Till Eulenspiegel As a “Recurring Character” in the Works of Hans Sachs

Home , Hochgeboren, Jester, Johann Fischart, King in Council (Sweden), Kneitlingen, Reynaert

Narrative Arrangement in 16th-Century Till Eulenspiegel Texts: The Reinvention of Familiar Structures

A Dissertation SUBMITTED TO THE FACULTY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF MINNESOTA BY

Isaac Smith Schendel

IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

Advisor: Dr. Anatoly Liberman

June 2018

Acknowledgements

First and foremost, I would like to thank my doctoral advisor, Dr. Anatoly Liberman, for his kind direction, ideas, and guidance through the entire process of graduate school, from the first lectures on Middle High German grammar and Scandinavian Literature, to the preliminary exams, prospectus and multiple thesis drafts. Without his watchful eye, advice, and inexhaustible patience, this dissertation would have never seen the light of day. Drs. James A. Parente, Andrew Scheil, and Ray Wakefield also deserve thanks for their willingness to serve on the committee. Special gratitude goes to Dr. Parente for reading suggestions and leadership during the latter part of my graduate school career.

His practical approach, willingness to meet with me on multiple occasions, and ability to explain the intricacies of the university system are deeply appreciated.

I have also been helped by a number of scholars outside of Minnesota. The material discussed in the second chapter of the dissertation is a reformulated, expanded, and improved version of my article appearing in Daphnis 43.2. Although the central thesis is now radically different, I would still like to thank Drs. Ulrich Seelbach and Alexander

Schwarz for their editorial work during that time, especially as they directed my attention to additional information and material within the S1515 chapbook. Gratitude for scholarly assistance and general helpfulness during my year in Karlsruhe (2014-2015) belongs to Dr. Mathias Herweg. Last, but certainly not least, I will mention Dr. Ármann

Jakobsson’s readiness to read both the second chapter and the conclusion.

The support of my family cannot be understated. The warmth and encouragement of my wife, Dr. Rachel Schendel, kept me motivated to see the project to its completion, and her work as a proofreader for the fourth chapter and smaller sections leads me to suspect

ii that her altruism borders on the superhuman. I would also like to thank my parents for encouraging me to make independent critical judgements from a young age. When I was a child, I may not have appreciated it when my mother responded to my daily complaints with the simple imperative, “think,” but I now realize that the command was not a dismissal but rather a prompting.

iii

FOR MY FATHER

ABSTRACT

The popular trickster character Till Eulenspiegel first appeared in the prose novel Ein kurtzweilig Lesen von Dil Ulenspiegel (1511/1515). Once in printed form, he caught the attention of two German-language authors, Hans Sachs and Johann Fischart. The former wrote comical poems and Shrove Tuesday plays centered on Eulenspiegel; the latter devoted an epic, Eulenspiegel reimenweis (1572), to the character. In all three cases, a proper understanding of the adaptation of Eulenspiegel-stories depends on a knowledge of the current literary contexts. Lesen holds a superficial resemblance to fool literature, but Eulenspiegel’s modus operandi is more reminiscent of trickster narratives as known from all over the world. His biography is a similar case of misdirection: although the chapter arrangement derives from hagiographic tradition, the redactor of S1515 uses the tactic to create a book meant to be flipped through at leisure, like a modern joke collection. Sachs’s and Fischart’s adaptions are also instances of authorial bait-and- switch: Sachs adopts Eulenspiegel as a tool to introduce other characters or themes, and

Fischart’s Eulenspiegel reimenweis reinvents a biographical form developed in his earlier polemics.

In all three examples, the traditional stories of Eulenspiegel serve as the basis for experimentation with an established narrative structure. Eulenspiegel, as a character, is never explored in depth: instead, the authors use familiar pranks as raw material to attract the readers’ interest and reinvent a storytelling form for their own purposes. Eulenspiegel is a case of design irony, of the use of known structures in experimental ways. Such findings are important for the history of fiction, as they reveal a new understanding of character as a means to address formal phenomena.

Table of Contents List of Tables ...... vi List of Figures ...... vii List of Common Abbreviations ...... viii Chapter 1: Eulenspiegel’s Prehistory ...... 1 Chapter 2: Hagiographic Background, Chronology, and Chapter Arrangement in S1515 ...... 63 Chapter 3: Till Eulenspiegel as a “Recurring Character” in the Works of Hans Sachs ...... 134 Chapter 4: Johann Fischart’s Eulenspiegel reimenweis, Intertextuality and the Development of Meta-Narrative Form ...... 222 Conclusion ...... 278 Bibliography ...... 286

List of Tables

Table 2.1: Place Names in H. 67 – H. 86 ...... 100

Table 2.2: Chapter Pattern in S1515 ...... 113

Table 3.1: Dates of Eulenspiegel-Spruchgedichte and Eulenspiegel-Meisterlieder . 197

Table 3.2: Four Strings of Eulenspiegel-Meisterlieder Composed Sequentially . . . 197

Table 3.3: Aesop-Spruchgedichte ...... 203

Table 3.4: Claus Narr-Spruchgedichte ...... 204

Table 3.5: Neidhart-Meisterlieder ...... 206

Table 3.6: Aesop-Meisterlieder ...... 208

Table 3.7: Claus Narr-Meisterlieder ...... 210

Table 3.8: A Plot Comparison of Spruchgedicht 267 and Meisterlied 946 ...... 211

Table 3.9: Pfarrer vom Kalenberg-Meisterlieder ...... 214

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List of Figures

Figure 2.1: Chronological and Thematic Connections in H. 10 – H. 88 ...... 85

Figure 2.2: Chronological and Thematic Connections in H.2 – H. 9 ...... 114

Figure 2.3: Chronological and Thematic Connections in H. 89 – H. 95 ...... 118

Figure 4.1: Reader/Narrator/Text Relationship in DL ...... 264

Figure 4.2: Reader/Narrator/Text Interactions in ER ...... 269

Figure 4.3: Reader/Protagonist Relationship in ER ...... 274

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List of Common Abbreviations

BSK Barfüsser Secten und Kuttenstreit

DL Von S. Dominici und S. Francisci Leben

Er Eulenspiegel reimenweis

F1569 The 1569 Frankfurt printing of the Till Eulenspiegel book

NR Nacht Rab oder Nebelkräh

PA Der Pfaffe Amis

PvK Der Pfarrer vom Kalenberg

S1515 The 1515 Strasbourg printing of Ein kurtzweilig Lesen von Dil

Ulenspiegel

Chapter 1: Eulenspiegel’s Prehistory

The Text – Introduction

The prose novel Ein kurzweilig Lesen von Dil Ulenspiegel appeared in print in early

16th-century Strasbourg. At time of writing the only copy of the original 1511 text is not available to the public;1 a 1515 reprint (hereafter S1515) serves as the basis for most editions, such as the one in Reclam’s Universal-Bibliothek series.2 The text is written in simple prose with Low and Upper German (oberdeutsch) influence.3 It consists of an introduction and 95 chapters (Historien).4 Each anecdote begins with a titular summary of the plot and, with some exceptions (H.79, H. 80, H. 85, H. 86, H. 88, H. 90 – H. 92, H.

95), features a woodcut illustration. The final Historie, H. 96, depicts the hero’s gravestone. The biography of the protagonist, Dil Ulenspiegel (hereafter Till

Eulenspiegel or Eulenspiegel as in modern German) can be divided into three sections: his birth and childhood, his adult life, and his decline into old age and death. Individual stories follow a predictable scheme wherein Eulenspiegel outwits an adversary through unexpected means. The author’s introduction, H. 1 (Eulenspiegel’s birth and baptism), and H. 21 (a short sketch of Eulenspiegel’s psychology) do not feature a prank for obvious reasons.

Sometimes Eulenspiegel’s antagonist challenges him directly, either by antagonizing him or assigning him a difficult task. In H. 37, for instance, a priest attracts

1 Hucker (1976) describes the acquisition of the text, but has not yet published it. 2 The convention of designating the text S1515 is adopted from Schulz-Grobert (1999) 44. 3 See S1515, “Zur Textgestalt” 269-270 4 Chapter 42 is missing.

Eulenspiegel’s ire by eating the latter’s meal, and Eulenspiegel avenges himself by preparing sausages with rotten meat as a trap. H. 20 depicts a baker who tells

Eulenspiegel to sift (bütelen) flour “in dem Monschein” (by moonlight) (60), by which he means “at night and without a candle.” Eulenspiegel punishes him by spreading the flour in the courtyard, ruining it. In other cases, the requests are reasonable and the antagonists are sympathetic, even morally upstanding, but they still cannot dissuade Eulenspiegel. In

H. 88, Eulenspiegel is lying incapacitated outside the city Einbeck and is rescued by a peasant. Eulenspiegel repays the man for his kindness by defecating on his plums and returns in disguise to taunt the victim. No reason for Eulenspiegel’s malice is given and the story concludes without addressing his cruelty. The prank is presented as standard

Eulenspiegel behavior.

The Text – Author

The text was published anonymously and the identity of the redactor has never been proven. Earlier research was obsessed with the question of authorship, and a number of suggestions have been made. I will discuss the most important hypotheses in chronological order, with the exception of Schröder, whose unfinished manuscript

(published post-mortem in 1988) will be paired with Rosenfeld.

Prior to 1973 a large number of authors was suggested as possible redactors. J.M.

Lappenberg’s 1854 scholarly edition of the chapbook (based on the 1519 text, as S1515 was undiscovered at that time) named Thomas Murner author on the grounds of his style and dialect.5 In 1893, C. Walther proposed Hermen Bote.6 Krogmann dismissed this

5 Lappenberg (1854) 384-387 6 Walther (1893) 79

3 claim in favor of a hypothetical proto-Ulenspiegel from around 1450 (roughly the time of

Bote’s birth).7 Rosenfeld sided with Walther.8 Schröder was skeptical about the possibility of Bote’s authorship because of the use of different vocabularies, especially loanwords.9 He proposed Hans Dorn with the reservation “… dass ich damit nur das

Milieu aufgezeigt habe, aus dem das Buch hervorgegangen und demnächst an die

Öffentlichkeit getreten sein könnte.” (that [with this claim] I have only referred to the environment from which the book emerged and entered the public sphere).10

Honegger’s 1973 monograph serves as a watershed moment because of the discovery of acrostic ERMAN B in the first letters of H. 90 – H. 95.11 The revelation breathed new life into the idea of Bote’s authorship, and today the hypothesis has both supporters and detractors. Flood agrees with Honegger, though not unquestioningly (he believes that the acrostic received its current form in the High German text, not the original Low

German).12 Tenberg disagrees on the grounds that “Hermann” was a very popular given name in Braunschweig, and last names beginning with B are also not uncommon.13

Schulz-Grobert criticizes Honegger’s thesis as pure speculation,14 attributing the real authorship of S1515 to Grüninger’s print-shop (where it was designed as “einen gelehrten literarischen Scherzartikel” [an erudite, literary joke-document]).15

7 Krogmann (1956) 279-283 8 Rosenfeld (1972) 12 9 Schröder (1988) 89-90 10 Ibid. 89 11 Honegger (1973) 84-94 and elsewhere (the identity of the author being a central question of his monograph) 12 Flood (1991) 267-268 13 Tenberg (1996) 25 14 Schulz-Grobert (1999) 16 15 Ibid. 275 and elsewhere, especially the inside cover. Melters also refers to the jacket text (“Klappentext”), claiming “Hier ist Schulz-Groberts These am deutlichsten

After Schulz-Grobert, the argument about the probable authorship of the Ulenspiegel- book generally subsided, although the issue occasionally received attention. Melters criticizes Schulz-Grobert’s emphasis on bookish, hagiographic/historiographic tradition, but agrees that an investigation of S1515 depends more on the literary context of 16th- century Strasbourg than on “die rein spekulative Autorthese Honeggers” (Honegger’s purely speculative thesis of authorship).16 Seelbach defends the reading of ERMEN as a shortened form of Hermen/Hermann with an attestation of the name in Johannes

Aventius’s Chronica and notes that a translation of H. 96 Epitaphium back into Low

German Overschrivinge could (but not necessarily must) expand the acrostic to

ERMENBO,17 a finding which indirectly reinforces Honegger’s hypothesis.

Unless more sources come to light, there is little to add to the debate, though the thematic and formal similarities with some of Bote’s work, namely Radbuch, deserve consideration. Both works share a cyclical structure wherein social estates are sequentially discussed and the poorest groups – artisans and peasants – are viewed with distrust. The sentiment is not surprising in light of Bote’s biography: he was forced to leave Brunswick in 1488 and almost lynched in 1513.18 A preference for a stable social hierarchy can be seen in Bote’s admonitions to the peasants, “Gy eyntvoldighen vramen

formuliert” (Here Schulz-Grobert’s thesis is most clearly formulated; Melters [2004] 27n52). 16 Melters (2004) 26-46, quote on 32 17 Seelbach (2005) 112-114 18 Arendt (1978) 65-66, Classen (1995) 196-199. Classen devotes several pages to Bote’s biography. Therein he states that Bote’s career as a customshouse (sic) clerk led to antagonism between him and craftsmen. Classen later expands this animosity to encompass “the lower social classes” (197). Arendt (1978) expresses a similar sentiment: Bote “hielt es mit dem Patriziat gegen die Lobby der Zünfte” (sided with the patricians against the lobby of guilds; 73).

5 simpelen buern / Eyn iewelk de kenne syne eghen nature, / Syne doghet unde syne eddelicheit, / Und mit welken dingen dat he ummegheit” (You simple, pious peasants, may everyone know his own nature, his virtues and his nobility and the things with which he deals; VI.15-19)19 and in warnings to secular authorities about dangers inherent in laxity towards peasants:

Gy weldighen, gy scholet dat staden nicht, Dat unvornufft schal sitten in ghericht, Wente de deit nenen vramen, De unvornufft unde unwetenheit let kamen To grade, dar dat sik nicht enboert. Nicht gudes wert dar ghespoert. De geystliken unde werldliken kamen darvan to nichte, Woer unwetenheit unde unvornufft holt dat richte. (VI.53- 60).

You leaders, you should not tolerate that unreason should hold sway in the courts, for he does not do good, who lets unreason and ignorance achieve a rank to which it does not belong. Nothing good will come of it. Spiritual and worldly authority will collapse where ignorance and unreason hold power.

The warning’s position within the same excerpt as the above commands to the vramen simpelen buern and the contrast between the unwetenheit/unvornufft and the weldighen leave little doubt that Bote is warning his audience about the dangers of granting peasants social mobility. A similar disdain can be seen in S1515, where Eulenspiegel is “eins

Buren Sun” (the son of a peasant; 7).20 As a member of the peasantry, he resembles the vagabonds and roving bands of beggars increasingly common in the late middle ages.21

19 Cited by verse and chapter. 20 Richter (1977) 40-44. Wunderlich interprets Eulenspiegel differently: as a wandering ne’er-do-well (Landfahrer), he stands outside the social hierarchy and does not belong to any social group (Wunderlich [1989] 124). 21 Wiswe has noted examples of Bauern known for travelling from place to place (Wiswe [1989] 161).

His actions also do not reflect well on that demographic. Although each chapter is funny to the audience, Eulenspiegel’s victims rarely appreciate or benefit from his humor: he destroys raw materials, he incites feuds, he defies authority, and he shows bad manners.

If we direct our attention away from Eulenspiegel and onto his victims, we still see an antipathy toward the peasantry reminiscent of Bote’s attitude in Radbuch. To begin, they and their semantically related cousins, the Wirte (innkeepers)22 are relegated to the back of the text, H. 67 – H. 88, where they function almost as an afterthought. The redactor’s decision to group all peasants and Wirte together evokes a contrast between them and the skilled artisans, clergy, and aristocrats who dominate the rest of the book and enjoy more wealth and social prestige. The peasants may not have the same chaotic/destructive quality as in Radbuch, but a parallel attitude and structuring principle in both books23 are present and hint to a shared belief in social hierarchies in Bote’s poem and S1515.

Although the above evidence speaks in favor of Hermen Bote’s authorship, it is still possible that S1515 or its predecessor is the product of an epigone or an established literato mimicking Bote’s style. For the foreseeable future the origin of S1515 will probably remain a question of faith. As Schröder observed, any claim can at most point to a literary context.

Eulenspiegel’s modus operandi

Eulenspiegel is popularly understood as a fool with a gift for misinterpreting (either intentionally or unintentionally) his opponent’s statements or commands. Goethe’s

22 An attitude still present in the German saying “wer nichts wird, wird Wirt.” (Whoever becomes nothing become an innkeeper). 23 Honegger went so far as to call S1515 a “Satyrspiel auf das ‚Boek van veleme rade‘” (A satire of the Radbuch; Honegger [1973] 89).

7 explanation “Alle Hauptspäße des Buches ruhen darauf, daß alle Menschen figürlich sprechen und Eulenspiegel es eigentlich nimmt” (The main fun of the book lies in the fact that everyone speaks figuratively and Eulenspiegel takes it literally; 218 Nr. 1045) is an oft-cited summary of Eulenspiegel’s supposedly preferred method of antagonizing his victims. However, a serious reading of S1515 reveals a collection of different pranking methods. In this section, I will disregard Eulenspiegel’s childhood stories (H. 1 – H. 9;

H. 11 – H. 20 occupy a grey area) and the stories of his old age (H. 89 – H. 96, although

H. 86 – H. 88 allude to illness/physical weakness) and will investigate Eulenspiegel’s methods of playing pranks in the “meat” of the text, namely his adult life.

Many stories, such as H. 88, employ a scatological element for the sake of

Schadenfreude humor. Although Eulenspiegel’s initial sabotage (he defecates on the farmer’s plums) is already humorous, Eulenspiegel disguises himself and tells his victim, somewhat disingenuously, that “Der Schalck wär wol Schlahens wert” (That rogue deserves a beating; 252). The second joke is ironic. Other stories, like H. 24, combine scatology with literal-mindedness. There Eulenspiegel competes with the court fool for the King of Poland’s favor, and when the king promises 20 Güldin and a new tunic

(Cleid) to the winner, Eulenspiegel defecates and eats half, thereby disgusting the other fool. The king doubtlessly intended the competition to be a form of entertainment, but

Eulenspiegel’s reinterpretation of the word “narrei” (foolish actions, 72) is technically correct. In any case, these two examples should demonstrate that Eulenspiegel’s method is not limited to a single form of humor.

Eulenspiegel’s ability to defy simple characterization challenges any attempt to connect the disparate punny, scatological, and outright malicious adventures under a

8 single, all-encompassing message. As a recent scholarly example, Williams divides

Eulenspiegel’s different methods of pranking across social estates. He uses scatology against peasants, the nobility, and the clergy,24 but prefers to employ linguistic humor against the craftsmen.25 All methods are ultimately connected in a general combination of laughter and punishment, in which the trickster Eulenspiegel acts as a “scapegoat ...

[who] allows the reader to direct cruel laughter at his own failings and thus dose himself with a moral purgative”26 while informing his (16th-century) audience of the increasing

“fragmentation of their society.”27 In summary, Eulenspiegel becomes a teacher: he warns his readers of social corruption by depicting the negative traits of his opponents

(superbia in the case of the nobility and the clergy, avaritia in the case of the Meister of the Handwerkergeschichten [anecdotes with a craftsman]) and enables personal growth.28

Williams’s ideas build on a long line of Eulenspiegel-research that saw the character as a symbol of widespread dissatisfaction with the existing social order of the 16th century. Schwarz argues that the fictional world of S1515 was written as a descriptive model of the vices and failings of an early modern Europe suffering from widespread societal dysfunction (he used the term Verkehrtheit der Welt).29 Along similar lines,

Röcke reads S1515 as a portrayal of a community lacking social cohesion.30 In both cases, the author connects Eulenspiegel’s aggression with a sort of cultural pessimism, allowing for Williams’s reading of Eulenspiegel’s pranks as a reflection of civil realities.

24 Williams (2000) 159-162 25 Ibid. 166-170 26 Ibid. 172 27 Ibid. 174 28 Ibid. 169-170 29 Schwarz (1986) 443. Schwarz states his thesis at the beginning of his article. 30 Röcke (1987) 233 and passim

Eulenspiegel’s entire repertoire is a collection of superficial disguises, but every prank reflects on the fact that a morally depraved world makes itself vulnerable to a character aware of its metaphysical fatigue.31

Schwarz and Röcke’s concentration on society’s flaws and its contribution to

Eulenspiegel’s appearance is complemented by other scholars’ emphasis on

Eulenspiegel’s personal development and thought process. Wailes sees Eulenspiegel as a case of arrested development, an overgrown child who failed to mature,32 and interprets

Eulenspiegel’s destructiveness as an impulsive lack of restraint. Kokott draws a parallel in his study of Eulenspiegel as an example of an uninitiated member of society:

Eulenspiegel’s aggression can be traced back to H. 9, a botched initiation ceremony.33

Both readings are useful insofar as they point out that Eulenspiegel has a principle flaw which determines his outside status, and they add nuance to the above investigations of society’s contributions to the rise of an Eulenspiegel-character.

The division of pranks along social lines, on which (Alison) Williams bases her reading, is not as uniform as it appears on first glance. Eulenspiegel often uses a scatological prank against a Handwerker and/or twists the meaning of a peasant’s utterance. For example, in H. 52 Eulenspiegel works for a furrier (Kürßner) and releases flatulence to combat the smell of the wool (the title says that Eulenspiegel defecates).

There is no pun in this story despite the professional status of Eulenspiegel’s victim. In

H. 57 and H. 58, wherein Eulenspiegel fools the same victim, a Weinzäpffer (An official in charge of the city council’s wine cellar) twice, he uses different methods: The first

31 Williams (2000) 149 32 Wailes (1991) 129-131 33 Kokott (1996) 104-109

10 chapter is a sleight-of-hand story, while the second is scatological/corporeal. H. 67 is a peasant story, but features wordplay, as Desch (modern German Tasche) means both

“coin purse” and “vagina.” Eulenspiegel can also play nearly identical pranks on characters in disparate social groups, as seen in H. 37 and H. 86. In H. 37 (as mentioned above), a priest eats one of Eulenspiegel’s sausages and mocks him, telling him to bring two sausages next time. Eulenspiegel buys sausages made from rotting pig flesh (an equivalent to feces), and the priest and his maid suffer food poisoning. The same motif reappears in H. 86, in the peasant/innkeeper cycle. There a Dutchman eats

Eulenspiegel’s eggs, and in retaliation Eulenspiegel tricks him into eating hollowed-out apples filled with flies. Regardless of whether the reader considers these examples scatological or as instances of intentional misunderstanding, the prank’s reappearance in different contexts complicates Williams’s interpretation.

The constant recycling of trick methods within S1515 may keep motifs from acquiring concrete symbolic value, but such flexibility has precedent in other literary genres where material was frequently borrowed and reused. An openness to the free combination of motifs is present in the earlier Schwank genre (13th-16th century), which Grubmüller characterized as a collection of scenes in constant flux:

Verändern ist – grundsätzlicher als sonst – eine Gattungsregel: das durch Konvention und Überlieferung begrenzte Motivrepertoire, die konventionalisierten Erzählmuster und der Zwang zur Pointe geben ihr (= der Variabilität) gattungsbegründenden Status.34

Change is – more fundamental than elsewhere – a rule of the genre: the repertoire of motifs, limited by convention and tradition, the conventionalized method of storytelling

34 Grubmüller (2006) 28

and the obligation to reach a point give [the variability] a genre-determining status.

The same variability applies to Eulenspiegel: categories of pranks are combined freely with victim types in order to give the redactor a wide range of possible subject matter.

For example, Eulenspiegel can use scatology both against a peasant (as in H. 88) and a shoemaker (H. 46) just as well as he can employ linguistic misunderstandings against both. The victim’s identity and Eulenspiegel’s chosen method are constantly realigned to create new possibilities.

With two notable exceptions (Eulenspiegel’s birth, H. 2135 and H. 96), the only constant in S1515 is the presence of an antagonist: there is no Eulenspiegel without someone to fop. The elements of narrative framing at the beginning of each chapter emphasize the interpersonal conflict: Eulenspiegel’s arrival in and departure from any given city establish him as an outsider, and the professional identity of the antagonist is revealed. A pressing need for money, food, or employment serves as the key motivating force, and the occasional story that does not take place in a specific urban location (in H.

63 he is travelling between cities, but nevertheless encounters the bishop of Trier) compensates with miscellaneous reasons to introduce an antagonist. Almost every episode ends with Eulenspiegel’s departure, so a conflict is inevitable – an example of

35 Lindow notes “Die Historie erinnert an die Geistreicheleien eines Hofnarren und ist nicht eigentlich ein Schwank. Sie wird wohl kaum in der verlorenen Urfassung gestanden haben.” (The story is reminiscent of a courtly fool’s witty behavior and is not actually a farce. It was unlikely to have been in the original; 64n7).

Clemens Lugowski’s “Motivation von hinten” (Motivation from behind, or final motivation),36 as also noted by Gerhold Scholz Williams and Alexander Schwarz.37

The general chapter structure can be summarized as follows: Eulenspiegel’s enemies try without success to control or direct his behavior. However, Eulenspiegel does not merely say “No,” as such a story would lack a punchline. He does something unexpected, something that thwarts our expectations of a conventional “Yes” or “No” answer. Where a typical apprentice of a blacksmith or baker would either complete the given task or disobey his orders, Eulenspiegel’s tricks reveal that both possibilities are, at least from his point of view, not the only valid options. And although he is forced to leave, he departs with the impression of having won or of having defeated his opponent in some way. The unexpected success is reminiscent of the popular folklore archetype known as the Trickster, and we will now continue to discuss the literary and anthropological scholarship behind this phenomenon in an attempt to see if Eulenspiegel can be considered an example of the character type.

The Trickster’s Methods

A comparison of Eulenspiegel and the trickster has its precedent in the identification of other post-classical (11th century and later) European literary characters with the archetype – especially when the character is an outsider. The earliest example is Reinhart the Fox (Ysengrimus, later old French poems), a continuation of the Aesopian animal

36 Lugowski (1932) 73-89 37 Williams/Schwarz (2003) 72. Williams/Schwarz focus on the contractual nature of the majority of the chapters, but allow for generalization: “Kontaktaufnahme – oder in unserer Terminologie: Ein genereller Vertrag wird geschlossen.” (Establishing contact – or in our terminology: A general contract is made; Ibid.)

13 fable.38 Another one is the Scandinavian god Loki: his simultaneous status as god and giant places him between both groups, while his tricks allow him to adapt to various challenges.39 When Loki is blamed for the gods’ misfortunes and threatened with death in Snorri’s Edda, he saves the day, thereby proving that he is a god (he fights against the giants) and not one (he is not treated as an equal). He does this at least twice: once when the gods hire a giant to build wall, and again when Idunn is kidnapped (his other appearances are beyond the scope of this chapter). German literature has a long list of similar figures, such as der Pfaffe Amis, der Pfarrer vom Kalenberg, and Neidhart

Fuchs.40 Some Shakespearean characters are occasionally called tricksters. Falstaff has been identified as one, 41 as have Richard III and Henry V.42 Marginalized trickster figures also play a large role in comedies such as The Winter’s Tale and The Tempest.43

Modern anthropological research began with the discovery of the trickster in Native

American and West African mythology. In 1868, Daniel Brinton gave the first description of the character in his monograph The Myths of the New World:

In many of the tales which the whites have preserved on Michabo he seems half a wizzard [sic], half a simpleton. He is full of pranks and wiles, but often at a loss for a meal of victuals; ever itching to try his arts magic on great beasts and often meeting ludicrous failures therein; envious of the powers of others, and constantly striving to outdo them in what they do best; in short, little more than a malicious

38 Mann (2009) 2-20. Although Mann discusses the developments of animal tales in medieval British literature, both British and German traditions derive from the Ysengrimus and French Roman de Renart. For a study of Germanophone reception see Goossens (1998) 195-205. 39 The idea of Loki as a trickster was suggested by Davidson (Davidson [1979] 6-11). Also Hyde (1998) 100-107 40 Strohschneider (1988) 157-158 41 Maitra (1967) 102 42 Mallett (1979) 64-82 43 Hillman (1992), 220-238 and passim

buffoon delighting in practical jokes, and abusing his superhuman powers for selfish and ignoble ends.44

A century later, Paul Radin defined the term in his investigation of the Winnebago

Indians’ mythic cycle. He identified the trickster as a kind of culture hero,45 a character who straddles the lines between gods and men through the discovery of a new cultural practice. Robert Pelton inspected West African trickster figures, including the famous spider Ananse, and came to almost identical conclusions. Noteworthy in his study is the trickster’s ability to create or nurture social bonds and his symbolic victory over death,46 which merits special emphasis (“those who know the trickster understand that if the system of life embraces change and death, it is because its boundaries are ceaselessly enlarged by him”)47 because it represents an obstacle otherwise impossible to overcome.

These investigations produced an ever-expanding but thematically concise list of common storytelling motifs united by a shared defiance of a natural order established at the beginning of a narrative. Hynes, in his chapter in the 1993 book Mythical Trickster

Figures, gives a summary of relevant characteristics:

(1) the fundamentally ambiguous and anomalous personality of the trickster. . . (2) deceiver/trick-player, (3) shape-shifter, (4) situation-invertor, (5) messenger/imitator of the gods, and (6) sacred/lewd bricoleur[.]48

44 Brinton (1868) 162 45 Radin (1956) xxiii 46 Pelton (1980) 271-284 47 Ibid. 281 48 Hynes (1993) 34. Hynes did not view the items as necessary prerequisites. A trickster must only have some of the traits: “While many specific trickster figures appear to have most of these characteristics, a particular figure may occasionally have only one or two” (Ibid. 45).

The ambiguity of the defined traits accounts for the variations inevitable with any proposed universal of human storytelling or behavior. As Doty and Hynes noted (in the same volume), inflexible formal definitions exert ideological pressure on scholars to ignore characters which do not conform to Western expectations.49 By contrast, a porous typology of the trickster allows the inclusion and discussion of a wide range of folklore characters. Hyde’s survey ranged from the African trickster to the Native American coyote, to Loki, and to the European-American confidence man, all of whom share one trait:

trickster is a boundary-crosser. Every group has its edge, its sense of in and out, and trickster is always there, at the gates of the city and the gates of life, making sure there is commerce . . . We constantly distinguish [between binaries] and in every case trickster will cross the line and confuse the distinction. Trickster is the creative idiot . . . the wise fool, the gray-haired baby, the cross dresser, the speaker of sacred profanities.50

The definition boils down Hynes’s list to a single constant. The trickster breaks rules while conforming to them, blurring the lines and making it unclear whether a transgression has taken place.

Unlike the devil, Simon Magus, or other straightforward variations of the classic antagonist, the trickster’s play with the boundaries of dichotomies allows him to avoid the pressures to accept given options at face value. If confronted with two choices, the trickster can create a third – but not without consequences. In traditional societies, the trickster accepts his role, explores uncharted territory, and reveals a discovery to the audience at the end of the narrative. Trickster is a useful misnomer, since the tricks are

49 Doty/Hynes (1993) 24-25 50 Hyde (1998) 7

16 an external appearance and a result of the character’s ability to combine two presented options, but the malevolence implied by the word trick is coincidental. The trickster’s real goal is to solve a problem in an unexpected way (to survive and yet to reject the conventional solution).

A brief example from Radin’s collection (49-50) has been chosen because of its similarities to the anecdotes in S1515, although it belongs to an unrelated storytelling tradition. Trickster (here a proper noun) is residing in a village when a traveler arrives.

Only Trickster recognizes him as the mink, one of his enemies, and decides to play a prank on him. The stranger refuses to court the village girls despite insistence on the part of the young men until Trickster convinces him by revealing that the chief’s daughter is in love with him (the stranger). The stranger is convinced (he claims to have abstained from courting “on account of the other young men” [50]). Trickster then feeds him a laxative on the sly. When the stranger goes to bed with the chief’s daughter, he defecates on her and leaves in humiliation.

The story’s appeal does not primarily lie in the scatological element, nor in the feud between Trickster and the mink, but in Trickster’s ability to persuade the traveler to partake in the village’s social courting ritual and then to annul the entire ceremony.

While the mink does go courting, he is unsuccessful at the exact moment of his expected victory, and a paradox arises: the traveler courts and does not court. The resulting contradiction is then humorous. Furthermore, Trickster has also undermined the village’s normative social structure by disrupting a traditional act defined by a sequence of prescribed actions. The entire ritual is drawn, at least temporarily, into question.

If the word trickster functions as shorthand for the ability to say “yes” and “no” simultaneously, then the universal quality of the character is obvious. The trickster’s defining features are simple enough that every society inevitably creates these stories.

The trickster’s presence does not rely on a perceived stage of cultural development. Any group, literate or preliterate, can have a trickster. Even suburban America, scorned as a cultural desert, has a variety of trickster figures. Amelia Bedelia is the most obvious example: she obediently attends to housecleaning but ultimately succeeds only in making things dirtier.

The trickster has also been read as a psychological/archetypal figure, and such an understanding should also be briefly discussed. Carl Jung attached the following significance to the trickster as a storytelling trope: he is “ein ‹kosmisches› Urwesen göttlich-tierischer Natur, dem Menschen einerseits überlegen vermöge seiner

übermenschlichen Eigenschaften, andererseits unterlegen vermöge seiner Unvernunft und

Unbewußtheit.” (A cosmic primordial being of divine and animal nature, on one hand superior to humans because of his superhuman capabilities, on the other hand inferior on account of his irrationality and unconsciousness).51 The observation translates Radin’s,

Pelton’s, Hynes’s, and Hyde’s thoughts from the strictly narrative to the psychological sphere. The trickster has human or even super-human qualities, but is not entirely human by virtue of a way of thinking divorced from rationality. His actions represent an alternative state of mind with both advantages and disadvantages: it can create, is allows for a civilizing developmental process (so Jung), but it is also unpredictable and

51 Jung (1976) 282

18 illogical.52 The trickster, when he appears, signals a danger, but he also gives a positive impression that something new is about to appear.

If the trickster has metaphysical, religious, or psychological significance – or if there is any suggestion that he does not only exist as a narrative character – then, when he is successful, his actions have real-world consequences for the audience and the results of his behavior can be seen in physical reality. He begins to resemble a different folklore character, the so-called culture hero, defined by Greenway as:

seldom an unequivocal deity, but in his ideal form a demigod whose nature is corrupted by a love for mankind, a weakness that leads him into treason against the god, from whom he steals . . . and who also institutes the social rules by means of which man tries to overcome his own self-destructive nature.53

Lewis Hyde came to similar conclusions, noting that the culture hero’s self-sacrifice opens a “new order of things,” including a new way of thinking.54 Notable in

Greenway’s definition is the emphasis on the culture hero’s “love for mankind,” a quality that expands the category to include characters such as Prometheus and Jesus.55

However, the culture hero’s creative power does not mean that he is a priori identical with the trickster. The former is characterized by a kind of altruism, but the trickster is not. As Radin noted, the trickster has no intention of helping people, but only a “desire to express and develop himself.”56 Some tricksters, like the Scandinavian god Loki, rarely or never encounter humanity. The trickster’s actions can resemble a culture hero insofar

52 Ibid. 284-285 53 Greenway (1964) 87 54 Hyde (1998) 37, 56-63 55 Greenway (1964) 87 56 Radin (1956) 126

19 as they profit humankind, but the trickster’s personality ultimately remains confrontational. In Radin’s above courtship example, the trickster invents a laxative and neutralizes an outside threat, but only at the price of the daughter’s humiliation. There,

Trickster was only interested in revenge, and the benefits conveyed to the village (if they exist) remain an incidental byproduct.

A short digression concerning the trickster’s role as a taboo-breaker is necessary for a complete understanding of the character. For Markarius the trickster, by transgressing a social norm, takes “upon himself the culpability of all . . . condemned to atone so that the social order may triumph.”57 In violating taboos, the trickster acts as a culture hero at his own expense.58 Society learns from his accomplishments, profits from his actions, and establishes a new social order, while the trickster pays the price of being labeled as unpredictable and by extension threatening.59 However, the above discussion suggests that the motif of taboo-breaking is just another example of the trickster’s modus operandi. His decision to cross the line of acceptable behavior, meaning to violate the basis for social cohesion, is a response to a set of implicit demands. The community functions as a collective antagonist and is forced to acknowledge a form of defeat, as the trickster’s actions draw their identity into question.

The abilities to defy taboos and to create both stem from the trickster’s capacity to invent his own solution to problems. It is hard to agree with Joshua M. H. Davis, who sees the culture hero and the trickster as the same character divided erroneously as the result of western chauvinism: “Separating the ‘culture-hero’ out from the ‘trickster’ and

57 Makarius (1993) 73 58 Ibid. 59 Ibid.

20 consequently elevating the civilized and civilizing former at the expense of the

‘primitive’ latter denies the discussion of the trickster-figure any modicum of complexity and contradiction.”60 While Davis criticizes the assumptions of progress and civilization inherent in the language used by Radin, Campbell, and other scholars, he fails to distinguish between the culture hero’s religious value and the trickster’s literary function

(whose narratives can be elevated into the religious sphere). By claiming that the trickster is too contradictory to be reduced to a single motif, Davis disregards the hidden logic inherent to trickster stories. The trickster acts because he is first confronted with an insoluble situation, and his response is a compromise between the two non-solutions he is presented with. By extension, the trickster motif is common not because of any traditional value structure or way of life, but because the problem confronting him is universal despite superficially different appearances.

The Trickster and Carnival

The trickster is not by definition rooted in the fecal, putrid, or sexual physical symbols often associated with him, but his ubiquity and his willingness to resort to any means necessary expose him to situations where such objects offer means to overcome his problems. Hyde, who focuses on the trickster’s tendency to suffer from overwhelming hunger, gives an account of the coyote’s decision to eat his own intestines61 as an example of the trickster’s willingness to use his own body to find a solution to a given problem. In stories like these, the protagonist is confronted with a choice between suffering physical hunger and satisfying bodily desires, and his decision combines

60 Davis (2007) 30 61 Hyde (1998) 29-30

21 elements of both possibilities by consuming something that is not recognizably food or in other circumstances would appear disgusting.

Stories focusing on the trickster’s body evoke a comparison with Bakhtin’s studies of

Carnival, the early spring festival where laypersons were granted the freedom to satisfy physical urges before the reflective celibacy and abstinence imposed by Lent. Laxity in dietary and sexual restrictions were designed as a safety valve 62 and as preparation for the following religious fast.63 Carnival also stimulated a great deal of art and literature centered around the theme of exaggerating the human body into grotesque forms.64 In his study of the symbolic language of Rabelais’s Gargantua cycle, Bakhtin found a close semantic connection between representations of bodily organs and the consumption of food, both of which he saw as expressions of an unconscious worldview obsessed with a

“life-death-birth” rhythm.65 Rich food, digestive and sexual organs, and even decaying plant and animal matter (especially feces) held symbolic worth, but anything that could be associated with springtime, new life, or even fertilization was celebrated. The human body remained the quintessential representation of these thoughts, as it:

is not separated from the world by clearly defined boundaries; it is blended with the world, with animals, with objects. It is cosmic, it represents the entire material bodily world in all its elements. It is an incarnation of this world at the absolute lower stratum, as the swallowing up and generating principle, as the bodily grave and bosom, as a

62 Bakhtin (1984) 10 and passim 63 The idea of Carnival and related holidays serving this function was also noted by the clergy itself (Burke [1978] 202). 64 Bakhtin (1984) passim. As these concepts directed the entire thrust of Bakhtin’s thought, the cited page numbers direct the reader to useful discussions of these ideas, but cannot claim to represent the entirety of the central argument. 65 Ibid.

field which has been sown and in which new shoots are preparing to sprout.66

The values expressed by Carnival, an inversion of late medieval European religious piety and confidence in an objective truth, are reminiscent of the trickster’s willingness to undermine the status quo of expected behavior. When the trickster invents a solution to presented difficulties, he defies a hitherto unquestioned reality, and his success establishes an alternative to accepted truth. Carnival functions in a similar way: religious orthodoxy and social mores are temporarily disregarded in a festival of creative action, and the energy spent in celebration expands the boundaries of art, literature, and philosophy.

The similarities between the trickster and Carnival lend themselves to combination. In early modern European literature (I will focus on German literature, though examples exist elsewhere), tricksters appeared with greater frequency as the carnival holiday brought them into the cultural spotlight. The genre of Shrove Tuesday plays

(Fastnachtspiele) serves as first-hand evidence, as tricksters like Markolf and Neidhart

Fuchs, who already have an extensive literary history, would appear on stage. One example, Hans Folz’s Das Spiel von dem König Salomon und dem Bauern Markolf, constantly thematizes the human body. When confronted by one of Salomon’s bodyguard, Markolf mocks the knight’s baldness, saying “Ich mayn halt, schiß ich dir darauff, / Dir ging vil merß hares da auff” (I think that if I were to defecate on your head, more hair would sprout; 35-36) to win the king’s attention. At the end of the poem he commends himself to three Saints: “Sant Schweinhart” (418), “Sand Merdum” (423), and

66 Ibid. 46-47

“Sand Maulfranck, / Der aß sich auß einer leck uns kerben als kranck / Das er ein kubel vol scheyß man keut” (Saint Maulfranck, who ate himself so sick from an electuary [lit. from a lick-our-intergluteal cleft]67 that he filled a bucket with defecation; 427). All three names invoke grotesque qualities as a form of subversive humor.

Model Case – Der Pfarrer vom Kalenberg

A survey of general Carnival tricksters in Early Modern German literature would exceed the scope of this chapter. A short second example of the affinity between these two phenomena can be seen in the 15th-century poem Der Pfarrer vom Kalenberg

(hereafter PvK). Near the end of the poem, the priest leads a procession shortly after

Eastertide (“nach osterlicher zeit, / alß gewohnheit ist der christenheit, / so das man mit dem creutze singt / so das es auf zu got erklingt” [after Easter, as is Christian practice, one sings with the cross so that the sound ascends to heaven; 1909-1912]), a holiday reminiscent of Carnival in its emphasis on rebirth and new life. The priest uses a pair of pants as a banner because of his poor pay. His embarrassed congregation immediately provides for him. The narrator concludes with the observation that the peasants have been “tamed:” “Also macht er die pawren zam, / das sie im waren gehorsam / und hetten in do alle holt, / sie thetten alles, das er wolt.” (So he tamed the peasants, that they all obeyed him and were congenial to him. They did everything he wanted; 1971-1974).

The power struggle between the priest and his congregation (a recurring theme) is the obvious central conflict, as the priest is dependent on his parishioners for his financial well-being but has tricked them repeatedly in the past. His solution to the problem is a faux ritual: by constructing an anti-banner, he mocks their expectations and undermines

67 Wuttke notes that the term leck uns kerben is a malapropism of die Latwerge (80n8).

24 the religious ceremony with a symbol of his own poverty. The act conforms to the trickster’s method of lateral thinking, but even more importantly, contains Carnival-esque imagery. The pants invoke images of the human body, specifically the organs below the waist (the sexual organs and the anus) and contrast with the peasants’ expectations of an elevated ceremony. The performance serves as an inauthentic surrender, and the priest’s response to the objections – “ist des teüffels scheütz / wir armen leüt tragen armes creütz”

(“it is to disgust the devil that we poor people carry a poor cross; 1925-1926) – denigrates the religious practice further. Of course, the priest is successful, but his victory is primarily important as an example of trickster methods employing Carnival symbols.

The priest’s solution conforms with trickster methods while the Bakhtinian understanding of Carnival explains the episode’s position in the overarching narrative arc and the symbols used. The proximity to Easter represents the end of forced austerity, the advent of spring, and (with the completion of the prank) the establishment of a new church authority. The priest’s willingness to humiliate the peasants also triggers a change in the existing feud between him and his congregation. The prank solves an impasse resulting from the antagonistic relationship and, by taming the peasants, allows the priest to establish himself as their leader without submitting to the social norms they represent.

The Pfarrer’s identity as a trickster combines the fecund spirit of Carnival with the archetype’s problem-solving skills to bring the poem to a satisfying end.

Eulenspiegel as a 16th-Century Trickster

The popular association of tricksters with indigenous cultures complicates

Eulenspiegel’s possible status as one. The trickster character may be reduced to a simple

25 truism, such as his ability to combine non-tenable solutions, but the implicit cultural context, such as the character’s religious significance in traditional societies, gives him nuance which cannot be found in Eulenspiegel’s biography. To complicate matters,

Eulenspiegel is an early modern European phenomenon, and thus has nearly seven hundred years of literary influence in addition to oral transmission. In order to understand Eulenspiegel’s similarities with these characters, it is necessary to determine his religious/sacral significance (if any exists), his dubious status as a culture hero, and his position in the historical development of 15th/16th-century German literature. The aforementioned intersection between tricksters and Carnival takes on additional significance in light of the above factors.

Eulenspiegel’s rejection of Christian rituals and antagonistic relationship with priests discounts a possibility of explicit religious significance (at least in a positive sense).

However, it is telling that, although Eulenspiegel does not seem to respect priests, he also does not disrespect them more than he does any other group. His willingness to use the same methods he employs against other groups suggests that the priests’ position is irrelevant to him. Eulenspiegel still combines two possibilities into a new, inventive solution, and the religious elements exist only as cultural trappings.

In H. 92 (“wie Ulenspiegel sein Testament macht, darin der Pfaff sein Händ bescheiß.” [How Eulenspiegel made his testament and the priest soiled his hands; 260]),

Eulenspiegel subverts church authority by promising a priest a large sum of gold in exchange for vigils and requiems. When the priest returns the next day, Eulenspiegel directs him to a pot of gold (in reality full of fecal matter), warning him “greiffen doch nit zu dieff” (do not reach too deeply; 261). The priest fails to head the warning, and after

26 dirtying his hands, leaves in disgust. As a unit, the story follows the same pattern as the

Winnebago courting story. Eulenspiegel is confronted by a challenge, namely that he is expected to pay the priest, and although refusal is an option, religious expectations render it untenable and the priest continually warns Eulenspiegel how his salvation is at stake

(260). Eulenspiegel’s decision superficially conforms to established behavior – he promises to pay – but undermines his opponent’s respectability and frustrates his wishes.

As a result, the entire agreement is voided. The priest’s final comments, “Betrügst du mich in deinem letzten End, da du in deinem Todbet leist, so dürffen dieginnen nit klagen, die du betrogen hast in deinen jungen Tagen” (Since you deceive me at your end on your deathbed, those who you deceived in your youth cannot complain; 261), emphasize the consistency of Eulenspiegel’s behavior: the priest has become just another member of a line of characters who, regardless of their superficial differences, are variations of a theme.

Unlike other tricksters, Eulenspiegel does not combine his pranks with elements of the culture hero. His play with words and general creativity never culminate in an invention or even hint at the possibility of one. H. 50 (“wie Ulenspiegel die Schneider im gantzen

Sachßenland beschreib, er wolt sie ein Kunst leren, die solt ihnen und ihren Kindern gutthun” [How Eulenspiegel conveyed to all the tailors in Saxony how he wanted to teach them an art which would benefit them and their children; 145]), may perhaps play with the idea of Eulenspiegel as an inventive genius, but nobody learns anything except that

Eulenspiegel was a dishonest (and they already knew that). He also lacks the concern for humanity that defines the culture hero: not a single chapter reveals anything even

27 approaching a benevolent disposition. If anything, Eulenspiegel’s revue of nearly every occupation and social rank gives an entirely misanthropic impression.

Some readings, although they stop short of calling Eulenspiegel a culture hero, nevertheless attribute a real-world significance to his adventures. One common school of interpretation depicts him as a satiric teacher whose foolishness is intended to castigate or punish intellectual laziness and to promote critical attitudes. A good example is Peter

Sloterdijk’s Kritik der zynischen Vernunft, in which Eulenspiegel is understood as a proponent of general enlightenment. Here Eulenspiegel, a philosopher in the tradition of

Diogenes, “beweist, daß wir oft die Wahrheit nur um den Preis der Ungezogenheit an den

Tag bringen” (proves, that we often bring truth to light at the price of being rude).68 Still others eulogize Eulenspiegel or depict him as a benevolent trickster – or even as a proto- socialist member of the proletariat.69

One problem with such readings is that the narrator of S1515 never moralizes or attaches instructional significance to his anecdotes. Although characters occasionally make moral observations, as Eulenspiegel in H. 92 (“Bedrügt Euch nun Euwer

Begierigkeit und thun uber mein Warnung, daz ist mein Schuldt nit.” [If your greed betrays you and you disregard my warning, that is not my fault; 261]) and the innkeeper in H. 79 (“Er gibt den Lon nach den Wercken” [He rewards one according to his deeds;

261]) such statements do not appear with recognizable consistency and are minor elements when present. Eulenspiegel’s enemies also never show the slightest interest in learning from their mistakes. The text’s introduction, which emphasizes its entertainment

68 Sloterdijk (1983) 273 69 Spriewald (1977) 371-372

28 value and efficacy against melancholy (“Nun allein umb ein frölich Gemüt zu machen in schweren Zeiten, und die Lesenden und Zuhörenden mögen gute kurtzweilige Fröden und

Schwänck daruß fabulleren” [only for the sake of cheering people up in hard times, and may readers and listeners extract entertaining delight and fun from it; 7]), disavows any concern with morality whatsoever. Schwitzgebel argues that this claim might be a pretense and maintains that the character has satiric/didactic worth,70 but evidence that the author meant what he said can be seen in the consistent lack of condemnation, even when merited, and in Eulenspiegel’s tendency to punish the innocent as well as the guilty.

Other work in favor of the idea of a pedagogic Eulenspiegel places his instructive efforts in the meta-fictional sphere, meaning that Eulenspiegel is trying to teach the reader without enlightening his victims. For example, Williams attributes a reflective function to Eulenspiegel:

Although altruism could never be regarded as one of Eulenspiegel’s character traits, his extra-literary function demonstrates how his own pranks bring if not material, then intellectual gain to the reader, and thus may be viewed as tricks undeliberately [sic] executed on the reader’s behalf.71

It should be noted that Williams sees a subjective quality in Eulenspiegel’s lessons. 16th- century readers would interpret Eulenspiegel as a warning about a fragmenting social order, while a 20th-audience would see him as a moral instructor. 72 Classen arrives at similar conclusions, though he frames Eulenspiegel’s teachings as a guide to individual self-recognition.73 The exact nature of Eulenspiegel’s lessons is less important than its

70 Schwitzgebel (1996) 154-155, 161 71 Williams (2000) 174 72 Ibid. 73 Classen (2008) 471 (especially the abstract), 486

29 proposed existence, as both possibilities claim that Eulenspiegel’s actions straddle the line between the text and the audience.

A possible difference between Eulenspiegel’s actions and the message directed at the audience separates Eulenspiegel from the traditional trickster figure as understood by

Radin, Hyde et al. For Williams and Classen, S1515 evokes an awareness of the barrier between the narrated and the real world, and this hypothesis is strengthened when the narrator/redactor mentions literary sources (“mit Zulegung etlicher Fabulen des Pfaff

Amis und des Pfaffen von dem Kalenberg” [With the addition of various fables of the

Pfaffe Amis and the Pfarrer vom Kalenberg; 8]). A similar meta-fictional element does not exist for the traditional character types discussed above, who live, act, and create in a setting assumed to be continuous with our own world. The culture hero who discovers fire is perceived to be a real ancestor; the trickster account is accepted at face value as something that happened. In contrast, the allusion to source material (acknowledged as such) implies a fictional quality or a lack of realness.

The appearance of Eulenspiegel during the rise of prose narrative and his status as a semi-fictional character are unlikely to be coincidences. The genre of early novels

(Prosaromane or “prose novels”) first appeared at the end of the 14th century with the reception of classical plots in manuscripts like the Buch von Troja and Cronica

Alexander and had already gone through several phases of development, including

Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken’s translations, reimaginings of Middle High German courtly romances and works from Italian humanism, and even new German material.74

74 An overview of the historical development with the help of current research can be found in Bertelsmeier-Kierst (2014), 144-157 and passim.

The genre was not considered fiction, especially because, as Bertelsmeier-Kierst notes, such a distinction did not exist until the 16th century (presumably after S1515, in light of its early date).75 Texts were understood to be literary cultural/historic monuments containing a combination of real and unbelievable events.76 S1515 appears to have a similar attitude. The redactor neither explicitly confirms nor denies Eulenspiegel’s historicity, and although the allusions to other poems (8) make literary dependencies explicit, such a background does not mean that the events were understood as unreal during the narration.

Regardless of whether Classen or Williams is ultimately right about the exact nature of Eulenspiegel’s didactic significance (or whether his meta-textual role has anything to do with the culture hero at all), his position in the history of German literature and the intentional design of the text, both in the consistent narrative pattern of the stories and the explicit mention of source material, point to any implicit awareness of the hero’s unreal quality. As an intentionally designed character (whether by Bote or, as Schulz-Grobert hypothesizes, assembled in Grüninger’s print shop), Eulenspiegel exists entirely in the imagination and becomes a literary trickster. His position on the borders between literature and reality implies the possibility that the events could be understood as fictional without stating it outright.

Fassbind-Eigenheer anticipated a similar, but not identical idea in her semiotic study of Eulenspiegel as a “Meta-Tricker,” a figure which

bewegt sich einerseits auf der Text- oder Handlungsebene … ist er aber auch diejenige Figur oder besser dasjenige Prinzip, welches den nach sekundären semiotischen

75 Ibid. 162-163 76 Ibid. 162

Merkmalen funktionierenden „normalen“ Handlungsablauf stört, ihn … dadurch zum tertiären System werden läßt.77

on one hand moves on the level of the text of plot … it is also the figure, or better the principle, which ruins a normal plot functioning according to secondary semiotic features and relegates it to the third system.

Eulenspiegel (so Fassbind-Eigenheer) interacts with society outside of the text. He disrupts the inherent function of symbolism through the willful misinterpretation of representational language and commands (Fassbind-Eigenheer calls such an action a

“Gestus” [gesture]),78 thereby confusing the reader and provoking thought about

Eulenspiegel’s possible meaning. At the same time, he undermines the idea of the trickster by distancing himself from the events of the story and encouraging the audience to reflect (with him) about his role in directing events79 as “Marionette und

Marionettenspieler zugleich” (simultaneously puppet and puppeteer).80

Although Fassbind-Eigenheer is correct that Eulenspiegel encourages audience contemplation about the character’s significance, she misreads Eulenspiegel’s actions as a depiction of the trickster archetype as a manipulated symbol inside the text (a reading for which she can only cite two chapters as evidence). Eulenspiegel does not undermine the basic structure of trickster stories, as demonstrated above. Instead, his pranks are meant to follow a pattern and by extension to signal their generic quality. In a certain sense, Eulenspiegel-stories are the narrative equivalent of a name brand; they are reliable,

77 Fassbind-Eigenheer (1987) 81 78 Ibid. 79 Ibid. 80 Ibid. 84

32 and insofar as they follow a pattern, they are also recognizable. His true meta-narrative quality rests on his semi-fictional status and is separate from his trickster identity.

By playing the role of trickster at the beginning of the development of fiction as a concept, Eulenspiegel occupies a historically unique position in the development of literature. He combines the modus operandi of the trickster with the inverted value structure of Carnival and with an awareness of ongoing literary trends. One example would be the resemblance between S1515 and the Ständespiegel81 genre of literature, which (like S1515) has a cyclic structure centered around describing different members of society.82 For example, in Bote’s Radbuch, society is divided among rank by chapter

(called Raden, [wheels]).83 The first wheel (Dat molenrad [the millwheel]) discusses de geistlike acht (The clergy; II.2), followed by the higher and the lesser nobility (titled Dat kamrad [the gear wheel] and Dat windelrad [the spool], respectively). The final section is Dat braken rad (the broken wheel), a chapter warning the reader to keep away from thieves and criminals. S1515 follows a similar (though non-allegorical) model: the nobility are the antagonists of H. 22 – H. 27, craftsmen in H. 39 – H. 66, and peasants in

H. 68 – H. 89.84

A clear connection between Eulenspiegel, the 16th-century European trickster character, one with a strong emphasis on the physical body and situated within recent developments in the mentality history of literature, and the inversion of orthodox values

81 German Der Ständespiegel (lit. Mirror of Estates) is a literary work which defines all members of a society divided among social categories. 82 Honegger (1973) 114, Arendt (1978) 71 83 Arendt (1978) 70-71 84 The arrangement of S1515 is discussed is more detail in the second chapter.

33 in Carnival seems to exist.85 The elements shared by the two semantic groups trickster and Carnival have been discussed above. One example of how both elements combine in

S1515 can be seen in H. 76, where Eulenspiegel blows his nose into a meal in order to claim the entire dish for himself (220). Even where the corporeal element is not quite as conspicuous, the identical rules and pattern render his aggression a violation of Christian morality. Some differences between Eulenspiegel and the spirit of Carnival exist. Unlike the Pfarrer vom Kalenberg, Eulenspiegel is never connected with any holiday period, not even Easter, and his actions do not reflect any creative purpose. He also never re-enters a social hierarchy (unlike the Pfarrer vom Kalenberg). Unlike the Pfarrer vom Kalenberg or even Neidhart, Eulenspiegel’s rebellion amounts to a rejection of logical thought and lacks any positive trade-off. If tricksters have the ability to invent a third solution to a given juxtaposition, Eulenspiegel’s semi-Carnivalesque nature, in its rejection of objective reality, leads him to invent a solution that undermines the creative potential of

Carnival and remains destructive in nature.

Eulenspiegel’s actions, like those of other tricksters, may take the form of an innovation to confront an insoluble problem, but his solutions are not positive developments or even an improvement of the initial situation. In most chapters, such as

H. 54 (to choose an arbitrary example), Eulenspiegel is run out of town (“Also schied

Ulenspiegel von Berlin und ließ niergen guten Geruff hinder ihm” [So Eulenspiegel left

Berlin and never left a good reputation behind him; 159]), and generally he is forced to leave. While other tricksters achieve a semi-apparent success that renders their trials worthwhile (Neidhart, for instance, at least establishes his superiority to the peasants),

85 Williams/Schwarz (2003) 99-102

Eulenspiegel’s actions target not only the immediate obstacle but also himself.

Eulenspiegel’s pyrrhic victories mirror a complete lack of the positive elements of

Carnival. While he is capable of rejecting the objective truth of Christianity, he does not fill the resulting vacuum.

The late 15th and 16th centuries also witnessed the advent of a new literary character, the fool (der Narr, Der Tor). The fool resembled Eulenspiegel insofar as he was also a negation of intellect, but the two are not identical. The intersections between

Eulenspiegel and the trickster and the fool will be the final topic applied to Eulenspiegel in this chapter.

The Fool

Although the fool and the trickster are not interchangeable, they share so many qualities that a combination of the two appears inevitable. While the trickster’s willingness to probe the borders of expected behavior may lead him to commit sins or to break taboos, the fool’s history lends him an element of ambiguity that protects him from developing an entirely negative reputation (though demonic elements can still be present). He has his origins in classical Europe, and although he has constantly changed form, he never becomes more belligerent than the trickster. Scholars occasionally conflate the two. Burkhard Schnepel considers the trickster a sub-category of the fool, just like the “impudent nephews,” Don Quixote-like idealists, and clowns.86 However, if the above definition of the trickster is correct, the relationship is better understood the other way around: the fool is more likely to be a variation of the trickster, a character who mediates between two possibilities in a situation.

86 Schnepel (1998) 56-72

First, a brief overview of the literary fool and his history is needed. Psalm 14’s “The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God” (Ps. 14:1), which depicts the fool as an atheist, is generally regarded as the first mention of the character. The historical development of the archetype since then has been documented by Enid Welsford. She cites the practice of keeping fools in Egypt, Greece, and Rome,87 the character’s evolution into the “Medieval Court-Fool,”88 and his eventual appearance as a literary motif.89 Throughout the history, one can recognize many traits reminiscent of the trickster. For instance, the fool may have a gift for causing trouble and avoiding the consequences – often as compensation for his arrested development and limited intelligence.90 He is also very popular around Carnival, where his stupidity is endorsed as a means to turn the world on its head and undermine established values.91 As such, he is very easy to integrate into Bakhtin’s model, and Könneker, although she does not cite

Bakhtin, describes the symbol of the fool in early modern Europe along almost identical terms:

[n]ichts anderes als der Durchbruch und Aufbruch des nackten Triebes, die Emanzipation der primitivsten, durch nichts gebändigten oder sublimierten Kreatürlichkeit, verbunden mit einer übersteigerten Lust am unflätig Schmutzigen und Ekelerregenden. Sämtliche Tabus werden gebrochen; hier herrscht der unbezähmbare Drang zum Hinabzerren, der sich Ausdruck verschafft in einer kaum zu überbietenden Obszönität der Sprache, des Bildes und der Gebärde.92

87 Welsford (1961) 56-61 and passim 88 Ibid. 113-127 89 Ibid. 29-52, 220-244, and passim. Welsford discusses many German-language literary fools (or characters that she considers fools), including Eulenspiegel, the Pfarrer vom Kalenberg and Markolf in the chapter “The Mythical Buffoon” [Ibid. 29-52]. 90 Ibid. 50-52 91 Ibid. 92 Könneker (1966) 59

[He is] nothing more than the breakthrough and release of naked appetite, the emancipation of the most primitive, unimpeded and un-sublimated physicality, bound with an exaggerated delight in dirtiness and the revolting. All taboos are broken, and an indomitable drive to destroy rules – a drive which secures expression in an almost unbeatable obscenity of language, of picture and of gesture.

Examples of Early Modern Literature conforming to Könneker’s description can be found in the so-called Reihenspiele, a subgenre of Fastnachtspiele reminiscent of, and likely derived from, the Carnival procession.93 The canon of this literature is huge, and an investigation of the genre exceeds the scope of this chapter. One selected play, Die

Liebesnarren, attributed to Hans Folz, will serve as an example. The relatively short work (166 lines) has a simple structure: a series of 13 fools appear, each one of which recounts his romantic misadventures. The first cannot talk to women, the second does not understand sexual intercourse, and each subsequent fool one-ups the last until Venus and the herald end the play. All characters are described as fools and even wear “esels oren, / Gauchs federn und die narren kappen” (donkey ears, cuckoo’s feathers and fool’s caps; 6-7) as identifying signals. The theme behind their complaints, either love or sexual desire, echoes Bakhtinian themes.

Despite its earlier appearance, the fool as a type literary solidified in the 15th and 16th centuries with Brant’s Narrenschiff (Ship of Fools; 1494) and related literature,94 and it is this form of the fool that is most relevant for our current purposes. Around 1500, the fool character mixed the idea of sin and alienation from God with a concept of the silly

93 Röcke (2004) 423 94 Könneker (1966) passim

37 prankster at odds with society.95 The negative characteristics of stultitia (roughly folly), a result of original sin, became intertwined with the idea of insanity as a mode of behavior.96 Foolishness not only endangers one’s eternal salvation, but also disrupts one’s spiritual orientation in the physical world.97 A few examples below will elucidate the fool’s modus operandi in the 15th and 16th centuries.

Heinrich Wittenwiler’s Der Ring (early 15th century) gives an early example of foolishness understood as the inability to conform to divine law. In the introduction peasants are equated with foolish behavior: “Er ist ein gpauer in meinem muot, / Der unrecht lept und läppisch tuot, / Nicht einer, der aus weisem gfert / Sich mit trewer arbait nert” (He is in my estimation a peasant who lives poorly and acts stupidly, not someone who wisely nourishes himself with upstanding work; 43-46). The possibility of finding any wisdom in foolish peasants is dismissed a priori and comes to a head in the destruction of Lappenhausen at the end of the poem. There Bertschi blames an in-born lack of wisdom for his actions, which triggered the turn of events that led to the disaster:

Des muoss ich iemer leiden pein Mit chlagen an dem hertzen mein Und mangen pittern jammer dulden Nicht anders dann von meinen schulden, Das ich so weisleich was gelert Und mich so wenig dar an chert. (9676-9681)

I must always suffer hardship, lament, and undergo bitter misery because of my own faults, namely that I was taught wisdom and did not concern myself with it.

95 Ibid. 8 96 Ibid. 10-14 97 Dinzelbacher (2008) 136

Bertschi’s complaint, especially the final line “Und mich so wenig dar an chert” (and did not concern myself with wisdom), may initially appear to suggest that Bertschi’s mistakes lie in his actions, but such a possibility is already established as impossible in the introduction. The foolishness which inspired his social aspirations led to the jammer and pein defining the poem’s conclusion. While the plot of Der Ring is primarily an anti- peasant narrative, the characteristics of the protagonists are keeping in line with general expectations of fools’ behavior.

Brant’s Narrenschiff, which influenced later works on the same subject like Thomas

Murner’s Narrenbeschwörung (The summoning or The exorcism of fools) and, as far as the shared iconography suggests, S1515,98 does not explicitly announce a simple, all- encompassing definition of foolishness – though he does (as Könneker observes) conflate it with the sinner character.99 The statement closest to a definition, “Dann yedem narren das gebryst / Das er wil sin/das er nit ist” (It is a failing of every fool that he wants to be what he is not; 76,94-95) signals a continuum with the definitions of foolishness in Der

Ring. The division of the poem into a large number (over a hundred) of short chapters gives the impression that the fool is a universal trait. He may appear in any number of forms with varying qualities, but almost every reader would find a fool with a familiar personal flaw. Equally important is the fool’s introduction into daily life – he is no longer a social outcast or even a specific personal type; he has become a negative facet of

98 Blamires noted the that owl appears both in the borders of Narrenschiff’s illustrations and throughout S1515 (Blamires [2000] 62). 99 Könneker (1966) 10-14

39 any given individual.100 Just as certainly as everyone is a sinner, everyone is, in some way, a fool, and for this reason fools can be seen almost everywhere.

Murner’s theory of foolishness in Narrenbeschwörung (1512) exaggerates Brant’s definition of the character as a ubiquitous phenomenon by presenting him as a satanic misfortune plaguing Germany, either in a general satirical sense, or (as in von dem grossen Lutherischen Narren) as the embodiment of the Reformation. Murner cites

Brant explicitly as the cause of the influx of fools:101

Fürsten, herren narren sindt In clöstern ich auch narren findt. Wo ich hyn greiff, do findt ich narren, Die zuo Schiff und ouch zuo karren kummen sindt mit doctor brandt Vnd handt gefüllt alß dütsches landt (1.67-72)

Princes and lords are fools. I find them in cloisters and everywhere I reach. They have come with Doctor Brant in ships and in carts, and have filled all of Germany.

The criticism of Brant is certainly meant in jest, but it also allows Murner to appropriate the idea of the universal fool and to turn him into a physical plague:

Die alten, die das gsehen handt, Sagendt, das in dütsches land Der gecken kam ein grosses here Die sy vertriben handt mit were; Jetz sindt die gecken wider kummen Und habt fill narren mit in genummen Und sindt mit doren so gerist, Als wie ein jocobs bruoder ist Mit müschlen allenthalb behenckt. (1.77-85)

100 Könneker also draws attention to the individual’s importance for Brant’s understanding of the fool. According to her, Brant reimagined the fool as a single person who is responsible for his fate but does not take such self-dependency into account (Könneker [1991] 60-62). Although her focus on the individualistic element of Brant’s thought is not identical with mine, her ideas helped to shape my reading of Brant. 101 Also noted by Könneker (Könneker [1966] 133-138).

The old-timers who have seen it claim that in Germany a great army of fools came – which they drove away with forces. Now they have come and brought many [other] fools with them, and have traveled with [yet still other] fools, just like a pilgrim to the grave of St. James is covered with scallop shells.

Chapter 92, Die grosse geselschafft, contains a similar message, albeit with a

Ständespiegel-element reminiscent to Bote’s Radbuch: “keiser | künig | fürsten | herren, /

Burger | puren | sollen hören, / Wie mit so künstrychen leren / kan ich die narren all beschweren” (Emperors, Kings, Princes, Lords, Citizens, Peasants should hear how I, with skilled learning, can summon all fools; subtitle). The introductory pattern is repeated in the chapter’s text, where Murner castigates the pope, the emperor, princes,

Burger (modern German Bürger, meaning townspeople), and finally peasants. By the end of the chapter almost everyone suffers from the now universal trait of foolishness.

Throughout Narrenbeschwörung, Murner repeatedly emphasizes the fools’ chthonic/physical nature. Chapter 4, titled Narren seyen (Sowing Fools), is a variation on the central motif of H. 73 (wherein Eulenspiegel sews stones and claims that Schälck

[treacherous persons] will sprout), and connects the image of the earth as a fertile life- source with the idea of general foolishness. There, Murner also conflates farmland with the female body and childbirth: “Noch ist ein acker und ein grundt / Da von manch grosser narre kumpt, / Der heisset mütterlicher lyb; / Den yeder narr kompt von eim wyb.” (There is still one farmland available from which great fools come. It is called the womb, for every fool comes from a woman; 4.99-102). The motif is simultaneously narrative and metaphorical: The fool is tied to childbirth and the association between the creation of the fool and the bodily space is emphasized.

Könneker claims that earthly qualities take on a satanic element in chapters such as

46, ein hagel sieden (Sowing hail).102 Witches, condemned as fools trusting in the devil, are allotted supernatural powers:

Hagel sieder sind ouch kommen: Sindt got wilkumm, her ir frummen! Hat üch der tüfel her geschickt? Wa ir sindt, do ist kein glück. Secht an, ob das nit wunder sindt Das alte wyber sindt so blindt Und hondt so grosses rach [sic] im hertzen, Das sy hertzen leidt | und schmertzen Fiegent zuo eim gantzen landt, Dem sy den hagel gsotten handt, Und verderben wyn und korn, Das die frucht all sy verlorn! (46.1-12)

Hail sowers have come as well. Welcome here, pious ones. Did the devil send you here? Wherever you are, there is no happiness. Look, is it not a wonder that old women are so blind and have such great vindictiveness in their hearts that they inflict sorrow and pain to an entire kingdom by sowing hail, destroying the wine and grain that is lost?

Although one can see this scene as evidence for an explicit pairing of foolishness and satanic imagery, as Könneker does,103 Murner’s emphasizes their intention just as much as he does their ability. The witches are blindt, and the grosses rach (great vindictiveness or hatred) is designed to portray them as emotionally wounded, almost pathetic creatures.

Lines 19-23 are a prayer to God, but in it Murner hardly mentions supernatural powers.

The would-be sorceresses have, Murner admits, sold their soul to the devil, but he is more

102 Könneker (1966) 171-173 103 Ibid. 208-247. The entire chapter (“Murners Narrenbegriff und die Teufelsvorstellung des späten Mittelalters” [Murner’s idea of the Fool and the Image of the Devil in the late Middle Ages]) documents the growing similarities between the fool and the devil, whereby the witch is also handled. A conflation between devils and fools were especially present in Easter humor, such as the comical sermons and Ostermärchen (Wendland [1980] 44-45).

42 concerned for their spiritual well-being than he is afraid of any possible curses. The characterization continues in 28-34, especially in: “wie bist so blindt in disen sachen, /

Das du wenst, du kynnest machen / Wetter | hagel | oder schne, / kinder lemen | darzuo me, / Uff gesalbten stecken faren!” (How blind are you in these things, that you’d think you could change the weather, make it hail or snow, to make children lame or other things, like flying on anointed rods; 46.31-34). The second line is pure skepticism. the witches deceive themselves into imagining power, but their perceived abilities reflect internal resentment that designates them the status of hagel sieder regardless of any possible supernatural element or lack thereof. The focus on intent returns at the conclusion: “Vil sindt, wann sy nit schaden kynnen, / So thuondt sie doch den schaden gynnen / Vnd fröwent sich eins andern fall: / Das sindt die hagel sieder all” (There are many who, when they cannot harm others, are still pleased with the harm and are happy when others fall. Those a hail sowers; 46.63-66). Although a fear of witches was certainly present in the 16th century, the scene is focused on the witches’ malevolence and disregard of God’s judgement (46.60-62).

A final minor example can be seen in Erasmus’s Julius Excluded from Heaven (1516), where Pope Julius II unsuccessfully attempts to bully St. Peter into admitting him into heaven. St. Peter’s criticism, “You were the salt that had lost its savour and a fool”

(197), is an allusion to Matthew 5:13 “Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost his savour, wherewith shall it be salted? it is thenceforth good for nothing, but to be cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men” (see also Luke 14:34 and Mark 9:50), but the use of the word “fool” reveals the exact nature of Julius’s transgression. He is guilty of too many sins to count, but two failures stand out among the rest: he has neglected to

43 preach the gospel Christ and has “excommunicated” St. Peter (197). Both actions point to a complete misunderstanding of the Pope’s responsibilities to Christendom and God and signify a spiritual estrangement from the latter. Julius’s metaphysical foolishness is re-enforced by his repeated emphasis on worldly power, and his final outburst, a declaration of war against St. Peter, is reminiscent of the traditional story of Satan’s fall from heaven.

A short investigation of the fool, and especially one handling Brant and Murner

(roughly contemporaneous with Eulenspiegel), does not exhaust everything that has been said or remains to be said about the fool or even about Brant or Murner. Nevertheless, a working definition of the term fool allows for a comparison with the trickster as an anthropological phenomenon. Both character types are defined by the key trait of opposing a religious orthodoxy. The trickster’s inherent dependency on ambiguity precludes any long-term reconciliation with spiritual authorities: Loki is an enemy of the gods, a reluctant helper, or a fellow traveler, but he is never an integrated member of the

Aesir. The fool, on the other hand, is defined by his intellectual/mental status. He can be motivated by physical desires, as we see in chapter 16 of Narrenschiff, “von fullen und prassen” (On gluttony), but the emphasis on hunger, sexual appetite, and similar drives are only a problem insofar as they are, in the fool’s mind, more important than God.

Narrenschiff’s 86 chapter “von verachtung gottes” (On Despising God) is an especially relevant example, as it dispenses threats of eternal damnation and paints a grim picture of fools jeopardizing their salvation for short-term material gain.

Eulenspiegel the Trickster-Fool?

S1515’s historical proximity to Narrenschiff, Narrenbeschwörung, and the genre of

Reihenspiele gives Eulenspiegel the appearance of a fool. The redactor was aware of the similarities. Eulenspiegel’s semi-willful misuse of language is occasionally rewarded with insults like Tor and Narr. For example, in H. 50 the tailors of Rostock mock their visiting colleagues and ask them “warumb sie dem Landthoren und Narren hätten glaubt und gefolgt” (why did they believe and follow the fool; 147) after Eulenspiegel’s trick.

Eulenspiegel is called a “Schalcksnar” in H. 62 (177). In H. 64, Eulenspiegel introduces himself as “Bartho-lo-me-us,” and despite the intentional separation of the tho and lo syllables, the merchant responds “Daz ist ein langer Nam, man kan den nit bald nennen.

Du solt Doll heißen,” (That’s a long name one can’t say quickly. You shall be called

Doll [Doll means fool]; 182, emphasis mine) an obvious wink to the audience.

Despite the insults, Eulenspiegel’s connection with fools remains superficial. The term Schalk (spellings vary) appears with more regularity. Nevertheless, scholarship continues to label Eulenspiegel a fool to this day, though the compromise term

Schalksnarr is also used (as it has precedent in the text).104 Aichmayr calls Eulenspiegel a fool, but his definition – “eine Figur, die mit ihrem Verhalten ein didaktisches Anliegen im Sinne einer moralischen Belehrung verfolgt” (A figure who pursues the didactic goal of moral instruction with his behavior)105 addresses different issues (namely authorial intent) and literary contexts, elements which could just as well be applied to non-fool characters. In any case, Eulenspiegel remains as uninterested in pedagogy as he is in

104 Wunderlich (1986) 39-43. Although Wunderlich calls Eulenspiegel a “Narr,” he conflates this with “Schalk” and emphasizes Eulenspiegel’s destructive qualities. 105 Aichmayr (1991) 37

45 social mobility. He lives and dies a pauper, never attempts a revolution, and never seeks widespread public enlightenment.

Eulenspiegel is not dismissive towards God (the question never turns up), nor does his antagonism towards the clergy point to a disregard for his salvation as much as a natural tendency to trick. Although Eulenspiegel insults the clergy even on his deathbed, the ambiguous word wunderlich (strange or wonderful; 266) suggests more of a trickster-like existence and, more importantly, offers no moral judgements. Eulenspiegel’s most obvious demonic elements also remain unaddressed by the author. When the narrator mentions skill “mit der schwartzen Kunst” (with black magic 188) in H. 65, it is an isolated incident which is never mentioned again. Schüppert contemplates the possibility of a Faustian Eulenspiegel,106 but such a reading ignores the prank’s dependency on

Eulenspiegel’s rival for ideas: the horse merchant’s personal quirk – tugging at horses’ tails – rendered magic necessary.

At first glance, Eulenspiegel appears to be both fool and trickster, and thus to represent an intersection of semi-oral tradition and high literary culture. A conflation of the two archetypes offers a seductive image: one imagines writers, teachers and philosophers congratulating themselves on taking a popular folklore character and blending him with erudite philosophical/theological ideas.107 A closer investigation reveals that the combination is probably superficial, and that Eulenspiegel’s trickster nature led to his adoption of fool-like qualities but without the underlying significance.

He enjoys a good meal, he attacks authority figures, and he is areligious. However, these

106 Schüppert (1989) 26 107 Schulz-Grobert (1999) 275 (as cited above)

46 motivations exist as part of the storytelling pattern, not as an inherent character trait.

Like the fool, Eulenspiegel may make decisions that are not in his best interest as we would understand him, as in his decision to forfeit a money purse in H. 67 (196).

Nevertheless, the underlying structure of the story suggests that Eulenspiegel got what he wanted: he was able to insult an alte Bürin (old peasant woman), thereby getting the last laugh. An identical tendency defines his deathbed stories. When Eulenspiegel’s mother arrives, not a word is said about spiritual matters. The redactor may have intended the grouping of deathbed stories to imply an irreligious mindset, but the attitude is an incidental side effect of the individual stories, not a feature of Eulenspiegel’s mindset.

Eulenspiegel has qualities of two literary types, the trickster and the fool, which are aggravated by a general proximity to Carnival elements, but he does not share the metaphysical qualities of either. He is a trickster insofar as he partakes in the general narrative form of splitting the difference between any two presented choices. The entire religious/metaphysical apparatus often associated with tricksters in other societies is absent, and occasional hints in that direction (as in H. 50) are either coincidences or have no influence of Eulenspiegel’s general modus operandi. Eulenspiegel’s fool elements are, on the other hand, superficial. They are not accidental, as the fool shares the trickster’s drive to reject orthodox thought. Eulenspiegel acts like a fool, looks like a fool, and occasionally even dresses like a fool, despite the lack of a consistently self- destructive attitude and the absence of the serious theological/philosophical underpinnings of the 16th century. The external appearance of folly – the ability to say

“No” to normative expectations of thought and behavior – was enough to attract attention.

Eulenspiegel and Trickster Literature in the Middle Ages – Pfaffe Amîs

A short excursion into the intertextual relations between S1515 and PA will conclude this chapter. Such a comparison offers insight into the adaptation practices of the 16th century and into Eulenspiegel’s status as a literary trickster.

Setting the Playing Field – The Introduction of Pfaffe Amîs

Der Stricker’s PA (between 1220 and 1250 AD) survives in 12 manuscripts (2 fragments) from the 13th to the late 15th centuries and one print.108 The texts are not uniform. For example, print P (1481/1482) anticipates S1515 by breaking the individual

Binnenepisoden (internal episodes) into shorter units accompanied by illustrations, although the divisions do not align completely with the stops in narrated action.109 That a general trend towards dividing longer narratives into episodes is not unusual for the 15th century can be seen in examples like Fortunatus, Narrenschiff and S1515. More insight about key difference between the two biographies can be gained from a comparison of

S1515 with the earlier 12th-century manuscripts, such as H (Universitätsbibliothek

Heidelberg, cod. pal. germ. 341).

Amis’s conformity to the external factors of the trickster archetype can be seen in a two-fold motivation of his actions at the opening of the poem and shortly after the death of the bishop, Amis’s first antagonist. The introduction superficially condemns Amis as the first liar: “Nu saget uns der Stricker, / wer der erste man wer, / der liegen triegen aneviench” (Now Der Striker will tell us of the first man who began to lie and deceive;

39-41), but the statement is not entirely negative. Amis, who is responsible for

108 Geith et al. (1995) 418, 427-429. Schilling’s Nachwort to the Reclam edition (Universalbibliothek 658) edition also lists the texts (Schilling [2007] 180-185). 109 Melters (2004) 150

48 humanity’s decline into sin, resembles the culture hero in discovering how to lie.110 It is unclear whether Amis originally intended to resort to dishonest methods,111 but the theme is dropped almost immediately, which renders the question of Amis as a possible culture hero moot.

The introduction also pairs Amis’s deceptive tendencies with a surprising generosity:

Er vergap so gar, daz er gewan beide durch ere und durch got daz er der milde gebot zu keinen zeiten ubergie. Er enphiench die geste unde lie baz dan imant tet und dan er stat hete. (48-54)

He even gave everything he gave for the sake of God and his reputation. He never transgressed against the command of generosity, but entertained and left his guests better than anyone ever could have and better than he could afford.

The emphasis on milte (generosity) is reminiscent of the chivalric ethos, as noted by

Melters,112 and probably eased audience identification with the character. The trait receives additional emphasis in the second introduction, where it almost bankrupts him

(318-324) and, as Melters observes, forces him into a series of adventures similar to chivalric romance in episodic structure.113 In both cases, Amis’s hospitality remains a constant element of his identity and does not conflict with his later situational need for dishonesty.

110 Hyde in particular notes that the culture hero/trickster’s biggest accomplishment is often the invention of deceit (Hyde [1998] 55-63). 111 Könneker claims that Amis’s recourse to deception took place “keineswegs freiwillig” (not at all willingly; Könneker [1970] 249) and that he only began to play tricks as a last resort against the priest’s attempts to subdue him (Ibid. 249-250). 112 Melters (2004) 109-112 113 Ibid. 112-118

Amis’s generosity is related to his prankishness through the existence of a pressing financial need. Although Röcke’s idea of a narrator critical of Amis’s supposed wastefulness and dishonest intent114 runs counter to the positive characterization shaped by the invocation of milte, he is correct that the generosity does cause a problem for

Amis. The motivation sends Amis out into the world and acts as a drive roughly identical to the appetite tricksters often have in oral traditions.115 Just as the trickster sets out to feed himself, Amis feels an external pressure which motivates action. The cause never reappears in the individual stories (as noted by Melters),116 but it explains what Amis intends to do with the collected money and gives the character more depth than a shallow desire to wrong others. The resemblance between Amis and the trickster does not appear to be accidental, but rather an adaptation of traditional techniques in order to explain the character’s dishonesty, to act as a catalyst for the subsequent anecdotes, and to ensure audience identification with the protagonist.

When Amis retires at the end of the poem, all sense of moral culpability disappears and he receives an entirely positive characterization.117 Amis enjoys 30 years “in den eren” (in prestige; 2261), enters a cloister, and becomes an abbot. His success there is marked by the improved ethical character of his actions: “Sich gebezzert aller sin rat / und vleiz sich sere an rechte tat” (his mindset changed and he acted righteously; 2277–

2278). Although it is only briefly discussed, Amis’s happy ending appears to be an authorial endorsement of his actions, especially in comparison with the earlier

114 Röcke (1987) 54-55 115 Hyde (1998) 17-23, 63, and passim 116 Melters (2004) 111 117 Also noted by Könneker (Könneker [1970] 252).

Spielmannsdichtung (pre-courtly epic) König Rother. There, the protagonist (Rother) is an almost entirely positive character: he defeats Constantine, his rival, twice, marries a princess, and stabilizes the Holy Roman Empire before joining a cloister (the poem breaks off before the end, but another conflict is unlikely). Amis’s similar retirement suggests an equivalent moral standing with the more idealized and traditionally heroic

Rother, as though his adventures were no more immoral that Rother’s bridal quest narrative and semi-crusader military victories.

Amis’s positive characterization also creates a contrast between an ideal past and the ethically corrupt present,118 as seen in Der Stricker’s description:

hie vor war zuch und ere geminnet also sere, wo ein man zu hove quam, daz man gerne von im vernam seitenspil singen unde sagen. Daz waz geneme in den tagen. Ditz ist nu allez so unwert, Daz sin der sechste niht engert (1-8)

Earlier was good breeding and proper action desired so strongly that in court men (lit. “a person”) desired to hear songs and retellings of them. That was pleasing in those days. Now it’s regarded as so worthless that the sixth person doesn’t desire it.

The moral decay gives the audience the tools to account for both contradictory elements of Amis’s behavior. He is generous because of the standard practices of his time period, and such hospitality does not conflict with his willingness to become dishonest when necessary. Amis’s portrayal is motivated by the setting of the narrative and with plot developments outside of his control. In order for Amis to experience the social pressure

118 Könneker [1970] 246-248

51 necessary for liegen and triegen, he must first attract the bishop’s attention through his generosity, which in turn has roots in a culture of hospitality. Der Stricker’s low view of

13th-century society and his willingness to depict an overly-idealistic alternative are examples of a Motivation von hinten: everything is directed at explaining the background of a paradoxically extravagant trickster. The protagonist’s character may suffer from internal contradictions, but from the perspective of the overarching structure of PA, his generosity and his dishonesty form a coherent whole.

Pfaffe Amis’s and Eulenspiegel’s Pranks

S1515 borrowed H. 17, H. 27 – H.29, and H. 31 from PA.119 An investigation of both characters as possible trickster figures allows for an understanding of the texts as partially literary, partially oral sources and eliminates the need for a direct relation between S1515 and a single manuscript or manuscript family of PA. Three examples will be investigated: Amis’s and Eulenspiegel’s riddling duel with the bishop/university professors, their attempts to teach a donkey to read, and the false painting episode. The first two have been chosen for their unique status in Amis’s biography. There Amis is not trying to coax money out of a victim, but he is instead struggling against an authority figure.120 The last episode has been chosen because of the presence of a secular medieval hierarchy. In all cases, the equivalent episodes in S1515 reveal how the trickster dynamic remains preserved despite important societal developments.

In PA, the unnamed bishop grows envious of Amis’s fame and threatens to defrock him unless he can answer a series of insoluble riddles. In H. 28 of S1515, Eulenspiegel

119 Lappenberg (1854) 354 Kadlec (1916) 13-41, more recently Schulz-Grobert (1999) 201. The general dependency is common knowledge. 120 Kolb (1974) 191

52 arrives in Bohemia and provokes the professors into an identical dispute. The change in the respective opponent immediately alerts the reader to cultural differences. While the university setting and allusions to Jan Hus and John Wycliffe suggest an indictment of medieval scholasticism in S1515,121 an equivalent reading is impossible for PA. Amis’s conflict with the bishop is a private competition and a struggle from within a clerical system, whereas Eulenspiegel’s conflict is that of an outsider against an intellectual bureaucracy. Furthermore, the episodes play different roles in their respective texts. Der

Stricker’s responses lead to an escalation until the frustrated bishop demands Amis teach a donkey to read, thereby creating a continuity with the next episode. H. 28 and H. 29 are distinct single episodes and have neither a causal link (a thematic one exists) nor long- term narrative consequences.

The content of the riddles merits some background information. While the hypothesis of an indigenous Northern European practice is tempting and was in vogue during the

Romantic era,122 it has since fallen out of fashion. Riddle traditions are universal, appearing in both literary and non-literary societies,123 and the European/high courtly context of PA suggests a learned, clerical tradition tracing back to Latin,124 and eventually Greek125 literature. Riddles had already become standard clerical practice in

121 Classen (1998) 255-256. Geith et al. note that the questions were also “in theologisch-physikalischen Dialogen und Florilegien weit verbreitet” (widespread in theological-physic disputes and literary anthologies) in Der Stricker’s time (Geith [1995] 436). 122 Tomasek (1999) 259 and 265 123 Greenway (1964) 67-70, and Propp (1985) 6 and elsewhere. Greenway also devotes chapter six of his A Primitive Reader (1965) to riddles. 124 Bismark/Tomasek (2003) 212-214 125 Tomasek (1994) 104

Northern Europe by the Old High German period,126 and PA’s joke questions

(Scherzfrage[n]) seem to have originated in this setting.127

The entire altercation resembles an interrogation – Sassenhausen characterizes it as a social ritual constructed by the bishop as a way to attack Amis.128 Amis’s subordinate position gives the bishop reason to expect an easy victory: “Ir habt den habch angerant”

(“You have run into the hawk,” roughly the equivalent to the American idiom you’re out of your league; 100).129 The questions are not meant to be answerable. They are expressions of the bishop’s power, and their intended purpose is not to test Amis’s intelligence, but to defeat him.130 Amis’s success lies in his ability to recognize the strong/weak dynamic, which he can then invert to save himself. His answers are unfalsifiable,131 and his appeals to the bishop’s authority in lines 110-114, 137-141, and

172-180 shift the burden of proof away from himself. By acknowledging the bishop’s higher social status, Amis reframes the conversation and escapes jeopardy by means of his inferior position. He neither submits to the bishop nor defies him, but instead creates the third option of compromising between the two possibilities.

126 Ibid. 156-158 127 Ibid. 86-89 128 Sassenhausen (2006) 66 129 Lexer notes: “den habech an rennen es mit einem aufnehmen, dem man nicht gewachsen ist” (to clash with someone who one is no match for; Lexer [1885/1992] 88). 130 Röcke states that the bishop holds social power over Amis (Röcke [1987] 56), but does not address any change in the power dynamics at play. Könneker makes an identical observation (Könneker [1970] 251). 131 According to Röcke, Amis appeals to the subjective nature of the question and thereby undermines every claim to objective truth (Röcke [1987] 57). Röcke does not argue that Amis avoids answering the question.

H. 28 (S1515) is, with the exception of the protagonist’s enemies, an identical farce also centered around the theme of pride.132 The riddles and their answers are identical

(insignificant stylistic changes notwithstanding). As an example, we can compare the answers to the question “how many days have passed since creation?”

“Der sint siben” so sprach er. “Nur 7 Tag, und so die umbhin “Also die ende haben genumen, kumen, so heben 7 ander Tag so sihet man aber siben kumen. an, daz wart bis zu End der Wie lange ouch die werlt ste, Welt.” (S1515 84). ir wirt ouch minner noch me.” (PA 124-128) [Eulenspiegel said:] “Only seven days, then seven other He said, “there are seven days. days begin, and it will remain When they have ended, one sees so until the end of the world.” seven more come. No matter how long the world exists there will never be more or less.”

Despite these similarities, the introduction of a university setting – one with an unusually detailed cultural background – complicates the interpersonal dynamic present in Amis’s struggle. The story is no longer set in a semi-historical vacuum (or a nondescript historical period), especially once John Wycliffe and Jan Hus have been mentioned (83).

The equation of a late medieval university with ridiculous questions has been attributed to a growing suspicion of scholasticism,133 but more important for a comparison with PA is the transformation of Eulenspiegel’s enemies into a collective (“Collegaten, Doctores und Magistri” [members of the university, doctors and magisters; 83]), which replaces the above weak/strong split with an insider/outsider dynamic. Eulenspiegel is not subordinate to them in any real sense but rather enters the university of his own volition.

132 Aichmayer (1991) 143-148 133 Classen (1998) 255-256. Aichmayr expresses similar thought, though he generalizes the findings to apply to universal human pride (Aichmayr [1991] 44). See also Aichmayr (1994) 93-95, 100-103.

Although a rector acts as the university’s representative on the exam day, the antagonism between the university as a unit and the outsiders is preserved. When

Eulenspiegel “bracht mit ihm seinen Wirt und etlich andere Burger und ettlich gute

Gesellen, umb Uberfalls willen, die ihm von den Studenten beschehen möchte” (brought with him his innkeeper and several residents and various craftsmen to prevent a physical assault from the students; 83), the presence of an entire group turns Eulenspiegel’s appearance into an invasion. No violence takes place, but the decision to bring non- students into the university adds nuance to the tradition of public debates and bursts the academic bubble. Eulenspiegel reshapes the conflict into a battle between different professional spheres and sides with the intruders (the Burger and Gesellen) against the university structure.

Amis’s position as a member of the clerical hierarchy grants him “in” status from the beginning. Public humiliation is never a danger (he could be defrocked, but that would be a change in group status), and the social mechanisms at play remain unquestioned.

Not even the bishop’s initial defeat draws Amis’s office into question, even though it allows the narrative to progress to the next episode. In contrast, Eulenspiegel remains a vagabond and social outsider his whole life,134 and the university’s humiliation does not spare him the necessity of fleeing Bohemia, as his marginalized position forces him to leave by default.

134 Bollenbeck (1985) 76. Wiswe also notes the very negative connotation Bote and his contemporaries attached to the idea of vagabonds (or Schalke/Schälke) (Wiswe [1989] 164-165, Wiswe [1989a] 178-181).

In PA, the stability of Amis’s social status is apparent in the segue to the next chapter.

The donkey-episode is treated as another riddle,135 and the bishop accepts all of Amis’s answers with a relaxed “Ir kunnet vil. / Da von ich niht enpern wil, / ir muezet mich damit eren / und einen esel die buch leren” (You are quite capable, but I demand that you honor me by teaching a donkey to read; 181-184). S1515 draws a clear line between the two challenges by placing the Eselsschwank (donkey story) in a separate chapter (H. 29).

Again Eulenspiegel is in a university, but the professors challenge Eulenspiegel’s privately (to avoid the humiliation in H. 28), and the rector takes over after the initial agreement, focusing attention on him and Eulenspiegel. PA and S1515 share the following plot (181-316 in PA): the characters train their student (the donkey) to mimic reading by placing oats between the pages of a book. When the bishop/rector visits,

Amis and Eulenspiegel use a new book, and their frustrated student brays when he fails to find oats. The noise is interpreted as vowels, and the tricksters claim victory. Both stories end with a minor deus ex machina to allow the plot to continue: the antagonist dies and Amis/Eulenspiegel dismisses his respective student.

The differences and parallels in the second challenge are consistent with the divergences of the previous episode: PA limits its narrative to an interpersonal struggle portrayed as a dialogue between superior and an inferior, while the context in S1515 is the university of Erfurt, even if the chapter later refocuses on the rector. The change from a collective to singular antagonist allows Eulenspiegel to depart at the end, since both he and Amis can only leave after the respective antagonist’s death:

135 Melters interpreted the Eselsschwank as the final episode of the continuous Bishop- story (Melters [2004] 111).

“Wir geleben nimmer drizick jar “Unser ist drei. Stirbet der alle drei, daz weiz ich fur war, Rector, so lig ich frei, stirb der esel sterbe oder ich dann ich, wer will mich oder der bisschof.” manen, stirbt dann mein (PA 221-224) Discipel, so bin ich aber ledig.” (S1515 87) “I’m sure all three of us will never live thirty years. Either the “There are three of us. If the donkey, the bishop, or I will die.” rector dies, I’m free. If I die, who will blame me? I’m also free if my student dies.”

Without the single antagonist, escape would have been impossible for Eulenspiegel. H.

29 is a compromise between the redactor’s attempt to criticize the university system and the structural requirement of the Schwank. He returns to the insider/outsider contrast with Eulenspiegel’s closing remark “Solt du die Esel zu Erdtfurt all weiß Machen, das würd vil Leibs bruchen.” (Should you make all the donkeys in Erfurt wise, it would require a great deal of effort; 88), which reframes the story as a struggle between

Eulenspiegel and the entire city.

The redactor of S1515 employs a consistent method in his adaption of both stories.

Whether he possessed a copy of PA cannot be proven (close parallels in sentence structure and the likelihood of a copy in Strasbourg suggest a familiarity), but the consistent replacement of the bishop in H. 28 and H. 29 serves the same purpose. The universities possess the qualities of large institutions and create a group-versus-individual contrast. Both faculties are characterized by negative stereotypical traits: a pride in elevated status (H. 28), and a claim to the exclusive possession of knowledge (H. 29).

Whereas the bishop of PA has both flaws, he has them only as an individual. The

58 universities are criticized as institutions, and Eulenspiegel’s pranks take on a satirical purpose not present in PA.136

One PA anecdote (496-798) remains to be discussed. During his travels, Amis arrives at Paris and boasts of his ability to paint portraits invisible to those born out of wedlock.

The impressed king agrees to pay him 600 marks for the feat. Amis accepts and enjoys a carefree life while neglecting his duties. After six months, the king returns and is presented with an empty hall but, unwilling to expose himself as a bastard, requests and is given an explanation of the depicted scenes: David, Alexander, the kings of Rome, and the king of France with a retinue. The king summons his knights and nobility and the bluff is repeated. The truth comes out when a tumber (fool) admits to seeing nothing.

After a short debate, the knehte (pages), knights, and eventually the king admit their folly, but by then it is too late: Amis has characteristically left with the money.137 S1515’s version, H. 27, offers only minor changes: Eulenspiegel deceives a landgrave of Hesse, not a king, and cites an entirely fictitious ancestry without reference to antique history

(78-79). Eulenspiegel is also banished at the end of the chapter.

Minor variations point to key differences in 13th- and 16th-century political realities.

Ackermann notes Der Stricker’s allusions to the doctrine of translatio imperii by way of

Alexander, Darius, and other kings.138 The king’s admiration for his presumed ancestry, even though the painting is not actually there, demonstrates the dependency of court

136 Könneker notes that, despite a wide range of opinions, nearly all scholars agree that the redactor’s satiric aims failed – though she saw the text as a jeremiad (Könneker [1991a] 210-211). 137 Böcking-Politis (2010) 66, 72-73. Böcking-Politis discusses Amis’s ability to disappear at the right moment in the context of the adventures in Constantinople. 138 Ackermann (2008) 397

59 society on general consensus: although the painting is blank, everyone feels compelled to praise the absent figures.139 The regal court is rendered an object of mockery and Amis is able to profit from their refusal to acknowledge the reality of the situation.140 A similar discussion of the medieval doctrine of the salvation history is absent in S1515, as is any real social stratification. The court exists almost exclusively of knights and the retinue of the landgrave’s wife (80), but no distinction from within either group (which is divided along gender lines) is made with the exception of the lone Thörin (female fool; 80).

In PA, a fool is the first to doubt the reality of the painting, but soon afterwards the realization climbs up the social rank: the pages begin to agree (767), then the knights

(779), and then the entire court “wan der kunich aleine, / untz er wol vernam, / waz im zu reden gezam” (except the king alone until he realized what he was expected to say; 786-

788). The traditional hierarchical relationship of the medieval court is inverted and the king becomes an object of general disdain: “Do wart ein vil grozer spot / da zu hone im ein schal” (there was great mockery and scorn towards the king; 794-795). As H. 27 does not include rank distinctions, a similar gradual enlightenment is impossible. That everybody is fooled together is made clear afterwards when they enter the court and simultaneously come to the same realization: “Da gieng der Fürst des andern Tags in den

Sal mit allem seinem Hoffgesint, ob jemans etwaz Gemälts sehen kunt. Aber nieman künt sagen, der etwaz sähe.” (The next day the prince went into the hall with his entire court to determine if anyone could see a painting. But there was nobody who could claim to see anything; 81). Additionally, the landgrave/prince addresses the entire aristocracy

139 Ibid. 400-403 140 Ibid.

60 at the end: “Nun sehen wir wol, daz wir betrogen seint, und mit Ulenspiegel hon ich mich nie bekümern wöllen” (“Now we see that we have been betrayed, although I never wanted to have dealings with Eulenspiegel;” 81). By associating himself with the rest of his court, the prince avoids becoming vulnerable to disdain as an individual and divides the onus for naiveté among his retinue.

At the end of the farce, both tricksters are regarded differently by the court based on their relationship to the general public. In PA, Amis remains an integrated member of society. His victims do not criticize or indict him but grudgingly offer the following praise: “Der pfaffe ist ein karger man, / daz er sust gut gewinnen kan” (The priest is a cunning man if he can win money in this way; 797-798). In contrast, Eulenspiegel’s banishment at the hands of the landgrave emphasizes his outsider status:

„... Doch die zweihundert Gulden wöllen wir wol verdulden, so er dennocht ein Schalck mus bleiben und muß darumb unser Fürstenthom meiden.“ Also waz Ulenspiegel von Marckburg hinwegkumen und wolt sich fürter Molens nit mer annemen. (81)

“But we will tolerate the loss of the two hundred gilders, for [Eulenspiegel] will remain a scoundrel and is banished from our territory.” Thus Eulenspiegel left Marburg and did not want to concern himself with painting.

Although Eulenspiegel’s departure conforms with the general structure of his adventures, the redactor appears to invest significance to the landgrave’s banishment decree. In the preceding H. 25 and H. 26, Eulenspiegel travels throughout the duchy of Lüneburg despite the risk of execution if found, and H. 27’s position immediately following these stories continues a temporary portrayal of Eulenspiegel as an enemy of the nobility as a whole (whereas Amis’s milte had already established him as a member of this group).

A close reading of these farces reinforces the conclusions brought forth in the investigation of S1515’s reception of PA’s bishop episodes. Both texts portray tricksters as defined in this chapter, namely as characters capable of manipulating the assumptions present in a situation to derive their own solutions from obvious choices. When answering riddles, both protagonists split the difference between answering and refusing to answer questions by giving unfalsifiable non-answers. The Eselsschwank is solved when the donkey is taught to mimic reading, a compromise between teaching a donkey how to read (which is impossible) and failing to do so. In the final prank, Amis’s and

Eulenspiegel’s success lies in the ability to persuade their victims to deceive themselves into accepting the existence of a non-existent painting.

The superficial changes present in S1515’s adaptation show consistent underlying assumptions not present in PA. Amis is always treated as a member of the social order.

He is part of the same fraternity as the bishop, and his reactions to the latter’s challenges do not draw the institution of priesthood into question. When Amis cites his opponent’s authority, he may use it against him, but nevertheless, he affirms the hierarchical power structure. The bishop remains the bishop. Eulenspiegel replaces the medieval social structure with an insider/outsider dynamic, changing the message of the adapted stories.

The addition of a university in H. 28 allows Eulenspiegel to humiliate a segment of the population (82-87), and although H. 29 is not as explicit, the antagonisms remain constant. Finally, H. 27 redesigns Amis’s prank by simplifying the medieval hierarchy, turning it into a homogenous group and eliminating the criticisms of courtly society.

Both heroes resemble the universal trickster, but they are featured in different literary environments. The variability in the motifs present in PA and S1515 show a variability

62 reminiscent of (but not identical to) oral storytelling: a basic structure was maintained despite secondary, almost superficial changes in form. Although a contrast between literary and oral narratives certainly exist, 12th-century and even 16th-century storytellers did not see either as completely static. Eulenspiegel’s adaption of Amis’s pranks were free to change the implicit power struggles, as such changes have no effect on the tricksters’ method.

Chapter 2: Hagiographic Background, Chronology, and

Chapter Arrangement in S1515

Introduction

As the previous chapter discusses the narrative background and general pranking method of the Eulenspiegel character, we can now investigate the structure of the S1515 text in light of current scholarly work on the arrangement and connection between unrelated anecdotes. Recent studies, especially Schulz-Grobert’s Das Straßburger

Eulenspiegelbuch and Johannes Melters’s Der Schwankroman im Mittelalter und Früher

Neuzeit (both introduced in chapter 1), address the possible relations between the

"Eulenspiegel-Vita" (Schulz-Grobert's term)141 and Saints' Lives. Schulz-Grobert’s hypotheses of a structure derived from contemporary Vitas of Sts. Elizabeth of

Hungary/Thuringia and Fridolin of Säckingen142 propose an affinity between the two genres and cast new light on earlier discussions of the structure of S1515. Melters disagrees with Schulz-Grobert and draws parallels with other works in the Schwank genre, which he claims had already developed an independent focus on episodic storytelling.143 This chapter combines Schulz-Grobert’s findings – especially those concentrating on individual motifs – with a close reading of the entirety of the S1515 text and argues that hagiographic form was instrumentalized to allow readers to navigate the so-called chapbook at ease, finding well-known popular stories quickly for retellings.

The history of the reception of saints as literary figures in medieval Europe has been

141 Schulz-Grobert (1999) 177 142 Ibid. 168-177 143 Melters (2004) 126-133

64 well documented, and some general information can give context to the main arguments of this chapter. Williams-Krapp has catalogued approximately 3,500 legends in 14th- to

16th-century vernacular German (including Middle Dutch).144 He links the popularity of the genre to lay saint veneration and the general rise of literacy.145 Various reform movements of the 14th and 15th centuries also brought about an explosion of devotional literature (including, but not limited to Saints’ Lives) to meet the needs of this new reading audience.146 An initial (pre- and early 14th-century) strict divide along

North/South (Low German/Dutch and High/Upper German) linguistic lines was later overcome with the advent of the printing press.147 The rise in the genre’s popularity among secular readership eventually (around the end of the 15th century) led to a more critical view of hagiographic writing.148 Pre-Reformation theologians and later reformers dismissed the genre as historically untrue,149 with attacks reaching a high point in

Luther's disavowal of the genre as a "Mittel der katholischen Volksverdummung" (means

150 of Catholic stultification of the populace).

Williams-Krapp links lay interest in hagiographies to the appearance of legendaria, collections of multiple saints’ lives,151 so a short introduction to the tradition within

German-speaking Europe is needed. Jacobus de Voragine’s 1267 compendium Legenda

Aurea (The Golden Legend), a high point of the genre, can serve as a starting point. It

144 Williams-Krapp (1986) 381-472, Williams-Krapp (2012a) 209-210 145 Williams-Krapp (2012a) 211, 214 146 Williams-Krapp (2012) 33-34. For a history see Elm (1980) (cited in Williams-Krapp [2012] 34). 147 Williams-Krapp (2012) 30-33 148 Williams-Krapp (1986) 370-375 149 Williams-Krapp (2012b) 256-260 150 Williams-Krapp (1986) 371, Williams-Krapp (2012a) 225 151 Williams-Krapp (1986) 367-368

65 was translated into German seven times.152 One translation, the 14th-century Elsässische

LA (hereafter ELA),153 was the most widely distributed and popular version (Kunze counts 25 manuscripts).154 It enjoyed extensive secular popularity in the area around

Strasbourg,155 the city of the later S1515. It was more successful than the other

(Bavarian, Austrian, East Franconian and East Middle German) translations of the

Legenda Aurea, all of which failed to compete with verse legendries.156 A later collection, Der Heiligen Leben (The Lives of the Saints, hereafter Leben), was compiled in Nuremberg around 1400,157 probably by the Dominicans for the nuns of their order over the course of late 14th-century reforms.158 It would prove to be the “erfolgreichste volkssprachliche Legendenwerk des europäischen Mittelalters” (the most successful vernacular collection of legends in the European Middle Ages).159 Its circulation expanded beyond Nuremberg after 1430160 and reached Strasbourg in 1483, where it eliminated the ELA as a competitor.161 Johannes Grüninger, the later printer of S1515, had it in his workshop by 1502.162 It would continue to have readers into the 18th

152 Williams-Krapp (1979) 253. Williams-Krapp also mentions a Dutch version which “danach ins Mittelfränkische und ins Niederdeutsche umgesetzt wurde und dort auch starke Verbreitung fand” (was later translated into Middle Franconian and into Low German and was also circulated in those areas; Ibid.). He does not seem to calculate these versions into his final tally. 153 Williams/Williams-Krapp (1980) XIV 154 Kunze (1970) 268. Kunze also lists 25 manuscripts and describes their relations to each other. 155 Kunze (1986/1987) 55, 62-64 156 Williams-Krapp (1979) 254 157 Williams-Krapp (1986) 189 158 Ibid. 297-298 159 Williams-Krapp (2012a) 213 160 Williams-Krapp (1986) 303 161 Ibid. 47 162 Ibid. 237, 305

66 century.163

Although hagiographic literature, as Kunze noted, does not reflect spiritual practice,164 and although lay and clerical understandings of sainthood changed throughout the late

Middle Ages, one can observe parallels between widespread interest in saints as intercessors and in hagiographic literary practice. Vauchez’s study of the late medieval process of sanctification between 1185 and 1431 emphasizes the divide between popular spirituality and official doctrine, which he characterizes as “a confrontation ... between the culture of the dominant strata ... and that of the subordinate classes, which provided many of the witnesses” of the miracles required for a saints’ acceptance into late medieval canon.165 In other words, lay persons developed and spread stories of a prospective saint’s miracles and teachings, while the church later confirmed the individual’s holiness (and simultaneously underemphasized the role of supernatural events).166 After 1300, religious literature focused on “the gratuitous nature of divine election, independent of whatever merits the person might accumulate,”167 but saints were still “presented in an attractive and racy way”168 to inspire veneration.169 The composition of Saints’ lives shows a similar divide between popular and official understandings of the given subject: on one hand, there are the faith communities (the equivalent to Vauchez’s “subordinate classes”) that supply the material which forms the

163 Brand et al (1996) XV-XVI 164 Kunze (1986/1987) 55 165 Vauchez (1988) 3 166 Ibid. 531 167 Ibid. 527-528, 533 (quote of 533) 168 Ibid. 531 169 Ibid. 526-527. Vauchez emphasizes the influence of earlier hagiographic tradition on later canonization processes (533-534)

67 basis of the Vita, and the “dominant strata” of hagiographic writers, who compile the text, on the other. While lay people developed oral accounts of actions, miracles, and teachings, a member of the church hierarchy collected and composed the Saint’s Life, thereby giving popular tradition a concrete form170 – or, as Heffernan formulates it, the priest or monk "[coalesced] the myth-making powers of the community around its paradigms," and "interpreted for the community what was only partially understood."171

The resulting Vita had to validate or conform to the general populace’s understanding for approval and consumption.172 Hagiographies reflect contemporary perceptions of sainthood insofar as both the Saints’ Lives and extra-textual devotion are dependent on the interactions between lay religiosity and church dogma. Although the current chapter is focused on narrative traditions, the similarities between the written texts and the cult practices point to an interdependency between a literate, clerical authority and their audience.

All medieval hagiographies share the same ideas of intent, rhetoric, [historical] truth, and the text as communal property. In the center stood the Saint and his relation with a

God who has no qualms with using supernatural power to steer events, a correspondence

Hans-Peter Ecker called "der Einbruch des Absoluten in die Sphäre des Bedingten" (the intrusion of the absolute into the sphere of the conditional).173 The saint existed as an opportunity to see God’s work in action. His or her complete dedication to a transcendent God was also reflected in the narrative's use of language: the author

170 Feistner (1995) 84-88, Heffernan (1988) 18-25 171 Heffernan (1988) 18-22, 34-37 172 Ibid. 20-22 173 Ecker (1993) 126-131

68 employs an expressly simple style (ordo naturalis) and emphasizes the truth of the events, thereby directing attention away from the work’s rhetoric and onto its content.174

The idea of the truth of a narrative is also understood differently. Whether a story merited belief depended not on the veracity of the deeds but on its depiction of God’s omnipotence.175 The Saints and their acts were understood as microcosmic representations of the Salvation History and as representatives of God’s power.176 One could almost claim that their miracles were real a priori, or, at the very least, that the

177 borders between possibility and reality were fluid.

The mechanics of hagiographic prose have been documented by Feistner. The most noteworthy section of a saint’s biography is the so-called "middle period" between birth and death, where a "Prinzip der Reihung" (sequence principle) holds almost complete dominance over the arrangement of chapters or events.178 Here, the hagiographies maintain an openness which allows them to collect stories from other sources until the texts begin to resemble each other in a stereotypical fashion (eventually leading to the criticisms of the Reformation).179 The individual anecdotes remained separate, and the episodic nature allowed for constant variability in the number of included stories.180

Arrangement could be determined by chronological or thematic sequences, defined by

Feistner as follows: “die Reihung in chronologischer Abfolge” (the sequence in

174 Decuble (2002) 20-22 175 Schreiner (1966) 141 176 Dorn (1967) 152-154 177 Schreiner (1966) 141-142 178 Feistner (1995) 44-45. This principle could even interrupt post-vitam miracles. 179 Decuble (2002) 43. Williams-Krapp makes the same observation in the context of Leben (Williams-Krapp [1986] 350-352). 180 Feistner (1995) 45-47

69 chronological progression) and “die Reihung nach bestimmten Themenbereichen bzw.

Tugenden” (the sequence according to certain themes or virtues).181 The second method is especially noteworthy because of the flexibility inherent in the words “theme” or

“virtue.” Individual anecdotes discussing a centralized concept – for example, the saint’s disregard for individual wealth – or a narrative theme could follow each other despite subverting the general passage of time. The episode only needs to be relevant to be included. The dichotomy between the two connection types will be important for the investigation of Eulenspiegel's adult life, as many stories with similar "themes" follow each other but are also interrupted, which prevents a purely motif-based interpretation.

Two examples of a thematic continuity in hagiographies from different time periods, chosen from a large number of examples, will demonstrate the resilience of the second connection method and will set the stage for a later investigation of S1515. Near the end of Venantius Fortunatus’s Vita sanctae Radegundis (sixth century), an unnamed abbess facetiously threatens Radegund unless she frees a woman from demonic possession

(33).182 In the same chapter, the abbess later has Radegund help a laurel tree take to the soil. The narrator emphasizes the similar nature of both episodes with the statement “Nec illud praetereatur, quo est actum simillimum” (And that which was done in a most similar way should not be disregarded; 33) and even uses the word ioculariter (in jest; 33) twice to create a parallel. A similar case can be seen in the later Vita der heiligen Elisabeth

(originally composed between 1289 and 1297): in the fourth and fifth chapters of the seventh book, Konrad von Marburg first forbids Elisabeth from caring for the poor (De

181 Feistner (1995) 35 182 cited by chapter number

70 nimia elemosinarum effusione per magistrum Conradum restricta [Of the overgenerous outpouring of alms restricted by master Konrad; VII,4])183 and later the sick (De fervore et zelo erga animas infirmorum [Of the fervor and zeal towards the souls of the sick;

VII,5]). In both chapters, Konrad criticizes Elisabeth’s generosity and, in the first chapter, even slaps her. The accounts focus on the conflict between Elisabeth’s Christian generosity and her equally pious desire to obey a strict master. The repetition is easy to understand: once a story with certain properties is told, the author is reminded of similar events.

Eulenspiegel's Name and the Prologue

S1515 opens with a semi-iconic depiction of Eulenspiegel seated on a horse holding an owl (Eule) and mirror (Spiegel), his two namesakes. The triumphant pose suggests that both objects have significance in a manner reminiscent of Decuble’s observation that, in a hagiography, "Da alles beim Namen anfängt, muss angeblich etwas

Geheimnisvolles darin verborgen sein" (Since everything begins with the name [of a saint], something secret is presumably hidden there).184 The precise meaning of

Eulenspiegel’s name is never stated, but curiosity is piqued: the audience sees the objects, recognizes the protagonist, and tries to establish a rhetorical connection. Schulz-

Grobert’s argument, that "Es handelt sich bei ›Ulenspiegel‹ um den schlichten

Familiennamen des Vaters, der völlig selbstverständlich weitergegeben wird" (The name

Ulenspiegel is simply the Father’s family name and is passed down as a matter of course),185 misses an opportunity to look for a hidden meaning by rejecting the

183 cited by book and chapter number 184 Decuble (2002) 225 185 Schulz-Grobert (1999) 159

71 possibility. While the original meaning of the name Eulenspiegel (whose etymological background remains speculative)186 and general knowledge of his pre-chapbook existence187 had become irrelevant by the 16th century, the owl and mirror were both active symbols with a real, if somewhat unclear, importance. The close connection between Eulenspiegel and his namesakes is emphasized in the book: the owl and mirror appear both in H. 40 (122) and on Till’s tombstone in H. 96 (267). In both cases, the symbols were primarily associated with Till, not his father.

The owl had ambiguous representational worth in medieval and early modern art. On one hand, it was associated with solitude, wisdom, and Christ’s sacrifice for mankind.188

However, its nocturnal habits and supposed penchant for deceptive behavior also meant that it could represent Satan or the seven deadly sins.189 While the negative elements have more obvious connections with Eulenspiegel’s behavior, his vagabond lifestyle and isolation from the rest of humanity could be understood as a form of solitude, and his ability to trick others resembles a sort of superhuman wisdom. Lemmer and Blamires saw the owl’s appearance in the border illustrations of Brant’s Narrenschiff as evidence for a late medieval association between owls and foolishness,190 and it is possible that an ironic connection is also present in the name Eulenspiegel. In any case, both the owl and

Eulenspiegel share a marginalized status and inimical behavior, so the connection between the two, regardless of whether it was intentional or had an etymological basis, is

186 For a historical investigation of the name Ulensp(i)egel see Krogmann (1980), Hucker (1981), and Hucker (1983). 187 Sichtermann (1971) 30-35, Flood (1983) 278-291 188 Ferguson (1959) 8 189 Ibid., Blamires (2000) passim 190 Lemmer (1994) passim, Blamires (2000) 62-66

72 easy to understand.

The significance of mirrors is slightly more nuanced, but can still be extrapolated.

They possessed the expected allegorical value (giving people the means to identify themselves), and in cities, Schalksnarren would use mirrors to bring people to reflect on their individual shortcomings.191 The Latin root of the word Speculum "mirror" was also a term for legal codes such as the Sachsenspiegel, Schwabenspiegel, and later

Frauenspiegel, Pfaffenspiegel, and Laienspiegel,192 all of which emphasize the ability to play upon the audience’s identity. In connection to Eulenspiegel, the mirror’s meaning, especially insofar as it is combined with the owl, is not initially clear, but the general thrust of the combination is, at least, ambivalent, and likely outright negative.

A reading of Eulenspiegel as a possible Sündenspiegel (mirror of sins) or other form of allegorical representation had been addressed (and rejected) in chapter 1, but it is possible that the author still wanted to remind his audience of the genre. Such a trick is not surprising in light of the narrative pattern of hagiographies, where the saint’s name often alludes to just a few recognizable qualities. It can predict future events193 or the character’s role within salvation history,194 but it does not need to summarize the entire life into one single overarching theme. For example, the name of Mary Magdalene in the

ELA (and ultimately the Latin original) "iſt geſprochen ein bitter mer, wenne ſú in irme rúwen groſſe bitterkeit hette. Daʒ erʒěgete ſú do ſu von rúwen ſo ſere weinde daʒ ſú die

191 Wunderlich (1984) 39-40 192 Arendt (1978) 53. For an interpretation of Eulenspiegel's name as a more ambiguous combination of the negative and positive interpretations of both symbols, see Aichmayr (1991) 35-38 193 Haubrichs (1989) 210-212, Decuble (2002) 194 Dorn (1967) 152-154

73 füſſ unſers herren begoſ vnd woſch mit iren trehen" ([The name Mary] means a bitter sea, for she felt great bitterness in her regret, which she felt when she cried so much that she doused the feet of our Lord and washed them with her tears; 430). Her Vita contains more than that one biblical episode, but the etymology gives the impression that Mary’s life fits into a divine order before the narrative begins. By the same token, the associations between Eulenspiegel, the owl, and the mirror were unlikely to be intended as overarching motifs but were meant as suggestions, coming to the forefront when

Eulenspiegel carves them on the wall on one of his prank victims (122) or when the symbols reappear on his gravestone (267).195

Although S1515 lacks the traditional symbolic/allegorical qualities of a Spiegel-text

(where a single peasant represents all peasants, a priest represents all clerics, etc.), the presence of the mirror and the exhaustive number of stock figures render a connection between the text and the genre easy to make. The association is a useful error: by promising a text continuing a literary tradition, the redactor attracts both consumers of farce literature and those with an interest in allegorical texts. As long as there are exemplars of enough social classes to give the impression of a wide berth, the book appears to capture an entire society. Honegger’s observation regarding H. 21 – H. 86, namely that:

Schon eine oberflächliche Studie der Historienfolge zeigt, daß wir eine Art Ständebuch vor uns haben, das vom Adel über den Städter und den Bauern bis zu den Bettlern und Lahmen reicht.196

Even a superficial study of the chapters shows that we have

195 The etymologies of Saints’ names are absent in the later Leben (Williams-Krapp [1986] 271) but had likely become well-known common practice. 196 Honegger (1973) 114

a kind of book of estates before us, one reaching from the nobility, the city dwelling, and the peasant to the beggars and cripples. rings true as long as we emphasize the oberflächliche (superficial) nature of the redactor’s intent and neither expect consistency nor forget that the word der Spiegel in the title ultimately goes back to Eulenspiegel. The association between his actions and any personal failings of a given victim can appear and disappear as needed, relying on the audience’s natural confirmation bias to give any episode with pseudo-allegorical qualities special meaning. For example, Eulenspiegel might fool blacksmiths in both H. 40 and H.

41. In the former story, the smith deserves his punishment for making Eulenspiegel spend his first mealtime in the outhouse, while the latter story is an extended pun on the word wahrsagen (meaning to prophesy and to tell the truth) and there is no bitterness between Eulenspiegel and his victims. Only the first story has a Spiegel-like punishment, as implied by the owl and mirror carving over the smithy’s door at the end (122).

In the Vorrede, the redactor emphasizes Eulenspiegel’s widespread popularity and the social pressure behind the text’s construction. He claims to have been "durch etlich

Personen gebetten worden" (asked by various people; 7) to write the text and was continually pestered ("Aber mein Antwort wolten sie für kein Entschuldigen hon" [But they would not accept my answer for an excusal; 7]). The statements emphasize

Eulenspiegel’s general popularity and the presence of an oral tradition, especially as the redactor was only asked to “zesamenbringen und beschreiben” (to bring together and to describe [alt. to record]; 7) a number of presumably extant anecdotes. Whether all the stories were recorded or whether some were invented cannot be proven and is ultimately unimportant. They are presented as widespread oral tradition shared by a community of

75 like-minded people with similar values and interests.

The elements at play here resemble the background to the development of a saint as a cult object as described by Vauchez and Heffernan: the community supplies the stories, the clergy records them,197 and the community approves the final product as a “collective authority.”198 The composition and publication of S1515 are functionally identical, as is the intent to create an authoritative account of the protagonist.199 By extension, S1515 is meant to become the go-to source of information on the Eulenspiegel character. He may not be a religious figure, but the mechanics at play in the composition of the text are the same: there is a community, there are stories, there is a writer and there is an expectation that he make some sense of the collected material.

The redactor also emphasizes the ordo naturalis/sermo humilis. Sham humility and an inverse pride in simplistic language give him an air of earnest desire to ingratiate himself with the audience. When the redactor states that "Es ist auch in disem meinen schlechten

Schreiben kein Kunst oder Subteilicheit, dann ich leider der latinischen Geschrifft geleret und ein schlechter Lei bin" (There is no art of subtlety in my simple writing, for I am ignorant of Latin and an ordinary layperson; 7-8),200 he emphasizes his subservience towards a group of patrons he hopes to impress ("uff das ich nit Undanckt verdiene" [so that I do not receive ingratitude; 8]). S1515 becomes a communal work in the same way

197 Vauchez (1988) 4-8. Vauchez returns to the differences between “the people” and the “clerical and lay elite” throughout his study. For example, he emphasizes differences in the two groups’ understanding of miracles (whether they were signs of God’s favor or secondary representations of Christian virtue) on 527-534 and 536-537. 198 Heffernan (1988) 19-20 199 Ibid. 35 200 As Lindow notes, the author probably meant "ungeler[e]t", as later editions have (8n9). The adjective geleret (learned) is also at odds with other statements, like the redactor’s claim to be a "schlechter Lei" (lowly layman).

76 earlier Saints’ Lives are: instead of performing for an anonymous general public, the redactor presents himself as a member of a concrete social circle upon which he is ultimately dependent for approval.201

Despite popularity among non-clerical and non-noble audiences, saints rarely have modest backgrounds. As Decuble states, "Edlem Rang entspricht edler Charakter"

(Noble character corresponds to a noble rank),202 and Eulenspiegel proves this ex negativo: his antisocial behavior and sinful actions stem from a lack of good breeding, as emphasized in the introduction under the distinction eins Buren Sun (the son of a peasant). Although some scholars have used this social status to motivate Eulenspiegel’s actions – Bollenbeck sees him as a representative for a group of social outsiders203 and

Kirschner as a dangerous individual attacking the existing social order204 – the phrase is more useful as a shorthand for his lack of ethical integrity. No matter what the chosen pranking method is, whether his opponents have merited the abuse, or how they react to their misfortune, Eulenspiegel’s penchant for mischief and delinquency can be viewed in light of the absence of edler Charakter inherent in his peasant identity and point to the same quality, his amoral nature. Whereas most saints come from a privileged background, Eulenspiegel does not, and his interactions with others reflect this fact.

All the above paratextual elements, ranging from the implied background of a fluid popular tradition and an opportunistic use of the protagonist’s name to the focus on his

201 It should also be noted that the introduction was also lifted from the Wigoleis von Rade prose novel (Flood [1976] 151-156), but this does not render the introduction less sincere. 202 Decuble (2002) 102 203 Bollenbeck (1985) 73-124 204 Kirschner (1996) 91-97

77 identity as eins Buren Sun, suggest that the traditional factors which assume importance in hagiographic writing are also present here. All three traits have also discarded their religious meaning (as seen in the redactor’s self-identification as ein schlechter Lei [a lowly layperson]) and have adopted a secular function, namely to entertain and prevent melancholy (“Nun allein umb ein frölich Gemüt zu machen in schweren Zeiten” [Merely to make a happy state of mind in hard times; 7]). The previously hagiographical rhetoric is secularized, and Eulenspiegel’s life, although conforming to expected narrative rules, never signals God’s omnipotence or challenges religious norms. A complementary method of adaption can be seen in the narrative proper, Eulenspiegel’s Vita.

Eulenspiegel's Childhood

The biography opens with Eulenspiegel's birth and three-fold baptism: the first happens in a church, the second when his godmother falls off a bridge, and the third at home (9-11). The concluding sentence points to hagiographic tradition: "Da ward

Ulenspiegel eins Tags dreimal geteufft, einmal im Tauf, einmal in der Lachen und eins im Kessel mit warmen [sic] Wasser" (Thus was Eulenspiegel baptized three times in a day: once at the baptism, once in the pool of water, and once in the cauldron in warm water; 11). The Trinitarian symbolism is obvious (an event happens three times), but the joke is at the expense of the idea of the miraculous. A three-fold baptism would be a good thing (it means that someone has been admitted into the church three times), but is theoretically impossible and, more importantly, does not take place: the two subsequent baptisms are obvious non-religious events, only jokingly named such.

The irrationality in a triple baptism, combined with sacramental language – Tauf-

(baptism or baptismal) is used in some form twice in the above sentence and also appears

78 throughout the chapter (gedöfft [baptized], Douffgötel [godparent; 9] in the title,

Taufpfetter [godfather], Kindtöffe, Töffe [10] in the plot) – is reminiscent of the miracles in hagiographies, where impossible actions are presented in good faith as historical occurrences. No matter how unlikely, a saint’s actions would be accepted at face value because, not despite of, the unrealistic nature – as briefly mentioned above. Schreiner formulates this understanding of truth best with the observation that "Die Historizität vieler Heiligenwunder ist allein dadurch gesichert, daß Gottes Allmacht ohne Grenzen ist. Was Gott zu tun vermag, das tut er auch" (The historicity of many Saint’s wonders is assured through the simple fact that God’s omnipotence has no boundaries. Whatever

God can do, he does).205 Even if a miracle seems illogical, it is incontrovertible as an example of an "überzeitliche Wahrheit" (eternal truth).206 An unrealistic story can be accepted as true if the resulting message has religious worth. Were S1515 a saint’s life, a triplicate baptism could be accepted as a signal for the character’s blessed nature. The audience would not question it but rather use the episode as an opportunity to reflect on

God’s omnipotence.

However, the narrator was present for the entire event and the banal reality, namely that a baby got dirty and had to be washed, renders the exercise moot. Schulz-Grobert’s interpretation of the misadventure as an unsaintly inversion of an episode in Elisabeth of

Thuringia’s Vita (possibly borrowed from Konrad von Fussesbrunnen’s Kindheit Jesu), wherein a child is exposed to water but stays dry,207 is an overcomplicated reading.

205 Schreiner (1966) 141 206 Ibid. 143 207 Schulz-Grobert (1999), 168-179. Melters criticizes the interpretation on different grounds, namely the lack of evidence that S1515 was read as a parody of legends (Melters [2004] 131-132).

Although H.1 could be read as a prediction of Eulenspiegel’s later actions, the chapter is also humorous. It is a trivial occurrence and the final statement about the three-fold baptism is just a joke. The second and third baptisms are not religious ceremonies, and the disconnect between the claim and reality is humorous because it is ironic. It is decidedly neither miraculous nor dismissive of the miraculous.

Traditional hagiographies depict miracles at a child’s birth to set a foundation for the understanding of the saint’s later actions. Although that is incidental to the humor of the chapter, the same logic is present in H. 1, as the episode also predicts the mentality driving Eulenspiegel’s later behavior. The joke, which revolves around a misunderstanding of the phrase “dreimal geteufft” (baptized three times), replaces the meaning of baptism (entrance into the Christian community) with the gestures inherent to the sacrament (washing) and robs the practice of its ceremonial nature. The elevation of outward action over intended significance mirrors Eulenspiegel’s later literal- mindedness and general trickster nature. When Aichmayr observes that the baptismal episode as an earlier indication of Eulenspiegel's "von der Norm abweichendes Leben"

(life deviating from the norm),208 he is correct, but the episode also predicts a specific method of nonconformity: confusing desired action with a simpler, more immediate understanding.

The predictive element of H. 1 is not meant as a definitive pattern for all of

Eulenspiegel’s adventures and Eulenspiegel does not limit himself to one pranking style.

It is possible to interpret the scene in which the godmother “besudelt sich und das Kind so jämerlich, das daz Kind schier erstickt was” (dirtied herself and the child so miserably

208 Aichmayr (1991) 30

80 that the baby almost suffocated; 10) as a precedent for Eulenspiegel’s later scatological humor. However, that is not necessary, especially since the combination of puns and toilet humor leaves a handful of chapters unaccounted for. In those cases, Aichmayr’s interpretation is still valid as a general measuring stick: just as Eulenspiegel’s baptism does not follow expectations, so do his later actions deviate from normal behavior. This second meaning connects Eulenspiegel with stories not covered under the primary significance of H. 1 and allows the reader to synthesize a link between it and every chapter in S1515.

The following episodes, also childhood stories, have a similar prophetic element. In

H. 2, Eulenspiegel’s behavior is portrayed as instinctual: he “domlet” (to thrash around, here meant playfully) “[w]ie ein Aff” (like an ape; 12) and gains a reputation of Schalk by age of three. After Eulenspiegel’s father, Claus, witnesses his neighbor’s abuse of his son (but not Eulenspiegel’s provocations), he states “Du bist freilich in einer unglückseligen Stund geborn” (you were clearly born under an unlucky star; 13). The statement is not meant to be taken quite seriously, but it does get to the heart of the matter. The childhood stories, later H. 3 – H. 8, all demonstrate Eulenspiegel’s Schalk identity as an inborn disposition, not the result of his own choice. In H. 6, for example,

Eulenspiegel defends his laziness as an integral part of his identity with "Liebe Muter, wozu sich einer begibt, daz würt ihm sein Lebtag genug" (Dear mother, whatever one devotes himself to will provide for him throughout life; 19).

Eulenspiegel’s indifference towards his later career is an inversion of the puer senex

(old boy or wise youth) motif in which a young saint alludes to a later calling. The hagiographic tradition reaches back to the Gospel of Luke, where the young Jesus is

81 found at the temple and responds to his parents’ concerns with "How is it that ye sought me? wist ye not that I must be about my Father's business?" (Luke 2:49 KJV).

Eulenspiegel’s attitude is similar, if more negative: just like Jesus and the saints, he ignores the trivialities of daily life in confidence that his present activity (tricking others) will provide for him later. Schulz-Grobert came to a similar conclusion, albeit with an important distinction:

...im Gegensatz zu dem (legenden-)topischen ›puer senex‹ Fridolin zeichnet sich Ulenspiegel durch eine unvergleichliche Resistenz gegenüber allen an ihn gerichteten Erziehungsmaßnahmen und Belehrungsbestrebungen aus.209

In contrast to the legendary/topical puer senex of St. Fridolin, Eulenspiegel distinguishes himself through a resistance against all attempts to raise or educate him.

Eulenspiegel does not negate the puer senex motif, but replaces the stereotypically exceptional piety with a precocious understanding of his capability to survive while disregarding social norms. In essence, Eulenspiegel distinguishes himself not through his stubbornness, but through his talents – even if his skills are not wholesome ones. Just like religious saints (Schulz-Grobert chose St. Fridolin because of prints contemporaneous with S1515, but almost any saint will do), Eulenspiegel’s actions and behavior reveal extraordinary abilities, even if they lack sacred undertones and are not meant to inspire imitatio.

As Eulenspiegel stays with his mother throughout his childhood, his unintentional departure in H. 9 (he is carried off by thieves in an empty beehive) is important for the simple fact that it lets him begin travelling. Previous scholarship generally equates the

209 Schulz-Grobert (1999) 178

82 scene with the end of Eulenspiegel’s childhood: Honegger saw H. 10 as the beginning of

Eulenspiegel’s Jünglingsalter (teenage years),210 and Kokott, who reads H. 9 both as a failed initiation ceremony and an “Initiation des Schalkes” (initiation of the Schalk), comes to a similar conclusion.211 Both are right in that H. 9 releases Eulenspiegel from his mother’s care, and in H. 10 – H. 14, he begins the pattern of constantly seeking new employment. However, at the same time Eulenspiegel is not quite of age, so “initiation” vocabulary is a bit severe. The character’s titles in H. 10 and H. 11, Hoffjunger (30) and

Knecht (33), respectively, imply a degree of youth and subordination to authority, and H.

11 – H. 13 present a surrogate father figure in the form of the good-natured priest.

Eulenspiegel appears to grow gradually into adulthood until chapter 21, at which point he is presented with a stable personality and permanent likes and dislikes. H. 10 – H. 20 serve as a transitionary period between childhood and maturity and have qualities of both.

Eulenspiegel's Travels

Despite Eulenspiegel's unfinished maturation, his appearances in a variety of new locations justify seeing H. 10 – H. 88 as a unit (though the borders with H. 1 – H. 9 and

H. 85/H. 89 – H. 96 are blurred). The chapters range in length from a paragraph to a few pages, so at first glance the book appears to be a collection of unrelated pranks attributed to a central figure. Through allusions to each other, often at the beginning or end of a given chapter, some anecdotes give the reader an impression of narrative continuity.

Other stories are placed next to thematically similar chapters. Hilsberg was an early proponent of investigating connections between stories via introductory sentences, but he

210 Honegger (1973) 110-112 211 Kokott (1996) 93-97

83 ultimately maintained that similarities in subject matter functioned as the real arrangement principle.212 As we will see below, the two methods work in tandem.

Because of indirect references to Eulenspiegel’s advanced age and oncoming weakness, chapters H. 85 – H. 96 will be discussed in a later section.

Narrative cycles and allusions between individual stories create literary chains, and chapters often become nodes which allow multiple story groups to meet. Breaks between cycles also exist. Some stories are connected by a shared theme, like a recurring victim type or a common location.213 For example, in H. 11 – H. 13 Eulenspiegel works for the same priest as a Knecht and a sexton. There are other links: H. 57 and H. 58 form a cycle based on the reappearance of a single antagonist, the Weinzäpfer (custodian of the civic wine reserves).

Feistner’s two principles of linking stories (introduced above) are both present in

S1515. Chronological progression is sometimes obvious through direct allusions to earlier events, especially when the antagonist is the same person. In such cases the reader can safely assume that the second chapter follows the first. A near-identical strategy can be seen in the use of words and phrases like the relatively common darnach (thereafter).

Although the phrasing is vague, it espouses the same idea: an implied, if loose, continuity with the previous story. A third possibility exists in the use of place names. At the end of the chapter, Eulenspiegel leaves a place X and arrives at Y, the setting for the next story. Alternatively, at the beginning of the second chapter, Eulenspiegel arrives at Y

212 Hilsberg (1933) 33-42 213 Ulrich Seelbach has designed a series of charts documenting place names and Eulenspiegel’s occupations. They are hosted by the website of the Universität Bielefeld (see bibliography).

84 after having left X. In both (and similar) cases (which will be investigated below on an individual basis), an implied link exists on a temporal basis – one story has to follow the other. Thematic sequences are equally easy to identify. Eulenspiegel, of course, has no virtues, but this is a quibble. Since any personality trait is expressed in a hagiography by the saint’s actions, Eulenspiegel’s pranks, his utterances, or any kind of identifiable characteristic or action could serve as an equivalent. A close reading of S1515 also reveals a number of other identifying factors, such as geographical location and occupation. The most common tool is the identity of Eulenspiegel’s victims.

The disparate nature of these characteristics allows stories with two features to belong to multiple narrative units. Thematic and chronological continuities exist parallel to each other, and, as the following investigation will demonstrate, can be depicted by the figure below:

85 S1515: Chronological and Temporal Continuities

10 Eulenspiegel as a young 52 11 subordinate 48 53 12 Eulenspiegel, the priest, his 54 Eulenspiegel and furriers 13 female servant 55

14 56

17 16 15 Eulenspiegel as a quack 57 Weinzäpffer stories 18 58

19 Eulenspiegel and 59

20 bread/bakers 60

61 Eulenspiegel and butchers ?? 21

22 62

23 63 ?? 24 Eulenspiegel and the 64 Merchant stories 25 nobility 65

?? 26 66

27 67 Priest stories (H. 67 – H. 68) Travel Stories 28 70 68 Peasant stories (H. 67 – H. 71) From PA (see below) 29 71 69 Hospitability stories (H. 69, 31 Eulenspiegel and 72 ?? H. 71, H. 72)

32 30 foolish women ?? 73

?? 33 Eulenspiegel and 87 74

34 female innkeepers 75 Female host stories 84 35 Eulenspiegel at 76 36 market 77 37 Eulenspiegel and 78 80 38 priests 79 Eulenspiegel in Cologne 39 80 39/50 81 40 Eulenspiegel and 81 blacksmiths 41 82 Eulenspiegel in Straßfurt 45 44 43 Eulenspiegel and 34 83 46 shoemakers 84 47 72 85

88 48 ?? 86 Eulenspiegel and Eulenspiegel begins to age 80 49 54 tailors 87 (continuing into 50 88 Eulenspiegel’s death 81 51 sequence) Key

X Chapter X Thematic intersection in chapter ?? Hypothetical/unnamed chapter Thematic cycle Established/plausible connection X Thematic intersection at conclusion Allusion, no temporal connection X or beginning of chapter Hypothetical/possible connection

Figure 2.1: Chronological and Thematic Connections in H. 10 – H. 88

Cycles of stories connected by a theme are generally short and emphasize the defining geographical, occupational, or other recurring quality at the beginning or end of the individual stories. The cycle “Travel Stories,” which will be defined below, is represented as a bar instead of a rounded rectangle for the sake of readability.

The above chart is a representation of the connections, both thematic and chronological, that will be discussed below with the help of textual evidence. It is not meant as a definitive interpretation of the S1515 book and does not claim to identify every possible inter-chapter link. It can, however, be used as reference for placing the various story cycles and temporal continuities discussed below into a useful context, and in general, it demonstrates the redactor’s consistent use of the aforementioned strategies of creating a narrative sequence.

Some stories have a thematic connection with a specific chapter but a chronological connection with another. Two examples will be discussed here. H. 18 takes place after

H. 15, as demonstrated in the introduction “Da nun Ulenspiegel den Doctor also bedort het” (After Eulenspiegel fooled the doctor; 55), while H. 16 and H. 17 continue a thematic cycle focusing on medical quackery.214 All three chapters in the occupation cycle use consistent vocabulary. In H. 15, Eulenspiegel pretends to be an Artzet, and the narrator includes a host of similar terms, like Artznei, Ärtzet, and artzneiete (44-48). H.

16 begins with the aphorism "Recht bewärt Artznei schücht man zuzeiten umb eins cleines Gelts willen, und man mus den Landlöfferen offt noch so viel geben" (People occasionally avoid proper medicine for the sake of a bit of money and often end up paying quacks as much; 49) and later Eulenspiegel will brag about his skills in Artznei

214 Uther (1988) 35

(50).215 H. 17 presents the theme in the title: “Die 17. Histori sagt, wie Ulenspiegel alle

Krancken in einem Spital uff einen Tag on Artznei gesund macht (The 17th chapter tells how Eulenspiegel healed all hospital patients in a day without use of medicine; 53).

Lindow considers the link between H. 15 and H. 18 a mistake (he calls it a “fehlerhaften

Bezug” [incorrect reference]),216 but the contradiction resembles a case of two parallel story groups conforming to different narrative principles. Although H. 16 and H. 17 are placed after H. 15, they make no claims about when they took place: H. 16 only states

“Dahin kam auch einsmals Ulenspiegel” (Eulenspiegel also once went there [= the monastery in Hildesheim]; 48) and H. 17 begins with “Uf ein Zeit” (once; 52). The stories exist in a chronological limbo. An identical principle defines the connection between H. 33, H. 34, and H. 35, even if the use of both chronological and thematic links do not result in equally flagrant paradoxes. H. 33 and H. 34 have similar antagonists (a

Wirtin [female innkeeper]), but H. 34 begins with “Als er dann alle Schalckheit versucht het” (As Eulenspiegel completed all his tricks; 101). It is not clear from that phrase that

H. 34 follows H. 33, but the link between H. 34 and H. 35 is obvious. “Als dan

Ulenspeigel von Rom kam, reißt er geen Franckfürd an dem Meyn” (As Eulenspiegel returned from Rome, he travelled towards Frankfurt am Main; 104) in H. 35 requires H.

34 for the allusion to make sense. H. 34 and H. 35 form a series defined by a

215 The epilogue of H. 16, Eulenspiegel’s excursion to Rosenthal and return to Peine, has no connection with either the rest of H. 17 or the following story, but the story does not have its own heading. For a discussion see Blume (1998) 76-80. 216 55n1. The original German: “Der direkte Anschluß wäre an Hist. 15, doch hat hier der mehr auf Zyklen bedachte Bearbeiter zunächst alle Arztgeschichten gebracht, ohne den auftretenden fehlerhaften Bezug zu korrigieren” (The direct connection would be H. 15, but the redactor, more concerned with cyclic compiled all doctor stories without eliminating the incorrect reference). Note the assumption of both story cycles and narrative progression.

88 chronological sequence, while H. 33 and H. 34 are defined by Eulenspiegel’s enemy

(while hinting at a temporal continuity).

The beginning of Eulenspiegel’s travels, H. 10 and H. 11, have multiple connecting ties. Eulenspiegel is still young (as noted above). Additionally, the northern setting is emphasized in both stories: H. 10 mentions the Land zu Sachsen (Saxony; 30) and H. 11 takes place in Büddenstedt (33). Another connection exists in Eulenspiegel’s disruption of communal eating. In H. 10, he defecates into mustard (the narrator states that the

Junker is entertaining guests; 31), and in H. 11, he eats a roasted chicken (forcing the maid and the priest to share the remaining one).

H. 11 – H. 13 are linked by the consistent presence of the priest and maid characters.

That Eulenspiegel’s relationship to the two specific characters plays a central role is emphasized in his appointment as a sexton at the end of H. 11 (which keeps him in

Büddenstedt) and in the parallel conclusion to H. 13, "Got geb, wa sie ein andern

Sigristen namen" (By God, may they have found a different sexton; 41). In both cases, it is not Eulenspiegel’s prank that is given the most attention, but his involvement in the local church hierarchy. Honegger’s characterization of H. 13, “E. im Dienst der Bauern”

(Eulenspiegel in the service of peasants),217 is correct insofar as the peasants are there, but he ignores the fact that they are minor characters: Eulenspiegel tricks them to insult the maid, not because they have attracted his attention. Schröder suspects that H. 13 was adopted from another source (he calls it a "Zusatzgeschichte" [additionally story]),218 and he may be right, but the use of recurring characters implies a great deal of care on the part

217 Honegger (1973) 111 218 Schröder (1988) 22

89 of the redactor to integrate the story into a larger unit.

H. 14 functions as a nexus for the H. 11 – H. 13 and H. 15 – H. 17 cycles. That H. 14 chronologically follows H. 13 is evident from the beginning, "Bald nach diser Zeit, als

Ulenspiegel ein Sigrist waz gesein" (Soon after the time that Eulenspiegel had been a sexton; 42). Both the title and the text emphasize the setting, Magdeburg, which is also the location of H. 15. No thematic connection with either H. 13 or H. 15 appears to exist, although Eulenspiegel’s actions in H. 13 and H. 14 could be considered public spectacles.

In both cases, Eulenspiegel acts or causes action in front of a live audience, but differences in setting (H. 13: an Easter play, H. 14: the city hall of Magdeburg) and in antagonist type (H. 13: the Pfaffenkellerin, H. 14: an entire city) suggest that the performative element is a coincidence.

H. 18 – H. 20 form a thematic cycle centered on bread (or bread baking). H. 18 cites a saying in the title, “Wer Brot hat, dem gibt man Brot” (one gives bread to him who has bread) and begins the plot with the non-sequitur “Trüw gibt Brot” (loyalty gives bread).

Both H. 19 and H. 20 call Eulenspiegel a Bäckerknecht (baker’s apprentice, modern

German spelling). Secondary connections between the stories based on a chronological sequence also exist. H. 18 ends with Eulenspiegel’s journey to Braunschweig (56), while the beginning of H. 19, “Da nun Ulenspiegel wider gen Brunßwick kam” (As

Eulenspiegel returned to Braunschweig; 57), makes the connection explicit. The use of the word wider (again) in H. 18/H. 19 is strange. Eulenspiegel is first in the city of

Braunschweig in H. 45,219 but H. 11 places Büddenstedt in the Land zu Braunschweig and the title of S1515 claims that Eulenspiegel was geboren uß dem Land zu Brunßwick

219 Schröder noticed this as well (Schröder [1988] 77).

(born in the area of Braunschweig; 5). In H. 1, Kneitlingen is localized in dem Land zu

Sachsen (in Lower Saxony), which suggests that Saxony and Braunschweig are somewhat interchangeable. In any case, it is not necessary to interrupt or to complicate the H. 15 –

H. 18 – H. 19 chronology. A single statement in H. 20, “Da waz er aber ein

Bäckrknecht” (he was once again a baker’s apprentice; 60), implies further temporal continuity in the use of the word aber and finishes the chronological stretch beginning with H. 11.

H. 21, the depiction of Eulenspiegel’s psychology, breaks the narrative pattern.

Honegger interpreted it as an intermezzo signaling the end of stories depicting

Eulenspiegel's youth.220 Schulz-Grobert suggested that a chapter devoted to

Eulenspiegel's "Neigungen und Abneigungen" (likes and dislikes) was inspired by Latin rhetorical tradition, but he does not address its position in the book.221 The ending of the chapter has pun elements: Eulenspiegel thinks “gesunde Speiß” means cabbage and medicine, that “groß Glück” (great luck) is meant literally when said sarcastically, and that “Das starck Tranck” (strong drink) means flowing water (64). The thought process is not out of place for Eulenspiegel,222 but no connection to surrounding stories exists.

Placement can possibly be explained by the round number of H. 20 and by the lack of continuity between H. 20 and H. 22. The conclusion to H. 20 does not allude to any following chapter, and the introduction to H. 22, “Nit lang darnach” (Not long

220 Honegger (1973) 111-112 221 Schulz-Grobert (1999) 160-161 222 Lindow disagrees, arguing “Die Historie erinnert an die Geistreichelei eines Hofnarren und ist nicht eigentlich ein Schwank” (The story is reminiscent of the silly behavior of a court fool and is not actually a Schwank; 64n7). He is correct insofar as there is no narrative element to the story, but there is no evidence that Eulenspiegel’s humor here is inconsistent with the rest of the book.

91 afterwards; 65), has sequential elements, but could refer to any chapter.

The aristocratic elements in H. 22 – H. 27 are best demonstrated by the presence of noble titles in all six stories. H. 23 emphasizes the cyclic principle with the sentence

"Daz möchten die Herren und Fürsten wol leiden und gaben ihm Kleid, Pferd, Gelt und

Kost" (The lords and princes enjoyed [Eulenspiegel's pranks] and gave him horses, clothing, and food; 69), which has no direct relevance to the plot but characterizes

Eulenspiegel’s positive relationship with the kings of Denmark and Poland (in H. 24).

No second explicit connection between H. 22 – H. 24 exists. H. 25 and H. 26 are a thematic pair, as Eulenspiegel tricks the same character (the Duke of Lüneburg) twice.

The background information to H. 25,

In dem Land Lünenburg, zu Zell, da thet Ulenspeigel ein abentürliche Büberei. Also da ihm der Hertzog von Lünenburg daz Land verbot, und wa er darin funden würd, so solt man ihn fahen und dann hencke (73).

Eulenspiegel once played an outrageous prank in Celle, in the principality of Lüneburg. For that the duke of Lüneburg banished him, so that if he had been found, he would have been caught and hanged. invokes the normal pattern of Eulenspiegel’s life and refers to an unnamed earlier adventure. It also motivates the duke’s animosity. H. 26 has a temporal and chronological connection to H. 25: the antagonist is still the duke and the narrator begins with “Darnach kam Ulenspiegel wider” (After that, Eulenspiegel returned; 75).

From a biographical perspective, the four adventures show three unrelated chronological excerpts from Eulenspiegel’s life: he was once at the Danish court, once at the Polish court, and once in Lüneburg. Whether the sequence reflects an actual passage of time is neither confirmed nor denied. If continuity exists, then only on the condition

92 that a hypothetical adventure is inserted before H. 25. H. 26 implies a similar progression, since its plot is identical to H. 25 (Eulenspiegel cites different legal principles) and the duke would presumably remember his first warning (74) when

Eulenspiegel repeats it practically verbatim. Eulenspiegel’s declining rapport with the nobility implies an overarching aesthetic principle: as he meets increasingly antagonistic opponents, he gives the impression of becoming more and more mischievous until he begins burning bridges and offending the social estate upon which he was dependent in

H. 23 and H. 24.

The variety of connection strategies in the H. 27 – H. 34 sequence makes any group organization difficult, since recognizable patterns are broken soon after their establishment and, of the entire sequence, only two stories (H. 29, H. 32) belong to a single category. H. 27 is the final member of the nobility cycle. The second sentence of the introduction, “Da er daz Land zu Sachsen fast umb und umb gwandert hat und fast wol bekant waz, daz er sich mit seiner Büberei nit wol ußbringen mocht” (Since

Eulenspiegel has made his way through all of Saxony and was so well-known that he could not support himself well with his pranks; 77), acknowledges the necessity of a previous story, even if the reference to Sachsen is vague. H. 28 follows H. 27 chronologically, as can be seen in the mention of Mar[ck]burg at the beginning (82). The same principle reappears in H. 29 (“Als er die Schalckheit zu Brag het ußgericht” [after he played the prank in Prague; 86]). Additionally, H. 27 – H. 29 and H. 31 are adapted from PA, and their proximity suggests that the redactor considered the shared source a

93 theme.223 The insertion of H. 30 is disconcerting, since it breaks the pattern, but it can be accounted for: it forms a second cycle with H. 31 on the basis that Eulenspiegel’s victims are women. Honegger notes this in his respective characterizations, "Eulenspiegel und die leichtgläubigen Frauen" (Eulenspiegel and the gullible women; H. 30) and

"Eulenspiegel und die leichtfertigen Frauen" (Eulenspiegel and the frivolous women; H.

31).224

Although H. 31 marks the end of the stories derived from PA, it and surrounding chapters still have enough in common to form chronological and temporal continuities.

H. 30 has two sets of female victims: the Wirtin he mocks at the beginning and the group of women (the Wirtin and her neighbors) whose furs he later destroys. Neither prank depends on the other from a narrative perspective, but they allow H. 30 to form an innkeeper-cycle with H. 33 and H. 34 in addition to the aforementioned group with H. 31.

H. 32 follows H. 31 sequentially. Its introduction mentions the plot of H. 31 (“Als er nun mit dem Hopt weit umbgezogen waz und die Lüt vast betrogen het” [Now that

Eulenspiegel had travelled far with the head and deceived many people; 95]), and

Nuremberg appears as a place name both here and in H. 33 (in the first sentence). H. 34 is a return to normalcy: its connection to H. 33 is the shared use of a Wirtin as antagonist.

An investigation of all eight chapters (H. 27 – H. 34) reveals four different methods of linking stories:

223 Noted by Lindow (77n1). See also Kadlec (1916) 13-41 and Könneker (1970) 258-277. Schröder argues that the redactor’s decision to include H. 28, H. 29 and H. 31 were motivated by H. 27 (Schröder [1988] 65-66). 224 Honegger (1973) 112-113

1. Source Material (PA): H. 27 – H. 29, H. 31 2. Antagonist Cycle (Wirtin): H. 30, H. 33 – H.34 3. Antagonist Type (Women): H. 30, H. 31 4. Chronology: H. 27 – H. 28 H. 31 – H. 33

No chapter has all four elements. If Seelbach is correct that all PA-stories were absent in the original Low German text,225 their integration did not cause the redactor many problems.

The connection between H. 34 and H. 35 has been discussed above. The marketplace setting in H. 35 continues through H. 36 to the beginning of H. 37 (Eulenspiegel buys a sausage “under der Metzig” [at the butcher’s stalls; 109]). There it is dropped in favor of

Eulenspiegel’s conflict with priests, also in H. 38. Honegger titled these stories “E. und die gefräßige Pfarrkellnerin” (Eulenspiegel and the gluttonous priest’s maid) and

“Eulenspiegel und die unkeusche Pfarrkellnerin” (Eulenspiegel and the unchaste priest’s maid),226 but the priest’s maids are collateral damage. Eulenspiegel abuses them because the priest either eats his sausage (H. 37; 110) or as a means to complete his assignment

(H. 38; 113-116). In both cases, the real target is the priest: the titles of S1515 mention only them, and H. 38 makes the connection explicit with the phrase “Da wont auch ein

Pfarer” (A priest lived there as well; 113), which has both chronological and thematic elements.

Up to this point in S1515, the Ständebuch-element has played a minor role. Other principles, such as the progression of time, geography, narrative pattern, the repeated presence of select individuals, and even source material, either accompany or override it.

The methods often lead to contradictions, but the redactor either does not notice them or

225 Seelbach (2005) 109 226 Honegger (1973) 112

95 takes them in stride. In H. 18, for example, he evokes the actions of H. 15, but he ignores the separation of H. 29 and H. 31 by H. 30. No attempt is made to maintain a theme or connection method after it has served its purpose. Eulenspiegel has the same motivation in H. 32 and H. 33, namely hunger, but H. 33 does not mention the original cause.

Chapters may have multiple themes, and it appears that the plurality allows readers to focus on the preferred continuity. Dual links are especially noticeable in chapters like H.

30, which is comprised of two miniature stories, but can also be seen in H. 14, which is both an epilogue to H. 13 and the setup for H. 15.

H. 39 – H. 66 appear to form a unit. A complete thematic and chronological break exists between H. 39 and its predecessors. No reference to the priest in H. 38 is made, nor do the stories share local names (H. 39 takes place in Rostock, H. 38 in Kissenbrück), source, or pranking method (H. 39 is a pun, H. 38 is a false confession). The line between H. 66 and H. 67 is more ambiguous, as the conflict between Eulenspiegel and the Pfüffentreiger (maker of wind instruments; 190)227 depends on the latter’s poor hospitality, a theme present in the subsequent stories. The exact nature of the H. 66/H. 67 division will be discussed below. Nevertheless, as Borries notes, the general division of chapters along estate lines is not necessarily a judgement (either positive or negative) of a stratified social order.228 Eulenspiegel’s willingness to prank everyone may have a universal quality, like a Dance of the Dead,229 or may even have no meaning. For our investigation, it is sufficient to recognize that all three estates are present.

227 Lindow defines the Pfüffentreiger as "hier vermutlich seßhaft gewordener Wandermusikant" (apparently a wandering musician who has since settled down; 190n1) but does not explain. 228 Borries (1988) 47-48 229 Ibid. 48

Individual cycles emphasize internal ties. H. 40 and H. 41 begin with variants of the phrase “Da nun Ulenspiegel von dem Schmid kam” (As Eulenspiegel came from the smith; 120; H. 41 replaced Da with Als), which imply continuity with H. 39. H. 40 also emphasizes the thematic link with “da wont auch ein Schmid” (a smith lived there too;

120). The case is reminiscent of the dual connections with H. 37 and H. 38. The key word is auch: with it, the narrator acknowledges the coincidence and the unlikelihood that Eulenspiegel would fool two members of the same social group in a row, but asks the audience to accept the matter despite the unrealistic nature of the sequence. It may be odd that Eulenspiegel travelled from smithy to smithy, but the book still claims to reflect the historical occurrence.

H. 43 – H. 46 are all shoemaker stories (the bootmaker of H. 45 is a minor variation).

An intentional grouping of all four stories is suggested by the introduction to H. 44, “Vil

Schalckheit het Ulenspiegel den Schuchmachern gethon, nit allein an einem Ort, sunder an vil Enden” (Eulenspiegel played many tricks on shoemakers, not only in one place, but in many; 129). Lindow suggests that the aside could mean other stories,230 but the statement functions as an umbrella description of all of them, as though the narrator wants to remind the audience that Eulenspiegel plays more than one prank. As the narrator never explains what is meant, all the reader can safely conclude is that

Eulenspiegel played pranks “an vil Enden” (in many places; 129). The anecdotes took place, but when, even relative to each other, cannot be determined. The lone exception – the summary of H. 43 in H. 46 – tells us that the former preceded the latter, but such information does not give any clues concerning H. 44 and H. 45.

230 argued on 129n1

The second sentence of H. 47, "Uff ein Zeit, als man nun sein mit den Pflumen zu

Einbeck, die er beschissen het, vergessen het, kam er wider geen Einbeck und verdingt sich zu einem Bierprüer" (When everybody forgot about [Eulenspiegel] and the plums in

Einbeck upon which he shat, he returned to Einbeck and took up work for a Beerbrewer;

137), alludes to the much later H. 88. Lindow attributes the arrangement to editorial error: "Durch die Umstellungen des Bearbeiters steht der hier erwähnte Schwank erst als

Nr. 88. Möglicherweise ist der dort fehlende Holzschnitt Ursache der Umstellung."

(Through the arrangements on the part of the editor the aforementioned prank became H.

88. A missing woodcut is possibly the cause for the rearrangement).231 It is not clear whether Lindow means that H. 88 should be inserted before H. 47 or vice versa, but both alternatives have problems in light of Eulenspiegel’s advanced age. In the later chapter,

Eulenspiegel suffers a debilitating incapacitation reminiscent of a hangover: "Ulenspiegel

. . . het sich in der Herren Höff ubertruncken, daz er weder essen noch trincken möcht und einem todten Menschen gleicher dan einem lebendigen was" (Eulenspiegel became so drunk at court that he could neither eat nor drink; he was closer to a dead man than a living one; 251). Statements in adjacent chapters suggest that Eulenspiegel’s weakness is one of many signs of old age. Eulenspiegel is already “ein wenig kranck” (a little sick;

245) in H. 86, shows regret in H. 87 (247), and is “alt und verdrossen” (old and cranky;

253) in H. 89. No such signal is present in H. 47. For other reasons, Seelbach proposes placing H. 47 between H. 88 and H. 89 in his reconstruction of the original Low German manuscript (where he retranslates High German Zuthätig [industrious] to the

231 136n4

98 synonymous Vlitliken).232 Alcohol is present in both H. 47 and H. 88, though to different degrees, and the arrangement would give later chapters a thematic underpinning not present in the arrangement of S1515. No connection between H. 47 and H. 46 or H. 48 could be found.

The following cycles are relatively straightforward. H. 48 – H. 51 discuss tailors (H.

51 a Tuchmacher [clothmaker; 148]) and have no other connection. The subsequent

Kürßner (furrier) stories (H. 52 – H. 56) have a similar, but more concrete, linking style.

H. 52 and H. 53 are a pair, as the prank begins in one chapter and ends in another (as

Lindow also notes in 155n1). H. 54, H. 55, and H. 56 also supplement the thematic connection with chronological references to other chapters. H. 54 alludes shortly to the much earlier H. 48 (also observed by Lindow in 158n7), but does not give a definite time frame. In H. 55, Eulenspiegel mentions the furrier he met in Berlin. H. 56 also opens with the place name of previous chapters (“Indem als Ulenspiegel von Lipzig reißte, kam er geen Brunschwigk zu einem Gerwer” [While Eulenspiegel was travelling from Leipzig

[H. 55], he came to a tanner in Braunschweig; 152]). Both statements establish a passage of time.

In H. 57 and H. 58, the Weinzäpffer is the same person, so the connection is self- evident. A chronological element is present in the causal relationship between both stories: Eulenspiegel plays the second prank in H. 58 to escape the consequences of the first. The reference to the setting of H. 59, Helmstedt, at the end of H. 58 (169) allows

232 Seelbach (2005) 98, 107. Seelbach agrees with Lindow. Evidence in favor of their arguments can be the use of the word Schelmengrub (garbage pit) at the end of H. 46 and H. 88 (136, 252), which may have led to a confusion of the two chapters during a proofreading.

99 the third chapter to function as a pseudo-epilogue. 233

The narrative patterns between H. 60 and H. 67 are straightforward. In H. 60 and H.

61, Eulenspiegel fools the same butcher twice, and an exact period of time (8 days) is given (173). H. 62 has no connection to other chapters. Lindow suspects that it was moved from the original location, since H. 62 begins with Eulenspiegel’s departure from

Hesse (175) despite the mention of Erfurt (which is not in Hesse) in H. 61.234 However,

Seelbach’s reconstruction suggests that H. 62 is in the correct place.235 Any number of reasons could explain the geographical error: the author or redactor could have mistakenly thought Erfurt was in Hesse, “Hesse[n]” could simply be shorthand for “east of the Rhine,” or the original names might have been replaced. In H. 63 – H. 66,

Eulenspiegel pretends to be a merchant or interacts with representatives of the profession: he is an optician in H. 63, he works for a Kouffman (trader) in H. 64, he is a Pferdkäufer

(a horse trader) in H. 65, and he confronts the Pfüffentreiger in H. 66. A minor geographical statement at the end of H. 63, “Mit dem zog er wider in Sachßen” (then he returned to Saxony; 180) reinforces a connection with H. 64, which is in Hildesheim.

H. 67 – H. 86 blur the ordering principles found in the above cycles. Recurring themes are still present, but place names are ubiquitous, and any story without one has mitigating circumstances:

233 Seelbach, in his reconstruction, argues that H. 59 retains its initial position in the third acrostic, as demonstrated by its beginning with the letter M (“Mit einer Deschen” [With a money purse; 168]; Seelbach [2005] 106). The argument does not explain (nor does it intend to) the explicit mention of Helmstedt. The original Low German author could have omitted a place name if he wanted to (not all chapters have one), which suggests that the decision to include Helmstedt (and create a continuity between otherwise unrelated stories) was intentional. 234 Noted in 175n1 235 Seelbach (2005) 100, 107

100

Table 2.1: Place Names in H. 67 – H. 86 H. 67 Gerdau H. 72 Bremen H. 77 Nuremberg H. 82 Straßfurt H. 68 Uelzen H. 73 (See below) H. 78 Eisleben H. 83 Straßfurt H. 69 Hannover H. 74 Hamburg H. 79 Cologne H. 84 (See below) H. 70 Bremen H. 75 (See below) H. 80 Cologne H. 85 Frankfurt (Oder) H. 71 Hannover H. 76 (See below) H. 81 Rostock H. 86 Antwerp

In H. 73, the city name is replaced by mention of the Weser river. The defining characteristic of H. 75 and H. 76 is their provincial setting (as seen in the use of vocabulary like Dörflin [little village; 217]). H. 84 mentions Eulenspiegel's return from

Rome (H. 34), which conflicts with H. 35, but geographic information is still present.236

The inclusion of a great deal of background information in H. 67 separates it from H.

66 both chronologically and thematically. The first part of the story replaces

Eulenspiegel with the “listfindig” (clever; 194) priest. He outwits a peasant couple, encouraging them to get remarried, and never suffers the consequences. In other words, he does exactly what Eulenspiegel normally does, namely profiting at the expense of others. By the time Eulenspiegel arrives, the reader has already forgotten about H. 66 or any other story. Additionally, the narrator’s emphasis on Eulenspiegel’s defeat, “Aber

Ulenspiegel, wie schalckhafftiger und listig er was, so ward er dennocht von der alten

Bürin geäfft und müst seiner Deschen entberen” (But Eulenspiegel, no matter how trickier and clever he was, was nevertheless fooled by the old peasant and had to go without his coin purse; 196), evokes a contrast with the priest’s success. A geographical continuity (H. 66 takes place in Lüneburg and H. 67 mentions the Land zu Lünenberg

[194]) is present, but it is a weak link in comparison to the appearance of different antagonist types (peasants, priests) and Eulenspiegel’s new travelling practice.

236 Seelbach claims that H. 84 belongs between H. 34 and H. 35 (Seelbach [2005] 96, 107).

101

Within the H. 67 – H. 86 stretch, a number of non-geographical terms, like the opponents’ identities, create connections between individual stories. In H. 67, H. 68, and

H. 70, the antagonists are all peasants (H. 68: Buer, H. 70: Bürin); this fact suggests the existence of a story cycle. Seelbach (who does not connect H. 67 to the sequence) calls

Eulenspiegel a “Kunde” (customer) in H. 68 – H. 70,237 but his reasoning seems inconsistent: Eulenspiegel does not buy anything in H. 68; nor does Seelbach call him a

Kunde in the later Wirtsgeschichten (innkeeper-stories), where Eulenspiegel plays the same role. Furthermore, although H. 69 never explicitly calls the victim a peasant, the pretenses inherent in his decision to rename his bathhouse a “Haus der Reinikeit” (house of cleanliness; 201) reveal anxieties about the character’s social standing. The use of priests as Eulenspiegel’s accomplices in H. 67 and H. 68 creates a tertiary connection between the two stories. H. 69 is a doublet of H. 71. Both take place in Hannover, and

H. 71 indirectly mentions H. 69 (“da kam er uff ein Zeit wider gen Hanouer” [Then he returned another time to Hannover; 205]). The narrator acknowledges the gap between the two stories by depicting Eulenspiegel’s wanderings as unpredictable (“Als nun

Ulenspiegel ein Land uff wandert, das ander nider” [As Eulenspiegel then traveled up one region and down another; 205]).

The relationship between H. 71 and its neighbors is too complicated to characterize as a simple chronological or thematic link. The odd position of the chapter has been noted by Seelbach and Lindow, both of whom believe it to have been misplaced. Lindow claims that H. 70 and H. 72 belong together,238 while Seelbach argues that H. 71

237 Seelbach, Berufe 238 Noted in 210n1

102 originally stood between H. 85 and H. 86.239 Both proposals leave questions unaddressed. Lindow is correct to note that H. 70 and H. 72 take place in Bremen, but he does not say whether H. 71 belongs after H. 72 or somewhere else. As it stands, H. 71 takes place in Hannover, the setting of H. 69, and it appears likely that the two stories belong close together, especially given how the narrator introduces Eulenspiegel’s return.

As for Seelbach’s suggestion, a possible counterargument would be the richness of thematic links H. 71 shares with H. 69, H. 70, and H. 72. Besides the fact that the locations of all four chapters form a Bremen – Hannover – Bremen – Hannover pattern,

H. 70 and H. 71 have peasant characters: the women of H. 70 are called Bürin, and in H.

71, the priest is saved from the enraged innkeeper by Buren at the last second (209). The admittedly weak link is perhaps reinforced by Eulenspiegel’s consistent method of attack.

In both stories, a party is cheated out of a lawful payment. In H. 70, Eulenspiegel refuses to pay for the peasants’ milk and unleashes chaos, while in H. 71, the innkeeper is never paid – either by the beggars or the priest. In essence, both stories follow the same narrative arc. The link between H. 71 and H. 72 is stronger, as the latter also uses innkeeper vocabulary. When the rules for the dinner club are established, the host is called a Wirt, and Eulenspiegel’s apartment is later called a Herberg (210-211). Of course, it is possible to find similarities between H. 71 and H. 85/H. 86, but the evidence should, at least, demonstrate that, even if H. 71 was moved, it has plenty of similarities with its new neighbors. No major link can be found with H. 73 (which existed before the chapbook)240 and H. 74, or between the two, that cannot be dismissed as coincidence.

239 Seelbach (2005) 107 240 Sichtermann (1971), Flood (1983)

103

In H. 75 – H. 86, Eulenspiegel is a guest at inns or similar accommodations, so these chapters form an overarching cycle. In the first two stories, H. 75 and H. 76, the sex of his opponents is the most identifiable characteristic. Both are women (in H. 76 a Bürin) and, strictly speaking, the settings are never called inns. However, the semantic field does not seem far from the narrator’s mind, as an observation at the beginning of H. 75

(“da was kein Wirtßhauß in dem Dörflin und es waz umb Mittag” [there was no inn in the town, and it was around noon; 217]) places it and H. 76 in a continuum with the following chapters. H. 77 also uses the word Herberg, not Wirtshaus, but the owner is still a Wirt, so the vocabulary does not cause any difficulties. H. 78 takes place in

Eisleben, but the three merchants are travelling to Nuremberg (223), the setting of H. 77.

A chronological link is implied: Eulenspiegel has just left Nuremberg and is still close enough to the city to meet people headed in the opposite direction. H. 79 and H. 80 function as yet another example of twin chapters. Both take place in Cologne, and the conclusion of H. 80 (“Ihm was leid, daz er ihn bezalt hät, also er thet mit der tafelen, und ließ ihn damit faren” [The innkeeper was afraid that Eulenspiegel would repay him, as he did with the table, so he let him go; 233]) identifies the innkeeper as the antagonist of H.

79.241 The final two innkeeper stories, H. 85 and H. 86, do not appear to have any direct connection.

The relation between H. 80 and H. 81 is more complicated than an initial reading would suggest. The conclusion of H. 80 mentions a departure in the direction of Saxony

(233), but H. 81 begins with Eulenspiegel leaving Rostock. Lindow argues that H. 81

241 Lindow notes this as well (233n14).

104 belongs either after H. 39 or H. 50,242 but Seelbach believes it to be in the original spot.243

Three possibilities exist:

1. The given place name is incorrect or trivial (the simplest answer). 2. The narrator could mean that Eulenspiegel travels through Saxony. 3. H. 81 occurs (chronologically) after H. 39/H. 50, but was placed after H. 80 for thematic consistency.

H. 50 gives helpful information concerning the redactor’s understanding of geography.

He appears to conflate Rostock with Saxon territory. Here, Eulenspiegel sends his announcement “in die windische Stät unnd in das Land zu Sachßen” (to Sorbian cities and Low Saxony; 145). The subsequent list does not distinguish between either category

– it just rattles off cities and regions. The conjunctive phrase “als nämlich” (namely; 145) also suggests that all locations are Saxon, even though a number of Sorbian/non-Saxon cities appear: Bummeren (Pomerania; 145), Setetin (Stettin, modern Szczecin; 146),

Meckelburg (Mecklenburg; 146), Sunte (Stralsund; 146), and Wismar (146). If the two categories are synonyms for the same geographical space –general northern and northeastern Germany – then the entire situation is easy to explain. The “Land zu

Sachssen” at the conclusion of H. 80 and the mention of Rostock in H. 81 is not a problem, since Rostock is “Saxony” in the sense that it is in the north, and the narrator understands the “windische Stät” and “Land zu Sachßen” as doublets.

The above investigation confirms some elements of a traditional reading of S1515.

The lack of a continuous narrative progression suggests that the “middle section” of

Eulenspiegel’s life, regardless of the exact location and nature of the borders between childhood, adulthood, and old age, is not meant to be read as a biography. Borries

242 Noted in 234n1 243 Seelbach (2005) 107

105 reached a similar conclusion in his investigation of “rein inhaltlich[e] Bezüg[e]” (purely content-oriented connections),244 which posited that individual chapter groups (he divides them according to different principles) were “untereinander austauschbar” (lit. interchangeable with each other).245 From a formal perspective, he is correct: there is no argument against switching the H. 37 and H. 38 doublet with (to choose a random example) H. 63 and H. 64. The longest sequence defined by the passage of time, H. 11 –

H. 18 (which Borries does not mention), is only six chapters long, and, despite subtle hints about Eulenspiegel’s youth, could be placed somewhere else with only a minimally incongruent impression.

It does not appear that the redactor treated either strategy of connecting stories differently. Of the 30 unambiguous chronological ties between two or more stories,246 14 link chapters with different thematic qualities.247 By the same token, thematic groups of stories exist in a chronological no man’s land – the reader cannot state with certainty when in the course of Eulenspiegel’s life the chapters took place. The same is true of cycles which do illustrate a passage of time: Eulenspiegel appears without ceremony in the first story, and the final chapter ends the continuity without drawing attention to the fact. Put succinctly, no single chapter and no chain of chapters ever refers to

244 Borries (1988) 54-57 245 Ibid. 57 246 H. 11 – H. 12 – H. 13 – H. 14 – H. 15 – H. 18, H. 19 – H. 20, H. 25 – H. 26, H. 27 – H. 28, H. 31 – H. 32 – H. 33, H. 34 – H. 35, H. 34 – H. 84, H. 37 – H. 38, H. 39 – H. 40 – H. 41, H. 43 – H. 46, H. 47 – H. 88, H. 52 – H. 53, H. 54 – H. 55 – H. 56, H. 57 – H. 58 – H. 59, H. 60 – H. 61 – H. 62, H. 63 – H. 64, H. 70 – H. 72, H. 69 – H. 71, H. 77 – H. 78, H. 79 – H. 80, H. 82 – H. 83 247 H. 11 – H. 12, H. 13 – H. 14 – H. 15 – H. 18, H. 27 – H. 28, H. 31 – H. 32 – H. 33, H. 34 – H. 84, H. 34 – H. 35, H. 58 – H. 59, H. 61 – H. 62, H. 69 – H. 71, H. 70 – H. 72, H. 77 – H. 78

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Eulenspiegel’s biography as a whole. The most readers can say with certainty is that

Eulenspiegel was an adult when the depicted events occurred – but whether they took place in his twenties, thirties, or forties cannot even be speculated on.

The general practice of linking stories is strongest at the beginning and end of

Eulenspiegel’s “middle section.” Each of the first post-childhood chapters (H. 10 – H.

20, with the aforementioned exceptions) continues where the previous one left off, and the final chapters (H. 67 – H. 88) are monopolized by a single theme. In both cases, the groups are inordinately large. That may be a coincidence, but the continuities reveal a greater deal of care than the chapters in the absolute middle. The inconsistency is easy to explain: Eulenspiegel’s life as a transient does not allow for any biographical landmarks

(he does not marry, have children, or even settle down), but the collections near the beginning and end of S1515 are influenced by the birth and death narratives. Only at the center do the episode patterns reach their smallest points (two or three stories), and the change in pattern, augmented by the presence of contradictory allusions, suggests that the redactor’s method of story arrangement would vary at different points in the writing process.

The complications arising from the inconsistent approach may tempt readers to dismiss the possible existence of any structuring principle. The argument deserves consideration, since the above divisions, like those of Honegger, Lindow, Schröder, and

Seelbach, depend on the subjective emphasis of certain textual signals at the expense of others. For instance, only one of the above chapter groups is derived from Eulenspiegel’s pranks despite Allison Williams’s (whose theses were discussed in chapter 1) argument in favor of a strong correlation between victim status and the trick method employed by

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Eulenspiegel. By the same token, the implicit nature of the story cycles and the inability of any analysis to explain every detail give the reader a certain amount of freedom in interpreting the novel, as no arrangement can claim indisputability. Additionally, all the information which can connect anecdotes is of secondary importance. As Ohlendorf notes, geographical names have no effect on the outcome.248 The same is true for thematic links: is anyone thinking of H. 40 after H. 41 has moved beyond the statement

“als er von dem Schmid kam” (as he came from the smithy; 124)? It seems unlikely and does not matter. As another example, the allusion to H. 15 in H. 18 may remind the reader of an earlier story or pique his curiosity, but can also be easily ignored. When the chapter is unclear in its reference to a preceding story, as in the introduction to H. 27

(quoted above), the reader can insert the previous chapter (especially since H. 26 takes place in Lüneburg) but is also free, even encouraged, to associate any number of pranks with Eulenspiegel’s current predicament.

The chapter backgrounds and supplementary information may contradict each other, but they all emphasize a single basic element of Eulenspiegel’s nature. Wherever he appears, he has a past and a future. His departure for Erfurt (end of H. 28) implies, even before the next chapter has begun, that an adventure will take place there. The conclusion to H. 34, Eulenspiegel “ward von der Römischen Fart nit vil gebessert”

(Eulenspiegel was not significantly improved from his journey to Rome; 103) implies the existence of other stories, even if it does not name them. The association of Eulenspiegel with other pranks within a chapter is especially present in the focus on his reputation, of which the following selection of quotes (in addition to H. 27) can serve as examples:

248 Ohlendorf (2010/2011) 86

108

H. 39: Wer Ulenspiegel nit kent, der hab nur mit ihm zu thun, der lert ihn kennent. (119)

Whoever does not know Eulenspiegel should have dealings with him. That will acquaint him with Eulenspiegel.

H. 40: Und so het der Kirchherr vil von Ulenspiegeln gehört, was er für ein Gesel wär, und schalt den Schmid, daz er ihm das nit zu wissen het gethon, daz er doch Ulenspiegeln gesehen möcht haben. (123)

The priest had heard much from Eulenspiegel and what kind of fellow he was, and he scolded the blacksmith that he didn’t inform him, so that he might have seen Eulenspiegel.

H. 50: ... dan sie lang wol gewißet hätten, was Ulenspiegel für ein Fogel wär geweßen (147)

For they had always known what kind of person Eulenspiegel was.

H. 54: Also schied Ulenspiegel von Berlin und ließ niergen guten Geruff hinder ihm. (159)

And so Eulenspiegel left Berlin and left a good reputation behind nowhere.

Other examples exist. H. 84 is dependent on the idea of reputation, since the innkeeper’s willingness to gossip is what first attracts Eulenspiegel’s ire. The same could be argued for H. 25 and H. 26, since Eulenspiegel’s banishment is predicated upon an action scandalous enough to catch the duke’s attention (indirectly expressed in the term “ein abentürliche Büberei” [a noteworthy trick; 73]). Wherever Eulenspiegel goes, his reputation follows him.

Background information and a cycle-based structure are irrelevant for, or at least incidental to, the overarching structure of S1515, but they add information to the individual chapters. Place names emphasize Eulenspiegel’s arrival, implying earlier

109 actions and giving the rough impression of a general chronology: If Eulenspiegel is at city X, he was previously in a different location and will later depart for another city.

Everything else, like corresponding information in other chapters, makes the same impression. Temporality has two roles: a major and a minor one. It can bring individual pranks together when possible, but when such a method (inevitably) fails, the reader is still given the impression that a biography is being pushed forward. The relaxed approach to chronological consistency in S1515 does not erase the pretensions to biographical writing present from the title (“Wie er sein Leben volbracht hatt” [How he spent his life; 5]) and elsewhere. In fact, the tendency to connect stories with immediate neighbors suggests that, when possible, the redactor wanted to entertain the impression of writing a continuous narrative, even if that was not the dominant principle. For instance, contradictions like the H. 80 – H. 39/H. 50 – H. 81 path or the H. 34 – H. 35/H. 84 split are never addressed. A biographical impression is desired rather than a strict biography.

The nonessential character of anecdote-connecting elements and the ambiguous role of the hagiographical/pseudo-biographical material suggest that the reader was expected to have a relaxed attitude towards the need to read S1515 cover-to-cover or that the reader would flip through pages at leisure, focusing on favorite stories. Although the redactor never gives instructions, the underlying principles of the text call for a non- sequential reading style. The act of grouping similar stories together allows each one a greater chance of being found, since the owner of the chapbook would find them and then know that the desired story (or a favorite) can be found a few pages away. Although such a reading style depends on a certain level of familiarity with the character, that can be taken for granted: the redactor’s introduction implies that people knew about

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Eulenspiegel before the book was even written. If a reader then becomes bored with a current section, a different story could be found (with the help of its cycle), and the introductory information would use phrasing ultimately close enough that, through a willing suspension of disbelief, a tie between the two stories can be established. In other words, the audience would think something along the lines of “Well, I don’t remember the last story taking place in Braunschweig, but Büddenstedt is close enough.”

Such a possible reading of S1515 resembles a secular adaptation of the practice of reading excerpts of a Saint’s Life and/or reading from the biblical gospels during a worship service. In all three cases, everybody knows (roughly) what is going on, but each individual present is refreshing or deepening his or her familiarity with the topic at hand. As Williams-Krapp points out, the popular Leben had become a reference book to be paged through at will,249 so the possibility that S1515 was used in a similar way is no surprise. In both cases, the central character’s life as a whole is taken for granted. A saint is only important because his life is an example of God’s intervention, and any single teaching or act of Jesus is important only because of his death on the cross and subsequent resurrection. The events within S1515 have a roughly identical logic, as each episode depends on a familiarity with Eulenspiegel’s identity and yet is a self-contained example of his behavior. Although S1515 can be read front-to-back, such a method does not add meaning to the book. Pranks, even when spread across two chapters, have such a rhythm that they allow the reader to put down the book after a short browsing or to page around at whim without a loss of significance.

249 Williams-Krapp (1986) 302-303. Williams-Krapp refers to the use of Leben as a Nachschlagewerk (reference work) in the context of later artists and Meistersänger, which implies that the practice of reading excerpts had established itself.

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The woodcut placement in S1515 aids such a reading. Although invariably placed at or near the beginning of the chapter, they depict Eulenspiegel’s later coups de grace.250

The discrepancy between their position and the content eliminates the possibility of surprise or dramatic tension while allowing the pictures to help navigation: with a quick glance, the reader could identify the plot, determine if the current chapter was desired or acceptable subject matter, and proceed. The intended function of the layout to orient its reader can be seen through a contrast with the only other native German chapbook of this time period, Fortunatus (1509). Unlike S1515, the Fortunatus-book does not place its illustrations exclusively at the beginnings of the chapter (although this often happens)251 but relatively close to the depicted action. They assist the reader’s imagination by depicting a single event and are not intended to reveal the climax of the given episode.

Such a method is consistent with Fortunatus’s life story: all later events are dependent on preceding ones and form a continuous narrative. As the reader has to read the novel front-to-back to understand it, there is no point in paging around. In contrast, S1515 has no development (with the exceptions of Eulenspiegel’s childhood and old age), and stories do not depend on each other.

The lackadaisical approach to time in S1515 is consistent with hagiographic style of

250 For the exact placement of woodcuts in the S1515 text, see Schröder’s facsimile. Minor exceptions to the pattern exist. The woodcut to H. 6 appears immediately before the title. H. 31 inserts the woodcut after the second sentence. Such positions are still relatively close to the chapter and depict the prank before its appearance in the text. 251 The Reclam edition of Fortunatus moves the woodcuts to account for the format but gives a good general impression of their actual positions. The 1509 print is hosted at the Münchener DigitalisierungsZentrum of the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek (see bibliography). One brief example should illustrate my point: When Fortunatus accepts Lüpoldus as a servant, the corresponding woodcut appears three pages after the chapter title. Generally speaking, the woodcuts show alignment with events.

112 contemporary legendaria like Leben, whose adaptation style Williams-Krapp describes so:

Die Vorlage liefert lediglich die Erzählfabel, die ‚enthistorisiert‘ und unter beinahe völligem Verzicht auf gelehrtes Beiwerk in einem überaus einheitlichen Lapidarstil gestaltet wird.252

The original gives, at most, the fable, which is de- historicized and shaped with a complete eschewal of erudite adornment in an extremely uniform, succinct style.

Historical facts appear in Heiligen Leben, such as – to choose randomly from hundreds if not thousands of examples – the mention of Constantine (presumably the second) in the life of St. Hilary of Poitiers. Nevertheless, the understanding of the past as a (generally speaking) semi-legendary collection of anecdotes can be seen in the equally innumerable nameless characters, as in the life of Saint John Chrysostom (a fact Luther would later capitalize upon in his Die Lügend von S. Johanne Chrysostomo [1537]). All that matters is that the depicted actions belong to a general antiquity, and no further thought is given.

S1515 has an identical mentality. A historical Eulenspiegel-character is taken for granted, as the introduction and gravestone infer (in H. 95 the year 1350 is mentioned

[266]), but the chapters belong to a nondescript yesteryear (the historical allusions in the book being so much window dressing). All depicted events enjoy a degree of free association in the audience’s mind, and the flexibility inherent in these chapters reinvents the past as a jumble of similar adventures centered around a single person.

As H. 10 – H. 85 form the largest section of the chapbook and Eulenspiegel’s behavior has no consistent mitigating factors or external influences, the information gleaned here

252 Williams-Krapp (2012b) 253

113 can be contrasted with the findings of the previous chapter concerning Eulenspiegel as a trickster figure. Whereas the first chapter determined that Eulenspiegel’s pranking conforms to a consistent general method, the current one demonstrates that the pranks are accompanied by equally formulaic supplementary information. The use of individual elements follows a rhythm so predictable it could be used to construct a hypothetically infinite number of similar chapters:

Table 2.2: Chapter Pattern in S1515 1. Introductory Connection 2. Connection with Other 3. Chapter Setting Method Material

- Thematic connection - Identifiable preceding story - Determined by thematic connection - Chronological connection - Unidentifiable earlier story - Determined by chronological - Allusion - Story group connection

- No connection - Independently determined by the narrator

4. Antagonist 5. Prank Type 6. Final Connection / Conclusion

- Defined by social status, - Wordplay - Connection to another chapter occupation or rank - Scatological - General departure - Defined by individual relationship with Eulenspiegel - Other trickster method - No departure

Only 4 and 5 are relevant for Eulenspiegel’s actions. 1, 2, and 3 are determined retroactively, and 6 brings the chapter to an end. The secondary features allow for a subjective experience of the passage of time within the fictional world, but the inconsistencies make them unimportant.

To a certain degree, the above reading can be retroactively applied to the minor inconsistencies in Eulenspiegel’s youth. The second chapter ends with a summary of the mother’s poverty and a short account of Eulenspiegel’s childhood:

Unnd bald darnach, da starb der alt Claus Ulenspiegel. Da

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bleib die Mutter bei dem Sun. Also ward die Mutter arm. Und Ulenspeigel wolt kein Handtwerck lernen und was da bei sechzehen Jar alt und dumelte sich und lernt mancherlei Geckerei. (13)

And a little while later, Claus Eulenspiegel died. The mother remained with her son and became poor. And Eulenspiegel refused to learn a trade and reached the age of sixteen and continued to play around and learned frivolous things.

It is not clear that Eulenspiegel is sixteen in the next chapters. In H. 7, Eulenspiegel accompanies the other children to a traditional children’s feast, and the narrator’s use of

“Kinder”, “Knaben” and “Töchterlin” (children, boys, and little daughters; 23-24) implies that Eulenspiegel is young, as does the title, “wie Ulenspiegel daz Weckbrot oder das Semelbrot mit andern Jungen aß” (How Eulenspiegel ate sausage broth soup with other youths; 23).253 H. 3 – H. 8 appear to be a collection of story arcs which took place at some point in his childhood, as represented in the figure below:

H. 2 H. 3 H. 4 H. 5 H. 6 H. 7 H. 8 H. 9

Figure 2.2: Chronological and Thematic Connections in H.2 – H. 9

The individual links between chapters do not need to be discussed – it is enough to acknowledge that they have chronological links similar to the ones investigated above.

Note that H. 2 is not represented as a black circle because it summarized a period of time

253 The strict definition of Weckbrot and Semelbrot are buns or bread rolls. Lindow defines Semelbrot as “Mit Wurstbrühe übergossenes Weizenbrot” (Wheat bread doused with sausage broth; 23n1). The text states “ein Suppen oder Brei, daz heisset daz Weckbrot” (a soup or pulp called a Weckbrot; 23) and that the innkeeper later “begoß da die Suppen oder das Weckbrot” (poured the soup or Weckbrot; 24). It appears that Eulenspiegel and the children consumed some form of the modern German Brotsuppe.

115 encompassing the other chapters. Eulenspiegel reaches the age of 16 twice: at the end of

H. 2 and at the beginning of H. 9.

Eulenspiegel's Death

A second obvious exception to understanding the Eulenspiegel-book as an open-ended collection of anecdotes is the final (H. 85 onward) segment on Eulenspiegel’s death.

Some features from the previous section are present here, such as the relaxed approach to the passage of time. Other elements, such as the religious symbolism and coherency of the story arc, encourage the reader to judge Eulenspiegel’s actions in spiritual terms, either to praise or condemn him. However, the episodes reinventing hagiographical motifs do not allow for an easy interpretation of the trickster character and must be looked at both as individual occurrences and as an entire unit.

Eulenspiegel dies of illness concomitant with old age, but it is unclear when the disease begins to take hold. In the research literature, the division is consistently placed around H. 89, though individual opinions vary. Lappenberg, for example, argued in favor of H. 90.254 Honegger and Schröder chose H. 89.255 In recent work, Kokott maintains that the drunkenness and hangover in H. 88 signifies Eulenspiegel’s entrance into old age.256 All of the above scholars cite evidence, and none of the disagreements lead to radically different interpretations. It is also not clear that an absolute division is necessary, since small hints of declining health appear much earlier.

In H. 85, Eulenspiegel claims, “ich was nit wol zu pas” (I was not doing so well; 243).

The statement is a pretense to commit a prank, but Eulenspiegel’s ability to defecate

254 Lappenberg (1854) 131 255 Honegger (1973) 115-116, Schröder (1988) 82 256 Kokott (1996) 105-106

116 despite not eating the night before suggests gastrointestinal illness. Whatever

Eulenspiegel has, it does not prevent him from travelling until H. 87. The lone consequence of poor health in H. 86 is Eulenspiegel’s inability to eat meat ("Ulenspiegel ward ein wenig kranck, daz er kein Fleisch möcht, und kocht ihm weich Eiger."

[Eulenspiegel was a little sick, so he did not want any meat, and cooked soft eggs for himself; 245]).257 In H. 87, Eulenspiegel’s faux regret (“Da thet Ulenspiegel, als ob er der Büberei müd wär und wolt gon in die Kirch” [There Eulenspiegel acted as though he were tired of foolishness and wanted to enter the church; 246]) does not prevent him from fooling the bishop. The decline in health is more significant in H. 88, where

Eulenspiegel is incapacitated for the first half of the story, but he can recover, disguise himself, and return. In H. 89, Eulenspiegel dies from his disease: "Also kam er geen

Mollen, da ward er mit Kranckheit umbgeben, das er kurtz danach starb" (So he went to

Mölln, where he became sick and shortly thereafter died; 255). Similar vocabulary can be found throughout the chapter. Since all subsequent stories begin by emphasizing

Eulenspiegel’s compromised state, it appears safe to consider the disease fully established at H. 89.

On a side note, H. 87 has an indirect connection to H. 72, as demonstrated by the introduction: “Da nun Ulenspiegel dise Schalckheit het ußgericht, reißt er wider gen

Bremen zu dem Bischoff” (Once Eulenspiegel completed this prank [= a previous one], he returned to Bremen, to the Bishop; 247). Eulenspiegel has left and now returns.

While allusions to previous unknown chapters have consistently appeared throughout the

257 I would like to thank Prof. Alexander Schwarz for alerting me to this excerpt in a personal correspondence.

117 text, the connection between H. 72 and H. 87 is noteworthy, as unknown events

(represented by a black circle with two question marks in Figure 2.1) are inserted between the two episodes. Little is added with this statement except the usual biographical impression discussed above.

The dual focus on chronological and thematic patterns that define hagiographic tradition and Eulenspiegel’s travels remains throughout the H. 89 – H. 95 sequence and results in another time paradox. Although Eulenspiegel dies at the end of H. 89, the following stories give accounts of later actions, and a second account of his death appears in the middle of H. 93. Walther interprets Eulenspiegel’s twofold death as a kind of literary joke,258 but such a view is not necessary. A more likely answer is that the relationship between H. 89 and H. 90 – H. 93 resembles that between H. 2 and H. 3 – H.

8. H. 90, H. 91, and H. 92 are understood as individual episodes contained within the amount of time depicted at the end of H. 89. The connection between H. 89 and H. 93 is slightly more complicated in light of the dual accounts of a single event:

H. 89: Also kam er geen Mollen, da ward er mit Kranckheit umbgeben, das er kurtz darnach starb, (255)

Thus he came to Mölln, where he became sick and died shortly thereafter.

H. 93: Daz namen die drei Partheien also gütlichen an, und Ulenspiegel starb. (263)

The three parties kindly accepted [Eulenspiegel’s commands], and he died.

Unlike H. 2 and H. 9 (which do not overlap), H. 89 and H. 93 are semi-redundant. The first half of H. 93 is understood as part of the same time period covered in H. 89, and its

258 Walther (1893) 63

118 second half describes a new section of time.

H. 94 and H. 95, which recount misadventures during Eulenspiegel’s burial, appear to take place within H. 93. In H. 94, Eulenspiegel’s bier is overturned by pigs, and in H. 95, the ropes used to lower him into the grave break, allowing his corpse to stand upright.259

The beguines are present at the end of H. 94 and at the beginning of H. 95, establishing continuity. Both chapters have to take place before Eulenspiegel is exhumed at the end of H. 93. The relationship between the individual chapters at the end of S1515 resemble the following illustration:

H. 89 H. 90 H. 91 H. 92 H. 93 H. 94 H. 95

Figure 2.3: Chronological and Thematic Connections in H. 89 – H. 95

A continuous H. 90 – H. 92 sequence is possible but has not been depicted because of the vague ending of H. 90: when “die Leüt” (people; 257) advise Eulenspiegel to go to confession, it is not clear whether they mean a priest, as in H. 92, or any spiritual authority – which would refer to the beguine in H. 91. It is enough to acknowledge that

H. 90 takes place before both of them. The close ties between all seven chapters do not immediately prove similarities with hagiographical style, but they do suggest that the final section of S1515 was intended to be a unit which gives the reader freedom to read individual chapters at his leisure.

The temporal ordering of the final chapters is accompanied by the presence of pseudo-

259 Schüppert explains H. 94 and H. 95 as follows: Eulenspiegel's corpse first falls onto its stomach on the way to the burial, and then slides feet-first in the grave (Schüppert [1989] 17).

119 religious motifs which subvert traditional symbols and emphasize the protagonist’s un- holiness. Eulenspiegel’s behavior does not change and neither does the basic rhythm of the chapters: each incident has a connection to other stories, an individual victim, a conclusion, and all other expected qualities. The only real change is the awareness of the protagonist’s end – a reality the narrator comments on with the statement “Und als eins

Menschen Leben ist, so ist auch sein End” (As a man’s life is, so is his end; 256). Schulz-

Grobert sees a continuity between that statement and the traditional concept of “Qualis vita, finis ita!” (as in life, so at the end), the idea that a saint’s death reflects the blessed status enjoyed in life,260 described by Feistner as follows:

Der natürliche, alters- oder krankheitsbedingte Tod ist hier in der Art, wie ihn der Heilige wohlvorbereitet (meist nach göttlicher Ankündigung) erlebt, nur ein Spiegel seines gesamten vorherigen Lebens. Das gilt für die ersten Bekenner, die Anachoreten . . . wie für alle späteren.261

The natural death, brought about by age or disease, is, in the way that the well-prepared saint experiences it (generally following divine notice), only a mirror of his entire earlier life. That is as true for the first confessors, the anchorites, . . . as it is for all later ones.

Eulenspiegel does the same thing. He remains a trickster to the end. The decision does not make him an anti-Saint, but it does show a shared consistency in narrative style.

A general subversion of religious mores can be seen in Eulenspiegel’s entrance to the infirmary Der heilig Geistt (the Holy Spirit), where he draws the reader’s attention to the contrast between the name and his behavior:

Ich hab da vast nach gestanden und Got allezeit gebetten, das der heilig Geist solt in mich kumen, so sendt er mir das Widerteil, daz ich nun in den heiligen Geist kum und er bleibt uß mir und kum in

260 Schulz-Grobert (1999) 182-185 261 Feistner (1995) 34

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ihn. (256)

I had always been constant in my desire, and asked God, that the Holy Ghost should enter me, and he gives me the opposite: now I will enter the Holy Ghost. He stays outside of me and I come into him!

Incongruity between expectation and reality was already introduced in the beginning of

H. 90, where Eulenspiegel “returns” a laxative by defecating in the pharmacist’s yard and remarking: “Hie kam die Artznei uß, da muß sie wider ein, so verleurt der Appotecker nit, ich kan doch sunst kein Gelt geben” (Here was the medicine distributed, so here they must be returned. The pharmacist has therefore not lost anything, since I can’t give him any money; 156). Normal rules of social behavior would demand that Eulenspiegel return a medicine he cannot afford, which he does – just not in a correct way. His later allusion to John 14:17 ("Even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know him; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you" [KJV])262 brings the same sense of humor into the religious sphere. The infirmary’s name comforts the suffering with the promise of eternal life and implies a

Christian attitude. As Eulenspiegel’s life up to this point does not reflect any sort of piety, the name Der heilig Geistt loses its meaning and draws attention to Eulenspiegel’s less-than-saintly nature. Eulenspiegel and the Holy Spirit do enter into union together, but in the wrong way.

Eulenspiegel’s mother visits him shortly after his self-reflection with the, as Schwarz notes, unmotherly263 hope of inheriting money, but the episode also allows Eulenspiegel

262 noted by Lindow (256n6), though he does not name the verse. 263 Schwarz (1986) 442

121 to mimic the hagiographic practice of taking leave from loved ones before death.264 She makes four requests (the first one is a question) which Eulenspiegel parodies in his trademark overly-literal style. His response to her demand for money is noteworthy for its homiletic elements:

Liebe Muter, wer da nüt hat, dem sol man geben, und der etwas hat, dem sol man etwas nemen. Mein Gut ist verborgen, das niemans weiß. Findest du etwas, das mein ist, das magchst du angreiffen, doch ich gib dir von meinem Gut alles, das krumb ist und recht ist. (257)

Dear mother, one should give to whoever has nothing and take something from him who has something. My possessions are hidden where nobody can find them. If you can give something of mine, you may take it up, but I will give you anything that is crooked and straight (= nothing).

The beginning is an allusion to Matthew 13:12 and its parallels, whereby Eulenspiegel inverts the biblical logic in a manner consistent with the attitude in H. 90. Eulenspiegel may have chosen to corrupt Jesus’s teaching to express his resentment (he dies a pauper and presumably begrudges others’ wealth), but his verse selection is only a reaction to his mother’s question. More important is Eulenspiegel’s use of language as a strategy to attack his mother and the Christianity in general. By reversing a well-known element of holy scripture, Eulenspiegel targets religious orthodoxy as a whole, while allowing his final meeting with his mother to end in failure.

The botched confession of H. 91 allows Eulenspiegel to undermine yet another religious episode with a list of unperformed pranks (258-259). By reinventing the sacrament as an opportunity to describe uncommitted sins, Eulenspiegel simultaneously rejects the offer to clear his conscience (and to increase his chances of salvation) and

264 von der Nahmer (2013) 223-236

122 turns the episode into an opportunity for verbal aggression: he offends the Beguine, refuses to apologize, provokes her to anger, and congratulates himself after she storms out. Rather than bringing himself into harmony with God, Eulenspiegel estranges himself further and aggravates his spiritual peril in the ritual that should ameliorate it. An identical attitude can be seen in H. 92. There, the priest’s emphasis on Eulenspiegel’s sins ("Ihr seind ein abentürlich Gesel gewesen und haben vil Sünd getriben" [You have been a strange fellow and committed many sins; 260]) drives home Eulenspiegel’s need for religious salvation. His response – covering fecal matter with gold and tricking the priest into dirtying his hands – undermines the basic purpose of the testament by alienating the priest, precluding last rites and further jeopardizing Eulenspiegel’s soul.

The prank is once again formulaic, since it follows a general pattern set in H. 91 (and to a certain degree H. 90), but the humor has two symbolic elements. First, Eulenspiegel conforms to normal trickster patterns of behavior (he offers the priest gold at the unacceptable price of coming into contact with fecal matter), but he also attacks the practice of providing for vigils and memorial services, an action which emphasizes the areligious element of his character.

Throughout S1515, Eulenspiegel often uses fecal matter to cause physical disgust among his victims,265 even in a church (H. 12). The situation here is no different, and the priest draws a connection between earlier stories and Eulenspiegel’s deathbed action:

„O wie ein vorteiliger Schalck bist du. Betrügst du mich in deinem letzten End, da du in deinem Todbet leist, so dürfen dieginnen nit klagen, die du betrogen hast in deinen jungen Tagen.“ (261)

“Oh, what a deceitful scoundrel you are. Since you betray

265 Seepel (1998) 115-121

123

me at the end of your life, when you are confined to your deathbed, those who you betrayed in your younger days cannot complain.”

„Du bist ein Schalck ob allen Schälcken ußgelesen. Kanst du dich von Lübick von dem Galgen reden, du antwurst auch wol mir wider“ (261)

“You are a verifiable scoundrel above all other scoundrels. You defy me just as well as you can talk yourself free from the gallows of Lübeck.”

The religious context of Eulenspiegel’s prank gives the fecal matter a second significance: an inversion of last rites. As von der Nahmer observes, saints’ departures were often accompanied by rituals which, because of their function as preparatory steps for death, used physical objects. Examples include holy water, ash, or the acting of praying in the form of a cross.266 The objects represent Christ’s victory267 and prepare the Saint for the unification of his/her soul with God.268 When Eulenspiegel replaces those objects of symbols with fecal matter, he essentially rejects spiritual orthodoxy.

While Heinritz’s interpretation of Eulenspiegel’s use of fecal matter as a scatological and demonic mockery of Christian ideals269 may be a slight exaggeration (Eulenspiegel never suggests an alliance with the devil or even mentions him), the association is directionally correct. By preventing last rites, Eulenspiegel cuts himself off (again) from God.

A noteworthy side effect of Eulenspiegel’s use of symbolism is the channeling of aggression against an abstract worldview – late medieval Christianity – shared by the narrator and reader. While a classical reading of Eulenspiegel’s pranks sees his actions

266 von der Nahmer (2013) 214-215 267 Ibid. 2012 268 Ibid. 215-216 269 Heinritz (2002) 22 and (cited in Heinritz) Mezger (1991)

124 as an attempt to demonstrate his antagonists’ personality flaws,270 the overtly spiritual context of his behavior here forces the reader to consider the moral repercussions of his actions to a greater degree. Here, Eulenspiegel’s antagonism reflects on him, since its attacks cannot undermine the validity of Christianity as a system of belief. For instance, the priest’s ulterior motifs in H. 92 cannot compromise the a priori validity of last rites, and Eulenspiegel still forfeits spiritual care. Although Wodraschka is correct that

Eulenspiegel "übertritt . . . die Grenzen einer Vorstellung des Körpers als

(vorindividuellem) Gottesebenbild" (transgresses the borders of an image of the body as a pre-individual mirror image of God),271 his actions have no widespread metaphysical repercussions. Quite the opposite: Eulenspiegel’s actions redound upon himself and reveal the depth and uncompromising nature of the character's irreverence.

Each of the three stories covering the aftermath of Eulenspiegel’s death (H. 93 – H.

95) illustrates a different aspect of his character. The exhumation in H. 93 culminates in the succinct description of the hyper-decayed corpse: “da waz er gleich faul, das niemans bei ihm bleiben mocht” ([his corpse] had already decomposed so that nobody could stand to be by him; 263). The incident is an obvious reversal of the doctrine of sacral incorruptibility. If retarded decomposition of the corpse is an indication of holiness,

Eulenspiegel’s exaggeratedly quick (gleich) putrefaction suggests the opposite: not only does he continue to fool his victims after death, his post-mortem spiritual impurity is so great that it continues to express itself in the physical realm. In other words,

Eulenspiegel is every bit as religiously culpable as saints are beatified. H. 94 and H. 95

270 So Spriewald (1977) 366-372 and Frey et al. (1981) 100 271 Wodraschka (2007) 35

125 continue the pattern with accounts of post-mortem tricks with an uncanny or even sinister character. As Schüppert notes, the swine in H. 94 impart a satanic impression, given the traditional associations with the devil in medieval and early modern poetry,272 and

Eulenspiegel’s final resting position standing upright in H. 95 is not necessarily a harmless prank – it could also be an ominous sign for Eulenspiegel’s post-mortem

273 spiritual situation.

The actions are surprises in keeping with Eulenspiegel’s general personality, but it would be an exaggeration to call them anti-miracles or to characterize him as anti-

Christian. To begin, it is not clear whether Eulenspiegel is causing the mishaps or if they are coincidences. The advanced decay in H. 93 could just be a biological fluke. If

Eulenspiegel is responsible, he could also be defending himself: his three executors attempt to disinter him after being fooled by their own greed, and his promise to give them each one-third of his possessions was, from a literal perspective, kept (he owns nothing). Nor do the collapse of the bier in H. 94 and the snapping of the ropes in H. 95 prevent him from being buried, no matter how shocking the individual events are. All three acts can be understood as classic trickster stunts: the protagonist is in the ground, but in an unexpected manner, simultaneously buried and not buried. Finally, there is a subjective quality to H. 94 and H. 95 insofar as they are dependent on witnesses for interpretation. In H. 94, the priests note that "Er zeugt selber, das er verkert wil ligen, dem wöllen wir also thün" ([Eulenspiegel] himself reveals that he wants to lie wrong, so

272 Schüppert (1989) 17. For a general overview of the association of swine (and especially boars) with medieval/early modern conceptions of sinfulness and the demonic see Schouwink (1985) 93-106. 273 Schüppert (1989) 17

126 let us indulge him; 265), and in H. 95, the beguines – who incidentally inhabit an ambivalent position between the worldly and ministerial spheres – remark "Lassen ihn ston, wan er ist wunderlich gewesen in seinem Leben, wunderlich wil er auch sein in seinem Tod" (Let him stand, for he was strange in his life and wants to be so in death;

266). In both cases, the audience receives the means to an interpretation from a character existing inside the fictional world but does not discover whether Eulenspiegel is really the guilty party.

A close reading allows the audience to create a something resembling a logical chronology, but the triplicate presentation of the burial, the dual death, and the multitude of character judgements create a flurry of information preventing definite moral condemnation of the protagonist. The reader can choose between multiple possible readings of Eulenspiegel as a character. Although Aichmayr’s comparisons of the adaptions of episodes from PA and PvK discovered a tendency to moralize,274 it is not clear whether the redactor held the same opinion of Eulenspiegel in all stages of the chapbook. The burial and death scenes suggest the opposite: multiple interpretations of the character pop up in each story. H. 93 is the closest to a condemnation. Even if

Eulenspiegel willingly caused his corpse to decay, the image can hardly be interpreted positively. At the same time, he is not alone in his moral turpitude; everyone walks away with the recognition of their own greed. The pigs of H. 94, despite the traditional negative symbolism, are more comical than sinister. The rhythmic account of the chaos,

Und die Suw und die jungen Ferlin lieffen zustrawet in dem Spital, so das sie sprungen und lieffen, so uber die Pfaffen, uber die Beginen, uber die Krancken, uber die Starcken, uber die Leich, da Ulenspiegel in lag, so daz da ein Geruff

274 Aichmayr (1991) 148-155

127

und ein Geschrei ward von den alten Beginen, das die Pfaffen liessen die Vigilt ston und lieffen zu der Thür uß. (265)

And the sow and the young piglets ran loose in the infirmary, so that they jumped and ran over the priests, over the beguines, over the sick, over the healthy, over the casket Eulenspiegel was in, so that the beguines yelled and screamed, that the priests left them there and ran out the door. is pure slapstick. H. 95 can be interpreted along similar lines: the adjective wunderlich is, at worst, ambivalent. Eulenspiegel’s twofold death offers a similar plurality of possible moral judgement – though both are negative. In H. 89, the reader witnesses an indirect condemnation: Eulenspiegel dies after being thrown out of a cloister with the abbot’s command, “louff zu dem Teüffel, war du wilt” (go to the devil, wherever you go; 255).

By the time Eulenspiegel dies in H. 93, the reader has had time to see him find a new infirmary, insult his mother and a beguine, and trick a priest, and all three pranks make him look even worse.

The tripartite element of Eulenspiegel’s death suggests a thematic connection with

Eulenspiegel’s baptism. His triple repentance in H. 91, his division of the non-existent inheritance between three parties, and the threefold description of his funeral (he isn’t buried three times, but there are three chapters dealing with the aftermath of his death) do not appear to be a coincidence. In light of the ubiquity of identical structures in classical, religious, and general European storytelling (like Märchen), it is hard to determine the source: possibilities include oral tradition, the gospels, actual hagiographies, humor, and even the redactor’s own imagination. Ultimately, both the introduction and the death sequence are connected as framing elements through their focus on Eulenspiegel’s moral status, even if a clear judgement is never given. The baptism, perhaps accompanied by

128 the implications inherent in the name “Till,”275 draws attention to Eulenspiegel’s personality despite the lack of action on the character’s part. The same is true for the burial scenes. Both cycles take place within the fictional world of S1515 and are presented not as accounts of the protagonist’s actions but as a means to interpret earlier and later events.

In a similar way, the introduction and the gravestone (H. 96) also offer tools to help the readers construct their own interpretive approaches, even if those elements of the text lie outside the Vita. No value judgments are made, but the introduction gives hints in the form of general religious vocabulary and indirect instructions for the proper Sitz im Leben of the book (i.e. it should not be read at the expense of the worship service but only as needed to cheer one up [8]). The gravestone plays an equally indirect role: the act of displaying the owl and the mirror draws to mind all possible meanings of the symbols one last time, but without any explanation. Given the lack of actual content, only subjective guessing about the objects’ significance remains a possibility. The only thing the reader knows for sure is that Eulenspiegel is dead.

Conclusion

The 16th-century Eulenspiegel book is not only noteworthy because of its self- presentation as a collection of orally transmitted stories centered around a popular hero, but also because of the redactor’s experimentation with chapter arrangement. The willingness to use dissimilar and even mutually exclusive methods to connect anecdotes suggests an awareness of, but only relaxed loyalty to, ongoing literary traditions and the

275 For the implied prognostication inherent in the name Dil/Dyl/Till see Liberman (2008) 60-61.

129 pressure to create a cohesive narrative arc. Although a knowledge of the literary surroundings of S1515 makes the division into three general sections – Eulenspiegel’s childhood and youth, his adult years, and his death sequence – apparent, a close reading shows that the categories can be divided into smaller units which bleed into each other.

The tripartite system is ultimately an oversimplification, as Eulenspiegel glides out of childhood into a delinquent youth with a series of unsuccessful apprenticeships that later defines his adult years. Direct or indirect references to previous adventures – including the use of the place names – allow the reader to experience a general passage of time. An investigation of such allusions may render a definitive biography impossible, but that is a minor point. During the process of reading, the reader infers connections to other stories, without feeling pressure to create a permanent chronology.

Thematic or content-based similarities between stories – Feistner’s Reihung nach bestimmten Themenbereichen bzw. Tugenden – complement the general impression of a passage of time. The subjective quality of thematic focus relies on individual interpretation to be recognized, and there is no guarantee that a reader’s understanding is true. However, when the connection is so obvious that a degree of certainty can be taken for granted, thematic arrangements have practical advantages for the reader. Whenever a story and its immediate neighbors share certain qualities, they become associated with each other in the reader’s mind. On future occasions, each anecdote is easier to find: the reader does not need to look for a single story, just a category. When that is found, the task of locating the intended story is easy. The reader can also flip to a different unit for a different anecdote, even when its position is only vaguely known. As a result,

Eulenspiegel’s “biography” can then be deconstructed and reassembled at will, and the

130 reader can concentrate his attention on stories entertaining to him.

The hagiographic elements in S1515 do not reflect on the moral quality of the character or on a satirical approach to religion or the estate structure of 16th-century

Germany (although such qualities may be present in individual stories). Instead, they reveal an attempt to direct or to anticipate the target audience’s reading style. The underlying assumption – namely, that S1515 would be read in excerpts rather than as a continuous narrative – can also be seen in the structure of the chapters. The titles anticipate the conclusion, ruining any chance of surprise before the story begins, and the woodcut depicts Eulenspiegel’s prank right at his moment of victory. The design spoils the plot, but it also makes the art of rereading familiar material more enjoyable by turning them into well-established classics. The lack of continuity between the episodes allows the reader freedom to read any story without missing important overarching themes of character development. Read as a biography, S1515 would quickly become boring, but in excerpts it becomes a joke book centered around Eulenspiegel’s brand of tricks.

Such a reading pattern is only marginally different from the practice of reading excerpts of Saints’ Lives on feast or holy days, or of reading a section of the gospel during Sunday worship: in all three cases, the actions are not intended to introduce new information but to confirm that which was already known. The opening of S1515 points to this understanding and portrays the Eulenspiegel-character as public property: the

“etlich Personen” (various persons; 7) know enough about Eulenspiegel to be interested in a concrete form of the character, and the request that the redactor “dise Historien und

Geschichten ihn zulieb sol zesamenbringen und beschreiben” (should bring together for

[his audience] these histories and describe/record them; 7, emphasis mine) also implies

131 that, much as with a popular saint, stories about the character circulated before the Vita was composed. The arrival of the Eulenspiegel-chapbook, first in the S1511/S1515 form, and then in later editions, resembles the historical process of hagiographical writing presented in Decuble’s Die hagiographische Konvention: a nebulous character takes on concrete form.

The hypothetic appropriation of hagiographic tradition is meant mutatis mutandis, since Eulenspiegel is not a member of any communio sanctorum and is not quite an anti-

Saint like Simon Magus. The act of establishing a literary Eulenspiegel was intended to give the reader a solid, authoritative understanding of a popular character, not to make him religious. Eulenspiegel is not a saint, but he is the equivalent of what Mulder-Bakker called an “icon:”

The patron saints of cities or villages are the icon of the community. They embody the local identity. They call up pleasurable feelings of security and radiate a salutary warmth. They add a ‘festive element’ to life. Villagers need not live as virgin martyrs themselves in order to acknowledge Dymphna as their patron; they need not even have any desire to live a chaste life. They do not have to know the life story of Arnulf in order to believe in his miraculous power. But they do have to drink his beer and carry him on their shoulders on his festive day.276

Good fortune or health may not emanate from Eulenspiegel, but he does add festivity to life: readers identify with him through the humor offered (as the introduction states), and they do not need to focus on the Vita-element of the novel while reading any single story.

Additionally, elements of Eulenspiegel embody several local identities: the place names are recognizable, the beguines are Low German/Dutch, and many chapters have short

276 Mulder-Bakker (2002) 11

132 asides or jokes.

Eulenspiegel’s dependencies on confessor legends for a general structure and the similarities of S1515 to hagiographic tradition despite the secular content point to a common approach to the understanding of narrative time in 16th-century writing. To begin, a character’s entire life simultaneously exists and is irrelevant for any individual story. Episodic storytelling with a central protagonist requires the writer and the reader to be aware of a life structure, but each chapter is also a single point in time without a direct relationship to other stories. Much like the paradox of Zeno’s arrow, the reader cannot point to a scene as an example of character development, and yet Eulenspiegel leaves childhood and enters old age.

In S1515, time and place are understood as interrelated. Cities are not meant as actual locations, since the names, with occasional exceptions (like Rome), are interchangeable.

They are tools to help the narrator fabricate a sense of progression at the beginning and the end of the stories. The passage of time takes place in fits and starts: Eulenspiegel is first in Lübeck, then leaves the city and arrives in Helmstedt, and the contrast between the two locations gives the impression of an earlier and later event. The subjective quality also gives the reader freedom to flip through pages, since the passage of time and the actions within the chapter are unrelated. Together with the stereotypical nature of the episodes, the weak connections allow the reader freedom to ignore the pseudo- chronological structure in favor of a free reading better suited for a compendium-like project such as S1515.

The key element in all the above findings is the contrast between the presentation of

Eulenspiegel in individual episodes and the biographical pattern directing S1515. The

133 two presented levels of plot are irreconcilable: the outline orders the narrative around a childhood-adulthood-death cycle, but the day-to-day activities of Eulenspiegel’s actions do not reflect that. In certain situations, the protagonist’s age can be expressed, but otherwise the main intent of each chapter is to allow Eulenspiegel to be Eulenspiegel.

Information can still influence the relationship between individual stories (and give the text the appearance of continuity) but the formulaic result shows a prioritization of the pranks over the character’s life.

The structure of the book reflects the author’s understanding of Eulenspiegel as well as likely reader demands. After all, S1515 carries the title Ein kurtzweilig Lesen von Dyl

Ulenspiegel, not Daz kurtzweilig Leben. The nature of Eulenspiegel’s pranks, the relaxed approach to internal consistency, the arrangement of stories among semi-chronological, semi-thematic lines, and the unvarying layout of every single chapter are all engineered to render Eulenspiegel’s adventures a product meant for easy consumption, and that mission requires turning the character over to the reader to read at leisure. When the redactor claims that “uff daz der Gotsdienst nitt verhindert werd” (So that divine service is not interrupted; 8), he doubtlessly meant that in good faith, but he also designed S1515 so that reading practices could resemble the practice of reading excerpts of Jesus’s and the saints’ lives independently of the biography everyone either knew, or, in

Eulenspiegel’s case, everyone could adopt and disregard at will.

134

Chapter 3: Till Eulenspiegel as a “Recurring

Character” in the Works of Hans Sachs

Introduction: Hans Sachs

Hans Sachs (1494-1576), the famous Meistersänger and poet, adopted a number of

Eulenspiegel-stories as Meisterlieder, as Spruchgedichte, and as Fastnachtspiele.277 The first two categories belong (because of the subject matter) under the title Schwank,278 while the Shrove Tuesday plays are an unrelated theatric medium.279 In contrast to

S1515’s biographical form, Sachs’s adaptations resemble a step backwards into the episodic and folkloric. The parabolic narrative cycle of birth – childhood – adulthood –

277 Rettelbach (2005) 331 278 A short description of the Meisterlied and Sangspruchdichtung genres: the former is a strict lyric form associated with a “städtisch[es] Bürgertum” (roughly the urban citizenry or freemen, defined in contrast with the nobility, the clergy, and the rural peasantry) and recited for a closed audience comprised of other Meistersänger (Berger [1994] 83-86). Sangspruchdichtung is harder to define. Könneker gives both a broad and a narrow definition: the former encompasses any rhymed verse that is not Meisterlied, including Sachs’s tragedies, comedies and Fastnachtspiele, while the second (narrow) definition is limited to poems written in couplets (Könneker [1971] 38). I will use the second definition for individual Spruchgedichte. 279 A number of editions of Sachs’s works exists. Most famous is the 26-volume Hans Sachs Werke, edited by Adelbert von Keller and Edmund Goetze and published with the Bibliothek des Literarischen Vereins in Stuttgart (1870-1908). Goetze’s series with Neudrucke deutscher Literaturwerke, Sämmtliche (sic) Fastnachtspiele and Sämtliche Fabeln und Schwänke (1880-1887 and 1893-1904, respectively; the latter with Karl Drescher) are based on Sachs’s manuscripts and are regarded as “more reliable than those of the early volumes of the Critical Edition” (Beare [1960] 54). The first two volumes Fabeln und Schwänke (Fables and Farces) hold Spruchgedichte, while the remaining four volumes contain “Die Fabeln und Schwänke in den Meistergesängen” (Fables and Farces in the Meisterlieder). Both categories arrange their material in independent chronological order. Citations of the Schwänke and Fastnachtspiele are from the Neudrucke and given by line, while Sachs’s Reformation dialogues are from the Werke and cited by page, and material from Ellis’s edition of Sachs’s earlier Meisterlieder are given by stanza and verse.

135 old age – death is replaced by an appearance of a familiar character and appropriated by the redactor for an oral event before an audience. Eulenspiegel enters, fulfills his role, and leaves, allowing the story to end with a variation of the formulaic “So spricht Hans

Sachs” (So speaks Hans Sachs).

Sachs began writing in 1513, composing forty-two Meisterlieder and four

Spruchgedichte between 1514 and 1518.280 These songs are contained in the Berlin 414 manuscript.281 After converting to Protestantism, he expanded the traditionally religious

Meisterlied genre to include secular topics, like Schwänke, fables, and historical themes.282 His output also contains Shrove Tuesday plays, religious dialogues, and serious dramatic works. Geiger divided his creative life into five eras:

1. Until 1522: Before the Reformation, Sachs composes mostly religious Meisterlieder (in Geiger also called Meistergesänge). Some Spruchgedichte and Fastnachtspiele, including Von der Eygenschaft der Lieb and Das Hoffgesindt Veneris, also appear during this period.

2. To 1543: Here Sachs composes mostly religious works, including Reformation dialogues.

3. From 1544 to 1555: This decade is Sachs’s most productive period.

4. From 1556 to 1560: Sachs concentrates mostly on his Spruchgedichte.

5. From 1561 to 1569. Sachs’s productivity declines and he concentrates on religious songs.283

280 Ellis (1974) 14 281 Ibid. 14-17. Song numbers correspond to Ellis’s numbering system based on subject matter and then chronological order “with few exceptions” (Ellis [1974] 16). 282 Straßner 74-75 283 Geiger (1956) 98-99

136

Sachs’s Eulenspiegel-poetry can be divided into two categories: Fastnachtspiele and everything else. Streubel gave a detailed chronology of Eulenspiegel-based poems from

1533 to 1556.284 She used the terms Lied (= Meisterlied) and Schwank (=

Spruchgedicht), noting that “jeder Schwank auch als Lied bearbeitet worden ist” (every

Schwank is also written as a Lied).285 Most material appeared between 1539 and 1554.

Only one Lied was composed in 1533 (Der Ewlenspigel) and 1538 (Des Ewlenspiegels thestament), the latter also reappearing as a Spruchgedicht in February 1539.286 A few other outliers also exist: 1556 has two Lieder, and the first, Ewlenspigel wart ein maler, was also a Spruchgedicht.287

Current Research on Hans Sachs

My introduction to relevant critical literature will be limited to brief discussions of more recent material and surveys of older research. Holzberg’s “Forschungssituation”

(state of the field) orients the reader to the most important pre-1979 works and gives special emphasis to Beck (1929/1930), Krause (1971), and Dietrich-Bader (1972). All three discussed Sachs’s use of “nicht-aristotelische Dramatik” (Non-Aristotelian drama).288 The second half of Holzberg’s article is devoted to “Forschungsperspektiven”

(Research Prospects or Research Perspectives).289 A second research summary,

Michael’s Ein Forschungsbericht, gave a comprehensive view of all dramatic literature

284 Streubel (1988) 101-102. It is in the form of a chronological chart. 285 Ibid. 104 286 Ibid. 101 287 Ibid. 102. Tenberg developed a similar, slightly more intuitive way of documenting Sachs’s literary interest in Eulenspiegel: he introduces Sachs’s entire literary biography in his survey of the year 1533 and then addresses each year chronologically. 288 Holzberg (1971) 109-113 289 Ibid. 113-136

137 of the Reformation by geographical setting with a chapter devoted to Hans Sachs. It is roughly the equivalent of an annotated bibliography. He summarized the oldest research of the 19th century, including Naumann (1843), Goetze (1878) and Sahr (1892).290 For the present chapter, his section on Fastnachtspiele is especially useful as a record of the first attempts to show the literary value of Sachs’s work, beginning with Eugen Geiger

(1904) and continuing to Könneker’s focus on Sachs’s stoicism (especially concerning marriage) and the use of “List” (cunning).291

Geiger investigated Sachs’s Shrove Tuesday plays in comparison with the source material. Michael portrays the study as follows: “Eugen Geiger sucht den künstlerischen

Wert der Fastnachtspiele darzulegen, indem er Sachsens Technik in allen Einzelheiten durchgeht” (Eugen Geiger attempts to reveal the artistic value of the Shrove Tuesday plays by discussing every element of Sachs’s technique in detail).292 Geiger summarized his 300-page work with the following, somewhat paradoxical conclusion: Sachs puts sincere effort in the original characterization of his protagonists, but a “sklavisch”

(slavish) loyalty to his individual sources hindered him from enjoying complete artistic freedom.293 Beck addressed the issue of Sachs’s use of generic characters and scenes in the 16th century. His survey of Judith-dramas suggested that playwrights (including

Sachs) remove any unique qualities of traditional characters and reimagine them as representatives of early modern life.294 Character actions and personalities are fraught

290 Michael (1989) 169-201 291 Ibid. 190-198, especially 195-196 292 Michael (1989) 191 293 Geiger (1904) 383-384 294 Beck (1929) 118-120. His third chapter is devoted to Sachs. Beck’s later article (1930) is a summary of his findings.

138 with inconsistencies within the plot, but portray themselves as character stereotypes the audience could recognize; the resonance between audience members and the play forms an “äußere Einheit” (external unity), which Beck considered to be the defining quality of non-classical plays.295

Dietrich-Baser framed her comparison of Hans Sachs’s and Georg Wickram’s organization of the “Handlung” (plot) and “Auslegung” (interpretation) in the context of the evolution of theatre as a medium. Sachs identifies himself as an “Erzieher zur Ehre

Gottes” (educator for the glory of God)296 whose plays function as a representation (in

Dietrich-Bader’s words, “Wiederholung” [repetition] or “Nacherzählung” [retelling]) of a famous story297 in the service of a higher moral. The narrative is divided across a sequence of framing devices and scenes either belonging to the original plot or assisting the interpretation. The title of the play alerts the readers to Sachs’s intention, while the prologue and epilogue (Dietrich-Bader: “Beschluss” [resolution]) allow the herald, a moralist stand-in for the author, to guide the audience’s attention and explicate the message.298 Within the plot, actors do not perform their characters, but instead articulate their positions and plant the action in the audience’s imagination as a means of depicting the moral issue at hand.299

295 Beck (1930) 104-105 296 Dietrich-Bader (1972) 23 297 Ibid. 57 and 89 298 Ibid. 29-50 299 Ibid. 52-53

139

Dietrich-Bader’s abstraction of Sachs’s organization pattern in his dramatic works anticipated Gülich and Raible’s later theory of narrative macrostructure.300 In both systems, a plot account and narrator evaluation combine with a moral to create a story as a complete unit.301 The entire text functions as a tool for communication with an audience.302 All three scholars investigated a story’s value as a vehicle for eliciting subjective emotional energy.

Krause – the third member of Holzberg’s trio of Sachs scholarship – focused on the evolution of Sachs’s moral/didactic intentions in Wittembergisch Nachtigall (1523) and later dramatic works. For him, Sachs begins a historical process of secularizing Christian morality by reimagining Protestant values as a utopian ideology.303 The ethical norms endorsed in the dramas require men and women to contain their emotions and submit to worldly authority, which in turn is responsible for social well-being.304 Although Krause discussed comedies, tragedies, and Shrove Tuesday plays separately305 and also investigated Sachs’s structural patterns,306 his concentration on the principle of

“Gemeinnutz” (common good)307 remains his most important contribution to the field.

After Krause, critical research began to interpret the middle 16th century as a period of

300 Gülich/Raible (1977) 265. Although Gülich and Raible do not address Sachs, I was made aware of them through a citation in Knape’s handling of Sachs’s Boccaccio- adaptation (Knape [1995] 59) 301 Gülich/Raible (1977) 253-268. The graph depicting their views is on 267. I translate “Erzählung” as story and “Geschichte” as narrative for the sake of clarity. 302 Ibid. 263-168 303 Krause (1979) 164-171 304 Ibid. 75-81 and elsewhere. Krause’s findings are summarized at the end of his monograph (Ibid. 164-171) 305 Ibid. 89 306 Ibid. 113-135 307 Ibid. 83-88

140 development away from medieval traditions to an early form of modern prose. For instance, Müller (and before him Lugowski) characterized this time as a period defined by a growing preference for prose over poetry.308 Glier also called Sachs “in formaler

Hinsicht ausgesprochen rückwärtsgewandt, ja sogar altmodisch” (in formal terms decidedly retrograde, even old-fashioned]) because of his practice of rewriting prose

Schwänke as poetry.309

The Fastnachtspiele-adaptations of Eulenspiegel imported the character into a genre with a rich cultural background and explicit communication purpose and helped Sachs in his efforts to reinvent the medium. Whereas social practice limited the audience size for

Sachs’s poetic work (it was illegal to publish Meisterlieder),310 the Fastnachtspiele were performed at a certain time for a broader audience with which Sachs was familiar.

Current scholarship is united in the opinion that Sachs thoroughly changed the dramatic form, although researchers disagree on the exact nature of his contribution.

The history of modern Fastnachtspiele-research began with Eckehard Catholy and

Werner Lenk. Catholy considered the Fastnachtspiel (first appearing in the Nuremberg area around 1440) an early form of German comedy defined by its “Charakter volkstümlicher Belustigung” (character of popular entertainment).311 His discussion of the two main sub-genres of Shrove Tuesday places, the Reihenspiel (wherein a series of individuals appear and give monologues on a common theme) and the later, more plot-

308 Müller (1999) 162-163. Müller criticizes Lugowski’s ideas of historical development and the (in his view) incorrect focus on “Einzelmenschlichkeit” (Individualism) as a historical development. 309 Glier (1993) 66-67 310 Rettelbach notes that less than half of the all Meisterlieder have been published in critical editions (Rettelbach [2005] 331) and exist only in manuscript form. 311 Catholy (1969) 20-21

141 driven Handlungsspiel,312 places them at the start and end of the development of the genre. Initially isolated characters began to interact with each other with more and more frequency.313 Lenk (who wrote before Catholy) emphasized the literary history behind the plays and argues that the substantial borrowings from Schwänke serve as evidence for a learned, even erudite origin.314 In his opinion, no connection exists between the original Shrove Tuesday plays and other carnival celebrations. 315 Although Catholy and

Lenk appear to disagree, their theses can be reconciled: Lenk discussed the history of the material used, while Catholy investigated the context of their performance and their changing methods of communication.

Whereas Catholy and Lenk discuss literary prehistory and structural forms, later studies focus on the sociological function of the genre. Krohn, whose findings are reminiscent of Bakhtin’s (see chapter one), discussed Shrove Tuesday plays as obscene entertainment tolerated as a short period of freedom from sexual norms in anticipation of

Lent.316 He focused on the relationship between framing devices and plot: although the on-stage actions are vulgar, the faux apologies of the prologues and epilogues portray the plays as even more obscene than they are and in doing so break down the fourth wall between author and audience,317 who then believe that they have participated as a

312 Ibid 24-48 313 Ibid. 30 314 Lenk (1966) 108-109 and passim. Lenk’s entire monograph is a series of cited parallels and extrapolated dependencies on earlier poems. 315 Ibid. 108. In his own words, “Das Fastnachtspiel geht nicht aus den anderen Fastnachtsveranstaltungen hervor, es beruht seinem Wesen nach nicht auf ihnen.” (Shrove Tuesday plays did not evolve from other Shrovetide activities. Its nature does not depend on them [Ibid.]) 316 Krohn (1974) 200-206 317 Ibid. 141-209

142 collective in the violation of a taboo and feel a sense of release.318 Moser took the opposite position and viewed Fastnachtspiele as a mockery of and deterrent to transgression.319 For him the entire celebration apparatus – including both the costumed procession and the later Shrove Tuesday plays – can be linked with (and derived from)

Franciscan spirituality, ultimately aimed at converting the laypeople away from carnal hedonism and towards a transcendental piety (Metanoia).320

Sachs’s post-Reformation Shrove Tuesday plays are widely perceived as representing a shift in structure and social function. According to Catholy, Sachs reconciled a unified plot, unburdened by superfluous characters and loose ends, with comedy.321 His humor depends on the so-called “Doppelspiel” (play within a play), wherein characters use disguises to fool their victims, while staying recognizable to the audience.322 Müller, who investigated Sachs’s reinvention of the genre as the expression of new Protestant attitudes towards festivals and free time323 during the transition towards a reading audience,324 argued that Sachs added moral lessons to his secular Fastnachtspiele (and other genres) in an attempt to render them palatable to a less traditionalist audience.325

Stuplich, who built on Dietrich-Bader and Krause’s work, compared the structure of

Sachs’s Fastnachtspiele with that of both his serious dramas and the humanist school

318 Ibid. 319 Moser (1976) 189-192 320 Ibid. 192-198 321 Catholy (1969) 49-60 322 Ibid. 66-74 323 Müller (1985) 181-210 324 Ibid. 63-64 325 Ibid. 69-71

143 dramas326 and emphasized the innovative quality of Sachs’s “einsträngige

Handlungsführung” (single-stranded or linear plot).327

While the above scholars focus on Sachs’s didacticism, others concentrate on Sachs’s method of communicating with the audience. Moser argued that Sachs’s focus on practical morality and general instruction elicits a “vernünftige Einsicht, die aus dem

Vergnügen an der Alltäglichkeit erwachsen könnte” (a sensible insight originating from the satisfaction in the everyday occurrence [in the play]).328 Kartschocke and Reins described Sachs’s thematization of the social expectations placed on his characters, which they saw as evidence for a secularization of the genre.329 The new focus on practical morality allows for a transition to a mindset wherein individuals are expected to be self- reliant and can no longer depend on traditional structures like guilds for solidarity and financial support.330

Still other scholars debate the exact nature of Sachs’s ethical system. Könneker, who predicated her findings on an investigation of Sachs’s treatment of marriage as a reflection of general social obligation (she even calls marriage in Sachs’s plays a “Schule des sozialen Lebens” [school of social life]),331 interpreted the moral consistently advocated for in plays of marital infidelity and conflict – namely, that one should be patient and avoid confrontation for the sake of maintaining peace and order – as the basis for Sachs’s entire value structure.332 Schade, who claimed that Sachs understands

326 Stuplich (1998) passim 327 Ibid. 95 328 Moser (1979) 214. Moser’s entire discussion of Hans Sachs begins on page 210. 329 Kartschoke/Reins (1978) 111 330 Ibid. 132-138 331 Könneker (1979) 236 332 Ibid. 230

144 himself as an “educator of the sinful Fastnacht-revelers,”333 read the play Das Narren schneyden (October 3rd, 1557) as an example how the idea of mortal sins serves as the basis for Sachs’s understanding of human weakness.334 For him, Sachs restates moral principles as a collection of guidelines which, in Schade’s words, “manifests itself in the situational ethics of workaday life.”335

Research on Sachs’s use of the Eulenspiegel-character is not as exhaustive. The four

Fastnachtspiele dedicated to Eulenspiegel have received the most attention, while the

Schwänke are rarely more than mentioned. Virmond claimed that Sachs (who had a later version of the chapbook with the so-called “Zusatzgeschichten” [additional stories]) viewed Eulenspiegel in a negative light.336 He found Eulenspiegel’s aggression towards craftsmen offensive but could enjoy the character’s cunning after eliminating the distasteful elements.337 Streubel distinguished between Eulenspiegel’s appearances in the

Fastnachtspiele and the poetic material: in the former, Eulenspiegel is again a disreputable character,338 but he operates as a vehicle for moral instruction in the latter.339

Although Streubel acknowledged the episodic nature of the individual retellings,340 she did not discuss it in any depth. Rettelbach disagreed with Virmond and argued against a negative view of Eulenspiegel on Sachs’s part, noting that the concluding morals have little or nothing to do with the narrative.341 Eulenspiegel can be a negative figure, but

333 Schade (1988) 25 334 Ibid. 75-87 335 Ibid. 93 336 Virmond (1979) 17-18 337 Ibid. 19-20 338 Streubel (1988) 106, 115-122 339 Ibid. 104-115 340 Ibid. 104-105 341 Rettelbach (1991) 44-47. I found no citations of Streubel in Rettelbach.

145

Sachs also sees him as an ally whose anti-priest pranks are sympathetic to his Protestant identity.342 Rettelbach also made a number of general, but nonetheless useful observations that form the basis for this chapter. For instance, narrative connections between the individual stories are erased, but a familiarity with the Eulenspiegel- character is taken for granted.343

Tenberg claimed that Sachs’s attitude towards Eulenspiegel evolved over time. While

Sachs was initially ambivalent towards the character – he disapproved of the pranks but

“trennt die guten Worte von den schändlichen Taten” (separates the good words [the moral lessons] from the shameful deeds),344 he became more critical of the trickster in

1546 (especially in the Meisterlied Eulenspeigel mit dem pfewffenmacher [Eulenspiegel with the pipe maker]).345 An oscillation between a complete rejection, an appropriation for didactic intention, and a respect for Eulenspiegel’s ability to reveal others’ misdeeds defines Sachs’s later work346 until his disillusionment with the possibility of social reform, at which point Eulenspiegel becomes a deceptive character surrounded by equally negative figures.347 Aylett, who discussed Sachs’s four individual Shrove Tuesday plays chronologically, came to a superficially contradictory, but in reality orthodox conclusion:

Sachs carefully avoided the more offensive Eulenspiegel scenes involving scatology and those attacking fellow craftsmen in favor of those wherein Eulenspiegel tricks victims just as amoral as himself in an inherently evil world.348 Baro, who inspected Sachs’s use

342 Ibid. 56 343 Ibid. 39 344 Tenberg (1996) 109, 120-121 345 Ibid. 122 346 Ibid. 124-128 347 Ibid. 151-156, 163-165 348 Aylett (1995) 222-223

146 of the figure in the context of 16th-century fool discourse, argued that Eulenspiegel acted as the theatrical equivalent of a Hofnarr (courtly fool): he criticizes and punishes the immorality of other characters while remaining the focus of the audience’s interest.349

She also undertook a survey of Eulenspiegel’s appearances in the Schwänke, but ended her close reading with the conclusion that Sachs’s poems were too short to allow for a real development of the character350 beyond his identity of trickster/ne’er-do-well.351

Despite these preliminary findings, Könneker’s 1971 observation of a research gap

(expressed in the context of the Spruchgedichte yet applicable to Sachs’s entire work) remains valid:

Lediglich zu den Kampfgesprächen gibt es gründlichere formale Analysen, für die Fabeln und Schwänke existieren sie nur ansatzhaft, im übrigen aber war das Interesse der Forschung an Sachs’ Spruchdichtung vorwiegend stofflicher Art.352

There are, at most, structural analyses of the debates, while such studies exist only in a preliminary form for the fables and Schwänke. Otherwise, research on Sachs’s Spruchdichtung is almost entirely concerned with the history of the narrative material.

Similar statements are found elsewhere in her book,353 but an investigation of

Eulenspiegel can begin to fill the gap. The character is multifaceted enough to yield information on Sachs’s methods of communicating with his audience. Furthermore, he is accompanied by other trickster characters, like Aesop, Markolf, Neidhart, and Claus

Narr, with whom he shares some (but not all) his mischievous qualities. Perhaps most

349 Baro (2011) 150 350 Ibid. 158 351 Ibid. 169-170 352 Könneker (1971) 39-40 353 Ibid. 28, 68 (The latter focusing on “Sprachkomik” [Linguistic humor])

147 importantly, his appearances in the Shrove Tuesday plays and in the Schwänke vary because of the different intentions in the genres.

This chapter will look at Eulenspiegel’s function as a rapport-establishing character in

Sachs’s works. It will investigate how Eulenspiegel’s presence contributes to the narrative form of the farces in Shrove Tuesday plays and Schwänke. The task requires a comparison of both genres, as well as the study of similar tricksters. We will now turn to recent theoretical discussions on the communicative value of narrative structures with an emphasis on the psychological importance of recognizable characters.

Theoretical Background

Beck’s work (see above) set the groundwork for investigating Sachs’s communicative intent by emphasizing the audience’s role in supplying an external meaning to a recognizable plot. Although his idea of external unity is not always clear, its importance lies in a (since then neglected) observation: during the writing process, the author capitalizes on the audience’s willingness to extract a scene or character’s real significance from hints present in the narrative’s structure. Hidden associations could be implied through an allusion or reference lost on the modern reader without the background knowledge of 16th-century storytelling customs. Generic scenes or character archetypes represented by a single concrete appearance might not affect the plot’s outcome, but can allude to a thematic focus intended for a secondary role in audience consciousness. If

Judith can appear in a plot with one traditional significance (her biblical story), while representing a disparate archetype (the 16th-century ideal of the submissive, patient and devout woman), characters like Eulenspiegel, whose significance rests on their ability to invoke disparate mental images, can maintain an even greater number of roles.

148

Hayden White, in his investigation of narrative elements in medieval storytelling, claimed that a series of events with a beginning, a middle and an end is predicated on a religious code of behavior which gives actions meaning. 354 A (historical or fictional) character’s decisions have an obvious ethical weight which shapes the importance of later developments. 355 Such ideas are especially relevant to Hans Sachs, and not just because he gives explicit morals at the end of his poems. The evoked generic images of 16th- century life (the stereotypical or even archetypal characters) not only had a prefabricated personality but also a predetermined moral worth. The peasant was not only an easily- tricked country bumpkin, he was also somehow morally distasteful, even if the exact nature of his baseness was unclear (see the various handlings of peasant characters in earlier early Modern Literature, including but not limited to Neithart Fuchs,

Wittenwiler’s Ring, and Hermann Bote’s work). Sachs’s ability to combine his audience’s generic images (complete with a value judgement) with his Protestant ethical code offers a good starting point for an investigation of his adaptation of amoral characters like Eulenspiegel.

Sachs’s reinvention of trickster figures also intersects with early modern use of comedy to establish community membership. Röcke and Velten noted that authors use humor to encourage their readers/listeners to build or reorganize a community and to include/exclude others through mockery.356 By depicting and evoking laughter, writers create or maintain a shared social space.357 Coxon’s study on pre-Sachs (1350-1525)

354 White (1987) 14, 23-25 355 Ibid. 356 Röcke/Velten (2005) X-XIV 357 Ibid. XIII-XIV. See also Velten’s article “Text und Lachgemeinschaft” (Text and Laughter-Community) in the same volume, which focuses on the use of laughter to

149 literature reinforces these conclusions with identical claims about the sociological role of earlier comic tales. In a strictly regulated social environment, they give the audience an opportunity to laugh at the misfortunes of others or just to appreciate humorous situations before Lent, while simultaneously enforcing conventional morality.358 All three agree that humor can shape narrative structure and didactic method by making a message palatable. It must be noted that the communicative element of storytelling is not only present when laughter is involved. As van Dijk observes, all narratives (which can be reduced to a series of introductions, complications, and resolutions)359 attempt to relate a message or evoke an emotional response.360 Humor is only one tool, albeit for

Eulenspiegel an important one, with which authors communicate.

Gülich and Raible (who base their work on van Dijk’s findings) saw the communicative setting as the defining factor which makes a series of events a story. The context of storytelling allows the audience to frame the actions and to feel emotionally invested enough to abstract a moral.361 For Sachs, that context is the literary apparatus and cultural practices which surround his work: the Fastnacht tradition, popular narratives, and Singschulen. Such elements of daily life gave his poems and their message a place in society, as did the changing role of printed documents and the practice of reading aloud in the 16th century. Wohlfeil called the space which allowed for the

create social in-groups and on reflections of this process in literature (with special emphasis on Neidhart Fuchs and Der Pfarrer vom Kalenberg; Velten [2005] 128-132 and 141-143) 358 Coxon (2008) 183 359 van Dijk (1976) 313-321, especially 320-321 360 Ibid. 310-312 361 Gülich/Raible (1977) 265

150 exchange of ideas “die Reformatorische Öffentlichkeit” (Reformatory public sphere),362 into which

der gemeine Mann bewußt dadurch einbezogen wurde und war, daß mündliche, visuelle und literarische Medien jedermann zugänglich waren, bzw. von jedermann benutzt oder zumindest zur Kenntnis genommen werden 363 k o n n t e n. (emphasis original)

the ordinary man could be intentionally included through the fact that oral, visual and literary media were open to everyone or at a minimum could be taken into account by everyone.

Sachs had already begun to situate himself within broader Protestant thought in 1525 with his earlier dialogues, and he continued in that sphere with constant appeals to his audience to live in conformity with orthodox Protestant morality.364

Everything mentioned above is obvious in light of the moral/ethical element of

Sachs’s work. However, in addition to Reformation convictions, Sachs also shares more broadly European cultural/literary traditions, and much of his material is adopted from other sources. Geiger gave an overview of proven sources for Sachs’s Fastnachtspiele in his monograph on the topic,365 and for the Meisterlieder in his later book,366 while Goetze and Drescher also supplied information in the footnotes of their editions. Broader studies of Fastnachtspiele, like those of Lenk367 and Zobenica,368 confirm that borrowing traditional characters was common practice in late Medieval Europe. Zobenica is

362 Wohlfeil (1984) 45-50 363 Ibid. 47 364 Sobel (1985) 139. Sobel gives a summarized account of all of Sachs’s Reformation poetry. 365 Geiger (1904) ix-x 366 Geiger (1956) passim 367 Lenk (1966) 59-60 368 Zobenica (2014) 293-299

151 especially noteworthy for her emphasis on collective memory – the idea that

Fastnachtspiele functioned as places where well-known characters and functions were preserved.369 Most important for our purposes is the simple observation that Sachs’s material was in public domain. He could assume audience familiarity with plot material a priori. Even Luther, who did not think too highly of popular secular storytelling

(except pedagogic material like Aesop),370 could allude to the literary characters he despised. From a broader historical perspective, Sachs is not even too different from medieval (or, broadly speaking, pre-modern) poets’ method of using well-known character and plot structures as a literary shorthand to reveal the narrative’s story before the retelling.

As Sachs’s literary output belongs primarily to shorter genres, his characters – even when taken from epics or other longer works – lack the opportunity for development. For instance, we can take for granted that Sachs’s Eulenspiegel-character does not grow from childhood to maturity as in S1515 (even if he appears in both stages). The same is true even in works which contain multiple episodes: Although drey schwenck Klaus Narren depends on a vibrant tradition,371 it is not a biography. Sachs prioritizes certain elements for inclusion based on their usefulness for the current situation and discards whatever is unnecessary (which, according to Beck, the audience could mentally insert after the fact).

369 Ibid. 296-298 370 Moser (1984) 63-65 371 von Bernuth’s overview of Claus Narr stories predating Büttner’s 1572 collection of farces (Sechs hundert/ sieben vnd zwantzig Historien/ von Claus Narren), which summarizes the character’s appearances in Pauli’s Schimpf und Ernst, Wickram’s Rollwagenbüchlein, and Sachs’s Meisterlieder and Schwänke, demonstrates the existence of a wider tradition (von Bernuth [2009] 67-73).

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The result of a well-known character’s consistent appearance resembles the so-called recurring character. When a narrative introduces an entity with any degree of widespread recognition/appeal, the character’s traits emphasize his identity even at the expense of other storytelling elements. All that is needed to begin the process of recognition is that the subject make himself recognizable. The use of a trademarked prop, the revelation of definitive personality characteristics or distinctive actions (those peculiar to the character), or even the act of saying a name can alert the audience. After the revelation, all events reflect a shift in which traditional narrative elements are forced to take new expectations and a general awareness of the character’s reputation into account. Fortunately, some research into the concept of the recurring character in other national literatures has been started, and these examples inform the model which will be applied to Sachs’s reinterpretation of Eulenspiegel. Naturally, disparities between the

(much later) examples and Sachs’s methods exist, and differences in form and content will be taken into account.

Anthony B. Pugh’s investigation of recurring characters in Balzac’s works surveyed the reappearances of individuals across an opus so large that any attempt to reconcile everything cannot help but reveal discrepancies.372 The act of reusing familiar characters gives the impression of a fictional universe distinct from individual works, even if contradictions emerge.373 A character’s second or third appearance might initially serve to tie stories together, but the more important consequence is the vague impression of activity taking place behind the scenes. The narrative becomes a short glimpse into a

372 Pugh (1975) 468 373 Ibid. 473-475

153 living, independent world while the reader’s focus is drawn from the main story to a single character. Over time, repeated encounters give the paradoxical impression of invoking the memory of familiar but unrelated scenes. Sachs’s “recurring characters” are different insofar as they are not originally Sachs’s intellectual property, but the main element, recognition, is preserved.

Alex Woloch’s study on the relationship between protagonists and minor characters, ranging from Sophocles to 19th-century European literature, came to the complementary conclusion that older literatures create a system of minor characters who serve as a backdrop for the protagonist.374 For example, Oedipus’s identity emerges through his interactions with the chorus and through his central position in a nexus of relationships.375

In the 19th century, the use of minor characters in literary prose exploded into a fluid universe which both distracts the reader from the main story and awakens interest in possible side-plots.376 Authors cannot give an equal amount of attention to all of their creations, so they compensate by directing “attention to the [narrator’s] process of emphasizing [certain characters] and . . . suggesting how other possible stories, and other people’s full lives, are intertwined with and obscured by the main focus on attention.”377

Although Woloch does not use the term “recurring characters,” his findings coincide with

Pugh’s insofar as they acknowledge that named persons, although sometimes only tangentially related to the matter at hand, are important to literature because of their ability to give the impression of a background that defines the action at hand. Both

374 Woloch (2003) 319-323, especially 322 375 Ibid. 324-325 376 Ibid. 37-42 377 Ibid. 40

154 scholars emphasize that the use of minor characters directs attention to the possibility that a fictional world exists, even if only hints of activity are given.

To be sure, large differences between Sachs and the writers from disparate eras exist.

The historical reality of Sachs’s life in the 16th century, defined by the mercantile elites of

Nuremberg and the public nature of literature, differs widely from the social realities of the 19th century. The authors’ media are also different: Sachs wrote short poems and dramas, while Dickens and Balzac wrote long novels. Yet intersections render a study of

Sachs’s approach to character priority worthwhile, especially given the fame of

Eulenspiegel and other tricksters. The idea of the recurring character offers an opportunity to explain how Sachs’s use of characters everyone knew converges with his didactic intentions. It may also explain Sachs’s understanding of these characters as tools for structuring a narrative. As will be demonstrated below, the Eulenspiegels (plural intentional) we come across are primarily formal phenomena, and paradoxically, little of the archetype’s actual persona remain in the spotlight. Although the audience recognizes the named characters, the tricksters forfeit their thematic autonomy and become authorial tools.

However, before beginning into a comparison of Eulenspiegel and similar tricksters, it would be prudent to explore the development of Sachs’s method of addressing known characters at the beginning of his career. The following section demonstrates how Sachs, in earlier religious work, developed a method of reshaping traditional material before applying it to Eulenspiegel.

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An Early Example: The Recurring Traits in Sachs’s Songs to Mary (1514-1518)

Hans Sachs’s early Meisterlieder in the Berlin 414 manuscript (1514-1518) repeat select motifs and concepts in their portrayal of the cultural/religious Mary figure, and the constant appearance of identical subject matter – characterized by Brunner as “eine

Neigung zur Zyklusbildung” (A tendency to create thematic cycles)378 – suggests that

Sachs’s mental conception of The Holy Mother was, unsurprisingly, dominated by a handful of key ideas. Although Sachs never deviates from standard theology, intentional focus on certain traits and the use of consistent vocabulary over a four-year period reveal a conscious elevation of select, for authorial intent more useful, themes over others, as a short review of the Salvation History motif will demonstrate.

In Ellis’s edition, songs 9, 10, and 11 (originally numbers 24, 11, and 30 in the manuscript) emphasize scriptural prophecies and the anticipation of her role as the mother of God. King David and Isaiah appear in the first two songs despite the year-long gap in composition. Song eleven was written in 1517, two years later, and discusses the same motif in vaguer language. There, Sachs alludes to “vil weisser sibelle vnd vil profetten” (many wise Sibyls and prophets; 1.11) and Isaiah’s “proffezeÿ” of the virgin birth (1.16-19; Isaiah is not named). Ellis claims that Sachs “omits the theological introduction and merely says many wise sibyls and prophets foretold” the event (p. 63), but the verses’ position within the entire song recasts Christ’s birth as an event legitimizing the prophecies. Despite the superficial lack of key characters like David,

Mary’s quality as an anticipated historical figure retains special importance.

378 Brunner (1984) 733. Among the 29 spiritual songs in Sachs’s Pre-Reformation songs, eleven are dedicated to Mary. The next largest thematic category, Jesus Christ, contains nine songs.

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Song 13 (original number 15; 1517) combines prophecy with a general focus on spiritual concerns. Sachs emphasizes that Mary’s spiritual conception “weliche was von ewigkeit” (which took place in eternity; 1.10) allows her “zw geperen das ewig wort” (to bear the eternal word; 1.27) and thereby to facilitate man’s salvation. Her second, physical conception is then couched in a historical light, as 2.16-24 recount her genealogy in Matthew (it is actually Joseph’s). The final third of the song emphasizes

Mary’s lack of original sin (3.1-15) and her function as an intercessor (3.19-24), probably as an attempt to redirect the listener’s focus onto the feast day, while concluding the poem.379

The pious and contemplative nature of Sachs’s songs to the Virgin Mary precludes a one-to-one equation with fictional literary characters, as does his indebtedness to the

Catholic Church. Nevertheless, he does not appear to parrot the church unthinkingly. All four songs – including 13 – focus on the historic reality at the expense of other qualities.

Between 1514 and 1517 Sachs’s thematic concentration does not drastically change, except for the minor rearrangement of motifs.

The second set of Ellis’s collection (songs 14-18) of Sachs’s Mary-songs appears to have more Latin influence. Only one, 17 (original number 12), is not traced back to a hymn, but its unusual content and early date (1515) suggest that it forms a unit with its chronologically closer cousins, songs 9 (1514) and 10 (1515) (Song 14 was also written in 1515). Ellis claims that it “consists almost entirely of metaphors, titles, and epithets” complemented by “John’s visions of her in The Revelation, a few Old Testament

379 Ellis notes in the introduction to the poem that it was likely written for the Feast of the Immaculate Conception (p. 68).

157 prophecies” and doctrines focusing on Mary’s role as an intercessor.380 All of these themes also appear in 9 and 10, so it is unclear why Ellis broke with her general method of arranging poems chronologically,381 since inserting 17 between 10 and 11 (1517) would highlight the ubiquitous theme of prophecy. The focus in 14 (1515), 15 (1516), 16

(1516), and 18 (1518) on Latin hymnody could then be seen as an intentional development, and song 13’s (1517) role as a Feast day song would be less surprising.

None of these findings should be understood as a claim that a division can be made between Sachs’s hymns based on thematic reference. For instance, the relatively later song 12 (1517) serves as a nexus point for all of the above-mentioned tropes. There,

Mary’s role in salvation history is emphasized in stanzas two and three: “zu mütter sie er wellet het / die hoch wirdige drinidet / von ewigkeit vür ware” (the esteemed Holy Trinity of eternity truly chose her as mother; 2.15-17) and “Sie ist des heils vrsprünge / sie ist der gütikeit ein sarch / vnd ist der heiligkeit ein arch” (She is the origin of salvation, a chest of charity and an ark of holiness; 3.1-3). Her identity as Christ’s mother is also combined with her ability to intercede for Christians, as the song ends “kein cristen sie verlassen düt / wer erent iren name” (She abandons no Christian that honors her name;

3.16-17). Ellis lists all these qualities, but addresses neither their consistent appearance nor the summarizing character of song 12. Even Latin prosody is present in lines 1.5-9:

“Aüe gracia plena / gegrüst seistw gnaden vol / der her mit dir gar unverhol / et sine omni pena” (Hail, full of grace [repeated in German], The Lord is clearly with you and you are without sin [repeated in Latin]), completing the survey of all motifs.

380 Ellis (1974) 80 381 Ellis states this principle in the introduction (Ibid. p. 16).

158

Individually, each poem reflects standard pre-Reformation piety directed towards the

Virgin Mary. They also form a unit giving a complete picture of Sachs’s orthodox yet historically-minded Mariology. As Christ’s mother, Mary bridges the Old and New

Testaments and (by extension) past and present. Her connection to Jesus’s sacrifice carries only marginal value. The consistent portrayal renders Mary Sachs’s first recurring character: select traits, known to both author and audience, are used as identity markers and simultaneously give an impression of familiarity.

Sachs’s Reformation Dialogues

Similar practice can be seen in Sachs’s post-conversion literature, such as his four dialogues (1524). Three feature a protagonist Han[n]s, and two of them include a Peter.

Seufert infers that all namesakes represent the same person,382 and although the assumption is premature, the personalities are consistent. For instance, Peter often takes anti-Catholic sentiment to an extreme (Berger describes him as “von biderber und naiver

Radikalität” [of unsophisticated and naive fanaticism]),383 as in the following example from Eyn gesprech von den scheinwercken der gaystlichen und iren gelübdten, damit sy zu verlesterung des bluts Christi vermaynen selig zu werden (A disputation of the empty works and oaths of the clergy with which they presume to be saved, to the defamation of the blood of Christ; hereafter scheinwercken):

382 Seufert (1974) 175-178 and 186. Concerning Peter, Seufert notes: “Peter, den wir schon aus dem zweiten Dialog kennen, ist womöglich noch ungestümer als dort” (Peter, who we know from the second dialogue, is possibly even more aggressive than [he is] there; Ibid. 186). 383 Berger (1994) 50. Könneker goes even further, seeing the fourth dialogue as an expression of Sachs’s reservations towards the “Schwärmer” (radical Protestants) (Könneker [1975] 155). The idea suggests that Peter becomes more radicalized as time continues (as Seufert argues). On the other hand, his rhetoric remains a series of clichés.

159

Peter Dabey erkennt man, was guts in den kutten steckt: die vor in clöstern haben gelebt wie die lebendigen hayligen, die leben nun heraussen wie die lotterbuben, und haben doch eben das im hertzen gethan im closter, das sy herauß thunt mit wercken. (48)

Peter: Thus one recognizes the good deeds in the cowls: those who once lived in cloisters like living saints live in the world like charlatans. The way they act outside of the cloister is the way they acted in their hearts as they were still in it.

Even more important than the above conclusions is Peter’s role as a dispensary of secular

Protestant rhetoric. In the fourth debate Eyn gesprech eynes evangelischen Christen mit einem Lutherischen, darin der ergerlich wandel etlicher, die sich lutherisch nennen, angezaigt und brüderlich gestrafft wirt (A disputation between a Protestant Christian and a Lutheran, wherein the precarious changes of some claiming to be Lutheran is displayed and criticized in brotherly love; hereafter wandel) the Peter character defends himself against his father-in-law and Hans with allusions to his new “christlich[e] freyhait”

(Christian freedoms, including the right to eat meat on Friday), and although unsuccessful, at least apes the rhetoric of works like Von der Freiheit eines

Christenmenschen (1520).

In both plays, Peter adopts the same position within the character constellation. As a bad and easily defeated Protestant, he serves as a foil for Hans, the ideal Christian. The monks of scheinwercken disarm Peter with relative ease:

Münch Ey, so thut auch, wie das evangeli lert, nemlich Matth. V (42): Yderman, der dich bitt, dem gib, und Luce vj (36): Seyt barmhertzig, wie ewer hymlischer vatter barmhertzig ist, und Luce xj (41): Gebt almusen von ewer hab, so ist es euch alles rayn.

160

Hans Bruder Hainrich hat dich schon uberwunden mit schrifft.

Peter Ich bekenns, ich kan nit weytter. Kumpt her, lieber bruder Hainrich, seht hyn ain pfennig umb gotß willen und kauft euch selber ain liecht nach ewerm sinn! (34-35)

Monk: Then do as the gospel tells you, namely Matthew 5:42: Give to him who asks, and Luke 6:36: Be merciful, as your heavenly father is merciful, and Luke 11:41: Be generous with your possessions, and everything is clean to you. Hans: Brother Hainrich has beaten you with verses. Peter: I admit it, I can’t continue. Come here, dear brother Hainrich, here’s a penny, for God’s sake, buy a light for yourself.

In the fourth dialogue, Peter’s flaws motivate the entire story: his conflict with his father- in-law, Maister Vlrich, is the problem Hans sets out to solve. Later, by criticizing Peter

(75), Hans subordinates him to both individuals and erects a hierarchy of thought: good

Protestantism, Catholicism, and, at the bottom, bad Protestantism. Such an attitude is reinforced by Vlrich, who notes: “Peter/ wie dunckt dich. Wenn maister Hans uber dich keme/ der köndt dich recht auffnesteln/” (Peter, how does it seem to you? If Hans picked a fight with you, he would beat you entirely; 84).

Peter’s role as loser provides both dialogues with the frame for the debate. As a representation of the negative elements of Protestantism, he exists as the metaphorical whipping boy who allows Catholicism to defend itself with some nuance, though it is still inferior to the correct version of Protestantism. In order to accomplish a scaffolding of thought, Sachs has Peter lose and assigns to him wrong, but superficially Protestant opinions. By extension, in the later dialogue, Peter is simultaneously a pseudo- allegorical representation of certain characteristics and a handy target for abuse. While it

161 would be rash to assume that Sachs intended a continuity between both dialogues, it appears safe to claim that Peter’s relatively stable personality features and narrative function suggest that Sachs considered him a fictional individual with his own, for Sachs useful, contours.

Eulenspiegel and the Recurring Character: The Fastnachtspiele

The first Shrove Tuesday play dedicated to Eulenspiegel, Der Ewlenspiegel mit den blinden (September 4th, 1553; hereafter blinden) begins with a short introduction of the main character and his motives,

EWlenspiegel bin ich genandt, Im ganzen Teudtschlandt wolbekandt; Mit meiner schalckheyt umbadumb Bin ich gar schwindt, wo ich hin kumb, Und wo ich so frü oder spadt Auß eim Dorff oder einer Stadt, Da ich kein schalckeyt hab geübt, Bin ich von Hertzen des betrübet, (1-8)

I am named Eulenspiegel and am well known in Germany. I am quick with my trickery everywhere I go. If I leave a village or city, early or late, where I have not played a prank, I am in my heart saddened because of it.

Despite giving Eulenspiegel such an extensive introduction, Sachs quickly redirects attention onto his victims. The beggars’ appearance relegates Eulenspiegel to a minor speaking role and allows him to disappear from lines 65 to 175. His conversation with the priest also focuses on the latter character, who justifies his willingness to help the innkeeper with a need for money caused in turn by his congregation’s stinginess (207-

216). While Eulenspiegel is absent, the innkeeper reveals that he too has fallen on hard times and can hardly afford food (65-77). Neither motivation exists in S1515 (the same is true for the priest’s concluding moral that greed makes exorcism difficult [297-402]).

162

Throughout the play, Eulenspiegel functions as a catalyst for other characters’ expositions. The addition of such background information gives the classical

Eulenspiegel story Reihenspiel-like elements, as all three antagonists are connected by similar poverty.384 The beggars’ financial need is obvious from their social position as outcasts, but they also emphasize it by describing their abuse at the hands of the peasants

(28-40, 42-49). The innkeeper, as mentioned above, needs money, and it is this desperation which drives him to accept the beggars and fall, together with the equally impoverished priest, into Eulenspiegel’s trap. The story is no longer focused on

Eulenspiegel’s manipulation of a disabled group,385 but also depicts how economic need can lead to interpersonal conflict. For this reason, I disagree with Baro, who argues that

Eulenspiegel is portrayed as a morally neutral character who fops the greedy, morally culpable other characters.386 Although Eulenspiegel does target characters with this flaw, the most important element of the play’s structure is that all three parties are united in their financial desperation. In addition, Eulenspiegel’s ethical standing is not only neutral

(as Baro claims), but it is also irrelevant for the story. All he does is initiate the plot and give the play a recognizable brand.

Sachs’s second Eulenspiegel play, Ewlenspigel mit der pfaffen kellerin und dem pfert

(Eulenspiegel with the priest’s maid and the horse; December 16th, 1553; hereafter

384 Also noted by Baro (Baro [2011] 141). 385 Röcke, who documents the entire pre-history of the motif of “Blindenhass” (a hatred of the blind), notes that the story of the deceived blind revolves around a conflict between different parties, especially in Hermann Bote’s and Johannes Pauli’s versions (Röcke [2005] 72-79). He briefly mentions blinden and argues that Sachs both sympathizes with the priest (Ibid. 80) and eliminates the conflict-based nature of the story (in German: “Gewaltfaszination” [Fascination with violence]) (Ibid. 81), but he does not discuss Sachs’s adoption of the narrative form. 386 Baro (2011) 142

163 kellerin) shares many of the same qualities. While Eulenspiegel does not give his name at the beginning (he talks about the approaching winter), all the characters immediately recognize him. His interactions with the duke imply familiarity: his observation, “Eür gnad war frölicher vürwar, / Als ich pey euch war vor eim jar” (Your mercy was much happier as I saw you a year ago; 19-20) and the duke’s response, “Mein Ewlnspigl” (My

Eulenspiegel; 23) allude to a shared history. An identical familiarity is established in the conversation between the priest and the maid:

Die kellerin schawt naüs, spricht: Es wirt der Ewlenspigel sein.

Der pfaff: Ge, lieber so las in herein; Er treibet wol so guete schwenck Vnd seltzam abgerieben renck.

Kellerin get und spricht: Wie habt ir nur den narren so gern? Euch wirt ein mal des narren wern. (75-80)

The maid (looking outside): It’s Eulenspiegel. The priest: Go, let him in. He plays such funny pranks and strangely thought up shenanigans. The maid (going): Why do you like that fool so much? He’ll get the better of you sooner or later.

S1515 gives precedent for the second conversation: “Und Ulenspiegel waz wol bekant in des Pfarrers Huß, wan er was offt da bei ihm vorzeiten gewesen und was ihm wulkumen”

(And Eulenspiegel was well known in the priest’s house, for he had often been with him and was welcome there; 114), but Sachs makes the acquaintanceship explicit and spreads

Eulenspiegel’s celebrity across social states, rendering him a universally known figure.

After Eulenspiegel begins faking his illness, he engages the priest in a short tête-à-tête reminiscent of his usual literal-mindedness:

164

Pfaff geht hin zw, spricht: Mein Ewlenspiegl, wie stet dein sach? Kellerin get ab.

E w l e n s p i g e l spricht: Mein sach stet nit, sunder sie leit.

P f a f f spricht: Sag mir, wo hastw dein kranckheit?

E w l e n s p i g e l: O herr, oben auf der panck, Da pin ich also leichnam kranck, Ich füercht, ich mues gen himel farn. (158-163)

The priest enters, saying: My Eulenspiegel, how does your condition stand? (The maid leaves) Eulenspiegel says: My condition is not standing, it is lying. The priest says: Tell me, where are you sick? Eulenspiegel: Oh sir, here on the bench. I am sick to death. I fear I must go to heaven.

The second of the two puns has an immediate model in Ein Fastnachtspil von einem Arzt und einem Kranken in Keller’s collection (II,120),387 with which it is identical, but it also resembles Eulenspiegel’s exchange with his mother in H. 90 of S1515 (257). From a strictly narrative view, neither joke is necessary, since they do not advance the plot. The statements reinforce the impression of Eulenspiegel as an irreverent troublemaker, while anticipating the eventual outcome and reminding the audience of the character’s reputation as a punster.

kellerin does not have the Reihenspiel elements of blinden. Here, the characters occupy different levels of a social hierarchy, defined by a power struggle between the duke, the presumably subordinate priest, and the maid. The high-ranking duke (who uses the majestic plural in conversation) is initially in a compromised position because of his

387 As noted by Geiger (Geiger [1904] x).

165 insulted honor. Statements like “Ich wais im lant kain edelmon, / Der mir ein solchs het tüerffen thon” (I know of no noble in the country / who would have dared to do that

[=reject my offer]; 13-14) and the command “Und thuet uns auf in we die schmach”

(hurt him on our behalf for this dishonor; 33)388 serve as examples of his sensitivity to public reputation. The discrepancy between his elevated social position (his status as nobleman) and the inability to achieve his desires creates a paradox in need of resolution.

In contrast, the priest occupies the middle position of the hierarchy, while defying its principal member (the duke). In his case, the ambition inherent in such a decision precipitates his own downfall, as he acknowledges in the play’s conclusion:

Vileicht get Ewlenspigel hin Vnd offenwart mein sach, der narr, So kumb ich darzw umb die pfarr. Es kumbt allain kein ungelüeck, Ains pringt das ander auf dem rüeck, Ich kunt nit unglüeckhafter sein. (310-315)

Perhaps Eulenspiegel, the fool, will go [to the duke] and tell him everything, and I will lose my calling. No misfortune comes alone. One brings another on its back. I could not be more unfortunate!

Since the priest does not reappear, the threat is an idle one, but the character’s vulnerability is enough to illustrate the severity of his defeat. The monologue (which has no equivalent in S1515) plays two roles: it allows the priest to exit and emphasizes the change in his social status. His initial privilege (a parish, a horse, a maid, and the strength to oppose the duke) has disappeared, and he falls to the bottom of the social ladder; hence the phrase nit unglüeckhafter.

388 The first quotation is a monologue, where the duke uses the first-person singular.

166

The maid not only serves as a counterpart to Eulenspiegel (she alone recognizes him as a threat), she also enjoys a considerable improvement in her status at the conclusion, exemplified by her decision to abandon the on-stage priest in favor of another:

Kellerin spricht: Mein pfaff, das sol gleich pald geschehen. Ich wais schon ein pfaffen, ein andern, Zw dem wil ich gestrax hin wandern, Pey dem ich ungeschlagen pin. Sie wil gen.

Der pfaff schreit: Ach, Margret, liebe kellerin, Pleib, es söl als verziegen sein.

Die k e l l e r i n get dahin, spricht: Nain, nain, ich kumb nit mer herein. Phalt die zwen daler für mein lon. (298-305)

The maid says: My priest, that will happen quickly. I already know another priest, to whom I will immediately go. I won’t be beaten by him. (She begins to leave.) The priest screams: Oh, Margret, dear maid, stay. All is forgiven! The maid leaves, saying: No, no, I will not come here anymore. Keep the two thalers.

In S1515, she merely departs: “Und der Pfarrer betrüpt sich umb das Pferd und schlug die

Magt offt ubel darumb, also das ihm die Magt entlieff.” (The priest became sad for the sake of his horse and beat the maid terribly because of it until she left; 116). Whereas her warnings at the beginning of kellerin (79-80, 102-104) fall on deaf ears and emphasize the priest’s masculine dominance, his foolishness and loss of status

(physically represented by the loss of the horse) enable the maid to denigrate him further and assert a new level of independence. Additionally, the reference to another priest evokes a contrast between Eulenspiegel’s victim and the clerical ideal, thereby underlining the character’s humiliation.

167

In kellerin (as in blinden) Eulenspiegel receives less characterization than other actors despite ostensibly being the protagonist.389 Although the duke, the priest, and the maid are examples of Beck’s idea of the generic, they also form a cohesive unit with an unstable hierarchical structure. Eulenspiegel merely allows the balance of power to reassert itself. The priest, who enjoys an artificially inflated status, undoes himself by failing to acknowledge the precariousness of his situation, and Eulenspiegel, who exists outside of the social microcosm, acts only as the duke’s tool to reassert his pre-existing social authority. At the same time, Sachs puts stock into the Eulenspiegel character’s recognizability; hence the stereotypical puns and emphasis on identity (especially the name Eulenspiegel), the importance of which is predicated on the audience’s recognition of such traits as Eulenspiegel-esque. Although irrelevant to the plot, these stereotyped moments alert us to the character’s personality and reputation, inferring the existence of other stories.

Sachs’s third play, Ewlenspiegel mit dem pelczwaschen (Eulenspiegel and washing the fur; February 5th, 1556; hereafter pelczwaschen) begins with a self-characterization of

Eulenspiegel reminiscent of blinden. He identifies his traditional love for truth (37-65; an equivalent can be found in S1515) and reveals his name to the audience once the innkeeper leaves:

E u l e n s p i g e l spricht: Die wirtin ist schlecht, doch fürwiczig, Frembde sach zu erfaren hiczig,

389 Baro disagrees on the basis that the play “liefert uns den vielfältigsten Katalog von Eulenspiegels närrischen Eigenschaften” (supplies us with the most diverse catalog of Eulenspiegel’s foolish characteristics) (Baro [2011] 142). She does not, however, discuss the lack of a connection between Eulenspiegel’s monologues/jokes and the plot actions. Additionally, she also acknowledges that the duke gives this final moral of the play (Ibid. 145), which is further evidence that Eulenspiegel plays a supplementary role.

168

Hoft all mein haimlikeit zu erfaren. So wil ich auch kain schalkheit sparen, Auf das sie auch nach diesen tagen Von Ewlenspiegel wis zu sagen. (71-76)

Eulenspiegel says: The hostess is upright, but curious and interested in learning about things that don’t concern her. She hopes to learn all my secrets, so I will spare no trickery, so that she’ll be able to talk about Eulenspiegel later.

Each statement concentrates on a separate element of Eulenspiegel’s personality: a fanatical, socially inconvenient honesty, and a sadistic glee in others’ misfortune. Both qualities remind the audience of Eulenspiegel’s general reputation and anticipate the conclusion.

The structure of pelczwaschen diverges from that of its source (H. 30) in S1515.

There Eulenspiegel’s statement, “Ich bin nicht ein Handtwercksgesell, sunder ich pfleg die Warheit zu sagen” (I am not a journeyman craftsman, but I practice telling the truth;

89) and his ability to wash old furs (90) appear in two accounts of separate pranks. In pelczwaschen, the initial dialogue is transformed into a series of questions: the innkeeper guesses that Eulenspiegel is a monk (77-81), a landsknecht (90-91), a messenger (98-99), a trader (original German: kremer; 105), a salesman (original German: kauffmon; 110-

115), or a craftsman (120-130) and Eulenspiegel responds with short, humorous denials.

The exchange is reminiscent of a Ständespiegel. After the last answer, he mentions his ability to wash old furs (131-148) and ties the two halves of the story (the Ständespiegel and the second trick) together. As a result, the plot is streamlined into one continuous episode. More importantly, Sachs was able to insert some thematically irrelevant, but

(from a genre-focused perspective) typical humor. Although it distracts from the plot, it endears both characters to the audience and anticipates later developments.

169

Sachs’s most important addition to the plot is the discussion between the innkeeper, her neighbor, and her godmother in lines 273-304 (no equivalent in S1515). All three of them speculate about Eulenspiegel’s abilities, revealing themselves to be just as gullible as the innkeeper had proved herself to be in the beginning. The neighbor hopes for youth

(273-281), the godmother that her husband’s body be restored (282-292), and the innkeeper for a chance to learn “sein pelzsegn” (his blessing for furs; 297) (293-298).

The entire scene is a mini-Reihenspiel centered on the theme of foolish daydreaming.

The innovation does not appear to be accidental: Eulenspiegel introduces his plan so with

“Pringens ir pelcz, darmit ich wil / Anfahen ein güet fasnacht spil” (If they bring their furs, I will begin a good Shrove Tuesday play with them; 205-206). When Tenberg argues that the allusion to the genre indicates Eulenspiegel’s self-awareness of his function as an entertainer, 390 he is right, for Sachs is aware of and depends on the audience’s familiarity with traditional Fastnachtspiele for the joke to make sense.

However, Eulenspiegel does not perform in the play but allows other characters to act out their foolishness before the concluding disaster. He becomes something of a director for a play-internal Reihenspiel which concentrates our attention on the other three actors.

The revelation of Eulenspiegel’s identity at the end of pelczwaschen becomes a climactic moment, as the three victims realize that their furs were intentionally ruined and their aspirations self-delusion. Eulenspiegel has revealed their gullibility, first by allowing them to show it and then demonstrating how false their hope was. He also forms the narrative framing element by thematizing his name. Lines 75-76 have their complement in the innkeeper’s final outburst: “Der gast solt wol Ewlnspigel sein; Wolt

390 Tenberg (1996) 153

170 got, der schalck leg in dem Rein!” (The guest is certainly Eulenspiegel. May God drown him in the Rhine; 343-344). Nevertheless, Eulenspiegel is not the topic of the audience’s interest as in S1515. Even when he returns as the herald at the end,391 he talks mostly about his victims (379-385) or audience members who resemble them, making it clear that the play is not about him.

Despite alluding to Eulenspiegel’s fame, Sachs spends notable effort in inserting typical Shrove Tuesday elements into the archetypal plot. The first major innovation, the abbreviated Ständespiegel, has nothing to do with Eulenspiegel, but satisfies demands for

Carnival-style humor. The scene also heightens tension: each response hints at an undefined secret skill, thereby piquing the innkeeper’s curiosity and stimulating audience interest. The idea of unknown pseudo-magical powers complicates the original motivation of a desire for new furs, while eliminating any pretense of innocence.

Eulenspiegel’s prank is no longer an example of his ability for cruelty and deception

(though this element is certainly present), it becomes a means to feature (and punish) a trio of selfish, materialistic, and unlikable opportunists.

Sachs’s last Eulenspiegel-play, Ewlenspiegel mit dem plaben hostuech und dem paürn

(Eulenspiegel with the blue cloth and the peasant; September 30th, 1557; hereafter hostuech) echoes blinden and pelczwaschen insofar as Eulenspiegel begins with a situational monologue: his horse is absent (“in paren gesprüngen;” gone to the nursery;

6), and he has no money for the winter (7-9). He then characterizes himself as a liar by trade (15-16), and gives the audience enough hints to make himself identifiable:

Mein handl ist schir iderman künd,

391 Baro (2011) 148. In general, Baro argues that the negative portrayal of Eulenspiegel’s victims validates him as a trickster (Ibid. 147).

171

Müs aüf ain unferschalckten gründ, Mich richtn an die ainfalting pawrn; Sie sint verschalcket in den mawrn Und kennen mich den maisten dail, Wil pein paurn versüechen mein hail. (17-22)

My manner is known to everyone and I must go to an un- trickstered place where I can undo simple peasants. They have been fooled enough within the walls (= in the city) and most know me. I will try my luck among the peasants.

The words unferschalckten and verschalcket merit special emphasis. Compounds ultimately derived from the word Schalk, they must have functioned as red flags meant to evoke images of Eulenspiegel.392 The entire introduction and its emphasis on reputation

(especially line 17) only make sense if Eulenspiegel could be recognized, perhaps with some on-stage prop or minimal costume.393 In any case, even if the audience was not certain that the speaker is Eulenspiegel, they would at least suspect he was.

As a whole, all four characters are variations of a theme, as all of them profit at the expense of others. The introductions and motivations divide them into two categories depending on whether they have actual guilt or merely conform to a negative stereotype.

The peasant is in the former group because of his past and intended misdeeds: he stole money from his wife (26-38) (she had originally pilfered it from him) and plans to lie to

392 The word “verschalken” has two different meanings in the Grimms’ dictionary: “zum schalcke werden” (to become a rogue) and “sich schlecht ausführen” (to comport oneself poorly) (25: 1055). Neither definition fits Sachs’s usage. Almost all cited sources, including Hohberg and Renner, with the exception of Frank, are later than Sachs (see the respective entries in volume 33), so it is no surprise that the word’s meaning is different here. 393 Michael argues that nothing or little can be said about Sachs’s stage (Michael [1989] 184-186). Dieter Wuttke, in the afterword of his 2006 edition of selected Shrove Tuesday plays, gives a lively, scholastically plausible depiction of the spontaneous event, where he argues against the existence of a stage (in Nuremberg) and claims that “[a]ufwendigere” (elaborate) props were only seldom used (Wuttke [2006] 441-442). I am suggesting a minor object, like a fool’s cap or something cheap and incidental.

172 her when he returns (39-42). In contrast, the other two characters – the “Schotten pfaff”

(wandering priest) and Klas Wüerffl, “der spiczbub” (the rascal), are aligned with

Eulenspiegel because all three are only guilty in hypothetical terms: they describe their general modus operandi but do not mention specific actions against individuals (57-70;

80-86; Eulenspiegel has been discussed above). In all four cases, the preferred victim helps to divide the characters: whereas the peasant stole from his wife, the other three describe their actions in theoretical terms or have committed deeds against strangers.394

Additionally, Eulenspiegel appears to be familiar with his colleagues. He addresses Clas by name (113) and in conversation reveals an off-stage agreement with the priest (152-

158).395

After the climactic assault, the peasant cites three sayings which reinforce his guilt:

War ist das alt sprichwort, das ret: Wer mit haylosen lewtn umb get, Dem get es auch haylos der masen, Er müs ain federn hinter im lasen; Wie mir den icz auch ist geschehen. Doch thuet ain altes sprichwort jehen, Das alles, was unrecht ist gspünen, Das kümbt zu seiner zeit ant sünen. Der gleich ain sprichwort sagen thüet: Kain glüeck sey pey unrechtem güet. (309-318)

394 Baro reads the entire play as a Reihenspiel, as each character introduces himself and gives his motivation in detail (Baro [2011] 149). Although Baro is correct, she glosses over the difference between the peasant and the three tricksters. The latter form a homogenous group and are able to work together. The fundamental distinction between them and the peasant coincides with the antagonistic struggle within the play. 395 Baro sees Eulenspiegel’s position within a group of like-minded tricksters as evidence for his status as a “Nebenfigur” (Minor character) (Ibid.). Such a reading implies that some characters are more important than others, but the plot would not work if anyone were absent. Eulenspiegel is given less attention because of his position in a group of likeminded colleagues with a single shared victim, all of whom are as major or minor as he is.

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True is the old saying, which states that whoever deals with immoral people will be dealt with immorally. He must suffer losses (lit. He will have to leave a feather behind). That’s what happened to me. But the old saying is also true, that everything earned unjustly will in time come to light. The saying “there is no fortune in immoral possessions” says the same thing.

All three reflect on the peasant’s guilt, while excusing Eulenspiegel and his companions, thereby discouraging audience sympathy. The peasant draws attention to the link between active misbehavior and punishment: his actions justify others’ use of deception and force against him. Such a distinction is only possible, however, because of the different way the peasant and the other three act “unrecht” (dishonestly). While the peasant alludes to one concrete misdeed (his theft), the other three characters are blameless within the confines of the narrative. In the former case, the peasant’s identity as a pauer does not explain or even motivate his actions against his wife, and the concrete backstory assigns guilt. As a result, the play transforms into a mathematical exercise aimed at resolving the peasant’s ethical debt, while everyone else is guiltless – a difference emphasized by the final (and in S1515 absent) thrashing.

The use of Eulenspiegel in all four Fastnachtspiele suggests that the audience did not register Sachs’s innovation as inconsistent with the chapbook’s description of

Eulenspiegel. Although Streubel is correct in her observation that Sachs “läßt die

Einmaligkeit des Schalks, die sich in seinem Lebenslauf zeigt, verschwinden” (lets the unique nature of the prankster, which can be seen in his biography, disappear),396 Sachs does not reduce the character to a stock device. Eulenspiegel remains Eulenspiegel,

396 Streubel (1988) 104

174 complete with puns, Schadenfreude, antisocial behavior, and reputation. At most, the impression of aging is missing, but that was a minor feature.

Stuplich, who also addressed Sachs’s method of characterization, argues that:

...Sachs durchaus Figuren gestaltet, die dem Typ näher stehen und die er zum Medium einer Didaxe macht. Andere Figuren sind dagegen als Charaktere ausgestaltet, die eine didaktische Auslegung implizit transportieren, die dann im Epilog explizit ausformuliert ist.397

...Sachs certainly creates figures that more closely resemble generic types to be used for didactic goals. On the other hand, some figures are constructed as characters with an implicitly didactic dimension, one which is expressed in the epilogue.

That Sachs pursued the goal of public edification is undeniable. However, Stuplich’s interpretation (which can be summarized as “Sachs’s characters are stereotypes unless they aren’t,” an unhelpful statement) ignores the possibility that characters have a mechanical function existing separately from their value “als Charaktere” (meaning as fully rounded fictional persons with distinct identities). Examples can be found in all four plays: the peasant of hostuech has his own backstory, the women of pelczwaschen have individual wishes, the priest of kellerin is an ambitious social climber, and the innkeeper and priest’s poverty in blinden distinguish them from the generic image. In all four cases, Eulenspiegel also has personal qualities, but they are not why he is there.

They function as signifiers for an audience that already knows the figure.

In all four Eulenspiegel plays, the characters interact with each other and define their relationships even without Eulenspiegel’s help. Their personal ambitions or moral guilt already define the steps necessary to reassert natural order. Eulenspiegel as a member of

397 Stuplich (1998) 212

175 the plot exists only to get the ball rolling. He is a matter of technical necessity, and his popularity attracts the audience’s attention, but he is not the central object of interest.

Sachs recreates the scenarios inherited from S1515 to explain the other characters’ involvement and as a result shifts the audience’s attentions away from Eulenspiegel and onto his victims.

Eulenspiegel and Other Tricksters in the Shrove Tuesday Plays

For comparative purposes, this chapter will now investigate Sachs’s treatment of similar recurring characters in other Shrove Tuesday plays. Of the 85 Fastnachtspiele in

Goetze’s editions, three address other traditional trickster characters. Von Joseph unnd

[sic] Melisso, auch König Salomon (Concerning Joseph, Melisso, and King Solomon;

November 29th, 1550; hereafter Salomon), which precedes Sachs’s Eulenspiegel-plays, places Markolf in his usual position at Solomon’s side. Der Neidhart mit dem feyhel

(Neidhart and the viola; February 9th, 1557; hereafter Neidhart) was written half a year before hoestuch and focuses on Neidhart’s rivalry with peasants and duke/prince Fridrich.

Sachs’s last play, Esopüs, der fabeldichter (Aesop, the poet of fables; November 23rd,

1560; hereafter Esopüs) recounts episodes from Aesop’s biography. In addition, a number of Fastnachtspiele feature recognizable characters without clear literary sources.

While a discussion of every recognizable archetype would go too far afield, a quick summary of a selection will allow us to understand Sachs’s approach. A reading of Ein

Spil mit dreyen Personen und heyst der Fürwitz (A Three-Person Play on Curiosity; July

12th, 1538; hereafter Fürwitz) Fraw warheyt will niemandt herbergen (Nobody wants to harbor Lady Truth; November 10th, 1550; hereafter warheyt), Der Ketzermeister mit den vil kessel suppen (The Inquisitor with too much soup; October 2nd, 1553; hereafter

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Ketzermeister) and Der rosdieb zw Fünssing mit den dollen diebischen pawern (The

Horse Thief of Fünsing and the Foolish Peasants ; December 27th, 1553; hereafter rosdieb) will function as a survey.

The German language Salmon and Morolf/Markolf tradition began in the second half of the twelfth century with the appearance of the Spielmannsdichtung Salman und

Morolf398 and continued into the 15th century with the Schwankroman Salomon und

Markolf.399 The Neidhart character is not as old, but can also be traced back to a 15th- century collection of farces titled Neithart Fuchs.400 Finally, Sachs’s familiarity with

Aesop is linked with to Steinhöwel’s Äsop (1476/1477), which consolidated the corpus of

Aesopian stories into a coherent whole401 and had undergone multiple printings and additions in the 16th century.402

In Salomon, Markolf is almost exclusively a sarcastic foil to the regal and overly serious, but virtuous and ultimately wiser King Solomon. He begins by depicting himself as an anti-Solomon in lines 141-148, where he gives a spurious family tree (reminiscent to the model in Salomon und Markolf [117-130]), mocking Solomon’s emphasis on his

(biblically canonical) lineage. He remains with Solomon for the rest of the play, is present for the latter’s interactions with Joseph and Melisso, and leaves with the king. A final request for the position of sexton in Solomon’s court (349-354) suggests that

398 Curschmann (1992) 515. Curschmann also addresses the biblical/eastern origin of Solomon and his entrance into general European vernacular storytelling tradition (Ibid. 517-518). 399 Bobertag (1964) 295-298. For an in-depth history of the Solomon and Markolf see Röcke’s article in the Enzyklopädie des Märchens (Röcke [2004] 1078-1085). 400 Röcke (1999) 1338-1342 401 Schneider (2007) 1222 402 Ibid. 1226

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Markolf has been won over by the king’s wisdom and undergoes a secular conversion

(although we never see what happens next). The central storyline of the play does not involve Markolf. Joseph and Melisso, whose conflicts dominate all three scenes (pre- court, at court, post-court), never interact with him: they listen to Solomon’s advice (191-

192, 249), follow his orders (offstage), receive his interpretations (294-312, 326-346), and accept his teachings (356-375, 380-402). Markolf only talks to Solomon, even when announcing Joseph’s return from his errand at the goose bridge (272). From Joseph and

Melisso’s perspective, Markolf is unnecessary. In the conclusion, he is not even mentioned in connection with Solomon, despite having been at court the entire time.

Because of his unimportance for the plot, Markolf’s role as Solomon’s opposite is that of a comic relief character. That he would never get the upper hand on Solomon (as he does in the source material) is apparent from the stronger focus on Solomon’s biblical persona, especially his wisdom:

Gott hat mir geben solch Weyßheyt Für all auff erdt zu meiner zeyt, Drey tausendt sprüch hab ich geredt, Fünff tausendt liedr ich dichten thedt Von aller Stein vnd Kreuter krafft Der Paumen frücht vnd wurtzel safft, Vom Meer, flüssen vnd brunnen frischen Von Vögel, Thier, Würmen vnd Fischen, Von Menschlicher natur vnd art Vnd was auff erdt geschaffen wart. (157-166)

God has given me in my time such wisdom for everyone in the world, that I have coined three thousand adages and composed five thousand songs on the qualities of all stones and herbs, of the fruits of trees and juice of roots, of the sea, of rivers and fresh well, of birds, animals, snakes and fish, of human nature, and everything on earth.

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These and the following lines (167-180) derive from 1 Kings 4:32-34 and are more detailed than their equivalents in the earlier Salomon und Markolf. Within the plot of

Salomon, they establish Salomon’s biblical authority. Markolf can engage the King in a traditional debate (195-229), but his misogynistic attitude never receives validation or spurs plot developments. Not only does Solomon have the last word (216-229), his advice to Melisso also reveals the solipsism inherent in Markolf’s fetishization of female weakness. When Solomon says, “Fach an, vnd hab am ersten lieb!” (Begin to be nice first; 249), he reminds Melisso (and the audience) to inspect his (and their) own behavior

– thereby turning Markolf’s thinking on its head.

Since Markolf acts as a court jester, it is natural that he does not direct the plot. His conflict with Solomon, which grants the latter a clear victory and establishes his wisdom, provides the key for understanding Sachs’s use of the character: Markolf resembles

Eulenspiegel insofar as his foolishness forms a contrast to other characters’ (Solomon’s) qualities, but, unlike Eulenspiegel, he does not act as a catalyst for their actions (for instance, Solomon’s advice wouldn’t change if Markolf made different claims). Whereas

Eulenspiegel’s appearance motivates interactions between semi-generic characters and re-arranges power dynamics, Markolf remains ultimately passive and ineffectual.

Neidhart, although containing a larger number of characters than any of the above plays, can be reduced to a three-part noble-trickster-laymen trio. A fool character, Jeckel, acts as running commentary, making light of Neidhart’s humiliation (176-199), the peasants’ defeat (269-287), and the prince’s frustrated plan to seduce Neidhart’s wife

(478-485). He does not influence the traditional plot. The other characters appear and disappear as they are needed across the two farces: Neidhart’s revenge for his humiliation

179 at the hands of his peasants, and Fridrich’s unsuccessful attempt to seduce Neidhart’s wife. Both halves function as unrelated stories. The first conflict is (by modern standards) not a good Schwank and exists primarily to motivate the second one.

Although the peasants’ initial trick is humorous, Neidhart’s response in the second act – to route them in a fight – and Jeckel’s description of their off-stage humiliation only reestablish social order and demonstrate Neidhart’s traditional superiority. From a cultural standpoint, Neidhart’s revenge also appears to allude to an ongoing literary tradition: he defeats the peasants in Neithart Fuchs (232-251) and twice in Wittenwiler’s

Ring (357-1253), so perhaps the audience expected some form of physical struggle.

The addition of the fool character Jeckel as a running commentary and herald allows

Sachs to emphasize his awareness of Neidhart’s position in 16th-century German culture as a popular figure. When Jeckel recounts the plot of the first half of the play before it begins (1-16), he not only confirms that everyone is familiar with the plot, he establishes a rapport between protagonist and audience as members of a collective with the same goal: that Neidhart wins. Jeckel continues this practice as a member of the court and addresses both the audience and other characters. By acting as a fictional character, commentator, and author surrogate, he gains the flexibility necessary to direct the plot, while simultaneously signaling its status as shared cultural inheritance. For example, when he compares the stench of Neidhart’s hat to “leutzdreck” (human feces; 148) and anticipates his humiliation, Jeckel signals a common familiarity with the traditional narrative shared by the author and the audience. Neidhart’s attack on the peasants also gains a veneer of Fastnacht-style humor with Jeckel’s descriptions of the battle. His later account of the prince’s behavior,

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Mein herlein ist wilpret vnd fisch Vnd schreit auch so laut vber disch. Mich dünckt, er wöll gleich narrat wern. Das sech vnd hort ich nit vast gern; Wan wen er gar würt zv aim lappen, So nem er mir kolben vnd kappen Und trüg sie darnach selber on, Was wolt ich armer Jecklein hon? (478-485)

My little lord eats venison and fish and yells so loud across the table that I fear he is becoming a fool. I am not happy to see or to have heard that, for if he becomes a fool he will take away my bauble and my cap for himself. What will then become of me? assures the audience that no immoral behavior will take place, while still allowing the story to continue towards a humorous conclusion. The final pivot from a text-internal narrator to herald in the final monologue of the play (497-508) contains an interesting variation of Sachs’s typical conclusion:

Wan Jecklein und die paurn gemein Die künt ie nit höfflicher sein, Retten von der sach, wie die was, Und kunten nit beschneiden das, Wie man den icz zu fasnacht thüet. (501-505)

For little Jeckel and the peasants could not be more courtly [but they were forced to] speak of the matter as it took place. They could not expurgate it as one generally does during Fastnacht.

Besides being an obvious (and not entirely truthful) reversal of the communis opinio that

Sachs bowlderized Fastnachtspiele, Jeckel cements the author’s relationship with the audience through shared cultural knowledge, while still living inside the fictional world.

The key difference between Sachs’s adaptation of the Neidhart and Eulenspiegel characters is the degree to which both are integrated into the plot. In contrast to

Eulenspiegel’s entrances (which exist primarily for the sake of introducing a new

181 character constellation), Neidhart’s actions within the first narrative arc motivate the second by renewing/extending the animosities between him and the peasants. The difference between the two tricksters can be attributed to their backgrounds –

Eulenspiegel as a general crystallization figure for trickster stories and Neidhart as the archetypal Bauernfeind – but, regarding Neidhart, Sachs makes a real effort to erect a continuous narrative around two unrelated anecdotes. Although the third act pits

Neidhart against Fridrich, the real enemies remain the peasants who describe Femia’s beauty (334-345). By focusing on a single antagonism, Sachs is able to a maintain biographical impression in Neidhart, one that his Eulenspiegel-plays lack.

The final example of a non-Eulenspiegel play dedicated to an identifiable trickster character is the aforementioned Esopüs, Sachs’s final Shrove Tuesday play. The traditional status and function of the hero (Aesop) is apparent from the title, and the herald emphasizes the didactic worth of Aesop’s biography (9-12). The beginning monologue is reminiscent of Eulenspiegel’s self-introduction in plinden, insofar as the character’s name acts as a signal. Minor differences between the two characters exist: a direct allusion to Aesop’s “puech” (book) in line 18 emphasizes the respectability of subject matter despite its “kurczweillig” (entertaining; 20) character. An affinity between Aesop and Markolf can be found in the play when Mercator insults Aesop “Dw pist unsawber vnd ungestalt, / Eben wie man Marcoluüm malt” (you are unclean and ugly, just as how people depict Markolf; 80-81), and while Mercator does not go into detail, the statement is evidence that Sachs had begun to associate tricksters with each other, even if tentatively.

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Esopüs presents five episodes of Aesop’s life which preserve a general impression of continuity through repeated inclusion of certain characters. In the first act, Mercator, a slave trader, buys Aesop from Cenas because of his ugly countenance, which Aesop claims will make him a good “zuchtmaister” (disciplinarian; 94) for children (92-96). In the second act, the philosopher Xantus buys Aesop from Mercator after a short exchange in which he discovers Aesop’s intelligence through the slave’s sarcastic responses to a number of questions (251-298). In the third act, Xantus’s wife scolds him for buying an ugly servant (374-388, 393-401), and Aesop criticizes both parties: Xantus, although a philosopher, is so captivated by his wife that he has become her prisoner (413-417), and

(according to Aesop) his wife is a shrewish woman worse than poverty, sickness, and dishonor (418-436). The fourth and fifth acts are farces: first, Aesop reinterprets

Xantus’s command to bring a gift to his “guetwiligsten” (the one who loves me most;

456) to mean his dog instead of his permanently sour wife (520-526). The taunt drives her to leave, and in the fifth act, Aesop reestablishes the relationship by claiming that

Xantus has found a new bride. Upon her return, Xantus cements the newfound marital bliss with a promise to give Aesop a well-deserved beating (611-622).

Although the herald’s final remarks in Esopüs focus on the male/female conflicts of the final three acts – he apologizes to offended women in the audience and differentiates between them and “die pössn weiber” (the evil women; 630), who are now all dead – it is

Aesop’s character that directs the play. In the first act, his ugliness forces him to compensate with his intelligence, which paradoxically makes him the most desirable slave. Later, when Aesop is brought to Xantus’s home, his two key features (his intelligence and appearance) continue to dominate the story. Xantus’s wife may express

183 her rage in the context of a marital power struggle, but her anger is initially set off when she sees Aesop. The two qualities situate him between husband and wife, as each character uses one trait to attack the other. Aesop’s ugliness justifies the wife’s pettiness, while Xantus (unwittingly) uses Aesop’s intelligence as a form of indirect aggression.

The latter point is especially obvious in Xantus’s absence during both pranks: he is ignorant of what his slave has done but is still held responsible. By the end of the play,

Aesop transforms from an ugly slave into a weapon both spouses use against each other, but his identity as the latter is dependent on the former.

The marital element shared by the above plays is only incidental. Each trickster character has a different relation to the central plot which contrasts with that of Sachs’s

Eulenspiegel. Neidhart and Aesop retain the traits which provided them with their traditional reputations and conflicts. Markolf resembles Eulenspiegel to a certain degree, since he is tangentially related to the on-stage action, but he only interacts with Solomon

(whereas Eulenspiegel at least talks to everyone). Eulenspiegel remains unique in his contradictory role as a necessary structural tool that brings together other characters.

The four characters are all similar insofar as Sachs signals to his audience that he expects some level of familiarity with their traditional narrative. All four also give hints that their entire repertoire extends beyond the short adventures exhibited in the

Fastnachtspiele, so one could make the argument that they are all recurring characters.

Eulenspiegel’s distinction lies in the fact that his identity is not appropriated by the plots of his plays. While the histories of Aesop and Neidhart are tied to definable traits, and even Markolf could not exist without his Solomon, Eulenspiegel’s reaction to situational developments has next to nothing to do with his presented self-image. The above

184 comparison with other tricksters reinforces the notion that Eulenspiegel’s main purpose is to give Sachs a prefabricated character structure with predetermined relationships and asymmetries in power and status that he can then reinvent.

A hypothesized reinvention of Eulenspiegel as a kind of formal shorthand would not be complete without a comparison with a small number of plays with similar themes but featuring only “generic” characters, i.e. those defined only by their stereotyped qualities and often lacking a unique name. Such a comparison would allow us to focus on the structural relationships between characters, which may then demonstrate relations or alignments between actors that parallel those of Sachs’s Eulenspiegel plays. The four introduced above – Fürwitz, warheyt, Ketzermeister, and rosdieb – will now be discussed.

The first two plays, Fürwitz and warheyt, are conversations between semi-allegorical characters. In Fürwitz, Loyal Eckhart403 introduces himself in a manner reminiscent of

Eulenspiegel: like the latter, he is a universally reviled vagabond dependent on others for accommodation (1-14). His dispute with Fürwitz establishes an antagonism between the two as they compete for the allegiance of an unnamed young man. Fürwitz’s depiction of an impulsive, epicurean lifestyle proves to be more alluring than Eckhart’s middle-class

Protestant existence (250-254, 265-269).404 In warheyt, the titular protagonist, Fraw

403 Loyal Eckhart first appears in Sachs’s second Fastnachtspiel Das Hoffgesindt Veneris (The Court of Venus), where he plays the role of a second herald but also talks to Venus, thereby resembling the Jeckel character in Neidhart. The character is listed among the motifs in Habel’s entry “Fastnachtspiel” in the Enzyklopädie des Märchens (892). Geiger does not name a source for either play (Geiger [1904] xi-xii). 404 Könneker’s emphasis on the prioritization of marital ethics in Sachs’s play predisposed me to recognizing the connection between marriage and Protestant thought in Fürwitz (Könneker [1979] 225-228).

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Warheyt (Lady Truth), is (like Eckhart) the representative of suffering virtue. As an allegorical character, she is well-known and unpopular (19-32, 58-65). Her love of truth and willingness to depict its negative consequences single-handedly discredit her to the peasant couple she seeks to win over (who resemble the youth in Fürwitz).

Eckhart and Warheyt are similar insofar as their names (Eckhart calls himself getrewe

[loyal]) alert the audience to their ethical position, but their explicit allegorical value does not determine their position within the plays. Sachs mentions Eckhart’s name and characteristics, as though the audience should recognize him,

Ich bin der getrewe Eckhart, Der auff das heil der Menschen wart, Das niemandt veruntrewet wer. (87-89)

I am loyal Eckhart, who looks to the salvation of mankind, so that nobody becomes ignoble (or acts ignobly).

However, his rivalry with Fürwitz and his failure to establish a rapport with the youth (as demonstrated in abusive phrases like “Droll dich, du Alter! du bist vol.” [Get lost, old man! You are drunk!; 92]) situate him within a three-part conversation in which no character monopolizes audience attention. On the other hand, Warheyt conforms to the religious norms alluded to by her name. Her moral status as a positive allegorical character allows her to impress the peasants, although they reject her in the end (272-

286). From a formal perspective, she is the central character (she names Jupiter as her father in lines 89-93 and recounts her backstory in 96-104, 106-117, 119-129, 131-143, and 145-149) around whom the peasant couple revolves, and does not have an obvious antagonist like Eckhart. No pattern between the two characters can be determined despite nearly identical characteristics.

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The remaining two Fastnachtspiele, Ketzermeister and rosdieb, give accounts of tricksters without an obvious literary tradition or immediately recognizable allegorical nature. A minor character in the first play, “Nachbar Clas,” may resemble Claus Narr by name, but Sachs never capitalizes on the similarity and Clas lacks the appropriate mental disabilities.405 Geiger does not give a source for rosdieb. As we will see below, both characters play different roles within the plot, despite their presumably archetypical/generic character.

The trickster character of Ketzermeister, Nachbar Clas, enters the play to shift the balance of power in favor of the protagonist, Simon Wirdt, who is being blackmailed by the local inquisitor. He assists Simon by defying the inquisitor in an interview (238-278) and by later disclosing the inquisitor’s greedy intention in a conversation with Simon.

While there is no causal relationship between the jokes and Simon’s later subversive interpretation of an off-stage homily (382-399), Clas’s actions have representational worth reminiscent of Eulenspiegel and Markolf: his ability to irritate the inquisitor signals the latter’s new vulnerability and represents Simon’s growing self-confidence over the course of the narrative (despite the relative inanity of the content). Clas is only tangentially involved in the character constellation, talking primarily with Simon and not contributing to the Simon-versus-inquisitor conflict that defines the rest of the play. To a certain degree, he, like Markolf, functions mainly as comic relief despite his value as a symbol.

The horse thief of rosdieb resembles Eulenspiegel more than any other trickster, named or unnamed, as he also takes a back seat in the plot and allows the peasants Gangl

405 von Bernuth (2009) 66-73

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Dötsch, Stefl Löll, and Lindl Fricz to humiliate themselves repeatedly. For the first quarter of the play (until line 86), all three discuss the financial burden of feeding the thief and agree to release him on the condition that he return for his execution. After his release (164-167), he never interacts with the peasants onstage again. Offstage events are mentioned in the peasants’ conversations, but the thief becomes an audience surrogate, listening to and commenting on the peasants’ remarks from a distance. He plays an exclusively meta-narrative role, directing audience interpretation of the three named characters.

A comparison of Neidhart, Solomon, and Esopüs with the above Fastnachtspiele confirms that Sachs’s treatment of traditional characters, while of course tailored to the situation, does not differ significantly from his use of generic characters. Both groups have little in common with Sachs’s Eulenspiegel. One exception would be the horse thief of rosdieb, who, like Eulenspiegel, acts as a satellite to ongoing conflicts in which he plays a minor role. Clas and Markolf, on the other hand, are defined by their relationship with one character, and the other four (Neidhart, Aesop, Eckhart, and Warheyt) are fully involved in the conflicts in their plays.

The findings expand upon previous studies of Sachs’s dramaturgy with which they share an emphasis on dramatic structure. Geiger drew attention to the “Motiv des

Gegensatzes” (motif of opposition) in his investigation of Sachs’s Fastnachtspiele by emphasizing Sachs’s use of opposing character types to evoke dramatic tension.406

406 Geiger (1904) 109-198. Geiger’s principle anticipates Olrik’s famous “Law of Two to a Scene” and “Law of Contrast” (Olrik [1965] 134-135). Despite working in different fields, both Olrik and Geiger emphasize the dichotomy present in the interaction between two characters, and the general applicability of folklore laws to Sachs’s work illustrates his closeness to oral literature.

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Stuplich argued that Sachs’s dramas are defined by a “Figurenkonstellation” (character constellation) in which individuals play different roles defined through contrast to and conflict with other characters: for example, court advisors accompanying nobles endorse and represent a network of differing opinions.407 Krohn noted that introduction and framing elements eased identification of and with characters,408 allowing us to know who the protagonists and antagonists are before the plot starts. Müller’s studies of the expression of Sachs’s ethic code in the Shrove Tuesday play made similar findings: the necessity of moral didacticism (a consequence of the secularization of the tradition)409 led to a new focus on a central plot.410

Sachs’s Eulenspiegel exists at the crosslines of the public’s flexible preconceptions of the representative meaning of a character (their ability to symbolize different concepts) and Sachs’s emphasis of dramatic form. Allegorical characters with abstract meaning had deviated from their etymological basis, as demonstrated in Fürwitz and warheyt, and took their new role from the need to oppose other figures or concepts. Another example would be the descriptions of foolishness of Sachs’s Das Narren schneyden, which combines a traditional understanding of the seven deadly sins411 with an emphasis on reason as life’s guiding principle.412 Catholy notes a similar method on Sachs’s part when dealing with stock characters, who are often just variations on underlying types:

Die Bauern, Handwerksgesellen oder Pfaffenknechte des Reihenspiels sind mehr oder weniger beliebige Chiffren für

407 Stuplich (1998) 198-205 408 Krohn (1974) 153 409 Müller (1985) 69-70 410 Ibid. 70-71 411 Schade (1988) 83-87, especially 87 412 Remshardt (1989) 88-89. Schade and Remshardt do not contradict each other, but only emphasize different elements.

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die Figur des Narren, der in diesen Stücken auch direkt als Rolle erscheint.413

The peasants, journeymen, or priests’ servants of the Reihenspiel are more or less random stand-ins for the figure of the fool, who can even appear as undisguised (meaning as a fool character).

Eulenspiegel has type-based qualities, but they are too contradictory for Sachs to appropriate in a single play. Sachs may cite one, like Eulenspiegel’s literary-mindedness, where a different quality, like his Schadenfreude, directs his actions. The distance between action and self-presentation also separates Eulenspiegel from other characters with clear-cut personalities.

The above investigation of Sachs’s Fastnachtspiele has limits. The entire canon of

Shrove Tuesday plays is so large that one cannot discount the possibility that at least one handling of a stock character runs counter to the stated findings, which only point to general tendencies. In order to get a complete picture of Sachs’s reception of

Eulenspiegel, it is necessary to investigate his appearances in Sachs’s Schwänke (both

Spruchgedichte and Meisterlieder) and to determine whether a different medium reveals a radically different narrative style.

Eulenspiegel in the Schwänke

Streubel lists eight adaptations of an Eulenspiegel history into a Spruchgedicht between the years 1539 to 1556, and notes that every Spruchgedicht also appears as a

Meisterlied.414 She states that the former are either identical to or more elaborate than the

Meisterlieder and summarizes her findings as follows: the isolation of individual stories

413 Catholy (1969) 40 414 Streubel (1988) 101-102, 104

190 rendered Eulenspiegel either didactic or harmlessly funny.415 Streubel’s other findings, namely that the morality of each story is explicit and that the difference between social insiders and outsiders is relaxed,416 are natural consequences of her first statements. As the investigation of Sachs’s Shrove Tuesday plays demonstrates that he did not develop a single reinterpretation of Eulenspiegel’s personality but understood the character’s usefulness as a shortcut for importing pre-established character constellations, it is necessary to read his poetic reinventions of Eulenspiegel to determine if a similar, unrelated, or perhaps opposite tendency is present.

Sachs’s first Eulenspiegel-Spruchgedicht, Des Ewlenspiegels thestament (February 24

1539; hereafter thestament) will serve as an experimental close reading. All large deviations (i.e. no rewordings of simple actions that preserve the rhyme) from S1515 are as follows:

1. “Sein hercze zw erleichten / Von seinen sunden schwere” (4-5) rhymes with the preceding and following lines and implies genuine remorse. A “Galgenruw” (deathbed remorse) motif appears earlier in S1515 (H. 89; 253).

2. In S1515, the priest’s internal monologue focuses on Eulenspiegel’s wealth (260). No equivalent exists in thestament. The priest mentions “groses gelt” (a lot of money) in conversation with Eulenspiegel (9), but that is spoken dialogue, not thought.

3. The second conversation between Eulenspiegel and the priest is streamlined. Eulenspiegel’s command to reach into the jar is combined with the warning. In S1515, the two statements are separated to raise tension.

415 Ibid. 104 416 Ibid.

191

Minor additions exist. For instance, the line “Vnd stanck gar leichnam vebel” ([the priest’s hand] stank as bad as a corpse; 38) has no equivalent in S1515. It is padding

(Sachs needed a rhyme for “knüebel” [knuckles]), but the line also emphasizes the priest’s misfortune. The experimental reading validates Streubel’s theses and demonstrates Sachs’s effort to reduce the episode to base details. A tendency towards a more linear narrative form suggests a different approach to Eulenspiegel in the Schwänke to that in the Fastnachtspiele. All geographic information (common in S1515) is absent.

The moral is more explicit, and the emphasis on “Curatores, formünder” (literally legal guardians; 54) has a distinctly anticlerical flavor.

On the 7th and 8th of November 1548, Sachs composed two consecutive Eulenspiegel-

Spruchgedichte, Ewlenspiegel auf dem sail (Eulenspiegel on the rope; hereafter sail) and

Eülenspiegel mit dem schalcksnarren im lant zw Polen (Eulenspiegel with the courtly fool in Poland; hereafter Polen). The first farce is a combination of two childhood stories (H.

3 and H. 4), necessitated by their continuity (Eulenspiegel is defeated and avenges himself). Sail preserves the thematic focus of humiliation in S1515, as emphasized in line, “Das volck spot sein züm schaden” (people mocked his misfortune; 24) and in

Eulenspiegel’s later gloating (57-58). Polen adds material to reimagine its plot along identical lines. Eulenspiegel’s rival, the courtly fool, “schanthalben entrün” (fled in shame; 55) after his defeat, and the narrator notes that Eulenspiegel “achtet kainer eren”

(did not care about honor; 60). Neither sentence has its equivalent in S1515 (The king praises Eulenspiegel in H. 24 [72]), and the adoption of the theme of sail suggests that both poems are centered around the ideas of reputation.

192

The possibility of a thematic motivation is reinforced by a comparison with neighboring stories. Two days after the second prank (November 10th), Sachs composed

Die plaben hüet (The blue hats; hereafter hüet), which Glier notes is “einem

Eulenspiegel-Abenteuer nachgebildet” (an imitation of an Eulenspiegel-adventure)417 – specifically Polen, its immediate predecessor. The stories are almost identical: The

Swabians, Bavarians, and Franconians are competing for the privilege of wearing blue hats, and each nationality sends a representative to the emperor. The challenge repeats the one in Polen and the Bavarian wins the day by eating the Franconian’s defecation.

Emphasis is placed on the loss of social standing:

Auch die Pairen pekomen An diesem ort den nomen, Das mans Sew payren nent, Die weil er an dem ent Den leützdreck hat gefressen. Das pleipt im unfergessen Pey Francken vnd den Schwaben, Die im den namen gaben (61-69)

Additionally, the Bavarains received here the name “Sow- Bavarians”, because he (= their representative) ate human feces at the end. That will not be forgotten by the Franconians and Swabians who name them so!

The faux-etiological conclusion explores the paradox of winning the contest – an action which would increase one’s personal honor – at the expense of social esteem, as in Polen, and implies that the Bavarians made the wrong choice in valuing official privilege over popular opinion.

The above example suggests that Sachs did not only consider Eulenspiegel’s biography raw material for individual farces, but also narrative units which could be

417 Glier (1993) 60-61

193 linked to other stories, so long as they shared a central theme (which could be inherent to the events or synthesized by the reframing of character actions). Naturally, such a connection cannot be assumed without evidence, and large gaps of time between consecutive farces, such as between Der katzen kremer (supposedly December 10th, 1557, but numbered 130 in Goetze’s collection and probably written earlier)418 and

Ewlenspiegel mit der kaczen (March 5th, 1551; 131 in Goetze’s collection), suggest that a sequential order alone does not prove anything. Sometimes the gap in time is short enough that it is hard to guess whether a thematic relation was intended or not, such as between Sant Petter mit dem hern vnd faulen pawren knecht, ein kurz gesprech (A Short

Conversation between Saint Peter, the Lord, and a lazy peasant; September 10th, 1556) and Ewlenspigel wart ein maler (Eulenspiegel becomes a painter; September 24th, 1556).

In both songs the disreputable characters (the peasant and Eulenspiegel) are characterized as lazy, but the two weeks between each individual song undermines the argument.

A stronger case can be made for situations in which poems have explicit similarities, as in farces 146, Ein gesprech aines bischoffs mit dem Ewlenspiegel von dem prillen machen (A Bishop’s Conversation with Eulenspiegel concerning the crafting of glasses;

August 29th, 1554; hereafter prillen) and 147, Der dewffel suecht im ain rüestat auf erden

(The devil Seeks a Resting-Place on Earth; November 1st, 1554; hereafter rüestat), two

418 Goetze doubts the date because it is only preserved in A (the Nuremberg folio editions) but gives no explanation. 129 was written on July 28th, 1550, ten months before Ewlenspeigel mit der kaczen. If Der katzen kremer was written soon after 129, the time between it and Ewlenspiegel mit der kaczen would be greater than that between Polen and hüet. If the original date is accurate, it belongs between farce 185 (December 9th, 1557) and 186 (December 11th, 1557), with which it shares no thematic connection. Both possibilities justify hesitating to accept the existence of a thematic focus unless both (a) time and (b) theme call for it.

194 works in which the specific use of cultural pessimism is linked to Protestant thought. prillen differs from the source (H. 63) insofar as it reinterprets Eulenspiegel’s grievances as concerns about the general wellbeing of the Holy Roman Empire.419 In S1515,

Eulenspiegel attributes the lower demand for glasses among secular and religious authority to their arbitrariness (180). The acknowledgement that “Der Gebrest ist so weit kummen, daz diß die Buren uff dem Land pflegen” (the degeneracy has reached the point that the peasants practice it; 180) emphasizes the top-down nature of the decline.

Prillen updates these complaints by introducing 16th-century Reformation tropes. The decline of priestly erudition is linked to young monks abandoning cloisters for the sake of

“handwerk lern” (learning a trade; 97), a motif also present in the anti-Catholic

Ursprung des ersten Münichs (The Origin of the First Monk; April 14th, 1559; 243 in

Goetze’s collection). The nobility’s capriciousness is simultaneously linked to its failures to fulfill obligations to the Holy Roman Empire (116-146).

In rüestat, the devil travels to a prince’s court (11-37), a bishop’s court (41-67), a city

(69-89) and a court of law (92-106). All four settings are defined by appropriate vices but also have a small minority of pious individuals. Only the dance is completely amoral

(120-163). By equating the participants with corrupt secular or religious authorities,

Sachs situates his complaints in the context of a morally dissolute 16th-century German society reminiscent of that in prillen. Both poems also contain an admonishing voice, either Eulenspiegel’s or those of anonymous critics. On a side note, the dance in rüestat lacks any form of estate-based division. The word “peasant” does not appear once, and

419 Streubel also mentions the “Zeitkritik” (social criticism) element in brillen, but only in the general sense of political chaos in the 16th century (Streubel [1988] 110).

195 the attendants are described in neutral terms like “Jung vnde alt, frawen vnd man” (young and old, women and men; 141), giving the dance an impression of chaotic egalitarianism abhorrent to Sachs’s audience.

We may continue our comparison of Sachs’s Eulenspiegel pranks and their immediate neighbors with farce 337, Ewlenspeigel mit seim hailtümb (Eulenspiegel and his relic;

August 12th, 1563, written 17 years after its corresponding Meisterlied [April 28th, 1546]; hereafter hailtümb). Sachs adds an important rural quality to Eulenspiegel’s promise of the saint’s favor:

Der wircz vergelten, wo er kon, Euch schaff, kelber, hüner vnd gens Phüeten, das sie kein wolff hin dens, Es sey den er selber darpey; Des hab ich prieff vnd sigel frey (68-72).

[The saint will] pay you back according to his ability. He will protect your sheep, calves, chicken, and geese, so that no wolf tears them away, unless he tears himself doing so. I have letters and seals guaranteeing it.

The innovation does not change the plot of the story, but the focus on the agrarian concerns of Eulenspiegel’s victims draws a connection between the Schwank and its predecessor, Ein schwanck: Die drey nüeczlichen vnd hewflichen pewerin (The three types of useful and helpful farmwomen; August 8th, 1563; hereafter pewerin). The two poems were already connected by their misogyny. In hailtümb (as in its source) the narrator focuses on the infidelity of women (120-132), while the peasants of pewerin compare their wives to a dog, a nag, and a pig (25-110). The two subsequent poems then treat all peasants with contempt. Ain schwanck: Künz Zweyffl mit dem erbes acker (A

Farce: Kunz Zweyffl and the pea patch; August 18th, 1563; hereafter Künz) reverses the usual dynamics by making the protagonist, Kunz Zweyffl, a peasant, but also casts him as

196 a fool. His misunderstanding of the priest’s statement “So wert on zweiffel selig werden”

(so will you doubtlessly be saved; 10) as So will you all, except for Zweyffl, be saved characterizes him as gullible. The closing moral – that deception has its price (159-174)

– is also a variation on the same elements at play in hailtümb. Both poems are intended as a criticism of gullible peasants for audience amusement. The following farce, Ain schwank: Künig Richardüs mit dem pawren (A farce: King Richard and the peasant;

August 27th, 1563) also features a conflict between a disadvantaged peasant and member a privileged estate, whereby the latter is bested by the former.

The only Eulenspiegel-adaptations not yet discussed are the Meisterlieder.420 A few preliminary remarks are necessary. With one exception, notable chronological gaps exist between a Meisterlied and its corresponding Spruchgedicht.

420 For the sake of easy reference and because of the larger amount of material, all Meisterlieder-numbers will be given according to Goetze/Drescher.

197

Table 3.1: Dates of Eulenspiegel-Spruchgedichte and Eulenspiegel-Meisterlieder Adventure Date (Spruchgedicht) Date (Meisterlied) Eulenspiegel on the Rope November 7th, 1548 September 27th, 1548 (H. 3/H. 4)

Eulenspiegel at the Court of November 8th, 1548 October, 1548 (day not the King of Poland (H. 24) given in Goetze/Drescher)

Eulenspiegel as a Painter September 24th, 1556 March 22nd, 1556 (H. 27)

Eulenspiegel with the Relic August 12th, 1563 April 28th, 1546 (H. 31)

Eulenspiegel on the Bridge June 20th, 1539 May 9th, 1539 (H. 32)

Eulenspiegel and the Cat March 5th, 1551 March 5th, 1551 (H. 55)

Eulenspiegel as a Maker of August 29th, 1554 April 27th, 1546 Glasses (H. 63)

Eulenspiegel’s Testament February 24th, 1539 October 27th, 1538 (H. 92)

Evidence for the thematic sovereignty of the Meisterlieder can be seen in Sachs’s practice of composing multiple songs in a sequence, a practice not applied to the

Spruchgedichte. Four strings are given below (numbered according to Goetze/Drescher):

Table 3.2: Four Strings of Eulenspiegel-Meisterlieder Composed Sequentially Number Name Date Eulenspiegel Farce? 100 Der Ewlenspiegel im pad January 24th, 1539 Yes

101 Ewlenspiegel mit dem prems February 26th, 1539 Yes

102 Der karge vnd milt March 17th, 1539 No

103 Des Ewlenspiegels osterspiel zw April 4th, 1539 Yes Püdenstete

104 Der hencker steg May 9th, 1539 Yes

198

278 Der prillen macher April 27th, 1546 Yes

279 Eulenspiegel mit der kellnerin April 28th, 1546 Yes

280 Des Ewlenspigels hailtüm April 28th, 1546 Yes

281 Ewlenspigel dispütaczen April 29th, 1546 Yes

282 Der wolff mit dem pild April 29th, 1546 No

283 Der Herman mit dem esel April 30th, 1546 No

284 Eulenspigel mit dem roschwancz April 30th, 1546 Yes 293 Das pelczwaschen May 11th, 1546 Yes

294 Der poswicht im kasten May 13th, 1546 No

295 Das pös weib mit dem wolff May 14th, 1546 No

296 Ewlenspigel mit den milchpewrin May 14th, 1546 Yes

297 Der pfaff schais in kirchen May 15th, 1546 Yes 539 Ewlenspigel schais aüf den disch October 12th, 1548 Yes

540 Der verlogen edelmon October, 1548 No

541 Der pauren bescheisser October 24th, 1548 See below

542 Der teufel mit den lantzknechten October 27th, 1548 No

543 Eulenspigel ein thürner October 28th, 1548 Yes

544 Ewlenspigel mit dem pabst October 31st, 1548 Yes

Other strings exist, but a full listing of Sachs’s entire Eulenspiegel-repertoire has already been compiled by Streubel and does not need to be repeated here.421 Der pauren

421 Streubel (1988) 101-102. Streubel did not discuss fragments despite the possibility of insights into Sachs’s general poetic approach. One example: Meisterlied 350, Ewlenspigel der trew knecht, did not survive, but must have been written shortly (Goetze/Drescher: “1547 Januar?”) after Meisterlieder 348, Ewlenspigel mit den 12 Blinden (January 26th, 1547) and 349 Die 4 ochsen (January 27th, 1547). Such a sequence qualifies as a short string and shows Sachs’s intent to compose multiple Eulenspiegel- adventures at once, even if the theme is unclear.

199 bescheisser is a variation of H. 16 in which an unnamed doctor places a constipated child on top of his own excrement and claims to have cured him. Single Eulenspiegel-

Meisterlieder are exceptions. For example, the disconnect between the title of Der

Ewlenspigel (January 3rd, 1533) and the subject matter (it is a retelling of H. 17) betrays the song’s experimental character. The narrator alludes to Eulenspiegel’s reputation

(“Ein abentewrer Ewlenspigel was genant, / Der selb mit schalckheit het dürchfaren manig lant” [An adventurer, Eulenspiegel by name, had traveled through many a land with trickery; 1-2]) despite retelling a single story. A similarly early and isolated

Meisterlied, Des Ewlenspigels testament (October 27th, 1538), is also an unusual case because of the story’s original position at the end of Eulenspiegel’s biography.

Thematic similarities link Eulenspiegel-Meisterlieder with the occasional interruption.

Der karg vnd milt has a similar character constellation as the preceding Ewlenspiegel mit dem prems and the following Des Ewlenspiegels osterspiel zw Püdenstete. All three poems focus on a single female character positioned between two male characters, either two rivals or (in the third poem’s case) a lover and an enemy. Non-Eulenspiegel songs

Der wolff mit dem pild and Der Herman mit dem esel also have an obvious connection with adjacent Eulenspiegel stories. Der wolf mit dem pild is an Aesopian fable with an explicit moral: an attractive person without “dügent, sin vnd wicz” (virtue and intelligence; 21) are as useless “Wens als ein plock da sicz” (as though that person were

Other minor problems exist. Although Streubel claims to have constructed a “chronologische Aufstellung” (A chronological list), earlier farces are often placed behind later ones. For example, Meisterlied 293 is below 296 and 297. A second example: Meisterlied 686, Ewlenspigel war ain schneider (October 30th, 1550), precedes Meisterlied 668, Eulenspiegel dreymal dauft (June 14th, 1550) (as does 687). The information is correct, but rearrangement is necessary.

200 a block sitting there; 24). The moral is an inversion of the closing of the immediately preceding 281 (Ewlenspiegel dispütaczen): “Das gwissen zaigt selb auf tügent vnd ere, /

Darzw darff man nicht sere / Vil püecher vnd lang untericht” (The conscience directs towards virtue and good behavior; one does not really need many books or extensive teaching; 34-36). It and Ewlenspigel dispütaczen were both written on April 29th and appear to be counterparts. 283 (Der Herman mit dem esel) and 284 (Eulenspigel mit dem roschwancz) also appear on the same day (April 30th) and have a superficial connection, namely a focus on draft animals. In 283, a peasant cannot find the donkey he is riding, and in 284 Eulenspiegel pulls the tail out of the horse. 283 justifies the story by citing a presumably common saying (35-39), and 284 motivates the prank with “Als Ewlenspigel merckt die ding, / Der alzeit mit petrueg umbging” (As Eulenspiegel, who was also always deceitful, noticed what was going on; 9-10), a clear reference to his general modus operandi. Taken together, both songs are meant as entertainment with similar subject matter.

In 293-296 (but not 297), all conflict is defined along gender lines with exclusively female victims. 293 is a retelling of the pelczwaschen story, and 294 is an adaptation of

Boccaccio’s Decameron (II,9). They are connected by morals warning against deception

(294) or trusting deceptive individuals (293). 295 and 296 emphasize the semitragic endings: in the former the “pös weib” (evil wife) suffers for her obstinacy, and in the latter, Eulenspiegel’s victims spill milk and become public spectacles (as in H. 70). In both cases, the narrator establishes a rapport with the audience by mocking the victims, either by wishing that the wolf would rescue the masculine audience from angry wives

(295.46-48) or by noting laconically “Ein güettes fasnacht spil das war” (That was a good

201

Shrove Tuesday Play or That was a good prank; 296.42). 297 does not have any female characters, but its appearance after 296 can be explained by the shared concentration on

Eulenspiegel as a character. The other stories demonstrate that between May 11th and

May 15th, Sachs’s use of Eulenspiegel was primarily motivated by the relevance of the stories to a particular theme.

Counterexamples should be mentioned. The final group of Meisterlieder (539-544) shows that it is not always possible to connect songs with a common motif. There are minor similarities (both 539 and 540 take place shortly before bedtime, for example), and the protagonists are generally not admirable, but there are no larger elements that would separate them from their neighbors. A trend of citing popular sayings at the conclusion of 539 and 540 does not continue further. 541 is a collection of stories reminiscent of

Eulenspiegel. The doctor commits three scatological pranks (bescheißen is meant literally), none of which gives him much depth of personality. One could argue that the devil’s description of the Landsknecht at the end of 542 shares a stereotypical quality with 541, while the military themes connect 542 with 543, but such connections are weak.

All four groups illustrate Sachs’s confidence in the social profitability of the

Eulenspiegel-character. Besides the above examples, the sequential order of

Meisterlieder like 528. Eulenspiegel auf dem sail (Eulenspiegel on the Rope; September

27th, 1548) and 529. Eulenspigel im pinkorb (Eulenspiegel in the Beehive; September 27th

1548), both of which are childhood stories, reveals that Sachs did not completely eliminate the biographical element of Eulenspiegel’s reputation. The sequence only makes sense in light of S1515 or a derivative printing. Similar evidence can be seen

202 inside song 543, which begins “Unnütz war Eulenspigel alt” (Old Eulenspiegel was useless; 1). The story is comparatively late, but it is not Sachs’s last Meisterlied on the character (544 also features Eulenspiegel, but after that Sachs stops until 1550). The claim that Eulenspiegel has aged is not in the source (H. 22), but the innovation is not too surprising in light of S1515. Even though continuity is not explicit, the general appearance of Eulenspiegel stories next to each other suggests the assumption (perhaps inherited) that he merits a handling similar to the one given to him in the novel and that more than one story should be devoted to him. These songs were not necessarily sung together, but Sachs’s reputation and his membership in a closed society (fellow

Meistersänger) mean that later songs would remind the audience of recent performances.

Sachs never seals the deal. He accepts the restrictions inherent in his medium and never explicitly depicts the process of aging. His Schwänke are primarily motivated by thematic content, and Eulenspiegel resembles the modern (20th/21st-century) cameo of a well-known character in popular television: his appearance hijacks the following events

(or here, songs) and monopolizes attention. By extension, the need to acknowledge a biographical element to Eulenspiegel’s life was combined with Sachs’s focus on certain topics, with the latter taking precedent over the former. Even sail and polen confirm this fact, as the latter had been reworked to discuss a topic inherited from its predecessor. In general, although Sachs’s method in his Schwank-adaptations was not consistent, similarities enabled him to create chains of songs oscillating between thematic and pseudo-biographic connections. Nothing about such a process is contradictory. For

Sachs, relationship via shared motif and via shared character were two complementary methods.

203

To complete the chapter, a selection of Sachs’s Spruchgedichte and Meisterlieder featuring other trickster characters will now be investigated. These poems will function as a control group which will reveal to the degree Sachs’s handling of Eulenspiegel in his poetry was unique.

Other Tricksters in the Schwänke

Aesop, Neidhart, and Markolf also appear in the Spruchgedichte and Meisterlieder, where they are joined by the Pfarrer vom Kalenberg and Claus Narr. The amount of material in the Spruchgedichte is relatively small. Characters are discussed in the order of their first appearance. It is not possible to address every song, but the below material is extensive enough to give solid findings.

Two Spruchgedichte center around Aesop’s biography. Both were written roughly simultaneously with their respective Meisterlied.

Table 3.3: Aesop-Spruchgedichte Number Name Date (Goetze/Drescher) 79. Esopus mit den zwayen kraen September 10th, 1545

92. Das poes weib Xanti August 5th, 1547

79 has no immediate thematic connection with preceding farces (a short mention of physical violence is padding). The character constellation of the original story is preserved, and neither Aesop not Xantus are treated as though an introduction is necessary. Sachs adds morals absent in Steinhöwel,422 but they are obvious conclusions to the narratives. Nor is Xantus’s wife given an introduction in 92, which lacks almost all contextual information (it is identical to the fifth act of the Esopüs play). No motivations

422 A minor correction: Goetze/Drescher cite page 51 of Österley’s addition, but the story begins on page 59.

204 for the wife’s actions are given other than her “poshaftig” (shrewish; 2) nature. That may be explained by the generalizing quality of Sachs’s moral (55-64), which would not have worked with an established antagonism. No thematic connection with 91 or 93 exists. It appears that Sachs’s handling of both Aesop stories is isolated pranks without any connection to their chronological neighbors.

Claus Narr appears after Aesop in two farces, both of which contain multiple short episodes. Both appear after their respective Meisterlied.

Table 3.4: Claus Narr-Spruchgedichte Number Name Date (Goetze/Drescher) 267. Drey schwenck Klaus Narren January 6th, 1560

306. Ain Schwanck: Klaus Narren drey January 29th, 1563 grose wunder in der stat zv Leipzig

A discussion of the Spruchgedichte requires an introduction to the character. By Sachs’s time, the historical Claus developed a tradition of Eulenspiegel-like pranks and general foolishness. He is mentioned by Luther and appears in later editions of Johannes Pauli’s

Schimpf und Ernst (original publication date 1522), anecdotes 694-696, 840, and 841.423

The canon of stories was still fluid in Sachs’s time (the collection by Wolfgang Büttner appeared in 1572).424 In Schimpf und Ernst, Claus appears in conjunction with “der hochgeboren Fürst von Saxen” (694) and generally interacts with the nobility. The consistent grouping of stories suggests that a canon of thematically unrelated work was in

423 Moser-Rath (1981) 74-75. Moser-Rath does not give Sachs’s entire Claus Narr- repertoire (Ibid. 75-77). Claus Narr stories in later versions of Schimpf und Ernst follow the 1924 edition by Johannes Bolte (second volume) and are cited by story number. Of the five aforementioned anecdotes, 694-696 were added to the edition in 1533, 840 to the edition in 1546, and 841 to the edition in 1555 (following Bolte’s dates under the respective stories). All five narratives must have been known to Sachs. 424 Ibid.

205 the process of forming. 694, 695, and 841 (Pauli’s collection) are scatological, but not

696 or 840. A comparison of Pauli’s and Sachs’s material reveals both overlap and diverging material.

Sachs’s handlings of Claus Narr are organized by subject matter. All three adventures in 267 demonstrate Claus’s misfortunes with a donkey or similar beast. Claus is also always publicly mocked, either by the court (35, 76) or by “ydermon” (everyone; 122).

The laughter is not meant to be understood as (exclusively) cruel, since the prince “het sein Klas Narren lieb” (felt affection for Claus Narr) and closes with the saccharine observation that God gives both the wise and fools “seine gab” (his gifts; 124-130). The two characters (Claus and the prince) are lone actors, with the court existing as a late medieval/early modern laugh track. In 306, Claus repeatedly criticizes monks and priests to the prince. Sachs modernizes the Schwank with allusions to Germany in the conclusion (especially in lines 119 and 127), where he invokes Protestant rhetoric on monastic wealth. Claus has essentially become Sachs’s mouthpiece, especially in the use of the anti-Catholic trope of a lazy cloister (125-132).

In both cases, Sachs’s treatment of Claus Narr betrays a familiarity with the character not limited to the recited stories. The introduction to 267, “Hort Klaüs Narren drey güeter schwenck, / Des ich hie zw der lecz gedenck!” (Hear three good pranks of Claus

Narr, whom I commemorate at long last; 1-2), serves as a form of literary name-dropping and self-advertisement, while remaining vague enough to leave the issue of Claus’s biography unresolved. 306 mentions Claus’s historical counterpart, Friedrich of Saxony

(either Friedrich II or Friedrich the Wise), but does not give many details. The lines “Da lecz da fing Klaus narr auch on, / Den herczog Fridrich gar lieb het” (Finally, Claus

206

Narr, whom Friedrich loved, began; 20-21) suggest that Claus had acquitted himself well in the past and allows individual stories to avoid an obligation of exhaustiveness. In both cases, Claus resembles Eulenspiegel insofar as he is familiar enough to evoke sympathy.

Yet by all accounts, little concrete information in available. Allusions to a pre- established familiarity with the character establish a rapport and let Sachs combine pranks by theme or (especially in 306) usefulness for his religious program. The small number of biographical details (allusions to Friedrich, Saxony or Leipzig) reveals a specific character, but the comments do not influence the plot. Without additional evidence we cannot do more than acknowledge that the character generally enjoyed a humorous reputation.

After a discussion of the two recurring heroes of the Spruchgedichte, the only task which remains is an identical handling of the more extensive Meisterlieder. There, all of the aforementioned trickster characters of the Shrove Tuesday plays reappear, as does the

Pfarrer vom Kalenberg.

Neidhart is the protagonist of the following three Meisterlieder:

Table 3.5: Neidhart-Meisterlieder Number Name Date (Goetze/Drescher) 90. Der Neidhart mit seinen listen May 29th, 1538

99. Die peschoren rot January 18th, 1539

980. Der Neidhart mit dem feyhel March 31st, 1556

90 and 99 appear more than a decade before the Fastnachtspiel. 90 is another handling of the prince’s attempt to seduce Neidhart’s wife. The plot is (obviously) shortened, but the content is unchanged. Jeckel is absent. Sachs emphasizes Neidhart’s hatred for peasants, “Dem waren all sein pawren feint / Er macht sie oft zw schande” (All peasants

207 hated him, he often humiliated them; 4-5), and at the song’s conclusion the character seems to hate everyone: “[Der noch manigem wendet, / Das er ein frewdenreiche sach /

Zw leczt in drawren endet” ([Neidhart...who] directed things thus for many people, that he ended a happy time in sorrow; 55-57).

The first statement establishes Neidhart’s identity, but is otherwise irrelevant for the story. The second brings his personality in harmony with the events of the song and justifies his victory post hoc. 99 begins in an identical fashion, mentioning peasants who

“druegen dem edlen Neidhart / Gros neid zw aller stünde” (held great enmity for the noble Neidhart at all times; 3-4), but the theme is not generalized at the end. The third stanza warns against drunkenness and discusses “pscheren” (here: cutting other’s hair) as a form of humiliation, reflecting the content of the song. In both 90 and 99, Sachs’s dependency on tradition is obvious, and the twofold mention of Neidhart’s hatred for peasants reveals a degree of assumed consensus about his personality. There is also little evidence for any possible interest on Sachs’s part in general themes related to the

Neidhart tradition at that time. 99 precedes the Eulenspiegel-Meisterlied Der

Ewlenspiegel im pad, with which it shares a focus on bathing and cleanliness, but that could be a coincidence.

A possible connection exists between 980 and its predecessor, Die drey argen klaffer

(The three terrible slanderers, hereafter klaffer; March 30th, 1556), as both discuss the consequences of reputation sabotage. 980, which incidentally acknowledges the entire corpus of Neidhart farces in “Würt darnach sein lebtag ir feint / Det vil zv laid den thümen” ([Neidhart] became their enemy for the rest of his life, he harmed the stupid ones in many ways; 54-55), addresses the theme indirectly: as an account of the

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Veilchenschwank detached from Neidhart’s biography, it ends immediately after the retaliatory ambush with the semi-moralistic closing “Also noch durch ringe vrsach / Thut grose feintschaft kümen” (Thus, because of a minor cause a great enmity can arise; 56-

57). Ringe vrsach is perhaps not an accurate description of the peasants’ sabotage, but it evokes the contrast between the ease inherent in defamation and the resulting feuds like those described in the Neithart Fuchs. Klaffer is more explicit. Not only does the first slanderer open with “Wan alles, das ich hör, ich als pald wider sag; / Wan ich frew mich der posen newen mere” (For I am quick to repeat everything I hear, for I always rejoice in new bad news; 5-6), but he is immediately outdone by his two accomplices’ exaggerated accounts (21-40, 44-54). Although there is no plot and the three are not punished, the narrator’s closing observations about the “schentlich” (shameful; 56) nature of gossip and the assurance of eternal punishment (59-60) leave no doubt about Sachs’s moral stance.

The following Meisterlieder focus on Aesop:

Table 3.6: Aesop-Meisterlieder Number Name Date (Goetze/Drescher) 233. Esopus mit den kraen September 10th, 1545

375. Esopus im pad (fragment) May 1547

388. Das bös weib Xanti loff hin August 3rd, 1547

408. Die verkaufung Esopi October 7th, 1547

671. Esopus mit den philosophis June 20th, 1550

935. Esopus teckt Xanti weib den ars auff November 15th, 1554

958. Esopüs mit seim herrn Xanto June 9th, 1555

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233 and 388 are roughly identical to their respective Spruchgedichte (79 and 92). Small changes such as the addition of concluding verses and some additional discrepancies (the absence of 92.21-22 in 388) do not affect the plot. 233 has no real connection with surrounding songs except for a general interest in fables and animals or the general classical setting. 389 did not survive, but 387a, like 388, features a conflict triangle with a merchant, his servant, and his wife. 407, 409, and 410 are not preserved in

Goetze/Drescher’s edition (408 is in the supplement of volume six), but their proximity to

408 (all were written in October 1547), and their presumable handling of fables demonstrates Sachs’s interest in Aesop primarily as a collection of stories. 671 was written shortly before two Kalenberg songs and after a short string of Eulenspiegel

Meisterlieder, 668, Eulenspiegel dreymal dauft (Eulenspiegel Baptized Thrice; June 14th,

1550), and 669, Eulenspiegel stiffel spicken (Oiling Eulenspiegel’s Boots; June 18th,

1550), which suggests a general interest on Sachs’s part in related tricksters.

935 has a thematic connection with its predecessor, Die maid mit dem dewffel (The maid and the devil; November 7th, 1554). In both stories, a woman, either Xantus’s wife or the maid, is publicly humiliated because of her refusal to take the protagonist seriously. Although the counterpart in 934 is the devil, he is innocent and can defend himself by citing her curiosity (36-42). In 935, Aesop also enjoys deniability: Xantus’s wife claims “mein arßbaggen haben augen” (my buttocks have eyes) and has only herself to blame when Aesop understands her statement literally and disrobes her before

Xantus’s return with his guests (26-32). Both songs also have clear sexual overtones: the wife is stripped in front of a male audience, while the maid of 934 has lost her virginity under scandalous circumstances.

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958, like 408, is surrounded by fables. 959, Der leb mit dem esel und füechs (The lion, the donkey, and the fox; June 9th, 1555), and 960, Der kal man mit zwayen weibern (The bald man with two women; June 11th, 1555), are both Aesopian fables.425 Taken together, these examples also suggest that Sachs considers Aesop primarily a storytelling and only has a passing interest in his trickster nature. However, Sachs’s methods do not appear consistent.

The following Meisterlieder discuss Claus Narr:

Table 3.7: Claus Narr-Meisterlieder Number Name Date (Goetze/Drescher) 244. Klas Narr hosen schais December 12th, 1545

245. Clas Narr hinter dem ofen December 12th, 1545

246. Klas Narr mit seim pferd December 12th, 1545

248. Klas Narr mit dem peren zw Dorga December 16th, 1545 im schloss

501. Klas Narren rat zum krieg June 2nd, 1548

622. Klas Narren drey wunderstüeck October 12th, 1549

659. Klas Narren drey schwenck May 29th, 1550

946. Die drey rewter stueck Klas Narren February 23rd, 1555 herzog Fridrichs

All listed Meisterlieder predate the Spruchgedichte by at least five years and offer an opportunity to witness a gradual change in Sachs’s understanding of the character. 244,

245, and 246 each portray a single event but appear to be written as a trio. 248 is

425 Although Goetze and Drescher note that 962 Der satirüs mit dem pilgrim (The satyr and the pilgrim; July 14th, 1555) is also in Steinhöwel’s Aesop, the mention of “Avianüs” in the beginning (1) suggests that Sachs primarily saw a connection with 961 Das klain fischlein (The small fish; June 12th, 1555), in which he also cites Avianus (1).

211 nominally separated by 247, Der doctor mit der nasen (The doctor with the nose;

December 14th, 1545), but both farces have a fool protagonist. 501 appears more isolated, with no obvious connection with its neighboring Meisterlieder. The last three songs are reminiscent of the Spruchgedichte insofar as they all contain three episodes. 622 is identical in subject matter and sequence to Spruchgedicht 306. 659 inserts an antimonastic anecdote in between the first two stories of Spruchgedicht 267, whose entire repertoire is adopted and rearranged by 946:

Table 3.8: A Plot Comparison of Spruchgedicht 267 and Meisterlied 946 Spruchgedicht Actions Meisterlied Actions 267. drey schwenck 1. Claus Narr’s 946. Die drey 1. Claus Narr finds Klaus Narren donkey won’t duck rewter stueck Klas a filly 2. Claus Narr finds Narren herzog 2. Claus Narr’s a filly Fridrichs donkey won’t duck 3. Claus Narr rides 3. Claus Narr rides a hobby-horse a hobby-horse

Meisterlieder 244, 245 and 246 are all reminiscent of Eulenspiegel in their scatology, which suggests that they are a unit. 244 and 246 mention relevant sayings or general observations (244.23-24, 246.39-42), but the absence of similar motifs in 245 suggests that their moralistic elements were not the point of the poems. All three adventures mention Duke Friedrich by name. Noteworthy is the medical focus of 243-247, which places the Claus Narr trilogy in the context of a larger exploration of the theme, especially as 243 and 247 also host a fool character. 248, which was only written two days after 247, breaks the pattern with unrelated material (about Claus Narr). Looked upon as a unit, Meisterlieder 243-248 (249 has no immediate connection to 248) reveal a development of Hans Sachs’s interest in the figure of Claus Narr: he was reminded of the character by a similarity to the fool of 243 and was not only the protagonist of the anecdotes presents in 244, 245 and 246 (as confirmed by Schimpf und Ernst). 248 returns

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Claus to his role as Friedrich’s courtly fool and suggests that Sachs eventually dropped the tripartite theme.

In 501, also in Schimpf und Ernst,426 Claus Narr breaks with his normal behavior to criticize Friedrich’s wartime strategy. The humor lies in the mockery of Friedrich’s supposedly humanitarian intentions to secure peace (22-26). An antiwar message pervades the entire song.427 Sachs appears to have adopted the character because of the similarity between Claus Narr and the unnamed character of his source, but does not attach to him any characteristics reminiscent of 244-246 and 248.

659 and 946 deserve special focus because of their almost identical subject matter.

They share two anecdotes in different order, and neither one makes biographical claims.

659 does not give its stories a chronological order (the terms for the other episodes, “des andren” [the second one; 12] and “der drit schwank” [the third prank; 23], resemble a list). The authority figure, “der fürst” (13), has no name and only appears in one story, and in general, the pranks have no apparent connecting theme. The first and the third story feature Claus’s donkey, but the second episode is an antimonastic satire. The result is a mixing of the thematic traditions preserved elsewhere under the distinctions rewter stueck (“riding” stories, meaning those with a donkey, horse or mule) and wunder (monk stories).428 946 preserves traditional form by alluding to Friedrich immediately (he also appears in the third stanza) and situating the anecdotes in a sequential continuity with

426 Anecdote 39 is not attributed to Claus Narr (p. 38 in Österley’s edition, p. 31 in the first volume of Bolte’s). 427 Sachs’s antiwar message has been noted in recent scholarship as a consistent element of his social morality (Classen [2007] 237-239, 252-254). 428 The translations are based on Sachs’s terminology and do not reflect the literal meaning.

213 lines like “Nach dem wolt auf den esel nit / Klas Narr” (after that, Claus Narr would not ride on a donkey; 23), a clear reference to the preceding anecdote (line 12 makes a similar comment). Its content is identical to Spruchgedicht 267, though with a different arrangement (the first two pranks are switched). Neither poem appears to have any obvious connection with surrounding songs (the content of 658 is lost, and its equivalent among the Spruchgedichte, Schwank von dem Lügenberg [The Farce of Lying Mountain;

December 12th, 1533] is thematically irrelevant).

Although Sachs has a concrete image of Claus Narr’s defining qualities, the character evolved over time. Later adaptations shift away from the scatological stories and toward less offensive material. Successful Meisterlieder became Spruchgedichte. Variation was acceptable, as can be seen in a comparison between 306/622 and 267/659/946. Sachs’s later reinvention of Claus Narr resembles his interpretation of Eulenspiegel: in both cases recognizable character traits evoked a canonical repertoire, but the details had grown fuzzy. By 1560, Sachs began to concentrate on a select number of farces with a relatively

(in comparison to Eulenspiegel) restricted subject matter. The exact order seems to have been less important than the value inherent in having a flexible amount of material. 659 is also strong evidence for Sachs’s experimentation, but the trend there does not continue onward, which suggests that the idea of an athematic adaptation was dismissed as unsuccessful.

The following three Meisterlieder are centered around the Pfarrer vom Kalenberg:

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Table 3.9: Pfarrer vom Kalenberg-Meisterlieder Number Name Date (Goetze/Drescher) 341. Drey warnung pfarrer kalen: December 20th, 1546

672. Drey stück vom pfaffen vom Kalenperg June 21st, 1550

674. Drey Stüeck pfarrers vom Kalenperg July 9th, 1550

The long period between 341 and 672/674 explains the divergent themes. 341 (which, as

Goetze notes in a footnote, has no written source), casts the character as an authority figure over his congregation (peasants). All three verses are small pieces of advice reflecting the character’s deceitful nature, although here he warns about dishonesty. The relationship between the other two Meisterlieder is obvious from the shared character, the threefold organizational principle (they appear a month after Claus Narr Schwank 659, but influence seems possible), and the relatively close dates.

Sachs only recounts episodes in which the Pfarrer vom Kalenberg struggles with his parishioners, eliminating not only the Vita but his interactions with the nobility. While

Eulenspiegel’s childhood and old age do exist in Sachs’s oeuvre, the Pfarrer might as well be an unnamed stock character. He almost becomes one at the beginning of 674,

“Zum Kalenperg ein pfarer sas” (A priest lived in Kalenberg; 1), which has an indefinite article. Both songs connect their pranks to different degrees. 672 treats each story as an independent unit, beginning each verse with “Ains mals” (20, 39). In 674, the narrative hints at a sequential order. The second strophe begins with the conclusion of the first adventure, and the start of the third verse “Den pawrn verschmacht diese sach” (The occurrence was an embarrassment to the peasants; 39) alludes to the second story.

Otherwise, the Pfarrer receives no real attention.

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Meisterlied 678, Marcolfus mit dem kunig Salomo (August 7th, 1550), summarizes the two characters’ exchange in lines 627-692 of the 15th-century Salomon und Markolf. The questions and answers are not divided by verse. In a footnote, Goetze and Drescher argue that the song “hat dem Inhalte so geschadet, dass der Humor gar nicht zum

Ausdrucke kommt” (has damaged the content so much that the humor is not expressed at all”), but the jokes are traditional Markolf content, so it is likely that the audience knew what Sachs meant. The peasant’s appearance (3-15) is a point of recognizability correlating with the description of the character in Salomon und Markolf lines 49-69.

The king’s questions, “Wer ist in diesem haüs?” (Who is in this house?; 20) and (Wo ist vater vnd müter, / Dein prueder vnd schwester?” (Where are your father, mother, brother and sister?; 24-25) and Markolf’s answers are also derivative. Yet there are innovations.

Markolf notes that mice live in his home (22), and his account of his mother’s occupation is completely new – “Mein mueter thut aus trewen müet / Ir nachpewrin ain dinste guet /

Den sie ir fürpas nit mer duet, / Drueckt ir zw die augen, die wil icz sterben” (My mother, out of loyalty, does a good service for her neighbor which she will not do again. She closes her [the neighbor’s] eyes, as she is dying; 31-34). The overarching result of the exchange, namely the comical abuse of Markolf’s family, is preserved. The king laughs twice (16, 43-44), and the final instance was probably meant to trigger audience laughter.429 In any case, Sachs doubtlessly counted on a receptive audience familiar with the subject matter (especially as his Fastnachtspiel on Markolf appeared in November of the same year).

429 Velten and Röcke posit the use of “fiktionale Lachgemeinschaften” (fictional laughter communities) to evoke laughter (Röcke/Velten [2005] XXI-XXXI).

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Findings

These comparative investigations naturally suffer from a single disadvantage: Sachs did not devote as much energy to the other characters as he did to Eulenspiegel. The relative paucity of their appearances suggests that Sachs was simply not as invested in them. Despite the small amount of material, we can conclude that Sachs brought unexpressed assumptions to his work. A look at Claus Narr, for instance, reveals that

Sachs’s understanding of his characters was not set in stone, which is an important finding for the “recurring character” hypothesis. Sachs did not have to attribute a definite moral quality to any character, least of which Eulenspiegel. He could be opportunistic and reinvent all of them while profiting from the vagueness inherent in anecdotal storytelling. Such a finding explains Sachs’s demonstrated willingness to pair

Eulenspiegel-stories with thematically-related songs. It is reasonable to claim that Sachs was open to inspiration from his subject matter, and that during the process of writing, he was reminded of an appropriate Eulenspiegel story, which in turn encouraged him either

(a) to recount and adapt similar stories, or (b) to change focus and begin a string of

Eulenspiegel narratives which alluded to, but did not contain, the biographical focus.

Numerous qualities separate the Eulenspiegel in the Schwänke from the other tricksters. Most important is the freedom he enjoys in terms of character constellations and thematic flexibility. Claus Narr is defined by his relationship with Friedrich, to the point that he almost never appears without him. The same could be said for the Pfarrer vom Kalenberg and his congregation, for Aesop and Xantus, and even for Neidhart.

Eulenspiegel does not have permanent relationships with anybody (as is also the case in the Fastnachtspiele). In the Schwänke, he is either defined by themes or by audience

217 assumptions. Such a contrast between Eulenspiegel and his cousins is unexpected, especially in contrast with the presumably less-crystalized Claus Narr. Additionally, none of the other characters are as consistently paired with traditionally unrelated, but thematically similarly material.

The Eulenspiegel character of Sachs’s Spruchgedichte and Meisterlieder corresponds with, but is not identical to, his namesake in the Fastnachtspiele. The main consistency across genres is that Sachs combines the episodic focus so often attributed to him with the inherited knowledge of the character available to the public. Otherwise, different qualities of Eulenspiegel appear in both mediums, in part due to the separate functions of theatric work and recited (and read) poetry. In the Fastnachtspiele, Eulenspiegel functioned like a blend of product placement and shorthand for the character constellation: his name attracted the viewers’ attention and justified the inclusion and exploration of his victims, antagonists or co-pranksters. The Schwänke are less focused on character depiction (because of their short length) but form cohesive groups of individual stories – and often with unrelated material – centered on a narrative theme

(Eulenspiegel’s life) or a cultural one (shame and reputation, for example). Any characterization Sachs made of Eulenspiegel can best be seen in his grouping of individual stories. As an aggregate, they reveal that Eulenspiegel was still understood to be the subject of many pranks, even if the number of the stories and their character were not clear. Sachs’s episodic treatment of Eulenspiegel justifies the claims of van Dijk’s narrative theory:

...the narrative may report a very common segment from the ‘history’ of a set of agents, without any spectacular events or actions. The pragmatic intention ... will simply be to show the ability of the narrator to construct a possible

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(segment of a history) close to possible actual histories. Strictly speaking, then, the literary discourse is no longer a narrative, but a description of some ultimate world...430

Sachs’s Eulenspiegel has his own “ultimate world,” understood abstractly as the hero’s biography. The trickster’s background was never explicitly stated but winked at by Sachs and accepted a priori by his audience, creating a peaceful ambiguity which allowed a narrative world to exist without explicit mention.

In both his Shrove Tuesday plays and his Schwänke, Sachs’s modus operandi concerning Eulenspiegel stories was creative opportunism. In the Fastnachtspiele,

Eulenspiegel was a means to other characters; in the poetic works, he served (broadly speaking) an exemplifying role. Both methods, which have opposite defining principles, carry a single assumption: Eulenspiegel is no longer the most important element of

Eulenspiegel-stories. While Sachs may have noted the character’s personality or his literary worth as a pseudo-hagiographic character, he was in no way beholden to the preconception that the chapbook was the definitive story.

Seelbach made the following observation regarding the shift from oral storytelling to written literature in context of S1515:

Verfolgt man anschließend den Schritt aus der Mündlichkeit in die Verschriftlichung durch einen gestaltenden Autor (oder sammelnden Kompilator), ändert sich einiges an den einzelnen Historien. In allererster Hinsicht verlieren sie ihre unfeste Gestalt. Das Auserzählen der originären und angelagerten Erzählungen über Eulenspiegel verlangt eine feste Formgebung der Historie, ihre Einbettung in die zeitliche Ordnung zwischen Geburt und Tod und die vorläufig endgültige Festlegung der Details, die der mündliche (Weiter-)Erzähler stets neu improvisieren durfte.431

430 van Dijk (1976) 331 431 Seelbach (2011) 486-487

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Subsequently, if one follows the step from orality into textuality by way of a form-giving author (or gathering compiler), a few things change in the individual histories. First of all, they lose their malleable form. The complete recitation of the original and supplemental stories about Eulenspiegel requires a permanent structure of the narrative, their placement in a temporal order between birth and death and the preliminarily final determination of the details which an oral storyteller could continually improvise.

Such a claim is true for the prose novel, and minor changes in later printings do not damage Seelbach’s argument. That the Eulenspiegel chapbook becomes a stable phenomenon, an abstract standard against which every individual iteration at the book fairs and markets is compared, cannot be questioned. Johann Fischart’s Eulenspiegel reimenweis, the topic of the following chapter, also preserved the sequence and much of the content of the chapbook (even if in the form known to him), and the additional material in that poem supplements, but does not undermine, the independent quality of the subject matter.

Enter Hans Sachs, and the situation changes. The step into textuality (to anglicize

Seelbach’s terms) loses its permanent relevance and becomes negotiable.432 Qualities which had become irrevocable no longer are. Motifs which had been set in ink could be rewritten (or re-sung). To a great degree, such a second mutability lies in Sachs’s literary milieu. His works are relatively short and, more importantly, delivered live, like

432 While Kugler still assumes that “Mündlichkeit” (orality) and “Schriftlichkeit” (literacy or perhaps writtenness) are still separate concepts, his observations, namely that “Der Buchdruck hat Mündlichkeit und Schriftlichkeit in ein neues Konkurrenzverhältnis zueinander gebracht, und Sachs nutzt dieses Konkurrenzverhältnis offensiv” (Printing brought orality and literacy into a new competitive relationship to each other, and Sachs was able to use this relationship to his advantage [Kugler (2003) 12]) alerted me to the relevance of both concepts for a contemporary understanding of Sachs’s work.

220 traditional oral stories, such as long epic narrative and fairy/folk tales. The songs and the

Shrove Tuesday plays – both performed before an audience – are written down, but serve almost as recordings of the event. Naturally, there are limits to this claim, as we cannot know exactly how the performances varied (both from each other and from the text).

However, the glut of material and the variation between individual songs create a situation roughly analogous to a pre-written culture, even if Sachs’s material is often steeped in classical and medieval narratives. Each anecdote exists for itself, in a moment

(to borrow Parry and Lord’s term)433 separate from other reinventions, even those that describe identical events. Clear evidence for such an approach can be seen in the reinventions of Claus Narr, where Sachs saw no contradiction in rearranging the order or reconstituting the groups of stories as long as the character’s essence was not compromised. He repeatedly shows a similar attitude toward Eulenspiegel: the character adopts a canon of stories, but the thematic significance of his actions is independent of the text and rely on the (extra-textual) environment.

In light of such a reading, it would almost be a mistake to consider the

Spruchgedichte, Meisterlieder and Fastnachtspiele adaptations of Eulenspiegel. Sachs’s reimaging of the character more closely resembles a late or post-medieval secular example of Auerbach’s Figura with both “historical” and “hidden” (or “figural”) relevance.434 Eulenspiegel’s historical relevance is his ever-present association with the prose novel, which sets the preconditions for Sachs, while the hidden/figural relevance becomes the new and ever-shifting functional and symbolic (or thematic) values

433 Lord (2000) 124 and passim 434 Auerbach (1959) 67-68

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Eulenspiegel takes on in Sachs’s work. Sachs’s Eulenspiegel resembles what Woloch and Pugh called recurring characters, but what distinguishes him from later protagonists

(perhaps from modern literature as a whole) is his dual function and the interplay of his historical baggage and Sachs’s immediate need. In other words, Eulenspiegel contains the mechanics of the modern-day cameo or recurring character, but combines it in the pre-modern motif-based and structural needs still present in Sachs’s work.

The current chapter, with its focus on Eulenspiegel and similar characters, cannot offer definitive findings for the entirety of Sachs’s work. Other, more serious characters, like St. Peter, also appear to function under similar rules, but they bring their own meaning. Sachs likely addressed these characters differently. Such investigations, including those which also discuss Sachs’s more serious dramatic works (his tragedies and comedies), will remain a desideratum. In the meantime, the above investigation aimed at showing, through a comparative analysis between Eulenspiegel and other characters in Sachs’s repertoire, that the former was not only reinvented, but became a literary equivalent of a brand name which elicits audience excitement for Sachs’s subject matter, whether that be the characterization of other stock characters or an endorsement of Protestant morality.

In order to determine whether Sachs’s treatment of Eulenspiegel was typical of 16th- century practice, a comparison with a second important German-language author is necessary. The next chapter, devoted to Johann Fischart’s Eulenspiegel reimenweis, will also study the extent to which the adoption of Eulenspiegel in a writer’s repertoire limits or assists his ability to negotiate or to direct audience expectations.

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Chapter 4: Johann Fischart’s Eulenspiegel reimenweis,

Intertextuality and the Development of Meta-Narrative

Form

1. Introduction – Historical Background

In a development roughly simultaneous with Hans Sachs’s appropriation of the

Eulenspiegel-figure as a recurring stock character in his Schwänke and Fastnachtspiele,

Till became a rhetorical device for 16th-century religious polemicists, including Luther.

Theologians often compared their opponents to Eulenspiegel or accused others of neglecting serious literature in favor of his pranks.435 Otherwise, Eulenspiegel appears to have played a minor role in the early second half of the sixteenth century. With the exception of the Latin verse adaptation by Aegidius Periander (1567) and a 1569 reprint of the chapbook, Eulenspiegel was not the protagonist of any literary work between 1563 and 1572.436 At the latter date, Johann Fischart (1546-1590) broke the silence with an epic adaptation of the trickster’s life, Eulenspiegel reimenweis (Eulenspiegel in Rhyme, hereafter Er), a poem comprised of three introductions and a plot divided into 98 chapters.437

435 Tenberg (1996) 182 and elsewhere. Sachs’s last Eulenspiegel-Schwank appeared in 1563 (Ibid. 163, 211). 436 Ibid. 165-182, 211 437 The standard edition of Er is Ulrich Seelbach’s diplomatic edition (published 2002). Although line numbers are given for the prose introduction (Abred), they are not factored into the poem’s line count. The pages of Fischart’s original text are noted with the recto-verso distinctions of standard codicological practice. Citations of verse are given by line number, citations of the introduction or critical apparatus by page.

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Although Fischart was at his most prolific between 1576 and 1581, he began writing as early as 1570.438 Until 1574 he worked in various publishing houses, most notably for his brother-in-law, Bernhard Jobin (who also employed him as an editor),439 where he completed (among other works) a number of confessional pamphlets (detailed below),

Er, and a second epic, Flöh Hatz, Weiber Tratz (The Fleas’ Agitation and the Women’s

Response, hereafter FHWT; 1573). Fischart’s most famous works belong to the second, post 1574-period. These include the Geschichtklitterung (literally, Story-Ruining, a free translation of Rabelais’s first book of Gargantua et Pantagruel; 1575/1582), Das glückhaft Schiff von Zürich (The Blessed Ship from Zurich; 1576), and Legende und

Beschreibung des vierhörnigen Hütleins (The Legend and Description of the Four-

Cornered Hat; 1580).440

Er is a thematic departure from Fischart’s earlier poems, all of which are religious.

Nacht Rab oder Nebelkräh (Night-raven or fog-crow, hereafter NR; 1570), an attack aimed at Jesuit Johann Jakob Rabe, exploited the pun inherent in Rabe’s last name for a number of sarcastic and obscene jokes.441 Two similar pieces followed. Barfüsser

Secten und Kuttenstreit (the war of various discalced orders, hereafter BSK) was a shorter (776 lines in version A [1570], 196 lines in version B [1577])442 response to a

438 Frenzel (1991) 91 439 Seelbach (2012) 359. Seelbach does not list the individual publishing houses. 440 Dates given by Seelbach (2012) 360-371. 441 Hauffen (1921) 102 442 Citations follow Seelbach’s edition of version A (see bibliography). A facsimile of version B and a 1620 reprint are present in the second volume of Harms’s Deutsche Illustrierte Flugblätter des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts. Although an edition of version A was already available in Kurz’s 1866 edition (Volume 1, pages 109-120) it appears that Harms was not aware of version A before the publication: “Die am Ende des Textes werbend erwähnte Kuttenstreit-Flugschrift, die den vollständigen Text enthalten soll, ist nicht bekannt und möglicherweise auch gar nicht erschienen” (“The advertised

224 pamphlet by Johannes Nas. BSK described an allegorical dream, wherein the followers of St. Francis fight over his corpse for relics to validate their respective orders.443 Von S.

Dominici und S. Francisci Leben (The Lives of St. Dominic and St. Francis, hereafter DL;

1571) is a mock hagiography of St. Dominic recounting the foundation of the Dominican and Franciscan orders.444 Biographically, Er signifies Fischart’s transition away from theological/political propaganda towards the adaptation of higher, more obviously literary works. Although Fischart returned to the polemic genre (Seelbach notes that 90 pamphlets have been attributed to Fischart),445 he never abandoned apolitical pursuits (as can be seen in FHWT and Geschichtklitterung).

The division of Fischart’s earlier output into “erst[e], konfessionell-polemisch[e]

Dichtung” (first confessional/polemic poetry) 446 and mature artistic endeavor led to the neglect of the former in Germanist scholarship. Bebermeyer dismisses the former as “im

Stil und Ton maßlos” (self-indulgent in style and tone)447 without further explanation.

Other researchers appear to have followed suit. Seelbach’s bibliography, titled

Forschungsliteratur zu einzelnen Texten (research literature on individual texts), can cite only four studies discussing NR, four discussing DL, and six discussing BSK (some are shared by two or even all three poems), and only two postdate 1930.448 The poor critical

Kuttenstreit-pamphlet at the end of the text, which would contain the entire poem, is not known and was possibly never published;” Harms [1980] 62). 443 Seelbach (2012) 367 444 Seelbach (2012) 362 and Brockstieger (2009) 21-26 445 Seelbach (2012) 370-371 446 So Sommerhalder (1960) 1 447 Bebermeyer (1961) 170. Bebermeyer gives 1575-1590 as the dates of Fischart’s production, though he supplies the correct date for all individual poems. 448 A bibliographically updated edition of Seelbach’s Verfasserlexikon article is available online (http://www.unibielefeld.de/lili/personen/useelbach/texte/johannfischart2011 .pdf, last accessed 08/09/17).

225 reception of Fischart’s early work mirrors the lack of sustained interest in his work among the general public, especially concerning NR and BSK.449

The situation for Er is marginally better. It also did not enjoy much popularity among the reading public. There was only one edition450 which survives in a handful of copies.451 In scholarship, Er has enjoyed attention as an example of 16th-century

Eulenspiegel reception. Katrin Streubel dedicated a chapter to Fischart in her 1988 dissertation situating Er in contemporary literary trends, such as the so-called

“Lastersatire” (Satire of Vices).452 Her study focuses on Fischart’s prose introduction, especially the statement “Dann schimpfflich gutes lehren/ heist dem bösen glimpfflich wehren” (teaching morality with jokes means warding off evil without problems; p. 22).

She also notes that his condemnation of Eulenspiegel, the “ehrlich” (honest) Schalk, appears mostly after his (Eulenspiegel’s) death.453 Seelbach disagrees, arguing that moral lessons are mostly absent and Eulenspiegel’s motivations for action change as the situation demands (Seelbach: “bei Gelegenheit” [as opportunity dictates; quotation marks original]).454 He also emphasizes Eulenspiegel’s foundation of a so-called monastic order at the poem’s conclusion, and by extension sees him as a variation on the St. Dominic- archetype present in DL.455 This idea will be addressed below.

449 Hauffen (1921) 106, 120 450 Ibid. 142 451 Hauffen mentions five copies, but does not give any bibliographical information (Hauffen [1921] 142). Seelbach’s edition of Er lists six, two of which are lost (412). 452 Streubel (1988) 157 453 Ibid. 155 454 Seelbach (1995) 180 455 Ibid. 183-184

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Recent work looks at the reception of classical culture in Er. Tenberg characterizes

Fischart’s version of the Eulenspiegel-story as an attempt at a “gelehrt-poetologische

Bearbeitung” (learned/poetological treatment)456 introducing Eulenspiegel into the

“Ahnenreihe großer Heroen” (ancestral line of great heroes) of Greco-Roman myth.457

He lays special emphasis on Fischart’s use of the Eulenspiegel-myth as an opportunity to showcase his education and language skills to the audience.458 Seelbach (in a later work) investigates the allusions present in the introduction to determine the level of erudition

Fischart expected of his readers.459 Bässler draws a parallel between Eulenspiegel and

Diogenes, claiming that both characters’ focus on literalism (Bässler: “Technik des

Wörtlich-Nehmens” [technique of understanding things literally]) predisposes them to

Menippean satire (i.e. one satirizing contemporary mentalities rather than individuals).460

Fischart strengthens Eulenspiegel’s resemblance of Diogenes through the use of dog imagery (especially in the woodcuts) and reinterpretations of various chapters, especially those devoted to Eulenspiegel’s death, as scenes from Diogenes’s biography.461

Both the study of Er as an example of neo-classical reception of the Eulenspiegel- story and as Early Modern satire (or both) have ignored one critical reality: Er shares too many characteristics with Fischart’s other early works to have emerged from a vacuum.

Even a cursory reading of NR, BSK, and DL reveals a large number of parallels with Er.

One example, the Schwank in the beginning of DL (265-392), revolves around the same

456 Tenberg (1996) 184 457 Ibid. 184 458 Ibid. 205 459 Seelbach (2000) 117 and elsewhere 460 Bässler (2002) 79 461 Ibid. 73-79

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Wörtlich-Nehmen which defined Eulenspiegel’s pranks. In it, St. Dominic asks St.

Francis to carry him over a river. Although St. Francis agrees, he drops his companion when he discovers that St. Dominic is carrying money, and as an excusal, he cites his order’s injunction against wealth (Fischart mentions St. Francis’s envy in the margin).

The story is known elsewhere,462 but its inclusion in DL and the poem’s explicit reference to Eulenspiegel (“Die Barfüsser beweisen es/ Aussm Buch heist Conformitates/ / Darin stehn Eulenspieglisch bossen/” [The barefooted attest to it in a book called the

Conformitates, in which Eulenspiegel-like pranks stand; 139-141]) suggest that Fischart was aware of the Eulenspiegel-character’s modus operandi and recognized the potential in experimenting with the combination of multiple genres.

Other thematic connections between Er and NR/BSK/DL exist, such as Fischart’s constant fascination with the demonic, an unsurprising trait given his preoccupation with religion. His enemies are often depicted as charlatans who enlist the help of demons to collect wealth at the expense of a naïve populace. In NR, the devils in Rome submit to the Jesuits, here called “Jesuwider” (opponents of Jesus, a pun; 3127-3156) in a mutually beneficial public spectacle planned by both parties (Fischart claims) to fool the gullible:

Secht wie die leut der Teuffel geckt Wie listig er die klawen deckt Er fliecht vnd gibt sich halb gefangen Nur daß er mög ein beut erlangen Vnd weicht ein Rapp dem andern Rappen Nur daß er mög die leut erdappen (3145-3150)

462 It can be found in Johannes Pauli’s Schimpf und Ernst (“582. Vber ein Wasser trůg einer einen” [one carried another over water). Hauffen mentions retellings by Rabelais and Hans Sachs (Hauffen [1921] 126). Brockstieger refers to Johannes Pauli and cites Hauffen as well as Rotunda’s Motif-Index of the Italian Novella in Prose as a source for the motif in non-German sources (Brockstieger [2009] 48n99).

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Behold how the devil fools people and hides his claws! He flees and surrenders to get his booty all the better. One raven “yields” to the other to pull the wool over their eyes!

In DL Rome is just as infested with devils:

Nun aber weil ich komen bin/ Gen Rom/ da Teuffel wohnen in/ So kom ich erst auff Teuffel recht/ Wie Dominicus mit jn fecht/ Denn vor war er nie so geschickt/ Das er sich vnter Teuffel flickt/ Bis das er sah die Babels Hur/ Da endert er gleich sein Natur/ (2671-2678)

Now since I’ve come to Rome, where devils reside, I also have to address them, accounting how St. Dominic fights with them, for he never had the luck to associate with them until he met the Babylonian whore (= Rome). There he changed!

Associating one’s religious enemies with devils is a common rhetorical strategy for polemics, but the same element can be found in Er. One example is chapter 91, “Wie

Eulenspiegel zu Berlin ein Büttel oder Stattknecht ward/ vnd hett ein grossen lust den

Bauwren Gelt oder Pfandt außzutragen” (How Eulenspiegel became a bailiff or sheriff and enjoyed taking money or pledges from peasants; p. 367), where Eulenspiegel meets the devil. There Fischart takes the opportunity to describe explicitly the two characters’ shared nature:

Da kam zu jm so vnuerdocht Der Teuffel in eins Bauwren gstalt: Aber Tyll kandt den Lauren bald Vnd roch ein Laur den andern schnell/ Ward je einer deß andern Gsell: (12018-12022)

The devil came to him unexpectedly in a peasant’s form, but Till immediately recognized him; one smelled the other and became his companion.

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The use of identical vocabulary (Lau[e]r, “deceitful person”) for both parties establishes them as doublets, though Eulenspiegel is never beholden or subservient to the devil.

Once in danger, he can rescue himself with threats of a prolonged legal battle.

Otherwise, the two characters’ relationship is defined by their ontological sympathies:

“Du kenst wol mich vnd ich auch dich / Wir sind beid fromb/ ja hindersich/” (You know me and I you as well, we are both pious in reverse” [i.e. impious]; 12025-12026). The demonic is also especially present at the end of the poem, namely the last judgement:

Da man verstossen wird die Eulen Jn ewig finsternuß zu heulen/ Da man die schälck wird nach dem leben Dem grösten schalck vnd Lauren geben Der jhn jhr schamparkeit wird legen/ Vnd plagen von jhr schalckheit wegen/ (13468-13473)

[At the last judgement] they will cast the owls into eternal darkness to cry. Then they will give the Schälke after death to the greatest fiend and deceiver who will expose their shame and punish them for their misdeeds.

And even more explicitly:

Dann Eulenthandt bringt Hellenbrandt/ Aber die frombkeit heilandsstand/ Vnd recht verstandt kriegt vberhandt/ Dann fromb hand kompt durch alle Land: Wiewol sie hie die welt verbannt Helt doch Gott vber sie die handt/ (13480-13485)

Then the owl’s hand will bring the fires of hell, but piety will bring salvation and proper reason will win the day. Godly work will succeed everywhere. Though the world shuns it, God holds true power.

Although the above examples give evidence for Fischart’s consistent use of preferred motifs, a list of common rhetorical strategies would not address structural similarities hidden beneath the surface of Fischart’s pre-1573 work. A comparative reading of NR,

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BSK, DL and Er demonstrates a consistent rhythm in the biographies present in these works. Fischart did not, as his current reputation suggests, write a series of impulsive rants, but constructed a string of hidden character portraits with a consistent style and with increasing complexity. When investigated as a unit, it will be seen that these four works depict their protagonists with remarkable similarity, and each text experiments on the foundations set by the previous one.

Theoretical background

At first glance, Er seems an odd text with which to defend Fischart’s creativity. The plot is determined by the original, though the length of Er (Seelbach notes an increase from approximately 245,000 letters from the original chapbook to 420,000)463 suggests that Fischart expanded on his source – identified in the critical apparatus to Seelbach’s edition as the 1569 Frankfurt chapbook (p. 413-414; hereafter F1569).464 A comparative reading of F1569 and Er can identify Fischart’s deviations and additions. However, the translation of a prose text into a much longer poem is not a simple matter of versifying the original words and adding new material. Some verses combine old ideas and new material, and it is not clear how the reader should understand Fischart’s approach in situations augmenting the general thrust of the chapbook with new phrases, repetitions of previous statements, and other minor changes. Attempts to categorize Fischart’s additions have been made, such as Walter Spengler’s list of “Stileigenheiten”

(Characteristics of style) and “Volkstümliche Stilelemente” (Folksy elements of style).465

463 Seelbach (1995) 174 464 The 1569 text was made available to me as microfilm by the Niedersächsische Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Göttingen. Text excerpts are cited by chapter. 465 Spengler (1969) 340-403

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However, strict categorization is impossible for a text like Er, where Fischart wrestled with the exact wording of the original to a greater degree than in later works like

Geschichtklitterung.

An experimental comparative reading of Er’s Chapter 45 (“Wie Eulenspiegel zu

Einbeck ein Bierbrewer ward/ vnd hatte ein Hund/ der hieß Hopff/ den sode er für

Hopffen” [How Eulenspiegel became a beer brewer in Einbeck and had a dog, named

“Hops,” which he boiled instead of hops; p. 202]) with its equivalent, H. 46 in F1569 (H.

47 in S1515) may illustrate the difficulty of dividing Fischart’s innovations into categories. While Er’s “Der Eulenspiegel bey im dacht / Jetzt hastu wol ein schalckheit macht” (Eulenspiegel thought to himself “you have now the opportunity for a trick;”

6201-6202) is an almost replica copy of F1569’s “Eulenspiegel sagt/ ja/ vnd gedacht:

Gehet die Magd auch hinweg/ so hast du ein Schalckheit macht,” (H. 46) and even preserves constructions like ein Schalkheit Macht (capitalized in S1515), other lines communicate ideas identical to those present F1569 with different vocabulary.

Eulenspiegel’s self-defense in Er,

Wie bin ich doch ein armer Tropff Daß ich niemand mag recht gethun/ Jch kan kein danck verdienen nun: Es seyen welche Bräwer wöllen Wann jr Gesind vnd jr Gesellen Das halb nur theten/ daß mans hieß Vielleicht man sich genügen ließ Aber ich armer Eulenspiegel Komm nimmer auff ein grünen Hügel: (6262-6270)

Am I not certainly a poor soul, since I can’t do anything right for anyone. I simply can’t get a thank you, even if I do what the brewers want. If their helpers do what they’re told, one may be happy. But I, poor Eulenspiegel, can’t catch a break.

232 preserves the general thrust of the original “ist es nicht ein Plag/ ich thu was man mich heißt/ Theten ander Leuth Gesinde halber was man sie hieß/ sie liessen sich begnügen”

(H. 46; S1515’s equivalent is slightly longer) with new vocabulary. “Wann jr Gesind vnd jr Gesellen Das halb nur theten/ daß mans hieß” retains Gesind, -halb- (with varying prefixes and suffixes), theten, hieß, ließ/liessen and genügen, adds vnd jr Gesellen (a twin of Gesind), nur, Vielleicht, and man, and removes ander Leuth without distorting the near-quotation beyond recognition. Entire sentences are also rewritten, as in the substitution of “ist es nicht ein Plag” with “Wie bin ich doch ein armer Tropff” (which preserves the rhyme scheme). Other drastic changes exist. The beginning of H. 46,

“Zuthetig macht sich Eulenspiegel mit seiner arbeyt / aber verdienet offt nicht viel dancks

/ wie man den spricht” (Eulenspiegel was very industrious, but did not receive much thanks, as one says), becomes:

Zudeppisch/ vnd wol abgericht Gleich wie ein Hund der Häfen bricht Was Eulenspiegel/ das wiewol Er wol bekannt was allenmol An einem ort/ da man jn meid: Noch dannoch war er so gescheidt Daß er daselbst sich wider kundt Mit list einflicken gleich zu stundt. (6153-6160)

Ungainly and yet well-trained, just like a dog that breaks pots, was Eulenspiegel, so that everyone knew and avoided him. However, Eulenspiegel was so clever that he could cunningly ingratiate himself again.

The basic thought (Eulenspiegel works hard, but does not enjoy others’ gratitude) is expressed with different vocabulary. Zuthetig and Zudeppisch are morphologically similar enough to alert the reader to the texts’ relation, but vnd wol abgericht has no

233 parallel in F1569. Gleich wie ein Hund der Häfen bricht, a popular saying,466 has no equivalent in F1569 but preserves the rhyme and is thematically relevant. The remaining five lines are entirely Fischart’s and have no equivalent in the source material, which confirms our conclusion that Fischart did not use only one method of expanding his text.

Of special interest are five larger sections in chapter 45 which have no direct equivalent in F1569. The first one serves a strictly narrative function:

Dann da man seinen was vergaß Zu Einbeck/ da man feindt jm was Weil er daselbst beschiß die Pflaumen Darnach viel leckten doch die Daumen/ Da wagt es Eulenspiegel wider/ Vnd setzet sich zu Einbeck nider/ (6161-6166)

When he was forgotten by the people of Einbeck, who hated him because he defecated on the plums (though many still licked their fingers later), Eulenspiegel decided to risk it and return to Einbeck.

An equivalent exists in S1515, but not in F1569. It is possible that Fischart either had access to multiple copies of the chapbook or to a version predating F1569. In either case, he preserved and expanded on the contradictory allusion to a later chapter, a decision suggesting that Fischart prioritized the inclusion of source material over a need to create a consistent narrative. Such an argument has limits, as can be seen in Fischart’s exclusion of F1569’s H. 95 because of the appearance of Eulenspiegel’s wife,467 but in general it appears reasonable to claim that Fischart’s understanding of his source material was more closely aligned to an Eulenspiegel-tradition rather than a single text.

466 In Proverbia Germanica Heinrich Bebel attests to an identical saying: “Amabilem te facis, ut canis ollas frangens; dicitur ad ineptos et aliqua re invisos se facientes.” (You make yourself lovable like a dog breaking pots; this is said to inept persons and those who make themselves loathed in other ways; no. 147) 467 Seelbach (1995) 184n41

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The second major addition turns Eulenspiegel into a mouthpiece for Fischart’s observations concerning dancing:

Der Eulenspiegel saget ja/ Vnd warumb nicht mein Meidlin gah/ Jr tanzet gern/ jhr Meßken all/ Man sagt ein Jungfraw vnd ein ball Die müssen nur gehüpffet han/ Der arsch muss jn wie Bachsteltzen gahn. (6194-6199)

Eulenspiegel said “yes, why not go? You wenches all love to dance! They say that both a young woman and a ball must bounce. Women want to move buttocks like a songbird’s tail.”

The following lines (which also lack a parallel in F1569) depict the maid’s departure.

The vulgarity conforms with Eulenspiegel’s personality but also grants Fischart the opportunity to insert his own disparaging opinions into the text.

Fischart’s third innovation (6212-6220) is an example of dramatic retardation. The beginning is an explication of the Hopf (Hops) pun (“Ach Hündlein wie ist dir so kül/ /

Wie schad dein Namen dir so viel.” [Oh, little dog, how cold it is for you, how much your name harms you; 6213-6214]). The narrator’s attention then shifts to the servant girl, who is criticized as lazy (6215-6220). Her belated decision to return to Eulenspiegel evokes a contrast between her (and by extension the brewer’s) laziness and

Eulenspiegel’s (confused) industriousness (6175). Additionally, the servant girl’s love of dancing appears to have struck Fischart as especially offensive in light of his sarcastic use of the word “Andächtig” (devoutly; 6216).

Fischart’s fourth addition (6241-6246) is another case of material from S1515

(“Ulenspiegel sagt: ‚Als mich unser Bruwer hatt geheissen, das hab ich darin gethon.

Und ist anders nit dan Hopff, unser Hund.‘” [Eulenspiegel said, “I have done what the

235 brewer told me. It’s nothing other than Hops, our dog; 138-139]) and absent in F1569.

Minor changes can be explained by the need for rhyme. Eulenspiegel’s account anticipates the punchline of the chapter and may have been removed from F1569 because of its superfluous nature. Fischart’s decision to reinsert it suggests an intent to versify the entire Eulenspiegel myth.

Fischart’s fifth new section (6269-6278, the chapter’s conclusion) expands on F1569’s

“Name vrlaub und schied von dannen” (He excused himself and departed; H.46). In Er,

Eulenspiegel contemplates his misfortune and the narrator touches on the world’s ingratitude, reintroducing another motif from S1515:

Also nam Ulenspiegel Urlob und schied Ady Ady jr gute Leut darvon und verdient niergen grossen Mit wissen ich von hinnen scheid: Danck. (S1515 139) Also hat Tyll gebrawen Bier/ Man weiß jm kleinen danck darfür/ Doch war er deß dancks wol gewohnt Dieweil allzeit die welt so lohnt. (Er 6273-6278)

Thus Eulenspiegel took his leave and “Farewell, farewell you good people. I earned no thanks. am leaving intentionally.” And so Eulenspiegel had brewed beer. People gave him little thanks, but he was used to this kind of gratitude, especially as it’s the way of the world.

Fischart preserves the use of scheiden and the motif of Eulenspiegel reaping ingratitude while adding a pessimistic moralism to the ending. The final two lines redefine the world’s thanklessness as a general characteristic of human nature (no longer limited to

Eulenspiegel’s victims) and appear to be Fischart’s own material.

The above examples compare only one chapter with its predecessor in F1569/S1515 and cannot disprove Seelbach’s hypothesis that F1569 was Fischart’s source.

Nevertheless, the present innovations demonstrate that Er is not merely a rhymed

236 adaptation of the source material. A close reading of H. 46/H. 47 with chapter 45 suggests that Fischart had access to multiple copies of the chapbook and wanted to adopt all available information, as though he wanted to construct a rhymed encyclopedia of

Eulenspiegel material with moralistic qualities.468 By extension, Fischart regarded the original Eulenspiegel mythos as a tradition (as also suggested in his reference to Hans

Sachs) he could adapt and shape instead of a single text to rhyme.

Fischart’s willingness to flaunt his literary knowledge also suggests that he was too ambitious to be satisfied with repeating S1515/F1569. His prose introduction (“Ein abred an die Eulenspiegler vnnd Schalcksklügler/ Auch an die Eulenstrigler vnd Eselsziegler”

[An arrangement with Eulenspiegels, clever rogues, owl curriers and donkey brickmakers; p. 19]) depicts the text from the beginning as a bridge between classical and

16th-century vernacular literatures. The former category is represented by authors such as

Martial and by works such as the pseudo-Virgilian Culex,469 the latter by Hans Sachs and

Caspar Scheidt (19). German poets are depicted as members of a pre-Romantic folkloristic oral culture,

Dieweil zu jederzeit bey den Alten lieben Teutschen brauch vnd gewöhnlich gewesen/ was sie bekandt/ gemein/ lieb vnd werth den Leuten machen wöllen/ daß sie das jenige in Gesangen/ Lieder (darmit man auch die Vögel fengt) vnd reimens gedicht fürgebracht haben (19).

468 An encyclopedic element in Fischart’s Geschichtklitterung and Catalogus Catalogorum (1590) has been identified by Müller (Müller [1998] 306-309). Schilling also handled the encyclopedic element in his discussion of Fischart’s “Amplifikation des Erzählens” (Amplification of narrative) (Schilling [2011] 70). Although neither address Er, both arguments alerted me to Fischart’s practice of accumulating as much information as possible in a text. 469 The exact identities of these authors and works and their popularity in the 16th century have been documented by Seelbach (Seelbach [2000] 90-91). For our immediate needs, it will be sufficient to acknowledge the presence of classical literary culture in Er.

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Since it’s long been practice among the Germans to bring forth in verse, song (with which one also catches birds) and rhyme what they want to make known and valued to people. a quality which renders them the diametrically opposite of classical culture.

Eulenspiegel’s position between both extremes can be seen in his paradoxical invocation of the muses and his emphasis of humble origin:

So fengt man in klein Wässern doch Gesund vnd gute Fischlein noch: Derhalben bleib ich nun hieniden Auff daß ich sey in ruw vnd frieden: Vnd freuw mich euwers beystands fast Ir Musæ/ die mir helfft zur rast/ (217-222)

One also catches good, healthy fish in small waters, so I will remain low to stay in peace and quiet. I am also looking forward to your assistance, you Muses, who help me to my rest.

His vocabulary and general mindset raise him above the original level of S1515 but prevent his ascent from reaching the heights of classical culture, placing Fischart’s work between both literary levels and allowing his protagonist to function as a go-between.

Recently, the study of Early Modern literature has begun to focus attention on the reception of older literatures within texts. According to Bauer, 16th-century literary practice was characterized by a lack of strict adherence to classical/medieval concepts such as “imitatio” (imitation – an author’s attempt to mimic a predecessor’s style) and

“æmulatio” (emulation – the attempt to recreate the author’s style with one’s own voice, or to beat the previous author at his own game).470 Instead, early modern authors favor

470 Bauer (1994) 31-36. Müller, in the same volume, defines the terms differently: “Während imitatio sowohl einen Gegenstandsbezug … wie einen Bezug auf andere Texte thematisiert, dominiert in æmulatio der Bezug eines Textes auf einen anderen

238 the use of stylistic topoi or canonical texts as a common ground with the audience.471

Bauer’s idea of “Tiefenstruktur[en]” (deep structures inside a text),472 an author’s arrangement of citations, translations, and other reference systems to influence the reader’s expectation, holds special importance for Er. Allusions to contemporary

German language and classical Roman literature, two distinct narrative spheres, allowed

Fischart to sidestep generic expectations and to construct an Eulenspiegel with characteristics from both traditions.

Brockstieger came to similar conclusions regarding the earlier DL. She claims that the poem’s combination of classical imagery and a Saint’s Life undermine the narrative’s claim to truth and give voice to both the hagiographer and the (Protestant) critic.473

Insofar as Brockstieger is discussing literary practice, her findings correspond with

Bauer’s emphasis on a text’s substructure. Both scholars point to the adoption of different literary genres as a tool to play with audience expectations. Fischart’s dual adoption of narrative traditions allowed him to overcome their inherent rigidity (although he could not disregard the rules completely) and to reinvent them for his purposes.

Brockstieger’s study suggests that Er’s play with genres did not appear in a vacuum but was predicated on Fischart’s experimentation in earlier works.

Müller, who investigated later work by Fischart (Geschichtklitterung and

Ehzuchtbüchlein), also noted the simultaneous dependency on and play with the source

Text oder Autor” (While imitatio discusses reference to a certain object and/or certain texts, in æmulatio reference to a different text or author dominate; Müller [1994] 64). The definitions do not conflict. 471 Bauer (1994) 35-36 472 Ibid. 40-41 473 Brockstieger (2009) 43-47

239 material. He characterized Fischart’s method of adaptation as a willful attempt to distort the original work; Fischart’s works “wollen nicht jenen anderen Texten möglichst ähnlich werden, sondern möglichst unähnlich, doch ohne die Orientierung an ihnen aufzugeben”

(do not seek to become as similar as possible to other texts, but as dissimilar as possible without abandoning an orientation on them).474 Although Müller still treats intertextuality as a given text’s relation to its pre-text, he also points to a dichotomy of similarity and dissimilarity as a measuring stick for studying an author’s adaptation methods. Er, understood as a work between genres, reveals how Fischart navigates the demands of being dissimilar from vernacular “low” and elevated “high” literatures simultaneously.

One example of Fischart’s use of Er as an opportunity to blur the traditional lines between cultural spheres or literary genres is his use of Latin language/culture to undermine Catholic religious practice and the elevation of Greco-Roman mythology.

While Hess is correct that Fischart’s irrelevant mixture of Latin with German is aimed to criticize Catholic erudition,475 the language’s status as material shared by the church and

Minerva tie them together in a monolith sharing the features of both. Eulenspiegel can ascend to Minerva (12496-12949) and be condemned to hell (13455-13473), even though the former is a classical trope and the latter a polemic one. Similar observations have been made elsewhere. Streubel notes that Er’s Lastersatire elements do not prevent the poem from taking on characteristics of a “Totenklage” (funeral dirge) at the end, or functioning as a “Pfaffen-/Mönchssatire” (satire of priests and monks).476 Tongue-in-

474 Müller (1994) 94-95 475 Hess (1971) 228. Also noted by Kühlmann (Kühlmann [2001] 4). 476 Streubel (1988) 128.

240 cheek allusions to generic elements do not necessarily serve only one semiotic purpose or put forth a single argument, and Fischart, both as Eulenspiegel and as narrator,477 appears to evoke stereotypes to dash them. One example is the comparison between

Eulenspiegel’s donkey and Pegasus (1-6), a trickster and an elevated mythological figure.

Fischart’s ability to defy literary genre suggests a level of meta-narrative self- awareness: nobody can break as many rules as he can without a feeling of sovereignty over the individual storytelling elements. His texts do not only distort reality to create satire,478 they also (with the help of frequent digressions) give an impression of a vibrant fictional world filled with minor characters, a unique geography, and an independent passage of time. The superfluous (by our standards) information converts the text into a gateway to a fictional reality where the material’s non-real status gives it the freedom to develop in an otherwise impossible way. Schlossbauer, in his study of

Geschichtklitterung, calls these realities “literarische Gegenwelten” (literary anti- or counter-worlds),479 where “[d]ie Komik bildet somit einen gesellschaftlichen Freiraum, in dessen abgegrenztem Bezirk normwidrige Verhaltensweisen fiktiv ausagiert werden dürfen.” (Comedy creates a social free space in which deviant behavior can be acted out as fiction).480 Such ideas can be applied to Fischart’s early work as well. The pamphlets

477 Glowra discusses Fischart’s wiping out of the boundaries between author, narrator, a text in reference to Geschichtklitterung and argues that the narrator’s intrusion into the fictional landscape plays a crucial role to the structure of the text; the text cannot be understood without a recognition of the intersecting relationships between author, narrator, audience and fictional world (Glowra [2000] 109-110). Although Geschichtklitterung appeared after Er, Glowra is the first to suggest the partial unification of author and narrator in Fischart research. 478 Gaier discusses the reliance of satire on distortion as the means of attacking its object (Gaier [1967] 422-436). 479 Schlossbauer (1998) 10 480 Ibid. 11

241 may address concrete political concerns, but the reader finds fictional episodes which, although decried as untrue, are still presented as worth reading. Many anecdotes in DL are explicitly called false by the narrator – such as the scene wherein St. Dominic finds monks hidden underneath Mary’s coat (2928-2935) – but they are nevertheless allowed to reach their conclusion. Er, whose protagonist remains a wanderer visiting all of Northern

Germany, can also be read as a construction of an experimental place.

A comparison of Er with Fischart’s earlier work (NR, BSK and DL) reveals too much evidence for a sustained use of identical narrative structure to assume that Fischart either did not borrow motifs from himself or that he did so in an undisciplined way. Fischart not only adapted material taken from older works (the classical definition of intertextuality) or reshaped generic structures (as suggested in the aforementioned studies devoted to Systemreferenz), he also developed a clear narrative pattern over the course of his earlier work. A study of the construction of possible intertextual relationships in

Fischart’s early oeuvre merits consideration, especially when recognizable motifs are repeated. The theoretical material centered around the idea of Systemreferenz can be applied to Fischart’s work as an example of Early Modern Intertextual Self-Reference.

As this chapter will demonstrate, Fischart wrote Er under the aspect of his earlier works, and the influence of the earlier pamphlets on the later poem offers an opportunity to witness the author’s use of intertextual practices in his own work.

Fischart’s Intertextual Self-Reference 1: Nacht Rab (NR)

Although an immediate goal of NR is to attack and discredit Jakob Rabe, and the text gives a comprehensive view of Rabe’s life to the date of publication, Fischart does not organize the poem around a biography. The audience is forced to piece it together from

242 information scattered throughout the text. Although reconstruction of Rabe’s development is possible, the poem begins with two well-known anecdotes intended as historic precedents: the Aesopian fable of the raven (25-42) and the raven episode from the biblical story of Noah’s ark (105-114). Both animals share the name “Rabe” (raven), and their actions are intended to discredit their later namesake (Jakob Rabe) from the beginning:

Also gehts hie auch vnserm Raben Den wir hie eingeführet haben Der sich dann hat so schön verkleidt Jn Jesuwidrisch helligkeit (Wiewol er nicht dörfft dieser Kleider Dann er ist vor schwartz heßlich leider) (41-46)

It’s the same with our raven (as with Aesop’s) who has dressed himself in a suit of Jesus-hating (although he doesn’t need these clothes, because he is ugly on account of his blackness).

So gehts dem vnsern Rabus auch Weil er kan füllen seinen Bauch Von vngerechten Mammons güter So dencket er zu hauß nit wider/ (115-118)

It’s the same with our raven (as with Noah’s) who can fill his stomach with unjust riches and then forgets his home.

Rabe’s identity is predetermined in a simultaneously literary and historical sense

(reminiscent of the traditional nomen est omen). Later, as a student, Rabe overspends on drinking and, to escape his father and avoid being placed in a collegium, joins the Jesuit order (2155-2232). He travels to Rome, a journey with which the narrator associates a key change:

Noch hör ich/ wie du hast studiert Zu Thübingen/ wie sich gebürt/ Da seyst noch nicht so heßlich gwesen Sonder die Schöne außerlesen

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Die hastu erst von Rom gebracht Da man so newe büblin bacht (1699-1704)

I’ve heard how you’ve studied in Tübingen, as is proper. You weren’t so ugly then –you brought that “true beauty” back from Rome, where one makes new boys.

Rome’s ability to transform its visitors is described in detail:

Dann fünff stück endern ein zu Rom New ehr/ new kleid auß einem Krom Des Bapstes heiligkeit/ die hur/ Wann man sie drey mal sihet nur So hat sie einen gleich zu hand Gleich wie MEDUSAE kopff verwandt Deßgleichen welsche süpplen auch Die dann zu Rom seind sehr im brauch. Zum fünfften wann man curtisanen Zuuiel besucht vnd die putanen: (1705-1714)

In Rome five things change a man: New honors, new clothing from odds and ends, the pope’s holiness (The whore! If you see her three times she’s enchanted you, like Medusa’s head.), romance soup, which is very popular, and visiting prostitutes and whores.

A negative depiction of Rome is a common trope, (for example, Boccaccio’s Decameron

I,2 [Abraham’s Conversion from Judaism to Christianity]), but in NR, Rabe is corrupted

(1734-1737) so completely that Fischart suspects him incapable of any moral improvement (3729-3740).

Fischart’s scattered narrative divides Rabe’s biography into four parts: (1) an ominous beginning, (2) his youthful misadventures as a student, (3) his acceptance into the Jesuit order and corruption in Rome, and (4) his current status as a political/religious figure within the church hierarchy. From the beginning, Rabe’s name implies that his disreputable character was already established as an a priori fact anticipating later developments (though not necessarily causing them). His studies in Tübingen and

244 conflict with his father are no longer surprising after these stories, and his departure for

Rome is even alluded to in the retelling of the story of Noah’s raven (105-112). He joins the Jesuit order and undergoes a real metamorphosis in Rome. Once there, he becomes a member of the church hierarchy and takes on a new identity.

The same biographical pattern can also be found in connection to the secondary protagonist of NR, Ignatius of Loyola. He is initially depicted as a Landsknecht captivated by hagiographic literature (2705-2772) who later achieves the rank of

Magister in Paris (3000-3054) and collects disciples for his nascent Jesuit order (3055-

3074). In Venice, they attend to old women in an infirmary (3075-3106). Fischart insinuates sexual activity but stops short of describing concrete action. Later, once

Ignatius and his followers arrive in Rome, they conspire with devils to trick the native populace with sham miracles until they (the Jesuits) achieve recognition from the pope

(3107-3163). Fischart concludes the narrative with a description of contemporary Jesuits, who continue to profit at the expense of an unknowing and easily manipulated audience

(3175-3230).

Fischart’s origin of the Jesuits is a collection of 16th-century anti-Catholic clichés, but the inclusion of Ignatius of Loyola as a legendary prototype for all future Jesuits alerts the reader to the parallels between a semi-legendary past and Fischart’s modern literary landscape centered around Jakob Rabe. Like Rabe, Ignatius also undergoes a four-step biographical scheme described below:

1. An ominous beginning. In Rabe’s case this can be attributed both to the literary/linguistic association with his name (see also: “Nachtraben haben feindschafft nur / Mit Vögeln des liecht von natur:” [night-ravens have animosity towards birds of light; 1489-1490]). Ignatius of Loyola’s time as a Landsknecht, complemented by his voracious

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consumption of hagiographic literature (2762-2784), inspire him to attempt to emulate them.

2. Early misadventures. Here the characters develop as suggested by the first episode but have not yet entered the church’s power structure. Rabe’s studies in Tübingen and his confrontation with his father belong here (especially 2155), as does Ignatius’s studies in Paris, his abortive voyage to Jerusalem and his time in Venice (all of which are parodies).

3. A conversion, alternatively understood as the acceptance into a religious hierarchy. Rabe first encounters the Jesuits in Ingolstadt (2228), is accepted into their order, and visits Rome. The Jesuits travel from Venice to Rome and are confirmed as an order by the pope.

4. Worldly success. Rabe begins the literary work that motivated Fischart to compose NR. The Jesuits grow in number (Fischart compares them to a plague of locusts) and cannot be disbanded. Fischart consoles himself and his audience with assurances of God’s judgement.

Neither Rabe nor the Jesuits undergo any form of real spiritual enlightenment. Their conversions are an entrance into a new social sphere of action within the Catholic church and readies them for the productivity that characterizes the final stage.

The repetition of motifs in both Rabe’s and Ignatius’s narratives reveals a shared inclination leading both characters towards similar decisions despite their existence in separate historical periods (the distant, semi-legendary past and the present). Although

Rabe is the titular subject of the poem and he dominates the beginning and end of the text

(giving it an impression of thematic unity), the Jesuits (particularly Ignatius of Loyola) expand the narrator’s perspective and equip the reader with the historical precedents

(understood from a Protestant perspective) of current events. The two key narratives of

NR follow the same framework at different points in the poem’s timeline. One story takes place in the present, the other in the legendary past. The reuse of the same plot

246 structure fleshes out the fictional world by creating a second “Rabe” more distant from the audience and gives the impression of a mythical pre-history to the immediate subject matter of the poem.

Although Ignatius’s biography parallels Rabe’s, its inclusion in the text is predicated mainly on thematic similarities, namely both characters’ status as Jesuits. The near- identical plot depicts a Jesuit order which remains constant across time. The unchanging qualities of the order in turn give Rabe greater significance by characterizing him as the most current example of an ever-present threat. The result is a contradiction: Rabe is a non-fictional character derived from an invented, mythical history. By extension, Rabe becomes a literary figure partially divorced from his historical model. Although Rabe and Ignatius are based on real-world counterparts, within NR they are residents of a literary counter-world designed by Fischart to alert his audience to the unchanging nature of the Jesuit order.

The more obviously fictional FHWT reused narrative elements present in NR, and

Fischart’s willingness to reuse storytelling motifs in different genres suggests that both

Fischart’s semi-historic and fantastic poems derive their structure from a shared focus on a single, identical theme: the establishment of a predatory order that poses a modern threat. Although the fleas (in FHWT) are a secular unit, their group cohesion forces the narrator (the “Flöhkanzler” [chancellor of fleas]) to address them as though they were a monastic order, as he states on two occasions:

Dan ich binn der Flöhkantzler worden / Der euch soll pringen inn ain Orden / (2511-2512)

For I am the chancellor of fleas who should bring you into [an] order.

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Möcht ir wol bei Barfüsern leben / Welche doch haisen euer Prüder / (4150-4151)

May you live well by the Franciscans who are called your brothers.

The fleas are also subject as a group to the judge’s ruling determining their future behavior, as we see in the judge’s declaration at the end of the poem:

Nämlich / das kain Floh kain soll beissen Er wiß dan auch schnell auszureissen / Kain Floh kain Frau soll zwingen / tringen. Er wais dann wider zuentspringen / So lib im sein Leib / Leben ist / Dan so er vileicht wirt erwischt Will ich dem Weib sehr gonnen wol Das sie zu tod den kizeln sol. Dagegen sollen auch die Frauen Fleisig inn dem fall für sich schauen / Und kainen töden / dan sie wissen Das der sei / der sie hat gebissen: (3987-3998)

Namely, that a flea should bite nobody unless he knows how to pull out quickly. No flea should force himself on a woman unless he knows how to get away, if his life is dear to him. Should he be caught, I allow that the woman may kill him. On the other hand, women should investigate the matter and not kill anyone except the one that bit her.

The ruling may contradict itself and only offers an apparent solution,481 but the judge’s ability, accepted by all present, to change the nature of the relationship between the women and fleas implies group identity and a division of time similar to the one in NR.

The act of granting the fleas the permission to bite women (at their own risk) corresponds

481 Bachorski’s argument, namely that FHWT is a subversive depiction of men’s powerlessness at the hands of women (the men are represented by fleas; Bachorski [2001] 267-269), ignores the irony present in an etiological narrative placing the fleas’ immunity from punishment on the condition that they don’t get caught. Schilling notes that the ruling appears to favor women but in fact only uphold the status quo (Schilling [2011] 74).

248 with the founding of the Jesuit order and insofar that both form a central moment dividing time into a mythic prehistory and a modern, post-ruling present.

The same basic dichotomy exists in both FHWT and NR: the time before the founding of the respective orders and the time after (up to and including Rabe’s appearance in the

16th century). Both poems’ sense of mythic history revolves around a central moment in which group identity is established by an authoritative third party, either the pope or the

Flöhkanzler. In both cases, the foundation of an organization – whether the fleas of

FHWT or the Jesuits of NR – takes place in an era known through its echoes in the present. Concerning the fleas, the nature of their existence is redefined by the judge’s ruling, whereas the Jesuits first come into being in NR. Both developments suggest that

Fischart associated the crystallization of a group identity with the idea of a mythic timeline, regardless of the given subject matter, and both texts’ focus on groups composed of multiple individuals allowed Fischart to reuse ideas from NR in FHWT despite the latter’s secular concern.

A list of narrative devices shared by NR (and other polemic literature) and FHWT (and

Fischart’s general literary output) would extend past the scope of this chapter. It would also be an exaggeration to draw a direct line from NR to FHWT, given the former’s focus on an ongoing religious conflict and therefore smaller interest in a clean-cut narrative presentation. Any comparison between the two is (at this point) limited to a demonstration that Fischart’s use of formal structure depended on his perception of a central motif, not on inherited or predetermined genre. The similarities between

Fischart’s earlier works, which are more closely related, are even greater due to the overlap in subject matter. Fischart’s next work, BSK, demonstrates how he would also

249 experiment with the aforementioned biographical style by trying to adapt it to a new subgenre of polemics.

Fischart’s Intertextual Self-Reference 2: Barfüßer Secten- und Kuttenstreit (BSK)

The idea that the formation of new religious orders is accompanied by religious disorder is already present in NR and becomes the central theme in BSK. In the former,

Fischart addresses the existence of the Jesuits with resignation: Rabe is too unintelligent to repent and can at most serve as a warning to others (3711-3755). BSK takes up the same theme. Here Fischart lambasts redundant monastic institutions by depicting an allegorical struggle between the sub-orders’ leaders as they demonstrate their failure to conform to Christ’s teachings (as Fischart emphasizes in 771-774). The poem reverses the method of NR by targeting monastic orders first and individual characters second, but otherwise it uses similar narrative techniques, such as the biographical pattern. BSK also complicated the inherited methods by drawing attention to the narrator’s entrance into the story as the protagonist and by using a framing device to alert the reader to the unreal nature of the depicted scene.

BSK appeared in the final stages of a 16th-century literary struggle between Protestants and Catholics which had its roots with Luther’s and Melanchthon’s “Legendenpolemik”

(polemic writings on hagiographic themes) in the earlier 16th century482 and reached its apex with Johannes Nas’s Ecclesia Militans (1569).483 It (BSK) was a response to an

482 Schenda (1970) 31-44. Schenda’s article contains an in-depth printing history of these polemics. 483 Stopp (1965) 622-627. Stopp notes that Fischart’s literary feud with Nas was a chance encounter given their disparate occupations (Fischart was a publicist, Nas a theologian) (Stopp [1965] 626). It is unclear whether Fischart knew of previous responses to Nas (Ibid. 627), though his broad knowledge of Catholic religiosity and his personal surroundings (he lived in Strasbourg) suggest so.

250 earlier pamphlet by Nas, Sihe wie das ellend Luthertumb (1568; hereafter Sihe).484 Sihe was in turn a German-language adaptation of Vitus Jacobäus’s Anatomia Lutheri (1567), a fictional autopsy of Luther and criticism of Reformation disunity.485 Fischart’s BSK attempts to turn the tables on Nas: by portraying the various subdivisions of the

Franciscan order as a contentious group more concerned about their claims to antiquity than following the lessons of their order’s founder, Fischart invites the reader to join the narrator in dismissing the entire community of Franciscans on the basis of artificial strawmen and to congratulate themselves on their adherence to the correct religion.

Sihe and BSK share the same basic plot. In both pamphlets, the travelling protagonist

(Nas/Fischart) is accosted by his religious/political enemies. Once in safety, he falls asleep and enters an allegorical dream. The dream consists of one scene, depicted in the accompanying woodcut, and in lieu of a series of events, the narrator identifies characters or groups and offers (generally unflattering) information. The conclusion is an interpretation of the entire occurrence. Minor details differ: Nas passes over his (pre- dream) mistreatment in the Palatinate with a summary, but Fischart describes his dealings with the Franciscans in detail. Both poems naturally align with their author’s confession:

Nas castigates Luther and his Protestant followers and predicts the triumph of

Catholicism (33), while Fischart reinvents the autopsy into a portrayal of Catholic

484 Although the subject matter is clearly Luther’s post-mortem autopsy/Leichenschmaus (funeral party), the commentary to Harm’s facsimile cites the pamphlet’s beginning as the title for the original 1567 pamphlet and the 1582 reprint. The reprint has minor orthographical changes (Harms [1980] 34). Page numbers (33, 35 for the pamphlets, 32, 34 for the commentary) are cited. 485 Oelke (1996) 164-165

251 monastic orders as barbaric corpse desecrators defined by their moral insufficiency (767-

776). 486

Fischart not only adapted the motifs of Sihe to a Protestant mentality: he also tampered with both the thematic and structural material of his model. The changes to the former are characterized by the removal of objectionable material. In Nas’s Sihe, Luther is depicted as a literal anti-Christ. His clothes are divided among his children (reminding the reader of Christ’s passion),487 and his body is eaten by other Reformers in a perversion of the Eucharist. Especially noteworthy is the author’s fascination with human waste and the appropriate bodily organs as well as his prediction of eternal damnation.

Luther/das müß ihr seelspeiß sein Das ihn wirdt widergolten werden Sein Kamerlaug ist ihn guot wein/ Als was sie böß theten auff erden/ Sein mist und kach/vnd finsters loch (33) Sie lecken/küssen/haltens hoch/(33) That every evil they did on Luther must be their heavenly food earth will be repaid to them. and his urine their wine. His fecal matter, and his dark hole – they kiss Darumb sie sein verworffen gar it, lick it, and hold it high. Mit aller Antichristi schar/ (33)

For which they will be condemned with the entire army of the Anti-Christs.

BSK eliminated the passion imagery, probably because Fischart was uncomfortable with equating St. Francis, even ironically, with Christ. St. Francis’s body is not consumed and his garments are not divided like Jesus’s/Luther’s. Nor is St. Francis punished with eternal damnation. His corpse is dissected, but the real targets of the text’s criticism are

486 Noted by Oelke (Ibid. 174-175). 487 Stopp (1965) 598

252 the monastic orders (for which St. Francis could not be held responsible).488 St. Francis is a means to an end: a victim of his disciples’ mistreatment, who does not deserve the abuse Luther suffers in Sihe.

In BSK, Fischart expands the list of attendants from Nas’s original 16 (whereby

Luther’s three sons form a group and one character in the woodcut is not identified [Nas

32]) to 26 (the number includes groups). He also strengthens the thematic connection between the introduction and the list of Franciscan sects: whereas Nas dedicates only fourteen lines to his inability to find shelter in the Palatinate, Fischart recounts in explicit detail his conversation with a Franciscan and summarizes their travels to Assisi (1-154).

The monk bemoans his order’s disunity (75-96), thereby suggesting the subject matter for

Fischart’s dream and validating his central argument from a Catholic perspective. The expansion of the narrative background transforms it into a recognizable framing device absent in Fischart’s source. The following dream is divided into a series of short descriptions with an introduction and conclusion. Whereas Nas does not conclude the dream in Sihe but begins the interpretation with a sudden: “Kein frid wehrt bei ihn zehen iar/” (No peace lasts ten years among them; 33), Fischart concludes the dream with the terrifying laughter of St. Dominic (739-742). The clear boundaries between episodes allow Fischart to direct the reader’s interpretation.

Couching a dream inside a larger narrative gives Fischart the opportunity to import motifs found in NR and to create an impression of continuity. The monks’ practice of

488 Oelke also notes that Fischart does not attack Francis directly, but instead “konzentriert seine Polemik auf die katholische Kirche im allgemeinen und auf den Franziskaner Johann Nas im speziellen” (concentrates his polemic on the Catholic Church in general and on the Franciscan Johann Nas in particular; Oelke [1996] 176).

253 calling St. Francis’s tomb “vnser Jerusalem” (51) harks back to St. Ignatius’s and the

Jesuits’ journey to Rome. No equivalent exists in Sihe. The post-dream sequence also allows Fischart to tie the Franciscans’ worldly success directly to their disunity (757-

760), another element absent in Fischart’s model. Nas predicts the imminent failure of the Protestants (“Ihr Affenwerck hat kein bestand” [Their foolishness has no stability;

33]) while Fischart alerts the reader to the Franciscans’ constant growth and invention of new rules (757-77) before advising him to live according to Jesus’s teachings (771-774).

The most memorable scene of BSK is its portrayal of St. Clare of Assisi, an episode noteworthy for its satiric eroticism. In an attempt to claim a relic and thereby validate her religious order, St. Clare removes St. Francis’s Paternoster from between his legs (481-

482). The narrator then recounts the origin of the “Clariner” (her followers, presumable the Poor Clares). Fischart portrays her as sexually aggressive follower of St. Francis who betrays him after his death:

Wiewol sie sein Landtsmännin ist So liebt sie jn doch heüchlerisch/ Dann weil Franciscus war bey leben Hat sie jhm süsse wort wol geben Vnd seine Regel ghalten wol/ Aber nach dem er starb einmol So hat sie sondre sect gemacht/ Vnd seine Regel nichts geacht/ Sonder dieselb zuom theil vernicht/ Zuom theil verendert vnd verbicht/ (483-492)

Although she was his compatriot, she acted like she loved him. While St. Francis was alive, she gave him sweet words and conformed to his rule, but when he died she founded her own order and disregarded his, preferring partially to destroy it, to change it, and to coat it in pitch.

The above episode is an example of a story-within-a-story which delegitimizes the order on two fronts. In the immediate narrative (Fischart’s dream), her fixation on the

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Paternoster reflects the Catholic overemphasis on empty ritual. Additionally, the

Paternoster’s location, especially in light of the romantic vocabulary of süsse wort and liebt, draws attention to St. Clare’s inappropriate sexuality. By reaching underneath his robe, St. Clare violates her vow of chastity at the very moment she attempts to establish her order’s legitimacy.

Though short (only 24 lines), the St. Clare episode is especially noteworthy as another example of Fischart’s four-step biographical pattern. Like Ignatius, St. Clare is unequipped from the beginning for the lofty goal of founding a religious order and lacks the necessary piety. Her order is compromised from its inception, as demonstrated by their fetishization (especially in light of St. Clare’s actions) of the Paternoster (495). Her biography can be reconstructed to fit the pattern below:

1. An ominous beginning. St. Clare’s entrance into the dream sequence is predicated on the poem’s explicit focus on the Franciscans. The dream sequence as a unit was triggered by the events in the introduction.

2. Early misadventures. St. Clare’s faked love for St. Francis; she gives him süsse wort and follows his rule without conviction.

3. A conversion. After St. Francis’s death she founds her own order, which has “vernicht” (destroyed; 491), “verendert,” (changed; 491) and “verbicht” (coated with pitch; 491) the original discipline of the Franciscans.

4. Worldly success. The sect is founded and now associated (to Fischart) with Paternosters (496-498).

BSK’s dependence on Sihe limited the degree of experimentation possible, but a comparison with NR reveals the presence of enough motifs to see both works as the beginning of a trend in Fischart’s writing. The similarities in the lives of Ignatius of

Loyola, Jakob Rabe, and St. Clare suggest that Fischart took steps to cement his

255 biographical form over time and centered it on the idea of connecting the self-interested foundation of monastic orders with material success, even when these elements were absent in the original (as was the case for Sihe). That Fischart’s changes and departures from his sources were intentional can be seen in his willingness to bowdlerize, such as the decision not to transform his enemies as grotesque anti-Christs.

A second important novelty in BSK is the clear line between the dream and the beginning and end of the poem. Hints at a framing device exist in Sihe, but they are relatively underdeveloped and, as stated above, the final scene bleeds into Nas’s interpretation. Fischart is not only more realistic (he is startled awake), his transitions are much more explicit and give the poem a sense of symmetry. Although both poets motivate their dream with a short introduction, only Fischart concludes the narrative within a balanced framing device. The audience’s relation to the dream is also mitigated through a narrator, and the reader is only exposed to the dream by way of the protagonist.

In other words, his connection to the dream is dependent on Fischart’s self-inserted narrative voice.

Despite Fischart’s creativity, Nas’s more straightforward work appears to have been more successful. Fischart’s 1577 reprint is only 195 lines, closer in size to Sihe, and

Fischart gives demands for brevity (8-9) as the reason for the change. The introduction, now reduced to ten lines, omits the narrator’s travels. St. Clare’s prehistory has disappeared entirely, though her order, the “Klarinerbrüder” (92), remains. All of these changes can be attributed to a need to reduce the description to its fundamental elements.

Fischart does not appear to have abandoned his original BSK entirely; at the end of his poem he advertises the expanded version of BSK (194-196). His next satire, DL, also

256 confirms that he did not abandon his narrative but applied the rhetorical tools developed to new material with a longer format.

Fischart’s Intertextual Self-Reference 3: Von S. Dominici und S. Francisci Leben (DL)

Fischart’s third satire DL returns to the free polemic style of NR. Just as Jakob Rabe was a means to introduce Ignatius of Loyola and the semi-legendary pre-history of the

Jesuits, in DL Fischart’s rival Johannes Nas is the contemporary equivalent of the mythical founders of the Franciscan and Dominican orders. However, the works are not identical, as can already be seen in structural differences in their respective organization.

NR first targets Jakob Rabe in the title and then redirects attention to the Jesuits’ prehistory, whereas DL explicitly refers to hagiographic/legendary subject matter at the beginning and situates its condemnation of Nas inside a characterization of the entire church structure. Although NR and DL do not create a series, similarities in theme and parallel subject matter suggest that Fischart maintained a satirical interest in Catholic mythic history.

St. Dominic’s biography conforms to the narrative pattern already found in NR and

BSK. The first episode (the ominous beginning) is the pope’s reaction to a prophecy in the Book of Revelations, where he discovers God’s intentions to “ein Christgleubig völklein wecken/ / Welchs werd die Babelshur entdecken” (awaken a Christian people who will reveal the Babylonian whore; 1769-1770), whereupon he recruits monks to hinder God’s plan (1773-1780). Although St. Dominic is not mentioned until later, this episode allows him to enter both the story and the Catholic hierarchy and explains his instrumental value to the Church even before his birth. The saint’s function is determined as a consequence of the pope’s reaction to the prophecy. His journey from

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Spain to Italy (1787-1854) begins his youthful misadventures. Once there he undergoes various trials, such as poor weather (1870-1888), dog attacks (1889-1904), and a number of others. The third step (St. Dominic’s conversion) takes place in the recognition of his order by the pope (2455-2465), leaving the growth of the Dominican order to become the fourth step. The biographical pattern is (as was the case with the protagonists in NR) not presented in the order in which the events take place, as the marginal notes demonstrate.

For example, line 2190 is glossed with “Jn der 17. Münchischen Narrheit” (In the 17th

Monastic foolishness; 206) 489 and line 2239 with “Jn der 37. Münchischen warheit” (In the 37th Monastic truth; 207). Both stories are situated before St. Dominic’s arrival in

Rome, but the presence of monks suggest that these stories took place (chronologically) after his confirmation (he accepts sixteen monks into his order in line 2459). The position of these and other stories appear to be rooted in Fischart’s need to fulfill the second biographical step.

Nas is only a minor character in DL and his biography does not require a long discussion, although it meets all expectations. Nas’s name is used against him in the same etymological manner Jakob Rabe’s name was capitalized on in NR. Nas/nose puns litter the entire introduction and can also be found in the text. Nas’s life before his acceptance into the Franciscan order is depicted as more pathetic than the semi-humorous misadventures of St. Dominic’s journey:

Gleich wie die vnuerschempte Nas/ Der nur ein Hosenflicker was/ Vnd aus verzweifflung erst ist worden/ Ein Münch in dem Barfüsser orden/ (1559-1562)

489 Marginalia is cited by page number.

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Just like the shameless Nose (=Nas) was once a mere trouser mender and became a Franciscan out of desperation.

Nas’s fortunes change in Rome as he acquires the title “Ecclesiae mastix” (whip or scourge of the church; 1337), a status improvement explaining his later wealth:

Wer unter uns hie in der Welt/ Empfangen hab das meiste Gelt/ Jch oder du/ vnd auch dein Orden/ Es dünkt mich schier/ mit wenig worten/ Jch wolt dir nicht beuor viel geben/ Denn man weis wol/ wie ir da leben/ Vnd was jr han must vngefehrlich/ Für eynkommen im Kloster jerlich/ (1327-1334)

Who here among the two of us, you and your order or I, have received the most money? Why, it seems to me (to put it briefly), I would not like to give you much, for we know how you live and what income your cloister annually enjoys!

The reoccurrence of familiar topoi in Fischart’s depictions of St. Dominic and

Johannes Nas is accompanied by his use of marginalia to draw attention to a stratified

Reader-Author-Text relationship not explicitly present in his earlier work (though hints can be found in BSK). In NR, the marginalia (I count 58 instances) and one footnote, both mostly in Latin, offer only factual information such as citations, dates, and historical context. In DL, the marginalia become a bilingual space for literary allusions and humorous asides. Latin-language examples include quotations of the Aeneid (ARMA

VIRUMQUE CANO, ETC. [I sing of arms and a man; p. 153]),490 allusions to the Bible

(QUID VENIS IESU AD CRUCIANDUM NOS? [Why have you come, Jesus, to torment us?; p. 192] not an exact quotation) and cheap puns (NASUTUM ARGUMENTUM.

490 Cited by page number.

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DIABOLUS LUMINAUIT DOMINICO: ERGO ILLUMINAUIT EUM [Nas’s argument: The devil lit a light for Dominic, therefore he illuminated him; p. 229]). The majority of comments are given in German, for example: “Rom hat alter Huren art Je elter sie wird/ Je meh sie spart” (Rome has a whore’s nature: the older she gets, the more she saves; p. 185). Regardless of language, all instances address the plot, and more importantly, appear to do so from a distance, as though the author is talking about the events in the plot without being involved, even when the poem’s narrator is speaking.

Three of the first five marginal comments are quotations of Virgil. By evoking a comparison between St. Dominic and the archetypal hero, Aeneas, Fischart tacitly criticizes the former’s unheroic image and condemns the Dominicans (both by association and explicitly). The first margin note, “ARMA VIRUMQUE CANO” (I sing of arms and a man; p. 153) draws attention to St. Dominic’s bumbling character through a contrast between the Aeneid’s epic grandeur and the irreverent tone of DL. His order hardly fares better. Unflattering portrayals like “Daher den kompt die schön gemein/ /

Die Sauber Rott/ das gros Geschlecht/ / Der Prediger der Bettelknecht” (From [St.

Dominic’s adventures] comes that lovely parish, that motley crew, that great house of mendicants; 32-34) is exaggerated through the contrast with the Virgilian

“INFERRETQUE DEOS LATIO, ETC.” (And he would carry his gods into Latium, etc.; p. 154). The irony present in intentionally mismatching the Dominicans with the heroic tone of Latin epic prepares the audience for faux disappointment (the reader undoubtedly appreciated Fischart’s rhetoric) and belittles the subject matter.

Although the classical imagery is used to mock St. Dominic and his followers, the events in DL are understood as fiction for different reasons. Brockstieger argues that the

260 epic content in the marginalia undermines the credibility of the hagiography by combining two narrative forms. By conflating a Saint’s life with classical aesthetics,

Fischart robs the text of its claim to truth and transforms it into explicitly untrustworthy fiction.491 However, there is textual evidence that suggests Fischart is even more direct that Brockstieger claims. He rejects these stories a priori on the basis of their unbelievable nature, as we see in narrative asides such as “Oder ist es war was wir lesen/

So bist ein seltzam Heilig gwesen” (If what we’ve read is true, you’ve been an odd saint;

73-74).492 Similar comments suggest that Fischart’s mistrust stems from the inherent absurdity of the stories. In contrast, Classicism plays an exclusively rhetorical role in DL regardless of where it appears, either in the marginalia or in the text.

The marginalia, on the other hand, does appear to have a consistent role. It functions as an uninterrupted stream of short comments reminiscent of a modern-day peanut gallery. The comments are opportunistic and lack a homogeneous style, but their ubiquity (the distance between individual comments rarely exceeds twenty lines) allows them to become the voice of a personality who inserts himself between the reader and the text and guides the audience’s interpretation. As the characters in the narrative remain unaware of his presence, he has the last word and enjoys an uninterrupted channel to the reader. The jokes are not always clever, but they are snarky enough to endear the narrator to any reader who already agrees with his Protestant convictions.

491 Brockstieger (2009) 45 492 Largier and Feldman have also studied Fischart’s rationalism, which they see as a tool against Catholic claims to exclusive truth in NR and later works (Largier/Feldman [2004] 253). They do not discuss DL.

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For example, when the text mentions the “Verrheterey” (duplicity; 1266) of monastic orders, the marginal voice adds “Ey Fraterey wolte ich sagen” (brotherliness, I should say; p. 184), a pun on the Latin “Frater” (brother). The joke is mediocre, but the allusion to a common theme – competing orders feigning brotherly love – reinforces the audience’s likely biases and establishes a rapport between the marginal voice and the audience. Remarks in this vein – like the description of Mary’s two accompanying virgins are “Vieleicht Christen” (possibly Christians; p. 214) – also keep the reader conscious of the untrustworthy nature of the stories. In the end, the quality of these jokes is relatively unimportant; their purpose is to maintain the reader’s antipathy for the material.

Fischart’s use of marginalia to discredit hagiographic narrative has its predecessor in

Luther’s Die Lügend von S. Johanne Chrysostomo (1537),493 a text that demonstrates (as

Ziegeler notes) how legends began to be interpreted along the lines of a real/false binary.494 Lügend anticipates the later DL and contains a saint’s life (which in this case remained unchanged)495 accompanied by a number of margin comments. Luther attacks the unbelievable elements of the story directly, like the absence of a name for the presumably historical emperor and pope: “(Keiser) Der hatte keinen namen wie auch droben der Bapst” [The emperor had no name, just like the pope above; 17]. Noteworthy is Luther’s focus on the story’s believability as the factor determining the story’s value.

493 Lügend is hosted at the Münchener DigitalisierungsZentrum of the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek (website: https://www.digitale-sammlungen.de/) and available to the public. For the sake of simplicity, all page numbers refer to the downloadable PDF document, not the original binding. 494 Ziegeler (1999) 260 495 Noted by Brockstieger (Brockstieger [2009] 34).

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When he sarcastically claims that the truth in the narrative lies in its imagination-defying nature (“Je das mus ja war sein wer kundts erdencken” [yes, that must be true; who could think it up; 18]), he calls the story into question on the basis of its fantastic character; the very possibility of historical validity remains unaddressed.

The same idea can be seen in Fischart. He shares Luther’s conviction that hagiographies are mere collections of untrue stories, as we see in lines like: “Jst erdacht von München die letzst olung zu beweren” (This was thought up by Monks to keep the practice of last rites; p. 214). This and similar attacks (in both the marginalia and the text) share Luther’s aim to expose the incredible nature of the subject matter. Just as a standard commentary reveals the hidden meaning of a text, the objections of the marginalia in DL expose the true nature of the events and push the unescapable question

“is it credible?” to the front of the reader’s mind. When repeated enough, this strategy alienates the reader from the text, as though the stories are presented to be investigated as relics of a different community’s belief system.

The narrator inside the text also criticizes his material in a number of digressions. The following example concludes a story where St. Dominic multiplies two loaves of bread to feed his followers after arriving at an unnamed cloister:

O aus mit solchen schlimmen zotten/ Jr müst die Lügen bas beschrotten/ Vnd mit der Holtzscher wol beschneiden/ Die Lügen sind sonst nicht zu leiden Doch das man nicht die Lügen spür/ So kommen meine Münch herfür/ Vnd wöllen bös mit bösem zieren/ Ein Lügn mit der andern staffieren/ (2185-2192)

Oh just stop this rubbish! You need to craft your lies better. Cut them with the wood shears, otherwise they’re intolerable! But just so that one doesn’t notice the lies, the

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monks come forward and ornament ugliness with ugliness and combine lie with lie.

The above outburst and similar ones differ from the marginalia insofar as the in-text criticisms place special emphasis on the origin of the narratives: the Dominican order and

(ultimately) the Catholic church. The reader is not addressed. St. Dominic’s biography and the narrator’s objections are laid out so that the commentary can lead the reader through the Vita. The focus on Catholic hierarchy on the part of the narrator complements the meta-textual commenter’s criticism by attacking the hagiography from another perspective: while the marginalia call the stories unbelievable, the narrator of the text directs the reader to their source.

The rejection of a presented narrative validates abusive humor at the expense of the subject matter. Stories that are untrue cannot be further discredited and become free game for all forms of mockery:

Dein Schnudelbüchlein vnd dein Lügen/ Werden doch nicht viel schaden mügen/ Weil auch Papisten in den sachen/ Dein schendlich Lügenmal verlachen/ Dein lügen halten nicht den stich/ Auch nicht mit Nodeln liederlich/ (1625-1630)

Your little snot-book and your lies will not be able to harm very many, even papists mock your shameful lying mouth. Your lies don’t hold up, even with sloppy noodles!

A little later, Fischart does express concern that false stories can mislead the general population (1965-1980). In the beginning of DL, he claims that the fictional nature of the stories free him from all restraints and that he is not liable for any abuse St. Dominic suffers, since he only adopts fictional stories invented by Jesuits (69-88); by extension, the protagonist is only a simulacrum of the historic saint and can be attacked with

264 impunity, even to the point where jokes become absurd. For example, when St. Francis is called “ein Widerteuffer” (An Anabaptist; p. 163) in the margins, the insult reinforces the already contrived nature of the episode by leading the reader to bizarre and nonsensical associations (calling a Catholic saint a Protestant is a humorous, but ultimately rather silly contradiction).496

The new status of St. Dominic’s Vita as a fabrication to be read with suspicion and mistrust creates a new distance between the reader and the events in the poem, thereby changing the entire sub-structure of the text. The new relationship between reader, narrator and text can be depicted so:

Reader

Marginal Voice / Meta-Textual Narrator

Text

Fischart’s Biographical Pattern:

1. An ominous beginning.

2. Early misadventures. In-Text Narrator 3. A conversion (Generally set in Rome).

4. Worldly success.

Figure 4.1: Reader/Narrator/Text Relationship in DL

496 Brockstieger argues that Fischart uses the humorous episode to redefine the Vita through contamination with the Schwank genre and to undermine its authority (Brockstieger [2009] 48-49). Such a reading leads to a contradiction: if the audience recognizes the story’s origin in comedy, they would also find an artificial invocation of hagiographic tradition insincere.

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A similar pattern is also present in Fischart’s adaptation of the Eulenspiegel mythos, Er.

Although Er lacks marginalia and the divisions between narrators cannot depend on paratextual signals, Fischart’s decision to allow multiple voices similar opportunity to approach the reader also allows entities within the work to play with the audience’s perception of the subject matter.

Fischart’s Intertextual Self-Reference 4. Eulenspiegel reimenweis (Er)

Fischart’s biographical pattern and the depiction of Eulenspiegel’s life in S1515 share important parallels, but they do not align perfectly. Eulenspiegel’s disastrous baptism and early childhood resemble an ominous beginning for reasons discussed in Chapter 2.

H. 9, his botched initiation into society and his confirmation as a scoundrel,497 sets off a series of adventures roughly analogous to the second stage of Fischart’s pattern. Yet the secular nature of the Eulenspiegel-mythos prevents the advancement of personal fortune inherent in Fischart’s third and fourth episodes. Although Eulenspiegel travels to Rome in H. 34, nothing comes from his meeting with the pope: “Und blieb Ulenspiegel vor als nach und ward von der Römischen Fart nit vil gebessert” (And Eulenspiegel remained as he was and was not significantly improved from his pilgrimage; 103). The sentiment is preserved in the conclusion of the equivalent chapter in Er (4548-4549). As Eulenspiegel remains a vagrant, the fulfillment of worldly ambitions that defined Fischart’s previous anti-heroes has no immediate complement. The adoption of the Eulenspiegel-mythos required an adjustment of the framework perfected in NR/BSK/DL to fit the biographical pattern.

497 Kokott (1996) 93-97

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That Fischart was willing to make drastic changes to the Eulenspiegel story can already be seen in his introduction of classical symbolism, a tool which suggests a thematic continuity with DL. For instance, both poems invoke the Muses. In DL, we read “Vnd mus es lan die Musas walten/ / Die sich getrew allzeit erzeigen” (and I must let the Muses who prove themselves always to be loyal direct it; 252-253), and the identical topos is present in Eulenspiegel’s self-introduction:

So solls euch nicht befrembden drumb Ihr Musæ/ daß ich zu euch kumb: Dann ich erfahr gern allerley/ Vnd bin nun müd der Welt gespey/ (zum Leser 20-23)

Do not let it surprise you, Muses, that I approach you: I am always curious and am tired of the world’s mockery.

At the same time, Fischart’s adoption of mythology in Er extends beyond DL’s contrastive use: Whereas the latter invoked heroic characters to exclude St. Dominic, Er inducts its protagonist into the category of classical heroes by invoking enough examples to generate what Seelbach called “fingierte Traditionalität” (counterfeit traditionality),498 an impression of erudition which also placed considerable expectations on the reader

(though Eulenspiegel is also depicted as an alternative to more “serious” characters).499

Fischart does not limit himself to a few isolated references but fills his introduction with numerous allusions. In zum Leser, Eulenspiegel alludes to classical characters eight times in the first fifty lines (3, 9, 10, 20, 29, 35, 40, 49). Abred, the narrator’s self- introduction, quotes Martial on page 21. The Vorrede (Preface) also refers to

498 Seelbach (2000) 103 499 Ibid. 93

267 mythological concepts (“zu den Göttern” [to the gods; 269], “Orphæus” [284], “[die] kunstreich[e] Minerua” [adept Minerva; 308], and multiple instances between 340-353).

The plot of Eulenspiegel’s life has one obvious change: after his death his soul returns

(“in des Kautzen gstalt” [in the form of an owl; 12947]) to Minerva and accompanies

Schälke today (12946-12975). The latter are reimagined as an organization that shares many of the characteristics seen in the monastic orders of Fischart’s other work: they go on pilgrimages to Eulenspiegel’s grave and preserve relics which focus Eulenspiegel’s power (13294-13333). Through his followers Eulenspiegel continues to influence the real world and play pranks even after his departure. Evidence can be found in the audience’s own life:

Man sicht sonst/ wie noch täglich heut Der Eulenspiegel wircket weit Vnd thut durch sein schälck wunderzeichen/ Die kaum mein glauben kan erreichen/ Die ich drumb willig vnderloß Dieweil sie seind zuviel vnd groß/ Doch wer jhr gern wolt etlich han Seh sich vnd seinen nechsten an. (13334-13341)

Everyone can see how Eulenspiegel is still active today and imparts so many miracles through his Schälke I can hardly believe it. I will abstain from describing it all as they are too numerous and too great. Whoever wishes to be exposed to some of them only needs to look at himself and his neighbors.

Seelbach characterizes Eulenspiegel as the founder of a religious order,500 but the absence of a single pivotal change in the trickster’s life suggests that his death functions as a conversion moment. His journey to Minerva resembles St. Dominic’s or even

Ignatius of Loyola’s trip to Rome, especially as all three journey culminate in an

500 Seelbach (1995) 183-184

268 encounter with a powerful authority figure. It is not even clear that Eulenspiegel dies: he never enters purgatory, and prayers said on his behalf only succeed in irritating the semi-

Christianized “Todtenwart” (guardian of the dead) Pluto (13078-13089). The conversion could more accurately be called a transformation, as Eulenspiegel never leaves the world completely but only interacts with it in a new way: lending his power to Schälke acting on his behalf.

Once Fischart’s pattern is re-centered on Eulenspiegel’s death, the other elements of his biographical narrative fall into place. The bulk of Eulenspiegel’s life, chapters 9 to 91

(the later “Zusatzgeschichten” [additional stories], eliminate the impression that

Eulenspiegel gradually ages), becomes Eulenspiegel’s youthful misadventures anticipating his later patronage of followers. The almost complete lack of mythological characters here501 reinforces the impression that these chapters form a unit. Neither

Minerva nor any other character intervenes until Eulenspiegel’s transformation necessitates their introduction. The actions of Eulenspiegel’s followers become the fourth element. Although the narrator never describes them, Fischart notes that everyone is already aware of them with the subjunctive Seh sich vnd seinen nechsten an (Look to himself and others). The reader is expected to complete the final section of Fischart’s biographical pattern by remembering his own experiences and attributing it (indirectly) to

Eulenspiegel. In lieu of the usual depictions of an order’s members, the audience is asked to insert itself into the text.

501 Hauffen noted the absence of mythological characters in his comparison of Er and Aegidius Periander’s Noctuae Speculum (1567) (Hauffen [1921] 138).

269

In both NR and DL, the respective saint’s followers receive some attention, and even

St. Clare’s followers are characterized by their predilection for Paternosters. Er transfers the burden of proof onto the reader, a quality that situates it between NR/BSK/DL and the later FHWT: Eulenspiegel is a semi-mythological character, but evidence for his influence on the modern world depends on the reader’s experience. He is no longer encapsulated by the text but needs the reader to complete his depiction. As a result, the clear line between text and real life is broken, and the reader’s own life is brought into the narrative.

The intentional blurring of the line between text and real life at the end of Er is complemented by its introduction. Zum Leser, ein Abred and Vorrede all thematize the mitigated Reader – Narrator – Text relationship Fischart developed in DL and apply that structure to Er, and each introduction allows one element to address another directly.

Together with the conclusion, where the reader enters the text, Fischart establishes avenues of communications between the three elements as depicted below:

Figure 4.2: Reader/Narrator/Text Interactions in ER

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Such a division is dependent on the understanding of Eulenspiegel’s biography as a single unit of adventures, an assumption that both Eulenspiegel and the narrator share. In

Ein abred, the narrator notes:

So soll ich jhe auch dem ersten Eulensteller vnd erfinder/ so es zusammen getragen hat/ in seine Ordnung keinen eingriff thun/ vnd jm seine Ehr vnd gehabte müh nit einziehen/ dieweil ich bey den Geschichten nicht gewesen bin/ vnd allerley errahten must/ was sein bedencken/ vorhaben vnd endt in Moraliteten vnd sittlichen Lehren gewesen seye. (22).

So I shall not modify the life of the first inventor and creator of owls, no matter how it turned out, nor shall I diminish his honor or efforts, as I had not been present and can only guess what his thoughts, his plans, and his goals (concerning moral instruction) could have been.

In zum Leser, Eulenspiegel also treats all his adventures as a relic of the past:

Nun will ich mich zu euch gesellen/ Jch will kein schalckheit hie anstellen/ Jch ließ sie auff der Erden all Auff daß ich euch nur wol gefall/ (23-26)

I would like to join you and have an interest in pranks here. I left them all on earth to please you.

Es mag leicht sein Poeterey Daß man außstreicht mein Büberey/ Dieweil sie ist so trefflich scharpff/ Daß sie kein Färblein nicht bedarff. (247-250)

It is probably a poet’s conceit to burnish my pranks. They are so striking they need no dye.

That zum Leser is directed at the reader is already apparent from the title, but

Eulenspiegel’s interpretation of his own actions and those of his imitators reveals an interest in the audience’s opinion of him. He criticizes the “schalckheit” (trickery) of others (129, 134, 160 and elsewhere) multiple times but never addresses the moral quality

271 of his actions. At most, he encourages a didactic interpretation of his biography: readers identified as Schälke are called to reform their own behavior (99-108, 177-181). Both of

Eulenspiegel’s theses betray an awareness of a world outside of the text and an attempt to exert influence on his audience.

In Ein abred, the narrator addresses the reader directly, as the complete title suggests.

Like Eulenspiegel, he assigns didactic worth to Eulenspiegel’s adventures, although his criticism of the modern world’s moral decline is more explicit than was the case in zum

Leser:

Dieweil sich die Hochprächtische Welt gern im Pfauwenspiegel zu spiegeln pfleget/ hat man jren ein dunckeln Eulenspiegel müssen für die Nasen halten/ daß sie beschauwen möchte/ was sie für ein Thier vnd Schleyereul/ auch in geringern vnd schlechtern/ die hierinnen getadelt/ wie sol ich sagen geadelt werden/ seye. (p. 24)

As the haughty world enjoys looking at itself in a “peacock’s mirror” it is necessary to show them a dark owl’s mirror (lit. Eulenspiegel) so that they can recognize what kind of animal and barn owl they are, even in the smallest things which are criticized (or ennobled, I should say) here (= in this book).

His condemnation reaches its apex at the end of the introduction, where he characterizes

Eulenspiegel’s pranks as a mirror image of the ills of 16th-century life:

denen zu leid dieser Spiegel erhalten wird/ auff daß die Welt vnd das Eulengeschöpff jre Stier vnd Katzenköpff/ jr schielend gesicht . . . darinnen beschauw vnd bespiegel (p. 25)

[those Schälke] to whose harm this mirror was created, so that the world and the owl-creature may observe and see reflected their bull- and catheads, their squinting faces . . . but in both cases he remains oriented away from the text and toward society.

Eulenspiegel’s adventures may serve as a means to an end, as we see in rhetorical

272 questions like “Jst es nicht angenemer/ ermant werden mit schertzen/ dann mit schmertzen?” (Is it not preferable to be reprimanded with jokes than with pain?; p. 20), but these and similar expressions are only interested in Eulenspiegel’s life insofar as they reflect and can influence the audience’s non-literary reality.

The final introduction, Vorrede, serves as a second platform for the narrator and works together with the previous Ein abred to confirm his position between the audience and

Eulenspiegel. Vorrede also draws attention back onto Eulenspiegel. Here the narrator explicitly condemns Eulenspiegel’s actions without praising or concentrating on his didactic potential: in other words, Vorrede focuses almost entirely on the narrator’s personal relationship with the trickster:

Doch was darf es deß schimpffens hie? Wir seind bekannt einander je/ Vnd kommen weiter wol zusammen Wir wöln einander nit beschammen/ (314-317)

What’s the purpose of complaining? We know each other and will go further working together; let us not embarrass each other.

Jch denck noch an das sprichwort werd Daß mich einmal mein Vatter lehrt/ Daß man zu freund hielt einen schalck Wer besser/ als daß man jn walck. (328-331)

I still remember that wise saying my father taught me: it’s better to have a Schalk as a friend than to beat him.

That is not to say that the narrator suddenly approves of Eulenspiegel’s actions; as the continued use of the word Schalk suggests, Eulenspiegel does not suddenly become a moral paragon simply because the narrator wishes to make the best of the situation. More important is his willingness to enter Eulenspiegel’s fictional world and address

Eulenspiegel directly (307).

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Working together, both of the narrator’s introductions position him between the fictional world of the epic and the real-world audience and direct the reader’s moral perception of the character. Together with Eulenspiegel’s introduction, all three paratexts offer mutually exclusive interpretations of a morally ambivalent trickster figure. zum

Leser, the protagonist’s self-defense, offers a positive interpretation of both the character and his pranks. The understanding of Eulenspiegel’s actions in ein abred is predicated on his function as a mirror for a corrupt world and by extension is overwhelmingly neutral, and Vorrede condemns Eulenspiegel directly while still acknowledging his entertainment value. All three readings have merit but are mutually exclusive, and Fischart circumvents the problem of kettle logic by entertaining each interpretation within the boundaries of its introduction.

Although Eulenspiegel’s life is called a Legendt, it is not a (pseudo-)religious text and lacks the marginal commentary of DL, which robs Fischart of the opportunity to create an intermediary voice to direct the reader’s thinking throughout the poem. The group of introductions solves the problem by allowing the narrator and Eulenspiegel to communicate directly, but all three only appear at the beginning and lack the ubiquitous presence of the marginalia. They do not address Eulenspiegel’s unfolding biography but exist in parallel to it. zum Leser, ein abred, and Vorrede are free to make claims on

Eulenspiegel’s nature or purpose, but they are powerless to influence Eulenspiegel’s development as the reader experiences it.

Additionally, the visibility of Eulenspiegel’s transformation and his presence in the real world mean that his biographical narrative is not contained to the text or even to his life story. The pivotal change takes place after a classic death sequence, so the third

274 episode, though contained in the text, is removed from his Vita. Eulenspiegel’s worldly success is dependent on the reader’s own subjective ability to validate the narrator’s claims that Eulenspiegel-like tricks can be seen outside the text. The following chart gives a pictorial representation of this division:

Reader

Narrative Apparatus (Similar to the Eulenspiegel’s literary counter-world / Marginal Voice) His biography

Eulenspiegel’s zum Leser The Vita

1. Ominous Beginning

ein abred 2. Early Misadventures (Chapters 1 – 97) Vorrede

3. Eulenspiegel’s death (post-mortem notoriety and foundation of a metaphorical “order”)

4. Worldly Success (Eulenspiegel in the contemporary world)

Figure 4.3: Reader/Protagonist Relationship in ER

The above schema is better understood as a presented self-understanding than a perfectly maintained structure. Multiple introductions do not keep the narrator from making moralistic observations within Er – both he and Eulenspiegel indulge in them. It is unreasonable to expect Fischart to maintain complete consistency while writing a 13,507- line poem, and even a surface reading confirms that he neither could nor wanted to. A

275 random example can illustrate Fischart’s willingness to break his own rules, such as mention of Eulenspiegel’s order before his death in the beginning of chapter 72: “Der

Eulenspiegel vnd sein Orden / Jst der Welt so anmütig worden” (Eulenspiegel and his order has charmed the world so; 10061-10062). Yet these examples are rare enough to serve as exceptions to the rule.

Findings

A full understanding of the organization of Er depends on (or is at least greatly helped by) the recognition of structures and patterns developed in earlier polemics. Fischart reimagined Eulenspiegel’s life to align with biographical patterns first formulated in NR and divided along four recognizable stages. His subsequent polemic writing (BSK and

DL) augmented the structure with additional parameters. BSK introduced a framing device to allow the narrator an authoritative image before the reader. In DL, the idea of a meta-fictional space grew into a subversive force undermining the narrative and controlling the reader’s experience. Er brought the process to its conclusion by dissecting the biographical scheme among several layers of narrative and forcing the reader to view his own experiences as a continuation of Eulenspiegel’s life.

Fischart was not the first German-language poet who experimented with the borders between the text and the real world. Any text which communicates directly with the audience does the same thing (even if only to a limited extent). Fischart’s real innovation was his development of a system across multiple texts at the beginning of his literary career. Through the adaptation of a system evolving across generic lines, Fischart applied a 16th-century approach of Systemreferenz to his own work, demonstrating how one can apply the basic ideas of intertextuality to himself as though he were a literary

276 auctor. Such a feat requires the author to regard his narrative scheme as an entity separate from the creator.

Josef K. Glowra’s investigation of Geschichtklitterung establishes that Johann

Fischart would later insert the narrator into the “fictional world of Gargantua,” while simultaneously maintaining “the fiction of being on the same time plane as his readers.”502 As this chapter has demonstrated, Fischart began experimenting with form earlier, in works neglected because of a perceived absence of stylistic unity. Whatever he lacked in moderation or discipline, he made up for in a readiness to experiment. Thus, a study of a single work by Fischart which ignores the possible role of other texts in shaping his organizational method fails to grasp the relevance of the individual poems in the scope of Fischart’s entire literary output.

Reading Er in light of its predecessors alerts the reader to metafictional elements which may have otherwise gone unnoticed, and those very elements in turn reveal Er as an important moment in the development of “fiction” as a concept. Er discusses, however indirectly, the reality of its narrative. Not only are both the author and the audience familiar with the subject matter, they recognize it as something presented with a degree of self-consciousness, as though its value lies in its status as a cultural relic. The development relied on early texts like DL, where the hagiography is presented exclusively to be questioned. In contrast with DL, however, Er is not written with the shared assumption that one’s enemies believe the subject matter. Er turns the setting of the story into an a priori fictional realm which doesn’t need to exist or not – and then

502 Glowra (2000) 109

277 paradoxically (or perhaps jokingly) bids the audience to contemplate its own experiences as a part of the same fiction.

Fischart’s Er presents an opportunity to expand our current understanding of intertextual theory, including the idea of Systemreferenz, by witnessing not only the standard application of narrative forms current in the literary environment of the 16th century but also the redirection of the same rules of adaptation, imitation and emulation onto an author’s own works. By treating himself as a literary auctor, and by borrowing structures and motifs from his own works, Fischart becomes an example not only of the aforementioned Systemreferenz, but also of Intertextual Self-Reference. A study of

Fischart reveals a set of investigative practices with which we can use an author’s earlier works to understand later ones. As said earlier in this chapter, Er did not appear in a vacuum, and its reliance on concepts evoked from previous work serves as one example of how an understanding of literature depends not only on the cultural background informing its production, but also on the author’s (by no means obvious) identification with himself.

278

Conclusion

The goal of the dissertation was to investigate the changes in narratives structures surrounding the appearances of the 16th-century trickster character Till Eulenspiegel. The studies were conducted under the assumption that his development can be divided into two stages. The first was Eulenspiegel’s departure from oral storytelling to a literary sphere at a time where he could be exposed to popular trends. The second stage is defined as the adaptation of the chapbook by writers who understood their projects as interactions with audience expectations of genre and with narrative forms. Unlike other scholarship, which approached the reception of the Eulenspiegel character as the work of a series of authors, the current dissertation acknowledges the influence of artistic norms in the 16th century. For this reason, the dissertation offers a new understanding of

Eulenspiegel as a tool with which authors could establish a rapport with the audience, and the implications of my findings broaden our view on the role played by well-known figures in the development of “fiction” as a literary concept.

The approach takes into consideration a simple, but underappreciated, reality:

Eulenspiegel’s pranking style remains episodic, and in later works, not even the basic plots change (the Zusatzgeschichten [additional stories] only add new material). The acknowledgement of formulaic narrative helps the reader avoid the trap of searching for a social message in a plethora of tricks which offer counterexamples to any socio-critical reading. Attention is redirected to the Eulenspiegel-material within its contexts: a single book (S1515), a theatric or poetic genre (the work of Hans Sachs), or a maturing author’s efforts to establish his artistic voice (the early works of Johann Fischart). As a whole, the

279 chapters demonstrate that it is not Eulenspiegel’s pranks, but rather where he appears, that explains popular conceptions of him.

The first two chapters address the S1515 chapbook. Chapter 1 investigates the intersections of universal trickster stories and late medieval discussions of foolishness, and it was able to recognize a common denominator in all of Eulenspiegel’s pranks: when he is confronted with a problem that has two obvious solutions, he combines them both, thereby fulfilling and disappointing his counterpart’s expectations. Additionally, it is shown that, although Eulenspiegel resembles a fool, he is not one. The second chapter discusses the narrative structure of the text and concludes that hagiographic strategies were employed to make the text easy to navigate, as though it were a joke book intended to be flipped through at leisure.

The latter two chapters concentrate on the reception of the Eulenspiegel character in other Germanophone literatures. Chapter 3 focuses on Hans Sachs, and a close reading of the material determined that his methods, though consistent, can be divided along genre lines. In the Fastnachtspiele, emphasis is placed on making Eulenspiegel identifiable, but his depiction has nothing to do with the subsequent onstage action. In contrast, an investigation of his appearances in Sach’s poetic works (his Meisterlieder and Spruchgedichte) demonstrates an awareness of both biographical and thematic elements in Eulenspiegel’s life. The final chapter, devoted to Johann Fischart’s

Eulenspiegel reimenweis, establishes the poem as a high point in Fischart’s experimentation with a biographical narrative pattern and the three-part reader/narrator/text relationship of his early polemic works. By the end, Eulenspiegel

280 becomes a 16th-century example of how a literary character can straddle the line between depicted actions and the real world.

The four chapters not only offer a survey of Eulenspiegel’s first appearances, they also reveal how he encapsulates a step in the development of writing meant to be accepted a priori as untrue – in other words, fiction. Although Eulenspiegel does not occupy the same position as Doctor Faust, Don Quixote, or even Lazarillo de Tormes, works focused on him have a number of qualities that suggest he exists on a continuum with other characters from a large number of fictional or semi-fictional narratives, both in the

German-language literary canon and in a broader European context. The most important quality is the weak connection between Eulenspiegel’s behavior and the redactor’s message or the structure of a text. The split between action and portrayal accompanies

Eulenspiegel’s appearances through the use of literary scaffolding. When he tricks his victims in S1515, the layout of the chapters encourages the reader to browse. In Sachs’s plays, Eulenspiegel’s pranks allow other characters to monopolize center stage. Fischart recreates Eulenspiegel’s life, but more attention is given to directing the reader’s value judgement.

The three texts studied in this dissertation (treating Sachs’s work as a single unit) use structuring methods similar to later narrative collections, even if the latter do not focus as exclusively on framing materials and paratextual tools. We find similar, but more plot- oriented approaches in later German literature, like the Historia von D. Johann Fausten

(1587) and the Lalebuch (1597). Both texts frame their collections as overarching narratives, and they use this strategy to include material that, strictly speaking, does not always contribute to the advancement of the plot. For example, Fausten is designed as a

281 critical biography of a specific individual, but certain sections of the text (especially the beginning of part three) digress from that model and insert unrelated anecdotes. The

Lalebuch functions in a similar way: despite being a pseudo-history of a distinct setting

(Laleburg), it also hosts disparate, from a modern viewpoint gratuitous, material. In both cases, we see a separation between the actions presented and the stated goals of the text.

They and the Eulenspiegel-texts are united by the shared assumption that the reader can distinguish between the supposed raison d'être of the text and the subject matter.

It is also possible to situate the construction principles behind the Eulenspiegel text in the context of broader European literary history, one which sees key developments in the history of the novel in works like Lazarillo de Tormes (1554), Rabelais’s Gargantua and

Pantagruel (1532-1564) Cervantes’s Don Quixote (1605/1615), and (returning to German literature) Der Abenteuerliche Simplicissimus (1668). All four works present the biographical activity of a given protagonist (in the case of Rabelais’s work, the character focus can vary), but they ultimately use that biographical pattern to focus on unrelated issues. When Lazarillo de Tormes denies his cuckoldry, nobody is expected to believe him, and the author transforms him into an example of a social climber willfully unaware of the flimsiness of his excuses. Rabelais’s work uses the character’s life to satirize asceticism and to celebrate physical pleasure. Cervantes’s approach is even subtler: despite ostensibly telling the story of a middle-aged lunatic, he parodies all elements of

16th/17th-century life (chivalry, urban society, the church, etc.). Finally,

Grimmelshausen’s baroque novel is not merely the story of its Simplicissimus’s life during the Thirty Years’ War: it is also a collection of small episodes, a documentary of spiritual development, and a tour of the sights wherein the main story takes place.

282

Eulenspiegel’s Vita shares one quality with all three stories: the subject matter, the plot, is not just an account of a lone character’s life, or even a character’s attempts to grow into and understand his role in society (as in chivalric romances). The stories are raw material, the means to a different end – for literary experimentation (the redactor of

Eulenspiegel), for satire (the anonymous author of Lazarillo, Cervantes), and for both

(Rabelais, Grimmelshausen).

The accounts of Eulenspiegel are precursors to narrative irony. A new term can be introduced: design irony. It is not identical with parodic literature, which undermines its subject matter from within the genre. Design irony is a work’s use of accepted textual structures as a bait-and-switch, to engineer a familiar narrative structure to create something different. The intent is not necessarily dishonest or manipulative; the audience might be grateful for the creativity or for any practical conveniences generated by such a method (as in S1515). Nor does it always invent something new. In Sachs’s plays, for instance, Eulenspiegel is almost a step backwards to the Reihenspiel form of the genre.

As a rhetorical form, design irony is only possible once the borrowed structures have already been developed. Its appearance is late for obvious reasons: it depends on earlier forms and needs audience expectations in order to undermine, to manipulate, or to appropriate them. The narrated action is separated from the subject matter, the structure, and depends on the audience’s ability to recognize the author’s game.

That the use of design irony would begin with a trickster character’s arrival in the world of print is not surprising. Trickster characters, here Till Eulenspiegel, do not have a literary form attached to their identity. While saints have the hagiographic tradition, heroes have the epic poem (in any variation), and other figures – like Faust, Fortunatus,

283 and Magelone – have a historical/biographical form to direct their story, no definitive narrative of the oral trickster exists. Of course, they had always appeared in literature, but their pranks were not tied to any overarching form. Pfaffe Amis and the Pfarrer vom

Kalenberg, for example, have dissimilar life trajectories. In Eulenspiegel’s case, multiple writers saw the chance to apply him to established practices and synthesized a chance to approach genres with a degree of self-awareness. That moment was not simultaneous with the birth of fiction, but the detachment inherent in the use of design irony is an important step in that direction.

Eulenspiegel’s appearances in the 16th century are not only the history of a single folklore character with recognizable traits, nor is his position in world literature just that of a trickster figure who came to light at a historically noteworthy time. The novels, poems, and plays focused on Eulenspiegel are connected by a shared understanding of the human psyche’s new ability to separate a work’s themes from the actions of its characters. In other words, the means used to bring the traditional Eulenspiegel stories into concrete form reveal a step in humanity’s ability to think abstractly. In the material studied, we have seen that readers are no longer meant to identify with the protagonist just because he is the center of attention, but to consider the material gathered around him

– paratextual materials, other characters, etc. – as the real objects of interest. In these contexts, the protagonist is no longer just a hero or an anti-hero. He is a tool for the author’s exploration of unrelated ideas, and the biography loses a narrative significance but takes on a new, symbolic one.

This dissertation has covered a large period of time, and many documents which could further our understanding of the development of fiction in the 16th century have yet to be

284 addressed. By expanding beyond German-language reception of a single folklore character, we will be able to continue investigating authors’ flexibility in combining subject matter with themes only tangentially related to depicted events. To begin, Latin reception of Eulenspiegel, especially Johannes Nemius’s Triumphus Humanae Stultitiae vel Tylus Saxo503 and Aegidius Periander’s Noctuae Speculum, can be investigated for fictional, metafictional, or satirical qualities. Narrative literature with supplemental material, like Reynke de Vos and Bartholomäus Krüger’s Hans Clawerts Werckliche

Historien, can also be situated into the prehistory of fiction, as moralistic commentary and gnomic rhymes suggest that the prose depictions of action were not the authors’ only interest.

Given the dissertation’s focus on episodic literature, future work can also focus on the divide between subject matter and form in farce collections or fool literatures. Such a strategy could apply the findings of Chapter 2, which proposed the existence of a non- linear reading style, to episodic narrative literatures, like Wickram’s Rollwagenbüchlein, or to non-narrative works divided into snippets, like Sebastian Brant’s Narrenschiff and

Thomas Murner’s satires. All of the above works have a thematic focus, but none of them share the hagiographic principles or even the biographic content of S1515. A new model, one which takes into consideration thematic organizational methods, but one that is independent of the general impression of a biographical structure, is necessary.

The findings concerning the two individual authors discussed, Hans Sachs and Johann

Fischart, can also be applied to their entire oeuvre. As an investigation of Eulenspiegel’s

503 A dual-language (Latin/German) edition of Triumphus Humanae Stultitiae was published by Martin M. Winkler under the title Der Lateinische Eulenspiegel Des Ioannes Nemius (1995).

285 appearances in Sachs’s Fastnachtspiele suggested a focus on character constellations, a reading of the interpersonal conflict along the lines of in-group/out-group dynamics and questions of power, social authority, and dominance hierarchies offers opportunities for inter-disciplinary work with the social sciences. Concerning Sachs’s Meisterlieder, a future project would be the comparison of Sachs’s treatments of trickster and fool characters with other kinds of traditional protagonists for a more holistic view of Sachs’s understanding of biographical and thematic similarities. The analysis of Fischart can be extended into his post-1572 work, such as polemics like Bienenkorb and Das vierhörnige

Jesuiterhütlein. Both works could offer perspectives on Fischart’s understanding of the author-reader relationship unmediated by the inclusion of a single protagonist.

All of the above topics are historically rooted in the 16th century, but they are artistically rooted in the use of literature as a field of experimentation with new rhetorical techniques. The above cases ask the same basic question that the investigation of Till

Eulenspiegel as a literary character posed: namely, how popular literature in the 16th century began the process of separating the author’s ideas and intended message from the protagonist’s actions. Different approaches to structuring literature allowed authors to overcome the gap between them and the audience resulting from the advent of new media and new literary forms. As a narrative figure in the 16th century, Eulenspiegel offers insights into different adaptation strategies in diverse cultural contexts through his flexibility in the hands of various authors and redactors, and similar work with other characters, or even with multiple characters, presents opportunity for the future.

286

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