All of Grillparzer's completed posthumous plays commence with a negation: “primislaus an der Tür der Hütte horchend: Bist du schon fertig? libussa von innen: Nein”; “gerichtsperson Im Namen kaiserlicher Majestät / Ruf' ich euch zu: Laβt ab! don cäsar Ich nicht, fürwahr!” (Ein Bruderzwist 1-2); “isak Bleib zurück, geh nicht in' Garten!” (Die Jüdin 1). In all three instances the denial, pointing to a personal conflict, whether between a man and a woman, father and son, or father and daughter, reflects on the individual level a social development threatening the stability of a well established political structure or ideology. Negation implies an attempt to distance the self from a perceived potential threat. Libussa's first utterance of the tragedy is a simple, succinct “Nein”: she stands up to Primislaus, and being in control from the outset, refuses to be rushed. Moreover, the one asking the question normally occupies the inferior position, i.e., expresses a dependence upon the person being asked. In contrast, the staging establishes a visual internal/external dichotomy: the woman within the cottage to which traditional gender patterns would relegate her and to which she will return at the beginning of the fifth act and the man on the outside, a dramatic realization of the female inner versus the masculine outer orientation.¹ Primislaus's listening at the door may also convey esteem or deference. Therefore, the spectator immediately gains an inkling of a problematic relationship: although the physical staging reinforces typical sexual stereotypes, the attitudes expressed by word and gesture suggest their inversion.

Conflicting reviews and views have long characterized the fate of Libussa on stage and at the hands of literary critics. It has enjoyed little success with audiences—most recently Roe has alluded to “its undramatic quality which makes it one of Grillparzer's most disappointing works” (A Century 98)—but while the author himself conceded the weakness of the fifth act: “Im fünften Akt ist mir die Libussa nicht so geraten” (Bachmaier 734), he defended the prologue: “Das Vorspiel, […] das ist auch das Beste dran. Das Vorspiel zur Libussa ist gut, ist vielleicht das Beste, was ich geschrieben hab', ist vortrefflich” (Bachmaier 733), high praise which one should take into account, given its source, i.e., Austria's greatest playwright. In an effort to explain what some commentators have judged to be thematic inconsistencies, Lorenz, turning to Grillparzer's own “schlüsselhafte Deutungen”, concludes that he elected to place “den Schwerpunkt auf eine Konfliktsituation, nicht auf die Harmonie, auf den Gegensatz der Hauptfiguren, nicht auf ihren Einklang” (“Neubewertung” 33). If she is correct in her designation of conflict or opposition and their non-resolution as the focal point of Libussa, then one would expect the “Vorspiel” to introduce this perspective. Indeed, this theatrical exposition of psychological game-playing presents an underlying theme of separation/Scheiden: high from low, aristocracy from peasantry, female from male, far from near, unity from duality, meeting from parting, and life from death. Both on the basis of its visual and verbal message, the opening scene deserves closer scrutiny than it has received to date.

Commenting upon Primislaus's first monologue, Politzer observes, “Dem festen Nein der Frau entspricht ein lyrischer Erguβ des Mannes, der ihn nicht eigentlich zu den Taten prädestiniert erscheinen läβt, zu denen ihn der Dichter bestimmt hatte” (309). This may be true of the tone, more spontaneous and hence more emotional than in his subsequent dialogue with Libussa,² but the difficulties that will emerge in their relationship already manifest themselves in his choice of words and images. His initial contact with her was acoustic, “ein Schrei” (4) indicative of her defencelessness—the demoiselle in distress—and then visual: “eines Weibes leuchtende Gewande, / Vom Strudel fortgerafft, die Nacht durchblinken” (5-6). According to Grillparzer's own assessment, Libussa is equal or even superior to Primislaus in every respect except one: perseverance or determination. “Es war die Idee, dieser Beharrlichkeit ein äuβeres Gegenbild zu geben. Libussa, im Walde verirrt und von den Fluthen eines Bergstromes fortgerissen, wird von Primislaus gerettet” (Bachmaier 727-8). From the perspective of the rescuer, the steadfast figure on the shore, the image of being caught in a whirlpool and dragged along against one's will further substantiates the impression of the helpless, irresolute woman. To describe his visual perception of the heroine, he resorts to metonymy: the clothes stand for the person who only exists as the presumed bearer of the garments. Pieces of clothing will continue to play a major role within the drama and, as signifiers, they lead an important life of their own, often functioning as concrete indicators of the unconscious realm. Primislaus's insistence upon the emanation of light—“leuchtende;” “durchblinken”—not only indicates the male tendency to idealize the female but also alludes to the richness of her attire, the first sign of the social barrier separating the two main protagonists. The retrieval of a woman from a stream is not in itself extraordinary. Her exalted status, clearly out of place in a mountain stream late at night, does attract his attention and arouse his curiosity. Hence, did the incident really happen as he perceived it: “Ist es denn wahr? und ist es wirklich so?” (2)

By continuing to dwell upon the impersonal, material aspects of Libussa's semblance in the next lines: “Ich eile hin und fasse sie [die Gewande or Libussa?], und trage / Die süβe Beute, laue Tropfen regnend, / Hierher” (7-9), he betrays himself as the man more concerned with external appearances than with the individual personality underneath. Staking his claim on her person, he unconsciously treats her as an object, thereby inadvertently disclosing through his choice of metaphor his male desire to possess her: she embodies the spoils of war, an exclusively masculine prerogative, which he has rightfully earned by wresting her from a natural enemy. When in the second act Libussa rejects the “Reiche Beute” (609) offered in homage by the miners: “Mich ekelt an der anspruchsvolle Tand” (611), the pejorative aspect of Primislaus's impulsive utterance becomes more evident. Since Mother Earth does not freely bestow her treasures, men have to remove them by doing violence to her, an environmental rape particularly noteworthy in view of the symbolic significance of the mountain, the “Bergwerk” (609) from which “Bergknappen” (p. 300) extract the minerals: “Diese immer noch zum Elementarcharakter des Gefäβes gehörende [Schutz] Funktion wird besonders deutlich im ‘Berg,’ der im Deutschen symbolisch mit sich bergen, sich verbergen und mit Geborgenheit ebenso wie mit Burg zusammenzustellen ist” (Neumann 57). His own words later in the second act add credence to this interpretation when he laments, “Doch nah' ich ihr, rückstattend meinen Raub, / Lohnt sie mit Gold die Tat, die mich beglückt” (748-9). “Raub” again invokes the martial male imagery in that it means plunder or booty, but it also signifies rape. As will become apparent, his choice of “Raub” to designate Libussa's jewel possesses a particular appropriateness.

Primislaus's account of the divestment exhibits obvious sexual overtones: “und sie erholt sich, und ich löse / Die goldnen Schuhe selbst ihr von den Füβen, / Und breit' ins Gras den schwergesognen Schleier, / Und meine Hütt' empfängt den teuern Gast” (9-12), although it is not without some ambiguity. The removal of her shoes could also signal his respect: stooping to serve her, he humbles himself. Lorenz speaks of “die Vorstellung einer Schändung der bewuβtlosen Libussa” (“Neubewertung” 37) which Roe interprets to mean: “Lorenz insists that Primislaus may even have raped Libussa” (A Century 97), but in fairness to Lorenz, the noun “Vorstellung” could simply denote the fantasy of a rape, a possibility which the symbolic message clearly supports and, according to St Matthew's gospel, to harbour lust is just as reprehensible as to seek its actual satisfaction: “But I [Christ] say unto you, That whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart” (5:28). However, the text contains no direct evidence that Libussa ever lost consciousness—“sie erholt sich” does not necessarily signify a regaining of consciousness and has the contextual meaning of catching her breath—and, in any case, the removal of the wet clothing occurs after she recovers. Later Libussa asserts, “Ich half mir selbst, glaub nur! erschienst du nicht” (27), a trivializing of the danger she faced which Grillparzer would appear to have endorsed: “[Libussa] wird von Primislaus gerettet, oder vielmehr er hilft ihr die Gefahr bestehen, denn die letztere ist durchaus nicht so ernsthaft gemeint, daβ ohne seinen Beistand, Libussens Lage hilflos gewesen wäre” (Bachmaier 728). She could not have been unconscious in a whirlpool if her life was never in jeopardy. Furthermore, she does not come across as the fainting type. The description does hint at a symbolic or metaphorical rape, especially through the reference to her veil for, along with the “Hütte,” it belongs to the cultural symbols of protection or containment, elementary attributes of the female vessel archetype (cf. Neumann 45). In some Middle Eastern cultures, only the husband may remove his wife's veil and view her face (cf. Rhodope's veil in Hebbel's Gyges und sein Ring). Since circumstances have provided Primislaus with this opportunity, this detail already anticipates his marital claim reinforced later by his removing her jewel. The “Schleier” also represents her divine heritage and mission, a symbol of the unknown, enigmatic woman in her closeness to nature. To quote Goethe's Faust: “Geheimnisvoll am lichten Tag / Läβt sich Natur des Schleiers nicht berauben” (672-3). In the case at hand, Libussa's veil has been brought low, desecrated in another visual image of her descent from the realm of her sisters to a man's cottage in anticipation of the domestic sphere to which she will be eventually reduced at the beginning of the last act.³

Primislaus's monologue concludes with yet another implied sexual fantasy: “Glückselige, ihr meiner Schwester Kleider, / Die sie getragen und mir sterbend lieβ, / Ihr werdet dieser Hohen Leib umhüllen, / Und näher sie mir zaubern, die so fern” (13-16). He envies his sister's clothes because they cover Libussa's body and thus he seeks to disguise the sexual desire she has aroused in him behind the socially admissible love he feels for his late sister. The “sie” of his final line refers to his sister but could also include Libussa, for he knows both women to be beyond his reach, his sister by the ultimate separation of death (Scheiden) and Libussa by her birth. His first speech of the tragedy draws heavily upon the social division he senses between himself and the woman he has saved, hence the prominence of “fern” as the last word of his monologue. The allusion to the light emanating from her clothing (cf. the German Durchlaucht), the golden shoes, the veil to conceal and distinguish the noble from the common, and aristocratic superiority in body and soul (“dieser Hohen Leib”)⁴ set her apart from the ordinary. As Nietzsche was to point out later in the nineteenth century, the aristocracy claims its right to rule by its distinctiveness from “allem Niedrigen, Niedrig-Gesinnten, Gemeinen und Pöbelhaften,” what he called the “Pathos der Vornehmheit und Distanz, […] das dauernde und dominierende Gesamt—und Grundgefühl einer höheren herrschenden Art im Verhältnis zu einer niederen Art, zu einem ‘Unten’” (Zur Genealogie 185). Primislaus knows that this woman stands above him on the social ladder and as a result of the feelings she has stirred in him, whether they be of love or, from a more cynical point of view, of desire for social advancement, or a combination of both, he faces a dilemma created by class distinction, a distance also apparent in the impersonal manner he employs to depict the rescue: “eines Weibes leuchtende Gewande” (5). The sense of excitement his soliloquy conveys intimates that despite his humble credentials, he still harbours the audacity to hope as he in retrospect confesses to Libussa in the fourth act (1610).

The audience's visual introduction to the titular heroine “in ländlicher Tracht aus der Hütte tretend” (p. 277) suggests an affinity with this unpretentious ambience in contrast to the sophisticated garments laid out to dry, and her initial words only serve to reinforce this impression: “Hier bin ich, und verwandelt wie du siehst. / Des Bauern Kleider hüllen minder warm nicht / Als eines Fürsten Rock; in so weit, merk' ich, / Sind sie sich gleich” (17-20). In this meeting between the two classes, she immediately appears quite openminded: in comparing the outer shells from the point of practicality, she sees no difference. Already, this scene, both in its visual and verbal content, signals the feasibility of convergence on an equal (“gleich”) basis between these representatives of the nobility and peasantry,⁵ but her speech also tends to underscore the social obstacles, even though it may seek on one level to deny them. Class distinction may pose less of a problem for her than it does for Primislaus: it costs her little to adopt this stance, smacking of condescension, since she occupies the dominant position. Interpreting in part the significance of Libussa's peasant dress, Lorenz maintains, “Indem Primislaus Libussa in die Bauerntracht seiner Schwester hüllte und sie der Abzeichen ihres Ranges sowie des mütterlichen Bildes aus der Spange beraubte, hat er sie ihrer Herkunft und ihrer Identität entäuβert” (“Neubewertung” 37). Lorenz is more explicit in her 1986 monograph where she states, “Er [zieht] ihr die Kleider seiner Schwester an” (Grillparzer 184). Her antipathy for the ploughman is readily understandable, but on occasion she allows her dislike to colour her judgement as in the above quotations. Having retrieved an unknown noble woman from the water, can he realistically be expected to leave her in her wet clothing or to have at hand an outfit more in keeping with her station in life? He merely offers her his sister's “Bauerntracht” which she exchanges for her own wet attire (minus the shoes and the veil which remain outside) within his cottage as the text indicates: “libussa in ländlicher Tracht aus der Hütte tretend: / Hier bin ich, und verwandelt wie du siehst” (17). She has done the dressing herself in the privacy of the cottage while Primislaus impatiently waits for her outside, as decorum would dictate, and imagines how his sister's clothes will cover, i.e., future tense (“werdet […] umhüllen”) her body. Her country costume does have an obvious symbolic, visual function; however, her wearing it is a matter of fortuity rather than design and whereas Primislaus may steal her jewel, he does not deprive her of the “Abzeichen ihres Ranges”: he returns them to their rightful owner once they have presumably dried out: “Dein Schleier und die schimmernden Gewande, / In denen ich den Fluten dich entriβ, / Hier eingebunden trägts des Pferdes Rücken” (261-3).

In his epithet to address her, Primislaus persists in drawing attention to the separating distance: “Du Hohe, Herrliche! / Wie zierst du diese ländlich niedre Tracht!” (20-1), while she has raised the possibility of ignoring it and has even expressed an outlook in keeping with his practical bent. Later in the drama he claims, “Bist du am offenbarsten wenn verhüllt / Und trägst die Krone wenn du sie verleugnest” (1771-2). From his perspective she cannot hide her royal aura, her inherent preeminence, even in a peasant outfit. Lorenz has overstated her case when she asserts: “Bereits in den scheinbar idyllischen Anfangsszenen fallen auf seiten Primislaus' Besitzgier und Mangel an Achtung vor der fremden, vornehmen Frau auf. Er möchte Libussa sofort zu seinesgleichen, ja Geringerem als seinesgleichen, zu einer Frau seines Standes, zu seiner Frau, seinem Eigentum, machen. […] Obwohl diese [lines 25-7] und andere Worte eine Bemühung Libussas darstellen, eine Entfernung zwischen sich und den in ihr Leben eingebrochenen Fremden zu setzen, übersieht Primislaus taktlos derartige Versuche und hält seinerseits die Distanz möglichst klein” (“Neubewertung” 36-7). At the beginning of the scene, Libussa is the one to break down the barriers; Primislaus harps upon them. He faces, after all, quite a predicament: on the one hand he clearly feels physically attracted to her—she is a beautiful woman—but on the other he cannot deny his awareness of the social distance separating them. The critics have generally ignored or given only passing reference to the motif of love across the class barrier. While Florack implicitly acknowledges its importance in the early stages, she sees it as incidental later in the tragedy: “Nebensächlich jedoch wird die soziale Differenz zwischen den Antagonisten, wenn sich Primislaus im Verlauf der Handlung damit begnügt, daβ Libussa seinem Weiblichkeitsideal ähnlicher wird” (242). However, the very last line of the work plays on the same separation with which Libussa began: “Das Hohe schied, sein Zeichen sei hienieden” (2513). Also, Florack's view that the love interest functions “die Standesproblematik zu überdecken” (242) fails to appreciate how, from the beginning to the end, the “Standesproblematik” puts a strain on their relationship and complicates the “Liebesmotiv” and the wider social issues. The omission or deemphasizing of this dynamic not only does Primislaus an injustice but also does not take into full account the subtle play between the sexes which Grillparzer was such a master at suggesting.

The direct allusion to his late sister and to her reincarnation through Libussa as she enters in the dead girl's attire strikes a sincere note despite the ulterior motive of the flattering comparison (24). The fact that he also mentions his recent loss in his monologue during Libussa's absence, i.e., with no one to impress, gives his words a ring of genuineness by virtue of the implied tenderness for a departed loved one and does provide an explanation for the immediacy and urgency of his pursuit of the strange woman which goes beyond the overtly sexual. After death has separated him from a close family member, he must now relinquish her again in the person his mind has cast as a surrogate.

Libussa's spontaneous response is to show gratitude and to acknowledge him as her saviour: “Auch für die Kleider Dank! du mein Erretter!” (25), but she then proceeds to minimize the significance of his heroic deed: “Wenn Rettung ja wo die Gefahr nicht groβ. / Ich half mir selbst, glaub nur! erschienst du nicht” (26-7). As in her opening utterance of the play, “Nein”, she declares her independence, refusing to assume the part of the helpless female. Adamantly she seeks to avoid incurring a debt, an obligation, which can easily become a form of servitude.⁶ When he shows concern for her present physical well-being, she denies him again: “Ich hab' geruht, nun ruft mich ein Geschäft” (31) and refrains from going along with his solicitous attitude. Not one to be easily discouraged, Primislaus tries again to offer assistance only to be rebuffed by another “Nein” (32) and, just four lines later in the dialogue, she once more contradicts him: “Dort nicht” (36). The persistence with which she avoids any show of reliance and her constant denials, either direct or implied, may denote a strong, conscious resistance to a repressed attraction to this man. As Ehrhard has proposed, “Und nicht aus Undankbarkeit spricht sie [Libussa] so, sondern sie wehrt sich gegen eine Neigung, die ihr Retter einflöβt” (506). Lorenz misses the point: “Gleich im ersten Akt ist das Verhältnis zwischen Libussa und ihrem zukünftigen Gatten feindselig und ohne jede ‘Innigkeit’” (“Neubewertung” 36). Indeed, reticence—there is no evidence of hostility—frequently masks the very intimacy Lorenz would deny this scene. As Volkelt remarked back in 1888, “Die Tragödie erhält ihren Zauber erst durch das zwischen Libussa und Primislaus stattfindende Liebesspiel” (67).

The dialogue contains further indications of her apparent control of the present situation: “Du [Libussa] hast den Ort bezeichnet, der dein Ziel. / Geleiten sollt' ich zu drei Eichen dich” (33-4). She has already expressed her wish, if not her command, before she entered his cottage, and the “Ziel” designates a resolve; she does not normally flow with the tide. In the face of her laconic replies suggesting her fear of further involvement, he must “dig” for information. While her objective is to leave as soon as possible in order to attend to urgent domestic matters, his is somehow to guarantee a second meeting: “Und ich / Soll dort dem Ungefähr dich übergeben, / Das niemals wohl uns mehr zusammenführt?” (37-9). Ironically he anticipates Libuss's subsequent strategy since she does in fact leave their next encounter to chance: “Und überlieβ dem Zufall denn / Ob sie [the Wladiken] des Rätsels Lösung dennoch fänden?” (792-3), an approach which this man of practical reason finds unacceptable.⁷ His choice of words, “dich übergeben”, divulges a sense of ownership on his part, as if he were required to surrender a possession or renounce a valid claim (cf. his earlier use of “Beute”). Libussa's response, taking the form of a proverbial statement, both summarizes and foretells their mutual fate: “Der Menschen Wege kreuzen sich gar vielfach / Und leicht begegnet sich Getrennter Pfad” (40-1). They seem to be constantly at odds, as the path each chooses proves to be different in nature and aims, and yet on occasion the two do meet, do reach a reconciliation of sorts in their common concern for the welfare of their people (although the means or method to that end diverge) and in the attraction they feel for one another. According to Lorenz, Libussa is “keine Liebeshandlung […] sondern der Machtkampf zweier verschieden gearteter Herrschergestalten” (“Neubewertung” 35), but a love story, given the chemistry of some physical relationships (cf. Kleist's Penthesilea as an extreme example), can frequently represent a struggle for dominance and an extreme reluctance to expose one's vulnerability, a lesson the eternal bachelor Grillparzer knew only too well from personal experience. “Getrennter Pfad,” appearing in the emphatic final position, stresses the realization that despite occasional concurrence, their final position will be one of separation: the crossings will be few and temporary. The text would thus seem to recognize the inevitability of disjunction, whether between male and female, patriarchy and matriarchy, community and individual, or a nineteenth- and eighteenth-century political ideal. Ultimately, notwithstanding their feelings for one another, each of the main protagonists will go his/her separate way.

Libussa's aphorism may also attempt to conceal a specific interest in her interlocutor behind a generalization.⁸ Despite all the disqualifications contained in “Getrennter”—divisions of sex or social status—she still holds open the prospect of a future meeting, indeed presents it as even likely (“vielfach”; “leicht”). Hence, Wolf-Cirian's analysis of Libussa's attitude does not do her full justice: “Primislaus gegenüber ist sie durchaus von herber Verschlossenheit, von ablehnender Haltung. Ihren Sinnen ist der Mann gleichgültig, […] und die Huldigung, die ihr Primislaus entgegenbringt, gleitet, ohne jeglichen Eindruck auf ihre Eitelkeit zu machen, von ihrer stolzen, gefürsteten Natur ab” (249-50). Encouraged by Libussa's concession, Primislaus exhibits bluntness or lack of tact, but also some deference when he asks for permission to sue for her hand in marriage: “Du bist kein Weib um das man werben könnte?” (42), an unambiguous expression of his honourable intentions. Since a negative interrogative normally anticipates a negative answer, what he has been consistently receiving from her, his query betrays a lack of confidence: given the visible signs of social distinction, an imbalance in her favour, he solicits her counsel. In this instance she does not say no directly, opting for a milder form of denial which credits him with insight: “Du hasts erraten” (43). Anxious to know the exact cause of ineligibility, he seeks to confirm the obvious: “Und, verbeuts dein Stand, / Sinds andre Gründe, die's verbieten?” to which she replies, “Beides” (43-4). As has become the norm, he singles out the class issue, but significantly neither speaker alludes directly to his or her own personal feelings as the disqualifying factor, and she intimates that she has no or very little say in the matter, i.e., she does not enjoy the luxury of being able to follow her own inclinations. Although she acknowledges her dependence upon social conventions, her lack of control over her matrimonial destiny, a scenario partly confirmed by the tragedy, the audience already has sufficient evidence of an independent, spirited woman who does not wish to be beholden to anyone. Yet in an image which invites the spectator to interpret her words on a more symbolic level and in a prophetic vein, she commands her host, “gedenke deines Worts / Und führe mich aus dieses Waldes Schlünden / Zum Ziel meines Weges, das du kennst” (45-7). While sufficiently in control of the current situation to issue two orders, one of which reminds him that as a gentleman he must fulfil his word, she still concedes, albeit somewhat theatrically, the need for his protection and his guidance if she is to attain her goal; significantly she cannot reach it on her own. Moreover, as Primislaus's reaction makes evident—“Wohl, du gebeutst und ich muβ dir gehorchen” (48)—he recognizes the obedience he owes her both as the magnanimous rescuer of the beautiful demoiselle in distress but also as an obscure peasant before an illustrious lady. Even though by rights Libussa should be in his debt—he did retrieve her from the water and provide shelter and clothing—she comes across as the dominant party.

Taking his cue from Libussa's phrase “Getrennter Pfad” (41), Primislaus now transforms the “drei Eichen” (34) into “Trennungs-Eichen” (51) repeated for emphasis (52). The number three appears as well in the three Wladiken, or the three sisters or the three belts. It expresses “sufficiency, or the growth of unity within itself”, especially since it “represents the solution of the conflict posed by dualism” (Cirlot 232). Libussa supports this symbolic meaning since the three Wladiken form an almost indistinguishable unity, a self-serving sufficiency in the unanimity of their views while the sisters forgo this harmony, becoming a duality of sorts, i.e., Tetka/Kascha versus Libussa once the latter abandons the fold (“Der Kreis getrennt” [382]). The number three does pose a threat for Primislaus in his pursuit of the queen, as the never completely severed link to her two sisters creates an ever present tension between him and her. But above all he becomes himself the great separator who, unwittingly or by conscious design, destroys the illusion of oneness either within the self or with the natural world (cf. 2320f).

The theme of separation achieves a culmination when Primislaus alludes to the fate of Libussa's belt towards the end of the opening scene: “Des Gürtels reiche Ketten aufgesprengt / Und in zwei Stücken ein so schönes Ganze. / Ich samml' es dir und trag' es dienend nach, / Bis an dem Ort der Trennung du's erhältst” (55-8). On the most general level the belt or its later variation as a necklace reflects “das Groβe Runde” (Neumann) symbolizing the sheltering, protective function associated with the elementary character of the Feminine (cf. Libussa's mission to save her father). In this instance, however, the divided belt announces both the loss of unity within herself and the forfeiture of innocence or virginity, a message intended by the dramatist⁹ and first highlighted by Dunham: “[T]he belt, while symbolizing family solidarity and the life of contemplation, stands also for chastity” (37).¹⁰ This convergence of two paths: “Der Menschen Wege kreuzen sich gar vielfach” (40), a crossroads in Libussa's life, will have far-reaching repercussions and implications as subsequently visualized by Kascha: “Sie ist in jener Lagen einer, sprichts mir, / Aus denen Glück und Unglück gleich entsteht, / Am Scheideweg von Seligkeit und Jammer” (282-4), another play on separation occasioned by “des Vaters Scheiden” (887). Thus the “Ort der Trennung” will mark not only a temporary parting from Primislaus but also a more permanent parting from a whole way of life: “Nur vorwärts führt das Leben,” she will come to realize, “rückwärts nie” (386).

As soon as Libussa leaves the stage to retrieve her basket, Primislaus takes advantage of her absence to ensure a reunion: “Ich will ein Zeichen nehmen meiner Tat, / Daran ich sie, sie mich dereinst erkennt, / Denn sie verhehlt, ich seh's, mit Fleiβ ihr edles Selbst” (65-7). Later in the first act, one of Kascha's aphorisms: “Die Liebe knüpft sich gern an feste Zeichen” (377), intended as a criticism of Libussa, describes more accurately Primislaus's attitude, his insistence upon a concrete sign in response to the basic insecurity of a lover in the initial stages of a relationship and his/her need for a tangible guarantee. Despite Libussa's endeavour to minimize her deliverance at his hands, he persists in seeing it as granting him some right over her. Not only is he determined to remind her of this debt to him, but he also desires to retain a token as a means to discover her identity. His choice of her jewel: “Das [Kleinod] lös ich los und wahre mirs als Pfand” (71) achieves these objectives, but its forced removal from her belt conjures up the image of a rape, “Raub.”¹¹ Tradition depicts a woman's virginity as her most precious and most carefully guarded jewel (cf. Rhodope's diamond in Gyges und sein Ring). His act therefore signals his intention to “deflower” her and secure his claim.¹² In an effort to downplay his offence, he stresses the jewel's relatively minor material merit but does concede its human worth: “wohl nicht reich zumeist, / Allein beprägt mit Bildern und mit Sprüchen” (69-70). One can assume that the images and sayings possess a personal significance for its owner. From a practical point of view the jewel also provides the means to ascertain both her name and “Stamm und Haus und Stand” (72), a threefold reinforcement of her social ranking, his constant topic, if not obsession, throughout this episode. One should also bear in mind that the opportunity to steal the jewel only arises because Libussa has returned to his cottage to recover “ein Körbchen mit Kräutern” (p. 279) symptomatic of her close connection to the natural world and of her practical concern for the physical welfare of her father, information to which the audience gains access in the next scene (81-4). Her gesture comes to reinforce our perception of her pragmatic orientation as intimated earlier in her comparison of peasant and noble attire (18-20).¹³

As this sequence concludes, she issues another command: “So komm!” (74) and moves towards his horse while he follows, “Libussas Gewande tragend” (p. 279). In this final visual image, he shows reverence by serving her, but by depriving her of her jewel, he demonstrates that he has a mind of his own. Already this “Vorspiel” bears evidence of the strong, individual wills of each of the main protagonists despite the limitations imposed by their respective sexual or social status: Libussa, as a semidivine princess, is supposed to remain aloof from mortal concerns and contacts, while Primislaus, as a humble farmer from the lowest social order, should know his place. A test of wills has begun, what Roe has fittingly called “an elaborate game, in which two equally proud individuals refuse to be the first to show any sign of weakness” (Introduction 227).

There are some striking correspondences between this first scene from Libussa and the opening episode of Kleist's Prinz Friedrich von Homburg where the titular hero describes his experience in the garden. The two expositions depend upon the tension between dream and reality: Primislaus's description of his state of mind: “Und wie ein Träumender nach seines Traums Entschwinden, / Frag' ich mich selbst: wie wars? und weiβ mich nicht zu finden” (62-3) approximates Homburg's upon his regaining consciousness: “Ich weiβ nicht, […] wo ich bin” (111). Griesmayer, in his analysis of the meaning of Primislaus's rescue of Libussa, maintains, “Das Traumhafte wird zum Anstoβ, es zu verwirklichen […] In diesem Streben nach Verwirklichung und Versicherung liegt die Bedeutung dieses Bildes [the deliverance from the stream]. Aus ihr wird sich alles künftige Handeln Primislaus' erklären” (265). One could, of course, make the same claim for the dream sequence as it relates to Homburg's subsequent aspirations and actions, although Grillparzer's ploughman emerges as much more securely anchored in reality. In both instances the dramas associate female allurement with light in a nocturnal, wet setting: “Und weil die Nacht so lieblich mich umfing, / Mit blondem Haar [an allusion to the moonlight shining through the trees], von Wohlgeruch ganz triefend [i.e., dripping]” (Prinz Friedrich 120-1), all of which suggests the Eros-Thanatos theme. The two works thus convey an underlying drive for sexual union: “So legt ich hier in ihren [night's] Schoβ mich nieder” (Prinz Friedrich, 123); “Glückselige, ihr meiner Schwester Kleider, / Die sie getragen und mir sterbend lieβ, / Ihr werdet dieser Hohen Leib umhüllen” (13-15). Lacan's theory regarding the woman's meeting with the phallus, i.e., the law of the father, comes to mind: “The round, worshipped maternal body hides the disturbing darkness of the subject's origins and the wound that both penetration [presumably Primislaus had to reach down into the whirlpool to remove Libussa] and birth [immersion symbolizes a rebirth] leave behind on the virgin-whole-body of the woman. The woman does not come out unscathed from the encounter with the phallus […] as it takes possession of her body [“Ich eile hin und fasse sie”] in order to deflorate [the removal of her jewel] and impregnate her” (Benvenuto/Kennedy 193).

As a final parallel, Homburg and Primislaus, having forcefully removed a token, plan to use it to discover the identity of the woman who appeared to them in a dreamlike situation: “Das lös' ich los und wahre mirs als Pfand, / Das Namen mir enthüllt” (71-2); “Ein Pfand [the glove] schon warfst du [das Glück], im Vorüberschweben, / Aus deinem Füllhorn lächelnd mir [Homburg] herab [he actually snatched it away himself]” (359-60), and which they conceal next to their hearts as a sign of emotional commitment: “Er [Homburg] nimmt den Handschuh aus dem Kollett” (p. 644); “Er [Primislaus] steckt das Kleinod in den Busen” (p. 279).

Although critics and audiences alike in the nineteenth century maligned the garden sequence in Prinz Friedrich and Hebbel even recommended its deletion, our own century has come to appreciate its theatrical excellence and the dramatist's skill in introducing the basic motivations operative in the remainder of the play. Similarly, Libussa's “Vorspiel”, called by its creator “vielleicht das Beste, was [er] geschrieben [hat],” presents all the tragedy's major themes, including a power struggle and a love interest, captured in a visually effective and psychologically suggestive manner. Just as Prinz Friedrich returns to the garden to play out its last scene, Libussa looks back to its beginning in the concluding line which is made up of motifs introduced and developed in the first scene: “Das Hohe schied, sein Zeichen [the belts] sei hienieden” (2513).

A short interlude, a continuation of the exposition to fill in more background for the audience, introduces Wlasta: “Dann kommt Wlasta mit einem Jagdspieβe bewaffnet” (p. 279). Whereas the opening scene presented a woman in traditional peasant dress emerging from a cottage, the symbol of female domesticity, the drama now highlights an Amazon, an aggressive, more masculine orientation in contrast to the usual feminine stereotype. This contributes to a blurring of the two well defined gender spheres, for according to the anthropologist Sanday, “Sexual separation for whatever reason creates two worlds—one male and one female—each consisting of a system of meaning and a program of behavior, almost like separate and distinct cultures. The male world focuses on such exclusively male activities as warfare and hunting” (109-10). By way of explanation Sanday proposes: “If there is a basic difference between sexes, other than the differences associated with human reproductivity, it is that women as a group have not willingly faced death in violent conflict. This fact, perhaps more than any other, explains why men have sometimes become the dominating sex” (210). Wlasta's initial stage appearance as a hunter thus calls the strict conventional sense of gender division into question.

wlasta: Und nirgends Menschen?—Doch! Hier eine
                    Hütte.
          An die Türe schlagend: Ihr drin im Hause!—Keine Antwort?
          Nachdem sie die Türe geöffnet: Leer!

(75-7)

Her first words are indicative of a blunt directness and her actions—she does not knock at the door; she strikes it and then proceeds to open it herself—and give the impression of an assertiveness more in keeping with expected male behaviour.

For the first time the audience hears Libussa's name; Dobromila juxtaposes it with her social status as “Fürstin” (80-1), a verbal confirmation of the underlying assumption of the “Vorspiel.” In addition she justifies her mistress's absence from her usual environment and sets up an important association: “Einsam ging sie, / Nach Kräutern suchend für den kranken Vater” (81-2). Although Politzer concludes that Grillparzer had no knowledge of Johann Jakob Bachofen's Das Mutterrecht, published in 1861 (309-10), the playwright's inclusion of these details points to his awareness of the customary basis for the matriarchy. “If prior matriarchies did exist,” Sanday observes, “they were probably a consequence of the evolution of plant domestication from the plant-gathering activities of women. This would have given women economic and ritual centrality and, hence, a primary voice in decision making. … To conclude, the ascribed basis for female power and authority in the secular domain is found in a ritual orientation to plants, the earth, maternity and fertility” (120). The very decision to seek a practical cure for her father's illness denotes in advance her suitability to succeed him by assuming “das Amt der Hüterin des Vaterlandes” (Bachmaier 739) and conveys a predisposition for the vita activa before her meeting with Primislaus: “So zeigt sie sich vorausbestimmt, die unnütze Beschaulichkeit aufzugzeben, um ins thätige Leben einzutreten” (Ehrhard 496).¹⁴

With another sudden change in locale to the sisters' castle at Budesch, the dramatist exploits the stars as a means of prophecy and as a subtle device to transmit an underlying sociopolitical message.¹⁵ Florack has provided an excellent interpretation of the meaning behind the various constellations (247-8) to which I would only add two further considerations. The lines, “Die Krone sinkt am Himmel und der Adler / Lenkt nach den Bergen seinen müden Flug” (99-100), may predict the death of Krokus, especially in the reference to the crown, but they may also connote the inevitable decline of an exhausted upper class (“Adler”). The vitality and cunning necessary to rule have passed on to another class embodied by Primislaus: “Die kluge Schlange droht mit fahlem Blinken” (114). Secondly, the observation, “Und auf dem Pfad der königlichen Sterne / Folgt namenloses Volk zu weiter Ferne” (115-6), may allude to the habitual dependence of the people upon the aristocracy for leadership. Being of an inferior order of life—“Fuchs, Fisch und Eidechs drängen / Die niedre Form dem edlen Vogel nach” (112-3)—the lower classes still need direction from above, a view expressed, needless to say, by a partisan of the governing hierarchy.

Grillparzer's attitude towards the Adel as revealed in Libussa is problematic. The titular heroine and her sisters belong to the nobility, but one could also construe their status as prophets or seers living aloof from normal human intercourse as a metaphor for the isolation of the artist. On the other hand, the Wladiken, who now make their noisy entry, provide a comic contrast to the three sisters: “Die Wladiken, böhmische Fürsten, die den aristokratischen Standpunkt kompromiβlos vertreten und deshalb die Unterschiede von Adel und Bürger erhalten wissen wollen, fungieren in ihrer Dreizahl als satirisches Pendant zu Libussa und ihren beiden Schwestern” (Bachmaier 740). Reminiscent of Wlasta in the previous sequence, Domaslav, the first to be heard, authoritatively demands, “Wo sind die Fürstinnen? Bring mich vor sie!” (125). Obviously accustomed to having their own way, they show no hesitation to resort to the typical male expedient, force: “Sie müssen uns vernehmen, sei's mit Zwang” (132). Another of Domaslav's assertions inadvertently exposes their true priority: “Doch frommt es uns, es frommt dem ganzen Land” (129). What comes first in this spontaneous utterance is their own self-interest, then, as an afterthought, the good of the country. In their arrogance and egotism they associate their own well-being with that of the nation and, when thwarted, resort to sexist disparagement: “der Grund genügt, / Daβ man den Schlummer stört, in dem ein Weib sich wiegt” (141-2). In the exchange with these caricatures—each allegedly embodies one quality (cf. 664-6)—Dobra easily gains the upper hand as she put the intruders in their place: “Am Tor der Einsicht tobt und lärmt der Wilde, / Hört er am liebsten doch der eignen Worte Klang” (133-4), a truism expressed here at the expense of a self-centred aristocracy. She goes on to vindicate her mistresses: “Sie schlummern nicht, doch wenn in Schlaf versenket, / Ihr Träumen acht' ich mehr als was ihr Andern denket” (143-4). As a woman defending women, she posits their access to a higher spiritual dimension, but she also implies a preference for the unconscious over the conscious realm. Grillparzer portrays the revelation of psychological truth more in the former than in the latter since the self prefers to conceal and distort rather than confront an unpleasant reality. In this respect he anticipated his fellow Viennese, Freud, by more than half a century.

As if to confirm Dobra's evaluation, the two sisters now enter already apprised of their father's fate and of Libussa's future decision to forsake their exalted sphere of meditation: “Ihr Platz ist dunkel in den sonn'gen Kreisen” (152). In the subsequent dialogue between Kascha and Tetka, the dramatist deals with the potential power of the human mind—its aptitude to will its own health but also its illness—and raises the issue of the extent to which we exercise control over our own mental lives. Tetka very perceptively observes that attitude or placebos can make a difference in the healing process, demonstrating Grillparzer's awareness of psychosomatic phenomena:

Wenn du den Kranken mit dem Besten tränkest,
Er stirbt, hält er für Gift was du gebracht.
Als Krücke mag es sein daβ sie [Kascha's medical
          skills] noch leiste
Für schwache Seelen, die am Willen krank,
In Wahrheit hilft doch nur der Geist dem Geiste,
Er ist der Arzt, das Bette und der Trank.

(169-74)

In other words a person cannot be cured unless he or she really wants to be cured.

The sisters then turn to the consequences of Krokus's death for themselves:

kascha: Nun aber ist er tot, wir sind verwaist.
tetka: Bist du verwaist? ich nicht. Ich seh' ihn noch,
          Nicht wie zuletzt in seiner Schwachheit Banden. Ehrwürd'ger Greis, war Greis er immer doch,
          Ehrwürd'ger Greis, war Greis er immer doch,
          Mir ist er als ein Jüngling auferstanden.

(179-83)

Both women acknowledge a dependency upon the father, while Kascha confirms his continued presence beyond the grave. Parents embody the child's first object choices, but the relationship between father and daughter can be particularly strong as implied in this instance. According to Freud, “betrachten sich die Frauen als infantil geschädigt, ohne ihre Schuld um ein Stück verkürzt und zurückgesetzt, und die Erbitterung so mancher Tochter gegen ihre Mutter hat zur letzten Wurzel den Vorwurf, daβ sie sie als Weib anstatt als Mann zur Welt gebracht hat” (“Einige Charaktertypen,” 10: 235). The text rarely mentions the mother of the three daughters, but by contrast, their father, although not a participating dramatic character, still represents a force to be reckoned with. In “normal” development, the parent becomes a prototype transferred to other people; however, for Kascha and Tetka who remain cloistered in their castle, the father retains his dominant function. As a venerable old man, a personification of wisdom but also of traditional authority, he commanded their respect and even after death he still has considerable power over their respective destinies (the belts). His passing only appears to end his control, for as Tetka concedes, her mind has resurrected him in the shape of a young man, i.e., he has usurped the role of husband/mate. She has not really progressed beyond the ideal-prototype stage. In Libussa's case, one could argue that once she left the protective walls of the domestic stronghold, Primislaus merely took over where the father left off. The night of their meeting significantly marked Krokus's “Scheiden” (887).

The two sisters conduct this whole conversation as if the others present did not exist, a sign that they dwell in another world and have access to a different dimension: “Wir haben es gewuβt, bevor es noch geschah” (186). As an additional indication of their self-centredness, Kascha and Tetka actually resent their father's involvement in politics, his commitment to others, and would have preferred him to have devoted himself fully to his daughters (190-2). Social responsibilities took precedence over domestic obligations—he neglected his family—and even contributed to his early death: “Weil euer Trutz vergällt ihm jeden Tag, / Gab er dem Kummer sich und welkte hin, erlag” (193-4). The drama thus introduces the problem of leadership very early on, proposing that the defiance and recalcitrance of the ruled take their toll upon the personal life of the ruler. In both Libussa and Ein Bruderzwist the thankless task of governing proves fatal for its practitioners and in Die Jüdin the representatives of the state eliminate the royal concubine in an effort to bring the king back from personal indulgence to his social and political duty.

In response to Tetka's complaint, Domaslav pleads, “Laβt das uns nicht entgelten, hohe Frauen, / Belohnt, mit dem wir nahn, das kindliche Vertrauen, / Vollendet was begann des Vaters hohes Haupt” (197-9). Speaking as an aristocrat, he implies that the desired leader should act as a father to his subjects. This model, typical of eighteenth-century thought, portrays the people as helpless children in need of care and direction, incapable of managing their own affairs, and hence prepared to trust their political fate to a caring parent. The wording deserves particular note since “das kindliche Vertrauen” will become the publicly proclaimed foundation of Libussa's regime at the end of this act: “In Zukunft herrscht nur Eines hier im Land: / Das kindliche Vertraun” (444-5). The fact that the overt villains of the tale, the Wladiken, exploit the same principle in seeking a female substitute for Krokus, one whom they plan to manipulate to serve their own selfish ends, casts a shadow upon its later reiteration in the mouth of the central character. Although Libussa's perception of how she will transform childlike trust into beneficial social reforms devised by her, from which all will benefit equally, runs counter to the intent of the Wladiken, far from representing “den Geist der bewuβten Demokratie” (Lorenz, “Neubewertung” 42), her political ideal owes much to her own class and its fear of the masses.¹⁶ When Domaslav proceeds to vindicate the sisters' incumbency, the eventual divergences manifest themselves: “Ihr stammet, wissen wir, von höhern Mächten, / Wir sind ein dunkles Volk, unkundig in den Rechten; / Der Stab, der in Fürst Krokus Händen lag, / Wer, als sein eignes Blut, zu halten ihn vermag?” (202-5). Aristocratic prejudice claims the divine right of the upper class to rule, symbolized in the images of light in antithesis to the dark, ignorant lower class and justified by the preservation of a pure line of descent. “Hinweise auf ‘Zucht,’ ‘edles Blut’ und ‘hohe Geburt’ und überhaupt die Vorstellung der Aristokratie als einer erblichen Klasse—alle diese Dinge sind Ausdruck des aristokratischen Anspruchs auf ihre biologische Besonderheit” (Kautsky 12). Whereas Libussa also sets herself apart, she does not place as much store in these noble values and clearly has no use for “Rechte” and the rod. The latter fills a double function: it announces the life-and-death jurisdiction of the monarch, his ability to protect—Thomas Hobbes defines political power in terms of the leader's competence in this area: “The Obligation of Subjects to the Sovereign, is understood to last as long, and no longer, than the power lasteth by which he is able to protect them” (114)—but closely related to this consideration, the “Stab,” a phallic symbol, also reifies the ultimate and absolute authority of the father figure here extended to the social model of the monarchy. Patriarchal practice has designated sexual prowess as a mark of the male's worthiness to hold office. For instance, the king from Die Jüdin expresses his desire to dominate Rahel sexually by drawing an implied parallel between himself and the gentile Persian king Ahasverus who took Esther to wife and protected her people: “Von Ahasverus, der den Herrscherstab / Ausstreckte über Esther, die sein Weib / Und selber Jüdin, Schutzgott war den Ihren” (499-501). Domaslav, by stressing the rod in Krokus's hand, may well be betraying his wish to reign through one of the daughters, for the phallus denotes what the mother lacks in the relationship between parents and their children. If one is to believe Freud or his later defender, Lacan, “sexual difference can only be the consequence of a division, without this division it would cease to exist. But it must exist because no human being can become a subject outside the division into two sexes. One must take up a position as either a man or a woman” (Mitchell 6). From the drama's male perspective, the sisters will always lack that which confers the right to rule.

When offered the Bohemian crown, Kascha reacts by outlining her realm, the traditionally female sphere of nature. Drawn to the organic world which continually evolves but lacks awareness, she repudiates the conscious level of advanced organisms such as human beings, because “Des Lebend'gen Dasein ist Tod” (212), or as Freud put it equally succinctly, “Das Ziel alles Lebens ist der Tod” (“Jenseits des Lustprinzips” 3: 248). With our knowledge of death's inevitability, we are from the outset mere “Leichen” (213). Unwilling to renounce the power her affinity to nature provides—“Was Natur vermag und kann / Ist mir willig untertan” (209-10)—she refuses to leave her inner orientation: “Geht zu Andern mit euern Reichen, / Was ist mir gemein mit Euch?” (214-5) and thus substantiates an anthropological finding: “In societies where the forces of nature are sacralized [“Schloβ der Schwester”], … there is a reciprocal flow between the power of nature and the power inherent in women” (Sanday 4-5). Tetka also rejects the offer, but in order to preserve or pursue oneness in the face of the disintegration of the subject: “Was sein soll ist nur Eins, / Was sein kann ist ein Vieles, / Ich aber will sein einig und Eins” (217-19). At Lacan's mirror stage (the sisters' province as the vita contemplativa), the ego gains the impression of being autonomous and whole; however, this is only an illusion and the individual will persist in seeking an imaginary completeness throughout life, but in vain, since fragmentation or separation, the underlying message of Libussa, characterizes human existence (Benvenuto/Kennedy 61). Tetka wants to deny by an act of will the divisive nature of the “Real Order” which Lacan links to the dimensions of death and sexuality, the domain out there. Both sisters seek to avoid any contact with the external world: “Mein sonnig Reich strahlt hellres Licht, / Von mir! Ich mag eure Krone nicht!” (224-5), preferring to live in splendid isolation in their castle, excluded from any foreign disturbances. As commented upon earlier, Kascha disclaims death and, as for sexuality, Tetka has resurrected her father and transformed him into a young man, an unconscious surrogate, indicative of Krokus's continuing dictatorial influence over his female offspring.

Lorenz interprets “Wells', p. 153, geringschätziges Abtun der geistigen Tätigkeit der Schwestern: ‘Libussa's love for man raises her above the selfishness of her sisters’” as an example of “sexistisch[e] Vorurteile,” a judgment which strikes me as patently unfair and not supported by the text. The sisters come across as condescending, arrogant, and totally caught up with themselves: “Was ist mir gemein mit Euch?” (215) or “Mein sonnig Reich strahlt hellres Licht, / Von mir! Ich mag eure Krone nicht!” (224-5) and prove indifferent to the welfare of the people: “lapak So laβt ihr uns denn hilflos und verwaist!” (226). This line echoes Kascha's earlier utterance: “Nun aber ist er [Krokus] tot, wir sind verwaist” (179). The sisters are able to overcome their loss—they see their father's death only as it relates to themselves—by resorting to the imaginary dimension, to the prototype of the typical narcissistic relationship of the child before the mirror captivated by its own image, and by shunning the unpleasantness of the external world: “Nutzen und Vorteil zählen, / Aus Wahrheit und Lüge wählen, / Recht erdenken das kein Recht, / Dafür sucht einen Sündenknecht” (220-3).¹⁷ Whereas Krokus's death actually orphaned the sisters, Lapak's exclamation (226) assumes the parental model of the monarchy discussed previously. Krokus, as a signifier of a social system, embodied a means of signification for his subjects. Indeed, they prove unable to function adequately unless the semiotic order is upheld and a new symbolic head appointed.

This scene concludes fittingly with the sisters and their entourage forming a closed circle and donning their black veils after having condescendingly sent away the Wladiken and the people to satisfy their common material needs, “Speis' und Trank,” “was sie am meisten lockt” (234-5).

                                                                                                    Nun aber ihr!
Stellt euch ringsum, senkt eure düstern Schleier,
Und feiert still und trauernd das Gedächtnis
Des edlen Manns, der unsern Kreis verlieβ.
                                                  Nacht um uns und Dunkel,
                                                  Damit in uns es Licht!

(238-43)

Both words and gestures show their concerted bid to blot out the Real Order: they retreat to an introspective, solipsistic realm of inner light in order to deal with the darkness of death. While Krokus may have died, he has not really left their domain, for as we shall ascertain, they still wear his chastity belts as a sign of his continuing control despite his physical absence. This episode also contains accents of the Lord's address to the archangels in the “Prolog im Himmel” from Goethe's Faust:

Doch ihr, die echten Göttersöhne,
Erfreut euch der lebendig reichen Schöne! …
Und was in schwankender Erscheinung schwebt,
Befestigt mit dauernden Gedanken.

(344-5; 348-9)

The Lord discriminates between the spiritual, ideal level embodied by a lofty coterie of archangels and the material, real world represented by Mephistopheles. A similar degree of aloofness, an attempt to ignore “wie sich die Menschen plagen” (Faust 280) by indulging in metaphysical meditation characterizes both works.

The dramatist has set up the next scene as a contrast. Even though a common darkness (“Es ist noch dunkel” [p. 286]) connects the two scenes, the specific visual figuration projects a very different message: “Primislaus tritt auf, ein weiβes Roβ am Zügel führend, auf dem Libussa sitzt” (p. 286). The audience's last view of the two sisters had them trying to exclude physical reality; Libussa now appears in peasant dress in the company of a man and obviously involved in life. “Von ihren theoretisch-spekulativen Schwestern hebt sich Libussa durch ihren praktischen Sinn ab. Sie läβt sich mit der Welt ein” (Geiβler, 116). Whereas the sisters veiled themselves (p. 286), she moves openly in the world. (Her veil is part of the bundle on the horse's back.) Primislaus, walking as she rides, pays homage to her—she is literally more exalted (altus equals high; cf. his opening salutation: “Du Hohe, Herrliche!” [20])—but he leads the way or retains control. Historians have hypothesized that the association of the aristocracy with height to signal social distinction may be derived from the nobleman's affiliation with the horse, which he alone could afford and from whose back he could talk down to the peasant. The aristocrat is the “Eroberer” and the peasants “ihm unterworfen” (Kautsky, 12). One can ascertain this close rapport between the upper class and the horse in the words used to designate the highborn knight: eques, Ritter, chevalier, caballero or cavalier (Kautsky 8). These considerations add to the complications and the extraordinary nature of the budding liaison between Libussa and Primislaus, for in this case the Ritter is a female aristocrat and a Bauer owns the palfrey. These stage directions also prefigure their relationship in the fifth act: although he portrays himself as her agent and defers to her (1952-8), in actual fact, he supplies the real political direction, (1959-61), institutes a specific policy or goal, and runs the country while she has become a figurehead.

Accentuating his obedience to her word, he once more attempts to elicit the merest vestige of interest on her part as a consequence of her increased obligation to him. As usual, Libussa is curt: “Sei drum bedankt” (246), but again this may signal an effort to disguise her emotional involvement by a terse, businesslike response: she hides behind formality. The audience has just witnessed a scene that ended with the mourning of a “Scheiden,” the separation of the living from the dead, and Primislaus raises another variation of the same theme when he asks, “Nun soll ich von dir scheiden, dich verlassen, / Dich nie mehr wiedersehn vielleicht?” (247-8); indeed, he resorts to this same verb four times in this episode, three of which occur in the emphatic final position. While this obvious harping upon parting conveys the urgency of his desire to maintain some connection with this unknown woman, it also reflects the general note of separation and disintegration—death being the ultimate dissolution—typical of the tragedy as a whole. In this particular context, a well known French expression comes to mind, one which also ties in with the previous incident: “Partir, c'est mourir un peu.” The poem by Edmond Harancourt from which the line is taken goes on to claim, “C'est mourir à ce qu'on aime. / On laisse un peu de soi-même / En toute heure et dans tout lieu.”¹⁸ The idea of leaving something of one's self both in the literal (jewel/horse) and figurative sense plays a significant part for both Libussa and Primislaus. The “vielleicht” he tacks on to the end of his question indicates that he is “clutching at straws,” anxious for her to make a small concession, anything to keep his hopes alive. During courtship at least, the female enjoys some influence since she can always decline the male's suit.

Libussa shows a willingness to humour him with her succinct concession, “Vielleicht” (248), as it does leave open the possibility of a future reunion. Her response thus emboldens Primislaus to pose his question a second time: “Du bist kein Weib um das man werben könnte?” (249), further proof of his “Beharrlichkeit.” He stubbornly persists in his attempt to establish a physical link, maintaining that he would always recognize her, even in the dark—an indirect form of flattery—but “would she recognize him?” (252) On the basis of his acquaintance with her up to this point, he remains understandably unsure of her feelings towards him and thus requests a sign: “Im Dunkel fand ich dich, im Dunkel scheid' ich. / Gib mir ein Zeichen dran du mich erkennst / Wenn ich dich wiederseh'” (253-5). Coming as it does upon the heels of his renewed campaign to obtain permission to court her, this speech underscores by repetition the ominous Liebestod prelude to their relationship with its accent upon night and “Scheiden.” As both Freud and Lacan point out, “Desire persists as an effect of a primordial absence [the failure of the child to find complete satisfaction] and it therefore indicates that … there is something fundamentally impossible about satisfaction itself” (Mitchell, 6). Therefore, the text's persistent allusions to separation, absence, or division suggest the illusory nature of the romantic belief that one sex could ever complement or fulfil the other, the insight of a dramatist who studied women closely but avoided any lasting connection.

Primislaus is the one to insist upon a visible token of commitment, if only implied—in fact the audience knows that he has already acquired his “Zeichen” by stealth—while Libussa fails to see the need: “Es ist nicht nötig” (255). Ostensibly a suitable keepsake will promote her remembrance of him, should their paths cross again, but in practice he wants something concrete as a hold over her, as a reminder of her indebtedness to him. Die Jüdin contains a parallel; only the gender roles are reversed. Both Primislaus and Rahel go against the specific will of his/her partner: Libussa declines to provide a memento and the king insists Rahel return the painting. The instigators want to preserve a link to guarantee the eventual resumption of an incipient relationship and to this end choose an object (Kleinod/Bild) symbolic of their sexual control over the queen/king. When Primislaus tries to discover her future reaction to the scenario he has intentionally stagemanaged by stealing her jewel, he does not receive the reassuring response for which he has been fishing: “Bring es hierher, ich werde darnach senden / Und lös' es gern um Gold und jeden Preis” (258-9). She cannot be said to encourage his advances, as she insultingly offers to pay for his services. Out of wounded pride that she could misjudge him so, he retorts abruptly, “Für mich ist Gold kein Preis. So laβ uns scheiden!” (260). This is the first of several misunderstandings that cloud their association since both protagonists set little personal store by material wealth.¹⁹ His exclamation: “So laβ uns scheiden!” registers what he assumes to be an incompatibility, i.e., he can have little respect for someone who covets gold, the Geldsackgesinnung more typical of the nineteenth-century middle class, “des Bürgers Hand, des Krämers, Mäklers, / Der allen Wert abwägt nach Goldgewicht” (Bruderzwist 1239-40). She underestimates him by supposing he can be bought with gold and likewise he misreads her by assuming she holds wealth in high esteem. The play illustrates how easily misconceptions can arise in the initial stages of a courtship where both parties, being particularly sensitive and thus readily hurt, evince a reluctance to expose their true feelings, to render themselves vulnerable; hence the issue of finding common ground becomes all the more difficult.

Attention now focuses once more upon her belt:

Nur eine Kette noch, es war dein Gürtel,
Der unter meiner Retterhand zerstückt,
Doch füg' ich neu die goldnen Hakenglieder,
Neig mir dein Haupt und trag den neuen Schmuck.
Libussa senkt ihr Haupt, er hängt ihr die Kette um
          den Hals.

(264-7)

Primislaus transforms her “Gürtel,” symbolic of chastity, into a “Kette.” It broke when he seized her—his formulation “Retterhand” again draws attention to his heroic deed—and therefore foreshadows her eventual loss of virginity to him; however, in a figurative sense she has already forgone her innocence because this chance encounter has removed her from her accustomed environment, a change manifested in her peasant costume. He has fashioned the new modification of the belt, a chain, and appropriately so, for he bears much of the responsibility for her becoming a ruler. She will be tied to a new earthly function and its obligations, i.e., the chains of office. Viewed as a “Gnadenkette,” a symbol of terrestrial authority, it provides an omen that she will accept the Bohemian crown. When he commands her to lower her head to receive the belt in its new form, she obeys,²⁰ a visual demonstration of a symbolic subjugation and a sign of her sexual dependence upon him. (The “Kette” performs the identical function in Die Jüdin.) In many male-dominated societies, a woman's chastity belongs to the man as the jealously guarded property of the father, the ownership of which he passes on to the husband. (Even today the father gives his daughter in marriage.)

The casting of Libussa in the role of the victim continues in an exchange which, however brief in terms of her participation, still suggests a degree of “Innigkeit” which Lorenz finds lacking in their relationship:

primislaus: So zier' ich dich du Schöne, Hehre, Hohe;
          Für wen? ich weiβ nicht; ists doch nicht für mich.
          Und so leb wohl!
libussa: Auch du!

(268-70)

He views his gesture as a mark of his respect, what Griesmeyer calls “[d]as ehrfürchtige Bild des Hohen” (265) (the adjectives “Hehre, Hohe” again highlight the class distinction), but his description also strongly implies the adorning of a sacrificial lamb (another anticipation of the fifth act), here the dressing of a woman before her wedding. The fact that the embellishment is designed to please a man—he regrets not being that fortunate male—again signals her dependent status, i.e., he decorates her not for her own sake but rather for someone else. The anonymous consort remains the main player even if Primislaus cannot be that individual.

His final speech of the scene reminds the audience that all of this takes place at a crossroad, a “Scheideweg von Seligkeit und Jammer” (284), to use Kascha's prophetic phrase from the next sequence:

                                                                                Nur noch drei Schritte.
Dort teilt, von selber kennbar, sich der Weg
Und leicht gelangst du wieder zu den Deinen,
Wenn du den Waldpfad rechts nur sorglich meidest,
Die du, ein Märchen, kamst, und eine Wahrheit
          scheidest.
Das Pferd leitend:
Vertrau dem Pferd, es trägt dich gut und sicher. Beide
          ab.

(270-75)

Scheiden in the form of Entscheiden signifies a decision and the image of the “Scheideweg” has from the earliest times denoted the need to choose one of two options—in the case of Hercules, for instance, either virtue or pleasure²¹—and the choice inevitably proves to be both far reaching and irrevocable. In a very real sense this has already occurred, as the crucial decisions in Libussa's life have been made without her awareness. Her own caring personality is partly to blame: it brought her down into the world to save her father, and Primislaus's unsolicited intrusion and his theft of the jewel will have serious repercussions: she can no longer return “zu den Deinen.” The warning to avoid the “Waldpfad” comes too late. The first scene opened in an “Offn[em] Platz im Walde” (p. 277), and Primislaus's cottage from which she emerged stands in close proximity to “dieses Waldes Schlünden” (46). Already wearing the attire of this ambience, she has conceded how comfortable she feels in it. She came to him as if from a fairy-tale, i.e., such providential intervention or her rich dress as a fairy queen belongs to the supernatural realm of her remote sisters. The tragedy may be regarded as an ironic, self-reflective text, one consciously singling out its own implausibility, the fantastical dimension or the folklore sources of the tale: the peasant and the princess, the miraculous rescue from the water (Melusine in reverse). But the mythical has become real for him, has become a flesh-and-blood person whom he desires and on whom he wishes to stake a claim. Two lines from Die Jüdin play on the same tension and cast additional light on Primislaus's enigmatic pronouncement: in speaking of the Jewish tradition as recorded in the Old Testament, Alphons mentions, “Samt all der Märchenwelt, die Wahrheit auch / Von Kain und Abel, von Rebekkas Klugheit” (495-6). Fairy-tales or myths have yielded a rich store of universal truths or archetypes for literary and psychological enquiry. And finally the gesture of leading the horse and her mounted departure illustrate his continuing control over her fate—the palfrey becomes an extension of Primislaus and his bond to her—and raises the issue of trust: she should have faith in his intent to care for her and should rely on his directions, a further foreshadowing of the last act. Trust or its absence will indeed become an obstacle to their relationship since he has already abused her confidence.

When in the subsequent scene Kascha gives evidence of her sibyllic gift by her reference to Libussa at the crossroads, she also provides evidence of being privy to specific details of the meeting between her sister and Primislaus: “Horch! Spricht ein Mann?” (285); “Allein sie ist begleitet” (286). This device informs the audience that the two scenes are not sequential, but take place simultaneously, thereby enhancing the contrast between them. It is no accident that the text consistently relates the two sisters to their castle, a well established metaphor for a woman's virginity.²² While the Wladiken and the people force (“dringen … herein” [p. 282]) their way into the “Vorhof,” they never gain admittance to the inner sanctum.

Libussa now reappears: “Sie hat einen weiβen Mantel übergeworfen und ein Federbarett auf dem Kopfe. Wlasta und Dobromila gewaffnet hinter ihr” (p. 288). Sensing the inappropriateness of her dress, she mantles it. Her conscious desire is to return to her sisters, but under the surface lies indisputable proof that another way of life has touched her. Kascha's visionary eye saw her involved with a man and, interestingly enough, the outward semblance of this entry evokes typically masculine features: the cap with its feather, a notorious phallic symbol associated with the rake, and two armed servants suggest the dominant, aggressive male. She sends the horse back “zu den drei Eichen” (300), instructing the servant to reimburse its owner if he will accept payment; in other words, she still tries to discharge her obligation. But of particular interest is her amazingly succinct summary of what has transpired in her two scenes with the ploughman: “Im Wald verirrt, nicht Wegesspur, noch Führer, / Ein Gieβbach wollte sich das Ansehn geben / Als sei er fürchterlich. Da kam mir Hilfe” (305-7). She clearly downplays its importance. “Die Demut,” Politzer maintains, “die sie am Ende den Menschen predigen will, ist zu Beginn die Sache dieser Libussa nicht” (309). He assumes that the danger she faced was genuine: “das Sturzwasser, das ihr beinahe den Garaus gemacht hätte” (309). Although unwilling to admit it, she might well have been in jeopardy, but we do not know this with any certainty, especially in view of the dramatist's own comments cited earlier. One could also interpret her account as dictated by modesty: she does not wish to play for effect by overstating the seriousness of the threat. However, what is striking is her failure to furnish any details about her helper and “Führer.” Instead she employs an impersonal construction to conceal male assistance which would doubtlessly raise eyebrows in this miniature matriarchy. According to her formulation, the source of help need not even have been a person.

Once Libussa obtains confirmation of Krokus's death, she completes the exposition by filling in the remaining details as to why she left her dying father's side:

                                                                                                    In all der Zeit
Als ich an seinem Bette saβ und wachte,
Da schwebte vor den Augen des Gemüts,
Hatt' ichs gehört nun, oder wuβt' ichs sonst,
Das Bild mir einer Blume, weiβ und klein,
Mit siebenspalt'gem Kelch und schmalen Blättern;
Die gib dem Vater, sprachs, und er genest.

(309-15)

Later in the tragedy in response to Primislaus's riddle, she will assert in words equally applicable to the present anecdote, “Das ist nun wohl des Ostens Blumensprache, / Die träumend redet mit geschloβnem Mund” (1294-5). Female wisdom, “Sophia-Weibliche,” achieves, according to Neumann, “als Blüte die höchste sichtbare Form seiner Entfaltung” and remains, in contrast to male abstraction, “an die irdische Grundlage der Wirklichkeit gebunden” (305). At the bed of her father, the eyes of the mind disclosed the truth of the unconscious,²³ the realm of the Other—hence the three instances of the impersonal pronoun “es.” This reverie, availing itself of “Blumensprache,” focuses on the little white flower with its open, seven-petalled calyx surrounded by narrow leaves. The vessel, cup, or chalice denotes one of the most widespread manifestations of the female archetype, “das alles enthaltende Groβe Runde” (Neumann, 205). “Von Anbeginn an und bis zu den spätesten Stadien der Entwicklung finden wir dieses archetypische Symbol als Inbegriff des Weiblichen. Die symbolische Grundgleichung Weib = Körper = Gefäβ entspricht der vielleicht elementarsten Grunderfahrung der Menschheit vom Weiblichen, in der das Weibliche sich selber erlebt, in der es aber auch vom Männlichen erlebt wird” (Neumann, 51). As Neumann goes on to explain, the experience of woman as the containing vessel has an obvious source: “Die Frau als Körpergefäβ ist der natürliche Ausdruck der Erfahrung, daβ das Weibliche das Kind in sich trägt, und daβ der Mann im Sexualakt ‘in’ sie ‘eingeht’” (Neumann, 54). Libussa's imagery drawn from the unconscious, “die Mutter aller Dinge” (Neumann, 204), features other attributes of the Great Mother. Since the “Kelch” is an open vessel, it “verbindet den Elementarcharakter des Enthaltens mit dem des Nährens. Dadurch, daβ die Symbole dieser Reihe [i.e., Gefäβ, Schale, Becher, Kelch, Gral] ihrer Natur und Form nach … offen sind …, ist die Natur des Gebens, Spendens und Darreichens betont” (Neumann 57-8). Libussa's nourishing role, later captured in her self-portrait as the gardener—“Was euch die Gärtnerin mit nächster Sorge, / Verteilend hilfreich Naβ und Wärm' und Schatten, / Kann nützlich sein, das ist euch ja gewiβ” (600-602)—manifests itself already in her desire to minister to her father and to give him the means to recover: “Die [the flower] gib dem Vater, sprachs, und er genest” (315). “[D]as Lebenselixier [behält] den Charakter des Natursymbols, und das ‘höchste Gut’ tritt auf als Unsterblichkeits-Kraut [cf. “Libussa kommt zurück, ein Körbchen mit Kräutern tragend” (p. 279)] oder—Frucht, als Rauschtrank oder als Lebenswasser, als Edelstein oder als Perle, als Blüte oder als Kern” (Neumann, 69). Even the location of the sought-for elixir intimates the realm of “die Groβe Mutter,” i.e., “In feuchten Gründen” (316) and “Das Tal von Budesch” (317). “Teile dieses Bezirkes [i.e., “Bauch” and “Schoβ der Erde”] sind … die Symbole von Schlucht, Schlund und Abgrund ebenso wie von Tal und Tiefe, die in unzähligen Riten und Mythen die Rolle des Schoβes der zu befruchtenden Erdregion spielen” (Neumann 55-6). The number seven also shares this symbolism since it represents the “perfect order, a complete period or cycle” (Cirlot 233) and an important relationship of “Mond-Symbolik” to the underworld: “Mond-Sieben, die archetypische Beziehung zur Erd- und Fruchtbarkeitsgöttin” (Neumann 158). In other words Libussa offers herself vicariously to her father through the blossom which dwells “In feuchten Gründen” (316). This same image with a more explicit but equally illicit sexual connotation occurs in Die Jüdin during the king's imaginative invention of a hypothetical seduction: “Und Blumenkelche duften süβen Rausch / Bis nun der günst'ge Augenblick erscheint” (461-2),²⁴ a scenario replete with erotic allusions. Moreover, folk tradition depicts a woman's chastity as her flower (cf. Jungfernkranz) and to deflower a girl is to rob her of her virginity. It follows that Libussa may well be voicing the forbidden urge to sleep with her father—she later confesses that she has sought in vain to find his equal for her mate: “Allein zu Lieb' und Ehe braucht es Zwei; / Und, sag' ichs nur, mein Vater, euer Fürst, / War mir des Mannes ein so würdig Bild, / Daβ ich vergebens seines Gleichen suche” (656-9). Therefore, the subsequent reference to “die unfreiwill'ge Schuld” (320) in the same speech in which the white flower surfaces could also bear upon the guilt she feels at this unconscious sexual fantasy: she may even consider her culpable desire as having led to the punishment of his death. Lorenz posits the source of her guilt in her meeting with Primislaus, a delay which may have cost her father's life (38), while Politzer proposes: “Diese Schuld besteht aber nicht darin, daβ sie suchte, sondern daβ sie sich finden lieβ. Ein Etwas in ihr weiβ und ahnt auch, daβ das Bild des toten Vaters mit dem des vitalen Pflügers in Konflikt geraten ist” (310). It is not so much a conflict as a succession since the latter usurps the vacant role of the former as ruler and possessor of her virginity (jewel).

The text includes a number of possible phallic allusions in support of male dominance. Relatively early in the play, Domaslav, a speaker with a decided sexist outlook, announces the people's need to have a leader who can bear the “Stab, der in Fürst Krokus Händen lag” (204). This sexual symbolism ties in significantly with the general thesis of separation. According to the Freudian/Lacanian model, initially during the phallic phase, the male and female child share the identical sexual history: both have a masculine orientation—the first object of their desire is the mother—and both essential they possess the phallus which the mother wants. The advent of the castration complex “‘makes’ the girl a girl and the boy a boy, in a division that is both essential and precarious” (Mitchell, 7). The forbidding agent, the one who by his presence as the bearer of the phallus, gives rise to the differentiation and thus separates the sexes into those who have and those who do not have the phallus,²⁵ is the father, the embodiment of the law. Eagleton summarizes: “The little girl, perceiving that she is inferior because ‘castrated,’ turns in disillusionment from her similarly ‘castrated’ mother to the project of seducing the father; but since the project is doomed, she must finally turn back reluctantly to the mother, effect an identification with her, assume her feminine gender role, and unconsciously substitute for the penis which she envies but can never possess a baby, which she desires to receive from the father” (155-6). This same idea of the phallus as the separator underlines the opening speech from Kleist's Penthesilea, another nineteenth-century mythical drama dealing with an alleged²⁶ matriarchy:

Wenn Mars entrüstet, oder Delius,
Den Stecken nicht ergreift, der Wolkenrüttler.
Mit Donnerkeilen nicht dazwischen wettert:
Tot sinken die Verbiβnen heut noch nieder,
Des einen Zahn im Schlund des anderen.

(7-11)

In Odysseus's assessment the male and female armies will destroy one another unless the masculine gods of the patriarchy intervene. This violent mediation, whether through the rods of Mars or Apollo or the thunderbolts of Zeus, seeks to reestablish male ascendancy through the signifier of masculine sexual superiority and distinction: the phallus. It must restore what the male speaker cannot comprehend—indistinguishable Greek and Amazon warriors locked in mortal combat—to the patriarchal norm by imposing masculine authority. A related but less overtly violent solution holds true for Libussa as well.

No sooner does Kascha excuse one of the sisters: “Sag Zwei'n” (325) from the passive task of mourning their father's death than Libussa immediately jumps to the conclusion of a more specific exclusion: “Warum? Wen schlieβest du nur aus?” (325). Since she instinctively views herself as singled out, her oversensitive reaction points to a bad conscience and, like the concealed clothing, draws attention to what she herself has characterized as “die unfreiwill'ge Schuld” (320): her unavoidable dependence upon a man and her unconscious attraction to him. I generally concur with Wolf-Cirian's analysis: “Libussa, aber, die wahre Tochter ihres irdischen Vaters, stand immer im Gegensatz zu ihren Schwestern und empfand diesen wohl oft als stillschweigenden Vorwurf—daher ihr gereiztes Auffahren, als sie sich aus dem Bunde der Schwestern ausgeschlossen wähnte” (251), but fail to detect on what grounds she assumes Libussa “always” stood in opposition to Tetka and Kascha as the text relates only the one previous incident indicative of an attitude contrary to that of her sisters. Once Kascha outlines the specific nature of the separating obligation: “Die, welcher obliegt mehr als ihn Beklagen: / Zu folgen ihm in seiner harten Pflicht” (326-7), the drama has predisposed the audience to cast Libussa as the ideal successor, for her “actions speak louder than words” and her two sisters have already eliminated themselves by their supercilious repudiation of the crown. Even though Libussa's immediate reaction is to decline: “Nehmt ihrs, ich nicht!” (331), this could be construed as an emotional response again dictated by guilty feelings: she has betrayed her loyalty to her father and has sensed being drawn to human society in the person of Primislaus. In addition, one should compare this spontaneous, emotional refusal to those of Kascha and Tetka, which are more extensive, with considerable preamble, giving the impression of a well considered decision (207f).

This episode verifies the extent to which the father continues to exert authority over his daughters even after death: “Doch sähe gern der Vater unvollendet / Was er für dieses dunkle Volk getan? / Und heiβt es sein Gedächtnis hoch nicht ehren, / Fortsetzen, wenn auch schwach, was er begann?” (332-5). Here he embodies a sentimental influence: the force of tradition or the burden of obligation to one's parents. One of the daughters cannot escape the unavoidable duty of upholding her father's heritage, and in this sense Libussa becomes his victim at the conscious level as well. “When their major role is to discipline and control, fathers are not unlike supreme beings. They are distant, controlling figures who are removed from biological processes [such as death]” (Sanday 64). This appeal to Krokus's memory does have an effect: “Laβt denn das Los entscheiden” (336), a return to another variation on the Scheiden motif. As remarked earlier, Entscheiden also implies a division, i.e., the necessity to decide between alternatives, a theme reinforced by Kascha's proposal to allow fate or chance, “das Los,” to make the determination (losen means “eine vom Menschen unabhängige Entscheidung zu erzielen” [Duden Etymologie 409]). Her choice of expression may also recall the identical word, but with a different root, used by Primislaus in the opening scene to announce the most portentous separation of the tragedy: “Das [Kleinod] lös' ich los und wahre mirs als Pfand” (71)—a case of a retrospectively ironic play on words. Both instances of the “los” / “Los” have the potential to sever Libussa's ties to her sisters' realm.

The separation theme continues with Kascha's long speech describing the origin of the belts. “Am Jahrestag von unsrer Mutter Scheiden” (339), the father resolved to commemorate her passing by creating the bands featuring the image of both parents: “Ein kostbar Kleinod mit der Eltern Bild” (340). Hence the jewel may be said to reflect the tension between male and female, active and passive, real and ideal, or “Wahrheit” and “Märchen.” Another “Scheiden,” the death of the father, has brought about the current political crisis, one which requires a decision, Entscheidung. But one could argue that yet another “Scheiden” (260), Libussa's parting from Primislaus as she unknowingly stood at a “Scheideweg” (284) between two modes of life, has already made the choice: circumstances largely beyond her control have separated her from her jewel (71), her innocence, and any solidarity with her sisters. The recognition that Krokus had three belts made for three daughters looks back to Lessing's parable of the three rings and poses the question: who wears the true belt, i.e., who best incarnates the will of the father?

Krokus may have conceived of the three belts as an efficient means of keeping his daughters chaste:

Die Gürtel nun, des Vaters letzte Gabe
Und geistiges Vermächtnis noch dazu—
Sprach er doch ja: so oft ihr sie vereint,
Will ich im Geist bei euch sein und mit Rat—
Laβt legen uns in diese Opferschale.

(346-50)

Since the belts are only effective if united, the father can thus keep his harem to himself and exclude any other male intruder. To stake his claim, Primislaus transformed the belt, a circle which he broke,²⁷ into a chain which he placed about Libussa's neck, and as a mark of her subservience, she had to lower her head to receive it. While the belt, a “letzte Gabe,” does possess a material existence, as a symbol of a spiritual or intellectual legacy, it also dominates the daughters' minds. Indeed, by the terms of Krokus's testament, to assure continuity they would have to stay together, remain pure, and refuse to permit anyone to come between them. The phrase “mit Rat” further implies their reliance upon the paternal figure: because he intends to counsel them from beyond the grave, they will become a mere extension of his will, having very little, if any, independence. Kascha's formulation may contain another intertextual allusion, this time to the Bible. To prepare the disciples for his departure, Christ declares: “Denn wo zwei oder drei versammelt sind in meinem Namen, da bin ich mitten unter ihnen” (Matthäus 18:20). Just as Christ proved obedient to his father unto death in the garden of Gethsemane, Kascha proposes putting their belts which bear their respective names upon the “Opferschale.” In a figurative sense they are to be sacrificed—their virginity represents their most treasured possession—to a god, the memory of their father. As a final manifestation of male tyranny over the female, the text reunites the three belts only at the end of the tragedy to legitimize the reinstatement of the patriarchy through Primislaus after Libussa's self-immolation for the good of the nation.²⁸ Krokus or the father reasserts his male dominance via his surrogate, the ploughman. Ironically, Kascha inadvertently foretells this development when, in working out the details as to how she plans to conduct the draw, she concludes, “Der Dritten Gürtel wird zum Diadem. / Sie folgt, ob ungern, in die Fürstenwohnung” (354-5). Both sisters obviously prefer remaining in their present domain to the undesirable occupation of governing in the real world with its petty concerns. It is an obligation entailing dependence (“folgen”) and domesticity and therefore undertaken with great reluctance only because of what their father expects of them.

At the prospect of the proposed lottery, Libussa removes her “Barett und Mantel” to expose her “Bauerntracht” (p. 290). Before she may have intentionally hidden her dress but now, at this crucial juncture, she unconsciously reveals what lies beneath and thus may divulge her concealed desire. The abrupt change in visual image also conveys a new orientation: the feathered cap and cloak projected a male tendency while the peasant attire, originating with Primislaus's sister, suggests the domestic, subservient female role, a suitable alteration in view of Kascha's preceding description of the father's despotic regulation of his female offspring. While Tetka draws attention to the strangeness of the costume,²⁹ Libussa's defensive reaction testifies to the dramatist's remarkable skill at intimating the secret workings of the mind:

libussa: sich betrachtend: Sonderbar?
          Vergaβ ichs doch beinah! Je, gute Tetka,
          Der Zufall kommt und meldet sich nicht an,
          Auftauchend ist er da; und wohl uns, wenn beim Scheiden
          Er äuβerlich verändert nur uns läβt.
          Das Kleid ist warm, und also lieb' ich es.

(357-62)

She personifies chance as a male agent who appears without warning—fortuitously or conveniently “Zufall” is masculine—and therefore once more disguises Primislaus's participation in an abstract, impersonal form. Lacan refers to such veiled language as “parole pleine,” the symbolic discourse of the unconscious, in this example, the verbal means to present her meeting and her unconscious/conscious attraction to her rescuer. Her image projects a surprisingly assertive portrait of chance/Primislaus—she is still unaware of the theft—while she generally occupied the dominant position in their dialogue and depreciated the extent of her indebtedness to him: she voiced her wishes, if not commands, and he reluctantly obeyed. Auftauchen means literally to rise to the surface and thus invokes her sudden emergence from the whirlpool through Primislaus's interference, but in her current formulation, the roles seem to have been reversed—the “er” is the one suddenly to resurface according to strict grammatical usage. However, the audience, in light of its knowledge, is more inclined to interpret the “Auftauchend” as relating directly to the speaker. Also, for the first time, she herself mentions “Scheiden,” an echo of Primislaus's leitmotif from their final parting scene where he resorted to it four times (247; 253; 260; 274—a variation, “Trennung,” of the same theme occurs four times in the opening scene). Although she couches her thought in a distancing, impersonal proverbial framework, the reappearance of “Scheiden” here reminds the spectator of a very specific separation and invokes Primislaus's continuing presence at the back of her mind.

Unwittingly she concedes that the confrontation with a man and the subsequent parting did in fact touch her deeply. Even though she endeavours to insinuate that the experience had no lasting effect, that there was no emotional commitment on her part, she then goes on to concede that the peasant outfit gives her warmth and that she loves it—the peasant Primislaus earlier expressed the desire to be the clothes that cover her body (13-15)—and by extension this attitude betrays some affection for the man who gave the dress to her. As she later acknowledges, the warmth of the coat, far from remaining “aüβerlich,” penetrates “bis zur tiefsten Brust” (403), the seat of human emotion in contrast to the cold, stellar, spiritual regions inhabited by her sisters. The “wohl uns” implies a certain urgency and while she alleges to be unaffected within her person, the oblique indications contained in her verbal images and her physical semblance undermine her position by advancing a different message. Moreover, her reference to “Scheiden” in the final position tends to recall Primislaus's parting line: “Die du, ein Märchen, kamst, und eine Wahrheit scheidest” (274). A separation evincing the truth cannot but effect the parties involved. Libussa has evolved and her own view of herself is beginning to undergo a transformation. Prior to making this speech, she looks at herself in a new role: “libussa sich betrachtend” (p. 290). She once wore these clothes, feeling comfortable in them and forgetting their existence. The attractive young man from Kleist's essay, “Über das Marionettentheater,” comes to mind. After he gazes upon himself in a mirror, he acquires awareness of himself and forfeits his grace, his unconscious unity with nature (2: 243-4). Likewise, as Libussa is about to discover, she cannot return to her original state of innocence.

When the women remove their respective belts, Libussa's sisters, noticing the changes, are curious to learn the details: “Doch wie—?” (363); however, she avoids disclosing any further information.

libussa: das Geschmeide vom Halse nehmend:
          Hier ist mein Gürtel.
tetka: ihren Gürtel ablösend: Hier der meine.
kascha: Libussens Geschmeide nehmend:
Am Hals?
libussa: Und doch er selbst, wie ich dieselbe.
kascha: Das ist dein Gürtel nicht.
libussa: Wie wäre das?
kascha: Die Ketten wohl; allein der Mutter Bildnis, Das Mittelkleinod fehlt mit deinem Namen,
O Unbesonnene!

(363-8)

Kasha directs attention to her belt around her neck, the unusual location proclaiming subjugation (a dog or slave collar) and, according to another tradition, pointing to the very nature of her servitude. In Book iii of the Argonautica, Apollonius Rhodius portrays how passion for Jason gradually invades the unsuspecting Medea through the neck: “[E]ver within anguish tortured her, a smouldering fire through her frame, and about her fine nerves and deep down beneath the nape of the neck where the pain enters keenest, whenever the unwearied Loves direct against the heart their shafts of agony” (247).³⁰ The object actually testifies against her, exposes the truth of the unconscious and proves her wrong in her claim not to have changed. Since she met Primislaus, she is not the same, and this is graphically verified by her costume and the position of the belt (cf. Roe, Introduction 225). Kascha then focuses on the loss of the mother's image and Libussa's name (a person's essence), both of which were inscribed upon the missing jewel. The latter supposedly depicts both parents (“mit der Eltern Bild” [340]) but tellingly Kascha specifies only two female representations which now rest in the hands of a new male.

This incident touches on an issue conducive to the more or less universal subjugation of women, specifically purity versus pollution. Through her association with Primislaus, Libussa has metaphorically forfeited her virginal immaculateness and, contaminated by this contact, she may not return to the undefiled realm of her sisters. The demand for female purity requiring menstruating women in some societies to be ostracized from the rest of the community and thus seriously restricting female activities, obliges Libussa in this instance to enter the real world of male politics. Kascha and Tetka exploit the same dichotomy to justify their self-imposed isolation from crass male concerns (234-5). “Purity beliefs seem to be particularly attractive to women, who very often elaborate the norms concerned with purity, the rules for strict dress and demeanour, modesty, cleanliness, and prudishness, which they use as a device for contrasting their world and the men's world—establishing grounds for order and status among themselves” (Rosaldo 38).

At this precise moment when Kascha makes an issue of the lost stone and Libussa replies in righteous indignation: “Was schmähst du mich?” (368), further evidence of a guilty conscience, Dobromila returns to report her lack of success in finding “jenen Mann” (370). The timing reinforces the enormous influence “that man” has had and will continue to have on Libussa, as she herself begins to recognize: “Vor sich hin: Das hat mir Der getan!” (372). On this occasion she states the male gender directly but only to herself and confirms how he has compromised her more than he ever intended. Since his reminder (65-6) will be indirectly responsible for bringing her down into the real world where she will eventually become a “Weib um das man werben könnte” (249), he unwittingly achieves his objective by a fortuitous combination of circumstances. The subsequent exchange only serves to emphasize male domination: “kascha Die Nacht im Wald, in Bauerntracht gehüllt, / Verloren deines Vaters Angedenken. / libussa Mein Vater lebt, ein Lebender, in mir, / So lang ich atme lebt auch sein Gedächtnis” (373-6). Now the gem becomes a memorial to the father rather than to the mother in whose memory Krokus ostensibly fashioned it. Reminiscent of Tetka's earlier remark—“Mir ist er [Krokus] als ein Jüngling auferstanden” (183)—Libussa's confirmation of her father's tyrannical power over her, even after his death, is truer than she realizes. More so than her two sisters, she cannot really lead her own life. In a manner anticipating Kafka's characters, she is guilty, “die unfreiwill'ge Schuld” (320), no matter what she does and despite her best intentions, for she cannot escape the Law, the realm of the father, “des Vaters strenge Rechte” (427). In fact she regards herself as his reincarnation, an ironically accurate assessment, as she will accept his office and comes closest to him in her active, more socially responsible attitude.

To ensure healthy heterosexuality Freud considered it normal for the female child to transfer to her father her initial attachment to her mother: “Aber am Ende der Entwicklung soll der Mann-Vater das neue Liebesobjekt geworden sein, d.h. dem Geschlechtswechsel des Weibes muβ ein Wechsel im Geschlecht des Objekts entsprechen” (“Weibliche Sexualität 278). This identification with the father increases her sense of individuation and independence: “Most psychoanalytic and social theorists claim that the mother inevitably represents to her daughter (and son) regression, passivity, dependence, and lack of orientation to reality, whereas the father represents progression, activity, independence, and reality orientation” (Chodorow, 65), the paternal values present to some degree in Libussa relative to her sisters. Consistent with this argument, her mother receives only passing reference throughout the tragedy. At the same time this male orientation may well damage her confidence in her own femininity. The third act will afford numerous signs of the heroine's lack of faith in her ability as a woman to attract Primislaus (cf. 1249).

Libussa's claim, “Mit Einem Wort löst' ich die Rätsel leicht, / Doch würdet ihrs entstellen und verkehren” (379-80), comes across as childish and overly defensive, i.e., I could explain everything but you wouldn't understand, the typical excuse of an adolescent. Anticipating their disapproval, she secretly appreciates how compromising a full revelation of her adventure would seem to her sisters and, as already noted, she has consistently skirted any direct, public reference to her male rescuer. The fear of misrepresentation could just as easily be a cover for genuine misgivings about her own emotional involvement with Primislaus. Only her heart knows for sure, but it will keep its counsel to itself: “Drum halt nur was du weiβt, mein sichres Herz!” (381). Can it be trusted? Libussa's dramatic predecessors call into serious doubt the reliability of feelings to judge objectively in such matters. Sappho, Medea, or Hero all delude themselves on an irrational level: the heart is anything but “sicher.”

Another pretender has broken the protective ring raised by Krokus to safeguard his harem: “Der Kreis getrennt. Du kannst mit uns nicht losen” (382). Primislaus, the one to harp upon trennen in the opening scene (41; 51; 52; 58) has without specific intent, separated Libussa from any vestige of a unified self and from what her sisters embody. Her petulant reaction to exclusion again appears in a childish light: “Nicht losen? Und wer weiβ, ob ichs auch will? / Ein Schritt aus dem Gewohnten, merk' ich wohl, / Er zieht unhaltsam hin auf neue Bahnen, / Nur vorwärts führt das Leben, rückwärts nie” (383-6). In other words, if you won't let me, it doesn't matter since I didn't want to in the first place. Out of wounded pride she is obviously attempting to save face. She took the initial step away from the usual routine when she opted to leave the castle, to descend to the valley, and thus to precipitate the chain of events in which Primislaus came to play such a key role. The universal application she abstracts from her experience conveys the recognition that for good or bad we can only move forward. There is no sense in trying to restore the past and its way of life, although one need not necessarily enthuse about the new political, social and commercial developments change brings in its wake.

As a generalization on the function of will in Grillparzer's works, Papst has observed, “Man is still, as for Schiller, a creature with the distinctive characteristic of willing, but he no longer wills in accordance with genuine moral choice; he wills what he must will, what he is driven to will” (109). Libussa's rationalizations offer a case in point:

Ich soll nicht losen? Und ich will es nicht.
Wo sind die Männer aus der Czechen Rat?
Den Vater will ich ehren durch die Tat,
Mögt ihr das Los mit dumpfen Brüten fragen:
Ich will sein Amt und seine Krone tragen.

(387-91)

Does she really speak for herself or on behalf of her father or does he speak through her? Have not conditions largely created by Primislaus forced her to adopt this stance to salvage her dignity?³¹ Four times in the same speech she insists upon her will, her independence to make a decision. Such emphatic insistence begs another question: whom is she really trying to convince? At first she expresses doubt as to whether or not this is her intent: “ob ichs auch will” (383), but only four lines later, she declares, “Und ich will es nicht” (387). Then she maintains that her will is to honour her father by taking over his function. In the cleverly constructed verse: “Den Vater will ich ehren durch die Tat” (389), the father and the deed, traditionally associated with the male, occupy the initial and final emphatic positions respectively while the ego remains caught in the middle. Since at the conscious level she wants to make her dead father proud of her, she will assume his office and his crown. This formulation strongly implies that she has no intention of ruling in her own right, but as a surrogate, whereas in reality she later contrasts her rule with that of her father, the sign of a rebellion against paternal authority. By progressive stages Grillparzer shows how she gradually convinces herself and claims credit for a decision largely determined by outside pressures: her father's legacy, Primislaus's intervention, and her sisters' disapproval. To quote a relevant line from Die Jüdin, “Und unser Wille will oft weil er muβ” (428).

The deed, traditionally a male monopoly, she sets opposite her sisters' vita contemplativa which she denigrates with the phrase “mit dumpfen Brüten” (390). The latter means to sit on eggs, to incubate or to brood, pejorative connotations to characterize dull, stifling meditation. In this game of “one-upmanship,” she now insults her siblings and, partly out of pique, puts down their major preoccupation. The irrationalism underlying this quarrel bears the responsibility in the first instance for her electing to accept the crown while the more ideal motivation, “an irresistible impulse of love [for her people], awoken in her by her encounter with Primislaus” (Papst 113), may simply constitute a rationalization or afterthought. When Kascha allows that her insult may have prompted her sister's petulant reaction: “Wenn ich gekränkt dich mit zu raschem Wort” (393), Libussa nevertheless resolves to abide by her resolve: “Mein Wort ein Fels” (395).

She now consciously distances herself from her sisters: “Denk' ich von heut / Mich wieder hier in eurer stillen Wohnung” (396-7), i.e., your dwelling, not mine, and rejects their way of life as being empty, monotonous and remote from human interchange to which she now feels attracted: “Mit Menschen Mensch sein dünkt von heut mir Lust, / Des Mitgefühles Pulse fühl' ich schlagen, / Drum will ich dieser Menschen Krone tragen” (404-6), quite a change of heart from her first impulse: “Nehmt ihrs, ich nicht!” (331). Once more she declares her will but fails to appreciate how circumstances have conspired to induce her to reach this determination. Hence I cannot agree with Politzer's designation, “die freiwillige Fürstin,” nor with his contention: “ihr Wunsch geht nach ‘Mit’gefühl, wobei das Objekt dieses neu erwachten Gefühls keineswegs der Erwecker, Primislaus, ist, sondern eine Abstraktion, ‘diese Menschen,’ deren Krone zu tragen sie sich herabläβt” (311). If Primislaus could arouse this emotion, he would also be in part its recipient, as the many underlying signs would seem to indicate: her love of “diese Menschen” could just as easily represent a socially acceptable, anonymous proxy to conceal her affection for “den Menschen” Primislaus, given her lack of contact with other mortals from the outside world. Politzer goes on to argue: “Daβ sie in denselben Zeilen gleich zweimal sagen muβ, ‘mir dünkt,’ deutet auf den Abstand zwischen ihr und der Wirklichkeit” (311-2); nonetheless, she felt drawn to the real order when she displayed “Mitgefühl” with her father, a mark of her worthiness to rule, and risked exposing her vulnerability by leaving the safety of the castle. The text does establish distance “zwischen ihr und der Wirklichkeit,” but on what basis does she make her value judgments? What has provided Libussa in her ignorance of human affairs, i.e., “Mit Menschen Mensch sein,” with a gauge by which to reject her past and look forward to the future? One must posit Primislaus's agency here, however indirect, concretely manifested on stage through the peasant costume, his gift to her, to which she herself alludes with sensual relish: “Dies Kleid es reibt die Haut mit dichtern Fäden / Und weckt die Wärme bis zur tiefsten Brust” (402-3).³²

After the Wladiken reenter and Domaslav enquires, “Und welche will—?” (411), Libussa retorts, “Hier ist von Wollen nicht” (411), even though she has dwelt upon exercising her will, indeed five times, and now seeks to deny it: “Von Müssen ist die Rede und von Pflicht” (412). This implies the Kantian moral position—absolute obedience to “Pflicht,” adherence to an intellectual obligation, to the exclusion of “Neigung,” the disavowal of any natural drive or personal interest. She would seem to negate the Schillerian solution of “Neigung zur Pflicht,” i.e., freely choosing to do one's moral duty, as for example in Homburg's speech before the assembled court: “Ruhig! Es ist mein unbeugsamer Wille! / Ich will das heilige Gesetz des Kriegs / Das ich verletzt, im Angesicht des Heers, / Durch einen freien Tod verherrlichen!” (Prinz Friedrich 1149-52). Whereas her sisters were prepared to let fate decide by drawing lots, she rejects a haphazard selection and, contradicting herself, expresses her will by freely accepting the responsibility: “Und da nun Eine muβ aus unsrer Zahl, / So will ich und begebe mich der Wahl” (413-4). Grillparzer has nonetheless made it clear that a subjective “Wollen,” in which personal interests have a significant share, plays its part not only at the conscious but at the unconscious level as well where emotions such as petulance, pride, and passion influence the will. In her refusal to leave the choice to chance, one out of three, she ironically mirrors a similar reluctance in Primislaus: “Und ich / Soll dort [drei Eichen] dem Ungefähr dich übergeben, / Das niemals wohl uns mehr zusammenführt?” (37-9). A ruler may strive to eliminate accident in order to build on a more secure, permanent basis,³³ but chance in the form of Primislaus's direct and indirect intervention at several crucial stages (cf. 359-61) has had a discernible effect upon events to date and has contributed to her reaching her current determination. Both Libussa and Homburg rebel against someone (her sisters; the Elector) by “going one better.” Put in an embarrassing situation, they endeavour to extricate themselves by “turning the tables” on their accusers and voluntarily assuming the nobler role in an attempt to restore a public image sullied in the eyes of their peers.

In outlining her credentials for the task at hand, Libussa exhibits a vacillating attitude which casts some doubt upon the conviction Lorenz attributes to her: “Dem väterlich-männlichen Staat will sie das Beispiel eines mütterlich-weiblichen entgegensetzen, nicht aus Mangel an autoritativer Stärke, sondern aus Überzeugung” (“Neubewertung” 38-9). The drama includes several signs of her shaken confidence in herself: she admits to a lack of maturity and defers to her sisters' goodness and wisdom (415-6). Since she raises these issues herself, she both anticipates possible criticism and feels the need to defend herself in advance. Tetka and Kascha, being the embodiment of “Hohes” (417), deserve veneration while she, concerned with “irdisch niedres Tun” (418) does not. In this instance, however, she puts her sisters up in order to put them down, suggesting that she has a more practical grasp on reality than her contemplative siblings (a claim borne out by the tragedy) and thus is the more suitable candidate.³⁴ But perhaps most tellingly, she again acknowledges her dependence upon her father: “Wenn nun des Vaters Geist auf mir beruht, / So fügt sichs wie es kann und, hoff' ich, gut” (421-2). Wanting to follow his spirit, she allows for the possibility of error and of not being able to fill his shoes.

The “Überzeugung” of which Lorenz speaks comes more to the fore once Libussa begins to differentiate her understanding of her rule from that of her father: “Es hielt euch fest des Vaters strenge Rechte / Und beugt' euch in heilsam weises Joch” (427-8). “Freud always insisted that it was the presence or absence of the phallus and nothing else [Mitchell's emphasis] that marked the distinction between the sexes” (Mitchell 6) and the father, as the bearer of the phallus, has the authority to lay down the Law, indeed personifies it. Truth, especially when of a disturbing nature, seeks to express itself through the unconscious despite the efforts of the conscious self either to disregard or misconstrue it. “While conscious knowledge is ignorant, the apparently unknown knowledge in the unconscious speaks. It says what it knows, while the subject does not know it” (Benvenuto/Kennedy 166-7). It is therefore no accident that Libussa attempts to deny the paternal law as epitomized in phallic images:

Ich bin ein Weib und, ob ich es vermöchte,
So widert mir die starre Härte doch.
Wollt ihr nun mein als einer Frau gedenken,
Lenksam dem Zaum, so daβ kein Stachel not,
Will freudig ich die Ruhmesbahn euch lenken,
Ein überhörtes wär' mein letzt' Gebot.

(429-34)

She insists on her femaleness, in Lacan's view, a lack or omission (Scheiden), depicts her regime as necessarily dissimilar, and makes her pronouncements out of self-consciousness of her sex and its perceived limitations in anticipation of the later criticism levelled at her administration. She is on the defensive from the outset. Her concessional clause, “ob ich es [to rule like a man] vermöchte” implies: I could elect to govern in a male manner but I have chosen not to—a “choice” which looks back to her alleged free decision to accept the crown. Now she finds distasteful “die starre Härte” and repudiates the “Stachel,” paroles pleines intimating the phallus,³⁵ the real legitimization of her father's rule and his tyrannical control over her. In light of the fact that only eight lines earlier she wished that her father's spirit would lie upon her, she betrays an ambivalent attitude to the male symbol of power: desire/dread, attraction/repulsion. Even if she had it, she would not use it, thus making a virtue out of a necessity.

Since it should come as no surprise that a text depicting a battle of the sexes contains several phallic symbols, there would seem to be some justification for dealing briefly with the concept of penis envy. In Freud's reconstruction of childhood, he claimed that all children, regardless of gender, fault their mother for various self-centred reasons (cf. “Weibliche Sexualität” 283), but the female offspring has to come to terms with a particularly devastating discovery: “Daβ sie [the mother] dem Kind kein richtiges Genitale mitgegeben, d.h. es als Weib geboren hat” (“Weibliche Sexualität” 283). Rejecting her mother, the daughter turns to her father. Rarely does Libussa mention her mother (only three times) while she openly and frequently acknowledges her love, admiration, and devotion to her father (sixteen times).

The women's movement obviously could not condone Freud's belief in “die Überlegenheit des Mannes” (“Weibliche Sexualität” 279), his explanation of female psychology as derived essentially from “die Wirkungen des Kastrationskomplexes” (“Weibliche Sexualität” 279), or his generally low opinion of women. Whereas he drew most of his conclusions regarding them from the central function of the phallus, an aspect which Lacan was to adopt, many psychoanalysts now regard these deductions as “ideological mistakes” attributable to his culture and times, but “still allow that his clinical observations of penis envy might be correct” (Chodorow 52). Undertaking to make Freud's theories more compatible with feminist views, Clara Thompson has “stressed the fact that the actual envy of the penis, as such, is not as important in the psychology of women as their envy of the position of the male in society. This position of privilege and alleged superiority is symbolized by the possession of a penis. The owner of this badge of power has special opportunities while those without have more limited possibilities” (51). This more sociological, political revision of Freud provides insight into Libussa's underlying frustration vis-à-vis the male world as embodied by her father, the Wladiken and Primislaus and into her several attempts to downplay or denigrate the phallus in its various guises as prick, rod, hook, or ploughshare.

Politically oriented commentators such as Florack and Lorenz, both of whom see Libussa as a reflection of the social and political climate around the 1848 revolution, place considerable emphasis upon this speech. Lorenz, for instance, comments, “Libussa plant, den hierarchischen Staat in einen brüderlichen zu verwandeln” (“Neubewertung” 39), to create a “[d]emokratisch” society (“Neubewertung” 41) with the “Abschaffung von Klassenunterschieden” (“Neubewertung” 39) a position about which Florack harbours justifiable reservations: “Doch wenn Libussas Herrschaft nun ‘demokratisch’ und dem ‘Humanitätsideal der bürgerlichen Aufklärung’ verpflichtet genannt wird, übersehen selbst solche Analysen, wie sehr das von Libussa Propagierte und im Stück positiv Gewertete einer Bestätigung ständischer Ordnung gleichkommt” (240). Whether it be in Krokus's patriarchy or in her proposed matriarchy, the basic hierarchy, still firmly entrenched, promotes a distinct separation between the ruler and the ruled, “Denn für Libussa gibt es bei aller humanen, brüderlichen Zuwendung doch eine Art Hierarchie” (Geiβler 123). Both styles of governing cast the people metaphorically as dependent animals, either to pull the carriage or to bear the rider. The major difference lies only in how the master will treat the animal. In the case of Krokus's tenure, the beast had to place its neck in a yoke, thus forfeiting all personal freedom, i.e., the subjugation (sub-jugum; Unter-jochung—under the yoke) of the masses, while for Libussa, the people correspond to a horse responsive to the reins, i.e., still subservient but subject to a kinder, gentler rider who desires to avoid the goad or spur. Libussa will remain true to this model of the benevolent dictator till the end when in her concluding vision she summarizes the nature of her regime by paraphrasing the Christian simile of the good shepherd: “Gehütet hab' ich euch dem Hirten gleich, / Der seine Lämmer treibt auf frische Weide” (2314-5; cf. John 10:11). As a matriarchal figure she intends to function as the “Great Mother” to her immature children: “Dieser ‘Gröβe’ des Weiblichen entspricht, daβ das Enthaltene, Geschützte und Genährte, Gewärmte und Festgehaltene immer ein Kleines, Wehrloses, ein Anhängendes und auf Leben und Tod dem Groβen Weiblichen Ausgeliefertes ist. Nirgends vielleicht ist es so evident, daβ ein Menschliches als ‘Groβes’ erfahren werden muβ, wie bei der Mutter. Jeder Blick auf einen Säugling und auf ein Kind [cf. the opening of the second act] wiederholt und bestätigt ihre Erscheinung als ‘Groβe Mutter’ und als ‘Groβes Weibliches’” (Neumann 54). But in both Libussa's metaphors, the aristocratic leader takes advantage of the animal either as a means of conveyance or as a source of food and clothing so that the horse or lamb serves the upper class and supports its way of life.

In her defence one should bear in mind that since she wants to be thought of as a woman (431), she takes for granted that her people will act as they have been conditioned to behave towards a woman, that is to say, with love and respect. According to Machiavelli, she makes the mistake of seeking to govern on the basis of love rather than fear (Krokus): “Men have … less hesitation in doing an injury to a ruler who inspires affection than one who inspires fear. Affection is a tie like duty which, such is the worthlessness of men, is easily broken by selfish interest; but fear arises out of the imminence of punishment [“Stachel”], and will last a lifetime” (89). She assumes the people will prove amenable to her view of community and will naturally do the right thing by following her example. “Um ihre Unterthanen zu beherrschen, ruft sie deren gute Instinkte an, die, ihrer Überzeugung nach, über die bösen siegen müssen” (Ehrhard 498). By projecting her own ideal of goodness onto others, she sets herself up for a major disappointment. But as her implied threat (434) makes clear, she is not above using emotional blackmail: if you don't live up to my expectations, I'll resign. Since she alone will determine what lies in her people's best interest,³⁶ she really wants a well trained, tame people that she can lead to its own welfare without any resistance. As Neumann has shown, “das Groβe Weibliche” is not above using “den ‘Liebesentzug’ als Instrument seiner Macht, als Mittel, seine Herrschaft als ‘Groβe Mutter’ zu verewigen, um das Geborene nicht zu seiner Selbständigkeit kommen zu lassen” (76).

In the final lines following her description of her model administration, the “Scheiden” motif makes an ominous return: “So wie ich ungern nur von hinnen scheide, / Lenkt' ich zurück dann meinen müden Lauf / Und träte bittend zwischen diese Beide; / Ihr nähmet, Schwestern, mich doch wieder auf?” (435-8). She admits her reluctance to leave the secure ethos of her sisters. The use of “Scheiden,” recalling its many repetitions by Primislaus at their parting, reminds the audience of his continuing influence at this very moment and reaffirms her loss of “ein so schönes Ganze” (56) as another contradiction emerges. Whereas she asserted earlier in the scene, “Nur vorwärts führt das Leben, rückwärts nie” (386), she is now attempting to keep an escape route open, a retrogressive one, in the event of failure—we learn later that when opposition arises, she does in fact send Wlasta to enquire if her sisters will take her back (1140f). Even before she begins to exercise her rule, she jeopardizes it by allowing for the possibility of defeat and again exposes her lack of confidence. According to the subtext, the symbolic language of the unconscious, this low self-esteem may stem from another lack, that of the phallus.³⁷

No sooner does Domaslav offer his class's fealty and that of their subjects than Libussa vehemently rejects and forbids the use of the word “Untertanen” (442): “Dies letzte Wort, es sei von euch verbannt, / In Zukunft herrscht nur Eines hier im Land: / Das kindliche Vertraun” (443-5). With this declaration she seemingly puts herself at odds with a noble society that assumes the privilege to have power over others by its god-given genetic superiority. The basis of her administration, childlike trust, supposes a confidence in the goodness, generosity, and wisdom of the ruler, which leads one to submit voluntarily to the gentle reins of her rule. If one loves someone as a child loves its mother, then one can accept that person as a parent and believe the he or she will always act in one's best interest. This must be seen in contrast to fear as the motivating force: “Der Stab, der in Fürst Krokus Händen lag” (204); one behaves in a certain way because one wishes to avoid the punishment contingent upon failure to comply, the more dependable political expediency if one is to believe Machiavelli. Both scenarios, however, have in common the immaturity of the child, its need to be directed and cared for, a reflection of the dramatist's basic distrust of the masses and democracy: “Erträglich ist der Mensch als Einzelner, / Im Haufen steht die Tierwelt gar zu nah” (Bruderzwist 1479-80). As commented upon previously, the negative depiction of an aristocracy availing itself of the same metaphor already discredits in part the feasibility of “das kindliche Vertrauen” (198) as a basis for governing, since it can also serve as a camouflage for self-interest.

In the same speech Libussa raises the real issue: “Und nennt ihrs Macht, / Nennt ihr ein Opfer das sich selbst gebracht, / Die Willkür, die sich allzu frei geschienen / Und, eigner Herrschaft bang, beschloβ zu dienen” (445-8). Ultimately the issue is power and how one rationalizes its tenure by a class or an individual from a particular class. (Ein Bruderzwist offers the same political message: “Die Macht ist was sie wollen” [1231].) She leaves the reference to a sacrifice impersonal so that it could refer either to herself or her subjects: she willingly agrees to renounce her personal happiness to assure the welfare of her people, just as they in turn forfeit their political independence by placing their destiny confidently in her hands.³⁸ “Willkür,” meaning arbitrary, if not despotic, rule, would be more characteristic of the aristocracy where there are no controls on the regime other than the good will of the leader. Whereas the nobility once reigned “allzu frei,” without being accountable to anyone but itself, it now adopts through her a noblesse oblige posture, Frederick the Great's or Joseph ii's stance of service to one's country.³⁹ However, little has really changed since the head of state still answers only to his/her conscience. The phrase “eigner Herrschaft bang,” in the sense of fearful for its own rule, may allude to the movement within the nobility itself to reform, the so-called “inner revolution,” to eliminate the social injustices and bad political practice which made the French Revolution possible. (Arnim and Eichendorff recognized that their class had gone too far and had alienated the people by corrupt, self-serving, arbitrary practices.) Again one could regard Libussa's political manifesto as symptomatic of the author's own conservative attitude: his fear of the masses and their demagogues on the one hand and his resentment of the upper class and their privileges on the other. His compromise in the interest of “Ordnung” would seem to point to an enlightened monarch who would deny self-interest and govern in the name of the common good. In support of this position, Rudolf uses the same metaphors to characterize how he views his relationship to his subjects: “Die Zeit ist schlimm, / Die solche Kinder nährt und braucht des Zügels. / Der Lenker findet sich, wohl auch der Zaum” (Bruderzwist 1343-5).⁴⁰

Both the dictatorial and impractical nature of her projected regime surface in her final lines: “Wollt ihr als Brüder leben, eines Sinns, / So nennt mich eure Fürstin und ich bins; / Doch sollt' ich Zwei'n ein zweifach Recht erdenken, / Wollt' eher ich an euch euch selbst als Sklaven schenken” (449-52). While the concepts of universal fraternity and equality, the rejection of a double standard, signal the liberal influence of the French Revolution (Lorenz, “Neubewertung” 39), Libussa nonetheless envisions a uniformity or conformity of mind, i.e., a harmony of attitude synonymous with her own outlook, and as the next act will verify, her desire for unity fails to accommodate the practical demands and diversity of the real world. To achieve her goal she is not above resorting yet again to emotional blackmail: “Allein vergäβt ihr was uns Allen frommt, / … / Da Diese hier [her sisters] den Rücktritt mir versagen, / So ging' ich hin es meinem Vater klagen” (454-6). In fact her sisters did not explicitly forbid her return: “Wenn du's noch kannst, von Irdischem umnachtet” (439), for they foresaw the potential problem in her, while she chooses to blame them. What she is saying amounts to, in Politzer's apt formulation, a “Selbstmorddrohung” (313): if you don't meet my ideal expectations and live together in harmonious brotherhood, I will die and my death will be upon your head—both a threat and a prophecy as it turns out. If this experiment, the matriarchy, fails, it will destroy her; she will have no one to turn to since her sisters have repudiated her. By implication she here closely associates her own death with that of her father—the mother is once more conspicuous by her absence—and by so doing she again combines Eros and Thanatos.

Critics have interpreted the Libussa of the first act as being forceful and resolute in contrast to the last act, but the text does furnish several indications of a lack of confidence in herself and a dependence upon a heritage in which her late father's influence still holds sway. Her commands to her followers: “Ihr Mädchen mir voraus, und stoβt ins Horn, / Bis jetzt mir nächst, steht billig ihr nun vorn” (459-60), while anticipating the central role of females in her administration, also suggest that she needs her warrior women to shield her (cf. the fourth act) and that she still counts upon her past life for support. “Und so, gehobnen Haupts, mit furchtlos offnen Blicken, / Entgegen kühn den kommenden Geschicken” (461-2). As if to contradict this verbally bold exit, her sisters and their attendants have the final say, a not particularly reassuring appraisal: “Ich [Tetka] bedaure sie, / Sie wirds bereun, und früher als sie denkt” (464-5). In addition, whereas she proposes marching fearlessly towards whatever the fates have in store, their emissaries, the stars, announce a different message: “Die Jungfrau blinkt, doch nein, / Ich irrte mich, es ist des Löwen Macht, / Der auf sein Böhmen schaut” (475-7). The lion, belonging to “den Tieren der Sonne [i.e., the male god]” (Neumann 207) and hence signifying masculine sexuality, is in the ascendant (Primislaus), not the virgin (Libussa) who has symbolically lost her virginity to the lion.⁴¹ Similarly, in the last line of the act: “dem Tag weicht die Nacht!” (478), the female night succumbs to the masculine day. These two ominously mantic nocturnal images reinforce what the text has implied more or less consistently throughout the first act: the dominance of the male (father/suitor) over the female (mother/daughter).

Act one opens upon a scene of spatial disjunction, the female inside the cottage and the male outside, an arrangement indicative of the opposition between an inner and outer orientation. At first sight, Libussa would seem to be in charge: she insists upon her independence and refuses to acknowledge a debt of gratitude or at least downplays its significance. Continually denying Primislaus, she issues the orders and he reluctantly obeys. When he privately speaks of his female guest as an object and stakes his claim to her person, he exposes his patriarchal bias. There are, however, indications of a lack of confidence in both of these strong willed protagonists. Libussa does not feel comfortable in her new role as monarch as she attempts to keep an escape route open and actually allows for her own eventual failure. Primislaus likewise shows signs of insecurity, but in his case they stem from his preoccupation with the social discrepancy which puts him at a distinct disadvantage.

The basic problem comes down to the issue of Scheiden in its many manifestations. The separation between an aristocrat and a ploughman, between high and low, the dramatist captures in the contrast between Schleier and Bauerntracht: the aloof, secret, ideal realm of the sisters, the vita contemplativa, versus the intimate, open, natural world of the peasant, the vita activa. Although Primislaus feels drawn to Libussa the woman, Libussa the queen raises a seemingly insurmountable social barrier and hence the Standesproblematik does put considerable pressure on their relationship by complicating the love interest. As “Getrennt[e]” (41) their paths and ultimate destinations may frequently diverge, but they still have much in common, above all a mutual physical attraction. The love story, a struggle for dominance, illustrates the sensitivity of lovers in the early stages of a liaison, as disclosed in their extreme reluctance to expose their vulnerability, another source of alienation leading to several misunderstandings.

A major portion of the first act concentrates upon the leave-taking/Scheiden between Libussa and her rescuer, what turns out to be a parting from a whole way of life, a separation which takes place during the night at the passing/Scheiden of Krokus. Therefore, the love interest develops concurrently with the death of the nonappearing major player, while the heroine wears the clothing of a dearly beloved, departed sister, an ominous confluence of love and death. Such references to absence or division point to the illusory nature of the romantic belief that one sex could ever fulfil the other, for while Eros strives for union—“In keinem anderen Falle [auf der Höhe eines Liebesverhältnisses] verrät der Eros so deutlich den Kern seines Wesens, die Absicht, aus mehreren eines zu machen …” (Das Unbehagen 237)—Thanatos seeks disintegration: “Infolge dieser primären Feindseligkeit [i.e., “Aggressionsneigung” attributable to Thanatos] der Menschen gegeneinander ist die Kulturgesellschaft beständig vom Zerfall bedroht” (Das Unbehagen 241).

A crucial Entscheidung at a “Scheideweg” (284) brings about a far-reaching separation for Libussa. Once she resolved to descend to the valley in aid of her father and leave the secure ethos of her sisters' domain, she set a process in motion whereby, without her knowledge, her father's legacy, Primislaus's intervention, and her sisters' disapproval largely determine all the irreversible life choices made during this act. Her “Vaters Scheiden” (887) gives rise to the current political crisis and the need for an Entscheidung through “losen” (382), i.e., allowing fate to decide among three alternatives, a scenario culminating in Libussa's severing her ties to Kascha and Tetka: “Der Kreis getrennt” (382).

The two central male characters, Krokus and his successor, Primislaus, share the role of the separator. As the bearer of the “Stab” (204) or “Stachel” (432), Krokus enjoyed the male right to rule by virtue of his sexual authority. The phallus separates male from female, ruler from ruled. Unconsciously Libussa betrays the desire to offer herself, her flower, to him. At the anniversary of his wife's death/“Scheiden” (339), he gave each of his three daughters what amounts to a chastity belt as a means to isolate them from normal human intercourse and thus to keep them to himself. His memory, the burden of obligation and tradition, dominates Libussa (375-6) and is instrumental in her decision to accept his crown. However, the text also suggests some sexual ambiguity in terms of strict gender stereotypes, since Libussa appears in male attire (p. 288) followed by armed Amazons. Furthermore her public proclamation also implies a limited rebellion against “des Vaters strenge Rechte” (427), the rule of the phallus, as she outlines the kinder, gentler disposition of her proposed autocratic regime in which she hopes to perform a maternal function vis-à-vis obedient, grateful children. In other words she perpetuates the separation practised by her father while vindicating her rule as being based upon voluntary submission to and trust in her benevolent wisdom.

Taking over where Krokus left off, Primislaus separates Libussa from her jewel, a symbolic rape, and, so doing, bears the indirect responsibility for bringing her down permanently to the real world and removing her from the circle of her sisters. He also parts the chain, “ein so schönes Ganze” (56), shattering the illusion of harmony within herself and threatening her sense of identity with nature. Whereas the first act initiates the contest of wills so integral to the dramatic interest of the next three acts, it also intimates the foregone conclusion. Primislaus's final portentous gesture of the opening act is to place the chain about Libussa's neck: “Libussa senkt ihr Haupt, er hängt ihr die Kette um den Hals” (p. 287), a symbolic subjugation to signal the inevitable dominance of the male (father/suitor/husband) over the female (mother/daughter/wife) as substantiated in the last act.

Notes

1. Cf. Sanday 110-11.

2. Yates overlooks this change in mood when he claims, “In his wooing of Libussa, as in his political attitudes, Primislaus is the voice of calculating intellect” (257-8).

3. Cf. “Versteht man den zerbrochenen, des zentralen Kleinods beraubten Gürtel und den unbrauchbar gewordenen Schleier als symbolisch für den Verlust der jungfräulichen Unberührtheit einer intellektuell und rangsmäβig höheren Frau an einen niederen Mann, so tritt zu dem Motiv der Schändung auch das der Degradierung” (Lorenz, “Neubewertung” 37).

4. Kautsky points out how aristocratic racism led its adherents to define noble features as good and beautiful while the conquered people were considered inferior and ugly: “Hinweise auf ‘Zucht,’ ‘edles Blut’ und ‘hohe Geburt’ und überhaupt die Vorstellung der Aristokratie als einer erblichen Klasse—alle diese Dinge sind Ausdruck des aristokratischen Anspruchs auf ihre biologische Besonderheit” (12).

5. As a ploughman Primislaus belongs to the lower class, but clearly he is not an average poor farmer (cf. 1006-1014), and many of the views he expresses, especially in the last act, have more to do with the middle-class economic and political values of the nineteenth century. Cf. Florack 238-54.

6. Cf. “[B]enefits oblige; and obligation is thraldome; and unrequitable obligation, perpetual thraldome” (Thomas Hobbes 162).

7. Cf. “Dem Zufall dank' ich [Primislaus] nichts, noch eines Menschen Gnade” (1377). Several allegedly rationally oriented male rulers of the nineteenth century see chance as inimical to their rule and thus strive through careful planning to eliminate its influence, usually to no avail. For example, the Elector from Kleist's Prinz Friedrich von Homburg declares publicly, “Doch wär er [der Sieg] zehnmal gröβer, das entschuldigt / Den nicht, durch den der Zufall mir ihn schenkt: / Mehr Schlachten noch, als die, hab ich zu kämpfen, / Und will, daβ dem Gesetz Gehorsam sei” (1: 731-4). Subsequent references to this play will appear in the text. The Elector's insistence upon the law also anticipates Primislaus's position.

8. Cf. “Obgleich sie sichs nicht gestehen will, fühlt sie eine Neigung zu dem Mann, der sie gerettet hat” (Ehrhard 497). Grillparzer demonstrates his insight and skill as a psychologist of love by the subtlety with which he suggests the incipient attraction felt by both parties.

9. Early in Grillparzer's conception of the tragedy, he viewed the belt in this fashion: “schwestern Weh, weh! Verletzt das Zeichen jungfräulicher Zucht!” (Quoted in Bachmaier 721).

10. See also Politzer 314 and Lorenz, “Neubewertung” 37.

11. Cf. “When she refuses to reveal her identity, he steals a jewel from the chain she wears around her waist and keeps it as a reminder of the encounter. Certain critics have chosen to see this as symbolic of Libussa's loss of virginity the night before, but if that is the case, then her behaviour shows none of the signs that reveal the change in Hero's character after her first night with Leander” (Roe, An Introduction 225). First of all, Primislaus never asks for her name; she never offers to supply it. He never reveals his identity; she never requests it. According to a folk tradition, to know a person's name is to have power over him/her. Secondly it is not just a jewel but the jewel with a strong personal value which he recognizes and which he plans to exploit as a means to ensure a reunion and to remind her of her debt to him. Finally, although no actual rape took place—the text makes this clear—all the signs of a symbolic violation, a loss of innocence, are present.

12. In view of Primislaus's two references to her body, the removal of her veil and her superior attractiveness vis-à-vis his sister, a rather blunt quotation from Lacan comes to mind: “The ‘beauty’ of [a woman's] body is the veil covering her genitals” (quoted in Benvenuto/Kennedy 193).

13. As an indication that Primislaus has had an effect on Libussa, Roe points out, “She almost forgets the herbs that were the reason for her expedition” (Introduction 225).

14. One of Dobromila's sententious observations deserves some comment: “Ach, die Künst, / Sie endet auch, oft eh man noch am Ende” (88-9). While it refers specifically to the sisters' secret practices, taken out of context, it could just as easily relate to the dramatist's fear of losing his talent with the approach of old age, the apprehension that his inspiration was abandoning him.

15. Grillparzer employs the same device in Ein Bruderzwist with a similar message (398f).

16. Hence I am in partial agreement with Florack's view: “Doch wenn Libussas Herrschaft nun ‘demokratisch’ und dem ‘Humanitätsideal der bürgerlichen Aufklärung’ verpflichtet genannt wird, übersehen selbst solche Analysen, wie sehr das von Libussa Propagierte und im Stück positiv Gewertete einer Bestätigung ständischer Ordnung gleichkommt” (240). I say “partial” because aspects of Libussa's position are in fact indebted to the “Humanitätsideal der bürgerlichen Aufklärung” such as her faith in the essential goodness of the individual: “Der Mensch ist gut” (2458).

17. Tetka does provide additional evidence of her prophetic gift as she here outlines quite accurately the emerging values of the nineteenth-century commercial middle class as championed by Primislaus.

18. Quoted in Dupré (ed.), Encyclopédie des Citations 153.

19. Unlike Klesel, who does not deny his desire to line his pockets “von den Schätzen dieser ird' schen Welt” (2502), Primislaus does not seek to acquire wealth for his own individual benefit but sees it rather as a useful tool to improve the material lot of the people: “libussa So achtest du das Gold? primislaus Ich nicht, doch Andre, / Und Andern eben bieten wir es dar. / So schafft uns Tausch was hier noch etwa fehlt” (2054-6). Beriger recognized this back in 1927: “Reichtum und Macht, die Ottokar verlocken, begehrt [Primislaus] nicht” (122). However, Beriger failed to appreciate the cunning tactics employed by the ploughman to extend his power over Libussa.

20. Hock detects a more practical ulterior motive in this gesture: “Schlau verbirgt er das Fehlen des Gliedes mit dem Umhängen der Kette” (455).

21. Keller parodies the motif of the “Jüngling am Scheidewege” in Kleider machen Leute, where Strapinski must decide between “Glück, Genuβ und Verschuldung” or “Arbeit, Entbehrung, Armut, Dunkelheit … aber auch ein gutes Gewissen” (435). Robert Frost's poem “The Road Not Taken” would be a more contemporary interpretation.

22. Other examples include the soldiers' chorus from Faust (884-902), Schiller's Maria Stuart (2: 1083-85) or Kleist's Die Marquise von O … (2: 114).

23. Cf. “Was dieses ‘es’ ist, das da spricht, wird nicht verraten; aber es ist vag und weitgespannt genug, um uns glauben zu lassen, daβ die Blume mit dem folklorischen siebenfältigen Kelch ihrem Unbewuβtsein entwachsen ist” (Politzer 309-10).

24. As a further example Kleist uses a simile with a similar implied erotic message in Das Käthchen von Heilbronn where Strahl comments in reference to the heroine's complete surrender to himself: “Mir, dessen Blick du da liegst, wie die Rose, / Die ihren jungen Kelch dem Licht [Strahl, meaning a ray of light, is a phallic symbol] erschloβ?” (470-1). I have dealt with this symbolism more extensively in Kleist's Aristocratic Heritage, pp. 25-6 and pp. 114-15.

25. The phallic phase concludes with the sight of the penis which has an immediate effect upon the girl: “She makes her judgment and her decision in a flash. She has seen it and known that she is without it and wants to have it” (quoted in Lacan, Feminine Sexuality 102).

26. This proviso is necessary since the Amazons acknowledge as their head of state the male god Mars; indeed, they refer to themselves as “Mars' reine Töchter” (2602). Krokus, I shall argue, performs a comparable function in Libussa.

27. Similarly Wotan places a ring of fire, a male element, around his daughter Brünnhilde to protect her from unwanted suitors.

28. Cf. “Eine deutliche Anspielung auf Passion und Opfer Christi beschlieβt das Drama” (Florack 252).

29. Cf. “Das Kleid, die Bauerntracht, symbolisiert die Berührung mit dem wahren Leben, das da auβerhalb der Ringmauern des Schlosses brandet: eine fremde Macht nimmt von ihr Besitz und scheidet sie immer mehr von ihren Schwestern” (Wolf-Cirian 251).

30. Cf. “Brannte nicht in dem Kusse, der er auf meinen entblöβten Nacken drückte, die ganze Fackel der Liebe?” Heinrich Wilhelm von Gerstenberg (quoted in Grimm 13: 241).

31. Politzer also sees her as reacting to outside pressures: “Das Fehlen des Kleinods in Libussas Gürtel macht sie dann zur Ausgestoβenen, die in einer ebenso stolzen wie irrationalen Reflexbewegung die Krone als Zeichen ihres Andersseins akzeptiert. Als Symbol aber schlieβt das fehlende Juwel nicht nur das Anderssein, sondern auch den Identitätsverlust Libussas mit sich ein” (315). One could argue, however, that her father has largely determined her identity, although she does show evidence of having a more independent will than her two sisters.

32. Cf. “Durch die erste Begegnung mit Primislaus ist das ganze Wesen Libussas so erregt, erwärmt, von süβen Vorahnungen eines neuen Lebens erfüllt, daβ sie wesentlich aus dieser Stimmung heraus den Entschluβ faβt, nach der Krone zu greifen” (Volkelt 67); or, as Ehrhardt has put it, “Ihr Zusammentreffen mit der Menschheit, die ihr im Primislaus' Gestalt erschien, macht sie geneigt, den Bitten der Wladiken Gehör zu schenken, daβ des Fürsten Krokus Macht auf eine seiner Töchter übergehe” (497).

33. Cf. “Den Sieg nicht mag ich [Kurfürst], der, ein Kind des Zufalls, / Mir von der Bank fällt; das Gesetz will ich, / Die Mutter meiner Krone, aufrecht halten, / Die ein Geschlecht von Siegen mir erzeugt!” (Prinz Friedrich 1566-9).

34. Libussa's statement, “Doch handelt sichs um irdisch niedres Tun, / Wo zu viel Einsicht schädlich dem Vollbringen. / Fernsichtigkeit geht fehl in nahen Dingen” (418-20), could readily serve as a summary of Rudolf's dilemma in Ein Bruderzwist.

35. Cf. “[F]or Lacan all of our discourse is in a sense a slip of the tongue: if the process of language is as slippery and ambiguous as he suggests, we can never mean precisely what we say and never say precisely what we mean” (Eagleton 169). Grimm's Wörterbuch implies this sexual undercurrent when it alludes to “hitzige stacheln des fleisches, der geilheit” (17: 388).

36. Florack reaches essentially the same conclusion but as a result of her analysis of the second act: “Libussas Staat [beruht] doch darauf, daβ ihr Wille als Norm akzeptiert wird” (246). Although Libussa claims in theory to have based her rule on “Vernunft” (979), Geiβler calls it “ihre Art Vernunft” (118), for what it really amounts to is an intuitiveness or spontaneity based more on inspiration, instinct, or feeling. Beriger, in my view, comes closer, when he calls her reign a “Gefühlsherrschaft” (114).

37. “Following Freud, Lacan maintained that sexual difference is inscribed in language only in relation to the phallus; the other sex is such, only because it does not have the phallus” (Benvenuto/Kennedy 189).

38. But as Gisela Stein and before her Emil Reich (1898) observed, benevolent monarchy can easily become self-serving tyranny: “that idyllic regime, where the best thing is done more because it meets the wishes of the princess than because it really is the best, bears the germ of the worst despotism within it in case of a change in the ruler's sentiments” (Stein 167-8).

39. Cf. “Daβ Libussa als erste Dienerin ihres Staats den ‘Typus des idealen aufgeklärten Fürsten’ repräsentiert, bemerkt [Gerd] Müller zu Recht” (Florack 245).

40. Many commentators have remarked on the similarities between Libussa and Rudolf ii. One of the earliest comparisons of the two reluctant rulers occurs in Volkelt's 1888 study (61).

41. Cf. “Jungfrau ]Libussa zugeordnetes Sternzeichen” and “Lowen] Wappentier Böhmens, Primislaus zugeordnet” (Bachmaier 749).

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