SOURCE: "Christian Allegory in Hartmann's Iwein," in The Germanic Review, Vol. XLVIII, No. 4, November, 1973, pp. 247-59.

[In the following excerpt, Clifton-Everest examines religious didacticism in Iwein and insists that Iwein, in pursuing a chivalric ideal, allegorically represents the quest for Christian virtue..]

In [The Rise of Romance (1971)] E. Vinaver speaks of the "common intellectual origin of the interpretative nature of romance on the one hand and of the exegetic tradition on the other." Scriptural exegesis is what he has in mind. He argues that the formal education of the twelfth century romancers involved a great deal of training in biblical exegetic method, since such techniques constituted an important part of the trivium. His implication is that the romancers composed their own works with a conception of the narrative literary art profoundly influenced by the exegetic practice of the time, particularly as regards the relationship of story and meaning (matiere and sen).

In considering Hartmann, a writer of undeniable education, such an insight may be of some service. His Iwein shows such a diversity of interpretative potential (as is evidenced by the burgeoning secondary literature on the subject) that any contribution to the general problem of "meaning" in such a work can only be most welcome.…

A good deal of allegory has been uncovered in Iwein, and much more apparently awaits only the proper understanding of the clues, which are often immediately recognizable as such, even if their immediate interpretation defies us. In a group of articles Η. Β. Willson has brought to light a body of religious allegorical meaning.… But Willson sets out to analyse the text, or parts thereof, with regard to specific themes, and it remains to establish in how far the points he reveals are part of a consistent and organic allegory. Elsewhere, the traditional view that courtly romance treats the world of secular ethics, or even a special chivalric ethic, has for long somewhat impeded research into the religious content of Iwein. In Germany itself, despite earlier groundwork, only very recently has the idea of a spiritual Christian meaning in the work begun to receive cautious acknowledgement.

In the story of Kalogreant's encounter with the grotesque wattman and of his abortive adventure at the magic fountain, Willson shows a plethora of allusion to the Creation of the World and of Man, and to Man's Fall in the Garden of Eden. Comparison with Chretien's Yvain at this point reveals that Hartmann gives special emphasis to this religious allegory. Whereas Chretien's vilain is herdsman to a collection of "tors sauvages et espaarz," Hartmann's wild man is the master "aller der ticre hande die man mir ie genande" (v. 405f.), and the unquestioned authority he has over them is particularly stressed. This treatment of the passage by Hartmann serves to underline the parallel with Gen. I,26: " … let them have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the fowl of the air and over the cattle and over all the earth and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth." If the waltman is accordingly taken to represent natural, Unfallen Man, it is further appropriate to the allegory that he leads directly (i.e. directs Kalogreant) to the magic fountain, where the latter's offence allegorically represents the Fall. At first all Nature protests violently at this introduction of Sin into the paradisiacal world, temporarily marring its perfect beauty (e.g. the birds are silenced), demonstrating its protest in that most violent of natural phenomena, a thun-derstorm. In fact Nature seems intent on destroying the cause of Sin, and would have succeeded but for God's mercy towards Man— "wan daz mich der gotes segen vriste von des weters not, ich waere der wîle dicke tôt …" (v. 654ff). If the offence against Askalon individually is the unethical devastation of his lands, it is significant nevertheless that the primary act is the offence against nature which gives rise to the human offence: for many twelfth-century thinkers the essence of Sin is the action contrary to Nature—such considerations are no more than an indication of the sort of complex and subtle allegory the work may contain, and they cannot unfortunately be followed up here.

The tale of Kalogreant has proved something of a stumbling-block for critics in the past; its only apparent connection with Iwein's story was to provide him with a mixed and rather confused motivation for his own visit to the fountain. But seen in the light of its allegorical sig-nificance, Kalogreant's adventure is the essential prehis-tory to Iwein's, and a vital clue to the meaning of the latter. Moreover, Iwein's mixed motivation now becomes nothing but the literal depiction of the mixed moral nature of Man since the Fall.

I can find no adequate textual evidence for the assertion that Iwein's prompt vow to avenge Kalogreant's disho-nour is to be seen as morally irresponsible, an assertion that seems to spring from the wish to find a sufficient literal wrong of Iwein's to justify his own later dishonour. Hartmann gives no hint of disapproval, and even Keii, past master at spotlighting others' weaknesses, does not question the desirability of revenge, but only Iwein's capacity to carry it out. To avenge dishonour is expected of a knight. For the allegory it is essential above all to consider the implications of Iwein's being victorious in his effort. We may see in his desire to revenge the Fall the innate desire of Man to overcome the fact of his sin-fulness and to live a good life: the Will itself to overcome Sin is already a partial victory, for man is not totally given over to sinfulness while he essays to do good. The wish to be virtuous is moreover not dependent on the Christian religion (which, allegorically speaking, Iwein does not yet have), a fact the Middle Ages could see demonstrated in the classical world; Iwein's victory corresponds in this sense to the moral philosophies of classical writers that were held up as worthy examples in the twelfth century. Yet the limitations of these pagan writers in Christian eyes is also significant. Iwein, instead of going to Askalon with a formai challenge to fight after the customary forty days, as would be the proper and obvious thing to do, in fact undertakes precisely the same devastating adventure as his predecessor, thereby incurring guilt himself. A procedure that is so inappropriate from a realistic point of view may easily be explained allegorically. In the very act of attempting to overcome Sin, Man inevitably commits it, for it is intrinsic to his nature. Accordingly, in his adventure at the fountain, Iwein demonstrates the problematic moral quality of Man, a combination of the wish to do good and the inability to escape from Sin. Admittedly, we should in addition note his heeding of Keii's taunts, his desire for public approval; this association of Sin with the vanitas mundi is a favourite theme of Hartmann (cf. his two legends).

The true prize of Iwein's victory seems at first to be Laudine, the reward of his goodness in endeavouring to be virtuous. The argument advanced for giving him this prize is that he is the only person available for, and capable of, defending the fountain (v. 1889ff.), the only force existing to fight sinfulness. Of course Iwein has largely failed in this duty, but his own sin is temporarily overridden for practical reasons. There is no alternative to Man as master of God's creation.

But since Iwein is imperfect, and cannot truly deserve the ultimate prize of goodness, we need not wonder at the mere "technischer Defekt" which sets off the enormity of his downfall [Willson, "Inordinatio in the Marriage of the hero in Hartmann's Iwein'' Modern Philology, 68 (1971)], for it is enough to show to Laudine his imperfection, and that is sufficient to bar him from her. The denunciation by Lunete is in some sense his own personal Fall, when he is brought to realize his own sinfulness and its vast consequences. The nature of the Fall is precisely this awakening to knowledge of Good and Evil acquired from eating the fruit. In the same way the awareness of Good, and of the supreme position that was to have been Man's in the creation is a crucial part of the tragedy of human sin; Man must have some inkling of God if he is ever to aspire to return to him. Hence, perhaps, the necessity for Iwein's prior "winning" of Laudine. But, for the present, he is seemingly forever cut off by his imperfection from everything that matters to him, a loss that is by definition without an equal.

Along with his other deprivations, Iwein loses his Godgiven reason, rushing senseless into the forest, though even here God's kindness is extended to him (v. 3261ff). This state of affairs, which I shall discuss later, is concluded with the cure effected by the Dame von Narison, an episode for which Willson points out the striking parallel to the anointment of Christ by Mary, sister of Mar-tha. But I believe this to be more than simply an example of cantas or an indication of Christlike characteristics in Iwein. The name Christ, "anointed one" carries its meaning over into the sacrament by which man becomes a "member of Christ": anointment with water (baptism) admits one to Christianity, and gives thereby the chance of ultimate redemption. It is this "baptism," this Christian chance that Iwein here receives.

However, more is necessary for Christian salvation than the mere opportunity that baptism represents: one must also pursue the Christian life of goodness and justice, following Christ's example of humility and charity. It is from this point of view that Iwein's subsequent anonymity and selflessness in his ensuing adventures must be judged. First he rescues his own rescuer, the Dame von Narison, from her aggressor. But this is no act of charity, though doubtless his Christian duty required it of him. He has not yet voluntarily chosen the Christian way of life. This act of will he performs in the episode of the lion.

The most obvious explanation of the lion-adventure has been particularly slow to find acceptance: T. Cramer still argues strangely that, since the serpent clearly stands for the devil, the lion principally stands for Recht. But, as A. T. Hatto points out, the usual antagonist of the devil is Christ himself, who is commonly represented by a lion in the medieval bestiaries in a tradition going back to the Physiologus. M. Wehrli, at last, sees the lion "unter anderm als Christussymbol" ["Iweins Erwachen," Formen mittelalterlicher Erzählung: Aufsätze (1969)], whereby it might be incidentally pointed out that the other equivalents he mentions (triuwe, recht) can comfortably be fitted into an organic allegory as important aspects of the figure of Christ. The occurrence of this adventure in Iwein is not unique in arthurian literature. In the French Quest del sainte Graal, composed some forty years after Iwein, it is the virtuous Grail-knight Perceval who, espying a serpent and a lion in fight, hastens to aid the latter as being "of a nobler order than the serpent" (cf. Iwein, v. 3849). In the subsequent exegesis, on which the French writer seems throughout more intent than the story, it is explained to Perceval that he has espoused the cause of Christ against his enemies. Surely Iwein is doing just that: all the unselfish acts he subsequently performs are but the continuing results of this decision to fight evil with the usual moral weapons of Christianity, and the lion accord-ingly assists him "zaller siner not, unz si beide schiet der tôt" (v. 3881f.), just as Christ does help those all their life who serve his cause.

This allegorical role of the lion is thereafter maintained with convincing consistency. Returning by chance to the magic spring, Iwein is overcome with grief and remorse at the memory of his sin, such that he falls swooning to the ground. The lion, believing him dead, prepares to commit suicide out of sheer herzeleide (v. 4004), but Iwein revives just in time to prevent this and to take example from the lion's selfless pity. The compassion of the lion at the "Fallen" state of Man (Iwein's guilt being the cause of his grief) and its readiness to sacrifice itself for him, represents quite clearly Christ's ready sacrifice on the cross for the sins of men. The self-sacrifice of Christ should inspire men to take on themselves the consequences of their sinfulness by attempting to make amends: this is precisely what the lion's act prompts Iwein to do:

sit ich mirz selbe hân getan,
ich solts ouch selbe buoze enpfân
(nû gît mir doch des bilde
dirre lewe wilde,
daz er von herzeleide sich
wolde erstechen umbe mich,
daz rehtiu triuwe nahen gât);
sît mir mîn sclbes missetât,
miner vrouwen hulde
unde dehein ir schulde,
ân aller slahte not verlos,
und weinen vür daz lachen kôs
(v. 3999ff.)

He is then accordingly at once granted the chance to rec-ognize and offset some of his guilt, namely its adverse effect on others, by his defence of Lunete. Tellingly, the lion is at first forbidden to participate in the fight: Iwein must first show himself fully prepared to take on alone the consequences of his guilt. But when he has shown this, and is hard-pressed, the lion nevertheless rushes to the rescue: Man must show the Will, but can achieve nothing without God's help.

In all his other battles too, with the exception of the last fight with Gawein, he is dependent on the lion for his success. Fighting with Harpin, the lion brings him imme-diate victory because of the goodness of his cause. At the castle of the three-hundred maidens, the lion is initially once more forbidden to join the battle with the two t iufel-sknehte, but gnaws a way out of its prison to help him in his just cause: however powerful the forces of Evil, God finds a way of helping their adversaries. In his battle with Gawein we may ascribe Iwein's lack of military victory precisely to the absence of the lion. But what matters here is not that sort of victory, but rather that Iwein should publicly identify himself as the knight with justice on his side. His is a moral victory, for all the onlookers agree he was fighting for a righteous cause.

At the same time he is at last publicly identified as the riter mittem leun, whose identity had hitherto been a mystery at Arthur's court. This brings us to the theme of humility, a Christian virtue no less important than charity, the emphasis on which has perhaps caused the other some neglect in considerations of this work. After discovering his sinfulness, Iwein must rid himself of the identity of the old, proud Iwein who was so anxious to see his victory acclaimed, and find a new one: he must cast off the Old Adam and put on the New Christ. The initial stage of this change is represented by his madness, when his total ignorance of who he is shows the complete lack of identity consequent on the loss of the old sinful one. With the coming of his Christianity in the cure episode, the new, good Christian identity is born and requires only to be developed and proven. After his departure from the Dame von Narison, he reveals his old identity to nobody (with the necessary exception of Lunete) until he has publicly demonstrated his virtuousness at Arthur's court. But in constructing a new identity and reputation as "der riter der des lewen pflac" he is only establishing himself as the "knight for Christ." Although in such an allegorical form charity and humility are not altogether separable, we should not lose sight of the humility entailed in this in-cognito, beside its obvious selflessness. The renunciation of any personal glory that may accrue to him through his deeds plainly relates to his earlier desire for public recog-nition of his achievement.

That he appears reluctant to fight with the two giants at the castle of the three-hundred maidens is surely a further display of selfless humility: the adventure is presented to him by the wirt as a chance to win a beautiful wife and lands—apart from his early ready promise to help the maidens, we only see his reaction to the adventure through his replies to the wirt—but he declines to fight on such terms, and only eventually agrees because he is given no alternative. When victorious, he still refuses the prize even in the face of threats, insisting that the only reward be the benefit of others, i.e. the freeing of the maidens. This sort of Christian altruism is now the essence of his chivalry. He is not even aware of being kind, only of the duty of selflessness: hence his reply to the request for gnade in the cause of the daughter of the Graf vom swarzen dorne:

er sprach "îchn habe gnâden niht:
swem mîns dienstes nôt geschiht
und swer guoter des gert,
dem wirt es niemer entwert."
(v. 6001ff.)

But the most allegorical indication of this adoption of a new object for his chivalry lies in another passage that has been sadly neglected. In the battle to exonerate Lu-nete the lion is severely wounded and is soon incapable of walking. Iwein prepares a bed of moss in his shield and carries the lion to where it is restored. To read the allegory we need only reverse the shield: Christ's cause in the world is wounded and suffering, and so, in order to show that he has dedicated himself to its defence and cure, Iwein bears its emblem on his shield, just as the crusading knights bore the Cross on theirs, in token of their dedication to the Holy War. Literally the lion is carried inside the shield; allegorically it is "auf dem Schild getragen" in the manner normally understood. Such a chivalric emblem naturally gives further weight to the completely new identity of Iwein as the Knight of the Lion, for the fully-armed knight is only identifiable by the emblem he carries.

Enough has been said to establish a prima facie case, at the very least, for treating Iwein's career as a piece of allegory, though of course many of the problems involved cannot even be mentioned here. Other large sections of the work remain as yet unexplained, though it is often possible to see a suitable position for them in the overall allegory. I shall conclude with a brief look at three such fields—the figure of Laudine, the arthurian court, and the idea of chivalry itself.

As has already been suggested, Laudine, as the exclusive conscious personal objective of Iwein's quest throughout his later career, appears to represent the supreme reward of human endeavour. This must be a religious symbol of course, though only a full allegorical interpretation of her role could possibly establish whether one may understand by it anything so precise as the Grace of God, or Eternal Life. It is surely relevant to this that on both occasions Iwein gains access to her hulde through the intercession of a virgin, and that his final reinstatement involves an act of forgiveness on her part. He describes this forgive-ness as "miner vreuden ôstertac" (v. 8120), the allusion to victory over Death strongly suggesting the notion of eternal life.

But most interesting for Hartmann's allegorical style, and at first most disconcerting, is the fact that Laudine is criticised most explicitly by the poet. How can this be reconciled with her use as a symbol of divine reward? The answer may lie in a clear distinction between literal and allegorical meaning: she is criticised purely as a real woman, which does not necessarily give grounds for inferring criticism of her allegorical acts. She is declared to be irrational (v. 1863ff.), and it is implied that her marriage to Iwein is impetuous, both of which qualities are commonplace criticisms of female nature in medieval literature. In fact her treatment is very similar to that of the maiden in Der arme Heinrich, whose readiness to undergo self-sacrifice for her lord, giving him the salutory example of selflessness is symbolic of Christ's crucifixion, while her realistic feminine ire at the frustration of her plan is plainly the object of Hartmann's moral censure, as is perhaps also her impetuous eagerness to escape the proper rigours of human life. Certainly the didactic content of Iwein is not restricted to allegory, but may be found, where appropriate, throughout, in the poet's comments on literal events, just as the sensus historicus of biblical texts is not necessarily purely narrative, but also includes direct theological and moral statement.

The problems of Arthur's court and the chivalric ideal are plainly closely related. In the allegory I have outlined, the chivalric life appears to represent the human quest for a virtuous life. Kalogreant's unsatisfactory description of the pointless aims of aventiure to the waltman, revealing his inadequate conception of knighthood, is to be associated with his following disgrace, which takes the form of a defeat in chivalric combat. In contrast to such faulty chivalry, Iwein has a worthy objective in his knightly adventure, so that his victory is at first a quite proper one (vv. 1045-1050), though when he then pursues the mortally wounded Askalon for selfish reasons, it is condemned as unchivalric— âne zuht.

After his denunciation, Iwein loses his knighthood, dis-carding all its trappings to become a mere animal (v. 3234ff.). Since his Fall is allegedly irrevocable, there is no longer any purpose for him in rational existence, any moral effort would be pointless. So he becomes blind to morality (ern ahte weder man noch wîp, v. 3225), a subhuman creature of pure instinct (cf. v. 3320ff.), until the bestowal of Christianity gives him a new chance of moral orientation. He dies, to "be born again in Christ," and immediately on his recovery he is aware once more of his chivalric calling (v. 3517f.).

The episode of the lion borne on the shield, and indeed the whole of Iwein's series of adventures plainly supports this view of the allegorical significance of knighthood; the compassion and selflessness required of Iwein in the adventures of his knight-errantry are typical for the vir-tues required generally of Christian men.

From this position it would seem appropriate to see in the arthurian court the allegory of human society on earth, striving for virtue in its pursuit of chivalric ideals. Soci-ety has its sinful temptations, such as to worldy vanity, demonstrated in the successful insinuations of Keii, and it is most significant for the type of Hartmann's religiousmoral thought that, to achieve true moral success, one must part company with worldly society. Parallel to the sojourn of Gregorious on the rock, and to the withdrawal of Heinrich to the forest-farm, Iwein's moral fulfillment takes place in a life of studied anonymity, and, but for his symbolic lion, of solitariness, remote from the pleasures of Arthur's court. His failure and his consequent dehumanization drive him from this worldly society which seeks good, but in a lonely moral struggle for something higher, he incidentally regains a place there. That he deserves; but Laudine's favour he can never deserve, for Man is inescapably sinful, though it can be, and is, granted by forgiveness.

In view of this apparent allegorical use of the world of chivalry and its ideals, we should perhaps give more qualification to bald statements that Iwein is a "worldly" poem, and consider carefully the justification of treating its moral lessons as relating to the ethics of chivalry. K. Ruh's question as to why Hartmann returned to courtly romance after apparently turning away from it to the world of religious legend, which in his view "muâ weiterhin offenbleiben" is surely answered in part at least by assuming primacy for the author in the religious content of Iwein ["Zur Interpretation von Hartmanns Iwein," Philologia Deutsch: Festschrift W. Henzen (1965)]. However sceptical one may feel towards specific points in an alle-gorical interpretation of the work, or however personally reluctant one may be to see the delightful fantasy of the work as principally a story of human sin and redemption, it can hardly be denied that there is little, if any, moral didacticism in it which applies in any other than a universal human way. The selflessness and compassion which Iwein learns to show are also a part of the lesson of Der arme Heinrich: only the unrealistic literal form of his adventures (e.g. combatting preposterous giants) is specifically knightly.

But just as Iwein's career brings success and recognition in the dual worlds of Ladine and Arthur, a reconciliation of the divine and the secular so dear to twelfth century hearts, so Hartmann has effected a reconciliation in literature, using the temporal delights of chivalric romance in all its popularity, as sugar for a religious didactic pill apparently no less deeply felt and urged than were his two legends. Presumably he felt he might achieve more by using the form his audience preferred, and the popularity of Iwein in the Middle Ages testifies that he did not miscalculate in one respect.