exposes Markayrâs guilt, forcing the traitor to fight against the dog as a kind of ordeal.
Significantly, Markayrâs friends, who all belong to the group of traitors (verreder, 135), intervene and try to help their relative, but to no avail. The dog defeats Marykayr and the traitor is then hanged, along with his relative Galleran who tried to assist the villain despite the kingâs strict order to stay out of the fight: âSo mir der got / der alle ding geschaffen hait wirdet üwer dalig keyener so küne / das er in den kreyà trede, er müà dar vmb hangenâ [By God who is the creator of everything, if anyone among you might be so bold as to step into the circle, he will have to suffer death through hanging] (140). Some justice is re-established at court with the death of those two evil characters, but it will take the entire novel for Sibille to reunite with her husband, who has to admit at the end how wrong he had been in his assessment of the situation with the dwarf and that he had done much injustice to her as a result of the treachery orchestrated by the group of evil courtiers.
As the narrator, Elisabeth does not go into too much detail concerning the political conditions at Charlemagneâs court. The narrator only comments on some basic structures, and the king proves to be an easy victim of the competing sides bitterly pitted against each other, gaining his favor or challenging his authority. There are his positively-depicted supporters who defend justice and the maintenance of traditional law and order, and then there is a group of evil courtiers who collectively endeavor to undermine the kingâs position for their own purposes. They fully recognize how weak Charlemagne is as a ruler and as an individual, that he is malleable and distrustful, jealous and insecure, which makes it possible for them to manipulate him according to their own intentions, amounting to a clear case of treason. They operate skillfully with the dwarf in arousing the kingâs enormous jealousy, which forces the king to direct his hatred against his own wife, although he loves her deeply. The narrator paints a black-and-white picture of the situation at court, with the one group pursuing justice and integrity while the other aims for treason and perhaps even a coup dâétat. Both the king and his wife become victims of the factional in-fighting, which results from the treasonous behavior of Markayr and his friends and family.
At the end, after almost endless efforts, suffering, struggles, and the involvement of many forces, Sibille regains both her husbandâs love again and her position at court, but the damage has been done. Treason has wrought havoc upon, and almost destroyed, the kingâs reputation, not to mention his wifeâs, because he had given in to the persuasion of false evidence and his own fear and insecurity as a husband and ruler. Simultaneously, the traitors, although not having gained the victory, have demonstrated the extensive influence which they could exert over the entire court and, hence, the country. Without the intervention of the dog (Godâs instrument), Markayrâs evil actions would not have been revealed, and he would not have publicly demonstrated his nefarious character, which is shared by his friend who disregards the kingâs order and tries to kill the dog.22 Treason thus emerges as a huge topic in this novel, parallel to numerous other works of literature in which the battle for the kingâs ear determines the entire action, although Charlemagne regularly proves to be a weak character throughout who can be easily betrayed.23 Although love bonds the married couple, although she is pregnant with his son, and although she consistently displays her complete loyalty, Charlemagne quickly distrusts Sibille when he is manipulated by the evil traitors. They know that she is a convenient target because, as the daughter of the Emperor of Byzantium, she is entirely alone at the Carolingian court and has no family member there to defend her. It might well be that the Countess Elisabeth, having originated from France but living now in Germany, felt similarly forlorn and suspicious of some evil-minded groups at court, thus projecting herself into this literary narrative. The poet may have intended to create a literary mirror of the political scene at court and to criticize the constant backstabbing, lying, and malignment going on all the time, especially victimizing those from outside, like the queen in the novel and like Elisabeth in the historical reality.
Both in late medieval French and German literature, the constant fight between that mighty ruler and a group of innocently pursued individuals, the Haymonskinderâin the eponymous novelâfound great interest among the literate audiences, and each time the essential question surfaces about the true meaning of treason, how to determine treasonous behavior, and how to identify the danger of deliberate misinformation targeting a group of innocent courtiers who become victims of a jealous group of opponents through the process of systematic character assassination at court.24 The literary reflections provided a valuable platform for the contemporary audience to explore the issue and to examine possible strategies to counteract treason and to solidify the well-being of the inner core of the royal household. The political configurations are presented in a starkly Manichean fashion, with the good courtiers opposed to the evil traitors, which simplifies the issue of treason, at least in the literary context.
In one of the great late medieval bestsellers, Melusine, the issue of treason also occupies central importance. For the present purpose, Thüring von Ringoltingenâs German âtranslationâ from 1456 allows further explorations of the issue of treason. There are specific distinctions from the earlier source texts by Jean dâArras (1393) and Couldrette (1400), but those do not need to be addressed here.25 Essentially, the plot focuses on the uncanny relationship between Raymond and his hybrid wife, Melusine, who disappears in her bathhouse every Saturday without her husband knowing of her whereabouts or being allowed to spy on her. He has no problem with this taboo for a long time, and the couple can quickly establish a mighty dynasty, with many children and numerous castles everywhere. Although each child carries a mark of monstrosity in its face, and even though the source of Melusineâs power and wealth remains a mystery, her husband never inquires about it at all and simply accepts the conditions as she had presented them to him. He does well in this regard, until one day his brother, the Count of Vorst (Forest), arrives just at the time when Melusine is in hiding on a Saturday. Since his sister-in-law is not available, the brother freely formulates his great suspicion that she might be a ghost or a monster (80) who has cast a spell on Raymond. More specifically, he accuses Melusine of committing adultery behind her husbandâs back, which would already undermine his public reputation: âzuo einem toren gemachet und von ir geaffet werdentâ [you are made to a fool and mocked at by her] (80).
Raymond immediately responds, without standing his ground, fully accepting his brotherâs words and rushing to the door behind which his wife disappeared, filled with anger and fury. With a sword, he drills a hole in the door and discovers to his great dismay that Melusine is situated in a bathâthe most beautiful woman from her navel up, and a snake, or a dragon, from below (81). The subsequent development comes as a surprise for the audience because Raymond does not, as one would expect, condemn this monstrous being; rather, he remembers that he has broken his own vow not to spy on his wife and that he is in danger of losing his wife and, thus, his happiness. Returning from the bathhouse, he rages at his brother, who incited him to break the taboo, chasing him away angrily and indirectly accusing him of having caused him to commit treason against his own wife, who is completely innocent of this terrible charge, except that she turned out to be a hybrid creature. Of course, Melusine kept this secret from her husband, but he married her upon the mutual agreement that he would not try to find out about her true nature, as it is revealed on Saturdays. Thus, she does not commit treason against Raymond; however, her brother-in-law, probably representative of many others who were suspicious of this mysterious womanâs enormous wealth and power, resorts to the claim that she is betraying her husband, the only political argument (treason, or adultery) effective enough to trigger the desired reaction by Raymond.
At first, Raymond can pretend as if nothing happened, but later, when the news reaches them that their son Geffroy has murdered another brother in a fire that he set in the monastery that he had joined, the deep frustration and fear in Raymond break through. He publicly denounces Melusine, revealing her secret, thus constituting the absolute and final transgression of the taboo, to the profound chagrin of both marriage partners (92).
He uses the same words as in other contexts wherein an individual is accused of the crime of treason. The narrator comments on his demeanor, while looking at his wife, identifying his lack of humility and aggression: âschalcklich und zornlich und hochmütenklichâ [roguishly, angrily, and arrogantly] (92). The narrator explicitly blames Raymond for losing his self-control, defending the innocent Melusine and qualifying the husband as a traitor insofar as he has disregarded his own promise and ignored her own pain over the murder of her son, thus hurting himself deeply. He is now forced to face the loss of all of his good fortune: âall dine fröude und ere süllent leider ietz haben ein ende!â [all your joy and honor will now sadly come to an end] (92). Overcome by pain and sorrow, knowing only too well that this public promulgation means that her destiny among humankind has come to an end, Melusine then faints.
Once she has recovered from her unconsciousness, Melusine attacks him for his failure, blames him for his weakness and deception, and tells him that she has to leave humankind now for good (92â93). As expected, she resorts to the same terms, accusing her husband of treason: âDin grosse verraterye und falsheit, din falsche zunge, din zörnlich grymme red und verwyssenâ [Your great treachery and falseness, your false tongue, your wrathful, bitter words and blame] (93).
Moreover, as it now turns out, the fire at the monastery and the death of all the monks is Godâs punishment, as Melusine knows too well through her prophetic, otherworldly knowledge. Hence, the loss of her son, Froymond, through the criminal actions of her other son, Geffroy, suddenly appears in quite different light; that is, it seems to be part of a divinely structured history, especially since the latter will rebuild the monastery to redeem himself (94). She also foretells some of the future of their dynasty, putting all the blame on her foolish husband who betrayed all the trust and love that bound them together. The narrator thus projects a private and a public form of treason, which destroys the family and the married coupleâs happiness; Melusine calls Raymondâs failure âdin grosse missetatâ [your great misdeed] (95). If her husband had kept the truth of her hybrid character a secret, his treason in private could have been forgivable, but the public promulgation destroys the marriage bond for good.
However, a long time ago, Melusine and her two sisters had likewise committed a kind of treason against their own father, King Helmas, as Geffroy learns from an epitaph on the tombstone hidden in the mountain. Helmas, parallel to Raymond, broke the taboo that his wife Persina had imposed on him, forbidding him to sleep with her when she was in childbed (105). Persina called it untrüw [lack of faithfulness] (106), which is another form of treasonâa betrayal of the marital trust. Once the daughters learned about this, they, under Melusineâs leadership, kidnapped their father and imprisoned him in a mountain cave, where he was forced to stay until the end of his life, as the epitaph informs Geffroy (106). Overall, then, the entire novel is predicated on the experience of treason that destroys the family at the end. Essentially, the poet explores the meaning of loyalty within marriage and examines the disastrous consequences when treason enters the picture, both in personal and in public terms. While Raymond stays behind, a broken man, his brother is driven to his death by his own nephew, Geffroy, who arrives at his castle one day and attacks him because the countâs treacherous suggestion to his brother instigated the latter to break the taboo, the catalyst of the catastrophe that forces Melusine to depart from this world (111).
However, Geffroy is also guilty and begs his father for forgiveness: he âbekante do, das durch in sin vatter Melusinen, sin gemahel, ouch Froymond, sinen suon, ouch synen bruoder, den grafen vom Forst verloren hetteâ [confessed that because of himself his father had lost his wife, Melusine, then also his son Froymond and his brother, the Count of the Forest] (112). As glorious as the rise of this new dynasty is at first, the novel concludes with somber, tragic perspectives because lack of trust, loyalty, and inner strength to uphold the taboo as promised brings them all down. Undoubtedly, there are many other issues at stake here, especially the marriage between the male protagonist and the hybrid creature, Melusine,26 but treason emerges as one of the central issues because it destroys the happiness that the couple enjoyed and casts dark shadows on the entire family well into the future.
Treason might even originate from the king himself, such as Charlemagne, who cuts a very poor figure in the anonymous verse romance Malagis from the middle of the fifteenth century, preserved in two Heidelberg manuscripts (Cpg 340 and 315). The German text is a translation from a now almost completely lost Dutch version, Madelgijs, which, in turn, is based on a French source, Maugis dâAigremont.27 The focus here rests on the magician Malagis, who learned his craft from powerful family members and at the University of Paris and who enjoys the highest respect for his accomplishments in the occult arts.
At one point, the protagonist is asked by the king to demonstrate his skills in public, which Malagis is happy to do, except that Charlemagne then requests that he apply his magical powers to embarrass the entire court society: ââDünt alle, die hie sint betagt, / Entkleiden und nackent stan / Und alle zumale danczen ganââ [âMake all who have assembled here to take off their clothes and stand there naked, and thus go dancingâ] (3064â66). The king had already expressed his great admiration for the magician and acknowledged him as the master of all occult sciences (3046â53). Nevertheless, this personal request strikes Malagis as awkward, and he begs the king not to take it as an insult if he actually carries out his magical power to fulfill the request (3067â68).
To everyoneâs amazement, Charlemagne immediately disrobes and acts in the most foolish manner, dancing around with his wife, stark naked. He cannot help it because of the magic, but he also realizes the great embarrassment, taking out his anger upon the magician and suddenly blaming him for a grave misdeed and wanting to punish him most severely: ââdu hast myÃdan, / Zu schanden sol es dir uà gan, / Das du mich verschemest hie zur steet, / Wann ich es alles in schercz det, / Und du hast mich des willen in ernst geschantââ [âYou have done badly; you will suffer for that. You exposed me here in public. While I had done this in jest, you have shamed me in earnestâ] (3085â89). The magician defends himself, insisting that he could not read the kingâs mind and simply followed his order (3091). If anyone should be blamed for the gross embarrassment, it is the king himself (3094). Malagis then concludes his magical trick, allowing everyone to put on clothes again. Charlemagne is now more than determined to avenge himself, threatening the magician with the death penalty, and nothing will ever prevent him from carrying out the punishment (3105). The other magicians intervene, pleading for Malagisâs innocence and blaming the king instead for his own misdeed (3115), insisting that the magical trick had been done in jest (3117).
Malagis himself points out to the king that he had requested a demonstration of his magical powers in that specific way: ââUnd gedenckt, von wem zu erst qwam / Die sach, und sint mir nit so grammââ [âand keep in mind who had come up with this idea at first, donât be so angry with meâ] (3125â26). Both men continue with their arguments, but Charlemagne remains unresponsive to reason and flies into a fury of enormous disproportion, although Malagis urges him to treat it all as it had been intended, as a joke or a game (3141â42), which he had carried out in response to the emperorâs own command. Unfortunately, Charlemagne then intensifies his accusations and blames Malagis, whom he wants to imprison, torture, and then execute. The king goes so far as to swear that he will refrain from eating bread until his new enemy is executed (3167â68). In his retort, the magician mocks the king, pointing out that he would hence have to starve himself for a long time (3169). This is the starting point for an extensive sequence of episodes in which the king tries to imprison or execute Malagis, though the latter always knows how to escape and to make a fool of the king, who turns into a tyrannical, irascible, and genuinely foolish ruler who does not understand the true significance and power of magic, especially magic in Malagisâs hand.28
The novel is filled with many events and characters, but the subsequent details mostly follow the same pattern of Charlemagne persecuting the magician, who consistently outdoes him with his occult sciences, ridiculing the king in his deft manner, and exposing his mean spirit and ignorance. The king accuses him constantly of being a verreder [traitor] (3608), without having any real basis for this charge. He only claims that Malagis diminishes his honor and embarrasses him in public, but he has no evidence for this. In numerous conversations, the term verretter [traitor] (9835) is introduced, combined with the ethical charge of lack of loyalty: ungetruwe (9835). The discussion of treason thus turns into a critical component of ethical behavior as a standard of public norms that Charlemagne himself has broken, insofar as he assumes the attitude of an all-powerful dictatorial ruler who believes that he does not have to follow the same rules as everyone else and can mete out punishment to anyone he deems guilty, deserved or not.
Nevertheless, the king resorts to the very same term numerous times, accusing Malagis and his friends (the other magicians) of being guilty of that ethical shortcoming, so with respect to Vyvien: ââEya, ungetruwer verreterââ [âOh, you disloyal traitorâ] (11930). Occasionally, the term âtreasonâ can also apply to a deceptive situation in which the senses mislead the individual, a reference to the common appearance of magical tricks, such as when the audience believes that the devil had been at work to fool them all: ââHat uns all verraden ditzââ [âhe has betrayed us allâ] (12866).
Both here and in Königin Sibille, the notion of âtreasonâ matters primarily in ethical, religious, and moral, as well as legal or political, terms. The courtiers in Elisabethâs novel appear to aim for the destruction of Charlemagneâs dynasty, probably out of jealousy, greed, political desires, and military hostility, but their aggression is primarily directed at the queen who is a âsoftâ target of their machinations. In Malagis, there is no political danger for the ruler in sight, and there are no political groups operating to undermine the kingâs position. However, Charlemagne himself resorts to the term âtraitorâ many times and identifies his opponent, Malagis, as an individual in command of enormous occult powers who wants to destroy his authority. Resorting to this charge allows the king to condemn the black arts altogether as a strategy targeting him personally, although he himself is consistently to blame for all his own failings. To call someone a traitor has been a universal strategy throughout history, and all dictators, both past and present, have resorted to that term to denigrate a group of critics and to eliminate them, seemingly by legitimately judicial means. In reality, however, the employment of a devious ideology is in play to silence a dangerous minority and to maintain control without a real legal basis.
Malagis never intends to challenge the king, but every time Charlemagne threatens him with imprisonment and then execution, he resorts to his mighty occult powers and defies Charlemagne without fail, to the kingâs great embarrassment. The more the king talks about treason, the less there is actual treason at play. The other characters employ the same term and thus extend the charge of treason to all of their opponents, which means that the word verreder [traitor] (16988) becomes a catch-all for everything perceived as ethically, politically, morally, and, possibly, religiously condemnable.
The character Yvorin, for instance, identifies the magical power wielded by Spiet as verretteniÃe [treason] (17004), rejecting it altogether, apparently out of a sense of weakness and insecurity. Identifying the enemy as a traitor thus develops into a standard formula in which the worst condemnation and insult can be formulated.29
To conclude, the concept of âtreason,â as dealt with in these late medieval German novels, cannot be identified and characterized with all desired simplicity and clarity. The word itself is used in a variety of contexts and assumes a range of meanings, almost like an insult within the courtly world. To call someone a traitor is tantamount to declaring him or her the worst enemy, as someone who has challenged the official authority of the king or the queen. In all three texts discussed here, however, there is a strong sense of instability at work, both in public and in private. The factual (Königin Sibille) and the presumed presence of traitors (Malagis) signals unmistakably how much the public was afraid of losing control, of becoming subject to nefarious forces, and of eroding all ethics. Even within the private sphere, such as in Melusine, distrust and betrayal enter the general picture and are subsumed under the concept of treason.
This verse romance and these two prose novels were entertainment for the aristocratic and urban audiences, and they quickly gained in popularity at the end of the sixteenth century once they were offered in printed form. The frequency with which the idea of treason emerges in all three examples, and in other contemporary texts, underscores a deep sense of fear that the traditional framework upon which courtly society was predicated was seriously at risk. As much as the family bonds seemed to become weaker, so the political system appeared to fray both at its margin and then also in its center.
Treason was at work everywhere, as these literary examples indicate impressively, both privately and publicly. This very inflation of the term, however, also signals the arbitrariness of how the concept was formulated and directed against any kind of opponent. To commit treason was, as the poets indicate, one of the worst crimes and deserved very harsh and cruel punishment, especially because it threatened to undermine the well-being of the entire kingdom. Private treason reflected public treason, and the political dimension is regularly mirrored in private affairs. Our analysis of literary texts has made it possible, then, to grasp a critical discourse from the late Middle Ages slipping over from the world of politics and military power to the dimension of private life. The fictional accounts obviously mirrored a deep sense of unreliability, distrust, betrayal, and a fundamental lack of ethics.
Albrecht Classen, âBestsellers in the European Middle Ages? An Examination of Some of the Most Popular Books in the Premodern Era. With Reflections on Wolfram von Eschenbachâs Parzival,â in BestsellerâYesterday and Today: A Look from the Margin to the Center of Literary Studies, ed. Albrecht Classen and Eva Parra Membrives, 83â103 (Tübingen: Narr, 2016).
Bodo Gotzkowski, âVolksbücherâ: Prosaromane, Renaissancenovellen, Versdichtungen und Schwankbücher: Bibliographie der deutschen Drucke, 2 vols., Bibliotheca bibliographica Aureliana, 125 and 142 (Baden-Baden: Valentin Koerner, 1991 and 1994); Albrecht Classen, âThe Late Medieval âVolksbuchâ or âProse Novelâ,â in Heroes and Heroines: âVolksbücherâ: Prose Novels in Late Medieval Society, ed. Marion Hanke and Ina Nettekoven (Basel: Dr. Jörn Günther Rare Books, 2017), 7â9.
In this volume, see: Inna Matyushina, âTreacherous Women at King Arthurâs Court: Punishment and Shameâ; Melissa Ridley Elmes, âTreason and the Feast in Sir Thomas Maloryâs Le Morte Darthurâ; and Larissa Tracy, âThe Shame Game, from Guinevere to Cersei: Adultery, Treason and Betrayal.â
Albrecht Classen, âThe Cry-Baby Kings in Courtly Romances: What is Wrong with Medieval Kingship?,â Studi Medievali 3a Series, 39.2 (1998): 833â63; Albrecht Classen, âMoney, Power, Poverty, and Social Criticism in the Work of Heinrich der Teichner,â Studi medievali 51.2 (2010): 671â99; Albrecht Classen, âCourtliness and Transgression at Arthurâs Court: With Emphasis on the Middle High German Poet Neidhart and the Anonymous Verse Novella Mauritius von Craûn,â Arthuriana 20.4 (2010): 3â19; Albrecht Classen, âOutsiders, Challengers, and Rebels in Medieval Courtly Literature: The Problem with the Courts in Courtly Romances,â Arthuriana 26.3 (2016): 67â90. The issue that I address there pertains to social conflicts at court, lack of proper legal procedures, and the kingâs almost tyrannical behavior, but not treason, as in the present paper.
There were scores of social critics writing in the high and late Middle Ages; see, for instance: Walther von der Vogelweide, Hugo von Trimberg, or Heinrich der Teichner. Cf. Albrecht Classen, âMoney, Power, Poverty.â See especially: Claus Uhlig, Hofkritik im England des Mittelalters und der Renaissance: Studien zu einem Gemeinplatz der europäischen Moralistik, vol. 56, Quellen und Forschungen zur Sprach- und Kulturgeschichte der germanischen Völker; N.F. (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1973).
Mary Lewis, âA Traitorâs Death? The Identity of a Drawn, Hanged and Quartered Man from Hulton Abbey, Staffordshire,â Antiquity 82.315 (2008): 113â24.
J.G. Bellamy, The Law of Treason in England in the Later Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970); Fabiano Fernandes, âJacques de Armagnac, duque de Nemours e acusaçÄo de Lesa-majestade: A construçÄo de um crime polÃtico por meio da memória escrita. 1465â1477,â Revista Diálogos Mediterrânicos 9 (2015): 189â209.
Lexikon des Mittelalters, vol. 6 (Munich: Lexma Verlag, 1993), âMajestätsverbrechen.â See also the famous study by Michel Foucault, Surveiller et punir: naissance de la prison (Paris: Gallimard, 1975), 36â72, et passim.
W.R.J. Barron, âThe Penalties for Treason in Medieval Life and Literature,â Journal of Medieval History 7.2 (1981): 187â202; Paul Strohm, âTrade, Treason, and the Murder of Janus Imperial,â Journal of British Studies 35.1 (1996): 1â23; Joanna Bradfield, âCanaceeâs Mirror: Gender and Treason in Medieval Literature,â (PhD Dissertation, University of California, Riverside, 2011).
For more on treason in the Charlemagne tradition, see in this volume: Ana Grinberg, âReligious Identity, Loyalty, and Treason in the Cycle du roiâ and Tina Boyer, âLegal Ramifications of Ordeals and Treason in Morant und Galie.â
Emanuel J. Mickel, Ganelon, Treason, and the âChanson de Rolandâ (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1989).
Research has dealt with this issue many times, of course; see, for instance: Roger M. Smith, âDid the Infantes de Carrion Intend to Kill the Cidâs Daughters?,â Bulletin of ÂHispanic Studies 56 (1979): 1â10. For a discussion on treason in medieval Castile, see, in this volume: Samuel A. Claussen, âRoyal Punishment and Reconciliation in Trastámara ÂCastile.â
Karen Cunningham, Imaginary Betrayals: Subjectivity and the Discourses of Treason in Early Modern England (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2002). One somewhat related case would be Heinrich Kaufringerâs verse narrative âDer feige Ehemannâ (c. 1400), in which âtreasonâ results in the wifeâs rape. A knight woos a lady without any success, but when she tells her husband about this situation, the latter arranges a trap for the knight, hiding behind a barrel in the room where the affair is supposed to take place. He intends to appear in the nick of time to save his wife, but early on, the knight demonstrates his enormous physical strength, which frightens the husband so much that he stays hidden, which basically results in the wifeâs sexual abuse, although the knight does not fully understand her protests against his sexual approach. After the confused rapist has left, she severely criticizes her husband for his cowardice and, basically, his treason. He defends himself, commenting that a little harm (his wifeâs loss of honor and her being a victim of a sexual crime) would be less damaging than if he had confronted the knight to protect her and then died. Kaufringer agrees with this argument to some extent, but ultimately strongly criticizes the husband altogether for his foolish and unworthy behavior. This amounts to âtreasonâ in a personal context. See: Heinrich Kaufringer, Text, vol. 1, Werke, ed. Paul Sappler (Tübingen: Max Niemeyer, 1972), 73â80. See also, in this volume: Dianne Berg, ââTis Fearful Sleeping in a Serpentâs Bedâ: Arden of Faversham and the Threat of the Petty Traitor.â I have translated all texts by Kaufringer: Love, Life, and Lust in Heinrich Kaufringerâs Verse Narratives (Tempe: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2014).
Kim Esmark, Lars Hermanson, Hans Jacob Orning, and Helle Vogt, eds., Disputing Strategies in Medieval Scandinavia (Leiden: Brill, 2013).
For an overview of the research history and in-depth analysis of four major texts, see: Albrecht Classen, The German Volksbuch. A Critical History of a Late-Medieval Genre (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 1995).
Xenia von Ertzdorff, Romane und Novellen des 15. und 16. Jahrhunderts in Deutschland (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1989).
Der Roman von der Königin Sibille: in drei Prosafassungen des 14. und 15. Jahrhunderts mit Benutzung der nachgelassenen Materialien von Fritz Burg, ed. Hermann Tiemann (Hamburg: Hauswedell, 1977); a new edition recently appeared: Königin Sibille Huge Scheppel: Editionen, Kommentar und ErschlieÃungen, ed. Bernd Bastert and Ute von Bloh (Berlin: Erich Schmidt Verlag, 2018), which was not available in time to consult for this study. The editors do not even grant Elisabeth the title of author or translator of this work. See the comprehensive study by Ute von Bloh, Ausgerenkte Ordnung: Vier Prosaepen aus dem Umkreis der Gräfin Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken: âHerzog Herpin,â âLoher und Maller,â âHugo Scheppel,â âKönigin Sibilleâ (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 2002).
Wolfgang Haubrichs and Hans-Walter Hermann, eds., Zwischen Deutschland und Frankreich: Elisabeth von Lothringen, Gräfin von Nassau-Saarbrücken (St. Ingbert: Röhrig, 2002). The debate has continued since then, with some of her works newly edited without name attribution, including Königin Sibille (see note 19). See, for instance: Bernd Bastert, ed., Herzog Herpin: Kritische Edition eines spätmittelalterlichen Prosaepos (Berlin: Erich Schmidt Verlag, 2014). Regarding the issue of translating, see: Translatio or the Transmission of Culture in the Middle Ages and Renaissance: Modes and Messages, ed. Laura H. Hollengreen and Laura Holden (Turnhout: Brepols, 2008); Rethinking Medieval Translation: Ethics, Politics, Theory, ed. Emma Campbell and Robert Mills (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2012); Translators, Interpreters and Cultural Negotiators: Mediating and Communicating Power from the Middle Ages to the Modern Era, ed. Federico M. Federici and Dario Tessicini (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014); Elizabeth Dearnley, Translators and Their Prologues in Medieval England (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2016); and The Medieval Translator: Translator and Authority, ed. Pieter De Leemans and Michèle Goyens (Turnhout: Brepols, 2016).
Johann II. von Simmern, Die Haymonskinder, ed. Werner Wunderlich, vol. 35, Frühe Neuzeit (Tübingen: Max Niemeyer, 1997). Wunderlich traces the rich European reception of this text in great detail at 455â82. Hereafter, the relevant sections from the text will be given in parentheses.
Albrecht Classen, âTiere als Symbole der höfischen Welt,â in Tiere als Freunde im Mittelalter: Eine Anthologie, ed. Gabriele Kompatscher, Albrecht Classen, and Peter Dinzelbacher (Badenweiler: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag, 2010), 20â31.
Bernd Bastert, ed., Karl der Grosse in den europäischen Literaturen des Mittelalters (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 2004). There is a legion of relevant research on the reception of the myth of Charlemagne in medieval literature, culture, and politics; see: Albrecht Classen, âThe Myth of Charlemagne: From the Early Middle Ages to the Late Sixteenth Century,â peer-reviewed online article at <http://www.charlemagne-icon.ac.uk/further-reading/articles/> (accessed Nov. 26, 2018) or: <https://cpb-eu-w2.wpmucdn.com/blogs.bristol.ac.uk/dist/c/332/files/2016/01/Classen-2016-The-Myth-of-Charlemagne.pdf> (accessed Nov. 26, 2018).
Thüring von Ringoltingen, Melusine, ed. Karin Schneider (Berlin: Erich Schmidt Verlag, 1958). See also the excellent edition with extensive notes and commentary: Romane des 15. und 16. Jahrhunderts: Nach den Erstdrucken mit sämtlichen Holzschnitten, ed. Jan-Dirk Müller, 9â176 (Frankfurt a. M.: Deutscher Klassiker Verlag, 1990). Hereafter, the relevant sections from the text will be given in parentheses.
Wei Tang, Mahrtenehen in der westeuropäischen und chinesischen Literatur: Melusine, Undine, Fuchsgeister und irdische Männer: eine komparatistische Studie (Würzburg: Ergon-Verlag, 2009).
Der deutsche Malagis: Nach den Heidelberger Handschriften Cpg 340 und Cpg 315, Unter Benutzung der Vorarbeiten von Gabriele Schieb und Sabine Seelbach, ed. Annegret Haase, Bob W. Duijvestijn, Gilbert A.R. deSmet, and Rudolf Bentzinger (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2000). Hereafter, the relevant sections from the text will be given in parentheses.
Albrecht Classen, âMagic in Late Medieval German Literature: The Case of the Good Magician Malagis,â in Magic and Magicians in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Time: The Occult in Pre-Modern Sciences, Medicine, Literature, Religion, and Astrology, ed. Albrecht Classen, 523â45 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2017).