canny; the bear was the embodiment of something dark and mysterious, endowed with magic; in a certain way the brute was exalted even above man, and not to be restrained by physical power alone.1 The animal legends that came into being were numberless, and at length combined into a rude epic. It was full of truth, of nature, resting as it did upon the traditions of many centuries, knitted to life by a thousand threads. One may say the work came to pass by itself. Its earliest form who shall describe? After long tradition it was first written down in Latin, in the Netherlands. Sometimes the stories were modified, to convey moral instruction, into fables; again they became vehicles of satire. The epic came again into Germany in the middle of the thirteenth century, the poet who gave it a new elaboration being Heinrich of Glichesäre. Down the ages it has descended with popularity undiminished, the great Göthe being the last to lay hand to the venerable material, in the famous Reynard the Fox.

The work of Heinrich of Glichesäre exists only in fragments. Two or three specimens of the grotesque stories will suffice, interesting as they are, through the rime of age which rests upon them. Now the wolf is thirsty. The fox offers to procure him wine, and leads him and his wife to a convent cellar, where, after becoming intoxicated, they are heartily beaten by the monks. Again, plagued by sharp hunger, the wolf finds the fox, who professes

1 Vilmar.

to have become himself a monk, eating roasted eels. Isengrim wishes also to become a monk, for the sake of the good living. "A monk," says Reinhart, "must have a tonsure," and in order to produce one he pours hot water over Isengrim's head, so that hair and skin are scalded off; but the angry wolf is appeased when the fox calls his attention to the fish. When Isengrim asks for a share, "It is all gone," says the fox, "but I will show you a pond so full of them that nobody cares for them.” Reinhart leads him then to a frozen pond, in the ice of which a hole has been cut to draw water. He ties a bucket to the tail of Isengrim, and bids him hold bucket and tail in the hole, while he stirs up the fish. The night is cold, and the tail at length firmly frozen in; whereupon the fox, with feigned surprise and grief, goes off, promising to find help. A knight appears, who sets his dog upon the wolf, then cuts at him with his sword. The tail is severed, and the wolf, in that way set free, flees. Reinhart meanwhile comes to a well, provided with two buckets; in the well he sees his own image. Thinking it to be his wife, he jumps down for love, and sees then no way of extricating himself, until the wolf approaches. Reinhart calls out to him. that he is in Paradise, which induces Isengrim to seat himself in the empty bucket; this immediately sinks, and the fox is drawn out by Isengrim's weight. As the trickster hurries off, monks, who come to draw water, beat the wolf half dead. At length the lion-the king-summons a general court. He is sick; an ant has crept through his car into his brain.

He considers his affliction a punishment from God, sent because he has postponed so long the condemnation of Reinhart for his ill deeds. Brun, the bear, is sent to bring the culprit before the assembly. Arriving at the fox's quarters, he is diverted from his purpose by the promise of honey, and led to a split trunk, where he is told the bees have stored. He puts his head into the crevice; Reinhart draws out a wedge; the bear is caught. Peasants approach, and Brun escapes with the loss of his skin and ears. With similar cunning Reinhart manages to reinstate himself in the favor of the king; and after revenge upon his enemies, devises roguish rewards for his friends. To the elephant the king gives Bohemia, where, however, he is lamentably beaten. The camel receives an abbey, but when he takes possession the nuns rise against him and drive him into the Rhine. Reinhart at length conquers, supplants his foes, and lives happily in his stronghold.

From this brief glance at the Animal Epic, as it was treated by Heinrich of Glichesäre, the rude humor that pervades it may be caught, and an appreciation of the intimacy with the beast-world which comes to pass in a primitive, faun-like race. In the animal legends are to be recognized many a familiar nursery tradition. When little Red Riding Hood falls into the snare of her pretended grandmother; when the fox gets out of the well by entrapping the wolf; when Silver Hair has her adventure with the three bears, when our children, at the dawn of consciousness, seize upon these, they

grasp immemorial heirlooms which for ages have fallen to Teuton children, as they come from the cradle to the knee of the story-telling mother.

CHAPTER V.

THE MINNESINGERS.

The poetry which has been considered in the three preceding chapters, that based upon the popular legends, and which, though neglected by the courts, was loved among the folk, possesses, as has been said, at the present time, more interest than any other poetry of the age of the Hohenstauffen. A vast body of literature, however, has come down from the period, of a different kind, much of it worthy of study. The term minne has various meanings, the oldest and best being that of kind remembrance of a friend. In the worthiest of the now proceed, the word

minnesongs, to which we is used in this sense; but it acquired at last a licentious signification, to which many of the songs correspond. The Minnesingers proper are those who sing lyrical poems in honor of minne, or love. The name came, however, to have a wide application, embracing many who did not sing of love at all. The poets of the Hohenstauffen period already considered, who wrote the Nibelungen Lied, Gudrun, and the Animal Epic, were, taking the term in its widest sense, Minnesingers, although the designation is more properly borne by the more elegant poets of the courts and castles. Nearly two hundred bards are known to whom the name can be given. So